The brats from Badruddin Barracks

STRANGE how memory works. Mine does, sometimes.

The statement made by the Inspector General of Police (IGP): ‘No compromise over misconduct by cops’, as reported by Bernama and quoted by The Borneo Post last Thursday, amused me immensely.

Not the subject matter (misconduct), but the very mention of ‘police’ brought many memories of my time in Kuching back to 1951-1952.

My brother, Bunseng, with the rank of ‘Sergeant’ in the Sarawak Constabulary, had been given permission to accommodate me in the family room in the barrack at Badruddin Road in Kuching, because I was a school-boy, not just a hanger-on from the village.

That was the policy of the police then.

Ah, life in the barracks in the 1950s.

How did the womenfolk do their cooking before the day of the electric cooker?

The housewives in the barracks, at the time, did not have those facilities. Their husbands, off duty, had to collect firewood from the bush somewhere, or buy charcoal for their ‘ang lo’ (a kind of stove made of clay), or else – rather more expensive, a stove running on kerosene.

But many families could not afford these facilities.

So where did the rank-and-file get firewood for their family kitchen?

In our barrack, off-duty Constable Kaseh Taha possessed all the basic tools for the purpose: axe, ‘chandong’ (knife), bicycle. He knew about the existence of good source of firewood from the forest ‘across river’, the term we used to refer to the forested area opposite Kuching Town.

Several boys from the barracks went along with Kaseh – he, on his bicycle, and four boys (Joseph Bunchol, Atim, Putit Ningkan and me) following him on foot, across the Sarawak River via the ‘Jembatan Gantung’ (Satok suspension bridge) into the jungle.

I think it was somewhere near the present Normah Medical Specialist Centre that we found suitable trees to fell for the firewood. We boys thought that the rubber trees along the path would make good firewood, but we were told by Kaseh not to cut down any because they were sources of latex of commercial value, and the owners of the trees would have taken a very dim view of somebody cutting down their trees.

More so, police brats cutting down their trees!

Structure of the barracks

The police barracks were a form of longhouse, with rooms for the families, raised about five feet from the ground. There was a wide space between the rooms and the kitchens, which were a separate building.

The water supply was in the kitchens, and the toilets and bathrooms were down there too.

A large concrete tank contained rainwater, which we considered quite sufficient.

Cooperative store

Where did the housewives get their supplies of foodstuff?

All constabulary men were members of the Police Cooperative Store. The man in charge of the store was Insp Harry. He was a stern-looking man, but a very kind one.

His son, David, was our good friend from whom we got some sweets occasionally.

‘The Bachelors’

There was a concrete building housing the bachelors of the police force. We, the boys, were their friends, and often their ‘runners’. For ten cents, the boys would become messengers, delivering letters to the young ladies in the Malay village at Haji Taha Road.

We performed the duty during the stage shows every Thursday night. The girls would be among the crowd watching the ‘Bangsawan’ (stage shows) and listening to the songs (written by the legend Tan Sri P Ramlee), and casting quiet glances in the direction of the young men from Badruddin Road.

The bachelors were kind to us, they would leave a portion of their Sunday ration of curried ‘ikan parek’ (stingray) for us.

That was most delicious, clearly designed to keep the messengers in a good mood.

The next mission would no problem. Wait for ‘malam Jumaat’ (Thursday night) when the boys from the Bachelors’ Quarters would come with the love letters or ‘pesan’ (oral message).

The most common modus operandi was for the ‘postman’ to hand the note to a little girl in the crowd, a sister or cousin of the intended recipient.

This way, modesty was preserved – not even the eagle-eyed aunts saw the young lady receiving a clandestine letter!

Had the mobile phone been invented then, we boys would have been out of job. No more curry of ‘ikan parek’!

‘Famous police officers’

The smartest officer of the day was Insp Louis Gines, in terms of smart dressing (starched and ironed khakis, and hair always neatly trimmed).

He was our role model, as far as we could emulate him, though we did not take it all the way to joining the force ourselves. None of the boys, except Putit Ningkan and Bujang Embah, had a career in the Sarawak Constabulary.

‘Number 20’

No road user in Kuching town – motorist, cyclist, pedestrian – would ever forget the cop on a motorbike. This was the unforgettable ‘Number 20’, Arjan Singh Cheema, omnipresent at all roads with ‘No Entry’ sign.

He was a real ‘terror’, booking anybody who went against the traffic rules, e.g. driving through a road with ‘No Entry’, or speeding.

Once we boys had the luxury of possessing a bicycle each, we went on a mission to the Ban Hock Wharf, and sure enough we went the wrong way down a one-way road. And there stood ‘Number 20’, ready to blow us up!

He gave us a good scolding: “You naughty fellows are from the barracks, you should know better! You give ‘malu’ (shame) to the constabulary…”, and more of the same.

But he let us off with a warning.

So, did we stop riding down the one-way roads? Not really, but we always looked carefully to see that ‘Number 20’ was nowhere in sight.

‘Talkies’

We would spend hours waiting for the ‘talkies’ (silent film shows) to start, by the side of the graveyard between the St Joseph’s Cathedral and the Sarawak Club.

We never saw any ghost there, to be frank. Police boys were not supposed to be fearful of any ghost anyway, just so that we could enjoy watching the reverse sides of the films free.

That did not worry us. We could hear what Tarzan spoke to Jane: “Tarzan love Jane!”

That was good enjoyable enough, except for the mosquitoes.

Nasty beasts! But we were learning English, mate!

Those were the days!

I have in store a few more episodes on the adventures or pranks of the boys from the Badruddin Barracks, but time and space are a constraint here in this column.

Ask me more about the ‘police brats’ when we next meet personally.

* The opinions expressed in this article are the columnist’s own and do not reflect the view of the newspaper.