IWAS intrigued to learn that a book has been published based on the letters of the esteemed Tun Ahmad Sarji and his wife, Toh Puan Sagiyah Salikin, titled Sagiyah Salikin: Tahu Menjaga Tuah.
As someone who will readily admit to have delved into people’s archives to get a glimpse of old diaries and letters, I certainly can’t wait to get my hands on the book written by Ruhayah Mahmod.
A glimpse of the letters showed epistles dated 1961, from two people to each other during their courtship. The handwritten letters, sent from Klang to Seremban and vice versa, must have been penned with the full emotions of two people getting to know each other before they embarked on their journey together as husband and wife.
The letters were neatly and beautifully penned in a language that was a respectful nod to the letter writing style of days gone by. Such letters, style and language are, sadly, no more.
While technology has made communication a lot simpler and faster, it has dealt a detrimental blow to the quality of language and dented style beyond recognition.
This inspired me to look through my own archives of interviews and found, interestingly, the different ways people expressed their feelings to their nearest and dearest.
I have been rather fortunate and privileged to be given more than glimpses of some letters and diaries that took me back to those time immemorial.
Dr Russell Jones, now in his 90s, had long promised to show me his “letters from Malaya”.
Two years ago, I ventured out to the scenic coastal town of Cornwall, where you least expect to find even a hint of Malayness. But there lives the British Orientalist, who is well known among scholars of Malay studies for his vast knowledge of Malay and Indonesian languages and cultures.
Jones showed me an old rusty biscuit tin with letters bearing old stamps from Malaya. The letters were all well catalogued and documented. They date from 1942, with some breaks in between, until the time he left Malaya.
“Someone I worked with told me: ‘Wherever you are, always write a letter a week to your parents’,” Jones says.
He made full use of the time he sailed on the Canton to the Far East, where he served with the Marines in Singapore, to begin writing to his parents in Shropshire.
“I was in the East twice. The first as a soldier in Singapore and later in Java.
“There was nothing much to do as the war had ended. Then I came back to England to study Malay and later joined the colonial service.”
I learnt about Jones’s second stint in Malaya as an immigration officer and about his life as a young British officer working in a country the Brits once colonised.
Jones spoke about the weather and the locals, as well as about his work, which involved boarding ships and visiting posts at the borders, and checking and stamping passports.
In an otherwise uneventful period, an exciting day for him would be if a smuggler, an illegal immigrant or a bandit was arrested.
In a letter dated July 7, 1949, Jones wrote about a bandit who was killed during his visit to Perlis.
Jones was first based in Penang, then later in Johor, where he set up an immigration office.
Like all officers posted out in the East, Jones was required to pass his Malay exams. He was motivated to pass the exams, but his interest in the language and culture did not end there. After his service, Jones relentlessly pursued his interest, and now, his published works on Malay literature and manuscripts would put many Malaysians to shame.
His record on March 22, 1950 showed that he had finished reading a translation of the Quran.
Though he had language teachers, he also practised his listening skills by tuning in to Malay dramas and watching Malay movies.
“They are rather simple, but funny,” he wrote.
Now, his works on hikayat (Malay epics), Malay loan words and watermarks have become useful sources of reference.
A true academic, he meticulously catalogued and documented his letters, cross referencing them with entries in his diaries. He began keeping diaries at age 7.
Another fascinating family history that has been published was written based on letters and diaries of the renowned Danish architect Berthal Michael Iversen, who gave modern Malaya many of its finest buildings that became landmarks. Iversen made Malaya his home since 1928.
Iversen: Architect of Ipoh and Modern Malaya was lovingly written by Iversen’s daughter, Ruth Iversen Rollitt, who was born in Batu Gajah in 1938. Coming from a family who wrote and documented family events and journeys, it was not surprising that Ruth had taken it upon herself to work on the book based on letters and diaries that her father had religiously written and illustrated throughout his life out in the East.
The input from the diaries, largely of drawings depicting family activities and events, made for a riveting read. The book was a tribute to her father as the architect who built buildings such as the Federal House, cinemas, the Ipoh Jubilee Hall, as well as homes.
Ruth showed me diaries that her father had written and illustrated for the family.
The day Ruth was born, the day of her marriage and the birth of her son were all documented.
“On 28th of February 1963, was born at Batu Gajah hospital Ruth’s and Donald’s son — Donald Harry Iverson Baxter, a fine and healthy boy, and the sun was shining,” Iversen wrote, with an illustration of a glorious sun shining over the couple bringing their baby home.
However, dark clouds descended. Ruth’s young husband was killed by robbers.
“He lies buried in Batu Gajah cemetery, but remains forever in our mind.”
Every Christmas, Iversen gave pages of the diaries to his wife. Copies of the diaries would then be made for Ruth and her brother.
I stumbled on a very interesting exhibition in Southbank two years ago. The exhibition room was filled with rows and rows of small, beautifully illustrated wage packets. They belonged to shoemaker Ab Solomon, who, every week between 1926 and 1982, handed over his wage packets to his wife, Celie.
On each packet were drawings and doodles depicting mundane things, from shopping trips to hilarious domestic squabbles.
The wage packets, which, in other people’s hands, would have ended up in the bin, was creatively used by Solomon to paint a portrait of his marriage to Celie during the most turbulent decades of the 20th century — “a bittersweet celebration of commitment and love”.
My own collection of letters from a small office in Penang to an office in London and back, were penned in the mid-70s. The very sight of the envelopes bearing stamps with the Queen’s head still gives my heart a flutter.
Upon receiving the letters collected from the post office, I would rush to a cafe nearby to read them after putting a coin in the jukebox. On other days, the letters would make an enjoyable read in the trishaw as the puller raced through Penang Street to take me to my destination.