If you were a child growing up in the 80s in HDB estates, a walk down memory lane would bring back fond memories of running free at the neighbourhood playground. Hair plastered to your head, sweat trickling down your temples as you move from one point to another, jostling with other five, six or even ten-year olds for your turn.
I think I was five when I moved to our apartment block at Marsiling Drive from one of the last vestiges of kampungs at Jalan Kechot. Playing downstairs was a privilege, after doing my bit of studying or household chore. I would either shout from my second floor balcony to tell my friends that I was coming down or give a quick call on our green push-button Telecoms issued phone to make a play date.
It never occurred to me that the playground that I loved would be one of the most iconic ones in Singapore – the Dragon playground. Perhaps, the affinity I have with it is because I am a Dragon myself, well, at least according to the Chinese Zodiac. Coincidence aside, I became very attached to this place that brought me joy for over four years.
Designed by Mr Khor Ean Ghee, it had a majestic orange tiled head and a steel skeletal spine that ran all the way down to its tail. At the head, a concrete slide was attached. Not that smooth to play on but it still felt good to race down as the wind whooshed through your hair.
Like a train, we would scuttle up from the tail and traverse on the gapped spine, careful not to get a foot stuck in between. At the middle, at approximately four metres high, you felt like you were the king of the world, looking down on your petty subjects, scurrying around beneath you. Move a few metres more, we would then slide down. Scuttle up – traverse – slide. That pattern could be repeated a whole afternoon.
The playground itself was on a raised sand pit. Most of us would kick off our slippers once we climbed up. I loved digging my toes in the sand. That was the closest thing we could get to the beach those days. At times, we would step on a stray pebble or fragment of twig, but no major damage was done. Of course, we were circumspect when we encountered a patch of wet sand. It could have been an offering from the friendly neighbourhood cat! There was the occasional scraped knee from falling down in a game of ‘catching’ or ‘police and thief’ but that would be a badge of honour.
A favourite value-added game of mine was hopscotch. We would find a free spot somewhere on the sand pit and draw in the lines with an errant twig. I can still remember the exhilaration of jumping on one foot and making it to home base.
Then, there was 'shooting marbles'. The tomboy that I was, I would often play this with the boys, having my own pouch of marbles. These would be placed in a circle drawn in the sand. The aim was to oust as many marbles belonging to your opponent. The clacking sound of your marble, pushing others out was music to my ears.
Another thrill was spinning on the merry-go-round. Eight to ten of us would pile up, some sitting, squatting or standing on the edge, hands gripped so tight on the handles, our knuckles turned white. Someone on the outside would then push and get it moving at such incredible speeds, I would imagine we would just be a blur of colour to any Mummy who would be brave enough to watch. There would always be this one daredevil who would jump off on purpose. A nasty egg-sized bump on the head was surely his early lesson in Physics.
In 1985, I moved to Bedok, a very new estate with barely any children my age. The playground there paled in comparison. A simple structure with something to climb and a pair of swings. I chose to lose myself in books instead. By the 1990s, the HDB neighbourhood playgrounds, with their plastic modular set ups replaced the sand pits and concrete structures. Yes, they were safer and perhaps more hygienic. However, none could match the pleasure and adventure to be had on that dragon.
