Sunday in Singapore
By DAVID
IliAD been intrigued from the beginning by the news of over 15,000 Singaporeans voluntarily giving up their Sundays to work manually at con- verting the wasteland along the sea front into playing fields and children's recreation grounds. It seemed a good idea to volunteer myself, although none of my Asian friends approved.
So on Sunday morning I accosted the leader of the first group of people carrying flags, which was forming up on the park outside the City Council Hall, and asked if I could join them. He was shy, and smiled at me in surprise before suggesting I applied to another gathering corn- prising government volunteers; it was clear that he had mistaken me for an expatriate government ollicial, and he added that his group consisted only of members of the People's Action Party. I took the hint, but got it qualified by his consent to my rejoining if I didn't get a job with the government volunteers, and drove off to Kiang airstrip where the government squads were start- ing their holiday tasks, hoeing lumps of earth along a three-mile line. They seemed a little un- friendly. and the risk of their downing tools to hold an inquiry as to my status scared me back to the shy man; he was marching with Mr. Ong. the Minister for National Development, at the head of an enormous procession making for the 'corniche: I waved rather vaguely at him and he waved briskly hack, pointing to the destination. So I fell in at the rear of his section which plodded along happily out of step until we reached the site: there Mr. Ong stood on a pile of earth and told everyone in Mandarin what had to be done. I joined a gang passing granite rocks from hand to hand; they were passed to me by a husky taciturn youth and I had to hand them over to an eager, slightly built girl in trousers. At first the human chain curved badly and inefficiently; it was a hot cloudless morning and we were soon soaked in sweat. But everyone was in high spirits and young men dashed about shouting encourage- ment. No one seemed to be giving orders, tiut eventually the chain straightened out, which made the job easier. Nearly all the volunteers were under twenty-five, and most were skinny and undersized. All wore dramatic working clothes with huge straw hats. Those whose hands and fingernails got cut by the granite showed them to their mates with meaning gestures of the 'see how tough I am' variety.
Suddenly we ran out of granite and I was led to a bench where a jovial man poured fragrant tea out of a huge bucket. The rest of the party stared at me as I accepted and sipped the tea; clearly few had ever seen an Englishman do such a thing and they were very curious to know my verdict. 'Better than whisky!' 1 said, and they laughed and slapped my shoulder affectionately.
The next job was not so easy. Lorries dis- charged great piles of red limy earth, and we took hoes, dug into it, and spread it out on top of the uneven grassland. I swung my hoe high and hit a man on the ear. But as no one said anything and I did not feel the hoe connect, I only heard about it afterwards from an expensively dressed and fragile young man who said, 'You are not ex- perienced in this work.' I retorted plaintively that I always used the Assam tea-garden swing when hoeing, and all was well.
Tailed along the road by his massive Mercedes- Benz, looking like a larger, earlier, and more formidable version of James Cagney, the Prime Minister stalked around the sites, wearing slacks and a white bush shirt damp with sweat. And Mr. Ong and other Ministers were also on the job; the volunteers ignored them as old friends like to do, unless there was work to be done or discussed.
A Mr. Tan, well past middle age, wearing a pair of serious grey flannel shorts cut below the knee, made friends with me. Mr. Tan waved me to the stone seat next to him, and pointed to the happy young people. `I give them lessons in Malay. My friends say I'm a damn fool. Three nights a week I give up, and go by bus, not taxi, free. So now they made me come with them, and here I am.'
We rested on our hoes just as Mr. Ong reappeared on his rounds; at once we guiltily began scratching surfaces we had already dealt with until he passed by. Then we were led back to the tea bucket to be served with hunks of fresh bread smeared with molasses. Everyone was very hungry and I lent my car to rush second helpings while my friend from Penang took over the tea stall..
'These people are not strong,' said Mr. Tan reprovingly, then, in more kindly tones, 'but they work very hard.' Sonie indeed looked pale and tired, but all were immensely pleased with them- selves and their work. 'I want to take my children here when it is finished,' added Mr. Tan, pointing to the wasteland, `and tell them that I helped make their playground.'
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