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New Straits Times
6 days ago
- Business
- New Straits Times
From Kuala Selangor to luxury hotels worldwide — This family's legacy lives on
THE huge smile. It's the first thing I notice about Pei Xien Yeoh. Then, the unmistakable voice. Even as I step into the cool embrace of Pangkor Laut Resort's all-day dining restaurant, grateful for a reprieve from the sticky island heat outside, it's impossible to miss her. There's a brightness to her presence; a warmth that radiates before she even speaks. She reminds me, in more ways than one, of her gregarious father, Datuk Mark Yeoh Seok Kah — executive director of YTL Corporation Bhd and the formidable force behind YTL Hotels' steady rise. The resemblance isn't only in the voice or the ease with which she laughs, but in the way she draws you in — with the easy confidence of someone who has never known small rooms, and yet with none of the detachment you might expect from a fourth-generation scion of one of Malaysia's most storied business families. She beams as I approach, rising from her seat to greet me with a firm handshake and an even bigger grin. "You look like you could use a drink," she exclaims, waving a waiter over. Just hours earlier, I'd seen her on the beachfront, cheering on competitors at the Chapman's Challenge — an annual race held in honour of British soldier Colonel Freddy Spencer Chapman, who famously escaped Japanese troops through these very jungles during World War 2. Then, she was clad in a plain white T-shirt and light blue jeans, long hair a little damp with sweat, skin glistening in the afternoon sun. "I love milestone years," says Pei as we settle in, adding sagely: "… because they kind of remind you of everything that came before." This year is one of them — the 80th anniversary of Chapman's escape and the 70th anniversary of YTL's founding. And for Pei, it's more than a corporate milestone. It's personal. It's history wrapped in memory, carried from one generation to the next. "As a Yeoh," she continues, "… the weight is heavier. I work hard not for the money, but for the legacy. For what my grandfather built. And for the people who built it with him." Her grandfather was Tan Sri Yeoh Tiong Lay, the man whose name is stitched into Malaysia's economic story — a titan of industry who, even at the height of his empire, made time for his family. Pei remembers growing up next door to him and spending time with him every week. Shares Pei: "Even though I'm the youngest, I had 16 good years with him. My grandfather was a great lover of history, much like my father. Because of that, all of us in the family grew up knowing the story of how my great-grandfather left Kinmen — which was part of China then, though it's now considered Taiwan — at the age of 18." She continues: "He made his way to Klang, where he began working as a bookkeeper for a man who owned a planking business. In time, he married the owner's daughter, and they moved to Kuala Selangor to start their life." The family, confides Pei, takes great pride in those roots — in being from Kuala Selangor. "When my grandfather was alive, he would make it a point to drive there every weekend to buy fish from the local market. It wasn't just about the produce; it was about ensuring we supported the small businesses and the people who had stood by us through the years. He believed in honouring those ties, in nurturing relationships that go beyond transactions," she recalls softly. And that spirit of looking after the people who look after you is something she herself carries, and it has become a big part of what drives Pei — even though it's not always easy work. Brows furrowing, she recalls the oft-told story of the 1970s financial crisis, when the family risked losing it all. "My grandparents pawned their gold and jewellery to honour contracts when others ran. It paid off in the end, but more than that, it taught us that your word is your bond." Those lessons were drilled deep. And while Pei might carry the ease of privilege, she also shoulders the weight of inheritance. It's something she's always been conscious of, even as she carved her own path. "It was all part of the master plan," confides Pei with a grin, recounting her years abroad. At 16, she left for the United Kingdom, finishing sixth form before earning a degree in History, Politics and Economics from University College London. But even then, the expectation wasn't to waltz straight into the family business. "I wanted to prove to myself I could thrive without the name," she admits, shrugging her shoulders lightly. And so, for two years, she did — as a management consultant with Deloitte Malaysia. It was a world of high-stakes projects and long hours, a place where her last name meant little. "It was the best decision I made," she reflects, adding: "It taught me how to manage people and expectations, and deliver under pressure. Skills that I use every day now." When the call came last December to return, she didn't hesitate. "I came back willingly. It felt like coming home." But it wasn't a simple homecoming, though, as the YTL Pei returned to was a company racing ahead. New hotel openings in Japan and Australia, artificial intelligence (AI) integrations and ambitious expansions were reshaping the hospitality landscape. "It's been a crazy time to come in," she admits, chuckling heartily. "We have 38 properties now, with a few more coming. Every morning, I read through all the guest comments — what I call my happy hour, even though it's not an hour anymore." But amid spreadsheets and strategy decks, Pei holds tight to something less tangible. "Hospitality is about people. Data can tell you what's happening, but it won't tell you why." It's a philosophy inherited from her father, a man whose booming voice and sharp mind she reveres, and whose warmth, she insists, is often overlooked. "People think he's intimidating because he's loud," she says, beaming broadly before adding: "But he's got the kindest heart. He always says — people first. Take care of your team, your guests, the community. The profits will come." BOND OF FAMILY That ethos runs deep in the family. Smiling, Pei recalls childhood holidays at Pangkor Laut, long before she imagined she'd one day help oversee its legacy. "A lot of people ask if it's lonely being an only child, but no. I have 26 cousins and now with the great-grandchildren, there are 30 of us. We grew up as one big noisy unit." Dinners were never quiet affairs. Shares Pei: "There's no such thing as separating work and family. Business decisions get made at the dinner table. Everyone chimes in. That's how it's always been." It was, she reflects, an unconventional but intentional upbringing — the sort that's designed to prepare her for the weight she now carries. Chuckling, she recounts how, as a child, she'd beg for DVDs at Speedy Video. "My parents made me pick one a month. It was their way of teaching self-control — you can have anything, but you need to steward it well." The lesson stuck. Even now, as she manages people, budgets and the delicate politics of family business, she's acutely aware of what's been entrusted to her. The responsibility is vast. "A lot of us were born with a head start," she says candidly, adding: "We didn't live through the crises our grandparents did. But we're constantly reminded of those sacrifices, so we don't grow complacent." Pei's admiration for her grandfather is evident as she reiterates: "He was a man of few words, but he'd always remind us to let our work do the talking. He always believed integrity mattered more than anything. Whatever agreement you enter, keep your word. That's what built this company." A RESPONSIBILITY Today, as Pei steps deeper into her leadership role — overseeing strategy, transformation, people and culture, even YTL Hotels' foray into artificial intelligence (AI) — those principles anchor her. Eyes flashing passionately, she says: "We have to innovate, but not lose the DNA. You can automate bookings, but you can't automate kindness." Her father, now in his 60s, remains her greatest mentor and critic. "We butt heads sometimes," she confesses with a laugh, adding: "He calls himself a technological dinosaur. He's got the spirit for change, but sometimes I have to show him how." Despite their occasional clashes, the bond is undeniable. "He's my boss, my father and a cheeky friend," confides Pei, elaborating: "At work, if he doesn't agree with an idea, he'll make it known. But it's never personal. At the end of the day, it's about making decisions for the good of the group, the staff, the legacy." Asked what's the best advice her father has ever given her, Pei shares: "He's given plenty, but I think one of the best pieces of advice he's ever given me — and the one he reminds me of often — is to never stop learning. He recently turned 60, a milestone in itself, but his mindset has always been that it's okay to be wrong, as long as you keep learning from it." Elaborating, she says: "He believes you should never aim to be the smartest person in the room. Instead, surround yourself with people you can learn from, people who challenge your thinking. It's a mentality rooted in humility, in staying open, and in recognising that wisdom often comes from the most unexpected places." When asked how she defines success, Pei doesn't mention profits or property counts. She reflects: "For me, it's about love. How much your people care about you, about the brand, about what we stand for." It's a belief she sees lived out in YTL's long-serving employees. Adds Pei, pride lacing her tone: "We have people who've been with us 30, 40 years. It's not just loyalty — it's love. And if your team loves where they work, your guests will feel it too." That, she believes, is what sets YTL Hotels apart. "We were here first and we know this industry inside out. But you can know everything and still get left behind. "So, we have to lead. Not just measure what's happening, but set the temperature," she adds passionately. As for the next 70 years, Pei is determined to keep telling stories — of people, of place, of struggle and triumph. She confides: "I want to document the little stories. The man who laid the first pipe on Pangkor Laut. The housekeeper who's worked here since day one. The local fishermen who bring us fresh anchovies. These are the stories that matter." Suffice to say, she's proud of where the brand is headed, with new properties rising in Thailand, Australia and Japan. But she understands that growth means nothing if the heart of it is lost. "We can get as big as we want," Pei says quietly, adding: "… but if we lose our soul, we lose everything." It's a lesson she carries in her bones — her grandfather's grit, her father's fire, and her own steadfast belief in the worth of people. "As long as we lead with integrity, love our people, and never forget where we came from," she adds, rising to leave, "we'll be alright." The smile lingers as she bids me goodbye, already turning to tend to a staff member waiting discreetly nearby. Duty calls, as it always has in this family. And with that same easy warmth and quiet resolve, she walks away — carrying not just a name, but a promise.
New Straits Times
15-06-2025
- Sport
- New Straits Times
What a grandfather's wartime escape taught his grandson about fatherhood and life
THE late morning sun hangs high above Emerald Bay, the heat pressing down on the skin, clinging to every surface. The water shimmers like scattered diamonds, while on the beach, racers and supporters congregate in loose, sun-drenched clusters, waiting for the last of the Chapman's Challenge competitors to emerge from the sea and cross the finish line. An annual endurance race held at Pangkor Laut Resort, the challenge is named after Colonel Frederick (Freddie) Spencer Chapman, a British World War 2 hero. It's a combination of trail running, road running and open-water swimming that retraces parts of the route Freddie took in 1945 during his legendary escape from Japanese forces on Pulau Pangkor. Not far from where I'm standing, partially sheltered from the sweltering sun beneath the generous shade of a dappled tree, stands Stephen Spencer Chapman, a medal strung around his neck, his tanned, well-built frame slick with sweat after the gruelling race. Beside him, his father, Christopher Spencer Chapman, watches with quiet pride, his hat casting soft shadows over features creased in satisfaction. Around them, the air hums with easy camaraderie as friends and family gather, trading laughter, congratulations and the occasional slap on the back. A soft breeze teases through the palms, the clink of glass punctuating the easy conversation, while out at sea, two boats idle against a horizon that sizzles in the heat. The waves catch the light like restless specks of glass, a perpetual dance of sun and tide. It's in this moment of sunlit ease that I make my way towards the younger Chapman, a veteran of the British Army's elite Parachute Regiment and former member of the Red Devils parachute display team. He turns as I approach, and I ask: "Can I steal you for a chat later?" His face brightens as he extends his hand in a warm greeting. "Of course," he says, nodding happily, his father beaming quietly by his side. But before more can be exchanged, a ripple of cheers rises from the beach as the final runner — a staff member from Pangkor Laut Resort — appears through the trees. He's flushed, soaked in effort, but his grin stretches wide as he crosses the line, greeted by the warm applause of a crowd who seem to value heart as much as time. The beach has emptied, and the sharp gleam of the sea has turned to a gentler shimmer, the waves settling into a languid rhythm. I find myself smiling at Stephen, this time clean and calm, a simple shirt replacing his race-worn skin, dark blond hair neatly combed. The handsome Englishman settles into a seat opposite me, the steady hush of the sea our backdrop. The medal is gone, but the flush of satisfaction still lingers in his expression, the quiet glow of a man who has run not for glory, but for meaning. Languidly, he leans back as I switch on my recorder, though already I can tell this conversation will meander — as all the best ones do. It's been eight decades since Stephen's grandfather, Freddie, — a Parachute Regiment officer, Arctic explorer and author of the 1949 war memoir The Jungle is Neutral, swam from these same rocks to rendezvous with the submarine HMS Statesman while escaping the Japanese-occupied island. Freddie was one of the few British soldiers in Force 136 who fought the Japanese and survived the harsh jungles of Malaya during World War 2. Today marks the 80th anniversary of that indomitable act. And in an extraordinary confluence of time and memory, this moment also coincides with the 70th anniversary of YTL Corporation, whose Pangkor Laut Resort now foots the island's sands. For Stephen, this annual pilgrimage isn't just athletic — it's deeply personal. "When I stand over there..." he says, gazing in the distance, "I recall Freddie's words in his book about a little fresh water stream, and I think how different it must have been for him." 3 GENERATIONS, 4 MEN The 39-year-old Stephen belongs to a line of stewards of resilience. His great-grandfather died in the trenches of World War 1, leaving his grandfather Freddie an orphan. "Right from the start, he had an adverse upbringing. He grew to have a real sense of independence, which is what I think led to his survival through the war years," shares the affable father-of-two, tracing the hidden roots of his grandfather's courage. Christopher, Freddie's son and Stephen's father, served briefly in the Royal Navy. "My father was very adventurous too, but he served only for three years. My mother was a chef on the yacht he captained." I get the sense that you come from a military family, I find myself blurting out. But Stephen quickly shakes his head, before replying: "I've never really thought of myself that way. I didn't grow up in an army base or anything like that, and I wasn't really aware of my dad's service when I was young. "I actually joined the military a little later — in my mid-20s with the Parachute Regiment. Before that, I spent a few years travelling, picking up languages and working odd jobs along the way." He spent most of his career in the army before canoeing into the tech world and founding a firm that "build(s) software systems to look at the health, performance and well being of people in large organisations". The common thread for him has always been working from mission to mission. Shares Stephen: "I spent some time in sustainability, looking at how technology could help us address some of the global environmental goals we're all trying to reach. Then the opportunity came along to build software that could support the soldiers I used to work with — to help them be better soldiers." "I didn't really know my grandfather as he'd already passed away when I was born," confides Stephen when asked how close he was to Freddie. Continuing, he says: "But growing up, I was aware that my grandfather had done some stuff and written some books. I grew up with lots of interesting paraphernalia around the house... ice axes, pickaxes, model kayaks..." Did your father talk much about his own father to you? I probe. He shakes his head before replying: "Not really. That's why coming to Pangkor for the Chapman's Challenge is so special for me. It's a chance to learn about my grandfather, of course — but in doing that, I also get to learn more about my own father. "Being here, surrounded by people asking him questions and sharing stories, he opens up in ways he normally wouldn't. I hear things I've never heard before." Suffice to say, returning to Pangkor Laut these past seven years has deepened his understanding of Freddie. "I've met families of people who were involved in some of the other things he did," says Stephen softly. Continuing, he adds: "When Freddie was extracted from the island by submarine, he wasn't alone. There was an officer called Richard Broome with him together in Force 136. And that made me think about the other people involved in that moment." Expression earnest, he continues: "While this event naturally focuses on Freddie's story, I find that quite interesting. That reflection has broadened my own perspective. It's no longer just a personal story about my grandfather, but a reminder of a shared experience; of the many others whose courage and sacrifice were part of that chapter in history." When asked what question he would have liked to ask his grandfather if he were still alive, Stephen, who has an equally adventurous sister, pauses before replying: "How did he endure that isolation, the uncertainty... and just keep going?" It's a question that quietly haunts many in the modern world. The charming Cancerian admits that he's always been someone who likes to have answers, to fix what can be fixed. "I'm probably a person who wants to have an answer for everything and a solution," he says, smiling wryly. When asked what his grandfather's story of resilience still teaches us today, another pause ensues before he replies: "Probably that we're capable of far more than we think, especially when things are stripped back." In an age where discomfort is something to be numbed or avoided, he believes it's precisely in those moments of unease that we meet ourselves. "Freddie's story reminds us that resilience isn't built in easy times. It's shaped by adversity, uncertainty, by the decisions made when no one's cheering — and I imagine that's how he spent most of his time. That lesson still holds," muses Stephen softly. He's careful not to over-romanticise the parallels between past and present, but the connection is impossible to ignore. "I try not to get too philosophical about it," he says, though his voice softens as he adds: "...but I think about Freddie's book, The Jungle is Neutral. And I realise the jungle isn't always a place. Sometimes it's a state of mind — anxiety, grief, burnout, self-doubt." Adding, Stephen elaborates: "These are the battles people fight now. And the tools for survival aren't so different: patience, perspective, small wins. The ability to keep moving even when you're not sure it's making a difference." It isn't, he insists, about grand gestures or heroics. It's about consistency. "About not giving up when it would be easier to do exactly that." VALUES THAT OUTLAST TIME In one of his books, Freddie wrote that the roots of true happiness could be found in three things: companionship, a connection with nature or a craft, and a touch of danger. It was his quiet philosophy for a meaningful life — the idea that happiness wasn't passive, but something to be pursued by pushing one's limits, while staying grounded in the natural world. "For me," Stephen reflects, "that's what this island has come to represent. That connection with nature. The conservation work happening down at Emerald Bay is something really special, and it's something I often think about. "I believe Freddie would have appreciated it too — the spirit of people immersing themselves in it, and the simple, unpretentious joy of being out there". That spirit has been carefully preserved and nurtured over the decades, thanks in no small part to YTL's stewardship of the island. More than just a luxury resort, Pangkor Laut has become a living, breathing sanctuary where conservation and community matter as much as comfort. Through its commitment to protecting the natural environment and honouring the island's layered history, YTL, founded in 1955 by Yeoh Tiong Lay, has ensured that Freddie's spirit — and his love for wild, untamed places — endures in quiet, meaningful ways. Emerald Bay isn't just a theatre of endurance; it's a living example of YTL's values in action. Continues Stephen: "What makes a story or a business endure is around the values that underpin it... purpose... that's what will keep things sticking." In this sense, the double milestone is more than coincidence. YTL's 70th year is no mere statistical echo of Freddie's story: both are anchored in purpose, in values being passed down, weathered by time. The Chapman's Challenge itself is more than a competition. It's a rite. A communion with the landscape and the man who made it immortal. This year, as Stephen powered through dense undergrowth and across rocky coastlines, a friend close behind, he felt it — the race against time, against himself, against the ache of distance from his young daughters. "It's always a mental game," he admits, adding: "You push yourself because you know he did too." His finish time, 55:35, a slight dip from his lifetime best of 53:00 in 2018, arriving at second place, mattered less than the act itself. In the sweat and sting of salt, in every footfall over soil Freddie once crossed, Stephen finds a conversation with a man he never met. These days, with two small daughters waiting in west London, Stephen no longer lingers long on the island. "For me, it's all about my family. Of being the best husband and father that I can be. That's the adventure now," he says, smiling softly. Perhaps when his girls are old enough, he'll bring them here too — not to chase ghosts, but to swim, to run, to listen to the wind. And to know that they too belong to something ancient, fierce and quietly unbroken.
