By Alphonsus Chern
Photojournalist
achern@sph.com.sg

 

One of the things I really wanted to do in my teens was to walk the length of the KTM railway tracks from Woodlands to Tanjong Pagar.

It seemed, at that time, a daunting task.

The discomfort of walking on large pieces of gravel for over twenty kilometres, the searing noon-day heat, and the possibility of getting hit by a train coming round a bend were thoughts that made me put aside this challenge.

Then, the train service came to an end, and I was left with a two-week window to make the 23-kilometre pilgrimage along the railway corridor before it was forever changed.

In the crisp morning air last Tuesday, three photojournalists from The Straits Times started walking toward Tanjong Pagar from the head of the now-defunct line at Woodlands.

Mist shrouded the tracks after a pre-dawn shower, and puffy clouds floated in a lovely blue sky.

It was a glorious day, the singing of the birds and insects punctuated by the clink and clatter of gravel under our shoes.

Lush vegetation on each side of the railway formed a green embankment that separated us from the busy road carrying a convoy of trucks just meters away.

It felt like we were in another country.

Photojournalists Ng Sor Luan (left) and Caroline Chia make photographs along the tracks near the Woodlands Road at the start of the trip. -- ST PHOTO: ALPHONSUS CHERN

Less than two weeks after the last train pulled out of Tanjong Pagar, nature was already reclaiming the land.

With its green tentacles, a morning glory plant wrapped itself around the finest British steel of the last century.

A golden coat of rust dulled the gleaming rails, once polished by the grind of countless wheels.

Along the way, the man-made destruction was plain to see.

A distance marker, cut down, caught the light of the rising sun and told us the number of kilometres (760.25) to Butterworth in Penang, where the other end of the line was.

The distance marker showing 760.25km was cut down and lying in the grass along the tracks near the Woodlands Road. -- ST PHOTO: ALPHONSUS CHERN

The jagged cuts on the tracks made by oxyacetylene torches and the flattened road crossing huts at Kranji spoke clearly of the end of an era.

Pieces of splintered wood are all that remain of the level crossing hut at the Kranji Road. -- ST PHOTO: ALPHONSUS CHERN

Inwardly, we felt that the icons of the old railway should not be destroyed.

The yellow distance markers mounted every 250 metres and the tall semaphore towers with their red and green lights would keep alive the locomotive history of the green corridor.

The crossing huts, once refurbished, would make cosy tea cabins for those taking a weekend stroll.

Photojournalist Alphonsus Chern takes a rest at the Bukit Panjang level crossing under a carefully shaped Bougainvillea plant. -- ST PHOTO: ALPHONSUS CHERN

The carefully tended gardens at the Bukit Panjang crossing would remind us of the love of nature and the love of life espoused by the men who worked along the line.

We felt that visitors deserved to enjoy the environment and the history of the green corridor – unaltered and untainted by commercial interests.

Sharing these sights with us were dozens of trekkers who brought their hats, cameras, tripods, notebooks and video cameras.

Most made the journey on foot, slowly savouring the atmosphere.

A few tried to cycle the distance – including a cheeky mountain biker who was pedalling furiously in a low gear through the stretch alongside the Ayer Rajah Expressway, hollering: “Last train out of Tanjong Pagar!”

Sprinting past us on the tracks, this cyclist joked that he was the "last train out of Tanjong Pagar!" -- ST PHOTO: ALPHONSUS CHERN

An intrepid soul even tried negotiating the tracks on his dirt bike. He valiantly laboured from Kranji all the way to the Bukit Timah station, but stalled there. That was the last we saw of him.

The camaraderie with our fellow trekkers was heart-warming. I greeted each stranger and was pleasantly surprised when almost everyone returned the smile and “hello”.

Grinding our way through the gravel, I would like to think that we shared a common goal – to enjoy the freshness of an unspoiled rustic countryside, where tiny wildflowers carpeted the ground and the huge leaves of the Giant Taro towered over us.

Walking amidst a carpet of wildflowers, photojournalist Alphonsus Chern and a motorcyclist share a short stretch of the tracks near the Bukit Panjang estate. -- ST PHOTO: NG SOR LUAN

A Caucasian man in his fifties whom we met along the tracks told us: “This must have been what Singapore looked like a hundred years ago.”

We could not agree more.

Then, the afternoon heat began to take its toll on us, and we began walking in earnest.

Step by step, railroad tie by railroad tie. Together, we counted 1,532 of them between a one-kilometre stretch outside the Queenstown estate.

Along the line, we met old couples out for a stroll; we met young people recording history; we even met our colleagues reporting on another story at a mosque beside the tracks.

But the one person whom we thought captured the spirit of the old railway was a small schoolboy on his way home.

Gaily walking barefoot on the rails under the Queensway flyover and holding a shoe in each hand, he stretched out his arms like a tightrope walker while keeping his balance.

After taking a few steps, he would cross to the other rail and do the same, swaying his body and slowly waving his arms in large arcs to keep his footing, oblivious to the clicking of our camera shutters.

“Are you walking the tracks, too?” he asked us, in a sweet, sing-song voice.

It took us twelve hours to complete the journey.

We crossed several streams, walked over bridges, went under flyovers, and passed through landscapes from jungle to industrial estates, high-rise housing to lush bungalows.

It was nearly dark when we arrived at the entrance of the yard under the Kampong Bahru flyover.

A long red-and-white tape told us we should go no further.

Peering into the gloom across the yard, we saw signposts strewn on the gravel. The skeletons of abandoned locomotive sheds and diesel tanks stood outlined against the sapphire-blue twilight.

A speed limit sign lies on the gravel in the Tanjong Pagar railway yard. -- ST PHOTO: ALPHONSUS CHERN

To our left, corridor lights blazed in the empty Spooner Road apartments, once home to station masters and train drivers, signalmen and shunters. A door banged idly in the breeze.

Eventually, reality sank in. The carefree people who once lived, played and worked on the line were gone.

We had seen all that we had come to see, and it was time to go home.

To view a photo essay about the sights along the KTM line in Singapore, go to http://www.straitstimes.com/ttl/popup/ttl_popup_potd.html?id=0&path=AlongtheLine_10224&type=photoessay