The Plantation - Di Morrissey [90]
‘It’s a long walk into those mountains,’ said Bill. ‘And I wonder if our luck will hold.’
‘We’re pretty near Teluk Anson,’ I replied. ‘And that gives me an idea. There’s a Sinhalese gentleman there who’s an old friend of my father’s. I think that he would help us, if we can get in touch with him.’
Bill agreed that trying to contact Father’s friend could be risky, but so was wandering around the Japanese-held coast. ‘We’ll give it a go, then.’
So a couple of tiring days later, living on pineapples, bananas and our army rations, and continually skirting kampongs and any other habitation, we arrived on the outskirts of Telok Anson, a small town near Slim River, to find the Japanese flag flying and soldiers everywhere.
‘Going to be difficult getting into this part of town without being spotted,’ said Bill.
‘Impossible, I’d say. Let’s just stay hidden outside the town and see what happens,’ I replied.
The local citizens seemed to be going about their business as usual, but we thought we would be relatively safe if we stayed in the swamps near the ghats of a dhobi wallah. We watched the dhobi wallah for a while, and it seemed that he and his family were doing the washing of the Japanese. Because these washermen were Indian, I felt sure they would know of my father’s Sinhalese friend, Mr Gupta, who was well known as an engineer as well as being quite a philanthropist. I just hoped he hadn’t been arrested or killed by the Japs.
That evening as one of the dhobis approached the old sunken cement tank that was being used to soak the dirty linen, we decided to take our chances and approach him. He jumped in fright as two white faces suddenly rose up before him, fingers to lips.
Bill spoke quietly to the man in Tamil, who swiftly understood our predicament. However, the dhobi wallah was clearly afraid, he began to shake with fear.
Bill told him that we needed his help, and that we wanted him to get a message to Mr Gupta. He agreed to do so as Mr Gupta had helped his son once. He suggested that we stay well hidden in the tank because if the Japs found us, they’d not just shoot us, but him and his family as well.
‘Ask him if we can buy some rice and sambal from him, now,’ I said.
A short time later a woman came to the ghat with a load of washing. From beneath the linens she produced a tiffin carrier filled with rice, pickles and a little chicken. Everything was lowered into the tank where we crouched. We thanked her, passed her some money and feasted before sleeping on top of the dirty linen she had left behind.
At daylight, a young boy appeared and handed us long Indian shirts, baggy trousers and a couple of turbans which we wound tightly over our heads, and he led us from the ghat. A close examination would reveal that we were not Sikhs, but we prayed that from a distance we would pass muster.
Keeping our heads low, we skirted the main part of town until we reached the wealthy residential section of the city. The boy took us down a side alley by a large compound and through the back entrance of a substantial house. Once inside, we were taken to meet its owner.
A tall, solidly built Sinhalese man came to greet us and was very surprised when I introduced myself. ‘Mr Elliott! This is a surprise, we meet under difficult circumstances,’ said Mr Gupta. ‘How is your dear father and how may I help you?’
I told him that I had heard nothing from my father for almost eighteen months and then I told him of our predicament. He listened, and swiftly agreed to help us.
‘I may be able to drive you into the Cameron Highlands, and you can walk into the jungle village from there.’
‘May I enquire as to how you can do that?’ I asked, rather surprised.
‘When the British retreated from here, they destroyed the filtration system of the town’s water supply. This was not only an inconvenience for the town, but dangerous because the water became too hazardous to drink. I persuaded the Japanese that I could mend the system, which not only saved the town’s people from getting ill, but also the Japanese. As a result,