Memory bridges and barriers

I owe an immense debt of gratitude to the faceless transcribers who listen to National Archives oral interviews done in Hokkien, Teochew, and Cantonese, and transcribe them in Chinese characters.

I don’t understand the three aforementioned languages, and besides, listening to hours of tape recordings made in the 1980s - usually with poor audio quality - can be an exhausting chore.

Instead, with transcriptions, I can read the Chinese characters at a quicker pace, and scan entire blocks of text for keywords. My command of Chinese is not very strong, but regular practice has made it better.

Thanks to the transcribers’ labours, a whole world of memories and experiences from the 1920s to 1980s - lived history - has opened up for my study. Many interviewees were already elderly folk when they were recorded in the 1980s. They were born in the 1920s, 1910s, 1900s, one in 1894. They should have passed on by now.

I wonder how much I would have missed out if I had not understood Chinese script. I also wonder how much I’m missing out by not comprehending Malay and Tamil.

Despite relying on Chinese transcriptions to access interviewees’ recollections, I still occasionally listen to their voice recordings, if only just to feel them addressing me from another time, another realm.

Jurong Road in purgatory

Eighteen months ago, I visited Jurong Road just before it closed for good on 27 September 2020; subsequently, I wrote about it here.

Recently, I decided to revisit the area. Lo and behold, Jurong Road was still there. The plan was to redevelop it, but work had not begun.

I had the honour of checking out a road which had been abandoned for 18 months, and I could observe how the wilderness was slowly taking it all back.

My visit came at the right time - dusk. The angle of the setting sun was just right.

It was apt, because the sun was setting on a piece of transport history.

Ulu Sembawang, the country

Up to the 1990s, Ulu Sembawang was a sprawling expanse of rolling hills and low-lying ponds, a rural backwater known as “the country”.

Ulu Sembawang in 1986. Credit: Courtesy of National Archives of Singapore.

Where was Ulu Sembawang? It was the upriver portion of the Sungei Sembawang, bounded by the trunk roads of Sembawang Road to the east, and Mandai Road to the south.

Gradually, most of this was lost. Much of the west of historic Ulu Sembawang became part of Woodlands town, while much of the east was locked up inside Sembawang Air Base, the chief defence facility of the north.

There remains a glimpse into the past, though - a short stretch along the Ulu Sembawang Park Connector, where the Mandai Birds Sanctuary used to be. The rough location on the park connector is marked with a pink dot below.

Credit: Singapore Land Authority.

The sanctuary moved out by 2019, leaving the gently sloping land fallow. Grass and shrub have taken over.

The result is a breathtaking vista of open wilderness that stretches to the horizon. I’m told hikers flock here at dawn to catch the sunrise. The scenery is no less beautiful in the evening.

Treasuring this while it lasts.