The Plantation

by Di Morrissey

  Any disappointment Margaret felt about Roland she kept to herself. When she awoke one morning to find the ship engines stilled, she looked out the porthole, and exclaimed to Adelaide, ‘We’re in Colombo! Oh, how romantic. Look, palm trees and a beach!’

  Adelaide squeezed beside Margaret. ‘What a lovely looking place. Is that a fort or something?’

  ‘Oh, look at all those little boats, how sweet,’ said Margaret.

  ‘Yes, very colourful. All selling something no doubt.’

  Margaret dressed quickly and hurried onto the deck to find Roland at the railing as the liner passed the breakwater. The ship was greeted by a flotilla of small, makeshift craft carrying excited children and adults holding up their wares.

  ‘Goodness me, how do some of those things stay afloat?’ she exclaimed. ‘Wouldn’t catch me in one of them. What are they selling?’

  ‘Everything you don’t need but will be enticed to buy – from a fan, a necklace, a basket, to a piece of silk,’ laughed Roland.

  ‘Oh, they’re coming on board!’ She grasped Roland’s hand. ‘They’ve climbed up the side just like monkeys! And what’s that smell?’ Margaret wrinkled her nose.

  ‘Cinnamon most likely, my dear.’ Roland reached into his pocket and held up a coin, calling out to the young men and boys all shouting and waving to the passengers from the water below. As soon as the coin left Roland’s hand, the children dived into the waters of the harbour until, triumphant, one boy surfaced with the penny clenched between his teeth. Other passengers began throwing coins, taking photos and enjoying the entertainment. Roland took Margaret’s arm. ‘Come on, let’s see if the snake charmer has appeared on deck.’

  They found a small crowd around a dark-skinned man wearing what looked to Margaret to be a length of bright cloth knotted like a baby’s nappy. He was cajoling everyone for coins to be thrown on a mat in front of his lidded basket.

  ‘Is there really a snake in there?’ whispered Margaret.

  ‘There certainly is – a dangerous cobra,’ said Roland with a grin.

  As the man removed the basket lid and began playing a reedy flute, a snake, a curved hood over its head, swayed from the basket.

  Margaret clutched Roland’s arm. ‘I hope it doesn’t come out!’

  There were squeals and laughter as the snake rose up, swaying to the music. ‘These Hindu magic men are pretty amazing with their tricks,’ said Roland.

  Margaret merely nodded and kept hold of his arm.

  The performance over, Roland announced that he was going down to breakfast. Margaret agreed to go with him even though she’d had a quick tea and toast with Adelaide earlier in their cabin.

  ‘What is there to do here?’ she asked.

  ‘I promised to show you around, so let me surprise you,’ said Roland. ‘I’ll organise to have my luggage taken ashore. It won’t take long. We should get away as soon as we can to go to Kandy, the old capital, which is in the highlands and is much cooler. And tonight, before the ship sails, I’d like to take you to dinner. Just us. Would you like that?’

  They exchanged a long glance and then Margaret nodded. ‘It sounds lovely.’ She was determined not to show him how sad she was at the thought of their imminent parting. She’d quickly learned that Roland was a no nonsense sort of a man who was uncomfortable around sentiment and emotions. She was determined not to be the sort of woman he’d referred to as ‘those teary little idiots who fall apart and get flustered at the smallest matter. I like strong women who are capable and who don’t make a fuss’.

  Adelaide had debated with herself about going with them, but she didn’t like the smells of Colombo and had decided that the two were unlikely to come to any harm since Roland seemed familiar with the place. She would stay on board the ship.

  Roland had hired a car and driver, as had several others from the ship, and they all headed to the ancient Sinhalese capital. In the cool hills their first stop was at the Temple of the Tooth, the name of which Margaret found amusing, until she saw the beautiful old carved temple set beside a lake and surrounded by dark green hills.

  ‘All this for a tooth relic?’

  ‘The Lord Buddha’s tooth, my dear,’ said Roland. ‘This is a very sacred place.’

  ‘Well, it’s certainly a beautiful setting. And the town is quite agreeable. Far fewer beggars.’

  ‘The last of the Sinhalese kings built Lake Bogambara from a paddy field in the early 1800s,’ said Roland. ‘Quite a feat. Jolly peaceful place, isn’t it.’

  From the temple they went to the lake to watch the elephants and their handlers bathe in the water. After a light lunch at the elegant Queen’s Hotel, which impressed Margaret with its grandeur, they drove back to Colombo.

  ‘I’ll come back to the ship at sunset with a driver,’ Roland told Margaret.

  Margaret watched him as he strode away, realising how much she was going to miss him.

  She dressed with great care that evening, changing her mind several times before settling on a soft muslin print dress that, while demure, floated around her figure in alluring folds. She wished she had luxuriant hair like her sister Bette’s, but she pinned up her own, curling the front and sides in tight wisps in the manner of glamorous movie stars like Janet Gaynor and Jean Arthur.

  Roland was waiting at the bottom of the gangplank dressed in a white dinner jacket and black trousers. The driver behind him held open the car door.

  ‘Where are we going?’ asked Margaret.

  He took her hand. ‘Mount Lavinia. Dinner on the hotel terrace, which overlooks a very pretty beach.’

  ‘It sounds lovely. You know this place well.’

  ‘I’ve been here a few times. My father has several business acquaintances in Ceylon. Actually, that’s why I’ve had to disembark here, to meet with one of them who’s in tea.’

  ‘Oh, I see. Adelaide said to say goodbye from her.’

  ‘Could you tell her from me that it’s been a pleasure to have met her and I hope that the rest of her voyage is enjoyable.’ He held Margaret’s hand and kissed her fingertips. ‘I hope you will remember this evening.’

  ‘Oh, I will,’ she said.

  Roland pointed out the sights of Colombo as they drove along the coast road, the leaning coconut palms etched against the molten sunset.

  Margaret felt devastated. Roland was more than a shipboard dinner companion and dance partner. He was the most fascinating man she had ever met. She liked hearing him discuss the politics of the empire, the future of plantation commodities, the problems and disasters of the native staff, and the vicissitudes of cricket matches at ‘The Dog’ with the other men. Roland always seemed very knowledgeable and secure in his position in the fraternity of planters, civil servants, military and business people and he was certainly far more sophisticated than any other man who’d paid her attention.

  Roland lifted his stengah and touched the edge of her champagne glass. ‘Here’s to meeting a very special young woman.’

  ‘I’ve so enjoyed meeting you too, Roland.’ She wanted to say more but couldn’t think what to say without getting teary or appearing clingy.

  ‘I’d like you to know that I’ve enjoyed your company more than I can say, Margaret. More than I have with anyone else. You’ll be in my thoughts for a long time to come.’

  ‘Mine too,’ said Margaret.

  ‘Then perhaps you might consider this.’ He reached into his pocket and took out a small velvet box and placed it in front of her. ‘Margaret, would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’

  Margaret gasped and her hand shook as she put down her glass and opened the little box. Nestled inside was a ring, a sky-blue stone surrounded by diamonds. ‘Oh, Roland. It’s beautiful. Of course, oh yes. Yes, I’d love to marry you.’

  ‘Excellent.’ He took the ring and put it on her finger and leaned across and kissed her softly. ‘Then it’s settled. I hope you like it,’ he added as Margaret held out her hand to admire the ring. ‘It’s a jolly good Ceylon sapphire, pe
rfect, just like you.’

  ‘It’s really beautiful. And it’s special because of our being here, isn’t that so?’

  ‘I thought so. Now, my dear, let’s order dinner. We do have quite a few things to discuss. Naturally I will write to your father and formally ask him for your hand in marriage. Have to do the right thing.’

  ‘Will we get married in Brisbane?’

  ‘’Fraid not. I’ve just had my leave. No, you’ll have to come to Kuala Lumpur. Any problem with that?’

  Margaret gulped. She would have liked a wedding at home with all her friends and family to show off her handsome husband but instead she said, ‘I’m sure my mother will come. But Father runs a business, so taking time away might be difficult. And Bette is still at school.’

  ‘You’ll work things out. We can discuss plans later. You’ll have to book a passage up to Singapore as soon as you can.’

  ‘So then a wedding in three or four months?’ asked Margaret feeling quite breathless, already wondering how she could get a wedding dress made and a trousseau together so quickly.

  Roland earnestly began to explain how their life would revolve around Utopia, the family plantation. He talked of the obligations and tribulations, but also of the community of workers, which he called the plantation estate ‘family’.

  ‘It will be quite different from your life in Australia,’ he said. ‘But there is a wonderful social life, even in our isolated area, and an excellent social scene in Penang and KL when we go there.’ He patted her hand. ‘I know you’ll get on with everyone and you’ll handle the climate much better than the English wives do, coming from Queensland,’ he said confidently.

  So it was decided. Winifred, Margaret’s mother, would accompany her daughter to Kuala Lumpur, where the wedding would take place at St Mary’s Church. A passage on a P&O steamer was booked to Singapore. From there, they would take the coastal steamship to Port Swettenham and then the local train would take them to Kuala Lumpur where Roland would meet them. The wedding would take place a week later.

  Roland’s father, Eugene, would attend the wedding, but his mother, Charlotte, was still in England. Because Margaret’s father was unable to be there, Roland suggested that Dr Hamilton, the Scottish doctor in Perak and a great friend of the Elliotts, could give her away.

  There was much fussing over Margaret’s trousseau. Winifred fretted that Margaret’s clothes might not be considered as stylish and as up to date as some of the clothes that came from Europe or London, but in one of his weekly letters, Roland offered some advice.

  ‘My dear, the tailors in Malaya are excellent. Bring some pictures from ladies’ magazines and have them copy them. They can make them cheaply and quickly.’

  ‘He may be right. Why don’t you take some lengths of good fabric,’ suggested her mother.

  Fine table linens and some favourite pieces of family silver were given to Margaret for her glory box, and Winifred offered to send her anything else she might need in the coming months, which she couldn’t obtain ‘up there’.

  Roland made all the arrangements for the wedding and reception, which he hoped would meet with their approval.

  ‘St Mary’s is an impressive church, and jolly handy to The Dog. That’s what we call the Selangor Club.’

  ‘I do hope that the Peninsula Hotel which Roland has organised for the reception is adequate, not a rowdy sort of place,’ worried Winifred.

  Margaret was swept up in the whole idea of being a wife and living on an exotic plantation, which she described in extravagant detail to her friends. When her mother asked which country they might eventually end up in, especially if children came along, Margaret ignored the question.

  ‘Why, we have the best of all worlds, surely. Roland has family in England, his parents in Malaya and my family here.’

  Winifred looked sad. ‘I fear your family here will be at the bottom of the list. But never mind, so long as you are happy, comfortable and healthy, that’s all I ask.’

  ‘Mother, don’t be silly. Of course we’ll come and visit. Lots of times,’ said Margaret, although she was unsure how often this would be. Roland had mentioned a trip back to England every couple of years or so.

  *

  Margaret embraced her father and sister at the station at Roma Street before she and her mother alighted the Sydney- bound train. In Sydney they would board their liner. It wasn’t until the train had left the station and gathered speed that it occurred to Margaret that she was leaving her home and family and had no idea when she might see them again. She was glad that her mother was travelling with her, though she did suspect she’d be looking after Winifred more than the other way around. Winifred was not much of a traveller.

  ‘I do hope Ted will manage,’ said Winifred, dabbing at her eyes as she waved goodbye to her husband and younger daughter.

  ‘Bette will keep an eye on him. They’ll be fine. Now, Mother, I need you to be strong. You’re supposed to be helping me, the nervous bride,’ said Margaret, not looking the least bit concerned or nervous.

  ‘Yes, dear. You’re right,’ sighed her mother. ‘It just seems such a big step. Marriage. A strange country. Different sort of people.’ She struggled to smile. ‘Well, at least I’ll know where you are, and you can explain it all to us when you write.’

  ‘That’s right. Now let’s make the most of the trip. The voyage will be fun and very relaxing for you. A real holiday,’ said Margaret.

  When the time came to disembark, Winifred eyed the Singapore River, crowded with all manner of strange small craft as well as ships and freighters. In front of the godowns and warehouses was stacked all kinds of cargo. On the wharves, among the crush of people, Chinese coolies in their peaked hats carried poles weighed down with heavy baskets, while Indian porters pushed barrows laden with luggage and trishaw drivers touted for business. Sauntering Europeans in starched uniforms or linen suits stood out as they carefully escorted well-dressed women who carried umbrellas to ward off the sun. As Margaret watched from the deck, she saw many of them nodding and exchanging greetings.

  Winifred fanned herself and wondered what kind of a world they’d come to and how she’d cope with it all, even for a short time.

  Margaret seemed quite calm amidst all the chaos and, helped by the purser, found an Indian taxi driver. ‘He’s honest and reliable, miss. He will take you to the dock where the Straits Steamship leaves for Port Swettenham and help you with your luggage, which has gone ahead.’

  They set off, the taxi nosing its way through the crowd of trishaws, drays, carts, pedestrians and cars.

  When they arrived at the dock from where the Straits Steamship was leaving, Margaret whispered to her mother, ‘Honest, my foot. I think he’s taken us in a very circuitous way.’

  ‘Never mind, dear, just pay him what he asks and let’s find our belongings,’ said Winifred, feeling faint.

  ‘You’ll feel better after a good rest. Our steamship leaves at four this afternoon for Port Swettenham, and then it’s just a short train trip to Kuala Lumpur in the morning. We’re very lucky that the arrival of our P&O ship coincided with the departure of the coastal vessel, so we don’t have to wait around in Singapore,’ said Margaret.

  ‘Yes, but all the same this travelling is so tiresome,’ said Winifred. ‘But I must say you’ve handled everything splendidly, Margaret. I really am impressed with the way you’ve managed all this. Such a pity Roland couldn’t meet us.’

  ‘He’ll meet us at the railway station in Kuala Lumpur as planned, Mother.’

  Their cabin on the small Straits Steamship was comfortable, and the officers and other passengers on board were very friendly. When it became known Margaret was travelling to her wedding, toasts were made and best wishes exchanged. The two women slept well, the sensation of being at sea was familiar and after a hearty breakfast they docked at Port Swettenham at eight. Margaret had arrived on the mainland of Malaya.

  Margaret and Winifred looked through the train window at the busy port as it pu
lled out of the station. Soon they were in the countryside. The scenery changed to one of villages with red-roofed shops, their colourful goods displayed outside and their signs written in Chinese characters. They passed bright green rice fields, small towns, a sweep of jungle with glimpses of thatched huts, a man on a bicycle wearing a sarong, a woman carrying baskets and children playing near a river. Stray chickens pecked by the side of a red dirt road. The larger towns were crowded with trishaws, bicycles and cars. Laden drays and carts were pulled by horses, buffalo and oxen. To Winifred it all seemed dirty and smelly, but Margaret didn’t seem to care.

  Margaret knew that her mother was bothered by these scenes and she put any disquiet she might have felt herself to one side and maintained a positive outlook. She assumed that she would rarely, if ever, mingle in the squalid areas the train passed through, for Roland had given her the impression of a grand lifestyle, although he had been honest about their comparative isolation.

  It was with great relief that, as the train steamed into the station at Kuala Lumpur, Margaret spotted the tall figure of Roland waiting on the platform. She pointed him out to her mother. He looked very smart in a white linen suit, holding his solar topee.

  Doors banged and before the hissing rush of steam from the engine had dissipated, Margaret had stepped down from the train, waving a lace-edged handkerchief to her husband-to-be.

  He reached her and kissed her cheek, smiling broadly. ‘Margaret, it’s wonderful to see you. I’d almost forgotten how pretty you are.’ Nodding to the Indian standing behind him, he said, ‘Hamid, get the memsahib’s luggage and take it to the car.’ He stepped forward and helped Winifred down from the train.

  ‘My, what a trip. It’s so good to be here at last,’ she said. ‘Oh, this is an impressive railway station,’ she added, gazing up at the soaring ceiling and grand entrance.