by Boris Hembry
Despite the fact that I had not told Tuke about the incident, he knew all about it and was most sympathetic when he next visited the estate. During the time before the trial I also received great encouragement from Stewart Edgar King, the protector of Chinese, based at Sungei Patani. Known throughout Malaya as ‘S.E.’, he was some years older than we planters and was looked upon rather as a father figure. Dan, Greeno and I would often gather at his bungalow to chat half the night away. S.E. was a mine of information concerning all things Chinese. Shortly after coming down from Oxford and being accepted into the Colonial Service, he had been sent to China for three years to learn Cantonese, Mandarin and at least one other dialect, probably Hakka.
Because of the large number of Chinese and Indian immigrants in Malaya, the former attracted by the chance to display their native entrepreneurial skills in a prosperous country, the latter usually imported by the British to provide labour for the estates, and road- and rail-building, it was considered necessary to maintain government departments solely devoted to guarding the interests of these minority nationalities. The protectorate also controlled immigration, the application of banishment orders, provided defendants with interpreters and legal assistance in court cases, acted as arbitrators in marriage and marital disputes, monitored the Chinese secret societies, and refereed disputes between rubber estate and tin mine managers and their labour forces. In my experience no Chinese or Indian appealed to his protectorate in vain, and they were quite capable of taking on other government departments on behalf of their ‘clients’.
During the wet season of 1932–3 we experienced in Kedah the heaviest rainfall ever recorded in a day in Malaya. The precipitation measured 17 inches. When this is compared to the average rainfall in England of 26 inches in a year one can get some idea of a tropical storm. It did not let up for 24 hours, and the flooding was immense. Luckily my bungalow was on a hill, but not so the staff quarters and coolie lines. All work on the estate was stopped until the floods subsided and we could restore the living accommodation to some degree of normality. It was worse still at Kuala Kangsar in Perak, where to this day a flood line of 17 feet above ground level is recorded on the post office wall.
At the beginning of 1933 Eddy Gardener, the Kedah PWD officer, moved on and his place was taken by Lal Laffan. Lal and his wife Midge were very good to the young bachelors of the district, and particularly myself. I suppose because I was younger than most. I was certainly a great deal less mature. Midge was a very beautiful young woman and most of us fell for her. She was certainly my favourite golf partner.
The Laffans took me on several excursions. We hired a launch and went out to the uninhabited island of Langkawi, little knowing at the time that I would be visiting it again in 1944. We also went picnicking to the Perlis Caves. These limestone caves are several hundred feet high in places and were the home of millions of flying foxes. A great Chinese culinary delicacy, they are really large bats, some with a wingspan of over six feet.
Looking back, I realise that the years 1932 to 1934 were my formative years. I grew up. I was building on the foundations laid by my mentors, namely my father, my school, Peters, Gyllenskold, even Tuke. I did not realise it at the time but another very important figure had entered my life. The longer I knew Bob Chrystal the more I liked and admired him. He was certainly the quickest witted man that I have ever met. He could be caustic and sometimes even cruel in his remarks, like many men with first-class brains. He was to teach me a great deal about life and I unknowingly absorbed the lessons. He was certainly a hero of mine. Looking back over a reasonably long life, during which I have been privileged to meet quite a few men of outstanding integrity, courage, humour and intellect, I would unhesitatingly place Bob at the top of the list.
I played a lot of cricket and rugger and I steadily improved at both games. I opened the batting and the bowling for the Penang Cricket Club, and played wing forward for the Penang & Kedah Rugby Club. In 1934 Penang & Kedah reached the final of the Malaya Cup, against the United Services. The final was always played on the Padang in KL, in front of the Royal Selangor Club, known throughout the country as The Spotted Dog, or, more simply, the Dog. There used to be two large china Dalmatians, one each side of the main stairs, in memory of the dogs owned by a club secretary back in the Twenties.
I was very disappointed only to be a reserve, and was not alone in thinking that I had been underrated by the selectors. The selectors, coincidentally, were all Penangites and only chose three from Kedah, including me. This was the first time that Penang had reached the final, so I suppose they were loath to share their time of glory with Kedah. Like all reserves I secretly hoped that one of those chosen would fall sick, but no such luck. It must be remembered that there were always several army regiments and headquarters staffs stationed in Singapore and mainland Malaya, in addition to the Royal Air Force (RAF) and the Royal Navy (RN). Their Lordships at the Admiralty always seemed to ensure that a battleship or cruiser would just happen to be visiting the Singapore Naval Base at the opportune time, with officers on board who just happened to be full Services caps or internationals, so the Services sides were always very strong and, of course, fit. Penang lost.
We had travelled down by train, and had a very convivial weekend in KL, before embarking at Port Swettenham for the return journey by Straits Steamship to Penang. Pat Daintry was the Penang & Kedah fullback and had played a blinder. On reaching Penang, Pat and I spent the day in the cool of Penang Peak. A thoroughly enjoyable three days.
Pat was staying with me at the time, pending transfer to Tonghurst Estate, a small property east of Kulim and rather isolated. Later on, when he had moved, I spent the weekend with him. On our way home late at night, we were driving through some jungle near Tonghurst when a tiger jumped out across the road only a few yards in front of us. Pat slammed on the brakes (they worked this time!). The tiger stopped and stared back at us for several moments, fully illuminated by our headlights, before bounding off into the jungle. This was to be the last time that I was to see one of these magnificent creatures in the wild, although I was to smell them on several occasions in future and to see their pug marks.
Late in 1934 the Company granted me a week’s local leave, and on Tuke’s recommendation I booked a return passage on a Straits Steamship coaster to Victoria Point, in southern Burma. We sailed shortly after tiffin, and were in sight of land all the way, passing Langkawi Island again to port, and then Siam (Thailand) and the island of Phuket. The coastal scenery and the hilly hinterland were very beautiful.
Jean’s long letters were a source of great joy to me. They arrived weekly as regular as clockwork, and were filled with all her news, descriptions of her various activities in her amateur dramatic and operatic societies, and her progress in singing and playing the cello, for both of which she was to gain gold medals from the Royal Academy of Music. She and her parents also used to send me out books and magazines, and overseas editions of several newspapers. I could also get The Straits Times each day so, unlike during my time in Sumatra, I was reasonably acquainted with what was happening around the world.
Whether the reports that began to appear in the newspapers concerning a man called Adolf Hitler in Germany, and the activities of his ‘brown shirts’, and news coming out of Manchuria about the Japanese, had anything to do with it I do not know, but the Kedah Volunteer Force was formed in 1934.I was number nine to sign on. Shortly after we had been kitted out and learned the rudiments of foot and rifle drill, we were inspected by General William Dobbie, the general officer commanding, Malaya, on the padang at Sungei Patani. Dobbie was later to become famous for leading the defence of Malta, for which the whole island was awarded the George Cross.
By 1934 the worst of the Depression was over and international trade was picking up. The price of rubber was improving. With more finance available estates could increase wages, plan replanting programmes and improve the living conditions of their labour forces.
Until the mid-30s most of t
he resident Tamil labour force lived in ‘lines’, buildings some 200 feet long, on stilts, about eight feet high, and divided into rooms of about 15 feet square. The whole family lived in this room, with the area beneath their space used for cooking and storage. Each line had its own wash house and latrines. Far from ideal but, strangely, well favoured by most of the Tamil coolies. In fact, when estates began to replace the old lines with the new cottage-type houses, many of the older Tamils were most reluctant to move. One of the drawbacks to the new type of line was that it was more difficult to pack the floor and walls with cow dung. This was used for many purposes, such as fuel for cooking and for smearing on wounds.
A few of us formed a weekly four at bridge and we met in each other’s bungalows in rotation. The regulars were Dan Wright, Walter Northcote-Green, Ralph Inder and myself. One evening we foregathered at Ralph Inder’s. Ralph was a tough little Cockney, just old enough to have fought in the Great War. I do not know whose idea it was to smuggle a Malay girl into his bedroom, although knowing my friends I can make a shrewd guess. Anyway, half way through the evening we persuaded Inder to go into his bedroom. He returned about half an hour later with a satisfied smirk on his face. No one said a word; he merely cut for the next hand and we went on playing.
After I left Kedah in April 1934 I saw little of Ralph Inder until he turned up at Sungei Siput in 1950. Shortly after breakfast one day in early July I was standing talking to Louis Denholm, who was to take over from me on Kamuning when I went on leave, when we heard a sudden burst of automatic gunfire intermingled with spasmodic rifle fire. This obviously came from Dovenby Estate which we were overlooking from our hillside. I remember saying to Louis: ‘Here we are, going quietly about our business when over there one’s best friend is being murdered.’ Poor Ralph was not my best friend, but he was certainly an old friend. He died of multiple bullet wounds 24 hours later.
It would appear that early on that morning communist terrorists had slashed a lot of young rubber trees on Dovenby. Ralph had gone out to investigate and the bandits were waiting for him. Ralph and his escort of two special constables were outnumbered six to one, but they put up a good fight. One of the special constables was killed and the other badly wounded, and the bandits got away with their weapons.
It must have been early in March 1934 that I was told that Barton had asked for me to act for him on Sungei Plentong when he went on home leave. By this time Barton had been appointed visiting agent for the Ridsdell Group, so the confidence that he must have had in me was most encouraging.
The agents agreed that I could have 10 days leave, including the three days that it would take me to travel the length of Malaya, nearly 600 miles, to the south of Johore. S. E. King had been transferred to Ipoh, and Pat Daintry was acting on another Ridsdell estate near Batu Gajah, just south of Ipoh. So I arranged to have three days with each, before resuming my journey southwards.
After a number of farewell parties and the usual promises to keep in touch, I set out for Ipoh, some 140 miles away, getting there at about stengah time. S.E. broke the news that Pat was in Batu Gajah Hospital with a compound fracture of his leg, sustained whilst keeping goal in a soccer match. My plans, therefore, had to be altered. I accepted S.E.’s invitation to stay the whole six days leave with him.
I went to the hospital first thing in the morning. Pat was in good heart but very concerned about the estate. He persuaded me to go to Harewood Estate to look at the mail, deal with anything obviously urgent, and generally make myself useful. This latter would entail arranging to collect the payroll money from the bank and paying the labour force. I spent the best part of my six days holiday looking after Harewood Estate. On reflection, I was to do similar things over the years on many occasions, with scant recognition and even less financial reward. The modern word is sucker.
I took the north-south main road through Bidor, Tapah, Tanjong Malim, KL, Seremban, as far as Tampin where I turned off to Malacca and took the coast road to Muar where I stayed the night. The following day I pressed on via Batu Pahat, and Rengam, finally arriving at Sungei Plentong in the late afternoon. It would have been quicker to have stayed on the main road all the way, but I enjoyed the excursion and seeing the old town of Malacca, with its Portuguese and Dutch buildings, and the fort. At both Muar and Batu Pahat one had to cross the rivers by chain ferry, sharing the crossings with traditional roofed Malaccan bullock carts.
Johore Again (August 1934 – February 1935)
Barton had not changed since I saw him last. As cheerful as ever. He must have seen a change in me, though. During the intervening period I had grown from callow youth to young manhood. We had about a week together before he left for home, and in that time he introduced me to the International Club in JB, with a membership open to all nationalities. It had its own nine-hole golf course. I met several members of the Johore royal family at the club and was invited to the Istana on several occasions. The Sultan had homes in England as well as in Malaya and was completely British in behaviour and attitude. This meant that he served alcohol to his guests, unlike the Sultan of Perak who served only orange juice when one was invited to the Istana in Kuala Kangsar.
In addition to Sungei Plentong Estate, Barton managed a small estate up the Johore river which was only accessible by boat. The company had a launch to ferry staff and supplies, which I used for my twice-weekly visits. I felt as if I were Sanders of the River. There was a telephone, too, so the head clerk used to report to me daily. Because I was also looking after this smaller property my salary was raised from $300 to $425 a month. That was about £600 per annum, a bank manager’s salary in England at the time.
I suppose that I had been back on the estate for about two months when I received an invitation from the British Resident and his wife to a dinner party. Such an invitation was, of course, tantamount to a royal command. On the appointed evening I donned my dinner jacket and presented myself at the Residency. My fellow guests were Sir Andrew Caldecott, the acting governor of Singapore, and Lady Caldecott, the Senior Controller of Labour (Tamil) whose name I have forgotten, and the Dutchman Professor Van Steyn Callensfells, who was a world-famous palaeontologist. He was a giant of a man, at least six feet six inches tall, and weighing 25 stones. He had a huge black beard which reached almost to his waist. I learned later that Arthur Conan Doyle had based Professor Challenger, the hero of The Lost World, on him.
As the evening developed it became apparent why I had been invited. After all, I was still one of the more junior planters in the area, even though I was an acting manager. The professor was digging for Neolithic remains and had heard a rumour that there was a cave on the summit of a jungle-covered hill on Sungei Plentong Estate which might be interesting. I was asked whether I could guide the professor’s assistant and two Dyaks to the hilltop to confirm or otherwise the cave’s existence. I naturally agreed, but pointed out that there was no path so that we would have to blaze a trail, although I presumed that this would present no problem to the Dyaks.
The professor was a great character and told anecdote after anecdote, mostly to do with palaeontology. I cannot remember any except one about gin. In his deep guttural voice he related how ‘one night I drank one hundred Gordon’s gins. The next morning I had a headache. The next night I had one hundred Bols gins. The next morning I had no headache. I always drink Bols gin.’
We agreed on a day and Callensfells’ assistant and the Dyaks arrived. Meanwhile, I had already found out that some of my labour force were in the habit of trapping wild boar in that part of the jungle, so I had arranged for them to clear a path for most of the way. We made it in a couple of hours and found the cave which was about 30 feet from the top. As it looked promising, the palaeontologist set up camp and started to scrape away, while I climbed the remaining short distance to the summit – a fortuitous decision that was to have momentous consequences some 11 years later.
There below me was the whole of the Strait of Johore, and immediately in front, seemingly at my feet, wa
s the Royal Navy’s Singapore Dockyard, with its dry dock capable of holding the largest battleships in the world, and several large warships at anchor nearby or berthed at the dockside. I gazed at this unique panorama for a long time and cursed myself for not having a camera. But the scene had evidently become indelibly etched in my mind.
I was delighted when the rugger season came round again and I managed to establish myself in the Johore state fifteen, at wing forward. It was generally acknowledged that the 1933–4 Johore pack was one of the best ever seen in Malaya. I remember most of the names to this day – Saunders, MacKenzie, Bailey, Duncan Campbell, Forbes Wallace, A. N. Other, Cameron and Hembry. Forbes Wallace, then the OCPD Johore District, became a particular friend, although we lost contact when I left Malaya 30 years later. Duncan Campbell was a massive Scot, tremendous in body and voice. Good enough to have sung professionally before coming out to Malaya, his singing of ‘The Road to the Isles’ was particularly memorable, and no after-match beat-up was complete without it. Having survived over three years on the Railway, he was to be killed soon after his return to Scotland when the tractor he was driving overturned.
One day, towards the end of 1934, Forbes Wallace and I went down to the Seletar airfield on Singapore to see the arrival of the leaders of the London–Melbourne Air Race. We saw the eventual winners, Campbell Black and Scott. In 1934 such an event caused great excitement throughout the world.
One day I had a message from Bob Chrystal that he would be doing some VA-ing in the Rengam district and that his company, Guthrie’s, were inviting local planters to see a demonstration of the Reginato Sheeting Battery, and that I should come along. There I met the inventor of this machinery, Batista Reginato. He was an Italian planter who owned several rubber estates in Malaya, and was later to be responsible for those owned by the Sultan of Johore. So began my long friendship with ‘Uncle Regi’. When in 1952 I was transferred to Kedah, our neighbours were his nephew Bepi and his beautiful young wife Elena. Regi and his wife Otilia were interned as enemy aliens in 1940, when Italy entered the War, much to the disgust of his many British friends, as it would not have been possible to find anyone more pro-British than Regi. The authorities, as ever not prone to reasonable decision-making, shipped them off to an internment camp in Australia, where they were to remain until well after the end of the War, let alone until after Italy came over to the Allies’ side in 1943, when they should have been released, having, quite literally, been forgotten.
