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 will get you some hot water if you want a warm bath.’
The bungalow had three bedrooms, and like the main bungalow, there was a sleep-out with several bamboo stretcher beds, their feet in saucers of kerosene.
‘Keeps the ants and bugs off,’ explained Roland. ‘Sometimes people stop over when travelling round the district. Dr Hamilton, the DO and his wife, if she’s with him, stay at the big house of course.’
Their bedroom was furnished simply, but there was a big mosquito net over a solid carved Chinese bed. A standing mirror, a dressing table with a small vase of fresh flowers, an armoire and an ornate chest at the foot of the bed made up the rest of the furniture. The windows had shutters without curtains, the floorboards were bare but painted cream and there was a small, attractive Indian rug.
The lounge room and dining room were combined, making one big space with lots of chairs and a long table. It was not the cosiness that Margaret was used to and compared with the ornaments, knick-knacks, decorative items and personal touches jammed into Winifred’s house, this looked very spacious and uncluttered.
‘It’s a nice big space, and cool,’ said Margaret.
‘Oh, I’m sure you’ll give this place the homey touch,’ said Roland. Then he added seriously, ‘But some things will have to wait. I’m sure we can manage quite well for the time being, don’t you? If you need anything for entertaining just borrow it from the big house. Come and meet Ah Kit, our houseboy. He’ll run everything, but keep an eye on the other servants and make sure they don’t rob us too much.’ He lowered his voice. ‘And don’t be too cosy with them. Pleasant but firm. You understand how it is.’
‘Er, yes. I suppose so,’ said Margaret.
Ah Kit was Chinese, younger than Eugene’s houseboy, possibly the same age as Roland, with bright, inquisitive dark eyes and a quick smile. He wore what was obviously the local uniform of white tunic and
‘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 will get you some hot water if you want a warm bath.’
The bungalow had three bedrooms, and like the main bungalow, there was a sleep-out with several bamboo stretcher beds, their feet in saucers of kerosene.
‘Keeps the ants and bugs off,’ explained Roland. ‘Sometimes people stop over when travelling round the district. Dr Hamilton, the DO and his wife, if she’s with him, stay at the big house of course.’
Their bedroom was furnished simply, but there was a big mosquito net over a solid carved Chinese bed. A standing mirror, a dressing table with a small vase of fresh flowers, an armoire and an ornate chest at the foot of the bed made up the rest of the furniture. The windows had shutters without curtains, the floorboards were bare but painted cream and there was a small, attractive Indian rug.
The lounge room and dining room were combined, making one big space with lots of chairs and a long table. It was not the cosiness that Margaret was used to and compared with the ornaments, knick-knacks, decorative items and personal touches jammed into Winifred’s house, this looked very spacious and uncluttered.
‘It’s a nice big space, and cool,’ said Margaret.
‘Oh, I’m sure you’ll give this place the homey touch,’ said Roland. Then he added seriously, ‘But some things will have to wait. I’m sure we can manage quite well for the time being, don’t you? If you need anything for entertaining just borrow it from the big house. Come and meet Ah Kit, our houseboy. He’ll run everything, but keep an eye on the other servants and make sure they don’t rob us too much.’ He lowered his voice. ‘And don’t be too cosy with them. Pleasant but firm. You understand how it is.’
‘Er, yes. I suppose so,’ said Margaret.
Ah Kit was Chinese, younger than Eugene’s houseboy, possibly the same age as Roland, with bright, inquisitive dark eyes and a quick smile. He wore what was obviously the local uniform of white tunic and
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