Two different bridges in Alexandra Road tell a story of the nation's progress.

On one end, stretching 80m across the road in a dramatic bow and continuing on metal stilts as part of a treetop walk, is Alexandra Arch. The wide pedestrian bridge is bathed in LED lights at night and is the latest addition to Singapore's network of trails linking its parks, forests and gardens.

About 100m down lies a narrow bridge with brown mesh on both sides. Just wide enough for two people to walk abreast, the ageing structure spans a lush valley and links the main road to a cluster of eateries called Gillman Village.

One is the product of a highprofile design competition and is - in modern Singapore's lexicon - iconic. The other is a structure more than 30 years old and so low-key that it and its users blend quietly into the Alexandra Road landscape. Like similar structures on this fast-paced island, it may disappear some day, with passers-by none the wiser for it.

The old Gillman bridge deserves a closer look after Singapore's authorities recently extended its conservation programme beyond buildings.

Earlier last month, the Government said it would conserve, among other things, the lookout towers in Toa Payoh Town Park and Seletar Reservoir Park, the Botanic Gardens' bandstand, as well as the historic bridges of Anderson, Cavenagh, Elgin, Read, Ord and Crawford downtown.

While these landmarks are deserving additions to the 6,800 buildings protected under Singapore's conservation programme, there is a need to look further, beyond the obvious and opulent.

As part of a Saturday Special Report in June, The Straits Times ran a poll on some endangered buildings and structures to find out which among them people wanted to see protected.

Among the 11 listed were the first community library in Singapore, a seminal residential and commercial complex, the first polytechnic in Singapore, and a 1970s bus stop in Old Choa Chu Kang Road.

The humble bus stop topped the list with more than a quarter of the 1,103 votes cast. Many readers who e-mailed me in support of the bus stop revealed that they had never used that particular bus stop in Old Choa Chu Kang Road.

Yet, they identified with it because the design could be found everywhere when they were growing up. It was a mental icon of a bygone era: Under the eaves of a concrete structure like this one, they found shelter, forged friendships and looked out onto an evolving nation.

Faced with such unprecedented public support, the Land Transport Authority decided to keep the bus stop instead of replacing it with a modern one as planned earlier.

The bus stop episode highlights a gap in Singapore's current conservation effort.

While the Urban Redevelopment Authority keeps an inventory of buildings worth conserving, it has perhaps not focused enough on the more 'mundane' items which people come in touch with on a daily, more intimate, basis.

These items could be something as simple as the street furniture like telephone booths, which were commonplace before, but now a diminishing sight as more and more Singaporeans own mobile phones. Today, there are only 560 standalone phone booths islandwide operated by SingTel, and one of the oldest has been around just 14 years.

Meanwhile, old-style playgrounds in sandpits depicting dragons, rabbits or other animals with concrete structures are a rare sight now compared to the contemporary plastic slides and swings lined with easy-to-maintain rubber mats.

These humble landmarks embody the history of local communities and are more accessible markers of memories than prominent and ostensibly 'historic' structures. Once lost, they are hard to replicate on any scale.

At stake here are the memories of not just older Singaporeans. Twenty-one-year-old reader Gareth Goh, for example, wrote to The Straits Times Forum page last month to lament the dramatic transformation of his neighbourhood's laidback coffee shop to a sleek modern outfit complete with uniformed serving staff.

The young feel just as much for the loss of their memory's markers. This is something that policymakers need to grasp in order to shape a landscape that remains familiar enough for the majority of citizens as, increasingly, many head out of the country to live and work.

Most of the younger generation today have never lived in a shophouse, or visited the grand churches and mosques that make up our conserved properties today. But they have played in concrete playgrounds, chatted to friends from public phone booths, and trudged across quiet metal bridges like the one at Gillman. Conservation would start to lose its meaning to all but history enthusiasts if such 'mundane' items do not get the attention they deserve.

The good thing is that the current financial environment favours a more calibrated approach towards conservation.

More than 10 years ago, when the budget for estate upgrading was more generous, it was common for street furniture in a locality to be completely overhauled in the name of progress. These days, as the world and Singapore hunker down to more austere times, it makes sense to think twice about the pace with which we replace 'dated' street furniture that continues to fulfil its original function.

Instead, replace or demolish only what is essential to give public spaces enough doses of past, present and future to lend them character. Little by little, we will learn that what is not uniform can still prove coherent, and that all these small, quiet landmarks add up to an invaluable slice of Singapore's history.

tanhy@sph.com.sg