This is my story - 8

8 –Influence of Roman Catholicism
My grandmother with whom I enjoyed a close relationship was getting quite frail. She must have sensed her life was coming to an end.

One day she called the family together and told them that before her marriage she was a Roman Catholic, but had given up her faith to marry my grandfather. Now it was her desire to return to her church. This was news to everyone for all through the years she participated in idol and ancestor worship and no one knew she was ever a Christian.

Her children contacted the priest of the Church of St. Peter and Paul. A Chinese priest, an old man with a long white beard came to reaccept her as a member of the church. He performed certain rituals and readmitted her into the Catholic Church. This was 1945 when the Japanese were still in power in the region.

The priest whom we addressed as ‘Father’ then told us to attend his church which we did. So every Sunday morning I went with my family to church. I could not understand a word, but faithfully imitated the actions of other worshippers such as dipping my fingers into the water at the entrance of the church and making the sign of the cross. When they knelt, I knelt. When they stood up, I did the same. The worship was quite different from what I was used to in the Salvation Army Sunday school.

The priest sent a Catholic teacher who came once a week to our house to teach us catechism and prayers. She spoke only Teochew. I was given a rosary and I learned to say the prayers, all in Teochew, my ‘mother tongue’ which I acquired through my parents and grandparents. Frankly, I spoke bazaar Teochew mixed with Malay. I don’t understand proper Teochew. So I learned by rote those prayers in Teochew and recited them with little understanding!

One day Grandmother was very ill and the family called the priest to perform the last rites. Grandmother died just before the British returned to Singapore. Her funeral was held at the Catholic Church and her body buried at the Catholic section at Bidadari Cemetery at Upper Serangoon Road.

My uncle being the only surviving son felt it his duty to look after the family ancestral tablets. He decided that he would not retain the crucifix in his house. So the relatives agreed that my family would embrace the Catholic faith and keep Grandmother’s religious icons. The other aunts and their families all wanted to keep their non-Christian faith.

So Mother set up the Catholic altar at our house and every evening I knelt before the crucifix and recited prayers using the rosary. It was quite repetitious and some nights I was so tired, I would cheat by moving two beads and sometimes three at one go to hasten the prayers! You see I had to get up very early to collect water from the tap shared by twelve families. By now I was already about thirteen years old still very shy and inwardly rebellious. I always felt sister being the only girl was the favoured one; elder brother being the oldest in the family was always given preferential treatment; and youngest brother was spoilt. That was my impression. Looking back I can see I had very low self image.

The British returned in August 1945.There were not enough schools to cater for children and preference was given to those of the right age. I was already three and half years behind! Mother was very busy trying to earn extra money to support the family. She simply did not have the time to see that I get into some school. I scouted around and eventually got into St. Andrew’s afternoon school at Upper Serangoon Road. I could not afford the bus fare so would walk by taking a short cut from Lorong Limau through Whanpoa area, at that time empty land covered with lalang (tall grass) and emerged through St. Michael’s Road to Upper Serangoon Road.

I persisted in trying to get back to my old School – Rangoon Road Primary school. I believe God was there to intervene. One day I boldly stepped into Rangoon Road School and made my way to the Headmaster’s office. With fear and trembling, I approached the headmaster Mr. Yeo Bock Hoe, a very short, stern man and said, “I want to enter school.” I had memorised those words!

He gave me a good look and must have taken pity on this nervous lad. He sent me to the Standard Three teacher, a Mr. Goh who gave me a test in English and Arithmetic. To cut the long story short, I was accepted into Std 3 B. There in the same class was a former Salvation Army Sunday School boy by the name of David Ooi Keng Teow one of my former Sunday School lads from Balestier Corps.

He had already rejoined The Salvation Army which was now at Martaban Road. The Army had built an atap house on the land belonging to Mrs. Palmer, a Home Leaguer. Later she became a Salvationist and sold the land to the Army for a token sum of $3000.00.

David invited me to attend the Army, but I declined the invitation as I had already promised the priest that I would be a Roman Catholic. One Sunday he came to my house to take me to the Army. I politely refused. He came three successive Sundays and at last just to please him, I went. Well, it was like old times again. I was warmly welcomed. It was the prodigal returning home, the lost sheep back to the fold. I felt this was where I belonged. The General Secretary Brigadier Frederick Harvey was holding on at the Corps as there was no Corps Officer. I enjoyed the singing and the Bible stories! Brigadier Harvey was a great story teller, and concertina player! I enjoyed the singing and admired the way he handled his concertina, swinging it as he played!

A couple of weeks later Captain Cecil Watts was appointed to take charge of the corps. This new Captain was a good visitor of his flock and did not hesitate to visit our family. He came and helped me in my homework and really took a great interest in me. I was very touched when I saw him cleaning the hall himself. On Saturdays he would be there to see to the garden. There was no hall keeper. He cycled everywhere and even on Sundays would cycle to the Corps with his piano accordion tied to this bicycle. It was his love, compassion and godly living that won my heart.

I stopped attending the Roman Catholic Church, much to the disappointment of my mother. Father didn’t care much as he was hardly home. Only my sister went with Mother to the Catholic Church and later they were baptised as Catholics. My younger brother came with me to The Army, but later he left and went back to the Catholic Church as he wanted to get into St.Joseph’s School.

Looking back I believe my involvement with the Roman Catholic church for that brief period of time was one of God’s ways of preparing me for my service some forty plus years later in the Philippines, a predominantly Catholic country. God’s ways are always perfect!