Baju kebaya

At our son's wedding dinner on Sunday, we had cousin Amy, cousin Peggy, dear wifey and sister Judy surprising everyone, including themselves, by their Baju Kebaya attire. Totally unplanned but the message was very clear: you can take the Baba Nyonyas away from Penang but you cannot take Penang away from the Baba Nyonyas. With the Baju Kebaya at the dinner, we revealed our true-blue Baba Nyonya identity. Despite some of us not staying in Penang any more, these are still our roots, and they are not something to be easily forgotten.

The non-missionary English free schools

I have always been interested in the early history of the three old English schools in the former Straits Settlements, namely, Penang Free School, Malacca Free School which later became Malacca High School and the Singapore Free School which eventually became Raffles Institution.

They were established at different times in the 19th Century but there is an interesting connection between them. All three came into being at a time when education was not yet really the responsibility of the colonial government. They depended on a mixture of public subscriptions, private benefactors, government assistance and people connected with the Christian missions.

So were these actually mission schools? Penang Free School is probably the easiest place to start. It was founded in 1816 through the efforts of Revd Robert Sparke Hutchings, the Anglican chaplain in Penang. That gives it a Christian connection, but the school was not set up as an Anglican mission school. In fact, the early proposal was quite deliberate about making the school open to children regardless of their religion and about not offending parents who might object to Christian teaching.

The 1817 school report called it a Public Free School, with the school being entrusted to a committee on behalf of the public. The word “free” also did not quite mean what we might assume today. Children who could afford to pay fees did so, while poorer children could be maintained by the school. So while there was a Christian chaplain behind its establishment, the institution itself was intended to be much broader than a church school. 

The Malacca Free School, established in 1826, has a somewhat similar story. Its origins can be traced to a proposal in 1825 by trustees of various charitable funds in Malacca to establish a good English school which would be free for poor children. James Humphrey, the superintendent of the London Missionary Society, was among those involved, while Thomas H Moore who became its first master had also been connected with the missionary educational world.

The school eventually opened in the Parsonage House (building on the left in the above picture. On the right is Christ Church) with 18 pupils. Interestingly, it was not simply an English school. There were Portuguese, Chinese and Malay classes as well, with children initially being taught in their own languages before progressing in English. Again, there was a missionary connection, but the school was run by trustees and supported from several sources rather than being simply a missionary institution. It remained the Malacca Free School until the trustees eventually handed it over to the government, which took over in 1878 and renamed it Malacca High School.

In Singapore, the story gets a little more complicated. Stamford Raffles had the idea for an educational institution almost from the beginning of the British settlement. In 1823 he worked with the Presbyterian missionary Robert Morrison who was already running the Anglo-Chinese College in Malacca. There was even a proposal to transfer the Anglo-Chinese College from Malacca to Singapore and incorporate it into Raffles' new institution. But that never happened.

The original Singapore Institution building was started in 1823 but the project more or less went no-where for several years. It was only when the Singapore Free School moved into the completed building in December 1837 that things began to take shape. The school then became the Singapore Institution Free School in 1838 and eventually evolved into Raffles Institution.

But if these three schools were not really mission schools in the strict sense, it doesn't mean that there weren't any. Certainly, there were proper mission schools in all three settlements.

In Malacca, for example, there was the Anglo-Chinese College, founded in 1818 by the Protestant missionaries Robert Morrison and William Milne. That was very much a missionary institution. Morrison had envisaged it as a place where Chinese and European learning could be brought together and the college became an important centre of Protestant missionary education in the region. It remained in Malacca until 1843, when it was moved to Hong Kong.

Malacca later acquired its Catholic mission schools. St Mary's School was established in 1872 and in 1880 moved to larger premises and became St Francis School. The La Salle Brothers eventually took it over and it became St Francis Institution. It was once even described as a French mission school.

Penang likewise had its proper mission schools. The best-known is St Xavier's Institution which began in 1852 when the La Salle Brothers arrived in Penang. Unlike Penang Free School, this school was established by a religious order and part of the Brothers' missionary educational work.

Meanwhile in Singapore, there was St Margaret's School, founded in 1842 by Maria Dyer of the London Missionary Society to provide a home and education for girls who were at risk of being sold as bonded domestic servants. It began in a small shophouse and was very much a missionary undertaking.

Then came the Catholic schools. In 1852 the De La Salle Brothers established St John's School, which became St Joseph's Institution, while the Sisters of the Holy Infant Jesus established their first convent school in Singapore in 1854. And, of course, Anglo-Chinese School came along in 1886, founded by Methodist missionary William Fitzjames Oldham with just 13 boys in a shophouse. 

So, looking at the three settlements side by side, I think there is a useful distinction to be made. Penang Free School, Malacca Free School and Singapore Institution/Raffles Institution were among the earliest attempts to provide a broader form of English education in the Straits Settlements. They had Christian and missionary connections in their early years but they were not quite the same thing as schools purposefully established and run by a church or religious order.

Alongside them, a proper network of mission schools gradually developed: Anglo-Chinese College in Malacca, St Xavier's in Penang, St Margaret's, St Joseph's and later Anglo-Chinese School in Singapore, together with the various convent schools.

Modern writers with a particular leaning towards the mission-school tradition still tend to put all the old English schools into the same basket and call them “mission schools”. But back in the 19th century, there was a difference between a Free School with missionary involvement and a mission school actually established by missionaries. And when the three settlements are looked at together, I think that difference becomes fairly clear.

#penangfreeschool #malaccahighschool #rafflesinstitution

PFS heritage walk

Let me begin with some irrelevance. I was just thinking that, since the oldest participant in our Penang Free School heritage walk last Saturday entered Form One in 1956, there must have been at least 50,000 students who had walked through the gates of the old school over the past 70 years. Just an estimate, mind you, because it is a number that no one can easily verify. So I plucked it from the air.

Then I considered that with the 30 participants who turned up for the heritage walk, they constituted only 0.06% of those 50,000 Old Frees. My devious mind then thought, wow, the other 99.94% of Old Frees must already know everything about their old school, and that's why they weren't interested in this activity at all. 😁 

Anyway, Siang Jin and I concluded that even with only these 30 participants, the heritage walk was still a great success. Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves thoroughly. Some had not returned to the Free School for a very long time, so for them it really was a walk down memory lane. 

We began in one of the classrooms where we introduced the participants to the Free School Guide and explained how it came about. Although we usually trace its beginnings to the school's Bicentenary celebrations in 2016, the seed was actually sown a year earlier when Lean Kang, a former Prefect of the Free School like Siang Jin, was the organising chairman of the 150th anniversary dinner of the school's Prefects' Board. He had, at some point, taken a peek into the Prefects' Room and wasn't particularly impressed with what he saw.

Funds raised from that dinner went towards improving the Prefects' Room, among other things. Both of them then channelled the excess funds towards organising a series of exclusive student leadership workshops for the Prefects and other potential student leaders from 2017 until 2024. Myself and one or two others were invited to assist. We had Tan Soo Choon as our bedrock trainer until his untimely demise at the start of the Covid-19 pandemic. He is still greatly missed. Somewhere along the way, Siang Jin realised that nobody was going to read Let the Aisles Proclaim, my 350-page book on the school's 200-year history, and we decided that perhaps we should do something more manageable. So we took the information from the book and turned it into 10 short videos.

We asked some of our schoolmates from the Class of 1970 (Form Five) to get involved, and they responded enthusiastically. This is perhaps an appropriate time to mention Teik Wah who did the voiceover admirably, Chei Jin lent his voice to the School Rally and the main man behind the video productions, Kumaraveloo. That was in 2019. Then, in 2024, Siang Jin and I worked on the Free School Guide itself, an interactive mobile app that would allow people to access information about the school from anywhere in the world. In a way, the student leadership workshops, the videos and eventually the Free School Guide were our own small way of giving something back to society. We had benefited from our years at the Free School, so what better way to give something back than to contribute to the school itself and to the students who would come after us? That, in a nutshell, was how it all started.

Then came the shock about two months ago when we learnt that the PFS210Years organising committee had suddenly announced a PFS heritage walk through the school grounds on the morning of the third of October. This caught us completely by surprise because we hadn't been informed of any such plan. Ivan Ooi, the organising committee chairman, subsequently spoke to Siang Jin about it and the two of us decided to chip in and help. At the very least, we had to defend our turf and make sure that whatever was told to the participants would be based on correct information and not hearsay. But the fact that the organisers announced the event without consulting us was not quite right. A fait accompli for them, perhaps, but it was boh sui. 

We anticipated that perhaps 70 to 100 people might register for the walk, but in retrospect, the 30 participants turned out to be quite a comfortable number. We could take our time and everyone seemed to enjoy themselves. After the introduction, we proceeded to the Pinhorn Hall which I have always considered to be the soul of the school. My main focus there was on the wall plaques, where I explained the story behind the donors who had contributed towards the construction of the former Penang Free School building in Farquhar Street, now occupied by the Penang State Museum. Their names are permanently etched on three marble plaques there.

When the present school building was completed in 1927 and the school moved into these premises on 9 January 1928, the same donors' names were reproduced on a wooden plaque and mounted in the space above the main entrance to the school hall. Very few people today know about its significance. Most visitors tend to concentrate instead on the plaques bearing the names of the Head Boys, the Queen's Scholars and the Headmasters. I thought it was worth bringing this little piece of the school's history back into the picture.

From Pinhorn Hall, we took a short walk to the Archives building, which had already been opened up for the visitors. For many of the participants, this was the first time they had even realised that the Archives rooms existed, let alone stepped inside them. I could only manage a preliminary explanation because everyone seemed much more engrossed in exploring the rooms for themselves, which was probably a good thing. After all, an archive is something you really should be allowed to poke around in rather than simply have someone standing there telling you what you're looking at.

Eventually, we returned to the classroom for a quiz and, after that, called it a day with a fairly robust singing of the School Rally. Thirty people may have been only 0.06% of my rather fanciful estimate of 50,000 Old Frees, but judging from the enthusiasm in the room, I don't think we needed the other 99.94% to make the morning worthwhile.

PS. There was a special dinner at the school on the same night to commemorate the 210th anniversary, but I did not attend because I had a prior appointment elsewhere. For me, the next significant events will now be on the 21st of October itself. The traditional visit to Robert Sparke Hutchings' grave in the morning followed by The Old Frees' Association's annual dinner in the evening.

Heritage walkabouts

I mentioned in my last story that I had gone exploring the old civic precinct in the George Town heritage core zone last July and August, but I never actually got around to dedicating a story in this blog to my walks. It wasn't just once, either. I think I made the rounds twice, perhaps even three times, taking my time to walk the streets and look around.

After all, I couldn't very well avoid the area when I had already visited the Penang State Museum and Fort Cornwallis three times each since their reopening. Call me obsessive about these heritage landmarks, but that's just me. So here are some pictures from my walks. Pictures taken from my perspective. I won't be describing them much, though, if at all. I'll leave that to the pictures.

A rather surreal few weeks

The past few weeks have been rather surreal for me. Looking back, quite a lot has happened in a relatively short space of time, and I am still trying to take it all in. It started in July with the release of a People of Penang podcast in which I was the featured guest. Not long after that, an article I wrote appeared on the ChessBase India website, the second time my name has appeared there.

But the most significant event in July was undoubtedly the Penang State Awards investiture ceremony at the Dewan Sri Pinang. That was followed a few days later by the official reopening of the Penang State Museum. The museum visit turned out to be rather special for me. I was happy to be reacquainted with the name of my great-great-grandfather on the marble plaque on the museum wall, but there was also the satisfaction of seeing how some of my own contributions to the history of Penang Free School had been acknowledged in the museum's new exhibits.

There was also a charity and fellowship dinner organised by the Persatuan 88 Captains. That evening gave me the chance to show the Penang Governor an old photograph from 2008 that featured him, Tan Chin Nam and myself at a private function, back when he was the president of the Malaysian Chess Federation from 2007 until 2016. He didn't say much, but his wife asked me for a copy of the picture.

Then there was a Town Hall dialogue with the Penang Island City Council, which I attended as the representative of the Swee Cheok Tong (Seh Quah Kongsi). I also took the opportunity to walk extensively through the civic precinct of George Town's heritage core zone and revisit several of the landmarks there, including the newly reopened Fort Cornwallis.

Rather unexpectedly, after not attending a George Town Festival programme for years, I suddenly found myself at one again. This time, at the former Majestic Theatre for a Malaysian Songbook performance. It was nice to be back at a festival that I had not been following for quite some time, and even nicer to discover that I could still be pleasantly entertained by what it had to offer.

And then came yet another small satisfaction of seeing my name in print, this time in the August 2026 edition of Penang Monthly, the magazine published by the Penang Institute. I had written about the history and development of chess in Penang. As I haven't actually elaborated on this last bit yet, here is the story in full:

Farsighted organisation behind Penang's prowess in chess competitions 
By Quah Seng Sun

IF SUCCESS IS measured by titles, then Penangites have built a reputation for prowess in chess. The state can proudly point to its roll of International Masters, FIDE Masters and Candidate Masters, titles bestowed by the World Chess Federation (FIDE), their numbers growing with each passing generation. But Penang’s chess story is not just told through 64 squares and 32 pieces, but also the generations of students, teachers and enthusiasts who have transformed the game into one of the state's most vibrant youth activities. What began with scattered school clubs and occasional competitions almost a century ago has evolved into a thriving ecosystem supported by schools, parents, coaches and volunteers: one which has always had students at its core.

The birth of school chess 
The earliest traces of organised gameplay in Penang are difficult to pinpoint, but the Penang Free School magazine provides a starting point. Throughout the 1930s, chess matches were reported, suggesting scattered pockets of enthusiasm among students, appearing briefly before disappearing. Under the Japanese Occupation, organised chess largely vanished from public view. Following the war, chess gradually re-emerged, but only in 1964 did student chess establish a significant presence. A major catalyst was the Penang Schools Students' Chess Council, formed by leading school chess clubs to organise annual competitions among themselves. No longer confined to individual institutions, students had a platform to compete against peers from other schools, creating rivalries, friendships and a growing sense of community.

Although the Council performed a pioneering role, a more comprehensive organisational framework was necessary to institutionalise the game. In the pivotal year of 1972, the Council voluntarily dissolved following the establishment of the Penang Chess Association, which assumed responsibility for the game’s broader statewide development and administration (and keeping the trophies accumulated by the erstwhile Council). That year also saw the introduction of the first team chess championship under the Majlis Sukan Sekolah-Sekolah Pulau Pinang (MSSPP, Penang Schools Sports Council) at Han Chiang Primary School, while an individual championship was introduced the following year. And in December 1972, the Majlis Sukan Sekolah-Sekolah Malaysia (Malaysia School Sports Council, MSSM) organised its inaugural team chess championship at Dewan Sri Pinang, officiated by then-education minister, Tun Hussein Onn, where four players represented Penang. This event marked the beginning of national-level school chess competitions, sending a clear signal that chess was recognised as a legitimate school sport.

These competitions provided a regular, structured and enduring pathway for student participation and talent development. Even after the MSSM chess competition was suspended after the 1997 edition, a casualty of the Asian Financial Crisis, Penang continued organising MSSPP championships uninterrupted, ensuring that young players continued to have opportunities to compete and develop.

A generational divide?
Despite these advances, chess remained widely perceived as a game for adults, as reflected in competitive chess circles. When the Malaysian Chess Federation, established 1974, organised its first National Closed Championship that same year, none of the Penang Chess Association's representatives were students. They remained in school competitions, the strongest state representatives were generally expected to be adults.

Although this distinction persisted for many years, the foundations laid by the MSSPP were quietly producing results. In the 1970s–80s, students gained tournament experience and developed stronger competitive skills at increasingly younger ages. By the 1990s, student players had the strength and confidence to compete successfully against experienced adults. When the Penang Chess Association selected teams for major events, such as the Merdeka Team Chess Championships, talented students increasingly found themselves earning places on the senior team through merit. 

Since then, the student–adult balance has shifted decisively. Today, it is normal that student players dominate Penang’s (and Malaysia’s) chess scene. In most open tournaments, students typically make up around 75 percent of the field. A thriving calendar of junior tournaments encompassing various age groups ensures a steady stream of opportunities for young players to develop skills and gain competitive experience. 

Fascinatingly, the growing presence of young people in chess circles persists despite the dominance of smartphones, social media and digital entertainment, all of which foster fragmented attention spans unconducive to a game requiring patience, concentration and prolonged quiet thinking. For many youths, chess appears to offer something that much of the online world does not: rewards for sustained focus and careful thought. Competitions themselves provide experiences that cannot be replicated entirely through screens: students travel to tournaments within and beyond Penang, meet friends from other schools, test their skills against unfamiliar opponents and cope with victory and defeat. Friendships are formed, rivalries emerge and memories are created across tournament halls.

This growth did not happen by accident. Many students who took up chess during the 1970s–90s have since become parents themselves. Having experienced the game’s benefits first-hand, they have introduced it to their own children. It is not uncommon to see parents waiting outside tournament halls for their children to finish games. Occasionally, coaches are present to provide immediate post-game failure analysis. As a result of the game’s re-emerging popularity, chess clinics and coaching programmes have mushroomed nationwide, where experienced adult players find themselves becoming coaches, either part-time or full-time. 

Initially, coaching was logistically constrained. Coaches often travelled between students’ homes, limiting the number of children whom they could reach. But with the Covid-19 pandemic lockdowns, online coaching quickly became practical, and even unexpectedly advantageous. Coaches could teach larger groups simultaneously without spending hours on the road, while students could attend lessons from the comfort of home. Online platforms allowed students to play, learn and analyse games at any time of day. Coaching became more accessible and competitive opportunities multiplied. Further, a timely popular culture boost—Netflix's The Queen's Gambit—introduced the game to a worldwide captive audience. For perhaps the first time in generations, chess became fashionable. Across Malaysia, tournament participation increased, coaching programmes expanded and a new generation of young players emerged. 

Rather than being overwhelmed by the digital revolution, chess has adapted strategically. If anything, the game's ability to cultivate focus, patience and thoughtful decision-making may explain why it continues to attract young players. In a world where attention is constantly under siege, the chessboard remains one of the few spaces where deep concentration is essential.

Lessons beyond the chessboard
Despite these technological changes, the essence of chess revolves around two players sitting across from one another, each attempting to outthink the other. In an increasingly screen-dominated era, one could argue that the qualities cultivated by chess— concentration, patience and self-discipline—have become even more valuable. Beyond mental discipline, chess develops pattern-recognition and structured thinking ability. Students learn to identify recurring ideas and anticipate likely outcomes, skills that prove useful in everything from mathematics to language. It strengthens decision-making under uncertainty, teaching players to weigh imperfect options against each other, and accept that every choice involves trade-offs.

The game also nurtures calculated patience and delayed gratification. Students learn that short-term sacrifices can sometimes lead to greater long-term rewards. Working memory and concentration are strengthened when players hold multiple possibilities in mind while planning ahead. Every defeat becomes an opportunity for failure analysis, encouraging students to examine mistakes objectively and improve systematically. Chess also promotes creativity within constraints, with players constantly challenged to discover original solutions within a structured framework. This skill translates naturally into many professional and academic fields. Equally important are social and emotional lessons. Learning to remain composed after a blunder, managing time pressures and displaying good sportsmanship all contribute to emotional resilience. 

Today, chess in Penang continues to be organised and regulated by the Penang Chess Association. The association itself is among the relatively small number of sporting organisations classified as Category One—the highest—by the Majlis Sukan Negeri Pulau Pinang (Penang State Sports Council, MSNPP). Since the mid-2000s, the Association has organised its annual flagship Penang Chess Festival at year-end, which continues to attract hundreds of players from Malaysia and neighbouring countries. Such recognition reflects the breadth and consistency of its activities, both nationally and internationally. Above all, it is a story of students, who have embraced the game, carried it forward and reshaped it according to the needs of their times. In the process, they have ensured that chess remains not merely a pastime from an earlier era, but a living and relevant activity for the 21st century. 

Town hall meeting

Earlier this month, I attended this meeting at the Penang Town Hall as the representative of the Swee Cheok Tong (Seh Quah Kongsi). Called by the Penang Island City Council (MBPP) and chaired by its mayor, Rajendran P Anthony, it brought together representatives from numerous Chinese clan associations in George Town.

The meeting began with a presentation from the Heritage Department which highlighted the dos and don’ts of carrying out repair works on heritage buildings in the core and buffer zones of the UNESCO-listed city. It was a reminder that owning or occupying a heritage building comes with responsibilities. Old buildings in the protected zone cannot simply be treated like any other property, and a decision to knock down a wall, replace a roof or alter its façade needs careful consideration.

The presentation covered the conservation guidelines and the Special Area Plan (Rancangan Kawasan Khas) for the George Town World Heritage Site. The emphasis was on ensuring that any development or repair work is compatible with the site's UNESCO status and that the historic character of George Town is not gradually eroded in the name of improvement. 

This was the second Town Hall session organised by MBPP that I attended, the first being last year. I learnt from the circulated minutes that there had been another one in February this year, attended by a handful of clan associations, apparently the bigger ones. I’m quite certain that the notice of that meeting never reached us at the Quah Kongsi. Was there a misdelivery? I don’t know. Nevertheless, I welcome the idea of having these meetings every six months, which should provide a regular channel of communication between the city council and the various stakeholders within the World Heritage Site.

The Town Hall meeting provided an opportunity for both sides to sit down and talk. After the presentation, the floor was opened to representatives of the clan associations, who raised their views, suggestions and concerns on matters affecting heritage conservation. This was perhaps the more important part of the afternoon because it allowed MBPP to hear directly from people who actually own a large number of these historic properties.

The mayor also addressed the elephant in the room, namely the recent collapse of a termite-infested beam at a house in Armenian Street, which injured two foreign tourists. He said that while the council would work with the various stakeholders to inspect and monitor the condition of the buildings in the UNESCO zone, the responsibility for carrying out the necessary repairs still rests with the owners.

Rajendran said the Town Hall was intended to strengthen the relationship between MBPP and the community, explain the council's policies and obtain direct feedback from those who play a role in preserving George Town's heritage.

That is really what a town hall meeting should be about. Not simply telling people what they can and cannot do, but explaining why the rules exist and listening to the difficulties that arise when those rules are applied in real life.

Nomadic statue

It seems quite appropriate for me to say something about the Francis Light statue at Fort Cornwallis as I have written quite a bit about this statue in the past. In fact, I have probably written more about it than most people would care to read. But having followed its movements over the years, I couldn't resist taking another look after Fort Cornwallis reopened following its extensive conservation works.

The last time I saw the statue, it was standing at ground level within Fort Cornwallis, silently eyeing visitors as they entered through the western gate. It was a fairly prominent position, although not, as far as I was concerned, the most historically appropriate one.

Then the fort closed for restoration as part of the North Seafront Programme, with Think City involved in the conservation and redevelopment of the site. I had heard that the statue would be repositioned, but there was little information about where it would eventually end up. I began to wonder whether this might finally be an opportunity to put it somewhere more appropriate. After all, the statue was not originally erected inside Fort Cornwallis. 

This is something I had written about previously after digging through old newspaper reports. When the statue was unveiled in 1939, it stood outside the fort, on the grass verge in Light Street between two of the bastions, opposite the District and Police Courts. Those courts are now replaced by the Penang State Legislative Assembly. The statue was deliberately positioned there with Fort Cornwallis as its backdrop and facing the courts.

So when I heard the statue was going to be moved again, I thought perhaps it might finally go back there. But it didn't. As I subsequently discovered, there was a rather obvious reason. The conservation works have restored the moat along the southern side of the fort. And once I saw the completed moat, I realised that putting Francis Light back in exactly the same spot was no longer viable unless they intended to put him in the middle of the moat!

That would certainly make for an interesting monument, but somehow I don't think that was ever going to happen. So while I had to revise my expectations, I still kept an eye on the southern side of the fort in the months leading up to the reopening. I couldn't see any obvious preparation for the statue, so I had a feeling that Francis Light wasn't going back there.

Sure enough, after Fort Cornwallis reopened to the public on the 26th of July, I went looking for him inside the fort. This time, he had been placed in the north-western corner, in the bastion there. And the area around him had been roped off with a sign announcing that conservation work was in progress.

So there he stands now, looking down at the centre of the fort while visitors look at him from behind a barrier. I suppose Francis Light has been moved around so many times that he must be quite accustomed to having his address changed.

The statue has had a rather nomadic existence. It was commissioned for the 150th anniversary of Penang's founding and unveiled in 1939. It subsequently moved to several locations, including a spell in front of the Penang Museum, before eventually returning to Fort Cornwallis in 2003. And even then, it didn't return to where it had originally stood.

There is also the little matter of his missing accessories. The bronze statue originally had a sword, but that disappeared during the Japanese Occupation and only returned after the War. The brass plaque  has also disappeared, but it was still there when the statue stood in the Museum grounds.

So here we have Francis Light, minus his sword and plaque, moved around the civic precinct several times and now installed in another corner of Fort Cornwallis, where he is currently being kept behind a barrier. The poor fella has had a rather unsettled afterlife.

To be fair, I don't know what considerations went into deciding where to put him this time. There may be perfectly good conservation or practical reasons for his present location. And having seen the restored moat, I can now understand why simply returning him to his 1939 position wasn't as easy as I had originally imagined.

Nor do I want to take anything away from the good conservation work at Fort Cornwallis. The fort has undergone a considerable transformation and it is gratifying to see a historic site that had been looking rather tired for years receiving some much-needed attention.

Perhaps once the conservation work around the statue is completed, the barrier will come down and Francis Light will finally be allowed to mingle with visitors again. Perhaps there are further plans for him that I know nothing about. Who knows?

After all these years of following Francis Light around Penang, I've learnt not to assume that I know where he is going next. For now, he has found another home inside Fort Cornwallis. Let's just hope this one lasts a little longer.

Today is Penang's 240th anniversary

On the 240th anniversary of the landing at Penaggar Point to found Penang as a British settlement by Captain Francis Light, I'm reproducing here a story that had appeared in The Straits Budget newspaper on 20 August 1936. The Straits Budget was a long‑running English‑language newspaper published in Singapore during the British colonial period, with circulation across the Straits Settlements of Singapore, Penang and Malacca. It played a distinctive role in the press landscape of British Malaya well into the 1950s.

PENANG 1786-1936 
The Anniversary of the Hoisting Of the Flag On First British Foothold In Malaya 
By JAMES F AUGUSTIN

EXACTLY one hundred and fifty years ago, on Aug 11, 1786, Captain Francis Light founded the Settlement of Penang. Charged by the Bengal Government with the task of establishing the new colony, he formally took possession of the island "in the name of King George and for the use of the Honourable East India Company."

The actual ceremony took place at noon, when everyone assembled under the flagstaff and Captain Light read the Act of Possession. All the officers then assisted in hoisting the flag (the Old Jack) and the artillery and ships fired a salute and the marines three volleys.

Boyhood In Suffolk

Captain Light whose memory we honour today, was born at Dallinghoo, a parish near Woodbridge in Suffolk in 1740. Adopted and educated by William Negus, a relative of Milton and a son of Colonel Francis Negus, who held a prominent position at the Court of George I, he was sent to Seckford’s Grammar School at Woodbridge. On leaving School he entered the Royal Navy as a midshipman on board HMS Arrogant in 1761.

Four years later he resigned his commission and sailed for Calcutta as a passenger in the ship Clive. There he joined the Mercantile Marine as master of a country ship trading between Indian, Siamese and Malayan ports. In addition to his ordinary duties he acted as representative of the Madras firm of Messrs Jourdan, Sullivan and De Souza, which had traded for many years with Kedah, where it had maintained a factory since 1763.

Light made Salang (Junk Ceylon, now Tongkah) his headquarters and became very proficient in the Malay and Siamese languages. He also acquired a knowledge of native customs and won the confidence of the people.

Ever since 1763 the Directors of the East India Company had been seeking for a good naval station to the east of the Bay of Bengal, which would also serve as a commercial factory more central than Bencoolen in Sumatra and as a port of call for merchantmen en route to China. Light was well aware of this, and in 1771 he wrote to Warren Hastings suggesting that Penang would be a suitable place.

Nothing happened at the time and in 1780 Light went to Calcutta with another proposal that Salang, and not Penang, should be occupied. A scheme was drawn up for the occupation of Salang through private subscription but with the consent of the Governor-General-in-Council (Warren Hastings). Nothing was done however, because ships and men could not be spared owing to the War of the American Revolution and wars with the French and the Dutch which were then being waged.

Rebuff At Acheen

The need for a British port increased, especially in the face of opposition from the Dutch and Portuguese, who had settlements on the Peninsula and in Sumatra. They allowed trade at their own settlements and nowhere else. The Bengal Government in 1784 sent Mr Kinloch to found a settlement at Acheen in 1784 but he had to return owing to the hostility of the natives. Light was in Calcutta when Kinloch returned in 1786.

He immediately informed the Governor-General, Sir John Macpherson, who had succeeded Hastings, that he had exercised his personal influence with Sultan Abdullah of Kedah, who had agreed to cede the island of Penang to the East India Company for an annual subsidy of 6,000 Spanish dollars. Negotiations between the Company and the Sultan were thereupon opened and on February 23, 1786, the Governor-General-in-Council approved of the settlement of Penang. On May 2, 1786, Light was commissioned to treat with the Sultan and "vested with the charge and superintendence of the Island of Penang on the part of the Company."

Light lost no time in sailing for Kedah, where he arrived on June 29 in command of the Company's snow Eliza (a snow was a small type of sailing craft) and with a force of one hundred Bengal marines, thirty lascars, fifteen European artillerymen and five officers. Anchoring at Kuala Kedah, where he found two merchantmen, the Prince Henry and the Speedwell, he sent an officer ashore to inform the Sultan of his arrival. The next morning Light himself went ashore and was received by the Sultan's shahbandar and saluted by the guns of the fort and by three volleys from the marines.

On July 1 he again went ashore with the Governor-General's letter and presents, amid salutes fired by the fort, ships and marines. He was received by a guard of honour composed of Malays with colours flying, and, preceded by state trumpeters, was led to the Laxamana's (Admiral's) house where a canopy was erected and the King's representative, a Syed, received the letter and guns were again fired. The presents consisted, among other things, of brass-barrelled blunderbusses and gold and silver brocades, but as these were not considered sufficient, one hundred muskets were added.

Received By The Raja

Negotiations followed, and on July 3, after receiving a message from the Raja, Light, accompanied by a sergeant of artillery, a dozen marines and drums and fifes, came upstream to Alor Star, then, as now, the capital. He reached the town only on the following day and was received without any state by the Raja, who was much troubled at a passage in the Governor-General's letter which he did not understand, for it seemed to threaten him with pains and penalties if he did not comply with the Governor-General's request.

Light pointed out that there must be some mistake in the translation of the document and the Raja then appeared to be satisfied with regard to the explicit passage. After reading the translation again to his visitor he obliged Light to sign it. Six days later, Light took leave of the Raja and reached the Kuala with the signed treaty of cession.

He spent the next three days in embarking the troops and the stores, and on the 14th at 8 pm he sailed on the Eliza in company with the Prince Henry and Speedwell and anchored off Pulau Tikus Island on the 15th. With the help of a flood tide and a light breeze the little fleet ran into Penang harbour and anchored in thirteen fathoms of water within musket-shot of shore.

The first two days Light stayed on board, surveying the harbour and testing the anchorages, and on the 17th, he disembarked Lieutenant Gray and the marines on Point Penaggar, near the Esplanade. The troops were at once set to clear the ground, which did not prove to be an easy task, the wood being "so exceeding hard that the tools double like a piece of lead."

The Europeans landed on the following day and the island soon presented a busy appearance. Attap houses were erected with attaps from Kedah, wells were dug and tents were pitched. Almost a month passed away in the performance of these first labours.

George Town Named

On August 10 two of the Company's ships, the Vansittart and the Valentine, arrived off the island and the formal ceremony of taking possession took place, Light naming the settlement George Town after the Prince of Wales and the fort Cornwallis after the Governor-General.

The new colony progressed rapidly and by 1789 the population had increased to about ten thousand. The task of governing this mixed multitude fell entirely upon the shoulders of Light himself.

In 1789 Light went to Calcutta and was able to inform the authorities (who regarded his settlement with some jealousy) that the imports had already reached six hundred thousand dollars per annum. In the following year, prompted by his high sense of responsibility to the settlement, he petitioned the Government in Calcutta for an increase in his salary of one thousand rupees per mensem to enable him to give up trade because he was of the opinion that the duties of government were not consistent with his trading activities. It is not recorded whether this request was granted but it is sufficient to reveal the uprightness of his character, for as Superintendent and principal merchant he had every opportunity of enriching himself in those lax days.

Light's Death

In January, 1794, Light petitioned that a trained civilian should succeed him and that a regular system of administering justice should be established. This was virtually his last act, for later on in the same year he went down with malaria, to which he had been subject for many years, and died on Oct 21, to the great grief of the whole Settlement.

Francis Light has been described as "a worthy precursor of Sir Stamford Raffles" and as "a man of sound sense, probity and judgment - active, practical and moderate." His name survives in Light Street and in Francis Light School, Penang. His tomb lies in the middle of the Protestant cemetery in Northam Road but there is also a monument opposite the portico of St. George's Church, Penang, where a memorial tablet let into the wall of the canopy bears this inscription:

In Memory

of

FRANCIS LIGHT, Esquire

Who first established this Island

as an

English Settlement and was many

years

Governor.

Born in the County of

Suffolk in England

AND died

October 21st,

1794.

IN HIS CAPACITY AS GOVERNOR

the Settlers and Natives were greatly

attached to him, and by his

death had to mourn the loss

of one who had watched

over their interests

and cares

AS A FATHER.