The Elusive Butterfly of Happiness

Malaysia I know that, in 1957, we were living in these very modern flats, nice-looking, with mint and white stucco all over the brickwork on the outside. They were a set of six flats with huge, long balconies at the back that overlooked the ocean. They had lovely architectural facades all around the windows on the outside. It was at the end of the street called Jalan Hashim, not far from the capital of Penang, Georgetown. At the other end of our street was the Indian Snake Temple, which was full of snakes and turtles. At our end, the other side of our flats was a huge, very thick rainforest. Penang is only a small island, and you could take a cable car ride around the island, even in those days, which we did in the few days after we arrived. There were coconut trees and people everywhere. These were two things I noticed straight away, as that wasn’t the case in Australia (or the land I had come from, in my mind). We lived in the top flat on the left-hand side as you drove in the driveway. I could not remember living in this type of dwelling before in my life. It was really different. So was the climate. It was very, very hot and sticky. The whole of my world had changed. There were all these different people running around quickly, and hardly any of them looked like me. There were Chinese, Indian, and Malaysian people on the island, all living in the villages in individual thatch huts. Apart from our street, there were villages and shops over the whole small space of the island. The shops had overhanging awnings, and underneath there were markets everywhere. A lot of the markets sold fresh produce, and there were always heaps of chooks scratching around in the dirt and some goats, as well as donkeys and monkeys. There were a small contingent of white families on the island from the United Kingdom; the United States; and my country, Australia. Jalan Hashim had all white people living in it both sides of the street all the way up to the end, where there was the Indian snake temple. I also noticed that all the other white people sounded different when they spoke because of the accents from their different countries of origin. I had very fair skin and was a pretty little girl with thin, straight blonde hair falling all around my face and neck. Everywhere we went on the island, the native people would come up and want to touch me, especially my hair to see if I was real. They, with their world of darker skins and black hair, found me like a vision, an angel or something. The Chinese regarded blonde hair as meaning good luck. My brother had Mum’s dark brunette hair and her olive skin, whereas I took after Dad’s side. He had blonde hair with ginger in it and red in his facial hair, though he always kept his face cleanly shaved. He was tall and had a slim to medium build and looked quite a striking figure in his military uniform from photos I have seen. In fact, they looked a truly handsome couple, with Mum wearing her hair up in a fashionable bun of those times and her beautiful figure, even after two children. They were in their mid-twenties, and according to later accounts to me, they were both looking forward to an adventure in a foreign land. It just wasn’t like that for me at the time of arrival, though Jack seemed to be coping well. He loved the plane we went on to get there and the cable car following, obviously looking for more. He was happy to play with his cars, and he was twenty-one months older. He was five and a few months, and I was three and a half! It was a whole different world in every way from what I knew, and I was initially very frightened. We had left Auntie Mabel, Grandpa, Uncle Henry, and Auntie Mescal. Mum and Dad’s friends would come over—I didn’t really know them, but I knew their faces—and they all spoke like my family did. I even missed our neighbours, the Turnbulls, and that lovely man the doctor who fixed my finger when I was in excruciating pain. No backyard. I would go out to that big, long balcony with red slate tiles and nothing on it—no clover, no bees, and no butterflies; there was no sandpit or toys, as our toys hadn’t arrived. All I had was Peggy doll to tell all my troubles to and talk to. My brother, Jack, and I would run round and round and round the balcony playing chasey. We could not see the sea, as we were not tall enough. His toy cars sped a long way on it as he raced them up and down. I clearly recall my mother cooking tea every evening in the kitchen, which had a window overlooking the driveway. It was a long kitchen with benches both sides as you walked in from the combined dining room / lounge, with the sink at the end of the kitchen under the window. The whole flat had a musty smell, which may have come from the nearby village, called a kampong (one of many on the island). The kampong nearest us was opposite the flats and down the road a bit. The kampongs didn’t have sanitation or rubbish removal. Toilets were a hole in the ground. The smell of cooking meat or whatever Mum was cooking always smelt nice and made me feel hungry. I just wanted Mum to pick me up and cuddle me, as I was feeling insecure, lost, and frightened. I would hold onto her legs and pull at her close-fitting dress, which went below her knees. I wanted her to pick me up like Auntie Mabel and Auntie Mescal used to and talk to me. I would pull and pull and then start crying. She wouldn’t say a word, not a word, and I would start screaming and screaming. The screaming got louder and louder. I screamed for, say, going on an hour uncontrollably, with everybody ignoring me. The screaming was so loud every evening for two or three weeks that a British lady—who lived on the other side of the street and up a little in a large mansion divided into two dwellings that were exactly the same—came across one night and knocked on the door. Mum answered, and the conversation went something like this. The lady said, in a very soft, firm British voice, “I’m Lil O’Sullivan, and I live opposite. I hear your little girl screaming every night, and I would like to help. How can I help?” Mum replied, quite embarrassed, “I’m not sure. Come in.” This lady replied, “I am happy to take her for a little while and look after her, so you can cook tea. I’ll bring her back at 7:00 p.m. and bathe and feed her for you if you like.” Mum was really surprised, as I had stopped screaming and crying once this magical lady entered. Mum said I had to be back at 6:00 p.m. for tea when my father got home.