One Bite Of The Cherry

Chapter 1 – PROLOGUE

I’m in the middle of a nine day tour of Thailand. After forty years I’ve decided to return to a city I once knew as intimately as any farang (foreigner) could. To my fellow passengers it’s all new. Like the masses of tourists who’ve visited before, they love the food, are excited by the markets, look curiously at golden Buddhas in the temples they visit, and are charmed by the graceful ‘Sawadees’ (good mornings) of the hotel staff. This is the country of graceful dancers, golden spires and temples, the Bangkok of the posters and guide books.

Some of my new friends learn that I’ve lived in Thailand before, and know something of the country.

I guess it’s changed a bit since you were here, is the frequent comment as our bus negotiates the sprawling network of streets now completely unrecognizable, where once I’d driven an old Ford Zephyr.

I hesitate to reply. Surely anything I say will be irrelevant, a useless attempt to insert my reality into theirs - one that resembles a stirred ant heap as it rapidly unfolds in traffic of toll ways, flyovers and clogged intersections. I glance briefly at the buildings on every side. Every available piece of land is covered by them. They soar into the sky, like aggressive jungle plants seeking limited sunlight.

No, I think to myself. These people are seeing it differently. They have their own Bangkok to discover, expectations fuelled by the enthusiastic friends and travel agents.

Yes, it has a bit, I remark, losing the struggle to keep quiet.

It would be pointless to evoke memories of a gentler, less crowded time – of the fish-filled klong (canal) running beside our house, with lotus blossoms welcoming the warm morning air already heavy with the scent of frangipani. For a moment I’m there again, standing beside my front door sniffing the fragrance, ready to welcome the white van that collects the children for their early morning school.

Chapter 2 – DROPPED IN THE DEEP END

I first heard about Bangkok in the middle of a Victorian winter. It was 1963, and we were living in the Puckapunyal Army Camp. I was at home, bringing in the washing. ‘Pucka’ as it was known, is a camp in Victoria a few miles from Seymour and even chillier than Melbourne. Thin sheets of ice regularly formed on winter windscreens, and raspberries flourished in our garden.

Later, as it inserts itself once more into the traffic stream, I hold Tim, my youngest son by the hand. We wander around the garden watching Golon, our old Chinese gardener in his shapeless shirt and battered straw hat, watch as he continues his mowing of our vast lawn. His bandy legs are mostly yellowed skin and bone, and it will take him a week to finish it. By then of course the grass will have re-grown, so he’ll start again from the beginning.

As we walk back near the servants’ quarters, I see Nit, our wash girl, swinging an empty cane basket as she crosses the yard. She’s on her regular morning trip upstairs to collect our dirty clothes. Like most Thais she loves children, especially our youngest, and can never resist teasing him.

"Timmy pu-ying," (Timmy a girl) she says to him, pointing in mock derision, at the same time laughing, knowing how much he hates being called a girl.

"Mai pu-ying, (not a girl) he says with a frown, pretending to be angry. Mai pu-ying".

Nit’s not upset either. They both know that anytime he asks, she’ll take him to the soi (lane) beside our house and buy him some small treasure, or perhaps a fried banana from the man on the corner, busily cooking such scrumptious delicacies under his umbrella.

My Bangkok was a strange place of wonder and despair, laughter and sadness. The two years we spent there held some of the happiest and worst days of my life. All things considered, I wouldn’t have missed them for the world.

Cold rain had splintered down for most of the morning, but later the sky cleared. With the promise of a stiff breeze, I’d gambled by hanging out my washing after lunch. Fortunately the wind had whipped up a small gale during the afternoon and dried most of the clothes. As I wrestled with the big double sheets which persisted in smacking my face, I heard the sound of Neil’s voice inside the house. I was late and he’d returned from Melbourne earlier than I’d expected.

The wire door banged as he strolled onto the back porch. Always a tease, he couldn’t resist relating his news in his usual offhand way. He stood there watching me struggle with the sheets.

You could at least lend me a hand, I called, glancing over my shoulder.

Don’t know what you’re going to do with yourself in Bangkok, he said, ignoring my remark and stopping to light a cigarette. All those servants looking after you. I’ll have to be careful, he said, shaking his head. Can’t have you out all day spending my hard-earned cash.

"What on earth are you talking about?" I staggered past him with my full clothes basket.

I knew he’d been to Army Headquarters for the day, and I was used to hearing the latest gossip after a trip to town. Furphies circulated all the time, but this latest comment sounded even weirder than usual. He continued talking as he followed me inside.

I’m talking about Bangkok and the new workshop they’re building there. It’s going to be a pretty impressive affair - big enough to repair anything from a tank to a Rolls Royce.

So they’re building a workshop. Big deal, I said, beginning to sort out the clothes. But how can it possibly concern us?

Well the RAEME (Royal Australian Electrical & Mechanical Engineers) Corp’s involved, and some warrant officers are already there, training army apprentices. Not only that, he added, the Australian commanding officer in charge of the project is Randall White, my old boss. It’s said that he’s looking to appoint a captain under him to help run the workshop when it's all completed and the machinery installed. I ought to be in with a chance.

But you wouldn’t be in the running - would you? It’s a while since you worked for him.

It wasn’t that I thought Neil unsuitable for I was well aware of his talents. However reality told me there were heaps of qualified captains, and as usual, my mind was racing ahead, considering the possibilities.

If you got it, what sort of things would we have to take? I asked, starting to fold the pile of sheets.

Well you won’t have to worry about those, he said, pointing to the sheets and reverting to his earlier mood. In fact we’ll probably use mats on the floor. I’ve heard that’s what the Thais do. Give you a lovely straight back, he added.

Neil..!

Look, if you must know, I’m on a short list of five, he said, seeing my bewilderment turning to impatience. So don’t get your hopes up. This appointment is going to be months away. Anything can happen before then.

After dinner he filled me in about the SEATO (South East Asia Treaty Organisation) project, and as I climbed into bed I realised he was right. The posting was definitely in the ‘might be' category. He was only acting Captain at the time, so those of higher rank would obviously have the advantage. We both saw it as a pipe dream and put it to the back of our minds. I’d known for ages he was too old for Staff College with its usual two year tour of duty in Britain and Western Germany, so there was nothing to get excited about.

As the months passed, I was swamped with family concerns. Living at the army camp was pleasant enough. Most of us had families interstate, so we made friends quickly, and as we all had young children, there was always someone for the boys to play with, plus someone to mind the children if you needed to go to Melbourne for the day. Nothing was very far away. Peter and Ian aged nine and seven respectively, went to the Primary School next door, and Tim, aged three, had begun to attend the local kindergarten. We had an ancient Ford sedan, a beautiful dachshund called ‘Rusty’ and a skinny black and white cat called ‘Mitten’. My parents lived in Adelaide, and as the children were still small enough to sleep across the large rear seat of our car, we planned to drive there at the end of the year and enjoy a family Christmas.

Suddenly it was November 1963, and on one unforgettable night our complacency crumbled as we stared at the television and saw the assassination of President Kennedy. We shared a world-wide sense of grief and disbelief. What was happening to our predictable world? I’d heard that American soldiers were already advisers in Vietnam, and this latest disaster only increased our sense of instability that had begun with the Cuban Missile Crisis.

It’s strange how serious events can be linked in memory to the more insignificant. Apart from my concern with world politics, I remember I was saving madly for a Sunbeam electric frypan, and by some strange irony of Fate, within days of Kennedy’s death - and all those months after Neil first mentioned it - we now learnt he was on a short list of one. The other captains, for one reason or another were no longer available. Despite the competition, it seemed my husband had finally been chosen.

What a day that was! I was so proud of him, and felt extraordinarily lucky that we as a family were to spend two years in Bangkok. We’d be travelling by sea in the following April.

Of course in today’s world such a posting would be exciting, but hardly a reason for anxiety, for hundreds of people travel each year to Thailand. Of course our friends would sigh over the shopping opportunities, not to mention the added benefit of having time to explore the country, but in late 1963 it was a different story. Soon we were rushing for the family atlas. Where was Thailand exactly?

I don’t like the sound of your posting, said my mother in her weekly letter. The American soldiers are fighting in Vietnam. Are you sure you’re going to be safe?

I brushed her worries aside. They’re only advisors, Mum, I wrote. Besides, Vietnam’s a long way away from Thailand, I said, with a confidence born of ignorance.

Inwardly my feelings were a mixture of elation and panic. Who did I know who’d been there? There must be someone around who could help. It was a place I knew nothing about, apart from a recent film where Deborah Kerr waltzed around a palace ballroom with a bald Yul Brunner, surrounded by all the children he’d supposedly fathered.

Neil said he’d ask around. I did the same, and to my delight, discovered that a former lecturer of mine at the Adelaide Teachers’ College had spent time in Bangkok after he’d retired. I wrote to him and was thrilled by his prompt reply. He’d thoroughly enjoyed his stay, he said, and although his comments were brief, he spoke so positively I began to feel more cheerful.

Then by chance Neil learnt that on old army mate of his had been part of the original training contingent in Bangkok. As they’d recently returned to Adelaide after completing their two years, we decided to pick their brains at Christmas time.

***

Our promised get together with May and Joe was fascinating, but after hearing of their experiences, my panic increased instead of the reverse. May also showed me what seemed like a casket of jewellery she’d acquired while there. While Jo and Neil discussed the more basic army matters, she warned me about managing the servants, especially the cook, and stressed how important it was to check her market book each week so I’d see she hadn’t been cheating me.

But - how will I know? Don’t tell me I’m supposed to go with her and write down the prices. Not knowing a word of the language, I could see big problems ahead.

Of course not. Just ask for the book each week and pretend you know all about it. Query an entry or two. As long as you appear to be in control, you’ll be OK.

As if that wasn’t enough for me to digest, she varied the diet by talking of the little lizards that ran up the walls, and of the toads that appeared from nowhere when the rains came.

Anything can happen in Bangkok’s hot climate. Of course you’ll have a gardener as well. But that’ll be Neil’s problem. You won’t have to worry about him.

Hearing Neil’s name mentioned, Joe turned to us and continued. We chose to stay in an apartment to save on the cost of servants, but you’ll be expected to entertain, so you’ll have to have a bigger house.

I thought of the current state of our finances and furnishings - a fibro army house with our second hand wardrobes, the bare floorboards in our living room, plus the unravelling seagrass chairs I’d earlier acquired from my mother. Jewellery I dismissed as a joke. But servants, lizards and toads were another matter. How on earth would we manage?

Perhaps only time would help. Hopefully, by taking things slowly, we’d avoid the more obvious mistakes. Some real tuition on the country’s culture, plus language training would have been marvellous, but in the Australian Army at that time, such a procedure didn’t exist. Throwing people in at the deep end was the norm. You either sank or learnt to swim.

Back in Puckapunyal, my dear friend Dulcie soothed my fears. Three years before, she and husband Don, complete with their five children, had spent two years at Staff College - wonderful years spread between Western Germany and the United Kingdom. I’d often envied her the experience.

Stop worrying, she said. It’s the chance of a lifetime. You’ll be going by sea from Melbourne to Singapore. You’ll spend a week there so Neil can get his summer uniforms, and then you’ll be flying on to Bangkok. How I wish I were coming with you.

So do I, I muttered certain of her friendship, and realising then how much I was going to miss her. Dulcie had a wonderful way of making the worst problems sound like fun.

There’s one thing I am looking forward to, she said. I hope I’ll be here to welcome you home. I can’t wait to see the changes in you both.

Changes? Rubbish, I thought to myself. How could we possibly change in any way? But that was all in the future and it was the now I was concerned about. Meanwhile the weeks simply flew after our Adelaide holiday. Before long, after Neil had explained the army protocol, we completed separate inventories for the furniture going into storage, and the goods like sheets, towels and the clothes we’d be taking with us.

In the days that followed, if ever I was tempted to daydream of the ‘exotic orient’ with its strange foods, silks, religions and customs, and of course servants, all waiting to be explored, I was wrenched back to earth by the mass of practical problems to be solved. What with taking children from school mid-term, with clothes to be packed, goods to be stored, injections, inoculations, passports and visas – there was no time to think about what lay ahead. I’d spoken to the boys’ teachers about their month’s holiday from school, and neither was concerned at all. The boys of course were delighted, and looking forward to a totally new adventure, one they could barely comprehend. Sailing in a big ship was the stuff of dreams for all of us except Neil. During his naval service he’d more than found his sea legs, and fortunately was rarely seasick.

The last day came. Almost overnight the packers had gone, leaving the odd wisps of wood-wool, the stray, overlooked empty carton. Our new metal trunk, full of household stuff had been dispatched ahead of us, and we were living out of our cases. Our cat had found a new home, and dear Rusty had been given to a loving and caring family.

Saying those last good-byes had been hard, for giving up one’s pets was not the normal requirement for an army posting. I think it was this event that helped confirm for me the reality of our new life. As part of a SEATO project, we were now officially the responsibility of the Department of External Affairs, hence the need to entertain in the future. As Joe had pointed out, we were representatives of our country and would be judged accordingly.

After giving us lunch, Dulcie and Don drove us to the Melbourne docks, ready to escort us to our First Class Cabin. The excitement was too much for our youngest, due to turn four in Bangkok. Tim’s parting gift to our kind hosts was to be violently sick, just as their car pulled up at the wharf. They dismissed our apologies with a laugh. With five children of their own, this was nothing new. Neil and I looked at each other and shook our heads. Travelling with a family was going to be fun.

Chapter 3 – FIRST CLASS TO SINGAPORE

The trip by sea was unforgettable, for me at any rate. Of course Neil had crossed the Pacific while a naval gunner during WW2, so it was nothing new for him, except that this time he did it in style, and we benefited from his experience. However from my perspective, a similar opportunity in today’s world would be the chance to travel around the world First Class on the QE2, or possibly be a passenger on a spaceship to the moon - something that some lucky people will surely do before too many years have passed.

But it wasn’t just our travelling by sea that seemed so magical. A decade before, I’d watched my older sister sailing to post war Britain on a P & O liner, and sea voyages were still a common form of transport. But not for a suburban housewife saddled with three young children. Apart from the young and adventurous, people rarely travelled overseas until retirement, and even then it was usually second class, or on a