The various facades of the studio in the 1960s and 1970s. Bottom left: Firecrackers were used to celebrate the 9th anniversary of the studio.

The busiest time every year at the studio was always immediately after the Chinese New Year celebration, when an increase in photo print requests meant working into the wee hours at the photo studio for the Keuk family. After the doors closed at 9pm, Gin Bok would enter the dark room to develop films and prints. The dark room is perpetually humid. And with chemical solutions and water running continuously, Angela worried for her father’s rheumatism. His fingers were stained brown from the chemical solutions, which are mixtures of powder formula and water of right proportions. Films and prints are meticulously soaked in these solutions, before running through with clear water.

Angela remembered him to be an extremely hardworking father, who would work long hours to provide for his family of six. Despite his busy schedule, Gin Bok insisted driving the children to their school. There were times when he was delayed in the studio, which meant teary eyes for the children who had to wait patiently at the school gates for their father to fetch them.

Kuet Gin Bok in his studio (left) and repairing a studio spot light. Top right: An old envelope for the photographs.

Views of Changi Road from the studio in the 1960s.

Flooding in the studio.

Gin Bok voluntarily took photos for the neighbours and friends, including the kacang putih seller, who sells Indian snacks typically made of nuts and spices. He was well-liked by his customers due to his photography skills and eloquence, and thus the studio was the meeting point of friends and relatives.

“Life was simpler,” said Angela of the good memories growing up at the photo studio. Floods were common and water would overflow into the shop space. The family would prop the equipment up on tables and stilts to keep them dry. Together with her elder sister and two younger brothers, she remembered each day filled with tasks with for the family business, like drying the photos in a giant air dryer and cutting the photo borders away to the correct sizes. The studio closes on Fridays.

The Kuet siblings drying the prints.

Angela says of her childhood growing up with her siblings, “We were so fortunate that my father used to take us out for activities on Fridays or school holidays. We went swimming at the Changi seaside, visited and took photos at popular sites like the Queen Elizabeth Walk, Botanic Gardens, Fort Canning Hill, National Theatre,Van Kleef Aquarium, Mount Faber and Katong Park. We also visited our maternal grandmother at her coffee shop. Sometimes after the studio closed at 9pm, we would follow my father to send some photos for framing, colouring (for the black and white photos) or to send the clients’ cameras for repair.”

Top and bottom left: Changi Beach and Golden Palace Holiday Resort (金宫水上游乐场). Right: Kallang Park

Left: Ocean Park Hotel at East Coast Road. Right: Tan Kim Seng fountain at the Esplanade Park.

Queen Elizabeth Walk

Before digital ‘photoshop’, workers used sharpened lead to edit films and touch up prints using manual techniques. There were also times when newly weds would form long queues outside the photo studio for their wedding portraits to be taken. Photographs were almost always of happy occasions.

After retiring his photo studio business in 1987, Gin Bok turned to chinese calligraphy, a form of art he had been practising in the 1980s. Impressed and awed by his beautiful calligraphy, his studio clients would ask for his work, in forms of festive couplets and even writing requests.

Kuet Gin Bok, his relatives and friend visiting the Tiger Balm Gardens in 1952.

Gin Bok passed away in May 2014. He had left behind a huge collection of diaries which he had been writing continuously over his lifetime. Writings, like photographs, are moments captured of a certain past. In a way, that moment has ‘died’ because it does not belong to the present. The act of reading, or looking at these photographs however, transports the viewer back to these times which are considered important to the writer or photographer. For a moment, albeit temporarily, the viewer re-lives in that moment and he/she gained an experience and understanding why that moment in time is so important to the writer/photographer. It might take a while for Angela before she has the courage to read and re-live those diaries her father left behind. When she did, she will realise that they are reminders of how her father talks, moves and thinks. These moments are constantly living and it is an entry to his understanding of the world.

The shop of ‘New City Photo Studio’ is currently an eatery specialising in black chicken tonic soup, owned by an old neighbour who knew the Kuet family for a long time while working nearby the shop as a stall assistant. Angela’s daughter is now a photographer, whose interest started after receiving her grandfather’s Leica camera on one of her birthdays.

2012 photo taken at the site of the former studio, showing Mr. Kuet and his wife together with the owner of the current shop.

All photo credits to Angela Kuet and Kuet Gin Bok.
Written and edited by Tan Wei Keong

Departures

It is time to leave now. Bags are packed, passport checked, and a jacket slung over your shoulder for the flight. Around you are familiar sensations – the feeling of the ground beneath your feet, the smell of home and the touch of the people whom you love. All of which you are about to leave behind.

Under the fluttering sounds of the giant split-flap display central at the departure hall, you look up at the rows with names of distant cities. These names are vague in your memory, as places that you may have recognised are from the news, or off pages of a geography textbook. Today, these cities become closer to you as destinations of people who will take off from the same runway. You spot your destination and your flight, feeling both nervous and delighted. In one column are the hypnotic glow of green bulbs to accompany the words “LAST CALL” and “GATE CLOSING”, luring and inviting plans for the next journey. You have the world in front of you, limitless in possibilities and with open skies.

The word “leaving” is so bittersweet. It signifies a new beginning, a fresh start and a departure from the old and familiar. It precedes an arrival to another land and another life that awaits. At Changi Airport, the passenger movement ebbs and flows. The airport is a place of transience. But the meaning of transience takes on a different dimension in an airport like Changi. From the day the first flight lifted its wings from the runway, Changi has never been the same.

Photo credit: Singapore Snaps

Changi has always been bound for the future. With every visit, Changi would have departed from the old to embrace the new. In every century of its existence, the airport starts afresh with new coats of paint, new slabs of concrete, new facilities and attractions. Still fresh in our memories is the marvellous water fountain in Terminal 1, streaming threads of water encrusted with gold light. From the ceiling, the falling water looked as though it was floating upwards. This fountain, for many passengers about to take flight, delivered elegantly a poetic revelation. Today, a mechanical counterpart has replaced this work of art. The “Kinetic Rain”, a new art installation with golden “raindrops” rises and falls to mesmeric rhythms. They synchronise to create elegant forms that amuse and wonder. There are times when one can get lost in the dance of these “raindrops”. But with the sight of the steel wires, one is reminded how the “raindrops” are merely puppets to a simulacra of nature.

Arrivals

Charged with new experiences and stories of adventure, you have finally returned. We have heard of your new friends, the new flavours that you have tasted and the new language that you speak. But most endearingly how you have missed everyone here. The automatic sliding glass opens as you wheel your baggage through the exit gate. The thick humidity of the Singapore tropics hits you like a warm blanket. Welcome home.

From being an alien and an outsider, you are back alas, as son-daughter of this country. At Changi airport, families and loved ones reunite. Travellers once in transience are grounded again. You return to cherished memories – of how our parents brought us for a treat at the Swensens Restaurant during a weekend, how we used to mug for our ‘O’ Levels together watching planes take off from the runway.

Photo credit: Seow Shin Horng

Do you remember the first time we flew together, how I held on tightly to your hands as we took off? From the humble background that we were from, I had never dreamt of the day that we might fly. Given these wings of steel, our bloods curl and freeze when we hear of angels shot down from the sky.

Photo credit: Sisilia Tan

Same-same but different. Year after year, you have been at the top. You are amongst the best in the world and bearing the load of an ever-growing volume of passengers. “Super connectivity”, they call it. Unavoidably, to accommodate millions of passenger coming by, expansion is the way to go. From a very utilitarian Terminal 1 completed in 1981, followed by a regale Terminal 2 in 1989 and finally a state-of-art Terminal 3 in 2006. Have we arrived? The Budget Terminal has made way for Terminal 4, “Project Jewel” – a complex to connect all terminals is in its conception. Blueprints for Terminal 5 is already on its the way.

Memories

Time and again you left and you returned. We will remember every one of those moments here at Changi Airport before and after your flight. Perhaps not with our conscious attention, constantly shortened by this quickening pace of life, but with photographs that extend through time, devoted to keeping our memories alive.

Photo credit: Sisilia Tan

Wherever our ultimate destination may be, these memories will help us to begin all over again.

Written by Samantha Tio
Edited by Tan Wei Keong

Top picture: Young boys in a sampan at the heart of Geylang River. Photo credit: National Archives of Singapore. Source: Lee Kee Hwee

Durian shop in the 1980s. Photo credit: National Archives of Singapore

Possibly the most exotic eats you would ever find in Singapore are concentrated in Geylang – from the semi-outdoor durian shops touting an array of durian varieties enough to satisfy an connoisseur to other mojo-boosting dishes such as frog porridge and turtle soup. Aside from outlandish dishes, you can also find the best of Singapore’s hawker classics: wonton mee, beef kway teow, nasi padang, tze char (home-style chinese dishes), nasi biryani, traditional desserts and dim sum served 24-hours, round the clock. It is not surprising as well, away from all the humidity and grease of the hawker establishments in Geylang there are also several air-conditioned, barrister level, hipster joints that have been mushrooming all over Singapore over the past years.

Food and gluttonous thoughts aside, vice is also rampant in Geylang. Regularly found on the newspapers are news of police raids for contraband cigarettes, illegal gambling, drug trafficking and unlicensed street walking. Surely, in a city with a squeaky clean image like Singapore’s there is somewhere you would find the underbelly of our straight-laced society. “Cleaning up” always seems to be the order of the day, but lost is the very soul (though darkened) of Geylang, just like the Bugis Street in its former days, to our values-promulgating state, should the prostitutes, pimps and drug dealers all ran away.

So how would a family-friendly project like Singapore Snaps find its fit in Geylang?

The neighbourhood of Geyalang Serai had kampong squatters located side by side HDB Flats before the 1990s. Photo credit: National Archives of Singapore

Along the northern side of the MRT train tracks that connects Kallang, Aljunied and Paya Lebar, nestles a charming neighbourhood. You can find the regular civic amenities such as the Geylang East Library, where the SG Snaps booth was based, Geylang East Swimming Complex and Geylang Polyclinic, as well multiple schools in the area. The public library, though the lowest in human traffic compared to the ones at Toa Payoh and Redhill, where our collection booths were previously based, is endearingly quaint. We really like the “Green Reading Space” on the second floor where visitors can lie on a synthetic turf in air-conditioned comfort under a glittery LED-lit ceiling. Not forgetting the conducive activity room on first floor where there is a painted life-size mural of famous fairy tales. This dainty neighbourhood is a huge contrast to its other half across the train tracks, as day to night. The SG Snaps team was so fascinated with these almost schizophrenic characteristics of Geylang that we had to look at the kind of photographs that we would find there.

On the origins of the district’s name, one could never be too clear. There are writings that say that the name “Geylang” is a mutation of the Malay word “kilang” which means “mill” or “factory”. This could refer to the mills of the coconut plantations in the area, which were operated by some of the Orang Laut who resettled from the mouth of the Singapore River to live along the banks of the Geylang River in the 1840s. In a map of Singapore from 1849, there were also mentions of a small island named “Pulo Gelang”, which disappeared with the land-fills and reclamation of the Kallang Basin.

Singaporeans are also familiar with the famous Malay folk song that begins with the line “Gelang si paku Gelang”. Its lyrics sounds like it is referring to the area of Geylang. However, it is a traditional Malay song in the Malay literary format called “Pantun”, and “Gelang” in the song actually refers to the creepers or wild plants growing in Singapore. For the longest of times, I had always been singing “Geylang sepatu (shoes) Geylang”, thinking that the song was talking about shoes bought from the district.

Sundries shop in a long Geylang Road in the 1980s. Photo credit: National Archives of Singapore

Geylang is also rich in history. Following the Orang Lauts are the new migrants from the late 19th Century. While speaking with a contributor from the neighbourhood, we discovered that Geylang supported many new factories and micro-businesses of the immigrant population during the early 20th Century. She told us how she had grown up in one of the shophouses, where her family operated a motor repair shop at the ground level. Many industries were found in Geylang and its population grew from the influx of immigrants that overflowed from the city center during that era. This influx also results in the present distinct shophouses found along Geylang that were used by clan associations as points of contact for new migrants. These clan associations helped to integrate the newcomers into the local custom and culture.

A child growing up in a shophouse along Geylang Road where the living quarters were at the second floor and the workshops were on the ground level. Photo credit: Gaan Ho Mui

Today, Geylang continues to be a reflection of our rapid demographic changes in Singapore. Geylang now plays host to many foreign workers and new migrants not minding the area’s reputation, but seeking affordability in rental prices and accessibility to the city center.

Written by Samantha Tio
Edited by Tan Wei Keong

Top photo: After a day of play, Meng Wong captured the delight of friends sharing hot satay right off the charcoal grill, and ketupat (hanging on the horizontal pole), both signature Malay food in Singapore. Photo: Meng Wong

Be it an excursion with primary classmates or family weekend outing, a good number of us would have spent some warm, sunny afternoons by the beach with friends or families. Along the East Coast and Changi beaches, families can be seen swimming, cycling, picnicking and cooking by the barbecue pits. Photographs are usually used to capture good fun times. Many of our contributors’ photos depict the activities enjoyed in the 60s and 70s, like having a dip in the warm water, enjoying the home-made food and playing along the shore. These are actually not far from what modern Singapore families enjoy till this day as well.

Swimming in the Sea. Photo: Ng Wee Jian

A group of youths paddling their canoes and learning team work in the process. Photo: Soh Khim Choo

Big Splash! Photo Credit: Lim Poh Kwan (left), Sarah Wong Bee Lian (right)

Have you ever glide down a long water slide, almost flying horizontally and ending in a big splash in the pool at the bottom? Some of you might remember the huge and colourful slide at Big Splash. The waterpark was built in 1976 and had a 7-storeys water slide consisting 5 separate lanes of different heights. That slide was even visible to drivers along the East Coast Park highway. The owners had revamped Big Splash a number of times, and the slides had ceased operations. Today, Big Splash has transformed into a lifestyle hub, which hosts family-friendly activities and houses several food establishments and shops, continuing to bring families together.

Black Swans at Singapore Botanic Gardens. Photo Credit: Anne Phua Geok Neo (left) Pearl Pang (right)

One of the popular spots that appeared in many of the photos contributed at SG Snaps was the Singapore Botanic Gardens, the oldest tropical botanical garden in the Straits Settlement. Families were seen enjoying the serene views, strolling along the lake and feeding the swans. The Swan Lake was given its name because of the swans inhabiting the lake, with the first pair of beautiful mute swans imported from Amsterdam. The photos above shows a black swan (Cygnus atratus). This lake is considered to be the oldest ornamental water feature in Singapore, constructed in 1866. Early this year, in February 2014, the Singapore Botanic Gardens submitted a nomination dossier to the UNESCO World Heritage Board, in hope of receiving Singapore’s first UESCO world heritage site. The decision could be announced in June 2015. It will, perhaps, be an acknowledgement of our rich heritage, a gift of nature, during the nation’s 50^th anniversary as Singapore comes of age.

Curious faces peering into the net for the day’s catch. Photo: Loo Kin Meng

Kelongs, shown in the above photo, are a romantic reminder of Singapore’s beginning as a fishing village. Kelongs are wooden platforms built with nibong palms, primarily for fishing purposes although bigger structures serve as houses for families. With a net secured in the centre of the platform, batches of fish would be caught simply by raising the net. Families could enjoy a hearty seafood meal for a weekend dinner. You could even stay overnight at a kelong, fishing with your own fishing line, and sleeping under the stars! During the late 2000s, the Agri-Food and Veterinary Authority (AVA) led a reformation to increase the supply of fish for local consumption in the local fish farming industry. Well-educated and young urbanites were drawn to life by the sea. They redeveloped some of the remaining kelongs into fish farms with new knowledge and skills from the AVA. Some of the new kelong owners happily re-named themselves as aqua entrepreneurs and fulfilled their dreams to live by the sea.

Colourful paddle boats dotting the Singapore River. Photo: Mdm Lim Pho Kwaun

The river brings life. Sir Stamford Raffles established Singapore as the first free port in the region, allowing free passage of ships through the Strait of Singapore, thus attracting trade activities between India and China, and the British. Businesses developed around the quay in 1823 and subsequent developments continued up-river along the banks of Clarke Quay, Robertson Quay, and further upstream. Around the 1970s, the river was carrying the debris of the increasing settlers who were living around the water, as well as from businesses and developments around it. Pollution levels could be detected by the whiff of the nose! The government conducted extensive cleaning to restore life to the waters. By the 1980s, the old quayside commercial enterprises gave way to recreational activities such as popular al fresco dining and “live music” entertainment. Merging in the scenery of the trading boats of the past, happy paddlers could be seen riding in the colourful paddle boats along the waters teeming with life.

We have captured snapshots of life by the water. Hopefully, it will refresh your memories like the way water refreshes your body on a typical hot and sunny day. When was the last time you played by the water?

Written by Gracie Teo

Edited by Tan Wei Keong

http://eresources.nlb.gov.sg/infopedia/articles/SIP_148_2005-02-02.html?s=Singapore%20River
http://www.straitstimes.com/breaking-news/singapore/story/botanic-gardens-submits-bid-become-first-singapore-unesco-world-herita
http://wildsingaporenews.blogspot.sg/2008/11/city-bred-singapore-entrepreneurs.html

Top picture: Mdm Saraswathi with her first child, standing outside her block at the residential wing of the Seletar Camp. Photo Credit: Saraswathi

Mdm Saraswathi with a stack of old photographs of Seletar Camp in her hands. Photo credit: SG Snaps

As a clerk to the Singapore Armed Forces, Mdm Saraswathi had lived in residential quarters at the military facility together with her family. She shared with us her family’s long history there, since the camp’s former days of being the largest British Royal Air Force base in the Far East. Built by the British in the 1920s, the camp became operational in 1928 and had housed staffs to the British Airforce. Aside from the British, the Malay and Indian community had made up majority of the staff. Her father, who was an Indian migrant, had worked for the British as a labourer, and her uncle as a supervisor.

A photograph of Mdm Saraswathi, her husband, first son and her two brothers in her husband’s quarters. Photo credit: Saraswathi

The living quarters were located at the east side of the camp. Mdm Saraswathi described two different layouts of the quarters. Her husband was also a staff who lived in the bigger quarters, while she had grown up in the smaller one with her family – A three-room apartment consisting one hall, bedroom and kitchen. There were six apartments in a block, with toilets and water taps shared between all the families living there. She remembered how she needed to take her laundry and plates out to the public tap for cleaning. On the other hand, her husband’s house, where she had moved to after their wedding, had a private toilet, but the rent was higher.

“The rent for the three-room quarters (back then) was only $12 per month. For the bigger one, it was $20,” said Mdm Saraswathi.

In a photo taken right in front of the guardroom of the residential quarters, Mdm Saraswathi recounts how tightly guarded the facility was. Any of her relatives visiting the camp were required to report to the guard house, where she would have to produce her official pass in order to allow them onto premise. Public access into the camp was highly restricted, and any outsiders entering or leaving the camp were duly noted by the guards.

During Christmas, the British would hold celebrations for the military staff. Families would go to the clubhouse carrying coupons previously handed out to them, to collect goodie boxes filled with cakes and ice-creams for every member of each household. The clubhouse was also a place where families held meetings, as well as movie screenings hosted for the families.

“We would bring out big mats to lay on the grass and watch the movies for free from the big screen,” she quipped.

Bride & Groom – A photograph of Mdm Saraswathi’s wedding held at a tent pitched on a field in Seletar Camp. Photo credit: Saraswathi

Amongst the photographs that Mdm Saraswathi had showed us, there were some of her wedding ceremony. Contrary to the rich and colourful festivities that typically surround an Indian wedding, Mdm Saraswathi’s wedding was very modest. Instead of a temple with a priest, her wedding was celebrated in a tent at the Seletar Camp, specially erected for this joyous occasion near her husband’s living quarters.

“(During the ceremony) we had followed our book, the tiripura, a book written by a sage to convey the knowledge. And somebody had read from that book. That was how we got married.”

Mdm Saraswathi’s brother on the eve of Thaipusam, preparing to carry the kavadi (behind them) for the ceremony the next morning. Photo credit: Saraswathi

Another eventful recollection she had at the camp was the preparation for her brother to carry the kavadi for Thaipusam, a Hindu celebration in honour of Lord Subramaniam. In the photo was her husband, uncle and brother on the eves of Thaipusam in their home, getting ready for the journey the next morning.

During the Thaipusam procession where Hindu devotees carry the kavadi. Photo credit: Saraswathi

When asked whether carrying the kavadi would be painful, she chuckled as she replied, “Actually, it would be, if you hadn’t followed the preparations properly. (The devotees carrying the kavadi) would fast for one week. You can take food only once a day in the evenings after your prayers.” The fasting devotees would be allowed to drink. But milk, she told us, is restricted because it is meant to be an offering to the God.

Wei Keong and Mdm Saraswathi outside her flat in Toa Payoh. Photo credit: SG Snaps

After our pleasant afternoon with Mdm Saraswathi, listening to her time-transporting stories of Seletar Camp, we thanked her for her time and exited her flat to the scenery of Toa Payoh today. The home in the black and white photographs of hers is so different from her current home. The times that we see in a single lifetime in Singapore has definitely changed, and we continue to wonder how the lives of people living here has changed too.

Written by Samantha Tio
Edited by Tan Wei Keong

The red dot marks the site where the National Theatre used to be in an early map from the Singapore Directory published in 1976. From “Our Collective Memory”, a book written by Mr Koh Eng Soon.

Neither of us in the SG Snaps team has had the opportunity to attend a performance at the National Theater of Singapore previously situated on the slope of Fort Canning Park along River Valley Road. Before we were born, or could develop a conscious memory of the world, the theater also known as the “People’s Theatre” was already demolished in the mid-1986. That was when the Mass Rapid Transit (MRT) North East line to connect Chinatown to Dhoby Ghaut and the Central Expressway (CTE) began construction and the theatre had to make way for these developments. Our only encounters with this theatre were through the collected photographs and conversations with the contributors, and we certainly saw and felt the glory and splendour the theatre exuded that remained in the hearts of Singaporeans.

The patriotic facade of the theatre is a common backdrop for snapshots. Photo credit: Tan Hoon Ngoh Evelyn

There were aplenty photographs of people taken in front of the iconic façade of the theatre. Browsing through all the contributed photo albums, it is easy to recognise the five-point exterior, which is emblematic of the five stars on the Singapore flag. The center of the theatre’s outdoor fountain is a crescent moon sculpture representing the crescent moon on our flag. What a brilliant piece of architecture it was, by Singaporean architect Alfred Wong, whose firm won the design competition for the theatre in 1963.

The architecture of the building takes on a unique form from a distinctively different angle. Photo credit: Pearl Pang

The year the National Theatre of Singapore was constructed was a significant and eventful one for Singapore. 1963 was the year Lee Kuan Yew had declared de-facto independence for Singapore from the British colonial rule, and the year The Malaysia Agreement was signed, combining North Borneo, Sarawak and Singapore with the existing Federation of Malaya. These two events placed Singapore amongst the other newly formed independent nations in Southeast Asia.

Commemorative stamp for the South-east Asia Cultural Festival released on the opening day, 8th of August 1983. From the book “Our Collective Memory” by Koh Eng Soon.

The inaugural show at the National Theatre reflected just that. The Southeast Asian Cultural Festival was launched to celebrate the opening of the theatre on August 8 1963. Eleven Asian countries attended this grand opening, including film stars from Hong Kong. A postage stamp of a value of 5 cents was specially released to commemorate the event. There were performances of folk dances from around the region. In the opening, our first president, Yusof bin Ishak described the festivities as a “South-East Asian cultural renaissance.” It seems that this interest of a bourgeoning cultural scene in South East Asia is not a recent construction but one that has its roots way before our nation’s independence in 1965.

The National Theatre was also the result of one of Singapore’s first major crowd-sourcing project – “A-dollar-a-brick” campaign, in which the public could buy a $1 paper brick, a colour-printed frame showing a design of the National Theatre. This fund-raising campaign supplemented the government for the building costs, and described by the then Minister of Culture, S. Rajaratnam as “a good example of how the success of any effort depends ultimately on the co-operation and dedication of people from all walks of life.” The theatre also became an emblem of community-building, earning its civic name of the “People’s Theatre”.

Buses parked in front of the theatre to charter students for their performances. Photo credit: Rohani Binte Din

The National Theatre of Singapore has its significance beyond its history of being the first and largest theatre in Singapore. Aside from its massive 3,420 seating capacity, it is also a reminder of our beginnings as a nation. As written on the twin heritage site markers by the National Heritage Board on the current site, the theatre signifies “a spirit of self help and nationhood in the early days of nation building.”

Same place, many years later – a photo of a student (above) taken at the National Theatre and another image of her with her son many years later, as a mother. For many Singaporeans, the National Theatre is one landmark that had seen them through their times. Photo credit: Seow Shin Horng

Now, close to the original site of the National Theatre of Singapore, stands an artwork by Architectural historian Lai Chee Kien for the Singapore Biennale in 2013. In exactly 50 years since its construction, the sculpture is a reminder of the theatre’s existence, possibly unknown to many Singaporean youths. The 40m-tall painted steel sculpture of the theatre’s façade pales in terms of scale compared to the original size, but it makes an excellent backdrop for photographs as a tribute to the ones taken when the theatre was still around.

There is a situational irony literally behind the sculpture. The vacant space of what used to be the area where cultural celebrations were held is now empty. What is left is but an empty plot of grass with trees meagrely occupying the space. Is this current state of the site a reflection of how our country, in its race for progress, has emptied out any semblance of a true aspiration to culturally define ourselves? Only to be left with an empty shell to remind us of its ghost? Only one can ponder, looking at the smiles of the people in the photographs of the theatre from before.

Written by Samantha Tio
Edited by Tan Wei Keong

Singapore Snaps would like to show our great appreciation and admiration to the work of Mr Koh Eng Soon, author of “我们的集体记忆” (Our Collective Memory) – A self-published book, in Mandarin, on the National Theatre of Singapore and several other historical landmarks. Mr Koh had visited us at the Singapore Snaps booth at the National Library building on July 27 2014. That afternoon, he had shared with us all the wonderful histories of the theatre. In the book, he shares his valuable collection of photographs and paraphernalia of the theatre through its lifetime and his personal memories of it. We salute Mr Koh for his love for civic history and his generousity. This article will not be possible without him.

An image of the attap huts at Redhill, where a fire broke out in 1963. Photo: National Archives of Singapore

Old legend aside, Redhill today continues to prove itself as “legendary” in our Singapore Snaps collection drive. Here are four reasons why:

1. The oldest flats in Redhill are the last of the “chek lau” (or seven storey flats in hokkien) owned by the Housing Development Board.

A child at a playground with the “chek lau” flats in the background. Photo: Lim Poh Kwan

Built in 1955, these low-rise flats give Redhill a nostalgic serenity that you can only find in the old estates. The flats are well-spaced and you can see beautiful sunlight streaming in the daytime.

Whilst visiting the residents there, we found out that the flats along Redhill Close are due for the Selective Enbloc Redevelopment Scheme by 2017. In the face of demolition, a few of the apartments there are now empty. Even the Taoist temple Chin Lin Keng (Zhen Ren Gong in Mandarin) in the vicinity is due for redevelopment.

A view from inside an apartment on the top floor of a “chek lau” flat in Redhill. In this photo, you can see the old Housing Development Board Headquarters Building, which used to be located at Bukit Merah Central. Photo: Cher Su Hoon

Recently, there had been a call for conservation following the flats of the Singapore Improvement Trust in Tiong Bahru. But with the soaring value of the government housing in neighborhoods like Redhill that are closest to the city areas, you cannot fault anybody for being skeptical. In a country that puts pragmatism in the forefront of any decision-making, nostalgic poetics of the past is a luxury that we cannot afford.

2. The Redhill Hawker Centre is famed for its rich hawker heritage (and other things).

Teochew satay beehoon, hainanese curry rice, fried carrot cake and chicken rice are amongst the famed must-try-dishes at Redhill Hawker Centre. Even the fried chicken wings had our Prime Minister Lee Hsien Loong standing in line for half an hour.

“Qing Tian” dessert stall when it first opened at Redhill Hawker Centre in the 1960s. Photo: Lim Poh Kwan

If you remember the social media furor on that episode, PM Lee had posted an image of a lucky cat from one of the dessert stalls. As it turned out two weeks later, we had stumbled upon and met Mdm Lim who is the owner of the dessert stall. She contributed some of her old photographs that same stall since it first opened in the 1970s. We will share more on her story in a later entry. Keep a lookout for it!

3. Gangsters!

There are barely any written records, but Redhill is infamous for being the den for the triads.

We had met an elderly Eurasian man, Michael, in his 90s who recalled serving as a policeman in the late 1940s. “I had to catch all the gangsters over there,” said Michael, pointing in the direction of Bukit Merah Central from his flat along Redhill Close. “They were all very fierce, but we had to catch all of them,” he said.

Some residents recalled finding drug users shooting up in the stairwells, while others talked about the fights that happened at the void decks. Imagine the level of danger there was with gangsters in those days. But if you were to visit Redhill on Friday evenings, you would find remnants of the neighbourhood’s gangster past. The neighbourhood police still makes its rounds regularly, whilst groups of merry-makers toast boisterous and drunken cheers over bottles of tiger beer and “tzi char” (local hawker stalls selling restaurant-style Chinese dishes) delicacies.

4. Home to many elderly.

Samsui women having their meal and resting from their back-breaking jobs at the construction site in the 1950s. Photo: National Archives of Singapore

Redhill is home to a growing population of elderly. Some of the elderly living here, used to be the Samsui women whose work in Singapore’s early building industry remains one of the most iconic in the country’s history.

In the early 70s, the government had built several flats catered for the elderly and the poor. These single-room flats are located at Bukit Merah View, along Henderson Road. Located at the void decks are several social service organisations which cater to the community.

We chatted with the many elderly residents who live alone, while in the neighbourhood. Some of them would frequent the centers at the void deck for craft sessions and Wii (a wireless game console) games, whilst others would just keep to themselves. At times, we met a household of entire families living in the cramped quarters. Witnessing life in these single room rental flats prods us to think about how an SG50 project celebrates the progress that Singapore has achieved, and recognise the people that may have been left behind.

Written by Samantha Tio
Edited by Tan Wei Keong

My husband’s uncle was barely 10 years old when his great-grandmother passed away in 1968. Although she was 92 years old then, a deceased woman is granted three more years to her age, according to tradition. Therefore her death age was declared as 95 instead.

The great-grandmother was the oldest elder in the Jalan Kayu village. She lived through five generations. For the wake, my husband and his siblings were dressed in green “xiao fu” (孝服), which literally means “filial clothes”, with pink overlays. The youngest member was just four years old then.

In the traffic. Photo: Teo Yap Tee

The wake lasted for 7 days – only odd number of days, and the duration of wake is dependent on the seniority of the deceased. The funeral procession was done in Hokkien-Taoist tradition. Besides serving dinners, my husband remembered that they had to order a truckload of “Green Spot”, a brand of soft drinks, to be given out to people who showed up to pay their respects. Thus, you can imagine the crowds who turned up.

Green Spot served to guests at the wake. Photo: Teo Yap Tee

Funeral procession through the village, as curious bystanders look on. Photo: Teo Yap Tee

On the final day of the funeral, the family and close relatives walked some 2 kilometres through the village, to send the great-grandmother off for the last time before the burial. Coffins, at that time, were made from solid wood and it was very heavy to have to carry it and walk for a distance.

Stilt walkers stand tall among the crowd. Photo: Teo Yap Tee

As you can see from the photos, stilt-walkers were invited to perform for the procession.

As the deceased had lived to a respectable age and has had a long and enjoyable life, the funeral was considered a “xiao sang” (笑丧), a term which combines the word “smiling/laughing” and “mourning” to describe a “smiling funeral”. A “xiao sang” is a term used mainly in comforting the bereaved, rather than being put into practice, although no one was allowed to cry at the funeral.

It was the grandest funeral that my husband’s families had gone through.

Interviewee Teo Yap Tee
Written by Gracie Teo
Edited by Tan Wei Keong

To start, I was skype-chatting with a long-time friend, Daphne Ang, who was recently at the NUS Museum doing a research fellowship on portrait studios in Singapore from the late 19^th to early 20^th century. I had sadly missed the city tour that she had conducted here, but I was fortunate to chat with her remotely in London where she is pursuing her PhD in an extension of her research on the early commissioned portraits. Daphne also has a project called “Portraits of the Straits” that is very close to what SG Snaps aspires to unveil, but with a more scholarly angle. Together, Daphne and I had taken a look at some of the studio photographs from the SG Snaps collection and it turned out that majority of the images were dated beyond the 1940s into the 1990s, outside the scope of her research. So she psyched me up in investigate the photographs from post-independence era, in hope that I could conceivably create a chronological continuity for the studio portraits throughout the history of Singapore.

1. Studios moved from the city into the neighborhoods through the early to the late 20th century.

In Daphne’s research of the early photography studios, she wrote about how the pioneer studios ran by European photographers were first located at the heart of commerce – along High Street, Stamford Road and North Bridge Road. However in the 1890s, Chinese-operated photography studios began to flourish in the Chinese quarters of the city, like Koon Sun Photo Studio along South Bridge Road.

Koon Sun Photographer at 179 South Bridge Road in the early 20th century. Photo: National Archive of Singapore, Source: Lee Hin Ming

We found out, from the addresses printed on studio portraits collected by SG Snaps, that after the 1950s, locations of new photo studios had spread further out into the neighborhoods with the establishments of new towns in Singapore. It is common for the studios to be at the ground floor of public housing buildings, like the one in the image below.

Bride, groom, best man and bridesmaid pose outside a photo studio in the 1980s. Photo: National Archives of Singapore, Source: Ronni Pinsler

Understanding how the earliest studio portraits were commissioned by the more affluent community and thinking of photographs as tokens of identity, could this movement of photo studios into the neighborhoods signify the desire of a growing middle class to create representations of themselves?

2. The props and backgrounds evolved to reflect the times.

Early studio portraits were very elaborate in dressing the set and the sitters. In the Chinese tradition of portrait-making, photographs were composed quite similarly to the paintings.  The level of intent placed in picturing the sitter and his/her status was so careful, to the extent that adornments signifying status will be drawn on its absence.

Early portrait of a Chinese matriarch, possibly not taken in Singapore, with jade bangles and rings drawn directly onto the print. Photo: Lee Fook Weng

A studio portrait of a Chinese lady with a gold jewellery and jade pendant drawn on to the photographic print. Photo: Evelyn Tan

Though commissioned studio portraits had evolved to be less decorative and simpler over the years, the props used reflected its current trend.

Two ladies having fun during a shooting session with an electric guitar and microphone. Photo: Lim Poh Kwuan

A lady wearing a kebaya posing with a radio and telephone. Photo: Seow Shin Horng

Props and backgrounds aside, the fashion of the times makes too for a standout statement.

Photo: Mabel Sim

3. The advent of the air-conditioner.

In hot and humid Singapore, it became an important consideration for the customers whether a photo studio has air-conditioning, or not. Who would want to be sweating at the once-in-a-lifetime photo session? Thus, many photo-studios emphasised and promoted their air-conditioned studios at the corner of their prints to win over customers and to keep up with competition.

Wedding couple in a studio with an air-condition system called the “Cool-lit”. Photo: Lee Fook Weng

With the growing popularity of western gowns and suits for wedding portraits, an air-conditioned studio were more ideal and popular for photographs compared to the sweltering heat of the outdoors.

A portrait taken at the Golden Studio that had air-condition facilities. Photo: Lee Ah Dah

4. Transitioning from black-and-white to coloured prints.

During the days of black-and-white photography, colours envisioned by the photographers were colored by hand onto either the glass plate of the negative or onto the print itself.

Hand-coloured portrait. Photo: Lee Fook Weng

Hand-coloured photograph of a boy. Photo: Wong Meng

In the 1970s, colour photography became available and made a swift entrance into the output of photo-studios in Singapore. The demand for colour images was high. Towards the 1980s, the black-and-white photographs were only reserved for passport photos. According to Mr. Ang Mong Kee, a photo-studio owner along Henderson Road in the 1980s, it was common for photo studios to bring color negatives to an external lab as the color-photo developing machines were too expensive for small independent studios. The black-and-white photographs were, however, processed on-site at the studio.

Color photo of a family. Photo Lim Mui Tiang

Looking through the photographs during our collection drive, many contributors agreed with us that the quality of black-and-white photographs endure the test of time better than the coloured ones. We found many of the colour photographs, though newer than the black-and-white’s, had entered into advance stages of deterioration. Like in the photo above, the strongest pigment left behind is the red, resulting in a pinkish tint to the photograph.

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Understanding the procedures of analog photography has definitely allowed me to appreciate better the level of workmanship gone into mastering the craft of studio portraits. It is extremely challenging to make a good studio shot, and I have developed a new level of respect for our pioneer photographers. In regards to the photographs collected to be emblems of aspirations of a community in that era, they have given us much insight into how identity continues to be shaped in the way we present our own image as tokens of history.

Written by Samantha Tio
Edited by Tan Wei Keong

Mdm Sisilia Tan and company posing for a picture by the sculpture found in Toa Payoh Town Park with the estate in the backdrop. Photo: Sisilia Tan

Also located here is the headquarters of our nation’s Housing Development Board (HDB).  Situating the headquarters here is extremely apt for being the first town to be built ground-up by the board in 1968. With a neighbourhood population of close to 116,000 people, it is not a surprise that the town centre will always be crowded with people, especially during the evenings and weekends.

Through chatting with the local residents, we discovered the urban legends and quaint histories of this neighbourhood.

1. Urban legend goes that there was an immutable “Tree God” which fell in a storm in September last year.

Every morning, the SG Snaps team strolled past the site where the “Tree God” used to be – on the way from the train station to the community library. We were told about the lightning strike that brought down the tree said to be over 100 years old. It is with this curiosity that we searched for the site to pay tributes.

Upon quizzing a few of the shop owners in the vicinity, we were directed to a tightly barricaded site that seemed dilapidated and uncared for. The emptiness of the space was a huge departure from our imagination of the tree with majestic bark and extensive branches that shaded the temple that was beneath it.

A photo from the 1970s of the sacred tree and its temple at Toa Payoh Central. Photo: National Archives of Singapore, Source: Singapore Press Holdings

The site did exude a mystical charm which was even more resonant when we learned of the strange occurrences when the new town was constructed in 1965: The bulldozers that were tasked to flatten the area malfunctioned when they approached the tree. Workers who tried to fell the tree had also died mysteriously. The town planners then had to alter the layout of the shop houses to accommodate the tree in the centre. Isn’t it interesting how our urban development can be shaped by mysticism and superstition?

2. Toa Payoh Public Library was one of the earliest full-time library to open after Queenstown.

The location, prior to the opening of the library, was the Games Village which housed athletes for the 7^th South East Asian Peninsula Games. It was the first regional sporting event ever held in the country in 1973.

A portrait at the fountain in front of Toa Payoh Community Library. Photo: Chan Lee Shan

Before the amphitheatre in the front of the library was built, there was a huge water fountain where many of the residents gathered for photographs.

The SG Snaps team (from left) Gracie, Stacy and Wei Keong at the cozy booth on the second floor of Toa Payoh Community Library. Photo: SG Snaps

Toa Payoh Community Library has got to be one of our favourite libraries visited. The library was streaming continuously with visitors over the weekend. Besides being a conducive air-conditioned haven for our tired volunteers to catch their breaths, the library staff there were simply endearing. Uncle Sunny is one of them, along with the counter staff who would climb up and down the stairs assisting our requests. Huiyi and Shao, from the Arts and Culture team of the National Library Board, were the ones who made our 3-weeks residence at the library possible. We missed the friendly cleaning aunties whom we grew close to and felt so sorry when we had to leave for another library.

3. Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II visited the flats in Toa Payoh twice in 1972 & 2006.

Ask any long-staying resident for a historical anecdote of Toa Payoh and they will definitely mention the visit of Queen Elizabeth II. The lucky then-boy-now-man visited by the Queen in 1972 is Mr Jerome Lim, writer of the blog ‘The Long Winding Road’ which reminiscent intimately the personal histories of growing-up in Singapore.

Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II on the rooftop of Toa Payoh’s VIP Flat at Blk 53 Lorong 5, during her visit in 1972. Photo: www.toapayoh.com

The Queen had visited Mr Lim’s 3-room flat – a VIP Flat with a rooftop viewing gallery, which sounds like the Pinnacle@Duxton of the 1970s. She returned to the estate 34 years later in 2006 during her Diamond Jubilee tour of the world. There must be a certain nostalgia and pride that our country holds for our history of being colonised.

 4. How can we not possibly mention? The Dragon Playground, of course.

Walking along the long ‘body’ of the Dragon. Photo: Seow Shin Horng

I suppose, most heritage buffs in Singapore would know of the Dragon Playground along Lorong 6. The playground has become so iconic that it has inspired more replicas and reflections than the Merlion in the last 2 years.

Digging sand with daddy at the Pelican Playground. Photo: Seow Shin Horng

The Dove Playground. Photo: Seow Shin Horng

The Dragon Playground was part of a series of animal-inspired playground designed by the HDB in the 1970s. Other motifs include the Pelican, Dove and Elephant etc. In the collection of photographs received from the public, there were many cute kids portraits taken at these playgrounds. It is no doubt that these playgrounds have a prominent place in the childhood memories of Singaporeans who grew up during that era. Though there is another dragon playground in Ang Mo Kio, it is the one in Toa Payoh that retains the sand pit. A sand-filled playground was a common structure in most neighbourhoods, before boring rubber matting replaced the sand. What’s the fun if you can’t throw sand into the eyes of your enemy/crush ?

5. Toa Payoh used to be a farmland.

Part of the old Toa Payoh came alive when we spent an afternoon with Mdm Lim Mui Tiang, a resident of Toa Payoh. Mdm Lim recounted where the farms were, and how the HDB flat she’s living in was previously a hill flattened for the construction of the town. At the age of six, she helped at her family farm with the harvesting of vegetables and feeding of the poultry. By seven, she was bringing water from the well. Though we probably have heard similar stories from the earlier generations many times, it is hard to imagine the same kind of hardship for any children growing up in modern Singapore.

Aerial view of Toa Payoh taken in 1967. Photo: www.toapayoh.com

Toa Payoh has come a long way from its earliest histories of being made up of marshland and plantations. The name “Toa Payoh” means “big swamp”  in the Hokkien dialect. Walking down the concrete paths, watching people sip coffee from Starbucks, families pushing their children around in strollers and pedestrians burying their heads in their devices, it must be really astounding to witness such tremendous change within a single lifetime.

Written by Samantha Tio
Edited by Tan Wei Keong