Once a Jolly Hangman (7 page)

5

The Isle of Ease Uprising

If Darshan Singh still felt a bit of a novice when it came to getting the calculations just right for a perfect hanging, all that changed at dawn one Friday morning in 1964 when he began executing 18 men three at a time. He knew he was going to have a major job on his hands when he began reading the trial of 58 convicts who had been charged with the murder of the British superintendent and two deputies of an experimental penal colony on Pulau Senang - or Isle of Ease - just ten miles south of Singapore. But he had no idea just how many would actually be sentenced to death. The bets were on that that only six would hang and the rest receive varying prison sentences or be acquitted. He had been chief executioner for four years and six would have been a record and a major task for him then, the gallows being equipped to hang only three at one time. Eighteen executions that would have to be completed in one day was more than a challenge and it did not take him long to calculate that he would have hang them in six batches in one day to complete his orders.

The tiny island was chosen by the not then fully independent Singapore to keep violent, dangerous criminals from the general population in isolation and it was believed such men could be reformed and turned into good citizens. The government saw it as an ideal solution and chose an idealistic British prison officer, Daniel Stanley Dutton, as the perfect man to run the place. He would supervise the building of the settlement and teach the inmates pride and self-reliance. Although a strict disciplinarian who believed in hard work to keep their minds off other things, he treated them all with respect. Dutton,
who had seen active service in the British army when he parachuted into German-occupied Greece during the Second World War and then in Palestine, spurned armed guards to protect him and his small staff from potential violence and refused any kind of personal weapons.

The tropical island was deceptive in name as well as appearance. The new arrivals found they had to carve a settlement out of formidable virgin jungle to make it habitable for themselves and their overseers. The sparkling blue waters surrounding the 202-acre island were home to vicious man-eating sharks, powerful currents and treacherous hidden coral reefs which were thought sufficient deterrent to make any detainee think twice before attempting to escape. Apart from 277 officially-counted coconut trees, everything else that swayed was formidable jungle. If all this was not depressing enough for the new inhabitants the island had a long gloomy history, a past they soon learned about and tagged on to. When the first survey was made in January 1960 the island's population totalled two: Adolf Monteiro, a one-time keeper of Raffles Lighthouse and his son, Steven. The Monteiros had moved to the deserted island in 1937 to run a tiny copra industry out of those coconut trees. According to legend the original inhabitants of the island became victims of the curse of a thirsty old man. One day long, long ago, so the legend goes, the old man went looking for a drink of water.
But the islanders, always in fear of their two meagre streams running dry, refused to give him any. So the old man put a curse on them and while the tiny streams continue to flow, the original inhabitants mysteriously disappeared one by one.

The modern history of the island is equally gloomy. Monteiro Senior and Steven remained during the Japanese occupation and although they were left alone, they witnessed the brutal treatment of labour gangs forced to grow tapioca and other crops. Through disease and hunger and ill-treatment the labourers too died one by one. All over the island shallow graves of those men can still be found. If the Isle of Ease had a gloomy history it was about to get gloomier still in 1963. And chief executioner Darshan Singh would become an important part of that particular story. The first escape bid was staged in January 1961 when three detainees vanished into the jungles. They were back only days later exhausted and hungry with thoughts of freedom far from their minds. As time passed, the escape attempts became a little
more sophisticated, more daring and just as futile. The most dramatic occurred in December 1962 when five prisoners seized a powerful military speedboat and raced to find cover among one of Indonesia's thousands of islands. A customs boat intercepted and rammed the fleeing speedboat, throwing the occupants into the shark-infested waters. Luckily for them they were not eaten alive.

The first indication of any large-scale revolt came in early 1963 when 14 inmates armed with changkol (hoes) attacked a settlement assistant and then fled into the jungle only to be recaptured a few days later. While an inquiry was still pending, an even bigger revolt was being hatched. It came suddenly and brutally on the morning of 12 July 1963 at a time when the penal camp experiment had appeared in some ways to be a success story. The most heart-warming piece of news was that a detainee had passed his higher school certificate examination. Dutton, who regarded the settlement as his baby, was extremely proud of this achievement. He ran things in the belief that if you treat men like these with respect and in a civilised but disciplined way, they will reform and become good productive citizens after their release.

Major Peter James, a retired regular British army officer, then Director of Singapore Prisons, got to his office in Upper Pickering Street just before lunchtime after an inspection tour of Changi Prison. A radio message had just come in from Dutton with the news of a rumour that trouble was brewing - with the ominous threat that 'they are out to get me'. The two then argued about what to do next. Dutton said he had arrested the ringleaders and had everything under control. Despite Dutton's protests, James contacted the Deputy Commissioner of Police, Cheah Teng Check, who immediately ordered a troop unit to the island. With them went officers from Changi Prison - including Darshan Singh - armed only with heavy batons to quell the rioters. By the time he and other troops and police and prison officers were despatched, the situation was completely out of control. Frantic calls were then heard over the radio transmitter. It was Dutton calling for help. 'Situation very bad', he kept repeating until the radio room was in flames and he lay dying.

Dutton was hailed by James as a leader of men and was convinced that a majority of the prisoners were loyal to his leadership and would defend him in the event of any major trouble. James said Dutton had
insisted on being given a free hand - even in the
selection of the kind of men chosen for the experiment. He would run things his way or not at all. When James told him not to overwork the men and to stick to a 44- hour week, Dutton said he would never ask more of them than what he himself was prepared to do. But within days the settlement lay in ruins and Dutton lay dead, hacked and burned in an orgy of violence that shocked all citizens of Singapore, especially the soon-to-depart British establishment. When the riot broke out there was not a single gun on the entire island. Dutton was adamant that the whole experiment would fail if firearms were kept to maintain discipline. Another argument against having guns, however, was that the same weapons could fall into the hands of the prisoners in the event of an uprising. But to a Straits Times reporter, sent to the island to report on the experiment, Dutton pointed to a group of happy, hardworking detainees and said: 'I know they can turn into a vicious mob if they choose to but I feel it will never happen. There is good in them and I intend to bring it out'. It was something, it was later said, Dutton believed in until the very last seconds of his life - such was his faith in the men who slaughtered him.

The dream of the experimental penal settlement on Pulau Senang was actually the brainchild of Devan Nair, a founder-member of the People's Action Party. Nair was in jail in 1959 when the PAP was voted into office and one of the conditions Lee Kuan Yew laid down before accepting the invitation of the head of state to form a government was that Nair, and other suspected communist sympathisers, should be freed. But first he had to renounce his communist sympathies and accept Lee's brand of democratic socialism. Although he said he was well-treated himself when he was behind bars for advocating the overthrow of colonialism, Nair was horrified at the appalling conditions and treatment by the British of ordinary, non-political prisoners. They were mainly secret society criminals, suspected murderers, robbers, rapists and psychopaths detained without trial. Nair immediately proposed setting up a Prison Inquiry Commission to find ways and means to attempt to rehabilitate them or at least treat them humanely. He reported that when prisoners were approached by a British prison officer they had to kneel on the floor with head down, which made him extremely angry. The Commission was set up in November 1959 with Nair as chairman. The commissioners were Professor T.H. Elliott
and Dr Jean Robertson of the University of Malaya in Singapore, Jek Yuen Thong, Osman bin Abdul Gani, Chean Kim Seang, Tay Kay Hai, Sandrasegaram Woodhull and Francis Thomas. The following year they issued a report on the best way to solve the problem of crime and criminals including the 'gangster' problem. Overcrowded prisons were a major sore especially with regards to hygiene and discipline. Nair suggested to the commissioners he had the ideal solution - he called it the Pulau Senang rehabilitation experiment.

The experiment began on 18 May 1960 when Dutton arrived on the island with 50 detainees. Within the next three years, as the numbers increased to 320, they transformed the island into an attractive, busy settlement with roads and a water supply, huts, workshops, canteen and dormitories. The uprising began on July 12 1963. A group of about 70 to 90 detainees armed themselves with weapons and attacked the wardens and burned down most of the buildings. Then they targeted Dutton, cornered him in the radio room as he was calling for help, and hacked and burned him to death.
Two other officers were killed and many prisoners who did not take part in the riot were also seriously injured. When the police arrived on the island all was quiet. None of them offered any resistance. Some were even seen playing guitars and singing songs, according to court records. After an investigation 58 were charged with rioting and the murders of Dutton and his assistants, Arumugam Veerasingham and Tan Kok Hian. The prisoners were mostly hardened criminals or secret society members detained without trial. Despite Dutton's promises, many had little or no hope of ever leaving the island. They also complained of being over-worked like slaves, often late at night. Allegations of corruption were rife, that some prisoners were given preferential treatment by being allowed to return to the mainland at weekends for family visits in Changi Prison in return for bribes. While this was found to be untrue the rumours persisted. Prisoners also felt the system of release was biased and unpredictable. Dutton's faith in this brave new world came to its inevitable, violent end.

It was to be an unprecedented trial in Singapore's history and became a significant case reported in the Malayan Law Journal. In fact, the Pulau Senang trial is recorded in the Journal as being unparalleled in the legal history of Singapore and Malaya. A special dock had to be
built in the Assize Court to accommodate all the accused. It was an enormous task ensuring everyone had a fair hearing. The trial was to last an unprecedented 64 days. A seven-member jury of Singaporean civilians - Chinese, Malay and Indian - would decide their fate. The evidence they were to hear was lurid in the extreme. Darshan Singh also helped escort the prisoners back and forth every day for the trial and formed part of the guard inside the court, he told me during an interview. One archived newspaper report quoted detainee and chief prosecution witness, Liew Woon, who said he saw Dutton 'being burned alive and assaulted with an axe' by two armed rioters in the settlement's radio room. Liew said two other detainees - Sim Hoe Seng who was carrying a tin of petrol and Chan Wah who had the axe - climbed onto the roof of the radio room. He said Chan smashed the wooden roof and Sim set the building ablaze. Liew said Dutton - 'with part of his body on fire' - tried to escape but was confronted by four other accused one of whom slashed at him with a parang and another with an axe before he collapsed. He said during the riots the detainees had earlier confronted Dutton and protested about the alleged discrimination shown in the release of certain detainees without regard to the period of their detention. Liew said, 'Mr Dutton replied to them: "If you were to help me, I would recommend your early release". By this time, I understand that Mr Dutton was asking them not to attack him. The detainees reacted by saying: "It's too late for us to help you'". He said Chan smashed the wooden roof and Sim set the building ablaze. Dutton collapsed when slashed with a parang by Chia and hacked with an axe by Lim. Liew also implicated several other accused men. When cross-examined by a defence counsel he denied that he had falsely identified all the accused named in his evidence because they belonged to a rival secret society. Earlier Liew said he had heard various views from the rioters on how to deal with Dutton. One suggestion was that he should be buried under the jetty. Another rioter opposing this said: 'Just kill him and set fire to him. There is no need to trouble ourselves further', Liew claimed.