The Plantation

by Di Morrissey

  ‘And Gran never told you anything?’

  ‘First I’ve heard of it.’

  ‘Do you remember Aunt Bette?’ asked Julie.

  ‘Vaguely, when I was very little and still lived in Malaya, before Mother moved back here.’

  Julie was thoughtful. ‘Well, Gran hardly ever mentioned her sister to me but if she did she always called her names like, “my dreadful sister” or “the horrendous one”. There didn’t seem to be much love there.’

  ‘No, there certainly wasn’t. Funny that this David Cooper should raise the subject of Aunt Bette. To be honest, I rarely think about our family in Malaya. Malaysia, as it is now,’ said Caroline.

  ‘Not surprising. We tend to get wrapped up in the immediate day-to-day stuff, don’t we,’ said Julie. ‘Are you going to contact him about Bette?’

  ‘No. What can I say? I hardly remember her and Mother clearly disliked her so much that she could barely bring herself to talk about her.’

  ‘I’d like to know how this David Cooper tracked us down. Now, can we eat? I’m starving.’ Julie folded the letter and slipped it into her pocket.

  It wasn’t until several days later that Julie had a few moments free to pull David Cooper’s letter from her handbag and then ring the phone number he’d given.

  ‘Dr Cooper? This is Julie Reagan. You wrote to my mother Caroline about my Great Aunt Bette . . .’

  ‘Indeed! How wonderful to hear back from you so quickly. Your aunt seemed to be quite a remarkable woman, if the book is anything to go by. I’d really like to learn more about her. May I ask if she’s still alive?’

  ‘Actually, I have no idea. I’d be surprised if she were, as she’d be quite old. But I have to tell you that although she was my grandmother’s sister, they were estranged, so I know nothing about her at all and my mother barely remembers her. That’s why we were intrigued to hear of her book. Is it possible to get a copy of it?’

  ‘I doubt it. I knew of the existence of the book and I’ve been trawling the net for over a year looking for it. I was elated when I found it in the Sarawak museum shop in Kuching. You’re welcome to borrow my copy. It’s a slim volume but quite insightful.’

  ‘Yes, I’d like that. Tell me, how did you track down my mother?’

  ‘It wasn’t very difficult at all. You see there is a dedication in the front of the book to Philip Elliott at the Utopia plantation in Malaysia. I contacted the plantation, it’s well known, and his sons Shane and Peter, your cousins who run it. They gave me your mother’s address. They did mention to me that they had never met your mother,’ he added.

  ‘That’s true,’ said Julie. ‘My grandmother and my mother returned to live in Brisbane after the war, but Uncle Philip stayed on with my grandfather on the plantation, in Malaysia. So my mother has spent most of her life here, which is why she won’t be of much help to you, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I appreciate your contacting me. My email address is on the letter. Just in case anything does come up, or your mother recalls anything,’ said David.

  ‘I don’t think she will. As I said, my mother left Malaya when she was very young and she had little contact with that side of the family, except for birthday and Christmas cards and that sort of thing.’

  ‘That’s a pity. I enjoy Malaysia so I try to find as many reasons as possible to go there.’

  ‘Are you investigating the headhunters too?’ asked Julie. He sounded youngish and she imagined he was probably a bit stuffy.

  David chuckled. ‘Yes, I’ve done a lot of research on the Iban tribespeople in particular. Borneo is pretty amazing. I’ve adopted several orangutans in a sanctuary because their habitat, like that of the indigenous people, is threatened. So I use both these reasons to keep going back as much as I can. If you ever plan a trip there let me know and I’ll pass on some tips and contacts.’

  ‘Thank you, but that’s not on my agenda at the moment. Good luck with your research.’

  ‘Many thanks. Julie, was it?’

  ‘Yes. And you’re happy to lend me the book?’

  ‘Of course. What’s your address and email?’

  She told him. ‘Good bye, Dr Cooper.’

  ‘Please, call me David. Good bye, Julie.’

  She hung up and hoped he would remember to lend them the copy of her great aunt’s book. Bette Oldham had started to fascinate her.

  When Julie dropped in to see her parents the following Saturday, she found her mother sitting on the floor of the sewing room. It had been her great grandmother’s sewing room, but Margaret and now Caroline, who didn’t sew, used it as their storeroom, library and everything else room. To Julie’s surprise, her mother was surrounded by a box, a dog-eared expanding file and a pile of photo albums.

  ‘What on earth are you doing?’

  ‘Hello, Jules. Come and join me. This is all quite interesting.’ Caroline raised her voice over the rumble of her husband’s lawnmower outside. ‘As you know, I’ve never been one for raking over the past, but the letter I got from David Cooper gave me pause for thought. I don’t remember much about the family plantation in Malaysia. I remember some chairs under an enormous rain tree and Mother serving tea on a white wicker table, but not much else, so I thought I’d look through Mother’s old photos to see if anything else jogged my memory.’

  ‘Looks like a rain tree here,’ said Julie as she picked up several photographs and flipped through them. ‘Is this Gran? Done up to the nines. Who are these people? Looks like they’re at the races.’

  ‘That’s my father Roland, I recognise the moustache,’ said Caroline.

  ‘There are several local people in the group. An Indian and a Chinese man. And here . . . Is that . . . ?’ Julie peered closer.

  ‘Yes, that’s Bette. Defying convention – no hat or gloves, just an umbrella to keep off the sun.’

  ‘She’s very pretty. Gran is smartly dressed, but Bette looks more natural.’

  ‘Her hair looks like yours,’ commented Caroline. ‘Mother had fine hair and always wore it tightly waved or pinned up. Bette looks more casual, doesn’t she?’

  ‘I wish I’d known them when they were young. The only thing I really know about Great Aunt Bette is that she disgraced the family in some terrible way. I’ve never asked what she did that so upset Gran. Do you know what it was, Mum?’

  ‘Oh yes. Bette, according to my mother, ran off and married a Chinaman,’ said Caroline. ‘Actually, the way Mother talked, it sounded as if the devil himself had cast a spell on her sister.’

  ‘That must have stirred things up at the time. When was it?’ asked Julie.

  ‘Oh, after the war, but I don’t know the details because Mother was so angry about her sister’s behaviour and the disgrace she said it brought to the family – I learned not to raise the subject.’

  Julie continued to shuffle through the pictures. ‘These photos are amazing. Must have been an incredible time before the war. All the gentlemen in white suits and Panama hats, all quite like the raj, isn’t it?’

  ‘Planters and memsahibs, I suppose. I just love the way everybody dressed up,’ said Caroline. ‘It was a different life and Mother fitted right in. All those airs and graces.’ She studied a photo and then handed it to Julie.

  ‘Look, just Mother and Bette, the two sisters. Do you see what I see?’

  Julie glanced at the formally posed portrait of the two women, then looked at Caroline – her hair pulled back into a youthful ponytail, her peaked eyebrows, firm upper lip and pointed chin – looking for a resemblance. She studied the face of the younger Bette with her loose hair, sparkling thick-lashed eyes, wide smiling mouth and square face. ‘Oh my gosh! I look like her! And you look like Gran. I remember how alike you were. I’ve never seen photos of Great Aunt Bette before.’

  ‘You’ve taken after the pretty one,’ said her mother.

  ‘Mum, you’re stunning. I always thought I had the prettiest mother at school,’ said Julie quickly. She meant it.

  ‘Thank you, darling. B
ut I think that Bette looks like one of those women who would always look terrific no matter what – without make-up, first thing in the morning, when they’re sick or tired. Mother and I scrubbed up okay after we’d done what Dad calls “the face painting”.’ She smiled at Julie. ‘You look gorgeous all the time whether you’re trying or not.’

  ‘I hope when I make an effort I look a bit better than when I’ve just fallen out of bed,’ said Julie. Then she added, ‘Y’know what, Mum? I think you do know a lot more than you realise. Gran must have told you a lot of stories about the old days.’

  ‘Oh, she did indeed. I have every chapter and verse of her life before the war. And there are letters in that shoebox that she wrote to her parents describing married life in Malaya,’ said Caroline.

  ‘Well, then! You could tell that anthropologist fellow heaps!’ exclaimed Julie.

  ‘But they’re personal things, dear. He wouldn’t be interested in that.’

  ‘So how come you didn’t know about Great Aunt Bette and the jungle people? asked Julie.

  ‘Mmm. Well, that book was written long after Mother and I had left Malaya and, as I’ve already said, Mother only mentioned Bette to criticise her. “That terrible woman, that disgrace to the family”, that sort of thing.’

  ‘That was an odd sort of arrangement, wasn’t it, with you and Gran here in Brisbane, and your father and brother Philip in Malaya,’ said Julie

  ‘We didn’t really think of it like that. When Mother wanted to come back to live in Brisbane, Philip was in boarding school in England – he was ten years older than me – so he stayed there and I came here. Then, when he left school, he wanted to stay in Malaysia with Father. So I never really got to know him. Of course, I have Mother’s version of events, but there are probably a few missing pieces to the story.’

  ‘Do you think that the war had anything to do with the split in the family?’

  ‘I don’t know. Probably not. I think that Father spent most of the war in India, while Mother saw it out in Brisbane. But they both went back to Malaya afterwards, otherwise I wouldn’t have been born. But that doesn’t tell us anything more about Bette, does it?’

  ‘Maybe David Cooper knows something more. I mean he knew to look for her book, didn’t he?’

  ‘I thought he was researching the native people of Borneo, not our family!’ said Caroline.

  ‘I know but it mightn’t hurt to meet him. He did promise to loan me the copy of Bette’s book. I sent him an email.’

  Caroline shrugged. ‘Well, ask him over for a cup of tea. He might like to look at some of these pictures. I wish Mother had written names on the back of these photos, at least!’ she said in exasperation. ‘Who are they all?’

  Julie watched as David Cooper got out of his car, then stopped and looked at her mother’s home. He walked across the lawn to gaze up into the thick arms of the poinciana tree and then turned to admire the view across Moreton Bay. He was perhaps in his late thirties, medium build, with his hair a bit long so that it flopped near his dark glasses. He wore jeans that had been pressed, a short-sleeved lemon shirt and he carried a small package. As he headed towards the front steps, Julie came out onto the verandah to greet him.

  ‘Hi, I’m Julie. You like our view?’

  ‘It’s a stunning old place. Nice to know there are still some around in such good condition, though not too many are as beautiful as this. Hello, I’m David.’ He stepped onto the verandah beside her and Julie realised he was taller than she’d thought. She took his outstretched hand and shook it. He handed her the package.

  ‘The book. As promised.’

  ‘Thank you, we’ll return it as soon as Mum and I have read it.’

  ‘No, please keep it. I’ve photocopied what I need and I think that the original should be with Bette’s family.’

  ‘Well, thank you. Come on in. My mother has made a cake in your honour.’

  ‘I’m impressed. How nice.’

  Julie smiled and opened the front door. ‘Mum isn’t known for her baking skills, so it’s an easy pineapple cake.’

  ‘Sounds great.’

  Caroline was putting a jug of water on the table on the back verandah. ‘Hello, nice to meet you. I’m Caroline Reagan. Would you prefer tea, coffee, iced tea?’

  ‘Iced tea sounds great.’ David Cooper glanced around at the cool, casual surrounds with the cane furniture, bright cushions and a climbing creeper screening the lush private garden. ‘This reminds me of the tropics and the colonial planters’ homes.’

  ‘It’s not intended. This house was here in this style long before my mother ever heard of Malaya,’ said Caroline. ‘Do sit down and tell me about yourself.’

  ‘I’ll get the iced tea,’ said Julie, leaving David Cooper to her mother’s gentle inquisition. When she returned the two of them were talking animatedly. Caroline smiled as Julie put down glasses and poured the iced tea over fresh mint leaves.

  ‘Did you know David’s family come from Brisbane? I believe that I could have played tennis against his mother when I was at school,’ said Caroline.

  ‘Really? Did you grow up here?’ Julie asked David.

  ‘I did. But I went to ANU to do my degree. I hated the cold in Canberra, so I’m glad to get back here to work.’ He took the glass of iced tea she handed to him. ‘I suppose the climate’s another reason I like South East Asia, too.’

  ‘Can you tell us a little more about your project and how you stumbled across my aunt?’ asked Caroline.

  ‘It was serendipity, I suppose. I knew of the existence of her book for some time through references to it in other works, but I was so pleased when I found a copy of it in Kuching and, as I told Julie, it had a dedication that led me to your family’s plantation, Utopia, and then to you. Shane and Peter, your cousins, were very hospitable,’ he added.

  ‘Oh, can I see the book?’ asked Caroline. She began to leaf through the small book, glancing at the print and examining the photos. ‘This looks really interesting.’

  ‘Your aunt seems to have had a great affinity and understanding of the Iban people in Sarawak. The stories of expatriate observers, even if they are not trained anthropologists, can tell us a lot about the living conditions and habits of indigenous people. They certainly add an extra dimension to my research. And Bette was a wonderful observer.’

  ‘Mum was born on Utopia,’ said Julie for something to say as her mother looked thoughtful.

  ‘Have you been there? asked David.

  ‘No,’ replied Julie. ‘I’ve never really thought about it. What’s Malaysia like?’

  ‘You should go and see it for yourself,’ said David quietly.

  ‘Maybe I will,’ said Julie lightly, but giving the impression she had little intention of doing so. ‘More tea?’

  ‘Thanks, but no. The cake was delicious, thank you, Mrs Reagan.’

  ‘You’re welcome, and do call me Caroline.’ Caroline took his hand as he rose. ‘But wait, I’ve been thinking. Did Julie tell you I’ve been going through a lot of my mother’s letters and photographs and there are a couple there of Bette, taken before the war. Perhaps you’d like to see them?’

  ‘I’d love to put a face to the book!’

  ‘Be a dear and clear the cake and cups would you please, Jules,’ asked Caroline, as she led David Cooper along the verandah to the French doors of her storeroom.

  Julie was kept busy for the next two weeks travelling interstate for a new client who was expanding his company from a vineyard into a hospitality venue. It had been interesting travelling through the wine country of Victoria but she was glad to be back in sunny Brisbane. As she drove home from the airport she couldn’t help comparing the openness of the Victorian countryside to the clutter of the apartment complexes now cramming the skyline around Brisbane.

  She was renting a little old-fashioned house, hidden in a lush, overgrown garden, in what had once been a modest family suburb. While her mother’s house, Bay-view, was grander and larger, there were similarities in
the breezy white wooden Queenslander she rented.

  Julie pulled into her rickety carport beneath a large mango tree. She often imagined the people who had lived in this house sitting on their front steps, chatting to their neighbours in similar houses. Now her house seemed an anachronism, with a split-level modern glass and chrome house on one side, and a block of six units overshadowing her on the other. Every day the street was busy and lined with cars as parking was at a premium; the many flats and units that had sprung up never provided enough parking places. She turned her gaze away from all the new buildings and opened the door of her little cottage.

  The light on the answering machine was blinking and her mother’s voice echoed around Julie’s tiny bright kitchen.

  ‘Hope your trip went well, Jules. When you have a minute, come over and have dinner. Dad and I have some news we need to talk to you about. We’re fine, but it’s ghastly council stuff. Bye, darling.’

  Her parents were preparing dinner when Julie arrived the following evening.

  ‘Dad’s got the barbecue going. So good to see you,’ said Caroline, kissing Julie on the cheek. ‘I do wish Adam was here, but perhaps we’ll chat to him later.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ asked Julie.

  ‘It’s just unbelievable. Here, read this letter from the council.’ Her mother pushed a letter towards her but before Julie could open it, Caroline was heatedly explaining its contents. ‘They want to resume this area for a bypass! Have you ever heard of anything so ridiculous? Imagine knocking down beautiful homes for a bypass!’

  ‘What do you mean, knock down? Not this house? They couldn’t,’ said Julie. ‘Let me see the letter.’

  ‘It’s true, isn’t it, Paul? Ask your father,’ said Caroline as Paul Reagan walked into the kitchen.

  He ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Well, it sounds like that’s the idea. Nothing’s really definite, yet, though.’

  Julie skimmed the letter. ‘It’s outrageous. We have to stop this at once. Obviously these so-called planners have never set foot in these streets and seen the homes that are around here or they’d never mark them for demolition.’