The Transition by John Trewin

It was in the later 1950s as I recall Harold Macmillan the British Prime Minister had given his speech concerning the ‘Winds of Change’ that were blowing across the World. India and Burma had achieved then independence and many of the African Colonies were clamouring for the same thing. The general manager of our family company called me over.

‘Freddy I would like you to look over the production records of the company’s Tin Mine in Perak Malaya. Our mine was open cut with mechanical shovels to do the hard work.’

Tin had mainly been mined by the Hakka Chinese, but my great grandfather had been an engineer and most of the Malayan tin was alluvial. The mine we had in the state of Kedah was quite healthy. It was resolved that I should go to Malaya and find out what was going on.

I was the youngest member of the family and being young and free of major responsibility, I became the Company’s trouble shooter. I had not long returned from India to look over the family’s tea plantations. BOAC as it then was flew me to Kallang Airport in Singapore in a de Havilland Comet. A quick stopover in the Raffles Hotel to rest and brighten up. Nothing like a few stingers in the bar of the Raffles to help unruffle your feathers.

My father had told me to stay calm that the fellow McNaught was no fool so something there, was upsetting him. My father removed a small black book from his jacket pocket and handed it to me. I laughed and said,

‘Giving me a list of your old girlfriends eh Dad?’

He replied, ‘No absolutely not. This black book contains the names and details of the various interests we own overseas and all the contacts you may need to help you with the many problems you may encounter.’

After I spoke to my father I quietly put away my black book with phone numbers of friends and girls I’ve met. That day in Singapore I hired a car and without delay, I drove over the causeway to Johore Bahru and then onto Perak. I stopped over at a local drinking hole to find some remnant Europeans and soon found an old reprobate willing to chat to strangers over a glass of Tiger Beer, I had to buy him a couple before he began to talk.

‘Oh Jimmy McNaught, yes I know him, it’s a sad business.’

He sparked my interest, ‘what happened?’

’A man shouldn’t talk about another man’s private business,’ he said.

‘Come on, you can tell me, I am just a stranger and I always like a good story.’

The old man looked at his empty glass and I got the message and had another two bottles of Tiger Beer sent over.

‘Well it’s not really a good story,’ said the old man, ‘more of a sad one.’

‘Come on,’ I said, ‘what went wrong?’

‘Jimmy brought in a young Eurasian Engineer to be his deputy, and as you know Jimmy’s wife Helen is also a Eurasian, her mother Chinese her father an old Scot. She was much younger than Jimmy but Jimmy was gone on her. He was the last to find out poor bastard that his deputy was screwing his wife. He has taken it badly and most days he is up here drinking his sorrows away.’

I thanked the old fellow and bought him yet another beer. Malaya can be a hot and sweaty place and a few beers will not go astray.

It was rather amazing what a couple of beers will produce. The cause of the fall in production was right there. My notes in Dad’s little black book told me that the Deputy manager was one Morgan Gibson again father a Scot and mother a Chinese. It was something in common for both of them besides both were young and of similar age.

I got into my car switched the engine on and ran the air conditioning. I was walking into a big bust up, a domestic of major proportions. The mine had a hostel for visitors and I drove in there and booked into a room. My Malay was a bit rusty not having spoken the language since I was a boy, but I knew I could get around. I drove to the mine site, one of the big mechanical shovels was digging in the hillside, there were dumps of earth here and there and the other mechanical shovel was silent and still.

I spoke to a man who seemed to be just watching the shovel, ‘Tuan McNaught’ desini?,’ I asked.

‘Tuan in office,’ he replied and pointed to a makeshift timber and iron building. I walked to the building as a young Eurasian man was leaving.

He looked at me, ‘Can I help you?, he asked.

‘You must be Morgan Gibson,’ I said in response. He looked surprised, ‘I’m Fred Fawcett from head office in London.’

‘Oh? Am I in trouble?’

‘Not really,’ I said, production is down and I am here as a trouble shooter.’

‘Oh you better talk to the Chief Mr McNaught, he is in the office.

‘Before you go Morgan, what can you tell me about the mine.’

‘Nothing much,’ he said, ‘a little more capital will go a long way; anyway,’ he said, ‘you don’t need me, talk to the Chief,’ with that remark he strode off.

I knocked on the door and a voice called out, ‘Come in,’ Jimmy McNaught was sitting at a desk. A bottle of whisky stood prominent in front of him together with a glass and a soda fountain a big bottle of strengthened glass with a metal spout and lever to squeeze.

‘Who are you?’ he asked rather coarsely.

‘Fred Fawcett, from head office, in London.’

‘Ah yes, I suppose I should have been expecting you.’ You must be old Ron Fawcett’s son.

‘Why do you say that?, I replied.

‘You, you are a Fawcett for sure. Then I suppose you have come because of the production figures,’ he said as he sucked in on his glass, then he said, ‘where’s my manners?’ he stretched behind him and took a glass off a rack.

‘No not for me,’ I said.

‘Come on man, a man canna drink on his own.’ With that he poured 2 fingers in the glass and passed it over to me, the soda bottle was between us.

‘Lets have a drink to us,’ he said lifting his glass and I automatically followed suit.

He took a big gulp, put down his glass jarring it. He pulled back his desk drawer and took out a revolver. I immediately fathomed his intention and leapt forward and grabbed the gun and yanked it away from his face. He pulled the trigger twice and the bullets hit the ceiling and feeling the burn on my hands I wrenched the gun from him. He slumped back in his chair.

‘You should have let me,’ he was almost crying, ‘that young bastard has been shagging my wife and he laughs at me and there is nothing I can do about it.’

‘There may be nothing you can do, but there is something I can do,’ I said forcibly.

‘There’s nothing,’ he responded.

‘Look Mr McNaught, you have not taken leave in the last ten years, you are now 56 years of age and due for retirement. You will get paid all your back leave and a further 3 months. You will retire immediately. An airfare will be paid for you by the company to return to Glasgow. I shall make all the arrangements. You are to cease work immediately. You are not sacked you are retired.

All McNaught could do was to make an indistinct mumble. I realised I still held the revolver in my right hand, I emptied the chambers, two spent cartridges and four bullets. I put the lot in my pocket.

McNaught must have been ruminating – ‘what about my wife?, he asked.

‘I’ll give her an ultimatum, either stay here with Morgan Gibson or go with you. The company needs the mine to get into profit fast and therefore production has to be increased.’

‘You sound like your father,’ said Jimmy.

‘I’m not joking Mr McNaught, this is a commercial enterprise.’

Just as I said that, Morgan Gibson came into the room, he was breathless and had been running.

‘I heard the two shots, I thought there might have been a robbery.’

‘Nothing like that,’ I replied, ‘Jimmy was showing me his revolver and I not being experienced, let off two shots in the ceiling.’

‘Oh,’ Morgan seemed genuinely relieved.

‘Now that you are here Morgan, I need to talk to you.’

I looked hard at Jimmy McNaught, so he could understand to keep his mouth shut. He seemed to get it and he kept mute, Morgan also remained quiet.

I understand Morgan you and Mrs McNaught, Helen that is, are having an affair. I don’t know how serious it is, but Mr McNaught is going on retirement leave as of today, and I need to know which way the wind blows with you and Helen.’

‘She was following me down here and should be here soon.’ As soon as Morgan had said that Helen McNaught stepped in the room as if she was listening at the door.

‘I’m not going anywhere, I’m staying here with Morgan,’ she said emphatically.

‘Bitch,’ growled McNaught.

Helen then moved closer to Morgan.

I could see that both Helen and Morgan were of my age, and McNaught must have known he was courting trouble when he married her.

‘Right, as of today, Morgan, you are an engineer. I want you to take over this mine and get it in full production. You will get letters with a contract from head office as soon as I return. That means you and Helen will stay here.’

‘What do you say both of you?’

Morgan looked sheepishly at me, ‘That’s ok with me.’

‘And you Helen? ‘

‘I’m all for it. I know Morgan will do a good job.’

‘That’s settled then, right, I will leave you two to work things out. Whilst I am at it, here is the revolver, keep it safe you might meed it one day, and here on the four bullets. They are company property for your protection during the Emergency as you know the terrorists hiding in the jungle can strike at any time.’

‘Mr McNaught, come with me, I need you to move to the Hostel and out of your quarters now.’

McNaught suddenly came alive, ‘Aye Aye Skipper’ he said.

‘I’m not joking McNaught.’ When I said that, I suddenly realised I was stepping into my father’s shoes. It was a transition, a changing of the times. It was his role to hire and fire and this was merely history repeating itself. I also saw myself back at Charterhouse giving orders on the rugby field as captain of our team. It is said Public schools were created to provide leaders.

McNaught and I left the office and walked down to my car.

‘No regrets,’ I said to McNaught?’

‘No regrets,’ he murmured.

And so it came to be, McNaught moved his belongings to the Hostel and the next morning I drove him to Singapore and we both put up at the Raffles. He remained quiet and reflective. This sudden transition had shocked him. McNaught was single again a change as this would shock any man.

We secured a flight on the Comet and landed in London some 24 hours later and there we parted ways, he to catch the Flying Scotsman, a fast train to whisk him to Glasgow. As for me, I was more mundane I caught a London taxi and headed for home and for my little black book.