Intan Maizura Ahmad Kamal
"THESE days, there's nothing to get so excitable about…"
"Except maybe when we need to discuss what medicine we're taking!"
"And since she took up piano, I've been going for vocal training to learn to sing."
"No wonder it's been raining every day!"
"I love to sing P. Ramlee songs. But I won't sing to my wife. She won't listen!"
"He cannot sing!"
And once again, the walls of the cosy apartment reverberate with the sound of happy laughter as the petite lady clad in soft pink seated opposite me lobs an endless string of humorous "side smashes" to her grinning husband.
It's akin to watching an entertaining double act! Suffice it to say, after 60 years of marriage to Datin Salmah Long, Kedah's former director of Education, Datuk Hashim Mydin is pretty used to his wife's wit and candour.
In an age when reports of young couples throwing in the towel on their marriage after just mere years in it are so rife, it's refreshing to be in the company of a couple who seems to truly epitomise that phrase, "Couple Goals". Hashim and Salmah, doting parents to five grown-up children, recently celebrated a proud milestone — their Diamond wedding anniversary.
"In our family, we all have a good sense of humour," begins the 84-year-old Hashim, turning slightly to his wife whose tudung-clad head bobs enthusiastically in agreement. Adding, he shares: "We laugh all the time. We don't take life too seriously. And I think that's important to family happiness. Laughter truly is the best medicine!"
That's not to say that it's all been a bed of roses for this lovely couple, whose apparent differences seem to complement each other perfectly. Salmah, with her dry wit and eyes perpetually sparkling with mischief, appears to be the more gregarious of the two. Meanwhile, her husband Hashim exudes an air of calm authority.
"Oh, we've gone through so much together. There have been plenty of challenges throughout our journey as husband and wife but not once did it rattle our resolve to stick with each other — through thick and thin," muses Hashim, before his wife chips in solemnly: "I can't live without him…"
PUPPY LOVE
Their story unfolded when the two Kedahans found themselves at the Malayan Teachers' Training College in Kirkby, Liverpool, England back in 1958. He was 22, and she, just 20. Long before Merdeka, the authorities in Malaya were desperate to train more teachers in order to cope with the rapidly expanding school population. So it was decided that trainees would be sent to Kirkby, a small village 10 miles 16.1km outside of Liverpool, as a temporary measure while training colleges were being built in Malaya.
"She was very glamorous," exclaims Hashim, eyes shining in recollection when asked what his first impression of Salmah was back then.
"I don't think I was glamorous!" Salmah interjects, rolling her eyes in bemusement.
"It's not for you to say," retorts Hashim, chuckling good-naturedly at his wife before turning to me and adding: "She was good looking and athletic because she played hockey at that time. Since we were there in one place together, we slowly got to know each other. That was the start."
Mischief lighting up her eyes again, Salmah, a former Bahasa and Art teacher, exclaims: "Actually, I wasn't attracted to him at all at the beginning! He was too thin! He was the one that kept pursuing me. Everywhere I went, he came after me. He always wanted to take me out to the cinema whenever we had some free time. So in the end, I surrendered lah!"
A pause ensues as a thought appears to enter Salmah's mind. "Actually, he didn't tell you the story that we already knew of each other before going to Kirkby," muses the vivacious former teacher, before continuing triumphantly: "You see, we were pen pals first!"
As the story goes, Salmah was studying at the Malay Girls' College in Kuala Lumpur (now known as Tunku Kurshiah College, an all-girls boarding school in Seremban), while Hashim was a student at Sultan Abdul Hamid College in Alor Setar, Kedah. "He was in Form 5 and I was in Form 3. But I guess he doesn't want to tell you about that part!"
Nodding as the memories come flooding back, Hashim sheepishly confides: "Well, in those days, when you like a girl, you just write her letters lah! I was the first one to write and we communicated this way for at least a year or two. I suppose she wasn't attracted to me; my writing was probably what swayed her!"
"Ooo, his writing was very good," chips in Salmah, adding proudly: "He can write Shakespeare! It so happened that English Literature was his favourite subject at school."
The youngsters had gotten to know each other while they were both still in Kedah. He was in Alor Setar, and she, in Yan, approximately 50km away from the Kedah capital. The gangly Hashim would cycle from his hometown just to see her during the school holidays.
THE COURTSHIP BEGINS
It was Hashim who was the first to set off for Liverpool. Recalls Salmah: "He wrote to me and implored me to come to Kirkby. He said, 'Don't go anywhere else. If you don't come to Kirkby, I'm not going to be friends with you anymore!' It wasn't that I was scared but I decided to follow him lah!"
The youthful 82-year-old remembers that whilst she wasn't in the least bit attracted to Hashim while they were still in school, her impression of him changed when she got to Kirkby. Her smile wide, Salmah shares that by then, Hashim had put on some weight and "… he was tall and handsome. So I suppose the attraction came!"
Their courtship ensued soon after. But it was nothing dramatic or anything, assures Hashim sheepishly. When there were no classes, the couple would go off-site and enjoy their little town, developed from the 1950s to 19'70s as a housing overspill of Liverpool.
"I remember on one of our first dates taking Salmah to a restaurant called The Cottage. The first time I took her there, it was for lunch," recalls Hashim, adding: "Outings like this allowed us to really talk to each other, pretty much about everything and anything."
Their time at Kirkby seemed to fly by and soon it was already time for Hashim to return home. He found himself posted to the Tunku Petra English School in Baling, Kedah (the very same venue where the late Tunku Abdul Rahman had peace talks with Chin Peng in 1955). Smiling, Hashim remembers: "When she finished a year later, she was asked where she wanted to go and teach. She told the authorities she wanted to go to Baling. They were surprised. They asked her why on earth she'd want to go to a Communist place!"
Laughter once again erupts as Salmah chips in: "I told the principal it was because my boyfriend is there! I'm very frank." And what did the principal say, I ask, curiosity getting the better of me. Salmah blithely replies: "He said, 'Oh'. I think Hashim must have put a bomoh spell on me or something to make me follow him!" And this was how the two lovebirds found themselves teaching at the same school in remote Baling.
It would be six months later — when Hashim was 23, and Salmah, 21 — that the couple would tie the knot in a simple wedding. "We couldn't afford a big wedding," says Hashim before sharing that his father was just a policeman. "I'm from a family of six — four brothers, including me, and two sisters. My mother was a housewife. I grew up in a police barrack. Life was tough because we got one house with only one room and there were eight of us there. Money was scarce."
Finances were so tight that despite being a top student (he obtained a Grade 1 in his Senior Cambridge examinations in 1956), Hashim had to sacrifice his dreams of going on to university. "That's why I went to Kirkby. It was free. Also, you just needed to go training for two years and you can get a job once you're done," he elaborates.
An only child, Salmah adds that her mother was a teacher then, and her father was working with JKR (Public Works Department). "I didn't mind that we could only afford something simple. All I knew was I just wanted to get married. Back then, when you're 21, you're already regarded as an old maid!" After their wedding, the couple made their home in one of the teachers' quarters in Baling and continued to teach.
LIFE AS HUSBAND AND WIFE
Matrimonial "bliss" isn't quite how Salmah would describe their early days as husband and wife. "It was terrible!" she exclaims, widening her eyes at the memory. "Yes, it was difficult," offers Hashim, somewhat more diplomatically.
Age was a big factor, elaborates Salmah, and the fact that they had a child soon after. "I was only 22 and still teaching when our first child came along. We had no idea how to take care of her. Because we'd never experienced family life before, there were a lot of arguments, but mostly over trifle stuff."
"She was working and so was I," adds Hashim, continuing: "When we came back, both would be tired. And then the next child came a year and a half later. And then another, one year after the second one. So yes, it was a lot for a young couple to handle."
Did you get any advice from your respective parents on how to manoeuvre married life, I ask.
Salmah shakes her head. "My mother was a gentle lady. And she didn't think to give me any advice."
His expression earnest, Hashim points out that during their time, it wasn't common for children to talk to their parents much, especially when it comes to matters of the heart. But he admits to being particularly observant of how his own parents ran their family life.
A faraway look in his discerning eyes, Hashim confides: "We were a big family. I observed that my father was always very busy working. My mother took care of us. Despite being quite a small lady, she was the disciplinarian."
Chuckling at a sudden memory that must have crossed his mind, he adds fondly: "I remember you just don't do anything wrong — especially if you happen to be next to her in the kitchen. You know those kayu api? She'd have it in her hand and wave it at us. Every time we did something wrong, we'd be sure to avoid the kitchen!"
Eyes dancing, Salmah says that her father was strict but her mother? "I'd drop a whole lot of plates on the floor and mum would never scold. Instead, she'd coo softly and just say, 'babiiiiiii!' She was so gentle."
As the walls once again reverberate with the sound of merry laughter, Hashim admits that he and his wife, bumbling as they were in the early days, did make a pact with each other in order to ensure that peace could somehow reign in their humble home.
"We made an agreement that if one of us was angry, the other must cool down," shares Hashim, before adding: "I guess it worked; that's how we can still be here together now!"
Salmah concedes that sometimes the arguments would continue on despite this agreement. But, she's swift to add that the fiery moments taught them a lot about each other. "That's how we learn about each other's weaknesses, strengths, likes and dislikes. My husband's weakness? He's hot tempered! But now I've learnt to keep quiet. Be lah hot tempered!"
Stifling his bemusement, Hashim chips in: "In our younger years, between the two of us, my wife was the more fiery character! She's very strict and that was extended to how she brought up the children."
OF SACRIFICES AND BALANCE
Although Salmah was the disciplinarian, the children knew when not to cross the line with their father. His silence evoked fear in their little hearts. Smiling, Hashim recalls: "When father says nothing, then there's something wrong. Things like school results, they'd rather show to their mother first. Although they were never spanked, they'd still know when father wasn't happy with them."
His wife, shares Hashim, ended up having the bulk of parenting time with the children as the years went by and his career soared in a different direction. After their stint as teachers in Baling, the couple were subsequently transferred to Sungai Petani, Kedah's largest town, located 55km from the capital.
It was during this period that Hashim decided to revisit his dream of going to university. Brows furrowing, he elaborates: "I saw that some of my classmates from school had emerged with university degrees. I remember telling my wife that it didn't seem right. After all, I was a top student and some of these people were not. And yet, they graduated."
Knowing that he had the qualifications to do so, Hashim decided to pursue self-study. "I went back to university at the age of 28," he exclaims, proudly. By this time, the couple had two and "a half" children.
The "half" was Hazlina, their second daughter, who was born while Hashim was still at university. His wife singlehandedly took care of the children during his three years at Universiti Malaya studying Malay Studies and Sociology. "She got transferred to Alor Setar and stayed with her parents there during this period," shares Hashim, adding that he'd come back for visits from time to time to see his growing family.
His eyes lighting up with pride, Hashim confides that he did so well at university that the moment he graduated, he was made a headmaster at a school in Kulim. "After that, I was promoted quite fast. I soon found myself taken to the Education Ministry in the Exams Syndicate side. My wife and I were later transferred to Penang. I became a deputy director of Education at the age of 34, holding the position for five years."
By that time, offers Salmah, her tone laced with mirth, the arguments between husband and wife became considerably reduced. "He was just too busy working. I was working too and by then, a mother to five kids. I guess we just got too tired to argue!"
Chips in Hashim: "We were so busy teaching, bringing up the children and trying to keep the home economy afloat. As teachers, we earned only RM310. Collectively, we brought home RM620. But we could still afford to buy a car. We had just enough. But if there was one thing we made sure of, despite our busy work life, it was that every school holiday would be spent taking the children somewhere. Without fail."
Hashim's last posting was in Kedah; this time as the state's director of Education. His wife wasn't able to follow him as the younger children were still schooling. It was to be another sacrifice that needed to be made — this time, for five years.
"I never disturbed his work. I didn't even go to his office. But I didn't resent anything. I just occupied myself by playing golf. And got really good at it!" retorts Salmah, good-naturedly.
THE GLUE THAT BINDS
For the doting parents, their children are what binds them. "I always remind myself that they need BOTH of us," says Salmah, emphatically, before adding: "Never mind that sacrifices need to be made; what's important is that we're doing this to ensure that our family unit remains intact. This is very important to me."
The children, adds Hashim, bring them a lot of joy. "We had them when we were young and we really did grow up with them. If you see us, we're just like friends. We don't have problems with each other and we enjoy open communication. They advise us. We advise them. We can all take it."
The couple acknowledge that times have changed and it has become more challenging for young couples these days to manoeuvre marriage and family life. "There was no such thing (or maybe not as much) as separation issues during our time," muses Hashim, adding softly: "People stuck with each other."
Her head bobbing in agreement, Salmah believes it's because husband and wife are becoming too busy for each other as they attempt to make ends meet in a world that has become far too expensive.
She points out: "Both go out to work and end up having little time for each other. And when they get home, they talk about their work and not focus on the children. Maybe if the husband can bring in enough money for the family, then the wife can stay at home and focus on the kids."
His lips pursed, Hashim shakes his head. "There are many highly qualified women these days," he muses, voice low, adding: "If the wife can make more money, there's nothing wrong for the couple to consider allowing her to work and the husband helps to look after the kids. It's okay to be a house-husband. After all, the end goal is the same. Just find the balance and synergy to make it work — somehow."
Then, as an added afterthought, he concludes with a kindly smile: "Maybe they need to make a pact too!"