OCS Stress

People have asked me if OCS is tough, stressful.... I can only tell them of my own experience. You see, each generation go through different aspects of the SAF (it's always evolving in both approach and practice; recruits also differ much in background and generational gap over the years) and mine was rather unusual in retrospect. I had a platoon commander and platoon sergeant who ran things rather differently. 

But in general I would say OCS training is tough. Tough on limbs, tough on sleep, tough on schedule. There were just too many things to learn and later, to practice over. There's also the physical aspect: officers are expected to be fitter than their men, whom they eventually are expected to command. I am, of course, referring to the infantry officer and his foot soldiers.

With so much happening within that nine months of OCS training, things sure got pretty interesting and challenging. Fortunately for us, our PC and PS did not add more stress to our packed coursework with their unreasonable demands, you know, demands such as late-night turnouts and other such "buggerations" (popular army term for 'inconveniences'). For many in OCS then, that was a way of life especially so during the early part of Senior Term. Being turned out at 3am in the morning in full battle order (FBO) and be taken out for a run up Penkang Hill or to the Water Pump Station (places that were just outside the Pasir Laba SAFTI camp) was rather frequent (I think one platoon in Charlie Company - ran by a PC Martin after my batch - got it the worse).

My platoon mates and I could count ourselves lucky to be spared that mostly. The end result was that we did not get laid-up unnecessarily and hence got more sleep. Our PC also kept his word to let us manage ourselves as long as we did not make him lose face. It was that simple. Rather :cina" you might say, but wholly effective! ("Cina" = old fashioned Chinese)

As a result we remained very self-motivated and never made him "malu". And the beauty of it all was that we did eventually outperform the other two so-called superior White Horse platoons in our cadet company - sweeping up all the OCS graduation prizes on offer, even the coveted Sword of Honour. (Note: "White Horse" to mean the princeling sons of ministers and other VVIPs in the government).

I think no cadet during our time wanted special VIP treatment (most were self-conscious about it anyways). But try telling that to his platoon commander. Do these officers want their careers to be "hentak-kakied" (Malay, for marking spot) if something happened to their special charges? I think not. Not even in fair-thinking Singapore. 

In my own cadet company, there was a platoon of government scholars. And over at same-batch Foxtrot Company (down the road) was Philip, the son of thorn-in-the-PAP-backside opposition politician JB Jeyaratnam. A buddy told me that Phil was a nice guy and stayed under the radar most of the time the nine months he was there. It helped that he looked like a harmless teddy bear in real life.

During my time, officer cadet training was still under the Tactics Team instructor system. We graduated and became OCS' first Mentors. The Mentor instructor system certainly changed the dynamics of training in OCS. But was it for the better?

Maybe.

My fellow would-be instructors and I discussed this at length during our OCS instructor preparatory course (IPC), which started in January right after our POP in December. The Mentor system was, after all, a major change to SAF pedagogy and life in OCS.

Unfortunately, I had to leave the IPC midway to join a conversion course at Gillman Camp in order to be able to teach Demolition later in OCS. For three months after, a buddy and I were actually taught a compressed Combat Engineering course. At the end of it all, we did not get to wear the blue beret of the CE corp but retained our own green infantry ones. I was relieved; I still wanted to be an infantry officer despite learning all those additional vocational skills (which I felt was a bonus, especially the in-depth training in handling booby traps, operating those Caterpillar earthmovers and various other plants such as backhoes and bulldozers, and also picking up skills in bridge-building (a fave was the old wooden ones!)

Maybe because our generation was better read or brought up differently, I just knew the new Mentors would do a better job than those TT instructors who were more like barkers than teachers - out to give back 20% more lousy treatment they themselves had gotten during their own cadet time.

But fitness aside, the pressure one felt as a cadet in OCS came primarily from three main sources: 1) Appointment Time; 2) Major Exercises; 3) Topography, or Topo.

1) Appointment Time
- A chance for a cadet to shine

We cadets all took turns with on some kind of Admin or Field appointment. Admin appointments had to do with those that ran barrack life. The ranks given were similar to those from the field, namely OC, CSM, PC, PS, SC and Armskoteman. 

Field appointments on the other hand were to test combat leadership or deployment skills under battleground conditions. Field appointments were mostly at PC, PS and SC levels. Come company-level exercise time, our cadet company career PCs (like our own Platoon 10 PC Capt Ang) would rotate to take on the OC role. The rest of us cadet PC appointment holders would then role-play as his exercise platoon commanders as per "estab" (term for army hierarchy). 

Needless to say everybody wanted to do well with either appointment types.... more so during field exercises. After all, we were in OCS to be trained as field unit platoon commanders rather than the admin ones. But graduating cadets who were deemed good in organisation were often kept back as instructors and then appointed as barrack TCOs or training coordinating officers. My own platoon mate Danny Lee was one such case. 

TCOs were assigned to a cadet company to help coordinate training matters as well as act as the company's OC PA. He's often the "go to" guy to get things done: stores, equipment, training locations, etc. In many ways, he was more "2-IC" than the actual 2-IC of a cadet company which, officially, was held by one of the company's three career PCs.

2) Major Exercises 
- These test field leadership and deployment skills

My own field-test was rather straightforward. I led my cadet platoon on a patrol that got waylaid along the way. An enemy section shot at us from a hilltop. I had to react and neutralise that threat. So, as per normal, I sent a section of men to do a flanking movement to set up a fire support base. The rest then carefully edged up frontal to engage the enemy. As the enemy force was small, the firefight would soon be over. Too quick, I was thinking at the time. So did my PC, Capt Ang. And he also wondered why I was taking it all so easy. He gave me that "Can-you-be-more-serious?" look. 

My problem had always been that these tests were mostly simulations. And given that a training area was often so overused, it became hard indeed to pretend to be truly alarmed and innovative when executing a maneuver. You see a familiar spot and you almost always expect something to happen. (Another way to judge was how much time had passed into the exercise) Anyway, these test scenarios were not very sophisticated to begin with. Flank, provide suppression fire, frontal forces advance, that's it. It was child's play mostly.

Also, the grounds for such tests would always be in a rubber plantation with a well-worn dirt track or something of that sort. That was how it always seemed to me after the umpteenth times we had to crisscross the same bloody patch of pretend real estate.

Local army training without being in a rubber plantation was like swim-training without a pool. It had always been that way, and probably still is.

Because of my rather casual approach to the first field exercise, I was given a second tougher one. It couldn't get any worse than leading a night assault crossing both land and sea. It ended with a FIBUA attack inland that had nothing to do with pretty damsels in distress. That's how we psyched ourselves after making the initial landing in knee-deep mud (who planned the damn thing for low-tide?!). Yeah, not much fun leading an attack with your feet leaden with some much muck it was like having midgets clinging on to them. Midgets that smelt of sea mud and kampung latrines even.

Actually the hard part was the sea topo under partial moonlight. But after I landed the platoon at the right spot, I relaxed and enjoyed the next bit: the attack. Which brings me to the next point.

3) Topo
- Learning to use map and compass

Topo, short for topography, was one exercise we cadets often dreaded. A chief requirement of an officer has always been the ability to lead his men accurately from Point A to Point B. If you cannot even do that, then it is better to lead a typewriter (or photocopier) in an office.

Often, a topo would start from an assembly area to the forward rendezvous or RV point. Then onwards to the forward form-up area or FUP. 

In our day, there was no GPS equipment as standard SOP. We were "old school" and managed with just a map and compass. These days, with GPS so prevalent, I wonder if cadets would suffer from MOD or map orientation disorder. I think the compass is the one thing that will outlive us all - even iPhone version 1001!

You know, I would really hate it if I became too dependent on GPS. And it is only good if there's no cloud cover. These days we get over that problem by triangulating with telco towers. I don't think army issued GPS direction-finders have a SIM card in them.

One of our very first OCS topo exercise involved discovering our own "natural drift tendency" or NDT. Did you know that we don't all walk in a straight line when our eyes are closed? We tend to drift left or right, or in circles (as demonstrated hilariously in one episode of Myth Busters on Youtube).

By knowing your NDT you can compensate when travelling through real terrain from point A to point B. (Notice how we sometimes take shortcuts with a left or right preference? If we go clockwise, we would always choose that direction even on the return path. That's directional bias for you, and that is why most people get lost in the woods.)

So NDT can seriously impair your direction going anywhere or cause you to miscount your steps. If you add steep inclines or slopes to the equation, then your bias would become even more amplified.

Most topo sessions in the army happen at night. The reason is to use the cover of darkness to conceal movement. As such, our topo sessions/exercises almost always ended around the wee hours of the morning. By the time debriefing was over, it would be near 8 o'clock and after a shower and some hurried breakfast, it would be lesson time again at 9 or 10 am! That is why OCS can be tough: not getting enough sleep!

Topo sessions for us had many memorable moments. We laughed, joked, and worried about getting lost or bumping into instructors determined to catch us for not being discreet. Or find fault with us for using unauthorized routes and shortcuts such as the highway in Taiwan, which was very often emphasized as a major "no go" zone).

On my own, I could move pretty fast and find my way without any problem. But with a platoon of men, the task then become slower. I had to adjust my own natural cadence to suit my men. For me, that was a huge concession. It's akin to asking me to think or speak slower.

My way of dealing with that was to set landmarks and milestones. Fortunately, I'd always gotten both my men and mission on target. Fellow cadets would even ask me to topo when I played the secondary role of a section commander. Anyway, the topo task would usually fall on the lead-section head of the platoon. The cadet PC would just check his map from time to time to make sure all was going well.

(Your own platoon PC would also check his map. And if he says to you in a not so friendly tone "Are you sure in you are on the right track?" it is better to double check!)

Topo skill was thus a "You scratch my back I scratch yours" kind of goodwill barter between cadets during Appointment Time. 

Oh yes, topo had to be the one OCS exercise that we cadets argued over the most. Which way to go, did we get the coordinates right, landmarks, tracks, intersections, streams, etc. In the end, it is often the guy with the best track record that wins. And of course, there are ways to check if a topo journey is going well or not.

Besides drama, our topo journeys always ended with a prayer that nothing got lost along the way. If that happened, we could kiss going back to camp on time. Everybody then had to pitch in to go search for that darn missing item!

Drama:

- Bashing. As a cadet, I remember vividly leading my platoon to an ambush position through the Mandai jungle. We ended up at the top of an embankment overlooking a service road. Topoing through the jungles of Mandai was never pleasant. The place was hilly and often blocked by plant life such as trees, shrubs and ferns. It was also full of those whippy, prickly Nipa palm shrubs that were evil reincarnate. Its stem was full of needle-sharp spines. We nicknamed them "wait-awhiles" because those sinister spines would always hook onto our uniforms as we brushed past. We'd have no choice but to stop and pause.

Then there were the penthouse ant nests hiding unsuspectingly above in the creepers and trees. Bash your way through carelessly and you would be showered down with a mess of angry red biters. 

In our platoon, it happened a few times to a guy named Willie. He's a nice chap but rather gruff and often, too eager in his tasks (Commando-type, if you know what I mean). In a jungle like Mandai, you really have to watch your front and not bash nilly-willy as if clearing a corn field.

It became especially hazardous at night. But at night, for the sake of quietness, we were naturally more careful. Thus the dangers from hive insects were much less. (Or your platoon PC would point to a less dangerous way.)

The other nuisance were ferns. Because of their shrub height and abundance, they carried much dew and made our uniforms super wet (not to mention the rifle, SBO webbing, etc., getting damp as well). Ferns were also known to us as "nature's pickpockets". They would 'steal' attached personal things such as bayonets, toggle ropes, maps and stuff in our pant side pockets.

We also had to make very sure that our pants were pulled over boots properly so that fern spores and leaves would not find their way inside.

- Snakes. In all my months of army training, I had never come across one in the forest nor jungle. Thank goodness for that! (Perhaps they were all trampled to death or scared away by a previous cohort of trainees, haha.) After a few thousand footfalls each year, any self-respecting creature would set up home far away from any training ground 'Orchard Road'! This brings me to the next point:

- Overworked training areas. A case in point would be the shellscrapes (a shallow ditch) we had to dig as a precaution against artillery shelling. After the umpteenth exercise, the ground couldn't yield anymore fresh spots to dig at. It was both frustrating and infuriating; disgusting even, when new spots turned out to be full of discarded white-tape and assorted rubbish from a previous exercise. At times, these old shellscrapes smell of latrines! 

- Losing things. Yup, folks would always lose things while topo-ing. So check your personal items or barang-barang after going some distance, or after bashing through an area thick with ferns and brambles. Chances are, some of your personal stuff will be caught and hung up somewhere like a Christmas ornament. As a precaution we would "blackstring" and "blacktape" everything before setting out so that every loose object would be tethered to our SBO or uniform (to the button eyeholes no less). We also rubberbanded down everything else neat and tight!

The important stuff we tried not to lose, stuff like bayonets, maps and prismatic compasses. These items were classed as a security risk. Besides, a brass prismatic compass alone could cost USD$300+ upwards. Who would want to sign 1206 for that?

Thinking about my NS topo adventures reminded me of a funny incident. It happened during reservist on Pulau Tekong. I was hitching a ride with some doctors travelling in a few field ambulances together and they were supposed to head to a certain location. However, after travelling for some time, the whole group got hopelessly lost. That the doctors had a GPS gadget with them (given on trial) did not help. We later found out why: those doctors did not even know how to orientate a map! They handed their maps like tourists and got hopelessly lost. All the time I was sitting behind looking bemused and thinking how qualified doctors could be so dumb. A good thing then that we were not travelling on foot or else we would be going around in endless circles!

- Best topo. I think the best topo must be the ones conducted in Taiwan - a place I found to be very scenic and nice. Sure, their mountains are big and tall and far apart, but the compensation of great views, cool air, fresh fruit availability AND the occasional village shop instant-noodle serving... makes up for all the sweat and blunder.

And topo-ing as a group is always fun if not eventful. During one topo exercise, we cadets actually ganged up to move together. We ended up having a delightful fruit party under a pomelo tree that was Amy Yip in abundance. That story is here.

So, yes, the short answer is that OCS training is tough. However, just remember that the people before you probably had it tougher. Before my cadet time, recruits and cadets were treated as nobodies and subjected to the whims and fancies of instructors and platoon commanders - the same folks who took cues from their own tough training. You must remember: in those old days, physical abuse was rife and punishment dished out nilly-willy. Suicide in unit camps was not uncommon (which was why my batch benefited from that army restructuring!)

In the end, all arduous training is just mental. My own drive to succeed in OCS was witnessing this asshole of an officer during BMT. If that scumbag could be an officer, I told myself I would be an even better one, with greater virtues and man-management skills. Above all else, officers cannot be sadists and meanies. What kind of example would they be setting to the lower ranks? You can be tough, but you have to be fair.

In war, you win some and you lose some. And it is always good to live to fight another day. Your men put their lives in your hands. They are not just attrition stats. Teach and train them to fight well as a soldier, as a group, and as a unit. Remember, the stress you get at OCS is unreal compared to real-time firefight scenarios. More likely folks will hunker down and refuse to budge once the bullets start zinging about. How are you and your men going to manage then?

I know, some commanders think the stress you feel at OCS is supposed to make you capable. But all I get from it was "jump when you are told". I didn't find it remotely useful to real-time battle conditions other then "don't give up." They should have taught the more strategic "How to take down your enemy in 101 Ways". Fight like a tiger, live like a rat, was the Vietcong's success formula! One wonders how they trained their officers and what stress they put them through at their OCS back then. Or even now!

Also understand the military tradition and why it is there and improve it some more. That has always been my motto. And OCS for me was a great place to start!

Afternote: Notice that I did not put physical fitness as a stress factor. I was already fit going into BMT (I had been a school badminton player since P2 all the way to JC2) but because of a mad dog PC during those three BMT months (see another post), me and my mates became super fit. What OCS dished out to us during Junior Term was "no spiak" to us from Echo Company Platon 17 (ITD Sembawang Camp). Because of our "Mad Dog" PC, we cruised through it without sweat! 

Playing competitive badminton most of my life (and also practising martial arts) certainly conditioned my body and mind well for NS. It does pay to have good core stamina and strength. For everything else, a good sense of humour and comradeship are just as important. Friends you make during OCS can easily be your best buddies in later life.

Bon voyage and enjoy your 'extended' adventure camp! At the end of it all, learn something. And know that all pain is but temporary. As is that stinky field camp uniform, haha!

(Note: I wonder what would be the reaction if you ask your PC if you guys could manage yourselves. Might be worth a try. I don't think our 3-trophy achievement in OCS was ever repeated.)

Next story: Trench Fighting
Previous story: One Leg Left

One Leg Left

One of the things I think thin people cannot enjoy is a good massage. All those meatless body parts and sharp bone corners. It's almost like marinating fish or prawn and get poked here and there. I mean I would rather marinate a slab of three-layer pork. It is so luscious and "QQ" between the fingers.

The same for girlfriends, I suppose, especially those chubbier than Barbie. They are more fun to apply sunblock on.

When I was young, I was very skinny and viewed a massage more like a kind of paid molestation. I believe all skinny people still feel the same - that every touch is just too close to the bone. It's extremely ticklish too, which makes the whole exercise quite impossible to endure.

How to lie obediently on a massage table and let the masseur work his/her magic?

Given such reservations, it was thus no wonder that I seldom went out of my way to look for a massage before.

Growing up in Marsiling, I had a neighbourhood friend who would ride his motorbike into nearby JB to get his 'fix'. I put that in inverted commas because in JB then, a massage came with 'extra services' - the kind that's usually provided by the back-alley folks in Desker Road under certain red lighting conditions. The word "massage" became an euphemism for that sort of thing, oft-used on clients in karaoke lounges even.

My first massage did not happen in Singapore; it took place in Taiwan. I was there for my National Service and we had just wrapped up a two-week training stint and into our R&R (rest and recreation) break. All of us were expecting a three-day holiday in Taipei but for some reason, we ended up in Kaoshiung instead.

Our hearts sank a litte because we had heard of how fair the ladies in Taipei were as compared to the ladies further south. We had trained in the mountains of Hengchun near the southern-most tip of the Taiwan peninsular and seen folks so sun-tarnished that they could pass off as Malays or even Thais. And so we thought the ladies in Kaoshiung would be the same.

Fortunately, it turned out to be not true if the salesgirls serving us in the shops and departmental stores were anything to go by.

Even the girls we had seen riding on their scooters in the city streets were fair - being protected by long sleeves and gloves and sunhats during their rides. It was quite the sight when a bunch of them stopped at a traffic light. On a windy day, their sundresses would billow and their long hair flutter. It was exactly like some Kao shampoo ad on TV! I remember a similar scene in Ho Chi Minh City of girls in traditional dress and on bicycles.

Oh, before we SAF army boys were let loose in Kaoshiung, we were briefed by our platoon sergeant Staff Karu on what to expect and what NOT to do in that newly industrialised city. Or rather, what HE expected us not to do.

"Don't let me catch you in one of those barber shops. You botak guys definitely don't need a haircut. If you want "extra services" just answer your door at night in the hotel. It's not me knocking but you know what I mean." Chuckles all round. We had all been told that "xiao jie" (lady/prostitutes) would come solicit for business in the middle of the night. It happened at all the hotels... 3-star, 4-star not withstanding.

"And of course, don't forget to use this," added Staff Karu, holding up a packet of condoms for all to see.

"What I don't want you to do is go insult some hardworking mom hairstylist in this fair city. Not all of them want to give you "extra service" or cut your cock hair. Kabish?" We had yet to earn our officer-rank bars so we all nodded furiously in 'kabishment'. Got it! Keep away from barber shops! Of course, we all laughed at the cock hair bit. Our platoon sergeant was Indian, plump and hirsute (hairy); he conjured up quite the funny image. God save the lady in the barber shop who has to cut his, um, cock hair. Where to begin and where to stop?

Then again Indians were seldom seen in Taiwan at the time, so all things considered, they were exotic like the black negroes. Maybe even without asking, he would get an extended haircut and "extra service".

Someone shot up a hand and asked: "Staff, how about massage parlours?"

"I am going to one. If you see me, stay the hell away. I've seen enough of you guys for two weeks," said Staff Karu half in jest and half in murderous intent.

The rumour going round the camp at the time was about the fights the previous batch of NS men had gotten into. One was at the famous President underground departmental store; the other was outside a massage parlour. The NS-men were unit-level "Hokkien-peng" (dialect-speaking soldiers) and thus understandable. They would often "'pak" (fight) first, then talk later. We were officers-to-be and thus expected to behave better. But the fact is that we were all bookworms from an A-level Pre-U batch, so we were more likely to walk away from a fight than get physical. But in a foreign country, you never know what can happen.

So after reaching Kaoshiung and checking into our respective hotels, we each formed into our own pal-groups and went about exploring the city - Taiwan's second largest. The place looked neat and homey, so where were the barber shops and massage parlours soldier folks talked about?

In my group were Eddy, Siew Chong, Yew Kuan and Tiah Ann. Eddy was the most talkative amongst the lot. Siew Chong had an angel face but in reality, a really filthy mouth like some Hokkien peng. He was usually a quiet chap. But step on his tail and he will bite like a rattlesnake.

Yew Kuan was always reserved and contemplative but would laugh at our jokes. Tiah Ann was neither reserved nor gay (happy outlook). He was a sturdy chap and very helpful. He would go the distance without complaint. Tiah Ann was also the "koon king" (sleep king) of our platoon and would fall asleep whenever he stepped into an army three-tonner. It didn't matter where he was sitting - on the floorboards or on the bench - he would immediately fall asleep once the vehicle got moving, much to the annoyance of our platoon sergeant. Not even the threat of "signing extras" could change him. In the end, we just let him be and made sure someone else sat by the tailgate (whose duty was to keep an eye open to make sure no one fell out of the truck during a journey).

I don't know why we formed this group of mostly kwai kias (well-behaved kids). Perhaps they felt I was fierce and gang-ho and could take care of them. I usually got along fine with everybody and it didn't matter who was keeping me company. I could always chat somebody up - a trait that held me in good stead as a journalist later.

In any case, the few of us wandered around the city streets to take in the sights as well as to do a bit of window shopping. A part of Kaoshiung was very new at the time and reminded us of Orchard Road with its big glass office buildings and shopping centres. We guessed that Kaoshiung was doing well and industrialising and turning into a financial hub. But it was in the old part of Kaoshiung that we liked better to loiter in, where the small shops and eateries were. Lest they soon disappear, like what was happening back home in Singapore at the time.

In one old street, we came across an old zinc-sheeted warehouse that had been turned into a cinema. We were tempted to watch it but its promotional poster was half-torn leaving some words that confused us. We then asked a resident nearby what the movie was all about.

"Na ge shi yi fu san ji pian," was the old uncle's reply. That's a Cat III film, was what he said.

"San ji" meaning Category III, and "pian" meaning film. So it was a porno movie. We had heard of such "yellow" movie houses in Taiwan before. To come up against one was still gobsmacking. In Singapore, our film censorship was still the blanket type. The only cinema that came close to being nicknamed a Cat III one was Yangtze, where DOMs (dirty old men) would gather to watch "artistic" films screened there. Films that often starred Amy Yip and her famous frontal assets. The most popular movie was however "The Unbearable Lightness of Being" starring Daniel-Day Lewis and Juliette Binoche. I think the honest and explicit sex scenes did the trick, never mind the existential theme of the movie.

Still, for a group of army boys to find a Cat III cinema on their first trip out into town could be ranked akin to a prospector finding gold on the very first try. But funnily, none of us were keen to waste our time in some old building that looked more like a make-shift factory painted in rust-red. It was surprisingly located in a congested neighbourhood of stacked residential wooden homes and narrow alleyways. Well, in any case, I thought what a bunch of kwai kias we really were!

From the cinema, we emerged along a five-foot walkway by the main road. A couple of home eateries operated there. One sold beef noodles; the other sold the famous "mu gua niu nai" papaya milk drink. We ordered the largest cc one, which was huge, more like 500cc! That's how it was sold then, what was actually quite the novelty.

Afterwards, we walked a bit and came to a massage parlor. It was located on the ground floor of a small office building. We looked at each other as if we had hit the jackpot again. Tiah Ann was quick. He had already leapt up the few steps and turned around to report. "Staff Karu is not here!" We all "Wa lau eh!" and laughed at him for taking our platoon sergeant's comment so seriously.

"Hey, let's check and see how much they are charging," one of us suggested. We know we Singapore boys often got fleeced in Taiwan like any tourist in an unfamiliar place, so it was better to be sure first.

At the counter, we all ogled at the price list. It all seemed rather proper and agreeable. Each massage was not only time-based but 'parts based' as well, meaning we could specify whether it was Upper Body, Lower Body, Head, etc., that we want smacked and kneaded.

"Where's the charge for you-know-where?" someone joked, about a specific body part that was dear to us boys but not found on the list. I looked at the lady behind the counter to see if she understood what was being said. Nope, no reaction. As a matter of fact, she appeared rather impatient. I hoped no SAF unit soldiers had gone there before us to "spoil market" and her mood. We could then be in for one hell of a session. You know, bones and muscles cracked in furious and merciless payback fashion.

"I don't think this one is that sort of place. Look at the uniforms." It was true, the girls had on some grey-white cosmetic girl get-up. It all looked pretty professional except for the expression on their faces. They could be mistaken for running a funeral parlor.

"Look, Eddy, I think you have to do it yourself back in your hotel room," I smiled, as I ribbed him for making such a lewd suggestion. Eddy was actually not that sort; he was just being a smart-aleck.

In the end, only three of us opted to try. Yew Kuan and Tiah Ann decided their time would be better spent shopping for music cassettes, and so off they went.

I stepped into the massage parlour and took a sweep of the place. It was well-lit and quite spacious. It had about four tables side by side in a row. Above the head of each table was a TV set. Hmm, not bad customer service, I had thought then.

Do I need to change? I asked the masseur assigned to me in halting Mandarin. I thought I had to be butt naked and in a towel or something. It always was like that on TV or in the movies. That's how the hanky-panky starts, no?

I was in my OCS all-white PT kit. My masseur, a woman in her early 30s, told me I needed not strip. I thought it rather unusual but did not question her any further. In my mind, I was wondering what if she needed to oil me up. That would stain my whites, no? Platoon Sergeant Karu would not be happy about that.

More questions.

In any case, I lay myself down on the massage table as instructed. First prone and then on my back. The table was like any found in a doctor's office: rectangularish and cushion-wrapped in grey vinyl.

She started with my neck, then shoulders, then arms, then back. Lying down prone, I couldn't see the TV at all. I wondered maybe they should have one on the floor as well, you know, one of those portable 7-inch type, angled so I could be entertained in that position. But it was rather unnecessary as I began to feel drowsy from all my masseur's rolling hand-action. The last thing I remembered was if I should keep my wallet down the front of my pants, near my crouch. It would be safe from pilfering in that location. Right? Zzzzz......

I woke up to find that I was already flipped over. Did I...? Did she...? In any case, the masseur lady was already working on my right leg. She didn't seem in any particular hurry kneading it. In fact she was distracted by something in the ceiling. I look to where she was staring at and saw the TV that was there earlier. It then dawned on me that the TV was for her, not me. She was watching a daytime soap opera all the while massaging me 'blind'.

I felt ignored. But never mind.

Never mind that this was not an "extra service" massage parlour; the masseurs were not even particularly skilled nor customer-oriented. I think I could have done a better job massaging myself. I could have entertained myself too!

I was not alone in thinking that as I looked across to Siew Chong and he gave me that "what-is-going-on" look and shrug, as much as he could lying prone on that cushioned table clone. It was as grey and dull as our mood.

When my right leg was done, the masseur stopped and said, "Hao le."

What? What hao le (OK)? I asked.

"Yi ge cong tow dao le," she said, meaning my hour was up.

I checked my left leg. It was the same one that I had walked in with. The same one that had become tense after two weeks in the mountains of Hengchun. Tense still from that long bus ride to Kaoshiung. And tense still from the climb of steps into that massage parlour.

Mostly, it felt unviolated, untouched. I said this to the xiao jie: "Er, xiao jie. Ni hai mei you long je zhi qiao." (You haven't done this leg yet.)

"Shi jian dao le," she repeated, saying time was up.

"Ni na ni ke yi je yang zhou yi pan jiu ting?" (How can you stop halfway?)

She looked at me and saw that I was determined to get my other leg done. I was more pissed that she was watching TV and did not concentrate on her job properly. How could she leave me three-quarters done? It was like getting an half-ass haircut or being shooed from the cookhouse with still half a platter of food left. Not in the army, and certainly not in some massage parlour that I am paying my hard-earned NS dollars for.

In the end, the xiao jie relented and massaged my left leg. She did it in so perfunctorily a fashion that she might as well have just dug her nose. That would have required more time and effort!

After the session, the three of us gathered outside the parlour and exchanged notes. "That was some session, wasn't it?" I said. Siew Chong let out an expletive; he felt cheated. Eddy simply shrugged.

Later, when we met up with our other fellow cadets, our massage session became "incredible" (that the masseurs were so blase), "arousing" (only our intense displeasure), and "one-of-a-kind" (never again!) experience.

In a way, it was all true, which makes us wonder about all those "extra services" that the other guys bandied about. Perhaps they too were too embarrassed to say that they had been taken for a ride!

Next story: OCS Stress
Previous story: Temple Trouble

Temple Trouble

I had an interesting experience in OCS once. After many days of combat rations, I finally came across some kitchen cooked food served up in a hospital. How I ended up there was quite unexpected (as I suspect all such cases would be).

It was the early part of Senior Term, a topo exercise in Tekong. We were supposed to pair up and go from landmark to landmark. On paper, that sounded easy. But Tekong maps, like most island maps then, were rather out of date. They were accurate on geographical features like contours, but on anything else, it was either old or absent. It was a challenge to navigate with such maps, especially when the topo objective involved navigating dirt tracks and finding dubious landmarks. In many ways it was like 'The Amazing Race'. You have to keep your eyes open, else it would involve doubling back and hoping the other teams render you some kind assistance.

My partner Yeang and I had come to a location where a small temple was supposed to be. Yeang, up to that point, had been a good companion. He wore an easy smile and was generally of good humour. But deep down, I didn't think he was the gung-ho type. I could tell from the way he boxed in the ring. He was mostly afraid of getting hurt. But this was topo, what could go wrong?

Along the way, we bumped into other groups. Apparently a checkpoint was hard to find and so we all ended up along the same general area trying to solve the riddle. That checkpoint was a Chinese temple. For all our efforts, it might as well have been a Chinese desert mirage.

The first group we met had Cadet CT Lee in it; he was one person nobody liked. But he knew how to angkat-bola with our platoon PC so he managed to get by. Lee appeared to have finally found what we were looking for. He didn't let on though, only to say as he hurried on "Yes, it was not easy." Big help that was. Lee was self-preserving that way. I wished we had blanket-partied him when we had the chance before we left OCS.

As the day wore on, I was beginning to realise that Yeang wasn't as great a topo partner as before. Besides being a scaredy-cat, he was also wishy-washy. Every suggestion I made was greeted with a "Yeah, I think so" or a "It could be that way... Maybe." Could? Maybe? They were not the words I wanted to hear! Where was the thinking??? In the end, I simply stopped asking him and trusted my own instincts instead.

We soon came to a narrow dirt track that led down to a small gulley. We bumped into Mooi and Seah coming up the other way. They were also looking for that elusive Chinese temple. Perhaps we were all too weaned on '70s Chinese kung fu movies and were half expecting to see a broken temple eaten by charred remains. You know, the sort where you gather straw for a bed and where the Beggar King could be found roasting a pigeon over a crackling fire?

It turned out that the temple in question was only a small concrete worship altar - the kind that's not taller than three feet and housed only one deity. It was also well hidden by some tall lallang and out of sight.

That's a temple? we asked. Seah and I looked at each other and shook our heads. Seah and I were the outdoorsy type and got along. He had joined us during Senior Term from SAFINCOS. He was one person I thought was a natural sergeant, someone who could lead and command men. Or lead by example. But he was sort of folksy. At times, he negotiated rather then demanded.

Both our groups decided to mark that so-called temple as the right target... so exasperated we were. We thought we could check with the instructors later to see if that was correct. Maybe under all that lallang was once a proper temple that the nearby villagers went to make prayers and seek divine intervention. As it was our last landmark, the next thing we needed to do was look for the nearest instructor checkpoint to report in and get our next set of coordinates/objective to travel to.

Mooi and Seah were not not yet done, so we went our separate ways.

As we seemed to have veered off course trying to locate that temple, finding our way back to our original location took some time. We were still on low ground so getting our bearings was quite difficult. And there was not a single high feature to be seen; everywhere were treetops. In any case, we soon found ourselves alone again on a quiet dirt track. Grass grew in the middle, which looked reassuring. It meant that the track was once used by vehicles. Maybe people still do, we comforted ourselves. It should then reflect on the map. In other words, the track implied civilization.

Yeang was ahead. I had hung back to check my map. Suddenly, he was flapping his arms and getting all panicky. At first I heard a buzz. It then grew louder into a whine. Under my breath, I uttered "Oh shit, bees!" and hurried to where Yeang was. I then realised that I did not have the smoke grenade with me. We had been advised to use it against aggressive insects such as these.

Fortunately for Yeang, he was still wearing a poncho as it had rained earlier. He flapped it like a bird. From afar, he looked funny, as if he was trying to fend off a large and invisible predator pecking relentlessly at him.

"Quick, where's the smoke?" I asked. "In the back pouch!" Yeang was almost screaming.

I reached in and pulled out the grenade; more black bees were quickly swarming. I pulled the grenade ring tab and held on, keeping my fingers from the top. I needed to find wind direction first and let out more smoke. That achieved, I threw the canister down. Thick smoke swiftly bellowed out as if a geyser had suddenly opened up in that dirt track. It caught wind and swirled around us.

Yeang scooped a poncho full of smoke and tried to crouch down to hide. I felt it was pointless as the smoke was very acrid and stinging, much worse than what the bees could do. And my eyes were already burning up. Run, I said to Yeang, gesturing in the direction where the smoke was drifting. Seeing no response, I had to half-drag him away.

Fortunately, the swarm was not as large as I had feared and soon dispersed. We didn't manage to run too far away and was still in a cover of some thin smoke. I asked Yeang if he was alright. He said he got stung and felt sick. I too was stung - twice in the back and one near my eye. I didn't know if that was serious as my eyes were also being irritated by smoke.

I tried to look for allergic symptoms on Yeang but could find none. Still, he acted as if he was dying. He claimed he was weak and couldn't walk. At first he tried to hobble but even that seemed too much. In the end, I had to fireman-lift him.

We had no signal set. The only solution was to find an instructor location as soon as possible and not bump into anymore bees!

I fireman-lifted Yeang when I could and laid him down when I got tired.

About half an hour later, I thought Yeang would recover. His facial color had returned and he didn't look that sick after all. But he still claimed he was very ill and dying.

Eventually, after an hour of plodding and struggle, I found the instructor location. It was a Land Rover sitting by the roadside along a metal (tarmac) road. I quickly explained to the duty instructor there what happened to us and that my fellow cadet Yeang seemed badly affected. He radioed in and quickly drove us to the exercise admin area by the coast. By then my eye had become swollen quite a bit.

Upon arrival, I could see my company OC and platoon commander gathered along with a gaggle of admin people. They looked concerned. As usual, my PC (Capt Ang) was critical of our failure. "How come you guys so careless!" Well, it's not as if we were handling bees and dropped them! was my unvoiced reaction. Plus, they came out of the blue. PC Ang may seem heartless with that remark but if you knew him, he was only being exacting. His fave phrase then was "Young man concerned..." - meaning we young men had to be built of sterner stuff and must be able to take all kinds of knocks. (Read more about PC Ang here)

A medic came over to examine us - Yeang first. The OC, hand on hips, asked Yeang how he felt. Yeang climbed down from the jeep and said (rather nonchalantly) "Sir, I'm okay." I was flabbergasted.

A while ago, he was aching and dying. I also impressed upon the instructor how serious my buddy's condition seemed to be. And now, he was behaving fine and less affected. I shot Yeang a glare that could have sunk an aircraft carrier that day. It was to tell him what an asshole he was. He looked sheepish and avoided it.

(At times like these, I wish I had a quick temper. I would have jumped over and throttled him.)

From that day on, whenever he saw me he would look embarrassed and avoid me. If he had apologised, maybe I would have forgiven him. But he never did. That was the last time we ever topo-ed together. I was also wiser to his kind. He was someone who greeted everybody with a smiley "Hey buddy, how are you" regardless of whether you were close to him or not. I guess it was his way of disarming people.

Another cadet, Samuel, was just as religious as Yeang. But with Samuel, he would have carried you to Timbuktu even if a shark was biting and attached to his leg. I almost joined the Commandos because of him.

Poh Chiak, my previous bunk mate (and JC mate), was a bit more streetwise and not so kind to Yeang's type after that temple incident. He would "hentum" him whenever he tried to give excuse for not carrying his load, or seemed to be skivving.

Fortunately for me, my condition was worse or else both Yeang and I would have been accused of causing a needless emergency. My eye was swollen, the bee's sting missing it by just millimeters!

PC Ang was concerned and insisted that I be sent to the nearest hospital for treatment and observation. Well, the nearest treatment center then was Changi Hospital and that was where I was admitted to. At the time CH was still that huge colonial building where the wards came with high ceilings. Such rooms were cool and airy: a place I really liked sleeping in.

I stayed two nights there until my swollen eye subsided. The hospital food tasted marvellous, reminding me of the Cantonese dishes my mom cooked back home. I guess after four days of combat rations, any cooked food would seem delectable. But really, I must give kudos to the chefs there. They changed my mind about hospital food and really made it difficult for me to return to the field after that. Besides, the pillow was soft, the mattress kind. And all I had to do was take that little blue pill and off to dreamland I would go. That trouble with Yeang would soon forgotten.

Previous story: Wake up Your Idea; Next story: The Call-Up

Wake Up Your Idea!

This was a phrase commonly used by the instructors in OCS during my time, especially by the Tactics Team instructors. It's our local refrain for "You'd better buck up!" or "Are you trying to be funny? Idle? Idiotic? Skivvy?" - all rolled into one.

When an instructor said "You better wake up your idea", it meant what's in your head was kinda wrong; it needed some kind of adjustment. In most cases, it was just a gentle admonishment. At other times, it necessitated some kind of punishment. 'Drop 20' usually. At worse, a burnt or forfeited weekend.

At times, we cadets were just trying to be efficient. But even that could be misconstrued as being smart-alecky trying to avoid work. Like the time we suggested using petrol more often to clean out our heavy weapons (such as the GPMG machine gun, M60 mortar and 84MM recoiless anti-tank gun especially after live firing. Using petrol was much faster than using the usual brass brushes and fenderlite (a cleaning cloth). It saved much muscle power and precious cleaning time!

"You better wake up you idea," was what our platoon sergeant Karu said, even before our suggestion got to the end of the sentence.

Although the petrol method was more efficient, I think the worry then was the possible build-up of inflammable vapors inside the guns. It might just catch fire the next time it was fired and blow us up to kingdom come. We cadets, however, thought otherwise. We had a long discussion in the bunk before bringing it up to Staff Sgt Karu. Surely a bunch of top-notch A-level students schooled in the best General Paper 'For-Against' argument tradition couldn't be wrong, right?

But our brilliance was dismissed with a single phrase: "You better wake up your idea."

After that, it became a kind of catch-phrase in our platoon. 'Eh, you better wake up your idea,' whenever someone tried to suggest something new, even if the idea was genuinely feasible and legitimate.

At times, it was done on purpose.

Q: Why don't OCS set up a laundry shop to wash our No.4? A: Eh, you better wake up your idea.
Q: Why don't the army give us proper running shoes? (This was before they gave us New Balance joggers) A: Eh, you better wake up your idea.
Q: Why don't the army ask the canteen lady to cook for them? A: Eh, you better wake up your idea.
Q: Why don't we train with the female Golf Company cadets? A: Eh, you better wake up your idea.
Q: Why can't we have a mini fridge in the bunk? A: Eh, you better wake up your idea.
Q: Why don't we have BBQs at the end of field camp? A: Eh, you better wake up your idea.

Well, you get the idea.

I think this phrase kind of went out of fashion for a while when WITS became the byword to help the SAF save much $$$ and be productive. Then, good suggestions were welcomed. If the suggestion box was empty, all suggestions were encouraged, including that one about the Golf Company cadets.

Nothing then was a 'Eh, you better wake up your idea.' It became 'Yeah, why don't you send it in. Maybe you'll win that $50 cash prize!'

WITS (work improvement teams) were everywhere. I guess the most affected people were probably the staff sergeants and warrant officers - the tradition bearers of the SAF. From 'Eh, you better wake up your idea' they had to hold their tongue and be encouraging instead. 'Really, that's something to think about.' I could just imagine Staff Sgt Karu rolling his eyes at the merest thought of that. He's the sort who liked to get things done quick, not hindered by fanciful ideas or elaborate schemes.

Speaking of waking up, that's the thing most people struggle with when they enter the army. If you had been a late sleeper and riser (like me), you'll be surprised at what a struggle that can be. You'll be even more surprised to learn that you can change!

The best thing is that early wake-up can become natural. Your internal alarm will somehow reset itself. You will likely discover this during field camp, that you don't even need to set a wristwatch alarm.

For us cadets, along with the China-made iron, some of us preferred to use those clunky China-made alarm clocks that could wake the dead. They are mechanical and can cause a ruckus every morning with their louder than usual ringing. Not the gradual beep-beep ones from electronic and plastic alarm clocks from Casio, Citizen, Rhythm, Q&Q, etc. These new alarm clocks unwisely encouraged sleepy heads to hit the Snooze button to get another 10 mins of "koon" time.

But I did upgrade to one such Casio when I became an instructor. I loved its robust boxy design (it could sustain multiple drops) and quirky color scheme. I am still using it today. For the longest time, I have been trying to remember where I bought that darn thing. The difficulty was compounded by the fact that I always enjoyed popping into watch shops to study horological designs. It was a case of one too many shops to pin the recall accurately.

The other night, I had a dream. I woke up looking at that alarm clock and remembering exactly where it was purchased. It was that watch shop below my old home in Marsiling. Lately, my mind has been playing tricks like that on me - being selective in what it wants to remember. Is it a coincidence that Total Recall (with Colin Farrell) is again playing in the cinemas? Really, I should probably tell my brain to 'wake up its idea' before it gets out of hand.

Previous story: My Bunk Mate; Next story: Temple Trouble

My Bunk Mate

I cannot recall cadet life in OCS without thinking of my Senior Term bunk mate then. He was a chap named YC Lim. Lim was a smallish chap who wore glasses and was Chinese educated. Perhaps that made him seem rather reticent in an English-speaking environment. I worried one time for him as I knew my platoon PC liked people who were a bit more gregarious; folks who stood out. To him, that was a hallmark of a leader. But YC was knowledgeable in his field craft, so our PC Ang had no cause to find fault with him.

YC Lim was not all that quiet in the right clique of people, especially with those who conversed in Mandarin. He would seek out folks like BK Chan, Tong, Eddy Sim during field camp. He liked folks who were perhaps leaned towards the literary.

At the core, YC was a decent chap who was helpful and ready to spring into action anytime - why we worked well as bunk mates. Sure, I was more English-pai (tribe) and he, the opposite. But we still got on fine. We helped each other to study and pass our many OCS knowledge tests.

I liked our evenings together best. YC was a very good classical guitar player. He confided in me once that he was asked to consider the classical concert route. He was THAT good. But YC was not sure though. I think the competitive environment gave him pause. And it wasn't a career one could say with definite surety that will yield dividends. What if he does not make a name for himself?

I have rhythm and can move myself to dance. But I am indifferent to music. It's a quality that stumps my friends. Later, as an engineer, I would help test VCRs and stereo sets for audio fidelity. I could, with my ear, tell if a sound was deficient in any way. Whether it was distorted, had harmonics or suffered from poor crossover. But I do not often listen to say, a favourite record. And I dislike using headphones. You'll never find me walking around with a Walkman or Discman. Or an MP3 player.

As an avid cyclist, I find that to be utterly unsafe. Maybe even for a pedestrian.

My lack of interest in music probably irked my friends wishing I was otherwise. I do love a good poem or limerick though.

That said, I was once a fan of Elvis Presley - saving money as a boy to buy a precious record - which in itself was startling. It took me a while to even be a fan of a football club, one of my favourite sports. I just find being a fan a rather mindless act. But I guess that's how it is suppose to be. You like something so much you are willing to go all lengths to get enough of it. I now see it as a way to celebrate a unique talent. I think my worry has always been fans doing the most absurd things to follow their idol.

When I was younger, I liked Tchaikovsky. I liked that his music was full of emotion and pathos. And I liked Richard Chamberlain playing him one time in a telemovie. I believed I would have been a good piano player if I had undergone some training. But I am not a natural though, unlike some. I am more a builder. I can build up a skill if you let me have the opportunity and time.

I, like many others, am envious of folks who have natural musical talent. It's like the gift of tongues; no effort required. How blessed is that?

So I was a bit taken aback when YC told me that he was not sure of music as a career. To me, I could tell that he was quite good with his choice of instrument. A wonderful plucker of chords. It would have been a waste if he kept all that just for campfires, BBQ functions and family reunions.

I said as much to him. "If you don't try, you'll never know." YC shrugged, as he was apt to do. One of his strengths was to ignore stuff he didn't like. He's an ennigma like that. I tried again to dissuade him. That's when he mentioned about the competitive nature of the music/concert business.

"I'd pay to hear you play," I said. YC laughed, grateful. He didn't say more and I was starting to get worried that he might just throw his talent into the What-Might-Have-Been pile.

I decided to push the issue a little further. "What did your teacher say?"
A practical thing to ask, actually.

"Er, it was my teacher who said I should explore being a concert guitarist," was the reply.

What? I said very loudly in my mind. Outwardly, I was calm. I was trying to respect my bunk buddy's wishes. But, isn't that endorsement enough? That skill WAS evident?

YC sighed. He seemed to have given it much more thought then I gave him credit for. Thinking back, perhaps he had other issues to consider. Family for one. Many concert players come from rich or upper middle-class families. Families who could afford music lessons or private music tutors. I felt it was impolite to probe, so I didn't.

YC offered to play me a tune. He asked if I had any favourites. I said Streets of Fire. He said he didn't know that one. I said just play me anything you like. And so he did. I laid on my bunk as YC plucked away at his guitar. The rapid way he moved his fingers, I could tell it was a complex piece. It was beautiful, it was classical. But remembering him like that breaks my heart. Years later I would discover him working in a component factory. He was in Sales. We spoke briefly over the phone. When I recalled our OCS days and the fact that he used to play his guitar, he simply said oh. That was a long time ago, he added.

I knew then that he did not pursue a concert dream. Perhaps it was not his dream but mine for him. But it seemed a far departure from the electronics component business. In Singapore, he's not the first such talented but practical person I've met. I've had friends who were very good sportsmen but gave up soon at the university. With such folks, there's always that what-if.

YC was my bunk buddy and I shall not judge him. I really didn't know him all that well to do that. But I would surely have liked to lay on that bunk and listen to him play one more time.

Previous story: Cadet Misc Equipment; Next story: Wake Up Your Idea

Cadet Misc Equipment

The new OCS (i.e. SAFTI Military Institute) is something, isn't it? It's  open and sprawling and get this, no fencing.

Back at Pasir Laba SAFTI in the 80s, we had to pass by a guardhouse each time we wanted to enter. We had to show our 11Bs as proof of identity, have our bags searched. For those not familiar with the Army, the 11B was our green IC. We would only get back our pink IC upon ROD, leaving National Service.

But after 9/11, this new OCS campus was not so easy-access after all. Some areas became out of bounds and ground patrols were increased. More electronic eyes were visible too, especially in the carparks. Not surprising since such e-eyes are getting cheaper by the minute and the software behind them more sophisticated. Forget motion-detect, that's basic. The buzzword now is threat analysis. Dropped your keys under the car? The system will automatically flag you as a probable bomb planter.

With such a sprawling and impressive military instititute, I am wondering, what life is like as a cadet today. I guess it would be pretty much the same as mine was in the 80s. In-out, no time to really enjoy the bunk, let alone the facilities available.

I was reading a thread entitled 'OCS FAQ' from an Internet forum the other day and was amused that not much has changed in terms of what cadets are equipping themselves for life in the OCS barracks. Even the jokes are the same!

Here's the list, with the poser's original comments in brackets [square ones are mine]:

1. Lots of black tape
2. Perm marker
3. Lots of black string (for securing loose items)
4. Clear tape (the very broad kind) [Duct tape?]
5. Masking tape
6. Ziploc
7. Jackknife
8. Pen, pencil, paper
9. Telt (wrapping paper) [Talc?]
10. Febreeze - a spray that removes odour from clothing - good when u need to re-wear no. 4 cos no time to wash!
11. Black rubber bands big and small
12. Materials for cleaning bunk and area.
13. Iron (yes, I brought my own iron in)
14. Starch (the spray kind)
15. Lots of hangers - the ones chosen as the standard kind for the platoon
16. Lighter (to burn cock hair)
17. Kiwi and brush - accessible at all times!
18. Tupperware - I use it to keep the aide memoir in my SBO - we were told to bring the aide memoir wherever we go.
19. Spare batteries

No.1: Black tape struck a cord in me. It was understandable back in my day. Our equipment were mostly leftovers from WWII. Brass was the military grade metal then. Sure, it doesn't rust but neither was it strong. The hooks and buckles don't work, so we had to black tape them up to make sure our SBO don't fall apart. Also, brass reflects light at night. The black tape (and black marker) helped to conceal their existence. Our trainers also disliked dangly bits, so we would roll excess strap-ends up and secure them up. How my Amah might roll up her hair in a bun and wrap it up in black tape.

Black tape was basically our scotch tape for afixing anything. In real life, it was actually electrical tape. It helped one time to even prevent one poor sod in our bunk from being electrocuted by our overused China-made iron.

No.5: The other useful tape was masking tape. Without this, our talc (clear plastic) wrapped maps would fall apart. It worked better than scotch tape because it was easier to peel and restick. We could also write with pens on it, like this map belonged to 'PL 10'. It was useful like that so if a map was found, we would kow who to extort 1206 money from (80% mark-down was the rate).

No.4: In my NS time, duct tape was something the professional car mechanics used, not found in every household. Like everything else, the influx of cheap China goods meant our households can now be equipped with anything from WD40 to star-shaped head screwdrives.

No.2: With so many similar-looking botak heads in the same platoon, identifying who is who can be a problem. That was my experience during BMT. A black perm (for permanent, not hair treatment) marker was essential to write your name on everything....short of the toilet roll.

No.3: The black string we used was the same kind temples used to give out with their Buddha pendants. It was ideal as it was slight stretchy and strong. It was also kind to the skin. We used it with our dogtags (sorry, our commanders hated that term) and also to secure anything we did not want dropped, like our bayonet, compass, map...especially stuff that we would take out now and then to use. It served the same purpose as keychain cords security guards like to use.

No.6: Ziploc bags was just getting to be more common-use during my time. Still, a simple clear polystyrene bag would suffice. We also recycled those white medicinal pill zip bags. They were especially useful for keeping money notes dry and some loose change. You never know when a street food vendor might turn up with some hot coffee or noodles.

No.7: A jackknife is a pocketknife. Jack is not Jill's partner; it just means spring-hinged. I've always wondered about the SAF-issued one: It is all shiny and made of stainless steel. Compared to the Swiss Army knife, it's positively simple. A blade and can opener is all it has. But it's heavy. I wished they had given us a lighter one. Really, a jackknife with a spoon and fork as well would be better. Maybe even a scissor function. Or compass. The list grows. In camp, we boys all hankered after a complicated Swiss Army knife. Not that we had any particular use for it. Somehow,owning one was 'cool'.

No.9: I used more talc (clear plastic sheet, not powder) in OCS than my entire school life. Who knew you needed them like tampons when the occassion called for them? Maps can't go without them just like how some panties cannot during some exercises.

No: 10: Febreeze? Man, during my time, all we had was foot powder or talcum that we'd bring from home. Prickly heat powder was the best. For a touch of class, we used lavendar scented onces. For feet, army powder win hands down. Seriously, they were very good.

No.11: We needed these to secure our aluminium mugs to its holding pouch. Also the smoke grenade to our SBO. We needed the larger one for our helmet to keep vegetation on inorder to remain hidden like a chameleon in the jungle. A small band was always needed keep the bayonet dagger in its sheath. Body powder kept these bands supple and sticking to one another in our warm weather.

No.13: No, we didn't need to bring our own iron. Each bunk shared their own. The shiny stainless steel one from China was the best. It's still being sold; and still just as simple. We would keep a candle to make sure its surface remained waxy smooth. Another popular brand was Panasonic from Japan. Both were capable of heavy duty use. But most liked the China-made one for its weight (which was very useful with starched uniforms).

No.14: The above list was compiled not long ago, so I'm surprised that starch spray made it to the list. We started using starch spray when it became available in the early 80s, first via our camp's 'Giftshop', and later at the Chinese emporiums. Ok, a starch spray does help make even an ordinary shirt look stuck-up.

No.15: No, we were not that anal as to standardised our clothes hangers even. Having the same color towels was bad enough.

No.16: Haha...we all had a lighter each but not to burn cock hair with. (It's an old joke, btw) The lighter was needed to light candles with (which was a standard fullpack item) and also solid fuel to cook with. As for cock hair, it helps to trim, not shave. Someone did just that and had itchy pubics for a couple of weeks. Haha...it was terribly embarassing for him. Yes, burn any trimmed cock hair. It was rumoured during our time that people could make black magic with it. I rather just toss it into the wind.

No.18: Tupperware is a bit 'atas' and 'mahal' (Malay for branded and expensive). Any plastic container will do. I'd used one to keep first-aid and a sewing kit dry. Another to keep snacks and other sundry what-nots (like Mopiko). Diarrhea was always a concern during my time. Back then the remedies available were mostly TCM types: a miniature plastic bottle of 'tho orh san' (brownish powder) or 'po chai yun' (black pills kept in waxed balls). If you had diarrhea, the common medicine from the clinic was some thick chalk-like white liquid as unpleasant as Fishermen's fish oil. These days you get a grey-green capsule (Loperamide) and it works like magic.

With shops like Daiso around, one can buy very small 'Tupperwars' for keeping something like an aide memoir dry in the breast pocket. (An aide memoir is basically a quick fact-checker, like if you had forgotten the steps to giving an Ops Order) or what to do if an enemy starts shooting at you. Page 23: "1. Take cover." Oops, too late.

What's missing from this list are the aluminiun tent pegs we would bring along for field camp. Since we always lose one or two each time, having spares in the bunk is useful. The other thing is body powder. Prickly powder is a tradtional favourite. My platoon mate Chew from my BMT days would powder himself down excessively after each shower. He would look like some dough ready for deep-frying. I guess some habits from home take time to get over!

No.19: Spare batteries are not just for the personal music player or torchlight. With modern warefare, batteries are essential, especially when soldiers are equipped with netcentric devices such as PDAs, GPS and AR (augmented reality) devices. But heck, such equipment can take as many as eight AAA batts each. The weight does add up. Thankfully, there are many chemical batteries around. They are powerful when activated and can provide electrical juice for far longer and stronger than even the best rechargeables from 7-Eleven stores. The best part is that they come in powder form. Just add water. In the future, a soldier's helmet will also act a solar panel, not to mention his poncho (raincoat). Do you know the surface area afforded by a poncho? It's huge in solar energy terms.

What modern thing would a cadet need these days?

Me? I would bring a e-reader. If I am the head of OCS, I'll make sure every cadet gets one. I'll load it up with all sorts of useful first-account war stories from WWII, Vietnam War, Korean War and the recent Middle-East ones. It'll teach as well as get everyone in the right mindset. And of course, all back issues of Modesty Blaise for entertainment reading. This comic book (and novel) title is more than just about a female spy and gang leader. It's about being combat smart and psychologically strong. Women, as they often do, show the way. There's a lot to learn from the stories. And who can resist a spy-spy kind of story?

Previous story: OCS Barrack Life; Next story: My Bunk Mate 

OCS Barrack Life

The old OCS in Pasir Laba in the 80s was quite new then. There were seven blocks of barracks which were named Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, Delta, Echo, Foxtrot, and Golf.

Typically each intake of cadets would occupy two blocks of barracks. In March, it was Delta-Foxtrot (A-level batch); in June, it was Bravo-Echo (another A-level batch); and then in September, it was Alpha-Charlie (the Poly batch). The Golf block was the nearest cadet barrack to the main gate by distance and opposite the cookhouse. It housed the female career cadets. As male cadets, we were naturally curious about our opposite-gender brethren in that building. It was always a joy to bump into them during meals at the cookhouse. Given the uneven gender ratio in OCS, I am sure these girls knew how endangered a species they must appear to be. And how unnerving it must have been to have always a dozen of eyes checking them out each time when were at the cookhouse!

I must admit we guys have planned many a panty raid in our minds in our spare time. But the threat of expulsion from the school kept us from achieving that prank.

But each time I saw a Golf Company cadet, I wondered what compelled her to join the army in the first place. In my mind then, the girls had better career opportunities in the private sector than us guys. Wouldn't it be better to find work as a secretary, nurse, HR honcho, receptionist then as an unglam army girl?

We used to think only the ugly ones joined the nation's armed forces. But at Golf Company were a few sweet-faced ones. So what reason did they have?

Perhaps it was just pure male chauvinism on our part to think like that. My own sister joined the air force. She did so to further her studies in Engineering. She wasn't butt ugly. Maybe "one-of-a-kind" would be an apt description.

But OCS was new then. The bunks were either for two persons or four. It reminded me of the new hostels in NTU which I visited as a student during a Pre-U seminar in my final year at CJC . A bunk, a built-in cabinet (with a top compartment to put that bag from home) and a shared desk.

It was functional yet cozy.

Did we get to enjoy our time in the bunks?

Well, I remember my OCS time as being very busy. If not PT, it was classroom work. If not that, then it was field work. The bunk became just that, a bunk: a place to lay our heads in during night. If we were in camp, that is. Which wasn't often during senior term.

As for facilities, there weren't any on each floor. No pantry even. We did everything in our bunks except to go to the toilet and bathe. OCS was a camp, not  a prison! The block itself had a couple of briefing rooms. The rest of the offices were taken up by respective company staff or the tactics team instructors. My batch was the second or third last batch to be trained by such teams. Afterwards, it was switched over to the mentor system (of which my batch were the first instructors). There were seven teams then, each specialising in more than one military subject. Their offices were spread among the cadet company blocks.

Each cadet company block had its own exercise yard - a small patch big enough to hold two chin-up bars. Chin-ups were often our Achilles' Heel during IPPTs (physical fitness test), so at every opportune moment, we were made to 'practice' before heading out...even before lunch. We did them in our No. 4s too.

For leisure, we cadets were given a cadet mess next to the cookhouse - 'mess' being army-speak for a casual hangout place afterhours. But who would want to be seen at a mess during active training time? Or even afterhours? Both officers and NCOs would think you were skivving. If a cadet is not kept busy, something is wrong! Do we not have boots to polish? Clothes to iron? Subjects to revise and study? Activities to plan for the next day? Routine orders/duties to carry out?

The cadet mess thus became a kind of white elephant. It was used mostly by cadets who had to do weekend duties. During my time, the mess was equipped with a TV and VCR machine, a midi hi-fi system, a rattan sofa set, and a drinks machine. The cadet mess was also stocked with many copies of Pioneer magazine. Haha... as if our own immersion in green wasn't enough!

Each batch of cadet intake would have its own mess committee responsible for organising cadet-life related events and such. These activities were few and far in-between. I remember we had a casual nite once together with the Golf cadets before we passed out (i.e. graduated from OCS, not dead drunk). Still, mess fees were always collected despite the absence of events. $5 for what again? we would ask each time. It's like paying for that time-share apartment we hardly get to use!.

My vivid memories of the cadet mess was as a place to kill time, usually before an overseas training trip. Dressed in civies and all ready, we would all talkcock in the mess until it's time to board that three tonner to the airport. Or it was a place to hangout until it was time to book-out. The cadet mess was after all, nearer to the main gate nearer to freedom.

There was a library in SAFTI at the time in that main building just after the main gate. It was the Infantry HQ. It's a pity no time was made for us cadets to use that library, else we could have learned so much more about military tactics and leadership life lessons. It was only during my instructor stint at OCS that I found time to read the many excellent first-person account war stories there. Philip Caputo, Harold G Moore, Neil Sheehan, Bernard Fall, etc. There were even gems like 'A Guerilla Handbook on Assassinations' from South America with some very over-the-top illustrated methods. It was pocket-dictionary sized, which must have been convenient for the novice secret agent bumping into a target unexpectedly. "Quick, I need a good killing method now!" LOL.

Books like that are depressing to read after a while. I much preferred Spy vs Spy in MAD magazine. At least they were ingenious and made you laugh. And I much preferred books that made me a better infantry officer.

As an instructor, my bunk was in the old E Block right across the field. It was a multi-storey building reminiscent of that old primary school or converted art facility at the junction of Short Street and Selegie Road. This E-block was very sparse and looked deserted most of the time, like a building emptied for demolition. It was there that I first read another war epic, The Lord of the Rings. Took me three tries to get past the first five pages. I then fell in love with it. I also read a lot of Robert Ludlum.

Nine months is a long time to spend in any one place. Even though our bunks seem more like way stations than living quarters because of the little time we spent there, it was still home. My fondest memory is one where I would lay in my bunk bed looking at the clear inky sky during full moon. I would have my Sanyo walkman and headphones on playing Streets of Fire - an 'in' song then. All would be at peace. It was a young man's life. A life of adventure, a life of comradeship. I knew then to make full use of it and I did.

Previous story: An Apple in OCS; Next story: Cadet Misc Equipment