Singapore Swing (21 page)

The British High Commissioner was not told until 36 hours later and was as astonished as Harold Wilson who kicked up a fuss. He sent a personal message to the Malaysian PM, but it was too late to reverse the process; the gulf between the two parties was as deep as the straits physically separating them. On 9 August the Alliance members of the Malaysian Parliament were told the news. At 10:00am the Singapore Independence Bill was given its first, second and third readings at once and passed with 126 votes in favour, none against and one abstention. At the same time Lee Kuan Yew briefed the British, Indian, Australian and New Zealand High Commissions in the City Hall. There, at noon, he gave a tearful press conference: ‘
For me it is a moment of anguish because all my life, all my adult life, I have believed in a merger and the unity of these two territories
,' he said. ‘
It broke everything we stood for.
'

Oblique references to the origins of that ‘si' in Malaysia cause blood to boil, still today. When Lee Kuan Yew was asked in June 1996 whether he could envisage an eventual reunion, he replied in the affirmative, ‘
provided Malaysia adopted a meritocratic system like Singapore's
'. The Malaysian Prime Minister Mahathir Mohamad was quick to reply with the profoundly paradoxical ‘
We do practice meritocracy, but one based on race
.'

O
nce upon a time, the animals of the forest heard from the ravens – flying like shoddy paper planes, crazy as they were with enthusiasm – that the Buddha himself was going to pass through their valley and that the Enlightened One would spend the night under the old
pulai
tree by the Spring of Pure Happiness.

‘The Buddha is coming! We must prepare a feast of celebration that will eclipse the memory of the most sumptuous banquet ever offered!' cried the animals excitedly and spread this way and that collecting fruit, herbs and grains. Come the afternoon, makeshift ovens were glowing and large cooking pots were steaming on top of blazing fires.

By the time the Buddha appeared in his guise as a wandering beggar, the banquet was ready.

First the Bear came forward who had brought pure honey and royal jelly, collected by tricking the fierce bees on top of Fire Mountain that normally protect their treasured produce to death.

The Buddha saw, and He was pleased.

Then came the Tiger who had brought the plumpest and juiciest of durian fruit, having swam all the way to Turtle Island, where the tallest and oldest trees were to be found.

The Buddha saw, and He was pleased.

The Rabbit was somewhere in the middle of the procession and realised that his offerings were below par. He was holding just a bowl of tonic made of fresh lime and galangal, whereas in front of him other animals were depositing hot herb soups, spicy curries and gold-leafed, luscious cakes. When his turn came to appear in front of the Buddha, he faltered for he knew not how to demonstrate that his heart was full of spiritual fervour.

Except –

Without thinking any further, the Rabbit jumped into an open fire, for the best sacrifice he could think of was himself.

And the Buddha saw, and He cried.

- 23 -

I suppose, it's only when faced with a durian ice cream that you realise what your background really is. I was in Little India waiting for a tour of World War Two locations when I decided on the spur of the moment to ease myself into tasting that damn fruit by trying an ice cream. It, of course, stank. My insides protested violently and a foul burp came up after a few licks, as if something has crawled and died inside me and I was exhaling its decomposing gases. And, yes, I must mention the wind I passed soon after, because it lingered low and poisonously over the minibus. Pythagoras believed that when you fart part of your soul escapes; this one was Lucifer personified. It belonged to a separate fartan universe where time bends and smell is four-dimensional. Soon, every window was open, as we all craved for a hit of some good, old-fashioned carbon monoxide expelled by a passing juggernaut. You have been warned. You try that fruit at your peril.

Anyway, I am on the minibus – luckily old-fashioned with windows that can open – and if the other tour members have perceived my faux pas, they hide it with chivalry. The tour is composed in equal parts of Americans, Australians and Brits, all World War Two buffs who test to the limits our guide's expertise. But Razeen holds his own – of small and scrawny build, he is an informed, eloquent and witty live wire.

He must first dispel some misconceptions.

‘Ladies and gentlemen – they said Singapore fell because “the guns faced the wrong way”. Yes, the Japanese invaded Singapore from the north-west,' he says, ‘and yes the town's guns – twenty-nine of them – were pointing south-east. But Lieutenant General Arthur Percival, the commander-in-chief and Major General Gordon Bennett, the head of the Australian Imperial Forces, were not as clueless as popular history makes them out to be. They were prepared for invasion from the north. British High Command had even predicted the exact location of the Japanese landings in Malaysia.'

Razeen was right. A plan had been devised, called Operation Matador, to capture the narrow Thailand isthmus at Singora and throttle any invasion from the north-east. But Britain was fighting for its existence back in Europe and North Africa and had no manpower to spare, so the avoidance of a third front was of paramount importance. When the reports came in that a Japanese fleet was sailing for Malaya, the pre-emptive strike was held up in case this was an elaborate manoeuvre to coax the Brits to capture Singora and force the Thai government to call for Japan to liberate its territory. Of course, the Japanese move was no hoax, and Operation Matador was held up for so long it never even started.

‘Nor did the Japanese invade on bicycles. They used bicycles, for sure, but they also used tanks. The British and Australians did not have any tanks. Nor much airpower. Nor ships, really. The Royal Navy could not spare any big ships. The ones they could afford were a modern battle cruiser, the
Prince of Wales
, fresh out of sinking the
Bismarck
and an older, patched up World War One battle cruiser, the
Repulse
. They were both sunk on 10 December, three days after war broke out. They were sailing towards Kota Bahru when a false alarm made them turn back towards Kuantan, a strategic coastal airfield in the middle of the Malayan peninsula. But when they arrived, they only saw some dead water buffaloes on the beach. The troops in Kuantan had fought a battle with an imaginary foe all night. But by then the ships had been spotted.'

What happened next is one of the most painful episodes of the Royal Navy's history. Admiral Tom Phillips – nicknamed ‘Thumb' because of his small height – commanded the fleet. He was a traditionalist with blind faith in sea- rather than air-power, and an unshaken belief that a battleship could not be sunk from the air. It led to arguments with Air Marshall ‘Bomber' Harris who jokingly prophesied:
‘One day, Tom, you'll be standing on a box on your bridge and your ship will be smashed to pieces by bombers and torpedo aircraft. As she sinks, your last words will be, “That was a fucking great mine!”'

This, sadly, is exactly what happened. The Japanese sent squadron after squadron of aircraft against the two enemy ships outside Kuantan, while Phillips obstinately kept radio silence and refused to request the RAF's assistance. When the captain of the
Repulse
found this out, he disobeyed orders and telegraphed HQ, but, by the time the fighter planes arrived, it was too late. The two ships along with 840 men had been lost in their first two hours of battle – including Phillips who, with stubborn but misplaced heroism, went down with the
Prince of Wales
. Churchill's reaction when he heard the news was typical of the impact it had worldwide: ‘
In all the war I never received a more direct shock
,' he wrote in his memoirs.

We have reached Mount Faber. It is a typical Singapore day, hot and humid with a grey, pewter-coloured sunless sky and misty visibility. Butterflies fly all around us and the shrill sound of cicadas is the soundtrack to our meandering. Amongst the pine trees and rhododendrons, white and mauve cat's whiskers are flowering in landscaped patches. Encircling the vista point are 15 wood carvings that tell the history of Singapore from its legendary naming to today's multicultural society. At the top itself, a tree is wired through with a lightning conductor, a reminder of the ferocity of the sky-splitting South Seas thunderstorms that have to be heard to be believed; even operating mobiles during this period is risky as the occasional electrocuted user can attest.

Razeen gives us a small talk. ‘Here is where Faber Five command was based, ladies and gentlemen. It was the main control centre for the coastal guns at Fort Siloso on Sentosa Island over there and the Labrador battery you can see opposite. For ten years Fortress Singapore had been reinforced and its naval base was built to accommodate twenty ships. This was to be the headquarters of the Far Eastern Fleet to protect India, Burmah, Hong Kong plus Australia and New Zealand that were still relying on Britain to protect them. But come the beginning of the hostilities and there were only two big ships available. Figure that.'

He points towards Sentosa Island in the south.

‘The main Singapore defense was the guns that could hit a ship in twenty miles. And no, the guns were not useless as has been suggested. The fact that the Japanese did not attempt a landing by the obvious route, the south, was evidence of their deterrent value. And they weren't silent, nor were they “pointing at the wrong direction”. They
did
fire north; they could turn on their axes except one that couldn't and one that didn't have a turning cable.'

‘They were ineffective,' says an American who clearly knows his stuff.

‘Yes, they were. Naval bombs are supposed to pierce armour first and explode later so they are not that useful against ground troops. Unless you were unlucky enough and your head took a direct hit, the bomb just made a crater. The Japanese fell on the ground, got up, had a good look at it, decided it was a naval explosive device and then calmly spread for cover. But don't underestimate the effect on the Allied soldiers – hearing those big guns blasting was great for morale.'

Razeen points towards the south-east; our hazy view is full of the red, brown, white and blue containers that put the ‘pot' into the entrepôt. ‘That's Keppel Harbour and Tanjong Pagar. It means Cape of Stakes. Legend has it that Singapore was once attacked by a shoal of swordfish. A little boy suggested that they put up a wall of bamboo stakes to trap them. More likely there were fishing snares. You know what happened to the boy? They killed him because he was too smart! The boy was murdered and his blood painted the earth read on what we now called Redhill. There is an MRT station there.' He points west.

‘You see those HDB flats?' he continues, this time pointing directly north. ‘Everyone in Singapore lives in those flats. Chinatown, Kampong Glam: very few live there any more. Little India? That was named in the eighties with the building of the MRT station. The Indians originally lived by the river. By Dhoby Ghaut. Where are the old temples? In Chinatown next to the Chinese ones.'

He stops for us to ponder over this.

‘Everyone in Singapore speaks two languages. At school we are taught English and one of the other official languages: Mandarin, Tamil or Malay. But we are not allowed to choose. We have to learn the language of our ethnic group.'

‘And if it's a mixed marriage?' asks the American.

Razeen laughs. ‘Your lineage is determined by your father. Which, in my case, was useless. I am a Peranakan Chinese. We are so integrated with the Malays, we have forgotten our Chinese. But I had to learn Mandarin although in my house I spoke Malay. That's written with the Latin alphabet. You write it down as you speak it. But Mandarin! It's impossible! I flunked it year after year.'

And with that he gives us a sign to get on the bus again. The driver has thankfully – or perhaps intentionally – left all doors and windows open, so my little adventure with the durian has been consigned to oblivion.

- 24 -

After a short drive, we get out at Labrador Park, where the chirrup of birds replaces the rattle and hiss of the cicadas. The erstwhile fort that used to be full of observation posts, gun turrets and ammunition stores has been turned into a park that is surprisingly serene for Singapore. Tall
ketapang
– sea-almond trees – stand defiantly on the rocks, right by the sea. They are semi-deciduous and some of their large, leathery leaves have turned red already providing a strange New England colour to the tropical landscape. Taller still, the
tulang daing –
purple millettias – give shelter to hanging lianas. Wild cinnamon and sea-grape bushes occasionally peep at us through the forested path, as we trundle along until we reach the fort's original casemates hidden under a wall of creeping ivy.

‘The first fortification in Singapore was Fort Canning defending the old river port but when the new deep-sea harbour opened it was necessary to defend that. This is the entrance to what was Fort Pasir Panjang. Just before World War Two, it was reinforced and renamed the Labrador Battery, under Faber Command.'

He points at a bunker door. ‘Until recently we knew of three bunkers, but if you look at this map, which we copied from the Public Records Office in London, you'll see a fourth one. I was a member of the archaeological team that tried to open it from there. The Parks Board refused, so we had to break through from the inside. What we found was that the ceiling had collapsed. We knew that some guns here had taken direct hits from airplanes – with the loss of three Indian gunmen – but the collapse of the walls showed that it had been blown up just before Percival surrendered.'

We walk on past a large
beringin
tree, the weeping fig. Malay lore has it that once the moon had fallen on the earth and animals and humans were wiped out except two males and one female who propped it back up in the sky using the trunk of a
beringin
tree. That's why its handsome bleached-grey bark looks like the face of our silvery satellite.