September 1965 to July 1967

Scene 2 – Singapore Days and Nights

e now arranged for my mother to come out for a month at Christmas, on the cheap ‘Old Folks’ Flight’. This was a very popular venture; they usually had two or three aircraft filled with the mums and dads.

ack at Bourne school, in September, and Nesta and Jeff Cole arrived; he was a handicraft teacher like me. He soon became ‘one of the boys’, and joined our circle of friends. It is interesting to reflect that all of us expatriates, civilian and service, were all very much of a similar age range. There was certainly nobody over the age of fifty on service in the Far East - this after all was the retirement age for those who wanted it. Moreover, there was this theory that the older people did not do very well under the heat of the tropics; that, at least, was the official line - what rubbish.

Those who had arrived together always tended to stick together, taking advice from each other, and so on. Our flats and bungalows were similar in that they lacked any ornaments and pictures. What happened was that you rented the property and immediately paid the landlord to have it decorated throughout. This was the common practice. You then hired your furniture from one shop, your refrigerator and cooker from another, and purchased the linen items from another. Consequently, our accommodation looked sparse in those early months, particularly when compared to the sumptuousness of the dwellings of the old hands.

In due course, we all started to buy little things like ornaments, then big things like a solid, teak, camphor wood chest. We also hired a television from the Army Kinema Corporation; it was a small-screen black and white job - the colours ones were far too expensive to hire, and not really worth it for just the few programmes a day that were transmitted. On seeing anything new in anyone’s house, TV’s, furniture, furnishings, the lot, it was the custom to ask “How much did it cost you? Where did you get it? Did you haggle for it?” and so on. The standard routine for a normal three-year tour was to spend wildly, having a good time, during the first year; then to buy things during your second year; and to save in the third year.

ith the Sceneshifters, I was now able to give Brian a rest by being the stage manager for the December production of The Duenna. This was a nice little show, lyrics by Sheridan and music by Julian Slade, held at the Cultural Centre Theatre, and I had also designed and painted the scenery. Valerie and Ann helped of course, and did props, whilst Brian was my ASM. I was particularly proud of the backcloth I painted, also the false proscenium arch I made. The one memorable event was the drunken monks’ chorus; they did not need to act, those chaps! Norman Daniels, who taught history at St John’s was in his element. He could always be relied upon to have a good drink and tell a good tale.

The final fillip was the theatre critic’s comments in the Straits Times, who said “There was a novel picture frame effect with a false proscenium, reminiscent of the Adam Brothers; the backdrops were excellent and most effectively designed, as were the sets. Full marks must be given to the stage management.” I could not have written it any better myself. There was always much prediction as to the identity of the theatre critic, who wrote under a nom-de-plume, and whilst we were convinced we knew - and received a direct denial when asking our suspect - we could never be sure.

lmost as soon as The Duenna had finished, mother arrived after a hairy journey that had seen them trapped in India for some hours. Mrs Leonard senior was also on the flight. It did not take long for mum to be integrated into the social whirl. It was quite funny really seeing all the old folks - they were just such a rarity in Singapore. Whenever we went shopping down Orchard Road, which was the Oxford Street of Singapore, or went to the Club, or to private parties, there they were - “the oldies!” which term of endearment applied to anyone white and over the age of fifty! There were literally hundreds of ‘em all over the island, and they stood out like shining beacons. They were very welcomed, of course, as they brought all the home news with them, but they did tend to curb some of the wilder excesses to which some of us had got used.

A particularly enjoyable evening, just before Christmas, was to attend the full works of Handel’s Messiah!. The place was packed - and with quite a few oldies as well. It was a wonderful experience.

The old folks stayed about a month, and then over a three-day period they all flew out. It was a great time for them, and many friendships were made. Unfortunately mum started to be in some pain during her last few days, nothing that she could put her finger on, but it made for an uncomfortable end to her trip. The three if us dined in the Cockpit Hotel on her last night, and off she went. The journey took the best part of 24 hours in those days, with re-fuelling stops, and so it was not until about a day and a half later that we got the telegram saying “Mum arrived safely - Dad.” Some time later we got mum’s letter telling us that she had got shingles.

t was early in the new year of 1966 that I applied for my one-year’s extension. This was approved automatically, if the headmaster wanted you. At least it proved to me that Buckley was quite happy with my performance, and had forgiven my traitorous move to St John’s. At the same time it was hard to believe that Pete and Ann Taylor had now started their countdown, but they had obviously got it all worked out and knew what they were doing. Some people were also beginning to think about plans for when their three years were up. No one seemed to be saying that they wanted to go back to the UK. It would have meant starting at the bottom of the ladder again. It was all so uncertain, but the carefree existence meant that no one really gave a damn! We all just lived for the swimming pool this afternoon, the dinner party tonight, the Formal Ball at the Club on Saturday night and, of course, Curry Tiffin on Sunday.

For our part, we had been mulling over the idea of moving to another theatre of service schools overseas. The Mediterranean was particularly enticing, as there were secondary schools in Malta and Cyprus. Hong Kong was also a possibility. But above all, the pull of this wild existence in Singapore was very great. Who would really want to give this up? (Apart from the Taylors, that is!).

had started to take a mildly serious interest in swimming - only because many of our pupils were taking the Amateur Swimming Association’s Gold Award in Personal Survival. The P.E. people reckoned it was well within my capabilities, as I had boasted of my Dee Mile performance. Apart from treading water fully clothed for about ten minutes, and then pulling someone the width of the pool, the only great physical effort was to swim one mile within a set time. This latter meant doing about 40 lengths of the Tanglin Club pool. To get in any practice meant starting about 8pm, after all the kids and babies had finished. One of the marvels of a warm climate is to see six-month old babies swimming happily in the shallow end - they could all swim before they could walk. So I started a mid-week regimen of getting in an hour’s ‘training’ with this damned mile. It was generally within my grasp but time and determination always failed me. After about twenty lengths, finished in a reasonable time I might add, I was bored stiff and wanted to get out of the pool. So, after some many weeks of interest, my other ‘pressures of work’ made me abandon any attempt to get the gold medal.

e were now working on the first ever school play, a double-bill classical musical, The Boy Mozart and Barbarina. I was the stage manager and, with John Ridge, designed the set, which we then made from scratch in my woodwork room. As we had no hall or stage of our own, we were going to ‘borrow’ St John’s School. Now I was in a good position to know all about their stage, of which I had made a scale drawing, and their lighting and sound system. This was a great help in the planning and, of course, on the day of arrival we were confident that it would all fit cosily together, which it did. The scenery was transported in an army three-tonner, with labourers to do the heavy work. The show was a great success.

Almost immediately afterwards we were involved with the set for the Sceneshifters next production at the Victoria Theatre, The Student Prince. I was a member of the stage crew, and Valerie did props. I was now on the Sceneshifters committee, and it was in choosing the show that we experienced our own piece of drama. It was going to be either The Student Prince or The Dancing Years. We all seemed to be fairly open about it, and members of the committee gave their preferences, for the music here or the costumes there, and so on. Finally it came to a round-the-table give your vote. I opted for the show in which I knew the drinking song so well; others were neutral, and a couple preferred The Dancing Years. Anyway, by a large majority it was agreed that we would do The Student Prince.

Then the drama started, when our ‘resident’ producer resigned. He wanted to do the other show. No amount of coercion would make him change his mind. “No!” he argued, “This was a committee decision and this is what you wanted to do.” Of course, we had all thought that he was going to produce, regardless of the show chosen. The outcome was a temporary producer, who dropped out after a couple of weeks, and finally we relied on a stalwart of the society. This show never loses its popularity and of course, everyone knows the songs. The sets were, as ever, most impressive on such a large stage (the Victoria Theatre) with banks of lights, orchestra pit, the lot. One felt as though one were walking with history in that building.

e still continued on the many trips of interest spots of Singapore, some organised like the Opium Den tour; it was fascinating peeping into the small hovels and seeing the old folk puffing away at large two-foot long pipes. Chinese New Year was a time of much celebration, fireworks, and dragon dancing. It was always a good excuse for ciné enthusiasts, of whom there were thousands. This was the era when everyone had a ciné camera. In my national service days it had been 35mm colour slides

Another annual festival was the one of penance known as ‘Thaipusam.’ This was a great spectacle, to see the young men carrying great heavy logs of wood, or having skewers attached to their backs, as they walked the several miles between temples to atone for their sins. The colour of it all, the saris worn by the women and the clothes of the children, the food on the stalls were mesmerising. We all followed this up about two weeks later, for this is how long it took to have our films processed in Australia, by having ciné nights to look at each others’ films. It was the norm on such occasions to have the amah prepare a meal and to make sure that the refrigerator was adequately stocked. And the evening get-together would inevitably become an early-morning session, but who cared.

e now said farewell to Ann and Pete Taylor; they’d sent their Robin Reliant back, and were living in a hotel for their last couple of weeks. They had no regrets about going as it fell in with their plans. And they were seconded from their Authority, both of them, which meant a lot to the lucky few who had their jobs waiting for them. There were actually one or two we came across who had been seconded for the full three years.

ight at the end of term, as a result of lots of ongoing talk in our staff room, we decided that we would attempt the first ever staff play, with me as the producer! Of course, we were prompted in this by the fact that our arch enemies at St John’s had just put on a staff play, to wide acclaim. The agreed play for us was to be The Happiest Days Of Your Life - a play that everyone knew except me. I hadn’t even seen the film. However, I was told that it was a very good comedy, very light-hearted and so on and with only one set, so I agreed to be at the helm even though I knew that being producer was a thankless task. I consequently sent a note - the main means of communication between the two parts of the school - to the headmaster, informing him of this decision and asking for his blessing. It came in a very friendly response, and even wishing us well. I showed everyone at our end and they were amazed. They felt that I must have a magic touch to elicit such a warm note. “Rubbish!” I said, “The old boy’s softening!”

t was also right at the end of term - this seems to be when it all happens! - that the head of drama left, leaving the post to be fought over by some three other females. They were all drama teachers, one with music and drama, and of course, their main subject was English and literature. A good field, we all thought.

Then the blow came. Willy Dunn, who was the head of our Gillman end of the school, cornered me for a chat, and said that Neil Buckley was mindful to appoint me to the post. I was speechless. Anyway, despite my protestations he made it clear that I would not be teaching drama and that the post would be for ‘Co-ordinator of Dramatical Activities’ But I was still unhappy and told him that I thought my position would be untenable. The promoted post and financial increase were of no importance, to me, in what appeared to be a political appointment.

The outcome was a summons to see the head. He was very friendly and I had a cup of coffee as we discussed the issues. He made it clear that he did not want any more people to teach drama. He had enough. He then said that the three females, teaching English, drama and music, had been appointed to those posts. They had accepted those posts. There had never been any intimation, or promise, that they would be promoted in those posts. They were not going to be promoted in those posts. They were going to continue to teach in those posts - and so on. This, the co-ordinator, was a new post. It had not been envisaged when the school had been created without a hall and stage. Now that we had experienced the logistical problems in moving scenery and props to another stage, with all the planning that was necessary, then I was the person that he wanted in that new post. Congratulations!

So I was back on the ladder again! To be fair to the three disappointed colleagues they didn’t hold it against me, they knew it wasn’t of my doing and that I had protested, and in fact they all became involved with the staff play.

ur August holiday that year was on what was known as ‘The Far East Trip’. This was a one-month cruise on a French cargo and passenger boat. The boat left Marseilles and went to Japan, delivering and taking on cargo, and keeping a large number of passengers happy at the same time. So it came to pass that we left Singapore harbour and set sail for Bangkok. This took about four days, and gave us a full day sightseeing, which included many temples and the floating market.

Life on the boat was just as one would imagine, with lots of everything to eat and drink, and plenty of entertainment. One sampled all the bars on all the decks until one found a favourite. There was a fancy dress party-night, at which I got first prize; this was the old gag of painting a face on your belly, and making a large hat from old cardboard boxes and placing it over your shoulders. The French entertainer introducing each person gave me the name of ‘Toulouse Lautrec.”

Next port of call was Manila, capital of the Philippines. Again, a day’s tour which took in the town, and an active volcano some miles away. The American influence in the Philippines was everywhere. Next stop on our cruise was Hong Kong. We had a couple of days here doing the old walled town in the New Territories, the border with communist china, and the fishing village called Aberdeen, on the main island of Hong Kong. Then off to Kyoto, in southern Japan, and finally Yokohama, the port for Tokyo. We managed to get on one of the bullet trains, and go to Mount Fuji. We could see it from miles away and when we finally went on a cable car to the foothills, it was shrouded in mist. So we never saw it close to, only from about 20 miles away; and we had really forked out for this “never to be forgotten trip to Mount Fuji.” I suppose it is true to say that we will never forget it!

The return boat trip from Tokyo, via all the same ports, was remarkable only in that we hit a Typhoon. We were about 50 miles from its centre, but it was very scary. Everyone had to stay below decks - you’d have been swept away had you ventured outside, as the ship was swaying and bucking violently, Some people were in the hospital having fallen out of their bunks. This all lasted about 24 hours and we were glad when it was over.

It was a great trip and took us to all these places which might have been only a dream. No wonder it was booked up early each year.

t was around this time that we saw Lee Kuan Yew break down on television as he told the world that Singapore had now broken away from Malaysia, and was hereafter an independent state. His application for membership of the United Nations was in the post.

t the start of the September term, we launched straight into rehearsals for The Happiest Days. Jeff Cole was going to be my stage manager, which helped relieve me of the pressure, although I was very much involved with the decision making, colour schemes of set, and so on. I must mention that, in casting for the play, I had come up against quite a bit of pressure and coercion to have two school children playing the two juvenile parts. For better or worse, right or wrong, I was firmly against the idea; I was afraid that having kids involved would involve pathos, and anyway I wanted this to be a complete staff play (remember, we had a very large staff), with no outsiders. The outcome was very successful, with two teaching colleagues, as silly school children, soaking their roles for all it was worth. It was at this time that I had put our name forward to the appropriate authorities to be entered for the Forces Drama Festival. I also wrote to ‘Merry Andrew’ which was the nom-de-plume of the theatre critic in The Straits Times, and I was subsequently very pleased to see mention, in the critic’s column of ‘The Bourne School Staff who are entering the competition for the first time’. All the information, details and so on had come straight from me. The play was hard work actually, as we were going to have our four night run, before a total audience of 1,000 persons, on St John’s stage. We then had to clear out, the very next day, in order to allow St John’s build the sets for their own production. So Brian Leonard and I were now in rival camps. When St John’s Staff had finished their production on the Saturday night, we returned on the following Tuesday, with all our scenery and props and wardrobe in a three-tonner, to re-build our set in readiness for a final rehearsal, and then the one-off performance on the Wednesday.

This was not to be recommended for the future, but we had to try it once. The Adjudication went down very well. I was there in my dinner jacket, feeling very important, greeting the Adjudicator with the major from the education branch. I then introduced my head and deputy and their wives. It was all very jolly. At the end of the evening I then had to stand on the stage and finally introduce the adjudicator. We had a good booze up when it was all over, although it was a weeknight.

The next day our technician did much of the hard work in organising his labour force and taking our set down. We then waited a couple of weeks for the final adjudication night. We obtained a couple of tickets and went to see RAF Seletar drama group win the trophy with their production of Billy Liar. We acquitted ourselves very well, and honour was satisfied as our two schools were joint third equals. So we were all quite pleased, and felt that we had done particularly well with our great physical disadvantages.

ime for just a little rest before the next challenge, and on to another round of parties and functions. One of the popular ways of enjoying oneself was called ‘Progressive Dinner Party Night’ The way this worked on our first involvement was that we -the Hunts - had the first course - soup and rolls. So everyone arrived in their cars, each car with a volunteer driver who generally remained just a little bit more sober than the passengers, and generally carrying more bodies than that for which the vehicle was designed. On arrival, everyone would have a glass of sherry, nuts and crisps and more sherry, then the first course would be served - the amah had borrowed soup bowls from every flat in the entire block. This was the thing about amahs, they knew when to help each other, and when their master and missy would not need an item. It was nothing out of the ordinary to have a quiet night in and to hear the amah from next door in your kitchen, at the invitation of your amah, taking crockery and cutlery for the dinner party that the neighbours were holding. We didn’t mind; that way we were all helping each other - and nothing was every reported to have been damaged, or gone missing.

After the first course the cheerleader says “Everyone out, we’re now off to the next house!” And so we would all set off for the second course, something like prawns or satay, with wine and beer. The main course, at the next venue, was generally curry, the accompaniments to which were always so colourful and mouth-watering - real fresh pineapple, real grated coconut, and all the rest - with huge, dinner-plate size poppadoms. Finally, back in the cars and on for our sweet course, usually a well-laced fresh fruit salad, followed by Irish coffee. This would then become the final port of call, for the music, fun, games, and dancing. Oh! for the good old days!

was now busy with the Sceneshifters December production of The Yeomen of the Guard, for which I was set designer, constructor and painter, as well as poster and programme cover designer, and to cap it all as stage manager. Valerie and Ann were props, and Brian was my ASM. This was to be held in the Cultural Centre Theatre.

I also learned that this was the Sceneshifters 10^th Anniversary, so they had come into being just a few months before I arrived on the island as a national serviceman.

Yeoman was a super show, the two highlights of which had been my idea. First was to have a portcullis, on the front bar to the flies, in place of one of the two sets of front curtains. Secondly, during the overture - probably one of Sullivan’s best, certainly the most majestic - we should have two yeomen enter from the wings and stand motionless, with their pike staffs, just in front of the port cullis.

And so it all happened, as planned. The whole production was rated as another success, well received by the audience and theatre critic alike.

o to our third Christmas and New Year’s Eve in Singapore. The latter was held in the Tanglin Club and was an excellent - but very wearying - all-night affair, with the usual early breakfast -always a mouth-watering fry up. It was a pukker evening-dress do. We were looking after Lt Col Bill Dodd and his wife; he had arrived to teach at my school, being retired from the Royal Army Educational Corps. I was his proposer into the Tanglin Club, and he got his mate, the Brigadier Education at HQ FARELF as his seconder.

ill Dodd had discussed the merits of freemasonry with me. He had given me various leaflets of explanation, but like a fool, I declined the approach. I said that I was too busy, which I was, and I hadn’t made up my mind whether to stay for another tour or to move. So that was the end of it, and he never mentioned the subject again. It is one of my regrets in life although, for the reasons I have mentioned, and our subsequent move, it would have been unrealistic.

arly in the new year, 1967, we were involved with the Leonards in the Singapore Rotary Club and their charity production of Blithe Spirit. The Rotarians had no drama people of their own, of course, but knew sufficient people like us to be able to rope in all the talent they needed. It was unique in that the stage manager had a row with somebody or other and walked out on the eve of the first performance. Obviously he could not have been a true thespian; he certainly lacked the style of one. The result was that Brian and I carried the management of the show, with Valerie on wardrobe and props - all at the last minute - whilst Ann was already involved in the cast as the maid.

on Godfrey came up to me at school one day and said that he had just been invited to go on a day’s trek into the deepest jungle, somewhere in Johore on peninsular Malaya. The trek was to be under the leadership of some world-renowned jungle explorer (I’d never heard of him). For a P.E. teacher, like Ron, this was a chance in a lifetime. I was very envious. Mind you, the jungle is so thick in parts with no sunlight creeping through, that one can be lost within moments of leaving the recognised track. And the thought of all those animals, snakes and leeches did not altogether appeal to me.

Ron and Yvonne came round that night and talked about it so much that I realised I was going to miss something big, so I asked Ron if he could fix it for me to go along as well. He didn’t know, but said he would ask. Apparently, this explorer knew Borneo, and Malaya better than the aborigines did.

Well, the word came through that I could attend, but neither of us must spread the word as we are only guests. Therefore, our preparations started by a visit to the ‘Thieves Market.’ This operated along one of the back streets of down town Singapore once a week. It had on offer all kinds of stolen British, Australian and American military clothing. Don’t ask me why the authorities turned a blind eye to it, particularly as so much of the gear was brand new. I bartered for an olive-green military top (good camouflage) with long sleeves (essential to keep insects and leeches at bay), puttees to wrap around the ankles (leeches), strong canvas jungle boots, and a canvas hat. Ron was in similar attire. We also had military webbing belts for our waists, and from which we could hang a water bottle and a 6” long knife in a sheath. We were ready for the jungle.

It was early on a Sunday morning when we set off. “We must not keep him waiting,” Ron had been told, “It’s going to be a long day.” The map and assembly point instructions were quite clear, and time was on our side. We were glad that we’d both stayed in the previous night, strange though the feeling, quietness and liquid deprivation had been on a Saturday night.

On approaching the rendezvous, Ron said “It’s just round this corner.” Well, we rounded the bend and all we could see was a coach-load of day-trippers mingling at the roadside. “This can’t be it,” said Ron, “Keep going.”

After some time we stopped, studied the map, and turned round. Back to where the day-trippers were. “Well it’s got to be around here somewhere,” said Ron, “Let’s park the car anyway.” At that moment he spotted his contact man, so we had made it. We assumed that all these people were here to see the famous explorer. Ron and I were suitably dressed in our jungle greens, loaded ourselves up, locked the car and went to meet the contact.

“This is it,” said our man, “We’re setting off now; make sure you keep up with us. I’ll be at the front.” And that was it. We set off following a few of the chaps near to the front. Into the jungle, which wasn’t the least bit daunting. We found ourselves with all these damned ‘day-trippers,’ dressed in shorts and flip-flops; little kids in pushchairs; babies being carried. We walked past them, hoping to catch the leaders. But it was uphill and hard going. Being dressed for armed combat, we both felt the heat. The most galling thing was when all these kids, in their bathing costumes, started to overtake us. Also the beer bellied chaps in vests and shorts; they all did much better than us. They stopped and had a bottle of Anchor, taken from the cool bags that their wives were carrying. We had a careful swig of our boiled, chilled water. After a couple of hours, we reached a waterfall, where we all bathed. Ron and I managed to strip off to our briefs in a secluded spot and have a dip. The deep jungle itself had consisted of a well-worn track, made-up by the authorities in parts with logs acting as steps. The day continued, looking at the trees and listening to far-away animals. We eventually hit base, at the end of the day, and collapsed into the car. What pillocks we felt, in all this gear. What an experience. And what do we tell everyone?

he time had now come to decide on the future and where we wanted to be later in the year. Everyone else we knew was staying, although the Leonards were leaving after six years. I then received the form of application, filled it in, and went to Buckley for his approval and backing. I had decided to go for the Mediterranean, as it seemed to offer the best chances. Hong Kong being so small, one would only get a posting if there happened to be a vacancy in your specialist subject on the day that they reviewed your application. Our fall-back, third choice, was Germany, which we reckoned would be a useful cushion, but we really fancied Malta and Cyprus as our first and second choices.

Another reason for leaving Singapore was that, after three years, the excesses of the good life had made me a particularly tubby cartoon character, and I reckoned that another three years would be fatal. Nevertheless, it was still very hard to come to this decision, and when Buckley grilled me as to why I did not want to stay, I was non-plussed. He finally gave me the highest accolade he could possibly have given, and I was sorry that I was the only witness. He said, “Well, Dave, I shan’t stop you, and I shall certainly be recommending you, but if there is anything I can do to make you change your mind, please let me know.” Wow!

ne of the most popular jaunts for visitors, expatriates, service personnel, and tourists, was to the famous – some would say infamous – Bugis Street. For the best atmosphere, the visit had to be undertaken late in the evening, and only after an adequate intake of any liquid relaxing agent. In Bugis Street, one could have a good cheap local meal, with appropriate haggling over the cost of the bottles of Tiger or Anchor beer. The monsoon drain just behind your table provided an immediate and useful waste bin, but you had to be careful not to fall down as it was very deep, very filthy, and was the home to all vermin life. However, these drawbacks aside, one could then observe representatives of the world go by. The main attraction was the antics of the watch sellers, the dirty-postcard sellers, purveyors of all kinds of goods including parrots, the sex touts, and the transvestites. These latter were the big draw, and even the women used to love and gape at their clothes, the make-up, the shoes, the jewellery, and the fact that these were just young men plying for trade. If you were at a table in mixed company they would ignore you of course, but they would think nothing of being at the next table where men were seated. The stories are legion of heterosexual males, usually sailors, having spent considerable sums in buying these gorgeous beauties meals and drinks. The drinks were always “liqueur please” and cost a bomb, but as you can guess were really only cheap fruit juices. Finally, after paying an agreed sum for ‘services’, they would discover their mistake only at the last possible moment of consummation.

he success of our first staff play finally led to the next one. I had been reading lots of possible choices, and people just would not leave me alone. “When’s the next play?” they would ask. There was no question but that I would be the producer. I finally settled on a farcical MI5 and Service uniform romp called Simple Spymen. Brian Rix and company had recently put it on, at the Whitehall theatre. So, we launched into it, our venue being a disused nissen hut at GHQ Singapore. It boasted a stage and some basic facilities, plus a few lights and a main curtain. It would cost nothing, and was ours for the asking. We took it, and built and painted all our scenery there. The fact that we were doing it up, refurbishing it and generally bringing it back to life was regarded as good news by the military authorities.

I had Ron Godfrey as one of the clowns, and Bill Dodd as the dopey, red-tabbed colonel. He borrowed the uniform from all his contacts inside the perimeter fence at GHQ, the only hat that would fit him belonging to the brigadier. It was quite interesting when I told him that he had got his insignia incorrectly worn. A full colonel has a crown and two stars on each epaulette; Bill had got the crown in the wrong place, at the bottom instead of the top. I always boasted that I knew every army rank, and so I was confident, but we still made a friendly bet. Bill was only satisfied when he finally, at my insistence, had his error confirmed by his friends at headquarters.

A mildly traumatic moment was when I had to stand in and take a part, with just a week to go. It was a medium sized part, and I had been playing it at all the rehearsals since the start. My chosen player had been struck down with sickness, and was away from school. I had visited him at his home, and he said he was learning his part and was confident of being able to perform. The cast actually had the final word. They cornered me during one of our tea breaks and demanded a decision there and then. They, quite rightly, said that the sudden appearance of a new player who did not know the moves, the double takes and so on would only spoil things. Therefore, the next day I went to see our fallen member. He lived across the Causeway in Johore Bahru, and I broke the news. I hated doing it, and he was very disappointed, but I had little choice.

The show itself went down well, despite near disaster on the first night. It started to rain heavily - nothing wrong in that, except that a nissen hut roof is made of corrugated sheeting. The consequent rat-a-tat of the monsoon bullets, hurtling at great force onto the roof, meant that the cast could not be heard. No one in the audience could hear a word. The cast could not even hear each other. I was asked for a big executive decision, and said “OK! Close the curtain and bring up the house lights.” That was done and we anxiously looked out of the windows, where we could see only rain. This lasted for some several minutes and then, as these things do out east, it did not slowly start to ease off - it just stopped. We held our breath for a minute or two, and I gave the go-ahead for the show to continue as though nothing had happened. Fortunately, the audience had stayed in their seats, not that they had much of an option as there was no bar, only a couple of barrack tables with empty glasses waiting for the interval.

That first night unnerved us all. Each night we wondered if it would happen again – I am glad to say it did not. Buckley came on the last night - he even came behind the scenes to wish us well - and he thoroughly enjoyed himself. He sat next to the brigadier, and the two of them had a good chuckle. It was a second successful play for the Bourne Staff. But whether they decided to stay with this venue after I had left, I don’t know.

An interesting innovation, which I was to try again many years later, was to write to the author of the play, in this case John Chapman, and tell him all about us - and to invite him to come and see the show. I had first seen this gimmick at a play by the Stage Club, who included in their programme a letter from Nöel Coward. So now, I had my letter for our programme. The author said that he had passed through Singapore only two years previously, but did not think he could make our show this time - but he wished us all the best.

ow into my last term in Singapore. News came through that I had been given a posting to W Germany - in Kent School, at a place called Hostert. One teacher had served in Germany before coming to Singapore, but she had not heard of either Kent School or Hostert. She had actually been there for six years, at a secondary school, and just did not understand it. “I can only assume it’s a new school they’ve just opened!” she said. It didn’t sound very convincing.

t was during my last year in Singapore that I had been to the MO a couple of times to try to find a cure for a series of spots and rashes that came and went, mostly on my arms and legs. This was put down to ‘Singapore Rash’ and I received some kind of paste to smear on. That was the thing, in those days, to blame any adverse medical condition on the foreign base. So in India you once had Delhi Belly, here you had Singapore Gut, or Singapore Ear, or Singapore Foot.

ur final fling was with the Sceneshifters and their lavish Victoria Theatre production of Carmen. I helped build and paint some of the scenery, and was a stage hand for the run, whilst Valerie was ‘call.’ This was our swansong for them, and I received an inscribed pewter tankard to add to my collection. I was very proud of them all, I must say.

The final school production, for which I helped on the set, was called The Rose and the Ring. This was held at yet another different venue, at the Rowcroft Theatre Club in the army lines along the Pasir Panjang road on the south of the island. Again it was satisfactory, but the stage was not our own and so lacked that warmth and character that one associates with ones own base.

t the end of June we moved out of our flat, having given due notice, and moved back into Tanglin Hill Guest House, the place of our arrival almost three years earlier. The Leonards were able to take advantage of the option that returning expatriates had, namely to choose whether to fly or sail back! We had no choice, as we were going on to another posting, so we had to fly, but they had an interesting month or so sailing back at a leisurely pace.

My final testimonial from Neil Buckley consisted of just two or three paragraphs highlighting my achievements in the school, with particular reference to drama. It gave praise and was very warm, but I felt that it was rather brief and perhaps not as glowing as I had expected. I mentioned this to one or two, who said that some of the people leaving - there was going to be quite a big turnover of staff - had only a three line testimonial saying merely that they had worked at the school and nothing else. I finally showed my testimonial to Pat Cummins, who was now taking over as teacher-in-charge of our part of the school, and he nearly dropped from the shock of what he saw and read. “This is absolutely brilliant!” he said, “He hasn’t written as much as this for any of the others. You want to see some of them; now they do have a grievance! You are obviously his favourite!” So I was now happy with it, not that I ever needed it, but of course in those days you didn’t know when you would have to prove your whereabouts at any given time and what you had been doing with yourself.

on and Yvonne came to see us off at Singapore Airport, at Payar Lebar in the central-eastern part of the island. Departures are always an anti-climax and this was no different. They would soon be on a flight for their inter-tour leave, as they were to stay in Singapore for a total 8 years. This could well have been us, had we chosen that alternative. But today, there they were looking cool and relaxed in their tropical gear, and us being hot and dishevelled in all our going home stuff. I could envisage Ron spending the afternoon at the Swimming Club, then having a few sticks of satay before finally going to the Tangle Inn for a few drinks.

ow I envied him at that moment, and wished that I was staying.