When all the appeals processes had been exhausted and an execution date fixed, the 18 were separated in individual cells early one Friday morning in 1964. A guard stood at each cell door. Each prisoner had already been weighed and measured. They were of varying weight, height and muscularity and Darshan Singh had to ensure he got his sums exactly right for each prisoner. He did not want anything to go wrong. 'If you get it wrong the head would go one way and the body the other', he told me. This was one of the biggest tests of his career. As a new day began Darshan Singh, helped by two assistants per prisoner, led them in single file three at a time into the execution chamber, their arms already secured tightly behind their backs. They were then made to stand on the twin traps doors where their legs were strapped together. Any last minute panic struggling and kicking out as they plunged downwards when the trapdoors opened may mean starting all over again. It was a spectacle none of the witnesses - the prison governor, doctor and other officials - wanted to see twice. It was nightmarish enough, even with their experience.
The prisoners died together three at a time instantaneously. But not before Singh 'kindly' uttered what he thought were comforting words: 'I am sending you to a better place than this'. According to execution policy the bodies had to remain hanging for at least ten minutes to ensure death had taken place or as soon as the prison doctor certified death had taken place. Those waiting for their turn could hear the clunk of the trapdoors as they opened simultaneously and three dull thuds. They were already helpless with their arms pinioned behind their backs. Panic set in for many as they began wailing in sheer terror. It was important to get it over with as quickly as possible. Each batch took almost 40 minutes from the time they were prepared, put on the gallows, then left to hang for the prescribed time. The bodies were removed as soon as they were pronounced dead by the prison doctor. The gallows had to be checked to ensure the mechanism would work the next time. Even so, they were being executed at a fast rate. The entire gruesome process was all over well before lunchtime. Nothing had gone wrong. The 18 corpses were lined up in the prison morgue awaiting disposal. The unclaimed bodies were sent to a crematorium chosen by the prison; the others taken by grieving relatives for funeral services according to their religion.
Eighteen of the accused had been jailed for the maximum of three years for rioting while being armed with deadly weapons, 11 more for two years for rioting only. The remaining 11 were acquitted. They in particular were thanking their lucky stars they were not among their fellow inmates who were being hanged that morning. Two of the nine defence lawyers, Jiwat G. Advani and Chug Kiat Leng, described the trial as 'the biggest in Malaysian legal annals'. As the jury retired to consider the verdicts after Mr Justice Buttrose completed his five-day summing-up, he said: 'The unflagging interest you have given this case from start to finish is beyond all praise'. To the 18 sentence to three years for rioting with deadly weapons, after saying he concurred with the jury, he said: 'I am bound to tell them that they have to consider themselves among the most fortunate people alive in that the evidence apparently failed in the eyes of the jury to come up to the standards which the law requires before they can be convicted of the charges of murder. Here again there can be no possibility whatsoever that they were not members of this unlawful assembly, who with a large number of armed prison detainees, took part in this armed uprising. Here again the sentence which I am about to impose is quite inadequate to the occasion, but as it represents the maximum that the law allows me to impose, my hands are tied'. Just imagine if the evidence had not failed by a whisker to bring about the death penalty in these cases, Darshan
Singh would have had 47 hangings on his hands. Earlier when the judge sentenced 11 accused to two years jail for rioting, he also told them it was utterly inadequate punishment but that was the maximum prescribed by the law for this offence.
The trial which was over by 8.00 p.m. ended a day of suspense reported The Straits Times. 'As the court waited anxiously hour by hour, strong parties of policemen patrolled the precincts', wrote one of its reporters.
Crowds gathered and left when there was no indication when the jury would give their verdict. At 2.30 p.m. came the first indication that the jury was in the last stages of their deliberations. Hastily, the nine defence counsel put on their robes and so did the prosecution, Senior Crown Counsel Francis T. Seow and his assistant Mr K.S. Rajah, Director of Public Prosecutions. The jury trooped in at 4.05 p.m. about five minutes after the court had assembled. All was still and deadly quiet. The foreman of the jury then stood up and read out in loud firm tones the verdicts again each accused individually in the numerical order in which they were arraigned before the court. The foreman then proceeded with the verdicts - verdicts of 'guilty of murder', 'guilty of rioting' not guilty', guilty of rioting', or 'guilty of rioting while armed with dangerous weapons'. The accused were referred only by their numbers - none by their names as charged.
After announcing the sentences Mr Justice Buttrose turned to the special jury and said: 'The Singapore government indeed owes you a debt of gratitude which will be difficult to pay'. The Court of Appeal and the Privy Council considered appeals against the death penalty to no avail. They appealed to the President of Singapore which by then had become a fully independent sovereign state - again in vain.
Darshan Singh had undertaken most arduous and most macabre task of his life. Perhaps it was the biggest, most arduous and most macabre task in the life of any executioner in history. These are the men he hanged: Tan Kheng Ann, alias Robert Black, alias Ang Chua; Chia Yeow Fatt, alias Botak; Cheong Wai Sang, alias Genii; Subramaniam Somasundram; Bobby Lim Tee Kang; Vengadasalam Somasundarjoo; Lim Kim Chuan, alias Tua Tai; Khoo Geok San, alias Kapalu Batu; Chan Wah; Hoe Hock Hai; Govindasamy Ponnapalam; Chew Seng Hoe; Chew Thiam Huat, alias Baby Chai; Sim Hoe Seng; Ng Cheng
Liong; Tan Yin Chwee; Sim Teck Beng; and Cheng Poh Kheng.
One of the most surprising aspects of this case I discovered while thumbing through disjointed archived records of what took place during that period was that all of the above prisoners who were hanged claimed they had converted to Christianity while waiting to be executed. Just before Darshan Singh went to work, the Reverend Khoo Siaw Hia, the prison's Methodist minister, arrived to give his final blessings. Later he produced a letter which was released to the media and signed by all of the above-named prisoners. 'Our Dear Rev. Khoo Siaw Hia, it began.
We thank you from the bottom of our hearts and the depth of our souls in this humble expression of our undying gratitude for all you have done for us. You were everything to us in our hour of need - friend, adviser, confidant, father, and our unfailing source of strength and inspiration. You were our beacon that guided us to the Haven of Jesus Christ. You taught us to have unquestioning faith in God's Word, and to pray to him on humbly bended knees to ask for his forgiveness for all the sins and transgressions that we have committed against His Commandments. During these long agonising months of mental torture, of waiting, of hoping, of seeing each hope crumble away till now when we stand at the very brink of death, at the very edge of eternity, you, dear Rev., have given so much of yourself to us in selfless devotion to receive in return - absolutely nothing! Nothing but the knowledge that you are serving God to the best of your ability and satisfaction that you derive there-from. It is through you that we now look death in the face with courage and equanimity, for we doubt not God's promise of forgiveness for past iniquities by the simple act of belief and acceptance. We know that in three and a half hours' time when we pass from this Earth to our Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ, will be waiting with open arms to lead us to our new home in the house of our Father. If only every man in this world were like you, dear Rev. what a better place it would be. There would be no wars, no murders, no coveting, no sins, no prisons, just peace and tranquillity everywhere. It is with heavy heart that we must now bid thee farewell, but we know that we will meet again one day ... in a better place, a better place, a better time, a better day. With o
ur dying breath we once again affirm to you our undying gratitude ... gratitude that will transcend even Death itself. Fare thee well, our dear Rev. Yours, in Christ.
No one knows who actually composed this letter and it is not unusual for people in such a dire situation to suddenly find Jesus after a lifetime of sinning. But the ordeal was not over for all those who helped send the 18 convicted killers to their deaths or put the others behind bars for many years. It was feared that the prosecution team and Judge Buttrose himself would now be targeted by the secret societies to get revenge. Buttrose was guarded round the clock until he was repatriated to Britain. Francis T. Seow, Senior Crown Counsel and his assistant K.S. Rajah, Director of Public Prosecutions, were also given police protection until it was deemed that any possible threat to their lives no longer existed, Darshan Singh told me. But he said he was never given any protection himself! Perhaps it was because they thought he was safe working in Changi Prison surrounded by armed fellow officers. But perhaps that could have been the most dangerous place for Darshan Singh to be at that time.
6
Gallows Humour
If chief executioners like Darshan Singh have a macabre sense of humour it should surprise no one. Making jokes in the face of nightmarish situations is a part of human nature, an inborn defence mechanism, psychologists will tell you. The hangman's lot, in particular, cannot be a happy one. Unless, of course, he is heartless, sadistic and really enjoys what he does. Even if they have such perverted natures - as perverted perhaps as some of those they execute - it must be a heavy burden to bear, despite their outward show of bravado and self- righteousness. Although he would not admit it, Darshan Singh's burden must be particularly heavy - he has hanged nigh on 1,000 men and women in his 50-year career as Singapore's chief executioner.
To understand the weight of this burden, it is important to know what happens before and after anyone is hanged. Darshan Singh himself has a special way of helping some of the death row inmates he has known come to terms with their fate. He always talks quietly and explains the process as kindly as possible. He promises they will feel no pain, that he is an expert with many years experience. This attitude may be his way a easing that terrible, compounded burden. He told me he so convinced 18 men convicted of murder arising from the Pulau Senang penal colony riots of 1963 that being hanged by him would be painless and all over in a split-second that they actually wanted only him to hang them. On occasions when he was not sure if a prisoner would struggle on the way to the gallows a prison doctor prescribes a relaxant to help him - or her - stay as calm as possible. The drug is usually slipped into a last drink the night before. But there is often very little chance of anything really violent happening. An assistant or guard usually stands by while preparations are completed. The prisoners' arms are quickly pinioned behind their backs with handcuffs and straps rendering them virtually helpless. Then Darshan Singh hastens them into the execution chamber via a connecting door and before they know what is happening, they are on the twin trapdoors. To prevent the prisoner kicking out as the doors spring open and breaking their fall, their legs are tightly strapped together.
Darshan Singh, as in the usual tradition of the British way of hanging, then places the noose around the neck, ensuring always that the knot is in the correct position behind the right ear and to thus break the spinal cord instantly at the end of the drop. The white cap is then produced as if out of thin air like a conjurer's trick and placed over the head in one deft movement. In true Singapore tradition timing also has to be perfect. Whether it is just one prisoner or three - the maximum Changi's modern scaffold can handle at one time - the trapdoor or doors now mechanically connected to one lever will open simultaneously at precisely 6.00 a.m. give or take a second or two. Why this final, grotesque ritual takes place just as the sun rises has never been clearly explained to me. Perhaps it is to do with the date on which the execution has been ordered - to ensure the condemned will never see the light of another day or even a fraction of one beyond his or her legally-determined lifespan. The body - or bodies - will plunge down a distance gauged by his or her weight, height and muscularity and the length of the rope. This method prevents decapitation or strangulation but no method of execution is without its faults. Despite Darshan Singh's claim, no one can be sure that every one will be perfect. No hangman is infallible no matter how many times he has carried out a hanging but he will never admit committing any kind of blunder.
The body will be left suspended for at least 20 minutes to ensure death has taken place or while it stops writhing. The face will be purple, engorged with blood, the neck covered with lacerations, the tongue swollen and protruding from the mouth, eyes nightmarishly bulging. And, as always happens, involuntary ejections of urine and faeces will stain the clothing. Such has been the lot of Darshan Singh who has done this, although he cannot be sure, around 900 to 1,000 times since 1959. He has kept his sanity by lightening his load, repeating his half dozen or so jokes, conversational set pieces for the dinner table or over a glass of beer in one of his favourite haunts in Singapore's Little India.
Sigmund Freud had a theory about gallows humour. In his 1927 essay 'Der Humor', he wrote: "The ego refuses to be distressed by the provocations of reality, to let it be compelled to suffer. It insists that it cannot be affected by the traumas of the external world; it shows, in fact, that such traumas are no more than occasions for it to gain pleasure'. Some other sociologists elaborate this insight further. Paul Lewis, for example, says that this 'liberating' aspect of all kinds of gallows humour depends on the context of the joke: whether the joke is being told by the threatened person themselves or by someone else. 'Stress is the condition that results when person-environment transactions lead the individual to perceive a discrepancy, whether real or not, between the demands of a situation and the resources of the person's biological, psychological or social systems'.
During conversations I had with him, Darshan Singh constantly peppered his responses with his personal brand of real gallows humour - the product of a record number of executions for any hangman anywhere which seemingly has kept him psychologically balanced throughout the years. However, I still asked him if he slept well or whether he ever experienced nightmares involving some of those he had executed. Did he ever see any of the faces whose life he has snuffed out mocking him from the darkness during a disturbing dream? I almost believed him when he said he always sleeps well and what he does has never bothered him or disturbed his peace of mind ... until he began reeling off some of those jokes and laughing so heartily. 'After every execution', he has probably repeated a thousand times, 'it takes me two days to get over my hangover'. I felt sure that Freud would have loved to have had Darshan Singh on his couch for a few hours and attempted to analyse that particular joke. The conversation continues. Another joke - more raucous laughter. 'I am the fastest executioner in the world', he says. 'I don't hang about'.
He recalled a certain execution many years ago that was celebrated with two fellow prison officers. It was the evening after his 500th execution, an obvious momentous occasion for any hangman proud of his work. The officers came to his home in civilian clothes with a bottle or two of Chivas Regal! 'I can't remember whose execution we
were celebrating, who the 500th person was', he said. 'It was a long time ago ...'. Listening to Singh reminisce about this particular celebratory moment and make decidedly off-colour jokes reminded me of the Hungarian-born author Arthur Koestler who played a crucial part in the campaign to abolish capital punishment in Britain back in the 1950s. In his damning Reflections on Hanging which was serialised in the British Sunday newspaper, The Observer, and was causing alarm in the British establishment then fighting a rearguard action to keep the death penalty, Koestler opened with a startling commentary on 'this peaceful country where necks are broken: There seems to be jolliness about the procedure as if the victim, twitching on the end of the rope, was not a real person but a dummy burnt on Guy Fawkes' Day. The present hangman, Albert Pierre
point, runs a public house called Help the Poor Struggler ... and the present Lord Chief Justice delighted a Royal Academy banquet with a story of a judge who, after passing the death sentence on three men, was welcomed by a band playing the Eton Boating Song's refrain: 'We'll all swing together' .... It all goes to show that hanging has a kind of macabre cosiness, like a slightly off-colour family joke, which only foreigners, abolitionists and other humourless creatures are unable to share'.
Once a Jolly Hangman Page 6
