Chinatown may be known as a popular tourist enclave, but radio host, deejay and author Chris Ho – also known as X’Ho – remembers its streets quite differently.

Chris with his grandmother

“I suppose life started me young on sleaze,” he joked to Singapore. “I used to follow my grandmother to her mahjong games and the opium dens in Chinatown when I was just a child. She took me along because there was no one else at home to care for me.

“It was great as I was left to my own devices once inside these joints. [They were] full of secret doors and musky coolies.” The opium dens of Pagoda Street were shut down in the 1950s and are now replaced by food malls, art galleries and electronic stores. Whenever he passes by, Chris can’t help but look back on the vice dens of old with nostalgia. Ironically, they remind him of a “a more innocent and less modernised [and] policed past”.

The fact that some of his fondest childhood memories have the makings of a gritty Orientalised noir tale speaks volumes of the outspoken personality, who is known for his irreverence and candour, and is well regarded in the Singapore music scene. Formerly with the now-defunct band Zircon Lounge (Singapore’s first New Wave punk group), Chris, who claims he is “forever 27”, has released several solo albums. He has also written three books including, ‘Skew Me You Rebel Meh?, a collection of essays and social critiques.

Chris, 8, at his godmother's house on Nassim Road dressed up for a formal party

Another place that holds fond childhood memories for Chris is his godmother’s hilltop house on Nassim Road – just off Orchard Road near the Botanic Gardens. The house was a guesthouse known as The Anchorage or The Haven, and the young Chris would spend his school holidays there.

Talking about the place instantly transports him back to his teenaged years. “It was there that I hung out with the kids of the Caucasian guests, [and that was my] start to speaking English,” recalled Chris, who spoke mainly Cantonese with his grandma.

The sprawling compound at the guesthouse was a favourite playground, Chris said. “I still remember the big frangipani tree [that I] used to climb. It was nice being able to play in the huge garden there, even by myself.” The guesthouse closed in the 1970s and today the site is home to terraced homes.

“I miss the place and, thinking back, I can still see the pavements, the stairs, the hallways, corridors…and the dining area where there’d be a grand Christmas party every year. It was also there that I first got drunk when I was about 14, much to my grandma’s wrath!”

“I was left to my own devices once inside these joints. [They were] full of secret doors and musky coolies.”

These days, Chris prefers to hang out in places like Geylang, Little India and Woh Hup Complex on Beach Road – places where he can meet locals and foreigners from all walks of life. Such places – away from the squeaky-clean neatness of mainstream Singapore and brimming with local colour and culture – suit the down-to-earth Chris just fine.

He told Singapore that he misses the days when there was a sense of openness when it came to interactions between foreigners and locals, compared to the undercurrents of “defensiveness” today, pointing to some public sentiments towards the influx of foreigners to Singapore.

Chris welcomes more visitors to Singapore shores, believing in the value of shared cultures, beliefs, interests and perspectives. “Life would be unbearable without them. I’d probably high-tail out of here the minute they disappear. Which is, fortunately, like, never!”

Gedung Kuning today, home to restaurant

Located at the nexus of a cultural enclave within the Kampong Glam area, Gedung Kuning stands regal, its yellow walls setting it apart from its neighbours. Today it may house a well-known eating place called Tepak Sireh (the name for the traditional metal containers used in storing betel leaves), but there’s a lot more to Gedung Kuning than meets the eye. For Hidayah Amin – whose great-grandfather Haji Yusoff first owned the house – Gedung Kuning is part of her identity.

“There is a Malay saying ‘Tanah tumpah darah’, which literally translates as ‘the place where blood was shed at birth’,” she said to Singapore by way of explaining her bond with the house of her birth. “My mother ‘shed blood’ in Gedung Kuning in giving birth to me. In that, I forged a close bond with the Yellow Mansion, my ‘birth soil’.”

In 1999, when Hidayah was 27, the house was reclaimed by the government as part of a cultural project in the area. The act triggered dormant memories in Hidayah and a keen sense that she was losing something precious. Hidayah’s grandmother used to tell stories from her childhood and of Hidayah’s great-grandparents. Then, Hidayah couldn’t fully understand why it was important to know about her heritage. When Gedung Kuning was acquired, it struck her that a part of her family’s history was gone, “taken away” and she felt “lost”. Moved by this, she started to record the rich history of the house, launching her website (www.gedungkuning.com) in 2004. This year, she will be publishing a collection of 27 historical narratives with the Singapore Heritage Society, entitled Gedung Kuning, Memories of a Malay Childhood (see below for an excerpt).

“Nenek (grandmother) told me a neighbour dropped by Gedung Kuning one day. He mustered the courage to ask Haji Yusoff to open the locked room. He wanted to see this hantu (ghost) from Java. As Haji Yusoff opened the room, he urged the neighbour to be quick. He must lock the door quickly lest the dust from outside settled on the neatly stacked velvet cloth that was exported from Germany. Yes, this was the ‘ghost’ that made Haji Yusoff rich – the rolls of beautiful velvet Haji Yusoff used to sew his songkoks!”

 Excerpt from Gedung Kuning, Memories of a Malay Childhood.

In the book, Hidayah retells family tales and memories of her great-grandfather, Haji Yusoff, whom history records as a pioneering Malay merchant. He sold tali pinggang (belts) and songkok (traditional Malay caps), hence his nickname Haji Yusoff ‘Tali Pinggang’ – ‘Haji Yusoff the Belt Merchant’. The merchant invested his profits in real estate, buying houses and lands in various parts of Singapore and Malaysia, including rubber, coconut and oil palm plantations in both countries. But his prized possession was Gedung Kuning, purchased in 1912, which became home to his descendants.

“Gedung Kuning was our paradise,” said Hidayah. Most members of her maternal side of the family were born and raised in the Yellow Mansion. There, they were taught religious and moral values, welcomed the poor who came to ask for alms and honoured the legacy of their ancestors for four generations.

It was a simple but contented life for Hidayah and her extended family. “When I reminisce about Gedung Kuning, it is the faces of various people I once knew that comes to mind,” she said, “The smiles and laughter of the family, the simple games played with my cousins under the rambutan tree, the occasional trips to the open field nearby to watch the wayang Cina (Chinese opera) during the Chinese Hungry Ghost Festival, joyous family gatherings, running up and down the steep wooden stairs, and playing a simple game of hide and seek around the house.”

Diners at Tepak Sireh today may admire the Anglo-Regency architecture of Gedung Kuning, but for Hidayah and her family, Gedung Kuning – the memory, if not the place – remains a potent symbol. Her book is a way to revisit and capture those childhood memories and history, which for the young woman, represents the essence of identity and home.

Young as he was (and perhaps precisely because of that), Derek, now 47, recalls his experiences in vaudeville detail: hundreds of sampans (flat-bottomed wooden boats) with fruits and fish, snake charmers, street magicians and “endless shops”. “There would also be lots of hot food prepared in front of you,” he told Singapore. “The smell, and it wasn’t really unpleasant, is a smell I’ve never smelled since! Singapore then had a smell of its own and was a very busy place.

“It was so hot that the front doors and the windows would be permanently open. We’d also have a ceiling fan going most of the time just to cool us down. The weather was constantly humid … [and] the heavy downpours of the monsoon season had us running outside when we first arrived, just to cool down. Even then, the rain was still warm. During the monsoon season, the drains would flood and the water would flow to the front door. Quite often, there were violent thunderstorms which seemed to shake the whole house.”

It might have been the vividness of his experiences, or his job as a history textbook writer, or both, that spurred Derek to start penning his recollections in a book, Sampans, Banyans and Rambutans – A Childhood in Singapore and Malaya, which was published in 2006.

He recalled how the locals were as fascinated with him as he was of them. For instance, his fair hair drew commentary wherever he passed. Despite the language barrier, he grew close to his Amah (housekeeper) and her family during his four years in Singapore: “I sort of remember the day when we left and said goodbye to Azizah and her family. Azizah had two of her own children; a boy called Fadzil and a daughter called Fadzilla. I don’t remember the kids speaking any English. They were similar in age to me though and would always come to my birthday parties.”

His book drew similar recollections; his mailbox got flooded with stories from more people who had memories of Singapore to share. These he compiled and published in Memories of Singapore and Malaya in 2007.

The book garnered even more interest and today, Derek is working on More Memories of Singapore and Malaya. “I was very pleased that so many people were interested in the book,” he said. “A lot of them who write to me were children then, but I also get a lot of emails from servicemen who were stationed there. I think they all see it as being an idyllic time of their lives.”

Derek visited Singapore and Malaysia once more in 1990. While modern Singapore is “a lot more built up and cleaner”, he misses the rich rusticity of the Singapore of his youth. “My favourite places in the 60s were Tiger Balm Gardens and the Botanic Gardens. The Botanic Gardens at the time were full of monkeys and we used to love feeding them,” he recalled.

“I loved the old Singapore but I love the new Singapore too. In some ways, they almost seem like different places. My childhood in the 1960s just seemed like a wonderful time which would be lovely to relive,” continued Derek. “There was something special about being brought up in Singapore.

If anyone is interested in contributing their photos, memories or tales, you can contact Derek at derek.tait@virgin.net.