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ODIANGA Loving & Speculative Chronicle of Francis Joseph Pillay (My Dad), told against the long and colourful passage of the Chetty Malacca community through the history of Malacca.

By Gerald F Pillay

Chapter Three

The Pre-War Years -

My Dad’s Schooling

I was never able to find out what primary schools existed in the vicinity of Meringu Lane. It would have been natural to send Dad to the nearest one, at least at the beginning. We only know that he was educated at St Francis’ Institution (SFI). The new one was already built at Bandar Hilir. It was over two miles away, over the Clock Tower Bridge across the Malacca River, round St Paul’s Hill and beyond Porta de Santiago1. It would have been rough on a six year old to walk to school 1 The Government set up the Bandar Hilir Primary School in 1908, the only one known. It was right

alongside SFI, hardly an option from the point of view of distance.

Odiang: Chapter Three – The Pre-War Years

and back by himself. I doubt his daddy could manipulate the gary schedules and routes to deliver and collect him. Nenek Kathai would certainly have had better things to do than chaperone him twice a day, except perhaps for the first day. Perhaps a relative, like young Aunty Letchimy might have. All in all, I conclude that, most probably, he was bundled off to school by himself and returned, in a trishaw arranged for the purpose. Maybe they had already invented a “school trishaw service”. I can just imagine my grand-father organizing such a system – maybe a system of local networks feeding the gary service. I still suspect my Dad went to a primary school nearer by, maybe an informal one, at least for the first few years.

Until someone does some research into the municipal records of the town, we have to speculate, that there were no street lights or house supplies in Meringu Lane in the first decade of 1900s, My Dad studied by oil lamp, the coconut oil lamp certainly if not also the kerosene lamp. I am not sure the carbide lamp or the incandescent pressure lamp was in use yet. The family was poor. There were no luxuries. Education was the big luxury – and investment.

To my best knowledge, none of the adults in his household spoke Tamil or English, except perhaps for a few functional words. Judging by his occupation, his daddy, my grand-father, probably had not completed schooling, or at most primary. It is unlikely the women folk had been to school. So, there was no home tuition; Dad had to work things out for himself. The family language, and Dad’s mother-tongue, was Malay. This was a creolized version of the language, a Malay-patois, also known as Baba Malay, developed as the lingua franca among all communities in Malacca. They shared a common base for their intercourse, while interspersing terms from their own language to deal with things peculiar to their own needs. It was oral only. And it continues to be used even today as the street or market language throughout Malaysia and Singapore.

Meringu Lane itself was a narrow stone-compacted lane, between two longish brick shop-houses on Tranquerah. It opened out behind into a regular unpaved lane with a row of brick and wood single storey terrace houses on either side, with No 7 lodged in the middle on the left side, while No 10 marked the end of the row opposite. This was followed by an assortment of single storey terraced and compound units, ending in open scrub and a swamp. The whole lane was about 150 yards long. When you stepped on to it, you were in our kampong. Except for our families, the other residents were Peranakan Chinese. At the end, a narrow footpath veered left through the bush leading to Gajah Berang Road and Kampong Tujoh, half a mile away, the domain of the Chetty Malacca. This footpath still existed as of ten years ago when I last visited it. As will be significant later in this history, if one veered right, one arrived - in those days - at the famous “Kandang Lembu” (cow sheds) of the Pillays.

We know nothing about his schooling, his classmates, his teachers, his distractions or his diversions. Nenek Kathai must have been a dragon of a grand-mother, for she saw to it that he stayed the course. The general recollection seems to be that my Dad was a playful kid, but serious. There is one story about him being punished as a boy for being “banyak nakal”, i.e. very naughty. There was a well in front of No 10, under the areca nut tree. He was made to go down into the well and stay there for his sins. One can imagine that by the time he completed primary he would have been bi-lingual. He would have been equally comfortable in either part of his dual world, the city and the kampong, each with its own language and multiplex of co-existing customs, conventions and values.

English would have been substantially installed as the language of administration, the street signs, in city-based business, in the Christian churches, and of course in school. Soon he would have been reading the Straits Times, whenever he could get a copy of it, and thereby begin to be “plugged in” to the information streams of the times, whether it was about King George V or the Wright Brothers’ first flight, perhaps the local murders and the railway arrivals and departures. He would know all about the world’s first rubber estates just a few miles inland. My Dad would have discovered that advancement lay in acquiring an English education, and that he was both born to

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inherit and be a product and beneficiary of the system in place; provided he put his shoulder to it. And he did.

At this point, I should touch on the parallel history alluded to earlier. This stream of recollection suggests that Nenek Kathai sent my Dad off to his relatives at their home in Tranquerah, where he was brought under proper supervision. The family in question was educated, well-to do, and had children who would all have been attending school. In this environment my Dad would have had all the support necessary to do well in school I will come back to exploring this alternative history later at the end of Chapter Five.

Be it as it may, in 1892, the Cambridge Local Examinations Schools Examinations were introduced, setting the course for further development. Up to about then, English education was being delivered mainly in an eight year framework, to prepare pupils for employment. Typically, pupils followed three years’ primary, three years’ elementary, and up to two years’ secondary. The Junior Cambridge Examination was installed as the terminal examination after eight years. It was the norm for employment, in particular entry into the government services. Those who wished to go further could take the Senior Cambridge, after a further year nine. As early as 1863, the Straits Settlements government introduced “higher scholarships” for a few of the brighter pupils to pursue higher education – in Britain. In 1885, these were constituted as Queen Scholarships. It inevitably followed that the awards of the latter became based on the Senior Cambridge results. This led to the ninth year of study being lionized by the elitist few and intensely competitive. Led by Raffles, only the première schools went for it. As an example, a student of Victoria Institution in KL transferred to Raffles, took his Junior Cambridge there in 1898, then did his Senior Cambridge in 1899, and won the Queens’ Scholarship in 1900. The Senior Cambridge was the path for higher education – which would necessarily have to be abroad. My impression is most other schools took their time, until either they had the capacity to provide competitive scholarship level education and had pupils who had both the means and the caliber required; or later when the Senior Cambridge became in demand as the school leaving norm.

My Dad successfully passed the Junior Cambridge Examination in 1917 or thereabouts. I could not ascertain whether the De LaSalle brothers had instituted the Senior Cambridge by then. I read somewhere that St Joseph’s Institution in Singapore did not introduce the Senior Cambridge until 1927. I also could not find out when the Malacca High School had done so. But, by then, the point became irrelevant. The Queen’s Scholarships were discontinued in 1911 just as they were coming within target range for my Dad, and were not resumed until 1929 with new entry conditions which are not relevant here.. Thus, even if my Dad wanted to, there was no incentive to go for the Senior Cambridge which led nowhere. The family would not have been able to afford the luxury of an extended education, and would have no financial resources to send him for further education. So, I conclude my Dad did not bother with the Senior Cambridge. What I am clear is that he always spoke of the importance of completing school to advance in the world, referring to himself as an example for my benefit. The one memento I had of his schooling was the copy of school-edition of Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar which he used. In 1951 when I sat for my Senior Cambridge, this self-same play was prescribed and I used his book. It was a wonder how it survived the Second World War. By what must have been a still uncommon feat in those days, which only a percentage of children then achieved, he completed secondary school.

My Dad Joins the Workforce.

And so, around 1918, my Dad stepped out of the kampong into the world of work. Newly emerging from a rural community, he had neither the wealth, the property, the tradition nor the connections for business or trade. But, it was the Roaring 1920s, and his education had prepared him for one prized occupation – employment in British administration. At that time the state was the biggest employer, with great security of tenure, good pay and decent prospects of promotion

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and emplacement on the pensionable establishment. With seniority came housing and medical benefits. A government servant was respected in colonial society, and even the middle and lower levels of officers enjoyed bureaucratic power among the uneducated population. As I see it, my Dad had three options which were variously pursued by his peers: to be a school teacher – which many Chetty Malaccans chose, to enroll in the technical services, or join the administration. He joined the Colonial Clerical Service. I could not establish the facts, and so I am theorizing that the service would have comprised three tiers, the Clerk Assistants, the Clerks, and the Chief Clerks. The basic recruitment grade would have been the Clerks, with the Junior Cambridge. They would have filled the roles corresponding to those discharged by executive officers in the 1950s, who were by then recruited from Cambridge Higher School Certificate holders (nowadays graduates), On promotion to Chief Clerk, they would assume responsibilities corresponding to those discharged by executive officers promoted to higher executive officers; many becoming heads of departments. I have no idea what his first job was or subsequent postings were, for the clerical service was a Common User function. All I can say is that by the beginning of 1930 or thereabouts, he emerged as Chief Clerk of the Malacca Volunteer Corps (MVC), had been courting a teacher from Singapore, and was within a year of marrying her.

For a young man of his day, my Dad was moving fast. It is intriguing to thread together what we do know from the scraps of of his working life as a young lad in his twenties. He emerged as very focused. This was not surprising for someone starting from the back of the grid. We get a picture of a young man with three strong features. Firstly, he was serious and responsible. You could depend on him to confronted and settle matters. Secondly, he was determined to blaze his way out of a subsistence level existence. And thirdly, he had an engaging personality and mixed easily. He always instilled in me to be straight, generous and frugal, virtues which characterised him. Above all, he was fun to be with. That’s why he always had many friends..

We are told that in his early adulthood Dad took the Hindu religion seriously. He attended temple and he observed its rules. This may well substantiate the alternative history that he grew up in the strict Hindu atmosphere of his relatives’ home. By all accounts he was shaping up to be a fine and eligible young man. It seems an open secret that he fell in love with a young lady. Proposals of marriage were discussed but did not go through. Here the alternative history kicks in explaining that the lady belonged to his relative’s family, and the union was not approved because they were too closely related.

When Nenek Kathai passed away, Dad was without a family nucleus. But as is the common Chetty Malacca custom - in fact, in the Peranakan and Malay communities as well - he would have been welcomed in any of the close relatives’ homes, and in practice probably lived in more than one place. Not unlikely, he continued after school to live mostly with his Tranquerah relatives. We may assume that when he started working, he found his own digs. What we are told that at some point my Dad moved into government bachelor’s quarters in Pengkalan Rama. Here we lose track of the alternative history for a while, as Dad enters a new phase in his life.

Dad’s Bachelor Days

It must be supposed that my Dad was exposed to the Christian religion as he went through school at St Francis’. His early interest in Hinduism attested both to his natural piety as well as the strength of that faith in his relatives’ home. When its natural outcome did not materialise, ie settling down to marriage, it must be supposed that there was a break .It was at this point, probably in the mid 1920s, that he cam under the wing of a Eurasian family, whose name I regret I do not have except for vague memories of conversations between my parents referring to a “Dr. Pereira.” I also have vague recollections being told that they lived in the Pengkalan Rama area,

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not unlikely also in married government quarters. If these surmises are correct, then “Dr. Pereira” would have been a member of the medical services, such as a senior nursing officer, rather than a doctor. The latter would be living in quite another part of town. One could even postulate that my Dad was actually living with them. This family nurtured my Dad in their world and faith, and I believe led him to be baptised a Catholic. I have no date for this but intend to commission someone to research to find out. It would have been before 1931, when my Dad married my mother. It should be easy enough for he was baptised by Father Curado, whom my parents spoke about with reverence, and to whom I would have been introduced to some time as a tiny tot. Dad was baptised in St Peter’s Church, which also was and still is located at the Pengkalan Rama- Bungah Raya junction, not too many stones’ throw away from where my Dad would have lived. Needless to say, I was also baptised in this church by the self-same Father Curado in December 1934.

As his career matured, he acquired a motor-cycle. I seem to recall mention of a Triumph, if my memory holds true. Young, eager and mounted, his radius of activity widened and he made new friends. I believe that the Pereira family may have belonged to the Ceylonese Burgher community that was burgeoning in British Malaya to manage the rubber plantations, as well as fill the growing number of technical occupations. This was the new economically and socially emergent stratum of local society. Generally slotted at the sub-professional and sub-managerial levels, they mixed easy with the growing English-educated local population, especially the Dutch Eurasians (with whom they were cognate) as well as the Portuguese Eurasians. Many of them lived in beautiful country homes in the rubber estates. Their weekend diversions were to drive to each others’ places in turn for a bash. Sometimes they would organise parties to go hunting wild-boar and flying foxes. Many of them married local girls, mainly Eurasians, and their social groupings became increasing mixed. My conclusion is that through his “adopted family” my Dad got introduced to this social circle. Over time, the plantation communities grew more diverse, as the young generations of mixed parentage took on their parents’ occupations.

The plantation communities faced one major problem: what to do for the schooling of their children. This is where the borders-system fulfilled a vital role. Girls were sent to the convents and boys to the (La Salle) Brothers schools at the nearest towns, namely Malacca but as far as Singapore. The children would visit their parents during the holidays. The borders system was used by the British for their offspring of mixed parentage outside the bonds of wedlock; their own children they would send home to England. Not surprisingly, the borders were the happy grounds for young bucks looking for some fun or their parents for suitable spouses to be. The bigger concern was the girl borders as they completed school. Finding them a job was a first responsibility. Handing them over to a suitable husband was the last happy step. Until then, it was not uncommon for a girl to continue to border in a convent for the time being. If without relatives. In those days, there was no “open society”; :girls could not just walk out and live on their own – without falling into evil ways as they would say.

My Dad Marries

The plantation communities would naturally talk about their growing children and eligible bachelors and spinsters. I have no doubt whatsoever that this was the grapevine through which my Dad came to hear of a certain Miss Janet Thomas, the daughter of a Mr. Thomas, a burgher planter in Johore and his Eurasian wife, a Miss Skelchy of Malacca. She grew up in the CJIH Convent Singapore and was teaching at the convent’s school in Johore Bahru (JB) at the material time. There are different threads as to what happened, from the narratives I picked up at different times. One was that with the parents’ approval, my Dad was given an introduction to the convent in Singapore and proceeded there to introduce himself and meet the lady in question. And they took it from there. Another version is that my Dad decided to investigate himself. With introductions sought and offered, he ranged into JB to check her out. And they took it from there

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They must have chatted and held hands sitting by the exquisitely serene water front. I can imagine he gave her a ride into Singapore and from then on she booked his pillion seat as her own. Historically we have to bear in mind that the road to JB was completed not many years before and may well have comprised many segments; and the Causeway was not opened until 1923. So my Dad was somewhat of a pioneer in pan-Malayan relations. I can imagine him cutting through the lonely roads in hot haste, checvking frequently for signage, fly smitten and dodging wild boars crossing the road at night, a knight gallant going to the lady he courted. There were several estates between Malacca and JB where he would have been known and welcomed along the way if he felt in need of rest.

It can be imagined that, in time, letters of introduction, application and consent were successfully presented to the Rev Mother Superior in Singapore. By then he would have been backed by a suitable entourage from the estates and his adopted family in Malacca. He would have carried his baptismal certificate and letter of introduction from Father Curado. All was successfully concluded and the couple were married in the Cathedral of the Good Shepherd, Singapore, on 7 Apr 1931 officiated ay by Rev Father Bonamy.

My Mother had a fairly extensive social circle. At core, these would have comprised several tiers of classmates and schoolmates, whether married and living in Singapore or still single and working (perhaps with her in JB) and living at the convent. No doubt my Dad soon made more new friends. The wedding was well attended from both sides of the Causeway. My mother was given away by the Peiras. Among those I recognise in the family album were the two Reutens brothers, Cyril and Freddy and John Snodgrass, (all to become distinguished teachers), Dorothy Campbell (subsequently my music teacher) and Kitty Foch (who taught me in kindergarten in Malacca.). It was something of a society affair.

My Mother had one sister older than herself, Dorothy, or Aunty Dora as she was always referred to. She married Sunny Rozario, a planter and they had one daughter, Adrienne, who was older than I was. They lived at their estate in Segamat, exactly mid-way between Malacca and Singapore on the trunk road. They formed part of the plantation community. Sunny came from Pondicherry, a French colony in India, and always charmed my Mother with his French manners and songs. It is quite possible he tipped my Dad about his sister-in-law Janet in Singapore. I barely remember them, but never met their daughter. Our families lost contact as my Dad settled down to raising his family, and they disappeared into the mists of history after a few years.

I never found out my maternal grandparents’ first names, where they resided, and I have no recollection of visiting them as I grew up. It seems like they moved away and out of our lives. My Mother did however tell me that the Thomas were related to the Van Der Straten family, who lived if I recall rightly in Tangkak. When the Japanese invading troops reach the rubber estate, they rounded up the whole family of about eight people, parents and children, and shot them all dead on the premises. There was only one survivor, Charlie, who told us about this massacre years later in Singapore.

My mother had two brothers, Clarence, the elder and Cyril. Uncle Clarence was married to Aunty Leonie. They lived in Singapore, and they had one daughter named Ethel but was more familiarly known to us as Patsy .Uncle Cyril was a sailor. We shall have more to say about them in Chapter Seven – Singapore Years.

My Dad brought my Mother to Malacca after the marriage. The immediate years after this are quite opaque. Among other things I was not yet around. I believe they first lived a Pangkalan Rama possibly with the Pereiras. My Mother, as the years narrated here were to prove, was a woman of great resilience, with an extraordinary ability to survive adversity. I have no doubt that my Dad soon found she was the backbone of the family. I believe he was happy for her to influence all strategic decisions. She soon settled down getting to know the many Chetty

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Malacca relatives and families, both the influential and the poor. She had of course first to learn their language. She quickly won their respect. She also built a sizeable circle of friends among the Eurasian and Peranakan families. I know for a fact that Mum and Dad continued to enjoy their social life with the plantation communities. Not surprising my Dad soon found himself persuaded to trade his motorcycle for a car. His first car was an Austin 7.soft-top, registration No. M. 353. It enabled them to spoon around and party freely in a widening range of plantation homes. Nearer to town, Sanasee remembered fondly that my Dad and Mum used to visit Meringu Lane, tooting the car’s small trumpet like air-horn, and that they used to take the Sundrum family for drives. Somewhere in the first three years, my Dad got allocated the newly completed government quarters, at 9 Barrack Road, Garden City. It must have given my Mum great joy, for she could at last build her own home.

Not long after that I came along to complete the family. But I was a bit of a problem. I took three years coming. Finally I was born on 2 Dec 1934 at the newly completed Malacca General Hospital by caesarean operation, under the skilled hand of Surgeon-Doctor Day who I am told - and who told me so personally afterwards as a toddler.- took personal pride in my arrival. I was to be their only natural child. Ours was therefore a one-child-family in the early years.

Happy Years at Barrack Road

The pre-war years were a happy time, as the little Pillay grew up to be the apple of his parents’ eyes. They encompass the period from Dec 34 to Dec 39, as I grew from nothing to complete five years. reinforced by my Mother.. The overall thread of this narrative is about my Father Odiang. But much of the specifics relate to the doings of our family. The narrative relies on an amalgam of my recollections, given body by later knowledge, as they stand out in my mind today. To these I have added hindsight, and touched the whole with loving fondness. Not surprisingly, a good deal of the recollections throughout is about my Mother and of course my own exploits. As might be expected, these memories tend to be fragmentary and episodic. Some dear stand-alone memories go back to my third year, but most of what I describe in the following this chapter would have been from my fourth year (1938) and fifth year (1939), There is not too much about my Dad’s outside his career, except as seen by his adoring family. I know my Dad would have liked it this way

It was a time of Pax Britannica. There was peace and order. There was a quiet calm about the place. Life was idyllic, as life should be. People stayed in the shade after lunch. They waited for the afternoon sea breeze to cool things down before they went out - unless of course there was a small thunder storm instead. At home, this was the hour for Mummy and me to take our nap, and to read and play in bed. It was the lovingest hour of the day. This was the time before homework was invented. It was before the radio and television, and before the two o’clock afternoon serial. People of different groups accepted one another, attended each other’s weddings and festivals, and indeed married one another. Malacca provided the simple amenities a family needed. There were doctors and dentists. There were sinsehs and silk stores. There were jewelers, markets and mosquito nets. And there was the klentong2 man. There was even the Malaca Library. Malaccans enjoyed opportunities for both education and employment. The economy was humming quietly. People could move back and forth safely, even to Singapore, Kuala Lumpur and Penang for

2 An itinerant salesman, invariably a Shanghainese wearing a cock-hat, who rode by on a bicycle with a large bundle on his rear carrier. In it were an incredible assortment of lace and embroidered items of cotton, linen and silk - garments, bed linen, pajamas, table cloths, towels, handkerchiefs, ribbons, threads and shoe-laces, buckram, buttons and beads.. He announced his presence by twirling a little drum on a handle, like a lollipop, which had two round balls attached by string to either side of the drum, and which made the characteristic sound ”klen –tong, klen-tong”, by which we knew him. There was much bargaining and buying down the street, but there was always something in the bundle for everyone. Needless to say, most of the housewives placed orders through him direct with the best manufacturers in Shanghai. And enjoyed handsome credit arrangements.

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work, business or leisure. They were in touch with the rest of the world. However, rumblings of a future war did not yet dissturb their lives. Except for work, the English lived in their own world, with their own clubs and institutions.

.

My Dad continued to work as Chief Clerk at the Malacca Volunteer Corps (MVC). With wife, son and car, you could say he was settled. My Dad was about normally dark, He lacked any hint of sallowness sometimes found among those with some Chinese antecedents. He was as brown as a nut. Well-built, he stood five feet seven inches tall, with a vigorous shock of black wavy hair kept short and combed back. He dressed for work daily in a white khaki suit, complete with a buttoned-up coat and tie and a white cork-hat. This was standard for government officers of his rank in colonial service. My Dad carried a walking stick, as was the fashion of those days, - a Malacca cane of course. He loved to go for walks; mercifully he left us out of this. We preferred to go for drives – “to the countryside, as he put it”.. I remember he played some tennis, but it was not a big thing with him. I vaguely recall that he did smoke but sparingly, a pipe when he felt special; but it was not an item which became identified as a part of his personality. One thing I noticed from very young was that he took his religion very seriously. We said grace before meals, we had an altar at home, and we said the family rosary nightly.

My Mother

My Mother was Eurasian, and also a Catholic. She had a fair complexion, best described as combining the creamy colour of the Ceylon Burgher with the darker brown-red of the Portuguese Eurasian. A good looking woman, she stood about five feet three inches, slim and statuesque. She wore glasses. I seem to remember being proud that she always dressed well. She wore court shoes and stockings. much of the time. I liked going out with her. Dresses were longer in those days, down to mid-calves. On more formal occasions, such as for Sunday mass, she would wear a hat, and use accessories. Whatever she did use, they looked good on her. I doubt if my Dad could afford real pearls or diamonds at that point. I remember spending hours with her at the haberdashery as she worked her way through the latest collection of hats and personal effects. Like all women in a small town, she knitted and did her own sewing. Her Singer represented industrial technology at its most advanced in our home. She naturally had a tailor, more than one I think, whom we visited regularly.

She was 19 when she married Dad. She came from the big city and was already enrolled in a career as a teacher. When she married, she gave up all this. The transition to the Malacca environment could not initially have been easy. First there were her new family, of a different ethnic community, religion and culture. For starters she had to learn their language. This was also necessary for access to the Peranakans, as well as survival in Malacca. Then she needed to get comfortable with her new social milieu. These would be Dad’s friends, work colleagues and peers - and their families. She kept a stylish home, at my Dad’s level of income. He was strict about the latter. I know she always felt a need to find out the secret recipes and match the culinary standards found in other Malacca homes. So she took up cooking lessons. In the end, she served a very respectable table. From those days, her trade mark was a warm hospitability. She was the heart of the household. She was happy to welcome my Dad’s relatives and friends, and over the years my friends, as they will attest to if they read this. There were always people in our house.

My Mother was a literary person. She subscribed to book clubs and reading circles, The house was never without a cross-word puzzle. She read to me of course, and I soon developed the reading habit, one of the benefits of being the son of a teacher. What I remember most about her was that she would never be without an exercise book and pen when reading. Whenever she came across a beautiful passage, usually a description, she would copy it down in her exercise

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book. She had a wonderful collection of these exercise books at home. I got to love reading them. She encouraged me, and from time to time I began doing the same. This habit of hers, which I associated with her training as teacher, did two things for her. Firstly, it gave her an elegant and cultured command of the language. She spoke and wrote well. Secondly, she had remarkable handwriting, strong and poised. It was a joy to read. She retained these qualities into her late years, even when her mind began to fail.

Earliest Memories

I tried to recall my very first memory. Luckily, I had no difficulty there. It was Donald Duck, which my Mother knitted for me. At that point in time, he stood as tall as me, He became my inseparable companion, until we went to war some years down the road and were parted from each other. My Mother got him from a knitting book. Mine had light blue trousers, a red court, a yellow-and-white striped vest .and beige shoes. He wore no hat, and his head and body were white, except that he had a rakish beak which was also beige.

Not long after my arrival, we added to our number Ah Sum, a traditional “black and white” Chinese amah, who looked after me mainly. She was a little lady, barely five feet, whom I loved and who loved me. Most of the time she got her messages through to me by a mixed fusillade of Cantonese endearments and imprecations. As I grew bigger, she was often seen to be running up or down the length of Barrack Road looking for me, at the same time calling out “Ya LI, Ya Li!” ( her transliteration of my name Gerry). I cannot remember when she left our service. It was probably around 1940 when the winds of war were in the air and I began kindergarten, to return to China.

At one stage, we also added a pet to the family, incredibly a little monkey. The epitome of mischief, he was installed in residence (mainly tied) under the stairs. His principal delight was grabbing the legs of Ah Sum as she came down the stairs, usually carrying crockery of some kind. We used to be tickled by her shrieks and oaths (in Cantonese of course) each time he did this. This pet however outlived his welcome when one day he got loose overnight and decided to tear up the hood of my Dad’s car to shreds. He was never heard of again.

We were one of the earliest families to move into Garden City3, of which Barrack Road formed part. Garden City was a smallish estate of new government quarters. The best landmark to where it was is St John’s Hill, about two miles from Malacca town centre, south along the coast road. On it still stands St John’s Fort built by the Dutch in the late eighteenth century for landward defense. When you reached the Malacca Prison at the foot of the hill and turned right, you were in Garden City. This access road went straight through to the sea. Fronting the sea, there were six large bungalows for very senior civil servants. Further back, the access road (I think it was actually called Garden City Road) had short lateral branch roads on either side serving rows of two storey terraced quarters. One of these was semi-circular and hence called Circular Road. Ours was the first branch road on the left from the prison and was called Barrack Road because we bordered and faced a large Police cantonment with single storey barracks and a drill cum football field in the centre. It happened that the field was located directly opposite our house which was No 9 out of a row of 12.units. This allowed us a quiet, restful and unimpeded view of St John’s Hill, which began immediately on the other side of the field, day and night.

Garden City was only partially completed when we moved in, and sparsely populated. In and around my third and fourth year, while I was still under restrictions from wandering far on my own, I became friends with Ah Leong. He lived right next door at No 10. He was also an only child, was

3 Garden City no longer exists. It was given over to re-development in the 1980s This description of it in the 1930s is historic and nostalgic especially for the septuagenerians and more who played with me on the roads, playing fields, and on the sea shore and who read this. Othere may skip it.

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exactly the same age as me, and was subject to the same prohibitions from wandering off too far. We however got permission to visit and play in each others’ homes on our own. We had a minor problem at first. Ah Leong could only speak Teochew, and I only English. We both overcame this rapidly. In a short while I became fluent in Teochew. He also picked up English, but the latter was not really necessary. We simply carried on in Teochew. I remember my favourite game with him was “playing house” under my Mum’s bed, blocking off all external interference from our secret going-on, by barricading ourselves with pillows and blankets all round.. With a two house set-up, we could do all sorts of things and keep out of the way of both mothers, We could even smuggles things across via the low back roof behind the bathrooms, One other detail I shall never forget is the song “At The Balalaika”. Ah Leong’s father, Mr. Teoh Boon Hin’s passion was ballroom dancing. He was always trying to perfect his tango at home. To do so, he played this record – on an 78 rpm gramophone. Whenever we heard this tune, we knew he was working on it. Throughout our lives my Mother and I would smile at the memory wherever we heard it. This wonder-world of our childhood lasted until we began to go to kindergarten and our parents began to take us with them to associate with other children of their growing social circles. Finally it dissolved with the war. We would re-connect immediately after the war when we moved back to Barrack Road, and subsequently at difference points and times in our lives. He will emerge again and other things about him will surface about this remarkable fellow as we go along with this story.. At this point, I want to say he stands as my longest friend . We are still connected, now over 74 years. He has settled in Hawaii, and is married to Lena. Retired from a career in architecture, his current pre-occupation is badminton. At 77 years, he is the US National Veterans Badminton Champion – no joke!. He follows the international badminton tournaments, as drops into Singapore, Malacca and Kuala Lumpur from time to time. We are in communication by email. Ah Leong was the first person to whom I sent a copy of the preliminary release of this history outside our family.

Family Friends

My Dad and Mum had a growing social circle. Relatives apart, our closest family friends during this period were the De Sousa’s. They lived off Koon Cheng Road, basically a hop, a skip and a turn down Bandar Hilir Road. The De Sousas were of vintage stock, of long Portuguese descent, a grand cru among the Eurasian families, Mr. and Mrs. Raymond De Sousa were highly respected in local society and a lead family in the Catholic community. They had three daughters, Dorothy, Girlie and Teresa. Aunty Dot was strikingly handsome, with her curly hair pulled back severely in a bun and light-rimmed glasses. Everything about her was severe. She never seemed to smile and spoke to me only to issue commands. I think her idea was to be fearsome, and she succeeded. Yet Aunty Dot remains for me one of the most unforgettable women in the world. Even at this time in my life and from my memories at the tender age of five, I aver, protest and proclaim that she was and remains absolutely the best cook in the world. Everything she touched turned to gold, What I can never forget were her crusty pies, baked in deep pie-dishes and served piping hot on the table. I was to meet her once more in the early 1980s, when I visited her home in KL. She had become Mrs Menasse. I got invited to dinner. It was heavenly. Aunty Girlie I knew and came to love well. She became my baptismal godmother, and used to spoil me. (Aunty Girlie moved to Singapore after the war and was married to a well-known journalist of the former Singapore Standard, the late Mr. Collin Fernandez. They had one son and one daughter. The latter, Olga, I last met in the 1980s in KL where she was singing at the Lounge in the Regent Hotel.) Theresa was in her teens. We did not come to know each other. The De Sousa’s had two sons. Uncle George was my godfather. There will be more to say later about him, his family and how they helped us during the Japanese occupation. The last brother was Clare. I only got to know him later in Singapore All the seniors have now passed away and I have lost contact with the next generations. My most memorable escapade was one day to take off from Barrack Road and run the whole distance to the De Sousa’s home. Ah Sum and my Mum were in a fit when they finally found me. It was one of the few occasions my Dad pulled off his belt to administer the requisite punishment for the offence. I never did that again.

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The other family my parents were close to were the Le Fabres. They were a Ceylon Burgher family who at some point moved into No 8 Koon Cheng Road, even nearer to Barrack Road. I never met Mr. Le Fabre, who looked after a rubber plantation. These were exceptionally beautiful people. Hailing from Ceylon, Mrs Le Fabre was a fabulous cook. She too wore her hair pulled back in a bun, with a monocle that never failed to spot you if doing something wrong.. She also had three fabulous daughters. The others were outside my age range, but Hyacinth, being around ten or less, was just right – if I stood on my toes and pretended I was five instead of four. She was very friendly towards me, which was very flattering, and so I took to her. Now that I am re-capturing events in perspective, I think it could be at this point I began to realize the difference between boys and girls, and quietly saw less of Ah Leong. I’ll have to ask him when next I see him if he noticed it. Perhaps he was growing up too. After the war, in our family were to stay at the Le Fabres’ house in Sentul, while on a holiday in KL, when I saw Hyacinth again. I would visit her yet again and have dinner at her home, this time as Mrs George Hesse, in Perth in 1985, where I had been invited as a key-note speaker by the West Australian Government to an international conference. The Le Fabres had two sons, Cuthbert and Malcolm, both of whom would settle down in Singapore. Cuthbert became my ballroom dance teacher. He was positively the most graceful person you would ever see on the dance floor. Sadly, most of the seniors have passed away, and the next generations are out of touch.

Chetty Malacca Community

Throughout the early years, as my very earliest memories recall, our family stayed in close contact with our Chetty Malacca relatives and friends, making regular visits by car. Apart from Meringu Lane, we frequently visited Mama Embong (B. S. Naiker) and several of the families at Kampong Tujoh, Gajah Berang, where he lived and at Kampong Pantai off Tranquerah, as well as his peers working and staying in other parts of Malacca. So as not to repeat myself, I have decided to present a series of snapshots of the Chetty Malacca families I came know before and during the war in a consolidated section at the end of Chapter Five.4

Sometime pre-war, when I was reasonably grown up to remember, probably in 1938, we took a trip to Singapore where we stayed at the home of the late Mr. M. T Pillay (or Uncle Baba as I lovingly knew him.) then located at No 10 Ceylon Road. These days, it is a vacant plot with rubble from its previous bungalow. The Eurasian Association premises stand right beside it. During the war, it received a direct bomb hit. Luckily no one was inside, Uncle Baba was known as “Baba Pantai”’ and I believe came from Kampong Pantai. In his household were two very distinguished and venerable persons, Mama or Topeh Dollah and Nenek Jambol, brother and sister. The latter was Uncle Baba’s mother in law. Again, as I understood it, they were related to one Chellong, I was never quite either to work out the exact relationship between My Dad and Uncle Baba, beyond that at some point they grew up together, they were close like brothers, and described themselves as second cousins. In the course of time, we would be living with Uncle Baba when we first moved to Singapore in 1949. In fact during the Japanese occupation we would be living in Gajah Berang. There will be more to tell about our Chetty Malacca community during those years at the end of Chapter Five – Memories of the War Years and the Japanese Occupation.

The Volunteer Tradition

Historically, we inherited it from the British. Volunteering had and has been an adjunct of their way of life ever since that nation began engaging in defensive and offensive warfare The primary

4 See “Chetty Malacca Community in the War Years”, at Pages 119 - 122

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function of the volunteer forces has been as the “home guard:” However, in times of war, they have been required to support the imperial forces both locally and overseas.

The pioneer volunteer unit was the Straits Settlements Riffles Corps formed in 1854. It was disbanded for lack of membership and re-formed as the Singapore Volunteer Artillery in 1887. By 1901, its diverse units were re-organised as the Singapore Volunteer Corps.

An attempt to form a unit in Malacca in 1907 failed, until 1915 when the Malacca Volunteer Corps (MVC) came into being. During this period detachments were also formed in Penang and Labuan. Non-Europeans were first enrolled in 1915. The Singapore Volunteer Corps, the Penang and Province Wellesley Volunteer Corps, the Malacca Volunteer Corps, and the Labuan Volunteer Defence Detachment were amalgamated in 1922 to form the Straits Settlements Volunteer Force (SSVF).

In 1928, the SSVF infantry was further structured into 4 battalions. The 1st and 2nd battalions consisted of members of the Singapore Volunteer Corps (1,250 men), the 3rd battalion consisted of the Penang & Province Wellesley Volunteer Corps (916 men), and the 4th Battalion the Malacca Volunteer Corps (675 men). Besides the infantry, the SSVF included support and service units.

Similar developments took place in the Federated Malay States. The first unit formed was in Selangor in 1902, followed by others. These were consolidated into the Federated Malay States Volunteer Forces (FMSVF), comprising 5 battalions in all, plus again supporting units. The units were based in their own states In time, volunteer units would grow in the Unfederated Malay States, though not to the same extent.

The MVC itself comprised four companies, one each for Europeans, Eurasians, Chinese and one mixed. The Chinese company was B Coy. Not surprisingly, in colonial times, the commissioned officer ranks were mainly European, drawn from the planters, miners, engineers, doctors, civil servants and the business community; these officers held a Governor's Commission instead of a King's Commission. The British in particular always felt a patriotic obligation to join. The warrant officers and other ranks were mixed and drawn from a wide cross-section of the local population including teachers and office workers. The world was comfortably divided in those days in an “upstairs and downstairs” setup, which no one felt a need to cross.

MVC days

My Dad must have taken over as Chief Clerk of the MVC as part of or very soon after its re-organisation as the 4th Battalion of the SSVF. He would have participated in the local tide of events associated with the development of the other volunteer units in Malaya.

In Malacca, people liked being soldiers part-time while retaining their civilian jobs it was fun, recreational, provided training in useful skills, was not dangerous - and somewhat patriotic if one was that way inclined. People joined because they liked the uniforms, the parades and the weaponry. Above all, there was the comradeship in the mess and in the field. Volunteer service led to recognition by employers and promotion within the ranks. It also paid an allowance. It was a thriving activity, and its Chief Clerk was a busy man. I venture to say that the enlistment strengths were determined by the budget, not the level of response.

During my Dad’s time, the MVC had its own camp, a sprawling modern complex housing its headquarters, messes, barracks and support facilities. This was located across the road right in front of St Paul’s Hill, adjacent to the Malacca river and its wharves. While it engaged in its military activities, the MVC also served as the club of choice for both outstation and local

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volunteers, in a time when such facilities were few for the British and none for locals. Needless to say, it was popular with officers and soldiers from units posted to outstation camps.

The job suited my Dad. It provided a corporate framework to his work. I think he was comfortable in the organised conduct of military affairs. I am sure he liked the formal style and embellishments of regimental life, in the need to be always correctly dressed and polished up, to address and be addressed as Sir, and to be punctual. My Dad was always “Tuan Pillay”. In peace time, the Chief Clerk was the day to day centre of authority, and combined many duties. Apart from being the commandant’s administrative right hand he would largely deal with all budgeting with the local government. Within the unit, he would be the paymaster and the financial controller. The overall responsibility for procurements, logistics and audit would also fall under the Chief Clerk. My Dad also liked the MVC, because of the social side. As the senior civilian, he enjoyed the run of the messes, but unless invited he preferred the local messes. My Mum and Dad visited the messes quite often for drinks, and they used to tag me along. My favourite routine was to climb on to the bar stool, and be greeted “Hello Tuan Pillay.” My reply would be “Good evening, No15. a Stengah6, please” Everyone would laugh and I would be served a glass of ginger-ale, which I was taught to drink with my elbow raised and squared to the shoulder, like a true soldier. My Dad liked his Stengahs, but my Mum generally ordered a Brandy-and-Ginger Ale. I often ordered a Grapefruit-Soda, a Fraser & Neave soft drink, that sadly is now extinct. I was about four years old at this time, going on five.(1938). Mention must be made here of Captain Ali. He was one of the few local officers in the corps. Captain Ali was a great friend of my Dad and Mum, and frequently visited our home for dinner. We lost contact with him once war began and that was that.

I would like to mention here the Tanjong Kling Camp of the MVC, for it played a big part in our lives. It was located at the tip of the Tanjong (cape of that name. Besides residential camp accommodation and catering, it had rest-house level facilities for weekend family use. My Dad took us there very often, so much so that the swimming pool which we enjoyed became a permanent fixture in my dreams for a long time. We would often take the DeSouza and La Fabre families there for a day on the beach. The children would run all the way along the shore and its mangrove enclaves towards the city - right pass where the giant Hotel Riviera Meritus now stands. It you occupy one of the top level west wing suites of the hotel, you will look down exactly to the spot where we spent many beautiful Sundays. Among the unforgettable people in my life was Osman, the caretaker of the camp who looked after us with so much devotion and had always a special fondness for me.

Picnics and Outings

Given his association with the rubber plantations, the fact that he was always “wheeled”, ie had a motor bike or a car, and that he was part of the volunteer movement which was a mobile outfit and “pan-Malayan”, it is not surprising that my Dad was a strongly territorial person, exploratory by nature, and partial to adventure - though not excessively of the latter.. He was interested in experiencing places. He enjoyed taking his family and our friends along. We were often pleasantly surprised by him with “Let’s go....” We moved around more than the average family. 5 The staff establishment of a mess would normally be two or three persons or soldiers. The most

senior was always No 1, and would be accorded the rank of Sergeant. He commanded a lot of respect.

6 “A Stengah is a drink made from a half measure of Whisky and Soda Water, served over ice. It was a popular drink with British subjects in the early 20th century, in areas of the British Empire in Asia. The term derives from the Malay word for 'half' ´(Wikipedia). Editorial note: The measure used was generally the peg, about 60 ml.

..

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Odiang: Chapter Three – The Pre-War Years

My Dad particularly liked to have picnics. Besides the camp he would from time to time take us to Pantai Kundor, a few miles beyond Tanjong Kling. It is a well-known venue of the annual Malay Mandi Safar7 festivities. Here we would find a quiet cove among the granite boulders, with white sand and gentle lapping waters. And here, shaded by coconut trees and rhizophora, we would picnic, with mats, pillows, and pots of curry, swimming and eating to our hearts’ content. In the afternoon, there would be the obligatory nap, before having tea with sandwiches, kuays, bubors and pengats. As dusk settled in, we would leave for home, tired and happy. Sometimes he would drive us to Tanjong Bidara, some 30 miles from town past Tanjong Kling, where the sea was finally beyond the reach of the “Malacca mud” deposited by the Malacca River and the water was clear. Today, this spot has been developed into a charming public holiday beach.

Nor did my Dad limit us to the beaches. I remember on one occasion he led us, in two or three cars, to spend a day in a plantation villa still being constructed, in the Alor Gajah area. On the way it started to storm heavily. A rubber estate can be a very forbidding place in a storm, for the cart tracks turn into vicious red muddy streams in which there is no traction. The there are fallen branches to fend off. We arrived exhausted having pushed our cars much of the last stretch. We spent the next hour just washing our clothes and ourselves and drying up. We ate in the still uncompleted and still dripping shelter. Later the sun came up to give us some fun playing bout in the soggy ground. We were better prepared for the return journey with sand, planks, shovels, etc and made better weather of it to the main road than we did to the estate bungalow. I don’t remember that we repeated the outting. Often, Mum, Dad and I went off on our own on day trips to the surrounding towns where my Dad had friends and colleagues. Thus, I recall that we visited Merlimau, Jasin and Alor Gajah, among other places.

Ayer Keroh

My Dad sometimes took us to picnic by the lake at Ayer Keroh. In those days, (1938 or so), it was a small segment of open water at the deep edge of an inland swamp which in turn was the water-logged periphery of a gigantic primary jungle (hutan rimbar). It was reached from the Malacca main road by a long, narrow and erratic cart track which at one point came by the lake on its way to the jungle. Except for the rare trailer heading in and out of the jungle with raw produce, the place was cloaked in a transcendental quiet of the jungle. I do not remember that there were any other people around each time we went there, not to mention other picnickers. Although its name meant “murky waters”, the long-ago fallen tree trunks and branches and weeds filtered the water to give us deliciously cold and pristine water to bathe in.

Today, the Ayer Keroh area has been developed into Malacca’s premier tourist play-land. Malaysia’s spanking great 6-lane North-South Expressway runs right alongside and through where our romantic the jungle used to be, The lake (Tasik Ayer Keroh) is still there, beautifully developed and looking very gracious and manicured. It lies between the Melaka Zoo and the Ayer Keroh Country Club, with the Ayer Keroh Golf course adjacent. Ayer Keroh is in turn connected to Malacca town by a widespread network of multi-lane motorways, The whole intervening countryside is connurbated, so that Ayer Keroh has become the southern gateway to “greater

7 “Mandi Safar is a Muslim bathing festival unique to Malaysia. This holiday, which is observed during the month of Safar, was originally believed to commemorate the last time Muhammad was able to bathe before his death. Muslims wearing bright colors visited beaches for a religious cleansing of the body and soul with water. There is no mention of the rite in the Qur'an (the Muslim holy book), and orthodox Muslims consider it nothing more than a picnic. It continues as a merry holiday. The best-known gathering places are the beaches of Tanjong Kling, near Malacca, and of Penang.” http://encyclopedia2.thefreedictionary.com/Mandi+Safar

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Malacca. There are of course many hotels and recreational resorts of varying grades in Ayer Keroh. There is even a gigantic Jaya Jusco about mid-way to town. My Dad would have been proud of what has been done.

On more than one occasion, he took us to Ayer Panas, It is near Ayer Keroh. It lies on the other (east) side off the North South Expressway, a few miles down the road. It was a hot spring and spa. There was a small hut in which one could bathe in the spring water. I could not establish whether it still exists, but I noticed from the maps that the area in its vicinity has been declared a nature reserve.

Malacca Mud

I cannot not mention our famous “Malacca Mud” All of us who have lived in Malacca know that the Malacca River has for generations brought down a lot of mud, which has been deposited on the shorelines on both sides of the river. This is a natural phenomenon, and I can understand that in time vegetation like mangrove will grow and bind the mud into new extended shorelines, while micro-organisms and brackish-marine life-from will integrate it with the sea. The Malacca mud flats are excellent living eco-systems, with mud skippers (ikan blodoh), crabs, snakes, and colonies of birds making a happy living for themselves. But I have always been puzzled by the quantity of mud. The mud on both sides of the town ( and I have lived on both sides) extends like cake (like kuay bajet) for half a mile or more from shore and gets deep the further out you go.. If you walk out on it, you need to have a boat or plank or float, or you can sink in very deep. I never experimented to find out how deep, nor heard any one doing so. There are of course shallower parts that the locals know about. The mud extends for almost 20 miles on either side of the town. Even at Kundor, the water is slightly coloured by mud. The river itself is choked with silt, likewise it mouth. The latter has a draft of about 10 feet at low tide with no current to speak of – I know, for I have swum and dived to the bottom when playing at the river mouth.. Malacca is called a port, but even coastal ships have to anchor about a mile out, and barges can only operate at high tide The water is murky and unsuitable for beach resort purposes. Finally I should mention that Malacca mud smells. You can get used to it. But you can pick it up anywhere on the shore at low tide.

How could so small and sluggish a river have poured out so much mud? I would like to see a study of this phenomenon. My second question is how did Malacca become such a famous and busy port, with all this mud? I found no mention of it in the literature and reviews I read about the Sultanate, Portuguese, Dutch and even British times. It seems ships had no problem coming up river into town It this is so, it suggests that the mud problems is of recent origin. I am not aware of any climatic change, failure in local sea currents or large-scale denudation of the hinterland that could have contributed to this deposition in the last 200 years. Lastly, it is possible that man has interfered with geographical shoreline processes that ought to have taken place, like aborting mangrove development, or changing the shoreline, etc.. Lastly, the son of the soil who discovers how to make economic use of all that mud will go down in history as Malacca’s greatest hero. The one who can stop or control the silting will probably be even more famous. So far, its main contribution to economic development is providing fill for coastal reclamation My First School Years

,The placid world of Malacca was, however, already evaporating. Even as I was learning my mess routines, I sensed the subsurface disquietude of war. This was inevitable as my child-world was partly military and I was immersed among people whose business it was. I seemed to remember learning at the mess one day (on 29 Aug 39) that the British Navy had taken over all ships. This was followed by the news a few days later (on 2 Sep 39), that Britain had declared war on Germany. Thus, as I completed my fourth year (as Christian will next week), and on my fifth birthday, 2 Dec 1939, Malacca was at war

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But suddenly I was five. While clinging to the endearing delights of childhood, I would step imperceptibly into the world of a boy. The first stage of the transition was kindergarten

As I think back to those days, I realise the many differences between what Christian is going through and things in my own time. There were separate schools for the different language communities. We belonged to the multi-ethnic English-educated community, which was urban. The education framework had already been set by my time. School began at Primary I, at the age of six, for all irrespective of background. Education was voluntary, and free. There was no pre-school as such. . This is not to say there was not some pre-schooling being offered for those who wanted it and could afford it, both private and institutional. It was a luxury for the privileged.

I was enrolled in the kindergarten class of the Convent of the Holy Infant Jesus (CHIJ), located at Bandar Hilir about a mile from our place. I have tried to recall whether I attended kindergarten for one or two years, but I cannot. What remains in the memory is that I attended kindergarten for one year. And so, I was five. It sobers me that Christian who has just crossed is fifth birthday – the same point in his life as me at that time me - has already completed two years of Nursery (N1 & N2) and one year of Kindergarten (K1), and will be into his fourth year in K2 next Jan before going into Primary 1. In my case, I was fortunate that my Mother made sure I learnt as much as I should in my pre-school years, so much so that I do not feel I was less “prepared” than Christian will be in two years’ time. But the gap for those stepping straight into Primary 1, who would be the majority in fact, would have been great. Put another way, in those days, they started from scratch.

My overall recollection of kindergarten was that it was “glowy” and fun. There were other kids to play with, sing with and dance with, in the lovely cloistered garden allocated to us. Being an only child this was a plus. We cut patterns and coloured pictures, and we learnt the alphabets and numbers. We all sat round a long rectangular table, with the teacher at one end. I seem to recall that our teacher was Miss Kitty Foch, who was my Mother’s colleague in Singapore. The only other name I recall with reasonable certainty was Jimmy Kessler. I seem to remember Ah Sum sent me and collected me back. All in all, my kindergarten year went by peacefully enough.

It was during this time that we got close to the family of the Frank Kessler. A long established Eurasian family of I believe English stock, they lived in an equally long house right next to the Convent of the Holy Infant Jesus along Bandar Hilir Road, with one end abutting the road and the other end abutting the sea. The Kesslers had four children, Albert, Carmel, Jim (my counterpart) and Rosemary. Afternoon tea in their front lawn-garden was one delightful experience I remember. Later, Mr. Kessler would in due course become my confirmation God-father. Mrs. Kessler was I believe te sister of Rev Father Frank Ashness, the fearsome and redoubtable parish priest of the Church of the Nativity, Katong.

The big day inevitably arrived. On Thu, 2 Jan 41, having crossed the threshold of six, I went to school. I was enrolled in Primary 1 at St Francis’ Institution, another half a mile further down Bandar Hilir Road. I remember my first ever teacher was Mr. Lim Keng Whatt. He was the anchor teacher and one of the legends of the school. Over the years, before and after the war, he taught just about everybody who ever went through Primary 1 at SFI. Everyone has a favourite story about him. I remember my first morning in class. He was going round getting every one to say their name - English. So, he asked each one of us in turn: “What is your name?” repeating the q & a a number of time in the cases of the slower ones for the lesson to sink in. When he came to a Chinese boy, obviously non-English-speaking, he did the same” “What is your name?” After the boy had repeated his name twice, on the third occasion, he got frustrated and shouted back at him: “Apa, lu pekak ka?” (trans: “What’s wrong with you, are you deaf?”). Otherwise, the year passed by smoothly. I distinctly remember I walked to school and back – I was big enough. Usually a group of us would do so, and of course we would play on the way. Strangely, I do not seem to have many detailed memories of first my primary year. One reason could be that at that age, children are too small independently to form friendships. It could also be that the children

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come from all parts of town and do not have the opp9ortunity to mix and play after school unless living in close proximity. I did not have Garden city boys in my class. The war was probably also beginning to cast a real shadow over us.

The mood in Malacca was still calm. But there were subtle changes in the air. Every German was now an enemy. At the City Park, ugly cut-outs of Hitler, Mussolini and Goering replaced the old faithful cat and clown in the shooting galleries. As the weeks went by, Tojo also appeared in the line-up. The grown ups listened in disbelief to reports and discussed Dunkirk and the fall of France, in May and Jun., and finally with pride the victory of the Battle of Britain in Sep. There was mounting activity at the MVC, of which I could not but be aware.

The news from the East was no less disturbing. By 1937, the Japanese actually invaded China. This got our local Chinese brethren severely agitated.. By Jun, they had occupied Indo-China. It was clear their objective was to capture Malaya and Singapore. . Suddenly the air was poisoned. Dr. Nakamura, our family dentist, and every Japanese person in Malacca, became a spy. The common subject of conversation was whether we, and in particular our British masters and protectors, would be able to defend the country.

The build up of troops for the coming war had begun. They were in town, and at the MVC, where there were the first serious concerns about mobilisation. No one had a more exciting first school year, although I do not remember much else about school itself.

.* * *

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