The Plantation Part 22

'It must have been a difficult time for her, too, as a prisoner in a j.a.panese POW camp. Did she have any family with her?'

'You can ask her the details, but I know that she was there with her mother, isn't that right, Shane?'

'Her father, Lionel Potts, was a district officer in Sarawak. I don't think that our family knew them before that.'

'So her father wasn't in the camp with them?' asked Julie.

'Let Marjorie tell you what she knows,' said Shane gently.

When Christopher returned from his fis.h.i.+ng trip, he came over to Julie's house where she was sitting on the balcony.

'Knock, knock. How's your day been?'

'Quiet. Restful. Nice. I'm looking forward to tonight. How was the fis.h.i.+ng?'

'Great, no, not really. All the big ones got away. There's really no big-time fis.h.i.+ng here, but it's an excuse to hang out on a boat, have a few beers, trawl around the island. But I won't be barbecuing a monster tonight.'

'Never mind,' she said. 'There are other plans.' Julie explained to him about Marjorie Carter and how Martine had arranged for them all to have dinner at the exclusive, upmarket resort.

'Intriguing stuff. From what you tell me, she's an important link. It should be an interesting night.'

'Are you coming along?'

'I hadn't planned to, it seems more of a family night out.'

'Come on, Christopher. It's just Peter, Shane, Martine and me, and I know that all the others have also made plans. You can't stay on your own. Wouldn't you like to meet Marjorie? She sounds like a legend.'

Christopher smiled. 'I would like to come. I was going to say, do you want to meet for a swim and maybe a cold beer now?'

'Sounds good. I haven't done a thing all day. Just been sitting here thinking about Grandfather's memoir that I read when I was at Utopia. Do you know that when he got back to the plantation it was a shambles, his father was dead, and his son had been separated from my grandmother and wasn't back in Australia as he had a.s.sumed?'

Small electric buggies, driven by charming staff in smart uniforms, zipped them through the floodlit tropical gardens of the exclusive beach resort, stopping outside the entrance to the elegant seafood restaurant.

'You might get your fish dinner, after all,' said Julie as Christopher helped her from the buggy. They walked past flaming torches and into the restaurant and were taken to a table in a private section, separate from the airy, open dining area with its polished wood and rattan furniture.

Marjorie was already seated at the table, leaning back among silk cus.h.i.+ons. Her hair was coiled on top of her head and she wore a dramatic scarlet and green print top, which was matched with sparkling green earrings. Her nails were manicured and painted scarlet, and she wore several gold bangles on her wrist. She smiled warmly at Peter and Shane, who leaned over and greeted her with a kiss.

'Forgive me not standing up to hug you all. Martine, dear, how elegant you look, as always. And you must be Julie. Come, sit next to me.'

'I'm Christopher, a friend of the family,' said Christopher shaking her hand.

'You're Australian, too?' Marjorie spoke with a soft, well-bred accent.

'I can't thank you enough for coming over here,' said Julie shyly. 'To see me, I mean.'

'Dear girl, this place is no hards.h.i.+p.' Marjorie waved her hand towards the restaurant, to the gardens and the strip of illuminated sand in front of the hotel. 'I love staying here. I feel very elegant and very spoiled. But I do hope you will visit me in Penang. It's such an interesting city. Do you know it, Christopher?'

'I do. I'm working at b.u.t.terworth,' he smiled.

'Then you're very close. You must pop in and see me, young man. Now, Julie, tell me all about yourself.'

As the champagne was poured, and the others started looking at the seafood menu, Julie briefly told Marjorie about herself, how she and her mother had not known until now, that Margaret and Philip had been separated during the war, that Philip had spent the war years in a j.a.panese POW camp with Bette.

Marjorie nodded, studying Julie. 'So all this, for you, was a family secret. We all have them, I suppose.'

'We didn't even know we had a family secret!' exclaimed Julie.

'One sometimes hears stories that sound too fantastic to be true, but they are. Often one simply didn't want to make public what happened behind closed doors. Everyone might know that things went on but saved face by keeping matters private. It's how it was. Children born out of wedlock, children handed over to be raised by other members of the family or even non-relatives. s.e.x, love, money, religion, politics, the drivers of extraordinary actions, wouldn't you say?' Marjorie raised her gla.s.s of champagne. 'Here's to you, my dear. I hope I can help you in some small way.'

'What would you prefer, Marjorie, the old ways of hus.h.i.+ng up family secrets, keeping the skeletons in the closet, or letting it all hang out in public as it is today?' asked Peter.

Marjorie wrinkled her nose. 'I do so hate the way people bare their private lives on TV and so on. But I have to say, honesty is the best policy at the end of the day. Secrets always have a way of coming out, eventually. But Julie, if you would like to know more about my experiences during the war, I could tell you, perhaps tomorrow? Now, what are we ordering to eat? The food is so lovely here.'

In the buggy after dinner Julie and Christopher agreed it was one the most enjoyable evenings they'd had in a long time. Marjorie was a delightful soul who'd made them laugh, and made them think, and made everyone hope they could be as warm, friendly, funny and bright when they reached eighty.

'I'm certainly going to keep in touch with her and pop in and see her in Penang when I get the chance,' said Christopher.

'She'd love to have a handsome young gentleman caller, I'm sure,' said Julie. 'She must have had a hard time during the war and yet she isn't bitter, in fact, she is a very generous spirit.'

'She was young, I suppose that helped. Shane and Peter told me their grandfather was a bit taciturn and didn't like talking about the war years,' said Christopher. 'Maybe that's a male thing. Men never talk about things that have affected them deeply. Or so my mother tells me.'

'Does that apply today? I thought you guys had worked through the snag era and we're all equal when it comes to emotional maturity,' said Julie.

'I'm not sure. I guess what Marjorie said about being honest is the safest way to go. Here are the others.' Christopher jumped out of the buggy as it pulled up at the valet parking reception where Shane's car was waiting.

Julie had arranged to meet Marjorie at her resort for morning tea, so she bought some flowers, popped a notebook into her handbag and called a taxi. Marjorie was in her villa facing the beach and greeted Julie warmly. Julie thought that she looked a little older in the bright light, compared to the candlelight of the evening before, but she was just as charming.

The villa was surrounded by an oasis of lush greenery, which screened Marjorie from the neighbouring villas. In front of it, on the beach, was a gauzy tent, under which sat tables and chairs. The sand had been swept clean in a raked pattern, and flame torches were stuck in it, ready for the evening.

'Wow, is that where you eat?' asked Julie as Marjorie took her out onto the shady deck where'd she'd been relaxing on the daybed.

'That setting is for romantic dinners for two. I'm happy to get the buggy to the beach cafe. You can reach it by walking along the sand, but that's a bit difficult for me with my legs, these days. Now, let's sit at the table. I have tea, coffee or cool drinks.'

'A fresh lime juice, if you have it, would be lovely. Thanks, Marjorie,' said Julie. 'Do you stay over here on the island regularly?'

'I do. I loved being invited to the Elliotts' beach house. The boys sold it after Philip and Stephanie were killed, such a tragedy. But the boys have done very well for themselves since then. I hope Peter marries his girl soon, but she doesn't seem keen on the idea of life in Asia. She hasn't been here enough, that's the trouble.'

'It's a beautiful place to visit, but perhaps the thought of life on a plantation doesn't appeal to a young career girl,' said Julie.

'What about you? Could you live here?' asked Marjorie with a quizzical smile. 'After all, your family lived here in the old days.'

'Yes, they did,' said Julie. 'But I didn't know anything about this life till recently, and I'm not sure that I'd be all that keen to leave a career and my way of living to move here, unless I was really in love. What about you? Did you grow up here?' Julie had thought that she would be anxious to plunge in and ask about her great aunt and her uncle, but now she felt she wanted to know more about Marjorie first. 'I found out last night that you lived in Sarawak. I've just been there it was wonderful. So very beautiful and so interesting. I bet that it's changed since you were young.'

'It certainly has. I've been back to Kuching a few times, and I find it almost impossible to reconcile it with the place where I was born. My parents were Scots. My father was with the Civil Service under the last of the White Rajahs, Charles Vyner Brooke. He was a district officer, up-country. My two older brothers were at boarding school in England, and I had my parents' undivided attention, so I was the spoiled baby of the family. I had a very indulged childhood.' Marjorie smiled.

'Servants? Being the only child?' asked Julie.

'Yes. Though my parents were just ordinary people back home, in Sarawak, I had an amah and there was a lot of staff. My goodness, the life in Sarawak in the thirties was great fun. I remember trips on the river with the Iban, hauling the boat over the rapids, punting in the Sarawak River, hiking through the jungle to a waterfall, being spoiled, a Chinese cobbler who drew around my foot and made pretty embroidered shoes for me. My parents went to wonderful parties at the palace, my father often went on hunting trips. I had some very odd pets and played with the children from the kampong.

'Mother taught me at home. There was a school at the palace, for privileged children like myself, but Mother knew that I would have to go back to England eventually, so she wanted to keep me with her as long as she could. There were only about thirty European women living in Kuching at this time, and she certainly was the only white woman where we lived, so I suspect that she just didn't want me to leave her, as it would have made her life very lonely. But before I was sent away to school, the war broke out ...' She paused and added, 'And life was never the same again.'

'The Brookes, the White Rajahs, they seem such an amazing family. Do you remember them? I've seen the places they built in Kuching. Their rule in Sarawak seems to be like something out of a novel,' said Julie.

'I'm glad you've been to Sarawak. While it's a very different place from when I grew up there, it's still very lovely. Yes, I remember Sir Charles Vyner Brooke very clearly. He was a lovely old gentleman, very proper and charming. When my parents and I came into Kuching, which was a few times a year, he would always meet us. He always knew my name and asked after my brothers. Occasionally we would be asked to the palace for dinner. He never seemed to mind when my parents brought me along.

'He always said that all the Europeans working for him had to be accessible to everyone. The locals had to be able to speak to them directly, and that included the rajah. So every evening the Dayaks, Malays and Chinese used to go to the palace and talk to him and tell him what their problems were. He even invited the Dayaks to drink with him, but at eight a gun was fired and that signalled the time for the rajah's dinner and everyone had to leave. Then we would go across to the palace and join him for dinner. It's impossible to forget memories like that.'

'And after the war, you went back to the UK? I know from Peter and Shane that you have a family. Can I ask about it? Do you have grandchildren?' asked Julie.

'Oh, yes, tribes of them back in Scotland. Some of them have been out here for holidays with me because I loathe the cold winters in Scotland, but of course they don't have the same affection for this place as I do.'

The two women had settled themselves at the table under a fan, their backs to the glaring white sand and the stretch of blue water.

'When you look at this peaceful setting, the war must be a distant memory. Or do those years come back to haunt?' asked Julie tentatively.

'Haunt isn't the right word. I didn't talk about it much for many years. But now, what does it matter? Oddly enough, I don't remember when the war actually started, but I know that my parents thought that we would be able to sit it out on the river where we lived because it was so remote. Then they realised that by staying up-country, they were putting the lives of the Dayaks, whom they loved, at risk. If the j.a.panese found out that they were sheltering us, they would have been severely punished. So my father made the decision to turn ourselves in. We made our way to Kuching and my father was taken to one camp and Mother and I went to another.'

'How terrible it must have been for you,' said Julie, wondering how she would have felt if, as a twelve year old, she had been separated from her father in such a brutal way.

'I believe that I was very fortunate to survive and so I've put it behind me but, occasionally, some small thing will trigger a memory. And what I remember most is not the j.a.panese soldiers who guarded us, although it is impossible to forget them, but the women who were strong, resourceful, trying their best to be positive. Women like my mother, keeping the little ones fed, occupied and hopeful. It couldn't have been easy. They went without, they stood up to the j.a.panese, and they continually fought so hard just to keep us all alive.'

'And my Great Aunt Bette? Was she one of these women?'

Marjorie smiled. 'She was one of the best. She was a leader, in spite of her age, she was only about twenty-one. She took some terrible risks. She was a fierce little tiger, always protecting Philip. Amazing, actually, when I think back. I mean Philip was her nephew, not her own child, and yet I know that she could not have done more for him.'

'I'd love to know more about her and Philip,' said Julie.

'I understand that. When Martine and Shane rang me to suggest that I might like to meet you, I was very happy to do so, and the flight from Penang is very short, but before I tell you about Bette and Philip, there's something that I'd like to show you.'

Marjorie leaned across and picked up a small flat box from the coffee table. 'I thought you might like to see this,' she said, handing it to Julie.

Julie opened the little box. Inside was some tissue paper, which she carefully unwrapped, around a yellowed piece of paper. On it was a drawing of two young people, one a little boy, the other a young girl. They were sitting on some steps, eating bowls of rice with chopsticks. They both looked thin, their clothes were threadbare and they wore no shoes. And yet between the two was clearly a bond, almost an intimacy, as they watched each other eating. Written on top of the card were the words 'Happy Birthday, Marjorie'.

'Bette made me this birthday card. The drawing is of Philip and me. I don't know how she got the paper. That sort of thing was impossible to get. In a way, it was a dangerous sort of present too, because the j.a.panese didn't like the prisoners keeping any sort of record of camp life. People couldn't have diaries or make drawings or any anything like that. After Bette gave me the card, it was sewn into a little pillow that I had, to keep it safe. The j.a.panese never found it, so here it is.'

Julie looked at the card. She looked at the drawing and although she realised that the children were thin, she also saw that they were both full of vitality.

'It's hard to believe that I'm holding something drawn by my great aunt and that the picture is of my uncle. It was all such a long time ago. Have you any idea why they ended up in the camp in Sarawak?'

'No, I never heard the reason. Bette seemed so much older than me, even though she was only nine years older, so I didn't talk to her as an intimate. Anyway, people didn't often talk about their lives before the camp, it was usually too painful.'

'I'm sorry to bring back bad memories,' said Julie quickly.

'That's all right. It's just a part of my life I've put behind me and rarely think about. But occasionally, when I think about those days as a POW, I try to think about the good things, and the good people. Those women were quite amazing, how they held us all together, how we helped each other, shared what little we had. Of course, there were occasions when someone had something they just didn't want to share and it was often Bette who came to the rescue with some suggestion to solve matters.'

'You were a young girl growing up in a POW camp, that must have been hard,' said Julie.

'It was,' sighed Marjorie. 'And your aunt helped me there too. She was very clever. Quick witted. It's a shame we didn't keep in touch after the war. But we were all anxious to get back to our lives, catch up on what we had missed. I kept in contact with Philip and he came to stay with my family in the UK when he was at school, but by the time I finally made it back to Malaysia to stay with Philip and Stephanie at their place on Langkawi, Bette was long gone. I enjoyed myself on Langkawi so much, that I kept coming back to Malaysia regularly and I eventually bought my own place in Penang after Philip and Stephanie were killed. I've always felt a bond with their boys and when I stay out here they take me under their wing.'

'So other than Philip you've had no contact with anyone else from the camp?'

Marjorie paused. 'I know it must seem strange to you, especially after we went through so much. But I was a teenager and I wanted to be reunited with my family and pick up my life back home and my mother felt the same way. We just wanted to start over.'

'No, it doesn't seem odd. My grandmother, Philip's mother, did much the same thing. She never told my mother or me anything about this whole episode. The rift between my great aunt and my grandmother must have been very deep.'

Marjorie nodded. 'Sad when sisters fall out. Everyone around them suffers too. I just hope Bette had a happy life.'

'I wish I'd known her,' said Julie sadly.

'Yes, a very special person.' Marjorie paused as if deciding something, then said, 'Would you like to know more about life in the camp? What it was like for us all and how Bette had to fight so ferociously for Philip?'

'I would like that, very much,' said Julie softly.

'For years I thought that one shouldn't talk about what was past. Move on, get on with your life was my motto. But now, as I am getting older, I don't want the actions of these women, or those of the j.a.panese, forgotten either. I think that their story should be told.'

Marjorie settled back into her chair and pa.s.sed her coffee cup to Julie. 'Top us both up, and I'll start from when I first met Bette and Philip.'

9.

Sarawak, 1942 MARJORIE AND HER MOTHER, Evelyn, were silent as they followed the other women who shuffled, single file, towards the camp, knowing their world was to shrink to this wire-enclosed hot and dusty prison.

'Looks like a d.a.m.ned chicken coop. All that wire,' commented one of the women in a low voice.

'I just want to sit down, my feet are raw,' said another.

'It's barbed wire! Look at the guards up there.'

The group of women suddenly saw the tower where an armed soldier stood watching them approaching the main gates, where other soldiers waited. The women fell silent again as their internment became a reality. What shocked some of them were the pained and sad faces of the women already inside the camp, who had come to the fence to watch them.

One of them pointed at the new arrivals. 'Bags! They have suitcases. Belongings. Have you got any food?' she called out.

'And medicine?' cried another.

'Oh my Lord. What's going to happen? I haven't got enough to share around. My baby needs it,' said one of the new arrivals fearfully, clutching her bag, which was weighed down by precious tins of powdered milk.

In the new group, Evelyn walked slowly, bent over with pain and fever. Behind her, Marjorie, gangly legs and arms, her hair in a long plait, dragged her mother's suitcase as well as her own bag behind her. Across her chest was slung a cotton bag. She looked bewildered. Her mother had tried to explain what might happen to them, but Marjorie really couldn't imagine what being locked away might be like.

'But why, Mummy? What did we do wrong? Where's Daddy going?'

'We haven't done anything wrong, Marjorie. Don't you forget that. I'm sure your father will be all right. It's hard when grownups fight each other, when people make war on others because they want their country, innocent people get in the way. I'm afraid that's us. We've got in the way of j.a.panese ambition. But we won't be forgotten. We will be rescued and then life will go on as it always has. You'll just have to be brave until we get out of here,' said her mother in a tired voice.

As she stood in front of the gates, Marjorie looked at the strange fenced-off area. It didn't look like the prison she'd imagined. There were no big cement buildings or high solid walls. 'How long will we have to wait?' she asked as the line of women came to a stop.