Sunday Kopi with a Patrician from the class of 1957

This blog features a wonderful conversation between my St. Stephen's and St. Patrick's School buddy, Danesh Daryanani and Clarence, a Patrician from the class of '57. The conversation took place in a hawker centre in Telok Blangah.

You can read more of Danesh's interesting blogs at www.daneshd.com. He also has a fascinating photo blog called Scenes From Singapore.

Last Sunday, 15th February 2015, the mood for a kopi-o gao came upon me. So I traipsed to one of my favourite uncle baristas in Telok Blangah.

Got my S$0.70 (US$0.56 as of 16/2/15) brew and sat at a vacant table. Shortly, the man in this picture came up from behind me and asked, “May I sit here?”

Clarence from the St. Patrick's School Class of  1957 (Photo by Danesh Daryanani)

I was surprised. This elderly Chinese gentleman with tattoos on both his upper arms spoke in perfectly enunciated English.

Judge me not but I thought he looked “Hokkien Gangsterish” if you know what I mean.

I said, “Go ahead”, and motioned for him to sit down.

My curiosity was piqued. We were sitting at a table right opposite a fruit juice stall and next to it, a prata stall.

After a few moments, I asked him, “Are you waiting for juice?”

He said, “Prata”.

Eager to engage him further, I continued, “It’s crowded today.”

Understanding that I was open to engagement, he turned towards me.

His English was clipped. I noticed his crucifix and Mother Mary pendants.

I attended St. Patrick’s School as a teenager. I’m a proud Patrician. And I know Patricians. There is a certain je ne sais quoi about Patricians. You see, Patricians possess a counter-intuitive blend of gangster and gentleman, streetwise and refined, rough and smooth. Ask any Patrician and they’ll understand what I mean. This gentleman had it. I asked him if he was from a mission school. He said yes. I asked which. He said St. Patrick’s. I was vindicated.

A connection had been made.

Clarence (Photo by Danesh Daryanani)

OK, let me nutshell what I learned of Clarence during our chance encounter.

He was born in 1937.

He completed both primary and secondary school in St. Patrick’s (they had primary school until 1957 when the primary section of the school was separated and became Saint Stephen’s School, which I attended).

He graduated in 1957 (I enrolled in 1977).

Being a bit of a rascal (which is the norm for Patricians), he was publicly caned (rather proudly, I must add) a number of times. One time he was caned for “waylaying” Katong Convent (KC) girls (he remembers the names of the three girls but I’m not publishing it). He said this rather proudly although he admitted that at that time he had no idea what “waylay” meant. I totally get it that he was proud (as will most Patricians).

Clarence got caned another time for stealing a papaya at a nearby hotel (now demolished). Although the property was protected with barbed wires, he threw a gunnysack over the wires, climbed over and stole the papaya. He was caught when he made his way back to school. He claimed that the papaya had fallen on the public side of the fence. It was a lie. And the disciplinarian didn’t buy it.

Updated on 20 February 2015 with the information of the name of the hotel – Ocean Park Hotel (thanks Larry Henson). 
 

Clarence described the experience of one of his public canings. The caning teacher presented a row canes the day before the public caning and ask him to choose one. He chose the seemingly most insipid one. On the following day of public caning, he wore two shorts and stuffed it with newspapers. Although the caner knew what was going on by the sound as the cane struck Clarence’s derrière, he let it go. Compassion.

I’m guessing that today, public caning is a no-no. When I was in St. Patrick’s from 1977 to 1980, public caning was still in force. I think it was and is a good thing for an all-boys school.

Although I enrolled in St. Pat’s in 1977, twenty years after Clarence graduated, I asked him about some of the older teachers during my time. One of my vice-principals was Mr Eu Wing Kee. Clarence remembered him to be a trainee teacher during his time. He remembered Brother Justinian (an avid tennis player well into his advanced years) and Brother Joseph McNally (principal during my era). The principal during his time was Brother Alban.

The St. Patrick School’s latin motto is Potest Qui Vult, which means “he can, who wills”. When I was at St. Pat’s (1977 – 1980) we would refer to our motto instead as “protest and revolt”. Apparently, it was the same during Clarence’s era. Perhaps even before.

He was brought up in Lorong K, Telok Kurau with his Grandmother. I didn’t ask him about his mom and dad. He earned money for his grandma by helping a Malay lady sell epok-epok, kueh-mueh and other delicacies. He would be paid ten cents a day for doing this, which was apparently a lot of money then. He would put this money into a “piggy-bank” his grandmother made from a coconut shell.
 

Clarence (Photo by Danesh Daryanani)

He worked at the Port of Singapore Authority (PSA) but when he joined it was called Singapore Harbour Board (SHB).

He canvassed for Lee Kuan Yew in Tanjong Pagar in the 1957 Singapore City Council Elections. Incidentally, he is not pro-ruling party. In fact, he’s not a fan, by any stretch of the imagination, of the current overcrowding he feels in Singapore. After hearing his story, I can definitely sympathise. I recognise that Clarence and his peers are the ones who built the Singapore that we now enjoy. A simpler, quieter, and slower Singapore.

He’s got tattoos on both his upper arms in Chinese characters. I asked him about them. On the right side are the names of his mom and dad, and on the left the names of his wife and son.

He is a Catholic and attends the Carmelite Monastery in Singapore.

I left after half and hour as I had bought some raw produce from the wet market and needed to get home to refrigerate it.

I didn’t get Clarence’s number but I told him I’m going to look out for him to hear his stories.

He looked pleased.

I’m definitely going to look out for him to collect more stories. What a great Sunday tête-à-tête.

About Danesh
I go by the moniker DD. Interesting word that – moniker. The etymology is quite obscure. Etymology: probably from Shelta (language of Irish itinerants) munnik, modification of Irish ainm.

My blog covers a variety of topics but some of the more prevalent ones will be on social commentary – especially things that bring light to the world. It will also contain some of my reflections, my  faith, and just everyday observations.

I used to be a die-hard corporate animal working in and sitting on management teams of companies such as Coca-Cola, Nokia, Shell and Samsung. Then at the age of early 40-something decided to go back to my first love, which is writing. I am not a trained writer but I love communicating things that matter to me. I’ve learned the ropes through breaks I’ve been blessed with.

Since I made the switch, I’ve been commissioned and published four times. I’ve written or provided content for mobile apps, videos, animations, scripts, digital books and even plays. I’m loving it.

The company I run is called The Write Studio.

Shalom and God Bless.

When the buildings fall and the roads vanish

Our latest contribution to the Nostalgic Singapore blog is an article from Greg Lawrence who talks about his experiences growing up in Short Street, close to Selegie Road and Middle Road. Greg has recently started a new initiative called 'Old Newspaper' which aims at helping those who are turned away from employment because of their age or who are slightly physically challenged.

My memories of growing up here in Short Street will never be erased...

In 2003, I was walking in Chinatown with my friend who was a specialist black and white photographer. After a while, she noticed that I was a little more quiet than usual, and asked why. I paused for a few seconds and then told her I was listening to the different Chinese dialects I recognised growing up in Short Street. I could hear Sei Yap, Hakka, Hockhew, Hainanese, Teo Chew and some other obscure ones. A certain sadness filled me as I realised that in 10 years or so, these dialects would disappear, and from what I hear these days, some already have.

I grew up in an SIT flat in Short Street, on the 3rd floor of block 2, facing the Selegie Primary School which at that time was the tallest school in Singapore. Every day I would look out the window and see taxi drivers stop at the little tea shop for their break. This was a really ‘old style’ shop where in the middle of the table, there would be a tray with a clay kettle full of tea and small clay cups. 

After drinking, one would pay for the tea at some prescribed price. I never knew the actual price as Yakult, Fruitee ice cream, the famous Rochor soya bean drink and 'sng paus' dominated my taste buds. It was such a vibrant neighbourhood, full of different types of activities, hawkers, games and a fair share of rivalries.

My grandfather and I when I was about 8 years old. Notice the Rediffusion box on the upper right hand corner, old school record player on my right and the huge floor standing speakers on the bottom left!

My grandfather was quite an influential member of the community, having helped many people with writing English, loans of money that he rarely chased and being a spokesperson for the little kampung we called home. He was good friends with both Rabbis of the Waterloo Street Synagogue, Daniel the father and his son Charlie. 

I visited Charlie once at the Jewish Home on Mount Sophia. He couldn't remember me as he was suffering from dementia but smiled when I brought him biscuits. Biscuits would be the one thing that all children in the neighbourhood would remember this family for. 

Every Saturday, when it was the Sabbath, they could not turn on the lights in the house as it was a restriction in their religion to perform any kind of work. So they would get one of the neighbourhood children to turn on their lights for them and reward them with a dip in their biscuit jar which was miraculously always full. The more entrepreneurial ones, such as yours truly, would gather friends and delegate different lights in each room so we could get a better collection.

My grandfather used to make me come with him to Tekka market every Sunday and I used to try to get out of it as my favourite Spiderman cartoon would be showing. I'm glad he did as he taught me how to choose vegetables, fish and meat; knowledge that I would use later in life as a professional Chef. Only thing is, when he rewarded me with half of his coffee at the market (in the old days people would pour coffee into the saucer to cool it down and leave the other half for later), I would miraculously be left with all the shopping bags! He was nowhere to be found and of course knew that I would find my way home....carrying all those heavy bags! Well, no one said learning would be easy, whatever the subject ;).

Styrofoam paper plane kits we would build and fix with Scotch tape when some parts were broken.

On Short Street there were also other vendors of interest and nostalgia. There was a kind of 'chapalang' shop selling all sorts of stuff like kuti-kuti, candy, dried cuttlefish and toy soldiers as well as some sundry goods. My interest was the Styrofoam aeroplanes and I collected quite a few of them. We had near battles with the kite flyers in the basketball court on who could use the empty space, while there was basketball, badminton and a whole assortment of other activities going on in that little court. The funny thing is that they would never sell the actual plane on the cover, it was always some other model or design. False advertising in its early stages, LOL!

Strange game of Kuti-Kuti I never understood but that didn't prevent me collecting them to bribe other children with.

At the start of Short Street right after Middle Road was this Mamak shop, literally slapped on the wall on one side of the David Elias building. This is where we used to buy so many things before NTUC supermarkets started opening up. I remember going to this shop in 1990 to buy some things for National Service. So I got my shaver, Japanese slippers, comb, some stationery and soap. Then I remembered the soap dish so I asked the man, "Uncle, do you have a soap dish". He kept insisting he didn't even though I could see it in display. So I told him I needed it and he vehemently insisted he doesn't have one. Then it struck me that he might not have understood, so I gave him the Indian twang and said, "Aneh! Soapa Disha!". And that sealed the deal..hahaha!!

Another incident that makes my Mum laugh involves this item below.

Old school "stylo milo" bag in those days

Aged 6 years old, I was the only grandson at the time and, although I wasn't spoiled as my family members were very strict, I had my moments. Peer pressure, only grandson, two sisters constantly running away from me to go on their clandestine trips to the SPCA on Orchard Road..I had enough! So I packed my clothes and toothbrush in a red bag like the one in the photograph and prepared to run away. 

My Mum asked me where I was going and I proudly told her..I was a man and leaving! She said ok and not to forget to be back by tea break. I left, ready to conquer the world, walking with my red chequered bag, which was strangely getting heavier by the minute. 

After a few hours of walking around Peace Centre, and up and down Sophia Road, I was getting hungry and remembered the delicious milk tea and biscuits that would be ready at about 4pm. So that was a very short adventure but it still makes my Mum laugh.
But my fondest memories are about the food.on simple pushcarts like the one in this photograph.

Short Street was surrounded by good food.from Albert Street to Middle Road, from Tekka Market and Serangoon Road to Waterloo and Bugis Streets. I remember Alber Street was like a food Disneyland full of delicious food like Hokkien Mee cooked on a charcoal stove and served in an opeh leaf. 

My Grandfather was really good friends with Fatty Weng, known for his eatery, Fatty's and because of that, I could always jump any queue for take away food if he was sitting at his counter. Caucasian tourists would always fill his shop and the tables that spilled out onto the street. On a pushcart, before the corner provision shop named Nam Thye was Kim Chio, an old Chinese man selling homemade drinks, tikam-tikam (the house always wins type!) and other 'kanna', preserved candies. On the other end was the sarabat stalls serving glorious teh halia, sugee biscuits and cakes, triangular curry puffs; they had their regulars.
 

On a kind of mezzanine floor at Selegie House there was Frankie Boo and his chicken/duck rice shop. Little known to most, he was a race car driver, with living proof as there was a picture of him in his car on the back wall of his shop. Rumour has it that he was also a 'financial advisor' of the day..if you know what I mean. Next to him was a Mee Pok shop that had the best chili I ever tasted...to this day!


Even the Short Street compound had its unique food. There was Bhai who would come by in the afternoons with his 'bread shop' on his head. Delicious local bread and my favourite coconut filled buns. There was also a satay man with this shop slung on his shoulder. He had had really rough and calloused hands making me think he was a hard worker and could slap any one of us into next week!. He had his gravy on one side and the charcoal grill on the other where he would cook fresh satay for you. My friends would distract him as I swiped a few sticks off the grill once he sat down on his little wooden stool. Hey we were kids! 

Another memorable satay shop was in the side lane beside Rex Cinema. With 50 cents, you could get 2 sticks of satay and a delicious chendol to wash it down..such was the simple life and memories of food I had.


Where did all this wonderful food go to? Why are there no stalls or outlets that can reproduce this quality? Are we too 'healthy' these days that our tastes have been forgotten? I spent 7 years in Bali, Indonesia and I would always miss Singapore food. Of course while travelling through Java and in Bali there was nice food too, but there is food... and there is food that touches the heart. 

Those meals that bring back memories of friends, family and colleagues. That remind us of certain conversations, festive seasons while growing up and those events that amazed us, family dinners and such. When I returned to Singapore, I was disappointed to find that tastes had changed, some old hawkers gave up and food in the one hawker centre or food court was not much different from the next. This led me to my current goal...to preserve Singapore's food culture.


My grandfather was a philanthropist, helping the community, always aware of people's needs, helping when he could and had provided all of his children with a good education. He believed the community had to move forward together, regardless of race, language or religion. Now my goal is similar - I want to preserve as many aspects of our food culture while assisting the older community. 


And thus its starts...Old Newspaper
In February 2015, I wrote to our Prime Minister Mr Lee Hsien Loong, sharing my social endeavour with him. I wanted to start my project in Tanjong Pagar, one of the oldest neighbourhoods in Singapore. After his PA replied, I started getting a lot of support from other government agencies and the entity known as Old Newspaper was born. 

The primary function is to help those who are turned away from employment because of their age or who are slightly physically challenged. In tandem, I want to set up all the old style food, some in pushcarts, other carried around, the noodle seller playing 'tok tok' on his little bamboo rod and even a satay man walking around cooking fresh satay in front of the customer's table.
 

Old Newspaper will be decorated like how old Bugis Street or the Orchard Road open air hawker centre was. Chairs and tables don't need to be in matching sets, the overhead lamp shade could be a Carnation Evaporated Milk can, communal seating could be old school desks bound together by cable ties. The cashier would be sitting behind an old sideboard counter like the one you would see in older Hainanese chicken rice shops. 

Hey why not even play scissors, papers and stones to get a discount for your bill? Yes I will definitely have a stored value card for payments, but guess what? The cashier has to get her cashier's card from the Milo tin hanging overhead, suspended by a counter weight like in our old provision shops.
 

Instead of waiting at home and or whiling their time away, our older able bodied staff would be proudly earning some small salary or allowance, that might be supplementing their annuities or allowances from their children. More important is their mental state - they have something to look forward to everyday, new friends to chat (or gossip) with, new skills to learn and new people to meet.


I will set up a little mini museum with the help of my recently acquainted friends from the National Heritage Board, and have Old Newspaper employees as museum guides to narrate to visitors how home grown brands like Singapore Airlines, Cerebos, Khong Guan Biscuits or Tiger Beer developed. I would like to have one auntie or uncle take centre stage in the evenings for a story telling session, sharing how they grew up in their own neighbourhood, how things have changed from the simpler life they knew. Sharing their hardships, happy memories and priceless experience!


For the food, I would tap into the repository of information, recipes and experience that the employees of Old Newspaper have stored in their heads. I would have one of the stall equipped with the bare minimum so that we could showcase one uncle or auntie sharing her favourite recipe, with the majority of the sales going directly to this person.

This is a challenge to activate Singapore's richest resource. We had some ground level interviews on how the older generation feels about employment and its was heart breaking to learn of the challenges these people face. I have the interviews here www.oldnewspaper.co and some voice interviews are supplemented with images of Old Singapore.

This is what I want to do for my community, this is how I want to return my 31 years of Food & Beverage experience. this is my contribution to Singapore and its food culture. Keeping it real, alive and very, very Singaporean...
 
This is me.. A Singaporean!  

Note: While we have made every effort to trace the copyright owners of some of the photographs, it has been a futile experience at times. We do not claim to have copyright to any of the photos except those that belong to Greg.