Open Writing

One of the funniest things that happened to me didn't at the time seem the least bit amusing. In fact it felt like the most embarrassing moment of my life. It was long ago and far away when we lived in Kuala Lumpur in Malaysia.

Hugh worked at Malay Command Headquarters, and we lived in a large ground-floor flat in the married quarters nearby. We had a kindly amah, a Madrassi called Umtata, to help me in the house, so I was able to spend more time with my two young children. I felt I was the luckiest person in the world. I adored everything about my life in the Far East.

To wake every morning to bright sunshine and the exciting prospect of another day of discovery and delight in the fascinating sights, sounds and smells, all new and unfamiliar to me, made life light and buoyant. The women in their colourful clothes who passed me in the streets were as unconsciously and artlessly beautiful as a cloud of butterflies. Even the names of their clothing held magic - saris, sarongs, cheongsams, samfus and kebayas. I felt privileged to share the same world as these charming, friendly people.

New sounds assailed me - the Muzzien calling the faithful to prayers, the Cicada's bell-like buzzing. The ceaseless drumming of rain when the monsoon came. In the house the soft chick-chack of the house lizards and rhythmic tock-tock of the ceiling fans didn't encroach. They were all part of the way we lived then. When we walked with the children through the rubber plantation at the back of the flat where the Tamil women collected the latex, they smiled shyly and touched my children's white-blonde hair as if bestowing a blessing.

Among the smells that captivated was the rich, sensual scent of the frangipani blossoms that grew outside my windows, and the comforting smell of spices from the go-downs on the banks of the Klang River on the way to Chinatown. Pervading over all was the sweet and slightly rotten smell of the jungle waiting outside the city that was now part of my life.

One day Hugh came home with the news that the American Navy was arriving in Port Swettenham on an official visit, in the shape of 'The Mighty Mo'. This was the nickname given to the Aircraft Carrier USS Missouri, the largest ship in the Far East Carrier battle force and the pride of the US Navy. So vast was her landing deck that the crew used motor scooters to traverse its length and breadth. She was manned by 72 officers and over 1500 enlisted men.

The Port Swettenham Country Club was to become open house in honour of the American visitors, and the Mess also invited a number of sailors over to the barracks for the evening as a goodwill gesture. It was a memorable evening with plenty of good food and drink. The American sailors were wonderful company and everyone enjoyed themselves.

We were about to go home when someone asked Hugh if we could take a couple of sailors back to the ship, as they had missed their coach. Then we acquired a further two passengers, Bill Hough and Liesel, his young and very pregnant German wife. She spoke a smattering of English and smiled a lot. She was very pretty, and after the events of that night we became good friends.

We had just set off when someone suggested we round off the evening at the Embassy Club; we arrived at our table as the cabaret began. This consisted of a nubile blonde bombshell called Gloria the Cha-Cha Girl. Having performed her routine a couple of times and feeling the audience was losing interest fast, she called for someone to partner her.

As the Embassy crowd seemed to consist of middle-aged planters and their wives and some hard-nosed military types intent on an evening's steady drinking, she didn't have any offers. So she turned, in desperation, to our table. I think we must have been the only people in the place under thirty. Hugh, game for a lark and always willing to help a lady in distress, rose to the challenge. Everyone seemed to enjoy it because in those days he could cavort with the best of them.

It was late when we finally made it to the car. I don't remember the sailors' names, but by this time they were almost asleep on their feet. Our old Rover bounced merrily over the many pot-holes on the dark, deserted road to Port Swettenham. We passed the occasional Kampong of attap huts, but mainly it was rubber-plantations and jungle. Even today a large percentage of the Malaysian peninsula consists of tropical jungle.

Nearing Swettenham, we passed a large building decorated with flags and coloured lights. Bill said he thought it was the Country Club. Finally we arrived at the docks in Port Swettenham and saw our two friends safely aboard their ship. Then we turned and headed for home. Passing the Country Club again we decided to go in for a drink.

A Chinese waiter standing in the entrance greeted us with a smile, and took our orders. Inside it was really impressive. Liesel's blue eyes widened: "Schon - sehr schon" she breathed. I agreed; it looked so inviting. The shining teak floors had patterned Persian rugs on them, and I noticed some charming flower arrangements placed at strategic points around the room. The rest of the furniture was teak, in the old colonial style, and there was a small elegant bar.

"So this is where the other half disport themselves," said Hugh.

Bill grinned, "I could get used to this."

I thought it was one of the most attractive rooms I'd ever seen.

We sat down at one of the low tables with our drinks, and the waiter brought us a plate of cheese and biscuits and some delicious curry puffs. We had been there for about fifteen minutes when Hugh said he would find a telephone and call the amah to let her know we would soon be home. There were a few visitors there. At the other end of the room a group of people were gathered, chatting amongst themselves. No sailors though, they were long gone, fast asleep aboard the Mighty Mo. Bill picked up a small radio and started fiddling with the dials while I tried to make conversation with Liesel in my less than perfect German.

Suddenly a large red-faced man in a white suit broke away from the group and came down the long length of the room towards us. He walked over to Bill, snatched the radio from him and said, "Drink up and get your party out of here!"

'This is typical,' I thought, 'of the snobbish attitude some of the English expats abroad adopt. No wonder Britain is losing it, as far as the Colonies are concerned, and trust Bill to put his foot in it.'

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Hugh returning through the door. I made a move towards him, but Bill got there before me. I turned and touched the tall man on his arm, and he looked at me, nodded and gave me a stiff little smile.

"What's the matter? I'm sorry Bill was using your radio, but he wouldn't have damaged it. He is a radio operator and knows all about them. I thought you were very rude to him."

He gave me an exasperated look before saying: "My dear girl are you aware that you are in a private house - my house?"

"Oh, we thought this was the Port Swettenham Country Club." This couldn't really be happening, could it? Then like a fool I burst into tears.

At which point he patted my arm in a fatherly manner and said, "Apples, my dear, apples." And to this day I still don't know what that remark meant. At that moment Hugh came over saying, "Stop harassing my wife!"

Somehow or other I got him and the others outside. Hugh, not listening to a word I was saying, fumed all the way to the car. As I opened the door, the man in the white suit came over and asked me my husband's name. I turned my head and pretended not to hear him, got into the car with the others and we raced off.

I felt so embarrassed. Bill and Hugh had both had a couple of drinks, but not enough to cause chaos. It had looked just like I imagined a Country Club to be. How could we have been so idiotic? Country Clubs probably look and smell like country pubs - all stale booze and cigarette smoke. Not elegant furnishings and Thai temple rubbings on the walls - that was certain. If Bill had been paying more attention to Liesel, instead of fiddling around with another person's radio, that man wouldn't have been so furious. Then I realised Hugh was saying something to me.

"What did that man say to you that upset you so much?"

I told him. He stopped the car and said, "Well that's another fine mess you've got me into Stanley."

Then we all roared with laughter except Liesel, who looked puzzled and said, "Funny, ja?"

We got out of the car and danced about like a lot of monkeys in the middle of the road to Kuala Lumpur. Hugh and I did our version of the Tango, and Bill put his arms around Liesel, which took a bit of doing, and told her he loved her. I thought maybe I'd been too judgmental and realised he wasn't as bad as I'd thought.

Suddenly, there was the startling sound of a child crying in the night, and we realised that we were standing a few feet away from a kampong. This was during the Emergency, when stopping on an unlit stretch of road at midnight could be very dangerous. The time when Chin Peng and his armed insurgents terrorised Malaysian jungle villages, and the reason why the British Army was stationed in Malaysia. We weren't armed.

Suddenly subdued, we clambered back aboard and headed quickly for home and bed.

Over the next few days I did a bit of detective work and discovered the large house we had gate-crashed belonged to a Captain Carruthers, the Harbourmaster at Port Swettenham. I thought he deserved an explanation, at least, so I sat down and wrote a contrite letter to him, apologising and explaining how and why we came to be in his home on that fatal night, hoping he would find it in his heart to forgive us.

About a week later I was amazed to receive a good-humoured letter from him, offering us a conducted tour of the harbour. We accepted and had an exciting afternoon looking at all the ships in the harbour, from enormous oil tankers and passenger liners down to the smallest sampans. The children loved it.

Later we went for tea on the verandah of his house, this time as genuine visitors. Captain Carruthers was a funny and entertaining man. He told us that his wife and children lived in England. I thought this must make life lonely for him. That is until I became aware of the attractive Chinese girl, hovering discreetly in the background. Perhaps, like many another naval man, Captain Carruthers believed in having a girl in every port - who knows! In my eyes Captain Carruthers could do no wrong, for he had transformed a disaster into a delightful adventure.

Unfortunately Liesel and Bill couldn't make the trip round the harbour, due to the arrival that morning of Carl William Hough. I've often wondered what happened to them, and if they have ever thought of that night, long ago, when we were all so young and foolish.