Koboi Dungun.

Thank you Lifebloom for the initial idea to start on a series of entries about Dungun in its roaring 60s, and the early 70s before it became Dawson City after the Klondike gold-rush. Like Dawson, when the iron mine at Bukit Besi closed down, miners left Dungun in search of a new life, travelling as far south as Mersing, Johor Bahru and Singapore to work as stevedores or roustabouts. Some went to Kuantan to find work to earn a living as fishmogers or gangsters. A great many of them went to Kemaman to join the palm oil programme. They never returned. Some, however, never left town to become fishermen, or trishaw men. Some never left at all, body and soul. They became madmen, roaming around the empty streets of Dungun thinking of the days gone by when they could afford to book all night long pretty girls in kebaya and kain susun waiting for customers to flock to a row of wooden drinking shops behind Panggung Happy. This was where everything happened from seven onwards, right after En. Rahim the Bilal at Mesjid Sungai Udang called out the Azan for Maghrib. I was part of it all. Movies. Street brawls, mostly over women. Medicine men peddling Spanish Fly pills. Boozing. Juke Box. Prostitutes in clothes so bright they stood out in the dark like a street lamp. Satay. Laksang. Mee goreng. Guinness Stout. Anchor Beer.

I was here almost every night buying dinner when Aunt was too tired to cook. This was my town. Let me tell you about...