Neighbour’s younger son, Robert, had a sports car.
He’s three years older, so I’d be at least 15 when he invited me and my schoolfriend Mary Liew to go for a ride in his convertible. We sat on the boot, and let our hair fly in the wind as the car sped along in the night air.
The car had two horns, I soon discovered.
Singaporeans in those days used their car horns a lot, mostly out of impatience: urging a dawdling pedestrian crossing the road to hurry up and get out of the way.
When Robert caught sight of an old man crossing the road in his doddery way, he tooted the car horn that went like a fog horn: a low, growly, frog-croak sound.
Then Robert spotted two young ladies walking down the road ahead of him. He tooted the other horn: a shrill, wolf-whistle sound.
Whenever I think of a sports car, that evening ride in Robert’s sports car would come to mind, complete with the sound effects.
(Singapore, 1960s)
No comments:
Post a Comment