He preferred to leave all tedious details to his deputy, Razak -- a capable, hardworking and meticulous man -- and to confine himself to making the big decisions and settling the direction of events.

Every time we ran into a roadblock with Malayan officials over some matter and could not get the relevant minister or Razak to overrule them, I had to go to the Tunku.

This meant getting a word in between long sessions of desultory talk about the world, social gossip and lunches for which he often personally cooked the roast mutton or roast beef -- he enjoyed cooking and was good at it.

After lunch, he would invariably take a nap, and with time on my hands I would go off to the Royal Selangor Golf Club practice tee to hit 100 to 200 balls while I waited for him to get up. At about 4.30 we would play nine holes of golf, and in between shots or before dinner, when he was in the right mood, I would put the question to him.

In this way, one item might involve four days of eating, drinking, golfing and going with him to dinner parties or weddings.

On several occasions I accompanied him to Penang or Ipoh or the Cameron Highlands, waiting for a propitious moment.

He possessed an equable temperament, and almost always appeared serene and tranquil; but he could become quite agitated when he sensed danger.

He told me that he would never allow anyone to hustle him into a decision, because when he was not calm and relaxed he could make bad mistakes.

If he were pressed, he would postpone making up his mind. But I soon learnt that once he had done so, he never looked back.

The high commissioners who did well in Kuala Lumpur were those who realised this, especially Australia's Tom Critchley and Britain's Geofroy Tory.

They humoured the old boy, played golf and poker with him. Critchley might lose a few hundred dollars to him at poker over the months -- not big money, but not tiddlywinks either.

The Tunku liked winning, or rather did not like losing. It was part of his royal upbringing.

I did not mind, as my purpose was to get points of agreement clarified between us; but I robbed him of the sense of satisfaction that comes from winning because my mind was not on it.

Once, when I had lost a couple of hundred dollars after taking a third telephone call from Singapore, he said: "Kuan Yew, keep your mind on the game. I don't like winning from you when your mind is not on the game. The work can wait till tomorrow."

"Tunku," I said, "when I went to the telephone, I knew that your bid was $15, I suspected you had three kings, and I did not have enough cards to meet you, so I had to throw my hand in."

He was not mollified. He wanted to win only after I had tried my best.

It was different at golf. The Tunku had a 24 handicap and played to 24; mine was 12 (later unfairly reduced to nine) but I actually played to 15. And he would have a strong partner.

So it was difficult for me to beat him. Nevertheless, on one memorable occasion my partner and I trounced him by eight holes with seven to play.

He was not pleased.

Philip Moore, UK deputy commissioner, who was at the Royal Selangor Golf Club at the time, took me to task for being tactless.

His friends also humoured him. When his horse was beaten at the races, one of them would often fish some tickets from his pocket and say: "Tunku, I bought these tickets for you. I knew you wouldn't bet on this horse when your horse was running, but I knew it was going to win so I bought them for you."

The Tunku would go home a winner by a few hundred dollars in spite of his horse losing. It made his day.

Syed Ja'afar Albar, former Umno secretary general
SYED JA'AFAR ALBAR was the hatchet man of the Umno leaders hostile to Singapore. Originally from Indonesia but of Arab descent, he was small, balding, a bundle of energy with a round face, a moustache and a good, strong voice.

In the early '50s, he had seemed friendly... But he was a great rabble-rouser, skilful in working up the mob and, as I was to learn, totally ruthless and unscrupulous in his methods.

His English was not adequate for public speaking, but his Malay was superb, his delivery powerful. He did not need to be reported in the English-language press, which would have shown him up as a racist to English speakers not only in Malaysia but internationally.

He concentrated on the Malay newspapers, and his most strident lines were confined to them, especially to the Utusan Melayu, which was printed in Jawi (the Arabic script) and not read by the Chinese, Indians, British or other Europeans. The Utusan had been bought by Umno, and was Albar's weapon of choice for multiplying the effect of his speeches.

Tan Siew Sin, former Malaysian Finance Minister
AS I was leaving, I met Tan Siew Sin. I was angry and bitter at his short-sightedness and stupidity. He had thwarted our industrialisation and brought about the separation almost as much as had the Malay Ultras.

He had been determined to frustrate us at every turn. Apart from his personal dislike of Keng Swee and me, he believed that any concession to Singapore would help the PAP to win over the Chinese in Malaysia. He could not see that without Singapore, the position of the Chinese in Malaysia must weaken.

I could not help telling him that day: "Today is the day of your victory, the day of my defeat; but in five to 10 years, you will certainly feel sad about it."

He smirked. I do not think he understood me then, or later. He was only relieved and happy that his position as leader of the MCA and the MCA's position in Malaysia were now secure.

The threat from the PAP and the Malaysian Solidarity Convention had been removed. The MCA would be supreme. But secure and supreme were relative terms in this case.

Four years later, in May 1969, Malay rioters in Kuala Lumpur would kill and maim hundreds of Chinese and burn their homes and cars. In 1973, when Ismail (Abdul Rahman, who was minister for External Affairs) died, Prime Minister Razak promoted Hussein Onn to be his deputy. Loyal though Tan had been to the Alliance and to Umno, he was a Chinese, and he discovered that he could not be deputy prime minister.

He resigned, overcome with shame and bitter disappointment. He did not understand that he had already lost out when he had unwittingly helped to get Singapore expelled from Malaysia the decade before.

Sukarno, former Indonesian President
THE Tunku was never comfortable with his Indonesian neighbours.

Sukarno was an orator, the Tunku was not. Sukarno was a dominating personality, the Tunku was quiet and charming. Sukarno represented 100 million Indonesians, the Tunku only four million Malays and fewer than four million Chinese, Indians and others.

The Malays generally acknowledge Javanese culture to be superior.

But I had never seen the Tunku so fearful. Sukarno must have sensed this and was exploiting his fears to the maximum. It did not augur well.

Lim Chin Siong, Fong Swee Suan (Malayan Communist Party members who joined the PAP) and David Marshall (Singapore's first chief minister)
LIM and Fong looked the right type: well-mannered, earnest and sincere in demeanour, simple in their clothes, Fong to the point of shabbiness.

Keenness and dedication were written in every line of their faces and in every gesture.

They were in marked contrast to the shallow characters whom my colleagues and I had earlier met at David Marshall's flat, when he and Lim Yew Hock of the Labour Party were discussing the formation of a new political grouping that would later emerge as the Labour Front.

That had been part of our probing; we wanted to assess what they were capable of. But we found it difficult to take Marshall seriously. A mercurial, flamboyant Sephardic Jew, he was then the leading criminal lawyer in Singapore, but when he made what he considered a sound proposal, we often could not help laughing at him.

He was apolitical and naive.

We knew he was a prima donna who loved to be centre-stage and would be uncontrollable.

On one occasion, he was so furious when we laughed at him at the wrong moment that he flounced out of the room in a tantrum, and then out of his own flat altogether.

We found ourselves left with his friends and a lot of food and drink. We ate, drank, exchanged pleasantries, thanked the maid, and left.

After the third meeting, we decided that it would be ruinous to be in any way associated with these people.

What we were looking for were serious-minded men for a long-term enterprise, men who would take with equanimity the ups and downs of politics in pursuit of our objectives.

Lim Kim San, former Singapore Cabinet Minister
WE MADE Lim Kim San chairman of the HDB. This was a crucial appointment. Kim San had been Keng Swee's contemporary in Anglo-Chinese School and at Raffles College.

He was a businessman, a practical, inventive person who had designed his own sago-processing machine.

He managed his father-in-law's pawnshops and his father's petrol stations, besides being a director of one of the bigger local banks.

He was a man of many skills. Keng Swee wanted to make sure that any money given to the HDB for housing the people would be well spent, and Kim San would see to it.

Ong Eng Guan was not to be allowed to waste public money.

Shortly after he was appointed, Kim San came to see me. As minister for national development, Ong had ordered him to hire construction workers direct and so cut out building contractors who, being middlemen, were "exploiters of the workers".

He wanted the HDB to become a model employer. Kim San was nonplussed. He asked me: "Do you want me to build houses or do you want me to be an employer of construction workers?

"If you want flats, then I know how to get the flats built; you leave it to me, I will produce you the flats. If you want me to hire workers direct, better get another chairman.

"Every contractor has his own supervisors, his relatives and trusted foremen who are either related to him or old retainers. In turn, they hire their gangs of workers and they know every person in their group and pay according to results."

This was another of Ong's political gimmicks to put himself in a good light. I overruled him and told Kim San to proceed in the way he thought best. He produced the flats.

There was a big fire in June 1960, when some 30,000 people in a squatter area, known as Bukit Ho Swee, were rendered homeless. Within 18 months, Kim San had housed them in one-room flats with communal kitchens and communal toilets. He also put up a block in my constituency along Cantonment Road, a prominent location.

My voters could see it going up, and were looking forward to moving in. Had it not been nearing completion at the time of the new election, I might not have been re-elected.

Hon Sui Sen, former Cabinet Minister
KENG SWEE had assumed the finance portfolio and moved into Fullerton Building. He was familiar with the workings of the civil service and got started early.

Finance was our most important ministry, and I allowed him to have his pick of government officers.

For permanent secretary, he chose Hon Sui Sen, my good friend since the days of the Japanese occupation, then commissioner of lands.

He was to prove a tower of strength.

It was fortunate we could call on men like Sui Sen. We had so much on our plate, so little time, and such scanty resources. So little time, because I expected at most a year's honeymoon before the communists reorganised and turned the heat on us.

And scanty resources because there was little in the kitty.

Antony Head, former UK high commissioner in Kuala Lumpur
ANTONY HEAD had a totally different cast of mind from his predecessor (Geofroy Tory). He was a political heavyweight. A Sandhurst cadet, he was awarded a Military Cross in World War II and was a brigadier when he entered the House of Commons in 1945.

He became minister of defence in Anthony Eden's cabinet at the time of the Suez invasion, resigning when it failed. He was elevated as viscount to the House of Lords.

Head had an understanding of the ups and downs of peoples and nations. He thought things through.

It was fortunate for me that the British prime minister had decided to send a top-ranking politician from the establishment to Kuala Lumpur... The history of Malaysia and Singapore would have been very different otherwise.

In the two years before August 1965, I would have much to do with him. His assessments and reports to London made an enormous difference to the outcome of the tussle between the Tunku and his Ultras on one side, and my colleagues and me on the other.