The Plantation (12 page)

‘So you actually expanded Utopia during the Depression?’ asked Margaret, impressed with the Elliotts’ business acumen.

Roland nodded. ‘Yes, I’ll show you later. For now let’s drive over to our house. Can I carry you over the threshold?’

Margaret was glad that their bungalow was some distance from the main house. On the way there, they passed worksheds housing equipment, lean-tos sheltering seedlings and a collection of rough shacks of woven palm leaves, which was where some of the rubber tappers lived. All around, stretched the pale-green lines of the rubber trees.

‘There’s a local village of sorts not far away where a lot of the Indian tappers live. I’ll explain the workings of the plantation to you another time,’ said Roland.

When Margaret saw her new home, so unadorned, so basic, so … words failed her. By local standards it was new, only two years old, but there had been no attention given to a garden, not even pot plants. She dreaded to think what it would be like inside. The one redeeming feature, which gave the house some identity, was a massive nipa palm growing close to the front step, its fronds spreading into a thick green fan. The house itself was a wooden construction set up high with a wide verandah all around. It reminded Margaret slightly of a small Queenslander.

‘It needs a garden,’ she managed to say.

‘There’s a kitchen patch out the back. Greens and things. Ask the gardener and he’ll do whatever you want out the front here.’

And with that, Roland swept Margaret up in his arms, marched up the front steps and deposited her on the verandah.

‘This looks like a pleasant area to sit,’ said Margaret noting the old-style planters’ chairs, wicker table, a rack overflowing with newspapers and a drinks trolley. As the bungalow was on a rise, the view from the verandah across the sea of ribbed rows of rubber trees to the hills was quite spectacular.

She tried to hide her disappointment as she went from room to room realising how very simple it all was. Indeed the kitchen out the back was so primitive that the stove appeared to be a converted kerosene tin. She was relieved she wouldn’t have to work with it.

‘Where’s the toilet and bathroom?’ asked Margaret.

‘Thunder box, I’m afraid. It gets emptied every day.’ Roland opened a small door and Margaret felt the sultry outside air hit her as she gaped in shock.

The bathroom was an unlined wooden cubicle with a section of the floor made up of slats a few inches apart, just wide enough for snakes to come in, Margaret thought grimly. A huge ceramic jar stood beside a tin bathtub. There was a dipper made from half a coconut shell hanging beside it.

‘No hot water, I’m afraid,’ said Roland cheerfully. ‘You ladle the cold water from the Shanghai jar over yourself. It’s always cold, so you’ll find it refreshing. The amah will get you some hot water if you want a warm bath.’

The bungalow had three bedrooms, and like the main bungalow, there was a sleep-out with several bamboo stretcher beds, their feet in saucers of kerosene.

‘Keeps the ants and bugs off,’ explained Roland. ‘Sometimes people stop over when travelling round the district. Dr Hamilton, the DO and his wife, if she’s with him, stay at the big house of course.’

Their bedroom was furnished simply, but there was a big mosquito net over a solid carved Chinese bed. A standing mirror, a dressing table with a small vase of fresh flowers, an armoire and an ornate chest at the foot of the bed made up the rest of the furniture. The windows had shutters without curtains, the floorboards were bare but painted cream and there was a small, attractive Indian rug.

The lounge room and dining room were combined, making one big space with lots of chairs and a long table. It was not the cosiness that Margaret was used to and compared with the ornaments, knick-knacks, decorative items and personal touches jammed into Winifred’s house, this looked very spacious and uncluttered.

‘It’s a nice big space, and cool,’ said Margaret.

‘Oh, I’m sure you’ll give this place the homey touch,’ said Roland. Then he added seriously, ‘But some things will have to wait. I’m sure we can manage quite well for the time being, don’t you? If you need anything for entertaining just borrow it from the big house. Come and meet Ah Kit, our houseboy. He’ll run everything, but keep an eye on the other servants and make sure they don’t rob us too much.’ He lowered his voice. ‘And don’t be too cosy with them. Pleasant but firm. You understand how it is.’

‘Er, yes. I suppose so,’ said Margaret.

Ah Kit was Chinese, younger than Eugene’s houseboy, possibly the same age as Roland, with bright, inquisitive dark eyes and a quick smile. He wore what was obviously the local uniform of white tunic and black pants. He bowed and said, ‘I am very happy to work for you, mem.’

‘Thank you,’ said Margaret.

‘You want tea? Ah Kit learn what mem like, no like.’

‘In a little while, Ah Kit. I’ll show the mem around,’ said Roland. As they walked away, he said to Margaret, ‘You’ll have to instruct him on the way you like things done, he’s very quick to learn.’

‘Does he cook as well?’ asked Margaret.

‘No, Cookie does that. Cookie’s Malay and a Muslim so he won’t touch any pork. Sometimes he has disagreements with the others about cooking utensils, which have been used to cook pork with, and so on. You’ll get the hang of it all. Come on, let’s go for a drive and I’ll show you some of the better divisions.’

Margaret recalled the big distances and the wide open spaces of Queensland but, even so, the size of the sections of the plantation surprised her. Roland drove her past mile after mile of avenues of rubber trees where occasionally he would stop and inspect some of the trees or chat to the working tappers.

‘Don’t get out of the car, you’re not wrapped up,’ advised Roland. ‘The mosquitoes among these trees are vicious.’

Margaret had noticed that the workers wore long sleeves and pants, or saris topped with cotton shirts. They all wore hats with scarves wrapped around their faces as they worked. Many wore cotton gloves and now she knew why.

‘The tapping is done in the early hours of the morning while it’s still cool,’ explained Roland as they drove. ‘The tappers cut into the bark in a spiral on one side and the latex bleeds down into the cup. Once the sun is up the latex congeals and stops flowing so after midday the cups are collected, which is what is happening now. Later, the opposite side of the tree is cut, while the other side heals.’

‘And what happens to the latex?’ asked Margaret.

‘It’s poured into moulds, smoked and dried and then rolled into rubber sheets for export. A lot of our rubber was on that steamship that runs between Port Swettenham and Singapore,’ said Roland.

It was a strange and eerie world that Roland inhabited, thought Margaret as she watched him shrug into his cotton jacket and don a solar topee, which had a kind of veil attached. He wrapped it around his face to protect himself from the mosquitoes. If the mosquitoes are really this bad, thought Margaret, perhaps I’d better take quinine each day as Eugene has suggested so that I don’t get malaria. And she’d better speak to Roland about getting some kind of screen for their bedroom windows as a mosquito had been trapped in the netting the previous night.

Two or three days later she again went out with Roland. She watched him walk the length of one row of rubber trees, disappearing into the shadowy green light. He seemed to enjoy the conformity, the neat exactness of the rows of trees and Margaret wondered if he’d played with tin soldiers as a boy, lining them up in serried ranks.

‘Sorry, dear, hope you’re not bored coming out here again. But if I don’t check, the workers get sloppy with their cuts and either they don’t cut deep enough to get the latex, or they go too deeply and kill the tree. I’ll take you down to the river now. You’ll like that,’ said Roland, flinging his hat on to the seat of the Bedford truck.

‘Have you ever got lost?’ asked Margaret. ‘Everything looks the same.’

He stared at her in surprise then laughed. ‘Gosh, no. I know every tree. I’ve been around this estate ever since I could walk!’

Margaret was pleasantly surprised when they came to the river. They drove past the smoke house where the latex was made, a workshop and a small factory, which was really just a shed shaded by an attap with open sides where the latex was rolled out and stacked ready to be sent downriver. They came to a solid wharf that looked as though it had been built many years before. The riverbank had been cleared except for a few shady trees, and nearby was a small locked storehouse.

‘That’s where we keep all the goods that come up here by boat. It’s always locked, although Ho has a key if we need to replenish household supplies. Possibly we could also let Ah Kit have one too, so that you can get anything you need. Once a month the workers can buy their bulk rice and sugar and other basics from here, too.’

‘The river is pretty,’ said Margaret looking at the broad brown sweep of water, bordered by thick jungle that came to the water’s edge on the other side. ‘Can we take a trip down it sometime? Do you have a boat?’

‘There are several longboats, small praus and a motor launch upriver, near the village. We’ll organise a picnic and a river trip. Get the social club together for an outing. Be good for everyone to meet you.’

‘What sort of club is it?’ asked Margaret.

‘Basically, our neighbours and friends have a clubhouse, about half an hour’s or so drive from here. We get together regularly for tennis and cards, tiffin, stengahs, that sort of thing. A break from the routine.’

‘It’s sounds fun,’ said Margaret enthusiastically.

‘It is, rather. Sometimes we also go to each other’s plantations or have swimming parties. There’s also a lodge in the hills we can use.’

‘What’s the lodge like?’

Roland smiled. ‘Father built it years ago with some of his friends. Carved it out of the jungle. They built a very simple bungalow but it can sleep ten people or so if they want to stay over when they go out hunting. Wait till you see it.’

‘Hunting animals, you mean? Like tigers? Deer? Pigs?’

He nodded. ‘Yes, Father’s a pretty good shot. Good fishing in the headwaters, too.’

‘It all sounds exciting,’ said Margaret, pleased at the idea of socialising.

‘Before we head back, I’d like to show you another rather special place. It’s a bit a drive, I’m afraid.’

Margaret nodded. ‘Lead on,’ she said.

As Roland drove into the hills surrounding Utopia, Margaret looked down into the jungle-clad ravine. He pointed out landmarks and talked of how his father, Eugene, had come as a young man to establish a plantation in such rugged country.

‘Tiger country. All kinds of wild animals used to come around at night. That’s one reason why the houses are built on stilts. There weren’t the roads, rough as they are, that are here now. I’ll show you the lodge one day. It’s basic, but quite an adventure. And it can be rather fun if we go with good friends.’

His voice was filled with enthusiasm and he sounded almost excited. Usually Roland was reserved but now she was seeing a different side to him. ‘You sound like you enjoy that sort of thing. I don’t think it’s something ladies would care to do,’ said Margaret rather primly. ‘Hunting and roughing it, I mean.’

‘My Lord, Margaret, my mother used to enjoy it. No airs and graces, a chance to look after ourselves as we only have basic staff and a couple of natives to help with the hunting. Some of the women are very good shots. You can see photographs of them in Father’s study.’

Margaret didn’t answer, but looked again at the wilderness around them, finding it difficult to comprehend that this was her new home.

Soon the jungle gave way again to the neat rows of rubber trees, and Roland drove to a rise and stopped the truck. From this spot the 360 degree view took in the great scope of Utopia. But what interested Margaret more was that up here, on the top of the hill so far from any civilisation, stood a small white church.

‘What’s the church here for? It’s miles from anywhere. Who would come here for services?’

‘My father built this for my mother, a sentimental gesture. It’s for our family and friends to use on occasion. My mother always hoped I’d get married here.’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, I’m glad we didn’t! No one would come way out here!’ said Margaret. ‘And who would conduct the ceremony?’

‘The clergy come around regularly and conduct services here. Our neighbours come, as well.’

‘It’s a nice idea, I suppose, but I’m very glad we were married in KL,’ said Margaret firmly.

‘Come and have a look around,’ said Roland. ‘My father wants to be buried here. Mother is in England caring for her own parents but she’ll eventually come back here to enjoy her final years with Father at Utopia.’

‘Ugh. How morbid. Perhaps we should go and visit her in Kent. I’d love to meet her,’ said Margaret.

‘Let’s settle into life out here first,’ said Roland. ‘And you have just been to Europe. Most people wait till a child or two arrives before making the pilgrimage back home.’ His tone was final.

Margaret didn’t reply as Roland went to open the little church door and show her inside. But a trip back to England to meet his mother sounded rather like a good idea. She was sure that she would be able to persuade him, eventually.

Within two weeks Margaret had settled into the plantation routine and had taken to running the household as a small fiefdom, as though she’d done it all her life. Roland slipped from bed while it was still dark to take the muster, leaving her to sleep until Ah Kit tapped on the door and brought her a tray with a pot of tea and a slice of bread and butter. While Margaret sipped her tea, hot water was brought in and poured into the water pitcher so that she could bathe in warm water. She found that in the hot and humid climate, she changed clothes several times a day, but whatever she dropped was picked up and returned fresh and ironed the next morning.