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.