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The patio door slid open and there was Grant waving as he called out:
“Two waters please!”
He takes bottles of water to re-fill the heated bowls near the house.
We have others out in the field, but they would soon freeze solid at the moment.
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Grant’s words propelled my back 67 years to 1957 Cambodia.
“Two lo temelaya!” Mum would instruct Sai See, the lady who was employed as our maid. They spoke no common language, but a combination of French and mispronounced English sufficed.
Our water supply came in barrels that were emptied into a large tank. Two (barrels) l’eau tomorrow, was the order which Sai See delivered to the appropriate party.
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Mum monitored the tank carefully, so we never ran out of water which probably came from the nearby Mekong river.
For drinking purposes it was boiled and kept in conveniently large gin bottles in the fridge.
We did frequently go short of electricity. Likely any time there was a function at the Royal Palace.
Empty wine bottles served as candlesticks.
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At 10-bob (shillings) a bottle, gin was the favoured drink. It was shipped from Lane Crawford’s in Hong Kong. When I say bottle, I’m talking Imperial quarts.
My parents didn’t drink a great deal, but there were lots of dinner or cocktail parties. Mum loved to entertain and was good at it.
Dad was less than keen, although he quite enjoyed the company of a few good friends.
As a comparatively small person and one who had been groomed to be silent, I became an observer.
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After a year in a small flat, my father was assigned a large villa that was clean inside but decidedly shabby without.
The lady with my mother was my father’s Italian colleague Mariella who came to share the house with us.
They were likely discussing its bleak appearance which Mum soon undertook to improve.
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With swift success.
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Sai See used to arrive early in the morning and sit on the veranda, waiting for my mother to rise.
It was here that she claimed to have been attacked by a ghost one day. Mum calmed her down but later scoffed at the story, saying she’d fallen asleep and dreamed of her abusive husband.
But the servant of the people who next lived there reported the same experience and it was discovered that a man had hanged himself from a tree on the property.
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It wasn’t ghosts that worried me but the idea of robbers breaking in when my parents were out for an evening.
And the possibility of dying of rabies.
Believing that Sai See’s cat Kleang was lonely, I tried introducing him to a street cat and got savaged in the process, but afraid of my father’s wrath, I concealed my wound and waited to see if I would die, which was apparently a less frightening thought.
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Sai See also turned up with a civet cat one day, though at the time we didn’t know what it was so it became dubbed “rat cat”.
It didn’t belong in captivity, but it seemed happy enough and took food from my hand.
How I wish I’d known to take note of the wild animals and birds I saw!
One that I recall was a horn-bill that we disturbed as we walked along a forest path on a hill overlooking the sea. I remember the whoosh of its great wings and being greatly impressed by its size.
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Cambodia was a fascinating place.
Sometimes Mum and I went with my father on his excursions to villages.
On this occasion it must have been a large official excursion which called for the laying on of a large feast.
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But it certainly wasn’t always like that.
In those days it seems it was rare for the villagers to see a white child.
It wasn’t unusual for women to approach me to feel my skin, to see if I was real.
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In turn, I was amazed by the children I saw. Children a lot smaller than myself, carrying infants on their hips.
Yet they did not fuss.
They seemed happy to look after each other. It was their job.
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Young lad in charge of a bullock cart.
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Life revolved around the rice crops.
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The man in shorts was my father’s chief of mission. He was from Belgium but he had “gone native”.
I was too young to understand, but the man apparently had his own ideas of how to improve the life of village people.
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One of his actions, which even then I found sad, was to bring a young man from a remote village in the highlands to Phnom Penh, far removed from his own people. I doubt he even spoke the same dialect.
He was given a job as a waiter at the airport and I’ve always wondered what became of him in the years that followed.
Even if he was able to go back, he would have been forever changed.
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Supplying wells and sanitation is one thing, but I never could understand the obsession of westerners to interfere with other cultures.
Is our society such a delight?
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On such a cold day, I thought a warm post would be suitable and Grant’s request too me to just the place.
Not that fond memories of Cambodia are ever far from my mind.
Please excuse me for telling them again.
No need to apologise, they are always fascinating. You must have been devastated by what happened in Cambodia later. Did you ever manage to watch the film, ‘The Killing Fields’, I wonder?
Best wishes, Pete.
My friend Tim wouldn’t take me to see the film but I saw it on video later on and yes, it was hard. I also read the book about the doctor who played the part of Dith Pran in the film and that was even more devastating. It was an appalling period and I used to have bad dreams about it. I wanted to go back but was always afraid. I think it’s better that I kept my memories intact. Modern Cambodia, from what I see is nothing like I remember. I think now there must be real ghosts there:(
No excuses are needed. I love to hear about your time there. Perhaps our modern children would benefit from a lesson in old-fashioned responsibilities for children!
I love your post, Carolyn, but as I just came in I will write my comments tomorrow.
Joanna x
“I concealed my wound and waited to see if I would die, which was apparently a less frightening thought.” That is a such a great example of children’s thinking. Could say more but on another day.
I love it when you take us on a sudden excursion into your past, “our” past. I also love it when you don’t!
I just read an account of a person who wished for a time machine and who said that the best time in history was to be born in the UK was 1946. This is not entirely connected with your post but it did get me thinking.
I just read your post again, Carolyn, and I love it even more! Memories of your faraway past in Cambodia are always fascinating, especially with the photography. The details of your childhood are special because your reasoning at the time was unusual due to your father being a difficult man. I love so much all the other stories, so please, Carolyn, keep on writing about your past, as well of course, about your interesting present. Thank you!!
Joanna x
Just wonderful again. Tidbits of an ‘expat brat’ in Indochina. The street scene with elephants is probably Buddha’s anniversary, so your parents and mine most certainly were there at the same time.
And those parties and cocktails! My parents were out 4 or 5 nights a week. They must have met each other.
We had civets in West Africa. (Guinea Conakry). Not tame at all. They went after they bit the cook…
The colour photos are slides I imagine?
Off to another post.
Many cocktail parties, yes. My mother enjoyed them and was good at organising. Colour slides, yes.
PS. About your house. I have photos of ours (Where the baby tiger was) where a god bit of the walls are stained by dampness. Unavoidable in PP. One just arranged the inside.
PPS. The last image of the lions and the temple, I’m almost sure I’ve seen that temple. I’ll have to check