8_Days__June_1_2017

my word
BY
WOFFLES WU
78
8
The breezy garden in our
house was the perfect
place to entertain
guests at night. I had
successfully hosted
many dinner parties there, the food
laid out on a large antique stone
table that had been left to us by
some relatives, the perimeter of the
garden delicately illuminated with
the flickering flames of Hawaiian
torches. It was always magical if the
weather was kind to us.
Each party was, however, a hitand-miss
affair as we never knew
when it would rain, which it does
frequently and unpredictably on our
sunny shores. If it poured, we couldn't
use the garden for a day or two as
the lawn would be too soggy. Luckily
our house has a covered open air
verandah, which is a good subsititute
for when it rains, but somehow it is
never quite the same as sitting in the
open air on a cool balmy evening.
My friends were very eclectic and
bohemian, and they much preferred to
chat al fresco amidst trees and plants
than in an air-conditioned lounge.
As a consequence, other than the
bedrooms, we never air-conditioned
our house, which is still largely in
its original state, as when grandpa
bought it in 1951. However, on very
hot days or during Chinese New Year
when hordes of relatives and friends
descend upon us, I sometimes regret
this and envy my friends with big
houses who entertain in sophisticated
air-conditioned comfort.
Two or three times a week, my
mother used the garden to conduct
dog training classes with a good friend
of hers, Harry the trainer. All sorts of
dogs came for these classes, which
included our own recalcitrant mongrels
and spaniels, who unfortunately had
minds of their own and did as they
pleased. They were very obedient
during the training session but the
DAYS
minute the trainer and the other dogs
left, they would become their old
selves, not deigning to offer a paw, roll
over or play dead upon request. In fact
they would look at us with an amused
look as if to say, “Honestly? Roll over?
Give me a break.”
By the mid-eighties, I was
beginning to travel more frequently
to Thailand, Indonesia, Bali, and to
visit my relatives in Malaysia. I was
constantly on the look out for beautiful
gardens and how the plants and trees
had been sculpted into an attractive
ensemble. I would stop the car or
taxi whenever I espied a house with
unique architecture and interesting
gardens.
Each of these gardens — from
Suan Pakkad and Jim Thomson’s
house in Bangkok to the lush
gardens of Jogjakarta, Malang and
Bali — inspired me, fueling my desire
to create my own garden fantasy at
home. My Uncle Chong Keat owns a
small run-down but charming hotel,
By the late eighties, I decided that I too
wanted a garden which created the
same sense of tranquility and appreciation of
nature when one walked through it.
the Bellevue, on Penang Hill, and it
is set on the apex of the hill with a
magnificent unobstructed view of
Georgetown below.
The centrepiece, however, is the
garden that envelops the hotel,
which my uncle transformed into a
surrealistic tropical paradise with
many varieties of exotic heliconias
and gingers, palms, fruit trees, and
a huge aviary where he kept his
collection of prized macaws, parrots
and even a hornbill. It was aweinspiring.
As an architect and an
artist, he has a knack for creating
things of beauty and I picked up
many ideas just by observing how
he put everything together. His
influence was probably responsible
for why I am a bit eccentric myself,
or perhaps it’s just in the genes.
By the late eighties, as I was
completing my surgical training, I
decided that I too wanted a garden
which created the same sense of
tranquility and appreciation of nature
when one walked through it — a
place for contemplation, reverie and
reflection. What I did not want though
was a typical Balinese garden of
which there were many sprouting
up in houses all over the island. I
found those too ornamental and
flowery, and in a way, predictable.
All my friends had the compulsory
frangipani tree, bird-of-paradise
heliconia and bouganvilleas in
profusion, to the point that they
looked like clones of each other.
No, I wanted a garden with a more
local flavour, using plants that are
indigenous to our island. Of course
I would have some frangipanis and
gingers too but these had to be of
more unusual varieties. What I really
needed was something so typically
tropical — coconut trees.
My grandpa had planted two
tiny coconut trees at the back of
the house where the garden sloped
steeply up to the house behind us
on higher ground (as it turns out I
eventually bought that house, 20
years later). These were now maturing,
at least 15 feet high and bearing fruit.
I loved the feel of them as they evoked
memories of walking with my family
along Changi beach, which was lined
with bent, windswept coconut trees
that told stories of how many furious
storms they had endured without
toppling. That's what I wanted — a
grove of coconut trees in one corner
of my garden, but they also had to
be crooked and bent to show that
they had been there forever and been
similarly ravaged by the elements.
The problem now was where
to find such deformed trees. All
the orchards in Singapore had
beautifully straight coconut trees
and those that were bent were so
huge it would cost a fortune to
uproot one and transplant it to my
garden. In fact, mature trees are
frightfully expensive in Singapore,
costing up to $2,000 or more for a
fully formed frangipani and at least
$1,500 for a coconut tree about
nine feet high. (to be continued)
Check out Woffles Wu’s instagram account @woffleswu for photos relating to this weekly column.