Class: 3/4
‘Ah boy ah, come sit down. Let Ah Gong tell you a story,’ he said as I hurried over, perching myself on the edge of his bed. Ever since young, I have always liked these stories that he told, tales which encapsulated different and intriguing fragments of the past.
‘It was a warm but overcast day, the type of weather where you knew it would rain soon, for you could smell it in the air,’ he began, ‘creating a sense of foreboding that hung over the soldiers of the Singapore Volunteer Corps. The island that is now currently known as Sentosa was sprawled below Sergeant Mok’s watchful eyes as he scrutinised the land that was placed under his care.’
Leaning forward closer towards grandfather, I craned my neck towards the frail source of his voice, for I knew that the story was about to get interesting. ‘ So? What happened?’ I huffed in anticipation, waiting for him to continue the story.
‘Patience, my sweet summer child,’ his eyes twinkled a bright grey as he let out a hearty chuckle, ‘Let me continue. Now this Sergeant had led his troop of faithful soldiers throughout the years, and they felt, or rather, knew that a battle was almost as inevitable as the oncoming storm, rolling across great distances to reach the island, and so when the first few Japanese men waded out of the sea, with a gun in hand, he knew that this battle would be his very last stand. Nevertheless, he led his men towards the enemy, marching across the tumultuous terrain to meet the enemy with fire and blood.’
‘The battle was fought and won, but at a great cost. The vast majority of the sergeant’s men had been slain in battle, and only a few of his men had survived, but were now cornered into the thin bridge that was the sole connector to the Singaporean mainland. As the Japanese circled the Sergeant and his remaining men like a pack of hungry hyenas looking for a meal, the sergeant looked around and knew what he had to do. A crate of explosives had been stored into the establishment they were currently hiding in, unbeknownst to the Japanese.’
‘The first droplets of rain had begun their fall outside when the sergeant reached into his belt and pulled out a grenade, hurling it across the room, only for the Japanese soldiers’ mocking laughs to be melted off as heat and splinters of wood blasted every man’s face with a roar. And so, as the sky finally relented, it let loose a rumbling clap of thunder as water from above showered the bodies of all the men, as they laid amid the burning wreck, sucking in their last breaths.
How do you think that Singapore was defended from the Japanese?’ Grandpa smiled wryly, creases on his face deepening as the trees outside the window rustled from a gust of cold wind, engulfing us with the scent of petrichor, ‘Wherever did you think the idea of the spirits of Sentosa came from?’
Writers by the River 