The Plantation (50 page)

‘I don’t imagine Philip has much in common with her. Ten years is a pretty big age gap, but they will get closer when they’re older,’ said Bette.

‘Boys change once they go away to school,’ said Margaret.

‘They have to grow up, Margaret. And Philip seems to love the plantation. I’m sure he’ll come back and work with Roland,’ said Bette.

‘I don’t know how long rubber is going to be profitable. Times are changing. Some plantations are trying other crops. Roland was experimenting with palm oil before the war. But the workers don’t seem as dedicated as they were in Eugene’s day. There are always strikes somewhere. I’ve heard that some of their wage demands are quite outrageous. They’ll send the plantations broke if they get them. It’s all very destabilising.’

‘Yes, war has a way of changing things,’ said Bette quietly.

‘I might have been out of the fighting, but it wasn’t easy in Australia, either,’ said Margaret testily.

Suddenly Caroline wanted attention and Ho brought in the cake and tea, and the war was not mentioned again.

A few days later a group of Roland’s old friends, mainly planters, were relaxing on the verandah, stengahs in hand, and the discussion of the current political situation resur-faced. Bette was shocked to see that each guest arrived with a Malay special constable, and stacked his gun in a corner, before shaking hands with Roland. She sat in the shade by the steps watching Caroline play and listened with interest to their conversation.

‘Don’t know why they’re calling this communist insurgency an Emergency. It’s looking like a bloody war to me,’ grumbled an old friend of Eugene’s.

‘Because,’ explained Roland patiently, ‘our losses won’t be covered by Lloyd’s if it’s declared to be a war. And you wouldn’t like that.’

‘Insurgency, Emergency, it’s still a bloody anti-British war,’ replied the old planter. ‘’Cause we didn’t think much about it two years ago, when Chin Peng’s lot murdered those plantation managers in Perak. Nasty business. But now it’s really getting out of hand. These terrorists tell the workers to go on strike, or they’ll attack their villages, so we have trouble with our labour, as well.’

‘There aren’t the jobs there used to be, and food is expensive so that’s been part of the problem,’ said Roland. ‘But the administration is trying to get Malaya’s economy on track.’

‘It’s all a load of rubbish this propaganda that the commies are putting about. High wages and independence for everyone, what rot,’ said the planter. ‘We’ve got floodlights, dogs and guns at the ready on our estate, so just let them try something.’

‘I’d prefer it if it was an out-and-out fight,’ said another, younger man. ‘These terrorists have hit-andrun raids out of the jungle, sneaking around the villages, blackmailing the locals into giving them food and help. It’s all very underhanded and difficult to control.’

‘It’s highly unstable and I for one won’t venture too far afield without these security force fellows in tow,’ declared another of Roland’s neighbours, pointing to the Malay special constables sitting below the verandah. ‘I think the army and the police chaps are doing a fine job.’

‘They’ve re-formed the special air service I worked with in India during the war,’ said Roland. ‘Specialised reconnaissance, counterinsurgency, intelligence, that sort of thing, taking the fight to the communists in the jungle.’

‘You thinking of joining them, Roland?’

‘No, I have enough to do protecting my family and the plantation. Mind you, I worked with some of those communists during the war and there is no doubt that they are determined to make Malaya a communist country.’

‘Let’s hope they put a lid on it all quick smart. I’m tired of travelling in convoys, always carrying a gun, and being careful to alter my travel route every day I go out on to the estate. And as for having a curfew! Having to be at home between seven pm and six am means that you can’t go anywhere much at all. Good thing I could get here for the afternoon, Roland. And, you know, there can’t be more than eight to ten thousand of the commie blighters out there, just making our lives a misery,’ said another neighbour.

‘That’s quite true. There aren’t so many, so we should get things sorted out fairly quickly,’ said Roland. ‘Righto, who’s for a top up before you have to leave? Ho! Another round.’

Now that Bette had spent a little more time exploring the plantation with Philip, she noticed the changes and the subtle shift in the workers’ demeanour and attitude. Ah Min, Caroline’s amah, whispered to Bette that things were not good outside the plantation. She said that there was a lot of suspicion in the kampong about who was or wasn’t helping the communists and there were lots of stories of atrocities and torture. Ah Min assured Bette that most of the staff on the estate were against the communists and very afraid of them.

‘I only feel safe here. I do not want any more war. I have had enough of war. We all suffered badly at the hands of the Japanese. When the Japanese lived here, the workers had to fling themselves face down on the roads whenever a Japanese drove past. I do not want this to happen again.’

‘I see,’ replied Bette. ‘It must be hard for everyone, recovering from the war, and now having to face this communist insurgency.’

That evening, Bette repeated what Ah Min had said to Roland.

‘Yes, it is a difficult situation, as you must realise by now. The government is trying a new tactic to protect the vulnerable from being intimidated, while at the same time preventing the communists from getting food supplies. People are being moved from the sparsely settled rural areas close to the jungle, where they can’t be protected from the communist guerillas, into settlements. New Villages, they call them. The communists say that they are concentration camps and I suppose they look like them with their barbed-wire fences, big lights and guards. But they keep people safe. The government also provides services, like health clinics and schools, so that the people want to stay in these villages.’

‘Is it working ?’ asked Bette.

‘It’s a very slow process, but it is having some success.’

‘Here, at Utopia, you wouldn’t know all this was going on,’ said Bette.

‘We’re quite safe, as I’ve told you, and the British and the Malayan auxiliary patrols are everywhere,’ said Margaret. ‘I think we should take that trip up to Fraser’s Hill, Roland. I’d like to see the boarding school there again. We have to think of Caroline’s future. We could meet some of our friends up there, too. Have a bit of laugh, what do you think?’

Bette could see that Roland wasn’t particularly enthusiastic about the idea, but Margaret continued to make plans. Eventually, Roland agreed that if they could organ-ise an escort, they could go.

‘I’ve heard that there’s a Malayan auxiliary police unit up there and a company of Gurkhas. We’ll probably be invited to a dining-in night and that will mean a white monkey jacket,’ he said as a way of agreeing to the trip.

‘Oh, wonderful, we can dress up,’ said Margaret.

But just before they were due to leave for Fraser’s Hill, a machine in the latex factory broke down and Roland told Margaret that he would have to organise a spare part for it. This would mean that the trip would have to be postponed. Margaret was furious and flatly refused to abandon her plans as several other families had agreed to join them for a long weekend of social activities which would be a welcome respite from the suffocating strictures of the Emergency.

‘All right, Margaret. You take Bette and the children with Hamid and drive up. The escort has already been arranged but I’ll notify the garrison at the Gap that you’re coming. I’ll join you as soon as I can.’

Margaret smiled at Bette. ‘There. We’ll be looked after and I’ll get to show you the Hill. Of course, we’re sorry you won’t be with us, Roland, but do the best you can to get up there.’

Philip sat in the front of the new Oldsmobile with Hamid, while Bette sat in the middle of the back seat with Margaret and Caroline on either side of her. They were on the last stage of the journey, Caroline was bored and Philip was pale and quiet. When they reached the Gap rest house, they all piled out of the car to join the other travellers waiting for the boom gate that would change the flow of traffic from down the hill to up. Two army tanks would travel with the convoy through the mountain pass and up the final climb to Fraser’s Hill. While they were waiting they sat down to tea and sandwiches. Caroline raced around expending energy and Margaret caught up with several of her friends.

Bette glanced at Philip. ‘You’re very quiet, are you all right?’

‘I get car sick. I hate the winding road.’

‘You’ll be fine,’ said Bette. ‘Keep looking straight ahead. Your mother says that we’re on the last leg now.’

When the boom gate was finally raised, the sisters found that they were the last in the line of vehicles on the narrow one-way road to the peak. One of the tanks brought up the rear.

Hamid drove carefully and slowly, as the road twisted and turned. But even Hamid’s careful driving became too much for Philip and he suddenly gulped and called to Hamid to pull over.

‘I’m going to be sick!’

‘We can’t stop here. Just wait a few minutes,’ said Margaret.

‘The tank is behind us, Margaret. We’ll have to let Philip out, or he’ll be sick in the car.

Hamid braked, stopping in the middle of the road and Philip scrambled out onto the side of the road, which dropped down into a sheer ravine. He stood there retching, coughing and spluttering. Bette got out and stood beside him as Caroline clambered out of the car too. Margaret took a handkerchief from her handbag to wipe Philip’s face. The heavy tank came up behind them and a soldier leaned out.

‘You can’t stop here. It’s too dangerous. Please get back in the car.’

‘We have a sick child. We’ll only be a few minutes,’ called Margaret.

‘We have to stay together in the convoy,’ said the soldier.

‘You just go around us and we’ll catch up as soon as we can. Hamid, move the car, please. Caroline, come here.’

‘Yes, mem. I will go ahead, where the road is wider, and I can pull over to let them past and then I will come down here to you. Just a few moments.’ Hamid then drove around the hairpin bend just ahead of where they stood.

The women heard the tank pick up speed as it overtook Hamid and then they saw the Oldsmobile inch back around the corner and reverse down the road towards them.

‘Do you feel better?’ Bette asked Philip.

‘For goodness’ sake let’s get back in the car and catch up to the others,’ said Margaret.

Hamid stopped the car a little ahead of them. As Caroline ran ahead of the others, Hamid got out to open the doors in readiness, but something made him glance up to the thickly forested hillside. A different shade of green and a glint of metal suddenly sent him spinning around and he shouted as he ran towards the little girl who was racing towards the car.

‘Get down, mem!’ Hamid flung himself at Caroline, pinning her to the ground while bullets screamed around them.

Margaret heard the whine of bullets, she saw Hamid cover her daughter and, as she turned, she saw her son rush not to her but to Bette, tackling her sister, wrapping his arms about her, and covering Bette’s body with his own as they fell to the ground. Margaret started to run, stumbled, but ran on – despite the continuing gunfire – to where Hamid lay, his blood spilling onto the road.

‘Caroline!’ she screamed. She pushed Hamid’s limp and bleeding body to one side and was dimly aware that there was now more heavy gunfire, this time coming from the direction of the hairpin bend.

Caroline was covered in Hamid’s blood.

‘Get into the car, quickly. Lie on the floor,’ said Bette, pushing Caroline and Margaret towards the car. Staying low, Philip opened a door and they all scrambled into the back seat and lay flat. The firing from the hillside continued.

Suddenly a spray of bullets hit the car, shattering a window and pinging into the metal. There was a small explosion and then all was silent. Caroline whimpered but they still didn’t move. More gunshots were fired and then they heard running footsteps.

‘Are you all right? You, in the car, it’s all right.’

At the sound of the British soldiers, they all began to move. Margaret sat up and Philip lifted himself from Bette and glanced at his mother. Then he jumped from the car and ran to where the tank had stopped. One of the soldiers was standing over Hamid’s body. The other soldier lowered his machine gun and looked at the now deserted hillside.

‘They’ve gone,’ he said.

‘Is Hamid dead?’

‘If you mean your driver, yes, I’m afraid so, son. Is anyone else hurt?’

‘I don’t think so. My sister is covered in blood but I think it’s Hamid’s. He saved her life,’ said Philip tearfully.

‘You have to get out of here. Can anyone drive?’

‘I can,’ said Margaret, holding Caroline and clearly shaken and distressed.

‘So can I,’ said Bette. She looked at the bloodied body of Roland’s driver and shook her head. ‘Poor Hamid.’

At this Philip burst into tears, he was once again just a frightened boy. He reached for Bette who put her arms around him, and held him close. ‘It’s all right, Philip. It’s over. We’re all right.’

‘We’ll have to put the body of your driver in the boot, ma’am. If you’re all right to drive, follow us.’