The Plantation

by Di Morrissey

  The joy Bette found in sharing every day with Tony never diminished. She often thought that their love was like a beautiful gem that sparkled on the outside while glowing with inner fire. Tony’s tenderness and humour, his integrity and kindness, his passion and devotion often left her breathless with wonderment that her life had turned out this way. Australia, and her family, seemed to belong to childhood experiences that had happened and passed while she was waiting to begin her life. She was saddened but not particularly surprised when Margaret notified her of Winifred’s death with a telegram that arrived after her mother’s funeral had taken place. For Bette her life and family were here around her in Penang.

  ‘Are you ready?’ Bette asked as Tony walked into the airy downstairs passage that ran between the two wings of the house. Bette sat in a carved seat on silk cushions watching the sunbeams sparkle on the water of the old lion fountain.

  Tony stopped in the shadow of the spiral staircase that led down from his study and looked at his beloved wife. She was dressed in the loose silk pants she favoured topped with an embroidered lace-edged tunic. She now wore her hair swept up on her head for coolness and had taken to securing it with one of his mother’s collection of jewelled hair combs. A book lay on her lap. He looked at her face, he knew every inch of it, and caught his breath at the rush of love he felt for her. ‘I am,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry I have to be away for this weekend’s elections. Are you sure you won’t come up to KL with me? There’s bound to be all manner of celebrations after the election on Saturday.’

  ‘So the Democratic Action Party is feeling very confident then?’

  ‘I believe so. I had hoped that the Alliance Party would deliver what is best for everyone, but it hasn’t worked out that way, as far as I’m concerned. The constitution is set up to favour the Malays, and while there’s no denying they are way behind the Indian and Chinese communities economically, I think that they have too much political power and there is now an undercurrent of racial intolerance towards us.’

  ‘I know, and you think that they should share their political power more,’ said Bette.

  ‘Well, we Chinese are the main source of the country’s wealth,’ said Tony. ‘I believe that our Democratic Action Party might just give the ruling Alliance a fright. We shall see. But it’s a pity we’ll be apart.’

  ‘Madam Chang is tired and I promised Eunice that I’d look after little Carla while she went to a tea party.’

  Tony kissed her. ‘You’re wonderful. Enjoy our grandchildren. I’ll be back on Tuesday.’

  ‘That’s the thirteenth – it’s an unlucky number. Come back on the twelfth.’

  Tony chuckled. ‘You’ve been listening to too many of Madam Chang’s superstitions.’

  ‘I hope it all goes well. I love you, Tony.’

  He kissed her fiercely. ‘I’ll get through my business and be back to you as quickly as I can. Just a few days.’

  The calmness at Rose Mansion was disrupted when some of Tony’s friends called by to see Tony, elated at the result of the general election.

  ‘Tony’s in KL on business. He’ll be back as soon as he can,’ Bette told them.

  ‘We’ve heard how well the Chinese vote has gone in Selangor! The state could be run by the Chinese!’ they told Bette.

  But Bette’s elation at the election results were quickly replaced by apprehension when Tony’s elder son, James, told her that violence had broken out in Kuala Lumpur.

  ‘What has happened, James?’ asked Bette.

  ‘It seems that some Indians and Chinese started celebrating the election results on Sunday afternoon by parading through the streets in a Malay area. They carried brooms, apparently, to symbolise the sweeping out of the Malays.’

  ‘That was a silly thing to do,’ said Bette.

  ‘And dangerous. I have heard that the Malays began attacking both the Chinese and the Indians. Apparently this violence is spreading around the city.’

  Bette was immediately alarmed. ‘Do you know where Tony is? I hope he is safe in his hotel.’

  ‘I’m trying to find out. I’ve been talking to friends in KL and they have told me that there are rumours going around that this violence wasn’t spontaneous. Some young Malays, many from out of town, are armed with knives, spears and parangs, and they are out looking for Chinese, to teach them a lesson, they say. And what’s more, there are plans to hold a political procession. Talk about provocative! And even though the police have vetoed such a foolhardy plan, the chief minister has said that he will give the okay for it to go ahead. I’m sure Father will lie low in his hotel until this all blows over and sanity prevails.’

  Bette paced through Rose Mansion, waiting to hear news of Tony.

  What she did hear caused her much disquiet. The political procession had turned into a riot. Cars and buildings were being burned and the Malay police were firing indiscriminately into Chinese shophouses. The Chinese were being attacked all over the city, although, as she found out later, many were hidden by their friends. Their homes were being ransacked and burned and many were brutally murdered. The city had descended into chaos.

  *

  Wednesday morning, the fourteenth, came and Bette lay in her canopied bed feeling as though her legs and body were made of lead. She heard the jangle of the bell at the gate and willed herself out of the bed. Calmly, she smoothed her hair, wrapped her silk flowered robe around herself, put her feet in her beaded slippers and began to walk downstairs slowly. One step after another. She could hear, as if from far away, hurrying servants, voices calling and a motor vehicle in the driveway.

  It was Madam Chang’s long shrill shriek, ‘Aaaeeeie,’ that jolted Bette and she broke into a run to the front foyer. She saw a police inspector standing at the door talking to James. His face told her what she already knew in her heart.

  According to the police inspector, Tony had been shot by a passing band of youths as he was getting into his car to drive back home to her. The police officer told her that the army had now moved into Kuala Lumpur, and a state of emergency and a curfew would soon be declared. But it would all come too late for Tony. Bette listened, eyes closed, her face white, hands clenched.

  ‘Where is my husband?’

  ‘At the hospital, Mrs Tsang.’

  ‘Please arrange to bring him home.’ She cast an anguished look at James, who nodded. He would be the one to bring his father home because he was now the eldest male in the family.

  There was silence in the bright room as Bette finished speaking. Julie and Caroline glanced at each other hoping the other would speak first.

  Julie said, ‘Thank you for telling us what happened, Bette. It was such a tragedy. You obviously loved each other so much.’

  Bette turned to her great niece, her eyes misty. ‘I still do. I feel him beside me every day of my life.’ She straightened and smiled. ‘So that’s my story. Naturally my life didn’t end after Tony was killed, though it felt like it at the time. I remained at Rose Mansion helping the children and after Madam Chang died I kept the house running.’

  ‘The book you wrote, about the Iban, how did that come about?’ asked Julie.

  ‘After Tony’s and my trip to Sarawak, I became intrigued with the orangutans and the Iban. Orangutans are remarkable animals, but the Iban are people I could talk to and I wanted to know more about their way of life. So, thanks to Tom Harrisson, who’d introduced us to Leonard and his village, I returned to Sarawak to spend time in the jungle with them.

  ‘But when I returned to Kuching, Tom had been blacklisted. He wasn’t allowed re-entry into Sarawak. Apparently a jealous woman colleague had made false allegations about his work. I didn’t believe them, but Tom’s wild behaviour had offended many people, so the charges stuck.

  ‘Even without him, I was happy to travel upriver with Leonard or Bidui, which was his Iban name, and I stayed with his family in their longhouse. I was also able to observe the orangutans and I realised that the destruction of their habitat would create a peril
ous situation for them.’

  ‘Hence the book and the pamphlet you wrote,’ said Caroline.

  Bette smiled. ‘There are a lot of people who are trying to raise awareness about the situation now.’

  As Bette and Julie chatted on about the Iban and orangutans, Caroline was thoughtful, appearing a little distracted. ‘Bette,’ she said. ‘I’ve learned a lot about the rift between you and my mother and a lot about you and your life in Penang, and the POW camp. But the person I don’t know much about is my father. I still don’t understand why I grew up in Brisbane with my mother while my brother stayed on in Malaya with him.’

  Bette took her hand. ‘Roland was a lovely man. Tony had a lot of respect for him. Actually, the last time I saw Roland was at Tony’s funeral. He died from cancer not long afterwards. But he never said an ill word about your mother. Whenever I had asked how Margaret was, all Roland said was that she was spending time in Australia. I think that after the war Margaret never settled back into life at the plantation. But more than that I cannot say.’

  ‘And you never spoke to Philip after you left Utopia,’ said Julie. ‘I think that’s so sad.’

  ‘I suppose I could have made contact, but I always thought that if I stayed away, then Philip and Margaret would become closer. I might have written to Philip if Margaret had died, but he was the one who died first. Now, of course, I regret our separation, but it’s all too late.’

  Julie looked at her mother and realised that Caroline also had a lot of unanswered questions that went right back to her childhood. She turned to her great aunt. ‘Bette, is there no one you can recall who knew Roland and Margaret and who might be able to shed some light on what happened between them?’

  Bette was thoughtful. ‘There could be someone. Give me a minute to think.’

  ‘I’ll make a fresh pot of tea, shall I?’ said Julie.

  Over tea they talked about Brisbane and all of the changes that had occurred there since Bette had left nearly sixty years before, but Julie could see her mother was anxiously watching Bette. Then, in the middle of a conversation about something quite unrelated, Bette’s eyes lit up and she broke into a smile.

  ‘Bill! Excuse me, Julie. Bill Dickson. Roland had an old army friend he fought with in Malaya. I think Tony knew him as well. He said he met him a couple of times. I wonder if the boys at Utopia would know of him, and whether he’s still alive.’

  ‘He’d be very old,’ said Caroline doubtfully.

  ‘Grandfather Roland wrote about him in his war memoir,’ exclaimed Julie. ‘I’ll email Shane and Peter and ask if they know anything.’

  ‘Thank you so much for having us, Bette,’ said Caroline as she rose to leave.

  ‘Not at all,’ replied Bette. ‘I can’t tell you how happy you have made me. Knowing that my Australian family are interested in me and care about what has happened to me means more than I can possibly say. My ninetieth birthday will be on me soon and I know that the Tsangs are planning big things. I do hope that you can get back to Cairns to join the festivities. I would love you both to meet my other family.’

  Caroline and Julie hugged Bette goodbye, and assured her that they wouldn’t miss her birthday party for anything.

  ‘It’s a lot to take in,’ said Caroline in the taxi going back to their hotel. ‘I’m sorry Dad missed hearing about it all. What an extraordinary life she’s led.’

  ‘Now you’re anxious to know what happened between Roland and Margaret, aren’t you?’ said Julie.

  ‘I am. It’s something I didn’t think about all my life, it’s just how it was. Now of course I want to know what the relationship between the two of them actually was. I have a million questions.’

  ‘Gran was not very forthcoming, was she?’ said Julie.

  ‘No. She was a good mother, but when it came to family matters, she wasn’t approachable and I grew up knowing that it was a forbidden subject. I suppose it seems silly and unbelievable now.’

  ‘I don’t think so, Mum. I’m sure there are a lot of families who have mysteries,’ said Julie. ‘I’ll send the email to Shane and Peter.’

  That evening while Caroline was recounting Bette’s story to Paul over drinks, Julie received a reply email from Shane.

  ‘Mum, he says that they know about Bill because they’ve read Roland’s memoir, too, but that’s all they know.

  ‘How disappointing,’ said Caroline.

  But Julie was not to be deterred. She fired back another email asking her cousins if they would mind looking through Roland’s papers to see if they could find out anything more about Bill Dickson.

  ‘He’s probably dead,’ said Paul pragmatically.

  Caroline and Paul were happy to get home to Bayview where they were flung back into the drama of the bypass. Julie felt as though she’d hardly had time to unpack when Caroline rang her.

  ‘David says he’s found out something important! We should call a meeting of all the interested parties. He sounds quite excited, can you come around tomorrow night?’

  Julie debated with herself about dancing attendance on David’s little dramas, but she didn’t want to let her mother down. He really might have found out something useful. After all, he was an effective researcher. When she turned up at her parents’ house the following evening, she was surprised to see a large number of cars parked outside.

  ‘Jules, so glad you’re here. David is being so mysterious.’

  A group of neighbours, several local councillors and representatives of the council were spread out along the verandah. David had set up a large board on an easel and had a lot of papers in front of him. He gave Julie a wave as she headed down the hallway to the kitchen to find her mother.

  ‘I hope he has something worthwhile, there are a lot of people out there. Can I help you with the drinks and tea things?’

  ‘Thanks, darling, but my friend Erica is giving me a hand. I wish Paul was here. I asked him to come home early. We have some nibbles, but I’m sure people will leave to get home to dinner.’

  David took command of the gathering, asking the council representatives to sit at the front. He paid special attention to Fred Louden from the council who was looking smug and, as David began speaking, adopted a bored expression.

  David thanked the Reagans for opening their home. ‘A home that, like so many in this area, represents what this battle has been about. A building in surroundings that have been here for a long time and represent a beautiful and historic part of this city. This is an area we do not want to see ripped apart for a large road bypass.’

  ‘Hear, hear.’

  ‘We know all this,’ interjected another of the council’s representatives.

  David ignored him. ‘Perhaps we don’t know everything. We know that there was a similar plan for a bypass in a slightly different area some years ago. But the plan failed to go ahead. How fortunate for those living in that area.’ He paused and looked around the attentive group. ‘I’d like to show you all where that original bypass was going to go.’

  ‘That has nothing to do with the current situation,’ said Fred Louden in an irritated way.

  David paid no attention, but unfolded a large picture that he pinned on the board for all to see. Like everyone, Julie craned forward, staring at the photograph. It was a picture of a large, extremely expensive modern house: a mish-mash of soaring glass, steel and fantasy castle components that illustrated the saying that money can’t always buy good taste.

  ‘Imagine having that monstrosity next door,’ muttered a neighbour.

  ‘What’s your point, young man?’ demanded a councillor.

  ‘I think you might know where I’m going with this, Mr Louden,’ said David affably.

  ‘I’m not staying. You have no right to use my home as some point of reference, and hold it up to ridicule. I’ll have you know that my house was designed by a top-notch architect, built by a master builder and featured in several magazines,’ snapped Fred Louden.

  ‘Is it your place, Mr Louden?’ aske
d Caroline.

  ‘Whatever you may think of the design, this is Mr Louden’s house, which was plonk in the middle of the original route for the bypass. And he didn’t want to see his home demolished for a bypass,’ exclaimed David. ‘Isn’t that so, Mr Louden?’

  Fred Louden, red-faced and angry, glared at David. ‘You are right. Fortunately that route was changed and no houses were demolished,’ he answered.

  There was a sudden murmur among the group.

  ‘Yes and no doubt very convenient for you. But may we know how you were able to avoid having your home demolished, while the heritage homes in this area are now earmarked for such a fate? Would it be because you used your influence to change the route of the bypass?’ asked David.

  Fred Louden jumped to his feet. He could feel the open hostility directed towards him. ‘You can’t prove that! It’s outrageous for you to impugn my reputation,’ he began.

  ‘Before you threaten me with legal action,’ said David calmly picking up a sheaf of papers, ‘you might want to read the minutes and motions moved in Council two years ago when the bypass was originally mooted. It makes for some very interesting reading.’

  There was now a surge as people grabbed the documents from David and shouted questions and sharp comments at Fred Louden and the startled councillors.