The Hills of Singapore Read online

  A LANDSCAPE OF LOSS, LONGING AND LOVE

  { THE STRAITS QUARTET VOL.3 }

  DAWN FARNHAM

  Contents

  Glossary

  Prologue

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  44

  45

  46

  47

  48

  49

  50

  51

  52

  53

  54

  About the Author

  The Red Thread

  The Shallow Seas

  Glossary

  Ang mo: A racial epithet that originates from Hokkien (Min Nan) and is used to refer to white people in Malaysia and Singapore. Literally meaning “red-haired”, the term implies that the person referred to is a devil, a concept explicitly used in the Cantonese term gweilo (foreign devil).

  Babu: A Javanese nursemaid.

  Baju: A short, loose jacket worn in Malaysia.

  Belanda: A Malay term meaning Hollander or Dutchman.

  Bugis: The people of southern Sulawesi. They are still outstanding shipbuilders, sailors and navigators who have traded legitimately in the region for thousands of years. When the colonial powers displaced traditional trading relations of the region, the Bugis turned to piracy and slave trading.

  Chunam: A fine stucco based on very pure or shell-lime, used for the highest quality finishes, often to external walls and roofs.

  Kamcheng pot: A large covered porcelain pot usually decorated colourfully in pink and turquoise with phoenixes, peonies and other symbols of riches, honour and happy marriage. Such a pot would be presented to the bride at her wedding feast filled with glutinous rice balls and sweet syrup and be an honoured and treasured object to be passed down to future generations.

  Kongsi: or “clan halls”, are benevolent organisations of popular origin found among overseas Chinese communities. The system of kongsi was utilised by Chinese throughout the diaspora to overcome economic difficulty, social ostracism, and oppression. The word kongsi is used in modern Chinese to mean a commercial company.

  Kris: The kris or keris is a distinctive, asymmetrical dagger indigenous to Indonesia, Malaysia, Brunei, Southern Thailand and the southern Philippines. Both a weapon and spiritual object, the kris is often considered to have an essence or presence, with some blades possessing good luck and others possessing bad.

  Munshi: A degree in South Asia, that is given after passing a certain course of basic reading, writing and maths. The word munshi also became the name of a profession after munshies were hired as clerks in the government in British India.

  Nyai: A native woman, consort, or concubine of a European man in the Dutch East Indies. The status and the fate of the nyai varied widely, depending entirely on the actions of the man. After Christian baptism, she could become his wife or he could legitimise her and her children as a secondary “wife”. Once legitimised and recognised in law, she was entitled to upkeep by the man and to inherit part of the man’s estate. In theory, and often in fact, a legitimised native nyai could quickly pass from being a slave to being a wealthy widow of a Dutch official or merchant. On the other hand, many nyai could simply be abandoned and, up to 1782, if they were still slaves at the death of the man, both the nyai and her offspring could be separated and sold to other owners. After 1782, this practice was prohibited.

  Orang laut: The Malay term orang laut means sea people. Historically the orang laut were principally pirates.

  Peranakan: Descendents of intermarriage between early Chinese male settlers in the Straits Settlements (Penang, Malacca and Singapore) and local Malay women. This Chinese sub-ethnic group adopted some cultural traits from the Malay community, as seen in their cuisine, dress and language, but also adopted many European customs thus elevating their social standing in relation to the singkeh or China-born immigrants. Also known as Straits Chinese. The men are known as Baba, the women as Nonya (or Nyonya).

  Prahu: Literally, the Malay word meaning boat. There are many types of prahu throughout the islands of the archipelago.

  Punkah: A large cloth fan on a frame suspended from the ceiling, moved backwards and forwards by pulling on a cord.

  Qi: Also commonly spelled ch’i, this is a fundamental concept of traditional Chinese culture. Qi is believed to be part of every living thing that exists, as a kind of “life force” or “spiritual energy”. It is frequently translated as “energy flow”, or literally as “air” or “breath”.

  Sampan: A relatively flat-bottomed Chinese wooden boat. In Cantonese the term literally means “three planks”.

  Sireh: Malay word for betel. The leaves of the betel tree are used as a wrapping for the slices of the areca nut, lime paste and other ingredients and chewed as a stimulant.

  Tao: Chinese character often translated as “way” or “path”. It is based on the understanding that the only constant in the universe is change.

  Tongkang: Bumboats, lighters or sea-going barges used in the Malay Archipelago for transporting goods from ship to shore and vice versa. Towkay: A Chinese merchant.

  Wei qi: Classical board game known in the West by its Japanese name, Go, and believed to have originated at least 5,000 years ago. Some say that the board, with ten points out from the centre in all directions, may have originally served as a forerunner to the abacus. Others think it may have been a fortune-telling device, with black and white stones representing Yin and Yang. By the time of Confucius, wei qi had already become one of the “Four Accomplishments” (along with brush painting, poetry and music) that must be mastered by the Chinese gentleman.

  Prologue

  A sailing ship has a restless heart, never still, never silent.

  At sea it is a dashing, driving symphony of roaring sail, clangorous iron and groaning timber. In port it is a soft concerto of chimes, rattles and creaks. From the flags of its main topgallant mast to the lowest regions of the bilge, it pulsates with sound. It brims with the music of its natural home: the consonant and thrilling harmonies of water and wind, the haunting cries of sea birds, the sublime anthems of the cobalt sea and the serenades of star-soft coves.

  And the stirring, sinister and poignant plangency of men and their deeds.

  Charlotte stood listening to the voices of the ship. Within the recesses of its wooden heart lay her memories of calm and storm, of freedom and capture, of brutal anger and loving joy. It was the repository of her marriage, filled with spectral shadows and sighs.

  Tasty scampered up to her. When she did not move he gave a quizzical yelp. It roused Charlotte from her reverie, and she looked down at him and smiled.

  James Elliott, Tasty’s owner and captain of the Queen of the South, came forward extending his two hands. Charlotte took them and saw that James and Tasty, with their bushy grey eyebrows, grizzled cheek hair and deep brown eyes, had—seemingly through the mere fact of long acquaintance—come to resemble each other.

  “My condolences, Mr
s Manouk. I am so sorry that we should meet again under such tragic circumstances.”

  Charlotte pressed his hands. “Thank you, James,” she said and moved to the rail.

  Below, mounting from the cutter tucked against the ship’s side, were her two children, Alexander and Adam, with their babus. Two young Javanese sailors slid down the ladder in a display of extravagant muscular virility and helped the women and children onto the deck. Both the babus were young and pretty, and Charlotte reflected briefly that she might have to keep an eye on them during the voyage.

  The children would be settled in their cabin below deck. She left Captain Elliott knowing they would talk more at length when they were at sea. She knew James would want to talk about Tigran, her husband.

  She stopped before the open door of the master’s cabin.

  Three years.

  Three years since Tigran had died in a riding accident and left her mistress of this ship and of everything that his wealth had brought to her: the great estate in Batavia, the tea and coffee plantations and all his fortune spread far and wide in the East Indies.

  Three years since she had set foot aboard this ship. She could see, before the mirror, his black and white scarf. She stepped tentatively into the room.

  Their marriage, she supposed like any marriage, had been happy and, by moments, extremely unhappy. For those unhappy times she blamed herself. Tigran had come to Singapore and taken her to Batavia at the request of his sister, Charlotte’s greatest friend. Though he was older than she by twenty years, it barely showed. He was handsome, strong, brave and clever. But these were qualities she had barely perceived when she married him. For she had wed him not for love but for the solidity and security his age and wealth offered.

  He had known it, but he had married her nonetheless, knowing she was pregnant with another man’s child, knowing she loved another man, knowing she was fleeing a scandalous relationship in Singapore. He had married her simply because he had loved her with all his heart. He had protected her when she was most vulnerable. She had learned, slowly, to love him back.

  And then she had betrayed him with Zhen, the blood father of Alexander. Zhen, the man she seemed unable to shake from her mind and her heart. The man who was Chinese, married and living in Singapore.

  She walked slowly into the cabin and gently touched the scarf.

  She was grateful that through Tigran’s generosity they had truly found joy and trust before he had gone forever. She had not expected to love him that way: a learned love which grew from such a poor seed. She had not expected it to bloom with such beauty.

  She opened the silver and pearl locket which he had given her and gazed on his likeness. Three years of loneliness and loss, wandering the rooms of their life like a wraith.

  She had made herself busy. Not God, not sympathetic utterances, no matter how well meant, could keep her from darkness. Only sensible industry and benevolent endeavour kept the shadows at bay. So she had busied herself, dividing the fortune between his children, learning the legalities and niceties of Dutch justice and the intricacies of liberal economics, putting the plantations in order, ensuring his widowed sisters were cared for—doing what she knew he would have wanted.

  Now it was time to go back. Alexander and Adam required an English education, and this was to be found in Singapore.

  She took up Tigran’s scarf. The last skin it had touched was his, and now she tied it around her neck and looked in the mirror. Whilst she and his children lived, he would not die.

  She went out on deck. The sails were flying up the masts; men were calling and clambering in the rigging. There was always a quivering excitement aboard a ship being made ready for sail, the anticipation of a leap into the unknown, for the sea could be a treacherous companion.

  The babus came up on deck gripping the children, watching, half-terrified, for their feet had never before felt the unsteady movement of the sea, and they too were filled with excitement and trepidation at the strangeness of the ship and the voyage to a far land.

  The men’s voices raised the capstan chant, their sinewy muscles strained in unison and the ship lurched as the chain was pulled slowly aboard and began to inch forward. Orders flew about the ship from the foredeck to the poop. Aye, captain, aye, aye! The sailors were often tongues, but they all understood the language of the sea and its ports, a fertile and ever fluid blend of Malay, Portuguese, Hindustani, Arabic and English. Men moved in perfect harmony from deck to topmast, tying off, locking down, making fast, flying in the rigging with the litheness of dancers.

  The wind suddenly grasped her hair like a hand as the sails began to roar. The flags, fluttering loosely in the breeze, snapped to attention, cracking like gunshot, as the ship, groaning, turned to the north. She moved to the carved rail at the stern and watched as the coastline of Java receded, her hair flying round her face, the check scarf fluttering violently in the wind, waving farewell. She put her hand to her neck and took up the locket. Then she turned and looked towards Singapore.

  1

  The ship was asleep. At least, those who had no night duties were sleeping. She liked this time, the night filled with stars, the moonshine like a silver trail, the soft splash of water swirling and sliding along the hull.

  She looked around the cabin. It was surely the most luxurious accommodation to be found on these southern seas. A large bed with a kapok mattress and sheets of fine Indian cotton and satin stood under the four square ports. It was furnished with teak wood drawers, a table and soft chairs, a writing desk, lamps and books.

  As she gazed at this room, her mind slipped to a time, a short time ago really, she thought, only nine years. How altered she had become, how extraordinary and unexpected the direction of her life.

  When she had been just eighteen, her brother, Robert, had written to her to join him from Scotland, for though his new position as Singapore’s chief of police gave him little remuneration, it came with a large house. Part of his small inheritance had paid her passage.

  Charlotte and Robert loved each other as utterly as a sister and brother could. They had been born on the same day exactly one year apart. She knew he had saved her from marriage to some lecherous old squire and had willingly faced any hardship to be with him. They had grown up on Madagascar with the native children, barefoot and carefree. Her father had been a missionary with the London Missionary Society, her mother a beautiful French Creole.

  The peace of this existence had been shattered by violence against all the whites, against the church and the orphanage, and she and Robert had been placed in the care of a young missionary and sent to live in Scotland with their grandmother and maiden aunt. Neither parent had ever been heard of again. The miseries of those years in Aberdeen had faded, for her Aunt Jeanne and her cousin Duncan had loved them both. She had grown very gradually to accept the strict tutoring under the steely eye of her grandmother, who made no bones of the fact that these half-breeds needed dragging into civilisation. She had not even minded the solitary existence: reading in the library of her long-dead grandfather, walking on the cliffs and sailing in the bay at Aberdeen with Duncan, waiting for Robert to come back from college.

  She lay back on the bed and watched the moonlight roll along the floor with each motion of the ship. The wind blew in the open windows, ruffling her hair. How profoundly different from this, her voyage from England to Singapore.

  She had voyaged on an East Indiaman, the Madras, a mighty thousand-tonne, three-masted, square-rigged, forty-gun merchant ship of the East India Company, which ran everything in the British East, including India and Singapore. The ship was designed and built for goods, not passengers, and the human cargo must squeeze itself in wherever space could be found.

  The agent in London had found her the best place for a single woman travelling alone, at a cost which Charlotte knew took a good portion of Robert’s money. This place was at the rear of the ship, beneath the poop deck, in a large space known as the roundhouse. The space was not round but a rectang
le. No one could tell her why it was called thus. Because you could stand upright and walk round it, one said; because it cost a very round sum, said another. It was divided into cabins made of temporary partitions of canvas battened to the roof and deck, which could be quickly cleared away if the ship became involved in a battle.

  Each cabin had a small window which gave light and fresh air, commodities, Charlotte had been quick to discover, which were beyond price on board a ship which would take upwards of seven months to arrive at its destination. High above the water, the windows, or “ports”, as she was told to call them, seldom needed to be closed, even in rough weather. These cabins, though not spacious, were secluded and convenient. A few steps led from them all to the cuddy. There was no need to go out upon deck, or to go up or downstairs to meals.

  “Thus, my dear, you will avoid many of the inconveniences of shipboard life,” the agent explained solicitously.

  He had seen that her youth and beauty would likely cause some havoc aboard a ship full of men at sea for months at a time. She was, perhaps, somewhat too slim but with skin like ivory, blue-black hair to her waist and long-lashed, violet eyes. He liked women’s hands, his wife had lovely hands, and he saw that Charlotte too had slim fingered, graceful hands, the nails small and oval, perfectly shaped and delicate. He felt, suddenly, as protective of her as of his own daughters. He took out a large handkerchief and wiped his nose.

  “I myself care not for such travel. No, assuredly I do not. I therefore have no personal knowledge of such matters, but may I urge your attention to the words of my friend, Mr Wilkins?” The agent took a paper from his drawer and began to read.

  “The roundhouse rooms may be somewhat noisy from the boom and the sailors working on the poop deck, but the rolling of the vessel is circumvented by the shortness of the distance required to travel from cabin to table, a not inconsiderable advantage. More importantly, you may avoid, as far as may be possible, all the disagreeables attendant upon encountering persons engaged in the duties of a ship. It may seem fastidious to object to meeting sailors employed in getting up different stores from the hold, or to pass and repass other cabins, or the neighbourhood of the steward’s pantry; nevertheless, if ladies have the opportunity of avoiding these things, they will do well to embrace it; for, however trivial they may be in a well-regulated ship, very offensive circumstances may arise from them.”