In the late 1970s, I was one of the many Malaysians who came to Singapore in search of a new life. Like many of them, I too came by train through the Tanjong Pagar Railway Station. So when it closed recently, I did feel a sense of regret.
In those days, I travelled by train frequently and although I did sometimes drive, my husband felt it was safer for me to travel by train, especially when I was travelling alone. My family and friends came to visit me by train and I still remember the anxiety and the excitement among the waiting crowd when the train appeared around the corner, very often behind schedule. Going home was another anxious event especially getting past the less-than-friendly Malaysian customs officers. But still, taking the train was better than the bus in those days when luxury coaches and superhighways were non-existent.
But from way back in my childhood, trains were a part of my life. I went to school in Sentul which was where the largest railway workshop in Malaysia was situated. The railway track was about 300 metres behind my house and I spent a lot of time playing on the tracks. On school days, I’d walk to and from school with Roziah Sultan, my best friend then, and part of the journey was along the railway track. The nicest part about the walk was the railway creepers with their lovely pink flowers. Some days, the train would pass, and we would wait behind the railway gates, staring up at the people in the train and wondering where they were going.
When I started travelling to university, I was able to take the commuter train from a train stop behind my house to the main railway station in town where I caught a bus to the campus in Pantai Valley. Near my home, a road, Ipoh Road, crosses the railway line creating a tunnel below. My brother and his Boy Brigade friends spent many a weekend practising their bugle playing in that tunnel. They weren’t the finest musicians so the tunnel was the best place to practise improving their lung power. Not far from this tunnel was a railway bridge which spanned the Batu River. My siblings and I spent many a mischievous day there, crossing the river on the railway track. That was not really a safe thing to do; one misstep and we would be in the fast flowing waters of the river, but we were young and foolish then. Sometimes a train would appear unexpectedly and we would have to step off the track and cling on to the side of the bridge while the train roared past us. When there was no train, we would practise balancing on the tracks (pretending to be ballerinas or tightrope walkers) and pick wild rhododendrons and grass flowers for our home. On the odd occasion when the neighbourhood crazy man appeared on the track, exposing various parts of his emaciated body, we would throw stones at him. I don’t ever remember being afraid of anyone or anything in those days.
Today the railway workshop has been replaced by The Kuala Lumpur Performing Arts Centre (KLPac) and Sentul West looks a lot like Singapore with its Singapore-styled condominiums. The old golf course, built for the managerial and administrative staff of the railway workshop, is still there but that part of Sentul is no longer the working class neighbourhood it used to be. Our family home has gone too but my sister still lives nearby and the trains run a road away past the front of her house. The railway track is now electrified and fenced up. Whenever I visit my sister, I still hear trains roaring past at odd hours of the day and night.
I was recalling these and other events from my childhood when I took a walk with my husband along the old railway track from Silat Walk to Bukit Merah Central last week. The walk brought back many memories; a railway track is somewhat the same no matter which country we are in. Here are some photos from our walk.
We began at Silat Walk and many people were already there, taking pictures and just looking around.
The track into the station has been cordoned off already so we could only walk westwards.
One of the several bridges we went under. Many glue sniffers frequented these places judging from the empty tubes and tins.
A sign reminding train drivers to check their brakes. Good to know that they take their job seriously.
Wild rhododendrons and other wildflowers along the track.
Making a “phone call”.
There was even a romantic message!
The sun was shining in my eyes as we walked westwards, but when I lifted my eyes and looked out from under the brim of my Tilly hat, I saw an amazing sight- sunlight shining on some grass flowers, turning them into bouquets of burnished gold. Wordsworth can keep his daffodils! This was so breathtaking.
We should all support the proposal to turn this railway line into a green rail corridor. It will be a wonderful place for the young to explore and to enjoy.
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