9:38 pm Tuesday, October 03, 2006
A beat too slow
A bus I often take passes by the site of the now-defunct New World amusement park. Although I was too young to remember if I had even gone there before, I still get a nostalgic vibe whenever I'm around that Jalan Besar area. Maybe it's knowing that many of my parents' generation, even my parents themselves, might have spent many joyful times on those rides. There was nothing left to mark the site, just the gates with its metal arches and peeling red letterings on white paint. And so I would look wistfully at it, trying to imagine and hear the laughter of yore.To my horror, one day the entire metal arch was painted a dirty shade of grey, the letterings totally obliterated. A few days later, an enormous signboard was hammered over it. No wonder. The plot of land had been bought over by a condominium developer. The entire district was plastered with similar signs with directions to its showflat. I cursed silently. That was at least half a year ago. Lo and behold, today I see an article in the Straits Times where the Urban Redevelopment Authority proudly proclaims its vendetta to "preserve (familiar landmarks) for posterity". It noted that "conservation efforts were especially critical in a fast-changing Singapore, where new developments sprout at an unrelenting pace". Together with the article was a photo of the New World gate, in all its grey painted-over glory. Duh.Seems to me like a case of (as the Chinese saying goes) 马后炮: Saying something only when the deed has been done, and the situation cannot be reversed. Good for you, URA. Too bad for New World and the rest of us who have just lost some dear memories.
Labels: Nostalgic Nut
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A bus I often take passes by the site of the now-defunct New World amusement park. Although I was too young to remember if I had even gone there before, I still get a nostalgic vibe whenever I'm around that Jalan Besar area. Maybe it's knowing that many of my parents' generation, even my parents themselves, might have spent many joyful times on those rides. There was nothing left to mark the site, just the gates with its metal arches and peeling red letterings on white paint. And so I would look wistfully at it, trying to imagine and hear the laughter of yore.
