“Yes? What is the matter?” she asked.

We went through the usual drill of introducing the Singapore Snaps Project to her and explained our intentions of collecting old photographs from the public to provide them with free digital copies. At that time, I was with a student volunteer going door-to-door on a photo-collection drive in Toa Payoh, the first neighbourhood to kick-off our art and community program.

“You’ll get all your photographs back with a DVD of its digital copies within 1 week at your doorstep,” my student partner chirped.

The lady warmed up to our presence and emerged more confidently from behind her door.

“But I don’t have any old photographs. My parents didn’t take any for me. They never cared,” she said with a straightforward tone. But in her eyes was a tinge of sadness.

Both of us were suddenly thrown off-guard by a gush of empathy. For a short while we did not know what to say. We learned that her name is “Serene” and we explained to her that if she is visiting the neighbourhood library where our booth was based, it would be nice to be able to chat again.

Serene thanked us courteously before she closed her door.

Days later, Serene paid a surprise visit to us at our booth. She brought with her an envelope which she held endearingly close to her chest. Sitting together with her on our seventies-fashioned sofa, she revealed three black-and-white photographs and three large colour photographs from the envelope. The black-and-white photographs were of her as a child with her mother, looking very blissful. The large colour photographs were taken in a studio, of Serene in her convocation gown clutching a certificate and looking accomplished.

Photo credit: Jasmine Chan

“These are the only photographs, I have (of myself) when I was young… I worked very hard to study and get to where I am now, so that I can live independently and prove myself,” she told us.

Even though we set a minimum of twenty photographs for a contribution (any lesser will be a toil on the logistics), we accepted her photographs with appreciation. Serene’s sincerity in supporting our project has certainly moved us. Her situation also made us think about the individuals who never had the luxury of photographs to document their personal histories.

As we met more residents, it turned out that Serene’s story was not a remote one. Another resident had explained to us how he never had any photographs because his family could not afford a camera. There was also an individual, who told us how he had lost his entire life of photographs because an ex-fiance had burnt all of them in a fit of anger. Having those photographs of their lives documented, would mean everything to these people.

Yet, an absence is a presence of meaning – that absence of photographs is also a reflection of one’s personal history.

Photo credit: Pearl Pang

On the other side of the coin, we met many generous contributors with cupboards full of photographs waiting to be digitised. We recalled a contributor handing us a huge luggage worth of her family’s old photographs. We explained to her upfront that there was a limit to what we could accept, but she insisted that we take everything. I still can recall sitting alone in the cold activity room in the top floor of a library, browsing through multiple stacks of photographs from that particular family. Their personal memories whizzed through my head visually. For three hours I went through their photographs, album by album, selecting images that would be valuable to them and the project. While I am certain that these memories are precious to the family, there was also an underlying sense of insignificance of these printed photographs – like clutter to be cleared.

Whilst some residents whom we met at their homes, readily lent us their photographs for the project, there were others who found their personal memories too precious to be placed in the hands of a stranger. Both ways, we understand and respect their choices. After all, photographs mean different things and have different values to everyone.

Written by Samantha Tio
Edited by Tan Wei Keong

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

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