arrived in Singapore for the first time in April 1902 together with my father and an elder brother. We made our way to Port Swettenham by one of the small coastal steamers and from Port Swettenham we came to Kuala Lumpur by train. Looking back into the blank of my boyhood, the first thing I can remember as standing out by themselves from a confusion of things, was the jungle on either side of the railway track from Port Swettenham to Kuala Lumpur. It was jungle, jungle everywhere and not a rubber tree to be seen.

What else do I remember? Let me see. Everything was strange to me. The houses, all one-storeyed, appeared to me to be very big compared with those of my own native village. The streets were paved with brown laterite and were illuminated by flickering kerosene lamps each about eight feet high. Towards the evening Indian labourers placed ladders against them to light them and every morning the same labourers climbed up to put them out. During the day water-carts, drawn by bullocks, went round the streets to lay the dust. Stand-pipes were seen here and there and from these the inhabitants drew their supply of drinking water. Every shop-house had its own well inside the shop and the water from the wells was used for purposes of bathing and washing.

Along the streets there were rickshaws, bullock-carts and hand-carts and here and there could be seen a horse gharry - the last being the mode of travel for longer distances, say, from Kuala Lumpur to Ampang, a distance of about six miles. For short distances most people travelled on foot. Street accidents were rare and there was no officer in charge of traffic. Everyone went about his business in a leisurely way.

My first day at school - 7th May, 1902 - very nearly proved to be my undoing. I was a singkeh, a term applied to all new arrivals from China. I could not speak a word of Malay nor could I understand any of the other Chinese dialects but my own. The bully of the school knocked down my brand new 25-cent straw hat and trampled on it. We had a fight and like Tom Brown I got the worse of it. I returned home with a black eye and swore to my father that I'd never go back to school. Luckily my first teacher - the late Mr. Tan Lye Huat - knew my father. He came and coaxed me and said he would take me under his personal protection. So I went back to school, where I spent the major portion of my life both as a pupil and subsequently as a teacher.

In those days Chinese boys came to school dressed in Chinese slack trousers and loose coats with their towchangs (pigtails) tucked away in their pockets. Malay boys came in their sarong and songkok and Indian boys came in their verti but nearly all of them were barefoot, Chinese, Malays and Tamils alike. In the Victoria Institution the old coloured charts of the four seasons were relics of our conversations, but I still feel that the live pictures we ourselves made, using teachers and pupils as subjects, were more appealing to the young minds. Truthfulness, honesty, cleanliness and punctuality were our favourite abstract subjects for talks. As a teacher I can now look back with satisfaction upon a happy journey. Some of the boys I had taught are now leading merchants, prosperous lawyers, busy chemists and practitioners of note.

On one hot day in 1910 there was a very thick hailstorm. Each hailstone was about the size of a naphthalene ball. Halley's comet was seen in the same year. Astrologers and soothsayers regarded these two phenomena as messengers of evil. They were very nearly right. The Chinese Revolution broke out at Wuchang on October 10th, 1910, and the First World War broke out in 1914.

During all these years I have seen phenomenal changes not only in the appearance of the town, but also in the manners, customs and habits of the various peoples who make up the inhabitants of this country.

In those delightful days when Government servants began with a salary of $15 a month, men went to work clad in tutups but everyone wore a hat. In fact, hats of all kinds could be seen bobbing up and down the streets of the town. There were straw hats, felt hats, double-terai hats, Panama hats, Ellwood corked helmets, bonnets, turbans, songkoks and fezzes. Today very few people use hats, and if they do, they carry them in their hands.

There were very few places of amusement. In the gambling dens one could watch either a Punch and Judy show or a marionette show. In the theatre-halls in Petaling Street and Sultan Street, Cantonese wayang played year in, year out. The plays they staged were episodes taken from either The Romance of Three Kingdoms, Si Yu Chi, Wan Nien Ching or Chin Ku Chi Kwang.

To me the one most important day of the year was Chinese New Year. I am ultra-modern. No one can accuse me of being conservative. But although the Chinese Republic had declared first January as the official New Year, I always preferred the Old New Year. The shops were all closed and every Chinese walked out in his finery. Men were dressed in silk, either blue or black, and women all wore samfu made of either black, blue or pale green silk. The cheongsam was yet unknown.

Most of them went to the High Street Temple to pray for good luck and when they met in the streets the customary greeting Kung Hei Futt Choy could be heard a quarter of a mile away. Children carried rotating lanterns and rabbit lanterns, and gambling stalls were set up at every street corner. Towards the evening red candles burned brightly on the mantelpiece of every Chinese home and at night there was the bomb bah or fire-crackers. The firecrackers have a way of shaking the Chinese heart that no European knows.

I am afraid my time is up and so I'd like to conclude with Thomas Moore's:

(The Seladang, 1963)

r. Ng Seo Buck astounded us when he revealed that he was seventy-two. He still looks so young and energetic that at first sight anybody would believe him to be in his late fifties. However, at the end of our interview with him we had to admit that having led such an interesting and active life age would affect him but little.

Mr. Buck is one of the four oldest surviving V.I. Old Boys. "Unfortunately, I cannot claim to be one of the first generation as I only joined the V. I. in 1902," he told us. In 1902 Mr. Bennett Shaw had already been Headmaster for eight years, having joined the school at its very inception.

Mr.Shaw, Mr. Buck informed us, was "a very strict but kindly man" who was very much loved by his pupils. His views on education were much respected and he was often consulted by the Government on this matter. However, he was very angry when his advice was not followed and as such Mr. Shaw was not much liked by the Government. In fact, Mr. Buck revealed, it was only with great difficulty that the Government could be persuaded to name the present Shaw Road (now Jalan Huang Tuah) after Mr. Shaw.

The first Headmaster was very particular about the recruitment of teachers. He tried to maintain the school spirit by employing Old Boys as far as possible. Mr. Shaw succeeded in his objective as these teachers, being his former pupils, respected him and also had a sincere interest in the school. The form teachers in Mr. Buck's days had to teach every subject studied in their classes. Pupils studied the usual subjects, except Science. However, Physiology and Hygiene were taught in the Senior Classes. Mr. Buck recalled that, as early as his school days, Malay was taught. However, this was stopped after some years.

Mr. Buck next went on to tell us about the examinations of his days. The first government examination was taken in Standard 4 (present Standard 6), its purpose being to assess the grants-in-aid which were based on the number of passes in this examination. The Cambridge Examinations were taken in 3 stages - Preliminary, Junior Local and the Senior Local. After completion of the Preliminary Cambridge Examination (Standard 7) a boy could get a job as a government clerk quite easily. Mr. Buck told us that the number of boys in the Senior Cambridge class was very small; the class of 1909 from which he graduated had only six boys.

The boys in Mr. Buck's days enjoyed playing tops and marbles as much as boys do today. "The smaller boys," he informed us used to play "Round the Maypole." Two very popular games were "Basketball" and "Badminton". In "Basketball" the players had to throw the ball into a wastepaper basket, while in "Badminton" a small wooden ball was used. Mr. Buck recalled that one of the highlights of his school days was the annual football match between the staff and the boys. The boys invariably won but one memorable year (1920) the staff forced a draw. Mr. Shaw was the goalkeeper in that match. Mr. Buck suggested that perhaps the legs of the boys became "soft" when they were confronted by the "Bulldog" (Mr Shaw's nickname) in the goal.

After completion of his education, Mr. Buck was requested by Mr. Shaw to join the V.I. Staff. Mr. Buck had been offered an opportunity to study at the Medical College but had to decline the offer because of financial considerations. After two years as a teacher he resigned to join the China Civil Service. But the First World War interfered with his plans. As there was a shortage of European teachers, Mr. Shaw persuaded him to return to the V. I. So in 1914 Mr. Buck was back home teaching the Senior Cambridge Class.

In 1923 he was appointed the Headmaster of Kajang High School. Although he was unhappy in his new appointment, he was not able to return to the V.I. until 5 years later. And here he remained until his retirement in 1947. During his years in the V.I. Mr. Buck founded two societies, the Literary and Debating and the Historical Societies. At society meetings, Heads of Government Departments were invited to address the members. After the V.I. moved to its present site on Petaling Hill in 1929, Mr. Buck was the first person to introduce mixed debates, which were held weekly with the Pudu English School. He also introduced mixed debates to the Schools Broadcasting Section of Radio Malaya where he worked for seven years after his retirement as a teacher. Mr. Buck recalled that there was no School Captain and no Prefects in "those good old days." The prefect system was only introduced in 1923 by Mr. Richard Sidney. It was also Mr. Sidney who changed the name of the first school magazine (its only issues being in 1923) from VIE (for Victoria Institution Echo) to The Victorian.

Towards the end of our interview Mr. Buck quoted Mr. Shaw's last words of advice to the school: "Carry on," he said "the great tradition of the V.I." Mr. Buck also advised present boys to emphasise the training of character. He said, "I would like every present V.I. boy to develop a character worth speaking of, for without good character no one can go far. Polished brass is just as brilliant as rough gold..... Cultivate your loyalty to yourself, your family, your community and your school."

Just before we bade goodbye to him, Mr Buck handed us a piece of paper on which was written these words:

Malayan Historical Journal, 1/1 (1954)

g Seo Buck was born in Swatow, China in 1893, and came to Kuala Lumpur at the age of nine. He was educated at the Victoria Institution, where he subsequently became a teacher in 1910. During the 1920s he became Headmaster of Kajang High School, and from 1948 worked for Radio Malaya as Liason Officer for Schools. Looking back, at the time this article was written, the author recalls half a century of change in a city that was still in its infancy when he first arrived in it. A number of the streets he mentions still exist but have been renamed since that period. The High Street (probably the oldest street in town) is now called Jalan Tun H S Lee, Foch Avenue is now Jalan Cheng Lock, Rodger Street is Jalan Hang Kasturi, Market Street is Leboh Pasar Besar, Batu Road is now Jalan Tuanku Abdul Rahman, while the Padang has now become Merdeka Square.

I arrived in this town in April, 1902. I can never forget my emotions when I first came here. Coming as I did from a two-thousand-year-old backward village in China, in my boyish mind, I had a sensation akin to that of John Keats when he first looked into Chapman's Homer.

Cities, like people, have their individualities. Some are commonplace and soon forgotten; others make a striking impression on even the passing stranger. Although what pleases one often fails to interest another, the majority of travellers agree that the older buildings and more massive structures of a city - its temples, churches, mosques, theatres – have a most attractive personality. Some have fallen into decay, some have become obscured from public view owing to changes in town planning. Indeed, there must be something lacking in a man, who, after living in Kuala Lumpur for fifty years, cannot retain in his memory, vivid pictures of some of the major changes in the metropolis.

The first landmark of this town – the K.L. Railway Station – was not as majestic looking as it is today. The impressive Railway Offices were not there when I first came to K.L. nor was Sulaiman Building. Hotel Majestic was not even dreamed of. Sulaiman Bridge did not exist. The Klang River which it now spans, was not running in its present bed. This was the result of the deviation of the river for purposes of averting floods which, before the deviation of the river, were a yearly occurrence. In its natural course the Klang River flowed around the back of the Technical College in Kuala Lumpur in High Street. A stranger to the city ought to be told that the Technical College was the original home of the Victoria Institution. At the far end of the playing field stood the headmaster’s house. The house has been demolished now. It laid the scene of Somerset Maugham's novel “Under The Casuarina Tree” which was later adapted as a film.

What is now the Central Police Station in High Street used to be the offices of the Chinese Protectorate with the first floor used as quarters for the interpreters.

Lee Rubber Building was then the site of the Capitan China's garden and his Court of Justice adjoining it. The shop houses opposite were the residence of the Capitan China and his seven or eight wives. There was no through traffic in High Street in those days. What is now Foch Avenue was the railway track on which Singapore mail trains were run. At one and the same time, if a train happened to pass, traffic in Rodger Steet, High Street, Petaling Street and Sultan Street was held up by railway gates. Luckily traffic in those days was not heavy – a few rickshas, a few bicycles and perhaps one or two horse gharries on either side of the railway gates.

Another landmark of the town is the Chinese temple in High Street. Hemmed in on all sides by shop houses in High Street, Pudu Street and Rodger Street, this temple, known as Soo Ya Miow, is now obscured from view. Before the shop houses were built, it would catch the eye of even the most sophisticated visitor. Once in seven years a grand thanks offering service was held here. Kuala Lumpur was then on holiday, especially for those who had faith in the many wooden gods within the temple. Kowtowing to these monuments created by a mind destitute of cultural common sense, the devotees came to ask for health, wealth, longevity and love charms, a typical example of Chinese culture debased by superstitution.

Around the corner is K.L.'s boast – the Central Market. Of course it is a very recent structure. Dilapidated, filthy, vermin-stricken cow sheds stood on the site before this modern imposing structure was built. One night, a friend who was a perfect stranger to this town, while driving past it, asked me if it was a medical college! Medical study was at the back of his mind.

Here is the Mercantile Bank and here stood the dwelling houses – three in a row – of one of the descendants of Capitan Yap Ah Loy. The one at the corner of Rodger and Market Streets was a druggist shop in which the medicines prescribed by the gods of the High Street Temple was dispensed. They alone knew how to decipher the code used in the prescription printed on yellow paper.

On the site of Hongkong Bank across the road, stood a small shrine known to all as Datoh. I think it was the grave of a mystical Malay and most Chinese turned it into a place of worship. What is now John Little's consisted of a row of mud houses selling salt fish. Whiteaways had its small beginnings in Old Market Square somewhere near the present Straits Times office, and Robinson's began in Market Street, where the Caxton Press is. I may be wrong here unless Robinson's took over from Bonds Ltd. Very little changes have been noticed in the Government Offices, but King Edward VIII's bust and Swettenham's statue were non-existent. The Spotted Dog was housed in very much smaller buildings thatched with attap. It sheltered the Prince of Wales – now Duke of Windsor, in 1922, when that august personage was on his goodwill tour. The Padang would be turned into a lake when the Klang River swelled its banks.

There were very few places of amusement in those days. The theatre hall in Petaling Street – where the Madras Theatre now stands – and the Sultan Street Theatre Hall, replaced by the Rex, were vermin-stricken halls in which Cantonese wayang played year in and year out. Occasionally, a Teochiew Opera or a bangsawan would give a fortnight's performance in either of the halls. Men who could afford it spent most of their leisure in the licensed opium dens, or in the licensed gambling booths in Petaling Street, High Street, Ampang Street and Batu Road. All sorts of chance games were indulged in ranging from fan-tan, dice-throwing, p'ai-kow to chap-ji-ki. Those who made money spent it in one of the licensed houses of ill-fame many of which, including brothels, were situated in Petaling Street which was a veritable Yoshiwara.

What were the means of transport? For short distances there was the jinricksha and for long distances over five miles there was the horse gharry – a sort of big box on four wheels drawn by a horse not much more active than Don Quixote's Rosinante.

The first bicycle – a penny-farthing – was introduced by Bachi, a son of Captain Yap Ah Loy. His Hainan boy rode it and when he did so, many small street urchins would run after it. You will smile when I tell you that His Lordship Justice Sercombe Smith had to come to office in a two-man-power single-seater ricksha, with one to pull and one to push. This sight was most impressive because the puller and the pusher were clad in khaki uniform with red fringes, and they had towchang coiled around their heads.

In the days that are dead but not forgotten, K.L. streets were paved with laterite. During the dry season and on a windy day almost everyone wore khaki clothes. The streets were illuminated by flickering kerosene oil lamps and most streets had their stand pipes from which the inhabitants drew their daily supply of water. Prisoners, with chained feet and guarded by an armed policeman, swept the streets early in the morning and semi-nude Indian labourers did all the road repairs. In the shopping quarters very few European ladies could be seen. When they did come out they were clad in Victorian dresses, fully veiled and gloved with their skirts trailing the ground. Chinese women wore black silk dresses or blue; white was taboo because it was a sign of mourning; Japanese women donned their highly coloured kimonos with a bow behind and were veritable Madame Butterflies. Malay women were bertudong (veiled). On social grounds the East and West were miles and miles apart. Most Government officials and business men wore closed coats with high collars, known as tutup, and tropical helmets.

Children went to school barefooted and in the primary classes boys had to learn English and colloquial Malay side by side. The Barnes Report is by no means a new discovery.

There is one more thing I should like to mention. Our first museum was situated in a plank house on Bukit Nanas. Later on, that same building became the Education Office. It was in that office that I sat for the Cambridge Preliminary Examination in 1907.

These are some of the impressions which remain indelible in my mind and will remain in it as long as I live. Modern Kuala Lumpur is interesting because all development is interesting, but what gives the city its greatest, its most baffling charm, are the ever-present reminders of a yesterday more strange and fascinating than today – a yesterday when there was so much tranquility, and so much contentment.

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