His Majesty has been pleased to confer upon you, Sir Boon Leong Ong, the Most Distinguished Order of Commander of the British Empire. Your family have been British subjects for many generations, and their names are well-known in the colony for the interest they take in all matters pertaining to the colony and ...
Three months after his return from Ipoh, news of his uncle’s knighthood sent them flying to Roseville. Mother herded them to the mansion to congratulate their uncle. Everyone was there. Messages of congratulations poured in. Penang was proud of her native son.
“A first for the family!”
“And it won’t be the last, mark my words,” Granduncle Botak declared.
“We’re all so excited for you, Auntie Kim-kim!”
“Not Auntie Kim-kim! Her Ladyship, Lady Kim Neo.” Gek Lian giggled.
“Lady Kim Neo!” his cousins bowed and curtsied before all of them doubled over in laughter on the sofa.
“Oh, Auntie Kim-kim, look dignified when you go out! Nose in the air! A ribbon for your hair.” Gek Kim moaned.
“Don’t forget a hat. Ladies wear hats.”
“Adoi! Making fun of your aunt? Where’re your manners, girls?” Their mother wagged a finger at them. “Of course Auntie Kim will be dignified!”
Choon Neo sat down, complaining to her son that her legs were killing her. Kok Seng handed her a cup of tea.
“Thank you, Son. Now go and congratulate your uncle.”
She sipped her tea and watched as Seng joined his cousins in the garden. The years had left their mark on her once slim figure. She’d grown into a stout matron.
“Choon, you’re not joining us for the photo-taking in the garden?” Lady Kim Neo came up to her.
“Sister-in-law, it’s very kind of you to include us. But really, you shouldn’t bother. It’s a joyous occasion for your family.”
“Boon and I have always regarded you as part of Roseville. The family photo won’t be complete without you and the children. If you’re not out on the lawn with us, Boon will ask for you.”
“Yes, Auntie. Papa will ask. If you don’t join us, how can Seng, Gek Kim and Gek Lian join us?” Tommy, her nephew, pointed out.
“Yah, lah! Auntie Choon, come! All in the family, what!”
“But Seng’s father is not here.”
“Aiyah, Choon, you’re here. That’s all that matters.”
She agreed to the photo-taking in the end. But everyone could see that she wasn’t pushing herself forward. When news of Boon Leong’s elevation reached her, she’d immediately cast herself in the role of a social inferior. Not one who was materially poor, of course. She would’ve been shocked if anyone had suggested that. How could you say that? she would’ve pestered the unfortunate speaker. Kok Seng’s father is not poor, you know. He’s got land, tin mines and houses elsewhere. He’s not like his half-brother, Sir Boon Leong. But he’s a rich towkay. Thank the gods! One must be contented with what one has. Not everyone can have such a good life like my cousin, Lady Kim Neo!
If her own marriage had proved disappointing, Choon Neo wasn’t about to admit it to outsiders. She wore the badge of a Chinese tycoon’s wife as proudly as she could in the social milieu of Roseville. Only Lady Kim Neo, her sweet patient cousin to whom she’d confided most of her bitter feelings, knew that her universe and standards of success were those of the British Empire. For her, the height of social grandeur was the annual Christmas Charity Bazaar followed by tea with the governor’s wife. An event graced by the ladies from the very best families in the colony. English-speaking naturally. No China-born wives or China-born towkays were ever invited. What was a wealthy China-born towkay compared to a Knight Commander of the Order of the British Empire? Aah, many, many rungs below the imperial hierarchy.
She glanced at Lady Kim Neo, who was a picture of grace, but Sir Boon Leong, greying at the temples, was the more dignified. Pinned on his dark morning suit were British Empire insignias and the sash that went with his title. He was standing beside his wife seated on the wicker chair with her plump hands folded on her lap. Lady Kim Neo was dressed simply for the photo-taking. A peach satin skirt and a samfoo jacket with embroidered frog buttons. Looking down at her own kebaya dress, she was secretly pleased. Her baju panjang, reaching down to her knees, was of the finest voile, embroidered with an intricate border of flowers, leaves and butterflies. Her sarong was of the finest batik, specially ordered from Medan. Jade and diamond hairpins held her well-oiled and well-scented chignon in place. Rings on her fingers, gold and diamond bracelets on her wrists and kerosang brooches down the front of her baju. She was every inch a highborn Nonya dressed in full regalia. Ready to be presented to His Majesty the king himself if fate so decreed. But alas, her poor fate. She patted her chignon. The photographer clicked! Envy and regret was frozen forever for posterity.
Penang rejoiced. Roseville was feted. The mansion was at its grandest. Sir Boon Leong’s dinner party was the talk of the town for weeks. Glittering chandeliers and strings of lights and paper lanterns were strung across its spacious grounds, turning it into a fairyland of lights. Gharries, carriages and cars of every important person on the island swept up the gravelled path. Horses trotted down avenues between cultivated lawns graced by palm trees and rose bushes. A cool sea breeze fanned the guests. The mansion, built upon a grassy knoll, commanded a splendid view of the sea. When the guests reached the white portico, they were greeted by Indian servants smartly attired in white cotton tunics and loose cotton pants. Then their affable host conducted them upstairs. The spacious verandah was brilliantly lit for the occasion. Lady Kim Neo and her sister-in-law, Choon Neo, welcomed the arrivals.
“My dear Lady Kim Neo! How charming you look!”
“Why, thank you, Sir John! How nice of you to grace us with your presence, Lady Jane! This is my sister-in-law, Madam Choon Neo.”
“What a lovely dress, Madam Choon Neo!”
“Thank you, Lady Jane.” She beamed at the wife of the secretary of the Legislative Council.
Downstairs at the portico, the Indian coachmen clung to the neighing high-spirited ponies as one of the newfangled motorcars throttled to a stop. More guests arrived. The spacious verandah upstairs was filled to overflowing. Introductions were made. Compliments were exchanged. The gentlemen were invited to help themselves to sherry and bitters on a sideboard. Members of the Straits Chinese British Association and those from the legal and medical professions wore Western-styled dinner jackets. Their wives were immaculately coiffed and beautifully attired in sarong and embroidered kebayas. Some wives wore silk cheongsams with mandarin collars. All of them were English-speaking and they chatted with the English guests who included Mr and Mrs Scott, Mr Bowers of Bowers Trading, Sir Richard Harcourt of the high court, Reverend Johnson, the vicar of St George’s, and his wife. Several prominent members of the Malay, Indian and Arab communities were also present.
Choon Neo kept a sharp eye on the servants and amahs who took care of the young ladies, mostly relatives of the Wees and the Ongs. The girls, bright-eyed and excitable in their silks and chiffons, flitted among the more sombre-clothed gentlemen. She looked around for her two daughters. Such a dinner party was the right occasion for Gek Kim and Gek Lian to be seen. Someone might seek their hand in marriage. Wasn’t this what every good mother hoped for?
At eight o’clock, the dinner gong sounded. The guest of honour, the governor of Penang, and Lady Kim Neo led the way down the stairs.
The dining-room had been transformed overnight. Like everyone, Choon Neo was impressed with the prized Coronation china and the variety of silverware on the tables. She was conducted to her seat and was overwhelmed by the honour. Lady Kim Neo had seated her between the vicar and Sir John.
Chinese servants in white livery stood behind each chair. Before each guest lay an exquisitely embroidered white napkin and a plate of fancy bread. Large silver tureens had been placed on the long white tables. Then Sir Boon Leong, in deference to the vicar of St George’s, invited Reverend Johnson to say grace.
As soon as grace was over, the head servant gave a light clap. Soup was served. Napkins were unfolded and the elegant silver clattered amidst the guests’ polite chatter. Fish cooked with a tangy sauce was followed by English beef, smoked duck, Yorkshire ham, dutch potatoes and brussels sprouts. Wine flowed liberally and the servants were kept busy with glasses and bottles. The faces of the men reddened and those of the ladies attained a lovely rosiness as the meal progressed. Towards the end of dinner, the Hainanese head servant proudly brought in a huge cheese.
“Part of a fresh consignment newly arrived from London,” Sir Boon Leong announced.
“Oohs” and “aahs” rose from the white throats of his English guests as they savoured the prized cheese in tiny nibbles. The look of satisfaction on Sir Boon Leong’s face was that of someone who knew he had passed some vital but ill-defined test for a gentleman. To be accepted into the best circles of colonial society in the Straits, it was not enough for an English-educated Baba to have studied in London. He must learn to appreciate what an English gentleman in London would have appreciated. And this rare Stilton showed that he did.
“More wine, Ah Loke.”
“Yes, Tuan Besar,” his head servant murmured.
When the last course was over, Lady Kim Neo rose from her seat. The governor and his wife took their departure. Choon Neo and all the ladies followed suit. They retired to the drawing room on the upper floor, attended by amahs bearing pots of tea and coffee.
The men relaxed. The servants cleared the tables and brought in liqueurs, coffee and cigars. As the cigars were lit and puffed, the men’s voices grew more voluble and excited. They turned to the hot topics of the day. The phenomenal price of rubber and tin on the London Stock Exchange. The Chinese revolutionaries’ takeover of Shanghai and Nanjing. Kok Seng, eyes aglow, followed the conversation round the table with great interest.
“Dr Sun’s forces have the upper hand! But there’ll be total chaos if the imperial forces fail!”
“Stocks will fall!”
“Total collapse!”
“The whole of China is a bloody mess! Warlords are at each other’s throats! Enemy one day and allies the next! Caution, gentlemen, caution!”
“But Mr Bowers, begging your pardon, sir! China is a vast country. Very rich. I’ve been up the Yangtze River. Full of opportunities, gentlemen! Opportunities for men with daring and imagination.” Mr D’Rozario went on in his eager high-pitched voice. “There’re profits to be made, sirs! Huge profits! Provinces inland, away from Shanghai, are ready for the tapping. First to get in, first to get rich.”
D’Rozario’s voice rose even higher, excited by the prospect of cheap labour producing cheap goods for a mass market. His heavily accented English speech dominated the table. He seemed to be speaking to the Malay, Arab and English traders all at the same time. It was simply dizzying, watching him switch from one language to another with the greatest of ease as he answered the eager questions of the men. He was said to have mastered several languages—English, Malay, Hokkien, Cantonese, even Cristang, the patois spoken by the descendants of the Portuguese conquistadors of Malacca. Because of this, it was rumoured that he had established a strong base in Portuguese-controlled Macau at the tip of China, and was building a trading empire which would cover Siam, the Malay States and the Dutch East Indies. He was a handsome, dark-complexioned man with wavy hair and bright close-set eyes beneath bushy brows. His eagerness to please the authorities had become something of a private joke among the more stolid members of the European community, especially among those who prided themselves on their own less adulterated bloodline and heritage. However, whatever the European traders might have thought of him in private, they were more than willing to do business with him. D’Rozario was one of the most influential traders in the Straits, with impeccable connections to the wealthy Baba merchants and the Malay royal families. But more importantly, he was also a client of Sir Boon Leong. That, for many of the English traders, was good enough.
“Well, Rozario, surely you’ve something new to tell us about the Chinese troubles. I’ve just heard that our coolies are leaving. Literally hundreds, maybe thousands in Penang, Singapore and the Malay States are returning to China to fight against the Manchus.”
“Who’s paying for the voyage of these poor blighters?”
“Why, the rich towkays in our colony! These towkays and coolies are alike. They come here to make money. But their loyalties are with China.”
“Once a Chinese, always a Chinese!”
“Well, Sir Richard, if you mean the China-born immigrants in our colony, then you’re absolutely right. Unlike us, these China-born are loyal to China, their homeland. But we Straits-born Chinese are British subjects.”
Sir Boon Leong signalled to the head servant to bring more wine. As the glasses were being replenished, he went on, “And for the record, Sir Richard!”
At this, his guests burst into merry laughter. They looked expectant. They were going to be entertained by a mock courtroom debate between the two men.
“Here, boy!” they called to the servants. They quaffed more wine and asked for their glasses to be filled.
“We Babas have been in Malaya since the fourteenth century. Anybody who doubts that can take a look at the graves in Bukit China in Malacca. We, their descendants, call ourselves Baba or Peranakan or Straits-born, Sir Richard, to distinguish ourselves from the China-born. You’ll not find any local-born Babas sailing to China to fight. Our loyalties are with His Majesty and the British flag.”
“Hear! Hear!”
“To the king!”
“The king!”
“And here’s to Sir Boon Leong!”
“To your good health!”
“It appears several merchants in the colony are raising money to buy arms for the Chinese forces,” Sir Richard announced darkly.
“Good God! It’s gunrunning, isn’t it? Is the government doing something about this?” Mr Davis was a fervent believer in the power of the courts and an advocate of stricter laws to control the activities of the Chinese immigrants. He was all for breaking their hold on tin mining.
Everyone looked to Sir Boon Leong for a response. But he got up to ring the bell and when his head servant reappeared, sent the man for more coffee.
“Mr Davis, sir! It’s not gunrunning!”
All eyes turned to him. Kok Seng felt the sudden rush of blood to his face. He was dizzy, but he steadied himself and went on.
“Many China-born like my father want to end the Manchu domination of their homeland. They want to free their country from foreign rule.”
They looked at him.
“What my nephew said is true, gentlemen.” His uncle came to his rescue. “They’ve lived and worked in freedom under our British flag. Naturally they would like to see their own countrymen back home enjoy the same freedom as they do here in this colony.”
“That’s a noble sentiment we can all share.”
Pious murmurs of “aye, aye” went round the table.
“But gentlemen, let us not forget that these same Chinamen have fought among themselves for years. I won’t put it past them to take advantage of these troubled times. They’ll use this colony as a base for their private gang wars back in China! Our police and courts ought to exert some control over their political activities. In the state of Perak alone, there’re more than ten thousand avowed revolutionaries among the coolies and tin miners! Supporters of Dr Sun’s revolutionary forces.”
“Are you sure, Davis?”
“Ask Bowers! He’s got a mine there and he can’t find coolies to work it. Where’re these damn coolies? Off to fight their wars!”
“This is preposterous! Something’s got to be done!”
Several people clamoured to be heard at once. Sir Boon Leong glanced at his nephew. Kok Seng caught his uncle’s eye.
He stood up, excused himself and went out to the great hall.
“Play!” He ordered the band to strike up a Viennese waltz.
Upstairs, the women who had been waiting in anticipation all night for the dancing to begin, came trooping down the stairs.
“Gentlemen! The ladies are coming down!” Sir Boon Leong announced. And he deftly led his guests out of the dining-room.