O Is For Orchard Road

If Retail Detail Is Your Aim, This Is Fair Game

Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON

I was introduced to Singapore when I was just eleven years old. Wide-eyed, I took in everything about the island-state. It was still British territory at the time and I used to be fascinated by the RAF jets that flew overhead. I remember clearly going to a fair where the highlight, for me, was the skydiving display by British specialists.

I recall being dumbstruck by the fact that the taxis were Mercedes-Benz vehicles, no less. From memory, most of them ran on diesel. I wondered if my classmates in school would actually believe how many times I had sat in the plush interior of a Merc.

I even made an unexpected visit to an RAF base when I was stung while swimming at a Singapore beach. But more than anything else, I remember being fascinated by Orchard Road. Why? Not because of the architecture. Not because of the colonial history. Not because of anything remotely artistic.

The place grabbed my attention because of C. K. Tang’s, the department store where I was instantly fascinated by the huge area devoted to toys. Hey, I was only eleven years old, remember?

Over the years, I returned several times to Singapore on way to and from overseas assignments as a sportswriter covering cricket and tennis. More recently, I have been there on holiday or to visit friends. Orcahrd Road, which once fascinated me because of its retail nature, now holds me in thrall because of the many images I have been privileged to photograph.

A few years ago, we were there as a family and I took the first available opportunity to take our children to Orchard Road and, specifically, to C. K. Tang’s. But maybe things had changed. Maybe their toy section was smaller than it was during my childhood. Maybe our own perceptions had changed because of the arrival of mega toy stores that totally dwarf my own memories of the toy selection in this particular store.

During our week there, we also had an interesting experience. I took the Authorbloglets out for the day and took some travellers’ cheques with me, as well as my passport - just in case I needed some more money. As it turned out, I didn’t need any more cash. But when we got home, Mrs Authorblog - who had stayed home because she was unwell - fixed me with a gimlet eye.

She asked if I had managed to change my travellers’ cheques.

No, I replied, I still had some money in my wallet.

Which was probably a good thing. Because as my wife pointed out, I had erred badly. Instead of taking my own passport, I had taken my son’s by mistake.

For the home of ABC Wednesday, go to Mrs Nesbitt's Place.

Look Out Below, Jock

RAF Bombs Out - Over Scotland

An RAF fighter jet has accidentally dropped a bomb on Scotland. The 14-kilogram practice bomb was lost from a Tornado GR4 aircraft during a routine flight from RAF Lossiemouth in Moray. RAF authorities do not know if the device survived the fall and have yet to locate the bomb but warned the public against touching it. Practice bombs are not live devices but look like real bombs.

FOOTNOTE: Lucky no one was kilt.

Irritable Vowel Syndrome

All Right, So There’s A Consonant As Well

Beware the printer’s devil. Embarrassing misprints crop up when you least expect them. Fellow blogger Mur38, who writes A Clockwork Blancmange, told me recently that he has a family connection with the RAF’s famous 617 Squadron, The Dam Busters. His grandfather was an aircraft electrician on the squadron and Mur actually has a framed squadron photograph handed down through the family.

While I marvelled at the story, I was reminded of something I read years ago. At a post-World War II reunion dinner, members of the elite unit and their guests were ushered into the main dining area – where the specially-printed menus proclaimed `The Damn Busters’.

And then there was the famous incident involved England spin bowler Ashley Giles, who retired from Test cricket at just 34. Merchandise produced for his testimonial dinner was unveiled with great pomp and ceremony. Unfortunately, instead of saying "Ashley Giles, King of Spin" it said "Ashley Giles, King of Spain".

A Special Tribute In Normandy

Poignant Moment For A Pilot's Family

The ceremony to honour RAF pilot`Tiger' Rajan in Normandy this month.

Thanks to the power of the internet, the relatives of a World War II fighter pilot finally paid their respects at his grave in a tiny town in Normandy, France, this month. Late last year it was my very great privilege to piece together the story of `Tiger' Rajan, the RAF Typhoon pilot whose grave is uniquely marked in three languages - English, French and Hindi. It all began with in an exchange of emails between the webmaster of Bharat Rakshak and the French-based Association pour le Souvenir des Ailes de la Victoire de Normandie (ASAVN).

On 17 November I posted Elegy In a Country Churchyard on my blog and on 20 November I followed it up with a post titled Pilot Project.

Then, earlier this month, thanks to the reach of the internet, the long-lost pilot's relatives stood beside his final resting place, half a world away. The photograph above, of the official commemoration ceremony of a plaque in honour of the pilot, was sent to me by one of his relatives who travelled to France.

She and other family members sent me some wonderful emails last week. One email, from Dr Shobha Varthaman, acknowledged the fact that ``The West still remembers those who sacrificed their lives to bring peace to their land.''

Another email, from Farida Singh, said: ``The story both of you have opened up for us is truly amazing. So much so that my son, on a business visit from the US, was almost late for an important meeting: he wanted to read and see everything related to this. What is a country's legacy, if not to inspire the young? And in this case, a toast to those Frenchmen who realised what it would mean to the family and, a great many more interested Indians! Thank you both for taking the trouble!''

To view the whole story of Tiger Rajan, go to my full-length feature article at Anglo-Indian Portal.

Trivia Pur$uit

In 1992, a British company offered two-day vacations at an abandoned RAF base in Hampshire, England. Those who signed up had to pretend to be prisoners of war and take part in roll calls, work parties and escape attempts.