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. 

A not-so-simple appeal

My writing today is a little on the heavy side and so, do bear with me if this isn't my usual style. I'm still on the matter of the controversy surrounding the recent eChess competition at SUKMA XXII in Selangor, particularly the incident involving Penang's Poh Yu Tian during the rapid event. I wasn't there when it happened, so I am naturally reluctant to pass judgement on exactly what took place. But having now read the draft incident report, I find myself less interested in whether Yu Tian actually made the disputed move than in how the subsequent appeal was handled.

To recap, Yu Tian was playing Muhammad Emir Rasyid when, according to the report, the move 12...Qb6 appeared on his electronic chessboard. Yu Tian immediately said that he had not made the move and that the piece had moved by itself. What followed was a series of discussions and appeals which eventually resulted in Yu Tian being told to continue the game from the position after the disputed move. He refused and the game was subsequently forfeited.

At first glance, it might seem like a fairly straightforward case of a player claiming that he did not make a move and the organisers having to decide whether to believe him. But the report suggests there was rather more to it than that.

The tournament officials were apparently already concerned about the security of Yu Tian's Lichess account. The report says the account had been accessed on 20 August 2026 before the competition, and a tactical puzzle had been played on it. The initial reaction was therefore to consider restarting the game.

That decision was disputed by the opposing team, and the matter went before the Appeals Committee. The committee subsequently decided that Yu Tian should be given a new account, but that the game should resume after the disputed 12...Qb6 move. Among the reasons recorded was that there was no proof of third-party interference and that even a strong player could conceivably make a pre-move blunder. The Penang side then lodged a counter-appeal.

During the hearing, it was demonstrated that the same Lichess account could be logged in on two devices simultaneously, with a move being made from the second device while the player was playing on the first.

One thing should be clear first. This demonstration does not prove that somebody interfered with the game. It does not tell us who might have done so, and it certainly isn't evidence that someone actually hacked the competition. What it does tell us, however, is that interference was technically possible. And that, to me, is where the Appeals Committee's responsibility becomes important.

An Appeals Committee is there because somebody has disagreed with a decision and wants it reviewed. Its job is to examine the available evidence objectively, consider the circumstances and arrive at a decision that is fair to everyone concerned. But in an online chess competition, that may require rather more than a conventional understanding of chess rules.

The people sitting on an Appeals Committee may be perfectly competent chess arbiters, tournament officials or experienced players. But when the dispute concerns an electronic board, an online account, simultaneous logins and the possibility of a move being transmitted from another device, there is another layer to the problem. Someone on the panel needs to understand how the technology works, what the online platform records, what its logs can tell us and what they cannot tell us.

That does not necessarily mean that every member of an Appeals Committee needs to be a computer expert. But collectively, the committee should have access to the expertise necessary to understand the technical evidence before reaching a decision. Otherwise, there is a danger that something which is technically significant may be treated as if it were merely incidental. And that means fairness to both players. One player should not be unfairly penalised if he genuinely did not make the move. At the same time, the second player should not be deprived of a legitimate position simply because his opponent says he did not make it. The committee therefore had to balance the interests of both players while protecting the integrity of the competition itself. This is why I find the eventual reasoning somewhat unsatisfactory.

According to the incident report, the committee rejected the counter-appeal on the basis that there was no proof that another person had logged into the account and made the move. The conclusion recorded was essentially that whatever was on the board had to stand unless there was proof identifying who was responsible. But was that really the question that needed to be answered?

The issue was not necessarily whether somebody could be identified and punished for cheating. The more immediate question was whether the committee could be satisfied that the disputed move had actually not been made by Yu Tian. Those are two different things.

The absence of proof that somebody else made the move is not quite the same as proof that Yu Tian made it himself. Once it had been demonstrated that another device could technically make a move through the same account, I would have thought that the committee would want to look more closely at the available technical evidence before deciding that the move should simply stand.

Perhaps the evidence would still have led to the conclusion that Yu Tian made the move. If so, fair enough. But the committee should arrive at that conclusion after examining the evidence, rather than because no alternative culprit could be identified.

And this brings me back to the question of competence. In over-the-board chess, most disputes are things that an experienced arbiter can observe directly: whether a piece was touched, whether a move was legal, whether a clock was pressed, whether a player made an illegal move or whether a rule was breached.

Online chess introduces another layer. The board we see on the screen is only the visible end of a chain involving an account, a device, software, a server and a network connection. If a player says, “I didn't make that move,” the answer may not be found simply by looking at the position on the board. There may be login records, timestamps, device information, connection records or platform logs that can help establish what happened. There may also be limitations to what those records can establish.

This is why I think the competence of an Appeals Committee for eChess deserves some serious thought. It is not enough simply to take the procedures used for conventional chess and apply them unchanged to an online environment. The committee must understand the environment in which the alleged incident occurred.

Again, I am not suggesting that the members of this particular committee were incompetent. I have no basis for saying that, and I don't know their individual qualifications. My point is that competence in chess arbitration and competence in online chess technology are not necessarily the same thing.

Perhaps this is something organisers will have to think about more seriously as eChess becomes part of major sporting competitions. Appeals panels dealing with online disputes may need people who are not only familiar with the Laws of Chess but also understand the technical workings of the platforms on which those games are played. At the very least, they should have access to someone who does.

There is also the question of the account itself. If the organisers had already become concerned that the account might have been compromised, surely that was something that needed to be resolved before Yu Tian continued using it in competition. The later demonstration that simultaneous access from another device was technically possible makes that earlier concern all the more relevant. Again, none of this proves foul play. But it does mean that the possibility could not simply be brushed aside.

I also think an Appeals Committee has another important responsibility: it must be prepared to reconsider an earlier decision when new information comes to light. An appeal should not simply be an opportunity to defend what has already been decided. If new evidence changes the picture, the committee should be willing to look at the matter again with an open mind. To me, that is precisely what an appeal is supposed to be about.

I appreciate that SUKMA is a major event and that a dispute over one game can hold up an entire round. But if we are going to have an Appeals Committee, then its role is not simply to keep the tournament moving. It is there for those occasions when things don't go according to plan, and sometimes getting the right answer may take a little longer.

What happened in this case may eventually turn out to have been nothing more than an unfortunate technical incident or a simple mistake by a player. It may also turn out that there was no outside interference whatsoever. I don't know, and I don't think the incident report allows anyone to say otherwise with certainty. But that is precisely why I think the Appeals Committee needed to be particularly careful.

There was an unexplained move, there had already been concerns about the security of the player's account, and a technical demonstration subsequently showed that the scenario described by the player was possible. Yet the final decision appears to have rested largely on the fact that there was no evidence identifying another person as having made the move. For me, that is not quite good enough.

An Appeals Committee should not be there to decide which player it believes more, nor simply to endorse the decision of the tournament officials. Its responsibility is to look at the circumstances as impartially as possible and find the fairest solution for both players and for the competition as a whole. And perhaps that responsibility becomes even greater as chess moves further into the eSports arena.

We are no longer dealing only with pieces, clocks and a board of 64 squares. We are dealing with accounts, devices, networks, software and online platforms. When something goes wrong, those deciding the dispute need to understand that environment and be prepared to investigate it properly.

That may mean rethinking who sits on an Appeals Committee for online chess competitions. Being a strong chess player or experienced arbiter is valuable, but it may not by itself be enough when the dispute involves technology. The people deciding the case must have, between them, the competence to understand both the chess and the technology.

I don't think anyone should come away from this incident saying that Yu Tian was definitely hacked. There simply isn't enough evidence for that conclusion. But neither should we dismiss the possibility simply because nobody has been identified as the culprit. There is a difference between “we have no evidence that foul play occurred” and “we have established that foul play did not occur.” That, perhaps, is the real lesson from this episode.

When two players are caught in a dispute and the facts are not immediately clear, they deserve an Appeals Committee that will give both sides a fair hearing, examine the evidence without preconceived conclusions and, above all, protect the integrity of the game. Because in the end, an Appeals Committee should not be there for one player or the other. It should be there for the game of chess itself.

Keeping online chess fair

In the last few days, a dispute has emerged over the eChess competition at SUKMA XXII in Selangor. During the rapid chess event, a game involving Penang's Poh Yu Tian became mired in controversy when he reported that a move had appeared on his electronic chessboard without him touching his mouse.

His protest went before the Appeals Committee, which did not accept that there had been a breach of the online system on the lichess platform. Instead, Yu Tian was instructed to continue the game from the position in which the disputed move had occurred. He refused to do so and the game was eventually forfeited.

I wasn't there, so I don't want to pretend to know exactly what happened or pass judgement on whether the move was the result of a technical problem, human error or, more worryingly, some form of foul play. But the incident does raise a bigger question: how do we ensure fairness when chess is played online?

Chess has always been a game in which the result should be decided by what happens on the board. But when the board is an electronic screen and the players are connected through an online platform, establishing what actually happened can be considerably more complicated.

In an online competition, the concern is not necessarily that a player might cheat. There is also the possibility of a technical failure, a system error or, in the worst case, someone deliberately interfering with the system itself. If a move appears on a player's board without the player apparently making it, the organisers need to be able to determine how that happened before simply requiring the player to continue the game.

This is why proper monitoring is important. A camera can show what a player is doing, while screen recording can show what is happening on the player's computer. But neither can necessarily explain what happened inside the online platform. System and platform activity logs, together with proper technical oversight, could provide a much clearer picture.

The role of the Appeals Committee is equally important. In a dispute such as this, its responsibility should not simply be to decide whether a player's complaint is valid. It must also ensure that both players are treated fairly and impartially. Where there is an unexplained technical incident, the committee should have access to whatever technical evidence is available and satisfy itself that the circumstances have been properly examined before deciding how the game should proceed.

After all, fairness must apply to both players: the player making the complaint as well as the opponent who may otherwise be affected by the decision. The objective should not be to assume that somebody has cheated or that the system must have malfunctioned, but to establish, as far as possible, what actually happened.

Most players, I believe, simply want to play chess and enjoy the competition. But organisers, including the Appeals Committee, have a responsibility to protect both the players and the integrity of the system. A player should not be left having to accept an unexplained move on his board simply because nobody can immediately establish how it got there.

That becomes increasingly important as chess moves further into the eSports arena. If online chess is to be regarded as a serious competitive sport, its systems must be robust enough to deal with both deliberate cheating and genuine technical problems.

Penang has a long history in competitive chess. We should not allow that reputation to be clouded by doubts over the fairness or transparency of an online competition. Rather than waiting for another controversy, perhaps this is the time to put better safeguards in place.

Technology has changed the way we play chess. It should not change the fundamental principle behind the game: the player who plays the better game should win, and everyone should have confidence that the game was played fairly.

Old photograph, old memories

Earlier this month, I was invited to a charity and fellowship dinner organised by the 88 Captains, an organisation whose members comprise many of Penang's local captains of industry, hence the name. The association has been around for about four years, with its primary objective being to raise funds among its members to provide scholarships for needy students in Penang who might otherwise not be able to pursue their further education. So far, some 25 to 30 undergraduates have benefited from this initiative, which I thought was a rather noble cause. There are also ongoing projects to provide schools in the state with educational aid and connect them to the digital world. 

This year's charity dinner raised an impressive RM1,888,888.88. Donors contributed amounts ranging from RM10,000 to RM200,000, with the balance being topped up by the association's generous president, Dr Ooi Eng Hock. Not a bad result for a single evening.

So there I was, with my wife and son, at the Eastern & Oriental Hotel on the evening of 08 August 2026. The current Penang Governor, Ramli Ngah Talib, was in attendance with his wife. As far as I know, this was the first time they had attended an 88 Captains function. And, as usual whenever the Governor is present, the State Protocol Department was there in full force, imposing all sorts of regulations on the organisers. I won't go into the details, though I am sure anyone who has organised similar functions will know what I mean.

What made the evening particularly interesting for me happened right at the end. As the Governor was making his way out of the ballroom, shaking hands with people along the way, I had the opportunity to show him an old photograph that had been sitting in my collection for the past 18 years. His eyes lit up when he recognised himself in the picture. He was seated beside Tan Chin Nam, with me standing between the two of them.

The photograph was taken at a private function in Kuala Lumpur in May 2008, hosted by Tan Chin Nam to welcome Ramli Ngah Talib into the Malaysian chess fraternity after he had become the new president of the Malaysian Chess Federation in 2007. He remained MCF president for several terms, until 2016, so that photograph brought back a little bit of chess history. I have posted the picture on this blog before, but I suppose with some people curious about what I showed him, I'll put it up here again.

Free School reunites

My alma mater, Penang Free School, will celebrate its 210th anniversary in October this year. Not on the 21st of October, though, as that date apparently clashes with the examination schedule. Instead, the main celebrations will take place on the first and third of October, with the school's Speech Day on Thursday the first, followed two days later by a full day of activities organised by the Penang Free School Foundation (Yayasan Penang Free School), culminating in a homecoming dinner that evening.

The celebrations are not merely about marking another milestone in the school's long history. They are also an opportunity to bring the Free School community together, reconnect Old Frees with their old school and, perhaps most importantly, look towards the future.

The programme begins on Thursday, 01 October 2026, with the Penang Free School 210th Speech Day which will recognise students who have excelled in academics, leadership, sports and service. There will also be a thanksgiving and prayer gathering on the second day, but the real action for Old Frees comes the following morning.

Free School Reunites on Saturday, 03 October 2026 will feature sports and other activities, together with a Free School Guide Walkabout. It will give Old Frees from different generations a chance to return to their alma mater, meet old friends and perhaps rediscover some familiar corners of the school. In other words, it is the Homecoming, so Old Frees should mark the date.

That evening, the Penang Free School 210th Anniversary Dinner will bring together alumni, students, teachers, distinguished guests and friends of the school to celebrate 210 years of history and achievement.

There will also be a visit and service at the Founder’s Tomb on Wednesday, 21 October 2026 to pay tribute to Robert Sparke Hutchings whose vision led to the establishment of Penang Free School in 1816.

For 210 years, Penang Free School has produced generations of scholars, sportsmen and gentlemen who have gone on to make their mark in society and the nation. This anniversary is therefore not merely about looking back at what has been achieved. It is an opportunity for the wider Free School family to come together, celebrate what binds us and look towards what lies ahead.

A tale of two records

I was going through my record collection again the other day when I came across two Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young records which, at first glance, might seem to have little in common. One is So Far, the well-known 1974 compilation album. The other is a rather obscure record titled Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young Month Celebration Copy. 

The interesting thing is that I always thought of the latter simply as another CSNY compilation. It was only when I started looking into it that I discovered it was actually a promotional record, supposedly marked “Sample Copy Not for Sale”. That puzzled me because I am quite certain I bought my copy from a record shop in town. So much for “not for sale”. Perhaps the record shop was not supposed to sell it, or perhaps promotional records had a habit of finding their way into shops anyway. Whatever the explanation, I clearly remember paying for mine. 

So Far, on the other hand, needs little introduction. Released in 1974, it was put together at a time when Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young were riding an enormous wave of popularity. The group had not produced much new material together since Déjà Vu in 1970, but they were about to embark on a major reunion tour. A compilation was therefore a convenient way of putting some of their best-known recordings together, and it became a huge seller. In fact, So Far went all the way to No. 1 on the Billboard 200. 

The album opens with Suite: Judy Blue Eyes, followed by Long Time Gone, Woodstock, Teach Your Children and the rest of the familiar material. Marrakesh Express is missing, despite having been one of their early hits. Among the group's best-known songs, surely Marrakesh Express would have been an obvious choice. 

There is a little curiosity. Ohio and Find the Cost of Freedom had already appeared in live versions on the 1971 double album 4 Way Street. But So Far was the first time their studio versions appeared on an LP. Until then, the two songs had been released together only as a single. 

And then there is Woodstock. It is one of the best-known songs associated with CSNY, but it was written by Joni Mitchell, who also provided the painting used for the So Far cover. So there is a little more Joni Mitchell in the album than one might initially realise. 

Apparently Graham Nash wasn't particularly enthusiastic about So Far being released in the first place. He regarded it as little more than a cash-in on the reunion tour. If that was his view, history rather proved him wrong. The album topped the charts and became one of CSNY's most successful releases.  

My other record, the Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young Month Celebration Copy, is a different animal altogether. It dates from 1971 and was apparently produced by Atlantic Records as part of a promotional “CSNY Month” campaign. Rather than being a regular commercial album, it was a 12-track promotional compilation drawing from the group's earlier records, as well as some solo material. 

Unlike So Far, it includes Marrakesh Express. It also goes beyond the group recordings to include Stephen Stills' Love the One You're With and Bluebird Revisited, as well as Graham Nash's Military Madness and Simple Man. So in some ways it is a more interesting snapshot of the musicians than So Far, even though it was never intended to be a proper greatest-hits album. 

It is also an odd-looking record. The copy I have is the sort of black-and-white promotional pressing that might have been handed to a radio station or record retailer rather than sold to an ordinary customer. The labels carry the familiar warning that it is a sample copy and not for sale. 

Dr Gnoh Lean Tuck

From the archives of The Straits Echo newspaper comes this story about a certain Dr Gnoh Lean Tuck who found worldwide fame a few years later as Dr Wu Lien-Teh.

Dr Gnoh Lean Tuck
The Straits Echo, 9 October 1903, Page 5

DR GNOH LEAN Tuck arrived on Wednesday night at 11 pm from Singapore by the German liner Zieten. Many friends and relatives went on board to meet him and escort him ashore in a steam launch. On reaching the wharf he drove to the Ng Sing Kongsi and then to his parents' home at Green Hall. We are informed that Dr Tuck will stay in Penang until the 15th of this month, when he will sail for Kuala Lumpur in order to start work at the Pathological Institute there.

We have much pleasure in giving our readers today the portrait and an authoritative resume of the career of this distinguished Straits Chinese. Mr Tuck obtained the only Queens Scholarship awarded in 1896, at the early age of 16 years. He left his home on Aug 7th of that year, arrived at Cambridge towards the middle of September, and forthwith passed the College entrance examination. He was admitted as a 'Pensioner' at Emmanuel College under the able tutorship of Mr WN Sharshawd, MA, FRS. He began studying Natural Sciences in conjunction with Medicine, but was somewhat handicapped in this respect during the First Term by having to prepare for the "Little Go." This, however, he passed without any difficulty in December of the same year, and thereupon commenced that enthusiasm for science which has continued until the present day. In June 1897, he passed both parts of the first examination for Medical and Surgical Degrees, and in the succeeding December the first part of the second MB Examination. He was classed in the "First Class" in the Intercollegiate examination in Natural Sciences, June 1897, and was elected to an exhibition of £40. The next December he sent in his name for the second part of the second MB Examination (Anatomy and Physiology), which was and still is perhaps the most crucial point in a Cambridge medical student's career. It was an unusually early period for this difficult attempt, and Mr Tuck earned the well-deserved congratulations of his friends and teachers when he got through it easily.

This success enabled our future Doctor to devote the remaining two Terms entirely to science, and when the Tripos lists appeared in June 1899 nobody was surprised at his name being placed amongst the "First Class Honours' Men." He graduated BA a few days afterwards amidst much cheering from the Undergraduates' Gallery in the Senate House, as he was the first Chinaman who had attained that distinction. The four subjects he chose for his Tripos were Chemistry, Zoology, Human Anatomy and Physiology. The authorities of Emmanuel College honoured him by electing him to a Foundation Scholarship of £50 a year.

It was now the end of his third year. In the following September he competed for and won one of the two University Scholarships (value 55 guineas), at St Mary's Hospital London. This scholarship just covered the expenses in fees during the next three years. Mr Tuck's brilliant career was continued in London, and he carried off the most important prizes, namely, the special prize in clinical surgery (1900), the special prize in clinical medicine (1901), the Cheadle Gold Medal in clinical medicine (1902), the Kerslake Scholarship in Pathology and Bacteriology (1902), a record which had never been accomplished by any St Mary's student before.

He passed the first part of the final examination in April 1901, and the second part in the following December.

He had thus taken five and a quarter years altogether in finishing his students' course, and when he graduated MB he was the first and only one to do so out of over 120 students who entered the University in 1896.

At the expiration of the Queen's Scholarship in his fifth year, his old College elected him to the Research Studentship (value £150.) This enabled Tuck to take instruction in Tropical Diseases under Major R Ross, FRS at the Liverpool School of Tropical Medicine, and to devote his spare time in the preparation of his MB Thesis on "Certain clinical features of the Blood in Malarial Fever," which degree he obtained in March 1901.

Dr Tuck left England for Germany in April and joined the Hygienic Institute of Halle under Prof Carl Fraenkel. Here he made some important observations on the occurrence of Tetanus Spores in gelatin. The subject of Bacteriology interested him immensely, and he occupied the next six months in this way. He next visited Leipzig, Berlin, Dresden, Vienna, Munich, Zurich and Berne in succession, but only for short periods, and early in September joined the voluntary staff of the Institute Pasteur at Paris under Prof Metchnikoff. This famous home of research, where Pasteur Roux and others had done such marvellous work for so many years, is the most wonderful institution of its kind in the world, and the large number of excellent workers turned out from it have spread its name, fame and benefits to all parts of the earth's surface.

Dr Tuck returned to England at Christmas of last year, and was early this January appointed House Physician to the well-known Brompton Hospital for Consumption, London, after having graduated MA, a few days previously. Here he served under Dr Percy Kidd, Dr Robert Maguire and Dr Samuel Habershon, all famous London consultants. During this time he completed the Thesis for the MD degree, which he had begun in Germany and continued in France. It was duly presented to and accepted by the Regius Professor last March, so he will now only have to wait another one and a half years for his full degree.

The appointment of House Physician terminated in July, and after a brief holiday in North Wales and some farewell calls on old friends, he left London on August 28th and reached here last night via Singapore, where he was for five days the guest of the Hon Lim Boon Keng. 

It should be added here that Dr Gnoh Lean Tuck's popularity in England and elsewhere was great, and the regret in leaving that country was mutual on both sides. The farewell dinner given in his honour by his many friends in England and presided over by his old Tutor, now chief of the Meteorological Office, London, was a result of the great esteem in which he was held by many English scholars.

To Mr Hargreaves particularly, we are sure, Dr Tuck's return will give the greatest pleasure, since it was he who was mainly responsible for moulding his old pupil's character, and thus fitting him for the honour which he has brought back to those who are near and dear to him, to his admiring countrymen, and to a host of friends of various nationalities.

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.

21st century transformation

I nearly did a double take when I saw a Bernama Lifestyle article yesterday announcing that Penang Free School would be celebrating its 210th anniversary this October. Two hundred and ten? It somehow felt like only yesterday that we were celebrating the school's Bicentenary in 2016. In reality, 10 years have quietly slipped by. Perhaps that is what happens as one grows older. Milestones that once seemed a lifetime apart suddenly begin arriving with surprising regularity.

According to the Bernama report published on 18 Aug 2026, Penang Free School will hold a simple three-day celebration from the first to the third of October at the school. Organising chairman Ivan Ooi Jieun Vei explained that this will be the first major anniversary celebration since the Bicentenary a decade ago.

But why celebrate the 210th anniversary instead of waiting for the 250th? After all, Free School had previously marked its 100th, 150th and 200th anniversaries with grand celebrations. Surely the next logical milestone would have been another 50 years later.

Ivan's answer was practical. The decision, he told Bernama, was not made hastily but was taken in the best interests of the school and its future. This year's celebration is not simply about commemorating another anniversary. More importantly, it is intended as a rallying cry for Old Frees everywhere to come together and support the school, its teachers and present-day students. That is the real significance of the 210th celebration. Not about looking backwards but looking forwards.

The focal point of the celebration will be the establishment of the Penang Free School Digital Transformation Fund. Before anyone gets the wrong impression, this is not because Penang Free School has suddenly been left to fend for itself. Ivan made it clear that, like every government school in Malaysia, Penang Free School is fully funded and managed by the Ministry of Education. Operational expenses, teachers' salaries and infrastructure development remain the government's responsibility.

The new fund is intended to complement public funding, not replace it. Government funding keeps the school running while the proposed Digital Transformation Fund is meant to help accelerate its transformation into a school equipped for the demands of the future.

As someone who left Free School more than half a century ago, I can appreciate how dramatically education has changed. When I was a student, life revolved largely around textbooks, examinations and the traditional professions. Parents hoped their children would become doctors, lawyers, engineers, teachers or perhaps go into business. Those were the respectable career paths most of us grew up hearing about.

Today, the educational landscape is almost unrecognisable. Artificial intelligence, data science, robotics, coding and digital technology have become part of everyday conversation. Industries that did not even exist when many Old Frees were in school are now offering careers for today's students.

Ivan was quoted in the Bernama article as saying that the school must help students realise their potential not merely as scholars but also as future members of the workforce and leaders in the 21st century. Education has never stood still. Every generation has had to prepare its young for a world different from the one their parents knew. Our generation learned to use slide rules before calculators became commonplace. Later generations grew up with personal computers, followed by the Internet and smartphones. Today's students are entering a world where artificial intelligence may become as ordinary a tool as a pen or calculator. Whether we like it or not, schools must evolve alongside society. And Penang Free School, with its long history stretching back to 1816, has survived precisely because it has continued adapting through two centuries of change. 

The celebrations themselves will be spread over three days. The first of October begins with the school's 210th Speech Day, brought forward from the traditional 21st of October because of clashes with examination dates. Speech Day will be held in the school hall from 8am until noon, with Old Frees welcome to attend.

Then comes the third of October, which promises to be a rather lively reunion day under the banner Free School Reunites. Old and current Frees, together with former and present teachers and staff, will gather for sports and fellowship from morning until early afternoon. There will also be a Free School Guide walkabout of the school that I shall be conducting together with my friend, Siang Jin.

Yes, that's something close to my heart. It is always nice when people have an opportunity to walk through the old corridors and rediscover the many stories hidden behind familiar classrooms and buildings. Schools are not merely bricks and mortar. They are repositories of memories accumulated by generations of students who have passed through the same gates.

The highlight of the celebrations will be the 210th Anniversary Dinner at Penang Free School itself on the evening of the third of October. After all, how many institutions can boast of having their former students returning to dine in the very school that shaped their teenage years, some 50 or 60 years after they first wore its uniform?

For many of us, Free School is more than an old school. It is where lifelong friendships began. It is where teachers left impressions that remained long after their lessons were forgotten. It is where boys arrived as awkward adolescents and departed as young men, each carrying different memories of the same classrooms, the same assembly ground and the same ringing school bell.

What I found most encouraging in the Bernama article was Ivan's insistence that the Digital Transformation Fund is not about raising money merely to buy the latest gadgets. Its broader purpose is to develop educators, strengthen STEM education, encourage artificial intelligence, robotics and coding, build stronger links with industry and ultimately help create the talent pipeline that Penang's future economy will depend upon. That is a much bigger ambition than filling classrooms with computers.

Technology by itself does not transform education. But if additional resources can help Free School provide opportunities beyond what normal public funding allows, then I believe it is an initiative worth supporting.

The school has produced generations of scholars, professionals, entrepreneurs, public servants, sportsmen and people from every imaginable walk of life. There is no reason why future generations should not enjoy even greater opportunities simply because the world around them has become more technologically demanding.

A school that is 210 years old should become more than a museum piece. Its history deserves to be preserved, certainly, but its future deserves to be invested in as well. So perhaps celebrating the 210th anniversary, instead of waiting another 40 years, is not such a strange idea after all. The Bicentenary was a magnificent occasion that celebrated two centuries of history. The 210th anniversary will have a different purpose altogether. It is an opportunity to bring Old Frees together, not merely to reminisce about the past but to contribute towards preparing Penang Free School for the next generation. Will I see you there?

Legend of seven maidens

It is that time of the year when, in the midst of observing the month-long Hungry Ghost Festival, my family looks forward to celebrating the legend of the Seven Fairy Maidens (七姊仙女), sometimes also known as the Seven Fairy Sisters. There are some stories based around the seven celestial sisters but the most famous is the romance between the youngest sister, the Seventh Maiden, and a mortal man named Tong Eng (董永).

And before going any further, I want to say that this story is sometimes confused with the much better-known legend of the Cowherd and the Weaver Girl which is celebrated during the Mid-Autumn Festival that comes about a month from now. Both involve a mortal man, a celestial woman and an unhappy separation. But they are two different stories.

Here, I want to tell the story of Tong Eng who was a poor young man whose greatest virtue was his devotion to his father. He was so poor that he could not afford his father a proper burial. So, in order to raise the money, Tong Eng sold himself into servitude. It was apparently this extraordinary act of filial devotion that caught the attention of the Seventh Maiden. Moved by what she had seen, she descended from Heaven to the mortal world and married him.

But being married to a celestial being did not immediately solve Tong Eng's problems. He was still bound by his agreement to serve his new master. And so, the Seventh Maiden decided to do something about it. She approached the master and offered to weave ten bolts of silk overnight. When she presented the silk to the master the next morning, he was so delighted that he reduced Tong Eng's period of servitude from years to just 100 days.

For a while, it seemed that the couple might actually have found their happy ending except that Heaven had other ideas. Once the heavenly authorities discovered that one of their fairies had married a mortal, this breach was reported to the Jade Emperor who ordered the Seventh Maiden to return to Heaven.

She had little choice but to leave her husband. Love was found, happiness was briefly enjoyed, and then the heavens decided that the relationship could not continue. It's a tale of heartbreak. There are later versions of this legend which are somewhat kinder to the couple. In these, the Seventh Maiden was eventually stripped of her immortality, allowing her to return to Tong Eng and remain with him permanently.

But to me, the legend of the Seven Sisters is most relevant in the traditions surrounding the Chhit-Chiah (七姊仙女) Festival, which falls on the seventh day of the seventh lunar month. In my family, the worship of the Seven Maidens is carried out after 11pm on the evening of the sixth day, which is tonight, when the calendar is considered to have crossed over into the seventh day. I remember how, days or even weeks before this day, my grandmother and mother would have started preparing for the occasion. They would purchase perfume or the square-boxed hun pniah, or even make their own bedak sejok, all of which were offered to the Seven Maidens. These are small details from my childhood that have stayed with me, even though I probably paid little attention at the time to the significance of what they were doing.

By the way, the Seven Maidens don't appear only in the Tong Eng story. They make a brief appearance in the classic Chinese novel Journey to the East, where they were celestial peach-pickers. Their job was to tend to the peaches in Heaven, which was a rather important responsibility given the magical properties of those fruits. Unfortunately, they happened to awaken the Monkey King. And Sun Wukong was not particularly pleased when he discovered that he had not been invited to a heavenly banquet. The predictable result was that he cast a spell that left the seven sisters frozen.

There are also regional variations of the Seven Maidens story. In Hainan, for instance, local tradition tells of the seven sisters coming to the aid of the indigenous Li people when they were threatened by a demon. After defeating it and protecting the people, the sisters eventually became seven mountain peaks. These variations are particularly interesting in that they show how a familiar group of mythological figures can acquire completely different identities as their stories travel from one part of China to another. That is one reason old legends survive. They are passed from one generation to another, picked up by different communities and reshaped according to local beliefs, customs and circumstances.

The Seven Maidens may be celestial beings but their stories are really about rather earthly matters like filial devotion, love, sacrifice, skill and the choices that have to be made between love and duty. And perhaps that is why the story of Tong Eng and the Seventh Maiden has survived for so long. Fairies may live in Heaven, but the problems they face are still very much down-to-earth.

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.