September 1964 to August 1965

Scene 1 – Singapore Teacher

e left for Singapore early in September 1964. It was one hell of a long and tiring journey. Having arrived at a kind of military reception area, somewhere in London, and being relieved to find that at least we were on their lists for the journey ahead, we then kicked our heels for a couple of hours. This meant staying in a hot, cramped waiting area, as more and more families squeezed in. So many kids and push chairs!

Eventually we all started to troop onto coaches, putting our hand baggage - and all those push chairs - in the back of the coach. The journey to London Airport was long and tortuous. You will be able to imagine the usual scene of off-loading at the other end, scrambling for your kit, pushing your way into another waiting area, being checked off the list yet again, then sitting down to wait for the next instructions. No wonder all the kids were noisy and yelling.

Finally we found ourselves shuffling onto the aircraft, belting up and waiting for take-off. This was it! There was the usual air of quiet expectancy as we lifted off. All of us must have been thinking the same - that we had left our native soil for at least two years, to a future about which we knew nothing. We were all in the same boat, except that I knew a little bit about our destination. For most it was their first flight and their first trip abroad. So one can understand the silence, apart from the usual quota of crying kids.

After many hours we landed at Ankara in Turkey to re-fuel. This took a couple of hours, with us hanging around an airport that had nothing to offer at all. Once more we trooped out and took to the skies - next stop would be Bombay. Once there, the heat and humidity really hit us. The airport had a few refreshment facilities, but in those days, there was nothing like air-conditioning. Just the odd ceiling fan here and there, and they gave little air circulation.

After a long time at the airport, the word went around that there was a fault on the aeroplane. Eventually it was announced that we would have to be bussed out to the hotels of Bombay. We arrived at our designated hotel in the early hours, and were allocated our room with twin beds. We had a shower then crashed out, hot and exhausted.

Next day it was difficult to know what we were supposed to do, but we met up with some others - we found that most of us were teachers (and their families) on the flight - and went for breakfast. After this, we received word that we would be staying at the hotel for much of the day, so we could relax by the poolside and await further instructions. The next few hours were almost pleasant, although we all had this gnawing feeling about our unknown futures, and this was not conducive to an air of mirth and abandon.

ack in our room, during an afternoon siesta, the telephone rang and I answered. It was the manager, of all people. “Major Hunt?” he asked.

“No! It’s Mr Hunt!” I replied.

No!” he insisted, “You are Major Hunt! You have just posted a letter to England in the hotel lobby.”

Well, I had posted a letter to my mother and father, Major & Mrs Hunt, but he thought that I was the major. So when I hesitantly explained that I had in fact posted a letter to England he said that I ought to come to his office! I hadn’t a clue what the problem was all about.

In his office, the unfriendly manager held the envelope addressed to my parents, turning it over in his hands.

“Major Hunt” he said, “Is this your letter?”

“Yes” I said, “That’s the letter I sent to my parents.”

“But Major Hunt,” he went on, “You are trying to embezzle the Indian Government. You have not put sufficient postage on this letter!”

I made my apologies, told him that I was given the postage stamps in his own hotel gift shop, but that I would willingly affix the extra stamps. He grudgingly returned the envelope to me, with the stern warning that he was letting me off this time, but that it mustn’t happen again!

I often wonder where I go wrong in life to come across so many of these ‘I can’t believe this is happening to me’ situations. I am sure that I have more than my fair share.

e arrived in Singapore some 24 hours behind schedule. The authorities there had an excellent scheme whereby a colleague from one’s place of work would be ‘assigned’ to look after new arrivals, until they had found their own feet. Consequently, Fay and Ian Pascoe and their children met us. They loaded us into their estate car and, with all windows open and everyone talking, we set off along the dusty palm-tree fringed tracks leading away from the Payar Lebar Airport in Singapore. We shall never forget the smell of durians, or the sight of bare-footed people, including our host family, or the heat. Our hosts made it clear that they had been kept hanging around for hours, which immediately endeared me to them. Apparently no one at the airport knew where our aeroplane was.

an, I was later to discover, was a teacher of Geography at Bourne school. At that moment, it was of no importance as they whisked us off to our transit accommodation. Whereas some of the new arrivals were placed in hotels, with modest facilities, we were placed in a Guest House. This was an old colonial building, ruled by an old colonial widow. The house had six double bedrooms, en suite, with wooden slatted shutters at the windows, and a single fan hanging from the ceiling. Following the usual routine for new arrivals, we were strongly advised to get some sleep, this would help us to adjust to the searing heat and humidity of Singapore. We were told we would be picked up that evening to go out for a Chinese meal. We would be with a large group of people, which would include some new arrivals.

So to bed we went and, they were right, sleep was very necessary. We had no need to count iguanas. We awoke at a pre-determined time, and made ourselves ready to go. The Pascoe’s came on schedule, and took us to the nearby Tanglin village where we were measured for the odd piece of clothing like dress, shirt and shorts. We were amazed at the cheapness of everything, and the fact that they would be ready in the morning. Off to the Chinese meal, which was a revelation only because it preceded that which has now become common-place in the western world. Even so, a large round marble-top table seating some 20 people was still quite an experience. It was a good welcome party. Even so, I am always a little dubious about some of the fish, octopus and sea snake courses.

he next day, a Sunday, we were collected and taken for our new clothing - a perfect fit. We then went off with the Pascoe’s, and Dave and Kay Wells and family, to a beach off the East Coast of Malaya, somewhere between Johore Bahru and Mersing. It was here that we experienced the warmth of the South China sea, and we also became strongly sunburnt, Valerie turning particularly lobster-like. That was our last attempt to get a nice all-over tan out in the tropics. From then on, it was just a half-hour at a time.

ack at the guesthouse, during our evening meal, we were cautioned by the other residents of the dangers of too much sun. There was a retired Lt Col and his dog, and an active major and his wife; who seemed to live there permanently. There were a couple of other transitees like us. It was very formal as the gents all stood up, smiling and saying “Good evening,” when a lady entered the dining room.

chool staff meetings started all over the Island the next day. From then onwards we saw less and less of the Pascoes, although we did come across them at various social functions. It is funny how some of the new arrivals and their mentors became firm, life-long friends. Others loathed the sight of each other at the airport. For our part, we realised that we would have little in common with the Pascoe’s, and so we left each other alone.

Valerie was looked after by some of the wives, taken to coffee mornings and the like, and she met up with some of the people we had seen on the ‘plane. I met some of them at school. Ian Pascoe was situated in the old Alexandra Grammar School end of the new Bourne School, whilst I was in the old Alexandra Secondary Modern School complex. This latter was now the practical wing for P.E., Handicrafts, Art, Home Economics and Science. Our part of the school consisted of a main building, the well-known pre-war barrack block design common on the island, and a number of modern basha huts with thatched roofs. Assemblies were held in the playground, which also served as a netball court.

The beauty of the weather in Singapore was that you knew it would not rain at 7.30 in the morning - which was when school started. It would be warm and sunny. The rain would come at three o’clock in the afternoon, for one hour only, and would then stop.

The other end of the school was regarded as very much the high academic part. Some teachers commuted across Gillman Barracks between the two parts of the school, but most remained static. Thus was born a culture of ‘us’ and ‘them’, which was realised in both our academic and social life. Hence us seeing so little of our initial hosts.

Gillman Barracks brought back memories. Just six years previously I had taken my ‘A’ level art there. Nothing had changed. Plenty of greenery, monsoon drains, palm trees, atap (‘basha’) huts, and pre-war colonial barrack blocks.

ornelius (Neil) Buckley the Headmaster, a former Major in the Royal Army Educational Corps was regarded as a tyrant by many of the staff. He had just arrived from a school up-country, and his reputation had preceded him. He was brought down to launch the new Bourne Intermediate Comprehensive School, which was a mixed day and boarding school of up to 1,500 pupils at its peak. Perhaps for this reason he did not tolerate fools, and more than one teacher who dared to question his authority was invited to go pack their bags and depart. He would make it clear that they were quite dispensable, with ten locally entered teachers (usually service wives on the waiting lists) who would love their jobs. Certainly a couple of teachers - the singles, with no family worries - took up his offer. For the rest who wanted to stay, a quiet acquiescence was the order of the day. Not that this was in any way inhibiting educationally or socially, it was just that you did things his way and without arguing. Many of us, in fact, would find his demands quite logical and reasonable. For instance, you were prompt at staff meetings - there was just no excuse at all for anyone to be late when the school had ended an hour early! You filled in the registers in blue or red ink, as appropriate, yet some idiots would use pencil or their green and purple pens and this, quite naturally, infuriated him.

t was in these early days that we met Ron and Yvonne Godfrey, he taught P.E., and Pete and Ann Taylor, he was Metalwork. So we became very early friends. Ron and Yvonne had two small children, Pete and Anne had none, and were remarkable only in that they knew that they were leaving at the end of two years exactly, as they had both been seconded from Lincolnshire. Indeed, it was in those early days that one learned that the two-year tour was only a bureaucratic safeguard and that most people stayed for at least three years, if not for a second tour. So it was interesting to hear some people who, like us, had no idea that the length of overseas service was negotiable. Some would say that they hadn’t a clue what they were going to do, others would say that they were going to stay out here for as many years as possible, and Pete and Anne said that they had got only 22 months left and they were off! This was in the first week of arrival.

n my first day at Bourne school I came across John Ridge. He had already done a three-year tour and was just starting his second. I was partly a member of John’s department of Art, as a teacher of light crafts. This was something I had not expected, as I wanted to specialise in the traditional ‘heavy crafts’ of woodwork, technical drawing, and a bit of junior metalwork. I was not alien to the idea for a few lessons a week, and John and his wife and their three daughters, whom we soon met, were a delightful family.

However, within a couple of weeks we had a parents’ evening - which was really an evening of information, particularly for the visiting parents of the many boarders that we had - and I was able to visit the headmaster in his study. I introduced myself, which was very necessary as there were over a hundred staff and we did not even know each other yet. I told him of my concern over the timetable. He immediately checked out my file, which rather took me aback, and read out to me those things that I had put on my original application form, which included ‘an interest in light crafts.’ After some discussion, we finally agreed that whereas I was happy with my present lot the next timetable, in a year’s time, would show a marked increase in my allocation of heavy craft lessons. We parted amicably.

he first two priorities for new arrivals in Singapore were to find somewhere to live, and to buy a car. This latter would be duty-free and very cheap, and after just a few weeks we were therefore the proud owners of our very first car, just imported from the UK, of the Hillman Imp. It cost £450, which was not much less than a year’s salary.

Pete and Anne Taylor had ordered their car at home, had used it for a few months and it was due to arrive in the not too distant future. Pete was able to dine out on the following tale, about when he went to collect his car. As to be expected, a certain amount of paper work was necessary, but in Pete’s case his car defied all local native logic; he had got the three-wheeled Robin Reliant. The Singapore customs people had never seen a three-wheeled vehicle before, and they were all looking under the car for the fourth wheel. The Reliant just wouldn’t fit their specifications. Eventually, being fed up of explaining in broken English to the customs men the fact that the car only had three wheels, Pete was finally and categorically asked “But where is the fourth wheel? The papers say that every car must have four wheels.” Pete then did a bit of acting and said “Ah! Now I understand. Please follow me.” And with that he produced the spare wheel from under the back seat of the car. Everyone smiled, honour was satisfied, no one lost face, and Pete had his car. However, for the remainder of his time out east his car was the object of much staring and pointing by the locals.

The other, indeed the main priority was of course to obtain rented property in which to live. The families with children going for bungalows, and the singles and no-children couples generally opting for flats. We obtained our rented flat in Holland Road after about five weeks. It was a source of much antagonism for us all that whereas all the army families, the RAF families and the RAF civilian teachers were allocated married quarters, we army civilian teachers received a rent allowance and had to find our own property. The former were also members of an Officers’ Mess, where the drink was considerably cheaper, whilst we were not.

The next job was to find an amah who did all the cooking, cleaning, washing and ironing. When we went to view our prospective residence, and having agreed that we would be taking it, we were then confronted by the outgoing couple who had the friend of their own Amah who wanted us to take her on. We found it difficult; we were young and inexperienced and didn’t know what to do. These young Chinese females were desperate for such jobs; this one could not speak English, ‘but was very intelligent and wanted to learn, and she is an excellent cook and cleaner.’ So we had her foisted upon us. We felt uneasy about the deal, particularly when, a couple of days later, the amah at our guesthouse produced her friend who wanted a job. We had a dilemma. This one was in marked contrast to the one we had seen earlier. She could speak excellent English and had all the other credentials, including a couple of recent references.

We appointed Ah Lan on the spot, and immediately went to the other people and said that we did not want the one they had arranged for us. We were not popular, but at least we had acted quickly, and not altogether dishonourably. There is no doubt that they had taken advantage of us, which some of the other residents later confirmed. It taught us one of life’s lessons, namely not to commit yourself in any unexpected situation, until you have had time to reflect. If we all said this every time we are confronted with a sudden ‘decision now’ situation, we could save everyone else and ourselves a lot of trouble. And Ah Lan proved to be a superb amah, and was much in demand when we left at the end of three years.

ete Taylor was in charge of the coca cola machine at school; this was a Godsend on those hot, sticky mornings when one felt dehydrated. Pete had the key and kept the machine filled with the bottles, which were stocked in a wire cage behind the metalwork room. These bottles were naturally very warm, if not hot, and took quite a time to cool down, but the ones we had were carefully stacked by Pete, not on the rolling mechanism of the machine but right by the cooling pipes. We never lacked for an ice-cold coke. Even the hierarchy was known to ask where Pete was, and if he was not available they would come to me in the woodwork room next door and ask “Is the coke cold?” and “Have you got the key?” The ultimate recognition was when, one day, the head and deputy head, on an unexpected tour of our part of the school and in desperate need of a cold drink, humbly asked Pete “Can we have one of yours?”

t was at a very early drinks party that we met Ann and Brian Leonard; he was a teacher of metalwork and technical drawing at the newly opened St John’s School. This latter was the Senior Comprehensive School, also with many boarders from service personnel up-country (in Malaya and North Borneo). It was a showpiece of a school, with a swimming pool, and was renowned for being air-conditioned. In later years it was to become the International School for the United World College of South East Asia.

The Leonards became friends of ours almost immediately. They had just started their second tour, and like everyone else, they relished the life. They were very keen members of the Singapore Amateur Operatic Society, which went by the name of The Sceneshifters. Ann was a valuable member of the chorus, and always helped behind the scenes as prompt, props, refreshments and so on. Brian was the technical expert and stage manager.

The Sceneshifters was very much the domain of the General Secretary of the YMCA, ‘Pa’ Lyne, and all rehearsals were held in the YM. This was a fascinating building in that it had been the headquarters of the dreaded Japanese Kempetai (Gestapo) during the war. I’d read many prisoner-of-war stories covering this region, and of the wire cages constructed by the Japs to hold their prisoners prior to interrogation. ‘Pa’ was able to show me the layout, where the cages had been situated - at the back and over the monsoon drains - and so on. He had himself been taken from his office upstairs and thrust into a cage! He was later to work on the infamous Burma-Siam Railway.

Within just a couple of weeks of arriving in Singapore, therefore, we were enrolled as members of the society! This meant me going to work almost immediately, on the very next Saturday, helping Brian with making and painting scenery. The December show was going to be Let’s Make An Opera, a lively modern-day piece by Benjamin Brittain. Brian was stage manager and I was a member of the stage crew. As Brian worked in the air-conditioned luxury of his school during the afternoons, it was at weekends that we worked on the set. The Sceneshifters did two shows a year. The December show was held at the Cultural Centre Theatre near Fort Canning, and the July show was held at the Singapore Victoria Memorial Theatre just off the Padang, This is a huge colonial building, seating a couple of thousand, and is a major landmark.

We would then meet up with them at their club, The Tanglin Club, for the Saturday night meal, dance and drink. These nights were usually very late, and at something like two o’clock in the morning we would finish up at the Singapura Hotel coffee bar for a steak sandwich. Sundays would see us back at the Tanglin Club for Curry Tiffin; relaxing with an afternoon siesta back at the flat we would finally return to the club for the Sunday evening film and a bangers and mash supper.

Needless to say we really liked the Tanglin Club and soon became members. Every expatriate either joined this club or the Singapore Swimming Club. The latter was on the east coast of the island and boasted an Olympic size swimming pool as well as a private sandy beach. It was therefore very popular amongst those families with children. Our club had merely a small pool, which was more than adequate for the few children and the gin-swilling colonels and many childless, or children-at-boarding-school couples who made up its membership.

The Tanglin Club was definitely the senior officers club, and not only was the G.O.C., HQ FAR East Land Forces a member but Mr Lee Kuan Yew the Prime Minister had graced its portals, only to be asked to leave the bar as he was not wearing a tie! Mr Lee was a very casual dresser, and he retorted that when he next returned to the Tanglin Club no one would be wearing a tie. He got his way in 1972 when the British finally left Singapore, and the easygoing Singaporeans took the club over. In later years it was to become a very expensive club costing thousands of pounds to become a member. I don’t know how all those expatriates who decided to take out life membership, for just a few meagre pounds, got on in later years when they returned for a visit

t was in these early days that we made contact with a chap called Fred, who had written to us from RAF Selatar. He was a teacher of RAF children (our schools on the south of the island were very much army schools), and a member of the National Association of Schoolmasters which had just started its Singapore branch. Their first meeting was held in the Tangle Inn, a well-known watering hole in Tanglin Village, near to GHQ. This was a mock Tudor, very English-looking public house. The landlady was an elderly but volatile person called Hannah, who had been there for longer than anyone ever knew. She loved us boys, and let us have our meetings in the upstairs room. She was respected by us, and feared by her staff. When she needed to reprimand one, her ranting could be heard the length of Orchard Road. And on the odd occasion when she needed to eject a drunken pundit - usually a matelot on shore leave, as he didn’t have the time or inclination to pace himself - her physical strength, strong language, and complete change of character were legendary.

The Tangle Inn henceforth became the social centre for most of the expatriates living on the south of the island, and certainly for us. If we were not here than we were at the Tanglin Club, or at a party in some-one’s house, or at the theatre doing a play, or eating at one of the many cheap establishments around the island. When we were at home we were recuperating, re-charging the batteries for the next function.

I was at the inaugural meeting of the NAS, and was elected social secretary. I hadn’t really wanted to take on anything that required responsibility, but in those days one had this aura of excitement at being thousands of miles away from home, just north of the equator, where anything was possible. Naturally it was good for me to meet people from other schools, and to go to their homes for committee meetings. This way we were invited to various RAF Officers Mess functions at Seletar, Tengah and Changi. This contact helped me with organising social functions, from using an RAF group for the music, to hiring the services of the assistant bar manager to run the bar. This meant that he would stock our bar, provide the staff and the glasses, and just about do everything that needed doing. All these Singaporean staff knew of a “very good caterer, very cheap” who would provide all the eats. So I had little to worry about; just the posters to advertise it and the tickets to pay for it. My very first function was a barbecue around the poolside at St John’s School. Inevitably, the social secretary was the first to be thrown in, towards the boisterous, frolicking end of the evening.

On another social function Ron Godfrey and I were the mainstay behind a cabaret, our piece de resistance being a couple of mimes which we did in appropriate wig and costume. Perhaps our best was the Maurice Chevalier number ‘I Remember It Well’. In those days this sort of show always went down well, as it was up to people to make their own amusement; in later years, with mass media entertainment, the audience would be much more sophisticated.

ack home a labour government had been elected - the first one for thirteen years. We were all glad we were out of it. It did not affect us, we were having the time of our lives, we were young, and we did not care. Only on things like inter-tour leave did it come home to us, when we were not allowed to take more than twenty-five pounds out of the country. Maybe things were more serious than we thought but, well, so what. We were more concerned about the next party in the clubhouse.

he time came to book our Christmas telephone calls to the UK. We had to do this about three weeks before hand. There was no case of direct dialling, or even going through the operator. On the Festive Day itself, the telephone rang about two hours before hand to see if we were standing by. Then with about half an hour to go the operator was there again saying that they were trying to connect us. Finally and at the appointed time, the call came through with the operator again reminding us that we had three minutes only. We spoke to Valerie’s folks in Accrington, and then we were cut off, as there were so many other people lined up to make calls to the UK.

aving finished my national service only six years previously, and being much younger than I was to become in later years, I had no feelings of nostalgia for my old haunts. However, we did pay a visit to my old barracks at Nee Soon Garrison. One could just drive round there at will, as it was very much an ’open’ establishment. I did not even bother to include it on my ciné filming, which I was now doing avidly. I never bothered to return to Nee Soon or its village again, although a highlight, whilst walking along the shops was to be hailed by an Indian shopkeeper. “You have been here before,” he said, “I remember you - were you a sergeant?” In those days there had been a lot of us, so it wasn’t a bad bet; certainly I remembered his face and, it seemed, he had remembered mine.

t was at the end of my first term at Bourne school, and whilst working on rehearsals for the forthcoming Sceneshifters production, that Brian Leonard was bemoaning the fact that his head of department, a woodwork teacher, was in Alexandria Hospital recovering from a heart attack. It meant a lot of extra work for Brian, as 2i/c, to set work for the female supply teachers. How we took so many weeks to think of the next move, I will never know. Perhaps it was because we thought that the absence of the HOD was only temporary. However, one evening somebody said, “You need Dave at your school, to teach woodwork” The supply teachers could cover Dave’s classes at Bourne school, particularly all those light craft lessons.” Well, we all thought that this was an excellent idea. In effect, I was being misused at one school with a glaring, critical vacancy at another school.

The outcome was that during the Christmas holidays Brian contacted Tom Ormanroyd, the Deputy Head of St John’s, and explained the situation to him. He was more than interested and immediately got clearance from the SO II Education at HQ Singapore District. I then went to see Tom, and went over the timetable with him. I had only one worry - what the hell did I say to Neil Buckley? He would not be best pleased if I went to him and said “Oh!, by the way sir, I’m transferring to St John’s, so I won’t be coming back to Bourne school again.”

Fortunately, Tom said the transfer would be official and that Buckley would receive notification straight away. “So,” he said, “You’ll have nothing to worry about but, as a courtesy you should go to see him.”

Early in the new year of 1965, towards the end of the holidays, I went to see Neil Buckley at his home. He welcomed me in and gave me a glass of sherry and a piece of Christmas cake. All I wanted to do was to say my piece and get away. Well, my moment came and with horror it became apparent that he had not been to school or collected any mail. He did not know what I was talking about.

“It’s nice to be told what is happening in my own school,” he snorted. “When did all this happen?”

I told him the truth - after all, there was nothing to hide.

He made it clear that he was not too happy, and that the powers would soon be aware of his displeasure.

I made to leave, and thanked him for all he had done for me – that is the usual thing on such occasions.

“Oh!”, he said, “It’s not goodbye, Mr Hunt, I don’t intend to let you go without a fight.”

That disturbed me as I had assumed that my transfer would be permanent. This feeling was reinforced at Easter 1965, after I had been at St John’s for a term, when I received a Scale I Post as teacher i/c woodwork. The post carried a financial increase of some £120 a year, and was the first rung of the ladder for every teacher. I was really chuffed, and particularly enjoyed working with GCE candidates. The head of department visited us and announced that he was retiring. The chase was then on for the HOD job, which did not involve me of course, but seemed to secure my post. I felt that I had arrived - just two terms after leaving Ellesmere Port and here I was on a promoted post! St John’s was a super school, with lovely cool buildings. I was more than happy to be here.

he news of the death of Sir Winston Churchill in January 1965 was received sombrely, and the Tanglin Club closed as a sign of respect. A couple of weeks later we went to the club to see a film of the funeral. Eventually we received by sea mail, which took six weeks, the special editions of some of the newspapers, covering all aspects of his life.

he visit of the Duke of Edinburgh to St John’s caused quite a stir; wives were allowed to be present. The Headmaster gravely informed us of the top-secret agenda; the Duke would be arriving by land rover and would leave by helicopter. We were not to talk about it outside school, and so on. The visit would last a bare six minutes! What the hell do you do in six minutes? After much debate it was decided that the head would meet him and just walk him in a horseshoe shape around the assembled 1,000-plus students and lead him to his helicopter. Well the helicopter arrived, the ambulances, fire engines, security vehicles, men on the roof, the lot. The school assembled in tutor groups, and the Duke arrived on schedule, looking very handsome in his white naval uniform. He did his tour, stopping to chat particularly to the Gurkha boys, of whom there were many. And with the six minutes ended he boarded the helicopter and departed. It was quite an exciting occasion, although one could not help but wonder at the time, effort and money that went into every such trip that Royalty undertook. I think that really we were not actually against the visit itself, but felt that perhaps he should have stayed for about half a day. He could have had a school lunch, and generally seen the school in action. Of course, we all knew that such things did not happen.

e were doing a lot of exploring around both Singapore town and island. We made an early car tour of the latter, and with the Taylors and Godfreys found a good beach along the north-eastern part of the island, the Changi area, for swimming. This was where we had got talking to a Chinese gentleman, admiring his skis and speedboat, as a result of which I had my first and only attempt at water skiing. It was good fun. The nearby Changi prison was of course a world famous institution, and many a photograph has been taken of its formidable exterior.

On a quiet evening a favourite spot for Brits was along Beach Road, opposite the Raffles Hotel, for satay. One sat on wooden benches, at what looked suspiciously like the standard six-foot barrack-room table, and helped oneself to the sticks of satay, dipping into the communal bowl of sauce. When appetites were satisfied the wizened little cook would count our sticks and declare the cost. We all liked the Beach Road Satay Club.

or the first, and only time in my life, I spent one term teaching at night school. This was at Singapore Polytechnic, in the department of architecture and building. I was teaching basic technical drawing to GCE ‘O’ level. I had got the job through a colleague at St John’s who was teaching three nights a week and needed to ease up a bit. I found it rather boring in fact, although it was good money for just two hours a week. However, because of my other commitments I just did not relish being tied up at the same time every week - notionally just to earn some extra money. The students, mostly Chinese, did not need much help from me and so I found it rather dull. I decided to finish at the end of term. However, I had not even seen anyone from the polytechnic - not even another lecturer - so I did not know quite whom to approach. So I decided to do nothing and wait and see what would happen next. At the end of the next holiday my timetable for the next session arrived in the post! I was just amazed that no one from the department of architecture had been to see me. So I wrote back telling them just that, and saying that they were very presumptuous and unprofessional. They didn’t like that, and replied saying that it was up to me to have asked for guidance if I had needed it. Anyway, that was the end of my little foray into night classes, and I heard nothing further from them.

was now helping Brian behind the scenes for the Singapore Stage Club’s next play, The Importance Of Being Earnest. We used some of their old flats, made some new ones, and painted it all in the appropriate period style. Brian was the stage manager, I was a member of his stage crew and Valerie helped Ann with the props. We never joined the Stage Club, and in fact as our other commitments increased we never helped them behind the scenes again, although Ann and Brian were members and gave periodic help. Another reason was that we did not find them a particularly friendly lot - they did straight plays and seemed to have quite a supply of prima donnas.

During the summer term, (we all tended to use seasonal descriptions despite the fact that it was hot every day of the year!), I was very busy with Brian making a lot of new scenery for Gay Rosalinda which was the Sceneshifters next production. I was assistant stage manager (ASM) to Brian, Valerie helped with props and was also ‘call’ whilst Ann was in the chorus. This operetta was the little-known name for Strauss’s Die Fledermaus. The producer had got an artist friend to design the set, and some students professionally painted it. It cost a lot of money, and made life much harder for the set constructors and for the stage hands, so it was the last time that the society ever got that involved again. However, the three stylish sets, wonderful costumes that had been hired from Australia, a large orchestra, excellent singing, all staged in the Singapore Victoria Memorial Theatre gave us a performance that was nothing short of brilliant. No one connected with that show will ever forget it.

What always amazed me was the resilience of the human body. We worked backstage under very humid conditions, taking appropriate liquid to avoid dehydration. We then looked forward to the last night party which would go on until we finally ended up at the Singapura Hotel for the ubiquitous steak sandwich, usually around three o’clock in the morning. And yet - yes, we all managed to be at the theatre to strike the set at eight o’clock in the morning. All feeling very fragile, of course, but none-the-less we made it. Then, traditionally, by lunchtime we had finished and, after going home to shower and change would be at the Tanglin Club for lunch - and a few more ‘well-earned’ drinks. This was the life, and we rather enjoyed it.

he axe fell towards the end of July when I received official notification that I would be returning to Bourne School in September “In the interests of the service.” This also meant that I would lose my Responsibility Allowance. An effort was made to see if the order could be rescinded, particularly as a new teacher had been appointed to replace me; it made sense to us that he should go straight to Bourne School and leave me where I had satisfactorily dug myself in. But we all knew that Buckley was behind this, and nothing would move him. Tom Ormanroyd, who was now the acting headmaster, wrote me an excellent testimonial. It had been suggested to me that I ask for one as an insurance policy for the future. We thought that it might look rather suspicious that I had spent a term at one school, then two terms at another, and then back to the original school.

e used to like going for a day’s outing to one of the many uninhabited islands off the south coast. We would decide on the day and the number of people to have in the in the party. Then at about 8 o’clock in the morning we would collect the picnics prepared by our amahs together with the all-important drinks containers, and drive to a small muddy ferry point. We would leave our cars here. A long, canoe-like ferry would then appear from nowhere and we would haggle the price for a trip to the island of our choice. It would take an hour or so to chug our way along the still, glass-like waters of the coast, wending between many small islands, as we headed for the equator which was only 80 miles away. Reaching our chosen destination the ferry would scrape onto the sandy shore and we would all disgorge; ourselves, others and their children, and all the paraphernalia. The ferry driver would then go off the coast of the island, perhaps a mile away, lower some kind of an anchor, and rest for the few hours until we were ready to return. The first time this happened to us, we all yelled in a panic, and brought him back to the shore, as we thought he was going to abandon us. Out in the reaches of the sea he had the advantage of a slightly cooler airflow.

or our first ‘summer’ holiday in the Far East, in August 1965, we did a tour of Malaya. We went with Ann and Brian Leonard, each in our respective cars as we intended to go our separate ways later. We booked all our stops via the Tanglin Club, staying at the Rest Houses dotted all around the peninsular. This meant that we didn’t have to pay at the time, but merely sign chits for all our meals, drinks, and the accommodation. The final bill would hit us when we received our monthly account from the Club.

A memorable part of the holiday was travelling up the west coast and crossing the fairly wide river at Muar. This could only be done by the ferry, which in those days seemed to consist of little more than logs and empty oil drums lashed together with rattan. It was a hairy ride but made for good ciné filming! From there we reached Malacca where we stayed for a couple of nights.

Next stop was only a brief visit to Kuala Lumpur, staying at one of the guesthouses on the outskirts. Then the Batu Caves, and a night at the cool resort of Fraser’s Hill. Another stop over at Sungei Patani, then a sturdier ferry to cross over to Penang Island. We stayed here for a few days. Leaving the Leonards, we then returned and finished off on the East Coast of Malaya at Kuantan. The journey from west to east was pretty scary, as the roads were not completely made up, and consisted of little more than dusty tracks through the jungle.

We finally returned to Singapore and met up with all our other friends to share our experiences. We had all been in different directions; only Pete and Anne Taylor had stayed put; they had come out for two years and they were going to save! The only way to do that was not to spend any money!

ust think, for all of us, one year had passed already!