Recalling the Days Under the Casuarina Trees: My Dunman High Story

Dunman High celebrates her 70th anniversary this year.

For me, Dunman High is a place of contradictions: old and worn, yet brimming with life and nostalgia. It was where I spent four formative teenage years, forging a love-hate relationship with the school.

Every Saturday morning, I would approach the entrance of the school to the sound of the suona warming up, its bold notes mingling with the delicate trills of Chinese flutes (笛子). Stepping inside, the air buzzed with activity; pipa, zhongruan, liuqin and yangqin melodies drifting from the music rooms; the rhythmic commands of uniformed groups echoing across the outdoor volleyball and basketball courts; laughter and the click-click-click of NPCC students on their marching moves.

As a school volleyball player, my routine often led me straight to the indoor volleyball courts. There, our team would gather for practice, preparing for the upcoming inter-school games. The sound of sneakers squeaking on the polished floor, the thud of the ball, and the encouraging shouts of my teammates became a familiar soundtrack to my weekends. These sessions were as much about teamwork and discipline as they were about passion and competition.

The music room, one of the few air-conditioned spaces in the old campus, was sometimes a refuge. Throwing open the heavy wooden doors, my ears would be hit by a wave of strings as my erhu friends tuned up and jammed. Across the courts, the brick compound once belonging to Dunman Secondary School hosted the Chinese Drama Society: some practicing calligraphy, others debating scripts in the CDS Room. Meanwhile, St. John’s cadets drilled in the car park, their white uniforms crisp against the morning light.

I remember the school's creative chaos of Chinese New Year celebrations: plastering the classroom walls with mahjong paper, painting vivid Singapore street scenes of dragon dance and live lion dances by the Scouts, and the bold strokes of “Spring” (春). Lantern-making for Mid-Autumn Festival was also a highlight: staying back late into the evenings with classmates, then wandering the basketball courts at night, admiring our handiwork glowing under light bulbs while the school served free mooncakes.

There were quirky memories too, like sanding down our desks with toothbrushes and toothpaste. Looking back, I wonder what we were thinking! But more than anything, I remember the laughter, the friendly rivalries, the ghost stories, and the shared adventures. And of course, there was Qiu-shen (aka Mr Kiw): a Dunman High institution unto himself.

But Dunman High was not just a backdrop for happy memories. It was also the place where I learned to navigate the complexities of language and identity. The very walls that echoed with music and laughter also witnessed my struggles with the Chinese language.

For Dunman, With Mixed Feelings

Oh, Dunman!

By your teachers’ hands,

You sowed a harvest of fear in my heart,

Where Chinese words once bloomed, now stand apart.

It was you,

Who, before a silent sea of faces,

Laughed at my clumsy, English-laced phrases

In the hush of the classroom, my courage would wane,

A single word misplaced, and I would bear the pain.

It was you,

When the O level results were released,

Who declared with a voice that would echo and swirl:

“No A1, no honor to the school,

No right to say you were from Dunman High.”

And it was you,

Who, with such high expectations on our Chinese grades,

Made me dream of JC where I would not need to take Chinese lessons,

A world without Chinese tests, without fear, without blame,

Yet still, in my heart, I would not be where I am today without you.

Reflections

Looking back, Dunman High is more than just a school. It is a tapestry of sound, color, and memory of music, art, and the occasional desk scrubbed clean with toothpaste. It was a place where I discovered my passions, from the sciences to history, and even the intricate world of WWII naval dioramas that now fuel some of my creative projects.

This is the Dunman High I remember: a little rough around the edges, but alive with spirit, creativity and camaraderie. And though my journey with the Chinese language was not always easy, it is a part of my story, just like the laughter, the lanterns and the lessons learned under the casuarina trees.

What is your most vivid school memory?