The Coolidge examiner., 1932-05-20

The Malay peninsula, stretching
hundreds of miles from the Siamese
frontier down toward the equator,
forms a vast humid region of dense
forests of jungles, wild elephants,
snakes, and naked people, rice fields,
rubber plantations. and tin mines.
Few American tourists see it.
Singapore, built on a tiny green
isle of the same name, which lies
just off the end of the peninsula
and nearly on the Equator, is the
capital of the British crown col
ony commonly called the Straits Set
Elements. This colony embraces the
Province Wellesley. the bindings
and Malacca on the mainland, and
the islands of Penang and Singa-
pore.
More than fifty steamship lines
and its cable net and radio stations
tie Singapore up with adjacent re-
gions, and British Malaga, the
Dutch East Indies, and Siam con-
stitute a unit in commercial ge-
ography which centers at the
great port.
1.-THE Melting Pot of ASIA" they
call this prolific, potent peninsula,
because of the babel of races, cOlors,
and casts which it's wealth of rub
Der and tin has drawn to it. But in
all this Industrial army of Euro
peans, Chinese, japanese, Tamalis.
Hindus and assorted South Sea Is
landers, the Chinese are the most
numerous and powerful.
The Malay himself is too lazy
even to be a good fisherman. He
grows a little rice, few coconuts,
and nets the fish he needs, but Ma
ture is so kind that it is said one
hours effort day will support him
and his family.
1t is the Chinaman who is the tin
miner, the farmer, shopkeeper, arti-
san, contractor, and financier.
Natures motion picture. as your
sup SNlHSS lnIO IuC HdlIOW, w"
mile-long Singapore roads. is like
a vision of some tabled Dream
Isles of Delight.
Cruising through these straits,
your ship creeps SO close to certain
isles that you can actually see the
natives going about their daily life,
and you can clearly make out inti-
mate details of the tiny palm-leaf
shacks, which stand on stiltlike
piles out over the water.
When Not So Charming.
But on certain hot, steamy days
in early autumn, when no air stirs
and the tide has run very low, these
islands, on closer inspection, are
not all so charming. Then the reced-
ing waters leave vast, fiat banks of
Shiny sinking mud, alive with
crawling creatures pursued by long
legged birds; and the myriad man
grove trees that hug the shore are
left standing with their naked
repellent picture, suggesting the
wet, slippery coils of million mon
ster serpents. their bodies all twist
ed together, seeming to crawl in
and out of the foul steaming ooze.
You are glad, then, when your
ship has poked her restless nose
past these reeking mud flats and
you come to the anchorage. tying up
amid as strange fleet as ever the
sun shone on.
The white mans life today in
Singapore, as in other tropic parts,
is easy and comfortable.
Here, near the Equator, days and
nights are about equal; toward dark
the din of barter and sale subsidies
and the streets begin to empty. The
houseboat folks of the river and the
wharf workers quiet down. Chinese
shopkeepers shuttle out to put ND
their shutters. High above, the star
pictures of heaven are hung out
the sprawling Scorpion and the ma
jestic Southern Cross. Long before
ten o'clock this magic, mongrel city
of tin, trade, and turbulence is
sound asleep. No speeding Joy
rider, owl car or roof-garden iazz
breaks the delicious stupor of its
repose.