இன்றோடுக்டியன்: லூகிங் போர் மற். Peel

une histoire à propos de Singapour en 1942, la prison de Changi, avec de nouvelles informations sur l'incident Double Dixième basée sur le journal de Dorothy Nixon, bibliothécaire a Kuala Lumpur

டோரதி நிக்சன் ஒரு டைரி, கோலாலம்பூர் புத்தக கிளப் நூலகர் அடிப்படையில் டபுள் டென்த் சம்பவம் பற்றி புதிய தகவல்களை 1942 ல் சிங்கப்பூர், சாங்கி சிறைச்சாலையில் பற்றி ஒரு கதை

cerita tentang Singapura pada tahun 1942, Penjara Changi, dengan maklumat baru mengenai kejadian Double Kesepuluh yang berdasarkan diari Dorothy Nixon, pustakawan di Kuala Lumpur Book Club

डबल दसवीं डोरोथी निक्सन की डायरी, कुआलालंपुर बुक क्लब में लाइब्रेरियन के आधार पर घटना के बारे में नई जानकारी के साथ 1942 में सिंगापुर चांगी जेल, के बारे में एक कहानी


故事讲述在1942年，新加坡樟宜监狱，与多萝西尼克松日记，馆员在吉隆坡读书俱乐部为基础的双十事件有关的新信息

cerita tentang Singapura pada tahun 1942, Penjara Changi, dengan informasi baru tentang insiden Kesepuluh ganda berdasarkan buku harian Dorothy Nixon, pustakawan di Kuala Lumpur Book Club

cerita tentang Singapura pada tahun 1942, Penjara Changi, dengan maklumat baru mengenai kejadian Double Kesepuluh yang berdasarkan diari Dorothy Nixon, pustakawan di Kuala Lumpur Book Club

लूकिंग फॉर मर्स. Peel

अ स्क्रिप्ट फॉर अ रेडियो प्ले अबाउट थे फल ऑफ़ सिंगापोरे, चंगी प्रिसोंएर ऑफ़ वर कैंप एंड थे दौबले टेंथ इंसिडेंट दुरिंग वर्ल्ड वर २।

ലൂകിംഗ് ഫോര്‍ മര്. Peel

ലൂകിംഗ് ഫോര്‍ മര്. പീല, എ സ്ക്രിപ്റ്റ് ഫോര്‍ എ റേഡിയോ പ്ലേ എബൌട്ട്‌ ദി ഫല്‍ ഓഫ് സിങ്കപ്പൂര്‍ ആന്‍ഡ്‌ ചാങ്ങി പോ ലൈഫ് ആന്‍ഡ്‌ ദി ഡബിള്‍ ടെന്ത് ഇന്സിടെന്റ്റ് അറ്റ്‌ ചാങ്ങി പ്രിസോനെര്‍ ഓഫ് വാര്‍ ക്യാമ്പ്‌ ദുരിംഗ് വേള്‍ഡ് വാര്‍ ഈഈ.

Looking for Mrs. Peel 2: Is she Coming For Expo?

Granny in 1967

"Cross my hand with silver pretty lady, if you'd see,
What the future holds in store for you and how soon you will be free,

Cross my hand with silver (if you have none don't be shy)I'll take it out in food or booze (or Gordon's Special dry)

Just cross my hand with silver or call at Cell Fifteen
With any simple offering, (be sure you are not seen)

No cumshaw ever comes amiss but if you have it handy
The fates show true benevolence if first well laced with brandy,

The lines engraved upon your palm are clear as mud to me,
There's fame and food and fortune and a journey on the sea

But a lurking danger threatens and a white-haired lady frowns,
(It isn't Eve or Nella and it isn't Mrs. Chowns.)

Fate draws a veil across the name, but one thing's plain to see,
The danger is averted if you put your shirt on me.

"Scene One: Nixon Living Room Montreal November 1967

SOUND: Television, (Murdersville episode of The Avengers TV Series from November 1967) someone being dunked in water and crunch of eating

Voice on TV: (sx water) You could spare yourself this Mrs. Peel. (sx splash)You know what we want (sx Splash) Who knows you are here?

Martha: Dorothy , depeches-toi,come say goodbye to your grandmother. This is your last chance to see her. She’s leaving for the airport very early tomorrow morning

Dorothy : (sx crinkling of cellophane bag, crunch of junk food being chewed)

Martha: And, adjust the rabbit ears on the TV for Heaven’s sake. All that interference. Mrs. Peel's face is covered in snow!

MUSIC:Red Rubber Ball. The Cyrkle 1966

Scene Two: 2008 kitchen near Montreal Canada

SOUND: food sizzling on stove, radio din, cell with Ode to Billy Joe ringtone.

Dorothy: Blair. Get my cell, would you?

Blair: (distant)grunt

Dorothy: Aghh. Geez. (sx clunk of pan) Hello?

Denise: Dorothy. It’s your Aunt Denise.

Dorothy: Hi. I know. I was just thinking of you, actually. I’m listening to a BBC Documentary - about My Lai. On my laptop. 40th anniversary of the year 1968. Big year in the US. Of course, 1967 was our big year -here in Canada.

Denise: Radio Four, I presume. We never miss The Archers. I’ve rung to say that I received Mother’s war memoir in the post today. I want to thank you for returning it so promptly.

Dorothy: Wow. That’s fast. I just scanned the pages and saved them to CD. I still have a tonne of research to do before I can make any sense of it. Especially the spy business. Did you see that snippet I sent you from the 1963 Malaysia Who’s Who?

Denise: Yes, I did.

Dorothy: But did you notice the twenty year gap? It says Dorothy Forster Nixon: Born 1895 County Durham; Quaker Co-educational School; land girl in forestry WWI. Then it jumps to librarian, Kuala Lumpur Book Club 1935-present with mention of internment at Changi. Nothing about her domestic life as a rubber worker’s wife.

Denise: No I didn't. Odd. Well, I can't thank you enough for all you are doing for my mother.

Dorothy: Well, Granny didn’t get the recognition in the UK. No OBE or flattering obit at her death like the others involved, but she’ll have this, my humble family tribute. I’ll dedicate it to everyone written out of history.

Denise: Yes, to think that the grandchild with whom she had the least rapport is doing the most to keep her memory alive. Must ring off. Short of breath these days. Give my love to your mother.

Dorothy: I will. Bye now. Hmm. The grandchild with whom she had the least rapport. That’s one way of putting it, I guess.(sx plunk of fan, frying sound turns into applause)

Scene Three: Clanranald Elementary Auditorium, Montreal 1967

SOUND: Applause

Teacher (sx mike): Good work Mark Luxenberg and Rebecca Birenbaum. The top students at Clanranald Elementary for 1966/67 . Assembly dismissed. Have a great Expo summer. And please don’t lose your report cards on the way home. Here's Bobby Gimby to trumpet you home (sx scratch of record CA NA DA Song on cheap record player over PA system)

(sx vague sound of birds, children and car radios fade in and out as Ingrid and Dorothy walk by."C'etait Bits and Pieces par le Dave Clark Five. A Suivre Light MyFire, Les Doors... US President Lyndon Johnson meets today with Russian Premiere Alexsei Kosygin in New Jersey at what is being dubbed the The Glassboro Summit....

(sunny ID-jingle) CFCF 600 Montreal...

Silky Woman's Voice: There's a new look in telephones. The new look is the princess phone. It's little, it's lovely, it's light. It's so slender it can fit anywhere.)

Dorothy (VO): 6th grade down. One more year of elementary school to go. I walk the two blocks home to my family’s untidy upper duplex apartment on Lemon Creek Road in the dingy Snowdon district of Montreal (with its row upon row of unadorned brick buildings and only two landmarks worthy of the designation: the glamorous bejewelled Art Deco Snowdon Theatre and the glaring globoid Orange Julep Drive-in Restaurant) in the company of classmate and neighbour Ingrid Singh. Bombay born, Ealing raised, one of the many exotic new Canadians coming to live in my neighborhood.

Dorothy: Let me see your report card Ing.

Ingrid: Let me see yours first.

Dorothy: Nothing to see. Very good in every subject. Not one teacher comment.

Ingrid: Well, I got five excellents.

Dorothy: And a page and a half of teacher comments, I bet.”Ingrid talks back in class and teaches the little ones how to say words like douchebag. Please wash her mouth out with soap.”

Ingrid: H! Ha!. So, what do you want to do when we get home. Go up to Queen Mary Road and play Monkey See Monkey Do?.

Dorothy: Nah, too hot.

Ingrid: Wanna go see if that one-legged hobo is still living in the backseat of the blue Firebird in the used car lot?

Dorothy: Not allowed. And he's not a hobo. He's a war veteran.

INgrid: Spy vs. spy then?

Dorothy: Ok. But I wanna be Emma Peel this time.

Ingrid: No. I get to play Emma. I’m from England. You can be Agent 99 or Honey West.

Dorothy: I wanna be Emma. You’re from India. I’m the one who’s REALLY English. I’m a tall Yorkshire girl, just like Diana Rigg. My dad says.

Ingrid: You said you were born here in Canada. And your father in K-u-a-la Lum-pooor.

Dorothy: Makes no difference. My grandparents are from Yorkshire.

Ingrid: Is you grandmother tall like you and your dad?

Dorothy: I dunno.

Ingrid: Well,I’m much much MUCH prettier than you, so I still get to play Mrs. Peel.

Dorothy vo: Right, then. So Ingrid,with her shimmering swell of jet black hair, flawless mocha skin and blossoming Swedish curves, gets to be Emma Peel, as usual. That's because Emma Peel is really Diana Rigg, an English lady who is undeniably the most beautiful – and possibly the best TV actress on either side of the pond. At least according to critic Cleveland Amory in the April 28, 1967 issue of TV Guide Magazine, the very same issue I have tucked away as a keepsake because April 28, 1967 was also the opening day of Montreal's wonderful world's fair.

Ingrid: So, Emma goes undercover at the British Pavilion at Expo where she hides out with the Mary Quant mannequins. She’s watching out for Russian spies who want to kidnap…ah…Queen Elizabeth when she visits in two weeks. And Honey is a double agent working in the Russian Pavilion.

Dorothy: I’ve been to the Russian Pavilion. All it has inside is machines. Why can’t Honey hide out in Thailand? Their pavilion is shaped like a golden dragon boat.

Ingrid: Don’t be daft. Nothing happens in Thailand. So, my flat is the British Pavilion and your flat is the Russian Pavilion and our bedrooms are where we send our top secret transmissions. On pink princess phones.

Dorothy: I don’t have a princess phone.

Ingrid : It’s pretend!

Dorothy: Next week I won’t even have a bedroom.

Ingrid: Why?

Dorothy: Because my Yorkshire, well, Malaya, grandmother is finally coming for a visit and she gets my brother’s bedroom and he gets mine.

Ingrid: Is she coming for Expo? Is she coming to see the Queen?

Dorothy: I guess.

Ingrid: Where are you going to sleep?

Dorothy: On a cot in the dining room.

Ingrid: So, then. You’ll finally find out if she’s really tall or small.

Giles Playfair, Producer, Writer, Spy?

Hmm. The information on the Internet is growing exponentially. In 2003, I found one reference to my grandmother and now there are many, many and not just created by me.

Well, today, someone came to my website looking up Giles Playfair, the writer of Singapore Goes Off the Air, published in 1943, that is during the war. This book describes the Malaya Broadcasting Corporation during the siege and describes my grandmother as the only European to stay behind because of loyalty to my grandfather.

I've always found this a little weird as she had a boyfriend, who went back to England. When she left Kuala Lumpur, both my grandfather and this man, Hastings, took her to the train.

Well, way back, when I read Singapore Goes off the Air, I looked up Giles Playfair, a writer, so you'd think there would be a lot on the Internet about him. There wasn't. And he was a wonderful writer. I found his grave in Montmartre.

Today, I looked up his name (as the visitor to my site had done) and there was a snippet from a book about spies during the war, claiming he was a counter-espionage agent in the US in 1946, after he escaped Singapore.

Hmm. The plot thickens. I knew Singapore Goes Off the Air couldn't tell the whole story, as it was published during the war. But now I wonder even more if my grandmother's story is more complicated than breaking the rules at Changi, by passing information from the men's camp to the women's camp, information about BBC broadcasts, passed around only to improve morale.

I mean, she spent a time with Playfair. He stayed in the same apartment for some days.

Singapore Street View Googled!

Names on a Changi card. Trying to keep your humanity in wartime.

Well, Singapore has made it to Google Streetview. I will take many trips there, to get a real feel for things. I know because people fell onto this blog looking up street view Singapore.

This 'play' Looking for Mrs. Peel, available on this blog in installments and here in its entirety, www.tighsolas.ca/page745.html
isn't a work of art (although I wish it were) but it is a good piece of history, as well as an authentic look into Canada in 1967 and Singapore in 1942, 43. War dehumanizes people, but so does modern life.

I haven't added to the blog, as I am busy dealing with 'the bank'. It's 2010, but I feel I am in a Kafka novel. Just call me "D". My mother died leaving bank owned credit card bills, and the people from the collection agencies are on my back, even though I have no choice but to wait for events to unfold, as per the law with respect to her will and succession. In other words the collection agencies are harrassing me although they have no right at all to even phone me. And the bank had no reason at all to send this to collection, or to send my dead mother threatening letters that the account was seriously delinquent, when they had been notified she had died. The threatening letters are anonymous of course and the contact phone number at the bottom is a fake number or something. It gets rerouted to all over God's creation.

I hate the banks. Who doesn't? So today, I got re-routed six times to find someone to talk to regarding my mother's account at this major Canadian bank. (No need to name it, they are all in it together.)I ended up in Vancouver, although I dialed a Montreal number. The bank makes bazillions, but it can't hire an old fashioned receptionist. (I figure this must be on purpose. They want you to give up on any enquiries.)

This is nothing unusual, it is de rigeur. All big companies conduct business his way, nowadays.

And you cannot blame it on the people who take your call, they are just pawns , over-educated, under employed people with first names only "Hi, I'm Josephine, How can I help you?" (NO ONE is accountable for their actions in big corporations. If you ask for a name, you get a pseudonym. Talk about Kakfaesque.)

I love the fact the voice in the sky always says, "This call is being recorded for quality control purposes." (General idea.) Is this a threat? Or just Big Brother. Today, a goon from the collection agency, was doing his small time thug thing on me, right out of central casting, and he said, "I am recording this." I replied, "So am I." And then he hung up. Quick. I've been contacted regularly by two people from the same agency, who are 'nice' but persistent, who kept asking me 'when can I get the money' when I said the will is in probate. (Indeed, I had no obligation to talk to them at all, it was courtesy on my part.)

I guess this goon was the 'second tier' of polite persuasion, the second turn on the thumb screws. He starts out by saying he is going to have to charge me thousands in interest unless I pay up, not that he wants to. He says I had promised to pay up by now.

Then, I called him on his company's past actions. "If you deal with dead people's accounts, you must know what the law says with regard to succession and wills. It's a process that takes time. I am not responsible for my mother's debts and I am not responsible for her estate UNTIL I am deemed the executor and liquidator. You must know that. Right now I am acquainting myself with my obligations and rights as liquidator on the advice of my lawyer. I suggest you do as well. I can point you to the Government website." He gets angry...starts to say, the law, you wanna know the law? It says creditors have to be paid first. I say "Yes, I know that. That's a no-brainer. Still it takes time."

It's cheesy, by-the-book, George Raft thuggery.

And the minions are just hoping they can close the file before the end of the month so they can get their piece of the action and pay their own debts. I saw the movie Up in the Air. Collections appears to be another industry based on all around human misery. I would use the term bottom feeders but I don't want to insult any innocent sea organisms. I wonder if the guy who has been phoning me up looks like George Clooney. Then at least I can fantasize. Nah. Colin Firth would be better but this guy has no English accent.

I despise the modern corporations' ways of conducting business. They pretend otherwise, (their ads are full of smiling helpful employees and that's what PR is about, fixing image issues) but they have discovered that the small time hoods of the past, the ethically dubious companies, the anti-Eatons' and anti-Birks, had the most success, if success is measured in dollars and cents. (You think they'd all go into porn to make easy money: oh, wait, they did. The program 30 Rock had a joke about that last week.)Intimidation works, I guess. And they just hire thugs while distancing themselves from the methods these companies use, like 'leading citizens' do in the movies. And just try to find someone to complain to: a person with a first and last name, a position he or she can lose, a postal address so you can complain in writing, registered. You know what banks are like? The Borg Collective: giant, indeed, guargantuan adding machines with fleshly human beings attached, although their identities have been removed. Tomorrow, I'll phone up and ask for Seven of Nine, or more likely, 108 of 188838773764564t5.

Looking for Mrs. Peel 4 Flowers in Your Hair

Scene Eight: Nixon Living Room Following day

SOUND: clink of glass on glass, running water, background noise of children on street

Dorothy: (singin) R.E.S.P.E.CT: find out what it means to me.

Dorothy vo: The morning after I empty and wash a dozen ashtrays. The black square obsidian astray; the spotty green Bavarian blown glass one ;the tacky affair shaped like a sea shell from Old Orchard Beach, Maine; the clunky see-through job stamped with the Molson Export Ale logo. Among other classic 60’s designs.

Granny: Martha. Did you see the little yellow Bakelite ashtray? I’m sure I put it by my chair.

Martha: Dorothy must have moved it. It’s her job to clean up after parties. Here’s a nice one with the Rocky Mountains on it.

Granny: No, I prefer the Bakelite one. It fits nicely into my hand.

Martha: Dorothy! Where’s the little yellow ashtray?

Dorothy: (afar) In the hall, on the telephone table, where you like it.

Martha: Well, get it and give it to your grandmother. Right now!

Granny: And Martha, would you shut that window. The racket those Canadian children make. They shout and shriek all day.I’m used to the gentle Malay children at play.

Martha: Certainment (Sx SLAM OF WINDOW SHUTTING)

Scene Nine: Nixon Duplex Another day.

SOUND: French Radio. ID: Ici Radio Canada. Thunder rumblings
Woman on radio: De Gaulle n’a pas le droit de se melanger dans nos affaires…

Dorothy vo: My mother begins to invent excellent reasons during the day to escape.

Martha : (on phone) Vive le Quebec libre. Quelle gros espece de serpent. Je descend dans deux minutes.(sx clack of receiver being replaced)

Dorothy vo: Leaving me trapped alone with my grandmother

Martha: I’m going to Mme. Dufour’s for a visit. Take care of your grandmother.

Dorothy: Where’s Mark?

Martha: He’s gone to Rickie’s to play that Pepper album on his new stereo. (sx slam of door)

(Sx Radio background: That was The Mammas and the Pappas. San Francisco or be sure to wear flowers in your hair. Next, a new crossover song by Bobby Gentry (new promo) The Buddy G Thing: every night from 4-9. On CKGM. It's what happening. So Glob on.)

Dorothy VO: Bakelite ashtray in her left hand, Rothman’s unfiltered in her right, the cranky old crone paces up and down our cramped apartment , absurdly overdressed for late July in black stretch pants and a thick brown turtleneck sweater. Her boobs sag almost to her knees like two spent balloons and her bum is wide and flat like a giant burnt pancake.She shuffles past the dining room where I sit cross-legged on my cot stroking my library books: Ring of Bright Water, Born Free, King of the Wind and Silent Spring, all about animals,all borrowed from the NDG Library for boys and girls, all books I've taken out many times before, and listening to music on my brother's battered Realtone transistor radio.

(Sx Wonderbra jingle: Back ground music:To be free and alive, everywhere that you go.Is to wear what you dare anywhere and to travel with flair and style that will show wherever you go...)

She veers right into the adjacent living room taking eight more slouching steps to the window, and pauses for a spell,above Mummy’s mildewed African Violet on the sill. She scowls at the wind tossed branches of the Maple outdoors. She taps her cigarette ash into the little yellow dish in her opposite hand, then she whips around to look me in the eyes,through the crack in the French doors separating the rooms, the very moment a bolt of lightning rips open the murky slice of Montreal sky behind her. (Sx Thunder) She opens her miserable marionnette-lined mouth as if she is going to speak

Granny: What are yoooou reaaaad...?

Dorothy (vo)but I’m saved by the bell, or more precisely by the buzzer

(Sx DOOR BUZZER. Sound of quick quick steps closing in
Ingrid: Here’s the Tiger Beat you wanted back, the one with Illya and Herman's Hermits.

Dorothy: Can you stay and play a bit?

Ingrid: No, my Auntie Pryanka is here from India. We’re teaching her to walk in high heels. What a riot! Is that your grandmother?

Dorothy: Yep.

Ingrid: She’s a real sun-baked bag of wrinkles. What’s with the frown?

Dorothy: What are you doing?

Ingrid: Playing Monkey See Monkey Do. Have I got the scowl right? The hunchback?

Dorothy: Don’t imitate her like that. She’ll see!

Dorothy: What does she have eyes at the back of her head too?

Scene Ten: Nixon Kitchen. Some days later

SOUND: Whir of Mixmaster

Dorothy vo: And then the old lady oversteps even a visiting mother in law’s prerogative.

Martha: Dorothy, come and lick the beaters. Oh, I meant the other Dorothy of course.

Granny: What are you making?

Martha: Shoofly Pie. Dorothy's favorite. Sugar and spice and everything nice. And French Chocolate Cake. My specialty. 6 eggs and ¾ of a pound of butter.

Granny: No wonder your kids have spots. 6 eggs! What an appalling waste.

Martha: Do you know what I find wasteful. 40 ounces of gin a week!

Scene Eleven: Outside Nixon Master Bedroom
SOUND: muffled arguing. Heaving breathing

Dorothy vo: Generally my mother prefers to air her complaints out in the open, French Canadian style. This closed door business is new to me.

Martha: (muffled) I’m sick of playing happy hostess to your mother. Take her out sometimes, at night.

Peter: grumble

Martha: I know this is your busiest time. But sometimes I think you are just making excuses. Why not go to dinner at Bill Wong’s or Ruby Foo’s. She likes the Chinese so much. Or get tickets to one of those fancy Centennial galas. You work for the Expo. Mon Dieu. Pull some strings!

Peter: grumble

Martha: What a thing to say. Everyone loves their mother. It's only natural.And you haven’t seen her in 30 years, when she took that fameux bateau de banane steerage to visit you in school in England. It's not her fault you ignored her letters after the war.