Malay Gentlemen (CsH)

Maznah's Wedding Eve at 691, Pasir Panjang Road.


Front Row - left to right. Ma'Long Mahanum, Fauziah (Pa'Busu's daughter), 'Mak.
Middle Row - left to right . Sumijah (my school mate who makes lovely kuih lapis ), me,
Macik Soya (Mamak's wife), Zakiah (Mamak's daughter),
Macik Munah, the bride, my sister.
Back Row - left to right. Ayah Long Mahmud, Mustakim (my late brother, at 16)
Mamak Kassim, Mustapha ( me bro at 19 - keen member of a
pop band), Abah.


Also in the photograph, to the left is Mus's Lambretta, his magnificent fire-horse.If only that scooter could talk.



Mamak Kassim passed away on Sunday 28 May 2006 at the age of 93. He was the last one of my father's generation - the last for me, of the great Malay gentlemen. Pa'Tua Majid, Ayah Long Mahmud, Pa'Busu Kamarudin. Pa'Uda Shariff and of course my dad (he was called Pa'Anjang because of his height, although they were all tall men) were a breed of Malay men brought up with a unique mixture of Malay dignity and grace, flavoured with upright colonial style.

Born at the turn of the 20th century, they were western educated, schooled at Victoria Institution, although they had a sound Malay education at primary school. Ayah Long and Pa'Tua succeeded in getting their Cambridge Senior School Certificate - must have been quite an achievement for two boys from Setapak brought up by grandparents who came from Sumatra in the latter part of the 19th century. Their grandparents would be in the category of working class folks. My great-grandfather used to accompany the British map surveyors who were drawing up topographical maps of the Malay Peninsula. In fact Mamak followed his footsteps because he ended up drafting maps in the Land Survey Department.

As for my dad, all he got was a Junior School Certificate before he became a qualified Sanitary Health Inspector. Years later when I was chatting with Mamak (he was 90 then), he volunteered the information that "Hamid was very bright, the brightest among all of us. But he was too playful. He used to spend a lot of time with his favourite teacher, Mr. Lim who tried to guide him into pushing himself to do his best." This sounds too familiar to my ears. In all my teaching years, especially while teaching in Malay Secondary Schools and English Secondary Schools in Singapore, I encountered quite a number of pupils who in themselves were intelligent but could not realise their full potential. It's possibly due to the shortcomings of an educational system that gives no space for bright imaginative minds or because of family circumstances. For Abah, it was a combination of both.

Abah's mother died when he was about 6 months old, when she was still breastfeeding him. Naturally he was taken away from his dad who lived in Kuala Selangor and moved in with his maternal grandparents. At that time, his aunt was also breastfeeding a baby and so he had a share. The other baby was Ma'cik Munah, who became his 'saudara se-susu' (literally of one-milk relative ). She remained my dad's very loyal and kind sister right to the end of his life.

She could always turn to Abang Hamid (big brother Hamid) when she needed to and she was also close to my mother who she called Kakak (big sister) even though my mum was almost 12 years younger. Ma'cik Munah said to my mum. "Kalau ipar baik semua boleh baik". (If the in-law is good then all relationships will be well ), Other than my mother's eldest sister Wak Deng, Ma'cik Munah was the gentlest, kindest soul I know. She had a very difficult and troubled life but she remained patient and kind, almost saintly. I last saw her when we both went to Abah's grave just a day after his burial. We read the Fatihah and Surah Yassin together for her Abang Hamid. I'm tearful now, thinking of her, and regret so very much that I did not keep in touch with her. My siblings and I did try during the last 10 years or so but we met several dead ends. She passed away about 3 years ago.

Back to the Malay gentlemen. Though they had an English education ( my dad talked about their schoolmaster, not schoolteacher, who wore his robe and mortarboard in class ), their Malayness was never adulterated or diluted. They were never westernized or deracinated like the present younger generation Malays who ironically grew up in a Merdeka country, were given Malay education throughout primary and secondary school together with a strong Islamic ethos, but instead turned into moonlight Westerners or moonlight Arabs!

Malays in Malaysia have their acknowledged heroes, like the sasterawan, journalists, editors, politicians, novelists and artists and so on. There were however, the unmentioned heroes, men who were not rich enough, gifted enough, men with little influence and connections and power to design the rules and structure for the construction of a free Malaya. But these were the foot soldiers, who provided the backbone and infrastructure and kept the system and the transition running smooth, from being a land of British possession to a free nation.

These English/Malay educated Malays, in their quiet steadfast way guided their homeland through a difficult period for any newly independent and developing country. They worked in the Government departments, keeping the wheels of bureaucracy moving. Pa'Tua was in the Education Department, Ayah Long was the Chief Clerk in the District Office in Klang and Mamak was in the Land Survey Department in Kuala Lumpur while Pa'Busu joined the RAF and then transferred to TUDM.

What epitaph shall we give to men like these - and there must be thousands of them?

As their family, we keep their memory alive, we pass on their stories to the future generation. Isn't that so, Mahzan? No one wants to dramatise these plodders but their contribution speaks for itself.

The Language Ding-Dong (CsH)

I've just read Rockybru's blog 13 December. His article in mypaper gives a succinct review of the power, potential and actual, of the Chinese educationist movement Dongjiaozong which has threatened a mammoth protest concerning the state of Chinese schools in Malaysia.

I hated history when I was doing my A levels at Raffles Girls' School. Firstly my teacher, Miss Then, was the most uninterested and unprofessional teacher I have ever encountered. During her history class she remained seated and read out in the most deadpan voice her lesson for the day as we frantically copied our notes because she carried on like an express train. Secondly, Miss Then was also trying to convert me by passing on Christian books and tracts for me to read. I felt under pressure when this normally cold fish smiled at me and asked if I liked her 'literature'. And I had to lie - instead of snarling at her to leave me alone for I do have my own religion. Thanks,but no thanks.

Living in England as I did in my 40s I became more and more concerned about what's going on around me. Palestine, the Salman Rushdie affair, the Gulf Wars, visions of dead and dying children on the TV screen, racist taunts from whites, black/white teenagers and Indian bank officers all made me think. I realised how the hypocrisy, double standards, grief and injustice in this world require a comprehension of and an insight into History. I also learned that the History I was given in school was History written by the victors and the powerful, by Western academics and Orientalists , and pseudo and half-baked intellectuals whose only qualification is the Dr in front of their names or other letters after their names.

For most countries, the education system is a powerful agent for nation building and national unity. But not for Malaya/Malaysia. Why? Look at her history.

In her colonial march for profit, Perfidious Albion 'developed' and changed the face of the Malay Peninsula - creating "a political problem of the first order through the rivalry of numerically equal communities, the Malays and the Chinese" (Victor Purcell).

The immigrants from China came in droves to partake of this lucrative opportunity. I can see this in the Asians in Leicester and now the East Europeans from the EC. They slog hard because as one Polish lass told me, what she earns in the factory in a week , is what her teacher-mother gets in a month. And so according to western capitalists, "by their labours" the Chinese added to the prosperity of the Peninsula. Hence the myth of the lazy Malay who prefers to live in his kampong and tend to a self sufficient life style. Why isn't there the myth of the lazy Brit - who, after all, living in the Motherland, understandably doesn't want to do overtime because, for him, money and its accumulation is not the be-all and end-all. He does not think he should leave a legacy of pots of money for his offspring. They will have to earn it like he did! That is what Kim, Mark, Rob and Stewart my white work mates, believe in.

Enterprising economic migrants need not show any generosity or loyalty to the 'goose', only the golden eggs. Basically the attitude ranges from pragmatism to opportunism. There are of course exceptions like the Peranakan but today they are being re-sinified.

Growing up in Singapore, we had to bear the scorn and barbs of the Chinese superiority complex and it irritates me when C. L. Sharma in her/his article "Ethnicity, Communal Relations and Education in Malaysia" (1979) described post-independence Malays as being "imbued with the 'we are the masters now' attitude which encourages them to display arrogance in their behaviour". This academic should be more objective and realise that Malays do not have a monopoly on arrogance.

Peter A. Busch's "Legitimacy and Ethnicity" - A Case Study of Singapore (1974) notes in his research that "increasing tenure in the Chinese stream classes produces the strongest tendency to believe that Malays are inferior." He adds that Mandarin in Singapore (and Malaysia ? ) is more symbolic than communicative. It's "a sign of being a cultured Chinese". Outside of the institution, most Chinese speak to each other in their dialects, especially in Malaysia. This may not be applicable to Singapore today. Although the Singapore Government has successfully de-emphasised Chinese schools, the status of Mandarin has been elevated and the dialects have been marginalised and have almost vanished. Only recently Lee Kuan Yew in 2004 commented "To ride on China's growth, Singapore needs a core group with a deep understanding of contemporary China. This means a bilingual as well as bicultural group of key players. Bilingualism gets us through the front door, but it is only through biculturalism that we can reach deep inside China and work with them." A few months later the Ministry of Education set up 3 Special Assistance Plan (SAP) schools. These schools have a strong Chinese tradition and are the only schools that offer the highest education stream.

In Malaysia, of course, bilingualism is a must. Biculturalism is a minefield.

Bausch added "having a proper Mandarin accent is a sign of prestige and good calligraphy is an art form and not just a matter of penmanship. Perhaps then it is not surprising that the ability to speak Mandarin well inclines the Chinese students to see their people as superior to the Malays." Well, that's 1974, you may say. But today, even if Singaporean Malays , the Malai-kwai (Malay devil) can speak Mandarin and there's a growing number of them : they are still third in line after the Indians , the Kaling-kwai.I think nuff's said. Hand on my heart, I know I'm colour blind. But the hypocrisy and selfish double standards I was subjected to brings out my bile and I do not want to re-trace that track.

I'll close this blog with this extract from Sterling Seagrave's Lords of the Rim (1996). "......the social atmosphere of Malaysia is more relaxed and wholesome, and its residents - regardless of ethnic ties - go to bed at night without dread. Mahathir's period in power has established Malay prestige without the stengun or the jackboot, in an atmosphere of civility that is remarkable for Asia and rare anywhere in the world."

Twice I saw my father's tears. The second time was on 31 August 1957. When I asked him why? He said, "I'm happy the British have gone but I have fears for my country." He went through the emergence of Malaysia, and the mantra for "Malaysian Malaysia" worried him for he knew what it implied. When the May 13 riots came , he was one of those in the kampung who rallied the various races to look after one another. It was centred at Seng Teow's kedai runcit. I'm glad he's spared from seeing what's taking place in his tanah air today.

P.S. "Get Back" refers to me only.

Who Will You Weep For?

Am glad I'm not back in Leicester when the Mumbai "massacre" occurred. The agony and the handwringing and may I say the whingeing(?) that you get on the electronic and print media at another 'terrorist' attack on innocents leave me to say, "Oh no, not again". I'm not thinking of the incident but of the way the media circus replays the same self-righteous and hypocritical diatribe against terrorists aka jihadists aka muslims aka Islam.

What follows next is the same scenario. Muslims and Muslim organisations in USA, Europe and in other Western countries have to repeat the same mantra of condemnation and extension of sympathies, in other words apologising for the actions taken by 'jihadists' who number about 50,000 and make up less than one-thousandth of 1% of 1.4 billion Muslims in the world! In fact , it is reckoned that there are as many as 3 times more gang members in Los Angeles alone than there are jihadists and the Muslim population is 350 times larger than that of Los Angeles.

For my fellow Muslims who are facing the indignant wrath of the civilized West, let me quote this by William Blum, a very respectable freelance journalist and writer of numerous books , in the same league as John Pilger and Robert Fisk and Noam Chomsky.

The next time you encounter a defender of American foreign policy, someone insisting that Mumbai justifies Washington's rhetorical and military attacks against Islam, you might want to point out that the United States does the same thing on a regular basis. For seven years in Afghanistan, almost six in Iraq, to give only the two most obvious examples ...breaking down doors and machine-gunning strangers, infidels, traumatizing children for life, firing missiles into occupied houses, exploding bombs all over the place, pausing to torture ... every few days dropping bombs in Pakistan or Afghanistan, and still Iraq, claiming they've killed members of al-Qaeda, just as bad as Zionists, bombing wedding parties, one after another, 20 or 30 or 70 killed, all terrorists of course, often including top al-Qaeda leaders, the number one or number two man, so we're told; so not completely mindless, not totally random; the survivors say it was a wedding party, their brother or their nephew or their friend, mostly women and children dead; ....... Does any of that depress you like Mumbai? Sometimes they bomb Syria instead, or kill people in Iran or Somalia, all bad guys.


So at Mumbai, at least 172 were killed and about 300 were wounded on November 26 2008. What about these numbers?

Muslims are by far the most numerous victims. Since 1991 the total civilian death in Iraq from the Anglo-American invasion numbers 3 million . Post 2003 at least another million paid the price with their lives. The sanctions against Iraq in 1990 killed half a million infants.
In Afghanistan, the Americans make use of a thermobaric bomb designed to suck the air out of human beings (Pilger). The dead remain as just statistics.
Terrorists/jihadists/insurgents have killed about 5,000 western civilians over the last 20 years, mostly on 9/11.


So, who are the rogue states, the evil-doers, the bad guys?

Who shall you weep for?

My Lovely Island Kids (CsH)

My Lovely Island Kids; Shame about the Teacher



So happy I found this photograph. There are 4 Chinese kids in the picture. One lass is standing just behind me. Her elder brother is at the right end of the same row. The third one is in the back row , just under the letter 'p'. The lad to his left with the head bent became a professional diver, working in Australia with his elder brother and the 4th Chinese pupil is to the left of the afore-mentioned. I often wonder about what they are doing now - has life been difficult for them? I hope not for they deserve more than the well-heeled and obnoxious middle class snobs I used to teach at Anglo-Chinese Junior College.

I disliked having my photograph taken because I always end up looking like a nerd! But I remembered one lecturer in Sultan Hassanal Bolkiah Teachers' Training College in Brunei who insisted that only her left profile be photographed because that is her best side. For me , the back of my head will do!!

P.S. That settee in the earlier photograph was bought by my abah, second hand, from his Eurasian neighbor sometime in 1946. It had moved seven times, including journeys to Johor Baru, Batu Pahat and now happily ensconced in Kuala Lumpur. Three generations of kids have jumped up and down on it or fell asleep on it, including umpteen numbers of cats. Even Rocky had rested on it.

My spouse and I, we are indefatigable magpies. Watch this space to view our collection of junk.

Clever Ole Me ! (CsH)

My kampung house

Hip! Hip! Hurray! My very first scan!!

This is the sitting room of 691, Pasir Panjang Road. On the right is my sister and brother-in-law with their first born. My mak has her back to the camera and my abah is to the left.

In the background can be seen (from left to right) the humungous Philips taperecorder, the Garrard record player and the Erres transitor radio. Absolute State of the Art.

And in the old days, during the 60s, we used to serve drinks in cups and saucers. Not just sloppy mugs.

As for the calendar, it's what we get for free from Kedai Hoe Huat, our kedai runcit (grocery shop).

As for that settee (on the right), I still have it right here , where I have my afternoon kip, as pensioners need to do so that they can learn to do more scams, ooops, scans.

To make Caroline Smile

For Caroline Boulay in Granville, Normandy, France.

Bonjour ma petite, (you know my French is almost zilch, just a few kind words. Monsieur can do a better job).

Caroline and I used to work in the same factory in Leicester and this young girl and this elderly lady have shared many happy hours and many not-so -happy times. But we became good friends and have been so for the last 3-4 years even after I stopped working and Caroline moved on to several other jobs.
She came many times to our house for lunch (and you do love my tomato soup and sardine pastry don't you?) Every time she comes over , Caroline asks for permission to smoke and we will open the kitchen door and she will have her rolled up cig in the backyard. Each time we also nag her to quit smoking and we do know she tries tres, tres hard.

Caroline has become our 'anak angkat' (adopted child). And she's a bright young woman who had to stop her baccalaureate because of illness. But she's a brave and beautiful child!!!

Caroline, in your e-mail you sound hurt by life's experience and you "wonder what love is." I worry that you may give up on love - please don't -because you have so much in you that's sweet and wonderful.

So, I thought I'd send you this song on my blog. Sorry it's in Engleesh, knowing how you feel about them. But it's a lovely OLD song (1934) like Maizie and Monsieur. So, I have included the lyrics.

Love is the sweetest thing
What else on earth could ever bring?
Such happiness to everything
As Love's old story.

Love is the strangest thing
No song of birds upon the wing
Shall in our hearts more sweetly sing
Than Love's old story.

Whatever hearts may desire
Whatever life may send
This is the tale that never will tire
This is the song without end.

Love is the strongest thing
The oldest, yet the latest thing.
I only hope that fate may bring.
Love's story to you.

A tout a l'heure

How We Laughed Away The Hours (CsH)

I spent the last 6 days in Singapore with my nieces, Mariam and Hannah and stayed as usual with Jai, a friend of my former student and who has been for the last 20 or so years a warm and dear companion to me and my spouse. Jai and his family are what I would describe as the indigenous Malays of Singapore. They were from the Southern Islands , a mini archipelago of small islands located to the south-east of Singapore. They consist of Pulau Merlimau, Pulau Seraya, Pulau Ayer Merbau, Pulau Bakau, Pulau Sakra, Pulau Ayer Chawan and Pulau Pesek. Don't even try to look for them on the map because they have been "integrated' into Jurong Island after being used for target practice by the SAF for years.

When I started teaching in 1967, I was made the form teacher and teacher of the lower forms in Yusof Ishak Secondary School even though as a graduate teacher I should be teaching the upper forms. The senior (in age ) teachers decided for their own reasons to keep me in the lower rungs .If I had been a 'bin' instead of a 'binte'it would have been a different scenario.

But I was grateful that I had the chance to teach and take pastoral care of these youngsters who came from the Southern Islands. They would leave their island kampung as early as 5 in the morning to take the sampan to Jardine Steps and then an almost an hour's journey by bus to get to school. It took me some time to realise why they sometimes turned up late for school, or why after about an hour of lessons, they looked sleepy and found it difficult to concentrate. One day, I ticked off one of the boys for failing to submit his Mathematics exercise book. Being the usual tyrant teacher (you can ask Rocky) I came down hard on him and had the poor soul in tears. Then one of his friends intervened and said "Cikgu, buku dia jatoh dalam laut - angin kuat , sampan dekat-dekat tebalek" (Teacher, his books fell into the sea because the sea was rough and the sampan almost capsized ). On hearing that, I wished the earth would open and swallow me up. From that day on I learned to listen and learn from them. I became their bouncer to protect them from the Teacher in charge of the Prefects because they were constantly harassed for arriving late to school, for not tucking in their shirts/blouses, for skirts/shorts that were not of the same hue as the standard school colours. I made a number of enemies for 'looking' out for them. With another sympathetic teacher, Che'gu Ayesha Bevee ,we did out darndest to get them to survive the system, but they were too poor, too unmotivated and too tired however much they tried. Some teachers get apples from their students but I take pride in being given a leafy -looking orange coral by one of my boys. They are all natural divers!. When I tire of teaching such tired minds and bodies; I visualise them moving gracefully in the blue waters surrounding their islands, free and beautiful spirits. They don't deserve to be trapped in the classroom. Of all the minds I have taught, my island kids have a special place in my heart.

That brings me back to Jai, the kampung boy from Tanjung Keling who used to study under the street lights of his housing estate . Today he teaches media studies at various colleges in Singapore after a self-financed Masters Degree from Glasgow University. Mariam said "If Uncle Jai had been a Malaysian, he would be a Professor by now." Never mind Jai, what you are doing in your home patch is just as honourable as a title in a University. You do not need the window dressing to be appreciated.

Going back to Singapore is like visiting a house that is bereft of its garden, it's furniture, curtains, and clutter - all the paraphernalia that makes up a home. This time I also learned about the death of Mansor Sukaimi, just a year older than me. We were all kids from Pasir Panjang Road, we all knew one another even though we were in different schools. Mansor was a high flyer, good-looking, a sportsman and brainy too. I think half of all the girls at Pasir Panjang - Malays, Chinese and Indians and Eurasians were in love with him. But at that time my heart was set on the Eurasian boy who took the same bus as me from Telok Blangah Road. Alas it was love from afar, and we could not find the courage to speak to each other. But he always made sure he sat in the seat just behind me or if the bus is crowded, he would stand next to my seat . Young love sighh !!

Mansor paid a price for being outspoken as an MP but he made good despite his problems. People from Pasir Panjang are tough and as youngsters would say today, cool and brill. My condolences to Zaiton and his family. The Pasir Panjang we grew up in doesn't exist anymore. It has become a road for container godowns, the sea has disappeared, the hills are occupied.

But the dreams we had are still the same.


And Mary Hopkins' "Those were the days, my friend" begins to sound like an epitaph.





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