All Work and No Play......?
As Army camps go, Majeedi was quite a cushy billet. Our accommodation was in rooms for one, two or four men, rather than the customary dormitories. One of our few complaints was that the toilets, having been installed for the Sultan's troops, were flush with the floor, Asian style. There had been an attempt to overcome this deficiency by providing 'thunder boxes', wooden constructions which fitted over the toilet bowls. As there were not enough of these contraptions to go round, much of our spare time was taken in raiding the other floors and blocks to recover our quota.
Fortunately, we had plenty of spare time. Apart from sweeping out our rooms occasionally, there was little else for us to do. Kit inspections and other irksome parades were rarely held, this being a working unit. We were relieved of the chore of blanco-ing our webbing equipment by the substitution of black boot polish, which made maintenance quick and easy, as all that was required, once the initial coating had been applied, was a quick rub over with a brush and a duster. Our washing was done by an Indian contractor, the 'dhobi wallah', who operated out of a large marquee behind the cookhouse. The regular - free - service was fairly ordinary but for a few additional cents per item we would take advantage of the 'flying' dhobi, with lots of starch and a more careful application of the iron. An ancient Chinese woman known as Sew Sew, from her plaintive cry, haunted the barrack blocks, re-attaching buttons and darning socks for a miniscule fee. Guard duties were not too onerous, coming around about once every two weeks.
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Guard mounting at Majeed |
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At Majeedi in 1949 - with one of our 7000 vehicles |
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We had a canteen and a cinema on site and we were not that far away from the bright lights of either Singapore or Johore Bahru. After working hours we were free to leave camp and allowed to wear civilian clothes off the base. Normally we had to return by 23.59 hours but on weekends we could be at liberty from midday Saturday until midnight on Sunday.
A truck was laid on every Saturday evening to carry those who wanted to go into Singapore. It was always chock-full going down but usually half empty when it left at midnight on the return journey, many of its complement preferring to spend the night in which ever of the fleshpots they happened to find themselves.
Singapore was a fun city in those days, perhaps more so than it is today, since acquiring its well-known 'wowser' reputation. The downtown city area was opulent, a blaze of lights, which was a revelation to us, mindful of Piccadilly's enforced post-war gloom. Most of us could barely remember the days when any European city had offered such a glittering display. The shops bulged with consumer goods that were unobtainable in Britain and wealthy civilians, mostly Chinese riding the economic boom, cruised the streets in flashy American cars. Cinemas showed first run films and plush hotels and nightclubs beckoned the big spenders.
Unfortunately, we did not fall into this category. Even with a local allowance to compensate for the high cost-of-living, my weekly wage was less than M$25. Exorbitant prices and severely limited resources meant that we could only look and envy.
Spurning the main streets with their taxis and trolley buses, and opting for the ubiquitous bi-cycle powered trishaws instead, we explored the stews of Chinatown. Dingy but vibrant, its streets lined with market stalls and open fronted shops, this locale was just within our means. We sniffed the smells and watched exotic foods being cooked yet we were fearful of sampling the tantalising dishes because of their doubtful hygienic origins. Moreover, the Chinese take-away (like hamburgers and vindaloo) had not yet brought gastronomic enlightenment to Britain's shores and our tastes were still bound by the pre-war traditions of steak and kidney pie or fish and chips.
Quite apart from our lack of it, money caused us a few other problems, too. The currency unit in use was the Malayan dollar, with an exchange rate of two shillings and four pence (or nine to the guinea) sterling. During the occupation, rampant inflation had taken hold and the Japanese overlords had issued their own notes, known as 'banana money', and overprinted some of the existing ones with new, higher, values.
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A pre-war $10 note and the Japanese substitute |
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...we were more familiar with these! |
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Post-liberation, the returning British authorities had ordered a fresh series of notes and coins to replace the pre-war Straits dollars, a few of which were still circulating and, to overcome an acute shortage of coins, it also issued un-numbered low-value notes ranging from one cent to fifty cents, as a stopgap measure. When the new currency arrived, the coins proved to be unpopular because they were considered too large and too heavy, so replacements were quickly ordered which were smaller and lighter. The problem that we experienced was that ALL of these currencies were circulating, including some of the Japanese bills, now worthless, which a few unscrupulous traders attempted to slip into our change. The resulting accumulation in one's pockets after a night out was best left for a more sober moment to sort out!
Near the city centre, three large clubs catered for the considerable military presence. The Raffles Club, which occupied the world famous Raffles Hotel, was for officers only: the Union Jack Club and the 'Shackles' (Shackleton) Club were for the lower orders like me. NAAFI prices prevailed here, beer being about half the price in even the meanest public bars and restaurants. One could get a substantial meal - 'steak, eggs and chips' was probably the favourite order - at a reasonable price. The Shackles, which fronted onto the beach, boasted a band and a dance floor. Partners were in rather short supply though, as there were very few female personnel stationed in the Far East other than nurses, who were classed as officers. Even fewer were the unattached daughters of senior NCOs - and they were unbelievably well chaperoned!
On one occasion, this refuge was the scene of a ferocious battle between representatives of the American and British navies. The US battleship 'Missouri' had arrived in Singapore for a 'good will' visit. Most of her three thousand-odd complement had come ashore on Saturday night and headed for the Shackles. Unfortunately, so had a sizeable contingent of Jack Tars from the naval base. A blood feud has existed between these two services since the days of John Paul Jones. The fight that erupted lasted through most of the night and resulted in the Shackles being closed for three weeks, undergoing necessary repairs!
The Union Jack's draw card, apart from its bar and dining room, was Saturday night Tombola, with a top prize of M$1000 - a fortune to the likes of us! Speculation on what we might do with the money, if we won, was one of our favourite talking points.
Close by was the Capital Building, owned by Run Run Shaw, a Chinese entrepreneur who founded the Hong Kong film industry. It housed the Capital Cinema, one of our favourite Saturday night venues. This corner, at the heart of the city, was also the haunt of some high-class (and high priced) prostitutes. One of these courtesans was a beautiful Eurasian girl known to us as Dum-Dum. In prewar days, so the story goes, she had been personal secretary to this tycoon but had, for some reason, fallen foul of the Japanese Military Police, the infamous Kempetei. She had been incarcerated at their headquarters, the YMCA building in Orchard Road, and tortured. One version held that they had cut out her tongue but this would have been extreme even for the Japanese. More likely she had suffered deep psychological trauma causing her to lose the power of speech. On a particular evening, as she patrolled her beat, a sneak-thief snatched her handbag and was chased by an off-duty soldier who caught the man and retrieved her possessions. The C-in-C got to hear of this exploit and, seeing it as a rare opportunity to promote good public relations with the civil population, rewarded him with an official commendation which, much to his chagrin, was published in all the local newspapers. He never divulged exactly how Dum-Dum rewarded him!
Not far away was another of our gathering places, the Cathay Cinema, housed in Singapore's first air conditioned skyscraper, the Cathay Building, now one of the city's dwindling pre-war landmarks. There I saw Danny Kay in 'The Inspector General', an outrageous comedy based on an unlikely work by the Russian playwright Gogol, which managed to evoke the icy Siberian steppes because the air conditioning was so cold!. We nearly succumbed to hypothermia!
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Orchard Road 1949 and today |
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Another popular and novel source of entertainment was a visit to one of the Worlds. These were exclusive to Malaya, as far as I can gather, and the only counterparts that I can think of are the Tivoli Gardens in Copenhagen and London's Vauxhall Gardens of a bygone age. They were essentially pleasure parks, offering bars, restaurants, entertainment, dancing and all the fun of the fair, although they were not predominantly fairgrounds. There were several on Singapore Island - the Great World, the New World and the Happy World are names that I recall. They were popular with servicemen because they provided opportunities for soldiers to meet girls. These sultry creatures were mainly Chinese or Eurasian, as Malays, being Moslems, shielded their womenfolk from male company and did not allow them to attend such places. Many were commercially, rather than romantically, inclined, but after a few bottles of the particularly potent Tiger Beer, we were usually more concerned with our inclinations!
The Happy World
The Great World complex, seen here in 1975. It survived until 1978 when it was torn down to build a shopping centre.
The sleazier parts of the city - the 'red light' areas - were particularly attractive to some of the more licentious soldiery and were 'out of bounds' to British troops for that reason. Trespassers apprehended by MPs, who cruised this forbidden city in jeeps, could look forward to a period of 'jankers' on being returned to their units, after a night in the pokey. Those who had undeniable business in those parts would ride to their destinations in taxis and thus avoid the patrols. The military authorities were often unwitting accomplices in these matters. Notices would appear in Part III Orders declaring such-and-such an address as 'a house of ill-repute' and thenceforth off limits. The details would be hastily copied down and filed for future reference by those who sought such pleasure domes.
Syphilis has been the scourge of the military almost since the time the Conquistadors were believed to have brought it back from South America (where it was contracted through having intercourse with llamas, so the legend runs*) and troops have probably done more to spread it around the world than any other agency. The British Army came down pretty hard on those who ignored the official advice and acquired a 'dose' by making it a punishable offence, hospitalising them without pay. Before the advent of antibiotics, the only treatment available involved mercury. It was long and painful and largely ineffective anyway, while the brass's preventive strategy was no more effective than the treatment.
However, the Medical Corps' approach was rather more enlightened. Several shop fronts operated in the city, offering advice and free condoms to servicemen. The advice may have been spurned but the condoms were readily accepted. Anyone receiving these was obliged to sign a book, identifying himself by name, rank and unit. If, despite the precautions, this individual was lax enough to become stricken, the fact that he had at least sought some prophylaxis was considered in mitigation and he was not charged with a military offence.
During the week, finances permitting, the nearby town of Johore Bahru was our favoured destination. It was fairly easy to get a lift in during the early evening as many military vehicles used the road. Returning was sometimes by taxi, if we could manage to squeeze in enough passengers to cover the fare, otherwise we walked. Our worst fear was of treading on a snake along the unlit road, as death adders and Russell's vipers loved to lie at night on the roadway, soaking up the heat radiated by the warm bitumen.
My particular circle of friends had two favourite venues here: a small Chinese owned bar and restaurant called Hi Chew's, which we nicknamed 'The Low Munch', and the Broadway Cinema. The siren call of the former was a bevy of extremely attractive and friendly bar-girls who inhabited the place. The Broadway was less salubrious than it sounds as it fronted a noisome canal, more open sewer than waterway. The attraction here, apart from being the only cinema in town, was that it always screened a serial along with the main features, making regular attendance something of a necessity. Sometimes, on Sunday mornings, the whole thirteen or fourteen episodes of the current epic would be shown in tandem, accompanied by much catcalling, whistling and stamping of feet.
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Swimming at the Naval Base and in the Johore Strait |
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Wednesday afternoons were devoted to sport and recreation but, as the tropical heat was not conducive to football and similarly exhausting games, the majority of us elected to go swimming. Vehicles were put at our disposal and we would spend a few hours at one or another of our favourite dipping spots. The naval base, which was on the Singapore side of the Strait, had a modern swimming complex with diving boards and a poolside snack bar, to which we were welcome. Alternatively, we would swim in the Strait, either from a beach in front of the Sultan's Palace or from a derelict sea-pool near the mainland end of the Causeway.
The Johore Strait, like most tropical waters, is inhabited by sharks, sting rays and enormous estuarine crocodiles similar to those found in northern Australia. A photograph of one of these reptiles, which had been killed by local fishermen, appeared in the Straits Times. Its body occupied the whole length of a flatbed truck and the tail dragged on the ground behind. Regardless of this, everyone swam in the channel regularly and, usually, with impunity.
The only casualty that I know of was my friend, Len Symonds, a fellow Welshman. On this occasion we were at the derelict pool. It was partially silted up and full of debris so we usually swam in deeper water outside the netting, which was full of holes anyway. Len was the only person actually swimming inside the enclosure when he suddenly let out a yell and scrambled up onto the walkway. Some creature had attacked him on his forearm, which immediately erupted in huge yellow blisters, and within a few minutes he was semi-conscious and experiencing breathing difficulties, as well as excruciating pain. We piled him into a truck and took him to hospital, where he was admitted and disappeared from our view. Len spent more than a week in the infirmary and was extremely ill for part of that time. When he emerged, his arm was branded as if with a red-hot iron, leaving deep scars which he would carry for life, yet no-one could offer any satisfactory explanation as to what had assaulted him. *
Some years later, I read that the box jellyfish*, the scourge of swimmers in northern Australian waters, was then something of a mystery and was not studied extensively until about 1954 when its sinister properties came to light. It is my guess that Len was a victim - and a lucky one, as it turned out - of this now well-documented and often lethal marine hazard.
We were entitled to annual leave during our service, about twenty- one days a year, if I remember correctly. In Britain, we would simply have gone home, of course, but abroad there was nowhere for us to stay that didn't cost a packet. The services did operate a leave camp on Penang Island and although it was cheap it wasn't free and for that reason was beyond a private's pocket. During my time, it also received some unwelcome publicity. A young lieutenant, whose fiancée had flown out from Britain to marry him, chose to spend his honeymoon there. Arriving in the heat of the afternoon, the happy couple headed straight for the beach. Within minutes, the bride was lying dead in the surf, victim of the bite of a sea snake. These creatures, although extremely venomous, are uncommon and rarely aggressive and this tragic incident was, mercifully, an isolated one.
It was also possible for us to obtain an 'indulgence' passage on a troopship going to Hong Kong, the round trip taking about ten days. The doubtful advantage was the possibility of a few hours ashore at the destination while the ship turned around, but we had had enough of troopships, thank you, and there were few takers. Consequently, we had to forego our leave and content ourselves with one- day excursions on public holidays. At least there was an inordinate number of these in the multi-cultural potpourri that was Malaya.
Johore Bahru's administrative building and penitentiary
It was not possible to travel north of our camp for recreation because of the terrorist activity and Johore Bahru had little to offer beyond the delights that I have already mentioned. Despite being the State capital it was then a small provincial city, dominated by a forbidding edifice that housed the State's administration and the local penitentiary.
Along the coast road, a few miles out of town, was Sultan Ibrahim's palace. The incongruous sight of a zebra - whose name was Dolly - grazing its immaculate lawns was the only outward indication that he maintained a small private zoo. It was here that I saw two of the largest pythons that I could even imagine. They must have been twenty feet long with a girth equal to that of a fairly corpulent human being. Pythons are quite common in Malaya and even infest the Singapore sewage system but these two were in a class of their own and it was believed that they were large enough to swallow a water buffalo, whole.
Apart from the nightlife, Singapore had many more points of cultural and historical interest but there were few tourists then, so these attractions had not been developed to the extent that they are today. For example, Sentosa Island (then called Blakang Mati - behind the dead) remained an artillery garrison, its giant naval guns still pointing in the wrong directions.
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Alone at Tiger Balm Gardens - 1949..and in company - 1994 |
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One of the most popular attractions was Tiger Balm Gardens. A millionaire Chinese businessman, Aw Boon Haw, who had made a fortune from his medicinal salve, Tiger Balm, had built a unique garden complex around his mansion. Apart from colourful and spectacular trees and flowers, it was full of elaborate statuary depicting creatures from Chinese mythology, with pergolas and bridges reminiscent of the willow pattern designs. This venue has since been developed into a theme park in its own right and is now a Mecca for visitors.
The many mosques and Hindu temples were also of interest, as were the original colonial administrative buildings around Fort Canning, the first foreign settlement. Statues, plaques and place names commemorating the city's founder, Sir Stamford Raffles, one of Britain's best-known imperial adventurers, abounded.
For a paltry sum, one could take a rickety Chinese bus and explore the island, provided you were prepared to tolerate the stench of that Malayan peculiarity, the durian, which at least one passenger seemed certain to be carrying. This soccer-ball sized fruit exudes a most powerful and offensive odour, reminiscent of a mixture of putrefaction and dirty socks, yet is prized by Malays and Chinese alike as a delicacy. Those who have had the fortitude to taste it say that it has a surprisingly pleasant flavour but for most the smell is too off-putting. I believe that nowadays the durian is banned from travelling on any of Singapore's modern transport systems.
Being a tropical island, idyllic beaches abounded, one of our favourites being Changi Point with its enormous fish traps. This was quite close to the infamous Changi Gaol, Singapore's main penitentiary, which achieved notoriety as the harsh internment camp for civilian and military prisoners during the Japanese occupation. I remember getting badly sunburned on the beach at Changi and, as sunburn is regarded as a self-inflicted injury in the Army and a chargeable offence if it prevents you carrying out your duties, I had to suffer in silence.
Keeping the troops happy and contented was always a challenge to both the military and civil authorities. A program of 'educational' tours was devised with the co-operation of local businesses. Our CO, Lt-Col. Fisher, was a keen advocate of such social intercourse and had arranged for a party of his troops to visit the Tiger Brewery in Singapore, to view the manufacture of the drop to which we were so partial and to sample the brew at the company's expense. The list was over-subscribed within minutes, as could be expected, and I and many others, missed out. It was anticipated that there would be lots of subsequent opportunities so we were not unduly concerned about this.
The lucky winners, dressed in their best, departed in a 3-ton truck, expecting to return in happier mood later in the evening. When, several hours overdue, they had not re-appeared, some concern was expressed that the truck may have broken down or been involved in a collision. A phone call around midnight dispelled any notion of an accidental mishap: it was more in the nature of a self-inflicted catastrophe! The plaintive call was from the brewery manager requesting that we dispatch another driver, urgently, there being nobody in the party capable of standing up, let alone driving. Needless to say, no further invitations were extended to our unit. As a PR exercise, that outing was a dismal failure
-but as a piss-up in a brewery ..............!!!!!
We got ours in bottles...but what the hell!
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