The Ford Files: Singapore, As Was, Part 2

The Ford Files

Singapore, as was, part 2

Scribe: WO1 (ASM) Robin Ford (RIP)

Turning out of dock gates onto the main road left me with an imprint on my mind never to be forgotten. The residential area around the dock was one, to my mind, a culture shock and alien existence. The human activity was difficult to take in, everywhere was street food stalls, merchant stall and shops but most of all was seeing all the domestic washing threaded onto long bamboo poles stretching across the road from house walls like gigantic bunting – an everlasting memory. In addition to this, there were numerous standpipes, taps and hoses, each one occupied by someone having a daily shower in public – men, women and children alike. Although something alien, I was to get used to it very quickly.

We made a relatively short journey from the docks to my posting location – 40 Base Workshop REME housed a massive complex known as Rowcroft lines on the Ayarajah Road. The whole of this area being virtually a military establishment, a self-contained village and a lot more beside. We debussed and were briefly instructed on our accommodation – some accommodation! Yet another culture shock, rows and rows of huts tiered on a steep embankment. Each hut consisted of no more than a slab of concrete and a corrugated tin box on top large enough to house some eight beds and lockers and an open ablution area at the end. There was no door nor windows, only open squares in place of windows. That was just as well as the design was to cope with the

Diamond T jeep Robin Ford (the author), far left

intense heat and humidity. I never felt uncomfortable in this tin box. This was to be my first word, one of many of the local Army vocabulary. The tin room was called a ‘Basker’ – don’t know why.

After my first night of blissful sleep after the stifling conditions of ship board confines, the new intake of draftees were mustered for the usual rules and frustrations and, as the only Lance Corporal in the group, I did the mustering. My second word in the vocabulary came next – I was a whitey from blighty as we all were. My account of Singapore in the fifties begins here with a walking tour of Rowcroft Lines. As has been written, this large complex was like a village. As well a living accommodation, there was everything, large cookhouse (no catering halls in those days), admin officer education course, theatre, cinema, sport fields, gymnasium and a medical centre and something foreign for English squaddies – prophylactic, open at night for lads who had been down town to visit the ‘ladies of the night’ – compulsory treatment, and finally the C of E Chapel.

Included in our two-hour familiarisation tour of the camp we saw many kiosks selling daily needs, Barbers, Tailors, Cobblers and a laundry, (never saw any squaddie ironing for the duration of my tour). All these kiosks were run by civilians; this marked the end of the ‘stroll’ and will not be forgotten. It was about 11 O’clock and when we stopped I realised I had never been so thirsty in my life or any time after – dehydration had caught me out, I felt so nauseous and would have killed for a drink. I did not have a clear cent in my pocket and desperately begged from a mate a dollar to buy a drink from a small shop. Stupidly I bought two bottles of Fanta and drank them both in desperation – wrong! Ten minutes later I was writhing in agony until I had the mother of all belches – bliss and relief. After that I often wonder what it must have been like for British POW’s under the Japanese in this climate deprived for days at a time of a simple drink of water. Why indeed should I feel sorry for myself?

So, over the next few days we ‘whitey’s’ received advice from everyone on where to go, what to do, taxi fares, bus fares, local customs and a thousand other items. It was my first weekend to go out and sample Singapore as was. It is appropriate here to fast forward to briefly see what Singapore is today. I say briefly simply because you, the reader, are able to simply press a button on a Google Earth App and visually walk around any part of the Island or

any road or street of the City and see for yourself. Previously, an island with some conurbation and residential areas were covered by such a lot of lush, deep green bush and in parts a penetrable jungle, is now a concrete jungle with masses of high-rise dwellings where Kampongs (villages) existed. Dozens of McDonalds where street food stalls assembled. Toys R Us, a modern metro system instead of a rickshaw ride. Now a stunning spectacle that aspires – press the button and see.

Back to the past where Rowcroft lines dominated the area along with two large sprawling REME workshops, base workshop and Singapore District Workshops. On a week day hundreds of civilians bussed in from the environs so Rowcroft Lines was certainly one of the main employers. It teamed with Chinese, Indian and Malayan civilians who took their place amongst British civilians and military personnel. But the thing was when you moved out of the perimeter you were in a great percentage of green covered hills and suburban life – a scattering of organic built huts in Kampongs. The area was dominated by a hill with a road circumventing it, known as the Gap, which was the gap to the Southern shoreline whose road there went straight into the city via the docks.

My first foray was down to the area known as Alexandra, the main feature being the British Military Hospital (BMH). In its time a stateof-the-art facility and equally a place of infamy at the commencement and during the Japanese occupation. In addition, Alexandra was in itself a garrison where, to my pleasure, I was later to be posted. The military presence attracted a lot of civilian life in the form of numerous merchants, full Kampong of Malay attap homes, so incongruous being so close to colonial existence. It sported the equivalent of a modern food court large gathering of gas lit stalls selling eclectic food on banana leaves and placed on crude bench tables – superb. I quickly became attracted to the mouth-watering choices and epicurean smells, this and the Chinese curry, served

Singapore river A very busy Singapore street

every day, as a choice in camp caused me to become addicted and I binged out in my first week there. But after only four days I became ‘addicted’ to the inside of the toilet door and to the Army Form Blank SH1T (toilet paper to you), so I had to abstain from all things in moderation.

Everywhere I experienced new curious and even great activity. One outstanding item was being consistently passed by a wizened Chinese cooly type with a bamboo pole, with large square tins hanging from each end (ex-military food containers). I was quickly enlightened that these were the Honeymen – council sanitation to you, you guessed it. These tins were full of undiluted human waste (posh terminology), being constantly disposed of, where I would hate to guess. More than once I heard of squaddies mischievously kicking one of the tins carried by a passing Honeyman so that he spun like a helicopter rotor blade spilling the contents across the road – funny, but not funny.

Having moved a mile up the Ayer Rajah Road to Alexandra Barracks, I spent the most of my three years there. This was one of the best locations to be for all the amenities and the bonus of local life. Just to visit ‘The Alex’ (BMH) for whatever reason was a pleasure with its wide open and manicured lawns, it felt rather like an oasis and watching the Indian labourers maintaining the lawns was of great interest. Instead of mechanised mowers there would be a gang yielding sticks the length of a golf club. Affixed to the end was a six to nine-inch blade. Each man would spend the whole day swinging the ‘club’ in an arc over his head and just slicing the grass at the right height – all day, every day probably for a few cents an hour, a legacy of the days of the Raj. Occasionally you would see one guy jump to avoid some venomous reptile getting too close to their bare feet. On my last visit some years ago the lawns were gone, it now has a beautiful tropical garden which, in itself, gives great pleasure.

To be continued in Part 3…