The Plantation - Di Morrissey [34]
He took off his hat and wiped his face with his handkerchief. ‘Right, Mrs Elliott, shall we go and inspect our house? I’ve asked Hamid to take our things over there. Then later this afternoon when it starts to cool, we’ll go for a bit of a tour about the rest of the place.’ He kissed her. ‘I know this might seem strange and difficult but our bungalow will be your own domain to make of what you will.’ He put his arm about her shoulders as they walked indoors.
‘This place is rather, well, old looking. Outdated,’ said Margaret. ‘I suppose older people don’t like change.’
‘Well, that’s part of it. But Margaret, we’ve just come through the Depression when rubber prices were at rock bottom. It was a struggle for us just to keep the plantation viable. So there’s been no money for what Father would consider frivolous things. My mother certainly understood that whenever there was spare cash, it was put straight back into the business. Things are picking up now and because my parents were frugal and hung on through the bad times, they were able to come out way ahead. Actually we have been able to expand our operation because we bought up a lot of estates around here from other families and companies that couldn’t make a go of things in the last few years.’
‘So you actually expanded Utopia during the Depression?’ asked Margaret, impressed with the Elliotts’ business acumen.
Roland nodded. ‘Yes, I’ll show you later. For now let’s drive over to our house. Can I carry you over the threshold?’
Margaret was glad that their bungalow was some distance from the main house. On the way there, they passed worksheds housing equipment, lean-tos sheltering seedlings and a collection of rough shacks of woven palm leaves, which was where some of the rubber tappers lived. All around, stretched the pale-green lines of the rubber trees.
‘There’s a local village of sorts not far away where a lot of the Indian tappers live. I’ll explain the workings of the plantation to you another time,’ said Roland.
When Margaret saw her new home, so unadorned, so basic, so … words failed her. By local standards it was new, only two years old, but there had been no attention given to a garden, not even pot plants. She dreaded to think what it would be like inside. The one redeeming feature, which gave the house some identity, was a massive nipa palm growing close to the front step, its fronds spreading into a thick green fan. The house itself was a wooden construction set up high with a wide verandah all around. It reminded Margaret slightly of a small Queenslander.
‘It needs a garden,’ she managed to say.
‘There’s a kitchen patch out the back. Greens and things. Ask the gardener and he’ll do whatever you want out the front here.’
And with that, Roland swept Margaret up in his arms, marched up the front steps and deposited her on the verandah.
‘This looks like a pleasant area to sit,’ said Margaret noting the old-style planters’ chairs, wicker table, a rack overflowing with newspapers and a drinks trolley. As the bungalow was on a rise, the view from the verandah across the sea of ribbed rows of rubber trees to the hills was quite spectacular.
She tried to hide her disappointment as she went from room to room realising how very simple it all was. Indeed the kitchen out the back was so primitive that the stove appeared to be a converted kerosene tin. She was relieved she wouldn’t have to work with it.
‘Where’s the toilet and bathroom?’ asked Margaret.
‘Thunder box, I’m afraid. It gets emptied every day.’ Roland opened a small door and Margaret felt the sultry outside air hit her as she gaped in shock.
The bathroom was an unlined wooden cubicle with a section of the floor made up of slats a few inches apart, just wide enough for snakes to come in, Margaret thought grimly. A huge ceramic jar stood beside a tin bathtub. There was a dipper made from half a coconut shell hanging beside it.
‘No hot water, I’m afraid,’ said Roland cheerfully. ‘You ladle the cold water from the Shanghai jar over yourself. It’s always cold, so you’ll find it refreshing. The amah