Our Battle with the Elements Droughts I will tell you our experiences in the 1950s and early 1960s. The months from May to July were usually very dry but in some years, they were exceptionally dry. Sometimes, for a month or two, not a drop of rain fell. The grass dried up. The springs in the wells on higher ground, followed by the wells in the valleys, stopped flowing. Our dried up streams and ponds became short-cut routes to the farm. We even sank wells in the middle of the ponds. We took the opportunity to clear the muddy deposits of the ponds. While clearing, we found catfish and snakeheads snuggled in the wet mud. In places where the mud was caked, we could see rotting fish as well as swarms of houseflies feeding on them. The water lettuce and duckweed perished, but the water hyacinth and water burhead could rehabilitate, adapt themselves and thrive in the muddy patches as they were the hardier plants. We tried to make do with what little water we got from the spring in the sunken depth of the wells to water the vegetables. We took that opportunity to clear the sunken residue in the wells too. One among us brothers would go down the well with the help of a ladder. Then the ladder was hauled up and a pail was lowered. The one in the well would fill the pail with mud. My parents would haul up the mud and empty it nearby. We tried to deepen the well too, but if the bottom of it had reached a hard layer, then a greater effort was needed. Furthermore, we did not expect to find springs in the hard ground layer. We could get springs from the well near a stream. We deepened it, but the soft mud gave way and filled up again however deep we dug. A solution was needed. We went to our usual building supplier at Simpang Bedok, Hiap Seng Leong, to order cylindrical concrete retaining walls. These were not much different from huge water concrete pipes, but they were enormous ones, about four feet in diameter. Their height was about three feet. They were lowered into the dugout by means of tough ropes tied to the walls. Extra help was requested from our neighbour, Ah Hee, Madam Ong Ka’s son. The person at the bottom of the dugout had to steady the pipes and guided them into place as well as see that they were accurately levelled. If each one was not levelled properly, the final one at the top would be skewed at an angle. Then the outer wall was filled with clean sand. Spring water would filter through the layer of sand and into the well through the holes built into the walls for the purpose. Spring water could also seep through the seams of the joints between the cylindrical walls. But if the water quality was not good enough for consumption, it could be used for other purposes – to water the vegetables or feed the farm animals. For cooking and washing our crockery and clothes, at first we had to channel water from a common well in the Malay kampong. Our parents had often warned us to follow proper Muslim customs and practices when scooping water from the well in a Malay kampong. We had to borrow the scooping pail from a Muslim family, as we did not want them to suspect that we contaminated the water with our non-halal containers. On the whole, the kampong folks were very understanding and cooperative. They lent us their pail willingly. Later, we found out that the kampong well showed signs of drying up. We went further to a well at Kampong Jalan Haji Salam, as well as a Chinese well near the perimeter of the Bedok schools. Whichever well we went to, there were always cooperation and understanding. We never encountered animosity. Each of us balanced two kerosene tins of water on our shoulders with a carrying pole. The whole family was involved. Usually, we formed three chains – two to get the water from the source, two to take over from them midway and two to carry them up to our storage pots and tanks. When the task was completed, it was already nearly 8 p.m. Then we had our dinner. In 1962, black and white TV Singapura was introduced. Along the route we traversed to carry water, there lived an Indian family. The father had just bought a television set. Every evening, he would switch on his set to watch Hindustani films. Many of the kampong folks swarmed to his house to watch from the beginning of the show till the end. He was so kind-hearted and good-natured that he allowed them to sit inside his hall while watching. After having filled our water containers, we too joined in the fun. At times, humans are humans; he eventually complained that he could not get enough rest and sleep due to the constant requests from the kampong folks to watch TV. If he wanted a rest, children would knock at his door. If he did not respond to their calls, insults would be hurled at him. When the water shortage reached a critical point in 1962, the kampong headmen appealed to the City Council for help. The City Council sent tanks of water in their improvised trucks daily to the affected kampong folks. Hours before each truck arrived, we lined up our metallic containers, in various shapes and sizes, by the side of the dirt track. When the truck arrived, the driver filled each container with the hose attached to the bottom of the water tank. When the water in the tank was exhausted, the driver went away to get a fresh tank and the whole process was repeated until we were satisfied. Sometimes, we children clung on to the tailboard of the empty water truck as it moved away to get a fresh supply from the hydrant meant for fire engines a few kilometres away – at Changi 8½ Milestone to be exact. We were too young to know of the danger should the truck suddenly stop or jerk forward. Then the government installed standpipes in the kampongs. Kampongs Haji Salam and the heart of Kampong Tanah Merah Kechil were the first to get public standpipes. After the standpipes were installed, we got the water from them. The cemented area around each standpipe was small. The kampong folks nearest to the standpipes contributed money to enlarge the area so that the womenfolk could do their washing there and anyone could bathe there without soiling their feet. Well water was only used for washing. In most cases, the wells were closed up, as they were not of use any more. When our ponds and wells were all dried up, there was a public standpipe about 50 metres away from our nearest pond. Every day, the kampong womenfolk did their washing at the standpipe. The waste water flowed down into the muddy stream and seeped into the ground. My father thought he could put the waste water into good use. He created a dam at the stream where the waste water from the standpipe flowed. A big pool of water accumulated. He deepened the stream leading to his pond. The water, although soapy, was better than none. The landlady was apprehensive. She was afraid that the Ministry of Health would not approve of it, as mosquitoes might breed in the water. My father assured her that by emptying the pond daily, the mosquitoes would not have the chance to breed, as the water was not stagnant. He promised her that once the monsoon period came, he would dismantle the dam. During the onset of the monsoon, the first thing he did was to clear the makeshift dam. The droughts reached a critical point. The water in the reservoirs in Singapore reached a dangerously low level. There was water rationing. At first, there was no water in standpipes for four hours a day, but as days went on, the water situation did not improve. Water was provided only for six hours a day. Although water was turned on at the official time stated, the standpipes in the kampongs still remained dry. What they heard coming out of the pipe was not water but only air. There was a long queue of water containers. When the water arrived, at first, it was a mere trickle. “It was like a child urinating,” some of us would joke in jest. Family members took turns to wait for the pails to fill and carried them away. By the time they got the water they needed, it was already way past midnight. Most of them had to get up early to go to work, as their work places were far away. During those hours of water rationing, every night, we had to wait for the water to fill our containers to use the next day. Our other activities at night had to take a back seat. Thunder and Lightning One afternoon, it was raining heavily. My father wanted to wash away some dirt at the front of the house with the rainwater that was collected earlier. As soon as he splashed the water, it seemed as if a very bright light and a deafening roar resulted. I was nearby. We could feel the heat emanating from the lightning. The flash blinded us temporarily. The pail was flung away. We shook with shock. Then my father said, “Next time, remember, never splash water on rainy days. The water would conduct the thunder and lightning to us.” How far it was true I did not know. Another incident happened one humid and cloudy day. Out of the blue, there was a deafening thunderclap and lightning flashed almost at the same time. The lalang patch under the coconut trees not far from our house was burning. A light breeze blew. The fire was raging fiercer. We were afraid it would soon reach our house. Every one of us – no matter how big or small, young or old, anyone who could run – swung into action. My father took the changkol. My mother grabbed pails to fetch water. My grandma had something else. I took the long scythe. The elderly estate manager’s workman, Mr Bong, carried a pail filled with water. Other kampong folks caried other things. All of us set out with one aim – to extinguish the fire. We cleared the dry grass nearby, cut away the tall branches, flattened the tall lalang, and splashed water on to the dry grass to act as fire breaks. Poor old Mr Bong, upon reaching the burning site, discovered that the pail of water that he was carrying had leaked away. “Chelaka! Ini tong bochor!”he cursed under his breath and returned to get a new pail of water. The fire died a natural death when it met a firebreak that we made, denying it fuel to consume. At another time, a fire happened at old Ong Ka’s land. The afternoon was very hot. It was about 2 p.m. Suddenly, we heard a sizzling and crackling sound, accompanied with a small explosion, like the sound of the firecrackers. Black smoke billowed up into the clear blue sky. We knew it would be dangerous if it were not brought under control. That time, a strong wind was fanning the fire. The fire spread so fast and the smoke was so thick. We tried our best, but with little success. I could feel the intense heat radiating from the leaping fire. I moved away a little. I wanted to get a close-up view of the wall of fire that leapt, swayed, danced and then tapered off into the air. Then someone pulled me away, denying me the chance to watch the fire further. Someone else ran to a public telephone at Bedok Village, which was several kilometres away, to call for the fire engine. When the fire engine – a red Dennis – arrived, it was just in time to see the fire dying. The fire stopped at a well-used sandy path. The firemen did the mopping up – extinguishing little pockets of glowing embers with the knapsack Indian pumps as well as thick flexible swats. Thank heaven the fire had died. If it had spread across the path, it would engulf the pigsties, the heaps of dry coconut leaves and Ong Ka’s house. Then it would have gone on to a patch of lalang, and finally to my house. A few guesses were made as to how the fire had started. Arson was ruled out. Lightning was also ruled out, as the day was hot and no one heard any thunder prior to the fire. It could probably be due to either a smoker carelessly throwing a lighted cigarette butt on a patch of dry grass or sunlight shining on a glass bottle. The concave nature of the glass bottle could focus sunlight onto a patch of dry grass, causing the grass to catch fire. At the end of the day, we were glad that the fire had not done us much harm; we were mindful that we always had to be on guard not to let it loose, or else one day, a fire would catch us off guard and give us a beating so severe that it would leave us with nothing or could even cause deaths. I loved cycling around to see places. I wrote that in one of my school essays. One of my cycling experiences was the most fearful and the most unforgettable. While cycling along Changi Road, at the front gate of the Changi Bus depot on the top of a ridge, I saw a huge column of smoke rising far in the distance. I raced to the scene. In the early 1960s traffic was very light. I rode past Paya Lebar Road and then came to Aljunied Road. A huge crowd of people was gathering along the roadside to watch a fire burning a cluster of attap houses among coconut trees. I inched closer to the front. The fire was raging furiously at the dry attap houses and the flames shot up high above it. Suddenly there was a loud explosion. A portable gas tank flew up, reaching a height of about 30 metres and then dropped down on the burning cinders, sending sparks everywhere. There were loud shouts of horor and surprise. The flame then leapt from the roofs to the coconut leaves above. A strong wind blew, fanning the flames. The raging flames spread and leapt uncontrollably to burn whatever was in its path, leaving a trail of smouldering ash and twisting pipes, clay pots, concrete bases and charred columns in its wake. Soon the policemen and fire-engines arrived. The policemen started to cordon off the area and firemen immediately pumped water onto the burning houses. The victims were sobbing, wailing, fainting and even blaming themselves for causing such disaster while others were consoling and pacifying them. The whole crowd could only watch with mouths agape. I then cycled away, feeling deep sorrow for the victims. I felt that my energy and strength had been sapped by the burning inferno. With much effort, I pedalled slowly home. The Rainy Season Now most of the people live in flats. The housing estates have interconnecting walkways sheltering them. Rain, no matter how heavy it is, does not cause much bother. People do not hear the pattering of raindrops on their roofs. They do not feel the water under their feet rushing down impatiently to the longkang (drains). They do not rush out of their homes with their umbrellas or raincoats to shelter their loved ones returning. We who lived in attap houses in the kampongs back then were very much at the mercy of the weather. If it rained, we were very much affected by the noise, the howling wind, the rattling of the windows and doors and the flapping of loose attap leaves on the rooftop and the water that beat and leaked into the house. There was also the constant fear that the storm might rip off the roof. When rainwater leaked into the house, everyone was in a flurry to get containers of any sort – be they wash basins, empty milk tins, pots or pans – to collect the rainwater so that it would not wet the house. Then again, there was the cacophony of sounds coming from the raindrops on the containers. Different containers produced different pitches and tones. My mother would hurry us or whoever around to help to collect the dry laundry from the clotheslines or move the dry firewood into the kitchen. What about the vegetable beds? Flowing water could erode the embankments, beds and earth shore-ups. If that happened, efforts would be made to minimise the damage or to divert the course of the flowing water. Most often, if possible, my father himself would do it. But if the damage was great, the whole family had to chip in. If there were storms, the tall papaya trees, trellises and props for climbers would be brought down. After the storm had subsided, the damage would be assessed and efforts had to be made to clear up the mess and repair work had to be done. The rainy season greatly hampered our daily chores, such as cooking the animals’ food, feeding and cleaning them and looking after their welfare. We could only hope that they would not catch colds or the flu. My father, who had so many chicken coops and pigsties, was the busiest on stormy days. He would go from place to place to watch out for floods, roof being ripped off, and the more active animals who wished to venture out of their enclosures. They would tear out the stakes, planks and wire netting in order to make their escape. Once discovered, we would round them up, even in the stormy weather. After the rounding-up, there would be repairs. Stakes, planks and netting had to be got ready. Tools such as hammers, nails and awls for digging holes, changkols, pliers, saws and wires had to be brought. Then, there would be measuring, sawing, digging, nailing and tying. There would be no rest until the repair works were completed. We children sometimes felt the strain and grumbled in silence, but nevertheless, continued. If the job was not completed, could we put down our tools? Definitely not. Sometimes, we had to continue till late in the night. We did not come to regret this. The skills and knowledge we gained proved useful later in our lives. We could not acquire such experience and skills through books and the Internet.
Posted on: Tue, 24 Jun 2014 03:24:52 +0000
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