Two of Us - On Our Way Home.

Our good friend Jack has been over on most recent Saturday evenings to watch a very interesting TV programme on "Wild China".  We would share a small supper and after the programme, Jack and spouse would  depart to the latter's study where the two of them would go surfing YouTube for Opera songs,  not the fluffy modern singers like  Katherine Jenkins and Il Divo but the ones from the 30s, 40s and 50s like Amelita Galli-Curci and  a younger Maria Callas.     In the process they discovered a fabulous young tenor from the US called Lawrence Brownlee - Jack, an expert on classical singing, reckons he's the best singer around at the moment.....better than Luciano Pavarotti.

At about 11 pm we would walk Jack back to his house which is just 5-10 minutes away.  Before the three of us became old and decrepit it would have taken us just short of 5 minutes !!

Last Saturday, on our way home from Jack's, we bumped into our former neighbour and friend Doug.  He was walking home alone from Barry's house (about 20 minutes distance from his own house).   The time was nearly a quarter to midnight!   He was just as shocked as we were to meet up so late.  We told him of our trip back to KL and there was a hint of disappointment in his voice when he expressed his regret that we had shared only one get-together since we got back to Leicester.  You see, we had arranged for Doug to pop over for dinner five weeks ago.  But we, especially AsH, had a nasty infection for three weeks and everything had to be put on the back burner including our planned  return at the end of  January.

We got back home, we pondered and we agreed that despite our imminent journey we must have Doug over for a meal.  And we did just that two days ago.  And Doug was so pleased to share the meal and the time.  And we walked him home as well !

Douglas Holly and we went back a long way, since the mid 1980s.  He was then a lecturer at the University of Leicester School of Education.  I had applied to do my Masters at the School of Ed in 1983 when I was about to end my teaching contract in Brunei.  I waited and waited in vain for a reply from them.  Finally I had to call upon my former Geography Tutor who was teaching in Leicester University to make an inquiry.  He got in touch with his 'mature student' Frank Moule who knew a lecturer from the School of Education.  That lecturer was Doug Holly.

Now one could describe  Doug as an old-fashioned liberal - his political stand  would be very much to the left of centre.  He went to see the lecturer-in-charge of Admissions to find out what had happened to my application.  It seemed that this lecturer Dr RK  had chucked my application to the bottom of the pile, simply because it had come from Brunei!  Doug then called upon Morag Carsch who was in charge of one of the courses I was applying for.  They both looked through my 'suitability' and they both advised Dr RK that I should be given a 'yes' reply soon - before I  'relocated' to another University.  I did Doug and Morag proud because I became one out of two students to gain a Distinction in the M.Ed course.  And I did enjoy bumping into Dr. RK whenever  I could - just to gloat.

After the spouse and I got married we visited Doug at his little terrace house at Oxford Avenue.  We liked the cosiness of the Avenue  (and Doug!).   So sometime during late 1986 we bought No 10 Oxford Avenue and we moved in.    I could not think of a better and happier place to live in - our neighbours and the neighbourhood  were just perfect.  Today, sadly, as with most things, it has all changed - for the worse.

We were neighbours for 19 years.  We got on because on many political and social issues we had a lot in common.  However at the height of the protest over Salman Rushdie's  "Satanic Verses" in 1989, we discovered a chink in our relationship.  We could hear on that summer's day in 1989 loud protests against "Satanic Verses" and Salman Rushdie coming over from nearby Victoria Park.  In summer, most of us kept our front doors open.  From Doug's door we heard him shouting angrily against the protests from the Park.  His one sentence  "After all we've done for them!" shocked us.  "Them" referred to the Muslims!  And this came from someone who saw himself as a broad-minded liberal and a vocal supporter of multi-culturalism.

This made me realise that the white man's liberalism, anti-racism  and broadmindedness are really skin-deep. When it comes to Islam and Muslims, that entrenched hostility and insecurity which fills their religion, literature, history and  culture floats up to the surface - even for someone like Doug who sees himself as an atheist.

We decided we had to square this circle with Doug.  We went over to his house and had a civilized discussion about freedom of expression, about the pathological phobia of the West against Islam and Muslims and what we thought of Salman Rushdie the Wog, the darling of British culture and of the literati. It did not break our friendship - we were sensible, thinking adults and were willing to listen to each other.

That incident - and what I saw and heard in later years - pushed me to read and learn even more, especially about Christianity and Western history and culture.

Just after we got married, my father-in-law Professor  K.M. Buchanan posted me a little pamphlet ( from Wales where he was staying)  about what the West owed to the Arabs - in the field of mathematics,  philosophy, architecture, medicine etc. etc.   It was an eye-opener for me.  It only told me how ignorant I had been about the world , about my Muslim world.  I began my own journey into this world and the western Christian world starting with books by Edward Said , Noam Chomsky - and  V.G. Kiernan's "European Empires from Conquest to Collapse (1815-1960)."  For these discoveries I have to thank my father-in-law Keith and his son.

After that little fracas with Doug I articulated my frustration in a long essay about the context of the  "Satanic Verses" issue which I still store in my files.  I wrote a letter of protest to The Independent which was of course heavily edited.

From then until today,  my inquiry and my learning have not ended  The maverick and rebel in me became even more consolidated and tenacious.

As for Doug and us, our friendship grew stronger with the years.  We have a lot of respect for him.  He remains committed to CND, Friends of the Earth and the local Community Committee.  He has lived alone for as long as we've known him.  He has his family who keep in touch with him especially for Birthdays and Christmas but he leaves them very much to themselves and makes sure that he doesn't become a burden to them.  He is a keen solo traveller, has been round the world sans the frills and luxury, goes to the gym and takes a long walk in the English countryside  ( usually ending at the local Pub) every week - and he loves my cooking!

And Doug is 84 years old.

This has turned out to be a long posting when all I wanted to write was about our trip back to KL - arriving InsyaAllah on Friday 21 February - just a day short of my 70th birthday.

"You and I have memories - longer than the road that stretches out ahead."

 Anak si Hamid and Son of Buchanan have travelled a long way - physically and metaphorically - together,  and with people like Doug Holly and Jack Marlowe as inspiration we hope to do a lot more, InsyaAllah.

Vintage Eurasian and Malay Mavericks

Thirty five years is such a long , long time ago.  Margaret Thatcher started her reign in 1979, the Iranian Revolution shook the world in 1979, Anwar Sadat and Menachem Begin signed the Camp David Accord and Russia invaded Afghanistan.  I was blissfully unaware of these happenings because I lived and worked in Singapore where life was very predictable and comfortable, revolving around shopping, teaching and more shopping.  I even believed that Ronald Reagan, the President of the US was the next best thing after sliced bread!!  That was how politically idiotic and naive I was.

Then in 1977 I decided to deviate from the straight and narrow.  My career was careering nowhere and I decided to up sticks and get a job in Brunei.  This I did in February 1978.
Read  : http://anaksihamid.blogspot.com/2012/04/another-tale-or-two.html

And what a change it was!  I must say those short (compared to 10 years teaching in Singapore) years in Brunei gave me so much more - in the warmth and camaraderie of my colleagues -  Yvonne, Munah and later Asmah in Jabatan Ilmu Alam.

Yvonne and I were - I reckon- the only two women expatriates in Maktab Perguruan Sultan Hassanal Bolkiah Brunei.

MPSHBB  1981

When Munah  (Head of Department) and I went to the Airport as the 'reception committee' to welcome the new lecturer Dayang Yvonne de Souza, we had this picture in our heads and how we laughed ourselves silly over it.  We imagined a middle-age, slightly plump Eurasian lady wearing horn-rimmed glasses with a small short-strapped black handbag tucked under her arm!  Well, the ravishing creature we got caused quite a stir at the College, especially among the male lecturers.  During the first few weeks we would see a parade of men (married and single) strolling past our room to have a look at the new member of the Geography Department.  Some of the braver ones would talk to her, calling her Yonne because they did not know how to pronounce the 'v' in Yvonne's name.  Munah and I observed the show and had to gulp so many giggles.

The three of us and later four when Asmah came to join the Department, got on like a College on fire and built up a strong professional and personal bond.

We were more than just colleagues, we were mates.

Mike Bailey  (honorary member of our Girls' Club),  Munah and Yvonne

Yvonne and Asmah being stupid at my lunch table!

Eventually Yvonne and I left Brunei.  Munah and Asmah were both Bruneians - and have forged ahead in their careers and family life.  These two Brunei lasses are the finest of colleagues and friends I could ask for.  Unlike some female academics I have come across in Singapore and Malaysia, they are very warm and unassuming , no airs and no pretensions despite their family and educational backgrounds.  And they had been studying in England since their A levels!!  

Yvonne and I spent much more time together wandering in places like our student Sameon's padi field to take photographs and learn about dry padi farming in Tutong.

Sameon, his grandfather and little sister on the rice-threshing platform.

Yvonne and I also took on the task of drawing our own wall maps of Brunei for our teaching and for our teacher-trainees. They were the usual series : Relief, Land-Use, Transport and Rainfall maps.  No such maps were available for teaching.  Even textbooks on the geography of Brunei were scarce.  All four of us managed to cobble together a basic notebook on the geography of Brunei in Malay and English for our teacher-trainees.

My third year secondary school teacher-trainees.  To the right can be seen the wall maps we drew and at the back of the class we put together the 1:50,000 topographic maps of Brunei which we managed to cadge from Brunei's Jabatan Ukor 

By the early and mid-1980s we all went our separate ways.  Munah was transferred to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs,  Asmah was embarking on her Masters at London University with two little toddlers in tow.  Yvonne was beginning a new career  as a Librarian at a College in Vancouver and I went on to do my Masters at Leicester University and then settled down to life as an academic's wife.  How I relished that 'early retirement' - the great escape :

This is the spouse's vision of his escape from academe in 1988.  It was just the same for me  in 1986.

But I faltered in my decision and went on to teach at USM Penang from 1991-1993.  The students made those two years worthwhile but the administration and the system made me realise it was a mistake.  Teaching and teachers are just the same, wherever they are -  petty, unprofessional and even squalid in some parts.  I returned to Leicester and decided I must look up dear Yvonne.   

So in 1993 - 12 years after we said goodbye in Brunei - I went to Vancouver to renew old ties.  We spent hours regaling our mischief  and all the shenanigans we got up to when we were in Brunei.  And when we said goodbye at the Airport we hugged each other and said we must not wait too long for our next reunion.

But it took all of 20 years!!  

Dear Yvonne had been to hell and back where her health was concerned.  I had my ups and downs but nowhere as traumatic as hers.

And so after her visit to Sydney to see her mum and family, Yvonne stopped over in KL .  With Julian's kind help, he accompanied her to our doorstep on the evening of  Thursday 20 June.  It seemed like we had never parted - though time has ravaged us somewhat  ( but less so with Yvonne) ...... 

Still the best of friends.  Note Yvonne's glasses and Maznoor's mata sepet!

......  and we looked through the old photographs and College magazine - and we were back laughing and giggling at our wayward ways of the past.  This must be my bestest treat since the new millenium.

We said good-bye way after midnight , pretty late for folks who are over the hill in their 60s, and once again reiterated we must not wait too long for our next chinwag - perhaps in Vancouver, maybe in Leicester and who knows it might be in KL again.  InsyaAllah.

This has been the story of a loving, lasting friendship between two mavericks - this Eurasian from Kuala Lumpur and the Malay from Singapore.  And thank you Brunei for putting us - and Munah and Asmah - together.

  

A Heartfelt Thank You to Roslina, mother of AsK

Dear Ros,

I want to write this as a posting  as I could not publish your much-welcomed comment.  I've been blogging since  late 2008 at the behest of the youngsters in my family who want a record of the family story.  But I never,  in my wildest dreams, expected this 'bonus'- that because of my blog I would be re-united with Sumijah, a long-lost and dear old friend after 30 years.  And you, Roslina, made it all possible and enabled me - to quote you - to "share this precious link"  with Sumijah.  You further added: "Ahhh .. such a small world we live in now .. and the wonders of technology.."

But even the latest state-of- the art technology will not work if there are no human hands and hearts to make it move.  I am forever in your debt.

I think this was the photo that first  'alerted' you to my old friend.

This was taken on the eve of my sister's wedding at our kampung house at Kampong Abu Kassim, Pasir Panjang Road.  Sumijah is in the middle row, the first to the left, and I am next to her.  That was December 1965!!

We were schoolmates at Crescent Girls School. I think the two of us were the original inventors, not of the word, but the act of melepak-ing.  I would run away to Sumijah's house near  Angullia Mosque (it was then located off Orchard Road) whenever I wanted to ponteng lectures at the Teachers Training College.  I would do the same in her house in Brunei during the late 70s up to the mid 80s - whenever I needed  a shoulder to lean on and a good pair of ears to listen to my whingeing - and of course a snack of fried kropok belinjau - even though she was by then a married lady with two kids!  We lost touch when I left Brunei in 1984.

AsH and her students from Maktab Perguruan Sultan Hassanal Bolkiah circa early 1980s.

So you see Roslina, you have given us a wonderful gift, to facilitate the reunion of two dear friends.  And oh yes, I spoke to Sumijah yesterday.  Once again thank you.  I do hope that one day in the not so distant future, Roslina and Sumijah and AsH will be able to share a great chinwag over plates of kropok belinjau and mugs of  kopi kampung. 


   

Malaysia - 0. Brunei - 2.

The above marks the beginning of our  plight and long endurance at the Visa Section of  Jabatan Imigresen Malaysia.  Here are the gruesome details.


9.35  We left the house in a taxi to get to Jabatan Imigresen because I'm sick to the eyeballs of driving in Kuala Lumpur.
10.20 We arrived at Kompleks KDN Jalan Duta and joined the queue for the renewal-of-visa form.
10.51  We were given the form  and the allocated number.
11.30   The Computer Screen registered our number, and we submitted the application form, passport and relevant documents to Counter 12.  So far, so good - it looked very promising.
12.30   I saw our number again on the screen and proceeded to Counter 12 as noted.  I was wondering why 12 and not  Counter 9 which should have been the next stage.  At Counter 12 I was told off for being at the wrong place and told to go to Counter 9 for payment.  I showed my number slip, the cashier asked for $105 and gave me the receipt.  I was just about to go when another applicant asked to look at my receipt.  It was meant for him!   And the 'quick-thinking' cashier told him to refund me my $105. No apology, not even an indication of a shadow of shame and regret for such sloppy carelessness.

I was perplexed.  Was this some kind of manic musical chairs?  I asked very nicely, what happened to my application.  In a brusque manner she told me to sit down and wait.  I was not happy with being shoved from pillar to post.  I went back to Counter 12 and asked for some explanation.  He looked at me like I was an insect and said very rudely,  " I am dealing with Number 81xx and not yours."  He was effectively  telling me to go away.  I retorted,  "Then why was my number called?"

It took some doing for the spouse to get me to cool down.  We started waiting again  Then 2 hours later, at
2.30   we were directed to the venerable Counter 9 to make the payment.  We heaved a sigh of relief and knew that the Passport and Visa would be in our hands in an hour or so later.  Came 3 o'clock, then 4 o'clock - our eyes which were constantly looking at the Computer screen could not find our number.  Later numbers than ours were flashing by but not ours.

At 4.30, in his most diplomatic manner, the spouse spoke to an officer who was just passing and asked.  "Is there any problem with my application for my 3-days visa?  This is my number."  The officer started searching from one table to another and then to the office at the rear. Still nothing.  Then he saw a  basket in an alcove tucked away near Counter 7- the counter for Penyerahan.   In the basket there were about a dozen passports ready for distribution to their rightful owners and the spouse's was in that pile. Iain asked  "Mengapa passport saya di letak di situ?"   The officer said these were passports of those who did not come forward when their number was called.  I was seething by now  and under my breath I was uttering "Liar, liar liar".  Our two pairs of eyes had been glued to the Computer screen since half past two!!!   I was about to say just that to the officer but Iain pulled me away.  "Let's go home.  We've got the visa and passport."  The receipt in the spouse's passport registered  3.04 when the visa was given clearance!

By the time we left the building, the car park was almost empty.  Of course we could not flag a taxi because the place was shutting down.  In desperation we called for help from our lovely neighbour Zarinah.  She managed to get us a taxi and we, especially Iain, hobbled down the slope to get to the main road to wait for Pak Yusof's taxi.  We did not get home until nearly 6pm.

Hence this posting.  It was not too long ago when this Government Department committed the same kind of gross inefficiency and neglect.

http://anaksihamid.blogspot.com/2011/10/moaning-minnie-back-again.html

I reckon the slogan of "Rakyat di Dahulukan" does not apply in this part of Jabatan Imigresen because the 'clients' are all foreigners.  They are looked down upon because they are here as  recipients of  the Immigration Officers' grace and favour.  Most or almost all of the time, these foreigners are treated like second class humans, and sometimes spoken to as if they are dogs.  And I am not exaggerating!  These Immigration Napoleons know they are the 'durians' and can behave as nastily as they like to these vulnerable and hapless 'mentimun'.

As a Malay and Muslim,  I cannot help but wonder how do these Government Officers sleep at night?  Muslims are very scrupulous about "halal' and 'haram' in their food and attire, about dosa and pahala in their behaviour. Do they apply such strictures to the way they work or do not work to deserve their  'rezeki' and the treatment of their fellow  human beings?  I have seen kaffir Immigration Officers in Singapore and Britain and New Zealand and India who in most cases harbour a similar  attitude towards foreigners, but they do not treat such people with such rudeness,  disdain and contempt.  Budi bahasa and sopan santun  are dished out only to foreigners in hotels and shopping centres, not to those applying and renewing their Visa in Jabatan Imigresen Malaysia.


For the first time since April this year, the spouse- for a span of 8 hours- was not able to rest horizontally.  All of yesterday he found himself sitting, walking and standing to maintain circulation and keep the pain of the three slipped discs at bay.

There was a young Malay couple sitting in the waiting room near us.  I noticed her husband had a walking stick with a white band at the top.  Twice she offered her seat to Iain but he gently refused because too much sitting on such a low seat was very uncomfortable.  When the time came and he felt like sitting, this kind lass moved closer to Monil, her husband so that all 4 of us could squeeze into three seats.  At that time, until about 4.30, that room was packed with people, like sardines in a Made-in-Malaysia can.

We got talking.   Lo and behold, they were from Brunei where I spent 7 working years.  This was the country that gave me a job when I could not bear working in Singapore anymore.  We talked about Gadong STPRI, SOAS College, the market in the centre of BSB that had now been moved to Gadong, of Sungai Kianggeh and Tutong and Berakas beach, of  Lamunin, Ang's Hotel.  The young man Monil was undergoing treatment at Prince Court and they had to do this visa renewal every month.  Although their number was much later than ours they got their passports before Iain got his.

When they were about to leave, the young lass salam and cium  my hand.  Before that Monil invited us to visit Brunei and to stay at their house.  As my mother would put it, "sejuk hati' to be able to meet this lovely couple.  They are both Malay-Muslims like the Immigration Officers but they are Melayu Brunei.

That explains the title of my posting.



My students at Maktab Perguruan Sultan Hassanal Bolkiah, Gadong would perform this song for Concerts at the College.  The most striking line in the  lyrics:  Jangan tak Sopan, Orang Ramai akan Melihat.

Another Tale or Two.

.........  and to continue where I left off.  I was writing about the nail in the coffin that the Nanyang cabal at Jurong Secondary School had prepared for Miss Hamid.

But first, here are a couple of images from that inglorious era.  JSS had grand plans such as  running seminars during the school holidays to rejuvenate and inspire laid-back and browned-off  members of staff to be better teachers, to turn the school into the A-Team of Education.  That of course assumed that the teachers did not "know better" before this.  At thirty-two, I "knew better" : you can't teach an old dog new tricks.



Oh Yeah?  Tell us something new!

Blah! Blah! Blur! Blah! Blur! Blur .....zzzzzz

Of course every seminar must have a theme.


Towards Change for Betterment

 Remember, this was 1976 - so little old JSS was quite a pioneer in catchy slogans and self-advertisement.  But that "Towards Change for Betterment" was not my idea.   In response to the wishes and objectives of the gaffers the words were chosen by Mr J,  another  English medium teacher who was in JSS way before I turned up.   He was 'appointed' the general factotum for any task requiring the English language - doing tedious and time-consuming tasks that nobody else in the English stream wanted to do - like writing the minutes of every Staff Meeting.   Poor Mr J!  He 'co-operated' with the system because he was given the hope by those in power in JSS that they could help to expedite his application for Singapore citizenship.  Mr J. was from Johor.

By late 1976 and early 1977 I was feeling the strain of being a minority Malay in a minority English medium in an Integrated Chinese-English School  like JSS.  I was getting weary, having constantly to look out for my kids in the English stream, having to negotiate a way out of every nook and cranny of overt and covert discrimination.  This was like a re-run of my years in Yusof Ishak Secondary  School  (1967-1974)  when I played out the role of a 'bouncer' for the Malay medium kids vis-a-vis the English medium.

Sometime in early 1977 I responded to this advertisement  for teachers in Brunei.

I was called for an interview at Shangri-La Hotel on 12 April 1977.   In mid-1977 I was informed that my application was successful.  I got cold feet and tucked that letter away in a file.  They sent me another letter asking for my reply in November ( if my memory served me right).  I kept on thinking of  SLL's - my good friend and confidante - advice:  "Maz, as a Malay graduate, you won't go far in Singapore.  Your future would be better if you were just a factory worker.   If I were you I'd leave for Malaysia."

Well, as usual, circumstances and fate (?) helped me to make the right move.  Just a few days before January 2 1978, the beginning of the new academic year at JSS, I received a letter from the MOE (Ministry of Education) stating  that I had been transferred to ACJC (Anglo-Chinese Junior College).   I knew something sinister was afoot.   It was a plan that the Nanyang Mafia had drawn up to get rid of the craw in their throats.

In the first place, such transfers were usually given out weeks before the beginning of the new term.   This was like the rabbit that the Nanyang Mafia had pulled out of their hat.  Secondly, as a teacher in a Christian Missionary Sixth Form College, albeit one of Singapore's pukka schools, my future was doomed.  Moving you sideways meant that your upward mobility was extinguished.

I was told that during the first School Assembly at JSS,  no mention was made of the whereabouts of Miss Hamid, one of the school's Senior Teachers.  Usually the Principal would announce the arrival of new teachers and thank those who have been transferred.  I was quite simply airbrushed out of the picture.  I would  whenever possible, make several visits to the school to meet up with my former colleagues.  At times I would 'bump' into the Nanyang Mafia and their cronies on the school premises but they very quickly slunk away for an escape hole when they see me about.  I do enjoy re-visiting my /their sins!!


I dutifully reported for work at ACJC on 2 January 1978.  The day before, on 1 January I handed in my one month's notice of resignation to the MOE.  On that same day I wrote a letter of acceptance to the post of Education Officer in the Government of Brunei's Department of Education.

That transfer would be the biggest favour that the MOE of Singapore had given to me.

Syukur Alhamdulillah.

To be continued .......

An Exercise

He has been described as an English author, poet, playwright, composer, linguist, translator, literary critic, librettist, broadcaster, autobiographer, reviewer, a sometime sergeant-major, a school teacher and Manchester's finest author.

It was said he spoke fluently in 8 languages - Malay, Russian, French, German, Spanish, Italian, Welsh and English  and some Hebrew, Japanese, Chinese, Swedish and Persian.

Just because he was a teacher in MCKK (Malay College Kuala Kangsar) and Kota Bharu Teachers' Training College from 1954 to 1957 and he wrote the 'Malayan Trilogy' after his 3 years sojourn in the Peninsula, he has been accorded quite a celebrity status by our literati class.

From 1958 to 1959 he was teaching in SOAS  (Sultan Omar Ali Saifudin) College - a very brief stint - because he 'collapsed' in his classroom and was sent home to England supposedly diagnosed with a brain tumour.  But he carried on living and writing for another 34 years and when he died he left behind quite a handsome property portfolio - a villa in Provence, in Callian of the Var, France and an apartment off Baker Street, London and some other locations.

When I was teaching in Brunei, I met an elderly English Language lecturer who worked with him when he was in Brunei.  She said the collapse in SOAS College was a ruse so that he could escape teaching on medical grounds, without losing his perks.  I checked on this.  In the late 1980s  he admitted that it was a "a willed collapse out of sheer boredom and frustration".

This 'contrarian' was John Burgess Wilson ( 1917-1993) otherwise known as Anthony Burgess, an illustrious son of English literature and culture.  In some circles he's regarded as a  20th century version of Byron.

I had heard of AB but I must admit I'm not too fond of fiction.  When I was doing my Masters in Leicester, I came across this article by AB,  "From Kampong to Computer" in the Sunday Observer of April 1984.  As part of my coursework I had to prepare a Comprehension Exercise for EL2 students and this was what I did.

My passage for the exercise was AB's article in the Sunday Observer.  Here is an extract from that article.

As the reproduction is not too clear - the script is after all 27 years old - I thought it would be best if I type it out.

The Malay for Malaysia,  Tanah Melayu, means 'Malay Land'.  It is Eurasian,  Sikh and Chinese land as well, and you can add to the deeds of proprietorship other, smaller races, including Buginese
and such aboriginals as the Temiars and Negritos.  But the Malays call themselves the  bumiputra or sons of the soil, and they call their language the bahasa negara or national tongue.  Malaysia is confirmed as the country of the Malays, and this is causing trouble among other Malaysians.

I served in Malaysia (which the British then called Malaya) in the 1950s, when what had been a British protectorate was moving towards independence.  I went back two years ago to make a television film.  I noted changes, and these had much to do with the new assertiveness of the Malays.  But the physical impact of that lovely country remained much what it had always been - hot, humid, green, jungly, fruity, snaky, the yodelling of the bilal on his minaret, punctuating loud pentatonic Chinese song on the radio, the ringing of the trishaw bells, the hawking and spitting of the long fasting day of Ramadan, the cry of the fever bird.

In the days of Somerset Maugham, Malaya relaxed in the warmth of a May afternoon that seemed likely to last forever.  It was wealthy then as it is now.  Rubber had been taken from Brazil to Kew Gardens, and from Kew Gardens to the state of Perak, where it flourished and bled endless latex to be processed into tyres and contraceptives.  In that same state of Perak (which means silver), tin proved more abundant than the costlier metal.  Tamil immigrants worked on the rubber plantations; the Chinese came to mine the tin.  Both industries supported a commercial structure which fed cultural transplantations from India and China.

The Malays had nothing to do with either industry or commerce: they stayed in their kampongs, growing rice, catching fish, training beroks or rhesus monkeys to hurl down coconuts.  The British took care of secular government for all the races.  The Malays, whom Arab traders had converted to Islam, gave sultans and rajas to oversee the administration of Muslim law.  Islam and British paternalism supported each other in a bizarre compromise which worked.

I divided my exercise into four parts.  Section A dealt with  "How are you going to read?",  Section B with "Language Work".  Section C looked at "Using and Deriving Information from the Passage",  and Section D with "Making Judgements about the Passage".

This Comprehension  exercise was meant for EL2 advanced learners at Sixth Form, University and Teachers' Training Colleges.  I stated in the Teacher's Notes that the purpose of the Exercise is to "develop critical reading skills ..... so that the student will be able to evaluate and make critical substantiated judgement about the quality, value, accuracy and truthfulness of what they read".

In Section B, I  inserted a part on 'The Use of  Words'.

A question  in Section C served to illustrate the relationship between statistics and statements and its interpretation.

The question :

3.  Look at the table below which shows the composition of the people living in Malaya.

     a.  What are the main races in Malaya according to (1) the writer's interpretations and  (2) the statistics?

For Section D, 'Evaluation'  I stated in the Teacher's Notes :  "This section deals with an analysis of the passage beyond the syntactical and semantical stage of comprehension, an aspect of reading which has not been given sufficient attention at the ESL (English as a Second Language) level.  The paralinguistic elements of any language that is used as a medium or object of instruction has to be included within the scope of reading, a level of reading  'between and beyond the lines' ........ to help the student to evaluate and understand the writer's intent, however noble or ignoble."

                                                      SECTION  D - EVALUATION
Making judgements about the passage.

Part I.  Recognising the difference between a  FACT and an OPINION.

A FACT reports what has happened or exists.  Its truth can be tested or verified.  Example : Tottenham Hotspurs beat Liverpool City 5-0.
An OPINION does not aim to report but to classify and persuade.  It expresses a feeling of approval or disapproval.  Whether the opinion is true or false cannot be demonstrated.  Example: John drinks too much.

Which of these statements are facts and which ones are opinions?  Write next to the sentence F for facts and O for opinions.

Paragraph 1
1. The Malay for Malaysia,  'Tanah Melayu' means Malay land.
2. Malaysia is confirmed as the country of the Malays and this is causing trouble among other Malaysians

Paragraph 2
3. I served in Malaysia in the 1950s.
4. I noted changes and these had much to do with the new assertiveness of the Malays.

Paragraph 3
5. In the days of Somerset Maugham, Malaya relaxed in the warmth of a May afternoon that seemed likely to last forever.
6. Rubber had been taken from Brazil to Kew Gardens and from Kew Gardens to the state of Perak.

Paragraph 4
7. The Malays had nothing to do with industry or commerce: they ........monkeys to hurl down coconuts.
8. Islam and British paternalism supported each other in a bizarre compromise, which worked.

Part II.  There are several ways by which a writer can give a slanted account of his subject.

1. By using emotionally-laden words, e.g. Yesterday, four brave and courageous policemen braved gunfire to capture the ruthless gangsters.  CLUE: look for the adjectives.
2. Implication by association so as to give his statement authority. e.g. A politician who never talks about his war experiences but makes certain that he tells stories about them to his audience.
3, By generalistion, e.g. To commit murder is wrong under all circumstances. CLUE: Ask yourself the question, "What is the evidence?"

Write down an example for each style of slanted writing from the passage.

1. Emotionally-laden words

2. By association

3. Generalisation

Part III.  You are a Malaysian Malay student. Write a letter to the author explaining why you disagree with some of his views.

Part IV.  You are a TV film producer and you want to make a short film about Malaysia with the intention of promoting tourism in the country.  Write brief notes about the scenes you would like to show after reading this passage.

CONCLUSION

1. As to the part about making 'critical substantiated judgement about the quality, value, accuracy and truthfulness of what they read',  Brian Harrison - my lecturer - commented,  "a tall order".  I disagreed with him then.  But 27 years later, looking at the unquestioning imbibement and imitation of material from the print, electronic and celluloid world I have to admit Brian was right.

2. We are very proud that literacy rates have improved tremendously.  Today, more people can write and read, not like some of our parents (like my mother) and especially our grandparents.  We claim that many of our youngsters are bilingual and trilingual.  But how many of them are capable of reading between and beyond the lines?  How many of our schoolkids are actually just 'barking at print' and getting more and more  mesmerised by electronic communication?

3. Anthony Burgess was described as " a man who loves and knows language so well he can twist and reinvent it to his own purposes."  There are now many wordsmiths like him - both local and foreign.

I shall end with AB's words:  It is one thing to use language; it is quite another to understand how it works.

Fire of Love - Episode 2

..........Episode 1 ended when Maizie joined and made a name for herself in the National Cadet Corps at Yusof Ishak Secondary School.

Most of the pictures in Episode 2 represent  figments of the author's imagination.  It's a malady you pick up when you spend too much time in academia in an English Uinversity. 


Maizie could not and would not cook.

 AsH now has to set the record straight - the sort of task that we former children of the British Empire have to do .....only too often.  Although today in my country there are too many who were not touched by the Colonial System and yet have turned out to be moonlight Westerners.

Instead of cooking Maizie would act out her life as a Malay Cleopatra in Kew Gardens.




In 1975, Maizie was confronted with the realities of working with the ruthlessly ambitious Nanyang Mafia in Jurong Secondary School.  She decided to cut her losses and begin a new adventure in Brunei.

Maizie's work room in her flat at Anggerek Desa



Maizie took her second-year teacher trainees to Berakas Beach to study the effects of marine erosion.  It was not all fun.  They had to complete a work sheet at the end of the day. 



Maizie also indulged in starting a hobby for which she had no talent at all!

And  Maizie spent six  years with these lovely ladies- very happy, fulfilling years.

And so to continue with where we left off .............

 

This will have to be a cliffhanger  .......

Clocking Time (CsH)

Yesterday Sunday, we changed to BST (British Summer Time) when the clock was put forward by one hour.  Hence the time difference between KL and Leicester is now 7 hours.

In the temperate climate, time and season is closely interlocked with the ever-changing tapestry of our life.  The times for sunset and sunrise change  from week to week, month to month and season to season and that of course affects our prayer times. The duration of day and night undergoes the same variation.   Our levels of energy and activity change accordingly.  The longer days of summer give us more hours for work and play - rather more of the latter.  Shorter autumn and winter days make me mellow and restful - turning into hibernation mode.

Forgive me if I seem to extol the joy of living in the temperate zone - it is a privilege to be able to savour this experience and also to be part of the tropics.

When I settled down in Leicester in the mid-1980s I found myself in the company of Frank Moule, the spouse's student.  He was a painter and decorator who left school at 14 and had a lifelong dream to go to University.  He finally made it as a mature student when he was in his mid-40s.  The late Frank was one of the most remarkable men I've met and I have to write a special posting of him some day.

Because he had a family (with 3 children) to look after, Frank supplemented his student's grant with jobs during the long university summer vacation.  This time Iain got him to do some work in our house.  For his break, he would join me in the kitchen for a cup of tea and my home-made flapjack.  As usual in England, people love to talk about the weather and with Frank he went on to explain  the four seasons to me -to someone from the tropics.

I didn't want to tell him that  'Night and Day',  and the 'Seasons" were part of the Physical Geography syllabus for the GCE in Singapore.  I can't remember learning that at Crescent Girls School  but teaching those topics was a right old headache for me and especially for my students.  I know of some of my colleagues who simply circumvented that part of the syllabus. 

The tilting of the earth's axis, the two movements of  the rotation of the the earth on its axis (which causes night and day) and the revolution of the the earth around the sun (which takes up a year)  were concepts that were too complex to digest.  And when I tell my students that summer in the Northern Hemisphere happens when the sun is overhead at the Tropic of Cancer, winter is when the sun is at the Tropic of Capricorn they start to turn purple.  They become cross-eyed when they learn  about the Spring and Autumn Equinox when the whole world has equal nights and days.  By the time we got to drawing the diagrams to illustrate all these happenings - remember you get more marks when you attach diagrams to your answer - they almost go berserk!

But dear Frank gave me a beautiful and philosophical interpretation to that clinical study of the seasons in the Geography syllabus.  He saw the changing seasons as a vehicle of hope and inspiration.  For Frank, in the depth of winter you can look forward to the light and colours of spring and summer.  The arrival of the snowdrop in winter says you have just made it for the next change.  When the body tires from the long days of summer you know that autumn will appear when life will be mellow and restful, and come winter you can wind down and put your feet up.  Thank you Frank.

Time is the essence of our days and nights and seasons.  Clocks serve to remind us of our time, to regulate our activities and duties on earth.

My mother's clock

There is a clock in our house which is constantly on BST.  My mother gave me this battery-clock in 1980 when she visited me in Brunei where I was teaching at the then Sultan Hassanal Bolkiah Teachers' Training College.



Mak sewing at my Anggerek Desa Flat

That little clock has been ticking away for the past 30 years - a constant and soothing reminder from my mother of what I could and should be.

There was another special clock in my life.  Heaven knows where it had gone to.  It was my father's clock, a wind-up brass ship's clock.  He faithfully wound it every other day.

He passed away in 1974.  I rushed back home from my studies in  London knowing full well I wouldn't be in time for the funeral.

As I settled down with the family Abah's clock stopped ticking at 9.30 pm.  It was the time of his passing the night before!  I was in time, after all.

And now at 67 I do ponder about my life's ticking clock albeit sometimes only.

But I have promises to keep.
And miles to go before I sleep.
And miles to go before I sleep.           (Robert Frost)

InsyaAllah.