A Painter in Penang: A Gripping Story of the Malayan Emergency

by Clare Flynn

  ‘What about Chinese?’

  ‘Only two. A brother and sister from a small farm nearby. But the Chinese tend to go to the Chinese schools in George Town.’ Mary straightened up a chair. ‘In most of the village schools, children are taught in their own language and go to separate schools. Here, we want to give them all a chance to be taught in English too. So, I teach in English three days a week and then on the other two days local teachers take classes in their own languages. Otherwise the children would be disadvantaged compared to those from wealthier families who can go to the English-language schools in George Town.’

  ‘Like St Margaret’s.’ Jasmine referred to the school she had attended herself before the war, where Mary had been her class teacher.

  ‘Exactly. The Malay children, whose parents tend to live hand-to-mouth from fishing and working in the rice paddies, would otherwise have only the most basic of education. It’s the same throughout Malaya. The Tamils are educated on the rubber estates, the Chinese have their own schools and the more affluent attend the British schools. But the poor Malays tend to get a very basic education and many of the girls none at all.’

  ‘It’s like that in Kenya. Many African children miss out altogether. My school was entirely white girls.’ Jasmine felt a sudden rush of guilt at her own absconding from school. She’d had the opportunities for a privileged education and had shunned them.

  Mary nodded. ‘Of course, the government does sponsor local schools, and there are still mission schools, but they all tend to teach a narrow, British-oriented view of the world.’

  Jasmine grimaced. ‘Same at my old school. I never did understand the point of learning so much about English history and so little about the rest of the world.’

  ‘Well, we do what we can here, but not as much as I’d like. School is only in the mornings and we have very little money. I work here unpaid, otherwise it wouldn’t be possible at all. What little money we get from the government is barely enough to cover stationery and a few books. The rest comes from Bella Vista’s profits.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘So not very much!’

  The desks were filling up, and with a last glance at Jasmine, Mary clapped her hands. ‘Good morning, children.’

  This was met with a sing-song response. ‘Good morning, Mrs Hyde-Underwood.’ It sounded more like High-Onyud.

  ‘We have a new teacher joining us today. This is Miss Barrington.’

  ‘Good morning, Missee Bang-ton,’ the children chorused.

  * * *

  Jasmine was surprised how quickly the morning passed. As well as story-telling and listening to the children read, she supervised them in a game of rounders while Mary was occupied teaching their mums and then it was time to head back to Bella Vista.

  She grinned widely as Mary strapped the baby back into her sling. ‘I enjoyed today so much. The children were such darlings. So well-behaved and eager to learn.’

  ‘Yes, that’s what makes it rewarding.’ Mary smiled. ‘I’m going to speak to Reggie and see if he can spare a bit of extra cash to order some paper and paints so you can teach an art class. It would free up more time for me to help the mothers. What do you think?’

  ‘Really?’ Jasmine’s eyes widened. ‘I’d love that.’

  ‘Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m rather hungry and this little one will soon be hungry too, so let’s head for home.’

  They walked across the open ground and into the gloom of the jungle, following the path back to the estate.

  Jasmine was tired, but exhilarated. For the first time in longer than she could remember, she felt useful, needed and with a sense of purpose.

  10

  Today, Friday, was one of those weekdays when Mary didn’t teach. After breakfast, when Reggie had left on his rounds of the estate, Mary announced that she was leaving the baby with Jinjiang, the amah, and she and Jasmine were to go into George Town.

  ‘I managed to get Reggie to cough up some lolly for art materials,’ she said with a grin.

  ‘Really? How marvellous.’ Jasmine clasped her hands together in delight. ‘It will make such a difference to the children.’

  The few days she had spent in George Town with her mother had been mainly within the grounds of the E&O and at the Swimming Club at Tanjung Bungah, so Jasmine was looking forward to rediscovering the streets of George Town. She decided to wear a daisy-patterned, Indian cotton dress her mother had bought for her in Colombo. She knew it suited her and she felt confident wearing it. It was also deliciously cool, thanks to the full skirt.

  Bintang drove them down the winding roads from Bella Vista. ‘Go past the racecourse, along Macalister Road, please, Bintang.’ Mary turned to Jasmine and said. ‘You may not remember, but as it’s April the angsana trees will be blossoming.’

  Jasmine frowned. ‘No, I don’t remember them.’

  ‘Treat in store then.’

  Bintang steered the motorcar as directed and, after a few minutes, Jasmine gave a cry of pleasure. As the racecourse appeared on their right, ahead of them, the wide road, verges and pavements were a bright yellow carpet, The trees were heavy with more blossom, the branches drooping under the weight of the flowers.

  ‘Can we stop for a moment, please? I’d love to make a very quick sketch. To capture the shape of the trees. I’m going to paint this as soon as I get home.’

  The syce eased the vehicle to a stop and Jasmine jumped out. She bent down and gathered up a handful of blossoms, pushing them into her pocket. ‘I want to get the colour exactly right,’ she said. ‘I wonder why I don’t remember seeing this when I was a child.’

  ‘Every April.’ Mary, still inside the car, had opened the door wide to let more air in. ‘Each blossom only lasts a day. It’s magnificent, isn’t it?’ She swung her legs out of the car but remained seated. Meanwhile, Bintang got out of the driver’s seat, walked across to sit on the low fence separating the road from the racecourse, and lit a cigarette.

  Jasmine knelt down on the yellow-carpeted grass verge and took her sketchbook and pencil out of the satchel she carried with her everywhere. She could feel Bintang’s eyes on her from the other side of the road, but when she looked up, he turned away to look over the racecourse.

  In a few minutes, Jasmine had what she wanted, and the driver had finished his cigarette. They resumed their journey into the centre of George Town.

  ‘We’ll go to Whiteaway’s for the art materials and what we can’t get there I’m sure we’ll find in one of the Chinese calligraphy stores or in the market.’ Mary turned to the syce. ‘We’ll be having lunch, so could you please pick us up from the Penang Club, Bintang. Shall we say, three o’clock?’ She looked at Jasmine who nodded, secretly disappointed that they weren’t to stay in George Town longer. She told herself there’d be other opportunities.

  ‘I’m not terribly keen on the Club and we women are only allowed in The Grill Room anyway, but since the Runnymede is closed, I thought The Grill would be a change from the E&O,’ Mary explained.

  Jasmine was delighted by Mary’s including her as ‘we women’ as it made her feel grown-up. She was also relieved not to be going to the E&O as it would make her sad that Evie wasn’t there with them. Her memories of the Penang Club were entirely based on her one and only visit for a huge party thrown by the parents of her best friend at school, Penny. Jasmine still remembered how thrilling it had been to be sitting with the other children cross-legged on the lawn, watching a magician do conjuring tricks, only for Daddy to decide all of a sudden they were going home. Funny how the memory of being broken-hearted at being dragged away was more vivid than any recollection of the Club itself, its grounds or the other children present.

  Whiteaway, Laidlaw & Co was on Bishop Street at the corner with Beach Street, near the Fort, and Jasmine felt a rush of nostalgia as they entered the department store. She remembered Mummy bringing her here for new frocks and school uniforms. That was before the terrible morning when the Japanese bombers flew over the island, strafing and bombing, forcin
g the entire European population to flee.

  Inside the store, Mary bought up all the available stock of poster paints, cheap paintbrushes and everyday art paper, but the shop promised to order more and deliver it to Bella Vista within the next few days.

  Satisfied with their purchases, they made their way from the bustle of Beach Street, past Fort Cornwallis and along The Esplanade where small children were playing tag on the padang with the sea beyond it. There were more angsana trees on the roadside and the blindingly bright blossoms had covered a parked motorcar.

  They walked on, arm-in-arm, beyond the green expanse of the padang and the long stretch of the E&O, facing the sea. Out in the Straits, numerous sampans and small boats moved out into the wider channel where larger vessels made their way past the Fort to the harbour. Jasmine could have burst with happiness as she listened to the ship’s horns, the clamour of seabirds and the gentle rush of waves lapping the shore. She could never feel this way about Africa. Where they lived was close to the vast and empty plains, the rightful domain of the animals. Penang was very much a place for people. All around, they were going about their business, on land and sea. Yes, there were people in the villages in Africa, and Nairobi was a big bustling city, but it wasn’t the same. Here was a perfect communion of man and nature, a buzzing melée of life, from sea and sky, to the little boats, the heavily-laden ox carts, the colourful street markets and Chinese temples, the elegant white colonial buildings and the tumble of shop-houses crammed together, lining the busy streets.

  They drew near the former Runnymede Hotel, another white colonial building, built on the site of the single-storey house Stamford Raffles built for himself and his wife when he was a junior administrator in Penang. Raffles’ house had burned down long ago and been replaced by The Runnymede, with its magnificent ballroom and orchestra. The hotel had been popular among the expatriate community before the war, for dinner-dances.

  ‘Is it shut down?’

  ‘As a hotel, yes,’ replied Mary. ‘Since the war it’s been used by the military. As far as I know it’s an officers’ mess and maybe accommodation too.’

  ‘What a pity.’ Jasmine peered through the wire fencing at the building behind and the military vehicles parked in the driveway.

  ‘It was beautiful. They used to serve dinner on the lawns looking out over the Straits. The hotel had its own post office and a railway ticket office, a big fleet of chauffeured cars, even a bookshop and a hairdresser.’

  ‘Do you think it will ever be a hotel again?’

  Mary shook her head. ‘I very much doubt it. There isn’t the demand anymore. Not since the war. I doubt there ever will be again. The E&O finds it hard enough and it’s still a shabby shadow of what it used to be. Before the war, the planters, the tin mine managers, civil servants, RAF officers, everyone who was anyone, would all come over to Penang for weekends. People came up from Kuala Lumpur and Singapore as well as the mainland estates for a spot of relaxation.’

  ‘Don’t they still?’

  ‘I suppose so, but it’s not the same. They’re mostly different people and they have a different view on life. And so many didn’t make it through the war.’

  Jasmine looked sideways at Mary, who sounded distant, faraway, as though she were somewhere else. Maybe she was remembering how it was then and feeling nostalgic. Jasmine’s mother had told her neither of Mary’s parents had survived the war and Reggie’s RAF brother, Mary’s fiancé, had been shot down over the Straits and killed during the first attacks on Penang by the Japanese. She was trying to think of something to say to change the subject, but Mary lifted her head up and smiled. It was that smile she so often made, that wasn’t a real smile at all, just her mouth turning up at the corners.

  ‘Here we are. Let’s hope it’s not too busy as I haven’t booked a table.’ Mary indicated the sweeping driveway between two large angsana trees. The women stepped through the petal carpet and up to the pink-brick, Victorian clubhouse.

  Inside, they were led past the portrait of a fierce-looking Queen Victoria and into The Grill, where they were placed at a small table in the corner, near the entrance to the kitchen.

  ‘This is one of the many reasons I don’t like the Club,’ said Mary as they sat down. ‘On the rare occasions when I’ve been here with Reggie, we’re given a table by the window. Women without their husbands are only allowed in here on sufferance and are hidden away in a corner. I find that extremely annoying.’ She glared at the waiter as he handed her the menu. Then breathing slowly, she brightened. ‘But the food here is excellent, I will say that.’

  It was two-thirty when they finished their lunch, and Mary suggested they walk down onto the beach until it was time to meet the driver. They took the steps from the veranda that faced the sea and started to walk across the lawn to the beach.

  ‘I say!’ A familiar voice called out to them. Jasmine instinctively sped up, but Mary stopped, so she had no choice but to stop too.

  Howard Baxter bounded down the veranda steps and was running towards them over the lawn.

  ‘Mr Baxter.’ A smiling Mary held out her hand to greet the young man. ‘What brings you to the Club on a Friday? I thought you were working over at Batu Lembah.’

  Jasmine stood sullenly to one side, inwardly cursing that she hadn’t spotted Howard, so they could have taken a more circuitous route out of his sight.

  ‘Yes, that’s right. I had a training meeting in George Town this morning at the Guthrie’s office so I’m making a weekend of it. Wasn’t worth heading back to the estate for what’s left of today. There’s a skittle alley here and some of the chaps have invited me to have a game. We’re warming up with a couple of beers.’ He beamed at Mary before fixing his eyes on Jasmine. ‘What terrific luck to run into you. And I must say, that’s a very pretty frock, Jasmine.’

  ‘We’re about to go,’ said Jasmine, ignoring the compliment and deciding she’d gone off her new dress. ‘The driver’s meeting us here in a minute.’

  ‘Twenty-five minutes, actually,’ said Mary. ‘We’re going to have a stroll on the beach while we’re waiting.’

  Jasmine seethed. Why was Mary doing this?

  ‘Mind if I join you then? We don’t get on for our game till three.’ He indicated the long narrow building that housed the skittle alley, attached to the clubhouse.

  ‘I thought you were having a drink with friends.’ Jasmine knew she was being ungracious but she was annoyed at Baxter’s persistence. Hadn’t Mummy said it was highly unlikely she’d ever run into him in Penang?

  ‘Oh, they won’t mind at all.’ He turned to Mary. ‘Did you have tiffin here?’

  ‘Yes. We didn’t see you in The Grill.’

  ‘No. I ate in the dining room at the office. Dreary affair it was too.’

  By now they had reached the beach. The three of them strolled along close to the water’s edge as the white-fringed waves lapped the shore. Jasmine maintained a sullen silence as Mary chatted to Howard.

  ‘How are you enjoying the new job, Mr Baxter?’

  ‘Oh, please call me Howard, Mrs Hyde-Underwood.’

  ‘Then you must call me Mary.’

  Jasmine groaned audibly, but Mary, on the other side of Howard who had inserted himself between the two of them, didn’t appear to hear and Howard ignored it.

  ‘I absolutely love it, Mary. Jolly hard work, but extremely interesting. Although, as I’m the lowest of the low, I get to do all the worst jobs. Apparently as the new boy I get to be called “the creeper”. They tell me it’s because all the juniors creep around pretending to know what they’re doing and hoping nobody will notice that we don’t.’

  Mary laughed. ‘I suppose you get to do the check rolls?’

  ‘How did you know?’ His eyebrows shot up.

  ‘I’m married to a planter. On every estate, the junior assistant is responsible for tallying them up.’ Mary leaned forward to look beyond Howard to Jasmine, who was still maintaining a resolute silence. ‘The check roll is the list of e
very estate worker and the hours they work each day and a record of any absences. Keeping the records and making sure they match is an essential job, but apparently frightfully tedious.’

  ‘My father was a planter so I know that.’ Actually she didn’t. But she wasn’t going to give either Baxter or Mary the satisfaction of admitting it.

  ‘Of course, you do.’ Mary looked hurt and Jasmine felt guilty; it was unfair to blame Howard’s intrusion on Mary.

  Deciding she needed to get away from Howard, Jasmine said, ‘Look, why don’t you two walk on while I go and sit over there and do a quick sketch.’

  Mary and Howard exchanged glances but kept on walking and Jasmine made her escape. She knew she was behaving badly but she really didn’t like Howard Baxter. He was far too full of himself. Just because he was good looking, he seemed to expect her to fall at his feet in adoration, but she wasn’t going to. Not ever. Besides, he was boring. Who wanted to hear all about his stupid job anyway? Not her.

  Jasmine sat down on the sand, took out her sketchbook but didn’t even open it. She hugged her knees with her arms. He’d spoilt a beautiful day. And now, not only Mummy, but Mary too, was falling under his spell. It was too annoying. She stared out at the Strait, but any desire to draw the bobbing sampans and junks and the Kedah Peak veiled by clouds, had deserted her. He’d ruined it.

  She glanced at her watch. It was already five to three. Howard and Mary had turned around and were heading back towards her. She fiddled with the straps of her satchel, pretending to be putting away her sketchbook, and got to her feet, brushing the sand off her dress.

  To her annoyance, Howard walked with them back to the car. Jasmine mumbled a goodbye, avoiding all eye contact and got into the back of the car, as Bintang held the door open for her. Mary continued to stand conversing with Howard, even though Bintang was waiting patiently with the other passenger door open ready for her.