Growing up in Singapore in the 1960s and 1970s was very different from growing up here today. The Singapore of my childhood was a much simpler place. It was less developed, less crowded and, in many ways, less hurried. We had fewer material possessions, but we also had a great deal of freedom to explore, play and grow up in our own way.
I was born in Singapore in 1959, and my childhood unfolded during a period when the country itself was going through tremendous change. As I grew older, I also experienced Singapore through the different places and homes that became part of my life. My childhood was not confined to one neighbourhood.
I spent part of my younger days at Norfolk Road with my grandmother. This was an important part of my early childhood, as my grandmother’s home was also a place where my extended family gathered. My aunts, uncles and cousins were part of the surroundings and many of my earliest memories are connected to the family life there.
I also lived with my parents in the Geylang area, including Lorong Abu Kasih. Life there gave me a different experience of Singapore. The surroundings, the people and the way of life were different from what I experienced at Norfolk Road. My memories of this period are an equally important part of my childhood.
We later lived in Newton, adding another neighbourhood to my growing-up years. Then, from Secondary 2 onwards, we moved to Toa Payoh, which became the place that occupied the largest part of my later childhood and youth. I lived there through my secondary-school years, my teenage years and into early adulthood, until I was about 22.
Looking back, these places were more than just addresses. Each represented a different stage of my life. Norfolk Road was closely associated with my grandmother and extended family; Geylang and Lorong Abu Kasih were part of my life with my parents; Newton became another chapter in my childhood; and Toa Payoh became the backdrop to my teenage years and early adulthood.
Together, these places formed the Singapore in which I grew up.
This is the Singapore I want to remember in this chapter—not simply the Singapore described in history books, but the Singapore I actually experienced as a child, teenager and young man.
It was a Singapore of old buses and conductors, neighbourhood shops and hawker stalls, kampong-like surroundings, school journeys, football and the Malaysia Cup, family gatherings, outdoor games and the freedom to move around without many of the concerns that occupy life today.
Much of that Singapore has since disappeared or changed beyond recognition. But it remains very much alive in my memories.
The Buses We Grew Up With
Public buses were an important part of everyday life when I was growing up. The bus system in those days was very different from what we know today. There was no single operator serving the whole island. Instead, Singapore had a number of bus companies, each operating its own routes.
The Singapore Traction Company (STC) was one of the major operators, particularly on the city routes. There were also many Chinese-operated bus companies, which were commonly referred to as the Chinese bus companies. Among the names I remember were Hock Lee Bus, Tay Koh Yat Bus, Green Bus and Keppel Bus, together with several other operators.
I remember taking the Green Bus from Newton to Geylang to go to school. At that time, I never imagined that the bus companies I knew would eventually disappear as separate operators. They were simply part of the Singapore I grew up in.
There was also a conductor on every bus. He collected the fare from passengers and issued a small paper ticket, which he punched with a ticket puncher. The conductor would move through the bus, collecting fares and punching the tickets according to the journey. That little punched ticket was something we were all familiar with. Today, it is hard to imagine a bus journey without simply tapping a card or using a mobile phone to pay.
The bus system began to change quite significantly in the early 1970s. In April 1971, the Chinese bus companies were reorganised into three larger companies: Amalgamated Bus Company (ABC), Associated Bus Services (ABS) and United Bus Company (UBC). The Green Bus Company became part of UBC. The Singapore Traction Company continued separately for a short period before eventually ceasing operations.
I remember seeing Amalgamated Bus Company buses during those years. It was a period of transition, when the familiar names of the old bus companies were gradually disappearing and being replaced by the new operators.
Then, in July 1973, ABC, ABS and UBC were merged to form Singapore Bus Service (SBS). This marked the beginning of a much more unified bus system.
For my generation, this was not simply a change in the names painted on the buses. It was part of the broader transformation taking place in Singapore. The old private bus companies, their conductors and their punched tickets were gradually becoming things of the past.
Looking back, I realise that I was actually living through this transformation as a young person. I experienced the old system first-hand—from taking the Green Bus to school, to seeing the emergence of the new bus companies and eventually SBS.
These may seem like small details in the history of Singapore, but they are part of my personal memory of growing up in the Singapore of the 1960s and 1970s.
The Floods I Remember
One of my vivid memories of growing up in the Geylang area, around Lorong Abu Kasih, was experiencing a major flood in 1969. I remember that there were two occasions during my childhood when the water rose to above knee level, but the 1969 flood stands out particularly clearly in my memory.
What makes it even more memorable was that it happened on the eve of Hari Raya Puasa. I cannot remember the exact date, but I remember the circumstances. The eve of Hari Raya was normally a busy and exciting time, with families preparing for the celebration the following day. Instead, the area around our kampong was affected by floodwater.
The water rose above our knees, covering the roads and surrounding areas. Moving around became difficult, and the adults had to deal with the practical problems that came with the flooding. For us children, however, the sight of so much water was both fascinating and unsettling. It was not something we experienced every day, and the occasion left a strong impression on me.
The flooding was associated with heavy rain and high tides, which could cause the low-lying areas of Geylang under water. Serious floods were not a regular occurrence, but when they happened, they could be quite dramatic.
Looking back, I realise that this was another glimpse of a Singapore that has largely disappeared. The Geylang area of my childhood was very different from the urban landscape we see today. The kampong environment was more exposed to the elements, and we simply learned to live with the occasional inconveniences that came with it.
The 1969 flood remains one of those childhood memories that I can still picture clearly. I may not remember every detail, or even the exact date, but I remember the rising water, the kampong surroundings and the fact that it happened just before Hari Raya. Those memories are part of the Singapore in which I grew up.
Life in Toa Payoh
In 1973, my family moved to Block 36, Lorong 5, Toa Payoh. By then, I was entering an important stage of my life, and Toa Payoh would eventually become the place most closely associated with my growing-up years.
Our first home there was a small HDB rental flat of about 45 square metres. With eight of us in the family, the flat was undeniably cramped. Space was something we had to share and make the best use of. There was little privacy, and everyone had to adapt to living closely together.
Even finding a suitable place to study could sometimes be a challenge. I remember occasionally having to sit in the narrow kitchen area to do my schoolwork. It was hardly an ideal study environment, but we made do with what we had. At that age, I did not think of it as a hardship; it was simply our home and the way we lived.
We stayed at Block 36 for about four years before moving to a larger HDB rental flat at Block 233, Lorong 8, Toa Payoh. The new flat had two bedrooms, which gave us considerably more space and made life more comfortable for our growing family.
Toa Payoh then became the backdrop to a very large part of my life. I grew up there through my teenage years and into adulthood. My memories of those years are therefore not confined to our flat. They include the HDB blocks, the neighbourhood, school, friends, the places we went to, and the everyday experiences of growing up in a new public housing estate.
What makes Toa Payoh particularly significant to me is how long it remained part of our family story. We did not simply live there for a few years and move on. We grew up there together, and the estate remained our home as one by one we reached adulthood and eventually got married.
In that sense, Toa Payoh witnessed the transformation of our family. We arrived as a family of children growing up together, and over the years we became adults, started our own families and went our separate ways.
When I look back today, I realise that the small rental flat at Block 36 and the larger flat at Block 233 represented much more than the homes we lived in. They were the places where much of my formative life took place. The cramped kitchen where I sometimes studied, the rooms we shared, the neighbourhood we grew up in and the HDB estate where our family gradually changed with the passing of time are all part of my memories of Toa Payoh.
For me, Toa Payoh was not simply where we lived. It was where we grew up.
Street Food and the Night Hawkers
Another part of growing up in Singapore that I remember fondly was the street food and the night hawkers. In those days, eating out was not quite the experience it is today. There were many places where hawkers set up their stalls in the evenings, bringing a variety of inexpensive and tasty food to the streets.
One place that stands out in my memory was the car park along Shenton Way, opposite the old Singapore Polytechnic. During the day, it functioned as an ordinary car park. But every evening, it was closed to vehicles and transformed into a lively gathering place for night hawkers.
As the evening approached, the hawkers would set up their stalls and the car park would take on a completely different character. What had been an ordinary parking area during the day became a place filled with the sights, sounds and smells of cooking. There was a wonderful variety of food available, and the atmosphere was quite different from the food courts and restaurants we know today.
I particularly enjoyed the variety. There were different kinds of local dishes and snacks, and occasionally we would get the opportunity to go there and enjoy some of the food. It was never something I took for granted. Eating out was an occasional treat, and perhaps that was why those experiences have stayed with me.
Looking back, what I remember most is not any particular dish, but the atmosphere—the hawker stalls, the aroma of food cooking, the people gathering in the evening and the transformation of the car park into a bustling night-time food scene.
It was another example of how Singapore in those days made use of its limited space in simple and practical ways. A car park by day could become a place for food and community at night.
Today, Singapore is famous around the world for its hawker culture, but the experience of those old night hawker scenes was different. For me, they are part of the everyday Singapore I grew up with—simple, informal and full of character.
The Malaysia Cup
One of my favourite sporting memories from my late teens onwards was watching Singapore play in the much-loved Malaysia Cup. Football was hugely popular, and there was something special about seeing the Singapore team take on the various Malaysian state teams.
I always looked forward to these matches. There was a strong sense of anticipation whenever Singapore played, and supporting the team was something many Singaporeans of my generation shared. Whether it was against Selangor, Penang, Perak or any of the other states, I enjoyed the matches and followed them closely, hoping for a Singapore victory.
For me, the Malaysia Cup was more than just a football competition. It was part of the sporting culture of the time and a memorable aspect of growing up in Singapore. The matches brought people together and created a sense of shared excitement that is difficult to describe to those who did not experience it.
That connection came to an abrupt end in 1995, when Singapore was unceremoniously removed from the Malaysia Cup. After that, I lost much of my interest in the competition. Without Singapore’s participation, it no longer held the same meaning for me.
Looking back, I realise how deeply those football matches were woven into my younger years. The Malaysia Cup remains one of those shared experiences that defined a generation, and watching Singapore compete against the Malaysian states is still one of my most fondly remembered sporting memories.