Remembering Mr. Kempson Wong

He must have seen me lingering by the classroom door where he was teaching  and he said out loud for all to hear,  "Maznoor, you've heard this story before.  Now get back to your class."  When Mr Wong gives you an order, you jump!

He was fierce, and one look from him would have us shivering with fear.  It was a cheeky habit for us to lean back and wobble on two legs of the chair.  For doing that, Mr. Kempson Wong would parade us in front of the class - and make us stand there balanced on one leg.  "You shall do what you did to your chair, using only half of what you've been given."  And I was the only girl to be put on parade.

But he was a great narrator of stories.  Our English lessons included 'story telling'.  Mr Kempson Wong would  sit on the chair, with all of us kids seated on the floor in front of him, and he would tell us a story without having to refer to a book at all. He did it so well, modulating his voice - the volume, the inflections, the pace and the pitch - according to the tenor of the tale.  His eyes and arms and hands and shoulders would move with the mood of the story.  He had us glued to the floor,  all eyes gazing in attentive rapture at his face.  What a teacher!

Our favourites were the stories from Greek mythology.  And the story of 'Jason and the Golden Fleece' had me skulking to Mr. Wong's next class just to hear him telling it all over again.  What a nut-case!

He was strict, he was fair and he made us push ourselves to the limit - especially for Arithmetic.

 Besides being my class teacher he was also in charge of my House, Keppel House.  I used to tag along behind him like a happy puppy during House Practice.

Red Arrow:  AsH.  Brown Arrow:  Mr. Kempson Wong
The caption reads - Keppel House - "The Champs" 1955  P.P.S.I

Back Row:  2nd from left Ang Hock Kee, 5th from left Ng Kian Ann, 6th from left Mr. Kempson Wong.
Front Row:  2nd from left AsH's kid brother Mustapha

In the autumn/winter of one's years we tend to look back on our springs and summers with nostalgic joy.
My one regret was my failure to say thank you to teachers like Mr. Kempson Wong, Mr. Chia Wai Chee, Mr. Chong Khim Siong, and Mrs. Tan Choon Lan.    In 1968, during my second year of teaching I went to Kaki Bukit Secondary School (if my memory serves me well) for a meeting.     I entered the Teachers' Common Room and there he was, Mr. Kempson Wong, right there in front of me!  We looked at each other, stunned.    And what did he do?

 He waggled his finger at me - just like the time he shoo-ed me to get back to my class - and  in his unforgettable crisp and powerful voice, he said,  "You are Maznoor! What are you doing here?"  The smile on his face was full of pride, just to see his ex-pupil from long ago.  I must have beamed like the bright morning sun - just to see my teacher again.

Like a magpie I treasure the memorabilia from days in Pasir Panjang English School.  And here, from my Record Book is  Mr. Kempson Wong's  notations on 11 year old Maznor bte Hamid when she was in Primary IV 1955.

Dear Mr. Kempson Wong,
Thank  you, sir.

Seksualiti Merdeka

If I was born in 1997 I would have a tough time right now coping with the pressures of being a female Muslim teenager, especially my sexuality.

There are all these early photographs of me ......... especially this one looking like a cool dude in my dad's shades, at the Singapore Botanical Garden when I was 4/5.

According to LGBT ideology this is most likely an indication of a non-female sexuality trying to 'come out' of the oppressed female/feminine Muslim's sexual ethics.

Should my parents be hauled over the coals for repressing my 'true sexuality'?  I think this is probably what they will say.

PARENTS:  Sometimes, in our culture .........

VICTIM-FEMINISTS'  WATCHDOG  (VFW):  You mean the oppressive Patriarchal Culture !!!

PARENTS:  ....... in the hope that it will catch, parents will dress up their daughter in boys' togs (mind you, not for all of the time) so that the next baby might turn out to be a boy.

And hey presto, it worked!  Mustakim was born giving them an ideal number of two girls and two boys.  Of course it's not as certain as going for a scan and then aborting the foetus if it's not the desired type.  After all, abortion is another much-vaunted human right like the right to happiness and freedom.  It has even been resorted to as a form of birth control for some busy women in Britain.

VFW:  What about this then? 

The scruffy kid on the right (front row) looks like a Hari Raya 1948/1949 version of Richmal Crompton's 'William'.

PARENTS:  Well, we can't stop her as she loves her boy's outfit.  We know she feels a little left out being the second child, stuck between the special first-born sister and the first son and the youngest one, you know, the second child syndrome.

But she seems comfortable and happy - we think she will grow out of it.  Children do go through such phases of wanting to be different, to demonstrate their distinct identity.

VFW:  What do you mean by that?  So you think that her dressing like a macho-male female is only a phase.  You believe that she could or would grow out of becoming a feminist/lesbian/transgender - that she will recover from this - like getting over a nasty flu?

PARENT (ABAH):  Hey, hold on a minute.  Where did you get the idea that a girl who likes to dress up as a boy is a budding lesbian?

PARENT ('MAK):  Abah, lesbian 'tu apa?

ABAH:  Nanti Chah. Nanti abah terangkan.

VFW:  How about this picture then?  She's now 15 and she's still trying to express her true sexual identity - to escape this patriarchal cultural agenda.

Above is the Kampung Abu Kassim 'samseng' at Jardine Steps sporting her butch hairstyle.

15 YEAR OLD TEENAGER (pleading) :   Stop it everybody!  Let me have my say.  I was born a girl and I'm happy to be one.  I love wearing those comfortable 'boy outfit' because I lead an active life riding bicycles, running around the backyard chasing the chickens in the evening to get them into the hen-house, wandering around the kampung with Mus cutting grass to feed the geese, cleaning the goose-house and uncovering their eggs  as well as cleaning the rabbit-hutch.  Also I love climbing up the hills along South Buona Vista Road (or The Gap) with my brothers - you can't do that wearing a frock or a baju kurung, can you?

Sometimes I dress up in the same girly attire as my sister which my dear ole mum had sewn for us.

Admittedly till today,  my sister Maznah always, always looks prettier than me.  And she's a better cook too!

By the way Abah, what is a lesbian?

ABAH:  It's ... it's a girl who ....likes girls ...ummhh ... prefers girls to boys.  And don't tell your mother.  She might throw away all your shirts and shorts!

But Abah, I like boys too.  Did I tell you about my boyfriends when I was in Primary One?

FRONT ROW:  Au Guat Eng (2nd from left), AsH (5th from left)

BACK ROW:  My boyfriends, Tan Aik Chuan (5th from left) and Ang Hock Kee (8th from left)

When I was thirteen, I fell in love with Ng Kian Ann.  It was a love that dared not speak its name because he was Guat Eng's paramour.  Guat Eng and I were always placed in the same team whenever we played netball.  You see, one day she fainted during PE.  When our teacher lifted her up, I had to tell the other kids to keep quiet (in those days, us demure girls never use the word 'Shaddup') and behave themselves - because they were all yelling, 'her knickers .... see her knickers!"

And then in 1957, on our last day in Pasir Panjang English School, before we all went to separate Secondary Schools,  Kian Ann waited for me at the bicycle shed ......

ABAH:  All right, all right. That's enough!  

31 August 1957, Tengku Abdul Rahman called out "Merdeka, Merdeka, Merdeka"  and I saw my father's tears.

Now, if I had been born in 1997, I would have to ask these questions.

Abah, what's this "Seksualiti Merdeka"?  Has Merdeka got a gender?  Is it because freedom must be made more sexy?  Or is being sexy and doing all kinds of sexy stuff, freedom?  You said Merdeka has to do with seeing our country free from British Colonialism, of working hard and being responsible for our country's safety, well-being and freedom?

  Datuk Ambiga Sreenevasan mentioned the "marginalised LGBT"  in the campaign for "Seksualiti Merdeka".  Can  the 'marginalised'   include the poor, the orphans, the single mothers, the drug addicts, abused children and women, the OKU, the alcoholics?  Will there be a "Merdeka" campaign for them as well?

I know now that 'L'  refers to Lesbians.  What is the meaning of Gay (G), Bisexual (B) and Transgender (T)?

The dictionary says  'gay' means mirthful and cheeky.  I am always a happy and cheeky little sod.  Does that mean I am Gay too?

ABAH:  Look, I've got a headache.  Please get on with your homework and then help your mother with the laundry and the gardening.

That's yucky work.  Can I wash the car instead and Mus can do the laundry?

ABAH :  Just go!!!

Am I glad I was born in 1944.  Life was so much simpler for tomboys then, with no worries about being deconstructed by the Post-Modernist brigade.

                                             ------------------------------

Of course, Hamid's daughter Number Two had many girlfriends like Tai Ann, Geetha, Sumijah, Soh Khim, Maimunah, Asmah, Yvonne, Jeya, Dorothy, Ann, Aysha Bevee and a string of boyfriends stretching from Singapore to Brunei, Leicester and Penang.

When Hamid's daughter Number Two had enough of her wonderings and wanderings, Iain Buchanan managed to clip her wings (only with her permission of course) and got her started on wifely duties like cooking and marketing and sewing.  Strangely enough, she likes it.

But she still wears the trousers.  Here's the middle-aged Dominatrix, boots and all,  happily married  to the unflappable cameraMAN.

Mus, you refused to give me any chance to wash the car but you made up for it - years later - by introducing me to David Armand.  Thank you.

COLOURS

AsH's biosystem is down again.  It was hacked by the same virus as last year's , causing hacking coughs and many aches and much frustration for a geriatric who wants to squeeze in a lot of living in KL before September.  As a result, I could not make it to Singapore for Tanjong Pagar's shutdown - 'twas one of the reasons I came back this time.

Last year I sought treatment from Klinik N...... up the hill. Despite me telling them that I had an allergy to penicillin, the two quacks were obviously not savvy or careful enough to give an alternative antibiotic.  The infection went on for 4 weeks accompanied by an allergic rash that made my life such a misery  for much longer.  Finally, Tung Shin Hospital's Outpatient Clinic sorted it out with steroids - a treatment I try to keep at arm's length - but I had no choice.

This time I knew where to go.  But the Yellow T-shirts' Walkabout stopped me in my tracks.  There was no way we could get to Tung Shin during that weekend.

Our street-cleaner friends, Aisha and Osman could only balik kampung - to visit her sick mother - by jumping from one local bus to another so they could get to Kampar.  They could not get the usual Express Bus, which would have saved them an additional 2 hours of travelling!

There must be loads more stories of  disruptions and chaos for the ordinary folks who have no time for the brouhaha on KL's streets.  And when I saw on TV the big guns, who had been comfortably ensconced in the luxury Hilton Hotel, making a big tamasha  (a spectacle or show in Hindi) at Central it made me see red.

When we were learning the rules of crossing the road during primary school we were taught this little song.

Red, yellow and green,
The traffic lights are seen.
The red says we stop.
It stands at the top.
The green stays below.
It says we may go.
The yellow stays right in between.
(It) says, wait for the red or the green.

At Pasir Panjang English School, we  coined another colourful ditty, a 'war-cry' in the battle between the Red House, Green House and Yellow House for supremacy on Sports Day.

It sounded like this. 

Red, Red, Botak Head.

Yellow, Yellow, Dirty Fellow.

Green, Green, 'curi' Ice-cream.

How symbolic I thought!

Through my swollen red-eyes (because of the head cold) and a head full of phlegmy gunge I visualized several types of yellow bananas in that pageant at Central.  There was Pisang Rastali, a Pisang Berangan with headgear, and a Pisang Raja draped in short-sleeved shirt a la  David Beckham's or Prince William's summer style.  There was one member of that distinguished entourage, tucked away discreetly at the rear, who was not in yellow.  Perhaps that was the Pisang Goreng.

I told you my head was clutched in a tight vice because of the infection.  I was hallucinating bananas or was I going bananas?

Anyway we did get to Tung Shin on Monday but then the Internet gave up the ghost the same day.  And I also lost my voice on that day , much to the spouse's joy.

Why me??????



The Swinger (CsH)

I am certain there are many out there like me - who love swings. You cannot tell any child to keep away from swings and slides. We were fortunate to have both at our Pasir Panjang English School.

The swings are under the tree to the left and the slides are on the right.

This is a photo of the same tree taken on the 6th of November.

Somehow it was usually the girls who preferred the swings and slides. Perhaps it was because the rambunctious boys chose to create their own wild games.

You are a master-swinger if you are daring enough to stand on the seat while you are still swinging. You begin by placing your bum on the seat and kick your feet on the ground to give you momentum. You keep on rocking forward and backward to increase the speed and 'length' of your motion. Then you carefully move your body upwards so as to enable you to stand up while slowly pushing your arms upwards on the 2 sides and from then on the sky's the limit. Off you flew and suddenly the world became a different place , the view grew more and more expansive from the increased height- and the air moving you or you moving the air filled your lungs and made you laugh and scream out loud at one and the same time. WHEE!!! I can still feel that exhilarating soaring of the spirit today. Oh decrepit old age! The landing and getting back to earth was easy except for one problem. The cheeky boys (and girls) would be screaming too with yellings of "I can see your knickers! No shame, no shame!"

And talking about knickers - mother warned us about playing on the slides because it seemed that some girls had fallen and were badly injured. But I ignored that warning - how could she ever have found out my disobedience? Well, she did because she found the evidence when she was washing my knickers which had turned discoloured and marked from the constant friction on the slides. So kena bantai (received a spanking) , but it was worth it.

This is a well-known Malay Nursery Rhyme about swings which I learned in my Malay Language lesson at PPES.

I love the last verse of this Rhyme - and here is the gawky translation.
Swing as fast as you can
Until the day's end
As many pass you by
You are left alone high and dry.
Some may consider the last two lines sad and lonely. But it's quite blissful to be a solitary swinger - when you can combine unalloyed joy and solitary thoughts.



And how we cried when we listened to this song of a beautiful girl singing and riding on her swing - from the movie Bawang Puteh, Bawang Merah.
Especially the last line Aku-lah anak yatim piatu ".I am a child without a mother or father" not just simply an orphan. Isn't that the one big fear of any child?

But then life is littered with swings and roundabouts.

Bawa Bekal / Bringing provisions (CsH)

Picture by courtesy of Pickled Herring - see this
The Simpoh Air is a large evergreen shrub which normally grows in thickets and can grow up to 7m high. Normally found in secondary forests or belukar this plant has many medicinal and commercial uses. But for the kampung folks this plant is useful for its leaves for wrapping food. In fact it is mainly used for wrapping tempeh, which is now a well-known health food sold in western health food stores that are worth their salt. Hence the Malays , especially in Singapore call this the daun tempeh or tempeh leaf.
And yes, I have to clarify that tempeh is a Javanese food for I dare not incur the wrath of Mustar Bonaventura and his Benteng Alliance in Indonesia!

Our breakfast, before we left for school, was usually quite substantial. We, or rather our mother was lucky because we could depend on our neighbour, Makcik Mani who sold lontong and nasi lemak from the kitchen of her house which was located just across the river, the Sungai Nipah. I can still taste the flavour of her lontong today. Each time I go to Singapore I search for lontong - but nothing can match Makcik Mani's.
For this breakfast, my sister would be sent out early in the morning, about sixish to Makcik Mani's kitchen. She would already have had her bath and be ready in half of her school uniform- which consisted of a school blouse and petticoat. The pinafore was put on just before departure to school because we must not crumple our uniform, must we? We were such fusspots then.

Maznah - all dressed up for school.
My main task in the morning was to get our youngest brother Akim ready for school. I had to check that his shirt was properly tucked into his shorts , that he remembered to put on his school badge for that was a major offence if the school prefect caught you without it. Also I had to comb his hair which he found quite irritating. This was what he looked like after I was done with him. Poor kid!

My well-scrubbed little brother!
There were times when we were each given 10cts pocket money for recess time though that was not quite enough for a plate of mee-siam. However mother made sure we did not go hungry. She would pack us a meal of rice, long beans and a wedge of omelette - our bekal. First she placed the daun simpoh/daun tempe on a piece of paper. Then she spooned the food on the leaf and then wrapped it up tightly held together with a rubber band. Our drink was teh-O (tea without milk)decanted into a bottle which had a rolled up little piece of paper stuffed into the mouth of the bottle to serve as a bottle top.
Mus and I (this was before Akim started school) were too embarrassed to be seen unwrapping our newspaper/daun tempe bekal in the tuckshop. So we would search out another place and that would be a bench near the school's servants' quarters. We would very quickly demolish our tuck and then ran off to play. When I recently went to Singapore I just had to take this photograph - of our hidey-hole at Pasir Panjang English School. (Today the school is being used by a Christian Mission Group to rehabilitate drug addicts)

Our Private Canteen

This little episode explained why the daun simpoh held such poignant memories for me. Today I feel very ashamed of my attitude towards my mum's bekal which she so lovingly cooked for us - for fearing the embarassment in front of my 'richer' schoolmates who had money to spend.

And now when I observe the younger set whose diet has been directed to fries, burgers and pizzas - when a kitchen has been turned into a room for display instead of a working, living and lively room , I wonder if this change can be likened to my reluctance to eat mak's nutritious home cooking in what is a commercialized setting? I can see the day when nasi lemak, lontong and mee rebus will be served straight from the microwave or oven to the table. It's already been done with Indian cuisine sold in British supermarkets.
Our parents' and grandparents' recipes will be tucked away in colourful coffee- table Cook Books to be ooh-ed and aah-ed over and sometimes experimented on.
Our food - its ingredients, its preparations and consumption is an essential feature of our culture. We neglect it and ignore it at our peril for that will entail the loss of our heritage. One certain and indeed a very easy way to de-culturalise and de-racinate a people is to change their food. Our daun serai, daun kunyit, lengkuas, daun kesum and daun limau purut will be served only at gourmet tables here and in the west while our children and grandchildren stuff their faces with western junk and fast food.

Back to School (CsH) - Pasir Panjang Primary School - No. 1

When you reach the magic age of 60 and beyond your past begins to catch up on you. For me, it's the other way round. I start searching for my past. It's like an archaeological excavation searching through boxes and cases of flotsam and jetsam of my life. They consist of books, photographs, magazines, newspaper cuttings, lecture notes, school badges, school ties, letters, library cards, student cards and umpteen loads of junk.

Two days ago, I discovered our Pasir Panjang Primary School magazine named The Co-Ed. I spent the best part of 2 days turning through the pages and it was like travelling through a time tunnel. To me at least it was like a historical document of the school system in Singapore during the 1950s. I recall studying our Educational System during Teachers' Training and the examinations we had to pass. I can only remember how dreadfully boring it was, regurgitating all those Education Acts. I began to think about how fascinating it would be to compile an oral history of education from our (my sister's and brothers') school magazines. I'm not one for school or College or University Reunions but this compilation would be an interesting journey.

One must not live in the past. But I do regret not knowing much about my father's and mother's childhood and their youth. We were just not interested. My ole mum loved to talk about her younger days and I would in my head mutter , "Oh no, here we go again." I was a fool and it's too late now.

So this is for Hamid's grandchildren via your ma'ngah. You won't be given a test at the end, so sit back and enjoy and have a good laugh on us.

Above is the cover of our school magazine. Note the name on the cover. We were all very possessive then. " This is mine - so get your grubby fingers off my property." How did I manage to pilfer this one? "It's not my fault - it just got into my house ha ha" We used to write this on the inside front cover of our books. Black is the raven, black is the rook. But blacker the person, who steals this book. Today the Politically Correct Brigade would have had us on the rack for harbouring such colourful ideas.

I have a wee problem sorting out the location of picture and text. I can't 'paste' it to where I want it to be, next to the text. So it will be jumbled. Anyway I'm very proud to display my artwork above. It was good enough to be published in the Co-Ed but I did wonder why I got thrown out of Art Class during secondary school. Philistines!!