The Plantation

by Di Morrissey

  ‘Roland, this is my mother, Mrs Oldham.’

  ‘I’m so pleased to meet you, Mrs Oldham. I hope your journey was not too tiresome.’

  ‘It was not too terrible, I suppose. But please, not Mrs Oldham, call me Mother, or Winifred.’

  ‘How far away is the hotel where we’re staying?’ asked Margaret.

  ‘Very close, it’s the Station Hotel. It’s a great old place. I think you’ll enjoy it. Hamid will bring the car.’

  ‘Look at those little contraptions that those men are pedalling. Like the ones we saw in Singapore,’ said Margaret, looking at the little canopied bicycles lined up in front of the station.

  ‘Are they safe?’ asked Winifred doubtfully as Roland, Margaret’s arm tucked in his, led them towards the car.

  ‘Trishaws are a form of transport you’ll have to try,’ said Roland. ‘They’ll get through the traffic faster than a car. Ah, there’s Hamid with Father’s automobile now.’

  Safely in the hotel, Margaret and Winifred settled themselves at a table and ordered tea and dainty sandwiches on a terrace facing a lush garden. Mother and daughter exchanged a glance as two Chinese waiters in crisp uniforms with brass buttons hovered close by, ready to pour milk and pass sugar.

  ‘I don’t imagine I’ll be living in such grand circumstances,’ sighed Margaret. ‘But it’s very nice to know there are places like this we can enjoy. Roland says there are some excellent hotels around the country and the E&O Hotel in Penang is right on the sea.’

  ‘Yes, but how often will you get away from the plantation?’ asked Winifred. ‘It sounds like his work keeps him very busy.’

  Margaret ignored this remark and began discussing the wedding.

  ‘I do hope Roland has thought to engage a photographer,’ she said.

  ‘Indeed I have,’ said Roland, as he joined them, removing his hat and sitting down. ‘I’ve taken advice from some of the ladies who know about these sorts of things.’

  ‘Well, Mother, now we’re here, I think we can look after any other details,’ said Margaret briskly.

  ‘I’m sure you’re most capable, my dear,’ said Roland with a smile. ‘But things are done a bit differently out here in the East, so I hope you’ll listen to the good advice from the other mems. Now, after you’ve settled in your rooms and rested, we shall meet for drinks and over dinner I’ll explain all the other plans to you.’

  ‘And can we see the church and reception place? We also have a few last minute purchases,’ began Margaret.

  Roland held up his hand. ‘All in good time. We can start tomorrow, eh?’

  ‘If you don’t mind too much, I think I’d like to stay in my hotel room tonight. I’m feeling quite tired. I’ll have something sent up for dinner. Besides, I’m sure you two would like to be alone,’ said Winifred. ‘You must have a lot to catch up on.’

  ‘Thank you, Mother,’ said Margaret demurely.

  Roland glanced at his watch. ‘I have some brief business to attend to while I’m in KL, but I shall tap on your door at five pm.’ He leaned over, kissed Margaret’s cheek and headed to the hotel foyer, nodding to an acquaintance as he passed.

  That evening, Hamid drove Roland and Margaret to a small European restaurant on a street filled with eateries. At one end of the street were stalls where hawkers cooked over open fires in sizzling woks. There were local family-style restaurants, a tea house and at the other end of the street where the food places stopped, were some large Chinese homes squatting behind stone and wire fences.

  ‘This is a decent neighbourhood. The proprietors of the place where we are going to eat are Dutch, so I think you’ll like the food. You might not take to the local spices straight away,’ he said.

  ‘I thought we’d go to your club,’ said Margaret, thinking the restaurant rather plain and old fashioned.

  ‘I’d rather we take your mother there for lunch tomorrow. Then I’ll take you to the Peninsula Hotel. The manager there will meet you and you can inspect the menu for the wedding reception, that sort of thing. Are you still tired from your journey?’

  ‘Yes, it has been quite a trip. Mother is very glad to be staying in one place for awhile and pleased to be having a tray sent to her room tonight.’

  Margaret was pleasantly surprised by the dinner. She enjoyed the food and the attentive service from the couple who owned the restaurant and the fuss they made over meeting Roland’s fiancée. Being with Roland felt strange in a way but she began to revel in her role and looked forward to her new status as his wife. Studying him across the table as he chatted, she felt as though she was looking at him for the first time, and she tried to imagine what it would be like to spend the rest of her life with this handsome and sophisticated man.

  On the way home she leaned her head against his shoulder in the Oldsmobile, as Hamid nosed through the streets still busy with activity.

  ‘So many people, whole families, all out eating on the street, in eating houses. Do they do that all the time?’ she asked.

  ‘Many of them do. It’s easier and cheaper, generally,’ he answered. ‘And eating is a very social occupation in the East . . . By Jove, what’s happening up ahead?’ He spoke rapidly to Hamid, who pulled over.

  There was a fire glowing and clusters of people, some of them shouting. Two large Sikh police officers were waving back the crowd.

  ‘Oh my goodness, has there been an accident?’ asked Margaret.

  ‘Wait here in the car. I will investigate.’ Roland got out of the car.

  ‘Do be careful, Roland.’

  The crowd had swelled and seemed to be moving down the street towards the car. Roland stopped a young man as he ran past and spoke to him. The frightened young man pointed behind him to the crowd outside a house where a fire was burning.

  ‘What is happening, Hamid?’ Margaret asked the driver.

  Hamid shrugged. ‘I don’t know, mem. Some trouble.’

  Margaret got out of the car and hurried after Roland, ignoring Hamid’s shouts. As she got closer she could see in front of the doorway of a small house the smouldering remains of some kind of vehicle. But she stopped in shock as, from an alley beside the house, a small Malay man came running, wielding what looked to Margaret like a huge knife. The crowd suddenly parted. Women were screaming and running. The man with the parang stopped as he saw the two policemen and Roland. Even at a distance the sight of the near-naked man holding the large machete in such a threatening manner was very frightening to Margaret. In the glow of the firelight he looked quite crazy and he was shouting incoherently.

  ‘Roland!’ she cried.

  Furiously Roland turned around and hurried back to her. ‘I told you to stay in the car. The man is crazy and he’s likely to start slashing at anyone. Go. Now.’ He gave her a firm shove.

  Margaret was stunned, shocked as much by Roland’s brusque manner as by the scene before her. Suddenly the crazed man lunged towards the crowd. Margaret ran. When she reached the car, Hamid quickly opened the door. From there she could see one of the policemen suddenly grab the man from behind, forcing him to drop the weapon. The other policeman was brandishing what looked like a thick wooden stick, hitting the man about the shoulders.

  Shaking, Margaret huddled in the corner of the car. The romantic evening was spoiled and suddenly she realised she was in a strange place that had lost its benign novelty. She felt that there was another current here. The mixture of faces and nationalities and the way the people had looked, the fear in their eyes, unsettled her.

  Roland spoke to Hamid and got in beside Margaret.

  ‘Sorry I shouted at you but anything could have happened back there. The man went amok. It happens for no reason that anyone knows. These fellows just explode, grab a weapon and threaten to murder anyone in their way. And they do, which is why I wanted you out of sight.’

  ‘Sorry, Roland. I was so afraid for you.’

  ‘Don’t worry about me, darling, I can look after myself. Hotel, please, Hamid.’

  ‘Does this
happen often?’ asked Margaret wondering how safe she’d be in the streets.

  ‘No, not very often. It’s mainly Malays, it’s as though they just can’t cope any more and they go crazy, almost inviting someone to kill them. A dark streak in their normally sunny nature.’

  ‘Amok, is no good, sahib,’ said Hamid. ‘I think maybe a riot. Chinese people.’

  ‘Riots?’ said Margaret, her voice rising.

  ‘There, there. Calm down, dear. There was a clash, a strike over wages last month. An isolated incident caused by some communists.’ He smiled. ‘Nothing like this happens out at peaceful Utopia.’

  ‘But if it’s in their character . . .’ Margaret had a sudden vision of being alone in a house when a native suddenly had one of these wild turns.

  ‘You will be safe, Margaret. I’ll see to that at all times. But perhaps it might be better not to mention this incident to your mother. Tomorrow at lunch, when you see the old Spotted Dog, you’ll enjoy it more.’

  ‘Oh, the Selangor Club. Yes, Roland,’ said Margaret, too exhausted to argue.

  The tall Sikh doorman at the hotel gave Margaret a small bow. ‘Did memsahib have a very excellent evening?’

  Margaret gave him a withering look as the door closed behind her. ‘Not exactly.’

  In the morning Winifred put Margaret’s pale demeanour down to tiredness.

  ‘Well, this is all very exciting, isn’t it? My daughter getting married. It’s really coming home to me that you are,’ said Winifred effusively.

  ‘Yes, Mother. Me too.’ She picked up her handbag. ‘It will be interesting to discover why this Selangor Club is known as The Dog. Sounds a bit of a worry, really. Not quite where I’d envisioned socialising. But they seem to do things quite differently out here in the East.’

  Winifred folded her gloved hands over the clasp on her handbag, looking rather pleased with herself. ‘I know the story. One of the ladies I’ve been talking to in the hotel lobby told me.’

  ‘So what is it?’ asked Margaret politely.

  ‘There are several different stories, but the most popular version is actually about dogs. Those black and white dalmatian dogs were popular pets back in the old days, and as pets weren’t allowed into the club, everyone let their dogs roam around that green field in front of the building . . .’

  ‘It’s called the padang,’ Margaret interrupted, glad that she’d absorbed one local fact.

  ‘And a well-known lady had her two dalmatians wait for her at the bottom of the club steps every day when she came into the Selangor Club. So the club became known as “The Spotted Dog”,’ finished Winifred.

  ‘Better dogs than tigers, I suppose,’ said Margaret. ‘Actually Roland told me this club is quite exclusive.’

  ‘Now when you write and tell me you had lunch at The Dog, I’ll know just where you mean,’ said Winifred.

  ‘Well, I’m still glad we’re having our reception at the Peninsula Hotel. I can’t see invitations for a reception at “The Dog” sounding very smart,’ said Margaret, causing her mother to raise an eyebrow at her daughter’s new-found grand airs.

  3

  ON THE GREEN PADANG, manicured to perfection, a cricket game was in progress. The faint thwack of leather on willow echoed in the long bar of the Selangor Club where Roland, dressed in his formal wedding suit, was enjoying a quick drink with his best man, Gilbert Mason before walking to St Mary’s Church.

  In their hotel, Winifred was checking Margaret’s gown as the two Chinese ‘wedding ladies’, recommended by the district officer’s wife, fussed around her.

  ‘You look beautiful, Margaret. I’m so glad we chose this Du Barry pattern. It’s elegant, not too formal. And you can take the train off and make a few changes and wear it as an evening gown.’

  ‘You look lovely too, Mother. I love your hat. I must get more hats, one needs them in this climate.’

  ‘This dress has been beautifully made, and in such a short time, too,’ said Winifred, fingering Margaret’s cream silk-satin gown in the latest fashion. ‘Now, let’s put your veil on.’

  The two wedding ladies attached the floor-length silk tulle veil to Margaret’s waved hair, which was pinned up and topped with a small pearl tiara. Then they carefully turned down the short veil to cover Margaret’s face.

  Winifred held her daughter’s bridal bouquet, made up of magnificent tropical lilies, ginger flowers and orchids, while Margaret held her skirt above her satin shoes as she made her way to the waiting car with Thelma, the district officer’s daughter who was her bridesmaid and carried the long train of her dress.

  Dr Hamilton, who had agreed to give Margaret away, was waiting by the car, resplendent in a white jacket with a small red rose boutonniere. He bowed and held out his arm. ‘You look stunning, dear girl. Extremely elegant. What a striking pair you and Roland will make. Are you nervous?’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Margaret firmly. ‘This is very kind of you, Dr Hamilton.’

  ‘I feel for your father. Difficult to miss your first daughter’s wedding.’

  ‘There will be plenty of photographs and he still has the opportunity to give away my sister when the time comes. Is everything ready at the church?’ asked Margaret.

  But Winifred’s eyes misted as she thought of what her husband was missing and how proud he would be of his elder child if he could see her now.

  Dr Hamilton took Winifred’s arm. ‘Please, don’t concern yourself. Roland is a superb organiser, Mrs Oldham. You look spiffing too. You and Thelma can ride together in this car and Margaret and I will be behind you.’

  Roland and his friend Gil were already waiting in St Mary’s, as the cars drew up in front. Roland, slicky groomed, his pencil-thin moustache neatly trimmed, hair freshly cut, nails buffed and wearing a wide, approving smile on his face, watched Margaret make her way down the aisle. He told her later that with her height, the little tiara and the train, she had looked very regal and beautiful.

  After the ceremony, the newlyweds, friends and family posed outside the church for photographs. More pictures were taken outside the elegant Peninsula Hotel before the bridal party was ushered into the formal ballroom for their reception. Winifred was surprised at the large number of guests and found herself seated next to Roland’s father.

  Eugene Elliott was a courtly, if rather formal, sort of gentleman, stiff, precise and proper. He did not indulge in small talk but launched into quite complicated details in response to Winifred’s simple question, ‘How did you get into rubber, Mr Elliott?’

  ‘The British were growing cocoa and coffee in Malaya but a disease swept through and wiped out many of their crops, so a few chaps started looking about to start anew. They’d been living in the East and made a fair fist of it so weren’t about to settle back in the Old Dart.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Winifred as she sipped on her brown windsor soup. ‘So what happened?’

  ‘About sixty years ago some chap smuggled rubber tree seeds out of Brazil, rather naughty of him. Brought them to Kew Gardens in London and some of the saplings were sent to Ceylon and Malaya, to see what they’d do. The resident of Perak was something of an amateur botanist and encouraged some of the planters to switch their empty plantations over to rubber. We had all those unemployed Ceylonese workers hanging about, so we had a workforce and cleared land. So rubber took off in Malaya, especially with the need for pneumatic tyres for motor cars. I established my own plantation – Utopia – about forty years ago. Couldn’t help but make money in those days. Been a few ups and downs since then, but we’re very proud of what we’ve done.’

  ‘And you’ve been here ever since?’ said Winifred, beginning to get an inkling of how deep Roland’s roots were in Malaya.

  Dr Hamilton, on the other side of Winifred, had been listening to Eugene and interjected, ‘It’s not a place one leaves easily, Mrs Oldham. The East gets a hold of you, as your daughter will discover. But it’s especially so for the menfolk. It’s a lifestyle. Friendships are forged in difficult cond
itions and the community unites because of the unique circumstances in which people find themselves.’

  ‘It’s a way of life we’ve created, and we enjoy our successes and triumphs in business, on the sporting field and we also share our tribulations. The esprit de corps is very strong,’ said Eugene. ‘And because most of the Europeans are scattered about we tend to make the most of social occasions. So this is a very happy day for our families.’ He raised his empty glass. ‘Boy!’ A waiter was instantly at his side, replenishing his drink and Dr Hamilton’s.

  Winifred was impressed by the calibre of the guests at the reception. The district officer, his wife and their daughter, Thelma, were there. Winifred had been introduced to planters and representatives from both the great trading firms of Bousteads and Guthries, as well as members of the Malayan Civil Service and she was quite surprised to see a few well dressed Chinese there also.

  When she questioned Dr Hamilton about their presence, he replied, ‘This isn’t India, you know. We like to mix with the other races and some of these fellows are quite good chaps. Shrewd business people.’

  As the afternoon wore on, Winifred became bemused by the steady drinking and uninhibited dancing. Everyone seemed to be having a fine time. And she had been twirled around the dance floor several times, by Roland, Gilbert, Eugene and Dr Hamilton.

  Margaret was also enjoying every moment, every compliment and every friendly promise of invitations to meet to show her the ropes. Roland danced with her superbly, kissing her cheek and whispering in her ear, making her blush. She was reluctant to leave the party when her mother tapped her on the shoulder, suggesting it was time that she retired and changed into her going-away outfit.

  With Winifred’s help Margaret put on a pale-blue linen suit, a small hat and grey-heeled shoes. She carried soft grey gloves and a matching handbag. Her small suitcase, packed with clothes for her honeymoon, was already in the boot of the car when she returned to the reception room. Margaret and Roland were swept up in rounds of farewells.