Talking about my chlldhood girl friend, Patches

Few would know the well-kept secret I have carried all these years—of the one girl I loved as a young boy. Her name was Patches.

        Tragically, Patches was one day found floating face down in the murky old river beside her wooden house. That image has never left me.

        When I read about the proposal to enact the Urban Renewal Act (URA), memories of Patches came flooding back. Had such a bill been passed in the early 1960s, I truly believe her life—and perhaps mine—might have taken a different course. I might have married her.

        Initially, I didn’t follow the URA debates closely, assuming the bill would pass without resistance. But as the discussions unfolded, numerous issues emerged. I was heartened to see diverse voices—including backbenchers—contributing their perspectives.

        What the rakyat truly desire is a legislative process that is consultative and inclusive. Before any bill is passed, it must be refined through meaningful input from both the backbenchers and the Opposition. We must move beyond the era of bills being bulldozed through without due scrutiny.

My heart cried out, "If only!"

        When I read that the Urban Renewal Act (URA) was to be postponed, a wave of sadness swept over me. I thought of Patches again—the girl I once loved—who lived in that shanty old wooden house.

        My heart cried out, “If only the URA had been proposed back then, Patches might still be alive today. Perhaps I would have married her.”

        Back in the 1960s, the living conditions she endured were barely fit for human habitation. Even after she was long gone, in the 80s, when I passed by the area, I still saw that wooden house where Patches once lived in. To me, she was my first love. Nevermind of her living conditions, I still loved her, without hesitation or shame.

        I remember telling my old folks that I wanted to marry her, even though I was just a boy in primary school. But my relatives were adamant: “No!” Some said I was too young; others feared she would bring disgrace to the family. From that moment on, I was forbidden from seeing my darling Patches again.

        It’s true—her wooden house was almost uninhabitable. So run-down that I often worried she would be drenched whenever it rained. Her parents, too poor to relocate, could not offer her a safer shelter. That was why I wanted to marry her—to protect her, to give her a better life.

        There were no lifts in those days. But, I can imagine Patches would be living in many of our urban low-cost flats, where lifts remain in disrepair. Visit some of these ageing apartments and you’ll see how poverty continues to take its toll on families.

        Lifts that don’t work. Corridors left in darkness because fluorescent tubes haven’t been replaced—making it unsafe for children to walk alone. Rubbish hurled from upper floors, landing on zinc awnings below, filling the air with a stench that clings.

        This is how the Patches of today feel—trapped in their pigeonholes, longing for dignity, safety, and a place they can truly call home.

       Proposals from Developers 

        In major cities across the globe, land prices have reached astronomical levels. Any developer eyeing a parcel of land will naturally propose redevelopment where the property promises high returns.

        For those in business, it is a matter of viability: Will this project yield profit? If the answer is yes, they will fund it. But if they acquire the land, they will almost certainly build high-end condominiums and sell them at a premium. Constructing low-cost apartments in the heart of Kuala Lumpur—where Patches once lived—would be deemed commercially non-viable.

        I first encountered this kind of proposition during my tenure as secretary of my school’s Old Boys’ Association. The president, himself a developer, offered to take over the land on which the OBA tower once stood.

        After I stepped down from the committee, the site near Confucian and Methodist Boys’ Secondary Schools was transformed into a multi-storey development. In return, the developer compensated the OBA with one floor of the building. 

        Was it a fair deal? As with most proposals, there are always pros and cons.

        Yet with their influence, developers can persuade the government of the day to acquire land and offer only minimal compensation to families like Patches’. This has happened before.

        Old shanty towns inevitably make way for gleaming towers—Menara TRX, the Petronas Twin Towers—symbols of progress. But in that process, families like Patches’ are displaced, relocated to distant apartments, and separated from the communities they once called home.

        That is why I feel a deep sadness over the postponement of the Urban Renewal Bill. The people had placed their hopes in it—not just to revive the city of Kuala Lumpur, but to offer dignity, safety, and quality housing to the modern-day Patches among us.    

        Let me leave you with an old song that I loved to sing when I was a young boy. 

Lyrics

Down by the river that flows by the coal yards

Stand wooden houses with shutters torn down

There lives a girl everybody calls Patches

Patches, my darling, of Old Shanty town

We planned to marry when June brought the summer

I couldn't wait to make Patches my bride

Now I don't see how that ever can happen

My folks say "No" and my heart breaks inside

Patches, oh what can I do

I swear I'll always love you

But a girl from that place

Would just bring me disgrace

So my folks won't let me love you

Each night I cry as I think of that shanty

And pretty Patches there watching the door

She dosn't know that I can't come to see her

Patches must think that I love her no more

I hear a neighbour telling my father

He says a girl name of Patches was found

Floating face down in that dirty old river

That flows by the coal yards in Old Shanty Town

Due to the overwhelming response to this post, I feel it is necessary to issue a disclaimer.

Patches is a fictional character from the song popularised by Dickie Lee, which I occasionally sang as a child. There was no girlfriend by that name—Patches is simply a metaphor I use to express the aspirations and dreams of young people living in rundown flats across our urban centres.

The Urban Redevelopment Act (URA) may require refinement by stakeholders to ensure the interests of the B40 community are properly safeguarded, so that future redevelopment does not result in further exploitation of the poor and middle-income groups.

We understand that many developers are eager to acquire urban land for redevelopment and are often willing to offer generous compensation to property owners whose buildings are taken over. 

At the same time, it’s important to recognise that developers will only proceed if the project is profitable. This issue, therefore, should not be over-politicised.

The Minister should also tighten all loopholes in the URA, bearing in mind that he may not hold the portfolio forever—and any gaps in the legislation could be exploited by unscrupulous developers under future leadership.

Meaningful engagement with all stakeholders is essential to address legitimate concerns and to prevent sabotage by politicians more focused on personal agendas than on the fate of today’s Patches.