The three uncles who stayed with us is a microcosm of Singapore in the fifties. These uncles stayed in the back room on the second floor and paid the occasional rent. In other words, the paid the rent for the utilities bill whenever they could because they were relatives or long time friends or a son of some old friend.
Actually only one was a uncle by blood. He was, I understand, some distant relative of my father through marriage or some ancestral link. He was a bit of a rake and lived a hand to mouth existence working whenever he felt like it in some warehouse of shop. There was no doubt that he could hold a regular job but somehow his temperament was to live a somewhat casual existence and he never stayed long at one job. Later on he became a chicken farmer in Malaya and drowned while swimming across a river to get at some durians. Somehow, I think he would have liked the manner of his death.
Then there was the young uncle, very serious, always reading and making entries in an exercise book. He wore spectacles, had a rash of acne and pimples on his face although he was always neatly dressed. He studied at some school or other. He disappeared all of a sudden. However, I heard my father telling his relative - my uncle - that the young man shoulf not take uppolitics. In those days that can only meant he was anti colonial and left wing. I don't think my uncle was the proper person for my father to rope in to persuade the young man not least because my uncle would have regarded it all as a bit of a lark. One day, the young man packed his things and left after saying his goodbyes, We had no news of where he went or what he did after that. Maybe he followed his dreams and ended up with the communist forces in Malaya. I am sure there must have been others like him.
The one who made the biggest impression on me was "Chwee Pek" or "Water Uncle", a white haired and frail looking man. He was called that because he was a sailor and would go away for periods of time carrying a rattan suit case of his clothes and other things. He carried letters for people as well as information. However, Chwee Pek never conducted his business at our house. I found out his letter carrying business because my uncle would tell him that while walking in Telok Ayer Street he had met so and so who wanted to make contact. Apparently Chwee Pek knew all these people looking for him and his information.
I was fascinated by Chwee Pek because he had a hand wound gramophone as well as quite a collection of rather scratchy records. Whenever he wound up the gramophone he would tell me that there would be singers inside the gramophone. It was an immense source of joy as well as great fascination for me.
One day Chwee Pek left, it was said, for China and from then on we would get only the occasional letter from him. In time, even these letters ended and Chwee Pek passed into history.
Looking back these three I knew in my very young days serve now as a continued reminder of the people who lived in Amoy Street. Were they just actors on the stage of Singapore? Were they citizens? Were they heroic? Were they flotsam and irrelevant? Or were they part of our heritage? Who knows. Maybe history will clarify this.
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