And yet I feel a great sense of sentimentality living here. Whenever I am asked where I live, I proudly reply: “In one of the oldest HDB estates.”
That, incidentally, is not just local pride speaking. Queenstown was built even before Independence, between the late 1950s and mid-1960s, and is Singapore’s first satellite town. Named to commemorate the coronation of Queen Elizabeth in 1953, it’s a veritable museum of public housing history.
The estate was planned by the Singapore Improvement Trust (SIT), as part of moves to reduce congestion in the city centre amid efforts to tackle the country’s housing crunch. The newly formed Housing Board, which took over the SIT’s task in 1960, built its first blocks here. Singapore’s first flatted factory was also built here, marking the beginnings of the country’s industrialisation push.
My particular block of flats is located in Commonwealth estate on the north-western end of Queenstown, which was built between 1962 and 1964. Officially named Neighbourhood III, this corner of Queenstown was – and still is – colloquially known as “Chap Lak Lau”, or “16 storeys” in Hokkien, for three blocks perched on a hill that were Singapore’s tallest HDB blocks at the time.
Original fittings such as the 1960s-era doors and window louvres can still be seen around Commonwealth estate. PHOTO: LESLIE KOH
Unlike many other old estates in Singapore, Chap Lak Lau has managed to retain much of its past. Most of the HDB blocks built in the 1960s are still around, with some flats even sporting the simple but solid wooden front doors dating back to that era.
Several of the shops in the neighbourhood “square”, such as the local hardware shop, beauty salon and Chinese medical hall, look like they’ve been plucked right out of that time, too. Block 115, the first flatted factory, is still around and continues to host a mishmash of companies.
This sense of living in a time warp is reinforced by the fact that many of the older HDB estates in Singapore have undergone redevelopment over the years, which has changed the face of the heartland significantly.
Nearby, the other parts of Queenstown have seen marked changes.
The former Margaret Drive estate (“Chap Si Lau” and “Forfar House”) is long gone. It is now the site of HDB skyscrapers and swanky condominiums. The 10-storey flats of Tanglin Halt, or “Chap Lau”, are being pulled down. And chunks of Stirling Road have been redeveloped.
Farther afield, the formerly new-but-now-old towns of Toa Payoh, Ang Mo Kio and Serangoon have received extensive facelifts and upgrades. Meanwhile, numerous new estates such as Sengkang, Bishan and Bidadari have sprouted up in what were once farmlands and cemeteries.
And more changes are coming. Under the Urban Redevelopment Authority’s Draft Master Plan 2025, which was unveiled in June, we’ll soon be seeing more new neighbourhoods in places like Dover and Kranji, along with more redevelopment in older estates like Woodlands and Yio Chu Kang.
As Singapore celebrates its 60th birthday, we appear to have a decreasing number of living reminders of the nation’s residential history and shrinking links to the past, at least in the heartland.
Living with the past in the present
All these changes have made living in my corner of Queenstown even more special.
When I moved to Chap Lak Lau in 2004, I was delighted to find that some of my neighbours were the first and only owners of their flats. And they had some wonderful stories to tell, like how they used to rent their homes for $60 a month until they were allowed to buy their flats for a then princely sum of $6,200 under the HDB’s new home ownership scheme. This scheme was first rolled out in 1964 – in Queenstown, of course.
Some of the shopkeepers who had been there since day one (or whose parents had been) would recall how relatives and friends once labelled them “crazy” for moving “so far away from town”. Chatting with these originals made me feel like I had travelled back in time, and become inextricably linked to Queenstown’s past.
Exploring the area, I was thrilled to discover the derelict concrete remains of what seemed to be a circa-1970s playground, tucked away in a “secret garden” behind my block that featured a broken red-brick path which looked like it had not been repaired for decades. It felt like I had uncovered an artefact from my past – even though I had never set foot in this corner of Commonwealth before.
Once the tallest HDB blocks in Singapore, the three 16-storey blocks (right) that gave Commonwealth estate its colloquial name, Chap Lak Lau, are now dwarfed by the city skyline in the distance. On the left, in white, blue and red, is Singapore’s first flatted factory. PHOTO: LESLIE KOH
Observers have coined a term for this strange yet common sense of nostalgia for a place or experience that we don’t actually know or have. It’s called “anemoia”, and I’m most familiar with it. It’s that slightly sad, sentimental feeling I get whenever I enter a traditional-looking coffee shop with a dirty mosaic floor in a part of Singapore I’ve never visited before, or spot an ancient Singer sewing machine that still goes chug-chug-chug when I step on its treadle.
Bittersweet feelings aside, nostalgia has its value. It makes us feel personally and intrinsically connected to a place, giving us a sense of stability and belonging when life seems to be moving past us too quickly.
Whenever I return to Chap Lak Lau from a visit to Orchard Road or Shenton Way, where malls and office towers come and go, I experience a subtle but tangible sense of homecoming as I walk past 60-year-old shops, through a 60-year-old open-air carpark, and along the common corridor to reach my 60-year-old flat.
Returning to an old estate makes me feel that I am a part of the old Singapore, that I am a true-blue, home-grown heartlander, even if I don’t always speak Singlish and sometimes crave pasta instead of char kway teow. Not only that, it gives me a comforting sense that I still belong here, even if I sometimes feel left behind and bewildered by the latest technological developments and social trends.
In Commonwealth estate’s neighbourhood square, you can still find shops – from a beauty salon to hardware store – set up like they were 50 years ago. PHOTO: LESLIE KOH
Not everything old is gold
But that doesn’t mean I’m resisting or mourning the changes that have been made to Commonwealth estate over the past 40 or so years that I’ve known it.
I am immensely thankful, for instance, for the flat upgrading programme that added an extra room to my 600 sq ft flat, and for the network of covered walkways that link my block all the way to the nearest bus stops, MRT station, and even to Holland Village, almost 1km away.
I’m a big fan of the new hawker centre with its swanky glass-walled lift and escalator. And I’m totally appreciative of the recent narrowing of some of the lanes in the estate to make them uni-directional and thus easier for senior citizens to cross.
These changes have altered the landscape of my little kampung and made it look a little more modern, a little less nostalgic – but I don’t mind in the least.
Because, if I’m honest, nostalgic living isn’t always comfortable. Commonwealth is full of old-school kopitiams and traditional provision shops, but there are times when I wish we had a nice, new shiny mall to hang out in and to shop and dine in air-conditioned comfort.
Old-school biscuits stored in old-school ways are an everyday scene in Commonwealth estate. PHOTO: LESLIE KOH
The common corridors in all the blocks here are a wonderful throwback to the 1960s, but I’d really prefer to have a private nook next to my flat, like many of the newer flats do, to store my bike. Right now, I have to lock it to a railing along the corridor just next to the lift, which I’m sure is a hindrance as well as an eyesore to my neighbours.
And while I’ve always loved the 1960s-era layout of my flat, with its giant bedrooms, I could do without its 1960s-era hollow-brick walls, which let noise and vibration through with the greatest efficiency.
I could also do with another toilet. My flat was built back in the day when it was probably considered a luxury to have a loo inside one’s flat rather than a common outhouse for the whole village, which might explain the tiny, cramped unit. So I’m always hankering for a more modern one, with a shower area that can be cordoned off, so that the floor isn’t always wet. Which it is now.
Changes? Modernity? Bring them on, I say.
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Preservation and development: An inevitable balance
Much has been made of the need for the preservation of old buildings, and for not despoiling old estates with ugly modern facilities. I understand the sentiments, especially when looking at a colonial building or standing in an old, dragon-themed playground.
But I’m just as supportive of glitzy new malls, more covered walkways and porches, sheltered multi-storey carparks and manicured estate gardens and park connectors, because, well – they’re nice.
Neither am I one to bemoan the tearing down of old estates and establishment of new housing estates. Though I might feel a little sayang about the loss of Singapore’s rural or forested areas, I accept the simple equation that more people means more homes needed.
In the debate on preservation versus development, I’d probably stand right in the middle. Preserving history and heritage is certainly important on a spiritual level but, I would argue, so is improving the standard of living and comfort on a physical level. Physical comfort, surely, has an impact on our emotional, mental and spiritual well-being.
Old homes and buildings are great to look at, but I’m not sure I want to live in one, if the modern comforts are missing.
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With the age of Chap Lak Lau past the halfway mark of 99 and approaching its end-of-lease deadline with each passing year, I may soon have to come face to face with this dilemma in a personal way. Ever since Tanglin Halt was slated for the Selective En Bloc Redevelopment Scheme in 2014, rumours have been swirling that my corner of Commonwealth estate could be next.
Will I mourn the end of one of Singapore’s oldest estates and the passing of an era? Or will I be celebrating the arrival of a new estate and modern flat with all the bells and whistles of the 21st century?
I think it’ll be both. To be sure, I’ll miss the sense of history that’s built into the bricks of this neighbourhood. That said, I have to confess that what I might actually miss most about this kampung is not its heritage, but the practical convenience of its location – the access to two MRT lines, the easy amble to Holland Village and the proximity to Orchard Road.
And what will I be looking forward to? A shiny new toilet would be nice.
Leslie Koh is a former journalist with The Straits Times.
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