The Other Side of Paradise Read online

  The grounds of our house were still bordered by a dense and dripping jungle foliage of huge banana leaves, palm fronds, creepers and vines, mosses and ferns. Yellow-beaked mynah birds chattered among the trees and monkeys swung in great flying leaps from branch to branch. From the upstairs verandahs we could see the roofs of attap huts in native kampongs, and the orderly lines of rubber trees planted on cleared land. The cicadas provided their incessant background chorus and at night the bullfrogs croaked loudly in the mangrove swamps.

  Our garden bore little resemblance to an English one, except for the lawns of neatly scythed grass – not the fine grass of England but a coarse, bright-green kind called lallang that could withstand the climate and the sun-baked soil. There were mango trees, flame trees, papaya trees, butterfruit trees, cinnamon trees, rambutans and bananas, the yellow-flowered cassia, the big jacaranda, the monkey-cup with red flowers shaped like little cups, the feathery casuarina trees that whispered in the wind, the tall tembusu with creamy-white flowers that smelled wonderful after rain, as well as the sweet-scented frangipanis that grew all over Singapore. I remember, too, the yellow and red canna flowers, the golden jackfruit, the tall clumps of feathery bamboo, ripe black figs hanging from vines, a hedge of bright-pink hibiscus, purple bougainvillea scrambling over trellises, the smell of the curry leaf and of the lemon grass that Nana used for an infusion to relieve my mother’s frequent migraines.

  We had a grass tennis court, and a pond full of goldfish, and we kept a big aviary with canaries and budgerigars, merboks and sharmas singing their hearts out. More singing birds – canaries and budgerigars – were housed in cages hanging from the eaves of the upstairs verandahs and white fantailed doves lived in a dovecote and fluttered down every morning and evening to be fed, sitting on my shoulder and cooing in my ear. Geckos and little transparent lizards, called chee chows, skittered up and down walls and across ceilings. It was said that if you could grab a chee chow by its tail, the tail would drop off, but I never managed to catch one: they were too quick. I had a succession of all the usual English pets: white mice, guinea pigs, tortoises, rabbits, puppies and kittens and, for my tenth birthday, a pony. As the pets died off they were buried with ceremony in a shady corner under the frangipani trees, each grave dug by one of the kebuns and carefully marked by me with a bamboo cross.

  I was horribly spoiled, of course. Waited on by gentle servants, cared for devotedly by Nana – bathed, dressed, fed, taken for walks by her and to paddle at the beach holding her hand. I went to children’s birthday parties arrayed in fancy dress or in frilly organdie frocks that she had made specially for me. I was given expensive toys: a big doll’s house, a coach-built doll’s pram, a swing and a see-saw in the garden, a Wendy house, a shiny red tricycle, a Dunlop tennis racquet, a three-speed bicycle that made a satisfying click-click-click sound when I pushed it along … everything I asked for.

  And I was lucky in another way. The hot Singapore climate was thought unsuitable for an English girl’s development and, like the boys, many girls were packed off to boarding school in England. Passenger air travel was in its infancy and the sea voyage took at least four weeks, which meant being away for several years. Various English schools were discussed for me and the London grandparents had agreed to have me for the holidays, but, in the end, and to my huge relief, I was allowed to stay in Singapore and went daily to the convent school of St Nicholas on Victoria Street. I was never sure why I had been spared the fate of going to an English boarding school. Perhaps it was because my education wasn’t considered as important as a boy’s, or because I was an only child. I suspect, though, that my father was afraid that if my mother accompanied me on the long voyage to England she would make it an excuse to stay there.

  The convent’s religious motto, in French, and written large across a wall above a painting of Christ, translated roughly as Walk in My Presence and be Perfect. I was far from perfect but my life was – especially in the holidays. A never-ending round of picnics at the pure-white sand beaches along the east coast of Malaya, the fun of swimming at night in phosphorescent seas, weekends up in the Cameron Highlands – at a hill station near Ipoh – playing tennis and swimming at the Tanglin Club or in the bigger pool at the Singapore Swimming Club, watching matches from the Cricket Club pavilion, sailing at the Yacht Club, horse riding – the fat pony replaced by a pretty dappled grey mare who was sold when I eventually tired of horses at around sixteen.

  When the war broke out in Europe, ten thousand miles away, Singapore went on dancing. There were no shortages, no rationing, no blackouts or restrictions such as people were suffering in England and which were all very hard to imagine in the warmth and plenty of Malaya. The demand for Malayan rubber and tin increased, shiploads left from Keppel Harbour for Europe and America and the economy boomed. The good life was even better in the duty-free port where whisky and gin and cigarettes were cheap. The Germans might be invading other countries, which was appalling, of course, but there was no reason whatever for us to fear the same fate. We were living in an island fortress under the protection of the British flag. The RAF and the Royal Australian Air Force warplanes flew constantly over our heads, we could hear the big boom of the Royal Navy’s fifteen-inch guns at firing practice, and the naval base on the north-east shore of the island was said to be the finest and best equipped in the world. British soldiers from famous regiments strode about the city streets, as did Australian and New Zealand servicemen. And so did tall, bearded Sikh soldiers, tough little Gurkhas and the Malays of the Malay Regiment. At the theatre and cinema or dancing after dinner at Raffles, three-quarters of the men were in uniform, the dance halls packed with them. The fortress was impregnable; the island a garrison.

  I left the convent after taking School Certificate and loafed around for a while, doing nothing but enjoy myself. The European war had been going on for two years by the time I eventually started a secretarial course in the mornings at Pitman’s College in River Valley Road – more because I was getting rather bored than with any serious intention of working as a secretary, or as anything else for that matter. The course would fill in the time conveniently until I got married. I received my first grown-up invitation to a ball at Government House where I wore my first long evening gown – white satin with a bodice decorated with pink silk roses, a single row of pearls round my neck and elbow-length white kid gloves. The Governor and his Lady descended the grand staircase to greet their guests with all the majesty of the King and Queen whom they represented. Other formal invitations soon followed – cocktail parties, dinners, dances in the Officers’ Mess at Changi, at the Royal Air Force bases and at the Royal Navy base. In between, I spent a great deal of time studying my reflection in the triple looking glass on my dressing table, experimenting with new hairstyles, new makeup, different-coloured lipsticks and nail polish, different perfumes, and I spent hours shopping in the stores, signing for whatever took my fancy. As a child, my frocks had been hand-sewn by my beloved Nana – pretty shantung or lawn dresses with bands of intricate embroidery and smocking across the bodice. When she had left they had been bought from Robinsons or John Littles, but now the Indian dersey who made clothes for my mother came to the house bearing bundles of fashion magazines and swatches of material, and I was acquiring a whole new and grown-up wardrobe.

  There was no shortage of unattached young European men in Singapore. They worked in the Colonial service, or in the banks, or for the big commercial companies, and there was a constant supply of young army, navy and air force officers. The men easily outnumbered the girls and stood around like male wallflowers at dances. Even the plainest girl danced every dance. We bright young things led a gilded life. We swept through the tennis club, tangoed at Raffles, frolicked on the beaches, clapped our hands for servants to do our bidding.

  I barely listened to the occasional chatter about the Japanese. We knew that they had been at war with the Chinese, had taken over Indo-China in July that year, 1941, and were generally throwing their wei
ght about a bit in the Far East, but it was unthinkable that they would ever dare to take on the mighty British Empire. They were comical little yellow men in wire spectacles with slitty eyes, bandy legs and tombstone grins – vastly inferior to white Europeans. There were quite a number of them living in Singapore – photographers, dentists, masseurs, hairdressers, dressmakers, small shopkeepers selling cheap and shoddy goods. A lot of people couldn’t tell them apart from the Chinese; nobody believed them to be any sort of threat. It was said that they couldn’t see to shoot straight, that they didn’t know how to sail ships and that they were no good at flying aircraft, especially not in the dark.

  And so the leisured life and the giddy social round went on. The cocktails and the dinners and the dances. The swimming and the sailing and the picnics and the moonlight beach parties. The curry tiffins, the morning coffees, the ladies’ luncheons, the afternoon teas, the theatre visits, the shopping, the bridge, the mah-jong, the tennis, the squash, the billiards, the rounds of golf, the gentlemanly cricket matches, the unhurried games of bowls, the rugger, the hockey, the polo. An idyllic life with servants and sunshine. A paradise. We were like passengers on the Titanic – in First Class, of course – having a perfectly lovely time and blissfully unaware of the iceberg lying in wait.

  I can see myself now, just the way I was then. Eighteen years old. Spoiled, lazy, self-centred and vain.

  I am lying by the swimming pool at the Tanglin Club on a hot Sunday afternoon in late October 1941, the Year of the Snake. Eyes shut, thinking of nothing in particular, and without a care in the world.

  Part One

  BEFORE THE FALL

  One

  ‘I SAY, IT’S Susan, isn’t it? Susan Roper?’

  She opened her eyes slowly, shielding them with her hand. Some chap was standing there in swimming trunks with a towel draped round his neck; she couldn’t see him properly against the glare of the sun.

  He said, ‘I’m Roger Clark. We met at the Chambers’ party a couple of weeks ago. I don’t expect you remember me, though.’

  She sat up to get a better look at him. He did seem vaguely familiar. A nice face with an eager, hopeful sort of expression, like a dog waiting for you to throw its ball. At any moment he might wag his tail.

  ‘Of course, I was in uniform,’ he went on. ‘We look a bit different out of it.’

  That was very true. Uniform – especially the Royal Navy’s – improved most men. It made even the duds look good.

  He squatted down on his haunches beside her. ‘I must say this is a jolly nice club. Very decent of them to let us army chaps in here. Do you come here often?’

  Now that she’d mentally dressed him in uniform she did remember meeting him at the Chambers’ cocktail do. Mrs Chambers had brought him over and introduced him but then some other chap she knew had come up, and then somebody else, and after a bit she’d moved on. The trick at that sort of party was to avoid getting stuck in a corner with anybody boring. To keep circulating.

  ‘Quite often,’ she said. ‘It’s very popular at the weekends.’

  He glanced over his shoulder at the pool and the swimmers splashing merrily about. ‘I can see that. And they have dances here, don’t they? With a band. There was a notice on the board.’

  ‘Every Saturday.’

  ‘That sounds wizard. Our regiment only got here last month so we’re still finding our way around. Learning the ropes, so to speak. Singapore’s an amazing place, isn’t it? Terribly exotic. I’ve spent most of my life in Esher … not counting school, of course, and the army.’

  ‘Esher?’

  ‘In Surrey. The parents live there. Very quiet. Nothing like Singapore. Actually, this is my first time abroad. I missed the whole show in Belgium and France. Just as well, really. I’d probably be a POW now, or dead.’

  He smiled, as though it was all rather a joke. She felt a bit sorry for him; he was a long way from home and Esher. His face was pink from the sun and the white skin on his body was turning red like part-cooked meat. If he wasn’t careful, he’d burn.

  ‘And you’ve come all the way out from England to help protect us from the Japs? How frightfully brave!’

  He went even pinker. ‘Actually, it doesn’t seem as though you need much help. The island’s absolutely stiff with troops. Safe as houses. The Japs would never get anywhere near here.’ He wiped the back of his hand across his damp brow. ‘I say, it’s most awfully hot, isn’t it?’

  ‘Why don’t you go in for a swim?’

  ‘Jolly good idea. I think I’ll do that. Cool off a bit.’ He looked at her hopefully. ‘Any chance of you coming in as well?’

  ‘Not just now. I’m going home in a minute.’

  ‘Oh … what a shame. Another time, then?’

  She said kindly, ‘We’re bound to run into each other. Go and have your swim.’ If she’d had a ball, she’d have thrown it in the water for him to go fetch.

  She watched him run and dive into the deep end. Rather a good dive – he’d probably been in the school team – and he was rather sweet, but he could become a bit of a nuisance. It was amusing to have so many of them fighting over you, but it could get quite boring at times. Some were really hard to shake off and she’d had three marriage proposals in the last two weeks. She watched him swimming the length of the pool – a fast crawl that she knew, like the dive, was being done for her benefit. Men always showed off, even the sweet ones. They couldn’t help it. As he reached the shallow end and flip-turned to come back, she gathered up her things and made her way to the changing rooms. When she was dressed, she stopped by the card room. Her father was still playing bridge and it looked like it was going to be ages before he was ready to leave. At the front entrance, the Indian jaga who knew every member’s car and number plate sent a boy off on his bike to fetch Ghani. The syce brought the Buick round to the club steps.

  ‘Tuan not come, missee?’

  She answered in Malay. ‘Not yet. You can take me home and come back for him.’

  On the way she told him to stop the car.

  ‘I’ll drive now, Ghani. I need to practise.’

  He slowed the car reluctantly. ‘The tuan not pleased if he knows. The tuan very cross with me.’

  ‘He won’t know, I promise.’

  She got out of the back and took over the wheel. The syce sat beside her on the bench seat, his brown moon-face creased with anxiety. At sixteen she’d bullied him into teaching her to drive and practising whenever there was the chance – another secret, like the Cantonese lessons from Nana. She’d been asking for a car of her own for months – something fun to whizz about in, not a great heavy thing like the Buick – but for once her father had refused her.

  She drove around the back roads for a bit, taking some of the corners quite fast.

  ‘Missee go too fast. Not safe.’

  ‘Nonsense, Ghani. I’m only doing forty miles an hour.’

  She put her foot down still further and the needle crept round to forty-five, forty-six, forty-seven, forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty.

  Ghani clutched at the velvet songkok on his head. ‘Slower, please, missee. Very dangerous. Berenti! Berenti!’

  She took pity on him and braked to a stop. ‘You can drive now, Ghani. If you like.’

  She climbed into the back again and the syce drove on sedately, his neck stiff with disapproval. They turned down Cavenagh Road and into the driveway of the house and, as the Buick drew up under the front porch, the Indian houseboy, Soojal, came out on to the steps.

  He opened the car door smiling, his white teeth showing glints of gold. ‘Missee good swim?’

  ‘Yes, thanks, Soojal. Is the mem at home?’

  ‘Up in bedroom. Very bad headache. Li-Ann look after her. You want to feed the doves? I fetch food for them.’

  She couldn’t be bothered; it was too hot. ‘You do it, will you, Soojal. I’m going to lie down.’

  Rex, the latest in a long line of Sealyhams, appeared and she patted the dog’s head and then rubbe
d the tummy of the smiling glass Buddha as she passed by the table at the foot of the stairs. On the upper verandah she met Li-Ann creeping out of her mother’s room, a finger to her lips.

  ‘Mem very bad head, missee. Not to disturb.’

  ‘I wasn’t going to.’

  She walked along the verandah to her own room, pulled off her frock and dropped it on the floor for one of the amahs to take away and wash. Nana had always cleared up after her: picked up her clothes and her toys, made her bed, tidied her room, looked after everything. At night Nana had slept on a truckle bed on the verandah outside the room, ready to fetch drinks of water, to rearrange pillows, to bring comfort after bad dreams. Always been there.

  The shutters were closed, the room dim and cool, the fan humming overhead sent little draughts of air across her bare skin as she lay on the bed. She could hear the flutter-flutter of the doves flying down from the dovecote and the lovely cooing sound they made. Soojal would be throwing food for them and they would be pecking about his sandalled feet. When she fed them, she sat on the verandah steps and sometimes they sat on her shoulders and cooed sweetly in her ear.

  Her mother had been having migraines for years. Whenever they came on, she would go to lie down in her room – sometimes for several days. In fact, she spent a great deal of time there, with or without a migraine. She always had breakfast in bed on a tray instead of coming downstairs to the east verandah, and she stayed there until mid-morning when she discussed the menus with Cookie in the dining room. After lunch there was a siesta during the hottest part of the day, and then tea served on the lawn in the shade of the jacaranda. When that was finished it was soon time to dress for dinner. Her father, who got up very early and stayed up very late, slept in another room. There had been rows – bad ones. Susan had eavesdropped and heard her mother threatening many times to go back to England. When the war had begun in Europe there had been even bigger rows about returning to be with the London grandparents, but the German U-boats had started to sink liners and the Luftwaffe to bomb England and it had been thought too dangerous to travel.