Army Guys and Porn

Today is Valentine's Day... which may not be such a good time to talk about pornography. I mean, today's the day to be all lovey-dovey and stout-of-heart and not about jerking off and finding release. But then again, when things get a bit too amorous, erotic feelings might just rise their head or throw opportunities wide open. *wink wink.

The prude in you might object. But really, I just want to talk about army guys and porn. If you had been an NSman, you would know what I am talking about. But my first encounter with porn was not during NS. It was during JC 1.

At the time there were a couple of well-off guys in my school badminton team. One of them was a Chinese-Indonesian from Commerce stream and he would share with us magazines like Hustler and Playboy. Actually, these two magazines weren't that terrible or "yellow". Very well-written articles about our social condition could be found in them (rather frank ones, I must add) - especially in Playboy. But I think my teammate cared less about reading and more about eye-candy. He also had porn mags that were rather triple X rated. But somehow, this teammate did not come across as a sleazebag. He seemed more worldly than the rest of us "kwai-kwai" Singaporean types. Still, like the rest of us, he couldn't escape the influence of raging hormones at that vulnerable age.

Come to think of it, that was not my first exposure to such magazines. The very first time was in Sec 3 when we students were out for technical workshop lessons at another school. A classmate showed us where to get some porn magazines. It was also a place where we kids could go gamble if we so wished. That story is over here.

My first real encounter with such salacious content was when I discovered my dad's stash of playing cards. Nothing very suspicious about them except they depicted 1950s naked women in various topless poses. Miss Ace of Spade was particularly fetching. And guess what? There was also a similar pack of cards for the ladies - all 52 cards featuring Brylcreem-haired lads in their birthday suits showing off their pecs and peckers.

For a young boy curious about the female anatomy and where his own manhood was heading, these playing cards were very educational. If anything, these pictures told me that our body forms have no standard template. And like that fruit banana, they too came in different shapes and sizes. Same with papayas and mangoes, I supposed (just to be gender fair in my choice of sexual innuendos!)

For me, it wasn't such a big deal. When I was a little kid in Sarawak, I had seen topless Iban woman bringing fruit to my mom. I am not kidding, the fruit brought to our home were indeed papayas. It all seemed very natural like those topless Bali women that our local artist, the late Liu Kang, liked to paint.

How did my family end up with such playing cards? Well, they were brought back by my dad from working in Vietnam in the 60s. He was there for two years with the Caterpillar Co providing plant-support work to the American war effort in Indochina. 'Plant' to mean heavy machinery like earth diggers and excavators.

My mom knew we siblings were aware of the cards. But she was not too strict about it. All she said was: "Put them back after you are done" and that was that. If we stole any more glances, I am sure we would have gotten whacked with the cane. That had more to do with disobeying her than handling the picture cards. In any case, there's nothing pornographic about a guy or gal posing in the nude by themselves. There was no sex act. It was all very modeling-like, even artistic and educational!

However, that sex act thing would come later. It first happened when I was ten years old and when my parents brought us children to the cinema to watch that unrestrained 1970s documentary called Sex and the Animals. It was meant to be an educational trip. My parents were both open and forward like that. After the movie, I could not forget two incredible scenes: One, an amorous male frog still clamping onto his female partner two weeks after the sex act; two, an elephant's penis dragging on the floor like a long piece of damp rope. For a 10-year-old, that scene was not only mind-blowing. It was absolutely eye popping!

The second time I witnessed such coitus was eight years later when I was enjoying some time-off during my OCS Senior Term.

It was a Saturday morning and we were all in our PT kit relaxing in the cadet mess (army-term for recreational room). We had just cleared our stores (i.e. training equipment) after a major exercise. Someone had brought along a videotape and word was that it was rather special. I think it was Gerard, our platoon resident joker and GSO (girl-supply officer) who, I think, was responsible.

The title of the movie was Lady Chatterly's Lover. My first thought was that it was all very Dickensian. Well, my guess wasn't that far off as the movie was indeed a British period piece of lords and manors. But the story was something else.

We were soon pretty glued to the TV as the story unfolded. There's the fetching Lady Chatterly who was obviously mismatched to her elderly, paralysed and impotent husband. She was obviously suited to the unmarried and studly gamekeeper with the manly mustache. You know what is going to happen soon enough after they bumped into each other in the garden and started exchanging glances. There isn't going to be a three-some in this semi-autobiographical tale by DH Lawrence.

Lady Chatterly's Lover has been hailed as a porn-flick success in the adult film industry. Its portrayal of sexual coitus and lust was gradual and sensual, not wham-bang typical of most porn flicks short on story but long on action (much too long in my opinion).

For once, somebody got the story direction and flow right, of how a lady of the house might fall for hired help and be viewed in a sympathetic light. She's not just some object to be undressed and get banged up without any foreplay.

I liked Lady Chatterly's Lover for two reasons: One, the tender way in which the gamekeeper made love to her (remember that scene where he laid flowers on her naked body?) and two, the proper story that carried all that "hei-sho hei-sho" action (terms as used by Ms Lulu of The Noose). It just didn't seem porno at all. Maybe a tad voyeuristic.

And how we young men and cadets got our eyes glued to the TV that day. We learned not a few lessons, chief of which was how we could all watch that X-rated material and not get caught! It was in broad daylight and near the OCS HQ!

Later, as an officer, I would encounter fellow officers watching porn after 11pm at the officer mess. At 11pm, we would have finished playing snooker and about to head back to our bunks at the E Block barrack. One of the guys was the brother of the girl I had dated. He was supposed to be a very religious young man but yet, there he was getting his porno fix.

Although I never joined those officers in their after-hours movie viewing, I must admit to watching a few when that Annabel Chong's Gang Bang saga exploded on our local news scene. It was more out of curiosity than anything else. But in the process, I discovered that it was very easy to find porno stuff on the World Wide Web. You don't even have to pay for it, why I think parents should be more diligent, especially if their kids get hooked on stuff like that.

The thing with porn vids is that they get boring after a while, why I look back on that Lady Chatterly's Lover flick with some fondness. You meet a girl, you like her and somehow end up sharing the most intimate moments together. Isn't that how it should be? Of course, there's the hapless husband who did actually close an eye to the whole affair so his wife could be sexually happy. True love or simply a naive, cuckolded husband?

Scholars have given Lawrence's story the thumbs up. They hailed it as "not one of sexual passage but that of the search for one's integrity and wholeness." The lady learns that sex is not shameful and disappointing (as often perceived in those corsetted times) and the interloper learns of the spiritual challenges that follow physical love.

An older colleague of mine liked watching porn. I was twenty-something then and it was something I couldn't quite understand. After the initial thrill, porn gets very boring and pointless. It does turn women (mostly) into one-dimensional beings. The sexual act is only great if it is done as mutual sharing. An exploratory act even or worship. But this older colleague had something to say. His reason was: "When you get older and when younger women no longer bat you an eyelid, you'll understand."

I think I understood when I got older. It was during that infamous NYP Tammy video scandal which provided the insight. For some reason, I found her alluring. I guess which guy wouldn't when pandered to by a young thing? So my older colleague was just having a fantasy-substitution ride. "Look," he had said defensively then. "It's just harmless viewing. I don't harass women, call on prostitutes, do kiddy porn...I just watch the professional stuff."  Professional stuff? Ok, maybe he has a point. But the thing with porn is that all that consumer demand has been feeding a rather dubious industry. Were these women exploited? Is it all harmless? Remember, in Japan the porn industry is closely tied to gangsterism (aka the Yakuza) and other underworld activities. It is the same in other countries, except perhaps the United States. In the US, there are strong unions and industry groups for porn (or adult film industry, as they call it).

I like one quote from Gail Dines, the anti-porn campaigner and author of the book Pornland: How Porn Has Hijacked Our Sexuality. She says: "I am not saying that a man reads porn and goes out to rape. But what I do know is that porn gives permission to its consumers to treat women as they are treated in porn."

More sobering are the stats in her book. For example, it has been found that guys who did kiddy porn will rape a child six months into the habit. This even if they were repulsed by that kind of porn initially.

A compelling insider's story of the porn industry is linked here: Shelley Lubben's story. It's informative on so many levels.

In any case, do behave yourselves this Valentine's Day. Do not get carried away. Love is best expressed as love for that person. Period. Everything else is secondary and time will come when intimacy is called for.

As I've read in Cosmopolitan once of a woman who finally found her true love after several affairs, the feeling of coitus at the time for her was one of sea waves smashing against the cliff rocks; of riding high among rolling clouds in the sky; of thunder and lightning cracking in her joints and loins leaving her weak and scared. Love, she finally realised, required total surrender. It left her pink in the cheeks and chilled to the lips. But she wouldn't have any other way. A guy would be so lucky to be loved (and made love to) like that.

Here's another solid talk about why we should not watch porn. Some keywords: genitalia hierarchy and sexual subordination....etc.

A good talk about porn and all its guises and insidiousness. About genitalia hierarchy and sexual subordination, etc.... TEDx Talk: Why I Stopped Watching Porn

Related story: R&R in Taiwan; Next story: Golf Company

Tough Cadet Training

Whenever OCS is brought up, the conversation invariably veer to how tough the training is.

It is a question that is not easy to answer. I believe any training is tough if you are not prepared for it - SAFINCOS, OCS, Ranger, Pathfinder, Commandos, Snipers, etc. - you name it.

My first instance of tough training was during BMT. It shouldn't have been but my mad dog of a PC got it in his mind to make us super fit so we would all qualify for OCS. What he did not foresee was scaring half the platoon into thinking OCS was worse than his BMT (which included leopard crawling in PT shorts across a field full of mimosa plants), and so withdrew from the selection process. The consolation for the few of us who did make it was that we were indeed super fit. So much  so that our first three months in OCS (Junior Term) was like a walk in the park. For the rest, the physical exertions were quite strenuous. The only thing we all had in common then was that we didn't get a whole lot of sleep.

OCS at the time was tough like that, and for a variety of reasons. We were being trained to lead, so as leaders-to-be, we were expected to be tougher than the men we would eventually lead. Physical fitness was paramount for an Infantry Soldier. You cannot be charging up a hill and collapsing from exhaustion before the first bullet is fired. Or be hyperventilating so much that you cannot give a proper command. For example: "I...I...We...We...flank...flank...damn it! Let me sit down for a bit!"

So, a lot of my OCS Junior Term time was spent building up on physical fitness. We did Runs, Road Marches, PT (physical training), IPPTs, Push Ups, SOC (std obstacle course), etc. The push-ups were quite a lot, no thanks to the zealousness of the often cruel Tactics Team Instructors. We dropped 20, 30, 50, 100, 200 "like nobody's business". In the Army, each generation of trainers would give back 20% more what cruel punishment they themselves had endured as trainees. It's like a father to son thing but in a perverse manner.

The other tough part of the training came from high expectations. If these were not met, we all got "turned out" at odd hours of the night to go running. Sometimes with fullpacks (not before falling in to pack and repack the darn thing). My platoon was quite fortunate in that we had a rather unusual PC. After some initial turnouts, he pretty much left us alone. His demand was simple: If we did not lose face for him, we could manage ourselves in whichever way we saw fit. And so we tried our darnest to do well for him to, 1) Avoid punishment; 2) Manage ourselves so as to have more free time.

If we lost face for him (like falling asleep while digging a trench) we would be swiftly punished. His punishment was simple: 'Take Extra', meaning there would be duties during the weekend. In other words, a weekend burnt spent in camp. No one liked his weekend burned, so we would do our darnest to avoid it. In the end, our Platoon 10 did well in all manner of tests, even outdoing the so-called Scholar Platoons in our Delta Company. Our PC's hands-off man-management method proved to be more effective than the old regimented Army Way.

Of course, even though our PC was hands-off, the instructors in OCS were not. They took us for lessons and training and so, we as cadets had to obey their every beck and call including all kinds of punishment dished out. Sometimes, even the Duty Officer was cocky and would turn out a platoon at will, if, let say, the Armskote was not done up properly for 'clearing' or some minor infringement.

So in OCS, we lived a life of temerity and worry, not sure when the next punishment or harassment might come. In between we fought to stay awake during lessons and try not to lose our way topo-ing (which would result in more extras being signed).

Planned physical exertions often came in the form of PT lessons. There was Log Training, exercises with the Medicine Balls, Rugby, Boxing, and Taekwondo. (I'd learnt Karate-Do but that did not excuse me from having to learn TKD)

Unplanned exertions were the overnight Topo Exercises, Missions, and Field Exercises. In the day we would practice our moves; at night we would go out for Missions. For tactical reasons, ambushes were often triggered near dawn. So by the time we finished, it would be eight in the morning. Often, we were allowed to sleep and than wake and attend lessons at around 10 A.M.; hardly enough time for 40 winks! (Back then in OCS, we had a saying: If a soldier can sleep anywhere, an officer cadet can sleep anywhere plus do it standing up with his eyes open!)

So an endless cycle of this and that left us cadets all stressed out and tired. When we got home, our mothers would make us ginseng and other herbal soups to keep us strong and healthy. There was Bird's Nest or Brand's Essence of Chicken too. Yes, we all drank quite a bit of that brown Essence of Chicken liquid, even smuggling some along for overseas training like Ex Lancer in Brunei. For Taiwan, I brought chocolates. Taiwan's weather is kinder and not so heaty!

In OCS during my time, some combat roles were extra tough. It involved carrying heavy weapons that were part of the Infantry Platoon's "estab" or organisation, that is. One such weapon was the 60mm Mortar. It took three men to form a team. One person to carry the base plate and tripod, two others to carry the ammo, sights and main tube. The ammo were usually simulated with sand in the canister tubes. Boy, was this weapon heavy to lug around. I think each man-pack weighed something like two and a half sacks of rice each. Ok for a short stretch, but after a while, it would start to weigh down terribly. Plus, the man-packs were made of tough aluminium with lousy padding. It dug into the flesh.

I recall that each time the platoon called for a halt, the Mortar folks would find a slope and rest against it. Trying to remove and put on the man-pack was just too heavy and cumbersome. And if you sat down on your bum, you would need someone to help and haul you up again. So heavy it was.

The 60mm Mortar was later replaced by the M203 Grenade Launcher.

Besides the 60mm Mortar, the Old Infantry Platoon had also the 84mm Recoiless Rifle as part of its firepower. It's unlike any rifle you have seen. It looks more like a rocket launcher because it is fired from the shoulder. But the 84mm RR loads and ejects like a rifle where a chamber has to be loaded and emptied. Maybe that's why it is called a "recoiless rifle" then. The 84mm RR was a two-men team: One to carry the rifle, the other to carry the ammo, which again was packed with sand for Training Purposes.

There was a  trying time with these weapons during Taiwan training. We were retreating from a Combat Situation and the poor chaps who were carrying the Mortar equipment had it the worst. They were lagging behind and straggling. In the end, all of us ran back and pitched in, taking turns to carry the equipment and pulling our guys back to the front of the retreating line. It did not help that we had big-sized pretend-casualties to carry as well.

It is tough training in an open and scenic location such as Taiwan. Brunei was all infested tropical jungle terrain mostly unpleasant. But still, the training in Taiwan was invaluable. It opened our small island minds to a bigger expanse of a country. Flanking a hill took on new dimensions in time and space.

During my time, OCS was still in SAFTI at Pasir Laba. It was right at the end of the road in. My company, Delta, was in the last building. Years later, this building would be demolished to make way for an intruding highway. By then, OCS had shifted to the new and modern SAFTI Military Institute.

Back then, the old SAFTI was surrounded by Army Training Areas. We often did evening runs to these places. One place has more significance: Pengkang Hill. It's a dreaded place in SAFTI Lore. In the past, cadets were brought up there to sprint up its steep, slippery gravel slopes and be punished if they didn't make it. Cadets would end up with bad cuts, bruised knees and sprained ankles. Some were even made to "leopard crawl" up.

However, during my time, any activity on Pengkang Hill was banned, and it is ironic that my BMT PC actually made us run up there rather than my OCS PC. Now you know why we named him Mad Dog Wee. (The link to that story is below.)

Although we skipped Pengkang Hill, one place close to it made OCS training tough: Trench Fighting Hill.

It's just a low hill with a maze of reinforced trenches built in it. There we learned essential Trench Fighting Drills like how to organise ourselves in such a maze to flush out an enemy, and what to do if someone lobbed a grenade in. We developed Code Words to tackle that kind of situation. "Apple" for hostile grenades, "Orange" was for our own. We learnt how to clear fortified positions and fight off tears if caught in a Trench Bunker full of smoke.

The tough part of Trench Training was all that and more. Mostly it had to do with moving about constantly in a trench all crouched up and bent. We moved this way to keep our heads low and out of target. Soldiers who didn't during war time usually got their heads blown off. When that happens, even a steel helmet is of little use.

After a short time Trench Training, we all developed "thunder thighs". Even Badminton Champion Liem Swee King didn't have thighs as impressive as ours! And it was no fun aching like that for weeks on, walking like cowboys in the mean time. That's physical toughness for you.

So, is OCS tough? Yes, but if you are fit and can do things quickly and efficiently, then there is no problem. Also, learn to command (forget the Hollywood stereotypes) and command well when asked. I've found it useful to read more war stories, especially those involving jungle warfare. The ones from the Vietnam War are all very practical and instructional. But I think the simple rule for Infantry Commanders is: "Adapt and trained your men well and bring everyone home alive."

Most of all, no matter how tough the training is, keep your dignity, integrity and sense of humour. In the end, no one likes a lousy mate... in OCS or after becoming an officer. Or even as an NCO for that matter.

Afternote: You can read my BMT story here: Mad Dog Wee.  Related story: Mr Sign Extra Next story: Army Guys and Porn 

Cadet Taiwan 2 - R and R (Noodles, Books and Tiger Shows)

We cadets, of course, looked forward to our R&R at the end of our long period of Taiwan training. At the time, we weren't sure if our R&R destination was going to be Kaoshiung or Taipei. For some reason, we were told to expect the decision later. It turned out to be the industrial city of Kaoshiung. We were disappointed but not by much.

Before we left, we were given condoms to bring along. SAF soldiers were then known to be quite notorious in the red light districts of both cities.

I still remember that time we were given those lifesavers. We were all in our all-white PT kit sitting on those shared large wooden bunk beds cleaning our weapons for the very last time. In came our appointment-holder sergeant, a fellow cadet named Lim. He plonked down a plastic bag of condoms on the bed and ordered them to be passed around. "Each one take two, whether you are going to use it or not. I don't want any of them back," he said laughingly. Lim was efficient but also quite the joker. What he said was perfectly understandable. The Army had to be seen doing its job of offering sexual health aids to its 'blur', 'sotong' soldiers. And what would shy Cadet Lim do with all that prophylactics if we refused? Play stud?

I was amused at the time as I wondered which amongst us educated officer-to-be cadets would do the dumb thing of visiting a prostitute. I could understand if a Hokkien Peng soldier did that.. Not us so-called educated blokes who should know better. Of course, I was rather naive then. Visiting a prostitute has nothing to do with a person's education level. Just look at the scandal now enveloping the Civil Service in Singapore. Top civil servants involved in an online vice ring? And one of them an ex-principal of a well-known school some more. Who would expect that?

Of course, boys will always be boys. We opened the condom packs and started fooling around. Some made balloons while others showed how the condom could waterproof an M16 rifle, our wife. The Army was right: these sex aids were indeed very useful!

Kaohsiung City didn't turn out to be that bad at all. Even then it was already a proper city with wide thoroughfares and multistorey glass and concrete buildings (albeit just one or two though). Me and my buddies went to one (that looked like Takashimaya) and slurped up beef noodles at a foodcourt at the top level. The food court was an open-concept one right next to an amusement centre for kids. The noodles they served were fine (like our mee kia) and tasted handmade. It was famously from Taichung - a city we;;-known for its noodles. But the portions were small. I ended up eating three sets which drew wide-eyed looks of wonderment from that sweet girl serving us.

After the meal, we decided to look for a bookshop. At the time, Kaoshiung was the pirate book capital of Asia and I was under orders to buy certain texts for my brother's Marine Engineering course. He also advised me to pick up a title or two for my later Engineering studies at the local university. At the bookshop, we noted that a thick economic textbook was very popular with would-be students from Singapore. Another one was Grey's Anatomy, a popular but very expensive text (in original form) with the medical students.

I bought my school books (which were heavy) and also an extra lovely one on architectural rendering techniques. I still make reference to it even today. At the time I intended to make the switch from Engineering to Architecture if the administrative folks allowed.

Many of the pirated books were printed on cheap jotter paper and the illustrations in grey scale. Only the covers were of thick and embossed quality not unlike those offered by the photocopy shops in Queensway Shopping Centre. All the pirated books were priced at a fraction of the cost of the originals.

After the bookshop, we returned to our hotels to drop off the heavy items. We then went and explored Kaohsiung a bit more. At various trinket stalls, vendors were always trying to sell us "ma lao" or red jadite, which is still a major export product for Taiwan. That was not the first time we heard about such jade though.

Back at Base Camp, vendors were allowed to sell us cadet outside things in the canteen. Most sold ma lao and Cat's Eye - a dark grey or brown gemstone with a shiny slit band in the middle that made it look like the iris shape of a cat's eye, hence its name. They also tried to sell us all sorts of "kiam sern tee" or preserved tidbits. There were also local fruits.

Walking around the streets of Kaohsiung, we could not help but notice many Taiwanese girls riding scooters on their own. With a scooter, one could still wear a long swishy dress, still very feminine. Also, back then, helmet wearing wasn't compulsory yet and a few female riders could be seen wearing a sun hat or headscarf instead. It was all very charming and feminine. It was quite the sight when 10 or more scooters stopped at a traffic light.

At our hotel, a rumour was going around that someone had arranged for a Tiger Show. For the blur sotong, a Tiger Show is not a Siegfried and Roy-type of animal circus. It is a cabaret show that featured a woman doing unimaginable but incredible things with her privates. She could swallow up a beer bottle; spit out ping-pong balls like a machine gun (like that scene in the movie Priscilla: Queen of the Desert), or snap a sugarcane in two. That last bit is worth the admission ticket alone, I was told. If she could snap a sugarcane in two, what about your less than iron-clad dick?

I heard a Tiger Show performer could even swallow razor blades with her incredible vagina - a fact that would make anyone go "ewww", cross their legs, and hope not to die!

Of course, I was both disgusted and fascinated by such talk. In the end, I decided not to beladen my mind with such memories and so did not add my name to the list of patrons. I was sure the performer could do with the extra money, but I just couldn't bring myself to watch something quite like that. Such Tiger Shows would become staple for subsequent SAF soldiers who went to Taiwan and remained talked about for a long time. (A female editor friend of mine at a magazine once arranged a Tiger Show for a girlfriend's shower here in Singapore. I believe it took place at The Mandarin. Needless to say, they were all traumatised by the event and one even threw up. But that did not stop my editor friend from writing about her experience in the subsequent magazine issue.)

Before we left for R&R, our Staff Sergeant Karu did warn us to be wary of midnight knocks on our hotel doors. My buddies and I were allocated  a room on the fourth floor and worried about it. At around 1 am, sure enough, a lady knocked on my door and asked if I wanted "a xiao jie" (lady). I said no and went back to sleep.

The next morning, me and my buddy talked about it over breakfast. He was fast asleep and did not wake. We also saw a couple of xiao jies leaving the hotel. They weren't at all the skimpily-clad startlet sort with bad make-up. Most were plumpish and dressed like your average "da jie". She could have been my neighbour with a kid in kindergarten. I don't know, maybe I was too sold on 70's Hollywood image of a hooker back then.

The whole experience was rather startling. But if movies were to be believed, then the way the prostitutes behaved in a recent top-grossing Korean movie is even more unusual. In that film (titled The Chaser), prostitutes would even drive and pick up their clients and bring them to wherever they wanted the 'deed' done. This appear to make the whole economic transaction a 'buyer's market' in Korea. Is it really like that? Apparently the story was based on a real-life incident about a prostitute serial killer. (Now you can understand why it was so easy for the killer to nab his victims. They served themselves up literally!)

Another thing Staff Sgt Karu told us was to be wary when inside a barber shop. He said they provided more than just hair trimming services. It beggars the imagination of how big the sex industry was in Kaohsiung then. It would appear that every mother, daughter, aunt, hairstylist was involved in it somehow, maybe even the lady who served you beef noodles might throw in something 'extra'. The heresay and rumours became rather ridiculous (to me at least) after a while. But then again, without uniform servicemen, places like Bangkok and Subic Bay (in the Phillipines) might not have become so notorious and infamous. And we Singaporean soldiers training in Taiwan did do our part in helping create such a nefarious industry there. This aside, I remember coming across an adult cinema during one of my strolls through the backlanes of the city. It was small and seemed to be part of a dilapidated warehouse complex.

In any case, my overall R&R in Kaohsiung wasn't too bad. I really enjoyed the street food. The one thing I took away from that place wasn't the Tiger Show nor was it the brazen ladies-of-the-night calling. Nor was it the pushy salesgirls trying to sell me ma lao jade all the time. It was that traffic there could be a killer. Whether it was bike or taxi, the folks there drove with impunity, crisscrossing lanes and weaving in and out of traffic with no regard for rules or their own lives even. It was very similar to the traffic lawlessness in India or Batam today.

After a narrow miss waiting to cross a side street, I remember thinking how silly it would be for me to survive mountainous Taiwan army training to be killed like a stray dog on the street. That was something the good folks in the Army did not warn us about. No amount of condoms is going to help me with that one if I didn't open my own eyes to what's zooming about me. 

Afternote: It would be 12 years later that I revisited Taiwan for army training. This time the R&R was in Taipei. Traffic might have improved but the same sexual activities still beckoned, including that infamous Tiger Show. 

Related story: Army Guys & Porn Next story: Tough Cadet Training

Cadet Taiwan 1 - Training

I think as a cadet, we all looked upon our impending training in Taiwan as some sort of expansive military training that included travel. It's not the same as Brunei. Brunei was more jungle and back to basics. Taiwan, we romanticised as a place of natural beauty with scenic and spiritual mountains and valleys and rice fields.

We also understood that in Taiwan, Point A to Point B would be wholly further than the same two points in Singapore! But that's ok. The cool weather in Taiwan made walking that distance a pleasure (or so we imagined).

We went to Taiwan during our Senior Term in OCS when we were already "lao chiau" (old bird) cadets; it was just another exercise for us (named Ex Starlight). But to those who were vying for the Sword of Honor award, Taiwan training was proofing ground for appointment holders. I had no such aspirations, so I pretty much looked forward to our "holiday" trip.

To Brunei, we flew on C130 cargo planes; to Taiwan, we took SIA planes. That itself said something very different about our training focus.

From the airport, we took a long bus ride to Hengchun - a dusty outpost right at the southern tip of the Taiwan island.

We stayed in old single and double-storeyed brick/plaster buildings with peeling paint, and slept on communal wooden bunkbeds (long, wide ones). We did everything communal then. When we bathed, we scooped cold water from a waist-high cement trough in the centre of the bathroom. When we pooped it was a squat over a long drain that ran through all the cubicles. God bless if the person in the cubicle before you was having diarrhea; everything would just run by you if someone flushed. As you can expect in such a situation, toilet ceremonies were accomplished with a minimum of fuss. Who could loiter and read in such conditions? (The rush to the toilet was usually to "secure" the use of the first toilet in the row, to avoid all the other "shit", so to speak!)

Although training was tough, I enjoyed my Taiwan topo the most. We crisscrossed mountains and many farmlands. The scenery was unlike anything most of us have seen, not even in Malaysia, except perhaps Cameron Highlands. There were a couple of memorable incidents: One time, my topo group bumped into another and we decided to join force. The six or so of us were hungry and thirsty. Not long after, we chanced upon an orchard and walked by a pomelo tree with some 12-14 ripe fruits hanging invitingly in the air. The tree was average sized but narrow, no taller than the usual rambutan tree in Singapore. We knew the fruits were ripe because a few had already dropped to the ground.

Having eaten all the fruits we could pick up (and checking to see that no one was around) we used the last pomelo as a tossing cannonball to knock the others off their high perches. Down they came with hardly a dent (there was ample of us to catch the falling ones). Incredibly we sat there and ate them all up, cradling our rifles all the time in case we needed to scoot. That was one satisfying fruit "robbing" trip, better than drinking those instant lemonade drink the SAF provided in our combat rations. The pomelo juice was all natural!

However, as good soldiers, we felt guilty looking at the bare tree afterwards and so decided to leave some money behind as recompense. We jammed the notes into the latch-lock of a small shed by the tree. We hoped the amount would be enough for what we took! Oddly enough, that was the only pomelo tree there. Perhaps we were destined to run into this "giving" tree*, haha. (*A Shel Silverstein book reference.)

Another time, after sampling some soft and juicy pear-sized guava fruit (walking through an orchard no less), we came upon a stretch of light forested area that was filled with large grey spiders. Usually chatty and talking cock during open topo trips like this, we for once shut up and held out our rifles in front of us. That way, we could break any web that might happen to lay across our path. The way we were supposed to go was a footpath through a light secondary forest; we had little choice but to continue. With so many spiders to the left and right of us, the whole passage was quite unnerving. Besides, the situation was made worse with daylight failing. Fortunately, we managed to tiptoe our way out of there without incident. No spider attacked us nor anyone turned hysterical!

At the end of the path, we turned each other round to make sure no eight-legged furball hitched a ride on our SBOs and full-packs. And guess what? We later learned that Taiwan was home to giant brown tarantulas as well. I guess it was good that we did not know that fact earlier or else we would have high-tailed out of there like schoolgirls seeing a ghost. That would have caused some post traumatic stress disorder or PSTD, eh? Man, that would be most embarrassing!

I enjoyed topo-ing through the south of Taiwan very much. It was all very scenic and nostalgic. Often we would come across some charming hamlet with an old Chinese house dating back to the early century, set in some valley painted rush yellow by rice fields waiting to be harvested. There would be streams trickling by stone embanked roads or into rock pools.

The households were often friendly, and the hamlet store owners happy to make us tired soldiers a nice bowl of cup noodles. The kids loved our SAF-issued hardtack biscuits because the taste was actually milky. I liked them biscuits too and would off-load any we could spare to the hamlet kids running up to us chanting "ah ping ge" (Big Brother soldier). One time I even saw the hardtack biscuits being sold from a tin in a hamlet shop still packed in their dark green army packaging.

Another thing about the kids was that they were always very tanned, looking very much like Malay or Thai children. I think it had to do with the fact that high up in the mountains, UV rays were stronger. The village men and women folk were also no less spared. No wonder they all wore long-sleeved shirts and covered their heads with a scarf or straw hat when out in the fields!

Up in the mountains, it would get very cold suddenly too. We then had no choice but to put on those smelly and scratchy SAF woolen pullovers. Taiwan was perhaps the only time we used them as coming from tropical Singapore we didn't need them usually. I wonder if such pullovers are standard issue still.

Food back in base camp was ok. The bonus was to be given the unusual produce from Taiwan's huge fruit industry. I had my first taste (or no taste, depending on one's reaction) of dragon fruit; as well as a green apple-ish fruit that had flesh the fibrous texture of celery stalk. I've not eaten or seen that fruit since.

Probably the toughest training we had during Taiwan was the one that involved digging defensive positions or a.k.a "trench digging".

The hill we Platoon 10 was assigned to defend was part of a mountainous range. As usual the place had been dug before by  a previous batch of trainees and finding a new spot there to dig became a challenge. That was not the only problem. The area had ready-made bunkers that we were all grateful to discover. Yay! No more digging or so we thought. We actually put the suggestion to our platoon commander, Capt Ang. Weren't we suppose to use existing structures whenever possible to save time and energy? Wasn't that what we were taught?

No, came the reply. Don't get smart-alecky with me, Capt Ang said. You dig.

And so, we "kuai kuai" returned to our positions and marked out our future trenches. We knew it was a long shot getting Capt Ang to agree as we were on a training exercise. But dang, staying in those mad-made bunkers would have been such a sweet deal! And so, not really disappointed, we dug and dug and dug. And dug some  more.

What was supposed to be a two-night affair turned out to be a four-night one with the trenches going no further than knee-deep. The trenches were supposed to be chest-deep by then. The earth was not hard but the rocks were, as were the roots of those tough, sinuous mountain trees.

We broke so many changkuls that Capt Ang finally gave the order to stop. We couldn't afford to sign any more 1206s (army doc for lost or damaged goods). We cadets also couldn't afford any more fingers for blistering either.

In the end, we went back to the original idea of using the existing structures. I was fortunate to be next to one and so organised noodle parties on the quiet for my cadet buddies who were on the same ridge line. That simple bunker shielded us from our imaginary enemies and our not-so-imaginary instructors. It kept the wind out marvelously for our stove-fires to keep going for churning up warm and comforting noodle soup. Man, what comfort!

Afternote: After some experience, my advice is not to have instant noodles. The chemicals play havoc with your bowel system (same with 3-in-1 teas and coffees). It's better to just have fruit. In any case, there's so much option in the supermart these days - from cup soups to cup noodles to packet cereal. Milo was fine but Horlicks we avoided because it made us heaty. And, instant beehoon was at the time a novelty.

Related story: Lantern Night and Brunei Training; Next: R&R in Kaohsiung

Brunei Training

Many who have gone through NS would point to their overseas stints as some of the toughest. For Infantry fellas, that would be Brunei and Taiwan (or ROC as it was commonly known then, i.e the Republic of China). At the time, NS fellas also went to Thailand where guardsmen trained with helicopters and tanks. Their chief complaint? That the place and weather were devilishly hot and parched.

Taiwan was tough because its mountains were real, not the exaggerated mole hills like those found in Singapore. A flanking movement around a typical mountain there took 35 mins, not ten. And when we marched to a fighting locale, it was at a fast pace for at least 5 km non-stop, often over rocky terrain beside stream beds. At the end, your soles would be blistered and your backs bent.

But the training in Taiwan was not without its compensations. The scenery was good and the occasional nutrition (aka forbidden farm fruit) delicious. Guava fruit was typically soft-fleshed and as big as a Chinese pear.

There were plenty of padi fields too from which we 'ah peng-gor' (Hokkien) were banned from cutting through. Taiwanese farmers enjoyed complaining about our transgressions, whether real or imagined, and would then ask for compensation from our Ministry of Defence. A boot print found on a bund became a whole platoon trampling all over - that kind of exaggerated story. Since we were guest soldiers in another country, it was understandable for the Army to get all sensitive and antsy over this matter. They said a footprint cost the government some $20,000 each time.

The icing on the cake for every Taiwan trip was the R&R, which stood for "rest and relax", more so relax, I think. In Brunei, I don't remember being offered any R&R. It was training and back we came. In any case, there wasn't much to do in that country except pray and swat flies. The main town itself was as dull as the colour of its main river, which was many times wider, larger and browner than our own.

In Brunei, their hills and mountains were also many times higher and larger. - They were a hell lot steeper too. And the slopes there always seemed to go on and on (like in that song, Stairway To Heaven). A climb would invariably lead to a higher one and a new horizon. The slopes will tease you, mock you. So when folks say Brunei training is tough, believe it. People don't come back with "thunder thighs" for no reason. The steep hill-climbing may be "sibeh siong'" (very tough, as they say in Hokkien) but hey, not insurmountable. Folks have done it and so have I! You can too!

To Brunei, I went as a cadet. To Taiwan, I went twice; once as a cadet and then as a reservist.

My cadet Brunei trip was memorable because I was the admin appointment holder (platoon sergeant role) both before and during the trip. Usually it is one or the other but I had excelled bringing the whole platoon over, so Sgt Karu and Capt Ang (my platoon sergeant and commander respectively) decided to keep me on to make sure that our time in Brunei was smooth and trouble-free. I didn't mind it at all because I was doing a good job. It would only be terrible if they had kept me on because I was faltering and needed "further assessment".

But I was terribly tired because I had not slept for four days. Capt Ang actually had me do guard duty the weekend before our trip (see "Mr Sign Extra" blog) which I thought was rather lousy timing. But once Capt Ang said "Take extra!", that was that. Any further bargaining was futile.

I remember arriving in Brunei and then settling my boys into a wooden bunkhouse. The place was rather cramped and we had to sleep on bunkbeds that were part of the structure. After dumping our duffel bags inside we then assembled outside for further briefing. There were admin matters to inform everyone. Matters such as where the ROs (routine orders) would be pinned up, armskote procedures, etc. Usually the first exercises were the topo ones and so maps and such had to be drawn out from the stores and folded up to their respective area of ops and "talced" (covered in clear plastic and waterproofed).

There was the weaponry to dispense as well. We all hoped to get a weapon (the M16 rifle) that is not too dirty from the previous batch of soldiers. But even if they had been cleaned and oiled these weapons would always be dirty. "Elephants" could still be found in the barrels. We often wondered how the previous batch passed inspection in the first place!

Losing and damaging stuff overseas was a major concern. If we had misplaced something in Singapore during training we could go always double back to look for it. But not so when overseas. It would be too much of a hassle what with the distance and big training area.

When something was damaged or lost, we all signed that familiar 1206 document and pay $$$ for it. "1206" thus became army buzzword for things lost or damaged. No matter who lost what, we all signed 1206 for the item as a group. The money came out of our own collective pockets.

But some things were just too precious to lose. Restricted stuff like maps, compasses, and of course, the M16 rifle. A soldier could get charged with misdemeanor or be court-marshalled for losing important and pricey items. No one in my platoon ever got charged, but we did lose a couple of dummy claymore mines.

To get over my lack of sleep and keep my energy up, I took to eating chocolate bars. In particular, there was this delicious one with coconut filling. I remember it was not a Cadbury but a Bounty - bought from that Chinese Emporium at Woodlands Central near the Causeway Police Customs just outside my home.

In any case, I finally managed to lay my head down that first night in Brunei. It wasn't the best sleep but it was enough. As admin sergeant, I was the first to wake up the next day and be ready earlier than the rest. My internal alarm works best when I have a task ahead of me.

The next few days in Brunei flew by real quick.

We started off with topo exercises to get a feel of the land. And then it was section exercises followed by platoon ones.

Whenever outside in the jungle, we were always wary of leeches. A damp patch on the ground was indication enough. In Brunei, leeches did not just crawl on the ground but dropped from the above tree canopy as well. The first time we were back from an exercise, some of us were already bitten. One cadet had a couple of small leeches on his crotch. That made us boys respect the little critters a little more. It took real talent to wriggle all the way up there!

To get rid of these creatures, we were told to use either fire or vinegar. I had both on me: a lighter and a small eyedrop bottle filled with household vinegar. The bottle was a recycled Eye-Mo one handy enough to be rubberbanded onto the helmet like how the GIs in Vietnam did theirs.

I was never bitten. The only leeches I saw were the ones my platoon mates brought back to the bunk. (The same in Taiwan, actually)

A preparation we were told to make to deter the leeches and mosquitoes had us soaking our army fatigues in red tobacco water (red tobacco as those rolled by amahs of old. If you think pre-packed cigarettes are expensive today, just go to a Chinese medical hall shop and buy these roll ones. They are cheaper but deadlier as they do not have any filters). We all carried out that uniform soaking thing. I am not sure if it worked but there was no harm otherwise.

Besides the leeches, mud and weather also conspired to make life difficult in Brunei. Mud could be everywhere and anywhere.... and a few of us had a taste of it when we unwittingly walked onto what we thought was hard, dried mud. We were in a clearing on the edge of a jungle. What happened then was that we sank crotch-deep into one innocently looking caked-up surface. It was quite demoralising as we still had a better part of the day to get through. Imagine your boots and pants all caked in clayish mud not long after setting off from camp! As usual, we learned to clean up and disregard such annoyances and pressed on.

(The deep mud reminded me of quick sand, something I was very wary of because I watched TV Tarzan a lot when I was a kid. Fortunately, the mud holes we encountered were not dangerous at all. And the rivers were usually dry and had no crocodiles for us to wrestle in!)

Brunei's weather was predictable but bad for trips into the jungle. It would be searingly hot in the mornings and by four in the afternoon, a thunderstorm. We would often get drenched come sundown. Although the rain cooled us down, it also got our uniforms wet. It was better to be dry going into the night for it would be a few hours more before we settled down and harboured. The rain also made us use up an extra set of uniforms, something we could ill afford. (Especially when there's a river crossing too.)

Moving about in the Bruneian jungle at night was challenging. It was always pitch black and cold. Condensation was very bad in the mornings and if one was not careful, exposed stuff could get very very wet (like your uniform and M16). Then there's deadfall, or what happens when dying branches drop from trees and hit the ground (if they didn't hit you first!).

At one time while rushing to get to an RV (rendezvous) point, we half-skipped, half-ran through the jungle in the night. It was a miracle no one sprained an ankle or twisted a knee. Our eyes actually got accustomed to the darkness without ever needing any torchlight. When we harboured that night, Sgt Karu and PC Ang brought us to a particular place. It had very little canopy cover and for once we welcomed the stars. We found out why later that night when we heard 'thumps' nearby. Deadfall had missed us by not much, but we were all safe and sound.

Another thing that impacted our Brunei training were the fire ants. They were so huge that whenever they marched over dead leaves at night, we could hear them crunching along. To avoid them, we were taught to sleep in trees. The same with ground snakes. We also used yellow sulphur powder to repel them, sprinkling them along the edges of our ground sheet. That worked quite well actually. Sulphur powder was not provided by the army then. We had to buy them outside, from army surplus shops like those along Beach Road.

Some say you are not really a soldier until you have been to Brunei. In a sense, that's true. The terrain, weather, creatures... all conspire to test your endurance. In the end, it is You vs Nature. I took it as one big adventure camp and got through it. I was also into badminton and was grateful for the thunder thighs the training gave me. We often sprinted up and down slopes as part of endurance training. Thunder thighs are needed to help you do a jump-smash.

One challenge proved more difficult: the whining and complaining of platoon mates. Out in the field, that could be irritating. Mostly it had to do with poor physical and mental condition. Some mates needed a little cajoling to feel better. In cases such as these, I've always found stuff like mints and "kiam sern tee" (Hokkien) to work best. As always, go to a place prepared, especially Brunei!

Some topo sessions became our best time for 'talking cock' and telling each other knock-knock jokes. Off-colour ones even, why army time with friends is always special for many.

At the end of day, the jungle can either be your friend or enemy. A friend with spikes, actually.

The Bruneian jungle is quite similar to Singapore's Mandai and have many of those "wait-a-while" Nipal palm shrubs that have stems covered in thorns. They hook onto your uniform or make it tough for you to clear a path. So it is not good at all to slip on a slope and accidentally grab one. I almost did one time but saw it just in the nick of time. You can imagine the pain that would have ensued!

When in Brunei, one really needs to keep an eye out at all times even if it is pitch black at night. For me, Brunei was a challenging but memorable trip. End of day, almost every NS fella has to go through it. Now I can say I have been baptised.

Afternote: To prepare for Brunei, we were told to jog with a fullpack with a 5-kg pack of rice in it. Yes, I did do that, especially on weekends at home. Running and 'duck-walking' up slopes also helped to develop muscular thighs. These days, NS men can easily go to a gym at one of the SAFRA centres or neighbourhood stadium. Back in my day, that was rather unusual; only certain community centres had such hobby clubs and equipment (and basic ones at that).

Related stories: Field Camp and Taiwan Training

A Time of Changes

My time in National Service was characterised by changes. Changes to the uniforms we wore, gear we carried, style of man-management and doctrine.

It is best encapsulated in how I started my NS in starched No.3 and then exited it wearing the camouflaged No.4.

In many ways, my batch were the "in-betweeners" - folks who sampled a little of the old school 70s and had a taste of where the SAF was heading in the 80s and beyond.

The changes started intruding when I was in OCS Senior Term. One day, we were told to report for a lesson in casual No.4, boots brushed. Not the usual stiff No.3 with polished boots.

Really? Serious? No more polishing of boots? Woo-hoo! I could literally hear whoops of relief echoing through the corridors of our Delta Company.

The next change came the chance to wear new camouflaged uniforms. We knew there were two designs up for selection, but on that day, they gave to us the Commando one, the design with the narrower camouflaged stripes, those that looked like jiggly strips of chopped cabbage. It was made of cotton, and when washed, would wrinkle more because of the extra colors. No matter. We were the first Infantry men to wear camouflaged uniforms in public. It was National Day Parade at the Padang.

However, soon after the parade, we returned the uniforms, gave our feedback and heard nothing more on the issue.

The next change was to exchange our 20-round M16 magazines for 30-round ones. We were glad because the old ones would empty very quickly with just a few pops of the trigger; we had to reload frequently. With the change in magazines came the new SBO. We, after all, would need new pouches to carry the longer magazines in.

Wearing the new SBOs was like first time wearing cargo pants: More pocket space!

The old SBO was terribly stiff and we had skin burns while trying to climb that low wall in SOC or when 'fireman lifting' a buddy. The ammo pouches also could never close properly and the strap hooks always needed black tape to keep in place. Not long after getting the SBO, we got our new fullpack as well. The new pack was miles better than the old one. For one thing, it had side pouches we could actually close. Previously we would lose things (such as the aluminium tent pegs) when our fullpacks got thrown into the three tonners. We had to resort to packing our stuff in plastic bags to make them chunkier in those lousy pouches. Because adventure shops then were selling better stuff, we were very happy to get rid of these WWII relics once and for all and begin to adopt more modern gear.

Perhaps the biggest change I've ever encountered during my time was when I passed out of OCS as its first batch of Mentor instructors. The Mentor system at the time replaced the old Tactics Team system, which had been training cadets for quite a while... my batch included.

I didn't like the Tactics Team instructors very much because more often then not, they were rather ill-tempered and abusive. There was also a 'us versus them (cadets)' mentality because come lesson time, we would be handed over to whichever team was conducting the lesson. Our platoon commander and platoon sergeant might not be even present, and so, we would be left to the mercies of these manic instructors.

One celebrated incident happened during Evade and Capture, one of the last exercises of our Senior Term. An instructor got overzealous in his role as tormentor and hurt a cadet. I believed the cadet got whipped and hung too long from a ceiling. This kind of thing would not have happened if the new Mentor system was in place. Under this new system, the whole nine-month OCS course would be handled by the cadet's own officers, i.e. PC and PS, with the help of four Mentor instructors, each assigned to one section. The respective company commander was overall in charge of the whole program, so no one would want to see a cadet under their charge hurt.

I did not continue as Mentor instructor but switched to join the Demo Team as its new head. It was quite fun because together with the Weapons section, we were the only specialist instruction team left in OCS then. It's ok, we were decent instructors well-loved and respected.

Another incident with the old Tactics Team instructors happened to my platoon mate and topo partner Sam. We were rushing to our next checkpoint in the forest because we were running a little late. We were glad to finally spot the checkpoint instructor who was sitting on his foldable 'safari' stool chewing on a stalk of grass. He wore a soft Ranger hat. We went up to him and reported.

Instead of asking if we were having problems, this instructor looked us up and down and started berating: "Who do you think you are? Two slow ladies?" Sam and I got nothing to say. We were late, but only just.

"Are you sure you are even a man?" With that, he grabbed Sam's balls and squeezed. Sam was shocked and stood paralyzed. I too was shocked and instinctively grabbed my rifle. I don't know what I would have done if that instructor had not let go. I think he must have seen my intention and turned away. He gruffly signed our map with the next checkpoint coordinates and bellowed us to get the hell out of there.

Along the way, I asked Sam if he was ok. He mumbled something, and I could see that he was tearing up, probably more from disappointment than shame. Did that instructor have to do that?

Back in OCS, I popped over to Sam's bunk to see if he was ok. As usual, he had his Christian songs on. He seemed to have recovered his composure. I asked if he wanted to complain to our PC. He replied no, that  he didn't want to stir up any controversy and so would just let it go. Sam was a good chap. Enthusiastic and athletic. It made me wonder why that instructor had picked on him. Well, it could easily have been me instead. Sam was certainly no "gu niang". After OCS, he went and joined the Commandoes.

Another big change came when I was already an officer and settled into my role as Demo Instructor. I received a memo to attend a class on Transactional Analysis, or TA.

I'd read Eric Berne (the father of TA) as a schoolboy out of personal interest, so knew what it was all about. I was just surprised that the Army was embracing it.

TA is all about ego states and ids, that primary force that drives our desires and wants. According to Berne, we present ourselves in three ego states whenever we engage someone: Parent, Adult, Child. We switch ego states depending on whom we meet (real, ego or imagined). If we meet someone needy (Child) we might turn on our protective self (Parent) - it all depends on what kind of emotional reward we want to get out of that social transaction or how we might want to handle it. Why TA is called, well, TA.

Berne's work is best understood in his seminar book "Games People Play". Many of its examples, however,  seem to illustrate how one might deal with people with addiction and unreasonable behaviours. After finishing that book, you will be able to recognise emotional blackmail in all its varied and sneaky forms.

How then could TA be applied to the Army? Were all its officers and men masters of emotional blackmail that Eric Berne had to be called upon for help? (Haha)

The obvious help that TA could provide were those essential insights into our ego states whenever we communicated. More often than not, the relationship between officer and men was one of authority and subordinate. If officers presented themselves less as a Parent, would the subordinate respond less as a Child? An Adult-Adult transaction is often (mistakenly) deemed to be best, but emotionally, the pay-off is low. So, there's no point in harping why we can't be all Adult all the time. The best is to recognise a transaction for what it is.

And so, I think TA helped ushered in a new age of Communication and Understanding between officer and men and between everybody else at the time.

I think its impact cannot be underestimated. It probably helped to empower individuals to think more for themselves and for the Army to approach productivity from bottom-up than top-down. WITS (work improvement teams) was highly popular and functional in my time.

A Child after all doesn't grow if it is not asked to be Adult.

That said, for a while afterwards, there were many officers in OCS who walked around with rather confused minds and egos. Should I present my Child? Or wear my Adult. Maybe I should rein in my Parent. Haha. It was an interesting period.

But there was no confusion when the SAF decided to promote warrant officers to junior officer status. To me, that was long-time coming. I've always believed in ability rather than rank. And something like a silly school certificate should not stand in the way. The SAF is a specialised force unto its own. It can do whatever and however it wishes to capable within its own ranks. No need to follow what happens in the civil service where paper qualifications are everything. I am glad there is a better through-path for capable soldiers now. And a recognition that not everyone with bars on their shoulders are effective leaders in peace time or war. Leadership is the most important asset in any army.

The next change in my NS life came when we started to wear the new two-tone coloured No. 3 for official duties. It was without doubt a  hands-down winner over the old starched ones. And we got to wear our berets too.

Of course, the final change came when I traded in my Temasek Green uniforms for those new insulated camouflaged No.4s. They were warmer to wear but protected us better from scrapes. These 'camous' stayed the standard No. 4 uniform for quite a while. Only recently was it replaced by the new 'digital' camous that is lighter green in colour.

You know your uniform has passed into history when construction workers start wearing them as work clothes. It happened to my Temasek Greens. Now it is happening to my 'broad patch' camous. These workers do recognise a good set of work clothes when they see one.

After note: During my time, the man-carry 60mm mortar was retired from service as well. Took three fellas to carry it including ammo. They were very heavy and everybody tried to "siam" carrying it during training. But it was a very useful near-range artillery weapon which was replaced by the M203 grenade launcher (which we also learned to handle). Next story: Brunei Training

Lost Fingers

Looking back, I am glad to have joined the Weapons and Demolition 'Demo' Team in OCS. Besides feeling extra special about being the only instructor team left in the school, the experience gave me extra confidence and knowledge in handling dangerous explosives even if the kinds we deployed then were limited to military use.

We used two kinds: 1. Those that were very sensitive to temperature and pressure; 2. Those that you could throw into a fire. Knowing which was which and what was what made one less a "panic chicken" when confronted with a sample to use. At OCS, it made for a saner existence and a calmer teaching environment.

Probably the most notorious explosive of them all had to be this electric detonator that came in a small aluminum tube with two long trailing electrical wires attached (usually in yellow and white). Most folks were fearful of handling EDs and who could blame them! They were easily induced with electrical energy by stray radio waves and explode. You see, a detonator is very simply a small explosive charge that sets off a larger one. And often, a VERY MUCH BIGGER ONE!. This is because explosives are like chronically lazy people who needs a kick up their backsides to get them going. And like a party balloon exploding, they would wake up with a pop. Like Austin Powers might say, "It's shockwave, baby!"

Basically, in the world of explosives, there are two types of detonators: Electric (ED) and non-electric (NED). The difference lay in how you want to set it off. The detonator themselves are of the same construct. If you slice one open (just imagine it, don't do it), it consists of a high explosive (HE) element at the far end, some intermediate explosive in the middle, and some fire-sensitive explosive at the near end. Sometimes the middle bit is skipped and only two composite compounds are used. And the reason for having a fire-sensitive end is so it can be activated by a burning fuse (which is nothing but gun powder or cordite wrapped up in water-proof paper). Often, this sensitive compound of the detonator is cued to pressure as well, so it is not good to go stomping on one! Or even attempt to push one into a plastic explosive like they always do in the movies. The friction can cause heat and make the detonator explode. We were taught to always use a pen or finger to make a hole first!)

In EDs, the means of firing is an electronic fuse, not a match-lit one. Think of a bulb filament being afixed inside a non-electronic detonator. When that filament glows, kaboom! So when carrying EDs around, it is never a good idea for the two wire leads (one +ve, the other -ve) to be picking up stray electromagnetic inductions. The detonator bit may be small (usually the size of an AA battery and half as thin) but it is after all an HE charge. Even if you don't die, a large part of you will be pulverized. I don't recommend it even if it is to tenderise meat. And high explosives have a particularly noxious smell.

To prevent EDs from accidentally catching, the thing to do is twist their end strands together. In this way, eddy currents (i.e. induced electric currents) will be shorted out and not circulate. You live to blow something else up another day!

One demonstration we liked to show the cadets during the lesson on detonators was called The Helmet Show. It was to emphasize how powerful a small detonator can be. We would fire off an NED under a steel helmet (the good ol' SAF steel helmet). A loud boom would result sending the helmet flying some 4m into the air. It's quite the spectacular sight and cadets would ooh and aah. They then quickly suck in breath when the helmet lands with a mighty thud in front of them.

I went through the same experience as a cadet myself. It gave me renewed respect for explosives, especially seeing how that powerful NED is not much bigger than our little pinky!

After the show, the cadets would then be required to practice crimping a detonator to a safety fuse. Although dummy detonators were used, some of the cadets still shivered with fear. It's true, if you had crimped too high on the sensitive part of the detonator it would blow up in your face. But with dummies, there was really nothing to worry about. (Well, unless you are the sort of clumsy clod who can even cut off a finger while trimming nails...then, God-bless.  You know, it's kind of impossible!)

However, we instructors were extra merciless with those "scaredy" cadets. We would drum into them the need to be discerning. No cadet graduated from my class (or any of my instructor's) as a Panic Chicken nor Cocky Bastard. Handling explosives require knowledge, care and respect. If you are short on one attribute, your time on this Earth could be severely limited. And on critical missions, I just cannot have an officer be unsure of handling what I find to be a powerful and useful weapon.

Back then, cadets in OCS had always been taught explosives during their Demolition lessons; they learnt the various kinds of charges and how to use them to blow up obstacles and booby traps. They would then carry this knowledge with them when they graduate as officers. But how much they remember or is confident of executing any demolition work is up to anyone's guess. Often, they only reprise this knowledge when setting up simulation charges for use during 'realistic' training exercises. At the time, a common explosive charge for this purpose was Ammunol (my spelling), a cylindrical thing sized between a condensed milk tin and a Milo one. It was more for sound effect than actual destruction although the hole it did make was rather large. Hey, it is still made up of TNT flakes loosely packed into a plastic container! An HE charge no less. Also, explosives in flake form can still do extensive damage. We used to pack a sack of it and place it at the base of a slope to send to blow a three tonner over (what is now known as road side incendiaries or IEDs (Iraq War-speak)).

As head of Demo Team, I always wondered how much explosive knowledge my cadets would retain after graduating as officers. If they were my students, I could make a guess. But for cadets/officers prior to my time, I had no inkling. If officers forget, they could simply refer to a handbook on the subject. It was the same anyway in the world's military.

One day, the thing we feared most happened. An officer and a couple of cadets were seriously injured during a routine training exercise. A simulation explosive circuit they had set up went off before it was fully put in place.

It killed a cadet instantly and wounded another; I think he lost an arm. The officer in charge (someone I didn't train and who was about to ROD) lost a number of fingers and had a side of his body burnt. Scant consolation for him.

As usual, a BOI - board of inquiry - was formed. My school head then, a Major Tan, called me into his office to better understand what could have happened. He gave me some details and asked for my opinion. From what he told me, it was an obvious case of premature detonation. That event in itself is not surprising. Electric thunderstorms have been known to set off detonators by accident. I remember reading a Vietnam War case of how claymore mines - an electrically fired anti-personnel mine - would set themselves off when surrounded by electrostatic air. And thunderstorms were then known to even set off road mines by direct lightning strikes.

But it was how the cadets and officer were injured that told me how the accident might have happened.

There is a sequence when it comes to laying out an explosive circuit. First, you need a trigger. Second, a detonator. Third, if the distance to the charge is long, a conducting det-cord is required. Fourth, the charge itself. It is quite straight forward on paper and it doesn't matter if it is an electrical or non-electrical setup - they all follow the same schema.

However, the actual work is quite different: There is only one sequence to doing it right. You start with the main charge and work backwards. You don't ever mix the more sensitive smaller charges (detonators) with the less sensitive bigger ones (a main charge like Ammunol) until you are ready to do so. (There's an operational imperative for putting the main charge in position first, but I let you figure that out for yourself.)

However, some soldiers (the commandos?) like to take the short-cut and lay everything out at the same time, i.e. have someone connect up the main charge while someone else is fixing up the trigger device. Another guy would be laying down the det-cord. It is like having three persons clean a rifle when it is fully loaded and cocked.

I know many elect to do it this way just to save time. This is especially so when the simulation circuit is large (trying to simulate multiple bombings) and the exercise is at night and everybody wanting to finish early and go home. But it is a very dangerous stunt to contemplate. Only in very extreme circumstances (involving the Special Forces?) should it be done.

After it became apparent to me what went wrong, I suggested to the CI that perhaps the next time, if ever a company was uncertain about Demolition matters, they should just contact my team right away. We would be most happy to do it for them.

Well, a few weeks later, when the use-of-explosives-in-training embargo was lifted, my suggestion to the CI became de facto. Henceforth, all simulation circuits would be designed and laid out by the Demo Team. My team partner Fong and I were only too glad to take on that extra responsibility, which would mean more nights out with the cadets at their training locations. Fong and I would not have it any other way. Something mortally bad had already happened, it made no sense to let it happen again either by chance, by force majeur (unpredictable weather) or even simple human error. In any case, the company commanders and their Mentor instructors themselves were really grateful and would treat us Demo Team members very well, even fetching us food and making sure we always had a spot at their GS dining table. (Fong and I used to joke: "Here goes our last meal!")

The CI never shared with me what the BOI found. They always never do. I did meet up with the injured officer after he was discharged from hospital. Besides losing some fingers, his hearing and sight were also affected. He was one of the better Mentor instructors so I felt bad for him. I just hoped that his emotional scars would heal just as quickly as his physical wounds.

From that time on, OCS never suffered anymore cases of injury from explosives used in training. We had removed an uncertain factor in one of its application in the school.

High explosives are powerful but they can be tamed. Just don't "play-play". Even explosives kept long in storage can behave in unpredictable ways. An example is the hand grenade. But that's another story.

(Note: If you were a cadet in OCS before, a confession for you: We actually used two detonators instead of one in The Helmet Show. It's more spectacular and you must admit, it worked! It does leave a deeper impression. This was something of a legacy practice in Demo teaching and the Team passed it  on from one batch of instructors to the next . ;-) Related story: Dead Cadet