black pants. He bowed and said, ‘I am very happy to work for you, mem.’
‘Thank you,’ said Margaret.
‘You want tea? Ah Kit learn what mem like, no like.’
‘In a little while, Ah Kit. I’ll show the mem around,’ said Roland. As they walked away, he said to Margaret, ‘You’ll have to instruct him on the way you like things done, he’s very quick to learn.’
‘Does he cook as well?’ asked Margaret.
‘No, Cookie does that. Cookie’s Malay and a Muslim so he won’t touch any pork. Sometimes he has disagreements with the others about cooking utensils, which have been used to cook pork with, and so on. You’ll get the hang of it all. Come on, let’s go for a drive and I’ll show you some of the better divisions.’
Margaret recalled the big distances and the wide open spaces of Queensland but, even so, the size of the sections of the plantation surprised her. Roland drove her past mile after mile of avenues of rubber trees where occasionally he would stop and inspect some of the trees or chat to the working tappers.
‘Don’t get out of the car, you’re not wrapped up,’ advised Roland. ‘The mosquitoes among these trees are vicious.’
Margaret had noticed that the workers wore long sleeves and pants, or saris topped with cotton shirts. They all wore hats with scarves wrapped around their faces as they worked. Many wore cotton gloves and now she knew why.
‘The tapping is done in the early hours of the morning while it’s still cool,’ explained Roland as they drove. ‘The tappers cut into the bark in a spiral on one side and the latex bleeds down into the cup. Once the sun is up the latex congeals and stops flowing so after midday the cups are collected, which is what is happening now. Later, the opposite side of the tree is cut, while the other side heals.’
‘And what happens to the latex?’ asked Margaret.
‘It’s poured into moulds, smoked and dried and then rolled into rubber sheets for export. A lot of our rubber was on that steamship that runs between Port Swettenham and Singapore,’ said Roland.
It was a strange and eerie world that Roland inhabited, thought Margaret as she watched him shrug into his cotton jacket and don a solar topee, which had a kind of veil attached. He wrapped it around his face to protect himself from the mosquitoes. If the mosquitoes are really this bad, thought Margaret, perhaps I’d better take quinine each day as Eugene has suggested so that I don’t get malaria. And she’d better speak to Roland about getting some kind of screen for their bedroom windows as a mosquito had been trapped in the netting the previous night.
Two or three days later she again went out with Roland. She watched him walk the length of one row of rubber trees, disappearing into the shadowy green light. He seemed to enjoy the conformity, the neat exactness of the rows of trees and Margaret wondered if he’d played with tin soldiers as a boy, lining them up in serried ranks.
‘Sorry, dear, hope you’re not bored coming out here again. But if I don’t check, the workers get sloppy with their cuts and either they don’t cut deep enough to get the latex, or they go too deeply and kill the tree. I’ll take you down to the river now. You’ll like that,’ said Roland, flinging his hat on to the seat of the Bedford truck.
‘Have you ever got lost?’ asked Margaret. ‘Everything looks the same.’
He stared at her in surprise then laughed. ‘Gosh, no. I know every tree. I’ve been around this estate ever since I could walk!’
Margaret was pleasantly surprised when they came to the river. They drove past the smoke house where the latex was made, a workshop and a small factory, which was really just a shed shaded by an attap with open sides where the latex was rolled out and stacked ready to be sent downriver. They came to a solid wharf that looked as though it had been built many years before. The riverbank had been cleared except for a few shady trees, and
‘Thank you,’ said Margaret.
‘You want tea? Ah Kit learn what mem like, no like.’
‘In a little while, Ah Kit. I’ll show the mem around,’ said Roland. As they walked away, he said to Margaret, ‘You’ll have to instruct him on the way you like things done, he’s very quick to learn.’
‘Does he cook as well?’ asked Margaret.
‘No, Cookie does that. Cookie’s Malay and a Muslim so he won’t touch any pork. Sometimes he has disagreements with the others about cooking utensils, which have been used to cook pork with, and so on. You’ll get the hang of it all. Come on, let’s go for a drive and I’ll show you some of the better divisions.’
Margaret recalled the big distances and the wide open spaces of Queensland but, even so, the size of the sections of the plantation surprised her. Roland drove her past mile after mile of avenues of rubber trees where occasionally he would stop and inspect some of the trees or chat to the working tappers.
‘Don’t get out of the car, you’re not wrapped up,’ advised Roland. ‘The mosquitoes among these trees are vicious.’
Margaret had noticed that the workers wore long sleeves and pants, or saris topped with cotton shirts. They all wore hats with scarves wrapped around their faces as they worked. Many wore cotton gloves and now she knew why.
‘The tapping is done in the early hours of the morning while it’s still cool,’ explained Roland as they drove. ‘The tappers cut into the bark in a spiral on one side and the latex bleeds down into the cup. Once the sun is up the latex congeals and stops flowing so after midday the cups are collected, which is what is happening now. Later, the opposite side of the tree is cut, while the other side heals.’
‘And what happens to the latex?’ asked Margaret.
‘It’s poured into moulds, smoked and dried and then rolled into rubber sheets for export. A lot of our rubber was on that steamship that runs between Port Swettenham and Singapore,’ said Roland.
It was a strange and eerie world that Roland inhabited, thought Margaret as she watched him shrug into his cotton jacket and don a solar topee, which had a kind of veil attached. He wrapped it around his face to protect himself from the mosquitoes. If the mosquitoes are really this bad, thought Margaret, perhaps I’d better take quinine each day as Eugene has suggested so that I don’t get malaria. And she’d better speak to Roland about getting some kind of screen for their bedroom windows as a mosquito had been trapped in the netting the previous night.
Two or three days later she again went out with Roland. She watched him walk the length of one row of rubber trees, disappearing into the shadowy green light. He seemed to enjoy the conformity, the neat exactness of the rows of trees and Margaret wondered if he’d played with tin soldiers as a boy, lining them up in serried ranks.
‘Sorry, dear, hope you’re not bored coming out here again. But if I don’t check, the workers get sloppy with their cuts and either they don’t cut deep enough to get the latex, or they go too deeply and kill the tree. I’ll take you down to the river now. You’ll like that,’ said Roland, flinging his hat on to the seat of the Bedford truck.
‘Have you ever got lost?’ asked Margaret. ‘Everything looks the same.’
He stared at her in surprise then laughed. ‘Gosh, no. I know every tree. I’ve been around this estate ever since I could walk!’
Margaret was pleasantly surprised when they came to the river. They drove past the smoke house where the latex was made, a workshop and a small factory, which was really just a shed shaded by an attap with open sides where the latex was rolled out and stacked ready to be sent downriver. They came to a solid wharf that looked as though it had been built many years before. The riverbank had been cleared except for a few shady trees, and
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