Kyoto 2024, Day 6

With our Japan holiday drawing to a close, we decided to spend our final full day just wandering around Kyoto Station and its surroundings. That was one thing that we still hadn't done. So we took the train to the Kyoto station. 

The moment we stepped out, the familiar sight of the Nidec Kyoto Tower loomed above us. I remembered that on our last trip, we had walked in that direction and somehow ended up at a sushi restaurant in a shopping complex or multi-storey building. Try as I did this time, I couldn’t retrace those steps. Perhaps the place had shut down or relocated elsewhere. Never mind though, we chose instead to stroll aimlessly, dipping in and out of the shops nearby.

A stop at Kyoto Yodobashi was, of course, compulsory. That vast electronics store could easily swallow up half a day and so, even the hour we spent there felt woefully short. Still, it was an improvement over our fleeting visit to one of their Tokyo outlets eight years ago. Soon, hunger took over and we found ourselves outside a restaurant advertising wagyu beef. It didn’t take much convincing. Lunch was decided.

Afterwards, we wandered further from the station and came across another familiar sight: the Higashi Hongan-ji temple, one of the landmarks we had briefly visited all those years ago. We stood there for a moment, wondering where to go next, when a bus suddenly appeared. Feeling a little adventurous, I tugged Saw See along and we hopped on. Destination unknown. For 230 yen, the price of a single bus ride, it seemed well worth getting lost in Kyoto.

Eventually, the bus stopped at Shijo Street, near the Kyoto-Kawaramachi station and not far from Gion again. Shijo Street is one of Kyoto's busiest and most vibrant. But instead of walking around here, we went looking for Nishiki Market, another of Kyoto’s famed destinations. The crowd was tremendous as we joined it. As expected, we ate our way through the entire stretch, sampling snacks and sweets from one end to the other, until the shutters began rolling down. It was only about 6.15 p.m., and the shops were already closing! Emerging once more onto the main Shijo Street, we decided it was time to call it a day and slowly made our way back to the hotel. We were contented, a little weary perhaps but quietly grateful for one more full day in Kyoto.

An afterthought: Farewell, Japan, will we ever see you again? The next day passed without much excitement. We checked out from the hotel and made our way to Kyoto Station to catch the Haruka Express to Kansai International Airport. The AirAsia X flight left Kansai on time, making its scheduled stop at Taoyuan International Airport in Taipei. What puzzled me, though, was why passengers continuing to Malaysia had to disembark with all their cabin belongings and then reboard the same plane after another security check at a different gate. Later, I learnt that this was standard procedure at Taoyuan. Even for transit passengers, the airport authorities require everyone to undergo a fresh security screening before reboarding. It was more than a little inconvenient as I was groggily half-sleepy, but I suppose the Taiwanese take no chances. Still, it did feel rather odd walking off one plane only to queue up and board the very same one again. All that effort just to end up back in the same seat!

Same room, different future

More than fifty years ago,
we sat fresh-faced in the same room at Penang Free School,
dressed alike, believing the world was waiting for us.
The mornings smelled faintly of chalk and grass;
sunlight streaming in through open doors,
while our teachers, with quiet patience,
moulded our young minds for the journeys ahead.

We laughed easily
at small jokes and harmless pranks that lightened the day.
A chalk mark on someone’s back,
a wisecrack that set the class howling.
The echo of our laughter would follow us
down the long corridors,
past the rows of classrooms and notice boards,
and out to the wide playing field
where time seemed to stand still.

It was there, under the same blue sky,
that we grew up without noticing
each game, each shared moment,
the years that waited quietly beyond the school gates.
And now, when I look at the old photographs,
I see the same faces, the same light
that once filled our classroom.

Our teachers have mostly gone,
but their lessons live on.
Not just in what we learned,
but in how we learned to face the world.
Time has softened us, perhaps,
but the boyhood in those eyes still lingers.
For though half a century has slipped away,
a part of us will always belong
to those corridors and that field,
to that sunlit room in Penang Free School.

(This reflection was inspired by an image I saw on whatsapp today.)

Chief Minister talking about us!

I feel elated this morning....

Remember me saying that I’d missed the Chief Minister’s speech at The Old Frees’ Association annual dinner last Tuesday because I was caught up in conversation with some friends? Well, I’d actually rued not knowing what he spoke about because normally I pay attention to his speeches for the nuggets of first-hand information from the most powerful man in the state. 

The most powerful man in Penang.
I mean, the one on the left 😄

Until this morning, that is, when I came across an article in The Vibes by Ian McIntyre. To my pleasant surprise, the Chief Minister, Chow Kon Yeow, was referring to us: mainly Lean Kang, Siang Jin, the late Soo Choon, Sue Chan, myself, and the many others who had chipped in at one time or another to help organise the Student Leadership Workshops for Penang Free School over the years.

Those workshops were entirely our own initiative. We planned, funded and carried out voluntarily, without any thought of personal gain. Every ringgit raised from friends went straight into the programme for the students’ benefit. So to hear that the Chief Minister himself had acknowledged our efforts on stage, and at such a significant occasion, really meant a lot to all of us who had been part of that journey.

Here's Ian McIntyre's story in The Vibes yesterday:

Alumni, former students can offer mentorship, help instil discipline, says Penang CM

 

PENANG Chief Minister Chow Kon Yeow has called on the alumni and old boys of various schools to offer mentorship and instil discipline in their respective old schools to check the indiscipline and social ills in public schools. 

"The world our students are growing up in is far more complex than it once was. I understand that some old boys had organised a series of leadership workshops for students. It is a fantastic initiative that can help shape character and confidence."

Chow said that perhaps it is time to revive such an initiative and make it widespread among all public schools - a role for the old boys and alumni to play in helping schools produce students of strong character and calibre.

While funding creates opportunities, mentorship builds people up, especially the young, Chow said at the 102th (sic) anniversary dinner of the Old Frees ' Association at the St Giles Wembley Hotel.

Old Frees who is the official alumni of the oldest English vernacular school in Southeast Asia - the Penang Free School, is also the oldest student body alumni in the country.

Chow credited the Old Frees for their role in moulding generations of exemplary students, who have gone on to be part of Malaysian history.

Among them were the nation's founding father Almarhum Tunku Abdul Rahman Putra Al Haj and Penang's second chief minister the late Tun Dr Lim Chong Eu.

"It pains me to see the young losing empathy and respect for one another. As someone who deeply believes in the importance of education and its values, I worry that schools alone can no longer shoulder this burden of character building."

Chow implored on their alumni and old boys to undertake the additional role of fostering good examples for the present generation.

He singled out the Old Frees for having the attributes to do such a thing.

From its founding in 1923, the alumni old boys association has weathered challenges, and yet it has stayed true to its mission to foster education, camaraderie and the spirit of service.

Among those present were Datuk Dr P.P. Shah, the trustee of the association and a former partner of former premier Tun Dr Mahathir Mohamed in his Maha medical clinic in Alor Setar, the present principal Syed Sultan Shaik Othuman, association president Alex Tan Hee Aik and organising chairperson Raman Athappan. - October 23, 2025.

Cowboys @ OFA

An absolutely grand dinner last night at the St Giles Wembley, held to celebrate the 102nd anniversary of The Old Frees’ Association. I’d arranged for most of the chess-playing crowd to be seated together in a little area of the ballroom where conversation drifted between good food, old memories and, inevitably, chess.

Just some of the chess-playing members, together!

Apart from Saw See and I, there were Han Boon and partner, and Cheng Teik and spouse. Chian Min (CM) and Ronnie came solo without theirs. Lih Fong regretted that I had arranged for the chess players to be together, and he wasn't at it. But he was lucky to sit at the next table and so, he was quite nearby, Kannan told me that he had already prearranged to sit with the pickleball group, while Peng Seng was quietly placed somewhere else, having indicated nothing to me about his arrangements. Kai Ming, having left our chatgroup some time ago, was completely oblivious to our intentions, but he has his kakis too, I'm sure of it! I'm also pretty sure that next year, there'll be more people at the chess table when the others realise how much they had missed being around chess friends!

Chess aside, the other CM, Chow Kong Yow, was the guest of honour at the dinner. He spoke at length but sorry, I missed his speech completely as someone was engaging me in some conversation regarding an old absent friend of ours. 

I bumped into numerous other friends and acquaintances from across the years and also some Present Frees who were with the Board of Prefects, the School Band and the Free School Guiders. The headmaster, Syed Sultan, too was present, which marked the ever close relationship which The Old Frees' Association shared with Penang Free School.

Some may wonder why I had not chosen to sit with my old school cronies this time. For the past umpteen years, my classmates and schoolmates have managed to fill up at least one table at the OFA dinners. But this year, despite me asking them, none of them were interested in attending. This was a great disappointment to me. A new low in my opinion. At the very worst previously, there would be some of us filling up almost the full table of 10 diners. But not this year. I checked with the OFA office and saw none of my schoolmate friends' names in the register. Asking them once was good enough, not going to ask them twice. So I left it at that. 

That said, I still had Siang Juan and his wife at my chess table to fill in the remaining two slots. The surprise was to suddenly see Hock Siew saunter across the ballroom to where we were seated. He had noticed me and came over. Boy, was I surprised to meet him. Back from Melbourne where he now resides for a wedding here, and he took the opportunity to attend the dinner before flying back to Australia. Hock Siew is one of my oldest pals. Knew him from Standard Two at Westlands Primary School and from there, to Penang Free School together. 

Here's a picture of me with the Free School Guiders: Johan on my left and Nordin on my right together with Agilan, this year's School Captain. When we first met, Agilan and Nordin were only in Form Three. They'll be sitting for their SPM examinations next month. Here's wishing them good luck! As Free School boys, I' sure they'll do good in any examination.

Government takeover

Last week, I did say that I would consider presenting a summarised version of a particular section of my book, Let the Aisles Proclaim, that dealt with the Government takeover of Penang Free School. That section alone occupied 10 pages of the book, but I have managed to cut the story down to a more palatable version here, shorn of many details. Here it is:

In 1919, the Penang Free School found itself in a financial bind that could no longer be ignored. The warning signs had been there for years. As early as 1916, during the School’s Centenary celebrations, Headmaster Ralph Pinhorn had already sounded the alarm. Unless the School’s income was substantially increased, he wrote, it would not be able to “keep up to its old level and advance with the times.”

His fears soon proved justified. When the School Committee met in April 1919, Pinhorn reported that the annual deficit was expected to reach $6,800 that year. Left unchecked, the shortfall would swell to $55,400 by 1932, with expenditure projected to rise from $74,800 to nearly $120,000 over that period, while income would remain stagnant at about $64,000. The School, once a proud symbol of Penang’s educational leadership, was staring at insolvency.

The Committee’s sub-committee, tasked with studying the problem, came to a grim conclusion. Raising school fees would be unrealistic since 80 percent of the parents earned less than $200 a month. Public donations were equally unlikely. The days when annual subscriptions brought in a few thousand dollars had long passed. There were only two practical options left: to seek a higher Special Grant from the Government or to ask the Government to take over the School entirely.

The latter suggestion was sensitive. For a century, the Penang Free School had been supported by local philanthropy, by merchants and community leaders, especially from the Chinese community, who saw it as a civic duty to sustain the School. To surrender control to the colonial Government could be seen as abandoning that legacy. Yet, as the sub-committee noted, Government management could bring advantages: better salaries, opportunities for teachers to be promoted to headmasterships or inspectorships, and access to higher professional standards.

Before any decision was made, the matter was referred to the Chinese Town Hall, the symbolic heart of the local community. On 11 April 1919, the Town Hall representatives met and, after due consideration, gave their assent. They raised no objection to a Government takeover.

A month later, Pinhorn, as Honorary Secretary to the Committee of Management, wrote formally to the Colonial Government. His letter was long, detailed and respectful. It was an appeal for survival. The School, he said, required an additional $50,000 a year to maintain its position in the educational life of the Colony, and another $150,000 for new buildings and equipment. He set out two options: either the Government should increase its annual grant, or it should assume full responsibility for the School’s management.

If the latter course was chosen, Pinhorn asked that all funds belonging to the School be placed in the hands of trustees. These funds, he emphasised, were gifts from the people of Penang and should remain dedicated to the School’s improvement, not absorbed into the Colony’s general revenue. He also proposed that the Government delegate day-to-day management to a local Board of Governors. This would, he argued, preserve the School’s individuality and flexibility, preventing the “dead level of uniformity” that came from excessive central control.

Months passed before the Government replied. Then, in early September, a letter arrived from the Acting Colonial Secretary, H Marriott. The tone was cautious but positive: the Government was prepared to take over the School “on terms to be arranged between the Director of Education and the Trustees.”

Negotiations began. The School Committee drafted a list of conditions. All land and buildings would be handed over, since they had been acquired with both public and Government support. The existing funds, however, were to be placed under trustees, the proposed Board of Governors, who would administer them for scholarships and other educational purposes. The School’s masters were to become Government servants, enjoying equivalent pay and privileges, with two-thirds of their previous service recognised for pension purposes.

News of the impending takeover leaked to the press. The Pinang Gazette reported that the Government’s decision “will meet with general approval,” noting that financial pressures had compelled the move but predicting that the Free School’s traditions would be preserved, if not strengthened, under official management.

In the subsequent discussions, not every proposal from the Committee was accepted. The Government objected to the idea of a locally empowered Board of Governors but agreed to the establishment of a Board of Trustees to oversee the School’s endowments. The Committee stood firm that the Endowment Fund must not be absorbed into the Colony’s general coffers. To do so, they argued, would “check future generosity” from Penang’s donors. Eventually, the Government conceded that the Fund would remain a Trust, its income to be used for scholarships and educational improvement.

On another front, there was disagreement over the appointment of headmasters. The Committee wanted the Government to reject seniority as the sole basis for promotion, arguing that merit and energy were far more valuable. “To be over forty,” they wrote pointedly, “is generally regarded as a positive disqualification.” However, the Director of Education, HW Firmstone, was unmoved. While assuring that merit would be considered, he made it clear that the Government alone would decide such appointments.

By December 1919, after much correspondence and negotiation, the Government’s final decision arrived. The Penang Free School would officially become a Government institution on 01 January 1920. The School’s funds were to be divided. Trust monies to be administered by a Board of Trustees, and all other assets transferred to the Crown. The Trustees, consisting of the Director of Education, the Resident Councillor, the Assistant Treasurer and several local representatives, were formally appointed by the Governor on 09 September 1921.

The following year, the Trustees awarded the first of their scholarships, among them the Hutchings Scholarship, in memory of the School’s founder.

Yet, even as these administrative changes unfolded, Pinhorn was looking ahead. The School was overcrowded, he warned at Speech Day that same year, and the facilities inadequate for a modern education. The playing field at the Renong Grounds was too small, and there was always the risk of losing access to it. One solution, he suggested, was to move the senior boys to new buildings outside the congested town.

That idea gained momentum almost immediately. In May 1920, the Legislative Council approved $147,561.45 to acquire land for the expansion of Penang Free School. It was an enormous sum in those days. By February 1921, the Penang Free School (Acquisition) Bill was tabled in the Council to formalise the transfer of the School’s property to the Crown and to establish the statutory Board of Trustees.

The Bill passed on 09 September 1921 and became the Penang Free School Ordinance No. 19 of 1921, deemed effective from the first day of the previous year. Thus, the Penang Free School entered a new era: now a Government school, yet still governed in part by its own endowments, traditions and sense of identity.

In the end, the takeover was both a rescue and a renewal. It ensured the School’s survival at a time of financial strain, while preserving its local spirit through the Trustees. It also paved the way for a new beginning—one that would see the School move to its new home in Green Lane.

Kathina 2025

Today ias Kathina Day at Nandaka Vihara in Bukit Mertajam, one of the most significant events in the Buddhist calendar. I couldn’t make it early to join the morning activities. By the time I arrived around 10.45am, the lunch dāna was already underway. When the meal was over, everyone moved on to the main meditation hall for the second half of the ceremony comprising the dhamma talk, the offering of robes to the monks and the paritta chanting. 

This year, I kept a very low profile. I found myself more in the background than usual, quietly observing rather than participating as a busybody photographer. Perhaps that’s what I needed — to just watch, listen and let the atmosphere sink in. Still, I was glad to witness how the Burmese community marked the occasion with their decorated money trees adorned with folded notes, flowers and ribbons, all offered to the monks. It added a joyful, almost festive touch to an otherwise contemplative moment in the meditation hall.

Run-around

We had my influenza jab yesterday. It’s been more than a year since our last one, and with a flu epidemic sweeping through the country, we thought it best to get another this year. It’s free, by the way, for senior citizens with comorbidities, like us. Registration is done through the MySejahtera app, which conveniently shows where the jabs are available.

Unfortunately, none of the government hospitals or clinics on the mainland had any stock, and the nearest option for us was the Lunas government clinic. We duly made our appointments a week ago, and this morning we took a leisurely drive there ..... only to be told that they’d run out of the flu vaccine! How could that be, since the MySejahtera app had confirmed our appointments?

The nurse was very apologetic, maybe to get us out of her hair as quickly as possible. She suggested that if we hurried to the Padang Serai government clinic, they still had a few doses left. Padang Serai? We’d never been there before. How far was it from Lunas? “Not far,” she assured us with a smile. “Just a straight road to Padang Besar.”

“Not far” turned out to be a very creative description. It was a straight road all right, but ten kilometres of it! Still, we eventually found the clinic, which, to our relief, did have the vaccine. We were registered almost immediately, no questions asked about any comorbidity. After all that run-around in Lunas, no thanks to the MySejahtera app, we weren’t about to argue. Get the jab, and get it done with!

Penang Free School Act 1920

I was at Penang Free School yesterday for the old school’s 209th anniversary Speech Day. Except for one year, I’ve been attending Speech Day without fail since 2012. Some people may wonder why the celebration took place on the 14th of October instead of the traditional 21st. The answer is simple enough: Deepavali falls on the 20th this year, and the school will be closed for the holidays. With no time for preparations when the school reopens, and many guests likely to be away, the 14th was a practical choice. It isn’t unprecedented either; the date has been shifted several times before for good reasons. 

What was missing yesterday, though, was the customary visit to the old Protestant Cemetery in Northam Road for the commemorative service to Robert Sparke Hutchings, the school’s founder. That solemn occasion will still take place on the 21st, and I expect to be there next week.

The guest of honour this year was Chow Kon Yeow, attending in a dual capacity as both Chief Minister and chairman of the Penang Free School Board of Trustees. The Board of Trustees had been neither here nor there for several years, but two years ago, the chairman of the Penang Free School Foundation, Ivan Ooi, took it upon himself to revive it. He had discovered that the Federal Government was enquiring about the Board’s status and future, which prompted him to dig into its history. Ivan eventually approached the Chief Minister, and this renewed attention led to the revival of the Board which is now once again fully constituted and functional.

In his speech, the Chief Minister shared that he was rather surprised when invited to chair the Board of Trustees. After all, he said, he wasn’t an Old Free or even a Penangite by birth. He was born in Kuala Lumpur but came to the island 45 years ago to study at the University of Science Malaysia. So why, he wondered, was he asked to serve?

The answer lay in a little-known piece of legislation: the Penang Free School Act 1920 [Act 842]. The Act, which legally defines the school’s governance structure, had been flagged for possible repeal since it seemed inactive. Ivan quickly realised the historical importance of the Act. After all, no other school in Malaysia is governed by its own Act of Parliament. It was part of what made Penang Free School truly unique. He persuaded the Chief Minister that it must not be repealed, and instead, it was revised and reaffirmed in 2023. 

With that, the Board of Trustees is now properly re-established. The Chief Minister chairs it, the President of the Penang Free School Foundation serves as secretary, and the treasurer’s post is filled automatically by the State Treasury. The Penang Director of Education also sits as an ex-officio member, and three representatives are appointed from the Old Frees organisations.

It’s worth noting that in the original Penang Free School Ordinance No. 19 of 1921, which took effect retrospectively on 01 January 1920, the Board of Trustees comprised the Director of Education, the Resident Councillor of Penang, the Assistant Treasurer of the Straits Settlements Penang, and between three and five persons appointed by the Governor for three-year terms. After Independence in 1957, the composition changed: the Trustees became the Chief Minister, the State Treasurer, the Director of Education, and up to five others appointed for three years by the Yang di-Pertua Negeri.

I won’t go into the details here of how the Penang Free School Ordinance came about. That’s already covered in my book Let the Aisles Proclaim, pages 95 to 104. Perhaps next week, I’ll share a summarised version. But for now, it was enough to sit once again in the familiar Pinhorn Hall, surrounded by the spirit of Free School, proud of its history and quietly pleased to see one small but meaningful part of that history come alive again.

The end of Japanese Occupation

This picture, recently taken from Facebook, shows a remarkable event that took place along Weld Quay in George Town, Penang, on the morning of 03 September 1945. The building with the rectangular windows still stands today, restored and renamed as the stately Royale Chulan Hotel. The one on the right, however, no longer exists. It may look intact in the photograph, but much of it had in fact been reduced to rubble by Allied bombings towards the end of the Second World War.

Few people today remember that Penang was the first place in Malaya to return to British hands after Japan’s surrender on 15 August 1945. The operation that made it happen was called Operation Jurist, a small but significant naval move that quietly brought the war to its close on our shores.

By then, the Second World War was drawing to its end. The Soviets had swept through Manchuria, threatening to invade Japan. The Americans were preparing to strike the Japanese mainland and the British, fresh from their campaign in Burma, had plans to retake Malaya. Their intention was to land more than a hundred thousand men on the west coast to capture Port Swettenham and Port Dickson, before advancing south to Singapore and north to Penang. But those plans, codenamed Operation Zipper, were overtaken by events. The atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, followed by Japan’s sudden surrender, changed everything overnight.

Instead of launching a full-scale invasion, the British revised their plans. Two smaller operations were drawn up: Operation Tiderace to retake Singapore and Operation Jurist to secure Penang first, a test to see whether the Japanese forces in Malaya were truly ready to surrender.

A detachment of Royal Navy ships under Vice-Admiral Harold Walker sailed from Rangoon on 27 August 1945, arriving off Penang the following day and anchoring near the island. The Japanese still controlled George Town, but soon a small fishing boat appeared, carrying Japanese officers who had come to meet the British. It was a strange, tense encounter. The war was supposed to be over, yet no one knew if the Japanese troops would obey their Emperor’s order to lay down their arms.

For several days, there was an uneasy standoff. Messages went back and forth between the British fleet and the Japanese command in Penang. Eventually, Walker issued an ultimatum: the Japanese were to sign the surrender papers aboard his flagship by the morning of the third of September. On the evening before the deadline, Rear Admiral Jisaku Uozomi of the Imperial Japanese Navy and Lieutenant General Shinohara Seiichiro, the Japanese governor of Penang, boarded HMS Nelson. There, they met Walker and signed the formal surrender of the Japanese garrison in Penang. Soon after the signing, Uozomi reportedly fainted and had to be carried away for treatment. An almost symbolic collapse of authority.

The next morning, 03 September 1945, a small party of Royal Marine commandos landed at Weld Quay. Manicasothy Saravanamuttu, a prominent Ceylonese who was the editor of the Straits Echo recounted in his memoirs, The Sara Saga, that "it was on the morning of Monday 3 September that two British destroyers tied up at Swettenham Pier, the Old Jack was hoisted on the flagstaff there and British troops landed in Penang. We, the old Penang Service Committee had reformed ourselves and we were ready with the Town Band to welcome the British troops. In fact, as they emerged from the harbour area our band played the First Company of the Marines into the town, marching at their head, to the E&O Hotel." There, representatives of the local communities had gathered to witness the formal handover of the city to the British.

From there, the marines spread out across the island, taking over Bayan Lepas Airport, the seaplane base at Glugor and other key installations. The Japanese offered no resistance. Some were marched through the streets of George Town, their weapons surrendered, before being ferried across to the mainland, which remained under Japanese control for a few more days.

By that afternoon, the British had restored order to the island. Penang was back under British rule, the first liberated territory in Malaya. Singapore’s surrender followed nine days later, on 12 September 1945, when Admiral Lord Louis Mountbatten formally accepted it.

But liberation didn’t bring instant relief. Years of occupation had left the people battered and hungry. Food was scarce, prices were high and there were riots. The British moved swiftly to restore control, placing the whole of Malaya under Military Administration. It remained that way until 01 April 1946, when civilian rule returned with the establishment of the Malayan Union. With the Straits Settlements dissolved, Penang became a Crown Colony within the new Union.

In my book Let the Aisles Proclaim, I included an eyewitness account from the Penang Free School Magazine - the first issue of 1946 - that vividly described the scene at Weld Quay when the British fleet arrived:

“There steaming into Penang were the ships of the Royal Navy. In the twinkling of an eye the piers, wharves and beaches were crowded with thousands of people all beaming with smiles. The whole town was out on holiday. People were stepping on one another’s toes, jostling and pushing to try and get to the front to see the first of the troops that came ashore. Far into the day people were still crowding about the wharves, shaking hands with any soldier they met.”

Reading that account today, I can almost picture the excitement and relief that swept through the island. The joy of seeing freedom return, tempered by the eventual realisation that life after the war would never be the same again.

Speech day 2025

A few days ago, I received an invitation from the Headmaster of Penang Free School to attend the school’s 209th Speech Day. I’ve been going to the Speech Day every year since 2012, and I can only say that I’ll be there again this time. It’s always a wonderful occasion to reconnect with the old school — to listen to the speeches, to see how it has progressed from year to year, to watch a new batch of students receive their prizes, and to sing the School Rally with gusto.

This year, however, the event has been brought forward to 14 October 2025, since the actual Speech Day would have fallen a day after Deepavali. It’s not without precedent; this adjustment happens occasionally, as the Deepavali holidays would otherwise affect preparations for the big day. In any normal year, though, Speech Day remains fixed on 21 October, even when that date happens to fall on a Sunday.

Super full moon 2025

There have been quite some excitement among my friends that there would be a super-full moon today. They got all flustered up, thinking this was some rare celestial event happening. Actually, this phenomenon isn’t some rare cosmic miracle, but it always feels that way when we see one. It happens when the moon is full and coincidentally also at its closest point to Earth in its monthly orbit. Because the moon doesn’t travel in a perfect circle but in a slightly squashed ellipse, there are times when it swings a bit nearer to us. When that happens during a full moon, it looks noticeably larger and brighter than usual. 

Image by Kenj Ooi
from Penang Walkabouts facebook 

It is most noticeable when it first rises above the horizon, glowing low and heavy, almost too big for the sky. That’s partly an optical trick of the mind, but also the real effect of it being closer. The difference is only a few tens of thousands of kilometres, but that’s enough to give the moon a fullness and brilliance that photographs never quite capture. A super full moon, in other words, is the same familiar moon which is just a little nearer to us.

Super full moons usually come in a trio, over three consecutive months. So if we miss the first one, there are still two more chances to catch the others. For 2025, the super full moons will occur today at 11.47am, then on the fifth of November at 9.19pm and again on the fifth of December at 7.14am. Of course, in daylight we won’t see the October and December ones at their peak, but it’s comforting to know they’re there all the same.

Last night, being the fifteenth day of the eighth Chinese lunar month, I tried looking for the moon around 8.30pm, but thick clouds had covered the sky. At best, I could make out a faint brightness behind the haze. Even at 11.30pm, the situation wasn't any better. Then, quite unexpectedly, I woke around four in the morning and, unable to fall back asleep, stepped outside with my camera. The sky was perfectly clear, no cloud in sight, and there it was in the western sky — a brilliant orb of light. The super full moon in all its glory, shining at 99.8 percent illumination. As close as I could get, this time, to capturing the beauty of the October supermoon.

Mooncake festival

Today is the 15th day of the Chinese eighth lunar month, the Mid-Autumn Festival or Mooncake Festival is in full swing with worship sessions by the clanhouses this morning all over George Town. As usual, I had to make my way to the Swee Cheok Tong for our own worship of the Kongsi's deities and ancestral memorial tablets.

The Mooncake Festival is one of the most important occasions for Malaysia’s Chinese community. Falling on the full moon of the eighth lunar month, usually in September or early October like today, it marks a time of reunion and thanksgiving. The roundness of the moon and of the mooncake both symbolise harmony and completeness, reminders of family togetherness that have endured through generations.

The mooncake itself remains the heart of the celebration. The traditional baked kind, with its thin golden crust and lotus seed or red bean filling, sometimes hiding a salted duck egg yolk like a small sun inside, still carries a quiet dignity. But Malaysia being what it is, we’ve never been content to stop there. Over time, the flavours have multiplied: pandan, green tea, coffee, even the durian snow skin mooncake with its soft, chewy skin and aroma. No matter the variety, mooncakes are meant to be cut and shared, ideally with a pot of Chinese tea to temper their sweetness. A ritual of togetherness as much as of taste.

When I was small and still staying in the Seang Tek Road house, my grandparents observed the festival with their own quiet devotion. Around 8.30 at night, the excitement would mount. Once the moon had risen bright and round, we would go upstairs to the back terrace on the first floor. There, they would lay out a simple altar comprising a joss-stick urn, a pair of candle holders, a few mooncakes and fruits, and always the ang kong piah, those animal-shaped pastries that fascinated children far more than the mooncakes ever did.

Unlike the proper mooncakes, the ang kong piah had no filling at all but just a solid lump of baked dough that stuck to the teeth when eaten, but that was part of their charm. Most were shaped like piglets, though occasionally there'd be a fish or some other animal shape among them. What truly delighted me was the packaging. A little dough piglet snug inside a tiny plastic cage, bright and colourful, like a toy pen you could carry around afterwards.

If the weather was fine, the full moon would shine above us, bathing the terrace in its soft glow. My grandmother would murmur their prayers to the Moon Goddess, Chang’e, while we stared up at the sky, wondering if we might actually see her, until Apollo 11 changed everything. Nevertheless, those were simple nights, unhurried and filled with quiet wonder. These were  the kind of moments that remain forever. Even now, whenever I catch sight of the full moon at Mid-Autumn, I can still picture that terrace at Seang Tek Road, the smell of incense curling in the air, and the small cages on the table bathed in the moonlight, all reminders of a gentler time and of family.

Triangular games

For this year’s annual triangular games between the alumni associations of the three legacy English schools in Penang, there is something new to celebrate: the inclusion of chess for the very first time. What began as a suggestion last year, when the President of the Penang Chess Association raised the idea with me, has now taken shape. This Sunday, The Old Frees’ Association, The Old Xaverians’ Association and the Methodist Boys’ School Union (formerly the Anglo-Chinese School Union) will meet across the chessboard at the MBSU premises in Edgecumbe Road, adding a fresh chapter to the long tradition of these friendly rivalries.

I won’t be playing as the OFA team already have a strong line-up, led by none other than Jonathan Chuah, twice the Malaysian national champion in 1999 and 2006, now better known as a coach and arbiter, but still eager to return to competition when the occasion calls. The last time he donned OFA colours was at last year’s USM team tournament, and it is heartening to see him back again. As for me, I’ll be at the MBSU on Sunday to give my full support as a busybody, proud to witness chess taking its rightful place among these historic games, both as an OFA member and as a committee member of the Penang Chess Association.

UPDATE: No, the OFA team did not win the chess competition in the triangular games. OFA was beaten by the OXA team by a 1½-2½ scoreline over the first four boards, the fifth and sixth board results not counting towards the final points. OXA had obliterated MBSU 4-0, while OFA could only overcome MBSY by 2½-1½. So, The Old Xavierians' Association came out worthy winners in this first chess contest with The Old Frees' Association in second place and Methodist Boys' School Union taking the third spot. MBSU were gracious hosts and laid out a fine spread for breakfast and lunch. There was also a blitz tournament thereafter, won by the OXA payer, Lee Wei Hong.

Tragedy at Na Uyana

A terrible accident has struck the Na Uyana Aranya Senasanaya monastery in Sri Lanka. Last Thursday night, around 9:00pm local time, 13 monks boarded a cable-drawn rail cart to return uphill to their kutis after a religious ceremony. Midway, the steel cable snapped, the cart plunged down the tracks and crashed. Seven died from the impact while six were injured - four critically, two with lighter wounds. Among the dead were three foreign monks from India, Russia and Romania; the rest being Sri Lankan.

In hindsight, the tragedy could have been avoided. The cart was designed for six passengers but it carried more than double its limit. When Saw See and I visited Na Uyana with friends in January 2024, we were shown the upper and lower stations of this very system. At the time it was idle, undergoing repairs. Had it been working, we would almost certainly have tried to ride it not out of necessity, but simply for the experience. I shudder now to think how easily it could have been us instead of the 13 monks. By sheer good karma, we were spared, and for that I am deeply grateful.

But gratitude quickly gives way to sorrow. Our hearts ache for the seven monks whose lives were cut short, and for the six still struggling with their injuries. And our thoughts also go out to the other monks who call Na Uyana their home and sanctuary. The silence in the aranya must now be weighted with grief and the echoes of an accident that shouldn’t have happened.

The ultimate lesson here is a painful one. Human failure can occur at any time to anyone, and the failure to respect the limits of a machine, the failure to prioritise safety over convenience, can break even the most serene environments.

As a footnote, it is sobering to note that this is the second rail car accident to occur in September. On the third of this month, Lisbon’s popular Glória funicular derailed and crashed, killing at least 17 passengers and injuring many more. Again, a faulty steel cable sent a carriage hurtling down the slope until it smashed into a building near the base. Two tragedies, seemingly worlds apart, yet sharing the same cause and the same lesson that vital parts can fail and when they do, the consequences are merciless.

These accidents remind us that vigilance cannot be optional. Maintenance must be regular, rigorous and beyond compromise. Safety checks must never be reduced to routine box-ticking. Closer to home, I hope the Penang Hill Corporation reflects deeply on these disasters and ensures that our own funicular railway, where the trains run fast and steep, receives the most scrupulous care. We cannot afford complacency, for one lapse is all it takes to turn a place of joy into the scene of another tragedy.