(No) Walk in the Park

Ruth from Block 9 at the Haig lives with her hubbie in an executive apartment at the top of her tower just opposite the Carpmael house. Few in Singapore have such palatial domestic quarters, especially in the HDB pigeon-hole sector. Think 1965 shopping precincts London, Paris, Melbourne for Ruth: floral dresses, dress jewelry, big dyed hair, lippy and handbag. In the Great Southern Land the type expired in the late 70s; here in Sing the grip of Ascot, Princess Margaret, tea in the garden had the Chinese in particular by the short and curlies throughout and still today prominent. Ruth at the Haig was hardly Robinson Crusoe in that regard. Nice lady, good English; lively, sociable and possibly a tad risqué. Insurance salesperson up along Changi Road ten minute walk from Geylang Serai, the Malay market; twenty from Block 9 at the Haig. The last two or three years Ruth had been walking up, sauntering along: the sheltered pathways through the Haig estate, Haig Market, right at Geylang and on past Wadi and J. C. Complex with trees dotting the pavement every thirty or forty metres more or less and mid-morn. the furnace less than utterly overwhelming. That was the last three or four years. Exercise of course highly important. With the help of that morning and evening routine Ruth had maintained her trim. There was no time early before work for the tai chi at the base of Ruth’s Block. In the latter half of last year and now the first quarter of this, no more Ruth however by the morning table at Al-Wadi. Had she retired, finally? Not so common in Singapore even for people well into their seventies. In fact Ruth could comfortably manage without the money; money was not the chief motivation in this case. Ruth was good at her job; a valued employee retaining a client base over many years. Without Ruth at the office every likelihood these customers might peel away. A wise boss knew Ruth’s value. Good earnings; sense of accomplishment. Dinners, perks and a certain social round. What awaited Ruth in retirement? Next year when the building currently being erected opposite City Plaza was complete Ruth’s office would relocate to that corner. Spitting distance from the Haig. Here the dear lady was along the path this morning—time fetching midday in fact—an arm thrown wide in greeting like the TV supports in the shows back in the sixties did it. Floral, lippy, heels and hair like Lucille Ball and Princess Marg. back then. Oh! Ruth! It has been a stretch…. No clock-on card for an experienced, valued employee. Ruth was on her way to the office. Howdeedo! Hideehi! Wasn’t it hot though? Now Ruth was no longer walking over to Changi Road: thus the no-show this many a long month. A change of routine. Ruth’s chosen path now took her westward from the Haig out onto Tanjong Pagar Road and on the other side of City Plaza the stop for the No. 30 bus. The 30 headed north initially, before swinging east toward Eunos somewhere where Ruth rang the bell. At so-and-so Eunos stop such-and-such other number was taken through housing blocks and industrial precincts until another stop where a third bus was boarded. Snaking around some more the third before almost at the foot of the tower on Changi Road a couple of hundred metres past Geylang Serai Pasar Ruth alighted fresh as a daisy. Arrived where insurance was sold to clients over the phone mostly. Carpet by her desk. Side-table carrying pot plant and tree-tops outside the window. Ruth may have shared a secretary with the boss. Six or seven kilometres round trip on the three buses; 850 - 900 metre walk previously. In the torture of sun and slaughtering humidity all too understandable and not uncommon circuitry. Travel by the Cape was a regular recourse in Singapore. Once upon a time Ruth had been able to manage on her pins and bore up. It was harder now. Ruth had succumbed. To date no noticeable crumpling or added weight. A walk in the park it was not even that distance under sheltered walkways large part of the way and on the south side of Geylang and Changi Roads some cover. But not a walk in the park. Heels not helping. The tropics were hard going. (And the grass between the concrete pathways and along the street verge nothing like English lawn either.)