In the Mouth of the Tiger

by Lynette Silver

  Men! I thought. Denis with his desire to push off up north, Eugene furious that he couldn’t join his stay-behind party. A thought suddenly struck me. Molly lived in Anson Road, close to the city. She would have been in the thick of things. I chatted briefly to Tanya, but my mind was elsewhere, and I think hers was too. We agreed to keep in touch, and then I rang off.

  ‘Will you ring Molly, dear?’ I asked Denis. He looked at me curiously but picked up the phone to get her number. I don’t know why but I just couldn’t stand the thought that the phone would have a ‘fault’ signal, which could mean that Molly’s house had been destroyed. I stood by Denis’s shoulder and could hear the phone ringing, and then Molly’s sane, practical voice.

  ‘Are you all right?’ I asked, a little breathless.

  ‘Of course I’m all right.’ Molly sounded a little cross, and I sighed with relief.

  ‘What happened today, Molly?’ I asked. ‘The news is full of stories that George Town took a real pasting, and that there were lots of casualties.’

  ‘There were lots of casualties. Hundreds and hundreds. I’m sorry, Nona, but I have only a few minutes to talk. I’ve joined the hospital auxiliary, and I’m on duty at nine.’ Dear, practical Molly. I hung up thoughtfully, thinking of the men and women up and down Malaya quietly coping with the crisis that had befallen us. It was popular to picture the British in their Colonial outposts as effete, drawling, Bertie Wooster types, surrounded by servants and the trappings of privilege, who would crumple up like so many wet paper bags at the first hint of difficulty. The opposite was much closer to the truth. To survive in the Colonies meant that you had to be tough and adaptable. Facing a crisis was everyday life.

  And then it struck me: I had counted Molly in with the British. In my mind she was simply one of us, and one of the better ones, too. But in the eyes of many Europeans she was not one of us. She was, and always would be, a ‘native’, a half-citizen not entitled to a full role in the affairs of the Colony.

  I had thought that Denis would have a couple of days’ leave but it was not to be. The enigmatic dispatch rider came late that night and when Denis finally came to bed he told me he would be away first thing in the morning for another couple of days.

  ‘Not churning around Singapore again?’ I asked. I hoped desperately it wasn’t that George had got his way and they were ‘pushing off up north’.

  ‘I’m running up with Ivan to see some of the stay-behind parties,’ he said. ‘We’ll be in Cameron Highlands tomorrow night, then we’ll pop up to Kuala Kangsar. With luck I’ll be home late on Saturday or early Sunday.’

  ‘What on earth do they need you up there for?’ I asked, sitting up in bed. According to Tanya the Japanese were crossing the Peninsula and there had been one radio report that they were already in Kedah.

  ‘We’ve got to get the communication side of things sorted out,’ Denis said vaguely. ‘No point in having chaps roaming around in the jungle behind enemy lines if you can’t talk to them.’

  A big brown-painted Army car called for Denis at dawn, and again Tony and I saw him off, holding hands as Denis climbed into the back seat with Ivan. I was glad to see a tough-looking Gordon Highlander sitting next to the driver, a tommy-gun on his lap. I didn’t cry this time. I was learning to be a proper wife for a warrior, and waved gaily as if they were going off on a picnic. Perhaps a little too gaily, because Tony looked up at me critically. ‘You don’t have to pretend to be happy just for me,’ he said severely.

  The Governor was due to make an important speech on the radio to ‘all the people of Malaya’ at noon that day. Again Margaret and I crouched around the set – this time on her verandah – waiting for them to play the National Anthem as a prelude to the address. The four boys ran around behind us, ‘flying’ their toy planes. They had all seen the bombers, heard bombs falling, and seen Singapore on fire in the distance. But to them it was all just a game. Death to them was falling over, usually with a grin, and then getting up to fight again.

  Shenton Thomas’s talk that afternoon surprised me. I expected him to bluster as he had in his broadcast after the first attack on Singapore. But today he spoke simply and directly from the heart. He made no fatuous claims of an imminent victory, nor did he attempt to disguise the seriousness of the situation. Like many of us now, he had seen the reality of the war.

  He spoke only briefly about the military situation, mentioning the sinking of the Prince of Wales and the Repulse and how their loss had affected the balance of power in the area. He acknowledged the frustration we all felt at how easily the Japanese bombers seemed to penetrate our air defences, and promised that more planes were on the way. He said that important battles were even now raging in northern Malaya, and that their outcome would not be known for weeks or even months. ‘We are clearly in for a long and difficult struggle,’ he said sincerely. ‘A struggle which will increasingly affect the daily life of everyone in Malaya. In that regard, I want to ask – I want to demand – something of you all. I want every person in Malaya to stand together, united in our time of peril.’

  He paused as if gathering his thoughts. ‘Malaya is made up of many races, each with its own culture, language and history. I cannot pretend that we have always got along together in perfect harmony. But today we battle a common enemy, and a very real threat to our existence. Unless we can forget that we are Europeans, or Malays, or Chinese or Indians, and just remember that we are one people, brothers and sisters together, we will lose that battle.’

  He had a special word for the women of Malaya. ‘While our men fight, let our white sisters and our brown sisters stand shoulder to shoulder together, supporting each other in the common cause. In my eyes, and in the eyes of the Colonial Administration, there is no difference between those of you with white skins and those of you with brown. You are equal as the wives, mothers, sweethearts and daughters of our gallant fighting men, and I promise that you will receive equal recognition for your efforts, and equal support in your time of need.’

  They were words that had needed to be said, and I was immensely glad that they had been said. But I also knew that there would be many, many white women in Malaya who would be angered by them, the women who had been nobodies back in England, and were somebodies in Malaya only because of the colour of their skin.

  I experienced my first air raid without Denis that night. The sirens in Changi went off just after two o’clock, wailing like demons through the darkness. I found myself running to the boys’ room, my heart pounding, my breath harsh and ragged in my throat. When I got there I found Agatha and Christine already had a boy each in their arms and waiting for me to tell them what to do.

  But what should we do? The air-raid shelter was just a muddy hole in the ground. I thought of getting into the car and driving somewhere, but I didn’t know where Ahmet was, and anyway, where would we go?

  I took a deep breath and tried to steady myself. Perhaps the best thing would be to stay where we were. It was a moonless night and there were no lights on in the house, so presumably we were invisible to the bomber pilots.

  I remembered reading that during the London blitz, people sheltered under the stairs, or a table, both of which provided some sort of protection from blast. ‘We’ll stay together in the house,’ I said firmly. ‘In the dining room. We’ll sit under the dining table until the all clear.’

  So my beloved pale green enamelled dining table became our air-raid shelter. Chu Lun came over to see if we were all right, and piled the cushions from the lounge suite around us as a makeshift splinter shield. And then we just sat there, hot and frightened, listening to the bombers droning above and then the dreadful sound of bombing in the distance.

  ‘It’s like playing cowboys and Indians,’ Tony said. ‘But scarier. Are the planes trying to kill us, Mummy?’

  ‘They won’t know where we are if we stay nice and quiet and still,’ I said. ‘The best thing to do is to try and go to sleep.’ Just as I finished speaking a plane screamed desperately lo
w overhead, shaking the whole house before the sound suddenly ended with a shuddering explosion somewhere just out to sea. ‘You don’t expect me to go to sleep with all that racket, do you?’ Tony asked a little querulously. ‘Because I just can’t.’ I thought at first he really was annoyed, but then I felt him trembling and knew he was being brave. I didn’t say anything, but hugged him as tightly as I could.

  ‘Now you’re squeezing me to death,’ he complained, and we all laughed.

  It was a short raid, and after the all clear I walked to the edge of the lawn and stared out to sea. Something was burning out there, a thin, flickering blue flame. Petrol on the water. And then I saw the tail fin of an aeroplane poking above the small waves. The blue flames lit it for a brief moment and I saw the dark disc of a Rising Sun emblem. So, we have brought down a Jap, I thought with satisfaction.

  The stab of triumph quickly left me. Lying in bed later that night my mind could not leave the little circle of burning petrol and the shattered piece of aeroplane. Men had died out there. Men with wives just like me waiting for them to return. They didn’t know their men were dead but I did, and I hated myself for my earlier exultation.

  Denis didn’t come back for nearly a week, and before he did we suffered three more raids. But we were now getting our act together. Chu Lun had finished the air-raid shelter and each time the siren sounded I shepherded everybody inside and solemnly closed the blast-proof door. It was hot and stuffy but we would sit there, insulated from any sound by the plank-lined earthen walls and the sandbagged roof, and nibble the treats that Amah always brought with her.

  ‘So you coped?’ Denis asked as I showed off the shelter. ‘I knew you would.’

  ‘I had the ARP people come out and talk to us,’ I said proudly. ‘The Chief Warden from Changi is a very nice man. He’s covered all our ceiling lights with cardboard so that we can brown out the house if there are planes about.’ Denis inspected all these wonders, and then called the boys over.

  ‘Mummy tells me you both helped her by being very good when the air raids were on,’ he said. ‘So I’ve decided to reward you each with a bar of Cadbury’s chocolate.’ Then he took advantage of the happy confusion to steer me into our bedroom. ‘I’ve also brought you something.’

  ‘And what have you brought home for me?’ I asked coquettishly.

  But Denis’s face was quite serious. He pulled a slim envelope from his jacket pocket and passed it to me. I took the letter out and read it twice before it made any sense. I read it a third time, slowly, then flung my arms around him and kissed him on the mouth.

  It was a short letter from Mark Morrison, telling me that the title to the Burnbrae Tea Plantation was now in my name, the ‘estate and all appurtenances thereto’ having been conveyed to me by Deed of Gift. Happy Valley was mine. Or rather, it was ours.

  ‘There is an apology that goes with it,’ Denis said. He seemed suddenly stiff and awkward, and I drew back, looking up at him curiously.

  ‘I’ve misled you a bit about Burnbrae,’ he said quietly, looking down at his hands. ‘I know how important the place has been to you, which makes what I have to say rather hard.’

  ‘What on earth do you mean?’

  Denis cleared his throat. ‘To begin with, you must understand exactly how important Burnbrae’s always been to our plans for the stay-behind parties,’ he said. He looked suddenly desperately tired and there were fine lines around his eyes that I had never seen before.

  ‘Come and talk about it,’ I said gently, and we went and sat in the cane chairs by our open windows. We often sat there of an evening before dinner, gathering the energy to get changed. Nobody bothered us there. It was our sanctum sanctorum.

  ‘Cameron Highlands is the linchpin of the whole stay-behind exercise,’ Denis went on, staring out at the darkening garden. ‘It’s smack bang in the middle of everything. Right in the middle of the jungle, and it’s on the Dividing Range. There is a good road in, and its market gardens are the richest in Malaya. It’s also the hub for all the Sakai pathways in that part of the world.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with you giving me the place?’ I asked.

  Denis pulled out his silver cigarette case, selected a cigarette and lit it, the flame of the match lighting up the lines of his face.

  ‘Let me tell it to you my way,’ he said. ‘It’s important that you understand.’ He paused, collecting his thoughts. ‘You see, Norma, because the Sakai paths lead to the estate, and because it’s a commercial enterprise, Burnbrae is absolutely perfect as a secret staging point for shipping stuff into the jungle. Nowhere else we know of is half as good. Fresh food, medicines, clothing, radio parts, materials for shelters, and so on. No one is going to notice trucks and so on going in, or strangers hanging around.’

  ‘Is that why you bought Burnbrae?’ I asked.

  Denis cleared his throat again. ‘I’m afraid I’ve owned it for many years,’ he said softly. ‘That’s the point of what I’m trying to tell you. Taunton Estates bought the place in 1935. Taunton Estates is one of my companies.’

  I stared at him, uncomprehending.

  ‘I didn’t tell you I owned the place because I didn’t feel the knowledge was mine to give away,’ he went on.

  I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t say anything. I felt utterly, completely betrayed. We’d talked so often about Burnbrae, about Happy Valley, and Denis had always seemed to understand my feelings. He’d shared my loss with me.

  But now he was telling me he’d owned the place all along. It just didn’t make sense.

  We sat in silence, and then after a while Denis continued. ‘When I was up there just now I couldn’t stand the thought of deceiving you. Even if it was for good reason. So I decided to make amends. I decided to tell you the truth, and to give you Burnbrae as a way of saying sorry.’

  ‘So there is an arms cache in Happy Valley?’ I asked. I remembered the moment when we had both stood in the valley and Denis had promised me – his eyes looking deeply into mine – that no arms would go into the valley because it was such an important place to me.

  ‘We put a dump in there some time ago,’ he said. ‘The reason I went up there last week was to set up links between the local Chinese and our stay-behind people. The local Chinese are solidly Communist, and they’re prepared to cooperate because we’re going to let the MCP jungle parties use Burnbrae.’

  ‘You told me in front of John Morton that you wouldn’t be putting an arms cache into Burnbrae,’ I said. ‘Did you want to deceive him too?’

  ‘I didn’t want Morton to list Burnbrae in his confounded reports. Reports get leaked, and Burnbrae is just too important to risk. Morton doesn’t know about the place even now. Not many people do. You’re one of the very few.’

  I shook my head. ‘I believed you,’ I said. ‘I believed you completely. You were so awfully convincing. I don’t know what to think now.’

  Denis grimaced. ‘I’m not proud of some of the things I’ve had to do,’ he said. ‘I told you the way I did because it was important that you believed me. I thought it was better for you if you believed me.’

  We had see hoon for dinner, a delicious Nonya dish that is one of my favourites. But that night the noodles tasted just like paper and I had to force them down. We ate in silence, and it was a relief when a sudden downpour rattled on the slate roof and cool, rainy air billowed in through the open windows. The rain seemed to break the tension that had been building up between us, and Denis reached across and put his hand tentatively on mine.

  ‘Are you awfully angry with me?’ he asked.

  I was hurt and puzzled rather than angry. I was hurt because I thought we had an unspoken pact between us, and deceiving me wasn’t part of it. I was puzzled because the revelation that Denis had bought Burnbrae from me so many years ago seemed to fit an emerging pattern, the significance of which was beyond me.

  All through my childhood I had thought of myself as a lonely, forgotten child. But I had been wrong. Many of those who wer
e around me now had been with me back then, unseen shadows amongst the shadows. Malcolm had been there, keeping a caring eye on me. Denis had been there too. He had known Robbie and me, and had kept an interest in me after Robbie’s death. Now I found that the relationship had been much more complicated than mere friendship. Denis had bought Burnbrae. It had been Denis’s money that allowed us to buy Salon Tanya and set ourselves up in KL.

  Who was Denis? Who in fact was I?

  ‘I am a little hurt,’ I said. I couldn’t help it but a tear rolled down my cheek. I smiled to try and hide it, but Denis saw and came around to take me in his arms.

  ‘I was in Happy Valley,’ he said. He was on his knees by my chair, both arms around me. ‘Early in the morning. The whole place was draped with mist. It was indescribably beautiful, Norma. I suddenly thought of what I’d said to you there, how you’d trusted me so completely, and I felt the most dreadful heel. There had been reports of air raids on Changi, you see, and I realised you might be dead, and that if you were I could never correct the lie I had told you. I realised then that you and the children are the only important things in my world. Far more important than all the monumental nonsense we get up to in the name of war. The stay-behind parties. Cajoling the Communists on side. Playing the Intelligence people off against each other. I knew then that I’d chuck the lot in the dustbin rather than see you deceived or hurt.’

  I put my finger on his lips. ‘Don’t say that,’ I said laughing through my tears. ‘I think it might be treason or something. Or at least it doesn’t sound terribly patriotic.’

  Denis snorted. ‘Patriotism is the last refuge of the scoundrel,’ he said. ‘I won’t ever take that refuge again, Norma. I’m going to tell you the truth from now on, and patriotism can go hang.’

  ‘Then I’d better be jolly careful about what I ask,’ I said. I remembered Stewart Menzies comment about patriotism killing a million times more Englishmen than murder ever had, and felt an almost superstitious shiver.