Distinguishing features at the new digs
ten days in—with the Love hotel little over a kilometer away and the former
Carpmael house 100 metres hardly a new neighbourhood, but nevertheless. For one
thing the Chinese character appears much more prominent. Shy mums and dads with
almost no English caught in the lift somewhat unsettled and odd bashfulness
resulting. No other ang moh thus
far anywhere to be seen.
In the exercise-yard and playground the colour contrast was immediately striking. On all sides and everywhere yellow and brown, brown and yellow dotted. In the new locale, in these designated areas, what was common out on the street unexpectedly stabbed the eyes. Sometimes two maids would sit together while their respective charges played or exercised unassisted. More usually the girls are pushing a child on a swing, guarding the trampoline and rowing opposite the old amah at her morning work-out. Often the girls crouch to take pictures which are sent to the office or saved for the evening return from work. Rarely has there been a single case of mother or dutiful child matched with their nearest and dearest. On the most recent Saturday there was one found and more Sunday.
Within the first few days three funerals and one other gathering which may have been connected to the qingming grave-cleaning the weekend prior. A couple of choirs in something like black academic gowns, drumming, cymbals and gongs before 8 one morning. The large colourful cardboard convertible must have been for a young tearaway taken prematurely. An old half-burnt-out 44 gallon drum had been brought over to the side of the Block.
Ten flights up Doreen lives alone in her brother’s three-bedder. (Chap currently camped out in St. Albans, Melbourne the last couple of years after a university degree down in the South, Dor having visited and noted the Vietnamese population in an area once prominently Slav.) Raised in a Daoist family, Doreen converted to Christianity under the influence of a classmate at her English tuition school. At present she worships out at an as-yet unregistered church in Bras Basah Complex and works as a Carer visiting the elderly in their homes. (Numbering only twenty the small congregation does not yet meet requirements.)
Typical spinster flat of the earlier generation crowded with hoards of various kinds: boxes of instant oats, pasta sauces and knickknacks. Another of Doreen’s brothers here was due to visit in order to check on his coin collection in the third room. Mild-mannered good folk of regular habits. Dor has taken the hint to kill the TV; morning newspapers are brought for her and the high security lock-up is being progressively loosened. Weekly $250 savings on rent could no longer be ignored.
Lunchtimes the Void Deck at the base of Tower 2 gathers the litter and gardening crew for their lunches and short rests. Nothing surprising now in the mortuary pictures of sprawled men collapsed beside their yellow Wellies and two litre water-bottle pillows. One chap seeks a modicum of privacy for his repose behind an umbrella in his corner. The garbage collectors appear South Indian (chute under the kitchen sink); garden and litter detail Malay.
The cat sentinels are a feature between times at the foot of the towers, good representation of ladies in attendance. Crane and Ceylon corner is visible from the kitchen window; out toward East Coast newer landed properties, bars, boutiques and the first mall established in Singapore that currently holds a couple of dozen Maid Agencies one next to another on two floors. (Any subsequent visitor to Singapore will be taken for a brief pass. Small wonder President Jokowi feels shame at his compatriots forced to such recourse in a foreign land.)
Cut-throughs west across Haig and Tanjong Katong Roads are either Ipoh Lane or Thiam Siew Avenue. Condo-land either way passing iron gates and pill-boxes housing dark-skinned men in shirts with epaulettes and various monitoring gadgetry surrounding. One evening footing along the pavement dodging the reminder of dog poo responsibility the lighted windows stretching up toward the clouds brought sudden heart-ache at the thought of all the furniture from the real estate advertising delivered to each domicile—truckloads of stuffed couches and beds, cabinets, dining tables, lamps and artwork for the walls.
On busy Tanjong Katong Road there were glimpses of the modest past in amongst taller modern towers. The stretch before Geylang Road was dominated by two large houses of worship illuminated nights like rich Spanish galleons on a dreary expanse of sea: Our Lady Queen of Peace and spitting distance off the Charis Tabernacle that was in fact the mother ship of Doris's church. In both cases larger, additional wings had been added as the need for succour here grew. The high polish and gleam quite dazzled in the tightly crammed suburban setting. The poorer the village the more grand the church they said—inapplicable here. Like the malls and condos rising up in the steam of the tropics, the gleaming surfaces of these churches, with their long swept driveways and grounds confounded an outsider even five years (almost) later. From the beginning, one had often reflected, the newly independent regime in Singapore had been seeking to prove something to their former masters.
In the case of Thiam Siew Avenue one particular facet above all others struck a newcomer to the neighbourhood. In fact the case here involved one particular facet that was repeated almost two dozen times in Thiam Siew. It required a number of passes before the incidence was properly taken.
Like Ipoh Lane, Thiam Siew Avenue covered a short hundred metres. Unlike the former however, which was wall to wall condos—Emery Point, Imperial Heights, Bela Casitra, Versilia (Versailles had gone up on Guillemard Road close-by about fifteen years prior, judging from street level)—in the case of Thiam Siew a couple of dozen bungalows had been retained either side of the street, each on fine spreads perhaps only a little short of the Australian quarter acre block. (Numbers of millions each in the hot-house real estate market here.) Fine, roomy single storey dwellings in a range of architectural styles including Tudor England and Swiss Chalet. In the midst of all the tall condos this was surprise enough and initially took all the attention.
Gardens allowed some over-growth on Thiam Siew; nothing like the usual severity. Porous front fences in-filled with vines and shrubs. The throatier barks of large dogs, uneven ground and almost no concreting or hard surface visible. Tasteful. Lucky souls. There would be musical instruments behind these walls and little television. For a week one noticed isolated front pools.
In fact in the one hundred metres between the Haig and Tanjong Katong roadways on Thiam Siew Avenue one could find perhaps two dozen identical elongated kidney-shaped swimming pools surrounded by dark wooden decking running long-ways.
No confusion; there was no two ways about it. Even the colour tone of the water was precisely the same Club Med brochure—the same tint of fibreglass.
Two dozen individual homes none of which were duplicates, both sides of Thiam Siew. Fine, enviously fine abodes. Couples from the condos would walk their dogs along this strip in order to admire the living. A range of architects had been employed; some of the early modernist houses had been added fifteen or twenty years after the war. All with the very same elongated-kidney shape stamped in front. Splash pools really these were for children; an adult would have been reluctant to plunge in close against the front fences and swimming properly was not possible.
On the Southern side there were three or four gaps in the series and the house on Tanjong Katong corner had opted for fountain. One could not peer too closely through the shrubbery: on the Southern side five houses had possibly declined the pool.
How to explain the uncanny duplication in a setting such as this? Singaporeans like most other shoppers did love a bargain. But a promotion of some brief, irresistible kind of which almost the entire street had taken advantage was far-fetched; one honey-tongued salesman storming through on a single afternoon getting by the ladies likewise improbable.
It did present a puzzle. Odd to say the least. Nothing larger could be squeezed on these allotments and backyards must have been tight. (Condos looming behind in both cases.) The decision taken here was for artistic line and the decking fitted the prevailing heritage values. Like the initial purchases, the maintenance here was coordinated the length and breadth of the street—the single and consistent tone of the decking timber could not in the tropics be explained otherwise.
A mystery that gripped and tantalized for a short few hours. Not long after the return to the room after the night of the fuller discovery, after mulling over the matter in the shower and at the desk, Doreen’s mention returned of the local towkay whose children or grandchildren still lived near-by. Had Doreen said the street was named after the pioneer? Many of the old tycoons of whatever stripe here commonly had a dozen and more children to one or more wives and often mistresses added; as in most places over the globe, with serious money involved conventional morality slipped off. A water-tight trust was possibly what had applied here, fixed assets unable to be touched by the heirs and regular equal disbursements. A Melbourne friend on a visit a couple of years ago had spoken of discretionary testamentary arrangements it may have been termed.
Quite a scene. Most eye-catching evenings when the lighting produced the sequence of phosphorescent glow.
NB. Briefest further research: Once upon a time Mr. Wee Thiam Siew had owned a good part of the neighbourhood south of the Geylang River, including the site of the new ONE KM Mall on Geylang and Tanjong Katong corners.
In the exercise-yard and playground the colour contrast was immediately striking. On all sides and everywhere yellow and brown, brown and yellow dotted. In the new locale, in these designated areas, what was common out on the street unexpectedly stabbed the eyes. Sometimes two maids would sit together while their respective charges played or exercised unassisted. More usually the girls are pushing a child on a swing, guarding the trampoline and rowing opposite the old amah at her morning work-out. Often the girls crouch to take pictures which are sent to the office or saved for the evening return from work. Rarely has there been a single case of mother or dutiful child matched with their nearest and dearest. On the most recent Saturday there was one found and more Sunday.
Within the first few days three funerals and one other gathering which may have been connected to the qingming grave-cleaning the weekend prior. A couple of choirs in something like black academic gowns, drumming, cymbals and gongs before 8 one morning. The large colourful cardboard convertible must have been for a young tearaway taken prematurely. An old half-burnt-out 44 gallon drum had been brought over to the side of the Block.
Ten flights up Doreen lives alone in her brother’s three-bedder. (Chap currently camped out in St. Albans, Melbourne the last couple of years after a university degree down in the South, Dor having visited and noted the Vietnamese population in an area once prominently Slav.) Raised in a Daoist family, Doreen converted to Christianity under the influence of a classmate at her English tuition school. At present she worships out at an as-yet unregistered church in Bras Basah Complex and works as a Carer visiting the elderly in their homes. (Numbering only twenty the small congregation does not yet meet requirements.)
Typical spinster flat of the earlier generation crowded with hoards of various kinds: boxes of instant oats, pasta sauces and knickknacks. Another of Doreen’s brothers here was due to visit in order to check on his coin collection in the third room. Mild-mannered good folk of regular habits. Dor has taken the hint to kill the TV; morning newspapers are brought for her and the high security lock-up is being progressively loosened. Weekly $250 savings on rent could no longer be ignored.
Lunchtimes the Void Deck at the base of Tower 2 gathers the litter and gardening crew for their lunches and short rests. Nothing surprising now in the mortuary pictures of sprawled men collapsed beside their yellow Wellies and two litre water-bottle pillows. One chap seeks a modicum of privacy for his repose behind an umbrella in his corner. The garbage collectors appear South Indian (chute under the kitchen sink); garden and litter detail Malay.
The cat sentinels are a feature between times at the foot of the towers, good representation of ladies in attendance. Crane and Ceylon corner is visible from the kitchen window; out toward East Coast newer landed properties, bars, boutiques and the first mall established in Singapore that currently holds a couple of dozen Maid Agencies one next to another on two floors. (Any subsequent visitor to Singapore will be taken for a brief pass. Small wonder President Jokowi feels shame at his compatriots forced to such recourse in a foreign land.)
Cut-throughs west across Haig and Tanjong Katong Roads are either Ipoh Lane or Thiam Siew Avenue. Condo-land either way passing iron gates and pill-boxes housing dark-skinned men in shirts with epaulettes and various monitoring gadgetry surrounding. One evening footing along the pavement dodging the reminder of dog poo responsibility the lighted windows stretching up toward the clouds brought sudden heart-ache at the thought of all the furniture from the real estate advertising delivered to each domicile—truckloads of stuffed couches and beds, cabinets, dining tables, lamps and artwork for the walls.
On busy Tanjong Katong Road there were glimpses of the modest past in amongst taller modern towers. The stretch before Geylang Road was dominated by two large houses of worship illuminated nights like rich Spanish galleons on a dreary expanse of sea: Our Lady Queen of Peace and spitting distance off the Charis Tabernacle that was in fact the mother ship of Doris's church. In both cases larger, additional wings had been added as the need for succour here grew. The high polish and gleam quite dazzled in the tightly crammed suburban setting. The poorer the village the more grand the church they said—inapplicable here. Like the malls and condos rising up in the steam of the tropics, the gleaming surfaces of these churches, with their long swept driveways and grounds confounded an outsider even five years (almost) later. From the beginning, one had often reflected, the newly independent regime in Singapore had been seeking to prove something to their former masters.
In the case of Thiam Siew Avenue one particular facet above all others struck a newcomer to the neighbourhood. In fact the case here involved one particular facet that was repeated almost two dozen times in Thiam Siew. It required a number of passes before the incidence was properly taken.
Like Ipoh Lane, Thiam Siew Avenue covered a short hundred metres. Unlike the former however, which was wall to wall condos—Emery Point, Imperial Heights, Bela Casitra, Versilia (Versailles had gone up on Guillemard Road close-by about fifteen years prior, judging from street level)—in the case of Thiam Siew a couple of dozen bungalows had been retained either side of the street, each on fine spreads perhaps only a little short of the Australian quarter acre block. (Numbers of millions each in the hot-house real estate market here.) Fine, roomy single storey dwellings in a range of architectural styles including Tudor England and Swiss Chalet. In the midst of all the tall condos this was surprise enough and initially took all the attention.
Gardens allowed some over-growth on Thiam Siew; nothing like the usual severity. Porous front fences in-filled with vines and shrubs. The throatier barks of large dogs, uneven ground and almost no concreting or hard surface visible. Tasteful. Lucky souls. There would be musical instruments behind these walls and little television. For a week one noticed isolated front pools.
In fact in the one hundred metres between the Haig and Tanjong Katong roadways on Thiam Siew Avenue one could find perhaps two dozen identical elongated kidney-shaped swimming pools surrounded by dark wooden decking running long-ways.
No confusion; there was no two ways about it. Even the colour tone of the water was precisely the same Club Med brochure—the same tint of fibreglass.
Two dozen individual homes none of which were duplicates, both sides of Thiam Siew. Fine, enviously fine abodes. Couples from the condos would walk their dogs along this strip in order to admire the living. A range of architects had been employed; some of the early modernist houses had been added fifteen or twenty years after the war. All with the very same elongated-kidney shape stamped in front. Splash pools really these were for children; an adult would have been reluctant to plunge in close against the front fences and swimming properly was not possible.
On the Southern side there were three or four gaps in the series and the house on Tanjong Katong corner had opted for fountain. One could not peer too closely through the shrubbery: on the Southern side five houses had possibly declined the pool.
How to explain the uncanny duplication in a setting such as this? Singaporeans like most other shoppers did love a bargain. But a promotion of some brief, irresistible kind of which almost the entire street had taken advantage was far-fetched; one honey-tongued salesman storming through on a single afternoon getting by the ladies likewise improbable.
It did present a puzzle. Odd to say the least. Nothing larger could be squeezed on these allotments and backyards must have been tight. (Condos looming behind in both cases.) The decision taken here was for artistic line and the decking fitted the prevailing heritage values. Like the initial purchases, the maintenance here was coordinated the length and breadth of the street—the single and consistent tone of the decking timber could not in the tropics be explained otherwise.
A mystery that gripped and tantalized for a short few hours. Not long after the return to the room after the night of the fuller discovery, after mulling over the matter in the shower and at the desk, Doreen’s mention returned of the local towkay whose children or grandchildren still lived near-by. Had Doreen said the street was named after the pioneer? Many of the old tycoons of whatever stripe here commonly had a dozen and more children to one or more wives and often mistresses added; as in most places over the globe, with serious money involved conventional morality slipped off. A water-tight trust was possibly what had applied here, fixed assets unable to be touched by the heirs and regular equal disbursements. A Melbourne friend on a visit a couple of years ago had spoken of discretionary testamentary arrangements it may have been termed.
Quite a scene. Most eye-catching evenings when the lighting produced the sequence of phosphorescent glow.
NB. Briefest further research: Once upon a time Mr. Wee Thiam Siew had owned a good part of the neighbourhood south of the Geylang River, including the site of the new ONE KM Mall on Geylang and Tanjong Katong corners.
No comments:
Post a Comment