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Memories of Bedok corner from 'Darah Muda' clip

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We are deeply grateful to Mr Sutari Supari for sharing with us a screenshot of Bedok Corner, also featured on his Facebook page. This image is taken from the classic 1963 film Darah Muda . We hope it is alright for us to share a short clip from this particular scene, which shows a food vendor walking out onto the road that once led to our Bedok kampong home, numbered 10J. Behind him, to the left, are a row of attap huts that included a bicycle repair shop, the ice block seller, and the home of our former neighbour Joyce at number 6C. Directly opposite stood Sar-chan-lau, the three-storey building numbered 2B, where Mrs Jackie Munro once lived. Further back, where the road curved to the left, was the two-storey concrete house of our immediate neighbour, Kak Min, and her family from Gujarat, North India, numbered 4E. The vendor is walking out towards Bedok Corner, where the Bedok Rest House stood on the right (out of frame), while the wall on the left belonged to a long row of shopho...
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Tribute to our paternal aunt this Mother's Day 2026

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This Mother’s Day weekend, we turn our spotlight to our beloved Ma Um - our father’s elder brother’s wife - who, together with the rest of the family, once lived at Jalan Haji Salam near the Bedok corner (as shared in an earlier story). Hers is truly a story of triumph over adversity. Ma Um gave birth to eleven children, yet only three survived. We can scarcely imagine the depth of sorrow and strength such circumstances demanded of her. Life with her mother-in-law presented its own challenges, but Ma Um was no pushover. She faced each day with a resolute, never ‑ say ‑ die spirit. Against this backdrop, she discovered a passion for cooking and baking. She mastered the art of making all kinds of kueh and sold them to neighbours in the surrounding homes - out of necessity, to supplement a depleted household income. Her mantra was simple and unwavering: “Never go home until the basket is empty.” She worked with such determination that she could well be considered the family’s main bre...
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Our Bedok kampong - at night

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It was past 9pm, and an eleven ‑ year ‑ old me was making my way home from a Mandarin tuition session. My teacher was one of Ah Yam’s daughters—the owner of Swee Aun provision shop along Bedok Road—and lessons were held at their place. The fastest route home was a shortcut through the back lane, though it meant pushing my bicycle where the paths were too narrow to ride. Back then, bicycle lights ran on dynamos pressed against the wheel, which only worked when you were moving fast. So I pushed my bike as briskly as I could, trying to coax some light out of it, passing the now ‑ closed and darkened ice ‑ ball cum tikam ‑ tikam shop, a cluster of banana trees on my left, and then cycling past the famously haunted kapok tree on my right — careful not to glance in either direction. Such were the low light levels we endured in the kampong after nightfall, lit only by weak incandescent street lamps. The fluorescent glow spilling out from nearby houses offered some reassurance of human pre...
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Black-and-white TV at our Bedok kampong house

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We counted ourselves blessed to have a black ‑ and ‑ white television in our kampong house. Our father had already been working at RTS (Radio Television Singapore) in the Radio Department since August 1953, on rotational duty. By then, our grandmother was non ‑ ambulant and unable to move around much, so having a TV at home became a cherished way for her—and for all of us—to enjoy our evenings together. As daylight faded and the lights outside our kampong house grew dim, and after we returned from school and finished our homework, television became our stay ‑ at ‑ home entertainment. This short clip is a small testament to those days of TV Singapura, and to some of the programmes we loved — English, Chinese, and even Malay shows (especially the Pontianak ones!).
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Off the coast of Bedok Beach, 1968

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Let's linger over this 1968 photograph by Mrs Jackie Munro, taken off the reclaimed coastal edge at Bedok Corner, near where Bedok Army Camp now sits. What do you think these two were catching?
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Our Relatives over at Jalan Haji Salam

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Just a short walk from our Bedok kampong was Jalan Haji Salam, off Upper East Coast Road - where our peranakan cousin (same grandfather, different grandmother) and her family lived in the kampong there. Jalan Haji Salam was best known as the place where the “King of Bedok” resided, in his Villa Haji Kahar, which still stands today. Theirs was a single‑storey wooden house with plank walls and an attap roof, located at No. 14. The family first moved in circa 1955 (about a year after we moved into our place) and were quite content living among the kampong folk. Our auntie made all sorts of kueh to sell, helping to supplement the family’s income – and never came home until her ‘bakul suda jual habis’ (basket of cakes all sold out). Leaving Haji Salam kampong was not an easy decision. The older members of the family loved kampong life, but the heavy rains caused persistent leaking through the roof. Eventually, it became clear that it was time to move on. In June 1967, they relocated to ...
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Our 'scent-sational' Bedok kampong house

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As much as we romanticise those nostalgic kampong days, we cannot forget some of the smells that were part of daily life in our kampong house in Bedok Laut. One that stands out vividly is the putrid stench we endured in the early 1960s, when a landfill of garbage was poured into the Sungei Bedok tributary that flowed in front of our house, eventually covering it up. Beyond that, three recurring smells defined a memorable chapter of our growing-up years. There was the sharp scent of jeypine, used to sanitise the jamban (toilet) areas (we were on the bucket system then). There was also the familiar smell of mosquito coils burning at night, our constant defence against relentless mosquito attacks as we slept under our nets. And every Thursday evening, there was the weekly ritual instructed by our grandmother: the fragrant smoke of kemenyan incense, placed on a holder and carried into every room of the house. These smells, unpleasant or comforting, are inseparable from our kampong memo...
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