Goodbye My Kampong

be someone of use to society and was no longer the useless person who wasted rice, as my father had said over the years. I was no longer a poor, uneducated kampong urchin. I was going to earn money! The month zipped by so quickly, my brain tackling new knowledge and learning basic things like taking the temperature of a patient and such like. At the end of the month, we were given our wages in cash in a square brown envelope—$152.50! It was the largest amount I had ever seen and held. I could not believe it was all mine! My heart thudded in my chest. How would I dare to carry so much money home on a public bus? What if someone stole it from me? I was so kiasu, I bought some safety pins, put the envelope in the large pocket of the uniform and pinned it all round with the safety pins from underneath so that no one could undo the pins! I wanted to be sure that the packet wouldn’t fall out or be pickpocketed on the bus. I was a nervous wreck the whole journey, worrying as much as if I was carrying the Crown Jewels.

When I got home, I took out all the safety pins from my pocket. It gave me tremendous pleasure to proudly hand Mak the whole wage-packet. She took out the cash and counted it, then looked up at me with her liquid eyes.

“We don’t have to be hungry anymore,” she said, with a lovely smile.

I nodded, too overwhelmed by emotion to speak. Indeed, we didn’t have to be hungry anymore. It had been a long emotional track to this very moment. What would my father have said about me now? I was not as worthless as he had often thought. Now I stood waiting patiently whilst Mak did her sums to see what was needed in the household. Then she handed me $50. Approximately one-third of my month’s wages.

“For your bus fare and lunch for the month,” she said. “If there’s not enough for lunch, I can always cook it for you to take with you each day.”

So, 1968 was a year for me to remember for various reasons. It was the year of my initiation into the working world. It was also the year when the first outdoor concert arena was opened in MacRitchie Reservoir. Second Elder Brother was taking his new bride to see the first open air concert at the new arena and he took my sisters and me along. Mak made and packed a few packets of nasi lemak for our picnic. Second Elder Brother brought along some F&N Sarsaparilla, which we called Sarsi, for short. It was deliciously fizzy, a bit like Coca Cola.

Named after its Municipal Engineer James MacRitchie in 1922, the reservoir was also a recreational place, besides contributing to the nation’s water reserves. In 1857, Peranakan businessman Tan Kim Seng had given money to improve Singapore’s waterworks. It was supposed to be used to build a reservoir, in addition to the one at Thomson. But the colonial government bungled and Tan Kim Seng’s donation was misspent, and he died before it was done. Subsequently, to save themselves further embarrassment, the colonial government built a fountain in his honour at Fullerton Square, which was later moved to Queen Elizabeth Walk at the Esplanade. It was at this Wedgewood blue fountain that my father had taken my mother and me out to celebrate our joint birthdays, Mak’s forty-first and my fifth, in March 1956. It was probably after that romantic outing that Robert was conceived. For some reason, the outing stayed etched in my memory, though some people said it was impossible for someone that age to remember so clearly. It could well be a false memory syndrome, but I seemed to remember being enthralled by the sculptures surrounding the fountain. I was sure that Ah Tetia had explained to me about the fountain and that it had been built in honour of the philanthropist Mr Tan Kim Seng, and why.

“They should have named this reservoir after Tan Kim Seng,” I said to my brother.

“Why?” he asked.

And I told him the story our father had told me.

“Trust them to name it after an ang mo instead,” Second Elder Brother remarked.

But we were not going to allow that sentiment to corrupt our mood. It was a glorious day, the sun was shining, but the breeze stirred the surface of the water and brought cool air to our faces. It was so wonderful to be in the surroundings of the beautiful reservoir with its magnificent trees and body of water. We stood at the water’s edge and admired the pavilion of the concert arena that was built at the end of the boardwalk. It was of a similar shape as the Band Stand at the Singapore Botanic Gardens.

“Here they come,” Second Elder Brother said to his wife and us. “The schoolgirls who won the RTS Talentime last year. The Tidbits.”

People applauded uproariously as the three young girls in their matching outfits and beanie hats arrived at the pavilion. Sisters Serene and Melina Wee, 13 and 12 respectively, with cousin Bernadette de Souza, 12, formed The Tidbits. Their song, ‘I Believe’, helped them to win the talentime and secured for them a contract with RCA, who produced their first record. Their voices were fresh and sweet and they sang in good harmony. Everyone clapped again when they sang the opening bars: “I believe for every drop of rain that falls, a flower grows…”

The year ended on a high note.

We also celebrated the recognition received by our athletes. The first Singapore Sports Awards were held on 27 December. The Sportswoman of The Year award went to 14-year-old golden girl Pat Chan which was not a surprise to the majority of us, since she had been consistent in bringing home gold medals. The Sportsman of The Year went to 26-year-old school teacher, Canagasabai Kunalan, the sprinter who represented