The Last Refuge : "Allegations" and "Presumably"

 As a footer at the end of each of my postings, there is a copyright statement:

This is a  Custom Copyright Statement "letting readers know that you are the original author of your content and that you will not permit theft."

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This is my response to a Comment in my previous posting, 12 March 2021.

Malays have an apt way of describing the intent of  "copping out", of noting but not admitting to one's mea culpa :  Seperti menegakkan benang yang basah.  This is done by shifting the blame and the onus of proof to the other party.

Let's dissect these two words"allegedly" and "presumably".

"Allegedly" is used when reporting something that people say is true although it has not been proven true.

"Presumably" has the connotation of doubt, of suggesting that you think something is probably true, although you don't want to admit it.

Despite the most strenuous effort of my previous posting - to assure all and sundry, as lucidly and as categorically as is humanly possible, that two of the pictures in the video The Last Kampong belonged to Abdul Hamid bin Jala, the father of  AnaksiHamid - aspersions are still being cast at the Truth or may I say "Veritas" of ownership of said photographs.

[ By the way, the word "veritas" meaning "truth" refers to Veritas, the Roman Goddess of Truth.  It is a popular word for mottoes of educational institutions.]     

So let me finally, and categorically, put the doubt to rest.     I'm sorry, but this piece of wet string will NEVER stand straight.

The Pedigree of Photographs - 691 Pasir Panjang Road

AsH, unlike Old Mother Hubbard whose "cupboard" was bare", stores her Abah's photographs in this special album so that they will be easily retrievable for Abdul Hamid's grandchildren and great-grandchildren when she finally kicks the bucket.

The album for 691 Pasir Panjang. Do note it is not coloured.

I have scores of other pictures of the interior, the backyard, the floods, but I am concerned only with the front of our house as seen in the photograph above and below.

This is the photograph, where my ownership is being disputed,  "as not being proven true" or "probably true".

Here's the clincher!

 First, a picture of the house, and the man who built the house - and who went on to photograph it during our life in a kampung in Singapore.

Abah looking at the world from the front window.  The window was bought in Diethelm by my sister as part of the renovation in the early1960s, around 1963/1964.  She was working extra hours teaching in a night class to pay for the windows.  At  that time she was doing her teacher-training and teaching stint in a school at Kota Tinggi, Johor.

This house was constructed in 1950 and we did not part with it until 1967.  During those 17 years Abah made several renovations - like changing the attap roof to a zinc roof as seen in the photograph.  He also had to raise the floor of the whole house because of the constant floods during the early to mid-50s.  Then, in the late 50s, he made an extension to the right side of the house to create a bigger kitchen and bathroom and additional bedrooms as we were growing up and needed more space.  But the most welcoming addition was the verandah to the front of the main house.  Initially (circa the mid-1950s) the wall was made entirely of wire grills, a sort of semi-open verandah.  Later, as seen in the "disputed" photograph, Abah changed it to a plywood wall effectively changing the verandah to a sitting room.

The two photographs below showed what the house looked like at the start of its life around 1950 as evidenced by the photo of Akim as a toddler (he was born in 1949).  In the photograph of my parents, the window behind them was just a simple kampung house window with wooden shutters and wire grills instead of glass. 

So this is our kampung house at 691 Pasir Panjang Road, later re-designated as 27-G, Lorong Abu Kassim.   It was a happy house, which went through many changes, because of a father who wanted to make sure his family had as pleasant and as comfortable a home as possible.

This was the house that Hamid built.

This was the hub of our family from 1950/1951 to 1967.

This was our Last Kampung House.

And no one, but no one can take that away from us.

Here is another clincher to prove that AnaksiHamid aka Maznoor bt Abd Hamid (that "nasty" septuagenarian) did exist at 691 Pasir Panjang Road and attended Pasir Panjang English School.

MYSELF 
 I was not born in a colony like Singapore or Penang.  I was a British Protected Person (BPP) born in Selangor in Semenanjung Tanah Melayu (The Malay Peninsula).

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The Pedigree of Photographs - 680 Pasir Panjang Road

The Album

This is the photograph where my ownership is deemed as "probably true" or "not being proven true".

Someone else's name has been inscribed on the Hari Raya photograph of our second kampung house - 680 Pasir Panjang Road.    I hope the following photographs will dispel any doubts about the true  ownership of the picture.

 Abdul Hamid and his family made this their temporary rented abode while awaiting the construction of his very own house just across the Sungai Nipah.  It was a short stay, about two years, and we had a glorious Hari Raya in 1949 with our cousins from Pasir Panjang Hill and Emak and Abah's good friends from Kampung Chantek.  It was especially happy because we had a new little brother, Mustakim, born in this house on 29 April 1949.

Akim being given a sunny airing at the verandah.  This was the mak bidan's (midwife)  advice to Emak to prevent the baby from getting Jaundice.

Maznoor and Mustapha, just hanging out at the verandah.  The area enclosed in a red rectangle indicates the rear entry to the house.  Behind that door is a well - and around it we were given our daily freezing-cold baths.

Our Emak and Abah dressed in their best Baju Hari Raya.  This photograph was taken in the enclosed courtyard behind that door.  It was a very private little annex for the family.

Hamid's and Kamisah's 3 rapscallions, Maznah, Maznoor, Mustapha and our cousins Abang Hussin and Kak Zainab.

So there we have it..    And just to sum up:  

This once again is the photograph my family "allegedly" owns.

680 Pasir Panjang Road

   

And this photograph below is a group picture of the true owners of all the 'disputed' photographs - minus of course the photographer, my father.

Hari Raya with Emak , her beaming smile, her three children and our 3 cousins.

So all's  done and dusted.  

QED - quod erat demonstrandum.  Our Mathematics teacher Mr Tan at Crescent Girls School preferred us to write QED at the end of every theorem we have proved.  When asked what it means, he said "Quite Easily Done".

                    

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Footnote: This posting was written for a serious purpose : to thwart a contemptuous and contemptible attempt, couched in a farcical "apology", to re-script the ownership of my photographs and my memories of Pasir Panjang.    But it has also been for me a process of remembering, of expressing and  keeping alive my memories of a happy childhood in a kampung.    It has a very personal significance - and my father's record of that life together as a family is also a very personal possession....which no-one can take away from me.

But for all the happy memories, however short or long our life  may be, they are tinged with gloom and melancholy - for the kampung is lost forever.  No amount of nostalgia and photographs and videos can revive it.  The people who built the kampung are gone and the denizens who lived and breathed the kampung are gone forever.  

"Progress is a comfortable disease" writes E.E Cummings.  And Singapore is the epitome of progress in the Nusantara.

That is the land of lost content,

I see it shining plain,

The happy highways where I went

And cannot come again.     

                                                        A.E Housman 1859-1936

SM Salim : Nasib si Panjang

From Longitude 101 East to Longitude 1 West

It took all of 13 hours flying time to complete the journey of 6572 miles ( 10,581 km) from East (Kuala Lumpur) to West (Leicester).   In bridging the gap between these two compass points Rudyard Kipling had this to say in 1889.

Oh, East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet,
Till Earth and Sky stand presently at God's great Judgement Seat,
But there is neither East nor West, Border nor Breed, nor Birth,
When two strong men stand face to face, tho' they come from the ends of the earth!

Here is Kipling extolling the belief that Asian and European are equal.

This statement was put to the test on the 13 hour flight from KL to London on 10 March. We were seated behind a Malay family made up of the father, a well-built man sporting a goatee beard (which seems to be increasingly a trade mark of  Malay-Muslim men in Malaysia), a hijabed mother and two children - a little girl of about 5 and a boy of 7-8.  I reckon the parents were in their mid to late thirties.  Mother was sitting comfortably as the two children perused the Flight Safety document and happily chatted away about the parts of the plane - all in English.  Father was reading a newspaper.   It was a lovely picture of a normal family.

Soon the stewardess handed round the headphones and the Flight Entertainment System was switched on.     Suddenly, this sweet, normal family was transformed into something quite different.   From then on, we felt we'd been trapped in the living room of a gang of electronic barbarians, with mother and father engrossed in their "grown-up" movies (Hollywood soaps for wife, exploding bodies, spraying bullets, and car chases for hubby), while their two offspring went almost berserk playing electronic kiddy games - over and over and over again.

 "Mummy how do you start this game?" "Press the Y," said Mummy.  "Daddy, teach me to play this".  And Daddy would lean over, click something. and go back to his blood and guts.  There were constant outbursts of jubilant screeching and jumping on the seat  from the boy-child (which spilled my drink as I was seated behind him) when he made a 'hit': "Shoot! Shoot! Shoot!", "Gotcha!",  "Kill the bad guy! Kill the bad guy!"   These exclamations went on for six or seven hours - the kid's favourite game was set in a jungle clearing, and he must have wiped out all living creatures ten times over.

The little sister eventually got to sleep although her "High Five" programme (made in Singapore) was never switched off.     We had Aussie teenage-entertainers doing a half-hour bobbing-up-and-down routine for the kids repeated six or seven times during the flight.   After about six hours, the boy-brat gave us a breather of about an hour.    When he woke up, the fun and games started all over again and by the 10th hour of the flight, Iain had to ask the father (who was seated just in front of him) if he could please tell his son to stop shouting.  Daddy was quite taken aback because he was seemingly unaffected by his son's antics!  He was otherwise glued to his screen watching his endless series of movies.   It was also obvious that the word "sorry" was not part of his vocabulary even though the two parents spoke only English to their children.

Finally, three-quarters of the way into a 13 hour plus journey, there was peace and quiet.   Finally, we had escaped from the hell of being confined in the living room of this hi-tech-savvy English-speaking Malay middle class family.

Is this an example of the outcome of the meeting of East and West?  In this one Malay-Muslim (or Muslim-Malay?) family, the children spoke to each other and to Mummy ( not 'mak) and Daddy (not Abah or Ayah) only in English - although Mummy and Daddy did, now and then, speak to each other in Malay.    But it was not just the choice of language - it was the tone, the attitude, in how it was used.

The English spoken by the children did not include words like 'please' and 'thank you'. They were chiefly "Daddy, show me this".  "Mummy, I want ......".    If it is their desire to bring up their children in a language which is not their mother-tongue, they have to make sure that they are  also conversant with the language of courtesy, of discipline and  acceptable behaviour.     In choosing the English language for bringing up children, parents have to be competent with the whole gamut of the language in communicating social relationships between parent and child, child and child and with other adults  and institutions outside of the family.  Parents should be aware for example, that competency with techno-language for games and computers are  not good indicators for the social development of children.  What I saw and heard from these English-speaking Malay children consisted mainly of expressions and nuances that were demanding, aggressive, competitive,  and very 'me-me-me-istic' , very self-centred.

I suppose such children would do their parents proud.    Imagine the approving comments.  "Pandai betul budak- budak ni. Kecik- kecik lagi dah pandai cakap orang putih!!"    But when the stewardess asked the little boy "What drink would you like?".  The little boy merely said, "I want lemonade."   And he didn't even look at her because his eyes were glued to the screen.

Unlike my generation, post-Merdeka Malays are well educated, well taught in both  asohan ugama and bahasa ibunda .  Thousands were sent overseas  ( USA, UK, Ireland,  France, Germany, NZ, Australia, Russia, Saudi Arabia, Egypt, Yemen, Jordan, Japan, Indonesia) by the Government .   They came home to good jobs,  holding responsible posts - savouring the opportunities that their parents and grandparents were denied under British colonialism.  They became part of Malaysia's middle class and upper middle class.

Some decided to remain living abroad for reasons like  "I do not think I can settle down to working in Malaysia - no work ethics - you have to 'know people' to get anywhere."    Fair enough.    I made the same choice to leave  the Singapore Education Service because I was 'getting nowhere' - all because of my skin colour.  But there was one difference - I had served out my five year bond for the Bursary I received from the Government.  I also carried on working for another six years because I felt I owed it to my people - to the Malay, Chinese and Indian kids - especially those whose milieu was not middle class and privileged.  But never mind - all that is cerita lama.

Resting here in Leicester. nursing my gammy leg I reflect on my Nusantara maritime forefathers.
They would shunt around the Malay Archipelago in their prahus and sailing ships moving and trading (and fighting too!)  from island to island, from coast to coast and setting up riverine and coastal settlements, trading posts and sultanates. Their sense of belonging was drawn out in the embrace of land and water throughout the Malay Archipelago - in their Tanah-Air.   

Today our Malays fly from city to city, from peninsula and island to continents, from tropical to temperate and desert climes. from East to West and South to where ever they reckon the grass is greener.  In a way it replicates the nomadic jalan-jalan and kembara of their ancestors but their choice of destination is a far far 'alien' world which requires the Malay to dilute and subdue their cultural identity to that of the host's.    Integrate or be damned!

When the Boyanese moved to Singapore and the Bugis to Selangor, they did not feel like they'd moved to an alien country.  Even Chinese from China and Indians from India were not subjected to strong conditioning into the host culture.

When the British FARELF ( Far East Land Forces) left in 1971, Abah was called to the CO's office.  The CO told him that Inche Hamid bin Jala would be given the right to migrate to Britain when ever he is ready.  My father did not take up the offer.  The reason?  He told my brother Mus that he did not want his children and grandchildren to turn into dysfunctional Malays in a foreign land.  Hujan mas negri orang.........  Of course there would be some 'enterprising and ambitious' gung ho young Malays  who would regard him as a scaredy cat,  a frog under a coconut shell.  Where ever he is, and if he can see how his cucu and cicit  are getting on today with their culture and identity intact as well, I am certain Abah knew he made the right decision.

And I am so glad he kept us where we belonged.

Below is a map to show where we belonged.  Abah 'migrated' to Singapore from Kuala Lumpur and he built us a home at Pasir Panjang. Being the Malay that he was, he chose a riverine location. Our kampung house in Kampung Abu Kassim was situated on a river bank, the banks of Sungai Nipah.. That river was un-named in our school geography textbooks and it was not until many years later when I was rummaging through some old books and maps that I discovered the name of this water feature that had been a part of our 'playground'.  I include Sungai Nipah  in my hand-drawn map - my tribute to a kampung life that has disappeared forever in Singapore.  That river made so many contributions to our  happy family life.

Tempat jatuh lagi di kenang, ini kan lagi tempat bermain.

Victoria Park, fish and chips, daffodils and roses, canals and steam trains, second hand bookshops and charity shops - I love them all.  But my heart and spirit and soul belongs to my Tanah Air.  Thank you dear Abah, for not transplanting us, for keeping us home.

Maznoor's Map

Speaking for myself, from a generation whose asohan ugama  and (written) bahasa ibunda is not as polished as the post-Merdeka generation, I could not ever bring myself  to dilute and emasculate my Malayness for the ways  and wherefores of the West and the Middle East.  Yes, today's young families may face many different and daunting pressures.  It's not for me to pontificate because the young have to face many more long years than I have left to sort out their Malayness - assuming they still have pride in it.  But it saddens me to observe the ways of that young Malay-Muslim family on that journey by plane from East to West.

Kipling expressed a laudable belief.  But he made one misjudgement,  Between East and West there will only be one 'strong man' - the one from the West.  We of the East, we Malays have to be brave and dignified. Do ponder on the poem "Belonging" by G. Adali-Mortty on my side-bar.

But it must be stressed that a Malay can be emasculated even when he remains on Malaysian soil.

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POST SCRIPT

On the second day of our return, my right leg gave up the ghost.

AsH's new Apps - a walking stick and a hot water bottle.

No walks in the park, no shopping at Leicester Animal Rescue, no bag of chips at the market.  But the spouse cooked me a yummy nasi goring kampung with ikan  bilis  for lunch yesterday.


We found this in our backyard when we got back a week ago - by courtesy of our dear friend Jack.

A Tub of Snowdrops.

It was the snowdrops that helped my nephew Shah to perk up after an attack of asthma in Hull, where his father was doing his degree in the 1980s.  These white beauties are doing the same for his ole ma'ngah and hopefully her leg will soon perk up too.

Finally a few lines for our sleepwalking Malays.

Who's gonna tell you when it's too late?
Who's gonna tell you things aren't so great?
You can't go on, thinking nothing's wrong.
Who's gonna drive you home  tonight?

                                                Drive by The Cars

The Second " R "

Reading, 'Riting and  'Rithmetic  - they make up the basic three " Rs "  which form the foundation of modern education.  That was the makeup of my English language colonial education in the 1950s as well as the beginning of my training as a school teacher during the latter half of the 1960s.

Just the other day, the spouse and I were ruminating about the approaching demise of one signifier of our self as an individual :  writing - our handwriting!

This one .............

...... belongs to her.

This quaint handwriting  ........

.... was done by this quaint little nerd.

Oh dear, I am noticing signs of rebellion.


                                                                    ==============

Nowadays we appreciate and take pride in all things that are hand made and we are willing to dig deep into our pockets for items made by human hands!

But more and more we are losing the one art that can be created only by us - our handwriting. Just think, there are millions of us (those who were lucky enough to go to school) able to scribble and identify themselves by their handwriting - each one distinct and unique, just like our fingerprints.
However, we now take to the keyboard and indicate ourselves less and less by our handwriting ( and signature) - but by passwords, codes and pin numbers.  Welcome to the digitised world!

We don't write letters anymore.  We do not keep envelopes in the house and neither do we buy stamps.  We only send e-mails!

Part of my primary school education included subjects like "Writing" and that was included as an examination subject.

A 'Writing' Examination - 1957, PPES.

'Letter Writing' was always part of the English Language Examination.

'Letter Writing' for a Primary Six examination, 1957, PPES

A few days ago, I received a comment - a very touching note - from Kalsom Taib -  from my cohort group, so to speak.

Kalsom, I hope the above images will bring a big smile to your face - and to remind you of our good (and at that time it seemed horrible), old days.

So, I thought I'd like to sit down and write you a letter - to overlay an electronic page with a letter written with a fountain pen  -  to thank you for the content and kindness in your message.

We, Kalsom and I,  are blessed to be able to observe and live the present life we have.  Materially and technically we have gained so much.  But the price we pay is too awful - at times - to bear.

Here's my 'Dictation' Examination - ideas still as valid - if not even more today - as  58 years ago.

The greatest honour is the honour which men give to you in their hearts. 

A song we heard on the radio in our kampung house in 1954/1955.

Al Fatihah - Hjh Alimah binti Awang

Early this morning, Macik Alimah, mother of our dear friend Jailani, left those who loved her to meet her Maker.  Jai prayed and watched over her as she faded away peacefully from the darkness of the night into the cool early morning.

A brave and plucky lady, she avoided the usual treatment for the breast cancer because she had seen how it could ravage the remains of her day.  As she said, at her age she left it all in the hands of Allah.  She did receive various types of non-invasive treatments and towards her last few days they topped up her dosage of morphine.  But as we and Jai noticed, up to just a few months ago, she was still mentally alert and active, and she had a good appetite.  She would, each day instruct the helper - that Jai got for her - on what to cook and what to buy at the market.

I have such great respect for this remarkable lady, this lady who came from a line of  the  (unacknowledged)  First People of Singapura.  I have done several postings on Macik ..

Read:  http://anaksihamid.blogspot.com/2012/03/alimah-bt-awang-anak-jati-singapura.html

Just two days ago, we were discussing with Aisha and Man if they could cat-sit and house-sit for us as we wanted to visit Jai and Arwah in Singapore this coming week.  But it was not to be.

But we will never forget her in our doa.  Her indomitable spirit  will always be an inspiration for these two septuagenarians.

The last time we met her in July, I wrote this towards the end of my posting .....

http://anaksihamid.blogspot.com/2014/07/epok-epok-curry-puff-karipap.html

..... 'And when Macik reaches out her hands to hold mine and she says " saya kenal suara Cikgu", then my cup runneth over.'   She has that effect on many of her son's friends, but especially for us.

Good-night sweet lady and may Angels accompany you on your journey.

Petronas - Tabungkan lah duit kamu

When we got back to Leicester in August this year, we were so happy to discover that ......

.......... the price of our favourite frozen fast food had not gone up at all.

We took out a couple of packets to boil for our dinner.  The spouse also made mashed potatoes and steamed broccoli.  We sat down, snipped the packet and what dropped out of it were indeed cod steaks in parsley sauce ... but much reduced in size - by nearly a quarter - compared to a few months ago.

Once back in Kuala Lumpur, we bought a fresh tank of gas - the price had gone up from MYR $25 to $29.  But who are we to grumble?  There are millions of others living under much more straitened circumstances, with children to feed, to clothe and to educate.

I cannot bear to think what our children from deprived families have to do without.  I can remember a time when we used to come home after school to a lunch of just rice, kicap and fried ikan bilis.  Our Abah was paying off a loan to our taukeh kedai because he had been diddled by his 'manager' and customers when he was running a a sundry shop - "Malay Trading" at 5 milestone Pasir Panjang Road.

See: http://anaksihamid.blogspot.com/2011/06/tuberculosis-teapot-and-tears-csh.html

And even when life got better, we had to limit our demands and desires for the fancy stuff of life. When I was in Secondary school, I insisted on getting a pair of  top of the range Bata Badminton Masters canvas shoes.  When the join between the rubber frontal end and the canvas fell apart, I dared not ask for a new pair.  So I sewed the two parts together - several times - as they kept on splitting apart.  I did not ask for a new pair until the soles got worn out as well.

A pair of  Bata Badminton Masters.  This image is taken from http://media.straitstimes.com/50things2/#image-5

When my Crescent Girls' School blouse became threadbare on the back - mainly because of heavy sweating - my mother sewed a light yellowish square patch on the inside to enable me to keep on wearing the blouse.  My sister and I were allowed only 2 blouses per year.  You see, that yellow cotton material could be bought from only one approved supplier - Heap Hin at Cecil Street I think. The material for both the peacock blue skirt and the yellow blouse were priced at $3.50 per yard - and that was a lot of money then!

The habit of savings was very much encouraged during our schooling days - by both our parents and our primary schools.

Report in the Co-Ed, Pasir Panjang English School 1956

Report in the Co-Ed, Pasir Panjang Primary School, 1955

At home, Abah would get us a cute little savings box, shaped like a house.

To retrieve your savings, simply twist and separate the house from the base!

The above image was not my original "National Savings Bank'.  I bought this from a car-boot sale at Saddington, Leicester about 15 years ago.  And it cost me all of 20p!  I was in ecstasy for days and days after that acquisition.  This phone-box savings tin was probably from the 1940s .  It was a treat for 10p.

My ten-pence box.

I wonder if  parents encourage and practise the art of savings for their children in this hi-tech 21st century.  Do the young ones physically place their coins in little savings boxes?  Maybe they do it online or perhaps their parents set up trusts in all kinds of funds and stocks and shares???

The fun in savings was to hear the rattle of the coins, to feel the growing weight and then to pour it all on a table, count them and take them to the Post Office Savings Counter to be transferred into your own account.  But of course there had to be the mandatory deduction for an ice cream - my favourite was an ice-cream tucked in a slice of bread!

"Tabungkan Duitmu " is taken from a 78 rpm record, probably during the 1940s/1950s. 

This song, like all the remembrances and values noted above, comes from a bygone age.   Of course, some may regard them as out-of-date and irrelevant.   In this age of excessive and almost obscene consumerism, I think people have to take a step back and re-evaluate the way they devour and squander the world's resources, and their own as well!  But I'm grumbling and I have to stop.

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But now, let's come down to earth and ponder our present  and disquieting reality.

In today's NST

A few days ago Petronas warned about a 12% drop in net profit.  Malaysia has been riding on a wave of rising prices of gas and crude oil.   As a result,  Petronas  has been used and abused as  the 'goose that laid the golden eggs'  to subsidise and bail out  profligacy in Malaysia.

See:  http://themalaysianreserve.com/new/story/petronas-declares-12-drop-3q14-net-profit-rm15b

But the ways and purpose of the world's economy are never as straightforward as they are made out to be. You have to look beyond the  dollars and (non)sense.

Firstly the IMF regards this as good news.    Read ;www.nst.com.my/node/58413 about the view expressed  by Christine Lagarde , IMF's Managing Director at a conference of corporation chief executives sponsored by the Wall Street Journal.

Secondly I would suggest looking at another scenario.

Read:  www.counterpunch.org/2014/12/01/defending-dollar-imperialism/ 

Here's an exract.

USA, Israel, Saudi Arabia - strange bedfellows!

Also look at :

http://www.theguardian.com/business/economics-blog/2014/nov/09/us-iran-russia-oil-prices-shale


When the elephants fight, the grass gets trampled.

EPOK EPOK, CURRY PUFF, KARIPAP.

We made a trip to Singapore just before Ramadan to spend time with old friends and as always, a visit to Abah's and Akim's grave  ( with assistance from Jai, as usual), and a special call on Jai's mum, Macik Alimah.

Macik is a very special Malay lady, nearly 89, and I reckon one of the very few remaining "native Singapore Malays"  who lived and remembered her life as keturunan Orang Pulau Singapura.  I moan about the loss of  our kampung at  Kampung Abu Kassim, where we used to live at Pasir Panjang Road.

Memories of my kampung life immortalised by the spouse's drawing.

And on this trip I discovered that my last abode in Singapore , at Block 217 Boon Lay Avenue had been demolished to give way to higher blocks and smaller flats. Hard cheese Ash!!

Block 217, Boon Lay Avenue. Our  flat is on the 15th floor, second from the top.

Looking down to the car park from the 15th Floor.

15-89, the door to our flat from 1975 to 1995.

As for Makcik, her ancestral family home in the Southern Islands to the Southwest of Singapore was first used as a firing range for the Singapore Air Force and later stitched up with loads of imported sand and soil
into a world class oil refinery and industrial zone - into Jurong Island!  And they say,  "Only God can make a tree".

This was what happened to Macik's ancestral abode and world - which is more devastating than what  kampung Malays and my family went through.  I managed to load these images from US Geology Survey (USGS) - showing satellite images of Environmental Changes.   What a bland description of the demise of a people's physical and cultural landscape.

( In the images below, red = plants, blue-black =deep clear water, light blue = shallow and silty water, almost white = bare soils and pavements, grayish mottle = cities.)

Singapore - 1973

Singapore - 1990

Singapore - 2002

I hope this video (2012) of a conversation with Macik Alimah when she was about 87 will bear testimony to what can happen to the culture and way of life of a people when development and greed take over. They remain as memories, lovely and painful at the same time for those who still remember.  The younger generation, so immersed in their hi-tech and comfortable modern life will rue the day when they search for their cultural landscape and discover they're all dead and gone.  ( or will they? - especially when we have well heeled and well-endowed Malays in Malaysia who are so keen on  "emulating Singapore" )   See :   http://anaksihamid.blogspot.com/2014/04/emulating-singapore-part-1.html

Is there a lesson here for Tanjung Putri  (Johor Baru) and Johor?  But I reckon it is too late.  It started with Raffles who re-scripted Singapore's and Johore's  history and heritage for his country's benefit and created the ripples of wealth and development that involved mainly the immigrants and constructed modern Singapore today.  But the Malays, the elite Malays of the old days and the corporate Malays of today, are too happy to collaborate, manage and profit from this globalisation of  'progress and development'.

In the above 2012 video, Macik is talking about the origin of Tanjung Keling, the 'town' on the mainland nearest to her Southern Islands.

She had become much more frail when we visited her this time.  She has lost her eyesight - the breast cancer is becoming more aggressive but her spirit remains as cheerful and positive as ever.  Macik used to supplement her family income by selling epok epok.  When Jai was a schoolboy he would help to sell her epok epok and kuih to workers at the  many construction sites in Jurong in the 60s and 70s.  She would also leave trays of her epok epok at  various Indian and Chinese shops.  " Epok epok saya laku cikgu.  Semua orang suka isi curry kentang.  Saya gunakan rempah asli, goringkan ketumbar, jintan , tumbuk dengan kelapa.  That's Macik's secret ingredient -  for making epok epok.  Curry puff and karipap is not in her vocabulary and I second her on that.

The most heart warming part of going to Singapore is to hear Jai, Lely and Irene calling me "Miss Hamid".  And when Macik reaches out her hands to hold mine and she says,  "Saya kenal suara Cikgu",  then my cup runneth over.

When Jai played this song for Macik , tears ran down her cheeks.



Ditto for me Macik.

SELAMAT TAHUN BARU

That would be our greetings for Chinese New Year to our family-friends - who just happened to be Chinese.

 These are friends like Seng Teow (the taukeh of the little kedai in  Kampung Abu Kassim), Ah Bok  (Abah's wonder-mechanic), Gemok (the taukeh of the timber shop) and Seng (the driver of the lorry that brought my Abah and colleagues to their work place at Nee Soon).  Then there's Kedai Ah Chwee.  To learn more about them,   Read:  http://anaksihamid.blogspot.co.uk/2011/06/tuberculosis-teapot-and-tears-csh.html

But Tahun Baru is not Tahun Baru without Uncle Joe Nee, Auntie Nelly and family.

The children are from left to right:  Rosie (my age), Pauline, Ah Pet (Patrick) and Bobok (Robert)

We would get a tray full of goodies every year without fail.  The four of us would demolish them within two days and then unashamedly hop over to their house and get more from Auntie Nelly and Tah Chi ( Auntie Nelly's mother).  At times, one of us kids would join Uncle Joe Nee, Auntie Nelly and their kids on  Tahun Baru visits to their friends and relatives.  What fun it was - filling up our bellies with cakes, and cookies and our pockets with little ang pow packets!  The packets were made up of gloriously red squares which were wrapped up so neatly with the dosh inside.  Of course when I got home and showed off my loot, Mak would take over and declare that it's to be shared with the other three .. YUCKS!

We often say of friends: "they live just across the road" - like Zarina and Ken and family at Setiawangsa.  But our Uncle and Auntie were unique - they were just across the river, the Sungai Nipah.  Whenever Mak wanted us to deliver food to them, one of us - usually me - would make the crossing.  Rosie or Bobok would do the same for us, from the other side.

Within the green box  our house is marked  brown and Uncle Joe Nee's is pink.  I have added the river (in blue) in the map.

My sister Maznah, bless her cotton socks, kept and treasured her Autograph books.  And these gems from Uncle Joe Nee and Auntie Nelly - I have managed to scan.

From Uncle Tan Joe Nee

From Auntie Nelly Ang

Our two families were very close friends and I regret very much that we have lost touch.  I blame it entirely on us, the kids.  When we moved out to Jalan Mas Kuning and  Johor Baru and especially when my mum got older, from her mid-50s,  she often mentioned her wish to meet up with Nelly and Joe Nee.  Of course she would need our help, but we were always "too busy" !

We grew up with Selamat Tahun Baru for our Chinese brethren - not Khong Hee Fatt Choy or Gong Xi Fa Cai.

That was the Golden Age - an Age of good and honourable people, like I described in my posting on Tuberculosis, Teapot and Tears.  But you may say, we old people always romanticise the past.  That may be so, but at least we have that to keep a warm glow in our hearts.

 Much later - when I became an adult and a teacher at Jurong Secondary School, Singapore - I could hope for (and re-live a little) the way we were  and should be with these Rainbow Kids.

The mixed - salad kids circa late 1970s.

If only .......

SELAMAT TAHUN BARU - as I would greet Auntie Nelly, Uncle Joe Nee, Rosie, Bobok, Ah Pet, Pauline, Ah Chwee, Ah Seng, Kerani, Seng Teow, Ah Bok, Seng ............