'I past beside the reverend walls
In which of old I wore the gown...
And caught once more the distant shout,
The measured pulse of racing oars
Among the willows...'
(Alfred Lord Tennyson, 1850)
ambridge University undoubtedly evokes an aura of excellence
and tradition; little wonder that the master-builders of V.I.'s
heritage have modelled our school after prestigious Cambridge and
Oxford. Of many Victorians who have passed through the "reverend
walls" of Cambridge, we have selected one to interview. Not only
is he a Tan Sri; he has also climbed to the top echelons of his career.
Tan Sri Dato' Gunn Chit Tuan, born in 1929, was
a student of the Victoria Institution in 1940/ 1941 and again in
1946. Reading law at Peterhouse, the oldest college at the University
of Cambridge, where his varsity contemporaries included Lee Kuan
Yew, the future Prime Minister of Singapore, this was followed by
a period at Lincoln's Inn where he did his Bar exams.
His first job posting with the Malayan Civil Service was as
Assistant District Officer in Butterworth. After that short stint,
he became Senior Assistant Registrar of Selangor. He spent one year
as Registrar, where his duties included registering wills, issuing
money lender licences and administering court procedures. Tan Sri
was then appointed President of the Sessions Court in Malacca.
This was followed by a tenure in the Attorney-General's Chambers
as Assistant Parliamentary Draftsman, and then as Deputy Public
Trustee for a year. Tan Sri moved again, this time to Ipoh as the
Senior Sessions Court President, a post he held for about 3 years.
Subsequently, he became Registrar of Companies, during which he
was sent to Australia to study the Companies Acts there, as Malaysia
was in the process of developing its corporations legislation.
Then Tan Sri was appointed as Senior Federal Counsel (Crimes),
a position equivalent to the present Senior Deputy Public Prosecutor.
This was almost a three year stint, which was followed by his
secondment as the Chairman of the Special Commissioners of Income
Tax, a position in the Treasury Department.
In 1977, Tan Sri was elevated to the High Court of Malaya, the
second highest court in the land. Ten years later, his undying
loyalty to public service was rewarded with his promotion as a
judge in the Supreme Court of Malaysia. In 1992, he became the
Chief Justice of the High Court of Malaya. This was the second
highest judicial office of the land. Had the post of Lord President
of the Supreme Court of Malaysia become vacant during Tan Sri's tenure,
he would have assumed that position to be highest judge in Malaysia.
For his services to the country, he was awarded the P.S.M. (Panglima
Setia Mahkota), which carries the title Tan Sri. He had earlier
been conferred the title of Dato' from the Governor of Penang.
One month after his retirement, in June 1994, Tan Sri Gunn was
awarded the P.M.N. (Pingat Mangku Negara), the highest medal for
the titular class of Tan Sri.
The interview with him was conducted at his house on Tuesday, 22
July 2003.
Why interview me? I am a dinosaur, belonging to a bygone era. My
experience would probably bore many of you. As students, we aspired
to go to Cambridge and Oxford because those were the temples of
learning in Britain, but today, students may aim to go to America,
Australia or Al-Azhar. Opportunities are wider today, and mindsets
are no longer conditioned to think that the colonial masters are
the best people around.
Tan Sri added that while in his day, many worshipped the
colonial masters, today people worship other gods, especially money;
so his experiences are irrelevant. We paused before replying “Yes,
but at least you realised you worshipped something. Many people
don’t, and so they become blind followers”, hoping we had persuaded
Tan Sri that we could learn from his life stories. After all, he
was a big Gunn.
I was born in 1929. My father was a British Government Civil Servant.
He sent me to Batu Road School for my primary education, after which
I sat a competitive examination to gain entry to the Victoria
Institution. Batu Road School had four Standard Five classes, with
around 160 students in total; moreover, we had to compete with other
Standard Five students from Pasar Road School, as both our schools
were the feeder schools to the V.I. After putting in so much effort,
we felt immensely proud to be rewarded with a place in the V.I. Others
who didn’t succeed went to other schools such as St John’s Institution
and the Methodist Boys’ School. I joined the V.I. in 1940.
When Malaya was attacked in December 1941, my one year old stint in
the school was rudely interrupted. Fearing for our safety, especially
as the family of a British servant, my father instructed us to hastily
retreat to Singapore. Led by my mother, my brother and I fled. Other
families did likewise, such as Loke Wan Tho who sought refuge in
India. Who wasn’t afraid? Yamashita, the Tiger of Malaya, had descended
with such stealth and vigour on the East Coast, and day by day, his
army was rapidly devouring each state in Malaya. Bicycles gave them
agility and speed, without being clumsy and unwieldy. Gripped by fear,
the British, who in fact outnumbered the Japanese, surrendered.
My family was then herded into cattle trucks and
forced to return to KL. From the station, we walked to my uncle’s
house in Weld Road (now Jalan Raja Chulan) where we stayed for a month
before returning to our own house in Circular Road (now Jalan Tun Razak).
As you can see, now I live just off Jalan Tun Razak, having moved to this
place just five years ago, from another house on Jalan Tun Razak itself.
Come to think of it, I’ve lived on or just off Circular Road all my life,
barring my sojourns overseas and my postings outstation!
We had to attend Japanese School where we were force-fed with the
Japanese language, Nippon-Go. Learning was quick and easy, as
children pick up language without much difficulty. But I have forgotten
most of it; in those days, we detested our Japanese occupiers, and so
purged their language from memory as quickly as possible. In the meantime,
my father enlisted some office colleagues to give me private tutoring in
English. An Indian tutor drilled me in Maths while a teacher from St
John’s Institution taught me Latin. That’s how we made the best use
of our time, and I am thankful that we didn’t waste those years.
Surviving on rice and sweet potatoes for daily rations, we learned
austerity as there was not enough to eat. The Japanese forced us to
plant potatoes. One of our workers also reared pigs, which provided
meat to supplement our diet as it was hard to buy meat even if we
had money. Money wasn't everything, though sometimes, the Chinese
had to pay off the Japanese to ensure protection.
How thankful we were when the war ended, and I resumed my studies
at the V.I., which occupied the Maxwell Road School premises during
the interregnum when the British Military Administration (B.M.A.)
took the reins of Malaya. For their headquarters, the B.M.A. used
the V.I. premises on Petaling Hill, hence forcing our temporary
relocation. Due to my studies during the war, I was deemed
intellectually capable to be promoted to Standard Nine (Form Five
today) straight away.
Austerity hung over Tan Sri’s early life. His V.I. was a
school of hard knocks; a school of staunch traditions and teachers
of unrelenting ferocity. Faced with such scenarios, we would probably
wonder "why?", or ask the school to "please explain your policy".
Submission is such an ugly word today. But how did Tan Sri face
this school of hard knocks?
My memories of the V.I. before and after the war are unfortunately
faint. A scholarly type, I didn’t indulge in many extra-curricular
activities with great fervour. After school, it was often ‘go home,
have meals, study’. My parents also arranged for me to have Cantonese
classes. As a Baba, I found such language skills useful. The passion
for language also led me into debating; I was debating in the V.I.
since I was in Standard Six. (The Victorian 1941 records that
in a debate on the motion that "Country life is better than town
life", Tan Sri opposed the motion and was declared the best speaker).
I have fond memories of several of the teachers. One was, of course,
the strict Mr Ganga Singh, who infected his students with his passion
for the English language. Meticulous in his grammar, he never
hesitated to punish students who slackened, not just in grammar but
in anything and everything else. Then there was Mr Gorbex Singh,
related to Lall Singh. Like Mokhtar Dahari to football in the 1970’s
and 1980’s, or Kenneth Ong to squash in the 1990’s, Lall Singh inspired
awe as a cricketeer who played for India in the prestigious Test series,
the equivalent of the World Cup for cricket. Being acquainted with
any connection of Lall such as Mr Gorbex, even if not Lall himself, was
sufficient to thrill us. Most fearsome of our teachers was probably
Mr S.C.E. Singam. He lived the phrase ‘To frighten the monkey, you
kill the dog’; we were beaten into timid obedience each time he
hammered his solid knuckles onto a mischievous prankster.
Some of my closest friends were Loke Wai Bun, Chong Ngee Hin, Chong
Chin Hin and Lye Fah Lin. Wai Bun’s father made Chinese sauce; the
family also reared fish. Because Wai Bun and I were close friends, I
used to get fish from them. Ngee Hin and Chin Hin were older than I,
especially because I had ‘accelerated’ into Standard Nine at the end
of the war, but age was no barrier to our friendship. Ngee Hin later
worked for the income tax department, while Chin Hin enlisted his
services with the Nanyang Siang Pau in Singapore. Fah Lin and
I spent a lot of time together. His father was a concrete maker,
whose name was Lye Chin Loi.
Lye Chin Loi? There is a V.I.O.B.A. scholarship under that
name. So now we know who he was. How often that we unquestioningly
receive prizes and scholarships without pondering on the personalities
behind those faceless awards. History is swept away by words such
as ‘irrelevance’, ‘development’ and ‘modernity’. Yet, we forget
that many of society’s pre-eminent institutions, such as universities,
are strong precisely because of their history.
My stay in the V.I. lasted less than a year, and just before the
Senior Cambridge exam, I left with my younger brother, Chit Chan,
and my father for England during the autumn season there.
The three of us went to the UK by a troop ship. These were
ships transporting military personnel back to England from Malaya.
My father secured three berths in a cabin of six bunks, which we
shared with several Singaporeans. My brother and I enrolled in
the Ley’s School, an old public school in Cambridge. Remember
that in England, private schools were called ‘public schools’.
Two former professors of my father from Peterhouse, Cambridge
University - Professor Butterfield and Dr Burchield - had recommended
the school to us. There I sat for the Oxford-Cambridge joint board
exam, in place of the Senior Cambridge that I would have sat for
had I remained in Malaya. I scored 7A’s and 2C’s; English and
English Language being my disappointments. The wartime tutelage
in Maths from that Indian tutor paid off handsomely as I breezed
through Mathematics; in fact, other students often came to me for
assistance. Many were the shortcuts and tricks that I had learned
from that Indian tutor.
Due to my good results, the Peterhouse Admissions College granted
me exemptions from the college exams, and I was admitted to Peterhouse.
This is the oldest college of Cambridge University, and in
the 1940’s, there were around 200 boarders, but no women. There
were 12 Malayans as my contemporaries in Cambridge. Most famous
of them was Mr Lee Kuan Yew, later Prime Minister of Singapore.
Mrs Lee Kuan Yew née Kwa Geok Choo was also at Cambridge. Third
in prominence was Yong Pung How, son of Mr Yong Shook Lin, then
a famous lawyer and later Federal Councillor in Malaya. Pung How
himself had earned his laurels as a distinguished scholar and scout
at the V.I., and after many career achievements, is presently the
Chief Justice of Singapore, the highest judicial officer of the
land. Eddie Barker, later a member of the High Court in Malaysia,
was of Eurasian descent and was also one of my colleagues in
Cambridge. Then there was Raja Tun Mohar Raja Badiozaman, who
passed away earlier this year (2003). He was the brains behind
the New Economic Policy (NEP) of Malaysia.
It was a star-studded list of names, and equally importantly,
a list of personalities from different races. Cambridge in the
1940’s already was a cultural blending pot, a mini-Malaysian
cosmos! They ate together, worked together, socialised together,
and today, in their twilight years and decades after they have left
university, many of them still keep in touch with one another.
Sports at Cambridge was a year-round engagement, even in the
numbing cold of the British winter. Everyone played rugby in
the winter, hockey in spring and either cricket or tennis in
summer. Compensating for the wasted sports opportunities in the
V.I., I joined the boating team. Our Cambridge cox was a certain
Anthony Armstrong-Jones, later the husband of the late Princess
Margaret, sister of Queen Elizabeth II. Sports allowed everyone
to interact, regardless of class, race or religion.
But off the field, there was more separation. Whether in school,
or walking down the streets, people would whisper "Chink,
chink, chop, chop, chop", in reference to our Asiatic
backgrounds. They also used to be awestruck by our stories that
bamboo shoots and sharks' fin soup were delicacies where we came
from. Though their country ruled the ‘empire on which the sun
never set’, the British then were not very exposed to foreign
cultures. Over time, however, Britons mingled more with the foreign
students who arrived on their shores, learned to eat curry
from the Indians and Asiatics and lived in the same neighbourhood
as many migrants.
Besides coping with multiculturalism, the British have been
adjusting to egalitarianism. In my time, public schools in England
were mainly the preserve of royalty and the upper class. This hurt
social integration because the younger generation did not get to
mingle with each other. That’s why the Labour government has been
pushing policies to expand the enrolment policies of public schools,
boarding schools, day schools and grammar schools. Nonetheless,
the public schools, due to their long history, still have a headstart
in attracting the best students. With rich and politically connected
old boys, public schools like Harrow and Eton are never hard pressed
in their coffers. That’s why these schools still offer the best
facilities and often, the best teachers too. I sent my two boys
to the Leys, my old school in Cambridgeshire. One eventually became
an osteopath, the other an immunologist.
An interesting twist to the Gunn family indeed; both his
sons ventured into the medical realm, while Tan Sri had a long
distinguished legal career. But if offered the chance to turn back
the clock, Tan Sri said he would have done some things a bit
differently. Hindsight is perfect vision, but no one has such
advantage. There is only advice, guidance and the wisdom of others
to lead us.
I should have done the Economics and Law Tripos at Cambridge.
Instead, I did an out and out Law Tripos, intending to become
a ‘Parker lawyer’, meaning, a lawyer who just practises the black
letter of the law. But the most important lesson I learned while
doing that was my professors’ message that "Cambridge does not
prepare you to become a specialist lawyer; it gives you a general
education". We lose perspective in our quest to become experts
and specialists, and fail to recognise there is a wider world out
there. Law interacts with society and the economy. It is about
understanding human behaviour and relationships as much as it is
about a judicial text or a Parliamentary statute. Studying law and
something else, such as Economics, would have been such a good move
for me.
After poring through countless legal texts in Cambridge, there
was more in store when I joined Lincoln’s Inn. We had to ‘eat
three dinners’ per term for three terms before being called to
do the Bar finals. Exemption from the Part One of the Bar exam
was given to those who scored a Second Class or higher from Oxford
or Cambridge. Nonetheless, the Bar was a very trying exam. For
instance, in the Cambridge exams, we had a choice of questions to
attempt, but in Part Two of the Bar exam, we had to answer all ten
questions stipulated. There was no ‘spotting questions’ or ‘skipping/
choosing revision’.
Why did I want to be a lawyer? Few occupations promised the prestige
and alluring future that lawyers could have during the colonial era.
Although Leys and Cambridge were comfortable periods, the reality
was that I had to return to Malaya, and I had to consider making
full use of my Oxbridge credentials to tap career openings back home.
Driven by this realisation and inspired by such luminaries as Messrs
Yong Shook Lin and Khoo Teik Ee who were successful legal practitioners,
I took up law. Expediency was a strong motivation, but with time,
patience and commitment to the tasks at hand, I grew into the job
and the job grew into me.
In 1953, I did my Articles for six months and worked with S.M. Yong
(another Old V.I. Boy and later Justice Tan Sri). Unquestionably,
the British had their faults, but they were also far-sighted enough
to realise that an inevitable independent Malaya would need racial
integration in the civil service. So they persuaded the sultans to
allow non-Malays to be admitted into the M.C.S. A position as
Assistant District Officer (A.D.O.) in Butterworth was my first
M.C.S. posting. In those days, politicians primarily comprised of
teachers and clerks; I remember one of them, who eventually became
a State Councillor, initially wore no socks to work! So the members
of the M.C.S., who were highly educated, bore the important task of
advising them, not just fashion-wise, of course!
Thus I followed in the footsteps of my civil servant father.
Modesty kept Tan Sri from revealing that his father, Gunn Lay
Teik (later Tan Sri Dato'), was not only a civil servant, but in the
newly independent Malaya, was appointed the High Commissioner to
Australia and New Zealand. Motivated by such modesty and higher ideals
of public service to the country, Tan Sri spent 41 years in the civil
service until his retirement in 1994. Dr Mahathir once commended him:
“With your intelligence, you could have made so much money in the
private sector - thank you for your devotion to the public service.”
There is much more to living than money. Unfortunately, appreciating
history and language is too underrated in our pursuit of the ringgit
or dollar. History is not just about dates, but more importantly,
about events. I get very excited in reading history and literature
such as the Romance Of The Three Kingdoms. My father used to
sit us by roadside stalls to listen, enthralled, to story-tellers weave
their yarns on such historical events.
It is difficult to understand culture if you don’t understand history.
For instance, as Buddhists (coupled with my mother’s Taoist influence)
we were chap choong kwai who observed rituals like celebrating
Cheng Beng and praying to the God of Heaven on the eighth day
of the New Year. The latter was cultural, as I am a Hokkien. For the
Hokkiens, the eighth day of the New Year has historical meaning because
during the invasion by the Manchus, the Chinese in Taiwan had to hide
in the sugar plantation where they prayed for the safety. No harm
came upon them, and thus, this remembrance ceremony has been devoutly
observed by Hokkiens all over. Again, you cannot understand culture
without knowing the history.
But knowing history and culture also needs mastery
and appreciation of language. English was my vernacular as a student,
so I studied Malay while I was posted to Penang, because how else
can you understand the people around you and call them your friends
if you don’t speak their language? Even though the Malay cikgu
mainly taught me classical Malay and Munshi Abdullah, it was important
that I learned the language.
At Cambridge, we had to study one old language, either Latin or
Greek, and one modern language, either French or German. Knowing
language doesn't make us rich, but that’s not the point. I took
Latin and French (though I would have learned Spanish if given
the option). As a result, I could study Justinian Law in my first
year of varsity, even though it consisted of Roman statutes coded
in Latin. You may be too young to remember my eminent colleague,
the late Tan Sri Eusoffe Abdoolcader SCJ. He was so proficient in
Latin that he composed a long Latin poem that he published in The
New Straits Times annually on the anniversary of his wife’s death.
Making friends and breaking down barriers means understanding
each other’s history, culture and language; and these are things
that making money does not give us.
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