“Falling through the windows”

Chanced upon this short essay submitted to The Straits Times by a Secondary 3 Changkat Changi Secondary School student in 1978 (he / she would be 58 years old now).

The author wrote this at a transition in Singapore’s post-independence history - the Republic was in the midst of constructing New Towns filled with high-rise flats, while clearing rural kampungs and agricultural communities; however, the island still had plenty of both. Hence, it was the opportune time to weigh the pros and cons of living in either habitat.

What tickled me was the innocent manner in which the student wrote about the “dangers” of living in high-rise flats: Little children “may fall through the windows”, while “people living on the higher floors tend to throw rubbish and things down through their windows”.

Also, the author was one of a small group of students who lived on one island and studied in another! He / she lived in Pulau Tekong Besar, but went to school on the mainland.

A Malay village in Pulau Tekong Besar. Credit: Pinterest.

Pulau Tekong Besar’s residents were resettled to the mainland by the late 1980s.

A community dispersed

Good of Channel NewsAsia to do a follow-up on the fate of the Sungei Road Market vendors, who were dispersed when the authorities enforced the closure of the historic landmark in 2017.

As a street vendor, Jason Goh was known to sell some unusual wares. There were antiques, a collection of Burmese jade, and fossilised elephant sperm.

Four years after his stall had to close, he says those stones with elephant sperm inside are “still very saleable”.

As he used to claim, the stones serve a useful purpose: “If you work … your boss automatically would like you. You go anywhere — girls would like to make friends with you.”

This former Sungei Road market vendor is one of many who have struggled to find a new home after the demise of Singapore’s most famous flea market.

Where it used to be, with its 80 years of history — of people hustling for a better life — is now a barricaded grass patch.

But recently, some vendors like Goh have set up shop not far away. And they are trying to keep memories of the place alive.

The programme On The Red Dot finds out how what has happened to them since 2017 and how they are picking up the pieces, in a series on places Singaporeans will miss.

A PIECE OF HISTORY, NOW REBRANDED

Singapore’s oldest and largest flea market began in the 1930s as a trading spot by the banks of Rochor River. From the 1940s onwards, it became popular for its cheap goods.

The vendors used to start operating in the late afternoon, offering an array of items, some of which were considered a steal while others were literally stolen or smuggled, leading to the market’s moniker, the Thieves’ Market.

At its height, there were more than 300 vendors. In July 2017, when it had to make way for an MRT station as well as future residential and commercial developments, there were 200 vendors. Some had worked there for decades.

Many of the vendors have since retired, while others took their business to night markets or took on odd jobs. Many still missed their former lives.

“My heart ached,” ex-vendor David Sein says about how he felt when the market closed.

So when the 58-year-old saw two vacant Housing and Development Board shop units near the old market last March, he asked The Saturday Movement, a charity, to help rent the units for a group of vendors.

Six months later, the Sungei Road Green Hub was born at Kelantan Road. “They (the charity) know all these people have got no place to go. Most are already old,” says Goh, one of around 20 vendors there.

Helping them out brings back memories for Raymond Khoo, the restaurateur behind The Saturday Movement, which paid for the renovations and rental deposit.

“I remember going to Sungei Road, the original Thieves’ Market, in my primary school days. My brother said, ‘I’ll bring you somewhere that you’ve never been.’ So I was very excited,” recalls the 57-year-old.

“I remember this Ultraman figurine — it was so interesting. We didn’t manage to buy anything. My brother said, ‘It’s just for you to have a look-see, to know that you can look for some treasures.’”

It was Khoo’s idea to “rebrand” the new place as a green hub.

“Reuse, recycle and upcycle,” he cites. “It’s more current, especially (for) the millennials. (If) you tell them karang guni (rag-and-bone man), they’d have no idea what it’s about.”

He helps to manage the rental of about S$6,000 for both units, which is S$10 a day from each vendor. And their old customers are starting to return. But because of the COVID-19 pandemic, he has promised to make up any shortfall in the first year.

For former Sungei Road market vendor Lee Tien Seng, just having his own stall makes him “a bit happier”.

“The night markets are closed now, so we can’t do business there. Without this shop, we’d be in dire straits,” he says. “If we (had to) look for jobs, would they even call us back?”

It is important that they have a place of their own, Khoo notes. “Their internal being is elevated because ‘hey, I’ve something to look forward to instead of I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow’.”

It is also “very important” to preserve the “heritage of where these people came from”, he adds.

***

I last visited the Sungei Road Market in June 2017, just a few weeks before it closed.

I had a memorable time browsing the stalls and their myriad wares, helmed by cheerful uncles game for banter or snapshots:

One of the cheerful uncles managed to persuade me to part with some of my hard-earned money for this lovely old-school typewriter:

I wish them well.

Graveyard Road

Singapore used to be covered by cemeteries. No thanks to urban renewal and redevelopment in a land-scarce, overcrowded city-state, most of these cemeteries have disappeared, but it’s fitting that we still have roads and places named after “Cemetery” in multiple languages.

For our national language Malay, there’s Jalan Kubor, or “Grave Road”, in Kampong Glam. The cemetery there predates the arrival of the British in 1819.

Jalan Kubor Cemetery, as seen from Victoria Street.

For Hokkien, there’s Tiong Bahru in the south. “Tiong” is Hokkien for “Cemetery”; “Bahru” is Malay for “New”. Numerous Chinese cemeteries there have been exhumed.

For English, many roads in Choa Chu Kang Cemetery - the only cemetery in Singapore currently open to burials - have “Cemetery” in them. For example, Christian Cemetery Path 11, Muslim Cemetery Path 4, and Hindu Cemetery Path 1.

Muslim Cemetery Path 4. Credit: Google Maps.

And as for Tamil, there’s Jalan Mayaanam, or “Graveyard Road”, a tiny road of around 140 metres, off Upper Changi Road North.

I recently visited Jalan Mayaanam. Heading down Upper Changi Road North, blink and you’ll miss it. It’s a narrow, single-lane dual carriageway, with hardly any lane markings. It seems to serve only two functions: An alternative exit for vehicles from the Salvation Army’s Peacehaven Nursing Home and the Japanese School, and free parking space for heavy vehicles. Next to the road is Exit 1 of the Tampines Expressway, which sees a continuous flow of traffic.

Jalan Mayaanam.

Free parking for heavy vehicles.

Plenty of erosion due to frequent parking.

Mature trees next to the road.

The end of the road just 140 metres in - locked gates of the Japanese School.

Jalan Mayaanam used to be far longer, running from the old Upper Changi Road to the now-defunct Tampines Road.

A 1976 map of the area. The fragment of Jalan Mayaanam still surviving today is marked in blue. Jalan Mayaanam's "Graveyard" refers to the Hindu cemetery in the middle of the map, now expunged. Base picture credit: Survey Department.

In the 1980s, the road was sliced in half by the northward extension of Upper Changi Road East to Tampines Road; the extension was later incorporated into Tampines Expressway.

Most of the rest of the road was subsequently expunged, saved for the fragment which still exists today.

If the expressway had been planned several metres to the right, Jalan Mayaanam would not exist today.

Credit: Streetdirectory.com.

The road got its name from the Hindu cemetery which used to exist to its east.

In 1982, The Straits Times described the cemetery as thus:

All the bodies, except for a few, are buried along one edge of the cemetery. There is an open hut 7 metres by 5 metres next to the entrance where the rituals before a burial take place.

There are two large 60-year-old trees, giving shade, ostensibly. They stand like sentinels, whispering to each other when the wind blows. A coconut tree, with its top sliced off by lightning, stands like an accusing finger. The white frangipani adds an unearthly fragrance to the atmosphere - an atmosphere of timelessness, for time has stopped for those who are here. The other half of the cemetery is a wide, open space of green grass, which gently dips towards one length of the boundary. From this half, the view is enchanting: a creamy blue sky forming a canopy over the luxurious green tops of trees.

The visitors come here to worship and worry. It is here that they feel hope and fear, grief and guilt, love and loath, all at once. It is simple yet stark; serene and yet uneasy. It is the place of eternal sleep. It is The Destination.

The cemetery. Credit: Singapore Press Holdings.

Sadly, by the 1990s, the cemetery was exhumed; condominiums stand on the site today. As for Graveyard Road, it is largely forgotten, known only to the drivers of heavy vehicles who wish for free parking.