What Was Toa Payoh Before Toa Payoh? | Swamps, Kampongs, Squatters and the HDB Model Town

SINGAPORE / ESTATE HISTORY / TOA PAYOH

Toa Payoh history is usually told from the moment the HDB blocks rise: Singapore’s first comprehensively planned public-housing town, a showcase of modern living, a place foreign dignitaries came to inspect. That story is important. It is also only the second half. Before the slab blocks, town centre, dragon playground and VIP visits, Toa Payoh was a completely different kind of place—a “big swamp” transformed first by plantation agriculture, then by kampongs, farms, cottage industries, community institutions, informal housing and secret societies.

So what was Toa Payoh before Toa Payoh? It was not empty land waiting for planners. It was freshwater swamp and marsh. It was gambier and pepper plantation country. It was the edge of Balestier and the interior beyond Thomson Road. It was Puay Teng Keng and other kampongs with their own markets, temples, schools and even community firefighting. It was a district where some households distilled illicit samsu, where gangs fought for territory, where officials could be treated with suspicion, and where many residents still considered themselves legitimate tenants rather than the “squatters” they were called in official language.

Then HDB arrived with bulldozers, compensation plans and a new theory of urban life. Clearance triggered resistance because redevelopment was not an abstract improvement project to the people already there. It meant losing a house, a farm, a business, a temple route and a neighbourhood. Once the land was cleared, however, Toa Payoh became the place where Singapore tested how a new town should work: neighbourhoods grouped around a town centre, schools and shops close to flats, communal facilities, experimental block shapes, parks, a stadium and later a transport network that made the new urban system feel normal.


The short answer

Before modern Toa Payoh, the area was a broad low-lying landscape of freshwater swamp, forest and waterways. Its name means “big swamp”: toa means big in Hokkien and Teochew, while payoh is a Chinese loan form of the Malay word paya, meaning swamp.

In the nineteenth century, plantation owners cleared large areas for gambier and pepper. One major landowner was Teochew merchant Seah Eu Chin, whose plantations and residence helped transform the district from wet interior into an agricultural frontier. Settlers followed the plantations. Villages, farms and cottage industries spread through the landscape.

By the mid-twentieth century, Toa Payoh contained dense informal and semi-formal settlements. Some residents built or rented attap and zinc-roofed homes on temporarily leased land. The Singapore Improvement Trust described the district in 1959 as an “extensive notorious squatter district”, but later scholarship and oral histories show that many residents paid rent and did not consider themselves illegal occupiers.

The kampongs had their own institutions. Puay Teng Keng, one of the largest villages, had a community-run market and volunteer firefighting. Temples, provision shops, hawkers and small businesses served residents. Lian Shan Shuang Lin Monastery, founded in 1898 and completed in 1909, became a major landmark while the surrounding district was still rural.

Clearance for HDB development began in the early 1960s and met organised resistance over compensation and resettlement. Earthworks began in 1964. Toa Payoh was then built under HDB’s second five-year building programme as the first town comprehensively planned and developed entirely by HDB. The model—neighbourhoods grouped around a town centre with schools, shops, parks and shared facilities—would influence public-housing towns across Singapore.


Read Toa Payoh by question

  • Why is Toa Payoh called the “big swamp”?
  • How large was historical Toa Payoh?
  • What was the landscape like before plantations?
  • Why did gambier and pepper farmers move here?
  • Who was Seah Eu Chin?
  • How did plantations create villages?
  • Were Toa Payoh residents really squatters?
  • What was Puay Teng Keng?
  • How did a kampong run its own market and fire brigade?
  • Why was Toa Payoh called the “Chicago of Singapore”?
  • What role did secret societies play?
  • Why did residents resist HDB clearance?
  • What did resettlement actually mean to a farmer?
  • When did the new town begin?
  • Why was Toa Payoh different from Queenstown?
  • What was the Neighbourhood Principle?
  • Why was Block 53 called the VIP Block?
  • Why did Queen Elizabeth II visit?
  • What did the 1973 SEAP Games do for the town?
  • Why is the dragon playground so important?
  • How did old kampong temples survive redevelopment?
  • Why does a banyan-tree shrine still stand in Toa Payoh Central?
  • What actually survives from the pre-HDB world?

Why does Toa Payoh mean “big swamp”?

Because swamp was once the defining feature of the district.

The name combines languages in a very Singaporean way. Toa means big or large in Hokkien and Teochew. Payoh came into Chinese usage from the Malay word paya, meaning swamp or marsh. Nineteenth-century writers already recognised the expression as referring to swampy ground.

The name is therefore not a poetic invention after the fact. It describes the physical environment people encountered.

Before extensive clearing, Toa Payoh was fed by waterways including the Kallang and Whampoa river systems. Freshwater swamp forest and marshy ground spread across low-lying areas. In places where constructing a proper road was difficult, early travellers used rough timber paths laid across mud and wet ground.

Modern Toa Payoh gives almost no intuitive sense of that hydrology. Roads, drains, blocks and hard surfaces organise the landscape so thoroughly that “big swamp” sounds like an etymological curiosity.

It was once a literal description.

Was historical Toa Payoh the same size as the modern town?

No. The old district was much larger and less precisely bounded.

Nineteenth-century maps used names such as Toah Pyoh Chui Kow for a district that extended into areas now understood separately as Bishan, Caldecott, Bukit Brown, Potong Pasir, Bidadari and Balestier. To the west was another district called Toah Pyoh Lye, which later became associated with Bukit Timah.

This is another reminder that modern planning areas are poor guides to older social geography.

When early writers referred to Toa Payoh, they could mean a broad interior landscape rather than the compact HDB town bounded by familiar roads today.

The modern town made the name smaller and more exact.

What did Toa Payoh look like before plantation agriculture?

Wet, forested and difficult to cross.

Freshwater swamp forest occupied low ground. Mangrove and marsh environments connected toward larger waterways. Higher ground held forest. The interior was far less accessible than the urbanised coast.

This landscape was not useless. Swamps store water, support biodiversity and regulate floods. But nineteenth-century colonial economic thinking treated uncultivated wetland largely as land to be cleared, drained and made productive.

That is what plantation agriculture did.

Forest became fuel. Swamp became drainage work. Land became gambier, pepper and later settlements.

The first great transformation of Toa Payoh happened long before HDB.


Why did gambier and pepper plantations spread into Toa Payoh?

Because Singapore’s early plantation economy consumed land rapidly.

Gambier and pepper were valuable export crops. Gambier processing required large amounts of firewood, while repeated cultivation exhausted soil. Planters therefore kept moving outward in search of new land.

Toa Payoh’s interior location made it part of that moving agricultural frontier. Once plantations opened access, labourers, traders and families followed.

The swamp was not simply drained and replaced by one plantation. It became a patchwork of agricultural holdings, paths, villages and secondary uses that changed repeatedly as soil, prices and ownership changed.

Plantation agriculture created the conditions for permanent settlement.

Who was Seah Eu Chin?

One of nineteenth-century Singapore’s most influential Teochew merchants and plantation owners.

Seah Eu Chin became so closely associated with gambier and pepper that he was sometimes described as the “king” of the trade. He owned plantations along Thomson Road and property within the broader Toa Payoh district, including a bungalow known as E-Choon.

Large plantation owners mattered because they did more than grow crops. Their estates created jobs, roads, supply relationships and settlement patterns. Workers lived near cultivation. Small traders served them. Religious and clan institutions followed.

The plantation frontier therefore became a social frontier.

By the time plantations declined, people remained.

Who settled in the old district?

Predominantly Chinese villagers, but not only Chinese.

NHB records Chinese settlement across the district, with Malay households near places such as Boon Teck Road and Kampong Pasiran, and an Indian community in neighbouring Potong Pasir associated with cattle herding and trade.

That mix was typical of Singapore’s rural fringe. People clustered around work rather than around modern planning boundaries.

A cattle trader, vegetable farmer, plantation labourer and temple caretaker could all participate in the same local market even if they lived in what later became different estates.

Toa Payoh before HDB was therefore not one village. It was a field of villages and livelihoods connected by roads, tracks and commerce.


Were the residents really “squatters”?

Some were. The label is still too blunt for the historical reality.

Government and planning documents often described post-war Toa Payoh as a squatter district because houses had been built without full formal planning approval and land tenure was temporary or irregular.

But historians have pointed out that many so-called squatters were rent-paying tenants. It had long been common for landowners or the government to rent unused plots month by month and allow occupants to erect their own houses.

One former resident remembered paying a small monthly land rent for an attap house with space for fruit trees and vegetables.

This distinction matters because the word “squatter” can imply someone simply seized land and had no legitimate attachment to it.

Many Toa Payoh families had paid money, built homes, raised children and lived there for years.

When clearance arrived, they did not experience themselves as obstacles sitting on empty government land.

They experienced eviction from home.

What was Puay Teng Keng?

One of Toa Payoh’s largest and best remembered kampongs.

Puay Teng Keng was a substantial village community within the old district. Like other kampongs, it contained homes, small businesses, places of worship and informal public spaces.

Its importance is not only size. Puay Teng Keng is unusually useful for understanding how villages governed everyday life before municipal systems reached them fully.

The community ran a market. Residents organised their own firefighting team and village fire station. Temples provided ritual and social organisation.

This is the point often missed when kampongs are described as “unplanned”.

Unplanned by the state does not mean unorganised by residents.

How could a kampong run its own fire service?

Because fire was one of the greatest threats to attap settlement.

Timber walls, thatched roofs, cooking fires and dense clusters of houses could turn a small accident into a major disaster very quickly. Formal fire stations were not always close enough to respond in time.

Villagers therefore organised collectively.

At Puay Teng Keng, the village firefighting team became an example of gotong royong—communal mutual help. Residents did not wait for every public service to be supplied from outside. They created systems because survival required them.

The village market worked through a similar logic. Community management could be more immediate than municipal bureaucracy because the people running it were also the people using it.

HDB later replaced these improvised systems with professional infrastructure.

The services improved. The mode of community participation changed.


Why was Toa Payoh called the “Chicago of Singapore”?

Because secret societies and violent crime had become prominent enough to shape the district’s reputation.

Newspaper reports and oral histories from the 1950s and 1960s describe gang fights, robberies and organised-crime activity across Toa Payoh. Rival groups fought around coffee shops and village gathering places. The nickname “Chicago of Singapore” or “Chicago of the East” referred to the American city’s popular association with gangsters.

The comparison was sensational, but the underlying lawlessness was real.

Low-density settlement, narrow tracks and semi-rural terrain made policing difficult. Some residents remembered officials entering only in groups. Illegal samsu distilling and other underground businesses operated in secluded compounds.

The neighbouring cemetery world of Kampong San Teng and Peck San Theng—now Bishan—gave gangs even more secluded terrain.

Crime followed geography.

Was gang life the whole story?

No. It became memorable precisely because it sat beside ordinary village life.

Most residents were farming, raising families, running stalls, attending temples, going to school and trying to improve their homes. The same district could contain moonshine distillers and volunteer firefighters.

This is why “Chicago of Singapore” should not become Toa Payoh’s pre-HDB identity.

It describes one feature of a complicated place.

The more important point is that state capacity was uneven. Residents lived in a zone where formal planning, policing, sanitation and municipal services had not caught up with population growth.

That gap created both community self-organisation and opportunities for criminal organisation.


Why did residents resist HDB clearance?

Because redevelopment meant losing livelihoods as well as houses.

Clearance began in the early 1960s. Residents raised concerns over compensation, the value assigned to houses and crops, and where they would be rehoused. Farmers faced an especially difficult problem: an HDB flat could replace shelter, but it could not replace agricultural land or a farming livelihood.

Local associations helped organise protests, legal advice and collective resistance. In one remembered clearance operation, elderly residents, women and children physically blocked bulldozers until officials came down to negotiate.

Many residents did not reject modern housing in principle.

They wanted fair compensation and, importantly, the possibility of remaining near the community they knew.

This is a crucial distinction.

Resistance to clearance was not necessarily resistance to sanitation, electricity or concrete flats.

It was resistance to being told that the old life could be replaced without accounting for everything that life contained.

Why did the conflict become political?

Because rural resettlement occurred during one of Singapore’s most politically contested periods.

Organisations including the Singapore Country Peoples’ Association and Singapore Rural Residents’ Association supported villagers and pressed the government for better compensation and conditions. The authorities regarded these groups as aligned with the Barisan Sosialis and accused them of using resettlement grievances for political mobilisation.

That does not make the villagers’ concerns imaginary.

Both things can be true: political organisations could use genuine grievances, and genuine grievances could become political.

The clearance of Toa Payoh was therefore not simply an engineering project.

It was part of the struggle over what kind of Singapore would be built, who would decide, and what existing communities were owed when national plans required their land.

What did resettlement mean to a farmer?

A change of economic system.

A farmer’s house, plot and work could be physically integrated. Vegetables might grow beside the home. Chickens or pigs could be raised nearby. Family labour moved between domestic and productive space.

An HDB flat separated those functions.

The new home offered electricity, piped water, sanitation and durable construction. It also meant that farming could no longer continue in the same way.

Residents had to enter a more cash-based urban economy. Some changed jobs. Children grew up with different expectations of education and employment.

Resettlement therefore affected class mobility as well as housing.

The flat was not only a new building.

It was a machine for producing a different kind of citizen.


When did the new town really begin?

The clearance struggle delayed the project, but by the end of 1963 large areas had been cleared and earthworks began in early 1964.

HDB prepared the town under its second five-year building programme. Toa Payoh was developed at extraordinary speed because the housing shortage remained severe.

The physical transformation involved much more than constructing blocks.

Swampy ground had to be filled. Hills were cut down. Earth was moved into reclamation projects. Roads and drains had to be laid before residents could live at high density.

The process made old Toa Payoh almost unrecognisable.

That was intentional.

The new town was not an upgraded kampong.

It was a replacement urban system.

Why was Toa Payoh different from Queenstown?

Queenstown came first as Singapore’s pioneering satellite town, but its development began under the Singapore Improvement Trust before HDB took over.

Toa Payoh was different because HDB conceived and developed the whole town itself.

This gave planners an opportunity to design housing, roads, neighbourhood centres, communal facilities and a town centre as one integrated system from the start.

That is why HDB calls Toa Payoh its first comprehensively planned and developed town.

Queenstown proved high-rise satellite housing could work.

Toa Payoh became the prototype for how HDB itself would build complete towns.

What was the Neighbourhood Principle?

A planning idea intended to make a huge new town feel manageable at everyday scale.

Instead of treating thousands of flats as one undifferentiated mass, planners grouped housing into neighbourhoods. Each neighbourhood could have schools, shops, food and daily services within convenient reach.

Several neighbourhoods then connected to a larger town centre providing higher-order services, shopping, entertainment and transport.

The principle sounds obvious today because Singapore’s later HDB towns used versions of it so extensively.

That familiarity is evidence of Toa Payoh’s success.

A planning experiment became normal life.


Why is Block 53 called the VIP Block?

Because the new town became a national showroom.

Completed in 1967, Block 53 at Lorong 5 was one of Toa Payoh’s early landmark blocks. Its Y-shaped plan distinguished it from standard slab blocks.

More importantly, foreign leaders, monarchs and dignitaries were brought there during the 1960s and 1970s to see Singapore’s public-housing achievement.

The block became known as the VIP Block because HDB housing itself had become diplomatic theatre.

The message was clear: Singapore had taken a landscape associated with swamp, squatter housing and gang violence and turned it into a modern town within a few years.

Visitors were not merely being shown apartments.

They were being shown a governing philosophy.

Why did Queen Elizabeth II visit Toa Payoh?

Because the town represented the version of Singapore its government most wanted the world to see.

Queen Elizabeth II visited Toa Payoh in 1972 during a state visit. The estate was still young, which made it an especially strong demonstration of how fast the country had changed.

Toa Payoh offered a compressed national narrative: planned public housing, modern infrastructure, schools, shopping, sports and community life replacing a district once described in deeply negative terms.

The Queen returned to Toa Payoh decades later in 2006.

That second visit created another useful comparison.

The model new town had become a mature heartland.

What was unusual about Block 116 and Block 157?

They show HDB beginning to experiment with architectural identity.

Block 116 is famous for its bat-shaped plan and long corridors. Block 157 is one of Singapore’s longest semi-circular blocks.

These designs appeared when HDB was moving beyond the most urgent phase of mass construction. Once a large portion of immediate housing demand had been addressed, architects could test forms that made estates more visually memorable.

This matters because repetition was one of the central risks of mass public housing.

Standardisation lowers cost and speeds construction.

But people build attachment through differences.

Toa Payoh became one of the first places where HDB explored that balance at town scale.


Why were the 1973 SEAP Games held in Toa Payoh?

Because the town already embodied the infrastructure Singapore wanted international visitors to experience.

The 1973 Southeast Asian Peninsular Games were the first major international sporting event hosted by Singapore. Toa Payoh was chosen for the Games Village because it was close to the National Stadium and had a newly built sports complex.

More than 1,500 athletes from seven countries stayed in four HDB point blocks in the heart of the town. Unlike isolated purpose-built athletes’ villages, this one placed competitors beside ordinary Singapore amenities—shops, cinemas, hawker centres, a supermarket, post office and bus interchange.

That arrangement turned public housing into part of the sporting event.

Visitors did not only see stadiums.

They lived temporarily inside Singapore’s new-town experiment.

What did the Games leave behind?

Permanent civic infrastructure.

The sports complex remained in community use. Point blocks used for the Games Village were later sold as public housing. The former Games Secretariat building became Toa Payoh Public Library.

Town Park was also part of the broader effort to make Toa Payoh presentable and liveable as an international showcase. Plans included landscaped grounds, an artificial forest and a man-made lake.

The Games accelerated the transformation of public housing from shelter into civic environment.

A mature town required places for sport, recreation, learning and ceremony.

Toa Payoh helped establish that expectation.

Why is the dragon playground iconic?

Because it turned ordinary public infrastructure into shared childhood memory.

Designed by HDB architect Khor Ean Ghee and built in 1979, the dragon playground at Lorong 6 used a giant terrazzo-clad dragon head, slides and a body of coloured rings.

Earlier playgrounds had tended to use generic slides, swings and see-saws. HDB designers began experimenting with animal forms and local cultural symbols to encourage imaginative play and give estates more distinctive identity.

The dragon design became so popular that versions were reproduced elsewhere.

Today only a few remain, which has transformed the structure from ordinary playground equipment into national nostalgia.

This is an important part of estate history.

Heritage is not only what survived from before HDB.

HDB life has now become old enough to generate heritage of its own.


What happened to the kampong temples?

Some disappeared. Others were relocated. Five of them were combined into a single compound.

Completed in 1974, United Five Temples of Toa Payoh became Singapore’s first temple complex to bring together five temples from different Chinese dialect groups and dedicated to different deities.

The temples had originated in Toa Payoh’s kampong era. Redevelopment removed their old sites, but devotees still needed places to worship.

Combining them solved a land problem.

It also created a new social arrangement.

Religious communities that had previously occupied separate village geographies now shared an urban compound.

The new town compressed sacred space just as it compressed residential space.

Why does Lian Shan Shuang Lin Monastery matter?

Because it proves Toa Payoh had important institutions long before HDB.

The monastery was founded in 1898 by Hokkien merchant Low Kim Pong and completed in 1909. Low donated land and funds after meeting a group of Buddhist monks and nuns returning from pilgrimage.

Its halls and courtyards rose in what was then a rural environment of swamp, farms and villages.

Today those roofs sit beside high-rise blocks, making the monastery one of the clearest visual collisions between old and new Toa Payoh.

Its Hall of Celestial Kings and Mahavira Hall were gazetted as a National Monument in 1980.

The monastery survived because redevelopment worked around it rather than treating every pre-HDB structure as expendable.

That exception gives the modern town historical depth that no replica could create.

Why is there still a shrine around a banyan tree?

Because one piece of the kampong sacred landscape survived the clearance.

The Tree Shrine at Block 177 traces its origins to a banyan tree revered during the kampong era. When redevelopment cleared houses, village schools and temples, the tree remained.

Over time it became known as a shen shu, a deity tree. A shrine developed around it, dedicated to deities including Tian Gong, Guan Yin, Datuk Kong and Tua Pek Kong.

The shrine is historically powerful because it does not fit neatly into the rational geometry of the town centre.

HDB blocks can be demolished and rebuilt according to planning cycles.

A sacred tree acquires legitimacy through belief.

In 2013, after part of the tree broke during a storm, the Toa Payoh Merchants’ Association raised funds to restore the shrine and stabilise what remained.

The kampong survived there not as architecture, but as reverence.


How did new community institutions replace old ones?

Not always by replacing them directly. Often the new town created entirely new forms of collective organisation.

Masjid Muhajirin opened in 1977 as the first mosque built with support from Singapore’s Mosque Building Fund, which pooled contributions from Muslim workers. Toa Payoh Methodist Church grew from outreach and a free medical clinic into a permanent church. Chung Hwa Medical Institution opened its Toa Payoh building in 1978 after broad community fundraising.

The fundraising for Chung Hwa is especially revealing. Contributions came not only from wealthy donors but from ordinary workers, including thousands of taxi drivers and hundreds of trishaw riders.

This is modern gotong royong in a different form.

The kampong fire brigade had pooled labour to solve a village problem.

Urban residents pooled money to build institutions serving a much larger town.

The infrastructure changed.

The instinct to build collectively remained.

What did old Toa Payoh smell and sound like?

Wet earth, farms, animals, smoke, market food and industry.

Plantation eras would have carried the smells of processed gambier, wood fires and cultivation. Later kampongs added pig and poultry farming, vegetable plots, cooking, open drains, timber houses and cottage industries.

Illegal samsu distilling created another sensory layer: fires, vats and fermenting material hidden behind village compounds.

Markets added hawker calls, poultry, wet floors and bargaining. Temples added drums, bells, incense and festival processions. Gang clashes occasionally added violence to that soundscape.

Modern Toa Payoh replaced dispersed village noise with concentrated urban systems: lifts, buses, traffic, hawker centres, schools, sports facilities and MRT trains.

The district did not become quieter.

It became more regulated.


What did redevelopment solve?

It solved problems that residents had been solving imperfectly for themselves.

Professional firefighting replaced village brigades. Proper sewers and sanitation replaced open drains and fragile systems. Piped water, electricity and durable construction reduced daily household risks. Planned schools and clinics improved access to education and healthcare.

Roads became all-weather infrastructure. Public transport became more predictable. Town-centre shops replaced some of the need to travel into the city for major purchases.

Most importantly, HDB housing gave families more private, durable and hygienic domestic space than many had previously possessed.

Those gains are why the new town eventually became persuasive even to many residents who had mourned the kampongs.

What did redevelopment destroy?

The village map.

Old roads and tracks vanished. Houses were demolished. Farms disappeared. Local markets closed. Temple sites were lost. Neighbours were distributed into blocks or moved to other estates.

A self-organised community could be harder to reproduce in a high-rise town where residents came from many different places.

The new town solved physical problems much faster than it could recreate social familiarity.

That is why HDB later invested so heavily in void decks, playgrounds, precincts, community centres and neighbourhood identity.

Public housing did not only need homes.

It needed mechanisms for strangers to become neighbours.


A Toa Payoh timeline

Before the nineteenth-century plantation boom
The broader Toa Payoh landscape contains freshwater swamp forest, marsh, waterways and forested interior.

Early–mid nineteenth century
Gambier and pepper plantations spread into the district. Planters clear forest and drain wet ground, drawing workers and settlers inward.

1840s
Maps record large Toa Payoh districts extending far beyond the boundaries of today’s town.

Late nineteenth century
Plantation and village settlement expands. Community and religious institutions begin taking permanent form.

1898
Lian Shan Shuang Lin Monastery is founded by Low Kim Pong.

1909
Shuang Lin Monastery is completed and becomes a major landmark in rural Toa Payoh.

Early twentieth century
Kampongs, vegetable farms, cottage industries and informal housing spread through the district as population increases.

Post-1945
Housing pressure intensifies. Many families build or rent attap and zinc-roofed homes on temporarily leased or informally developed land.

1950s
Toa Payoh develops a strong reputation for secret societies, gang fights and illicit industries, while kampong communities maintain their own markets, temples and mutual-aid systems.

1959
A Singapore Improvement Trust report describes Toa Payoh as an extensive squatter district.

1961–1963
Clearance and resettlement for HDB development meet organised resistance over compensation and relocation.

1964
Major earthworks begin after clearance agreements are reached.

Mid-1960s
HDB constructs Toa Payoh under its second five-year building programme as its first comprehensively planned new town.

1967
Block 53, later known as the VIP Block, is completed.

Late 1960s
Residents move into the rapidly expanding town. Experimental block forms such as Block 116 and Block 157 give the estate visual distinction.

1972
Queen Elizabeth II visits Toa Payoh, reinforcing its role as Singapore’s public-housing showcase.

1973
Toa Payoh hosts the SEAP Games Village, housing more than 1,500 athletes and officials within the town.

1974
United Five Temples of Toa Payoh is completed, bringing five former kampong temples into one urban compound.

1977
Masjid Muhajirin opens as the first mosque supported by the Mosque Building Fund.

1978
Chung Hwa Medical Institution opens its Toa Payoh building after major community fundraising.

1979
The iconic dragon playground is built at Lorong 6.

1980
The main halls of Lian Shan Shuang Lin Monastery are gazetted as a National Monument.

2002
HDB moves its headquarters to Toa Payoh, underlining the town’s symbolic place in Singapore’s housing history.

2015 onward
Toa Payoh is selected for further rejuvenation under the Remaking Our Heartland programme while its older heritage sites and first-generation public-housing landmarks continue to shape local identity.

Today
Toa Payoh is a mature central HDB town where remnants of swamp-era religious institutions, kampong memory and first-generation new-town experiments coexist within a heavily renewed urban landscape.


How to read modern Toa Payoh with the old swamp and kampongs in your head

Start by remembering that the flat ground is engineered.

When you walk through Toa Payoh Central, imagine a landscape whose older name described swamp and mud rather than a pedestrian mall.

At Block 53, see a housing block that became diplomatic evidence of national competence.

At Block 116 or Block 157, see HDB learning that a new town needed memorable architecture as well as efficient flats.

At the former SEAP Games Village, remember athletes temporarily living inside ordinary public housing rather than inside a sealed sporting compound.

At the dragon playground, remember that the first generation raised in HDB estates created a heritage completely separate from the kampongs their parents remembered.

At United Five Temples, read the shared compound as a map of villages erased by redevelopment.

At Lian Shan Shuang Lin Monastery, notice how a rural religious institution survived while the entire landscape around it became high-rise housing.

At the Tree Shrine beside Block 177, look at a banyan tree whose sacred identity crossed the boundary between kampong and new town.

And when Toa Payoh feels like the most ordinary mature heartland imaginable, remember that ordinary was the achievement.

This place was designed to make a radical new way of living become normal.

What survives when a planned town replaces a self-built one?

Not the physical fabric, mostly.

The attap houses are gone. The farms are gone. Puay Teng Keng no longer functions as a village. Most old roads disappeared or were absorbed into new street patterns. Cottage industries and illicit distilleries vanished.

What survives is selective.

Shuang Lin Monastery survives as architecture and living religion.

The five kampong temples survive as institutions in a shared compound.

The tree shrine survives as sacred landscape.

Oral histories preserve the community market, firefighting team, gang conflicts and arguments over clearance.

And Toa Payoh’s first-generation HDB fabric has itself become historical.

This layering matters because the town now contains two separate nostalgias.

Older residents remember kampong Toa Payoh.

Younger generations remember cinemas, dragon playgrounds, old town-centre shops, void decks and the Toa Payoh of 1970s and 1980s HDB childhood.

The new town became old enough to compete with the village for memory.

How did the first residents learn to live in an HDB town?

By discovering that better infrastructure did not automatically reproduce the social habits of kampong life.

For many families, the physical improvement was immediate. Concrete walls separated bedrooms from living rooms and kitchens. Piped water arrived at a tap. Electricity was reliable. Toilets were private or far more sanitary than the systems people had used before. Roads no longer turned into mud tracks after heavy rain. Children could reach planned schools, playgrounds and clinics more easily.

But the flat also introduced new rules of everyday behaviour. Space became vertical. A neighbour might live above or below rather than across a footpath. Noise travelled through concrete. Corridors were shared territory. Families who once kept chickens, planted larger vegetable patches or repaired things beside the house had to fit domestic life into a much smaller legal footprint.

The economic rhythm changed too. Kampong households could combine home and livelihood in one place: selling food from the front of the house, keeping animals, growing produce or running cottage industries. HDB separated residence from many forms of work. The town centre and neighbourhood shops became the formal places for retail and services, while residents increasingly travelled elsewhere for wage employment.

This changed the meaning of convenience. In a kampong, a neighbour might lend a tool, help repair a roof or watch a child because relationships had developed over years. In a new block, HDB supplied more of the physical system but residents had to build the social system again with people they might never have met before.

That is why the design of shared spaces mattered so much. Corridors, playgrounds, markets, coffee shops, community centres, void decks and neighbourhood schools were not ornamental extras. They created repeated encounters. Repeated encounters are how strangers become familiar.

Toa Payoh’s historical importance lies partly in this social experiment. HDB was not only asking whether high-rise housing could be constructed cheaply and quickly. It was asking whether a town assembled by planning could develop the kinds of everyday attachments that older settlements had accumulated gradually.

Over time, residents answered that question themselves. Children claimed playgrounds. Hawker stalls acquired regular customers. Blocks gained reputations. Neighbours organised celebrations and funerals. Residents began giving directions through landmarks that had not existed a decade earlier.

A new geography became ordinary through use.

This is why later nostalgia for Toa Payoh is so important. People who grew up in the 1970s and 1980s do not remember the estate as an artificial planning experiment. They remember it as home. The town had succeeded when its residents stopped experiencing its newness.

Why does Toa Payoh matter beyond Toa Payoh?

Because modern Singapore’s heartland model was tested here in unusually complete form.

Toa Payoh demonstrated that public housing could be more than mass accommodation. A town could contain neighbourhood identities, a civic centre, sport, parks, worship, healthcare, shopping and entertainment.

It also exposed the social cost of achieving that transformation.

The town required land clearance, compensation disputes, political conflict and the removal of established communities.

The model succeeded strongly enough that later generations could forget how controversial it had been.

That is the deeper lesson.

Urban systems become invisible when they work well.

Toa Payoh is important because it shows both stages: the painful creation of the system and the later normality produced by it.

So what was Toa Payoh before Toa Payoh?

It was the big swamp before it was the model town.

It was freshwater forest and marsh before gambier and pepper. It was plantations before kampongs. It was farms, attap houses and home industries before slab blocks. It was village markets before pedestrian malls. It was volunteer fire brigades before professional municipal services.

It was also gangs, illegal distilleries and contested authority.

That matters because modern Toa Payoh’s orderliness was not inevitable.

It had to be built against an older system.

Residents resisted because the older system, however physically inadequate, was still home.

Then the new system proved powerful.

Flats brought water, electricity and sanitation. Neighbourhoods brought schools and shops. The town centre brought commerce and entertainment. Parks and playgrounds created shared public life. The SEAP Games and royal visits turned ordinary housing into national spectacle.

And eventually Toa Payoh stopped feeling experimental.

It became what Singaporeans meant by heartland.

That may be the town’s greatest historical achievement.

Toa Payoh was once the future.

It worked so well that the future became ordinary.


Sources and further reading

This article prioritises Singapore institutional, archival and heritage sources. The term “squatter” is retained when discussing historical government documents but is treated carefully because many residents were rent-paying tenants or long-established occupants.

Continue through the neighbouring history: What Was Bishan Before Bishan?What Was Ang Mo Kio Before Ang Mo Kio?What Was Serangoon Before Serangoon?What Was Hougang Before Hougang?What Was Sengkang Before Sengkang?What Was Punggol Before Punggol?