The Plantation

by Di Morrissey

  ‘I know she’s still a baby,’ said Norma, ‘but, heck, give her this.’ She passed over a stub of precious lipstick. ‘A sort of symbol of the fun times to come when she gets out of here.’

  ‘Wish we could get her a cake,’ sighed Evelyn. ‘It just won’t seem like a proper birthday party without one.’

  The children got into the spirit of the party and were thrilled to receive gifts of pieces of fruit wrapped in small squares of banana leaf. But the surprise came when Bette came from the kitchen holding a bowl with a ‘candle’ made from a vine twisted around a small stick topped with dried grass tied onto it as a wick.

  ‘Happy birthday, to you, happy birthday, dear Marjorie . . .’ Bette sang as the others chimed in and Marjorie, decked out in her finery, blew out the improvised candle. ‘Make a wish,’ said Bette softly.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Marjorie. ‘It smells wonderful.’

  ‘Gula melaka pudding! A birthday pudding,’ said Bette, pleased with the way the coconut and rice dessert had turned out. Small scoops of the sweet rice pudding were carefully doled out to everyone and they all ate it slowly, trying to make the treat last as long as possible.

  Marjorie hugged Bette. ‘I can’t thank you enough. This is a birthday I’ll never forget.’

  ‘I have a little gift for you, it’s from Philip and me.’ She handed Marjorie a folded piece of paper. Marjorie opened it up to find a home-made birthday card decorated with a drawing of a thin young girl with long hair and a small boy eating bowls of rice with chopsticks.

  Tears sprang to Marjorie’s eyes. ‘This is beautiful. It’s Philip and me, isn’t it? I’m going to hide it and keep it forever. Thank you, Bette, thank you, Philip.’

  The little boy hugged Marjorie. ‘You can play with Lumpy,’ and he thrust his treasured toy at her.

  Marjorie kissed the little blue elephant. ‘Well, that’s an honour. Maybe one day we can see real elephants.’

  ‘And orangutans in the jungle,’ smiled Bette.

  ‘I’m done with walking in the jungle,’ commented one of the women quietly.

  ‘I’d rather take my chances with the wild animals than in here,’ said another woman in a low voice.

  ‘It’s Marjorie’s birthday and it’s cheered us all up,’ said Bette in a loud voice. ‘Let’s have a bit of a sing-song.’

  As usual, the women found that singing their favourite songs lifted their spirits and because it was Marjorie’s birthday, they sang even louder.

  Later that night, Marjorie and Evelyn thanked Bette again.

  ‘I need a hiding place for my card you made and my little things,’ said Marjorie.

  ‘Why don’t you sew it into your pillow? The Japs won’t look for it there. Here, I’ll do it for you,’ said Bette. So Bette carefully sewed the card into the little pillow and when she returned it to Marjorie, she whispered, ‘Our little secret.’

  Bette lay on her bed, Philip’s warm form curled against her, sleeping soundly, his cheek resting on his elephant. She looked across to Evelyn, lying only inches away.

  ‘I can feel his tiny frame, every single fragile bone, like a bird. His breathing seems shallow and he’s so pale. He just doesn’t have the energy he used to. I know he’s mal-nourished. I just don’t know how to help him.’

  ‘But Bette, you’re wonderful with Philip. His own mother couldn’t have done more for him.’

  ‘Evelyn, I feel so helpless. I can’t believe how everything went so wrong and we ended up here. The surprise Jap attack, the hopeless British defence, the terrible muddle in Singapore. I couldn’t even bring the most basic things into camp. At least you and Marjorie brought some things in. I only had my handbag with a bit of money and a few cosmetics. It was all so little. I’ve got nothing to sell and I’m almost out of money.’

  ‘Yes, this has been very hard for you. And there are some women who seem to have a lot of valuables and influence. Life for them does not seem as difficult as it does for you. That horrible Hannah Lampton, for instance. Just because her husband was a wealthy planter, she expects deference in this camp. I know she buys a lot from the traders, but you never see her actually doing the buying. She gets other people to do it for her.’

  ‘I know. For all the talk in this camp of pulling together, that Hannah Lampton certainly believes that it’s every woman for herself.’

  The next day, before heading to the cookhouse, Bette told Evelyn that their talk last night had given her an idea, and with that she walked over to the hut where Hannah Lampton lived. Hannah was a big woman who looked to be well fed. She was fashionably dressed and her shoes looked almost new. She was sitting outside the hut, in the shade, on a handmade wooden chair, obviously procured from a trader.

  ‘It’s my veins. My legs and ankles are too swollen to work,’ she said as Bette approached.

  Bette nodded. ‘We all have something wrong,’ she said. ‘But we must soldier on, right?’

  Hannah frowned, sensing some implied criticism in Bette’s bright remark. But she sat and listened to what Bette had to say and when Bette said she had to leave to go to the cookhouse, Hannah folded her arms and said, ‘I’ll talk to you this afternoon.’

  The worst part about the job in the cookhouse, Bette told Evelyn, was not cooking for large numbers of women with terrible rice and the few nourishing ingredients that were their rations, although that was difficult enough, it was maintaining the fires to do the job. The rice vats required a lot of wood to keep them boiling, but obtaining the wood was always difficult. Often the wood that was delivered to the camp each day by truck was green or sometimes an entire tree trunk might arrive and then there would be the problem of chopping it up. The tools for this job consisted of two very blunt hatchets, so that by the end of the day Bette’s hands would be covered in blisters.

  When she returned from the cookhouse that day after battling with the firewood, Philip scampered over and hugged her, exclaiming over what he and Marjorie had been doing.

  ‘What a clever boy you are. Now, I have to see one of the women. I’ll be back shortly.’

  He refused to let go of her hand. ‘I want to come.’ He lifted her hand and turned it over. ‘Oh, hurt.’ He looked at the raw blisters on her palms then put his own hand protectively over hers.

  ‘Oh, all right. Marjorie, can you come as well? Just for a few minutes.’ And the three walked over to Hannah’s hut.

  ‘Sit here and wait a minute,’ Bette told Philip who obediently sat in the dirt and began playing with Lumpy, while Marjorie watched him. When Bette returned from her conversation with Hannah, she was smiling. ‘Come on, tell me what you’ve been up to today.’

  Everyone in the camp went to bed early, exhausted from the lack of food and the sheer hard work of getting through each day. Sometimes the women talked quietly among themselves sharing a rare cigarette in the darkness before the shrill voices of the soldiers signalled curfew. Sleep, when it came, was a welcome escape from the reality of their existence. After Bette settled Philip, she went to Evelyn and Marjorie and spoke softly.

  ‘I’ve made an arrangement with Hannah Lampton today,’ she told them.

  ‘She’s nasty, she gets things and keeps them to herself,’ said Marjorie.

  ‘Yes, I think that’s true,’ said Bette. ‘She came into camp with a lot of assets, which is why I approached her. I asked if I could work for her in return for payment. It’s the only way I can think of to get extra food for Philip.’

  ‘Bette! You work like a dog now! And you deprive yourself,’ exclaimed Evelyn.

  ‘Doing what sort of work? Can I help?’ said Marjorie quickly.

  ‘No, it’s enough that you help me with Philip. I wish I could pay you for that,’ said Bette. ‘No, Hannah is used to servants and she’s also lazy. I’ve offered to work for her. Sew, help her cook, do her rostered jobs for her. Whatever she needs. Just here and there,’ she added.

  ‘That woman will make you her slave,’ said Evelyn shortly. ‘You’ll kill yourself, Bette.’
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  ‘I need the money.’

  ‘I have one or two pieces of jewellery put aside,’ began Evelyn but Bette touched her arm.

  ‘Save it for yourself and Marjorie. You might need it. Philip is my responsibility and it’s up to me to do whatever is necessary. I’m just asking you to keep an eye on Philip when I’m working for Hannah.’

  ‘Of course. You know we will.’ Evelyn looked at her daughter. ‘Marjorie adores him, like a little brother.’

  But it soon became obvious to everyone that Hannah was driving Bette almost beyond exhaustion point. When Evelyn pointed this out to her, Bette replied that she was thankful for the pittance that she got from mean Hannah, as it enabled her to buy the occasional egg or banana for Philip.

  There was a blast from the watchtower and another muster was called. For once Bette was relieved to put down the heavy metal bucket and join everyone in the centre of the compound as Major Sakura strutted out to inspect them.

  ‘Why does the silly fool bother with these inspections?’ whispered Babs.

  ‘Got to justify his existence, I suppose,’ said Bette.

  When the short, balding man stood to attention in front of them, the women and children bowed deferentially, as was expected. But then he shouted at them in Japanese, raising the heavy riding crop which he always carried.

  ‘He’s cranky, what’s wrong?’ hissed Evelyn.

  A soldier strode towards Evelyn and whether he had seen her speaking or thought that she had not bowed humbly enough, he was displeased and he brought the solid wooden butt of his rifle down across her shoulders causing her to fall to the ground with a short cry. Bette and the woman on the other side of Evelyn went to help her, but Major Sakura and the sudden movement from two other soldiers brandishing rifles made it clear that the women were to stay still. One of the guards elbowed Marjorie aside with his rifle and stood in front of the crumpled figure of Evelyn, his legs apart, his rifle held in front of his chest, as he shouted at Evelyn, making it clear that she was to get up.

  Evelyn moved but simply could not get to her feet. There was a trickle of blood from her mouth. Marjorie started to cry. The women were silent, shaking, biting back their own tears of fright and sadness for Evelyn.

  The soldier’s boot shot out and he kicked Evelyn in the ribs.

  ‘That’s enough! The woman can’t get up!’ shouted Bette.

  There was an involuntary gasp at her daring, if incautious, remark.

  Defying the soldier, Bette leaned down and tried to help Evelyn to her feet but Evelyn’s legs wouldn’t hold her up and she looked as though she was about to pass out.

  ‘This woman needs medical attention,’ said Bette. ‘We must take her to the sick bay.’

  There was no movement from anyone. Bette took a deep breath and, leaving the lines, walked to where Major Sakura was standing. ‘You must see that this woman needs medical treatment. Surely the Emperor of Japan would not want this woman to die while you are in charge of her.’

  Major Sakura glared at Bette, and then said, ‘You take.’

  With the help of one of the others, Bette half carried, half dragged Evelyn to the camp hospital. The room contained several beds made from bamboo. There was no doctor, it was run by the redoubtable former matron from Penang. There were very few medical supplies, although it was thought that the Japanese had plenty. The two women left Evelyn there and returned to the parade ground. One of the guards who spoke English told Bette that she was to go to the major’s office at once.

  ‘You break rules,’ he said ominously.

  ‘Yes, Corporal Hashimoto, I know.’

  Bette knocked nervously on Major Sakura’s office door. When she entered, he stood glaring at her, his arms behind his back.

  ‘You, name?’

  Bette gave an exaggerated low slow bow, every inch of her body radiating scorn. She straightened up and looked him in the eye. ‘Bette Oldham. I’m from Australia.’

  He stabbed a finger towards her. ‘You bad. Disobey rule. You speak to me in front of other women. You are not prisoner representative.’ He exploded into an outburst of Japanese that left Bette in no doubt that she was in trouble.

  ‘You must learn, white women are not important. Only Japanese forces of his Imperial Majesty important. Japanese women know that they must obey. White women must also learn this. You will be punished. Solitary confinement, many days, maybe two, three weeks.’

  Bette caught her breath. Solitary confinement. It had been threatened but the women hadn’t believed it would ever be inflicted upon them. ‘No. Wait. I must see Philip. Little boy. He can’t be left alone. I must explain to him.’

  But the major ignored her and, calling to one of the soldiers, ordered him to lead her away. The soldier shook his head and grabbed Bette’s arm, afraid she was going to dash away from him. As she was marched across the ground to the building that held the solitary confinement cell, she shouted towards Marjorie, ‘You must look out for Philip for me. I’m being put away in solitary, I don’t know for how long. Please tell him, I’ll be back soon. Make sure he gets food . . .’

  ‘Yes, of course. Please don’t worry, Bette, I’ll take care of him.’

  ‘Just tell him I have a special job to do . . . anything . . .’

  It was the darkness that distressed her most, and the separation from Philip. Bette lost all sense of time, day and night. The room had no windows and was lit for only a brief time each day when a daily bowl of thin rice gruel or boiled rice was pushed through the door to her. She had no idea how long her punishment would last, so she tried to keep her mind active as well as her body. Sleep was difficult as she had only the dirt floor to lie on. Noises, deliberately made, she felt, banged and crashed at all hours to prevent any decent interval of rest. A hole in the ground in a corner served as her latrine and from this hole cockroaches and rats made their way into the cell to keep her company. In the dimness her senses were strengthened. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness and she could make out the corners of the small space she inhabited. Her hearing became acute and she strained for every noise from the tiny movement of a gecko on her wall to the sound of rain or distant voices, and she learned to recognise the differing footsteps of her guards.

  With nothing to occupy her minute after minute, hour after hour, day after day, she worked out a routine as best she could. She recalled her bedroom at home in Brisbane and she chose her favourite pieces of furniture and mentally moved them in here with her. The bed with its smooth white marcella bedspread was over there. Her dressing table with its oval mirror and her collection of miniature china animals was in that corner, and every twenty-four hours, or what she thought might be that time span, she added another decorating component.

  She could now move into the garden, having added French doors and a verandah to her dark cell.

  Other times she recited poems she’d learned at school. She sang softly to herself. What she missed most was being able to draw, so she decided to imagine drawing. She sat on the floor and closed her eyes and drew in her mind, using first her right hand and then her left hand. Being right-handed, the challenge of recreating the images in her mind using her left hand added an extra dimension of involvement and forced her to concentrate. She drew the garden at home, the avenues of rubber trees at Utopia, the hidden waterfall she’d visited with Gilbert, the street scenes of Ipoh, and the faces of the rubber tappers. She drew Philip, hunched over his favourite game on the verandah at Utopia, or sitting in the dusty yard of the camp playing with Lumpy. And just for Philip she drew a special picture of his toy blue elephant. Maybe one day she’d write a book, titled, The Story of Lumpy, the Blue Elephant, and illustrate it with pictures of their adventures.

  There was a rattle at the door, and the English- speaking guard Corporal Hashimoto appeared, gesturing to her.

  ‘You come. Major Sakura speak to you.’

  Bette had no idea how long she’d been confined. The light hurt her eyes as she staggered out of her cell. She was aware that Corp
oral Hashimoto was giving her sidelong glances and she knew she smelled, her hair was tangled and matted and that she had lost even more weight. But she wanted everyone to see that she was strong and show them that this punishment had not defeated her.

  Once more she bowed low before the major, straightened up slowly, put her hands behind her back, pulled back her shoulders and lifted her chin. She didn’t wish to appear defiant, even if she felt it, but neither was she going to cower.

  ‘You have been punished. You will now be model prisoner and show other women that they must be humble and obey rules. Go.’

  Bette bowed her thanks and backed out of the room. The sunlight burned her eyes and she staggered, throwing her hand across her face. To her surprise, and perhaps his, Corporal Hashimoto reached for her arm and steadied her. As she walked towards her hut, there were shouts and cries as women dropped what they were doing and hurried to her and she was quickly surrounded by the women from the kitchen.

  ‘Where’s Philip?’ asked Bette.

  ‘He’s with Marjorie and the other children, he’s fine,’ Evelyn quickly reassured her. She gave Bette a hug. ‘I feel badly that you suffered this because of me. Thank you.’

  ‘How’s your head?’ asked Bette.

  Evelyn nodded. ‘I’m all right. I think that you had better clean up before Philip sees you. I’ve got a little bit of soap left that you can have.’ Evelyn led her gently into the shade behind the kitchen.

  ‘You do pong a bit,’ said Norma. ‘And you look thinner.’

  Bette had barely finished washing, when she saw the small figure of Philip running across the yard towards her as fast as his short legs would carry him.

  He flung himself at Bette and they held each other tightly. ‘Don’t go away any more,’ he said, through muffled tears.

  ‘I promise I won’t. But I had to help Aunty Evelyn. Everything is fine now.’ She unclasped his arms. ‘Let me look at you. Why, I do believe you’ve grown a whole inch.’

  He looked at her and touched her face, unable to form the words and express the strong emotions he was feeling. Instead he asked. ‘What did you do? Did you bring me something?’