The Plantation (20 page)

‘Only very occasionally. We were both christened here,’ said Peter. ‘And Shane and Martine were married here. They were the first to do so.’

‘Were your children christened here, too?’ asked Julie.

Shane nodded. ‘Yes, it’s a family tradition. I expect your mother was christened here, too.’

Julie walked slowly down the path to the church door thinking how some places, be it a house or a church, a seat on a knoll or an entire plantation, could connect you to the past. Her grandmother’s house in Brisbane linked Julie to her very first memories.

‘I wonder why Roland didn’t marry Gran here, instead of the church in KL,’ said Julie.

‘Convenience. Too hard to have all the guests trek out here, I expect,’ said Peter.

‘Yes, I suppose so. Can I go inside?’ asked Julie.

‘Of course.’ Shane led the way and unlatched the heavy front door.

Julie found the whitewashed interior surprisingly cool. Sunlight shone through the stained glass window above the tiny altar and coloured beams bounced off the old wooden pews. The atmosphere was warm and friendly and not the lonely, remote place she thought the setting might make it feel. Then she noticed the old family photographs set in wallmounts beneath a small carved cross and she recognised her grandmother in one of them.

‘We used to keep the family Bible here, but the climate made it deteriorate, so it’s in the air-conditioned computer room in the big house,’ said Shane.

‘Does it have the births, deaths and marriages of the family listed in the front?’ asked Julie, with a smile.

‘It does indeed. Your mother is in there and so are you and your brother,’ said Peter.

Julie immediately thought of her brother. Adelaide seemed another universe from this little church and she doubted Adam would have much interest in this side of the family in such a distant place.

Shane locked the church door behind them and Ramdin got out of the car and opened the back door for Julie.

‘Julie, a moment. There’s one more spot you might like to see,’ said Shane.

She followed the two men around the side of the church to where a cluster of trees shaded a small grassed area, which she quickly realised was a small graveyard. In it centre was a grave, surrounded by a small iron fence and a large headstone at one end. The inscription on it read:

In loving memory of Eugene Orson Elliott
Husband of Charlotte, devoted father to Roland
Died 1941
Founder of Utopia, pioneer and philanthropist
RIP

Julie stared at the grave, so quiet and sheltered, so far from where he’d been born. Slowly it dawned on her that the man buried here was her great grandfather. This was a place so far from Australia, and yet she was linked to it. Nearby were two more graves, lying side by side. A single headstone marked their place. On it Julie read:

Philip Elliott and Stephanie Elliott
Loving parents of Peter and Shane
Died 1994
United forever

‘I wish we’d known more about the Elliott side of the family,’ she said softly. ‘Why is it we rarely think about our families, or ask the people connected to us, until it’s too late? I keep wishing I’d asked my grandmother more about her life here.’

‘The same for us,’ agreed Peter. ‘Our father hardly ever mentioned anything about his life when he was young, and we were never really curious enough to ask him, and then he was killed suddenly, and it was all too late. And there’s Grandfather’s grave. It’s just over here.’

Julie looked at Roland’s grave and realised that she was looking at the resting place of her grandfather, a man she had never known. It all seemed very sad.

‘You just get on with day-to-day living and don’t think much of the past,’ said Shane. ‘Anyway I don’t believe men, in general, worry too much about family and people far away.’

‘Well, I’m here and I’m curious,’ said Julie. ‘Where is great grandmother Charlotte buried?’ she asked as they walked back to the car.

‘In England. She spent a lot of time there and as she got older she preferred to be there. Apparently Charlotte hated the heat of Malaya and Eugene loathed the cold weather,’ said Shane. ‘We have other family over in the UK as well that we don’t see much of either.’

Julie shook her head. ‘I came to find out about my grandmother and my great aunt, and now I realise there’s a whole family tree I’ve never climbed.’

The entrance to Utopia plantation was impressive. It was not just the massive timber archway, flanked by tall trees, the landscaped gardens and high fence smothered in a solid scarlet wall of spiky bougainvillea that caught Julie’s eye, she also saw the chimney and roof of a large factory plant and what looked like office buildings in the plantation grounds. The Indian sentry at the boom gate snapped a smart salute as he waved them through.

‘This is the administration block, and over there are the research and development buildings, the seed nursery and staff area. The processing plant, refinery and factory are down that way and what we call the town centre is also over there,’ said Shane.

‘Town centre?’ said Julie. ‘This is a whole town?’

‘There’s a Hindu temple, staff shop, bakery, the school, as well as a medical clinic. There’s also the recreation and sports area, including an indoor badminton court. And down by the river we have also built shophouses,’ said Peter, adding, ‘We have six thousand people working here.’

‘We’ll show you around tomorrow. We brought you in by the front entrance to give you a sense of the place. Normally we come in over the hill the back way through the jungle reserve, it’s quicker,’ said Shane.

‘The family compound is on the original holding and separate from this, but it’s only a fifteen minute drive away,’ said Peter.

Julie was silent as they drove past buildings, rows and rows of oil palm divisions, and then through the housing estate of neat white, identical, two-storey terrace homes set in blocks of four.

‘They’re very neat and modern,’ said Julie, quite surprised.

‘Yes, things have changed since grandfather and great grandfather’s day,’ said Shane. ‘Providing a stable and supportive community has been a way to get the best from our workers. We have a lot of the women working for us, too, in the laboratory and plant nursery. Others work as cleaners and shop assistants, all kinds of things.’

‘They’d hardly need to leave the estate,’ said Julie, thinking that while it appeared rather paternalistic, almost colonial, the conditions probably suited the workers as much as the owners. ‘I see quite a lot of people own cars,’ she commented, seeing small cars under carports in some houses.

‘Yes, since Malaysia started producing its own car, the Proton, more people can afford to own one. So we’ve had to add carports to a lot of houses,’ said Shane.

‘Slim River is close by here and is quite a large market town,’ said Peter. ‘Utopia’s not as isolated as it looks.’

‘Times are changing, though. As the younger generation receives a better education and goes to university and that sort of thing, the young don’t want to come back here to work. They prefer the towns and cities and the opportunities there. Now most of our field workers come from Indonesia, not India,’ said Shane.

Peter continued, ‘However, what we would like to do is to provide an opportunity for those with an education to work here, as their parents did, but as staff in the offices, supervisors in the factories, working in R&D, that sort of skilled work. I guess that these changes to the plantation staff and the old family connections are inevitable, just a natural development.’

They finally arrived at the main house, which was set at the end of a narrow red dirt lane. The house was screened by large shrubs and a pretty garden. The car swept under a high portico to the big front door.

‘Come inside and have a cool drink, then we’ll take you to your guesthouse,’ said Shane.

Ramdin smiled at Julie as he held open the car door. ‘Enjoy your visit, mem.’

Shane led the way through the house to a screened sun-room that overlooked a garden and a modern swimming pool. Julie’s first impression was of high ceilings and fans and rooms full of heavy furniture that looked as though it had been in situ for generations. There were, however, some contemporary touches. The furniture in the sunroom was covered in bold Scandinavian-style prints and the pot plants and flowers were placed in large, bright ceramic Chinese pots. A shy, dark-skinned Malay woman carried in a tray with a jug of fresh lime juice and glasses and placed it on a table. She gave Julie an interested glance.

‘This is a lovely room,’ said Julie.

‘Yes, we screened it properly,’ said Shane. ‘Martine has done some decorating, but the house is furnished pretty much as Grandfather and his father had it. Come and I’ll show you Great Grandfather’s pride and joy.’

Julie followed her cousins down the corridor and into what was not only the study but the trophy room. On the walls were the mounted heads of boars, deer and some animal Julie couldn’t identify. On the floor was a tiger skin. She looked about her in fascinated horror.

‘Not very PC now, is it?’ said Shane. ‘But different times, different customs. Grandfather was a keen hunter, too. He shot that tiger.’ He pointed to the floor. ‘I believe it was in Tampin, near Malacca. Anyway, he was rather proud of it.’

‘And Peter, where do you live?’ asked Julie, thinking that while she loved her grandmother’s things around the house in Brisbane, Caroline had somehow made the décor look fresh, airy and modern. Eugene’s home, by contrast seemed dark and a little depressing, even without the dead animal’s heads on the walls, though she supposed the drawn blinds and curtains kept it cool as well as dark.

‘I live in Grandfather Roland’s house, where my father was born,’ said Peter. ‘Our grandmother must have pret-tied it up somewhat when she married Grandfather, so it’s still full of family keepsakes.’

‘But Grandfather’s war memoirs are here, aren’t they?’ Julie reminded them.

Peter smiled. ‘We haven’t forgotten.’

Within a few days Julie had familiarised herself with the layout of Utopia and discovered the joys of the bakery near the general store. Peter told her that a colleague of their grandfather’s had come from Holland on a business trip and stayed at the plantation. When Roland had lamented the lack of good bread, Grandfather’s colleague had come to an arrangement whereby a Dutch baker came from Amsterdam, complete with a special brick oven, to set up a basic bakery. The baker became enamoured of a pretty Malay girl, loved plantation life and decided to stay. As the years went by, the bakery grew larger and larger, turning out breads, pastries, Indian breads and savoury treats for everybody on the plantation and the nearby villages, and now it also supplied bread to Slim River.

‘We’ve had offers to sell Utopia breads in KL,’ said Peter. ‘But we can only just meet local demand and we’re not really in the bread business. Come and try the best curry puffs in Malaysia and also the coconut cream pies made with our own coconut. Coconut is very healthy for you, you know. In fact, a lot of the baking is done with our coconut oil.’

‘Healthy? I thought it clogged your arteries,’ said Julie walking into the spotless bakery that smelled of warm bread and spicy cakes.

‘Not at all. We are developing some big coconut plantations here. Coconut oil’s had bad press, which has been put about by the soya bean companies,’ said Peter. ‘But that’s been proved to be wrong.’

At the weekend Peter and Shane invited several of their friends for lunch and to play tennis and meet Julie.

‘Tennis parties are a family tradition. Father loved them, and so did Grandfather,’ said Shane.

Julie hadn’t brought anything suitable for tennis but Peter spoke to Siti, the housekeeper at the guesthouse where Julie was staying. She took Julie to a room that was filled with boxes, trunks and an overflowing wardrobe and flung back the doors. ‘You look, in here, mem. Many sports things.’

‘My gosh!’ laughed Julie. She lifted out a heavy wooden tennis racquet. ‘This could have belonged to my grandmother! Ah, here’s something more modern. And shoes, I’m sure I can find a pair to fit me. Look at this! Old swimsuits, paddles, fishing rods, a croquet set!’ She found a pair of tennis shoes and a reasonable tennis racquet, and went to her room to change into shorts.

Julie looked around her. She couldn’t believe that she was staying in a large, three bedroom bungalow, which she had all to herself. It was a contemporary design and she supposed that it was built for businesspeople and friends who came to stay. The bungalow was fully air-conditioned as well as having ceiling fans. These whirled slowly all day and evening.

Each morning, Siti prepared Julie’s breakfast and set it out in the sunroom that looked over an enclosed garden where banks of orchids grew up old trees and where a faded hammock hung on old ropes. On the other side of the house, was a large kitchen garden and a comparatively modern kitchen was separated from a dining room by a swinging door. This domestic area was obviously the domain of the staff, for when Julie had picked up her empty breakfast plate and taken it into the kitchen Siti looked surprised and a little offended.

‘No, no, mem. My work. Siti do.’ And she hustled Julie from the kitchen. Julie never set foot in there again.

Julie was pleased to find that the tennis party was more social than tennis. The original tennis court was surrounded by a large fence completely smothered in vine that hung with bunches of flowers like pink grapes. It was almost a foot thick, screening the court and sheltering it from any wind. There was a large pavilion at one end of it, housing the change rooms and an entertaining area, where a refrigerator was stocked with cold drinks. One of the houseboys poured the drinks and brought out trays of snacks from the kitchen. An elderly Indian gardener enjoyed himself acting as the ball boy.