This work is originally published by Cahya Mata Sarawak. DayakDaily has been given permission to share this story on our platforms.
By Martin Yee, Kenny Ee, and Marlynda Meraw
IN the weathered courts of Kampung Enam, Kuching, where the rhythm of life danced to the steady beat of badminton shuttlecocks, a young boy would step into his makeshift court each day, sparring not with the opponents but with the air itself.
The boy was Hassan Manan, who would someday be called the “Iron Lung”, a title that carried the weight of his endurance, his discipline, and the sheer power of his will.
Born during the era when the Thomas Cup represented the pinnacle of sporting glory in Sarawak, Hassan became a master of his craft. His time was defined by the legendary Singaporean shuttler Wong Peng Soon and fellow Sarawakian Ong Poh Lim, names spoken with reverence, though Hassan never faced them on the court.
But that did not matter, for Hassan’s reign was absolute in his own right. In the courts of Kuching, from Sibu to Limbang, he was unbeaten, his skill unparalleled, his reputation insurmountable. His game was honed not in grand stadiums but on the small court across his house—where every swing of the racquet etched his mastery deeper into his soul.
His strokes were not the power smashes of today’s era, but of graceful, floating shots that hovered like a butterfly in motion—always finding their mark, always out to reach for his opponents.
Hassan’s story began in the modest surroundings of the Madrassah school, a place where education was simple, vernacular, yet vital. But it was in the game of badminton that he truly found his calling. Day after day, he would hone his craft under the sun in Kampung Enam, where the court still stands as a silent witness to the birth of a champion.
From these humble beginnings, he rose to dominate the courts of Sarawak, where no one could touch him. The crowds watched in awe as the “Iron Lung” played, a name gifted to him by those who marvelled at his tireless grit and unrelenting power.
As a deputy of the Royal Customs and Excise of Sarawak, Hassan’s life extended far beyond the court. Yet, it was on the court that his truest legacy lay. Not just in his victories, but in the generations he inspired. He became a mentor to Sarawak’s finest, nurturing the talents of players like Abang Shukori, Datuk Temenggong Gobil, Ismail Hassan, and of course, his own son, Abdul Rahman Hassan.
Abdul Rahman, who would follow in his father’s footsteps to become a champion in the 1970s, remembered Hassan not just as a player but as a man of discipline, a figure of constant support who lived with purpose and precision.
“My father played during the time of greats—Wong Peng Soon, Ong Poh Lim—but never had the chance to face them.
“Even so, in every match he played here, whether it’s Happy World Stadium or at the wooden stadium in Padungan, he was unstoppable. Sarawak was his arena, and no one could take that from him,” Abdul Rahman recalled his father’s memory.
The game Hassan played was one of finesse. In his time, stroke play was the order of the day, a style that demanded patience and skill. He was known for his floating smash, a shot that seemed to hang in the air before landing with delicate precision. Unlike today’s power-driven, perpendicular smashes, his strokes were proof of the beauty of control. Footwork was Hassan’s foundation, and every shuttle had to be sent to the baseline with perfect form. His backhand, now a relic of the past in the face of modern overhead drives, was an art unto itself.
But badminton was not his only love. Hassan was a jack of all trades, excelling in tennis, golf, and even the once-popular “big walk” races, where he earned yet another title: the best of them all. His love for travel and photography added layers to his character, turning his life into an adventure of its own, filled with stories not just of sports but of the world beyond it.
Hassan’s life was strict and disciplined, yet he reserved the toughest standards for himself. He poured this same firm routine into Abdul Rahman, taking him to competitions, and offering profound advice that shaped not just a mere player but a man.
As time moved on, new champions surfaced—Lim Khiok Seng, Abang Shukori, and Radin Arshad—players who would rise to prominence in the late 1960s and 70s, carrying forward the legacy that Hassan had built. The shuttlecock, now driven with modern force, still bore the echoes of his floating smash, a soft remembrance of the artistry that had once ruled the courts of Sarawak.
And so, the name of Hassan—Sarawak’s “Iron Lung”—lives on, not just in the history of badminton, but in the hearts of those who watched him play and those who learned from him. He was more than just a champion; he was a man whose very life was weaved into the very essence of Sarawak’s soul for badminton. –DayakDaily
