My Army Daze. The enlistment day .....

Chun See's account on his NS days stirred up memories of my own.

I can't recall much of my emotions on the day I entered the army. But it must have been one of apprehension and fear. Unfortunately, this fear was perpetuated by none other than my mum. She was always telling me how skinny and physically weak I was and how I would definitely suffer when I eventually enlisted for my NS.

The Enlistment Day

Well, that day arrived on 23 March 1983. I remembered how long a day it was. We were told to report first to CMPB where my pal Victor, the downgraded soldier, served as a clerk several years prior to my enlistment. From there, we recruit-to-be were then brought, on a 3-tonner - the first time I was ever onboard an army vehicle, to the jetty at Changi to take an RPL to Pulau Tekong camp, our new home for the next 3 months.

When the RPL finally anchored at the jetty some 45 minutes later, some of us guys might be forgiven for thinking that we had landed in Hawaii. It just showed how much in self-denial many of us were. There were the sun, the sand and the sea, not to mention the abundant coconut trees. The only thing missing were the Hawaiian girls welcoming us with garlands and cooing "aloha". Realities were soon to hit us.

We were the 2nd batch of recruits to be trained at Tekong. The first batch had it easy - they only shifted equipment and stuff from SBMT to Tekong and do area-cleaning most of the time, so were we told.

Back then, Tekong was not very well developed. Instead of proper road, we had earth - red earth. The army bunks were like longhouses. From the Tekong jetty, it was another 20 minutes march to the bunk. And by the time we reached the bunk, most of us were literally covered in dust.

I remember lugging along the huge kit bag, commonly known as the Ali Baba bag, all the way to the bunk. The Ali Baba bag was used to store all the issued items like the army boots, No. 4 uniforms and SOP before we transferred these into our cupboards in our bunk.

On arrival at our bunk, we were told that we've been assigned to Golf company; a company we subsequently learned to be one of the most "on the ball" and siong.

To many of us, the BMT was a rude awakening. Life thus far had been sweet and comfy. We were free to do what we want, answerable only to our parents. And many of us had never left home, save for a couple of nights at chalets with friends or family members.

But once we stepped into Tekong, it was as if we were living on the other side of the globe. The moment we put our stuff in the bunk, and changed to our PT kit as instructed, everything moved in double quick time. We were sworn at by the instructors, told to double up (the military term to run) from one point to another. In the army, you don't walk. No you don't, soldier. You double up from the bunk to the training shed, and double up from the training shed to the cookhouse. There was hardly time for us to breathe. And that aweful and dreadful chin-up bar. Yes, we had to do chin-ups before every meal. If there was hell, then this must be it. I found it almost surreal in the beginning. More about the "physical torture" in subsequent post.

The BMT was also the first time we experienced living with people of other races and of different cultures. Gruelling training aside, it was also a lesson in racial-tolerance and harmonious-living. How often do you get 36 boys - Chinese, Malay, Indian and the Eurasian - all living under the same roof? There were two Sikhs in my group. Have you seen how a Sikh does his turban? Not to sound disrespectful, but it was exactly how my late granny did her ang ku kueh bun. They simply twirled their hair round and round, followed by the turban itself, which is really a piece of long, oblong cloth.

As I said, it was a long day. I remember the hair-cut, or should I say hair-shearing session. All of us were brought to the Hall where the Indian barbers were waiting with their scissors and shearers. It was a dreadful time for most of us, especially those metrosexuals (okay, so that word hadn't been coined yet) with shoulder-length hair. Indeed, it's been said that the inevitable hair-shear is like a rite of passage into NS. But to many, it's a time for them to mourn the loss of their precious locks. As for me, half way through my turn, there was an electricity blackout. I just sat there with my hair looking ridiculously half civy and half army for a good 15-minutes.


Signs of things to come, I remember thinking. And as days turn into nights, and nights turned into weeks, I experienced many aspects of the army I never thought I would. It's not all bad memories; many are bitter sweet.

.......to be continued

Category: Yesteryear