THIS SON ON THE BEACH - ANOTHER EARLY MEMORY

Here is another early memory I can put a date to because of notes made at the back of the photograph in my father's hand. It was 13 December 1967 at Tanah Merah. I remember this visit to Changi Beach, which had casuarina trees lining the roads and somewhere near the beach itself, there was an esplanade of sort, in concrete with steps cut inbetween the balustrades which ran down to the beach. The beach itself was a narrow strip of sand, and I remember it was already close to noon by the time we were allowed to "play sand". I was already on the wet sand when someone called from behind to get the spade, bucket and trowel. I remember that as the littlest, I had the trowel shoved to me, because my brother Chris knew better that the spade would be the right tool for digging. I could scrape the sand, and before long I could dig a hole. But I was easily bored and after a while, I felt it was pointless making a hole. But I looked around and could see a great many people strolling into the beach and having a splashing time. There was even some dark-skinned boys with a large rubber tube. I looked up to beyond the balustrades and remember the ice cream bells being rung by vendors, adults smoking with fashionable sunglasses on, and the best of all, where those spiny long frangipani leaves and flowers. I remember looking desolate and bored, and peered mostly down at my small Japanese togs or sandals. These were blue in colour, and white on the soles. They were still fairly new and I would wear these down in the coming year.

What struck me was that in the car drive to the beach, I remember the food packed for the picnic which was in the car booth, and sitting in the new plastic of my father's car which had a transparent cover. Oddly, while I know my mother was around, I never could remember seeing her at the beach picnic itself, just my brother Chris, father and some of his friends (or colleagues?).

But this was to be just one of several visits to the beach. When I was older, I remember strolling and collecting shells and bits along the wet banks at low tide off Bedok beach. It was late in the afternoon circa 1970-1, and a sharp piece of shell pierced my right sole, and embedded itself there painfully. It took my mother's firm hand and a heated needle to eventually free the debris from under the skin, and blood oozed out. Instead of more pain, the relief was so immediate that the pain of extraction was overcome and forgotten.

I like to imagine that all little children would love to have their memories back if they could; I think that way because I recollect many of my earliest memories with clarity and unusual vividness. These are a treasure trove in my mind's urn, pearls and gems to be cherished till my own mind will fail and all things fade to dust. These, little those stars in the opalescent night, shine still suite bright and are constellations in my recollections of my happy boyhood, and a caring mother's hand ever nearby to comfort, heal and nourish.