Golden Pavilions: A Novel

Robert Brunton

GOLDEN PAVILIONS a

n o v e l

Pandanus Online Publications, found at the Pandanus Books web site, presents additional material relating to this book. www.pandanusbooks.com.au

GOLDEN PAVILIONS

GOLDEN PAVILIONS Robert Brunton

PANDANUS BOOKS Research School of Pacific and Asian Studies THE AUSTRALIAN NATIONAL UNIVERSITY

Cover: Golden Pavilions, illustration by Robert Brunton © Robert Brunton 2004 This book is copyright in all countries subscribing to the Berne convention. Apart from any fair dealing for the purpose of private study, research, criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part may be reproduced by any process without written permission. Typeset in Weiss 11.5pt on 14pt and printed by Pirion, Canberra National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry Brunton, Robert, 1936– . Golden Pavilion : a novel. ISBN 1 74076 095 6. 1. Asian International Trade Fair (1st : 1966 : Bangkok, Thailand) — Buildings — Fiction. 2. Exhibition buildings — Thailand — Bangkok — Design and construction — Fiction. 3. Trade shows — Thailand — Bangkok — Fiction. 4. Bangkok (Thailand) — Fiction. I. Title. A823.4 Editorial inquiries please contact Pandanus Books on 02 6125 3269 www.pandanusbooks.com.au Published by Pandanus Books, Research School of Pacific and Asian Studies, The Australian National University, Canberra ACT 0200 Australia Pandanus Books are distributed by UNIREPS, University of New South Wales, Sydney NSW 2052 Telephone 02 9664 0999 Fax 02 9664 5420 Publisher’s Editor: Jan Borrie Production: Ian Templeman, Justine Molony, Emily Brissenden

This book is dedicated to the memory of Austin Charles Wood 1911–1996

Austin Wood, depicted as Oscar Forrest in this book, shaped Australia’s trading image overseas for 28 years, and was Director of Trade Publicity through the 60’s and 70’s, Australia’s Golden Era of trade promotion. He was a visionary with the ability to infuse his far-sightedness into others, a patriot, a great Australian.

Acknowledgements WHEN I RETURNED FROM Bangkok in 1966 I was all fired up to write a book about it. So fired up in fact, it only took me 36 years to get around to it. We had just bought our first home computer. I was sitting in front of it fiddling with the word processing program. Not really meaning it I said idly, ‘I suppose I should write that Bangkok book now’. My wife, Susie, rolled her beautiful eyes and said ‘Hmm’. It was a loaded Hmm that meant ‘Of course, but what’s stopping you?’ ‘Ah, I don’t know if I’m a good enough writer. I haven’t written …’ ‘Hmm’, Susie said again. It was a different Hmm, one that meant ‘If you wait to be a good enough writer you will never write the damn thing’. I put the cursor at the top of the screen and started pecking at the keys with one finger. Susie smiled, ‘I suppose you want coffee?’ I thank her for those Hmms. I thank her for all those cups of beautiful coffee. The old coffee lady in Bangkok was right, it’s been the best coffee I have ever tasted. I have been nourished by the memory of Austin Wood, ‘Oscar Forrest’ in this book, for his guidance and inspiration in those Golden Years of Australia’s trade promotions. The sensitive comments and professional suggestions from Austin’s widow, Mioko, have been of great help to me. I thank my brother David, William in this book, who is still the best designer that I have ever met and the best big brother anyone could have.

I thank our sister Betty Brown, who was the first person to read the ponderous first draft of this story, and is certainly the best big sister David and I could ever have. I thank Cyril Spendlove (Cedric Lovejoy) who was a brother-in-arms in Bangkok and in many other projects since. His collaboration on the story over many cups of coffee on many occasions and the revitalising of our long friendship, has been one of the huge bonuses in writing this book. I thank Herman Witte — Helmut the model-maker in this story — who taught me the importance of caring enough about the job in hand, and for his lifelong friendship. I thank my old friend Tan Cheoi Siang and the wonderful Singaporean construction team of City Neon, Metro Lights in this book, for the privilege of being able to be part of their incredible camaraderie. City Neon went on to do many projects for the Australian Government all over Asia and as far afield as the Middle East. After 25 years they were awarded a special commemorative plaque for their faultless service. Tan Cheoi Siang’s son, Tan Khee Soon, came and studied design in Melbourne and worked with me part time. He is a very successful designer in Singapore, we have done some interesting projects together in collaboration. I hold he and his father as dear friends. I thank my friend Juan Lozano, a great graphic designer, for so happily unscrambling my scrawly sketches, scanning them and placing them in their appropriate chapters. I thank my friends at Kaleideo, Andris Pinnis and David Grigg, for caring enough to labour through the first draft and still have the energy to offer kind encouragement. I specially thank Suchet Tachvijitta and his wife Chi, for gently guiding me in matters of Thai culture and terminology.

How can I ever thank the team at Pandanus? If it wasn’t for Ian Templeman miraculously finding some hint of promise in the big, awkward, blowsy manuscript that flopped onto his desk this book just wouldn’t have happened. If it wasn’t for Maxine McArthur applying her wonderful skills to make the rewriting process such a pleasure, such an exciting learning process for me, this book would never have reached its current readable state. I have learned so much from Maxine and enjoyed every minute. My gratitude extends to the rest of the Pandanus team, Maria Foster, Ann Andrews, Justine Molony, Duncan Beard and Emily Brissenden for her great cover design. Finally I would like to thank the wonderful Thai people who, all those years ago, taught a self-interested young designer the importance that, some times, some things really don’t matter. Mai bpen rai.

Robert Brunton

Prologue The Australian Pavilion, Bangkok. November 22, 1966.

THE OLD SHIT SMELL had come back again as Teddy wandered like a lost soul back into the ‘Land of the Great Silence’. He went back to where he had been working in a state of total despair. There was no hope now, the pavilion was stuffed and it was all his bloody fault. Even if all the other parts could be finished on time, and there was little hope of that, with the main feature of the whole thing ruined the way it was, the damned pavilion would be a hopeless failure. He had let everyone down. After all they had gone through, all the problems that had been thrown at them and he had to spoil it all at this stage. He had let his brother down, he had let Cedric down, he had let old Oscar down; the department. Jesus the country, he had let the whole bloody country down! He picked up the scalpel he had been using to trim the transparencies for the circular light-boxes. It was sharp, he had put a fresh blade in it that morning. He wished he had the courage to cut his stupid bloody throat.

1 Rice for the Soul Nam Phong, North Eastern Thailand, 1956

THE SUN HAD JUST risen out of those brooding, restless lands to the east, Laos and Vietnam, and had begun to slant its light across the calm Thai countryside. There was mist over the paddy fields and the air was dead still. The smoke from the cooking fires rose pencilstraight into the sky. Cocks crowed in competition as the farms around the little hamlet of Nam Phong came to life. The sun was still casting long shadows on the road into the village. Sumbart’s shadow was very long; it made him feel tall. It was good to feel tall sometimes. Sumbart didn’t mind being small, and he was small, even for a Thai he was small, but he didn’t mind, because he knew he was smart. His three brothers were bigger and stronger than him, but he was the smartest. His two sisters were pretty smart, but they were just girls. Yes, he was the smartest, and that’s why he didn’t have to work in

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the fields of the family farm. That’s why he was learning to be a motor mechanic. Like always, he had got up early to help his mother with the cooking. Even at the age of 18 this was still expected of him. You could be excused from a boy’s chores only if you worked in the fields. He didn’t mind though. He loved his mother and would do all he could to help her. It was she who encouraged him to ‘learn his words’. It was she who hoarded the kerosene so he could use the pressure lamp late into the night and study the English-language books that his master, Chatree Konsiri, had given him. Sumbart quickened his pace; Chatree liked to get an early start and Sumbart never wanted to disappoint his esteemed Naai, his master. He was so lucky to be working under Chatree. It was only because Chatree was an old friend of his father’s that he had got the job. Everyone in Nam Phong and the surrounding area respected the elderly Chatree Konsiri. In his youth, Chatree had taken his mandatory Buddhist training very seriously, but he had a deep fascination with machinery and all things mechanical. Just prior to World War II he applied for a position in a training scheme for automotive mechanics with a British company in Bangkok. Chatree excelled under the strict British tutelage, and in the process learned the English language. British interests closed down in Thailand during the Japanese occupation so Chatree returned to the village of Nam Phong, where he operated his motor mechanics business for the next 20 years. He had never married so had no children of his own, but he loved young people and delighted in the profound belief that he could help them along the path of life.

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The two-kilometre walk to the village never seemed to take long. Sumbart was always eager to get to work and now, as always, he felt a surge of excitement as he smelled the dank sourness of the old durian tree that hung over the bus stop where the road made its final curve into the village. A group of sleepy-looking school kids in snow-white blouses nodded to him as they waited for the bus to take them to the high school in Muang Khon Kaen, the regional town. Sumbart tried to look without turning his head. Yes, yes, she was there, standing at the rear of the group leaning against the ancient tree, reading a textbook. His heart gave its usual little skip, half in time to his step. She was so pretty, so tall and slim. He kept walking, his heart still skipping with his steps, the image of her pretty face filling his mind’s eye. He wondered if she had really been reading, or was she just pretending? Her school book reminded him of his own homework. Had he learned his words properly? Chatree would test him during the day while they were working. He always did, slyly working the loaded questions into their conversations. Sumbart, if I was to leave a note asking you to check the oil in the gearbox, and then to write me a cheque, would I have spelled that repeated word the same way, my boy? Oh God, had he learned those words well enough? If he hadn’t Chatree’s reprimand would be gentle, but it would hurt. He hated to disappoint his Naai. He desperately wanted Chatree to be proud of him. The village was waking, stretching in the sunlight. Shutters were being removed, trestles and stalls set up, awnings erected. Nam Phong was a tiny place, all of the shopkeepers knew him and greeted him as he passed. He responded with the respectful wai, pressing his palms together and bowing his head in a brief prayer-like

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gesture. Chatree’s workshop was on the far side of the village, where the road gave a snaking bend before heading out into the farmlands. From the outside it was just another jumble of rusted roofs and weathered timber walls, but inside it was an electrifying wonderland to young Sumbart. The heavy rubber smell of tyres and fan-belts, oil and hot metal, enchanted him. It was a magic incense that would, one day, transform him into a motor mechanic and save him from the drudgery of the rice fields. Chatree insisted on the place being kept in immaculate order. The earthen floors were swept to a satiny finish, the benches were wiped down each evening, and all the tools were kept exactly in their place. A place of work should be a place of joy, young Sumbart, and a place of joy must be kept tidy. Chatree met him at the entrance where they had an old Chevrolet truck up on blocks ready to work on its ailing front suspension. Chatree was solidly built and approaching 60. He wore clean grey coveralls and his head was shaved in the Buddhist manner, though it was showing a trace of grey stubble. The eyes behind his steelrimmed spectacles were clear and bright. They always were in the mornings. Sumbart knew that he would have spent the previous two hours in deep meditation in his little room at the rear of the rambling complex. ‘Sawatdee Sumbart,’ Chatree said with a warm smile. ‘Did your dear mother send those bantam eggs that she promised last week?’ ‘Sawatdee Karb,’ Sumbart answered, as he bowed in a respectful wai. ‘Mother asked me to explain that the bantams have refused to lay, Naai.’ ‘Ah my boy, we are not the birds’ masters are we? Their gifts are for them to give, not for us to take. Please

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give your mother my best regards, and tell her not to worry about those eggs. When they come, they will come.’ Chatree looked at the old truck and sighed. ‘Sadly we are not as free as those birds, Sumbart. We must do as we are bid, and this morning we must replace the kingpins in the front suspension of this dear old girl.’ He stroked his chin and gave a little shake of his head. ‘And I think we will have to fit new bushes in the tie-rod ends, too. So, my boy, let’s get started.’ They worked hard on the rusted old truck all morning, not even stopping for their customary tea break. Then at last, as Chatree tightened home the final bolt, he gave a satisfied sigh and said, ’Ah, it is good, isn’t it young Sumbart, to repair something, to make it work again?’ Sumbart took the heavy wrench from his employer and passed him a cloth to wipe his hands. As he wriggled on his back out from under the rusty old truck, Chatree continued, ‘It is satisfying to give further life to this old lady, eh Sumbart? It is good to be useful, it is the rice for the soul.’ Sumbart smiled, he liked it when Chatree was in a talkative mood, although this was not always the case. Chatree was prone to periods of silent, brooding thought. Taking the cloth back from Chatree, he said, ‘How can a rusty old truck affect our souls, Naai?’ ‘Of course, it can’t Sumbart, no thing can affect our inner being. But what we do to this rusty old girl can affect our soul. It is always what we do or don’t do that matters. It is all that matters. Things never matter, young Sumbart, people don’t even matter, my boy, only what they do or don’t do matters.’ Sumbart was intrigued, he wanted to know more about this side of Chatree. He took a deep breath and, dropping his eyes to the oil-stained floor, asked, ‘Forgive

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me, Naai, if I offend you with this question, but don’t you miss the satisfactions of serving the teachings of our Lord Buddha?’ Even as he spoke Sumbart’s heart seemed to drop in his body at the precocity of his question. He dared not look up, but stood there in silence. He felt the touch of Chatree’s hand on his shoulder. ‘It’s all right Sumbart, my boy, it’s all right.’ Sumbart looked up. Chatree was smiling. ‘That’s a very big question, and I don’t really know the answer. But when I can be sure that my life has taken the right path, when I have visited the Golden Pavilion, you, my dear boy, will be the first person I will share this knowledge with.’ Sumbart’s eyes filled with tears, and he swallowed hard. He was deeply moved but did not really understand what by. His throat was constricted as he asked urgently, ‘The Golden Pavilion, Naai, where is that? Is it far away? Why do you have to go there? When will you go there? How long will you be gone?’ ‘Steady, steady on now,’ Chatree slapped Sumbart on the arm. ‘I am not going anywhere. But there is a sala, or pavilion, in the grounds of the wat of the Great Golden Buddha, where monks go to meditate and gain inner peace before entering the bot or inner temple. It is a very beautiful place indeed, set in a beautiful garden. It is an exquisitely carved and gilded structure, but to me, the real Golden Pavilion is that place in our hearts where we find inner peace. The place we find by the things we do and the things we don’t do.’ Chatree took Sumbart’s elbow. ‘Come, it is time for our midday rice. Now you may understand that perhaps fixing that rusty old truck has taken us both a little closer to our Golden Pavilions. And, anyway, it helps pay for the rice.’

2 Forty-second Street Melbourne, Australia, 1959.

THE CORNER OF FIFTH Avenue and Forty-second Street, New York, sounded like a pretty glamorous address to Teddy Brown. What a project, right in Manhattan, and right opposite the new Chase Manhattan Bank building, which, on that real estate among all those skyscrapers, and at only one-and-a-half storeys high, was the most expensive building on the planet. Yes, it was all pretty glamorous. He parked his little Standard Mayflower in the shade of one of the elm trees that lined Melbourne’s fashionable Queens Road. It was going to be another hot one. It had been 98 yesterday, and it could reach the century today. The grass in Albert Park was browning and the lake sparkled as the first hints of the summer north wind fanned its surface. Teddy Brown was a graphic designer and illustrator. He was 23 years old, slim, just under six foot, with

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straight brown hair that he wore collar length in the ‘Beatles’ style. He had brown eyes that his friends felt always seemed sad or worried, a prominent nose that he felt was much too big and a chin that he felt was too small. This morning he was wearing his new summer suit. He was proud of it. It was light tan, in polished cotton and crushed easily, so he had folded the jacket carefully before draping it over his arm. He needed to look smart today. Queens Road, Melbourne, was also a fashionable address; it used to be an exclusive residential area, but at nine in the morning it was a busy, exhaust-choked thoroughfare into the city. He waited for a gap in the traffic, then sprinted across the road to the large, opulent block of cream brick flats where their office was housed. ———————— The day before, his big brother William, an architect, had caught the early flight down from Sydney with the concept drawings of the New York project. William had gone with their employer, multimillionaire property developer Victor Cransky, to present the New York scheme to the Australian Government’s Department of Trade Office of Trade Publicity. The meeting had been long and arduous and had gone on until well after lunch-time. Mid-afternoon William had hurried into the little Queens Road office that Teddy shared with one other person, Robert Doric, an architect who technically was in charge of the Cranhill Group’s architectural operations in Melbourne. Robert was about 30 and a little portly with a spiky blond crew-cut and bright-blue eyes. Teddy knew Robert had been rather miffed that he hadn’t been

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included in this important meeting with the government people. Cranhill’s architectural group was centered in Sydney, where they were building a huge hotel development at Potts Point. The New York project was Victor Cransky’s personal baby. He had asked Ronald Crown, who headed up the architectural group, for their best designer to work on it. William Brown was that man. Victor Cransky operated by a well-honed set of rules. One was to keep meetings as small as possible, to minimise the number of personalities. There had been no room for Robert at the meeting. When William had arrived, carrying a bundle of rolled drawings, he was smiling. ‘Hi chaps! Boy, what an ordeal. Big Vic was really in form.’ Big Vic was the nickname they used for their chief, who had a gangsterlike penchant for silky suits and big cigars. ‘Well, how did it go, Will?’ Robert asked. ‘Should we be packing our bags?’ ‘Almost, Bob, almost. They guy we saw today is the technical fellow in charge. He will make his recommendations and then the big shots in Canberra will make the final decision. I think old Victor is feeling pretty confident. He offered me a cigar after the meeting.’ William took his suit jacket off and stretched. ‘Boy, it’s hot out there.’ William, 33, was tall with sharply handsome features and light-auburn hair that was combed straight back. He looked fit and moved easily. He smiled again. ‘Look, can I go over these drawings with you two now? This guy we saw, a bloke called Oscar Forrest, has asked for a few little alterations. Most of them are fairly innocuous but some of them are pretty incisive. He needs to have these revised drawings back by lunch-time tomorrow because he is

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taking them up to Canberra the next day. I’ve brought the originals with me, so if you two could fix them up and get them back to him it would be great.’ William had carefully gone through the drawings and indicated the pencilled changes that needed to be made. It was a very exciting scheme. Victor Cransky’s dream was to establish a strong presence in the United States. At considerable expense he had secured a leasehold on a prominent property on the corner of Fifth Avenue and 42nd Street in New York. Built in the Twenties, it was a narrow building only 10 storeys high. His plan was to do startling renovations and use the top few floors as Cranhill Group’s US headquarters. The rest of the building, with full naming rights, he was offering to the Australian Government as a permanent commercial trade centre, ‘Ausralia House New York’. William had made a wonderful set of drawings, floorplans and elevations, which showed how the old, nondescript building could be changed into a landmark that would rival the famous Chase Manhattan building opposite. As William went through the drawings, Robert began to query some of the alterations that had been requested by Oscar Forrest. William cut him short, saying gently, ‘Yes Bob, I know. Some of these things look pretty innocuous, but this guy seems to know what he is talking about. Let’s just do as he asks. I would like to go over all the reasons with you, but I haven’t got time. I have to catch the 5.30 back to Sydney. The hotel opens in less than a month, you know.’ He frowned at his younger brother. ‘Ted, could you apologise to Mum and Dad for me, mate? Tell them I am sorry that I didn’t get to see them this trip. But when the hotel is up and running I want them to come and stay a while in Sydney with us.’

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‘Yeah Will, sure. Would you like me to drive you to the airport?’ ‘No thanks, mate. I’ll grab a taxi. You had better stay and help Bob with these revisions.’ Teddy would have liked to have shifted to Sydney, too, but William had insisted that he work in the Melbourne office. Teddy still lived at home with their parents, and when William had got him this job with the Cranhill Group it was on the condition that he stay in their home town. He didn’t want their folks to have both of their sons living interstate. Teddy looked at Robert, who seemed to be making a studied effort of looking through the drawings. Robert didn’t say anything then, but later, after William had left, he said, ‘I’m not in total agreement you know, not with all of these changes.’ His bright-blue eyes had taken on a cooler glint. ‘With every respect to your big brother, Teddy boy, I think that perhaps his mind is on too many things at the moment. I know that the hotel is sapping everyone’s energy up in Sydney. They should have given us this New York job, here in Melbourne. It would have made much more sense. We are nearer to Big Vic’s office and nearer to these government people down here.’ He impatiently flicked over some of William’s drawings. ‘I mean, some of these revisions are just crap, really.’ He looked up at Teddy. ‘Look, I used to work for the Government, I know these sort of people. I know how their mousy little minds work. This little man has asked for these changes just on principle. Just so he can feel that his grey little arse is in the driver’s seat. It’s crap, just public service power play. Believe me, I know.’ ‘But, Will, he said …’ Teddy started but Robert cut in.

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‘Will’s concept is, well it’s quite good. But these proposed changes are a backward step. And Will, well I think he was probably too tired, or too stressed, to defend his ground.’ The coolness in Robert’s eyes warmed somewhat. ‘Teddy, this is a chance for us in the Melbourne office to show Victor Cransky that we can take the initiative. Sure, we will make the changes, but we will do them our way, the proper way, without compromising the integrity of Will’s concept.’ He smiled. ‘And we will get you into the act, too. Why should your big brother have all the fun? He has only done plans and elevations. Why don’t you do some of your great little perspective sketches. You know, to create a bit of “at-mosfear”, buddy boy.’ Robert had suddenly adopted a loud American accent. ‘Show the goddamned Chase Manhattan over yonder, that sort of thing, man.’ They worked excitedly through that afternoon and long into the night, all the time talking with outrageous fake American accents and humming Give My Regards To Broadway. Robert carried out the revisions to the drawings as he had seen fit, and Teddy produced a half-dozen sketches showing dramatic interior views peopled with figures Teddy thought of as being suitably ‘Fifth Avenue chic’. One sketch through the ground-floor lobby showed a glimpse of the façade of the famous bank building opposite. When they left that night they felt pretty pleased with themselves. They would knock the socks off those little government clerks the next day. ———————— The large block of flats was one of many properties owned by the Cranhill Group. It formed a giant ‘U’ shape

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with a large garden area in the gap of the ‘U’. Their office comprised two adjoining flats on the second floor of the left-hand wing. Teddy was excited as he walked up the central garden pathway, but he also had nagging feelings of guilt for not following William’s instructions. He suspected that Robert was really just trying to put his own personal stamp on the project, but perhaps that didn’t matter if the project was to benefit. When he entered the office Robert was already there, looking fresh and bright-eyed. ‘Ah Teddy, I’ve been through the drawings again. We are looking good, looking really good. I’ve turned on the plan-printer, it’s warming up. William rang from Sydney. He said that this guy Forrest would like the drawings by 10:30. Shouldn’t be a problem. Their office is just down in St Kilda Junction. We can walk there.’ Then, with an exaggerated wink, he reverted back to the American accent of the night before. ‘How’s about puttin’ a pot of java on, old buddy?’ The Department of Trade’s offices at St Kilda Junction were also housed in a block of cream brick flats, but were not nearly as salubrious as those owned by the Cranhill Group. They were crammed in tightly between other buildings and were ‘V’ shaped. In place of the wellmanicured garden there was an oil-stained concrete car park. As they entered the nondescript lobby, Robert didn’t say anything, but he gave Teddy a knowing look and rolled his blue eyes. They checked the shabby directory panel, which had an alarming number of its plastic letters missing, then caught the creaking lift to the fourth floor. It was 10:40. Robert always liked to operate within what he called his ‘15-minute executive leeway’. To make the point that he was a busy person. A short, plumpish secretary with frizzy reddish hair and thick horn-rimmed glasses bade them take a seat,

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indicating a row of beaten-up plastic chairs. She would let Mr Forrest know they had arrived. She did nothing for three or four minutes, during which time Teddy noticed the two heavy walking sticks that were leaning against the rear of her desk. Robert leant close and whispered not too softly, ‘Just look around you, these are the sort of dead-heads we’re dealing with here.’ He tapped the roll of drawings he was holding and smiled. The secretary frowned at them and finally picked up the intercom phone. ‘Those Cransky people have arrived, at last … Yes certainly Mr Forrest.’ She put down the phone. ‘He said you had better go straight in, you’re late.’ Cheap stuck-on plastic letters on the door read, ‘Director of Trade Publicity’. The office was large, scruffy and cluttered. There was a ‘conversation area’ consisting of a cheap-looking vinyl settee and two vinyl lounge chairs, neither of which matched the settee. The small hardwood coffee table was scratched and piled high with dog-eared manila folders. On the opposite side of the room there was a metal-legged conference table with about a dozen of the sort of cheap plastic chairs that were out in the waiting area. This table was mostly covered with files and rolls of drawings and a couple of models of what looked like exhibition stands, with only a small clear area at one end. In the centre of the room was a very ordinary timber desk, scratched like the coffee table and cluttered with files and folders. There were two tired-looking vinylupholstered visitors’ chairs in front of the desk and behind it sat the Director of Trade Publicity, the man responsible for Australia’s image to the world, Oscar Forrest. He was hunched forward reading some typed pages. He made no move as Teddy and Robert entered the room. They walked across and stood behind the visitors’ chairs. He still didn’t look up. Robert gave Teddy a glance

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and a little shrug, then, giving his bright-eyed smile, said cheerfully, ‘Mr Forrest, I am Robert Doric and this is my associate Teddy Brown, we’re from the …’ Without looking up, Oscar Forrest interrupted, ‘You are Cransky people.’ ‘Well yes, we are part of the Cranhill Group of companies,’ Robert kept smiling, but Oscar Forrest still didn’t look up. There was silence for an unnerving period of time. Robert’s smile started to fade. ‘Victor Cransky … Victor Cransky,’ Oscar Forrest seemed to be speaking to himself. He was quiet again for a while then sighed and looked up, at the same time removing a pair of heavy horn-rimmed glasses. He blinked as he focused his grey eyes first on Teddy, then on Robert, who was holding the roll of drawings. ‘All right then, you can put them over there.’ He nodded towards the conference table, and stood up. He was tall, perhaps six-two, Teddy judged, tanned and about 50. He had thinning grey hair, swept back from the sort of high forehead that veins would stand out on, and a trimmed military-style moustache. His features were sharp and his face deeply lined. As he started to spread the drawings out on to the clearer end of the table, Robert said, ‘Are there others joining us, or is it just us?’ ‘You were expecting the whole Legislative Assembly were you?’ Oscar muttered. ‘No, it’s just that …’ ‘Come on, come on. Let me see if you have got it right this time.’ Oscar put his glasses back on and, almost pushing Robert out of the way, leaned his long frame over the drawings. Robert was looking nervous. He started to speak, ‘The building, of course, has its own integrity. It follows that …’

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Oscar silenced him with a sharp wave of his hand. ‘What games are you people playing? What the fuck are you playing at? This is nothing like what we discussed yesterday. Cransky, and that tall fellow with him, they seemed to understand what I was talking about. What the devil is going on?’ Robert paled, ‘We understood your needs, but we have to maintain a certain …’ ‘Please don’t say “integrity” again,’ Oscar barked. ’For heaven’s sake, you just wanted to make your drawings look all neat and tidy, with everything lining up neatly. You have completely ignored our need for easy exhibit access and crowd movement. What you are showing me here is a tight, congested little rat-trap.’ The veins were standing out on his forehead now. ‘It’s hard to talk about “integrity” when discussing a Victor Cransky project, but,’ he stared hard at Robert, ‘integrity in a building has a lot to do with it being an honest expression of its function. And bugger all to do with prizzy tidiness.’ At this point Oscar came to Teddy’s sketches, the ones showing fashionable-looking girls and sartorial male figures. He flicked through them quickly, pausing on the one that showed the neighbouring Chase Manhattan building. He seemed to know that Teddy had done them, because he fixed him with his stare. ‘I am concerned with ascertaining whether this building could be of use to us. If I had wanted a demonstration of fashion drawing, I would have asked for it. What’s more, the fact that this building has another of those soulless bloody glass boxes opposite it, is of no interest to me.’ Oscar stood up straight. ‘Let me be frank with you two. Personally, I don’t like the smell of this thing. I think your boss, Victor Cransky, just wants the Australian Government to underwrite the risk of his investment.

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Your little egotistical prank this morning hasn’t helped things. No, not at all.’ He returned to his desk, sat down and resumed reading his documents. Robert, white as a ghost with hands shaking, rolled up the drawings. Teddy was starting to feel sick. Without looking up, Oscar Forrest said in a voice that was deadly calm, ‘I shall be leaving this office at four this afternoon for Canberra. Get the correctly revised drawings back here before then. Leave them with Miss Ridge outside. I don’t want to see you again.’ The sun was getting hot and the cicadas were cranking up as they walked back to their office. It was going to be a scorcher, but Robert and Teddy didn’t notice. They were too stunned, punch-drunk. They hadn’t even taken their jackets off and Teddy’s new polished cotton was showing dark sweat marks under his arms. It was a long while before Robert broke the silence. ‘William should have warned us. He sent us right into a bloody lion’s den.’ Teddy didn’t answer, but thought, ‘we should have just followed Will’s instructions’, and wished he had the courage to say it out loud. Forty-second Street now seemed to be a very long way away.

3 The Conch Shell Nam Phong, North-East Thailand, 1960.

HIS HEART WAS SO full of joy he was sure it was going to burst. This frightened him; he had never felt like this before. Sumbart couldn’t believe all of this was happening. It was all because of Chatree. He had so much to thank his master for. He knew that his dear mother had a lot to do with it, too. She had always encouraged and supported him. And yes, he had worked hard, and, as Chatree had taught him, he had been steadfast and a jia yen, a cool heart, following the Buddhist way, the Middle Path. But how did he deserve the hand of the beautiful Suni Suwannar? Deserving or not, here he was wearing the special silk shirt his brothers had bought him, kneeling beside his heavenly young bride, and his heart was about to burst. This frightening feeling had started this morning when Chatree arrived with the mini-bus he had borrowed. They had intended to go by public bus but

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Chatree wouldn’t hear of it. He drove Subart and Suni and their parents to the Registration Office at Muang Khon Kaen. Sumbart couldn’t remember much about signing the papers in front of the bored official. It all had seemed vague and dream-like. Suni and he hadn’t touched each other. They hadn’t even held hands. This was a public place so they automatically adhered to the custom of not touching. He couldn’t remember driving back to Nam Phong, but now they were kneeling side by side at the start of the Blessing Ceremony, their thighs were lightly touching and his heart was pounding. He remembered how his heart used to pound like this back on those mornings when he had been too shy to be seen even looking at her at the bus stop. It was strange, but he still associated the smell of the durian tree with her. It had got so that even walking past a stall of durian fruit in the village would make his heart skip a beat. It seemed like only yesterday, but so much had changed since then, and all because of Chatree Konsiri. Chatree and his magic workshop. He had learned so much in that wonderful place. He had learned much about the business of being a motor mechanic and he learned to treasure the satisfaction of repairing things and making them useful again. Chatree had encouraged him to question why things were so, and not to be satisfied with merely knowing how they worked. Bit by bit, without even noticing it, he began to feel increasingly confident about himself. His grasp of the farang language, English, improved markedly, and so did his status in the village. He knew he had benefited greatly from the reflected esteem in which his master, Chatree, was held. It didn’t matter any more that he was small, it didn’t matter at all.

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Now he turned to look at the tall, graceful young girl who knelt beside him. She wore the traditional heavy silk gown her parents had bought her. It was many shades and patterns of greens and blues, like the waters of nearby Lake Lam Poa. Around her waist she wore a sash of burntorange. There was a sprig of wild orchid in her hair, the palest of greens. Her long hair shone more brightly than the polished paintwork of the Governor’s black Buick. She was the most heavenly creature Sumbart had ever seen. They were kneeling, semi-erect, behind a carved teak foot stool which had an embroidered silk cushion on it. The embroidery was a rich golden colour. They held their hands out in front of them in a wai position and their forearms rested on the golden cushion. Suni, her head bowed and her long lashes lowered, was looking straight ahead, but she seemed to sense Sumbart looking at her, for the corner of her mouth lifted in a tiny smile. His heart hammered like an air-compressor. Their fathers came to them with the traditional mongkol, a thick white cotton thread which, with fumbling hands, they tied gently around his and Suni’s heads. This was to symbolise their union. A large ceramic bowl of scented water with flower petals floating in it was placed in front of the foot stool. Using an ornately decorated conch shell, their guests, family and friends filed past and poured a little of the scented water over the couple’s hands, which were still held in the prayer-like wai position. Sumbart was still frightened by the incredible happiness he felt. He concentrated his gaze on his proffered hands and the conch shell. He dared not risk making eye contact with anyone. He tried desperately to remain impassive and remote, but he recognised the awkward, weathered hands

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of his hard-working father, then the reassuring, caring hands of his dear mother; the blunt, strong fingers of his brothers, all so movingly familiar. The cool trickling water was soothing, but he dared not look up. His heart still pounded. Slowly the guests filed by, some hands he recognised, most he didn’t. Some were hesitant and fumbling, some were sure and confident, some were careful and formal, some diffident and careless. It seemed to go on for ever, yet it seemed to take no time at all. There would be a party after all these formalities. Their parents had hired the old meeting hall behind the butcher’s shop. He hoped his heart would stop pounding by then. He started to feel better, relaxing a little, but then came a pair of hands he recognised immediately. He had been watching them performing mechanical miracles for the past three years. They had been so steady and sure as they plied spanners and torsion wrenches to inaccessible bolts, so sensitive and accurate as they held micrometers and feeler gauges. And, of course, no matter how long he scrubbed them, Chatree Konsiri could not remove the traces of 30 years of oil and carbon. But now Sumbart’s heart stopped its pounding, it almost stopped beating. Those hands that had been so firm and sure were trembling as they cupped the conch shell. Water splashed on to Sumbart’s silk sleeves. He looked up into the eyes behind the steel-rimmed glasses; they were filled with tears. ———————— Chatree’s workshop never lost its wonder for Sumbart. He sometimes wondered if this was the fabled Golden

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Sala Chatree had spoken of, the place where contentment and peace of mind was found. It seemed that way to him. He was more at ease there than anywhere else. More at peace even than when he was home with Suni. This thought was frightening. What was wrong with him? His family had helped him build a little house on the farm. It was small, but it was comfortable and just far enough from the main house to have a feeling of privacy. Suni seemed happy to help his mother and sisters in the gardens during the days. She made an effort to please him by keeping their little dwelling well organised. She fulfilled all her wifely duties, enchanting him with her beauty. The nights were wondrous. But there was a distance between them. Perhaps it was because of her confronting beauty that he could never feel at peace when he was with her. Was it that he didn’t feel worthy of her? Was it because she seemed to ignore the little things that meant so much to him, like how she never used the special tablecloth his mother had given them, or never prepared the tom yum noodles she knew he loved so much? He didn’t know exactly why, but he could never really share his soul with her. The walk into Nam Phong each morning had become painful. He hated leaving her, but he was drawn by the peace of mind he would feel in the safety of the workshop and in the calming presence of Chatree. The sour fragrance of the old durian tree at the bus stop was an agony. His heart would pound, and he would want to turn and run back to Suni at the farm. But he never did.

4 Big Dreams Melbourne, Australia, 1960.

TEDDY BROWN SHUT HIS black leather briefcase and prepared to leave the Queens Road office. It was 4:30 and he had to make the 6pm flight to Sydney if he was going to keep his dinner date. He paused as he passed Robert Doric’s drawing-board. ‘I’m off now Bob,’ Teddy was trying hard to sound casually business-like. Robert was the office manager, he expected to be told what was going on. Robert finished drawing a line he was drafting and looked inquiringly over the top of his glasses. Teddy continued, ’I’m going up to Sydney tonight, Bob, so that I can get an early start with William in the morning on Big Vic’s tower project. Evidently he wants to make a press release at the end of the week, and needs a really developed perspective. William is still working on the design, so I should be up there with him.’

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Robert smiled and nodded. ‘Fine, well give my regards to … er, to everybody in the Sydney office.’ He gave another smile, then a little shake of his head as he went back to his drawing. Teddy smiled, too. He knew Robert knew that he was going up to see Vivian, and he knew that he didn’t really care. It was true though, about the Cransky Tower project being at a critical point. Teddy picked up his bulging briefcase and left the office. Teddy could only wonder at what drove a man like Victor Cransky. Obviously it was more than just the need to accumulate wealth, he had enough of that. Whatever it was, it was expanding his empire at an accelerating rate. The first stage of the huge hotel complex had opened in Sydney to great fanfare and other similar hotels were planned for Newcastle, Melbourne and Perth. There was a gigantic housing development scheme planned just north of Sydney, and an extraordinarily ambitious scheme to build over the Jolimont railway yards in Melbourne and erect an enormous feature tower structure, which was designed to be the ultimate icon for Melbourne, the Cransky Tower. Teddy’s life was in an exciting whirl. The Melbourne office of Cransky’s architectural group was bulging at the seams. Where there had been just Teddy and Robert Doric, there was now a staff of 12. The place was buzzing. The New York project had become bogged down somewhere in Canberra’s bureaucracy and forgotten about with the pressure of all the other work. Teddy had almost forgotten about his dreams of Fortysecond Street and the redoubtable Oscar Forrest. Yes, life was interesting. The cab he had ordered was waiting in Queens Road to take him to Essendon Airport. ————————

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The huge propeller blades of the Ansett Lockheed Electra whined into a blur and they started down the runway. Teddy tightened his seatbelt a bit more. Taking off always made him nervous. He closed his eyes and tried to think about the Cransky Tower. It was a hugely audacious concept. He wondered what sort of design William had come up with. He knew whatever his big brother had done would be wonderful, if he doubted anything it was his own ability to do a perspective drawing that would do it justice. He would have to get the drawing right first time, there was no time to stuff things up. These thoughts were making him more nervous than the take-off, so he switched his thoughts to Vivian. He had phoned her before leaving the office. They were to meet for dinner at some French place she liked in New South Head Road. He would be with her in an hour or so. ———————— He had got to know Vivian Scott during the opening period of the Sydney hotel project. Teddy had been in Sydney for a couple of weeks before the opening. As graphic designer, he had designed all the menu covers and signage for the hotel and needed to be there to supervise the signage installation. Vivian was his boss, Ronald Crown’s, secretary. Teddy had fallen for her right from the start. She was a very attractive brunette with green lynx-like eyes and a strangely sad smile, but it was her air of confidence and efficiency that had really excited him. It had taken him a full week to marshall the courage to invite Vivian to the opening Architects Ball in the Grand Ballroom of the new hotel. Unfortunately, she was already going with someone else, but she had arranged

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a date for Teddy with one of her girlfriends, a young aspiring model. A week later Vivian invited Teddy to a party at the home of an artist friend in a converted boathouse built over the water at Rushcutters Bay. Teddy knew some of the people there. A number of Sydney artists, including Vivian’s sister, had been commissioned to do murals, mosaics and sculptural pieces for the hotel. It was a big party and a very Bohemian affair. The cream of Sydney’s art community was there. Everyone wore corduroys and desert boots, turtleneck sweaters or woollen shirts and suede vests, and there he was in suit pants and a business shirt. The conversation seemed very esoteric and informed, and he understood little of it. Vivian fitted in easily, she seemed to know everybody and was obviously very popular. Coming from Melbourne, where he was still living at home with his parents, Teddy felt well out of his depth. Vivian had made an effort to make him feel at home. She introduced him to people who she thought he would find interesting, and kept his ceramic goblet filled with claret. As the claret had taken effect, Teddy had started to relax. He mingled as unobtrusively as he could for an hour or so, just watching the party guests, observing their mannerisms and how they circulated through the gathering. People kept refilling his heavy goblet. He noticed that there seemed to be a bedroom set aside for couples to be private in. People would sometimes knock discreetly on the door and smile understandingly at the muffled responses. The claret had made him forget that he had come to this party with a beautiful young woman, but he remembered then and went to find her. He had found Vivian talking to a group of people in the large studio area that opened out on to the rear deck. She was looking wonderful in a tight black sweater,

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fitting grey flannel skirt and black stockings. He decided then to make some sort of move on her. Lacking experience, he had been rather tentative at first, putting his arm in an almost brotherly manner around her shoulders as she talked to her friends. Gaining confidence, he slipped his arm around her slim waist, and gave her a bit of a squeeze. She didn’t seem to mind, placing her free hand on his as she sipped her claret. It went on like that for some time, her holding his arm around her waist. He pressed closer against her, she never even looked at him, but kept talking to her friends, never to him. Then, finally, as the conversation ebbed, she had glanced at her watch and turned to face him. He saw her lynx eyes were blazing. She kissed him lightly on the cheek and whispered in his ear, ‘Come, I have something for you.’ Still holding his hand, she led him down the short hallway to the bedroom door. She went to open it. ‘No, we should knock first,’ Teddy whispered. His heart was pounding. Vivian gave her strange little sad smile and opened the door, her eyes still blazing. ‘No need my dear, Vivian organises everything.’

5 La Fontaine Sydney, Australia,1960.

LA FONTAINE WAS A converted terrace house in New South Head Road, adjacent to the prestigious suburb of Point Piper. It was very small, very fashionable and appropriately over-priced. The kitsch little mosaic-tiled fountain in the courtyard was a bad mistake. A headwind had slowed Teddy’s flight and he had had trouble getting a cab at the airport, so he was nearly half an hour late. Vivian was at a table by a window, with a glass of Dubonnet and a nibbled crust-stick on her side plate. She was wearing a rust-red business suit Teddy hadn’t seen before. There was a small string of pearls around her throat. Her dark hair was not in the usual secretarial bun or ponytail, but brushed out to fall softly to her shoulders. She gave her disconcertingly sad smile when she saw him. Teddy wished he had the nerve, or the style, to give her a familiar kiss on the cheek, but he didn’t. He just

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stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to do with his bulging briefcase which held his overnight things. ‘Oh, I hope you haven’t been waiting too long, I er … there was a hopeless queue for …’ He looked for somewhere to put his briefcase as there didn’t seem to be enough room under the table. Vivian didn’t say anything but indicated with a little movement of her head and a flash of her green eyes that there was a waiter standing behind him trying to relieve him of the briefcase. The waiter took the case from him rather impatiently. ‘Would monsieur like a drink before dinnair?’ ‘Yes, the same as the lady thanks.’ Teddy could feel himself blushing as he sat down on the seat the waiter had proffered. God he hated these sorts of places. Vivian still hadn’t said anything, but sat looking at him. The sad smile hadn’t left her face. What was it about that smile, he thought? Where did that sadness come from? He couldn’t think of anything to say, which was really strange. They had been talking eagerly on the phone to each other just a few hours ago and now he was hopelessly tongue-tied. After a while her smile widened a little and she reached across the table and gave his hand a squeeze. ‘Just relax Teddy, it’s nice to have you here. We are going to have a wonderful time, I promise.’ The Dubonnet was much too sweet for him, but it seemed to give him strength. La Fontaine was famous for its escargot, which they ordered for entrée, and he had a Chateaubriand and she tournedos to follow. He didn’t bother to look at the prices. That was the good thing about working for the Cransky Group. Then there was the terrible pantomime over the wine selection. He thought he had put up a pretty good pretence of being knowledgeable, but deep inside he knew he wasn’t fooling anyone. He chose a Hunter River

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red because the name seemed vaguely familiar. When the waiter splashed some into his glass to taste he spent probably too much time thoughtfully swilling it around in his mouth. Vivian turned away and stared out the window. God he hated these sorts of places. The escargot took a long time to come. ‘Snail’s pace,’ Teddy thought. They came with a bewildering set of ironmongery, strange tong-like gadgets to hold the shells and tiny forks to winkle the flesh out. They were very chewy but the garlic-butter sauce was delicious. They mopped up the last smears of the sauce with the ends of crust-sticks. The red wine was light and agreeable and started to buzz gently through him. They made small talk about the office. It seemed the office was in a serious state of overload and Vivian’s boss, Ronald Crown, was trying to carry the entire load himself, not delegating any of the responsibilities to anyone, except the design issues to William. Soon the smile had left Vivian’s face and her lynx eyes flashed a different light. ‘Look, I have been really looking forward to seeing you again, but I am sick to death of the goings-on in the stupid bloody office. Something is going on in the Cransky hierarchy that is worrying Ron, but he won’t talk about it, and I don’t want to talk about it either, OK?’ ‘Well,’ Teddy had seen that light in her eyes before. ‘We can talk about all sorts of things. We can …’ ‘I don’t want to talk,’ she leant across the table. The smile had come back, but there was no sadness in it now. She spoke softly, ‘I want to make love.’ ‘Um, yes, of course. Later we …’ Teddy was offbalance, flaying about inside. ‘No,’ she was whispering now, ‘I want to make love now.’ ‘Now?’

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‘Yes, right now.’ ‘But, our steaks, they are …’ She rolled her beautiful cat eyes. ‘Yes, I agree, now, of course.’ He beckoned to the waiter. ‘The bill please. Everything, we will pay for what we have ordered. Quickly please, we are in a hurry.’ When the waiter was bringing the bill he whispered to Vivian, ‘Where, where should we go?’ He knew that Vivian was living at home with her parents to save money for an overseas trip she had planned. He was going to stay the night with William and his family at their flat in Elizabeth Bay. ‘We could book into a hotel I suppose, but.’ ‘No, don’t bother.’ Her smile had taken on an impish quality. ‘My car is around the corner … we will find somewhere.’ He paid the bill, tipping the waiter exuberantly, and they left the restaurant, walking quickly towards where Vivian’s Volkswagen Karman Ghia was parked. They heard running footsteps behind them … it was the waiter with the briefcase Teddy had forgotten. Vivian’s little car was parked in a side street that led off into the arm of land that was the salubrious suburb of Point Piper. As Teddy drove further into Point Piper he tried to ignore the sounds beside him as Vivian struggled to remove some of her clothing. He was looking for a dark secluded spot to park. They were in an area of big, gracious mansions when finally, at the top of a steep rise in the road, he found a place that the streetlights failed to light. He stopped the car and, with a hand that had started to shake a little, turned off the ignition and pulled on the handbrake that was between the seats. He left the car in gear. It was very dark. When he turned to Vivian he could see very little of her, just a dark silhouette, the light of her

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eyes, the flash of her smile and the soft sheen of the pearls around her throat. She didn’t speak. He leant across and kissed her. She tasted of butter and garlic, her shoulders and legs seemed to be bare. He struggled to climb over the handbrake to be on top of her in the passenger’s seat. They tangled in a flurry of garlicky, wine-flavoured kisses. The damn handbrake was in the way. Her skin was incredibly smooth and warm as he ran his hand over her shoulders. Ah, the bloody handbrake was caught in his trouser leg. He reached down and pressed the release button; it folded down out of the way. Her throat and shoulders were so smooth. He was on top of her now, caressing her shoulders and throat as they kissed. He felt his fingers catch in something and there was a faint snap followed by the cascade of things falling on to the rubber floor mat behind the seat. Christ, the pearls! He had broken her string of pearls. Jesus! He struggled to get off her, but somehow his leg caught in the gearshift, knocking the little car out of gear. They started to move, rolling forwards down the steep hill, gathering speed. They both struggled to get up and tangled in each other. He groped for the handbrake lever between the seats, but couldn’t find it. God Almighty, he envisaged them crashing through the gates of one of those mansions and fetching up against a stately front door with him with his trousers down around his knees and threaded through the handbrake. He gave up on the handbrake and, with his left hand, grabbed the steering wheel. Looking backwards over his shoulder into the dark street, he was able to steer the car jerkily into the gutter, scrubbing the tyres into the curbing and slowing them down. Eventually they stopped, right under a streetlight.

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‘Bloody hell, I am sorry. I am so sorry.’ Teddy looked at Vivian who was holding her clothes to her chest. She seemed to be shaking uncontrollably. Then came gasping howls of laughter. ‘That was so … so funny … So ridiculously bloody funny.’ She continued to rock back and forth with laughter as she began to get back into her clothes. ‘But your pearls, your beautiful pearls? Jesus, I hope we can find them all.’ ‘Don’t worry about them. You didn’t think they were real, did you? For heaven’s sake. If they were real the string would have been properly knotted and I certainly wouldn’t have left them on when we were fooling around like this. Don’t worry about it.’ ‘Well, what should we do now?’ Teddy was embarrassed and averted his eyes as Vivian got dressed. ‘I guess you could say,’ Vivian did up the side zipper on the rust-red skirt, ‘that the “moment” has passed.’ She started to giggle again. ‘But it was fun while it lasted.’ Still giggling she leant across and kissed him on the cheek. ‘What say we find a place for a cup of coffee? We could try La Fontaine I suppose.’ ‘They may still have our steaks on the grill. I’m starving.’ Teddy was looking serious. Vivian started to giggle again. They both laughed until they felt weak. ———————— The Sydney office of Ronald Crown and Associates, Architects, was in Potts Point, right next to the big hotel development. It had started off being the site office for the hotel scheme, but because they hadn’t had the time to relocate to a more appropriate address, it had become the permanent office. It occupied what had been a small

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private hotel. Before that, when Potts Point had been a gracious, semi-rural area, it had probably been a home for the landed gentry. Its forecourt was dominated by a huge Morton Bay Fig tree, whose sensuous boughs and buttressed roots gave the place a misleadingly languid, tropical feeling. Inside, the mellow old building was a hornets’ nest of activity. Every available room and passageway was crammed with drawing-boards and filing cabinets. People moved quickly, phones rang urgently all day, and Ron Crown loved every minute of it. Thick-set, with dark curly hair just beginning to grey at the temples, he radiated more boisterous energy than his 50 years should allow. He greeted Teddy enthusiastically when he and William entered the office at 8am. ‘Hi ya Superman, great to see ya. Here to do us some of your terrific sketches of the Cransky Tower, eh?’ Ron grabbed Teddy by the shoulder and shook him playfully. ‘Love ya, Superman, love ya.’ Teddy caught a glimpse over Ron’s shoulder of Vivian working at her desk. She was wearing a well-cut navy suit and her hair was in a bun again. She saw Ron shaking him and gave a little roll of her eyes. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing what you guys have come up with Ron. Teddy tried not to look at Vivian any more. ‘It’s terrific, Teddy boy,’ Ron said. ’All your big brother’s work. He is a genius our Willy, a genius.’ William shook his head and took Teddy by the arm. ‘Come on Ted, we have a lot to do.’ He led him though to his drawing-board in the main drafting area, which would have been the drawing room of the old mansion. There were half a dozen other drawing-boards in the highceilinged room. People were already busily at work. William rolled back the pale-green cotton cover on his board. What was revealed made Teddy catch his breath.

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The elevation showed five beautifully proportioned blade-like fins, closely spaced in line, soaring up into the sky. The fins were subtly tapered from base to top. The spaces between them provided the shafts for little glass capsule-like elevators. Four or five levels at the top had the spaces glassed in to provide observation decks. The whole thing had a bold but elegant grace to it. ‘Wow, Will, this is really beautiful. It is gigantic. How high is it?’ Teddy couldn’t take his eyes off the drawing. ‘It’s pretty damn high actually, 994 feet. That makes it 10 feet higher than the Eiffel Tower. That was a requirement made by Big Vic himself.’ ‘It’s really fantastic, Will, but is it achievable?’ ‘Everything is achievable Teddy, if there is enough money to solve all problems, and the determination to follow it through. Whether this scheme is economically viable is, of course, another matter. I don’t know if Victor Cransky really knows.’ A frown came over William’s face. ‘Or even if he really cares. Teddy, it could all just be part of a big publicity scheme, or just an out-of-control ego trip by Victor. Who knows?’ He smiled again. ‘He’s certainly very excited about it. Some of the blokes in here have named this thing “Big Vic’s Erection”. Anyway, our job is to present it as well as we can, that’s all, and we have precious little time to do that.’ Teddy was starting to feel uneasy. William reached for a manila folder. ‘These are some aerial photos we had taken of the site. This one here is the one that shows all the other important landmarks best: the Yarra River, Princess Bridge and St Paul’s Cathedral. We want you to superimpose your drawing on to an enlargement of this photo. You have less than two days to do it, mate. Copies of the finished visual are to be distributed at a press

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conference on Friday in Melbourne. Look Teddy, this is going to be tough, you will need your air-brush and things. How about we spend some time now going over the design, then you high-tail it back to Melbourne on the noon flight and get stuck into it?’ They worked together for a couple of hours, sketching on tracing paper over the aerial photo, getting the scale and proportion of the tower right. Vivian arranged a booking for Teddy on the midday flight and called a taxi to take him to the airport. She adopted a very proper and formal attitude towards him in the office, but when she stood close he detected the exciting hint of last night’s garlic on her breath. He didn’t like having to go back to Melbourne. Teddy knew that Vivian was a popular young woman and had other men friends here in Sydney. He had thought he could accept that situation comfortably, but now he was finding it very difficult. He knew he was developing something more than just a crush on her. When the cab was due William walked out to the forecourt with Teddy and they stood talking under the huge tree. Teddy had got to William’s flat very late the night before. He had let himself in with a key Linda, William’s wife, had left for him under the door mat. Linda, tall, blonde and attractive, had always been very good to Teddy. She had made up the settee-bed in the lounge room ready for him, and that morning had made him and William breakfast while getting their two children ready for school. She and William knew he had been out with Vivian but nothing had been said about it. Now, as they chatted in the shade of the giant sculptural tree, Teddy sensed that William had something important he wanted to tell him. He had asked after their parents and about the Melbourne office, but something

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else was on his mind. Finally, he got to it. ‘Teddy, this tower job is perhaps more important than we think. I don’t really know what is happening in the Cransky camp Ron won’t tell me, but something is worrying the shit out of him.’ William looked away to the huge excavation in the ground behind their office building, the excavation that would take the massive foundations and basement levels of the proposed second stage of the hotel development. He looked thoughtful. ‘Have you any idea at all what could be the matter?’ Teddy asked. ‘Not really Ted, but it is incredible how fast the Cranhill Group has grown. We have big projects sprouting up all over the country now, and perhaps one in New York; it’s amazing. But the worry is that they are all built on credit, credit that has been raised against potential share sales. The whole empire is really supported just on a pile of glossy prospectuses.’ He nodded towards the huge excavation. ‘This might be how the world of high finance works, but it seems pretty shaky to me.’ The yellow cab arrived and William slapped Teddy on the shoulder. ‘OK mate, these aren’t our worries, and you’ve got work to do.’ Teddy didn’t know what to say. He got into the cab with his briefcase and a thick roll of drawings. The cab pulled out into Macleay Street and was through Kings Cross when he remembered … Shit, he hadn’t said goodbye to Vivian.

6 The Crimson Sash Nam Phong, Thailand, 1960.

HE WAS THE SMALLEST recruit in his platoon but his boots were always the brightest. His belt buckle shone like the sun. It was easy for him. Army life was just an extension of the disciplines of Chatree’s workshop. What the other young men found hard came easy to Sumbart. The rifles, the machine-guns, he understood. He didn’t like what they did, but he understood their workings. They were just machines and Chatree had taught him about machines. His officers called him a ‘natural’. He knew that this was not so. It was just that Chatree had taught him similar skills. Besides, it was easier to throw himself into army studies than to think about Suni. Leaving Nam Phong had been an agony. The only way he could handle it had been to immerse himself totally in the business of becoming a soldier. It had worked. At the completion of ‘boot-camp’, he had been awarded the Crimson Sash for

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qualifying as the most proficient recruit in his battalion. Then they were all given five days’ leave to visit their families before being assigned to their units. The long bus trip back to Nam Phong had been fraught with tension and doubt for Sumbart. It had been three months, did she still care for him? What would he find when he got back to the farm? But there she was, waiting for him at the bus stop. Standing in the shade of the old durian tree, smiling her wonderful smile. She was even more beautiful than he had remembered. They walked arm-in-arm back to the farm. He felt tall and strong in his uniform, a returning hero. He still wore the Crimson Sash. She was slim and graceful in a new sky-blue dress, her hair hanging thick and shining to below her waist. Friends greeted them as they walked up the road, which was very reassuring, but it wasn’t until he looked down and saw that his gleaming boots had been dulled by the road’s dust that he felt really at home. Those five days had melted away in the warmth of their love. All his feelings of doubt and disbelief were banished by their closeness. She had cleaned and polished their little house for days in advance. Their bed was decorated with the same wild orchids she had worn in her hair on their wedding day. His dear mother, his father, brothers and sisters all treated him as a hero. He was the smart one, the one the whole family could be proud of. But the intensity of the joy he felt on those homecoming days was cruelly balanced by the depth of the sadness he felt when he had to part from his beautiful Suni again under that old tree at the bus stop. It is said that the fruit of the durian tree has many magical properties, and that it will taste like whatever the person eating it is thinking of at the time. Sumbart knew that the pulpy flesh of those spiky aromatic kernels would taste rank and bitter until he saw his Suni again.

7 The Garden Rake Melbourne, Australia, 1960.

WHEN TEDDY GOT BACK to the Melbourne office mid-afternoon there was an enlarged print of the aerial photograph waiting for him. William had phoned the photographer, who had rushed the print through his darkroom and had delivered it personally. Working on photographs was a tricky and painstaking process, and Teddy wasn’t very good at it. It required care and patience in masking out the areas to be treated, and a deft touch with the air-brush, the tiny spray-gun used to apply graded tones to match those of the photograph properly. One needed to be relaxed and confident to do this sort of work, and that wasn’t at all how Teddy felt. He was terrified. This would be the first portrayal to the public of something that could become one of the wonders of the modern world. And there he was sitting at his drawingboard with an aerial enlargement, still warm and sticky

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from the photographer’s glazing machine, and just the little butter-paper sketches William had done that morning. He could feel a huge mental block building inside his head and desperately tried to bend his mind around it. He had done lots of renderings on to photos before, he told himself. Dozens of them, but just not of thousandfoot-high towers planted right at the gateway to his home city. He had drawn things such as wheelbarrows and watering cans on to photographs of gardens and they had turned out all right. This shouldn’t be any different. He would just pretend he was drawing some sort of garden implement, perhaps a new-design rake, standing upright in a garden. Yes, a rake, just a rake. He started to feel a bit better. He pinned a sheet of fine tracing paper over the photograph and started to draw Cransky’s ‘Melbourne Tower’ into place. Having started, he gained confidence. After a while he didn’t think of it as a garden rake, or as a soaring tower, it was just the drawing he was working on. His drawing, and he would make it as good as he could. He finished it just before midnight, carefully rubbing off the last of the rubber masking fluid from around the five soaring blades he had air-brushed in graded tones. It didn’t look bad, not too bad at all. The next morning Robert Doric took the drawing around to Cransky’s office for approval. It had to be rephotographed and blown up to a large size to be used as a backdrop that Victor Cransky would unveil at the press conference the next day. Glossy prints of the tower drawing were to be included in the press kits. When Robert returned to the office, Teddy, who was eager to hear how the drawing has been received, asked, ‘Well, how did it all go Bob?’

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Robert, who still begrudged the fact that William handled all the plum design jobs in the Sydney office, shrugged. ‘Oh yeah, they seemed to be happy with it.’ Teddy was tired and rather depressed by Robert’s unenthusiastic attitude. The tower project started to recede from his mind and he began to think of reasons to go to Sydney again to see Vivian. The press conference turned out to be a lukewarm affair attended only by second-string reporters. A suspicious and cynical spin was put on the story and the Melbourne Tower picture made it only to page three of the dailies. It would seem there were powerful forces starting to work against the Cranhill Group.

8 Lak Lak Pattaya, Thailand, 1960.

THE TRAINING SCHOOL FOR potential NCOs was at Chon Buri, a couple of hours drive south from Bangkok. It was the first time Sumbart had seen the ocean. As a boy he had studied his atlas and had longed to see what those vast blue areas really looked like. The military school was on the edge of the Bight of Bangkok, an indentation at the northern tip of the great Gulf of Thailand. The ocean wasn’t as he had imagined. At this time of the year the waters of the bight were muddied by the outpourings of the mighty Chao Phraya, and the Khwae Noi, Chi Si and Sa Keo Rivers. The ocean was a dull khaki colour, like everything else in his world. The wonderful time he had spent in Nam Phong with Suni had left him with even deeper feelings of inadequacy and unworthiness. He was haunted by feelings of guilt. Why hadn’t he visited Chatree?

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Judged as the top recruit in his battalion, Sumbart had been sent, along with all the other top recruits from other training battalions, to be trained as an NCO. The course was arduous and required full concentration and, initially, in his depressed state, Sumbart found it very difficult. He thought of Chatree and remembered his dark mood swings, when his eyes would dull and he would seem to withdraw into himself for days at a time. He remembered how on one occasion after coming out of several days of withdrawal Chatree had said to him, ‘It is work, my boy, work, that is the healing balm for all our ills.’ The light had come back into his eyes. ‘Yes, applying ourselves to good, engaging work, work that requires our minds as well as our bodies, will hold at bay many of the dark phantoms that may trouble us. Work, my boy, work.’ So Sumbart worked. He applied himself totally to the six-week-long course, immersing himself in it. When, on their days off, his fellow students caught the bus to the bars and brothels of nearby Pattaya, he stayed behind and studied, or cleaned his equipment. All of Chatree’s training came to the fore. He excelled in advanced weapons training through his mechanical aptitude, and his command of the English language meant he could read the original instructional manuals. Military command structures and logistics seemed to come naturally to him. As his self-esteem grew, the nagging doubts he had about Suni receded. Life was starting to be good again. Then, with only one week of the course remaining, when it was obvious that he would be passing out as the leading candidate, he received a letter from home. It was a roughly scrawled note from one of his brothers, Suchet, telling him that Suni had left their little house on the farm and had moved back to stay with her parents nearer to

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the village. His brother wrote that Suni had given no reason for this, but it was rumoured that she had been seen in the company of a young officer from the army base at Muang Khan Kaen. As Sumbart folded Suchet’s letter he could feel the life drain out of him, and his body shrink back in size to the worthless, inept little fool he had always known he was. It happened to be a Saturday. They had all finished duties at noon and had the rest of the day off. He had intended to take some lecture notes down to the beach and spend the rest of the day studying them. But now he just sat there on his cot with an aching sadness building inside him as the other young men bustled around him, putting on their best civilian clothes to go into Pattaya for the night. There were bursts of excited laughter, and they moved with the tense eagerness of young men who knew they would soon be in the company of young women. The cold, dark sadness inside Sumbart changed to a searing resentment. As his friends started to leave the barracks, it changed to a hot, frustrated anger. He sprang to his feet and shouted after them, his voice hoarse and straining, ‘Wait, wait for me. I am coming with you.’ ———————— The bar they went to was well back from the glamorous resort strip of Pattaya, well back from the beach and well away from the inflated farang prices. It was run-down and smelly, but Sumbart didn’t care. His friends said the beer was cheap here and the girls were good value. The letter from Suchet had planted a terrible pain inside him. He had never been drunk before but he

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thought that somehow the ache inside him could be dulled with beer. None of the girls in the bar even remotely appealed to him, but he felt that the terrible wrong he had suffered might somehow be righted in the arms of another girl. He didn’t know why he felt this, but he knew he had to do something to ease the pain. His friends were delighted to have the ‘goodygoody’ Sumbart with them, and they took turns buying him drinks. It wasn’t long before his head started to float and the ache started to dull a little. He didn’t notice the smell of stale beer and urine any more. One or two of the girls didn’t look too bad. He wanted to talk to somebody, be close to somebody, but not to any of his army buddies. Oh to be with Chatree now, his Naai would know what to say to help him. ‘Lak, my little buddy,’ one of his army friends, Bunsong, put his arm across Sumbart’s shoulders and gave him a playful squeeze that nearly pulled him off the bar stool. Bunsong used the friendly diminutive term lak. ‘Let me buy you a little drink,’ he put his face close to Sumbart’s and smiled. ‘Tell me lak, which one of these chicks turns you on the most?’ He gave Sumbart a questioning frown, ‘Chicks do turn you on, don’t they lak?’ Sumbart had been called lak by his friends for most of his life, so he had become used to it. Usually it was used with affection, but now it irritated him. He didn’t answer Bunsong but picked up his beer glass and swallowed what was left in it. He handed the glass to his friend. ‘Yes another beer would be just fine thank you.’ Bunsong was not going to be put off so easily. He gave Sumbart another sqeeze and nodded towards a buxom girl who was sitting at a table towards the rear of the place, smoking a cigarette. ‘What about Somjai over there? She is a real performer, I can tell you.’ He smiled

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into Sumbart’s face again. ‘I know her very well, I can get you a special deal.’ Before Sumbart could say anything his friend had gone to the bar to get the drinks. Sumbart’s head was really starting to swim now, and the ache inside him was starting to be replaced by a feeling of sickness. He watched Bunsong buy the beers, then was alarmed to see him give a little nod to Sonjai, the girl with the cigarette. She got up and walked over to join them as his friend got back with the beers. Others of Sumbart’s army friends had noticed what was going on. They had stopped talking and watched. ‘Well, here we go lak.’ Bunsong handed Sumbart the beer. ‘Ah, hello Sonjai. It’s nice to see you again.’ He winked at the girl, then smiled at Sumbart. ‘Hey lak ,this could be just the little lady to brighten your day.’ Sumbart was embarrassed, he could see all his friends watching. He tried to clear his head. He couldn’t seem to think. Sonjai was a big girl, much taller than him. She was plump and her face was thick with make-up. She gave him a long look, took a long draw on her cigarette, then turned her head sharply to blow the smoke over her shoulder. ‘Come on baby,’ Bunsong said. ‘Be nice to lak lak now. I have told him how good you are, and you are baby, you’re the best.’ Bunsong paused and looked around to make sure that all their friends were watching. ‘Baby, I think you should give our little buddy a special deal. I think you should give it to lak half-price. You can see he is only about half-size baby, he’ll only get half the use of you.’ Everyone laughed. Sumbart was shocked with shame. His head spun as the laughter shrieked in his ears. Still balancing on the bar stool, he threw the full beer

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glass into Bunsong’s face, swung a furious punch at him and missed, hitting Sonjai on the side of her plump face. She fell to the floor in a spray of cigarette sparks. Unbalanced, Sumbart crashed to the floor beside her. He lay there, his eyes tightly closed. The floor seemed to start to spin beneath him. ———————— He couldn’t remember being thrown out of the bar, but it was still daylight. The sinking sun hurt his eyes as he staggered down towards the ocean. He reached the beach a little to the south of the main strip of resort hotels. His head was still spinning and he felt dreadfully ill. He turned to his left, away from the hotels, and trudged shakily along the water’s edge. The sea was dead calm and the sun had just begun to spread its bottom edge along the horizon. The sea, sky, everything, was a golden orange. Through his despair Sumbart thought of Chatree’s Golden Sala. Surely this could not be the way. Surely one didn’t have to undergo such shame and suffering to find peace of mind. His head continued to spin and his heart continued to ache. Perhaps if he was to just turn and walk out into that golden sea, it would all be over and he would be at peace. He stopped and thought about it. But that water is so salty. He fell to his knees and was savagely sick into the water’s edge. When the vomiting stopped, great racking sobs of despair took over. ‘Hey, are you all right son?’ Sumbart had walked to an area where there were gracious bungalows fronting on to the sweep of beach. A man in a white shirt and white cotton trousers was calling to him from the garden of one of these bungalows.

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Sumbart couldn’t answer, but was able to stop sobbing. He rinsed out his mouth with a handful of sea-water and was immediately sick again. After a while, he heard a crunching of footsteps on the sand. ‘Take it easy soldier, easy now. Can I help you in any way?’ The man in white was standing over him. He leant down and helped Sumbart to his feet. ‘How … how did you know that I am in the service?’ Sumbart asked. He was in civilian clothes. ‘I can tell by your haircut, and it is usually just farangs or army guys who get themselves so drunk.’ He took Sumbart by the shoulder. ‘Come on, there is some fresh water in the garden. You can clean yourself up a bit.’ After Sumbart had rinsed his mouth and washed his face at the garden tap, he looked around the lush ordered precinct. ‘What is this place, and who are you sir?’ ‘This bungalow is owned by the Australian Embassy,’ the man said. ‘Quite a few of the embassies have bungalows down here at Pattaya. I’m employed as a driver at the Australian Embassy in Bangkok. I’ve just driven some embassy staff down here for the weekend.’ Sumbart dried his face with his handkerchief and started to comb his hair. He was still feeling very dizzy. ‘Thank you sir, for helping me like this.’ Sumbart paused, then asked shyly, ‘I hope I’m not rude for asking, but how did you find a job like this?’ ‘I was a bit lucky I guess. I was in the army, too, and a friend told me that the embassies often recruit local staff who have good army records. I just applied through the army administration and I got this job. But that’s enough about me, my lad. From my own experience I know that a man doesn’t get himself as drunk as you seem to be without some reason.’

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Sumbart looked away, embarrassed. The man paused, frowning, ‘My advice to you is to put whatever it is behind you, and get back to your camp.’ The man smiled and put his hand on Sumbart’s shoulder. ‘Keep your nose clean lad and, when your time is up, you might also get a good job outside the army.’ Sumbart knew that the pain within him couldn’t be easily put behind him. This fellow meant well, but he couldn’t expect him to understand. He asked directions to the bus depot and was back at his barracks early. When the others got back much later, Bunsong was sporting a cut across his nose from Sumbart’s beer glass, but nothing was said about the incident at the bar. The last week of the course swept away quickly. As expected, Sumbart topped the course and was promoted to the rank of sergeant. At the passing-out parade he was formally presented with a special stainless-steel wristwatch. It had the Thai Military crest on the face and was engraved on the back with the notation that he had topped the training course. He knew he should have been very proud, but he felt nothing but the ever-present ache of shame, and the start of a growing hatred towards the wife who had shamed him so.

9 The Jolt from Holt Melbourne, Australia, 1960.

IT WAS A FEW WEEKS after the tower presentation that the atmosphere in the Melbourne office started to change noticeably. It had always buzzed with excited activity, buoyed by the promise of new projects popping up all over the country. Now some of these projects had stalled, others had simply not eventuated. For the first time, their salary cheques didn’t arrive on schedule from the Cransky office. The press had branded the Melbourne Tower project a ‘pie in the sky’. Pressure groups complained about the giant shadow it would cast, and of it interfering with the ‘visual axis’ to the hallowed Shrine of Remembrance. The ‘Australia House New York’ project had got lost somewhere in a quagmire of Canberra bureaucracy. Office morale sagged badly. Rumours of Cransky being in dire financial trouble were contagious. It was a sickness that spread quickly and, before long, people began to look for other employment.

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Late one evening William phoned Teddy at home at their parents’ place on the beachfront in the suburb of Brighton. After the usual pleasantries with their parents he spoke to Teddy. He sounded tense, ‘Hi Ted, er, how are things going down there, in the office I mean?’ ‘Not too bad, Will. Everyone’s a bit twitchy, though. Lots of rumours going around, of course.’ ‘Yeah, I’m sure there are. Listen mate, I’m afraid that most of them are probably true. Look, I had a long talk with Ron tonight. The poor old bugger is really stressed.’ ‘Ron stressed? What’s going on Will?’ Teddy was thinking of Vivian and his trips to Sydney. ‘Well, it seems that everything has come unstuck. Big Vic is in real trouble with the authorities.’ William paused, then sighed, ‘Harold Holt, our Federal Treasurer, has been out to catch high-flyers who borrow too much money against too little security. The economic term is “credit squeeze”.’ William gave a little laugh. ‘Some people are calling it the “Jolt from Holt”. According to Ron, the whole of the Cransky empire is built on sort of roll-over credit. Now Victor has been caught falsifying financial documents, prospectuses and things. Evidently these are criminal offences and he will probably end up in jail.’ William paused again. Teddy could hear him breathing heavily. He continued quietly, ‘I just feel sorry for Ron. He’s put his heart and soul into all of this, built up a wonderful practice, and now he’s back to square one, with absolutely nothing to show for it. All of the Cransky assets have been frozen, mate. I’m afraid we are out of work.’ Teddy felt stunned, but he was surprised he didn’t feel more upset. ‘What, the tower and all the hotels, everything, just stopped mid-stream?’ ‘Yes mate. I’m afraid so.’

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‘But what about the hotel in Perth? Building has already started. ‘Everything Ted. Everything is frozen while Victor is investigated, and that could take bloody months.’ ‘Shit Will, what the fuck are we going to do?’ Teddy looked around, but his mother wasn’t within earshot. ‘Ted, we’ll be coming back to Melbourne. Ron said that while things are in this frozen state you and I can use the Melbourne office if we want to start up our own practice. He said we can use all the material and equipment, and we can contact any of the clients we have been dealing with if we want to try to salvage something from this mess.’ William sighed. ‘It could be as long as a year before we have to move out of the office. I don’t know what you think Ted. You probably want to think about things a bit. Especially now with Vivian going overseas and everything.’ ‘What?’ Teddy felt a terrible coldness flood through him. ‘Her big trip mate. Surely she told you? She’s been talking of nothing else for weeks. I think she’s off in a week or so. I thought …’ ‘No, I didn’t … All this is a bit of a shock. Can I call you tomorrow? We can talk about things.’ William didn’t answer. Teddy put the receiver down and walked out of his parents’ house and down to the beach. He sat there on the cold bluestone sea wall for hours, trying to count the lights that blinked across the bay from Williamstown.

10 Their First ‘Black Box’ Melbourne, Australia,1960.

WITHIN TWO WEEKS THE Melbourne office was empty. Teddy was puzzled by the apparent lack of drama. There was no period of tragedy, no time of stunned disbelief, everyone seemed to just happily go their separate ways. Robert Doric, who had had no trouble returning to the firm from which Ronald Crown had head-hunted him, had just looked at Teddy and smiled, saying, ‘You didn’t really think that this fantastic bubble wouldn’t burst one day, did you?’ Teddy was by himself for a couple more weeks while William and his family tidied up things in Sydney. It was a depressing time for him, rattling around in the large empty office among all the empty drawing-boards that not long ago had been loaded with the charged expectancy of so many exciting schemes. He had nothing to do, except to ring Vivian almost daily. She had sounded cheerfully apologetic. ‘But Teddy darling, there were never any promises between us. You

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knew that … Yes, of course I love you, well, in a way I love you. I am just not “in love” with you … Look, try to understand. My life is very complicated, I have some unresolved … I just need to get away by myself and see a bit of the world. I need to somehow scrape myself together … I’ll write to you, I promise … I’m leaving the day after tomorrow. I’m so excited … Yes, of course we must stay in touch.’ Teddy didn’t know if he was heart-broken or not, but he felt bloody awful. He tried to busy himself by preparing for William’s arrival. He had a small sign made: ‘Brown & Brown, Architectural Designers’. He bought a quantity of black self-adhesive plastic film and stuck rectangular patches of it on to the printed drawing sheets to cover the Ronald Crown and Associates title blocks. Going through the office files he started to compile a list of old clients in Melbourne who might be in need of design services. By the time William arrived things were getting into shape. ———————— McClure’s Restaurant was just off Queens Road, not far from their office. William and Teddy sometimes had a late breakfast there. William looked around the smart new Americanstyle place, frowned at the plush red upholstered booths, then looked across the table at this brother. ‘Ron rang last night. He said we should have plenty more time in the office. The whole Cransky organisation has been placed in receivership. He spoke to their property people. As long as we pay the power bills and look after the place, we can stay.’

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He began to stir his coffee, looking thoughtfully into the thick mug. ‘Things aren’t looking so hot for old Victor though. He has accepted full responsibility for everything. Ron thinks they will try to make an example of him. The poor old bugger will almost certainly go to jail.’ William looked back up at Teddy. ‘It’s sad really. I know Big Vic did wrong, but in his way he really was a visionary. Those sort of guys get carried away and end up bending the rules to suit themselves. But if things had gone just a little differently he probably would have been in line for a Knighthood instead of heading out to Pentridge Jail. ’He reached for a piece of wholemeal toast in a chrome rack. ‘OK, enough of worrying about old Victor.’ William began to spread the butter evenly on to the toast. ‘We still have had no replies to any of those letters we sent out. I know the bits of artwork that you are doing for your old agency mates are keeping you occupied but I can’t really help you with that stuff. Let’s face it Ted, it’s been three months now, and if we weren’t getting our rent for free we would be out of business.’ When they got back to the office they collected a handful of mail from the bank of mailboxes that fronted on to Queens Road. It was always mail for Ronald Crown and Associates. They would forward it up to Sydney. As they climbed the stairs William idly shuffled through the envelopes. ‘Hold on! This one is for “Brown & Brown, Architectural Designers”.’ They stopped on the landing outside their office as William fumbled to tear open the envelope. He read it quickly. ’It’s from that government guy, Oscar Forrest. He wants to see us, something about designing an exhibition in New Zealand.’ ————————

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They had been sitting nervously for some time in the worn vinyl chairs in front of Oscar Forrest’s desk. He was making a great show of reading through the letter they had sent him. ‘Hmm,’ he didn’t look up. ’So you have been sending people letters begging for work, eh?’ ‘We weren’t beg—’ William started, but Oscar cut him short. ‘Well, it so happens that we do have a little thing that you may be able to handle.’ He looked at them over the top of his heavy horn-rimmed glasses. ‘That is, of course, if you have come sufficiently down to earth after all that high-flying Cransky rubbish.’ He glared at them, questioningly. William and Teddy said nothing. Oscar frowned, then continued. ‘We, and when I say we, I mean Australia, run a pavilion each year at the Auckland Easter Show.’ He pushed himself back into his chair, threw his head back and stared at the ceiling. ‘But what we’ve been doing each year has become damn predictable. You know the sort of thing: rows of booths full of all the junk that the exhibitors want to show. We get the same audience year after year, and I think we owe it to them to try something different.’ He looked back at them again. The frown returned. ‘I know that you really know bugger-all about exhibition design. But there were parts, tiny parts, of that thing you did for Cransky in New York that showed promise. Now don’t get excited. I am not giving you the whole job now, but I will pay you something to come up with a concept. Then, if I like it, you will be commissioned to do the whole project.’ Oscar’s frown deepened and he leant forward in his chair, ‘Let me tell you, if you get the whole job to do, and for some reason stuff it up, then you will never, ever get

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work from us again.’ He continued to glare at them. ‘Understand?’ They both nodded. ‘Very well. One of my people, fellow called Lovejoy, will brief you on the details. I will expect you back this time next week with something worthwhile to show me.’ He nodded towards the door. They got up and left. As they passed Oscar’s secretary, Teddy turned to William and breathed, ‘Jesus Christ, what an arrogant old bastard.’ The secretary looked at him through her thick glasses and said coolly, ‘Mr Cedric Lovejoy is waiting to brief you in his office on the second floor.’ ———————— The briefing William and Teddy got from Cedric Lovejoy, a pleasant Englishman, was concise and businesslike. The Australian Government held a continuing lease on what was normally used as a cattle pavilion, just inside the showground entrance at Epsom, a suburb of Auckland. It was well positioned but it was a very unimpressive building. Interior photographs Cedric Lovejoy had given them showed an ugly timber roof structure lit by a series of dusty and pigeon-fouled skylights. The perimeter walls had no internal lining and were very untidy. William sat back from his drawing-board shaking his head. ‘No matter what we do in that space, Teddy, it will look terrible. I know we have never done an exhibition before, but we just have to follow our instincts. We have to kill that washed-out natural light from above, and we have to lose those bloody horrible walls somehow.’

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Teddy was looking through the budget figures Cedric had provided. ‘Will, there’s no money allocated to dress up the building. But if we can keep the exhibition structure to an absolute minimum, we might have some money to play with.’ William had sketched a rough cross-section through the building on butter-paper. ‘If we can just run a false ceiling through here, just below the roof structure, we would still have 20 feet of height. That should be enough.’ He drew a firm, thick line with a soft pencil. ‘Then perhaps we can cover the walls with some sort of cheap plastic draping? That would give us a nice clean, dark space so that we can pull some lighting tricks.’ ‘We would have to be very tricky indeed,’ Teddy said. ‘There would be very little money left to build anything much.’ ‘Yes, yes, I know Ted. But we may not have to build much. How many exhibitors are there? Thirty, 35? OK, they don’t all need to have those awful booths. In fact, they shouldn’t. It divides them too much and breaks down the national feeling of togetherness.’ William started sketching on another piece of butter-paper. ‘What if we just built a system of floating platforms, that …’ he continued to draw with steady strokes, ‘that just sort of overlap each other. Say if we had two exhibitors on each platform.’ ‘I really don’t know if they would want to share,’ Teddy said softly. ‘No, well, we could divide them here, with some sort of panels. Or tall vertical elements, that’s it, fins. Tall elegant fins that go all the way up to the ceiling. That would be great, and shouldn’t cost much at all.’ William’s hand was flying over the paper now as he sketched in his ideas.

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‘Will, those fins,’ Teddy said, getting excited now, ‘what if instead of having flat faces they were convex? If we were to stress the skins of them like that they would need less framing. That could save a bit.’ William quickly sketched Teddy’s idea. ‘Yes that would work. That would really work. Just imagine if we can get some good dramatic lighting. Hmm, in this beautiful dark box that we create with the false ceiling, fabulous. Teddy boy, we are on to something.’ He sat back and studied the rough sketch he had done. ‘We need you to do some of your beaut sketches. Then we will see if we’ve got what it is Mr Forrest is looking for.’ ———————— The meeting with Oscar Forrest was a strange anticlimax. Teddy and William had been very excited by their scheme. They had used the time available to produce an impressive set of drawings. William had been worried that Oscar might not agree to committing so much of the meagre budget to creating a ‘black box’. But, when the drawings had been laid in front of him, Oscar had scanned them for just a few seconds, his lips pursed. Then he gave a tiny nod, saying gruffly, ‘Yes, I expected you to do something along these lines. Hmm, what do you think Lovejoy? Is it workable?’ The fair-headed Englishman cleared his throat. This was a characteristic habit that William and Teddy would get to know well. ‘Yes Oscar, I can’t see any technical problems. A piece of cake really.’ Oscar flashed him a sharp look. Teddy had learned that Cedric Lovejoy was ex Royal Airforce. It was interesting how it showed now and again.

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‘Very well then,’ Oscar fixed his pale grey eyes on William and Teddy, ‘just go and make it all happen. Lovejoy here will give you our standard paperwork. You will have to accept what we offer. I won’t tolerate any haggling over fees.’ He nodded towards the door, so they left, not knowing whether to feel elated or depressed. ———————— They learned a lot about the exhibition business in the next three months and the Auckland project was a great success. Oscar Forrest gave them no praise whatsoever, but he gave them another project to do. It was in Osaka, Japan. This time it was a bigger exhibition, and required the building of a pavilion to house it. There was every indication that if they continued to keep up the standard, there would be a continuing flow of work from the Department of Trade. William was eager to move out of their borrowed office to somewhere they could truly call their own. A sculptor friend, Clem Meadmore, told them of an old mews building behind one of the gracious mansions in nearby St Kilda Road. A Russian architect friend of his had lived and worked there, but had shifted interstate. It was a quaint, two-storey building. The upper floor was available at a modest rental, and the architect’s daughter lived in the ground-floor flat. William and Teddy were captivated by the stylish grandeur of the old mansion as they walked down the long gravel driveway. A feeling of well-being crept over Teddy. Things were starting to improve. The let-down of the Cransky collapse had taken a toll on them. Almost overnight the excitement of all those huge projects had dissolved away. It had been the same with his romance

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with Vivian. But now they had an interesting job to do in Japan, and indications of more to follow. Vivian’s letters from abroad had dwindled to a halt about a month ago. He had fretted for a while, but now he hardly thought of her. Yes, things were looking better. At the very rear of the property they found the little mews building. It was absolutely delightful. They looked at each other and smiled; they didn’t say anything. Teddy knocked on the heavily panelled door to the ground-floor entrance. When the door opened he caught his breath. There was a girl with a mop of dark curly hair, huge dark eyes and a beautiful smile. There was the aroma of coffee brewing and the sound of a cool jazz piano playing. ‘Aha, Dave Brubeck, if I’m not mistaken,’ Teddy grinned. ‘Gas! Right on,’ the smiling girl said. ‘You must be the designer people. Come on in. I’m Stephany.’

11 In the Shade of a Durian Tree Nam Phong, Thailand, 1961.

SUMBART WORE CIVILIAN CLOTHES on his return to Nam Phong. He knew that his uniform, with his new sergeant’s stripes, would have impressed the locals and made his parents proud, but somehow it seemed wrong. He didn’t want to strut through the village in his starched uniform. He was no hero, and he didn’t want to attract attention. He just wanted to find out what had happened to his beloved Suni. There was no one to meet him at the bus stop, but the tang of durian made his heart beat harder. There were no cheerful greetings on the walk out to the farm. He began to imagine that those working in the rice fields purposely looked the other way, disregarding him. But his family was happy to see him, especially his mother, who clasped his hand in both of hers and wouldn’t let go. He tried not to look down the

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hill to the little house where he and Suni had lived, and where, just a few months earlier, he had known such bliss. His brothers were disappointed that he hadn’t worn his uniform. He had told them in a letter that he had made sergeant, and they had spread the word around the village. Generally, the conversation was warm and loving, but there was an awkwardness, a tension. No one mentioned Suni at all. He knew she had left Nam Phong, but he had come here determined to find out where she had gone. It wasn’t until he had taken Suchet aside and asked him, that he learned nobody knew where Suni was. ‘What do you mean, Suchet, somebody must know?’ His brother looked down at his bare feet, then out towards the paddy fields. ‘I don’t know. People talk, but … I don’t know.’ ‘People talk? Suchet, come on tell me.’ Sumbart felt his blood pump to his face. He took his brother by the shirt front and shook him. ‘What do people say?’ Suchet took Sumbart’s hands in his and gently loosened the grip on his shirt. He looked down at his brother, then closed his eyes and said stiffly, ‘Sumbart, they say that she has gone to Bangkok.’ He took a deep breath, ‘Gone to work … to work in the bars. But Sumbart, that may not be true, nobody really knows what happened. Her parents won’t talk about it, but her sister told my girlfriend that after the army guy dumped her Suni was too ashamed to face anyone, so she just left. It was her sister who thought that she probably went to Bangkok. Pretty girls there usually end up in the bars or …’ Suchet saw his brother’s body sag; he couldn’t say any more. Sumbart turned and, as he walked away, called back over his shoulder, ‘Say goodbye to Mother for me. Tell her

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I have to go … to get back. Tell her I’m sorry.’ He walked in a trance back to the village. He couldn’t think, he didn’t know what to do. Chatree! Yes, he must talk to Chatree. But when Sumbart got to the familiar little workshop at the bend of the road at the end of the village, his already aching heart was shocked by what he found. The usually immaculate building was in messy disarray. The bench-tops were cluttered and dusty, and there were pools of dirty oil on the floor. He found Chatree squatting on the floor of the little rear room, staring vacantly at the wall. ‘Naai, Naai, it is me, Sumbart. What is it Naai? What has happened?’ For a while Chatree didn’t respond. Then his eyes flickered and his deeply lined face creased into his familiar warm smile. ‘Ah, Sumbart my boy, it is you. “Sergeant” Sumbart I believe. I thought you might call, I heard you were in the village.’ ‘Naai, what is the matter? You look terrible.’ Chatree got to his feet shakily, still smiling, ‘Oh thank you Sergeant Sumbart. I see you have not lost your flair for compliments.’ He embraced Sumbart warmly. ‘Don’t worry about me my boy. How are you? I have heard that you have some problems.’ ‘Yes Naai, it seems that my marriage is over … I am so ashamed … I think that my heart is broken.’ Chatree put his hand on Sumbart’s shoulder. ‘Our hearts don’t really break Sumbart, but sometimes they must crack a little. It is these cracks that can allow the light to shine in. The shame is not yours my young friend. If there is blame to be appointed, it must go to Suni. She is a silly and fickle young girl. But for your sake, find it in your heart to forgive her. She is still just a child, and not ready for real commitments.’

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Sumbart could not accept what Chatree was saying, but he didn’t want to argue with his dear friend. He was deeply worried by what he had seen. ‘What is the matter Naai? You seem to be troubled by something. What is it?’ ‘Don’t worry my boy. What you see is a silly old man who has lost his way for a while. That sala, that Golden Pavilion that we used to speak of, has eluded me. But don’t worry, it is still there somewhere, and I will find it. I have just lost my way for a while, that is all.’ Chatree took his hand from Sumbart’s shoulder and turned away. Sumbart struggled for something to say. If Chatree, his master, his Naai, had lost his way, what hope was there for him? Chatree turned back to face him. ‘Sumbart, I have decided to close down this business and rejoin the study of the teachings of the Enlightened One. I know now that I took a wrong turning in putting too much value in the satisfaction that comes with working on mechanical things. For me, that was a kind of vanity, and would not lead me to attaining eventual Nirvana. I will be returning to my old monastery for as long as it takes to find my way … It could be quite some time.’ Tears welled in Sumbart’s eyes. It was all too much for him. Losing his beautiful Suni, and now losing his guiding light, his friend, his master, Chatree. He bowed his head and shook with silent sobs of deep despair. Chatree put a hand on each of Sumbart’s shoulders and smiled at him. ‘My boy, my dear boy, this is not a time for tears, it is a time for sanuk, a time for having fun. Your life is ahead of you to enjoy.’ ‘But Naai, I am losing you, too.’

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‘Sumbart, you can never lose me. I love you, my boy, and will always be with you. And one day we will meet at that place, that sala, that Golden Pavilion, where we will find ourselves, and find each other.’ Chatree took his hands from Sumbart’s shoulders and stood back. Sumbart slowly raised his head and looked into Chatree’s eyes. A little smile came to his face. ‘And I love you Naai. And, to be sure that you think of me from time to time, I want you to wear this.’ He took off the watch that the army had presented to him and carefully fastened it around Chatree’s wrist. Chatree looked at the shiny watch with its linked stainless-steel band. ‘I don’t need anything to remind me of you my boy, but I appreciate your gift, and will wear it proudly.’ He gave Sumbart a long embrace, then pushed him gently towards the door, turning away to hide his tears. Sumbart walked out into the dusty street, around the little bend and through the village of Nam Phong to the bus stop, in the shade of the ancient durian tree. It was a long wait. Sumbart at last was able to get his scrabbled thoughts in some sort of order. The scent of the durians seemed to clear his head. Being made a sergeant, and given promises of further promotion, meant nothing now. He would leave the army as soon as his obligatory service was over. He would get a job in Bangkok, any sort of job. In Bangkok, somehow, he would find Suni.

12 A Brubeck Overture Melbourne, Australia, 1961.

TEDDY AND WILLIAM MOVED into the little mews building the week after they first inspected it. Stephany had shown them around the studio space upstairs and then invited them for a cup of coffee in her small groundfloor flat. The coffee was good, and Teddy had been lucky: it was a Brubeck record that had been playing. He really didn’t know much about modern jazz, or about music in general for that matter, but he could recognise Brubeck by his off-beat rhythms. The studio space was small. It had a connected toilet/ bathroom, but there was barely enough room for three drawing-boards and a few filing cabinets. But William liked it because of its central position and the ambience cast by the stately old mansion. Teddy liked it because of the girl downstairs. Stephany wasn’t the sort of girl one could disregard. Teddy was immediately infatuated with her dark-eyed beauty and the vibrancy of her personality.

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There was a Bohemian charm to her that appealed to him. She wore jeans, sneakers and sweatshirts, and was interested in art, design and music. They saw a lot of each other and Teddy soon relinquished any lingering memories of Vivian. Through Stephany, Teddy’s world became one of jazz clubs, film festivals, art shows and poetry readings. He found himself using words like ‘cool’, ‘groovy’, ‘gas’ and ‘funky’. He became aware of a wider world of creative endeavour, but he wasn’t sure that he was comfortable in the role of spectator. Oscar Forrest continued to feed them interesting projects and soon, as their reputation grew, work started to come in from other sources. Within a year it was obvious that they needed to put on staff. They had outgrown the little mews building so they shifted to a rambling old terrace house closer to the city, beside busy Kings Way. It was at this time that Teddy and Stephany got married. She had just turned 19. Initially, they moved into a flat in Brighton, near where William and Linda lived. It was while living there that their daughter, Isobel, was born. Life couldn’t be better. Projects continued to come in and soon they were able to buy a rundown little house in fashionable South Yarra. Work with William, and renovations of the house in South Yarra, completely filled Teddy’s life. But Stephany became restless. She had shown great flair as a fashion designer and wanted some creative expression of her own. Teddy understood this, and, after their son Joshua was born, he encouraged her to open a little boutique just off nearby Toorak Road. The shop was an immediate success. They had both become very busy and their interests began to diverge. The colourful, flamboyant style of

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Stephany’s clothing designs drew the attention of a few emerging rock and roll groups. She soon developed a niche market in this area. Teddy seldom used words like ‘cool’ or ‘groovy’ any more.

13 The Monkey’s Chain Bangkok, October, 1965.

THE GREAT CHAO PHRAYA River has an air of selfimportance as it swings lazily through the silt plains of central Thailand. It has come a long way from the cool highlands of the north, swelling with the contributions of its upper arms, the Ping, the Yom, the Nan and the Pa Sak. It is as if Chao Phraya knows how important it is, the centre of the life system of most of the Thai nation. It nourishes and drains the greatest rice bowl in Asia, it provides the highway for the teak industry and services the needs of some 30 million people who live along the banks of its vast network. The great river takes on a regal attitude as it curves through the sprawling, congested city of Bangkok. The Chao Phraya is a busy river, a highway and moving market-place at the same time. Dotted with barges, teak rafts, dug-out canoes and the speeding longtailed water taxis, it gives forth a strange conglomerate sound, an amalgam of all the various water and motor sounds, a deep thrumming purr.

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As it passes gilded temples, sagging, weathered godowns, squalid dwellings and the royal boathouses where the majestic ceremonial barges are housed, it seems to slow and pile up in its centre. Like some sort of giant reptile, it appears to hump its back, and develop a strange camber in its middle. That’s how it seemed to Malcolm Devlin as he sat at a terrace table overlooking the river at the grand old Oriental Hotel. Malcolm, 53, of sandy colouring, marginally overweight and balding, was the senior Australian Trade Commissioner in Bangkok. Malcolm thought that the river definitely looked higher in the middle and wondered why. Then his gaze shifted to a tree by the water’s edge. A single captive monkey sat forlornly on a worn branch, idly swinging the loop of its long chain, its head thoughtfully tilted as it gazed out at the wide khaki river. The monkey’s chain was shackled to a metal band fitted around the tree trunk, and attached to a heavy, stiff leather collar around the monkey’s skinny neck. Somebody must have carefully worked out the optimum length for the chain: long enough to give the monkey enough freedom to prevent him going completely crazy, but not so long that it would tangle in the tree branches and trouble the hotel staff who would have to untangle it. As he sipped an ice-cold gin and tonic, Malcolm could not help but draw a parallel between himself and the tethered monkey. He saw the constraints of his career as the cruel collar and chain, and the tree as the Government Service. Looking more closely, Malcolm noticed that the entire lower section of the tree, all that could be encompassed by the length of chain, was worn and scarred. The monkey must have used every

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conceivable permutation of travel around his tree. Yes, that’s parallel, too; Malcolm had travelled every conceivable path, every angle, in the service, but could never get beyond his present level. The monkey tilted its head to the other side. Malcolm looked out on to the river. Something about a long low barge being towed upstream by a smoky diesel launch had attracted the monkey’s attention. Squinting into the shine of the water, Malcolm could make out the heads of half a dozen young boys, river urchins, who had swum out into the wide stream and were hitching a ride, holding on to the car tyres tied along the side of the barge. The launch driver was waving his fist in anger at the boys. Malcolm could just hear their defiant yells in reply. The monkey shuffled on the branch, its black eyes shone: that looked like fun. Its spidery little hand went up and felt the stiff leather collar, and its skinny little shoulders visibly slumped. It knew its limitations and accepted them. Malcolm felt sorry for the little monkey. Malcolm felt sorry for himself. Just then the monkey stiffened on the branch and swung its head around to look up the garden towards the terrace. It had heard familiar footsteps, the scuffing sandals of a young hotel waiter, who was walking down to the monkey’s tree beaming. He carried at shoulder level, waiter-fashion on five upturned finger tips, a silver tray with three succulent slices of fresh papaya, a lunch fit for a prince of monkeys. The monkey’s wizened little face lit up, it seemed to smile too. In that second Malcolm knew there was perhaps some hope for the little monkey. ‘Hello darling, I’m sorry I’m late.’ All was not lost for Malcolm either. His wife Anne, hand resting gently on his shoulder, leant down and

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kissed him lightly on the cheek. ‘Oh I love meeting handsome, distinguished gentlemen in exotic places for lunch.’ He felt that sweet calming buzz that came over him every time he met Anne. It was always the same. She looked wonderful in a mint-green dress with a crisp white collar; cool and wonderful. Past 50, tall and slim, she was still a damn attractive woman. Always immaculate, with stylishly bobbed honey-blonde hair with just the merest fleck of grey, and those incredible hazel eyes. Eyes that looked at him in a special way, saw him in a special way … the way he would like to see himself. Looking into her smiling face his world changed. He felt a surge of guilt for his self-pitying thoughts about the monkey tree. ‘Hi sweetheart. No, not at all late my love.’ He half rose as the waiter adjusted Anne’s chair as she sat down close on his left side. ‘I adore this place,’ Anne said, taking a long look out across the thrumming river. Malcolm noticed that the monkey had climbed down its chain and was hanging eating a piece of papaya, while the boy waiter gently stroked its back. Smiling at Anne, he raised his eyebrows questioningly while inclining his head towards his half-finished gin and tonic on the table. ‘No thank you darling, just a mineral water for me. I promised Martha Ray I would go shopping with her this afternoon to choose some silk for her daughter’s wedding. If I have any alcohol I won’t get through the afternoon. You know how horrid the heat is in those places.’ Malcolm rolled his eyes disdainfully. ‘Don’t be like that Malcolm, it means a lot to Martha, she wants everything to be perfect for Pip’s big day.’

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Malcolm didn’t argue, it was pointless. Anne was addicted to helping others, it was just her way. The waiter brought the menus in their heavy embroidered silk covers, and retreated respectfully to stand in an almost military at ease position against one of the huge rendered brick pillars that formed the great loggia of the grand old hotel’s terrace. There was a waiter dedicated to each table at the Oriental. Malcolm loved this place, too. The Oriental was a special place, stern and formal. Like Raffles in Singapore and The Peninsular in Hong Kong, it was like an imperious old dowager that stood by and tut-tutted the goings-on of the changing East, but still displayed grace and charm when required. ‘Well I’m certainly not going shopping with bloody Martha,’ he said. ‘I have gone to a lot of trouble to get them to stock Australian wines here, so I’m going to have a glass of chablis with lunch.’ Malcolm noticed the minutest pursing of Anne’s lips. He knew that his drinking worried her, though she never said a word about it. Or did he imagine it? Was it that he himself was concerned about his fondness for booze? What the heck anyway, it was wonderful being here, at this wonderful place, with Anne. He should enjoy this sort of thing while he still had the chance. He had had to use up all his favours to get this Bangkok posting. The stress of the past few years had taken its toll. He knew his health was failing. There seemed to be forces within the service that were out to bring him down, but he was blessed with a wonderful wife who had stuck with him through all those hardship posts, for all those years. Anne looked at him in a way that he recognised. Those hazel eyes held questions.

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‘Well yes, my sweet, I wanted to talk to you about something. It’s this trade fair thing here in Bangkok next year. It’s turning into a bit of a monster.’ Anne raised her eyebrows. Malcolm went on, ‘Well, our people are taking it all very seriously.’ He paused and looked out over the river. He gave his head a little shake and sighed, ‘It’s the so-called Domino Theory. You know, if one country falls to communism it will knock the next one over. Things are brewing up in Vietnam. If it goes under it’s thought that Thailand will be the next to fall.’ Anne frowned, ‘But what has that got to do with us?’ ‘The Western powers feel that if Thailand’s economy can be bolstered, its people will be less likely to be tempted to fall to the Red Peril.’ Malcolm drained the dregs of his gin and tonic, and continued. ‘The United Nations has been lobbied very hard to sponsor the trade fair. It will be by far the biggest thing ever to be mounted in this region. Canberra has jumped in boots and all. They want to be seen as toeing the line with the Yanks. Our thing looks like being bigger than Ben Hur.’ Anne was quiet for a few moments and sat looking at him. Then she gave a bright smile, ‘Darling, this will be a great opportunity for you. As Senior Trade Commissioner here you can show them all what you are made of.’ Malcolm smiled back at her, but said nothing. Then he looked down towards the monkey’s tree. Anne followed his glance, ‘That’s lovely, isn’t it?’ Anne, nodded towards the monkey, and the young waiter who was giving the monkey the last slice of papaya. ‘I suppose it is,’ Malcolm answered with a hint of a frown, ‘but I wonder if the papaya supply is worth the chain around its neck.’ ‘Oh come on darling, it’s more than just the food. You can see that the dear little thing really likes the boy.

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And besides, what if it didn’t have the chain? What would it do? Where would it go? It was probably born here, it would be lost.’ Malcolm didn’t answer, but stared out across the great river, which continued to purr and thrum and feel important about itself. He didn’t want to think about the monkey tree any more. He was feeling guilty about his previous indulgence in self-pity. Here was Anne, who continually devoted herself to making him feel good, and who now was going to drag herself around the stifling silk warehouses this afternoon to help the wife of one of his old clients, all on his behalf. The monkey’s waiter was ambling slowly back up the path towards the terrace, the silver tray dangling from his left hand, and not looking back at the little monkey that stared after him. There must have been something about the waiter’s languid attitude that caught the attention of the prim little maître d’, who mimed gestures from his station at the terrace entrance, instructing the boy to hurry up and get back to his job. For the benefit of those guests who had witnessed the monkey feeding episode, he indicated that the boy should wash his hands. They were served an excellent Waldorf salad. The South Australian chablis was perhaps a little too chilled at the first sip. It was a common mistake in this part of the world: they seemed to think the colder the better for everything. Malcolm let it stand for a few minutes. Anne had been right. The coming trade fair would be loaded with opportunity, but was he up to it? He was feeling strained and tired. For the past few years pressures had been building. Things just seemed to keep going wrong. It was strange, he had always been a winner, one of those people who seemed to always fall on his feet. Ever since he had met Anne at university things had fallen

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into place to make his life successful. You make your own luck, he would always say, and it seemed that he had. But now, things were different. Trade policies weren’t all above board nowadays. Aid programs often had hidden agendas, agendas that were sometimes commercially driven, and sometimes military imperatives. One had to be on one’s toes, always reading between the lines. Australia was a new player in this ball game. The Americans were very good at it. It would be easy to miss out on big trade deals. But he wouldn’t worry about things now. He was with his beautiful wife, the salad was great and the overchilled wine had thawed a little. When they had finished lunch, as Malcolm escorted Anne off the terrace to walk back to the nearby embassy, he took one last glance at the river, which was now fairly throbbing with traffic, a constantly changing stream of vibrant life. As they walked through the lobby Malcolm turned to Anne, ‘If you really insist on traipsing around the godowns with Martha this afternoon, don’t go by taxi for heaven’s sake. I will organise the spare driver at the embassy to take you. He seems a good lad, and I’m sure he knows his way around. His name is Sumbart.’ The little grey-brown, dowdy monkey still sat on the lower branch, ignoring the river. It stared up the pathway to where the boy-waiter had disappeared.

14 The Green Filing Cabinet Bangkok, October 1965

THE AUSTRALIAN EMBASSY IN Bangkok was in a narrow street that linked one of the main city thoroughfares to the river. The Embassy had long since outgrown its building, a charmless, shambling place that the staff put up with only because a large new building was being planned. It was not far from the Oriental Hotel. It took Malcolm and Anne only a couple of minutes to walk there. They stopped at the entrance off a decrepit courtyard, which had a covered way at the far end where the embassy drivers usually waited. There were two white-clad figures lounging on a wooden bench. Malcolm cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, ‘Sumbart.’ The two figures stood up quickly. One of them pointed towards a grey Holden sedan that was parked in the shade of a bedraggled jacaranda tree. The Holden’s

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bonnet was up. A small young man in white stepped out from behind it and walked shyly towards them. ‘He is always tinkering with the motor,’ Malcolm said softly to Anne. ‘They say he has it running like a Swiss watch.’ Sumbart’s white trousers and shirt were immaculate. His black shoes glistened, so did his neatly combed hair. He held himself up straight but his movements were tentative, apologetic. He wore very dark aviator-style sunglasses, which he removed as he approached them. ‘So the Holden’s giving you trouble is it Sumbart?’ Malcolm gave a mock frown. ‘No sir, it is a good strong car, sir.’ Sumbart was looking down at the ground. ‘Well, why are you always working on it?’ Sumbart shuffled his feet but didn’t look up. ‘All good machinery deserves the respect of good care, sir. That is what I’ve been taught.’ Malcolm smiled and gave a look to Anne who gave a nod of approval. ‘Sumbart, I would like you to meet my wife, Mrs Devlin.’ Sumbart straightened up in military fashion, faced Anne and gave a precise bow. ‘Madam.’ Anne nodded back and smiled. Sumbart shyly looked away. Malcolm continued, ‘I would like you to drive for Mrs Devlin this afternoon. You will first take her to pick up another lady, then take them to wherever they tell you. Understand?’ Sumbart nodded. Malcolm asked more firmly, ‘Do you really understand?’ Sumbart straightened up again. ‘Yes sir, I understand.’ Malcolm smiled at Anne and said, ‘Sumbart, like good machinery, your passengers deserve the respect of good care. I hope you have been taught that also.’

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Sumbart didn’t answer, but looked down at the ground again. Anne frowned at Malcolm, who knew she was cross that he had embarrassed the boy. He could tell that Anne liked Sumbart. She had unerring judgment with that sort of thing. He chuckled. ‘Well my love, give my regards to Martha. I will see you at home this evening. Happy hunting.’ He gave her a kiss on the cheek. ———————— Malcolm watched Sumbart drive carefully out of the courtyard and into the traffic of the narrow street. Anne gave him a mock royal wave from the rear seat. He laughed and turned to go into his office, where his mood quickly changed. There was nothing to laugh about in there. He walked through the shabby foyer and used his special coded key for the heavy security door that opened into the secretarial pool. Joanne Berger, his special secretary, flashed her wonderful smile and got to her feet. Jo was a New Zealander who was working her way around South-East Asia. She had been employed as ‘special secretary’ purely to help Malcolm with the tradefair project. Her references had been impressive, and she was proving to be good value. She was in her midtwenties, had an olive complexion and thick black hair that she wore in a short bob. Her body was shapely and she moved with assurance. Malcolm judged that she knew she was attractive but had simply filed the matter away for later reference. He enjoyed her ready smile and her distinctly Kiwi accent. ‘Malcolm, you have two long cables, one from Canberra and one from Melbourne. Oh, and a bunch of phone calls.’ She handed him a manila folder.

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As he took the folder he felt hot and sweaty. The walk back from the Oriental had been short, but it was bloody hot. He didn’t like the heat, he sweated a lot. The embassy was air-conditioned but he still felt sweaty. It was the folder, the damned cables. The cable from Canberra would be from his boss, Duncan Partridge, the First Assistant Secretary of the Department of Trade. The cable from Melbourne would probably be from Oscar Forrest, the Director of Trade Publicity. They both would be wanting things from him. Information, surveys, reports, opinions. ‘Local knowledge’, they called it. They needed it to help them strategise the huge project that lay ahead. He was meant to know it all. He was their man in Bangkok. He felt the sweat beading on his brow. He just nodded to Jo Berger, and hurried through to his office. His office was small, drab and crammed with filing cabinets and other office junk. He was the Senior Trade Commissioner at this post, and they stuck him in a hole like this. He threw the folder on to his cluttered desk and dabbed at his brow with his handkerchief. Fifteen years in the service with six hardship postings. Postings that were meant to lead to better things, but never really did. He tried hard to regain the feeling of calm equilibrium that the lunch with Anne had given him, but it was no good. He continued to feel hot and flustered. He looked at a dented, olive-green filing cabinet that was crammed sideways behind his desk. It had three lockable drawers. The bottom drawer was where he kept a secret bottle of Black Label Johnnie Walker. He sighed. He knew it was still about one-third full. There was a clean glass in its usual place on the tray with the Thermos of chilled water. He felt for the bunch of keys in his pocket, but then paused.

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There was a photo of Anne on the credenza beside his desk. It was in a carved frame of African ebony that she had bought him in Lagos. God, Nigeria, that was a hell of a posting. Anne had never complained. She had looked so lovely at lunch. Those hazel eyes. He sat down in his chair and glared at the folder on his desk. Then, with an angry flick, he opened it. The first telex was headed: From FAS D. Partridge to Sen. Trad. Com. M Devlin. RE. Confirmation of Participation in E.C.A.F.E. First Asian Trade Fair. Bangkok. Nov. 1966. Malcolm skimmed down the tightly spaced pages. He began to cool down. Most of the actions had his initials beside them. He was to check various clauses in the formal contract, set trade surveys in motion, check accommodation, identify appropriate contractors … It went on and on. He glanced at Anne’s photo and smiled. He felt calm and cool. He could handle this stuff, handle it standing on his head.

15 A Special Experience Melbourne, Australia, November, 1965.

‘IT HAS TO BE AIR-CONDITIONED Ted, it really has to be!’ William had a look in his blue eyes that Teddy knew well — Will had made his mind up on a matter and would not be dissuaded. ‘What, the whole bloody lot, or just the administration offices and lounge areas?’ Teddy asked, frowning. Teddy was ready to challenge what he thought to be another of his brother’s extreme ideas. ‘Of course, the whole lot, that’s the point for Christ’s sake. We have to give visitors to the Australian pavilion a special experience, and if we can give them a cool, clean environment to go into in hot, smelly Bangkok, we will be giving them a very special experience, believe me. The whole place is a shit-heap Ted, it really is. I couldn’t get a good breath of fresh clean air all the time I was there.’ William frowned at Teddy, ‘Seriously mate, I really don’t want to go back there again. It’s just not my sort of place.

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You’re going to have to handle the installation over there by yourself, Ted.’ William sighed, shaking his head, ‘Anyway, we can’t afford both of us to be awy from here for any length of time.’ The two brothers were sitting in the small conference room at their Melbourne studio. A Beatles track was playing on the studio tape player, and the strangely baroque melody of Norwegian Wood softened the throb of traffic on the adjacent freeway. William had just returned from a week-long trip to Bangkok to acquaint himself with local conditions, to meet the Australian Embassy and Trade Commission staff, and to conduct a site survey in preparation to start designing the Australian pavilion at the forthcoming UNsponsored World Trade Fair. He had hated the place from the moment he had stepped off the plane into the crushing humidity and heat. His senses had been assailed by all he saw, felt and heard around him. The grubby, uncared-for airport terminal, the carping nasal sounds of the language, the heavy, sweet smell of the spiced cigarettes, the general feeling of chaotic disorder of the place, all combined to throw a switch in his ordered mind. No, Bangkok wasn’t his sort of place. He had been met at the airport by Malcolm Devlin, the Senior Australian Trade Commissioner, who was responsible for the project at the Bangkok end. He liked Malcolm’s genuine smile and firm, if sweaty, handshake. The Trade Commissioner had done everything to make Will’s stay in Bangkok pleasant and fruitful. He had scheduled meetings with all the necessary authorities, consultants and contractors so William would get a good picture of how things worked in that part of the world. He had taken Will to and from his hotel, the magnificent Erawan, had introduced him to his favourite

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lunch places, including the beautiful River Terrace of the Oriental Hotel, and had invited him home to dinner with his wife Anne at their elegant government-owned residence. It had been obvious to William that Malcolm found the city fascinating. After dinner at Malcolm and Anne’s home, the three of them had sat out on the terrace in beautifully comfortable cane chairs, and watched the fireflies stitch threads of light through the trees at the bottom of the garden, while Kalat, their elderly ‘house-boy’, served them coffee. They talked of many things. Will said how he missed his morning runs along the beaches of the beautiful, cool Port Phillip Bay south of Melbourne, feeling the clean sea air on his body and refreshing his brain for another day’s work. He couldn’t understand how anyone could do any meaningful work in a place like Bangkok, unless they were sitting next to an airconditioner. It was then, sitting in the balmy air of the tropical night, in discussion with Malcolm, that Will’s concept for the pavilion was formed and solidified. Now in Melbourne, Teddy pointed at the sketch plan Will had placed on the table between them and said, ‘Jesus, Will, that’s 2,000 square metres, nine metres high to air-condition. The budget will never support it. We won’t have time to build a fully enclosed and insulated building. We have less than three months between when the wet season finishes and the fair opens, we just can’t do it.’ Teddy pushed back in his chair, swung his head back, looked up to the ceiling, closed his eyes and slowly shook his head. ‘Come on Ted,’ Will said with a smile. ‘Don’t panic, I have thought it all out. I’ve had long talks with our people in Bangkok. The TC, Malcolm Devlin, is a terrific

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bloke, he really wants this project to be something special. We think we can do it.’ Will opened a folder of pages with dates and flow charts, and moved around next to Teddy. ‘What we can do is just put the building shell up in the next few months, and weatherproof it, before the wet season starts.’ ‘Oh come off it, Will,’ Teddy was starting to get angry. ‘We haven’t even started designing the thing yet! That alone could take months. As you said, it has to be something very special. It’s bullshit, we just can’t do it.’ Will smiled again, ‘Yes, yes, I know, but trust me. I have given it a lot of thought, I know it’s worth the effort if it means that we can get the bloody thing properly air-conditioned.’ Will reached for some sheets of butter-paper. ‘We can minimise the design time now.’ He started sketching with a 6B pencil with strong, firm strokes. ‘If we settle on building a simple box of a building at this stage, just to get it built before the monsoon starts, we will have plenty of time to think of ways of dressing it up later. We can do all the special things on it after the rains stop.’ Will had drawn a simple, stark, box-like building on the butter-paper. He threw the pencil down, sat back and looked hard at his younger brother. ‘Look Ted, I know this approach is against all good design principles, I know you have done a lot of preliminary work, but that won’t be wasted. Good work is never wasted, it stays inside you, and you can use it for something else some day. Trust me, this is the way to go.’ Teddy sighed and was silent for a while, staring intently at the sketch, thinking deeply. How the hell did Will know he had been developing design concepts while Will was away on the site visit? He knew he shouldn’t have. The whole point of Will’s visit to Bangkok was to

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absorb the local feeling and understand the conditions before they started the design process. The Beatles kept bouncing along with McCartney insisting that Norwegian wood was good. ‘OK, OK, but what about costs? The budget just won’t cover the sort of air-con units we would need, and we’ll have damn-all money left for the bloody exhibition.’ Will sat back in his chair. With a slight frown, and in a serious tone, he said, ‘Yes Ted, it could be a bit tricky, but I am sure we can do it. As I said before, the TC over there is a great guy. I had a long, long discussion with him late one night out on the terrace of his home.’ Will remembered how the night had masked the decrepit squalor of the sprawling city and how the bone-melting heat and humidity had been cooled into a lazy softness. He remembered how, in the beauty of the Devlin’s garden, he had found himself almost enjoying what Bangkok had to offer. It had been obvious that Malcolm loved the place. He could tell by the earnest tone in Malcolm’s voice, and by his enthusiasm, that he was determined to make a success of the trade fair. ‘This isn’t just another project for him Ted. For some reason it means an awful lot to him, and I think he would be willing to, er, well, bend the rules a bit to ensure its success.’ Teddy nodded for William to continue. ‘Malcolm agrees whole-heartedly on the airconditioning issue. Really Ted, it is vital. No other country is going to air-condition their pavilion. We really will have stolen a march if we do.’ William reached for the 6B pencil again, ‘Malcom thinks we can possibly contain the air-con costs if we design the pavilion so that we can encase, say, six large commercial-type, self-contained packaged units into the perimeter walls.’

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As he spoke. he started to draw small squares spaced around the sides of the roughed-in sketch plan. ‘That way we minimise duct-work, etc. He is pretty sure that a certain Australian supplier of these sort of units would be interested in a supply and buy-back deal. With all the building the Yanks are funding in the region to help prop the country up against the Commies, there should be a market to on-sell the units when the trade fair is over.’ He went back over the six little squares he had drawn, darkening the outlines to emphasise his point. ‘The damn things will be as good as new, hardly used.’ Teddy reached across the table and poured them both some fresh coffee. He didn’t say anything. William took the coffee. He normally had only one in the morning because his fitness was important to him. Teddy knew his brother was just trying to humour him. ‘OK, it is still going to knock the budget around a bit, but believe me, if we can give the visitors to our pavilion a comfortable, cool environment to be in, we won’t need to spend so much on the exhibits to impress them.’ Teddy stopped in mid-stir with his coffee. William had said the wrong thing. The internal exhibits were Teddy’s specialty. William quickly continued, ‘Ted, I think it could be very exciting for you. As I have said, Malcolm Devlin is really committed to this job, he has been around a long time and has lots of contacts in Australian industry. He made the point that the transport cost for this project comes out of another budget vote, not out of our budget.’ ‘OK, but how does that help us?’ Teddy looked puzzled. ‘Well, there will be about 150 Australian companies exhibiting their stuff at the pavilion, and it’s our job to

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meld them into some sort of continuing story. Ted, we are going to have to visit all these companies anyway, so when we are getting information on the products that they want to exhibit, we also should be looking for things — fittings, materials, etc — that we can use to enhance the exhibition in general.’ Teddy was getting interested now. William paused, then continued more slowly, ‘If we find things that we think would help, Malcolm is pretty sure the companies will provide them for free, or on some sort of buy-back basis. The transport to Bangkok won’t cost them, or us, anything.’ William took a long sip of his coffee, and a long look at his brother. ‘OK, OK, OK,’ Teddy sighed. ‘Suppose we can do it that way; just suppose that we are lucky enough to find stuff that we can use, it will delay the start of the design process. It will probably mean that we will have to commit stuff to meet the shipping deadlines before we have really worked out how we can use it.’ Will nodded agreement. He was smiling now. ‘Yes, Ted you’re right, but between us we could end up with something fantastic.’ ‘Jesus Christ Will, you are a scary bugger to work with,’ Teddy laughed. He walked to the window and looked out between the venetian blinds at the morning traffic on the adjacent freeway. The tape player had clicked to another track. Paul, John, George and Ringo were complaining about having a hard day’s night. ‘What about the building Will?’ Teddy turned back to the table. ‘So we build this bloody great sealed box this year before the rainy season, let the bloody monsoons, or whatever they are, piss down on it for months and months, then what? What do we do to make it at least presentable for the trade fair?’

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It was Will’s turn to stand up and go to the window. ‘I’m not sure. I really haven’t a clue. But we will think of something, something will come up, I just have a feeling that it is going to work. And it won’t just be “presentable”, it will be something fantastic Teddy boy, something fantastic, a special experience.’ Teddy was smiling now. He sighed and shaking his head, said softly, ‘OK, OK, but what about “Ocka”? How will the department feel about committing to an unknown? Why should they trust us to that degree?’ ‘Ocka’, Oscar Forrest, as Director of Trade Publicity, had to give final approval to the design of any major exhibition project. They knew Oscar was a driven visionary and they knew of his ability to make quick and sometimes ruthless judgments. William looked serious again, ‘Yes, I know it could be tricky, but old Ocka is no fool. We are just going to have to be careful to give him the whole picture, so he has time to drink it all in. I think the old devil trusts us, and the Trade Commissioner is on side. It will be OK if we do our best to present it all to him properly. The old boy has the necessary guts.’ As always, Teddy was starting to pick up on his brother’s excitement. ‘I have a planning meeting scheduled with Ced this afternoon,’ he said eagerly. ‘I’ll explain it all to him. I know he will help us strike the right chord with Mr Forrest.’ ‘Ced’, Cedric Lovejoy, the department’s most experienced Exhibition Officer, had been given the job of managing the technical aspects of the Bangkok project. William smiled again and sat down. He couldn’t think of anything else to say so he reached for the coffee pot. It was empty, so he leaned back in his chair and sighed, ‘It will be fantastic Teddy, it will be.’

16 A Piece of Cake Melbourne, Australia, November, 1965.

LATER THAT DAY TEDDY went to the scheduled planning meeting at Cedric Lovejoy’s office at the Department of Trade. Teddy liked Ced Lovejoy. Blond-haired, with fine features beneath a prominent forehead, with bright-blue eyes deep-set under tawny eyebrows, and of strapping physique, Cedric could be described as being handsome. He was in his early forties, and had migrated to Australia from London 10 years previously. Cedric had served in the RAF during the war years and this impressed Teddy, who had been exposed to a changing parade of servicemen during the war years at his home. His parents had contributed to the war effort by billeting servicemen on leave at their large seaside property. These men were young Teddy’s heroes. Cedric had retained many RAF mannerisms. Teddy was fascinated by his stories. Cedric had spent the latter part

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of the war in the Far East but spoke very little of that period. Teddy got a distinct impression that Cedric had had experiences there that he would rather forget. The little office was tidy and orderly, as was Cedric, for whom everything and everyone had a place. Cedric had long experience in the exhibition industry. He knew the importance of being organised. He was almost obsessive on this issue, often equating it to the vital air force procedures for aircraft control and maintenance. He liked William and Teddy, he respected their talent and dedication to projects, and he was willing to make allowances for their tendency to be disorganised. Teddy went over William’s ideas on the Bangkok project with Cedric, who listened thoughtfully, making notes from time to time, seldom interrupting with questions or comments. When Teddy had finish showing him William’s sketches and schedule charts, Cedric leaned back in his seat and said in his soft London accent, ‘Well, old chap, I have to say that I agree with Will on the issue of air-conditioning. Awful climate in those places really. Us Brits couldn’t have survived out in the Far East without those Punka Wallahs waving those fans, you know. But it certainly makes the timing a bit dicey.’ He frowned and gave a little shake of his head. ‘I have spent a fair bit of time in the East, things are different there, really. You know the old saying, “East is East and West is West and never the twain shall meet”? Well, it really is so, believe me. Things that are achievable in our culture are just out of the question out there.’ Teddy noted his friend’s British orientation to SouthEast Asia, ‘out there’, but said nothing as Cedric looked thoughtfully at William’s sketches. Then, after a while, he said quietly, ‘Ced, Will seems to think that we could steal a march on the other countries by having a cool and

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comfortable pavilion, but he knows that there is far more to it than just making people comfortable.’ Cedric looked up from the drawings and Teddy continued, ‘You know Ced, our most successful exhibitions have been those where we have been able to have absolute control of the lighting so that we can maximise the theatrical effects. They were all built in dark, controlled environments, “black boxes”, as we call them in the trade.’ Teddy looked earnestly at Cedric now. ‘If we were to build a pavilion in Bangkok that relied on natural cross-ventilation, we would need vast areas of openings in the walls which would let in gallons of light and destroy any hope of theatrical magic.’ ‘Yes, of course, I understand.’ Cedric closed his eyes and sat back in his seat. ‘The only way that you can pull your magic tricks is to have an air-conditioned “black box”.’ Cedric opened his eyes and looked straight at Teddy. ‘This project was going to be difficult enough from the start, but now, by pulling the building program forward, it would be downright hair-raising. Although, if we get ourselves organised, we might just pull it off.’ Smiling at Teddy and slowly shaking his head, Cedric added, ‘But I must say, even if you can do clever things in the dark interior, I have no idea what you can do to the outside of a whacking great box of a building to make it look like something we can be proud of.’ Teddy smiled and shrugged, ‘I haven’t a clue either Ced, but Will seems confident that we will come up with something. I would like to think that some façade treatment will present itself when we visit all the companies that will be exhibiting their products. I’m sure something appropriate will crop up.’ Cedric opened a folder on his desk. Thumbing through it, he said, ‘If that is the case we should go

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through the provisional list of exhibitors and see if anything stands out. If any do look like possibilities we should go to them first.’ Teddy smiled to himself. Good old Ced, the old war-horse always answers the challenge. Cedric had a head of steam up now. ‘The first hurdle is to get approval from the brass here in our department, and Foreign Affairs will have to be brought in on it. I will get a report together with material from Malcolm Devlin, the TC, and from the shipping people and so on. I am sure that if we put all the facts before him clearly, Oscar will agree. But we will need you and Will to do some more work, and to present it to the committee. We’ll have to give them some ideas of how the building may end up appearing.’ Teddy appreciated the ‘we’ Cedric had used, and he new that he had done so on purpose to reassure him of his support. Smiling, he chose a vernacular that he felt suited the occasion, ‘A piece of cake, Ced, a piece of cake.’ Cedric was as good as his word. Over the next week he worked long hours crafting a comprehensive report that covered all the foreseeable issues in support of William’s concept for the pavilion. He used his experience to pre-empt all the possible objections that bureaucratic minds might conceive. But the risky issues of cost and of timing remained painfully evident. It would still require a brave decision to be made. It would still all hinge on the courage of Cedric’s chief, Oscar Forrest, who had the final say.

17 Design Development Melbourne, Australia, December, 1965.

WILLIAM PUT HIS HEART and soul into the design development of the air-conditioned concept. He had long consultations with various air-conditioning engineers and suppliers. It soon became apparent that the budget would not support total air-conditioning of the whole site. William’s solution was to design a building that covered only two-thirds of the site, with an open annex covering the remaining area. This annex area would have a stylised canvas canopy for protection from the sun and rain showers, and open sides to allow maximum ventilation. The pavilion building remained as a simple rectangular box. It still relied on some clever cladding treatment for it to be a success. William realised that linking elements were needed to tie the building and the adjacent annex together. He put many hours into investigating numerous options.

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William and Teddy, like many designers of that period, were influenced by the exciting developments in the new national capital of Brazil, Brazilia. That city’s design team, led by the great architect Oscar Niemeyer, had conjured up a new grammar of monumental architectural shapes. Will finally settled on the idea of a shallow moat around the whole site, building and annex. Standing in this moat would be a low plinth or wall, 1.5-metres high, with a straight top but arched out to give a feeling of something skipping along the water surface. This bold device would visually hold the whole development together. Teddy was excited by William’s designs, and together they worked on an elaborate set of presentation drawings to aid their cause with Oscar Forrest. The cladding system for the pavilion was still unresolved. They had spent days and nights investigating a number of ideas that were within the budget, but none seemed to really bring the pavilion to life. They drew up three alternatives to include in the presentation, as indicative solutions, but the pavilion cladding remained the weak point in the concept. It was still an unknown factor. ———————— Oscar Forrest had evaluated the facts in Cedric Lovejoy’s report. A lot was at stake. It was Australia’s first really big trade foray into South-East Asia. It had to be right, that was very important to him. It was almost incidental to him that it would be his head that would roll if this thing fouled up. His neck first, then Malcolm Devlin’s, but Oscar had never cared about personal consequences when Australia’s image was at stake, and that was what was at stake. Could he afford to take undue risks?

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He trusted the Brown boys. God, he had discovered them, right back during that Cransky fiasco. He had fed them small projects to teethe on and, as they proved themselves capable, he had given them bigger responsibilities. They had progressed well, and, yes, he trusted them. He trusted them because he trusted his own judgment. But what they were suggesting now was just plain crazy. Oscar never credited himself with having any real talent, but he knew that his strength was his ability to evoke the maximum effort from his operatives. The technique he used was to ostensibly heap as much responsibility on to an individual as possible, while behind the scenes building a support mechanism around them. He provided an unseen safety net. This had the effect of stretching people’s abilities, and building their confidence, but with this Bangkok project, the Brown boys seemed to be stretching things too far. ———————— When Cedric ushered Will and Teddy into Oscar’s office, the director didn’t greet them, didn’t even look up from the papers he was reading on his cluttered desk. They had been made to wait nearly 20 minutes in the cramped foyer. Miss Ridge, Oscar’s middle-aged secretary, made no apologies, and offered no explanation for the delay. She was passionately loyal to her boss, and he, totally respectful of her. Twice during their tense wait, she had shuffled to her feet and, with the aid of a heavy, carved walking stick, needed due to a degenerate condition of her hips, limped into Oscar’s office, taking him pages of typing. The brothers had become increasingly nervous. Teddy had fiddled with the stack of mounted drawings he

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was carrying, arranging and rearranging their order. Now, when they finally entered Oscar’s office, he didn’t acknowledge them for a full 30 seconds, continuing to read the typed pages. Then at last he rasped, ‘Well, what have you got for me?’ He got abruptly to his feet and walked over to the conference table. He nodded to Teddy to put the drawings on the table-top. He didn’t sit down or offer them a seat. He proceeded to look rapidly through the stack of drawings. When he came to a perspective on which Teddy had drawn a prominent group of figures in the foreground, he said caustically, without looking up, ‘I see you are still practising your fashion drawing at our expense.’ Looking pointedly at William, Oscar continued, ‘You realise, of course, that bringing the schedule forward to provide for this damn air-conditioning is going to put a lot of people under a lot of pressure, especially yourselves. I only hope that you are as clever as you obviously think you are. Quite frankly, I doubt that you can pull it off.’ He glanced through the remaining drawings, and grunted, ‘Very well, they seem all right I suppose. Leave them here. Just go and get on with it, you haven’t got time to fool around.’ Nodding to Cedric, and stalking back to his desk, he grunted, ‘That’s all. Thank you.’ The three of them filed out of the office in stunned silence. Oscar had spent less than one minute looking at the drawings that had taken Will and Teddy two full weeks of intense effort to produce. As they walked through the little foyer Teddy said over his shoulder to William, ‘Bloody old Ocka!’ Miss Ridge heard, and glared sternly at them until they had disappeared into the lift. Then she pushed back

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into her chair and gave a beautiful wide smile, shaking her head. She knew that Oscar would now be studying each of the drawings in turn, in minute detail. She knew that he would call her in shortly, and proudly show her what the boys had done.

18 Inspiration at a Leagues Club Melbourne, Australia, January, 1966.

WITH THE PAVILION BUILDING design approved, the pressure was on to produce the working drawings and documentation, so that tenders could be called to have the building built before the onslaught of the next wet season in Bangkok. William and Teddy reorganised the projects being handled by their design practice. They delegated all other projects to their small staff so they could devote all of their time to the Bangkok project. William concentrated on the working drawings for the pavilion building. He was a prodigiously productive draftsman. Teddy had always been in wonder at the rate at which Will could churn out immaculate, clear and lucid drawings. Now, as he watched his brother hunched over his drawing-board, he was amazed how his movements seemed to flow without the slightest pause. It was as if he

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had all the plans, elevations, sections and detail sheets already stored in his head, and just allowed them to flow out on to the paper. ‘Is there anything I can do to help, Will?’ Teddy asked. William smiled, but didn’t look up from his drawing. His long arm made a smooth sweep along the edge of the T-square, his pen leaving another clean, accurate line along the building’s elevation. ‘No thanks Ted.’ He moved the T-square down a little and drew another sweeping line. ‘I think I have it all under control. It’s just a matter of getting it all down on paper while it is still clear in my head.’ He deftly slid his set-square along the T-square and, without any measurement, rapidly drew in four perfectly spaced verticals. ‘If I had to stop and explain this stuff to anybody it would just slow me down, and I would probably forget what I have worked out in my head.’ He still didn’t look up, but was smiling. ‘Thanks anyway mate, but your time would be better spent thinking about the interior exhibition. Get together with Ced and go over all the briefing material as much as you can.’ He flicked the set-square aside and repositioned the long T-square and quickly drew in a series of short horizontals. ‘The pressure will really be on when we get to the exhibition drawings.’ William had never stopped drawing all the time he was talking. When William’s drawings were circulated to the other consultant designers, structural engineers, mechanical engineers and air-conditioning consultants, they were amazed at the rate at which the drawings were produced, and at their quality and degree of detail. ————————

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While the pavilion building design documentation was in progress, Malcolm Devlin in Bangkok was busy identifying potential building contractors in the region. This was not an easy task. The trade fair, the general boom in the construction industry in Thailand due to the immense build-up in defence installations, and the attendant growth in the hotel industry, was making good building contractors hard to find. Malcolm threw himself into the task. The cramped clutter of his office, and the general lack of facilities in the embassy, were starting to annoy him. There was no intercom link to his special secretary, Jo Berger. He hurried, flushed and sweating, to her desk in the typing pool. ‘Jo, have you had any reply from that group up at Chang Mai?’ She flashed her ready smile at him, but then gave a little pout and shook her head, ‘Yes, they got back to me just a few minutes ago, but they have declined I’m afraid. Something about being committed to radio installations in the mountains. They said that, in any case, they thought our schedule was unrealistic.’ ‘Hmm, well I can understand their concern about our schedule. Whoever takes on the task of building our building, and making it weatherproof before the monsoon season, will have to work miracles.’ Malcolm liked Jo, her smile always had a calming effect on him. Now he noticed a look of concern in Jo’s eyes. ‘Don’t you worry, my dear. You are working with the Australian Trade Commission now, we are expected to organise things of a miraculous nature.’ He gave a happy smile, then looked serious again, ‘I have a few more contacts for you to chase up.’ He handed Jo a sheet of paper. ‘You must get me through to their top people. I have noted their names. We haven’t got time to climb up through the chain of command.’

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He was immediately sorry that he had given those instructions. Jo was on the ball, she knew what the state of play was. Quickly changing the subject, he said, in a more amicable tone, ‘It seems that we’ve kicked a goal with that air-conditioning company. They’re a wellestablished Australian firm who are eager to increase their exports to this region. They seem to have exactly the sort of self-contained units that we need. I’m just drafting up a proposal whereby they supply them to us at a reasonable cost and then help us sell them to one of their local clients after the trade fair.’ Then, without knowing why, he swung back to a more business-like tone, ‘Come and see me in about an hour. I should have it ready for you to type up. Oh yes, could you tell Sumbart to be ready to drive me out along Petchburi at four this afternoon? I need to check something at the site.’ He stalked back to his office feeling hot and bothered again. ———————— ‘That’s the last of them Ted,’ William’s blue eyes watered a little because of the ammonia fumes coming off the fresh dye-line prints as they fed out of the plan-printing machine. ‘All we have to do now is collate them into sets and Ced can send them in tonight’s diplomatic bag to Bangkok.’ ‘That was a great effort Will, right on schedule. It’s up to Malcolm Devlin now to get them out to tender. Let’s hope he can find someone to build the thing quickly enough.’ Teddy was starting to sort the drawings into sets. All the other tender documents, specifications and contract copies were bound and ready to go.

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‘That’s not our worry now Ted. It’s all in the Trade Commissioner’s capable hands.’ Will recalled the sweaty handshake, but also the earnest tone of Malcolm’s voice. ‘Malcolm’s a good guy, he’ll get it together.’ William rubbed his smarting eyes with the heel of his hand. ‘We both have to crunch down on the interior stuff now Ted. How is it shaping up?’ Teddy sighed, ‘I’ve been putting in a lot of time with Ced, he’s been great. He’s built up a terrific rapport with the exhibiting companies, and he seems to get on well with the people from Foreign Affairs, but it is turning into a very complex business.’ Teddy handed a completed set of drawings to William, who started punching holes in the edge to take the binding screws. Teddy continued, ‘The thing is, Foreign Affairs has made a lot of fuss about a set of political messages that they want to get across. It seems that our project is very important to them.’ He paused, frowning, ‘The exhibitors all have their own commercial considerations, which they all say are vital to them, and the Department of Trade has its own broader trade strategies to implement.’ Teddy gave a little shake of his head, ‘Out of all this, we have to come up with a workable theme for the exhibition through which we can capitalise as much as possible on the exhibited products, because we have a reduced budget because of the air- conditioning.’ William paused in manipulating the paper punch. Teddy quickly added, ‘Yes Will, I know, I know, the airconditioning is vital, I really believe that, but it has put us under pressure. Ced and I have been working with some of Oscar’s writers and at long last a set of themes is emerging. We’ve just about got a workable theme plan together now. The next step is for you and I to take it in

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turns to traipse around the country with Ced visiting the exhibitors that may have products or materials that we can use to our advantage.’ William smiled at his brother, taking another set of drawings from him. ‘We can do it Teddy boy, we can do it.’ ———————— The tender documents for the pavilion building were dispatched to Malcolm Devlin on schedule and William and Teddy were able to concentrate on the internal exhibition. There were many trips around the country with either Will or Teddy accompanying Cedric, visiting every one of the companies that was exhibiting. They were careful to gain as much information as possible to ensure that all the products would be exhibited in the most advantageous way for trade purposes, but they were also very watchful to find products, or even by-products, that could be used to enhance the exhibition as a whole. There were many disappointing set-backs, much frustration, and many long nights. But slowly, painstakingly, ideas began to gel and take shape. Bit by bit, the jigsaw started to fit together. A big breakthrough came when Cedric and William visited Austral Brass, a large company in an industrial area of Sydney, which produced non-ferrous metal alloys. This company saw great trade potential in the South-East Asian region, and was very enthusiastic about supporting the project in any way possible. Austral Brass specialised in producing beautiful bronze alloys, metals that were often used on expensive building projects. William was immediately taken with the intrinsic beauty of these gleaming metals, lamenting the fact that their costs were far beyond what could be afforded for

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their pavilion’s cladding panels. As it happened, their meeting with Austral Brass was in the late morning, and when it concluded, Nigel Press, the company’s energetic sales manager, invited Cedric and Will to lunch at a nearby rugby leagues club. As they entered the huge foyer of the palatial edifice, Will marvelled at the plush, but tasteless, opulence of the place. They made their way through to the vast dining room. Piped music, loud and intrusive, seemed amplified by the gaudy décor. They ordered their meals at the bar and sat at a table with a shocking pink table-cloth and clashing mauve napkins. Nigel noticed Will’s discomfort. ‘Relax William, the food is really good, believe me. We come here for the value, not the ambience. It’s all subsidised by the damn one-armed bandits, of course. All a bit over-the-top, but it seems to provide a needed facility, a useful social focus for a lot of people.’ William liked Nigel, and didn’t mean to offend him. He was thankful when Cedric, laughingly, answered for him, ’Oh don’t mind Will, Nigel. You know what these designer types are like, always appraising other people’s work. I never invite him around to my place for that reason.’ William, wanting to change the subject, said quickly, ‘That bronze alloy certainly is beautiful Nigel. Where does it come from?’ Nigel smiled. ‘Most of it comes from Australian mines, as ore, but some of it is salvaged from the scrapmetal industry. A lot of it is recycled off-cuts, etc, back from metal fabrication factories. It gets melted down again for re-use. Out in our yards, at the back of our plant, we have all sorts of weird and wonderful stuff, the left-overs of most of this country’s metal fabrication

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industry. Punchings, swarf, blanks, filings, dog-ends, offcuts, mistakes, all sorts of things. Fascinating stuff. If you are interested, and you have a few minutes, I’ll show you when we go back after lunch.’ A middle-aged waitress, with a hearty disposition, a hint of a moustache and a uniform that matched the table-cloths, brought them their food. The steak Diannes certainly looked good. She walked away, jigging happily to the bounce of Mr Sandman piping loudly into the vast room. ‘That bronze certainly is a beautiful material,’ William said. ‘It is a pity that it is so costly, though,’ he added ruefully. Nigel, cutting into his thick steak, heaped high with a thick mushroom sauce, said, ‘Yes, I suppose it seems a bit pricey, although it is relatively cheap in this country. They love it up in Asia. They use it for all sorts of things that are value-added. You know the sort of stuff: beaten bowls, ornaments, etc.’ He concentrated on pushing a pile of mushrooms on to a piece of steak he had pinned with his fork, then he continued, ‘It is so malleable and easy to work by hand, that’s the beauty of it. In fact, the price we get for scrap bronze in that part of the world is pretty much the same as we can sell new material for here in Australia.’ Nigel forked the large piece of steak and mushrooms into his mouth and began chewing. Will noticed that Cedric, who had been eating his own steak and listening intently, slowed his chewing down to a stop. With some difficulty, he swallowed, and said slowly, ‘Now hold on a bit. Do you mean to say that you could sell your bronze material over in, say, Bangkok, for the price that you could provide it to us for here, in this country?’

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‘Yes, that’s right. But we would have to get it to Bangkok. There are the shipping costs, of course.’ Cedric flashed William a quick look, put down his knife and fork, and said with studied calmness, ‘Would Austral Brass be interested in supplying a quantity of your bronze material to us here in Australia on an agreed buyback basis? We would ship it over to Bangkok at our cost, and you would buy it back from us when the trade fair is over. Then you could sell it through your avenues as scrap. It would work out to be cost-neutral for us both, and your company would gain immense promotional value for your product.’ William had stopped eating. Cedric’s words seemed distant. William’s heart was pounding. He had lost all sense of time or place. The garish, uncouth leagues club had disappeared. In his mind’s eye was a crystal-clear image, an image of a beautiful, faceted golden façade, the cladding for the pavilion, a gleaming Golden Pavilion.

19 The Afterbirth of Industry Melbourne, Australia, January, 1966.

WILL FLEW STRAIGHT BACK to Melbourne that night. He was possessed by the idea of cladding the pavilion in bronze panelling, and was eager to get back with Teddy and put some designs together. Cedric had stayed in Sydney to continue negotiations with the Austral Brass senior management, to see if the buy-back concept was viable. William got to the office early the next morning. He had been there for more than two hours and had already made some sketch designs of the pavilion facades when Teddy arrived at 9am. ‘Will, I wasn’t expecting you back until tomorrow night. Is everything all right?’ ‘Better than all right Teddy boy, we have struck gold. Really, we have struck gold.’ ‘What do you …’

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‘This is what we’ve been waiting for, Ted. This is it. I told you, I told you the pavilion would be something special, something fantastic. Well now, it will be. Gold, Teddy boy, gold. We will have a magnificent Golden Pavilion.’ William slapped the façade sketch on his drawing-board so loudly that Teddy jumped. ‘A Golden Pavilion.’ After William had explained what had happened with Austral Brass, Teddy was as excited as his brother, but he couldn’t believe the buy-back idea could be so simple. But William’s drive and enthusiasm was contagious and they got straight to work. It wasn’t long before they developed an exciting system of rolled bronze sheet panels, each two metres by half a metre, with folded edges angled back at 60 degrees to give them rigidity. These panels would be hung vertically off the faces of the pavilion, on three different planes, on special fixing brackets. The design of the panels was such that it would enable them to be nested together for mutual protection while being shipped to Bangkok. By the end of the morning, William and Teddy were happy with the way this panel system would work. By fixing the panels on three different planes a pleasing geometric pattern was generated. The resulting threedimensional pattern was inherently forgiving. That is, it provided a degree of tolerance to take up any discrepancies in the construction of the pavilion walls. In Sydney, Cedric had negotiated a draft proposal with the Austral Brass Company. Because this was a highly unusual arrangement, and there were numerous bureaucratic knots to untangle, Cedric called on the support of his chief, Oscar Forrest. Oscar made a phone call to William to check if the bronze panels were really

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the answer. Strongly assured of this, Oscar, in ways known only to himself, and possibly to Miss Ridge, worked his magic. That afternoon the necessary approvals were granted and the deal with Austral Brass was locked in place. William was overjoyed. In their office, when he had finished drawing up the final, beautiful elevations of the building, he said to Teddy, ‘There you go Ted, didn’t I tell you it would be fantastic? And it will be, it really will be now. Good old Ced, it was he who saw the opportunity. And what about old Ocka? Boy, he really can get things moving when he wants to.’ Teddy, as always, was swept along by Will’s excitement. But he knew, and he knew that William was well aware, that all this was still only on paper; they still had a long, hard road to travel to make this Golden Pavilion a reality. ———————— The next morning William put the new elevations on the bench next to the plan-printing machine, and turned to Teddy, who was working at his drawing-board. ‘Look Ted, I think it would be really worth your while to go up to Sydney, to Austral Brass, and have a look at all the stuff they have in their scrap yards. I had a very quick look. It seems to be a treasure trove. I’m sure you would find a lot to get excited about. Their guy, Nigel Press, is a bright spark. I know he would be very helpful. You could take our panel detail drawings and discuss things with their technical people as well. But I think you’d find lots of inspiration for elements of the exhibition out in their scrap yard.’ Teddy flew to Sydney the next day. Will was right. Nigel Press was extremely helpful and the scrap yard did

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prove to be a wonderful treasure trove. It was a huge repository of a wide range of non-ferrous industrial dross. There were literally thousands of 44-gallon drums filled with all manner of shiny brass, bronze, copper and zinc bits and pieces, of all shapes and sizes. Teddy was enormously excited by what he saw. He stayed for two full days culling through about two acres of stored scrap. He was like a boy in a toy shop. Nigel provided him with an obedient forklift driver, who moved countless drums around at Teddy’s bidding so that he could gain access to them all. Teddy chose a dozen or so of what he judged to be the most fruitful of the drums, and these were put aside to be shipped with the finished cladding panels to Bangkok. When Teddy returned to their Melbourne office with a large cardboard box of samples, a wild enthusiasm and renewed energy, it was his turn to bombard his brother with ideas. ‘Will, really, this stuff is fantastic. We are designing an industrial trade exhibition, right? Well this stuff is like, er, it’s like the afterbirth of industry.’ Will winced exaggeratedly. ‘Or, the echoes of manufacture. You know what I mean Will. This scrap junk came about because of industrial processes. It’s just so appropriate to use it as a sculptural expression. We can do all sorts of things with it. It is just so, so bloody beautiful.’ Will smiled at his young brother. ’OK, OK, I’m with you, I’m with you. Just promise me that you won’t use the term “afterbirth” again. Seriously, you will have to let the ideas settle a bit, then sketch up some designs so that we can get some sort of approval from Ocka.’ Then he added, laughing, ‘We can’t just ship tonnes of junk halfway around the world because you think it is the bloody “echoes of afterbirth” or whatever.’

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Teddy realised he had been overly excited by the design possibilities of the sparkling scrap metal. He was aware that he was running a risk of overdoing it, and was wise enough to take his brother’s advice and put it aside for a few days. William always demonstrated his ability to stand back and keep a clear overview of complex design problems, whereas Teddy was inclined to be seduced by interesting details. Together, however, they made a strong team.

20 All in a Black Box Melbourne, Australia, January, 1966.

‘NO THANKS, OLD MAN, if I have any more I will be jumping out of my skin.’ Cedric declined Teddy’s offer of more coffee. It was after midnight but he was well and truly awake. Teddy gestured with the coffee pot to William, who was making yet another alteration to the exhibition layout plan on his drawing-board. William didn’t seem to look up but answered, ‘Yes, keep it coming Teddy boy, keep it coming. If we have to show this stuff to Oscar in the morning, you had better put on another pot.’ The three of them had been working long hours for the past four days trying to finalise the layout for the exhibition, juggling the elements into place so they would tell the required story. They were sitting on stools around William’s drawing-board. There were a dozen or so drawings

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pinned up around the walls, the side benches were littered with rough sketches and Cedric’s exhibitor files were in crooked rows across the floor. It had been a hard four days. ‘This is better. Yes, this is much better.’ William continued to draw as he spoke, ‘If we extend the pool across to here it frees up the space nicely. We can carry the “Water Map” right across.’ He looked up and gave a quick grin to Teddy. ‘You can have even more fun with that metal junk of yours.’ William was referring to the first feature of the exhibition. To show Australia’s place in the region, there would be a huge sculptural map of South-East Asia. This map, some 18 metres long, would be made up of hundreds of panels of clear glass suspended in a long shallow curve over a vast pool of water that extended almost the entire width of the pavilion. A prominent glass manufacturing company, one of the exhibitors, was happy to subsidise these glass panels. These panels were to be supplied with hanging holes drilled through the top corners, and were to be the same dimensions as the exterior bronze cladding panels. The map’s land shapes would be formed by gluing on thousands of pieces of the industrial scrap bronze and brass. Capital cities would be expressed with large circular pieces of clear acrylic and zinc. To reinforce the refreshing feeling of air-conditioned comfort on entering the pavilion, this whole glass structure would have water running down over it, into the sparkling turquoise pool below. Coloured lighting effects would further enhance this feeling of cool tranquility. Cedric looked at William’s drawing, ‘Yes, it certainly has a nice broad sweep to it now, but it is so vast. Do you think we can really pull something like that off? I mean,

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we don’t know what sort of labour we will have up there, and this looks very sophisticated.’ ‘It’s not really, Ced,’ Teddy said quickly. ‘It’s just a matter of sticking handfuls of metal shavings and stuff to those glass panels. I could do it myself if I had to.’ Cedric didn’t answer Teddy. He continued to look over William’s shoulder at the drawing. ‘So all the internal walls and ceiling are to be painted black so that the exhibits appear to float in a dark space, I understand that. And that walkway that switches back and forth across the pavilion, I know it’s carpeted, but will it be wide enough to take the sort of crowds we are expecting?’ ‘I think so Ced,’ William said. He began to trace the path of the serpentine walkway with the tips of his long fingers. ‘Generally, it is three metres wide, but it widens out where it switches back on itself and it’s here we will have our so-called “theme focus” or icon to set up the next run of exhibits. From about here,’ he indicated a point about two-thirds of the way towards the rear of the pavilion, ‘the walkway starts to ramp up then widens out to form a mezzanine floor.’ Cedric nodded. ‘I like that, very clever. We can tuck away all our ruddy administrative facilities, lounge area and offices, etc, under the mezzanine floor. That keeps them out of the way and out of sight. Good idea.’ He studied the drawing for a while. Teddy, who didn’t like the silence, said unnecessarily, ‘You see how most of the exhibits will be arranged in the spaces left between the runs of the walkway.’ Cedric nodded. ‘Yes, of course. But these big shapes that you have running everywhere, how do we justify them?’ To support the products being exhibited, and to add interest, William and Teddy had developed an exciting

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family of shapes. These shapes were related to the external perimeter ‘fence’. Pristine white, they would sometimes soar six metres up towards the ceiling, or sometimes run along horizontally at eye level to carry graphic backdrops for the products in front. ‘We can’t really justify them, Ced,’ William said smiling. ‘You just have to trust us on this. They are only there because we think they look good. The products by themselves are a hell of a hotch-potch. These shapes give a strong sculptural presence for them to live within.’ William was looking a little embarrassed. Teddy knew his brother hated having to explain in words what his drawings showed so eloquently. Cedric also felt William’s unease and moved on quickly. ‘Oh my goodness, it’s nearly 2am. Teddy, these “theme focus icons”, could you run through them for me please? I need to have things clear in my head. Let’s do it like a little rehearsal for tomorrow’s meeting.’ William got up from his stool in front of the drawing-board so Teddy could have a more central position. ‘I’ll go and put on some more coffee.’ Teddy took his brother’s stool and began. ‘OK, visitors will enter across the perimeter moat here.’ He indicated the front left-hand corner of the pavilion. ’They will move along in front of the “water map” to the first icon here.’ He pointed to the far bottom right-hand corner of the pavilion. ‘This area is “The Land of the Great Silence”. The icon here will be built with shapes that look a bit like the termite columns of the outback. Photo blow-ups will show that Australia is a very dry continent. These exhibits along here,’ he swept his finger along behind the “Water Map”, ‘will all be to do with the handling of water, pumps, piping, control valves, etc.’

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Cedric nodded and pointed to the left-hand side of the pavilion. ‘This is where we start the agricultural story, eh?’ ‘That’s correct. Right across that wall we will have the so-called “Cloud of Sheep”, bloody great big Merino rams shaped in foam plastic by a surfboard manufacturer I know. Then, right in the middle of the floor here, we will have the “Agrarian Sculpture”, a welded conglomeration of metal ploughshares, harrow discs and tine forks, expressing the energy and technology needed to cultivate our hard brown land. We have a good bloke in mind to build that for us.’ ‘Now this next run of exhibits is all to do with the agricultural industry?’ Cedric knew quite well but he was preparing himself for the next day’s meeting. ‘Yes, that’s right. And in the middle of that run, we will have “The Fountain of Wheat”, a grain auger lifting fake wheat up and spilling it down over a series of clear plastic bowls.’ ‘You make it all sound so simple Teddy old son,’ Cedric smiled ruefully. Teddy shrugged and continued, ‘Next, they will come to the “Minerals and Mining” section. Along the wall here,’ he ran his finger along the right-hand wall of the pavilion, ‘there will be a huge, high-contrast blackand-white photo of an open-cut mine, 12 metres long and nine metres high. And here, just in front, will be a mockup of a giant foundry cauldron. It will have a bright golden neon tube streaming out of it down into this array of acrylic cube showcases displaying precision machine tools.’ ‘Hmm, and this is where the walkway starts to ramp up towards the mezzanine, isn’t it?’

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‘Yes, exactly Ced.’ Teddy was getting excited now. They had been through this together many times, but it still excited him. ‘This is where they will come to the “Electrical and Electronic” section and the “Lightning Strike”. This will be fantastic. It will be seen right from the entrance, through the “Water Map”, but they won’t really know what it is until they get to here. It is a wonderful tangle of zigzagging neon tubes suspended from floor to ceiling, and programmed to flash like lightning.’ Cedric gave a little shake of his head and laughed. ‘Let’s move on before you electrocute yourself, Teddy. So now we come to the final climb up the ramp to the mezzanine.’ ‘Yes, they travel up through the “Image Tunnel”, a whole lot of concave white panels wrapping around the walkway, with 80 separate slide projectors programmed to project images on them. This is the final theme focus that leads to the “Technical Manufacturing” section, which takes up the whole mezzanine floor. Visitors will then exit the pavilion here,’ Teddy pointed to the rear right-hand corner of the building. ‘They will go down this ramp to a series of descending platforms which will display two cars from each of our three automotive manufacturers.’ He tapped his fingers on the annex area on the right-hand side of the pavilion. ‘They will leave from this rear corner, past some sort of appropriate farewell message.’ Cedric nodded again. ‘And, of course, they would have to be directed to the open area where we will demonstrate our heavy equipment. That’s somewhere to the left if I remember rightly?’ ‘That’s right. It’s about 50 metres down the side road to the left. I guess back there we will use the same sort of arching perimeter fence and some areas of canvas roofing, similar to that of the annex, to provide a bit of shade.’

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William came in with the refilled coffee pot. ‘How about one for the road Ced? You’ve got a long drive home.’ It was well after 2am, and the presentation meeting with Oscar Forrest was at 11am. ———————— Will and Teddy had produced reams of concept sketches and sketch plans, and had built a preliminary sketch model, and now they finally had a workable layout plan. They went to Cedric’s office a few minutes before 11am. He was bright and cheerful, showing no signs of the late nights they had been having, but all three were very nervous when they went upstairs. This meeting was quite different from the previous one. Miss Ridge ushered them straight into Oscar’s office. He was waiting by the conference table, and greeted them with a curt nod. This time Oscar went through each of the many drawings very carefully, and stalked around and around the little model they had placed on the end of the table. He addressed all his queries to Cedric, who was able to answer them all admirably. Finally, after nearly an hour, he addressed William and Teddy. ‘Well, most of what you have done looks all right. Some of it, of course, is just plain stupid. But never mind, we can fix those bits.’ He flashed a stern look at Cedric, then, turning his back to them all, he thrust both hands into his pockets and, staring down at the carpet, he continued thoughtfully, ‘We are going to have to do something to gain the trust of the exhibitors. You have taken everything from them, and given them nothing in return. Normally they would get some sort of booth, some territory of their own, somewhere to sit or stand with their products. You have just taken the products that you wanted

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and stuck them in a bloody plastic sphere or cube, stuck out in a void so that no one can even get to them. Jesus Christ, they will hate it.’ He turned back to face them sternly, ‘I know what you are trying to do. You want to paint a bigger picture. You expect all these companies to put our National Image ahead of their corporate convenience. Stupid, bloody stupid.’ Then he gave a devilish grin, his eyes flashed. ‘You’re just damn lucky that I’m stupid, too! We’re going to have to impress the buggers enough with the National Image so that they dare not disagree.’ He gestured towards the drawings and model on the table and grunted, ‘This rubbish won’t do it. We need a really good model, a brilliant one in fact. One so good, that when anyone sees it, they know that this thing just has to be built.’ When they filed out past Miss Ridge, they were just as stunned as the time before. As they waited for the lift Teddy again whispered to Will, ‘Dear old Ocka.’ When they had gone, Miss Ridge laughed out loud into her typewriter. After a few minutes Oscar Forrest’s voice came over her intercom, ‘Miss Ridge, would you have a moment? Come in and have a look at these. They are really quite brilliant.’ On Oscar’s instructions, Cedric circulated an invitation to all the exhibiting companies to attend a progress meeting scheduled for only four weeks hence. This set a very tight deadline for finalising the designs and producing the final model. A finished model of the standard that was needed would normally take at least a month to build and it would require developed design drawings before it could be started. They were nowhere near that stage.

21 The Model-Maker Melbourne, Australia, February 1966

HELMUT GEIST WAS THEIR secret weapon. An immigrant of German/Russian parents, he was a brilliant model-maker. William and Teddy had met him some five years earlier, purely by chance. Helmut and his young wife had rented a flat in a building William owned and where he also lived. Helmut was older than Teddy, but younger than William. He was a big man with large, thick-fingered hands. He had a lumbering energy about him, and the ability to apply fierce focus to his work. The brothers took an immediate liking to him. He had always been brilliantly talented with his hands. He loved to fix things and build things, and had an innate understanding of machinery. It wasn’t long before he had gained a reputation as a formidable model-maker. After the meeting with Oscar, William and Teddy were eager to get Helmut started on the model, but they

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still had a lot of design development to do. William briefed Helmut on the design of the pavilion building so he could at least get started on that while they further refined the design of the interior. Their talent was in conceptualising ideas on to paper, but the model-making process gave them a chance to correct and further develop their designs. Helmut had a good design sense himself, so they worked in close collaboration and the model functioned as a final filter for refining the design. The model-making function was the final stage in the sequence of design processes. Usually everything ran late, so Helmut was accustomed to working under great pressure. William and Teddy spent many late nights with Helmut in his cluttered workshop in the backyard of his home. He needed at least one of them there because many of the drawings were still at the sketch-plan stage, and left a lot to translation. The brothers knew Helmut put his total heart and soul into his work, and that he needed to know they cared as much as he did. William and Teddy would have not missed being part of this process for the world. For the naturally impatient Teddy, however, working with Helmut was frustrating. To achieve the perfect finishes that typified his work, Helmut would spray on seemingly endless numbers of priming coats, painstakingly rubbing things back between coats. As the deadline for the model to be completed approached, Teddy started showing his impatience. ‘Helmut, that is the third time you have sprayed those pieces, and I really can’t see any difference in them from how they were before.’ Helmut didn’t answer him, but continued to fill his spray-gun with grey primer. Teddy tried to stay calm. ‘Mate, we’ve less than a week before the big meeting with all of the exhibitors, and we still have a hell of a lot to do.’

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Helmut didn’t answer Teddy, but walked over to where Teddy was using super-fine sandpaper to rub down some pieces he had previously primed. He picked up a piece that Teddy had finished and, tilting his head back, looked at it carefully through his bifocals. ‘Hmm, you will need to go over these again my friend. They are as rough like buggery. If I spray the finish coat on them they will look like crap. Not good enough my friend.’ Teddy’s throat tightened with rage but luckily he didn’t say anything. He knew Helmut very well, and he knew he wouldn’t say what he did just to punish him, or just to make a point. He took a fresh piece of sandpaper and started rubbing down the pieces again. Helmut went back to his spray-gun. Teddy was often puzzled by Helmut’s methods. Helmut had a complete understanding of the machinery he used. Like a chess player, he was always thinking at least three or four moves ahead. Often Teddy did not have the slightest idea what Helmut was doing. Helmut would withdraw into a state of total concentration, busily passing a piece of acrylic material back and forth over the screaming blade of his bench saw. Then, with a few deft adjustments, he would run the piece across his routing machine. Next over to his drilling machine where he would drill a precise row of seemingly meaningless holes. At this stage, to Teddy, the piece of machined acrylic resembled a part of some crazy puzzle. Then, with theatrical timing, Helmut would take it to his large bandsaw, and slice the whole thing right down the middle. As if by magic, it would fall into a dozen or so perfectly formed miniature components for the exhibition. Teddy would be dumbfounded. Helmut would merely shrug, and hand Teddy some fine sandpaper to start cleaning off any burred edges. The complexities of the Bangkok

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pavilion tested even Helmut’s skills to the full. By cleverly using his machine tools he was able to simulate the gold cladding of the façades reasonably easily. It was the jewellike qualities of the interior exhibition that gave the greatest challenge. The design called for dozens of tiny clear acrylic spheres, hemispheres and cubes to be precisely made and highly polished. Helmut turned up all the tiny spheres on a little jeweller’s lathe, then painstakingly polished each one by hand. His already eroded fingers took a lot more punishment from the abrasive polishing discs. Finally, piece by piece, all the component parts were finished, but the day of the big meeting was almost upon them. To meet the deadline, Helmut and Teddy had to work right through the final night. The final task was to glue all the many tiny component pieces into place. This was an extremely fiddly and nerve-racking task. Teddy, whose fingers were fine and tapered, and who was used to precise drawing and using delicate drawing instruments, tried to help. He made a terrible botch of it. He just couldn’t seem to place things straight and truly in position. But Helmut, with his big awkward hands, and his rough thick fingers, was able to glue the tiny pieces into place with absolute precision. The sky outside the little workshop was starting to lighten. They were both very tired, but the end was in sight. Watching Helmut work, Teddy had to ask, ‘How is it Helmut, that you, with those big hands of yours, can place those bloody things so perfectly?’ Helmut, who was concentrating intensely as he placed another tiny cube into position, answered in his formal way. ‘Edward, my friend,’ he paused as he chose another sparkling little cube, ‘it is not really much to do with the fingers.’ He spoke intermittently, as he placed

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this one precisely in place next to the previous one. ‘It’s really only to do with caring enough … that … that these little things … are positioned perfectly.’ Dawn broke just as it was all finished. It was superb. Helmut had achieved perfection. The pavilion looked exactly as William and Teddy had visualised it. The interior sparkled like a case of jewels. Helmut didn’t say anything. Teddy had worked with Helmut on previous model projects. He knew him well, but he had never seen him behave quite like this before. Teddy felt that Helmut was either feeling disappointed with his work or was very proud of it. He knew he had no reason whatsoever to feel disappointed. As the sun was rising Helmut put his hand on Teddy’s shoulder and said softly, ‘Come on my friend, let’s go inside and have some coffee.’ As they left, Teddy looked back into the cluttered little workshop. The sun was just starting to shine in through the workshop window. The first of its rays caught the edge of the façade of the pavilion model. It shone with a bright golden glow.

22 This Thing Just Has to be Built Melbourne, Australia, February, 1966.

TEDDY UNDERSTOOD THAT THE Director of Trade Publicity had a tough job, but Oscar Forrest was up to it. He had vast experience, was highly intelligent and was cunning. He knew how vital it was for the success of the project that it had the total support of the exhibiting companies. Any dissension in their ranks could spread and undo the whole project. The progress meeting was the one opportunity to impress the companies sufficiently to allay any fears of disappointment. This meeting was different from any others he had held in the past. The exhibitors didn’t have to just accept the project, they had to embrace it and take ownership of it. Oscar seemed nervous. He had organised the best people from the Asian Desk of the Department of Trade, and from Foreign Affairs in Canberra, to come and be part of the presentation. A salubrious function room, with appropriate catering, was booked for the occasion. Before

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the meeting, as Teddy made final adjustments to the position of the model, Oscar had scowled at him. ’I sincerely hope that you people haven’t led us up the bloody garden path.’ William and Teddy had worked hard over the previous weeks, producing high-quality presentation drawings, while, at the same time, helping Helmut with the model. Cedric had sent out briefing kits to all of the exhibitors, which helped precondition them to the concept. Cedric, of course, with either Will or Teddy, had already visited all of the exhibitors at least once individually, but this was the first time the exhibitors would be able to see the project as a whole, and fully developed. The meeting was chaired by the First Assistant Secretary of Trade, Duncan Partridge. In his early fifties, small, trim and youthful, Duncan was an astute and tough operator, who played things by the book. He was a fair man, but did not suffer fools lightly. He was ultimately responsible for the success of the project. Teddy was always intimidated by him. Before the meeting Duncan nodded curtly to Teddy and stared with his cool blue eyes at the model. ‘Hmm,’ he murmered, ‘I see.’ Then he turned and walked away. Malcolm Devlin, the Trade Commissioner, flew down from Bangkok to speak at the meeting. He brought with him the tender results for the pavilion building construction. By the terms of the tender, the Government was not committed to take the lowest bid. The choice was theirs to use the builders they judged to be the most capable to do the job, as long as the bid was within the budget. Malcolm recommended awarding the contract to a company called Asia Constructions. This company had demonstrated that they had built a number of buildings of

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similar size and construction. But, more importantly, the company principal, a Thai national, had been educated in Australia, taking a degree in architecture at Melbourne University. The progress meeting was a total success. Oscar didn’t appear on the podium, but he had masterminded the whole event. He had carefully briefed Duncan Partridge and the specialist speakers, who all performed exceptionally well. Malcolm, as the man on the spot in Bangkok, was the key speaker. His natural sincerity and passion came across strongly. The drawings that were displayed around the room were very impressive, but the master-stroke was the timely unveiling of the model. Oscar had instructed Cedric to have some theatrical lighting in place. This was to be switched on at the precise moment of the unveiling. Helmut’s model glittered and glowed under the special lighting. There was an audible gasp from the audience. Without doubt, the general feeling around the room was that this pavilion just had to be built. William and Teddy were at the meeting, but they had no official function. Oscar had told them to observe the various exhibitor’s reactions during the presentation. Then they were to mix with the crowd at the post-meeting cocktail party and try to soften up any negative comments that might be made. It hadn’t worked that way. William, who tended to be shy and unsociable, never enjoyed large meetings. He didn’t drink, so he was always uncomfortable at cocktail functions. Teddy, who had been up all night the night before helping Helmut finish the model, was tired and strangely maudlin. He was delighted with the way their concept had developed, but he wasn’t ready yet to share it with others. He resented the specialists from Canberra

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laying claim to it. He resented the exhibitors being given an emotional ownership of the concept. He understood why Oscar wanted this to happen, but he just wasn’t ready to share it with anyone else but William or Cedric. The brothers just sat quietly at the very back of the meeting and skulked around in the background at the cocktail party. William was looking around for somewhere to put the empty glass that had held his fifth orange juice as Cedric walked by. ’Ced, would you mind if Teddy and I pushed off now? We are pretty pooped, and this isn’t really …’ ‘Of course, old man, of course,’ Cedric smiled. ‘You two shove off now. I can hold the fort if there are any curly questions.’ He took William’s empty glass from him. ‘Just slip away, no one will even notice.’ He gave an understanding grin. Teddy heard later that there were few, if any, negative comments. Oscar Forrest had achieved his goal. Australian industry had given the Bangkok pavilion its blessing. They could move forward without having to watch their flanks. This was an important hurdle to have behind them, but Oscar still felt uneasy. He was determined to create the very best image for Australia, but had they aimed too high with this thing? Were they stretching their luck too far?

23 The Working Drawings Melbourne and Bangkok, February 1966

THE DAY AFTER THE progress meeting, William and Teddy were still suffering with an acute feeling of anticlimax. They both felt flat, tired and confused. They had put so much emotional and physical effort into the concept and developing the designs, that now, when all their work had been so well accepted, they felt completely drained. They knew the size of the task that lay ahead of them. They had only six weeks to do all the working drawings and write all the documentation for this large and complicated exhibition. They were exhausted, but they had little time to rest. They had both resolved to do all the work themselves. It was very important to get it exactly right. It was a Friday, they were sitting at their drawingboards in their office, sipping coffee and not knowing where to start. The radio was on: Eric Burdon and The

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Animals playing The House of the Rising Sun. Its melancholy tone their mood. ‘Where do we start Will? I really haven’t got a clue.’ William shrugged and looked down into his coffee mug. Burdon moaned some more. William suddenly looked up and said, ‘Look, the weekend’s coming up. Let’s take it off. Why don’t you take the family down to the coast and catch a few waves? I have a lot of things that I should do at home, and I could do with a bit of a run to clear my head.’ Teddy knew that William’s idea of ‘a bit of a run’ would be a two- or three-hour marathon along the beaches of Port Phillip Bay. He shuddered, but William seemed to thrive on it. The surfing idea sounded great. Teddy loved surfing. He wasn’t very good at it, but he loved the dramatic sense of freedom it gave him. He hadn’t been to the surf for months. Will was right, it would do him good. Surfing for Teddy, if conditions were favourable, making a meant 90-minute drive to his favourite place, Bells Beach. He loved Bells. He loved the Wagnerian drama of the place, the great natural amphitheatre of cliffs, with the reef jutting out to the south-west. He loved the way that, when conditions were just right, the great sets of dark swells would march up out of the Roaring Forties and wrap around that reef, forming into waves that would frighten the life out of him. But, standing on his board, feeling that giant natural force coming up through the soles of his feet, in that wonderful environment, would flush all negativity out of him. ————————

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Bells was working and the waves were big, too big for him really. Never mind, he would stay well to the left, away from the break. He would wait for the smaller ones, he could handle those. The sound of the waves was fantastic on days like this, it filled everything. It left no room to think, hardly room to breathe. He dropped his board on to the coarse, buff-coloured sand of the steep beach and looked back. Stephany was still coming down the cliff path. She was moving slowly, holding Isobel, their little daughter, by the hand, guiding her down the steep steps. She carried their baby son, Joshua, on her hip. Her dark curly hair was being whipped by the wind across her face, but she was smiling behind her large, dark sunglasses. He had been surprised when she had agreed so easily to come to the coast. Saturdays were usually important to her at the shop. A lot of her customers came to the little boutique only on Saturdays, but she hadn’t made any fuss at all. She just rang Nellie, her partner, and told her that she would be taking the day off. He hurried back up the path to help them. Close to the cliff the reverberating sound of the surf was deafening. He bent close to his little daughter, yelling in her ear as he picked her up, ‘C’mon princess, Daddy’s got you.’ Her chubby little hands were warm on the back of his neck. He took the bulky cloth beach-bag from Stephany’s shoulder and they picked their way down to the beach. He found them a sheltered hollow right in the crook of the beach where the headland thrust out to the south-west. He then went back to wax his board. He often thought that the ritual of waxing the board was the best part of surfing. It was the exquisite anticipation; it was all still ahead of you. Scrubbing away with the big chunk of paraffin wax busied the hands and

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eased the nerves. You weren’t cold yet, not yet disheartened. It was still all yours to imagine. A bit like the start of a relationship, he thought, like his marriage. He had imagined that it would be better than the way it seemed to be turning out. They seemed to be drifting further and further apart. Stephany’s little fashion boutique was becoming more and more successful. She was very talented and was starting to build a reputation for designing outfits for pop groups. He knew she was fascinated by the glamorous world of the pop music industry. His own absorbtion in his work didn’t help matters. The common ground of their home life didn’t provide any really meaningful connection any more. He was surprised, and grateful, that Stephany had made the effort to organise things so she could come to the coast for this weekend. She was making an effort to please him, but he knew that it was an effort. Things just weren’t working naturally between them. These were worrying thoughts, so, as usual, he didn’t want to face them. He went back to concentrating on waxing his board. You know when there is enough wax on your board: it’s when you feel ready to go into the water. He ran back to where his family sheltered in the little hollow and threw the lump of sandy wax into the beach-bag and turned around so that Stephany could zip up the back of his wet suit. It was quieter there in the hollow. She looked over his shoulder to where the big, dark waves were shouldering the reef. There were five or six surfers already out there, black and seal-like in their wet suits. ‘Careful out there Teddy,’ she said. As he paddled out through the icy water, he was haunted by the look of resolved sadness he had seen in her dark eyes. She just wasn’t happy with the way things were between them. He wasn’t either.

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It had been Nellie, Stephany’s business partner, who told him that Stephany had been going to lunch with a handsome young fellow called Doug, the lead singer of a rock band they were outfitting. When he confronted Stephany about it she made light of it, saying, ‘No, that is totally wrong. They’re not a rock band, they’re a rhythm and blues group.’ Then she laughed, ‘Teddy, Doug’s a nice guy, but we’re just friends. You know that I’ve always been interested in R. & B. There’s nothing for you to worry about.’ But he did worry about it, he worried about it a lot. ———————— Monday morning was a fresh start for William and Teddy. William had arrived early and tidied up their office. He put away all items that would remind them of the previous phase of the project. When he heard Teddy arriving he put a Beach Boys tape into the player and turned the volume up loud. Teddy came in laughing. He went to the tape player and turned the volume down. ‘Yes, the waves were great, old Bells was really pumpin.’ Then he added, shaking his head ruefully, ‘I had a great time, but I really only caught three waves. When I think about it, I guess I rode each wave for a maximum of 10 seconds. So I drove in the car for three hours to get half a minute riding waves. But boy, it was worth it.’ He laughed, ‘But I could hardly move when I woke up this morning. Anyway, you’re looking pretty frisky. And such a clean office! I hardly feel like messing it up doing work in it. Let’s just go surfing again.’ William smiled. ‘I got a lot of stuff done around the house, and went for a couple of great runs.’ He stretched and sighed, ‘There’s nothing like running to clear the

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head. All that oxygen that gets pumped through the brain I guess.’ He looked at Teddy and his smile faded a little. ‘How are things with you and Steph?’ Teddy gave a shrug and looked away. ‘I don’t know Will. She tried very hard to be with me this weekend. But … I don’t know. Things seem to be very forced and brittle between us.’ He looked back at William and smiled. ‘C’mon now, let’s get stuck into some drawings.’ William had worked out a schedule of drawings, and between them they divided the exhibition up into areas of priority. They had to work to a ‘critical path’ so that items that were to be built in Australia and shipped up to Thailand would be detailed first to allow for the more critical time constraints. Then they divided the exhibition up into zones for each of them to work on. Teddy was to start at the main entrance, starting with the Water Map. Will would start at the exit end, out in the covered annex, and work backwards through the pavilion. They were producing large-scale plans, elevations and sections of each exhibition feature, and of each cluster of product exhibits. They worked 10- to 12-hour days, seven days a week. As the weeks went by, fatigue started to set in. William, who was the more experienced of the two, had set the style and methodology for the drawings. He had employed a ‘datum’ system to establish the vertical positioning on the drawings, so they would all relate to each other in the third dimension. Teddy had made a basic mistake in showing the wrong datum zero point on his very first drawing. This mistake wasn’t picked up and it meant that the datum levels on all of Teddy’s drawings were incorrect, and didn’t match William’s drawings. William insisted that Teddy correct the mistake on all of his drawings. This meant a lot of extra work for

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Teddy, who was starting to feel the strain of all the long days. He reacted strongly, saying that he needed only to put a note on the drawings, pointing out the mistake. He knew William was right, but a good dose of sibling rivalry had set in. He sulked for three days: not speaking a word to William, going to lunch by himself and avoiding William in the car park. Gradually he cooled down. He remembered Helmut, the model-maker, exhausted in the middle of the night. It is all a matter of how much you care that these little things are accurate. He got to the office early on the fourth day and started correcting all his drawings. He had left a brief note of apology on William’s drawing-board. Soon after noon, William came into Teddy’s office, calling loudly, ‘Well, are we going to lunch, or what?’ They had a happy lunch together. The matter of the datum point was never mentioned again but they were both aware that the complexities of this project were taking them both beyond the limits of their experience. They knew that to have any hope of pulling this thing off they would have to work together as a team. This was a very critical period for the success of the project. They continued to work long hours. Not all their time was spent drawing. The schedule required other things to be put in place to meet the pressing shipping dates. It was Cedric’s task to organise things to stay on this narrow, critical path. The bronze cladding panels had to have the designs finally refined, and to be put into production. This applied to many other things also: the glass panels for the huge Water Map feature, dozens of blown clear acrylic hemispheres of various sizes, and a large number of clear acrylic cubes. These all had to be detailed, local tenders called for, and produced in time to meet the shipping dates.

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There were other items, special features, which had to be commissioned to be produced by chosen specialists in Australia. The Cloud of Sheep, the huge sculptured foam Merino rams, were commissioned to an expert surfboard-shaper. This was a young man Teddy had come to know through his surfing. The budget would never have allowed for a bona fide fine art sculptor to carry out this huge piece. The surfboard-shaper was expert at shaping foam, but needed very explicit drawings to follow, and a large degree of supervision producing the first ram. The Agrarian Sculpture, the welded composition of ploughshares, etc, was commissioned to a brilliant shop window dresser: a middle-aged Swiss, who demonstrated great sculptural abilities in the display fixtures he normally produced for sophisticated department store windows. As with the surfboard man, his costs were affordable. Teddy spent a lot of time with the charming, urbane Swiss in his immaculate studio. It was agreed that all the metal surfaces of the implements would be treated to emphasise the oxidising effects of the welding process. In the sophisticated atmosphere of the studio, the finished piece had great visual appeal with its tarnished patina. A lot of time was spent with the company providing the electrical programmer who was to control the 80 slide projectors, and in locating and selecting the coloured images to be projected. It was decided to add two three-dimensional resource maps to the exhibition. One showed agricultural resources, the other minerals. These were to be two and a half metres wide, fabricated in contour layers of clear polished acrylic sheet. These maps were to be produced in Australia and shipped up to Bangkok in a unfinished state. Helmut Geist was to produce a large number of

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small polished acrylic slabs, each with an appropriate resource symbol printed on it. These little slabs would be glued, standing on their edges, on to the maps when they were in position in the pavilion in Bangkok. They would be too fragile to travel up to Bangkok in place on the maps. Also, more time was needed to research the current resource information and for Helmut to produce the large number required. William was involved in technical discussions with the air-conditioning consultants and the company that was supplying the six powerful ‘packaged units’ that were so vital to the success of the whole project. These units had to be manufactured, tested and shipped to Bangkok in time to be installed as soon as the wet season finished. While all of this was going on, the building was starting to be built in Bangkok. Malcolm Devlin, after his valuable contribution at the progress meeting in Melbourne, met with Oscar Forrest, Cedric Lovejoy and some people from the department’s legal section. They drew up appropriate contracts to appoint the successful tenderer, Asia Constructions, to build the pavilion building, and to assign a local firm of engineers to supervise the construction. Every couple of weeks Malcolm would take progress photographs and send them in the diplomatic bag to Melbourne. William and Teddy would wait impatiently, like eager children, for Cedric to bring these progress photos to their office. When he did, they would both jostle for position, as he laid them slowly, one at a time, on William’s drawing-board. Will and Teddy were starting to really feel the strain of such a long spell of drawing under pressure. They were each averaging eight hours a day producing drawings, as well as all the additional time doing other urgent things.

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Teddy was getting to the stage where his nerves were put on edge by the feel of the tracing paper they drew on. It was not only the physical strain of producing so many drawings, it was the awful uncertainty of whether what they were designing was achievable. Could something like this be built in Bangkok? Was there any sort of workforce there that could handle it? Were they creating a monster that would bring them all undone? They didn’t know, and this uncertainty made it all incredibly stressful. But eventually, on schedule, the drawings and the accompanying specifications were completed. Meanwhile, Malcolm Devlin in Bangkok, and the other Trade Commissioners in the South-East Asian region, had been identifying companies of the type that could build the various elements that would make up the internal exhibition. ———————— In Bangkok Malcolm had arrived home from the embassy late, after 10pm. Anne was waiting for him out on the garden terrace. Malcolm lobbed his briefcase on to a silk upholstered chair, took her playfully by the hands and spun her half around, kissing her on the cheek. ‘Oops, late again. Sorry my love. The working drawings for the exhibition arrived up from Australia today, a great stack of them. I just had to look through them. They’re really fantastic.’ ‘You do seem happy about something. Sit down darling. I asked Kalat to bring us gin slings, we can have them out here before dinner.’ Anne didn’t care that Malcolm was late. She was overjoyed to see him happy like this. He had been in

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high spirits since he came back from that meeting in Melbourne. It was wonderful, he was like his old self again. The elderly, dignified Kalat came scuffing along the terracotta tiles of the terrace. He carried a round, beatenbrass tray with two tall frosted glasses. He smiled and nodded to Malcolm and put the tray of drinks on a small cane table between two cane armchairs with peacockblue silk covers.They sat down and Malcolm handed Anne one of the gin slings. ‘That’s more than likely how our cladding panels will end up,’ he nodded at the round brass tray on the table. ‘It’s truly amazing that we can afford bronze cladding on the pavilion. You have to hand it to old Oscar Forrest, you know. Cunning old devil. He trains his people well down there.’ Anne smiled. She had met Oscar once, and knew her husband respected him. Malcolm had told her how spectacular the pavilion model looked in Melbourne, and how excitingly the project was developing. She sipped her drink. It was too strong. Kalat must be in league with Malcolm. That little nod he had given. Malcolm took a solid sip from his drink, ‘Ah, that does the job. Well, darling, it is all starting to happen now. The new drawings are quite amazing. The problem now though, is how do we build the damn thing? Who do we get to build it? There is nobody willing to take it on here in Bangkok.’ He took another long sip from his glass, and added thoughtfully, ‘No one that we could trust that is. The reason I was so late tonight was because I have been waiting for a call from Ralph Beecham, the ATC down in Singapore. They have some people they have been using for display jobs and things. Evidently they do a good job. I am going to send them down a set

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of drawings to tender on. I mean, Singapore is not so far away … Better the devil we know. Evidently they were some kind of neon sign company, they call themselves Metro Lights.’

24 Good Old American Know-How Philadelphia, USA, July, 1966.

IN A WELL-APPOINTED office in the huge Penco Communications complex outside Philadelphia, a senior vice president was addressing two middle-aged technicians, Herb Stein and Leon Abram. ‘You gentlemen know better than anyone how much this ultra high frequency thing in Thailand means to our company, and for that matter to the goddamn country, the whole free world for that matter.’ He threw that in to include Israel I guess, Herb thought to himself. Herb liked to think about why people said what they said. He liked to be a step ahead of people and he usually was. Getting to his feet, his lips pursed, the vice president slowly walked over to the window and, with a studied air of deep thought, looked out through the venetian blinds. Leon and Herb gave each other a quick shrug.

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‘We have chosen you two gentlemen to lead the teams out there because you have the necessary knowhow to make this thing work.’ He put slow emphasis on the words ‘know-how’. Good old American ‘know-how’, Herb thought. Probably the most overrated commodity in today’s world. Herb was disappointed that, after all these years of work and study, the doctorate from MIT and 10 years of moving up through the ranks here at Penco, this buttoned-down Harvard Business School grad with a nice suit, and probably a nice golf swing, credited him with some ‘necessary know-how’. Herb snatched another quick look at Leon, who frowned back at him. Herb and Leon were close friends, both from Boston. They had met as undergraduates at MIT, and had hit it off right from the start. Both had majored in communication electronics and were regarded by their fellow students as being in league with each other, somehow combining their abilities for mutual advantage. It was as if the sum of their total was greater than the components. They were a natural team. The vice president knew he was dealing with the two brightest technical brains in the company, but he still thought he could handle them, could cloak this project with shining righteousness. ‘Gentlemen, I know that you understand the civil significance of this project. It is a gift from the heart of our country, Washington, to the Thai people. This communications network will set Thailand up for the next 50 years. It will leapfrog them out of the Stone Age right into the 20th Century.’ You have to be kidding, Herb thought. You really believe we could swallow this horseshit?

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Leon cleared his throat impatiently. Like Herb, he knew that setting up an ultra high frequency communication grid over Thailand was an almost purely military initiative. As if Washington was the ‘heart of our country’ for God’s sake! This thing was not an altruistic aid project, it was plainly and simply a strategic military initiative, straight from the Pentagon. ‘You two,’ the vice president continued, ‘have been chosen to set the whole thing up. To make the whole shoot … er, box and dice come together.’ Herb smiled. The poor schmuck had almost said ‘shooting match.’ Where do they get these guys? ‘I’m sure that you take this as a great honour,’ the vice president walked back to his desk and picked up two Leatherette-bound documents. They had blue ribbon ties sealing them. ‘You two were chosen because of your proven high level of technical ability, and because of the way that you team together.’ He solemnly handed a document to each of them. ‘This project demands that ability. To be able to work separately but as one. This communications grid will extend down the whole eastern side of Thailand. So you, Herb, will be responsible for the northern sector from Chang Mai down to Udon Thani, and you, Leon, from there right down to the gulf. These are your briefs, er, they are, well shall we say, classified to a “need to know” category you understand?’ What the devil does that mean? Herb gave Leon a quizzical glance. What’s with all this ‘classified’ rubbish? This is meant to be a civilian facility, why do they bother to pretend? Who are they trying to kid — themselves? ‘Gentlemen, I know that we are putting this project into good hands. I’m sure when you have taken on board all the details that are outlined in your briefs, especially

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the schedule of financial incentive bonuses, you will be excited with this opportunity to exercise all your combined know-how.’ There’s that term again, Herb thought, as he and Leon got to their feet to shake the vice president’s hand and leave. He really hated being designated as a ‘knowhow’ kind of guy. He knew — in fact, he and Leon had often discussed the salient fact — that the world was run, not by people who knew ‘how’ to do things, but by people who knew ‘why’ things should be done. As they left the plush office, Leon mouthed over his shoulder to Herb, ‘Coffee?’ Herb answered with the sort of look and nod that said, ‘Of course. Yes.’ The two friends were stunned and needed to sit somewhere and think through the ramifications of this turn of events, and, as with most things, they preferred to do it together. This was a big project, the biggest of their careers; there was a lot to think about. They would be away from home for at least 12 months. This would impact on their valued family lives, but the financial incentives were attractive. They both had kids starting at college and the extra money would be useful. The Penco staff canteen was a noisy, clamorous place, all stainless steel and plastic, but Herb liked it. They made good, strong brewed coffee, and Herb was an addict. He sat at a table sipping his coffee while Leon went back to the servery to get a doughnut. Herb, of tubby build, had declined Leon’s offer to get him one also. He loved doughnuts, normally he would have had two, but he was far too worried to eat anything right now. But he had every intention of having a second cup of coffee. He loved the aroma, he loved the taste, he loved the caffeine buzz, he just loved coffee. This worried his

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wife Edie enormously. She knew he didn’t stay in shape and worked too hard, so he didn’t need to jolt his heart around like he did. As Leon, straight and trim, with a thick shock of grey hair, walked back towards him with a fresh doughnut on a saucer, Herb wondered how his old friend could indulge himself with doughnuts and the like and never gain weight. Then Herb’s eye was taken by a pretty girl in a tight skirt and skimpy blouse, strutting by in ridiculously high heels. Leon sat down saying, ‘Careful old buddy, you can’t risk looking at pretty dames when you drink so much coffee. I don’t want to have to ring Edie and tell her that you died because your heart raced and pumped all your blood down to your schlong.’ Herb smiled and answered, ‘You’re just jealous that mine still works.’ Draining the last of his coffee, he continued, ‘I hope you can get to like rice as much as you do doughnuts. I guess it will be better for your cholesterol level anyhow.’ He paused, removed his heavy hornrimmed glasses, holding them out in front of him, and looked thoughtfully through the thick lenses down at the two Leatherette folders. He said softly to his old friend, ‘Do we really want to play in this ball game Leon? Do we want to be jerked around to the tune of the brass in Washington? Is it all going to do any good for anybody anyway? How do you feel about it?’ Leon bit off the soggy part off his dunked doughnut and, with his mouth half-full, answered, ‘C’mon Herb baby, what’s so different about this project? You know that this outfit is propped up on defence contracts, and has been for the past 10 years. We have been happy to take our pay cheques all that time, and I can’t see it being any different at all accepting some well-earned bonuses.

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God knows we both need the extra money.’ Shaking what was left of the doughnut at Herb as emphasis, Leon concluded, ‘And, if we don’t playball, they will soon find another couple of schmucks who will.’ ‘OK, OK already,’ Herb sighed, dropping his glasses on to the table. He leaned back in his chair and ran his hands through the two thick clumps of tight black curls that sat on each side of his head, then scratched the bald pate between them. ‘It’s just that I am getting so sick of building new clever toys for the Pentagon to play God with.’ Herb put his glasses back on, pressing them home with his right index finger, got to his feet with a grunt, and shambled over to the big, shiny chromed urn for some more strong coffee.

25 An Afternoon of Living Dangerously Melbourne, Jakarta, Singapore, September 20, 1966.

‘QF1 TO SINGAPORE, THAT’S your flight that’s flashing, isn’t it?’ Stephany sounded tense and strained. ‘No rush, plenty of time yet.’ Teddy hadn’t checked through immigration yet, but he didn’t want to rush their goodbyes. ‘You really should be coming with me you know.’ ‘Oh please Teddy, don’t let’s go through all that again. You know that we both need this breathing space. I thought we agreed that being apart for a while could be just what we need. I know for sure that I need some time alone to think.’ ‘Alone?’ Teddy regretted his questioning tone as soon as it came out. ‘Come on Teddy, for God’s sake. Yes, bloody alone.’ She sighed, shaking her head, ‘I’m sorry that I told you now. That thing with Doug is past, been and gone, over,

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finished. I just need some time to get my head together.’ She closed her eyes and wiped them with her knuckles. Teddy couldn’t see if there were any tears. She took a deep breath, ‘Look, you’d better go and get stamped, or whatever it is they do. I should go now. Isobel needs to be picked up from kinder.’ She stretched up and kissed him lightly on the mouth. ‘Take care Teddy, and good luck with the project. It’s going to be terrific, I am sure it is.’ She gave a little smile and turned and walked away. ‘The kids,’ he called after her. ‘Give my love to the kids.’ She turned, smiled and nodded, then continued on her way out. ‘Everyday,’ he said softly to himself. ‘Give my love to them every day.’ ———————— As the Qantas 707 climbed out of Melbourne and swung to a north-west heading, the champagne tasted good, very good. He was leaving a lot behind, a lot of issues between him and Stephany, issues he knew would not go away. But he could go away. He and William had worked harder in the past six months than they had ever worked before, but there were still an awful lot of design issues unresolved. These would have to be worked out on the spot in Bangkok. For now, Teddy did not want to think about work, his marriage or anything; he just wanted to stretch out and revel in the excitement of being whisked half-way across the world in the lap of first-class luxury. Bugger them all! Teddy was to fly via Jakarta to Singapore, where he would stop overnight and inspect the work being completed by Metro Lights, the company building the interior exhibition components. He was then scheduled to fly on to Bangkok the next evening.

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The flight path tracked diagonally across the Australian continent. Teddy had never been inland to the ‘outback’ of his country, and he was mesmerised looking down from his window as the fertile green of the southeast rapidly faded away and the great red continent unrolled below him for hour after hour, hardly changing in texture and colour, yet always engaging. The Land of the Great Silence. He had had no idea of the staggering vastness of the place. How could they possibly do justice to it in their pavilion? Why did they even try? What they had designed was doomed to be nothing more than a kitsch little parody of the real thing. How much more of the pavilion would be like that? How much more would fall dismally short? It seemed quite suddenly that the red changed to the tan and buff of the mud flats of the north-west coast. The sapphire-blue of the ocean seemed alien and wrong to his eyes, which had been warmed by the great Australian land mass for the past five hours. He was excited knowing that the next land sighted would be part of Asia. It didn’t seem to take long at all before cloud shadows on the sea and imagined shapes became actual islands, fragments of the tail of the great Indonesian archipelago. He was enthralled, his face pressed hard against the window, as the olive-green islands passed beneath him. Sumba, Sumbawa, Lombok and beautiful Bali, with their magnificent volcanoes plainly visible. He was amazed that, from that altitude, no sign of human habitation was visible. As the plane tracked along the northern coast of the large island of Java, it began to descend for its landing in Jakarta. Skimming along between towering columns of thunderclouds, Teddy was at last able to pick out some

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sign of the 180 million people he knew lived on this slim string of islands. The thin tracery of pale roadways through the olive-green, the tiny knots of tan-coloured rooftops of little villages, smudges of blue smoke, the spidery lines of fishtraps that etched out into the brassy sea. As the plane got lower still, and approached the more populated areas closer to Jakarta, Teddy could see things in greater detail. Fishing boats and coastal traders on the sea, motor traffic, people on bicycles, motorbikes and in funny looking tri-shaws, teeming along the narrow roadways between the tiled roofs. As the landing gear rumbled and clunked down into place, Teddy handed his empty glass to the smiling flight attendant. He smiled happily back at her. The Jakarta air terminal was an unimposing building, a single-storey concrete structure, untidy, stained and mildewed by the tropical humidity. As the plane had taxied in from the runway, Teddy had looked for signs of old military hangers. This was the same airstrip Cedric had served at during the war, when Jakarta had been under Dutch control and was called Batavia. He saw nothing that looked of that vintage, but he could not help but notice a general military presence about the place: groups of military personnel, rows of trucks and jeeps and a couple of armoured scout cars. As the plane rocked to a stop in front of the little terminal and the engines whined down, the chief attendant announced that transit passengers could get off to stretch their legs in the terminal building. Due to the current sensitivities caused by the so-called ‘political confrontation’ between Indonesia and its neighbours, Singapore and Malaysia, they were told that they must stay strictly within the confines of the transit area.

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Looking out the window, which had started to cloud around the edges with condensation on the outside, Teddy watched two groups of small brown-skinned men in khaki coveralls struggle to wheel the two mobile stairways into place at the forward and rear doors of the 707. He also noticed two lines of soldiers, in camouflage uniforms with sky-blue berets, file out briskly and form a giant ‘V’ shape to funnel the passengers into the entrance of the terminal building. The soldiers were spaced at 10metre intervals, and they seemed to be armed. There was quite a time lag as the stairways were positioned, so the half-dozen or so first-class passengers, eager to stretch their legs, Teddy included, had got to their feet and were standing near the door when it was finally opened. Nothing had prepared Teddy for the dense blanket of hot, damp, spiced air that swept in. The effect of the humidity was immediate and all-enveloping. In that split second his body perspired in defence, his clothes stuck to him, and he entered another world. Everything he had been watching through the window took on new meaning. He was incredulous that people could walk, ride bicycles, push stairways or march in a straight line in this sort of heat. William’s adamancy about the need for airconditioning all of a sudden made perfect sense. As Teddy moved out into this new and stifling world, the sweet cloying scent of cloves mixed with the familiar tang of jetfuel etched its print on to that smellmemory part of his brain, where it would stay for ever. His sweating hand slid easily down the chrome hand-rail of the stairway as he descended to the hot, damp concrete. As the little group of passengers straggled across the concrete apron towards the grubby-looking terminal, Teddy got a closer look at the lines of troops, and was taken by their crisp appearance and bearing.

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They stood in a disciplined ‘at ease’ position but he could see their eyes watching the passengers carefully. Their uniforms and webbing were spick and span. Teddy had seen enough war movies to recognise the American M1 carbines slung on their right shoulders, which looked clean and well oiled. Teddy was sure these weapons were loaded. Some of the airport staff ushered the passengers into the terminal, which looked run-down and was hot, dark and stuffy. Large, slowly rotating overhead fans seemed to make little difference to the oppressive atmosphere. There was a sparse, sticky-looking bar in one corner, and equally sticky-looking cheap vinyl lounge chairs scattered about. Cigarette smoke and the smell of cloves filled the air. Teddy would learn that the Kredek, or clove cigarettes, were much favoured by the Indonesians. Their heavy perfume was everywhere. The terminal was starting to fill up with passengers from the Qantas flight, so Teddy decided to use the toilet before it became too crowded. He found the smelly little men’s room and was using a stained urinal when another man, in a crumpled white tropical suit, the jacket folded over his left arm, stepped up to use the urinal beside him. Except for an old Indonesian cleaner slowly mopping the tiled floor, they were alone in the toilet. Teddy noticed that there were plenty of vacant urinals other than the one right next to him. ‘G’day mate,’ the stranger said with an Australian accent. ‘G’day,’ Teddy answered, then, feeling for some reason that he should add to the conversation, said, ‘A bit on the nose in here, isn’t it?’ ‘Yeah, but not as bad as some, mate, not as bad as some.’

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Teddy finished and, trying not to look coy, shook himself, zipped up and went to the hand basin and washed his hands. As he finished this, the old cleaner reached to the adjacent paper towel dispenser and offered one to Teddy, with a hand still wet from the slop bucket. Teddy reached past to jiggle a towel out from the bottom of the rack, saying, ‘Er, no thanks my friend, I can manage. Thank you anyway.’ As he left the men’s room he noticed the stranger at the urinal smile. Teddy strolled around the little transit area for a while, but the heat and humidity were oppressive. He was thinking about going back to the comfort of the aircraft, when the stranger from the men’s room loomed out of the darkness at the rear of the lounge area. Teddy was able to get a better look at him as he approached. He looked to be in his early thirties, still had his jacket held over his arm, his suit and shirt were certainly crumpled, and he had the dark shadow of a two-day beard. He smiled a tired smile and said, ‘G’day again. Look, you’re an Aussie right? And you’re on this flight to Singapore?’ Not waiting for an answer the stranger continued, ‘Mate, I wonder if you could do us a little favour? I’m a reporter working with Radio Australia, and we’ve got some hot news footage to get back home. The problem is, there are no more flights going south from here today, so our only hope is to get it to Singapore, and pick up a flight from there tonight. But because of the bloody “confrontation” there is no legal way we can get it there. The silly buggers aren’t talking to each other, so our only hope is to get a passenger on this flight to take it for us.’ ‘Er, umm, ah,’ Teddy’s elbows felt light and floaty. The stranger continued, ‘Look, I understand, it is a strange thing to be asked. Don’t worry mate, I’ll find someone else.’

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To his horror Teddy heard himself saying, ‘No, hang on, I just need a bit more proof or something. How do I know you are who you say you are?’ The crumpled stranger smiled, and from his right hip pocket took out a wallet which he flipped open, and held for Teddy to see. Teddy’s mind was racing, admonishing himself for getting deeper into this thing. There was some sort of ID card in the plastic window of the wallet. His racing brain saw a photo of a face that looked much like that of the stranger, he thought he read the words ‘Radio Australia’, but he was too flustered to register the person’s name. ‘Er … yeah, OK,’ Teddy mumbled. The stranger put the wallet away and continued, ‘It’s pretty important stuff. There were some student demonstrations outside the court house where there’s a big political trial going on. The military reacted pretty violently, some nasty stuff went on. My cameraman got beaten up and I nearly shit myself, I can tell you. The outside world has got to see what these monkeys are up to mate, really.’ ‘Well, I still have to just take your word for what has happened. I mean, why should I?’ Teddy couldn’t feel his legs now. The stranger gave a little sigh, turned and called towards a cluster of chairs in the gloom, ‘Neil … Neil mate, could you come here a minute?’ A tall, laconic figure in jeans and dirty T-shirt wound itself up from a lounge chair and limped over towards them. He was also about 30, with dirty blond hair and a stubble. He gave Teddy a little nod, then transfixed him with a searching look from piercing, cool-blue eyes. ‘Gunfighter eyes,’ Teddy thought. ‘Show him your bruise mate, will you?’ The stranger put his right hand on Neil’s arm to turn him around. Neil

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rolled his eyes as he turned around and pulled up the grubby T-shirt to expose a livid purple welt over his left kidney area. ‘These little buggers play rough,’ the stranger said, as Neil slunk back to his lounge chair. ‘A platoon of soldiers chased a mob of students, just kids, across this square towards us. As the kids ran past, Neil crouched down to pan around with the camera and one of the troops rifle-butted him in the kidneys. They tried to smash the camera but Neil sort of crouched over it and took a few extra kicks for his trouble. Luckily, he used to play Aussie Rules down in Tassie, so he could handle it. I just stood there like a shag and they pushed me aside as they kept after the students. It’s bloody good footage, we’ve got to get it out.’ ‘Er, how big is it? What size is the package?’ Teddy was starting to tremble now, there seemed to be no way out. The stranger’s face was very serious. He looked Teddy straight in the eyes, and said quietly, ‘It’s under my left arm right now.’ Swallowing hard and trying desperately to sound calm, Teddy asked, ‘What do I do with it when I get to Singapore?’ The stranger stepped closer with a little grin. He knew he had a deal. Smiling now, the stranger asked, ‘What’s your name mate?’ It took Teddy a couple of seconds to tell him. ‘What hotel are you staying at in Singapore?’ This took even longer for Teddy to answer, and he asked somewhat shrilly, ‘But what do I do, what’s … what’s going to happen?’ ‘OK Ted, don’t worry, you just go about your business, contact will be made with you!’

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Looking around them, the stranger moved closer still. ‘Now just reach under my jacket, between my arm and my body, and take the package. There is a magazine folded around it. Be careful, don’t let it fall out.’ Teddy felt totally numb. But, amazingly, he did as he was bid without a fumble. The stranger stepped back with a wide smile. ‘Good on ya’ mate, we really appreciate your help.’ He turned and ambled back to his friend, Neil, in the lounge chairs. Teddy just stood there, his whole system seemed to have shut down: mind, body, everything. For quite a while he couldn’t think or move. Then at last his brain started to work: what, for Christ’s sake, have I done? I have been in a foreign country for less than 15 minutes and have got myself involved in international intrigue, or worse, smuggling perhaps. Who knows where this will end. You stupid, stupid bastard! Still trying to look casual, he turned stiffly on the spot and walked strangely, like a robot, towards the brighter area of the transit lounge, holding the folded Time Magazine tightly beside his right hip. He could feel the bulk of the package within it. He looked around, the stranger and Neil were still there. Should he run back and give it straight back to them? They said they could find someone else. He turned but something stopped him. A strange sort of resignation to his fate made it easier to go on than to go back. Teddy looked at his watch; it was still 20 minutes to boarding time, but the flight attendant had said that passengers could stay on board the plane if they preferred. He wished he had. People seemed to be looking at him. He was sweating like a pig, the heat was crushing him. He decided to go back on board the plane early. He wanted to get out of the spooky terminal.

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Still moving strangely, he strutted to the exit leading out on to the tarmac. The aircraft was parked about 70 metres away. The sky had clouded over, the towering cloud columns had massed together, and it was darkening and brooding. Fucking hell, the soldiers, the armed soldiers! He had forgotten about the lines of soldiers. They were still there. To get to the forward door of the plane Teddy would have to run the gauntlet along the left-hand line of them. His stomach churned as he walked stiffly out towards the plane, which seemed at least a mile away. His mind was racing: that big lunch on the plane, I’m going to bring it all up! I’m going to vomit, drop the package, and they are going to shoot me with those nice clean carbines! No, come on, come on, pull yourself together, man. Each of the seven soldiers he passed seemed to look right through him, and follow him with their dark eyes. After an eternity, clutching the package in a sweaty, vicelike grip, he reached the stairway. With baby-weak legs he climbed it and was welcomed back on board by the smiling attendant. Flopping shakily into his seat, he stuffed the magazine and package into the seat pocket in front of him. He felt like crying. Many passengers had opted to stay on board the plane to avoid the heat and humidity, and others had also decided to come back early, so the plane was by no means empty. Teddy sat slumped in his seat, with his eyes closed to avoid looking out the window. ‘Can I bring you a drink from the bar, sir?’ A pretty flight attendant was leaning over him. Teddy’s eyes blinked open. A drink from the bar? A double scotch? Why the hell not? ‘Perhaps just some water thanks … yes, iced water would be great, thank you.’

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Teddy’s brain was racing again. I have to keep a clear head, I might not get off the ground here. And even if I do I might end up in prison in Singapore, Changi probably. Jesus Christ, how did I get into this mess? A bloody stranger, whose name I didn’t get, and a bloke called ‘Neil’ and I am smuggling a package that they say has news film in it! It could be anything. Why did I do it? I am going overseas to work on the project of a lifetime. So much depends on it, and I stuff things up like this, playing at being James bloody Bond. He still didn’t dare look out the window for fear of seeing a detachment of those smart little soldiers coming to drag him off the plane. He was even scared of the cabin staff, thinking they might report him to somebody. He reached forward and moved the package from the seat pocket in front of him to the pocket in front of the vacant seat beside him, thinking this might be less incriminating. Then, after a while, he moved it back again, thinking it was too exposed in the aisle seat pocket. He looked at his watch, his mind raced off again: why don’t the other passengers hurryup and come back to the plane? It must be time to take-off, what the hell are they doing? Let’s get out of this damn place, for heaven’s sake, call the bloody passengers back and shut the damn doors. In due course the passengers straggled back to the aircraft and took their seats, and, to Teddy’s enormous relief, the cabin crew closed and locked the doors. He could hardly believe it when the engines started up and they lumbered out to their take-off position. The flight to Singapore was an agony. It had grown dark, Teddy’s state of mind was mirrored by the electricity in the broiling thunderheads that pulsed and flashed with blue light beneath the droning 707. A first-

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class silver-service dinner was served, but Teddy refused it. All he could manage was the occasional sip of iced water. The bulge in the seat pocket in front of him was like a poised cobra. He had no idea what was going to happen to him when they arrived in Singapore, but he was certain it wouldn’t be good. What did he mean when he said ‘contact would be made’ with me? Will it be at my hotel? Jesus, I have to get through customs and immigration first! I wonder if it will be some beautiful female spy? Perhaps a gorgeous Eurasian? Who am I kidding, I’m going to end up in jail, a disgrace. The Government will never give us any work again. By the time the flight had landed at Singapore Teddy was worn out. He sat limply in his seat like a rag doll, a broken puppet. He really didn’t care any more what was going to happen to him. It was the wet season and it had been raining heavily before they arrived. As the aircraft rocked to a stop and the engines whined to a halt, Teddy looked out the rainstreaked window, resigned to his fate. He could make out little of the busy airport, all was a dazzle of lights reflected on the wet tarmac. He made out a stairway being pushed into position. He sighed, gathered his things together then took the package out of the seat pocket. Immediately after the cabin crew opened the door, Teddy heard a clamour of voices at the top of the stairway. A middle-aged, red-faced gentleman in a white short-sleeved shirt and tie stepped into the first class compartment and called, ‘Is Mr Edward Brown on board please?’ Teddy twitched and stood up stiffly. Jesus they’ve caught me already. ‘Er, yes, that’s me.’

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‘Splendid, splendid,‘ said the newcomer, moving down the aisle to Teddy. ‘My name is Ralph Beacham, I’m the Assistant Trade Commissioner here in Singapore. There has been a change in plans. Metro Lights, the exhibition construction firm, is ahead of schedule, they have taken all their stuff on up to Bangkok, so there is no need for you to stop in Singapore. This aircraft continues on up to Bangkok; I’ve come to help get you through customs and immigration quickly so you can book back on this flight.’ Beacham smiled at Teddy, taking some of his hand luggage from him. ‘Come on then, we had better get a wriggle on.’ Clutching the package to his hip again, Teddy followed Beacham out of the plane and into the velvety night. The air was full of the sound of screaming jet engines as he struggled to keep up with the hurrying Beacham, who was leading them towards a gate in a cyclone-wire fence marked ‘Staff Only’. ‘There is something I need to tell you, I think,’ Teddy yelled against the howling engines. Beacham slowed and looked back inquiringly. ‘I think it’s pretty important Mr Beecham.’ Beacham leaned towards Teddy, turning his head to hear. ‘I was given something in Jakarta. Er … Er, “contact” is going to be made with me. Here, in Singapore … I have to stay … I think.’ Beacham screwed up his face in concentration, and yelled, ‘What? I don’t follow you, what do you mean?’ Beacham was looking very concerned, Teddy felt sick again. ‘I said I’ve got something with me, I think it’s from Radio Australia … or something.’ The jet sounds increased and Teddy missed what it was Beacham said in reply, but he took Teddy firmly by the arm and led him towards the main passenger gate

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where all the other passengers were going. Teddy walked meekly beside him, like a felon in custody. As they neared the gate Teddy noticed a little, plump Chinese man holding a large cardboard sign over his head. Written on it in professional-looking signwriting were the words ‘ANYTHING FOR RADIO AUSTRALIA?’. Beacham nodded towards the sign, yelling in Teddy’s ear, ‘Give it to him, he meets every flight since this damn “confrontation” thing started. It’s a milk run really.’ Teddy felt like crying again. He’d hardly arrived in Asia and he’d already been put through hell. Was the whole project going to be like this, would it all be a giant cock-up?

26 The Copacabana Bangkok, September 20, 1966.

THE COPACABANA WAS, OF course, a deservedly famous nightspot in New York. There are numerous bars and nightclubs around the world that have appropriated that name, hoping to samba along on the already stolen Brazilian connotations. But none would be as far off the mark as the establishment on Sukamvit Road near the intersection with Nana Soi 12. Cedric Lovejoy had met Teddy at the airport on his arrival in Bangkok, a bit after 10 in the evening. Cedric had come to Bangkok several weeks earlier to organise shipping arrival details for the multitude of exhibition items coming from Australia. He and the locally based shipping consultant, Clive Harris, met a slightly groggy Teddy as he emerged from the arrival hall and ushered him out to the grey embassy Holden. ‘Sumbart, take care of Mr Brown’s bags will you please,’ Cedric called over his shoulder to the diminutive

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Thai driver, who had been lurking nervously in the background. ‘I can manage Ced,’ Teddy said, but Clive, who was in the act of shaking hands with him, tightened his grip and said with a smile, ‘Leave ‘em mate, you are in Asia now, they do the carrying, we do the drinking and stuff.’ The three of them stood by the Holden while Sumbart made two sweating trips to bring the luggage. Clive was an old ‘Asia hand’. He had been stationed in ‘Bankas’ for several years, just long enough to mistakenly think he knew his way around. He sat in the front, next to Sumbart, whose neatly barbered head on his skinny neck barely reached above the seat-back. ‘It’s good to have you here Teddy old son,’ Cedric said, winding down the window. The car lacked airconditioning. Clive turned to Teddy and said, ‘You technical blokes only merit the second-rate transport and driver I’m afraid.’ Sumbart’s head didn’t move. Teddy hoped he didn’t understand English. Teddy quelled his embarrassment by winding down his window. The open windows let the soupy warm night air flood in. Clive, sensing the effect it was having on Teddy, twisted around in his seat with a knowing smile. ‘First time to Asia mate? Ahh breathe it in, breathe it in. Diesel fuel, spices and cum! Wonderful, wonderful, that pong. The essence of this bloody place.’ Still Sumbart’s head didn’t move. ‘I tell you what Ced, how about we drop Teddy’s stuff off at the Rajah, and take him round to the good old Copa and let him rub up against a bit of plastic for a night-cap?’ The drive in from the airport was a blur for Teddy. He was exhausted, the Radio Australia business had really

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wrung him out. Although this was his first visit to Asia, he was just too damn whacked to pay much attention to the mad jumble of beeping, puttering, weaving traffic. He was thankful for the calm steadiness of the quiet little driver. They checked his bags into the very ordinary hotel, which seemed to be far from any tourist precinct, down a messy narrow laneway. The Rajah Hotel was a two-star establishment, about 10 years old. It was chosen by Malcolm Devlin because the tariff fitted the Government expense allowance and it was between the embassy and the trade fair site. Teddy really would have liked to have gone to bed, but Cedric and Clive seemed bright-eyed and eager. ‘Just a couple of quick beers Ted, we’ll show you what we mean by “plastic”.’ It was the rusty, crooked air-conditioner unit over the door that struck him first. It was annoyingly out of alignment with everything around it: the door head, the transom, the trim. It lined up with nothing. The fizzing, humming blue neon sign — ‘COPACABANA BAR’ — lit the air-con and threw an even more crooked shadow over the grubby doorway. But what really astounded him was that the condensation overflow tube poured a steady stream of oily liquid right on to the door step. He would see countless over-stressed air-con units around South-East Asia, but this was his first, and, to his designer-tidy mind, it seemed obscene. ‘In we go Teddy mate,’ Clive said, taking him by the elbow. ‘Quick smart, or you’ll get pissed on.’ Ducking under the foul stream, the three men burst through the worn plywood door into a world Teddy would never forget.

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The flimsy door flapped open with a bang and they were inside. It was the darkness and the unholy chill that struck Teddy first, then the sound. An old jukebox wailed out the popular, repetitive Hang On Sloopy very loudly. Then the eyes, the eyes and the teeth, of the dozen or so girls on the tiny dance floor. The speakers in the jukebox were shot, the sound strained and metallic. Sloopy kept hammering out. The three or four UV light tubes had picked out the girls’ eyes and their teeth, and they floated and bobbed in time with the music. The over-conditioned air had a strange smell and tasted metallic, matching the sound of the music. It was as if the air had been shredded through that crooked air-conditioner so many times it had become crooked also. It was a narrow, single-fronted building, but quite deep. The cramped dance floor was right up the front, so that the three of them had to manoeuvre through the swaying girls to get to the long, cluttered bar that ran down the right-hand side. That was Teddy’s first touch of ‘plastic’. The girls’ bare shoulders and arms absorbed most of the feeble UV light, but a tiny remnant reflected to give the chill flesh a dull, plastic sheen. As the three men brushed past, the girls made a point of bumping them. Their skin felt like cool vinyl. The bar was long and dark. Teddy was aware of a bunch of three or four US servicemen down the other end, all slumped on rickety stools, each with a girl leaning against him. A plump, flatfaced, middle-aged woman, who had been bending down behind the bar and was taken by surprise, snapped upright and, twitching into a wider than real smile, purred, ‘Hellloooww, wellcooome to the Copacaabaaanhaaa, narmbah waarn bahh.’

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‘G’day Mama,’ said Clive, straddling a bar stool with that strange studied confidence some men affect when they enter a bar. ‘This is our mate Teddy, he’s just flown in, so you have to keep an eye on him,’ with a obvious wink to Teddy. ‘Three beers for starters thanks luv.’ When Mama went to get the drinks, Teddy asked Cedric, ‘Well, how are things shaping up Ced? How is the pavilion looking?’ Teddy noticed the grin on Cedric’s face fade just a fraction. ‘Generally, it’s looking pretty good, really.’ He looked even more serious. ‘The thing is that over here things are never quite as you imagine them. They do things differently. Not necessarily badly, but differently, their own way.’ ‘Jesus Ced, what do you mean by that?’ Teddy was tired and stressed. Cedric smiled again. ‘Nothing to worry about, old son, nothing at all to worry about. Just relax for tonight and give yourself a chance to acclimatise.’ Mama clinked the beers on to the wet bar top in front of them: three green bottles with upturned glasses, foggy chilled, over the top of each bottle. With exaggerated concentration she carefully poured each beer, finishing with a pause for approval. Then she winced a brief smile and left them. Cedric continued, ‘We have had a few little setbacks, mainly due to this wet weather lasting longer than usual, but nothing serious. Don’t worry about things now. Give yourself time to attune to how things are up here. It’s important to relax and just let things wash over you.’ Clive smiled and took a sip of his beer, nodding towards the American servicemen at the other end of the bar, ‘This place, and hundreds of others like it, are just part of a big wonderful system. R. & R., Rest and Recreation. Dear old Uncle Sam decides to fight a war in

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Vietnam and sends his Yankee Doodle nephews over here to Bangkok to have their doodles yanked by half a million pretty Thai girls. One of the happy chances of history. This place is just made for R. & R., and so are the girls. They’re special. Plasticised, durable, wash-and-wear girls. Gorgeous plastic puppets with no strings attached. You just hire them, and put them back on the rack when you’ve finished.’ Clive could see that Teddy was looking a bit concerned, so he continued lightly, ‘Anyhow mate,’ he nodded over Teddy’s shoulder towards the girls on the dance floor, ‘what do you think of the old Copa?’ Just as Teddy pivoted around to look where Clive was indicating, a girl seemed to glide out of the darkness and slide up close to him, between his knees, as he turned awkwardly on the wobbly old stool. ‘Halloo saar,’ she cooed, stroking his thighs with long-nailed fingers. ‘Err, hello,’ said Teddy, trying desperately to look calm. ‘My name is Nit,’ the girl said, continuing to stroke his tense legs, then, reaching up she gently touched him on the tip of the nose and smiled broadly. ‘Number one nose,’ she giggled. ‘Hey, you’re doing well mate,’ Clive laughed. ‘Over here, having a big nose indicates a big dick.’ Teddy blushed like a schoolboy. ‘Will you dance with Nit sir?’ the girl cooed. Teddy was out of his depth and embarrassed. ‘No, not now,’ he barked, more curtly than he had meant. The girl pulled away abruptly and, with a little huffy shrug, turned away and joined her girlfriends, swaying and bobbing on the dance floor. The old jukebox was still hammering out Sloopy’

27 A Very Big Job Bangkok, September 21, 1966.

TEDDY COLLAPSED ON TO his bed soon after midnight. The air-conditioning unit built into the hotel window roared in unison with his racing mind. When he closed his eyes he was confronted by the crooked little air-con unit over the Copacabana’s door. He couldn’t stop thinking about its dribbling overflow. Was that oily liquid some sort of distillation of all that happened within? Could all the sweat, the spittle, the body odours, could all that human stuff carry with it the fears, the hopes, the lusts, the pains, the regrets, and all this be sucked through that decrepit little machine, and somehow condensed into that oily fluid? He lay obsessed by those thoughts for what seemed like hours, before finally falling to sleep, with the airconditioner still roaring beside him, and the hammering of Sloopy in his head.

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Teddy wasn’t sure if it was the chill air or the watery grey light that woke him, but he was grateful. His sleep had been plagued by dreams of torture and death in a succession of horrific Asian prison dungeons. His room was on the second of the four floors of the Rajah Hotel. The Rajah was B-grade at best. Only the guests’ rooms and the coffee shop were air-conditioned; the corridors and other public spaces relied on natural ventilation. His window did not give Teddy a very exciting view. His first impression of the city of Bangkok was a cluttered mish-mash of salmon-coloured tile roofs, ugly power poles festooned with an incredible array of power lines, and occasional clumps of bright-green foliage. The sky was grey and overcast, and it looked almost bleakly cool outside. It was only a little after 6am, but already there were sounds of motor traffic and beeping horns. Teddy had noticed that the Rajah had an attractive pool area, and wondered if it would be too cool for a swim. Deciding to give it a try, he put on his swimming togs and a new white towelling robe that Stephany had given him as a going-away present. With his room key and a hotel towel in his hand, he opened his door and stepped out into the corridor. The heat and humidity wrapped around him like a blanket. Within seconds, he was sweating into the new towelling robe. He hadn’t realised that his air-conditioner had been on full power all night. The chill he felt, and the overcast sky, had given him a completely false impression. By the time he walked down the two flights of stairs to the pool area, he was boiling under his robe. Cedric was standing by the pool drying himself, his face screwed up as he dried his ear with the corner of his towel. ‘Good morning old son. I’ve done my laps, always do first thing. A man’s got to keep fit in these places you know.’

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Cedric bent down and started to meticulously dry between his toes. He continued to talk in spurts, ‘Important to dry the crevices … in the cracks, so to speak … fungus you know … infection … rampant in these parts … specially between the toes … and, of course, the crutch … the old fella … very important.’ Dear old Ced, Teddy thought, always the military man. He could imagine his squadron hygiene officer giving Cedric the drill back in Batavia or somewhere, and he has never forgotten. He certainly was a fit bugger though. Cedric stood up straight and threw his towel to a smiling young attendant in a white sarong and turquoise jacket, who was hosing down the pool-side paving slabs. ‘Have a quick dip Teddy, it will freshen you up. I’ll meet you in the coffee shop for breakfast in half an hour. Young Sumbart is picking us up at half-past seven, we have a meeting at the embassy at eight, then we’ll go out to the site so you can see the building. Exciting, eh?’ The neat, dapper Sumbart was right on time. He was dressed immaculately in a short-sleeved white shirt, white cotton trousers and highly polished black shoes. His hair was neatly trimmed and oiled and carefully combed. He wore very dark, black-framed sunglasses. The grey Holden sedan, like its driver, was spotlessly clean, but even at that early hour it had started to heat up inside. Teddy wound down his window as they edged out of the narrow soi, or lane, into busy Sukhumvit Road. Teddy could hardly make out the little Copacabana Bar, which, without its neon sign lit, blended in anonymously with the messy jumble of weathered shops and offices. The road was crammed with a noisy torrent of motorbikes and scooters, rusted and battered Japanese taxi cabs, buses and lorries, and the strange little tuk-tuks,

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the covered three-wheel scooters that, crammed full of customers, made up an essential part of the city’s public transport system. It was about a 30-minute trip to the embassy. The route took them through a cross-section of Bangkok’s cityscape. They travelled down narrow, congested laneways, with a cacophony of sounds, and blends of strange odours. Then across wide, open plazas with imposing monuments, and along gracious, tree- lined boulevards. Teddy could not help but notice the obvious military presence. Pairs of US Military Police, tall and impeccably turned out, paced along squalid pavements or patrolled in immaculate jeeps. Even the traffic police had a tough military look to them as they directed the swarming traffic from little raised dais in the centre of the major intersections. The traffic was chaotic, but Teddy was comforted by Sumbart, who drove with a calm confidence. The Australian Embassy didn’t impress Teddy. Seriously overcrowded, it was situated in a narrow side street near the Chao Phraya River, not far from the Oriental Hotel. Cedric took Teddy straight through to Malcolm Devlin’s office. They were met by a curvaceous, dark-haired young woman, who Cedric introduced as Joanne Berger, Malcolm’s special secretary. Her handshake was firm and confident and her smile was warm and attractive. She offered them coffees and ushered them into Malcolm’s cramped office. ‘So this is Teddy,’ Malcolm Devlin said warmly, getting up from his chair. ‘I hope you don’t mind if I call you that? Your brother always referred to you that way. Sawatdee, welcome to Bangkok.’ Malcolm pressed his palms and fingers together in front of him in a prayer-like gesture and inclined his head

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towards his hands in a brief wai, the polite and graceful salute of Thai greeting. Then, with a wide smile, he reached out and shook Teddy’s hand warmly. ‘Good to have you here Teddy. I’m sorry I missed you at that meeting in Melbourne. It was all a bit of a rush, wasn’t it? We have a lot ahead of us and, according to Cedric here, you’re a vital part of the plot. Make yourself at home, and don’t hesitate to ask for anything, anything at all.’ Malcolm raised his eyebrows inquiringly. ‘Ah … is Jo getting you tea or coffee, eh? Fine, good, good. Look, I’m sorry we have no space here to provide you chaps with a private room. I’m afraid you will just have to share a desk out in the main office. But no matter, you won’t be spending much time here anyway I guess. Your work will be out at the site and your hotel is a lot closer than here.’ There was no room for visitors’ chairs in Malcolm’s cluttered office. He was too much of a gentleman to take the only chair, so he remained standing, leaning against an olive-green filing cabinet as he continued. ‘Now then, I have scheduled a series of meetings in the next few days so you can meet all the main players. The Fairies will want to brief you, I am sure.’ Malcolm grinned. ‘Foreign A Fairies’ was the derisive term Department of Trade operatives sometimes used to describe their diplomatic colleagues. He gave a wide smile. ‘But this morning I think you should go straight out to the fair site. The Metro Lights team from Singapore is up here now, and they’re getting themselves set up out at the site. I hope they know what they are doing. From what I am led to believe, they will actually be constructing most of the interior elements on site, right in the building. That’s why there was no reason for you to stop-over in Singapore Teddy. There was really not much for you to see there. So I suggest you go out

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and meet them now. I know you must be eager to see the building.’ From reports Malcolm had sent them in Melbourne, Teddy knew that the Thai Government was taking the UN-sponsored First Asian International Trade Fair very seriously. It had acquired a vast tract of rice paddies on the northern outskirts of the city along the extended Petchaburi Road. The paddies had been drained, earthfilled and extensively landscaped. The main feature of the site was a large artificial lake that had been formed immediately adjacent to the main public entrance. The site for the Australian pavilion was on the left-hand flank of this feature lake, set back about 50 metres from its edge. An enormous amount of manpower and money had been expended the year before, during the dry season, to develop the fair site. Permanent buildings for the Thai authorities had been constructed in concrete, and water, power and telephone systems had been put in place underground. But the site had suffered during the intervening wet season, which had been abnormally heavy and which was showing signs of persisting for longer than normal. All surfaces that had not already been concreted or built over had turned to quagmires, including the roadways. Although it was still before 9am, the vinyl seats of the car had heated up when Ced and Teddy left the embassy to drive out to the site. The traffic seemed even thicker and more chaotic than earlier. Teddy became more aware of the impact the nearby conflict in Vietnam was having on Bangkok. Apart from the presence of the Military Police, there were bars with obvious Americaninspired names such as ‘The Rio Grande’, ‘The Vegas’, ‘The Old Faithful’ and so on. In fact, when they got out to

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the city fringes, Petchaburi Road was flanked with new buildings, cheaply built with concrete blocks. Most of them were bars and massage parlours with names like ‘The Co-Ed’ and ‘The Sorry-About-That’. And, to appeal to the huge clientele of homesick GIs, there were establishments named after almost every US city, ‘The Frisco’, ‘The Baltimore’ and even ‘The Boise’ and ‘The Des Moines’. Cedric and Teddy noted that the Australian involvement in Vietnam was honoured by two particularly sleazy-looking structures, ‘The Sydney’ and ‘The Melbourne’. Sumbart, always looking cool and unfussed, drove them smoothly through the clamorous traffic and thickening haze of motor fumes. Teddy’s excitement mounted as the countryside opened up and they neared the fair site. Ced had been to the building site before, but he was eager to meet the Metro Lights team from Singapore to see how they were settling in. He and Teddy realised that the Singaporeans were key players in the project. The interior exhibition was a very complex and demanding thing to build and install. A lot depended on the attitude and abilities of the Metro Lights people. As they approached the site Teddy strained to get his first glimpse of the Australian pavilion, which he knew would be plainly visible from the main entrance. As they neared the entrance, he was disturbed by the general unfinished and disorganised appearance of the environment. The concrete kerbings of the approach road were unfinished, crooked and in disarray. There were ugly mounds of clay-like fill piled all around, and the surrounding cyclone-wire fencing sagged. There were huge puddles of stagnant brown water everywhere. Along the perimeter fence there were ragged clusters of shanties and ramshackle food stalls, catering for the

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thousands of coolies. There was a hazy blue layer of smoke from numerous cooking fires hanging over the whole scene, which gave it more the appearance of a disaster zone than an important building site. As Sumbart parked the car between the puddles of the makeshift car park just outside the entrance gates, Teddy at last got a view of the Australian pavilion. Its sharp rectangular shape was strong and reassuring among the surrounding confusion and jumble. Sumbart spoke to the smartly uniformed soldiers guarding the gates and Teddy and Cedric walked in silence the 200 metres to the pavilion. Cedric knew this was a big moment for Teddy. The building had looked fine from a distance. Teddy was happy and excited. He was thinking of Will and the sequence of decisions that had shaped the pavilion. Of the risks they had run and of the months of hard work just to get it to this stage. But, as they got closer, he started to notice just how roughly the building was built, and how much it had suffered during the punishing wet season. The tar-paper had been carelessly applied and was torn and sagging in many places. This could be easily fixed. But what was of more concern were the allimportant timber battens, the vertical members that would support the vital cladding panels. Many were horribly warped and twisted out of plumb. The timber used had obviously been badly seasoned and the rigours of the wet season — being alternately drenched by downpours, then baked in the sun — had played havoc. Teddy could see that many of these timbers would have to be replaced. The site appeared disorganised and messy. There were piles of rubbish everywhere. But Teddy was relieved

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to see that all the concrete work, the floor slab and the forming for the perimeter moat looked sound and neatly finished. Cedric, seeing Teddy’s concerned expression, said, ‘It’s in a bit of a mess, eh? They work differently up here. But don’t worry, we’ll pull it into shape. That’s what we’re here for. Anyway, let’s have a look inside. I want to see the Metro Lights people.’ As they stepped over rubble and entered through what would become the main entrance, Teddy immediately noticed the sharp rise in temperature. It was already warm and sticky outside, but now he could feel the sweat dampening his cotton shirt. Then the smell hit him: a heavy, sour, latrine-like stench. It took his breath away. ‘Jesus Ced, what’s that stink?’ Cedric shook his head incredulously. ‘It seems that the building contractors hired a lot of unskilled coolies, local people who had just been rice farmers, simple folk. They weren’t provided with any facilities, so they just did what they were used to doing in the rice paddies. They relieved themselves into the damn wall cavities. I suppose it was the only privacy they could find. They must have just backed into the gap between the inner and outer walls and let go. Pretty bad show, one would have to say. I’ve been arguing with the contractor’s foreman for more than a week now, and they have only just started to clean it all up.’ ‘Bloody hell Ced, I can hardly breathe. How could they do such a thing?’ ‘It’s just one of those things Teddy. As I said last night, a lot of things are different here. We just have to roll with the punches. Don’t worry about the smell, we can get that fixed. The wet season hasn’t helped much.’

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Cedric smiled and added, ‘It would be easier if it could have dried out a bit.’ Good old Ced. Teddy laughed aloud. It did seem funny. Here they were to start work on the most ambitious trade fair pavilion their country had ever undertaken, a pristine dream to he and Will, only to find that its very walls were half-full of shit. The theatrical darkness that Teddy and William had conceptualised had certainly been achieved. It was almost pitch-black inside the pavilion. The only light was that entering through the arched doorways and the six rectangular gaps left to take the air-conditioning units. The darkness added enormously to the oppressiveness of the stifling heat. The timber structure for the ramps and walkways was in place, but the actual flooring panels had not been installed. This made it very difficult to move around in the boiling darkness. They carefully climbed their way through the building to the exit on to the open annex area. Here there was a hive of activity. Groups of workers were stacking material, setting up work benches and sweeping the concrete slab with old-fashioned reed brooms. ‘Ah, the Metro Light boys from Singapore,’ Cedric strode eagerly towards them. Teddy noticed that these men had a slightly paler complexion than the local Thais. They wore trousers rather than the loose sarongs favoured by most of the other workers around the site, and generally their hair was more neatly trimmed. They wore clean white T-shirts, except for two who wore white short-sleeved shirts. Cedric beckoned Teddy over to one of these two men. ‘Teddy Brown, I would like you to meet Mr Tan Cheoy Siang, the managing director of the Metro Lights company.’

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Smiling warmly, Mr Tan shook Teddy’s hand firmly. He had a square-cut look about him. A handsome face, with heavily hooded eyes that gave him a benignly sleepy appearance. Teddy liked his aura of calm confidence. His English was stiff and formal. ‘Ah, Mr Brown, I am sorry that we did not meet in Singapore. I felt that it was better to come up to Bangkok and get started up here. I hope that this has caused you no inconvenience.’ Mr Tan’s self-assuredness was tempered by a soft shyness. Teddy felt he had rehearsed that greeting in advance and he was flattered. ‘It’s nice to meet you Mr Tan. I have heard good things about Metro Lights.’ ‘Ah, thank you Mr Brown.’ Mr Tan lowered his hooded eyes shyly. ‘We have a big job ahead of us Mr Tan.’ ‘Ah yes Mr Brown, a very big job.’

28 Women Workers Bangkok, September, 1966.

THE NEXT MORNING THEY went straight from the Rajah Hotel to the pavilion, arriving there shortly before eight. On the way, Teddy noticed numerous tiredlooking servicemen leaving the bars and massage parlours along Petchaburi Road. It seemed that the late shift was just finishing. When they got to the pavilion there was a crowd of 40 or so Thai women squatting on the ground waiting. They were all swathed in dark-coloured, traditional Thai clothing and wore conical straw coolie hats. They were aged from about 12 to 50 years old. Cedric had arranged with Asia Constructions, the pavilion builder, to have a ‘sanitary team’ clean out the fouled wall cavities. ‘This must be the sanitary team,’ Cedric said testily. ‘I thought they would be in white overalls at least.’ Nearly an hour went by before the foreman arrived. He eventually organised the women into groups and

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issued them with buckets and brushes. Covering their faces with cloths, they filed into the building, moving one at a time into the narrow wall cavities and began to clean up the putrid mess. ‘It seems that women do all the dirty jobs in this country,’ remarked Cedric. ‘And they seem to do things cheerfully and efficiently, too.’ Teddy wondered if the women really did this sort of work by choice. He noticed another large group of women at the site of the nearby Japanese pavilion; they were filing past a group of mechanical concrete mixers. Each woman had a bamboo yoke across her narrow shoulders with two baskets suspended from it. As they came to a concrete mixer, a workman would fill their baskets with wet concrete from a metal chute. Teddy could see the bamboo yokes bend, and the women’s small, slim bodies compress under the heavy weight, but they would nimbly pad off with their bare feet along a system of narrow, wobbly planks. Teddy strolled across for a closer look. When a laden concrete-carrier came to where the concrete was needed, she would skilfully pour it from each bucket in turn into the form-work, sometimes squishing it down with a bare foot. As the women filed back past Teddy, he noticed that their feet were horribly eroded. They seemed to be of the same mixed ages as the cleaning women. Teddy couldn’t help but notice that some of them were about the same age as the bar girls at the Copacabana. From what he could see of them they seemed to be just as attractive as the ‘plastic’ bar girls. But these girls didn’t jig and boogie to Western pop songs, they moved quietly about their labor with a wonderful, calm dignity. But, he reflected, the bargirls didn’t have those cruelly eroded feet.

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Teddy avoided going through the Australian pavilion; he just couldn’t bear the stench. He went straight to the open annex area, where he found Cedric talking to Tan Cheoy Siang. The Singaporeans had set up a series of canvas shelters to form work areas that would be sheltered from the sun, and from the heavy downpours that still occurred regularly in the afternoons. Teddy had expected all the various exhibition components to have been prefabricated in Singapore and delivered to the site finished. This was far from the case. The Metro Lights people had simply brought a stock of materials to the site and would construct everything on the spot. They had no wood-working machines, no power-tools, just hand-tools, but they would prove to have great skills and boundless energy and determination. Teddy would learn that Tan Cheoy Siang was a natural leader. He had been trained in his youth as an engineer by the British Army. He had vast technical knowledge, but his real strength was his ability to understand people, and to get the maximum performance out of them. He repaid their efforts with genuine care and friendship. He had chosen the Metro Lights people well. His foreman, Ah Chung, tough and nuggety, had groomed them into a cheerful and efficient team. They spent an hour or so with Mr Tan, discussing his planned construction program. Cedric and Teddy could see that the Singaporean had a clear understanding of the project, and of the work that had to be done. Cedric had hoped to set up a site office within the pavilion, somewhere where they could pin up all the plans. But until the pavilion had been thoroughly cleaned, the terrible smell removed and the airconditioning was working, this would be impossible. They would have to use their rooms at the Rajah Hotel in the meantime.

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Cedric and Teddy had to attend meetings at the embassy that afternoon. By the time they left the pavilion to have some lunch back at the Rajah, the cleaning women had almost finished their dreadful task. They had cleaned out all of the fouled areas, scrubbed them down and were spreading powdered lime as a disinfectant. Teddy, however, could not yet discern any difference in the awful smell. ———————— By the end of Teddy’s first week a routine had developed. He and Cedric would take a quick swim in the morning before breakfast, then Sumbart would pick them up at 8am and drive them to the pavilion. About midday they went back to the Ragah for lunch. Sumbart dropped them off and they ordered club sandwiches and 7-ups at the pool-side bar on their way up to their rooms. They changed into their swimming togs, hung their cotton slacks and shirts in front of the air-conditioners in their rooms and had a ten-minute swim. By then their lunches were ready at the pool-side ‘banana lounges’. By the time they had their lunches, showered and dressed in the dry, cool clothes, less than an hour had passed. Sumbart was waiting in the lobby to drive them to the embassy. The meetings were with various people from the Department of Foreign Affairs, who were charming and, of course, diplomatic. It was Teddy’s and Cedric’s job to brief these people on various aspects of the exhibition so they could use it to their best advantage to promote Australia’s national interests in the area. Joanne Berger, Malcolm’s special secretary, sat in on these meetings. At the end of one long afternoon, the smiling Jo said to them, ‘Look chaps, all work and no play

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is no good for anyone, right? How would you two like to take a couple of nice girls out on the town tomorrow night? I share a house with a girl I met at the US Embassy. She and I can’t really traipse around this town by ourselves. It could be a good time for you two to relax a bit now, before you get really busy. What do you think?’ Cedric looked at Teddy and said, ‘Why yes, that would be fine by me.’ Teddy stammered, ‘Er, sure, that would be great. But what about the other girl, does she know?’ ‘Yes, of course she does,’ Joanne laughed. ‘You can ask her yourself if you like. She’s waiting for me now, out in the foyer.’ When Ced and Teddy left through the embassy foyer they found a strikingly beautiful young woman. She was tall, slim and had shoulder-length honey-blonde hair. She wore white sandals and a tight white skirt. A jadegreen silk blouse matched her eyes, which were framed by strangely old-fashioned glasses. Teddy was totally smitten; she was sensational. She stepped towards them confidently, holding out a slender hand. ‘Hi. With that haircut, you would have to be Teddy. I’m Terri, Terri Schultz.’

29 Make the Most of Opportunities Bangkok, October, 1966.

CEDRIC HAD ARRANGED to pick the girls up at their house. It wasn’t far from the Rajah Hotel, but he and Teddy were late getting back from the fair site. It had been arranged that they would have a drink at the house before going to dinner at the Normandie Grill at the Oriental Hotel at 8:30. The house Terri and Jo were renting was in an expensive area of Bangkok, in a secluded cul-de-sac, and backing on to a beautiful klong or canal. Teddy and Cedric were nearly half an hour late when they pulled up in the cab under the tiled portico. Terri met them at the door. She was wearing a tailored grey skirt and a crisp white blouse with a deep V-neckline. Teddy thought she looked stunning. He felt nervous and was ill at ease. Cedric was apologetic. ‘Sorry we are late, I said we would be here by half-past seven.’

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Terri laughed and mimicked Cedric’s accent. ‘Haalfpaast seven, indeed. I didn’t understand that anyway. Did you mean seven-thirty? Come on through. We still have plenty of time for a drink. I mix a mean Martini.’ They walked through the elegant Thai-style house, which had beautiful polished teak floors and traditional carved furniture. Jo met them on the rear verandah that fronted on to the glimmering waterway. She wore a flame-red, high-necked dress. Her thick dark hair was coifed high on the top of her head. She gave her gorgeous white smile as she put the drink tray down on a carved teak table. ‘Good evening chaps. We just have time to belt down one of Aunty Terri’s lethal wonders before we go for a nosh at the good old Oriental.’ ‘What’s with the “Aunty” bit?’ Terri laughed. ‘But yes, my Martinis certainly have been known to work wonders.’ She smiled at Teddy, ‘It’s all in the way I shake them.’ Teddy just grinned. She was gorgeous. Cedric smiled, saying, ‘You really have a lovely place here, don’t you?’ ‘Yes, we were very lucky,’ Joanne said. ‘A friend of Terri’s boss was going to Europe for a couple of years. Just sheer luck really.’ Terri looked up from pouring the Martinis from the shaker. ‘Well, we make our own luck, don’t we?’ She straightened up and passed a drink to Teddy, looking into his eyes. ‘We have to be able to make the most of opportunities as they arise. Don’t you think?’ Teddy nodded, saying as calmly as he could, ‘Well, of course. That’s how we opportunists operate.’ ‘Hmm, it’s good to meet a fellow opportunist.’ Terri’s green eyes flashed.

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At that moment the Thai amha, carrying a little blonde-headed girl, came out on to the verandah. ‘Oh sweetie,’ Terri said, ‘time to say good night to Mommy.’ She put down her drink and took the girl from the amha. ‘Teddy, Cedric, this is Bunny, the centre of my universe. Say nighty-night to these folk, sweetie. Oh she’s a tired girl. I know you’ll understand if I go and put her to bed. By the time you finish your drinks I’ll be back down, and it will be time to go.’ ———————— The Oriental was a fine old hotel. Its ambience was one of restrained grandeur and good taste. But an exception to this was the entry lobby. Somehow things had gone astray here. Perhaps it was an ill-advised late addition, but someone had built an elaborate, and very kitsch, artificial oriental garden, complete with little ponds and trickling waterways, and little paved paths with tiny foot bridges. It was overdone and certainly out of character with the rest of the establishment. They arrived only a few minutes late for their booking at the illustrious Normandie Grill. Joanne, who of course worked at the nearby embassy, seemed to be known by the maître’d. The service, the food and the wine were all first-class. Probably for Joanne’s benefit, the wine waiter had made a point of mentioning the Australian wines on the wine list. Teddy was feeling more relaxed now after the Martini, and a couple of glasses of a very good Australian riesling. He was amazed how Terri seemed to be completely at ease in this sophisticated environment, yet didn’t lose her innate playfulness, laughing and mimicking the waiter’s fake French accent after he had gone.

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As they were being served a lemon sorbet between courses, Teddy asked, ‘You come from San Diego, is that right? What’s it like there?’ Terri gave a little frown, ‘Well, I guess San Diego is kind of home to me. I have spent more time there than anywhere else. What sort of place is it? You could describe it as a good navy town. Yes, that’s what it is, a good navy town.’ Teddy noticed that Terri didn’t smile as she said this. She had been watching two US Navy Officers, in their glamorous tropical whites, with two beautiful Thai girls, being seated at a nearby table. Teddy was becoming more and more interested in Terri. He wanted to learn more about her. ‘I know your husband is serving with the navy in Vietnam. What sort of job does he do?’ Terri put a spoonful of the icy sorbet into her mouth and let it melt away before answering. ‘That is the sixtyfour-dollar question. No one is meant to know what he is doing in Vietnam.’ She looked again at the two officers with the girls. ‘Least of all me.’ The frown had come back. Jo cut in quickly, ‘Hey chaps, Terri and I were hoping that we could go and have a look at the Patpong District tonight after dinner. We have been too frightened to go there un-escorted. We rather hoped that you two would do the honours tonight. How about it?’ ‘It would be our great pleasure,’ Cedric said graciously, then coyly added, ‘But we are by no means experienced guides. I mean, we haven’t been there ourselves.’ Terri jumped in, rolling her eyes and, with a mock Southern Belle accent, drawled, ‘I do declare, I never, for one minute, imagined that gentlemen like you would ever visit such a place.’ Then, changing her tone, ‘But let’s jist eat our vittles and git the heck down thar.’

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Teddy was enchanted. They shared another bottle of wine. And, when they had finished their dinner, Terri quite naturally took Teddy’s arm as they strolled down through the terrace garden to view the river in the moonlight. Cedric and Jo followed talking quietly. The velvet air was perfumed with frangipani and the river looked like molten silver in the moonlight. None of them even noticed the little chained monkey, watching them from high in his tree. As they left through the hotel lobby, Terri, taking Teddy playfully by the hand, led him up a pathway of the pretentious fake garden. They paused on a little bridge and looked down into one of the artificial pools. A little tortoise was trying in vain to climb out of the steep-sided pool, seemingly to join another tortoise that was lying on a ledge above. They watched it for a while. Every time it had almost made it, it would slip back into the pool again. Cedric and Jo had joined them now. Terri was visibly moved by the plight of the tiny creature. ‘Oh, the poor little thing, it just wants to be with its mate, but it can’t. It’s not fair.’ She quickly knelt and reached down into the pool, lifting the tortoise out. Still kneeling, she held it up in front of her face, between her and Teddy, and cooed softly to it, ‘There you go little guy, everything will be all right now.’ At that moment, whether through fear, or some natural reflex, the tortoise ejected a stream of liquid from its rear end, straight into the crutch of Teddy’s trousers. The two girls screamed with laughter. Cedric was embarrassed for Teddy’s sake, saying, ‘Oh dear me,’ and handing him his handkerchief. When Terri could control herself, she put the little tortoise down gently, beside the other one on the ledge. Teddy was dabbing at his stained trousers with the handkerchief saying, ‘It’s OK, it’s only water I think. It’s only water.’

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‘Water be damned, it’s tortoise piss,’ Terri said loudly. ‘It will stink to high heaven if you don’t get it off properly.’ She snatched the handkerchief from Teddy and wet it thoroughly in the clear water of a little waterfall. Then, still kneeling, commenced to scrub vigorously at the front of his trousers. Teddy was far too embarrassed to enjoy the situation. He tried to look casual. Please God, don’t give me an erection. Cedric just looked the other way and Jo was clutching the hand-rail of the bridge, still shaking with laughter. Terri looked up at Teddy and smiled, ‘I don’t usually do this on a first date. But we can’t have you walking down Patpong Road stinking to high heaven, can we?’ The Patpong District was a short taxi ride from the Oriental Hotel. It was named after a family that had owned the area in former times. It comprised two narrow streets that ran between Silom and Surawong Roads. It had long been the centre of the sex industry in Bangkok, but the Vietnam War, and the resulting influx of wellheeled American troops there for R.&R., had really set the place alight. The narrow streets were lined with shabby but neon-encrusted bars with names like ‘Crazy Horse’, ‘Number One’, ‘Sex Pussy’ and ‘Sorry About That’. Each bar had one or more noisy touts who enthusiastically accosted all who passed by. Business was booming and the touts were kept busy. The pavements were crowded with groups of young American servicemen, in all stages of inebriation, adopting varying attitudes. Some swaggered with macho confidence, heads up, chests out, others wandered tentatively, with skinny necks, Adam’s apples and big ears protruding. But they all shared a common goal: to get well and truly laid.

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The taxi dropped Teddy, Cedric, Terri and Joanne at the Silom Road end of Patpong 1. Terri and Joanne attracted a lot of attention. They held tightly to Cedric’s and Teddy’s arms. The eager touts didn’t hold back because of the two girls. C’mon in, c’mon in, young clean girls. Sex acts, you see girl open Coke bottle with pussy. Teddy and Cedric tried to adopt an attitude of aloof forbearance, but many of the bars looked disturbingly like their little Copacabana. By the time they had reached the Surawong Road end, the novelty had worn off, and the girls had seen enough. Jo had heard of a relatively respectable piano bar called Tony’s just along Surawong. They headed for it. It is said that if you put any three Filipinos together, you will have a band. Tony Aquila was a band in himself. His piano bar was crowded because he was good, very good. It was his charisma as much as his music. The bar was built around him, literally. The bar counter was shaped like a giant question mark, with Tony’s baby grand piano built into the curve. There were tables and chairs down the side wall and bar stools right around the bar, including some that were up against the curve of the piano. Teddy found himself seated on one of these stools next to Terri, and looking down into the smooth, smiling face of Tony Aquila. Tony was handsome, slick and well-groomed, a master jazz pianist and a talented singer, but more importantly, he knew how to work his audience. He was sharp, and summed people up as soon as they came in the door. He had been quick to notice the two gorgeous girls when they entered and gave a special smile up to Terri as he belted out the Rolling Stones hit, I Can’t Get No Satisfaction.

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Teddy was trying to sit on the stool in a way that would hide his stained crutch. Terri smiled back at Tony, who decided to play up to her a bit by being a little risqué.’ I can get no sex reaction, but I try and I try and I try and I try… Terri laughed and turned to Teddy saying, ‘He’s not bad, this guy. Could I have a bourbon on the rocks please?’ ‘Of course.’ Teddy turned to Joanne who was on the other side of him. She said she would have the same. Cedric, who was nearest the barman, ordered the three bourbons and a beer for himself. Tony’s piano playing was terrific and commanded their attention until the drinks came. Then Terri turned on her stool to face Teddy. She raised her glass and said, ‘Here’s to us Teddy. Here’s to opportunities.’ Her knee was touching his. ‘And to us opportunists.’ Teddy felt very relaxed now, and the bourbon felt good as it went down. The place was crowded with servicemen, all in civilian clothes, but unmistakable. A popular song at the time was The Ballad of the Green Beret, a tribute to the men of the Special Forces. Tony Aquila launched into his own raunchy version, The Ballad of the Green Bar Girl. The crowd seemed to love it, hooting and clapping in time. Silver wings upon her breast She only slept, with America’s best One hundred men, she’ll screw today That’s why they gave her the Green Beret. Teddy had noticed that two tall, leathery-looking men with extreme crew cuts weren’t clapping. They were sitting at one of the side tables. They both had the same strange cold look in their eyes. One of them went to get to his feet, the other held him by the arm and leant across

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to say something to him. They quickly finished their drinks, got up and left the place. Terri had noticed them, too. She leaned over and said to Teddy, ‘They were probably Special Forces people. Most of those guys take themselves very seriously. They’re trained to.’ She took another sip of her drink, ‘Look, I should know, I’m married to one of them. Dutch, my husband, is a Navy SEAL. He puts the service first, ahead of everything. They just don’t joke about it.’ She put her drink on to the bar and frowned thoughtfully down into it. ‘It’s funny you know, I vowed I would never marry a serviceman. I saw what sharing my dad with the service did to my mom. She always had to take second place.’ She looked at Teddy and smiled. ‘That wasn’t going to be good enough for this little gal. No cotton-pickin’ way was I going to spend my best years waiting around on my lonesome in goddamned navy bases for a husband who can only fit me in when the navy says so.’ She threw her head back and laughed. ‘Then I went and met Dutch on a surfing trip down in Mexico, in Baja California. He wasn’t in uniform and I didn’t know he was a navy man until it was too late. I’d already fallen for the son-of-a-bitch.’ ‘So the navy arranged for you to come out here to be near your husband, eh?’ Teddy asked. ‘Hell no! They wanted me to stay in Hawaii. Coming here was my idea. Even Dutch didn’t want me here. He’s serving in a spooky outfit called the “Junk Force”.’ The smile left her face. ‘He told me that he didn’t have the time to worry about Bunny and I. That he had to concentrate on trying to keep his people alive while they infiltrate the Vietcong.’ She sighed and the smile came back. ‘But hey, here I am. I saw an opportunity and I took

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it.’ She clinked her glass against his. ‘To taking opportunities Teddy, opportunities.’ ———————— It was nearly one-thirty in the morning when the taxi pulled up in front of their house by the klong. ‘You’re coming in aren’t you?’ Terri asked. ‘Well, if it’s not too late?’ Cedric said. ‘I will just tell the driver to wait a while.’ ‘Tell him to come back,’ Terri said then, once again mimicking Cedric, ‘at haalf-paast seven.’ No one spoke, there was just the rough sound of the beaten-up taxi engine chugging over. Cedric looked at Teddy, who was staring at the ground, then at Jo, who was looking up at the moon. He cleared his throat noisily, and said, ‘All right then, good show.’ The moon was over the klong now, dappling light through the trees on to the dark water. Fireflies flicked back and forth across the dark patches. Terri and Teddy were out on the verandah. Cedric and Joanne were inside, on a large carved settee, talking softly. Joanne had put one of Terri’s records on the player, a Johnny Mathis album. Terri looked absolutely beautiful in the soft moonlight, but Teddy felt strangely in control. He wasn’t at all sure what was going to happen, but him who knew it would be he that would decide what his part would be. Their hands were barely touching as they leant on the wooden hand-rail. They stood there for quite some time, just looking at the moonlight and listening to the soft croaking of the frogs, and the soft music coming from inside the house. ‘So this is what you meant,’ Teddy said, ‘about making the most of opportunities.’

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‘Uh huh,‘ she nodded, smiling. They continued to stand there in the moonlight, with the frog sounds and Mathis crooning. He reached over and removed her glasses. She smiled, amused at the way he folded them carefully, then didn’t know where to put them. Then there were sounds from inside the house. Joanne’s voice: ‘Bunny darling, what’s the matter?’ Joanne came out on to the verandah. She was holding little Bunny, who was sobbing softly. Cedric appeared, standing awkwardly behind them. Teddy thought he saw a tiny flicker of relief cross Terri’s face. She quickly took her glasses back, put them on, then took the child from Jo. ‘Sweetie, sweetie, what’s the matter? It’s all right honey, Mommy’s here.’ Teddy nodded to Cedric, who said a little too cheerfully, ‘It’s probably best that we go now. You put your little girl to bed. It has been a wonderful evening, but we have a big day tomorrow. It’s not far to the Rajah from here, we can easily walk.’ Terri smiled at Teddy, gave Bunny a kiss on her forehead, and took her to her bedroom. Joanne saw Teddy and Cedric to the door. As they left she stretched up and gave Cedric a peck on the cheek. Then, giving her beautiful white smile, slapped him playfully on the bottom, saying, ‘All right then, good show.’ It was a 20-minute walk back to the Rajah Hotel. They walked it in silence. As they entered the hotel Cedric gave Teddy a little punch on the shoulder saying, ‘We’ve a lot on our plate, old son. Things back there could have become very complicated, very complicated indeed. Teddy, I have an awful feeling that this project of ours could come terribly unstuck. There are so many

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things that can go wrong. We both need to be able to give it our total concentration, don’t we?’ Teddy nodded, ‘Yes, Ced, yes indeed. We have the chance to do something that is really worthwhile with our pavilion. That’s our really big opportunity I guess.’ ———————— The next morning Cedric had a meeting at the embassy. He took a taxi and Sumbart drove Teddy out to the fair site. When they met for lunch and a swim back at the Rajah, Ced looked a little shaken. ‘I saw Joanne at the embassy. She said that Terri’s husband, Dutch, arrived unexpectedly from Vietnam at four o’clock this morning.’

30 Challenge at the Rajah Bangkok, October, 1966.

IT HAD BEEN A frustrating morning at the pavilion. The air-conditioners hadn’t yet arrive and, even if they had, access would have been difficult. The fair site roads were still impassable to heavy vehicles due to the rain. There were still heavy downfalls every afternoon. Cedric and Teddy went back to the Rajah for their customary lunch and swim. As they entered the pool they noticed two young men sitting on the edge of the pool talking. Teddy noticed their American accents as he and Cedric dived in. The pool was a bit less than 20 metres long. They usually swam 10 or 15 laps while their lunch was being prepared. They both enjoyed the exercise, finding it relaxed them, easing some of the stresses that were steadily mounting with the project. Things weren’t going exactly as planned. The prolonged wet weather had slowed things down and everything seemed to be taking longer than they had estimated. They were already starting to fall behind schedule.

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Cedric was a much better swimmer than Teddy and, as usual, he pulled ahead pretty quickly. Teddy, looking through the water as he turned his head to breathe, noticed another person swimming alongside him. Teddy increased his speed, the other swimmer easily matched his pace, then pulled ahead, catching up with Cedric, who was about half a lap ahead. Teddy was puffed. He stopped and hung on the pool edge, getting his breath back. Ced did another lap, then swam back to join him. Teddy could see that the new swimmer was one of the two young Americans they had noticed earlier, who was continuing to swim laps. The other young man was lying on a banana lounge. Cedric and Teddy were eating their lunch when the swimmer climbed out of the pool adjacent to where they were sitting. He shook off some of the water and walked towards them. He was in his mid-twenties, with closecropped, sandy coloured hair. He was tanned and fit-looking, with an open, forthright face. ‘Hi. Look I hope I didn’t get in your way before, but it was just too much of a temptation to pace myself with you for a few laps.’ He held out his wet hand. ’My name’s Lance Pickwell. That guy over there is my buddy Phillip Prettes. We just checked in this morning. What’s this joint like?’ Phil Prettes had joined them and shook hands. ‘I hope you didn’t mind Tarzan here, he just can’t help himself, the competitive son-of-a-gun.’ Phil was a little slimmer and taller than Lance, with darker hair and a less open, more sensitive face. ‘Not at all, our pleasure,’ Cedric assured them. He and Teddy introduced themselves. ‘You guys are British, right?’ Lance asked. ‘Australian actually,’ Cedric answered.

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‘Ah, Aussies, great. We’ve met a few Aussies in ‘Nam,’ Lance said smiling. ‘So you’re in the services?’ Teddy asked. ‘Yes sir, we are in the US Coast Guard. Our boat, and two others, are here in Bangkok having some pretty major repairs done to them,’ Lance said, then added with a tinge of annoyance, ‘We figure we’ll be here for at least two weeks.’ Just for the sake of making conversation, Cedric inquired, ‘How are things going, over there in Vietnam? We hear that things are rather messy.’ Teddy noticed how Lance and Phil looked at each other for a second, then Phil looked away. Lance studied the paving slabs at his feet and answered, ‘Well, of course we only see our own little piece of the action, so it is hard for us to really say. But I think the general feeling is that we’re making progress.’ Phil turned back and, looking Cedric in the eyes, said, ’We are sure killing a lot of Asians over there, if that means progress.’ There was an embarrassing silence for a while, then Teddy said lamely, ‘Well, you can have a little break from it for a while now anyhow.’ God, ‘a little break from it’, how puerile that sounded. Desperate to change the subject, he explained to Lance and Phil what it was that he and Cedric were doing in Bangkok. As he did he felt rather dull and pedestrian. Compared with being on active service in a war zone, building a pavilion at a trade fair seemed tame. But when he mentioned his role as exhibition designer, Phil showed keen interest, and asked a number of intelligent questions. ‘As a matter of fact, Teddy,’ Phil said, flashing a quick look at Lance, ‘if I hadn’t joined the Coast Guard I would probably have studied architecture myself.’

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———————— After Teddy and Cedric had left, Lance Pickwell went back to swimming laps and Phil Prettes went back to sunbaking on the banana lounge. They were old friends. They had grown up together on the shores of Chesapeake Bay and had joined the Coast Guard together. Phil closed his eyes. He needed time to think, but was scared of where his thoughts might take him. He dreaded going back to Vietnam. He hated being out there, hated doing what they had to do. They had been told they would be running ‘search and rescue’ missions. That was a load of crap! ‘Search and destroy’, that was more like it. That wasn’t what they had volunteered for, no way! When the fibreglass sheathing was found to be peeling off the bottom of the cutter, and they had been ordered to go to Bangkok for repairs, he had seen it as a blessed reprieve. He just couldn’t understand why Lance would be impatient to get back to that insanity. He figured it must be something to do with his competitive nature. Lance had always been competitive. It was no surprise at all to Phil when Lance slipped into the pool just now to swim against those Aussies. When they were kids together, racing Snipe sailboats on beautiful Chesapeake Bay, Lance would sail aggressively, pushing for the best tactical position at the start of a race and giving no quarter. Even when they were being well and truly out-sailed, and in a hopeless position, he would never quit. Phil knew he was oversimplifying things, but in essence he felt his friend regarded what they were doing in Vietnam in much the same way as he would

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regard a major yachting regatta: something that could be won, a game to play and to do well at, and never to quit. He snapped his eyes open and sprang to his feet. His head spun a bit as he focused in the sunlight. ‘C’mon you slow-assed bastard,’ he yelled. ‘Let’s see if you can really swim.’ He took a running dive into the pool.

31 Tom Yum Noodles Bangkok, October, 1966.

AFTER SUMBART HAD DROPPED Cedric and Teddy off at the Rajah for lunch he turned the Holden to the right, down the little soi towards the river. The standard of the buildings on the soi deteriorated badly after leaving the Rajah. The shambling tangle of little shops and warehouses encroached into the narrowing laneway. He drove carefully. He mustn’t damage this car which had been entrusted to him. He liked this EH model Holden. He respected its strong, simple engineering. The big six-cylinder motor was powerful and the metal of its bodywork was thick and strong. Chatree had taught him that well-engineered machines deserved to be well cared for. The motor purred smoothly, that was good, but the column gearshift felt a bit sloppy. He would check it this evening. Where the soi met the river there was a little vendors’ market opposite a group of sagging shops. One of these

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shops had a canvas awning strung out in front over a few tables and chairs. It sold noodles. He parked the Holden opposite under a shady tree by the river’s edge. He came here most days when he took his charges to the Rajah for lunch. There was better, cheaper food elsewhere, but this area wasn’t too crowded and he was able to park the car close by, where he could watch it — that was essential. He wound all the windows down a little. It was important to keep the car as cool as possible for when he picked them up after lunch. He liked being by the river. Watching the flow of the water relaxed him. It gave him something to look at rather than always scanning passers-by as he did, always looking, always searching in the hope of finding her. Even when he was driving he searched for Suni. That’s why he wore the sunglasses. He drove carefully and steadily, but his eyes, hidden by the dark lenses, darted from side to side, always looking for her. He locked the car and walked across to the noodle shop, sitting down at one of the battered metal tables in the shade of the awning. The plump, middle-aged woman who ran the place moved towards him. ‘Hi Aunty,’ he wasn’t related to her but he used the friendly but respectful term. ‘The Tom Yum that I had yesterday wasn’t too bad, but how’s about a full serving today?’ She pulled a face at him. ‘You got enough yesterday, more than you deserve. It’s not as if you do real work. Dressing up in fancy white clothes and driving around in a fancy car is hardly work at all.’ She leant down on the edge of the table. ‘Who is it that you drive around anyway, farangs?’ ‘Yes Aunty, farangs, Australians.’ ‘Ah?’ She looked puzzled. ‘Australians Aunty, two men from Australia. They have come to work at the new trade fair that is being

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built.’ Sumbart could see that she hadn’t a clue about Australia. ‘Oh, I see. What are they like, these people?’ she asked, a little shyly. Sumbart thought for a moment. What were Mr Cedric and Mr Teddy like? He didn’t really know. They were polite and they seemed all right. ‘They’re OK I guess Aunty. Generally most people are all right, aren’t they?’ She gave a shrug. ‘You want iced coffee again, eh?’ ‘Yes please, and this time make it a full glass.’ She smiled and gave his shoulder a flick with her fingers as she went away. He looked across at the car and the busy river beyond. What were these two guys he drove around really like? As he had said, they seemed OK. He wasn’t sure what it was that they were doing. He had seen that they were building a structure out at the fair-grounds, but he didn’t understand what it was for. It seemed that Mr Devlin thought what they were doing was important. He had sensed they seemed to be worried about something. They were always polite, but sometimes he could feel the tension emanating from the back seat. He wished he knew more about what was going on. Aunty’s husband, a bald man as plump as his wife and wearing a sleeveless singlet and baggy shorts, brought the noodles. Sumbart noticed that his arms were speckled with the scars of countless spatter-burns from his cooking. The bowl was full to the brim. There was a spoon standing up in it and a pair of chopsticks lying across it. He put it down on the metal table-top, in front of the bottle of fish sauce and small bowls of dried chilli, vinegar and sugar. He wiped his hands on his singlet and said, ‘Ah, so you are working on that new trade fair thing, out along Petchaburi Road, are you?’

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‘That’s right’ Sumbart answered. ‘Ah, another of our government’s crazy follies.’ The bald man looked hot and tired. His brow wrinkled in a deep frown. ‘Why the hell do we need another marketplace? And way out there in the rice paddies? ‘It’s not a market-place, it’s a trade fair.’ ‘What’s a trade fair?’ Sumbart wasn’t sure what a trade fair was, but he said, ‘It’s quite different, it’s, it’s international for a start.’ The man just gave him a quizzical look and turned and went away. Sumbart shook a good dose of fish sauce into the steaming noodles. Then he sprinkled some of the dried chilli over it and stirred it all up with the chopsticks. Hmm, it was good. He’d had better at home, but it was pretty good. He thought about the bald man who made good noodles. Would this trade fair help him? How much would this country have to trade overseas before poor old baldy could ease up on slaving in that little kitchen? Did the benefits of international trade filter down to people like him? Sumbart didn’t really know, but he doubted it. He ate the noodles carefully. It wouldn’t do to spatter his white shirt or trousers with fish sauce. Hmm, they were good. A group of young girls giggled by. He thought of Suni again. He kept eating, but tasted nothing now. Where was she? What was she doing? Who was she with? Why had she done this to him? He had noticed that his feelings for her were slowly changing. What used to be pure longing was becoming spiced with tinges of hot anger. He didn’t like it. He needed to talk to Chatree. He couldn’t bear the thought of his love for Suni turning to hatred. He had written to Chatree but the abbot of the monastery had sent a note saying that Chatree needed to devote himself solely to his meditations. He would just have to wait until Chatree was ready to help him.

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Sumbart sprang to his feet. Two youths were leaning against the Holden, looking in through the gap in the driver’s window. ‘Hey, you two!’ he yelled loudly. ‘Get away from there.’ He moved towards them. They looked at him, amused at first. He was not as big as they were, but there was something about the way he was moving that persuaded them to saunter away. They had left greasy finger-marks on the glass, he would have to clean them off before he got back to the Rajah. He would give all the windows a wipe over to be sure. He glanced at the sky to the south-east. Monsoon clouds were forming. It would poor down again this afternoon. That didn’t matter, he would keep his car clean anyway. Aunty brought him the glass of iced coffee. It was full to the top with dark coffee and had about an inch of sweet condensed milk in the bottom. He smiled at her and said, ‘Australia, Aunty, is that big funny-shaped place way down below Indonesia on the map of the world.’ Aunty screwed up her face as she thought and shook her head. ‘Below Indonesia, eh? Poor things. Well, it has to be somewhere I guess. Everything has to be somewhere.’ She smiled at him. ‘How was the Tom Yum?’ Sumbart began to stir the sweet milk into the coffee with a chopstick. He thought of Suni again. Everything and everyone has to be somewhere. He looked up at her and smiled, ‘It was just beautiful Aunty, just beautiful.’

32 Number Ten Bangkok, October, 1966.

IT WAS GETTING DARK and the Metro Lights boys were packing up to leave. Teddy and Cedric were walking around the annex area, which was being used as a factory to build the exhibition components. They were finding it very hard to judge whether much progress was being made. Very little of anything seemed to be completed. There were jumbled heaps of plywood shapes and lengths of timber that they couldn’t identify. As they picked their way through the clutter, the burly Singaporean foreman, Ah Chung, hurried past, nodding and smiling. ‘How are things going Ah Chung?’ Cedric asked. ‘Are we making any progress?’ Ah Chung understood English well, but was shy speaking it. ‘Ah, good, good,’ he nodded vigorously and his broad, weathered face crinkled further with a smile. ‘We are velly good.’ He nodded some more, looking

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embarrassed, and hurried off. He was always in a hurry; they had never seen him not in a hurry. ‘Hmm, I wish I could be sure that was true,’ Cedric looked worried. ‘The trouble is that these people always say yes just to be agreeable.’ He shook his head and looked around the messy annex. ‘It is very hard to tell, but I think we are seriously behind schedule. The trouble is that we hadn’t scheduled the thing to be built here on site. We made the wrong assumption that all the components would be prefabricated in factories somewhere and just appear on site all nicely finished. But this,’ he waved his arms at the mess around them, ‘this has gummed us up terribly.’ Teddy could see that Cedric was really concerned. It wasn’t like him to make negative comments. ‘Well,’ Teddy said, trying to sound cheerful, ‘you were right Ced, when you warned me that they do things differently up here, but I think we should trust MrTan, he seems to know what he is doing.’ He was trying to convince himself, too, but a dreadful feeling of doubt was growing inside him. ‘Well, there is nothing we can do tonight,’ Cedric sounded a bit brighter. ’I will talk to Tan in the morning. Now I think that we deserve a swim, some dinner and perhaps a quick little drink afterwards.’ ———————— The Copacabana had become a part of their lives. More often than not Cedric and Teddy would stroll across after dinner at the Rajah and have a beer at the little bar with the lopsided air-conditioner. Cedric and Teddy were seated on their usual stools, sipping their beers and watching the swaying girls glowing in the dark on the little dance floor. Teddy was trying not to worry about the problems at the pavilion.

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He was thinking of the women labourers at the fair site and was trying not to be judgmental. He was reflecting on what set of factors would lead some girls to labour on building sites and others, no prettier, to work in places like this, when a plumpish girl with a flat face came slinking passed them, brushing her hands lightly across Cedric’s thighs, purring, ‘Haallow mistaar’. When he didn’t respond she slunk on towards the dance floor. Teddy noticed the look of concern on Cedric’s face. ’Oh come on Ced, don’t be like that. She’s only trying to make a living.’ ‘Oh I don’t mind that Teddy, not at all. It is just that it seems that it is always the, shall we say, the plainer ones who come and proposition you. It is never the really pretty ones.’ Teddy laughed, spluttering into his beer. Cedric continued seriously, ‘Take that tall popsy over there.’ He nodded across the dance floor to where a group of girls was leaning against the far wall, the UV lights just catching the sides of their faces. One girl, a little taller than the rest, looked quite beautiful in the half-light. ‘Girls like that don’t come brushing themselves up against you.’ ‘Well they don’t need to, I guess,’ Teddy said. ‘Just market forces at work. They know that they will be noticed. I mean, you noticed her.’ Teddy took another swallow of beer. He felt like teasing Cedric a bit. ‘Would you like her to come over here and talk to you, and perhaps have a drink?’ Cedric squirmed a little. ‘Oh, I don’t really think so.’ Teddy pushed like a schoolboy. ‘Come on Ced. You said she was pretty. How would you rate her?’ ‘Oh, I don’t know. I don’t want to get into that sort of thing.’ Cedric turned away to face the bar again.

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Teddy playfully dug him in the ribs. ‘Come on Cedric, you have been having a pretty good look at her. How would you rate her?’ Teddy was having fun. He drained his glass and gestured to Mama for two more. Cedric didn’t answer for quite some time, then decided to humour Teddy. He sighed and turned back for another quick look across the dark dance floor. ’Well, I think I would have to give her 10 out of 10 for looks.’ ‘Wow, 10 out of 10!’ Teddy took two big gulps of the fresh beer. He was feeling good. ‘Ten out of 10, that deserves a personal audience, I would say.’ He put down his drink and lurched to his feet. Cedric held him by the arm. ‘Where are you going?’ Teddy laughed and pulled free saying, ‘Little Miss Ten out of Ten deserves to meet her admirer.’ Cedric protested, ‘No Teddy, really,’ but in vain. Teddy wove his way around the dancing girls on the dance floor. He was tired and the beer had gone to his head. He was trying to think. How does that pidgin Thai work? Good things are Number One, that’s right I think. He was desperately trying to get his thoughts together when he found himself standing in front of the group of girls. On closer inspection, the tall one proved to be very special. Tall, slim and elegant, with long, lustrous hair almost down to her waist, she was very beautiful indeed. She lowered her beautiful eyes to the floor when he stood in front of her. ‘Er, um, my friend over there, my friend, er, he noticed you …’ All the other girls were leaning forward to hear what he was saying. His thoughts jumbled, Ced gave her 10 out 10 for looks. ‘He thinks that you, er, your beauty is, er, Number Ten.’ There was a terrible silence for a second or two, then all the girls shrieked with laughter. As soon as he had said

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it Teddy knew he had made a terrible mistake. The tall girl went ashen. Then, with her head bowed, she rushed through the girls on the dance floor and out through the rear of the Copacabana. As the commotion died down, Teddy returned to Cedric at the bar. ‘Well, mate, that went well, I think?’ Teddy said quietly. Cedric, rocking with laughter, gasped, ‘Teddy, you must have been taking lessons from those chaps from Foriegn Affairs. Such diplomacy.’ They finished their beers. As they were leaving, Teddy said to Mama, behind the bar, ‘If that tall girl comes back could you please say that I am sorry. I didn’t mean to offend her, I am just a stupid farang. Tell her that we think that she is very pretty —Number One. Do you know her well?’ Mama flashed her usual smile, ‘I not know her very well. She silly country girl, from a village in the north. I think her name Suni.’

33 Mama’s Interesting Friends Bangkok, October, 1966.

THE NEXT MORNING Cedric and Teddy met with Tan Cheoy Siang at the pavilion. They found a quiet shaded spot in the annex and sat on some packing cases. Cedric explained their worries to the Singaporean as calmly as he could. Cheoy Siang listened, staring at the floor from under his hooded eyelids, giving little nods of agreement from time to time. Then he looked earnestly at each of them in turn, saying softly, ‘Mr Lovejoy, Mr Brown, I appreciate your concerns, they are understandable. You are new to this region. But, I must ask you to trust me.’ He gave a tiny grin and looked away, embarrassed. ‘I care about this project, too. Perhaps as much as you do. It is a very demanding schedule, and to have any chance of meeting it we have to be able to operate in the ways that are tried and true to us. Please, just trust us. We are doing fairly

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well. Within the next few days you will begin to see things coming together.’ The sincerity of Mr Tan was so convincing that Cedric and Teddy could only nod in agreement. Teddy thought of Helmut, the model-maker. He had his own ways of doing things, which were puzzling to others, but he always delivered the goods. He hoped the Singaporeans would be the same. ———————— Tan Cheoy Siang was as good as his word. Over the next few days things did start to come together. Day by day the stacks of finished components, all hand-built on site, grew. But there were other serious problems. It soon got to the stage that Metro Lights was being held up by a lack of components, which were to be shipped from Australia, but had not arrived on schedule. These items included the dozens of acrylic hemispheres. These hemispheres were a vital part of the exhibition concept and fulfilled various functions, forming clear spherical showcases when two were fixed together, or acting as internally lit light-boxes when fitted with an acrylic disc, to take colour transparencies. When Cedric rang Clive Harris, the Bangkok-based shipping agent, complaining about these delays, he was told that it was due to the port’s policy of giving preference to vessels carrying war material. It seemed that the ship with the vital acrylic spheres on board had no war material, and had been kept out in mid-stream for nearly two weeks. Clive said he would meet Ced and Teddy at the Copacabana that night to discuss the matter. Clive was already there when they entered, brushing off the air-conditioner drips. He was hunched at the bar,

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talking earnestly to the wily old Mama. He ordered two more beers when he saw Ced and Teddy weaving their way towards him between the girls on the dance floor, who were swaying to Simon and Garfunkel’s Mrs Robinson. As Ced and Teddy climbed on to their familiar stools, Clive said, grinning, ‘I know you blokes like coming here to perv on the sheilas, but that wasn’t the reason for meeting you here. Cheers!’ Clive raised his glass to them and they all took a sip of beer. ‘Now, this vessel stuck out in mid-stream, I didn’t want to discuss it on the phone, or in my office. Look, there are “ways”, and there are ways, of doing things around here. We could go to the authorities and complain, but, quite frankly, even with a trunk full of Johnny Walker, we would be pushing shit uphill to get them to bring that vessel dock-side ahead of others that qualify.’ He took another long sip of beer and looked thoughtful. The jukebox was wailing and the girls continued to sway, the UV light making their smiles glow. Clive continued, ‘We could ask the authorities to organise lighters to go alongside our ship and unload that way. But, quite frankly, it could take weeks for the lazy buggers to do all their bloody paperwork. I mean, you try to stick a rocket up them and they just smile and say mai bpen rai, which means roughly, “She’ll be right!” or “It really doesn’t matter”. I mean, they will take your whisky, but they don’t necessarily perform. Look, don’t get me wrong, they aren’t crooks, they just think differently. Actually, I like the little buggers. In many ways they have a better handle on life than we do.’ Cedric put his glass down firmly on the bar saying, ‘Well, be that as it may, old man, it doesn’t help us, does it? We have to keep this project moving, we’re already

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dangerously behind schedule. The pavilion should be airconditioned by now, we can do damn all in there until it is, and the air-conditioners are still sitting on a ship somewhere in the river. The Metro Lights people are doing their damnedest to catch up and we can’t feed them the components from Australia. You shipping people are letting the side down. Really I ...’ ‘Hold on, hold on mate,’ Clive interrupted. ‘Like I told you, there are “ways” and there are ways. Look, we have come to the right place. Mama here has more connections than a boarding-house light socket. I’ve worked with her before.’ Clive smiled, and nodded to Mama, who was watching them while polishing glasses a bit further down the bar. Her wide, flat face flinched in return. Clive went on, ‘There are gangs of blokes, on the river, who are … well ... the locals call them”pirates”, although “smugglers” may be a bit more accurate. It’s a traditional occupation in these parts. Shonky merchants bribe the authorities and then hire these jokers to go out in their little boats to take off certain items of cargo before the vessel comes dock-side. Basically, it is just to avoid paying duty. In our case, the authorities won’t mind. All our stuff has “duty-free” status because of the trade fair, which is regarded as a bonded area.’ Clive winked at Teddy, and gave Cedric a playful dig in the ribs. ‘So there you go Cedric old mate. If you can organise a few bottles of Scotch to oil the works with the ship’s officers, and a few baht to pay Mama and her pirate friends, we should be able to have your stuff at the pavilion before you can say “Long John Silver”.’ Cedric didn’t say a word. He gave Teddy a stunned, blank look. Teddy looked earnestly at Clive, and said, ‘Come on Clive, is this really true, are you fair dinkum?’

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Clive lifted his glass and, looking steadily at Teddy over it said softly, ‘Yes mate, this is fair dinkum.’ Mama moved fast. It was all set up for the next night. Sumbart smiled as he helped Cedric load the two boxes of Scotch whisky into the boot of the Holden. Mama’s pirates were not all that expensive, even including Mama’s commission. Ced had spoken to Malcolm Devlin, who drew the cash as ‘shipping extras’. Clive Harris organised a truck to wait at the prescribed landing point, some distance downstream from the dock area. Sumbart drove Ced and Teddy there a little after midnight. Teddy would never forget the sight that met them when they arrived. The moon was almost full and it shone silver on to the wide river. The bank was high at this spot. A narrow foot track angled down to the low timber landing at the water’s edge. There was a cluster of dark shapes — small boats — against the landing. Amazingly, a long chain of giant silver beetles seemed to be crawling up the narrow track towards them, but when the first of these terrifying creatures reached the top of the path and moved into the dull amber lights of the waiting truck, Teddy could see what they were. Each of about 30 ‘pirates’ was carrying one of the 1-metre clearplastic hemispheres over his head and shoulders. In the moonlight they had looked like monstrous, iridescent insects. As, one by one, they carefully handed the plastic domes up into the truck, Teddy could see that Clive’s term ‘pirates’ described them well. They were swarthy, tough-looking men. They wore brightly coloured silk head-bands, sarongs tied like baggy pantaloons and loose, floppy shirts. Most of them carried in their waistbands large, nasty-looking knives. Mama certainly did have interesting friends.

34 Air-Conditioner Problems Bangkok, October, 1966.

THE AIR-CONDITIONERS HAD left Melbourne on schedule and the ship had arrived in Bangkok on the due date, however, things at the river port weren’t as they should be. The military build-up in the region had impacted heavily on shipping schedules, as had happened with the ship carrying the pavilion’s spheres. Vessels with cargoes that included military items were given docking priority while the others were made to anchor mid-stream in the river and wait their turn. This ‘military priority’ system would radically affect the critical logistics of the whole trade fair project. The air-conditioners had been held up in this manner for seven days. As it transpired, this was not a real problem. The real delay on the pavilion work was due to the prolonged wet season. The heavy rains lasted two weeks longer than average. This meant the waterlogged fairgrounds had little time to dry out. All the new, unsurfaced

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access roads remained quagmires, so no heavy equipment, requiring heavy transportation, could be brought in. This logistical bottle neck was of great concern to all the exhibiting nations participating in the project. Cedric, Malcolm Devlin and Clive Harris attended a series of heated meetings with the other interested parties and the Thai authorities. Much pressure was brought to bear on the authorities to open the roads as soon as possible. Clive Harris, who had experience in these matters, advised against rushing things, but louder voices prevailed and the authorities allowed some heavy vehicles access. This was a disaster, as the trucks quickly became bogged to their axles and the recovery operation churned up the roads terribly and delayed eventual access by more precious days. All this meant that the all-important air-conditioning units were delayed by a full three weeks. To supervise the installation of the units, the airconditioning company sent Stanley Blizzard. Stan had worked for the company for more than 30 years and was in his sixties and due for retirement. He had never been overseas so management had thought the trip to Bangkok would be some sort of reward for his long and faithful service. Small and wiry, with a tanned face and silver hair and mustache, Stan was a good choice. He was an expert on this kind of air-conditioning installation. ———————— Stan Blizzard’s beer was getting warm even though he put it in the shade on the pool-side table. It wasn’t just the sunlight that you had to worry about in this place, it was the high ambient temperature and the stinking humidity. He knew about these things.

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It was a nice little pub, the Rajah, Stan liked it. But he wasn’t good at lounging around swimming pools. He was getting impatient as he watched that pommie Cedric and the hippie designer bloke Teddy have their lunch-time swim. He wished they would hurry up. He wanted to get on with the job. He had been with the company since the 1930s, all his working life. There was little he did not know about this type of air-conditioner. He had nurtured these particular models along since the design engineers upstairs had sent down the drawings. It was only fitting that the company had sent him across to install these ones in Bangkok. Life hadn’t held much for him since Gwen died. They had married a year after he started with the company. Life with her had been everything a man could want, but the cancer had taken her three years ago. They had always planned to travel, not to Asia, but to England and Scotland, where her parents had come from. She treasured an old watercolour print of purple heathercovered hillsides, with beautiful Loch Lomond in the background. Her mother had given it to her. The work was rendered in soft, transparent washes. The artist had deftly caught the effect of sunlight on distant hills where there seemed to be the ruins of an old castle or something. They could never quite make it out. Gwen used to say how she and Stan would go there together some day and see what that distant building was. But he would never go there now, not without Gwen; they had shared those dreams for too long for him to go alone. Asia was different though; they had never even thought about going there. Now here he was in Bangkok. Crikey, what a place, what a mess. The two weeks he had to wait while the units were being unloaded seemed like a lifetime. The Trade Commissioner, Malcolm Devlin, had

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been very nice to him. He invited him home for dinner a couple of times and his wife Anne took him on a guided tour of some temples and a floating market. But Bangkok was not for him: the heat and the humidity for a start, and the pong of the place, the traffic and the confusion. No, Bangkok was certainly not for him. He liked Cedric and young Teddy. They had taken him to their favourite little bar. The place was overchilled; someone should take a look at their thermostat. It was too dark, a man could hardly see his hand in front of his face. And the place was crawling with young girls, young enough to be his granddaughters. No, it was really not for him, but the beer was all right and the fat old girl behind the bar had a nice smile. The air-conditioner installation at the pavilion should have been very simple. The six units were fitted into the cavities left in the perimeter walls and bolted on to the concrete footings already there for them. Then it was just a matter of connecting the electricity and water supply. Stan knew the company and the consultants had specified very carefully what the power and water supply requirements were. Malcolm Devlin had passed these requirements on and negotiated costings with the Thai Fair Authorities. The supply of these services to the new fair-grounds, however, had not been easy and had slipped badly behind schedule. This was partly due to the prolonged wet season and partly to the priorities given to military projects. But it was mainly due to the mai bpen rai attitude of the Thais; it really doesn’t matter ... But to Stan Blizzard, it really did matter. The air-conditioners required the supply of a large volume of water, at a fairly high pressure, for them to work properly. When Stan connected the first unit up,

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there seemed to be a reasonable flow of water, but by the time he had connected the second and third units, the water flow had reduced to a mere trickle. The promised water supply was just not there. They were in real trouble. Malcolm complained to the Thai authorities and was smilingly assured that the matter was being addressed, and the problem would soon be solved. In the meantime, they could not turn on the air-conditioners, which meant that work inside the pavilion would remain heavily curtailed. Without air-conditioning, the pavilion was a broiling black oven. By starting work early in the mornings, the Asian Constructions team finally finished the flooring on the ramped walkways and the mezzanine floor. They had to work in short relays of about 30 minutes each. With great effort they did get it done, but this was simple and straightforward work; the work the Metro Lights boys had to do was complicated and required cool heads and patience. It was just not possible in those broiling conditions. Stan could tell that Teddy was becoming very worried about having the time to complete the feature Water Map, the huge suspended glass screen with the map of South-East Asia formed with the bronze and brass industrial off-cuts. This really had to be done inside the building near to where it would hang over the pool. Cedric and Teddy finally finished their swim and stood by Stan, drying themselves. Stan thought they looked worried. ‘What’s it like in?’ He asked. ‘Wonderful, Stanley, wonderful. You should join us,’ Cedric smiled. ‘Not bloody likely mate. A man could catch anything in there. I wouldn’t trust that filtration system

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one bit.’ Stanley shook his head emphatically. The real reason was he had never been a swimmer and was ashamed of the fact that he could barely stay afloat. He was cranky and feeling a bit flustered. ‘Stan, I have been thinking,’ Teddy said from under the towel he was drying his long hair with. ‘Is there any way possible we could get even one air-conditioning unit working up near the front of the building?’ He draped the towel around his neck and looked questioningly at Stan. Stan did what he often did when he was flustered and not sure of his ground. He resorted to throwing up a smokescreen of technical jargon. This usually gave him time to think things through. What young Ted was suggesting wouldn’t be easy. Not by a long shot. He went on and on about condensation rates and pressure fluctuations and anything else that gave him time to think. He noticed that Cedric, who had sat down at the table where their lunch had been set out, was giving him a dirty look. Then suddenly, Cedric, whose face had turned crimsom, crashed his fist down on to the plastic table top. Coffee splashed and spoons rattled. ’Gobbledegook! Gobbledegook! We ask you for help and all we get is gobbledegook! You stupid old fool, this is serious, we have to do something.’ Cedric was quivering with rage. He started collecting his coffee-splattered files as if to leave. Stan wasn’t fazed. He had begun to get things sorted in his head and he understood that blokes had to do their blocks now and again. His grey mustache bristled, as he replied firmly, ‘Hold on! Hold on! Don’t get your knickers in a knot, I was just trying to explain how these units work. I didn’t say we couldn’t do anything.’ Cedric quietened down, but Stan could see he was breathing heavily.

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He continued, ‘Do you think that this “stupid old fool” just sits around playing with himself? Believe it or not, I have been giving this some thought and have done some tests. I think there is enough water to get one unit going. The building is at its coolest in the early morning, just before sun-up. If I turn one of the front units on three or four hours before that, it should get enough of a head start to keep that section bearable until early afternoon I reckon.’ ‘Great, if we start work early, too, that should give us a chance to get things moving,’ Teddy said eagerly. Stan’s wrinkled brow wrinkled some more as he said, ‘Now if we are just running one unit, it is not just a simple matter of pushing a button to switch it on. I’ll have to be there to override some of the built-in safety features. And I’ll have to stay with it all the time. It will be running at full capacity and will probably overheat from time to time. This will trip out the circuit-breaker. So I’ll need to start it up again.’ ‘So that will mean you’ll have to start at three or four in the morning and stay there until the afternoon.’ Teddy looked at the frail Stanley. ‘Can you handle that?’ Stan didn’t answer, but rolled his eyes in the disbelief that Teddy should even ask. Cedric looked at Stan and stammered, ‘Ah, about what I said ...’ Stan cut him short sternly, ‘Look, it may not frigging well even work.’ Then, looking pointedly at Cedric, ‘But if it does Cedric, you can buy me a beer or three at that freezing black hole you blokes go to. You know — that coconut-banana joint.’ Missing out on sleep meant nothing to Stan Blizzard. He had come to hate bed. He hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since Gwen died. Gwen’s death had been

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a nightmare for him, and he relived it every night. Dear, dearest Gwenny, who had been so brave, but had suffered for so long in her hot, moist bed of ever-increasing pain. But that dear smile never left her, even when the bed sores came she still had that wonderful smile for him. He had bought her a pink lambswool under rug, but it didn’t seem to help the bed sores much, though she smiled and said that it did. He relived every detail of her suffering, every night. No, he didn’t mind not sleeping.

35 Hand Grenade Chicken Bangkok, October, 1966.

THE HOLD-UP OF THE air-conditioners and the setback due to the inadequate water supply was a terrible worry to Teddy and Cedric, who were eager to push on with installations within the pavilion. Stan Blizzard’s idea to get at least one unit working was very encouraging. To celebrate this, they decided to try somewhere other than the Rajah for dinner that night. Stan declined the invitation to join them, saying, ‘I’ll give it a miss thanks mates. My stomach has only just come to terms with the tucker at this pub. I don’t want to risk another run of the galloping trots thanks very much.’ There was another hotel right on the corner of Sukuvit Road and Nana Soi 4, The Krungtep. Teddy and Cedric had walked past it on the way to the Copacabana. The Krungtep had a large coffee shop that fronted the busy intersection. It seemed to be always busy and filled with US servicemen.

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Teddy and Cedric often wondered why this coffee shop was so busy when the one in their Rajah Hotel was always quiet, used only by the guests who were staying there. Perhaps the food was better at the Krungtep. It was quite late, nearly midnight, when they entered the large, noisy, smoke-filled room. The place was crammed with young Americans and pretty Thai girls. As they were ushered to a table for four in the centre of the room, and past tables with crew-cut, tanned young men entangled with eager, attentive young girls, Cedric said over his shoulder to Teddy, ‘I don’t think it’s just the food that is the attraction here, old chap.’ They sat down and were handed large glossy menus. Obviously this establishment had geared itself to attract the burgeoning R. & R. market. All the dishes on the luridly illustrated menu were given quasi-American military names: Flame-Thrower Chilli, Torpedo Dogs, Chopper Turkey Sandwich and Hand Grenade Chicken. They ordered two serves of the chicken. They had heard of Hand Grenade Chicken before. It was fried chicken that had been chopped up with a meat cleaver into small bite-size pieces, served on saffron rice. Because of its splintered appearance, the troops had given it that name. It was served to them in less than a minute. Teddy was wondering why, with the place so crowded, the manager had given them a table for four. This question was quickly answered. Two girls seemed to appear from nowhere and, in one smooth movement, each stroking a languid hand across Teddy’s and Cedric’s shoulders, with cooing ‘haallows,’ they seated themselves in the two empty chairs. Teddy and Cedric didn’t know what to do. They hadn’t expected anything like this. As if to a practiced routine, the two girls reached across the table to take the

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men’s hands. Teddy and Cedric jerked their hands away, clasping them in their laps like two prim old maids. Teddy said softly to Ced, ‘I guess this is all part of the cover-charge. What should we do now?’ Cedric didn’t have time to answer. Two large, toughlooking African Americans loomed out of the crowd, bent low over their table and started loudly haranguing the two girls. They were both very agitated. They spoke in the ugly ‘Pidgin Thai’ that had developed between the military visitors and the local populace. Loud words were spat back and forth, with Teddy and Ced being the obvious focus of the black men’s annoyance. The larger of the two gestured towards Teddy, snarling a torrent of words. Teddy picked out ‘number 10 honky motherfucker shit’. The altercation at their table had become the centre of attention. Other conversation had ceased at the neighbouring tables and people were watching with amusement. Teddy leaned back in his chair, asking a nearby young man with a blond crew-cut, ‘What’s this about? What are these guys saying?’ The young soldier leant across and said in Teddy’s ear, ‘Look buddy, it’s better that you don’t know what these dudes are saying. Don’t take it personally. It’s got nothing to do with you really. These guys are pissed that those chicks had refused to sit down with them because they are black, and then came and sat down with you guys. Don’t get excited, just eat your supper, OK?’ Cedric was looking very stern. Teddy caught his eye and gestured that he should stay calm. Trying hard to look casual himself, he continued to eat his chicken. The larger of the two black men, a fierce-looking guy in a black t-shirt with a heavy chain of brass cartridge cases around his neck, and with two tooled leather wrist-bands,

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suddenly thumped the table loudly with a huge fist. Teddy jumped with fright and swallowed the chunk of chicken that was in his mouth. He hadn’t chewed it or removed the little piece of splintered leg bone. It stuck firmly in his throat. At first, he thought he could clear it. He swallowed again, hard. It didn’t budge. It was above his windpipe so he couldn’t breathe. He panicked. He threw his fork down into the plate with a loud clatter. He tore off a piece of bread roll and tried to swallow that, but it wouldn’t go down. He gagged and spluttered. Cedric had stood up and was thumping him hard on the back. He still couldn’t breathe. He was consumed by panic and despair. He was going to die. He would never see the gold panels go on to the pavilion. He would never see his children again. His life would end here, among the Torpedo Dogs and the Flame-Thrower Chilli. The room started to spin. The black man with the necklace moved quickly. Pushing Cedric out of the way, he hoisted Teddy to his feet. He grasped him from behind, his powerful arms around Teddy’s ribs, his hands clenched together just under his diaphragm. He gave three hard, savage jerks, lifting Teddy’s feet off the floor each time. The chicken bone and the piece of bread came up and out on to the table. Air sucked down into Teddy’s lungs. The black man lowered Teddy gently back down into his chair. With one hand steadying Teddy by the shoulder, he reached across and handed him a glass of water. ‘Are you OK man? Here, drink this. You may have scratched up your gullet a mite. Just take it easy man, OK?’

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Cedric took the big man’s arm, ‘Hold on old chap, that was wonderful, you ...’ The man jerked his arm free and gave a dark scowl to the two girls, who looked stunned and frightened. He gave a little nod to his companion and they both stalked out of the crowded coffee shop.

36 Fitting the Cladding Panels Bangkok, October 20, 1966.

MALCOLM DEVLIN CELEBRATED THE arrival of the bronze cladding panels on site by inviting Cedric and Teddy to lunch on the terrace of the Oriental Hotel. The ship bringing the precious panels had docked on schedule, with no hold-ups. They planned to start fitting the panels to the pavilion walls as soon as possible. ‘I can hardly believe the panels are actually here,’ Teddy said. ‘After all the other hold-ups in the port, it’s incredible that they have arrived on time.’ Cedric smiled, saying, ‘Well, you will soon have it Teddy, your long-awaited Golden Pavilion.’ Teddy noticed Sumbart snap his head around and give them a quick look. This was unusual. Their careful young driver usually never took his eyes off the road. ’What is it Sumbart?’ Teddy asked. ‘Nothing Mr Teddy, nothing,’ Sumbart answered softly, as he drove them between the garish bars and massage parlours of Petchaburi Road.

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The first truck arrived mid-morning. The panels had been carefully packed, nested together with sheets of soft wax-paper between each pair, then packed in sturdy coffin-like crates. These crates were designed to be easily carried by four men, so that they could be readily dispersed around the pavilion, minimising unprotected handling. The special fixing brackets, four to a panel, were of three different sizes. These brackets had to be sorted carefully into their groupings so the workers could bolt the appropriate brackets to the panel’s angled edges, ahead of the teams that would fix them to the walls. All of these workers were supplied with white cotton gloves so that the panels would remain in pristine condition when fixed in place. This would take time to organise before the first panels could go up on to the building. When Cedric and Teddy saw the teams supplied by Asian Constructions to carry out this work, they realised they would need a great deal of supervision. They were robust, smiling young boys, straight from the paddy fields. Only the wizened old foreman had any ability to read the drawings. Cedric decided that they, themselves, would have to put up the first batch of panels to set the pattern these unskilled boys could follow. This was arranged to be done early the next morning, when it would be cool. In the meantime, the crates would be unloaded and dispersed, and some sections of bamboo scaffolding put together. Just before they were due to go to meet Malcolm for lunch, Teddy had a crate opened. He was impatient to have a look at the panels. Sumbart was standing nearby ready to drive them to the Oriental Hotel. Teddy thought this a bit unusual. Sumbart usually waited by the car, talking to the soldier guards. He had never shown much interest in the pavilion before. Now, as a worker

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unscrewed the top of the crate, Sumbart removed his dark sunglasses to get a better look. Teddy, to set the example, had put on a pair of the white cotton gloves. He gently removed the wax-paper wrapping and carefully lifted the first panel out of the crate, and stood it up vertically on its bottom edge. The bright sunlight struck the panel’s gold face and flashed into the watching Sumbart’s eyes. He spun away quickly and, dazzled, walked slowly away towards the car. Teddy hadn’t noticed, he was staring at the panel. It was magnificent. He studied it for some time, not saying anything, then he laid it gently back into the crate. Cedric touched him gently on the shoulder, ‘Come on old man, we’re late. I think young Sumbart is getting a bit edgy, he’s waiting at the car.’ They were about 10 minutes late getting to the Oriental. Malcolm was at his customary table out on the terrace, sipping a gin and tonic. ‘Sorry we’re late,’ Teddy said as the waiter seated them. ‘It was my fault entirely. I just had to have a play with our new toys.’ ‘I quite understand. No problem,’ Malcolm smiled back. ‘I have been happy to sit here and watch my little friend.’ He nodded towards the bottom of the garden. Cedric and Teddy looked where Malcolm had indicated. A little brown monkey was swinging back and forth on a chain from a tree by the river’s edge. ‘I’ve watched him for months now, every time I come here. He seems to be in a particularly happy mood today. That is not usual for him, he must have heard about the panels arriving.’ Malcolm laughed, and raised his glass in salute towards Teddy. Teddy liked Malcolm. William had been right, Malcolm was a good man and was totally supportive of the pavilion concept. He was always positive and encouraging, and did everything in his power to help.

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‘It’s funny, you know, but that little monkey seems to reflect my state of mind when I come here. If I am tired or depressed, he seems to just sit quietly in the tree looking pretty gloomy. But sometimes, like today, when I am happy about something, he seems to be clowning around enjoying himself.’ Malcolm put his drink down, and went on in a more serious tone, ‘Anyway, I didn’t invite you to lunch today to talk about monkey business. I wanted to take the opportunity to have a quiet, off-the-record chat to catch up with how the project is going from your point of view.’ The attentive waiter, in his traditional dress, took their lunch orders. Cedric explained to Malcolm how the prolonged wet season had lost them two full weeks, and how they were still falling behind schedule due to the appalling working conditions created by the lack of airconditioning in the pavilion. ‘I don’t want to be a panic merchant,’ Cedric said, fiddling with the heavy cutlery in front of him, ‘but I have a very uneasy feeling about this project. Believe me, set-backs are normal, and we can usually rise above them one way or another.’ He flashed a quick look at Teddy. ‘But this one is different. The design, well it is very complicated, and its success relies on us achieving a high degree of finish. Even with no hold-ups and everything going for us, it would have been very testing. But now, well, I just don’t know.’ As they ate Cedric explained how he would reassess the priorities for the project so that the essential elements were done first and the least vital items were given attention later. Malcolm listened quietly, without comment then, at the end of the meal, he sat back in the cane chair and said earnestly, ‘This project just has to be a great success, for all the obvious reasons.’ He paused and looked

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thoughtfully down towards the monkey tree, then added, ‘And for other reasons as well.’ He turned back to them, looking serious. ‘It’s important that if you have any problems, any problems at all, you tell me about them. Things work in very mysterious ways in this place. I have been around long enough to have learned a few of the, let’s call them tricks of the trade. But it is vital that you inform me of problems, unofficially if you like, in time for me to be of help. Do you understand that?’ They both nodded, then Malcolm gave a wide smile and, nodding towards the monkey tree said, ‘Look at the little devil now, will you.’ The little monkey was sitting solemnly on a high branch, perfectly still, staring down towards them. The wide, khaki river hummed and throbbed behind him. ———————— Cedric had a meeting scheduled at the embassy that afternoon, so Teddy went back to the pavilion with Sumbart. It was Teddy’s practice to sit in the front seat with Sumbart when he was by himself. This was the Australian way, but it made Sumbart uneasy. In fact, someone on the embassy staff had reported seeing Sumbart driving with a female companion in the front seat of the embassy car. This was, of course, Teddy with his unusually long hair. Sumbart had explained his way out of the accusation, but he was too shy to mention the matter to Teddy. They usually drove in silence unless Teddy asked a question of Sumbart, so Teddy was surprised when the neat little driver asked, ’Is it true what Mr Cedric said, Sir, about you building a Golden Sala — a Golden Pavilion?’ Teddy was taken aback by the question. Before today Sumbart had not shown the slightest interest in

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what they were building; he had seemed to just concentrate on being an impeccably good driver. Teddy answered carefully, ‘Not really “Golden”, Sumbart. But it will look pretty much like gold.’ Something about Sumbart’s expression told Teddy that his answer was not sufficient, so he added, ’I guess you could say that, to some of us, it may as well be made of real gold; it means an awful lot to us.’ Sumbart, in his immaculate white uniform, and his dramatic dark sunglasses, could barely see over the dashboard of the Holden. He looked straight ahead, gripping the wheel firmly, and asked softly, ‘This Golden Pavilion, it is important to you, sir, and to Mr Cedric?’ ‘Yes Sumbart, very important,’ Teddy answered. Sumbart continued to look straight ahead, but said in a tone Teddy had not heard before, ‘Then sir, we will do everything we can to make it perfect.’ During that afternoon Teddy saw to it that the crates of panels were dispersed around the perimeter of the building, while at the same time answering any queries the Metro Lights team had, as they continued to forge ahead with the manufacture of the exhibition components. Teddy’s respect for Tan Cheoy Siang grew. He continued to be impressed by the Singaporean’s methodical approach and cheerful attitude. Sumbart didn’t wait with the soldiers at the car park as he usually did, but followed Teddy around the site, watching everything that was happening. Teddy was watching a group of the Thai workers assembling a bamboo scaffolding structure to be used to fix the cladding panels to the nine-metre-high walls. He was fascinated by the way the slender bamboo poles were bound together using a simple loop of raffia cord fitted with a short bamboo toggle. The young Thai workers

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would cleverly loop the raffia around the joint, twisting it tight with the bamboo toggle and quickly locking the toggle in place by pushing it back into the binding. The scaffold was about nine metres high, about the same in length, and about five metres wide. It was designed to be moved around the pavilion as the cladding panels were fixed. Teddy noted that the structure had a reasonable number of triangulated bracings, but the whole thing still looked very flimsy. As he was watching the scaffolding being put together, Teddy was joined by Tan Cheoy Siang. The Singaporean, seeing the frown on Teddy’s face, said, ‘Don’t worry Mr Brown, these boys know what they are doing.’ Teddy turned to him and said, ‘Well, I hope so. It all looks pretty wobbly though.’ ‘Ah, yes,’ Cheoy Siang said, ‘but that is its strength. Bamboo is a wonderful material.’ He smiled at Teddy, pausing as he thought for a moment. ‘Bamboo is very “Asian”. It is an integral part of our culture. It is in our art and in our philosophies. It may bend, but will not break, and then it will spring back into its former position. It is said that there is much to be learned from the humble bamboo.’ Cheoy Siang thought for a while more, then continued, ‘The raffia bindings, too, we can learn from them. They are light and flexible, and they can be tightened to an extreme degree, but they are soft and will never bruise or split the bamboo. They are strong but sympathetic, very “Asian”. You have no need to worry Mr Brown.’ Although Teddy didn’t say anything as he looked at the towering scaffold, he thought that perhaps the whole thing was indeed like the Asia of these times. It gave the

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impression of being very unstable, and if too many people were to climb to the top it might very well all topple over. Very Asian indeed. Sumbart picked them up at the Rajah early the next morning. Teddy noticed a difference in his demeanor. He didn’t wait shyly out by the car, but came confidently into the lobby and waved to them as they finished their breakfast in the coffee shop. As they drove to the pavilion, Teddy discussed with Cedric the importance of the workers wearing the white cotton gloves that had been provided. The panels had been given a ‘linished’ finish, that is, they had their surfaces brushed with a rotating wire brush. Then they had been given a thin coat of a clear protective lacquer. Teddy was worried that the sweat from the hands of the workers might somehow eat through the lacquer and tarnish the beautiful metal surface. He voiced his concern to Cedric. ‘I know we have bought enough cotton gloves, but I am worried that those boys won’t be disciplined enough to always wear them.’ ‘Well, we will just have to set the example ourselves and wear them this morning, and hope that they get the message,’ Cedric answered. Sumbart turned around to Teddy and said, ‘Don’t worry Mr Teddy, I will tell them to wear the gloves at all times.’ Surprised at Sumbart’s interjection, Teddy said, ‘Well, thank you Sumbart, but just telling them may not be enough.’ Without taking his eyes off the road, Sumbart said in the strange tone he had used the day before, ‘Don’t worry Mr Teddy, I will tell them.’ When they arrived at the pavilion the bamboo scaffolding was ready, standing in place at the front of the

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building. To Cedric and Teddy it looked quite mediaeval, like some sort of old siege tower that was used to breach the walls of castles, certainly not the sort of thing used to assemble a sophisticated trade fair pavilion. The rag-tag gang of workers lounging around at its base looked equally out of character. As they walked from the car park Sumbart strode on ahead. Teddy and Cedric watched in wonder as, drawing himself up to his full height, he barked out something in Thai to the languid gang of boys. They all got to their feet, including the wizened old foreman, and seemed to be paying keen attention. Cedric turned to Teddy and said, ‘Sergeant Sumbart.’ He had heard from Malcolm Devlin about Sumbart’s army background. Sumbart had noted where Teddy had got the gloves from the day before. He strode purposefully to the crate and dramatically pulled a pair of the snowy white gloves out. Strutting back, he proceeded to put the gloves on, while barking instructions to the young men who seemed to be taking it all in. When he had finished Sumbart walked over to Ced and Teddy and said, ‘These boys will wear the gloves as you wish, Mr Teddy.’ Then he looked at the ground and thought for a moment before continuing, ‘I know these people, I know how to talk to them. The old one is a good man, but he is a bit stupid. He will not understand your words, but will pretend to.’ Sumbart looked at Teddy and said more softly, ‘Sir, you are too gentle. These boys are good boys, but, if you are gentle with them, they will just be happy and sanuk, have fun. Please believe me Sir, I know how to talk to them to make them work properly. Please sir, let me help build this Golden Pavilion.’

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Teddy was moved, and didn’t quite know how to answer. Sumbart’s job was to be their driver, nothing more was expected from him. Teddy didn’t know what the embassy would think of Sumbart becoming involved with anything other than driving. ‘Sumbart, you are already helping a great deal by driving us around; that is a very important job.’ As he said these words he could see Sumbart’s squared shoulders start to droop slightly. He snatched a quick look at Cedric, who gave a little nod. ‘But if you were to be just waiting around here for us anyway, and it did not interfere with your job as driver, it would be a great help if you could help us instruct these men. Thank you Sumbart.’ Sumbart stood up straight again, and answered with military formality, ‘Thank you Mr Teddy. Thank you Mr Cedric.’ They had decided to set the example by starting to fix the panels at an upper corner of the front wall first. This, of course, would mean working from the top of the rickety scaffolding. With Sumbart’s help they made sure that the old foreman understood which of the fixing brackets were to be bolted on to which of the panels, and were interested to note how adept Sumbart was at demonstrating the nuts and bolts and spanner. Finally everything was ready for the first panel to go up. They had all donned the snowy white gloves. Sumbart had organised a group of boys to position themselves below Teddy and Ced on the scaffold, to pass the panels up. All was ready. They stood at the base of the towering structure, Teddy looked at Cedric, and, trying to sound as ‘Royal Air Force’ as possible, said brightly, ‘Tally-ho old boy, up and at ‘em.’ Reaching up with his gloved hand, he took an exuberant leap up the scaffolding. The new cotton glove didn’t grip the silky

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smooth bamboo cross member, it slipped off. His foot missed its target and Teddy fell flat on his back in the dust. Peals of laughter came from the watching boys, including Sumbart. Cedric helped the embarrassed Teddy to his feet, trying not to get their new gloves dirty. ‘Don’t worry Teddy, they are not laughing at you, they are laughing at the misfortune. It is the Thai way of things, they don’t mean to be rude.’ ‘That’s not what really worries me. It’s these damn gloves, they could prove to be a real problem. They are bloody slippery, everyone will have to be very careful with them.’ They climbed with less exuberance, very carefully, to the top of the scaffolding. It swayed sickeningly. This was not going to be easy. They had to screw the fixing brackets of the panels to the vertical timber battens that were already on the building. The panels had to be perfectly aligned, using a weighted plumb-line. All this was very precise work, and it had to be done wearing slippery gloves while clinging to the rickety, swaying structure. The smiling boys passed the first panel, with the brackets attached, up the scaffolding, with Sumbart barking sharp orders. The panel was extremely hard to grip with the cotton gloves. It soon became apparent that the only safe way to hold the panels was by the fixing brackets. This, of course, raised the question of whether the gloves were really necessary at all. Cedric and Teddy found it extremely difficult to hold the panel accurately in position against the wall, while clinging desperately to the scaffold. They had trouble drilling the screw holes accurately into the hard, warped timber of the battens, and kept dropping the

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screws because of the cotton gloves. Although it was not yet eight o’clock, they were sweating profusely, fumbling and getting in each other’s way. By the time they had fixed the first three panels, each on different-sized brackets, an hour and a half had gone by. At that rate, one panel each half-hour, they would need more than one team to get the whole building clad in the time available. But the pattern had been set, and the Thai fixing team had something to follow. With Ced and Teddy watching, and the occasional barked instruction from Sumbart, the Thai boys put up the next three panels in just on an hour, and looked like they would get faster with practice. Their panels were just as plumb and straight as the first three, with not one finger mark to be seen. The multi-level pattern was visually very forgiving and disguised the discrepancies caused by the warped, uneven walls of the building. By midday enough panels had gone up for Teddy to feel sure that, with Sumbart as watchdog, all would be well with the pavilion cladding. ———————— After Sumbart had driven Teddy and Cedric back to the Rajah for lunch, he hurried down the soi towards the river, to Aunty’s noodle shop. He was eager to talk to someone, to talk about the important trade fair. To tell someone how he was helping to build the Golden Pavilion.

37 Nit Bangkok, October, 1966.

TEDDY ATE A LONELY MEAL by himself in the chill of the air-conditioned coffee shop. He had received a disquieting letter from Stephany. Her words were cool, flat and passionless. It was easy for him to read between the lines. He was certain that Doug, Stephany’s ‘rhythm and blues’ interest, was back on the scene. He had been kidding himself to think that wouldn’t be the case. The ‘Rajah Special Beef Burger’ was dry and tended to stick in his throat, and the iced water he tried to wash it down with had a stale metallic taste. He squirted on some more ketchup from the orange plastic dispenser, the nozzle of which had an off-putting congealed build-up around it. It didn’t help, the burger was still dry and tasteless. He should have complained, but he didn’t. He couldn’t face the hassle. That was the trouble with him, he thought, like with his marriage, he never could face up to the drama. He was great at finding excuses not to take action.

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Cedric had an afternoon meeting at the embassy and a dinner engagement afterwards. Sumbart had driven Teddy back from the pavilion to the Rajah about nine o’clock. He had hoped to meet up with the two Coast Guard guys, Lance and Phil, for a swim after dinner. Teddy enjoyed their company, especially Phil, who seemed to be a kindred spirit. Phil had shown a lot of interest in their pavilion project, and had implied that he was thinking of leaving the Coast Guard service after his tour of duty, and studying architecture, under some sort of GI grant. But that evening Lance and Phil were nowhere to be found. Teddy had made up his mind to go up to his room and have an early night, but, feeling edgy and tense, he decided to have one last look in the pool area in case Lance and Phil were there. This was a mistake. As soon as he left the air-conditioned precincts of the hotel lobby, the warm, velvety night air wrapped around him. Within five seconds he was seduced by it. It was much too early to go to bed. There was no sign of Lance or Phil, and just a couple of beers over at the good old Copacabana would be the relaxing night-cap he needed. He had been to the Copacabana many times now. It had become very familiar, as if it was their staff canteen. But this night was different. He had never gone there alone before. He felt a strange excitement, an electric feeling of acceptable guilt. Without really thinking about it, he knew he was going to go somewhere with one of the ‘plastic’ girls that evening. He had never been unfaithful to his wife, though he had come pretty close to it with Terri. But tonight it was different. His heart was pounding and his senses buzzing as he ducked under the drips from the crooked air-conditioner. The little dance floor was crowded with swaying girls. The jukebox was playing

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Hang on Sloopy again. It seemed to be their favourite. He weaved his way between the cool, swaying bodies. He didn’t go to his normal stool at the bar, but sat down at a small table against the opposite wall. He saw Mama’s eyes glint as she gave him a curious look. He indicated with a hand movement that he would like a beer. She flinched back her high-shutterspeed smile and nodded. Soon she brought him the customary beer bottle with the chilled glass upturned on top. ‘Where your friend tonight?’ she asked with an exaggerated look of sadness on her cunning old face. ‘You lonesome tonight, eh?’ Teddy heard himself answer without even a hint of a pause, ‘Yes Mama, I guess you could say I’m a bit lonely tonight.’ Mama continued her sad look, gave Teddy a little pat on his shoulder and went back to the bar. Teddy drank the icy beer as he watched the girls on the dance floor in their tight black dresses, with the UV lighting making their teeth and eyes flash. He soon finished the beer and gestured to Mama for another one. This time the beer was brought to him by one of the bar girls, Nit. She was the girl who had spoken to him the very first night that Ced and Clive had brought him to the Copacabana. ‘Your nice cold beer mistar, number one beer mistar. You lonesome? Me Nit. Me sit with you?’ The beer was starting to get to Teddy. ‘Yes by all means, you can sit and knit to your heart’s content if you like.’ He laughed uproariously at his own joke, then, seeing the bewildered look on the girl’s face said, ‘No look I’m sorry, I’m just being stupid. Please sit down. Will you have a drink?’ ‘Yes, I have whisky please.’ Nit was not the prettiest of the Copacabana girls. She had a wide, flat face and

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coarse features. She was short and on the plump side, but her curves were attractive and she carried herself with slinky poise and assurance. In her mid-twenties, Nit was probably the oldest of the girls, and certainly had the best command of English. Teddy knew the ‘whisky’ that Mama brought to Nit was more than likely cold tea or flat ginger ale, but that didn’t matter, it was all part of the system — Clive’s R. & R. system that used plasticised girls with no strings attached, and Teddy felt comfortable with that system. They left the bar by the back door. Nit led him by the hand along a narrow alley that was surprisingly well lit. It ran parallel to Sukhumvit Road for a couple of hundred metres to what seemed to be the rear entrance to a block of modern serviced apartments. Teddy was in a strange daze. He was going with a prostitute, but it seemed all right; she was part of the system, so he could blame the system. A couple of young Thai men were lounging at a small table just inside the rear entrance to the apartment block, they gave Teddy some hard looks as he and Nit entered. Nit said something to them and one of them gave her a key on a large, pink heart-shaped plastic tag. Nit led him around a corner and along a corridor on the ground floor. Muffled sounds came from behind the closed doors as they passed. From one came a loud, husky American voice, ‘Atta gal, atta gal, ride babe, ride.’ Nit gave Teddy a quick glance over her shoulder, and led on. From another door came the sounds of two women arguing shrilly in Thai. Nit stopped at the next door and put the key in the lock. The single-room apartment was modern and sparsely furnished. The double bed had no bedding except a bottom sheet with a powder-blue towel spread

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across it. The central ceiling light was very bright. Nit quickly switched on the two small bedside lamps and turned the ceiling light off. She gestured towards a lone vinyl-covered chair. Teddy was puzzled. ‘Er, I don’t really want to sit down.’ ‘No, for clothes.’ She smiled and disappeared into the adjoining bathroom. He sat sheepishly on the chair and started to take off his shoes and socks. He heard the toilet flush and Nit came out. She was naked. With her arms crossed in front of her breasts, she walked quickly to the side of the bed, turned off one of the little bedside lamps and sat hunched, with her back towards him. He watched her as he continued to undress. She turned to look at him over her right shoulder. Her generous, sensuous curves, her long black hair flowing down almost to her waist, and the distant expression on her broad face, reminded him of a Gauguin painting. The dim light from the single lamp gave her skin a dull golden sheen. The Gold of Their Bodies was the title of a biography of Paul Gauguin, a painter Teddy admired greatly. He wondered if Gauguin would have reached for his sketchbook at this moment. Probably not, he thought, remembering that the brilliant artist’s talents were terminated by his death from syphilis. He was grateful for the condom in its little foil packet, which Mama had handed him as they left the Copacabana. Nit’s body was cool and firm against his. He started to gently kiss the side of her neck. ‘No kiss, no kiss,’ she murmured, and nuzzled his shoulder with a strange snuffling through her nostrils. Teddy thought this must be the Thai way of showing intimate affection; it was very exciting. He nuzzled down across her smooth shoulders and down to her dark nipples, which he brushed lightly with

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his lips. He felt her body tense and, thinking this was giving her pleasure, took her left nipple between his lips, brushing it gently with his teeth. Her back arched like a steel spring, pushing him away roughly with both hands as she screamed. ‘You no bite! You no bite!’ She twisted away from him, crossing her arms protectively across her breasts, then, turning her face away from him, she sobbed softly, ’You no bite, you no bite.’ Teddy was taken aback. ‘Look, I am sorry. I … I … didn’t mean to hurt you. I just thought that you …’ This wasn’t at all how Teddy thought it was going to be. It was meant to be simple, uncomplicated. He sighed and said, ‘Let’s just call it a day Nit. I don’t want any dramas.’ He reached across and switched on the other bed lamp. The brighter light caught Nit by surprise, her breasts were exposed and before she could cover them with her arms Teddy could see that the underside of the left one was badly disfigured. Nit was trembling. Teddy asked softly, ‘Nit what happened? Please tell me.’ ‘Farang, he bite, he hurt me very bad. Number-Ten son-of-a-bitch.’ She averted her head as he gently moved her arm out of the way. Below the nipple was a dreadful, livid, puckered, crescent-shaped scar, unmistakably a savage bite mark. Teddy was trembling now. What sort of man would do this? What sort of bloody orang-utan would bite like that, would want to hurt someone so much? Nit, seeing how shocked Teddy was, started to sob again. ‘Ah don’t cry Nit. It’s all right, don’t cry.’ He lay on the bed beside her and stroked her back as she continued to sob. After a little while she turned, her eyes full of tears, and slowly, lay down beside him, putting her head on his shoulder.

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They lay like that, not saying a word, for half an hour. Teddy was very confused. He had been comfortable with the system. The system in which the girls were ‘plastic’, synthetic, with no feelings and with no strings attached. He knew now that it was all a huge selfdelusion, there was no such thing as synthetic people. Everyone, like poor little Nit, can be hurt and scarred. As they lay together, still naked, for the first time since he had started on the Bangkok project, he gave some serious, meaningful thought to his marriage. Had he hurt Stephany like she had hurt him? What was it that bloody Doug had that he did not? What was it about some people who, after saying that they love someone, they end up inflicting terrible hurt and leaving ugly scars? God, the children, they musn’t scar the children in any way! He and Stephany should just admit that they were not meant for each other. Yes, they must do that, and do it as gently as they could. Yes, gently, no scarring … He began to feel at peace with himself. Suddenly Nit sat up, and said, in a very businesslike way, ‘You no tell Mama that you no fuck me!’ She had taken Teddy by surprise. ‘Er, no, no of course not.’ Nit got off the bed, and her eyes flashed as she looked down at him. ‘And you still pay, OK?’

38 The Water Map Bangkok, October 23, 1966.

THE WATER MAP HAD always been a worry to Teddy. Although he had been very excited when he and William had developed the idea of a translucent wall of falling water with a stylised map of South-East Asia incorporated in it, he had always harboured doubts that they could make it happen. In the calm, cool, academic environment of their Melbourne design office, with access to skilled workers and appropriate technology, it was an ambitious concept. Now, in the foul-smelling hot-box of the pavilion in Bangkok, with very limited facilities, and in the atmosphere of messy disorganisation, it was a daunting task indeed. The original concept was to use a number of suspended glass panels with the industrial metal off-cuts glued directly to them, like a giant mosaic, to form the land masses of the map. Teddy, with the help of one of the Metro Lights boys, had conducted some tests. It was

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quite easy to glue the metal pieces on to the glass panel, but almost impossible to hang the two-metre by halfmetre panels accurately enough for the shapes to read as a recognisable map. The glass panels were suspended, on slightly different planes, from a large water pipe that ran along the top edge of the feature. Teddy decided to glue the metal mosaic to waterproof plywood cut to the shapes of the land masses, and suspend these shapes between the planes of the glass panels. Stan Blizzard had been able to get one of the airconditioning units working in the front of the pavilion, near the area occupied by the Water Map. So, very early in the morning, Teddy and Ced, with three of the Singaporeans and some Thai labourers, started the nerveracking task of suspending the glass panels. They worked from a smaller version of the bamboo scaffold that had been used for the outside cladding panels. This was erected in the empty concrete pool. They used the same type of cotton gloves to minimise finger smears on the overlapping panels, which would be difficult to clean later. The scaffold swayed and wobbled, and the gloves made it very difficult to hold the heavy glass panels, but the Singaporeans persisted and, little by little, the glass screen grew. By late morning the lone air-conditioner, running at its maximum capacity, started to lose the battle with the growing heat. Every now and again its built-in safety device would throw its circuit-breaker and turn it off. Then Stan Blizzard, who had been there since long before dawn, would let the unit cool for a while, then painstakingly remove a side panel and, reaching in among panels of fibreglass insulation, override the circuit-breaker and turn the unit on again. This happened with increasing frequency as the day drew on and the pavilion heated up.

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By midday it was almost unbearable. Soaked with sweat, clinging to the creaking, swaying scaffold, trying to hold the slippery glass panels in position while they were being tied into place with tangling piano wire, was very stressful. The glass panels clanged and jangled together with the slightest movement. It was dangerous, nervestretching work under any conditions, but the mounting heat made it almost impossible. By lunch-time Teddy and Cedric were exhausted, but the cheerful, smiling Singaporeans were willing to keep going. Cedric’s face was running with sweat, a large drop hung on the end of his nose. He stood looking up at the men clinging to the bamboo scaffold as they struggled to hang another slippery glass panel into place. ‘This is ridiculous Teddy, someone is going to get hurt.’ Teddy didn’t answer, but gave a resigned nod. His shirt was stuck to his body and he was finding it hard to focus his eyes on what the Singaporeans were doing — they kept filling with sweat. He yelled up to them, ‘A fraction higher. Yes, that’s it. Now up a bit on the left. Careful, careful, good, good ... Yeah, tie it off at that.’ ‘It’s like a damn Turkish bath in here now.’ Cedric mopped his face with a sodden handkerchief. ‘This is bloody dangerous. We’ll call it a day and make a fresh start in the morning when the place has been cooled down.’ ‘Yes, I know, handling glass always makes me nervous.’ Teddy tried to pull the drenched shirt away from his chest. ‘Poor old Stan is looking pretty weary. His arms look very nasty.’ Cedric frowned. ‘Yes, the stubborn old devil. I will have a chat with him.’ Stan was tired. The fibreglass particles from the unit’s insulation had given him a serious rash on both

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arms. Now he took to wearing a long sleeved-shirt and a pair of cotton gloves when he worked anywhere near the insulation, but the damage had been done. His arms were becoming badly infected. He didn’t complain, but Cedric could see that he was in great discomfort and convinced him to come back with them to the Rajah for lunch, to have his arms attended to and to get some rest. Stan would be back at the pavilion long before sun-up the next morning to start up the vital air-conditioner. Cedric and Malcolm spent a lot of time negotiating with the Thai director general of the trade fair to hurry up the increase in water supply. The capacity and pressure of the supply for the whole fair-grounds was patently inadequate. The pressure was supplied by a large elevated concrete header tank that produced a pressure of only 17 pounds per square inch. The air-conditioners needed a pressure of 27 PSI to function properly. Pressure-booster pumps would have to be fitted. Also, the volume of water being supplied was grossly inadequate. Larger capacity mains would have to be run to the fairgrounds. The large ornamental lake in front of the Australian pavilion held a huge volume of water. In the centre of this lake was a beautiful golden wat, or temple, and a facsimile of a ceremonial royal barge, covered with gold leaf. The Royal Lake was stocked with giant goldfish. Cedric asked the director general whether it would be possible to run a pipe from this lake to the Australian pavilion to cool the air-conditioners, then run the water around the moat that encircled the pavilion. This would allow the water to cool somewhat before running it back into the lake. The dignified and gracious director general, after conferring at length with some of his technical advisers, politely said that this could not be allowed,

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because any slight rise of temperature in the Royal Lake might adversely affect the well-being of the Royal Goldfish. He assured them again that all conventional measures were being taken to increase the water supply. Malcolm and Cedric left the meeting with their temperatures more than slightly risen. ‘Well, I’ll be damned,’ Cedric fumed as they left the administrative building. He was pale with anger. ‘Outtrumped by a bunch of bloody carp!’ Malcolm puffed his cheeks as he blew out a long breath. His face was flushed and there were beads of sweat on his high brow. ‘Hmm, don’t let’s give up on the idea completely Cedric. Like I’ve said before, there are a few tricks to this trade.’ He sounded confident, almost cocky. But Cedric could see that the trade commissioner was worried. ———————— Day after day, bit by bit, the hanging glass screen progressed. Before dawn each morning Stan Blizzard would get the lone air-conditioner started. The patient, painstaking Singaporeans, with their Thai helpers, continued to carefully hang the glass panels in place. While this was in progress, Teddy and Ah Wat, one of the Metro Lights men, had started to glue the brass and bronze off-cuts to the waterproof ply shapes to form the land masses for the suspended map. This was done on the mezzanine floor, near the exit, where there was space to lay it all out and some degree of ventilation. This was hot, sticky, tedious work, made more difficult by the toxic fumes from the epoxy glue they were using. Constant aesthetic judgment had to be made to piece this giant metallic mosaic together. All the

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‘industrial afterbirth’ that had infatuated Teddy so much back in Sydney now presented him with terrible problems. There were just too many choices, too many shapes and sizes, too many colours and textures. But, bit by bit, with the help of Ah Wat, Teddy was able to achieve some order of pattern and texture. The lustrous metallic pieces, assembled together, did look marvellous, but they all had razor-sharp edges and, glued together in large areas, became very heavy. Each land mass became like a huge, jagged multi-edged weapon. They would be very hazardous to move and to hang in place. On the third morning Stan reported that there was an increase in the water supply and he thought he could start the second air-conditioner. This was a great boost to morale, for it meant cooler working conditions for longer hours. But to poor old Stan it meant two air-conditioners to overheat and restart, and twice as much fibreglass to deal with. His arms continued to suffer. The microscopic glass-fibre particles were able to penetrate the sleeves of his shirt and caused a terrible state of dermatitis over his skinny white arms. But he never complained. He was not going to let the team, and the company, down. Even with the two air-conditioners working at full capacity, by midday the heat inside the pavilion was almost unbearable. Within the first few days Cedric and Teddy developed irritating heat rashes under their arms and in their crotch areas. Before long the tough little Singaporeans developed the same problem, but they never complained, and there was no thought of stopping work. Up on the mezzanine at the rear of the pavilion the heat was particularly bad. Teddy and Ah Wat found it very hard to maintain the degree of concentration required to fashion the huge mosaic map. Every 20 minutes

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or so they would go down to the front of the pavilion where the glass panels were being hung and stand in front of one of the two air-conditioners to cool down and dry off. During these times Teddy would inspect the work being done by the Metro Lights team, and, on some occasions, suggest corrective measures. Finally, the map was completed to the stage where it could be hung in place among the glass panels. Final finishing touches, capital cities, etc, would be added after the map was hanging safely in position. Hanging the map in place was a dangerous procedure. The component pieces were awkward, heavy, sharp and spiky. They were almost impossible to get a grip on without cutting one’s hands. Eventually the Metro Lights men devised a system of slinging each piece with ropes under a bamboo pole, and lifting them up into place by these poles and holding them there while they were hung on piano wires. Many of the glass panels had to be swung out of the way and held by some of the Thai boys, with more bamboo poles, while the Singaporeans hung the map sections into place. The original plan was to glue the metal pieces directly to the glass panels, but this had proved to be impractical. The improvised method of creating these plywood-backed map shapes brought its own set of problems. It was a jangly, nerve-racking, dangerous, makeshift operation. A mishap was inevitable. They were hanging the island of Sumatra in place. It was about two metres long, weighed about 50kg, and had particularly sharp edges. A Thai helper was balancing on a rickety bamboo scaffold section, holding aside two glass panels while a pair of Singaporeans on another scaffold was attaching the suspension wires to the Sumatra piece. Below them a young, cheerful Thai boy named Danu was standing, ready to pass up tools and wires to the

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Singaporeans. Teddy was cooling down by an airconditioner, watching. Cedric had gone out to the annex to discuss a matter with Cheoy Siang. The man holding the glass panels was wearing the mandatory white cotton gloves, and this made it hard to grip the glass panels securely. He moved slightly to get a more secure position on the shaky scaffold, and one of the glass panels slipped from his grasp. It swung heavily back and struck one of the Singaporeans who was in the process of tying off one of two suspension wires. The Sumatra piece fell away, the increased weight broke the remaining wire and it dropped on to the right shoulder of young Danu, who was standing beneath, inflicting deep lacerations to his shoulder and upper arm. The Singaporeans acted quickly, stemming the bleeding with some of their spare clean white t-shirts, and the hapless Danu was carried to the fair-ground’s first-aid post, then taken to hospital by ambulance. All concerned were very upset. Through pressure of work, makeshift procedures had been adopted and supervision had lapsed. No one should have been allowed to stand in the danger zone beneath the map while it was being erected. It was a stupid, unforgivable mistake. Teddy was horrified by what he had seen. He felt totally responsible for the accident. They should have been properly supervised, he should have noticed Danu standing there. He watched two Thai cleaning ladies scrub the stains of Danu’s blood from the concrete pool base and was reminded of the women who had cleaned the shit out of the wall cavities. He was sure that it was his imagination, but he thought he could detect a trace of that dreadful shit smell again. He had closed his eyes so he couldn’t see the women as they calmly mopped away at the bloodstains when he felt someone standing close behind him.

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‘Don’t worry too much about that boy, Mr Teddy.’ It was Sumbart. ‘Danu is a strong healthy lad, he will be all right.’ ‘Oh Sumbart, it shouldn’t have happened, it really shouldn’t have happened,’ Teddy hadn’t meant to say the words; they just came out. ‘Mr Teddy,’ Sumbart gave Teddy a shy smile then quickly looked away, ‘I have a friend, a very wise person, who would say that it’s not for us to say what should or shouldn’t happen. It’s for us to accept all that happens to us with grace.’ Teddy was surprised to hear Sumbart talking like this. ‘Well that’s very noble Sumbart, but that’s very hard to do, don’t you think?’ ‘Yes Mr Teddy, it is very hard to do. But my friend says that we should never stop trying.’ Sumbart thought of Suni again. The anger was still there, it seemed to be growing. He looked at Teddy and said more loudly than he meant to, ‘Please Mr Teddy, try to believe that what happened to Danu was not your fault. It was just something that happened.’ Teddy couldn’t think of anything to say. He watched the women as they removed the last traces of the blood from the pool bottom, which was soon to be painted a beautiful, cool turquoise-blue. ———————— Sumbart drove Cedric to visit Danu at the hospital that evening. Danu had received numerous stitches to his deep wounds, but he was bright and cheerful, and looking forward to returning to work as soon as his wounds had healed. He smiled as he clasped Cedric’s hand reassuringly, saying softly, ‘Mai bpen rai ... mai bpen rai.‘

39 Wow Man, Bells Beach Bangkok, October, 1966.

CEDRIC ARRIVED AT THE pavilion after a morning meeting at the embassy and told Teddy that Jo had passed on a message from Terri. She had asked whether it would be possible to bring her husband, Dutch, and little Bunny to visit them at the Rajah that evening, for a swim in the hotel pool. Cedric had told Jo that would be fine. Teddy was puzzled. After all her talk about ‘making the most of opportunities’ when they had gone out together, he was surprised that Terri would want her husband to meet him at all. He just couldn’t understand it. Perhaps by including him in a social family outing, she thought things would be ‘normalised’, and any previous romantic feelings absolved. Or perhaps he had just imagined what he had felt coming from her, perhaps it had all been in his head, and they simply wanted to come and have a swim. It was this scenario that caused him some pain. He had really

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wanted to have some sort of personal relationship, even unrealised, with the beautiful Terri. However, he also felt guilty, and didn’t look forward to meeting her husband. Cedric and Teddy left the pavilion a little earlier than usual that night and got back to the Rajah a bit before eight. As Sumbart pulled up at the entrance, Terri and Dutch were just getting out of a cab. Terri smiled gaily and waved when she saw them. She had her hair pulled back in a girlish ponytail and was wearing white shorts and a powder-blue t-shirt. She looked incredibly young. Teddy had visualised Dutch wearing a formal white navy officer’s uniform, but the handsome young man with the close-cropped blond hair was wearing a bright-red patterned Hawaiian shirt and frayed, ‘cutdown’ blue-jeans shorts and sneakers. He was carrying his little blonde daughter, Bunny. He wasn’t smiling. When Terri introduced them, Dutch shook Teddy’s hand firmly, saying with some formality, ‘Pleased to meet you sir.’ It was the eye contact that chilled Teddy. Dutch’s blue eyes had the same cold ‘gunfighter’ quality Teddy had seen in the eyes of the cameraman in Jakarta, and in those of the two Special Forces men in the piano bar. Teddy was worried when Dutch added in a serious tone, ‘Terri has told me a bit about you, and there is something I would like to talk with you about later.’ Cedric and Teddy took their guests out to the pool area, and showed them the change rooms. They then went up to their rooms to change. On the way Teddy said to Cedric, ‘Stay close to me tonight Ced, I don’t want to get into any deep and meaningful discussions with our commando friend if I can help it.’ Cedric just looked at Teddy and grinned. When they got back down to the pool, Terri and Dutch were laughing and playing with little Bunny in the

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shallow end. Dutch was very tanned, lean and looked tremendously fit. Teddy tried not to look at Terri, who was gorgeous in a tiny red bikini. Trying to sound relaxed and cheerful he called, ‘Hey, we haven’t eaten yet. How about we order some burgers and fries? They do a pretty good job of them here.’ Terri and Dutch looked at each other, then Terri smiled up at them saying, ‘Wow, that would be great. This guy here has been living on rice and nuc nam sauce for months.’ She put her arm around Dutch’s tanned torso. ‘He needs a bit of fattening up.’ When the meal arrived, Teddy was still tense and the burger and fries lodged somewhere just below his breast bone. Lance and Phil appeared during the meal, and the always-polite Cedric introduced them. After they had a quick swim they came and sat nearby and ordered beers from Somchai, the pool waiter. Dutch seemed quiet and retiring. He didn’t smile, unless it was to Terri or little Bunny. Cedric tried to make conversation with him, asking how things were in Vietnam. Dutch was dismissive, saying, ‘Well, there’s a big job to do, but we’re getting there.’ Teddy noticed that Lance was looking at Terri with natural interest, but Phil seemed to be watching Dutch. Terri was cheerful and chirpy, busying herself tending to Bunny. After the meal, without saying a word, Dutch got up and dived smoothly into the pool. He swam powerfully for four or five laps. When he came back, Lance got up and threw him a towel saying, ‘Hey buddy, you could be just the man we need for our swim team. I haven’t told them yet, but we’re putting an American team together to challenge these Aussies to a relay race. You could be our anchor man to challenge “Johnny Wiesmuller” here.’ He gestured towards Cedric.

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‘Now hold on a bit,’ Cedric interjected, ’there are only two of us, there would be three of you.’ ‘What about that old guy who is looking after your air-conditioning? He is an Aussie isn’t he?’ Lance said with a big grin. ‘Stan Blizzard?’ Teddy said. ‘I don’t know if he can even dog-paddle.’ ‘Ah, c’mon, all Aussies can swim. You’re not going to back away from a challenge are you?’ ‘Ahem,’ Cedric had a funny way of clearing his throat if he was going to say something very important. ‘We don’t back away from a challenge, old chum, but we may need a couple of days to get Stanley up to scratch.’ Good old Cedric, Teddy thought, forever the old war-horse. Dutch had finished drying himself and threw the towel back to Lance. ‘I’d be happy to, guys, but I’ll only be here for a few days.’ He seemed to look at Teddy. ‘And I have some very important things to do.’ Teddy tensed up again. The burger was still stuck in his chest. To his acute discomfort Dutch came over, in a very purposeful manner, and sat down on the banana lounge beside him. He engaged Teddy with his steely eyes and said, ‘There is something Terri told me that I would like to ask you about.’ Teddy nodded dumbly at Dutch, who was looking intently into his eyes. Then Dutch’s eyes suddenly softened and his face lit up like a little boy’s. ‘She said you have done a bit of surfing Down Under. Can you tell me if you have ever surfed Bells Beach?’ Teddy was dumbfounded. ‘Er, yes, that’s my favourite spot,’ he croaked. Dutch beamed. ‘Wow man, Bells Beach. It’s been my dream to surf Bells Beach. I’ve read so much about it.’ He

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slapped Teddy heartily on the back. ‘Tell me all buddy, tell me all. Is it as big as they say it is?’ Teddy took a deep breath. He was greatly relieved. They talked for 20 minutes. Dutch hung on every word about Bells, and they ended by vowing to surf there together one day. When Dutch had gone back to help Terri put Bunny to sleep, Phil came over and sat with Teddy. Teddy nodded towards Dutch, ‘A nice guy, I didn’t know he was a surfer.’ Phil looked across. He didn’t say anything, but looked concerned. Teddy noticed and said, ‘You seem a little worried about something mate?’ ‘Oh, I guess I just don’t agree with these gung-ho types,’ Phil said. ‘I mean, these guys have given themselves over to a system and just don’t think for themselves, they just obey orders at all costs. This guy Dutch didn’t say what outfit he is with, but I know it’s some sort of Special Forces unit. You can pick these guys a mile off, believe me. They have a look about them, they are goddamn pit-bulls. If they are trained to kill, they just kill without question.’ Teddy didn’t know what to say. In the past few minutes he had got to like Dutch. He felt more guilty now for what might have gone on between he and Terri, but had warmed to the earnest young man who shared his love of surfing. Phil continued softly, looking across at Dutch, who was rocking little Bunny in his arms. ‘Hey, I would like to say that it is not this guy’s fault, that it is the system’s fault, that our government is wrong. Well, our government is wrong, but so is everyone who goes along with it by blindly obeying orders.’ Phil looked at Teddy and shook his head, smiling. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get all heavy. You just have to see what happens

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— on both sides — when orders are obeyed blindly. You have to be there, I guess.’ Phil looked troubled, so Teddy let the matter drop. Little Bunny finally went to sleep, cuddled up in a hotel towel on a banana lounge. They all had another beer and talked quietly, so as not to disturb the sleeping child. Terri and Dutch held hands. When it was time to leave, Terri was worried about keeping Bunny wrapped in the hotel towel. Teddy got his towelling robe to use, the one Stephany had given him as a going-away present. He never got it back.

40 Strong Black Coffee Bangkok, October, 1966.

‘LOOK, WHEN I SAY I like my coffee strong and black, that is exactly what I mean. Do you understand me, sonny?’ Cedric and Teddy were having breakfast at the Raja, when the loud, rasping American voice disturbed them. It was one of two middle-aged men who were sitting at the next table, close behind Teddy. A short, plump, balding man, with two clumps of dark frizzy hair on the sides of his head, wearing thick horn-rimmed glasses, was berating Somchai, the young Thai waiter. His companion, of about the same age, was slim, tall and straight, with a thick shock of silver-grey hair. Cedric, who was offended by any display of rudeness or bad manners, was facing the two men. He frowned as Somchai, who he and Teddy knew as being a polite and obliging boy, walked sheepishly away with the offending cup of coffee. The tall man with the grey hair noticed

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Cedric’s disapproving look and leant across and said something to his plump companion. After a few moments the plump man twisted around ponderously in his chair and considered Cedric and Teddy owlishly through his thick glasses. ‘Hey, I am sorry guys, I didn’t mean to cause a fracas. I guess I’m an irritable old bastard, but I haven’t had a decent cup of java since I came to this goddamn burg.’ He extended his plump, hairy hand towards them. ‘My name is Herb Stein, this here is my buddy Leon Abram. We both hail from Philly.’ After they had exchanged greetings, Herb continued, ‘So you aren’t American. Limey’s huh?’ ‘Not really, we are Australian,’ Teddy smiled. ‘That’s the same thing, isn’t it?’ Herb said. ‘You’re still British.’ ‘Well, it’s not quite the same old man,’ Cedric answered, grinning at Teddy. ‘Most Aussies wouldn’t like being thought of in that way. Anyhow, if you don’t mind me saying, you two chaps don’t really look like military types, what are you doing here in Bangkok?’ Leon gave Herb a quick look and said, ‘We’re in the radio communications business. We’re here helping the Thai authorities set up a new communications network out in the boondocks.’ Somchai came back with a fresh cup of coffee, which he placed tentatively in front of Herb, and stood by tensely waiting approval. Herb winked at Leon and, with studied deliberation, slowly lifted the cup and took a deep sniff of the aroma then, closing his eyes, took a very deliberate sip. Poor Somchai stiffened. Herb’s eyes remained closed for some moments, then his face burst into a wide smile. ‘Man, that is coffee.’ He reached out and shook the beaming Somchai’s hand, saying warmly,

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‘Thank you son, thank you. You really know how to jolt an old addict’s heart. Thank you.’ Leon turned to Cedric and Teddy and shrugged. ‘He isn’t kidding, I tell you, he really is a total addict. I have known him and studied with him for most of his life, and it never ceases to amaze me how a great brain like his can flourish on a diet of coffee and doughnuts.’ ‘I take it that the work you are doing is of a pretty technical nature,’ Cedric said thoughtfully. ‘I didn’t think this country was ready for high-tech installations. Is it part of an aid program or something?’ Leon flashed a quick look to Herb, saying, ‘Well it is kinda, but it’s all pretty damn boring really. What about you, what are you guys doing here?’ Cedric explained about the trade fair and the Australian pavilion, and Herb and Leon showed great interest. They said they had heard about the trade fair at their embassy, and that the US pavilion was being built around their country’s aid programs in the region, focusing on the Mekong River system. Teddy had noticed the US pavilion. It seemed to consist of a cluster of colourful fibreglass sail shapes, probably designed to catch the breezes and induce some degree of natural ventilation. This was similar to some of the concepts he had played around with for the Australian pavilion while Will was away in Bangkok. He and Cedric had been just too busy worrying about their own pavilion to spare the time to visit any of the others, but now Teddy made a mental note to go and introduce himself to the American designer. Herb and Leon wanted to hear more about the trade fair but Sumbart arrived and was waiting impatiently in the lobby to take Ced and Teddy to the pavilion. They arranged to meet that evening for a drink by the pool to discuss things further.

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———————— Sumbart was eager to get started in the mornings nowadays. He greeted Cedric and Teddy with a cheerful smile as they left the coffee shop and he shepherded them out to the Holden. He wanted to get going. The panel-fixing teams would be waiting. He didn’t want them to start without him being there. They could easily scratch some of the panels or fit them crookedly, and that would be disastrous. The Golden Sala must be perfect. He had used a method he had learned in the army: he had organised four separate teams, one for each side of the building, and had instigated a healthy rivalry between these teams. It was working well, but he needed to be there to maintain the quality control of their work. For the first time since he had left Nam Phong and Chatree’s workshop, Sumbart was getting some feeling of fulfilment in his life. He didn’t think of Suni at all when he was working on the pavilion. He had written Chatree a letter telling him about the Golden Sala he was helping to build, but he didn’t really expect a reply.

41 The American Pavilion Bangkok, October 28, 1966.

JUST BEFORE MIDDAY TEDDY slipped away from helping some of the Metro Lights boys, who had begun erecting some of the vertical sculptural shapes inside the pavilion, and strolled across to have a closer look at the American exhibit. Since he had been in Bangkok Teddy had been totally absorbed in the problems of their own project and had given no consideration whatsoever to any of the other pavilions. The Japanese pavilion was right next to the Australian exhibit. It was slightly larger, square-cut and corporate looking, and featured a high rectangular tower with a large red Nippon sun in neon strips. It was an expression of modern corporate Japan, a Tokyo office block. The Indian pavilion was directly behind the Australian building. It had a quiet charm with its breezeblock walls giving an interesting filigree effect. The

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perforated walls were to ensure a good, natural crossventilation for the building. The US pavilion was discreetly sited off to one side of the fair grounds, some distance from the main entrance, the Australian pavilion and the central axis lake. Teddy had only glimpsed it in the distance before, and hadn’t taken much notice. Now, as he walked closer, he was very impressed. The building comprised clusters of tall fibreglass sail shapes in saffron, orange, pale-green and mauve, which seemed to form the petals of some sort of flower shape. The site had been elaborately landscaped and there were quite tall trees and shrubbery being planted. Teddy had been expecting something stridently red, white and blue, featuring the Stars and Stripes, something brash and bold. But this was beautiful, gentle and artistic. It was much smaller than the other major exhibits, less than half the size of the Australian pavilion. There was a small group of Thai workers arranging some of the planting near the entrance, who were being supervised by a fair-haired young man in a cream shirt and matching slacks. Teddy walked up to him. ‘Excuse me, I can see you are busy, but I just wanted to say this is looking really great. My name is Teddy Brown, I am from the Australian pavilion. Is your designer around? I would really like to meet him.’ ‘I guess you’ve hit the jackpot.’ The young man smiled widely, dusted his hands clean and reached out to shake hands. ‘My name is Benton Kramer, I am to blame for all this. Hey, the Aussie pavilion is really something. Those gold panels, wow. I would like to meet your designer.’ ‘I suppose I have to take some of the blame. My brother William and I are the culprits.’

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‘No kidding, really?’ Benton shook Teddy’s hand warmly. ‘Come on in, I’ll show you around.’ Benton was about Teddy’s age and he proved to be urbane and charming. The pavilion design was gentle and sensitive. Daylight filtered softly through the coloured sails, which caught any wind movement and funnelled fresh air into the space. There was no defined demarcation between interior and exterior, the building and landscaping flowed together. Benton explained that he had spent some time studying the climate and culture of the area, and had based the shape of the sail cluster on the shape of the lotus flower. He was relying on the naturally induced ventilation, and the visual comfort of the landscaped planting, to create a pleasant environment. Teddy was convinced Benton had achieved this. Compared with the dark, oppressive hot-box of the Australian Pavilion, this was heaven. A nagging feeling of doubt started to grow inside him. Had they made the right decision with their enclosed pavilion? Would it ever be cool enough inside to be comfortable? Teddy began to understand why the US pavilion was relatively small. There were no commercial exhibits, no products on display. It was simply one, very subtle political statement. The entire exhibit took the form of a stylised cartoon model of the Mekong River system. This model was paralleled by a serpentine walkway that wound with it through the pavilion and garden. Along the way, where US-funded aid programs were sited, they were amplified and explained. It was all done in a gentle and fluid manner. Teddy was impressed by Benton, and was not surprised to learn that although he was an American citizen, he lived and worked in Switzerland. The design

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certainly had a European sophistication that Teddy would not have expected in a US exhibit. Benton was obviously very talented and worked hard. He was supervising the project on his own with only marginal support from the US Embassy, which was preoccupied with other more serious matters. He was running behind schedule, too. There was obviously still a lot more work to be done. As Teddy walked back the feeling of doubt was heavy in his gut. What made things worse was the similarity of the US pavilion to some of the early concepts he had been working on before they had made the decision to build an air-conditioned box. Had they done the right thing? He approached the Australian pavilion from the rear. Sumbart was standing watching a fixing team on the rickety bamboo scaffold fit the cladding panels. This wall was about two-thirds completed. When Sumbart saw Teddy coming he turned and called something up to the boys on the scaffolding. As Teddy walked past they all turned and, with beaming smiles, held up their hands in snowy white cotton gloves. The golden panels shone brightly in the sunlight behind them; they were plumb and level. He looked at Sumbart, who had removed his dark glasses and was smiling proudly at him. He looked back up at the boys on the scaffold, gave a thumbs-up sign, and shouted to them, ‘Number one job!’ The feeling of doubt in his gut had left him.

42 Mounting Pressure Bangkok, October 30, 1966.

THE THAI AUTHORITIES TOOK what measures they could to increase the water supply to the Australian pavilion. Little by little the water pressure rose and Stan Blizzard was able to start up more air-conditioners. The working conditions in the pavilion started to improve, but as the water pressure increased, so did the pressure of work on Cedric and Teddy, and on the Metro Lights construction team. The fabrication of all the various exhibition components, which had been going on out in the pavilion annex, was now complete. This work had been done to a schedule of priorities that had been carefully drawn up by Cedric and Tan Cheoy Siang so that the components that had to be installed at the early stages would be built first. But, because of the stifling conditions, the installation program in the pavilion had fallen behind schedule. Now there was a terrible pile-up of components.

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The Metro Lights team was now putting all its energy into installing components, but they needed guidance, and this could come only from Teddy or Cedric. This created a serious bottle neck, and put Cedric and Teddy under great pressure. Teddy had thought that the working drawings, which had taken such an effort to produce, were perfectly clear and self-explanatory, but he learned how ambiguous they became when used by tired and over-stressed tradesmen. The long hours and the terrible conditions had taken their toll on everybody. Cedric and Teddy were finding it increasingly difficult to supervise everything. Things were getting close to being out of control. There were barely three weeks to go before His Majesty King Bhumibol Adulyadej, Rama IX, would open the first Asian International Trade Fair. Then His Gracious Majesty, and the beautiful Queen Sirikit, would visit each of the national exhibits. Time was running very, very short. Cedric had spent long hours studying his construction schedules and shipping manifests to define a contingency plan, a critical path listing essential tasks to ensure that the Australian pavilion could open in some sort of presentable state. Ced put all these items on the ‘A’ list. He and Teddy had discussed the fact that there were many elements in the design that were understood only by William and themselves, and wouldn’t be missed by anyone else if they didn’t eventuate. At this stage, with their backs against the proverbial wall, it might be necessary to leave some non-essential elements out. Cedric put these items on a ‘B’ list. He kept copies of both these lists in his briefcase. The air-conditioning of the pavilion was improving, but was still curtailed by the lack of sufficient water, and

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conditions couldn’t be described as at all comfortable. Representatives of some of the exhibiting companies were beginning to arrive in Bangkok. One such company, a very large and powerful organisation, was the supplier of industrial pumping equipment. Cedric contacted the managing director of this company, who proved to be very helpful. He organised to have some of their booster pumps fitted into the water supply system. These helped raise the pressure of the supply, but had only a marginal effect on the efficiency of the air-conditioners. The problem was still the lack of volume of water. Malcolm Devlin, Cedric and the pump man had a meeting one evening at the pavilion. It was just on sunset and, as they stood in the cooler air in front of the pavilion, they watched the huge ornamental lake turn golden and mimic the burnished cladding panels. The sky, the lake, the Royal Barge, the little temple and the pavilion were all sub-tones and reflections of the magnificent setting sun. Conversation had ceased between the three men as they watched lines of coolies, golden figures, file quietly towards the exit gates. The hypnotic peace of the scene was not broken by thousands of little bats, flecks of darker gold, as they flickered across the sky chasing insects. ‘Beautiful, just beautiful, isn’t it?’ Malcolm said after a while. ‘Yes indeed,’ said the pump man. ‘If only we could get a pipeline into it.’ Malcolm gave him a quizzical look. The pump man continued impatiently, ‘The lake, the bloody great lake. If we could draw water from there our problems would be over.’ ‘We have already investigated that, old chap,’ Cedric said. ’The authorities won’t allow it, something about the raised temperature harming the damned goldfish.’

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The pump man was aghast. ‘God, with a body of water that size the temperature rise would be so slight.’ He looked at Malcolm and said seriously, ‘If we had to, we could run a couple of pipes across there, under the gravel, overnight. No one would ever notice, there is so much going on around the place.’ Cedric liked this man’s attitude, and said to Malcolm, ‘Unless we can improve the air-conditioning markedly, our pavilion just won’t work. It is only just bearable now, but when we get a crowd of people in there we could create another “Black Hole of Calcutta”. If we don’t get the increased water supply the authorities have promised we will be in serious trouble.’ Malcolm didn’t say anything for quite a while, but marvelled at how their golden pavilion had become such an active partner in the glorious sunset. Then, turning to the pump man, he said, ‘When we get to what Cedric regards as the point of no return, and if all else fails, we shall do as you say.’ They strolled across to the edge of the lake. The golden light was deepening. It would change from orange to crimson to deep purple as night fell.

43 The Relay Race Bangkok, October 31, 1966.

THAT EVENING, AS ARRANGED, Cedric and Teddy met Herb and Leon for a drink by the swimming pool. Lance and Phil were there, as was Stan Blizzard. Ced decided to forgo the beer and do some laps in the pool with Lance, while the rest of them sat around on a semicircle of banana lounges. They ordered beers, except for Herb, who stuck with his coffee. Herb seemed very interested in the trade fair, so Teddy mentioned that he had visited the US pavilion that day. He said he was very impressed by the design of the pavilion, but puzzled by the absence of commercial exhibits, and the focus on US aid programs. Herb and Leon looked knowingly at each other, and Herb said, ‘Look, there are some very smart brains at work in Washington. You have to understand the background to all this stuff. Our economy has become driven by fear, the fear of the spread of communism.

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In this region it has been visualised as the domino effect, countries falling one after the other. An obvious way to stablise these dominoes is to prop them up with aid programs.’ Phil Prettes was sitting to one side, sipping his beer. He didn’t say a word. He watched Lance and Cedric in the pool, but listened intently. Herb took a sip of his coffee, screwed up his face and shook his head. ‘Don’t get me wrong, there are some good, dedicated people involved with these aid programs, people who really want to give help, and others who have valuable know-how, and are doing it for the money.’ He flashed a look to Leon, and continued. ‘But the overall policy is based on fear, with a good helping of greed. These aid projects are generally carried out by US corporations, who are well paid and who then, of course, get a solid commercial foothold in the region.’ Leon cut in, ‘Hey guys, guys, you will have to forgive my friend here. He’s a cynical old bastard, and the coffee gets him too revved up. I spend half my life apologising for the old schmuck.’ Herb frowned and took another sip of coffee. ‘OK, OK, I have had my say, but I leave you with this question. Why would our government brief the best designer they could find to build an exhibit around aid programs, when all the other countries are trying to boost trade by honestly exhibiting their products to the open market?’ At that moment Cedric and Lance came back from their efforts in the pool. Phil threw them a couple of towels and they dried themselves vigorously. Lance paused, with the towel over his head and, still breathing heavily, said, ‘OK guys, how about the big relay race. Yanks versus Aussies. Three swimmers per team, tomorrow night, same time, same place. How about it?’

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Cedric looked up from drying between his toes and said, ‘Well, Teddy and I will give it a go, as promised, but we haven’t asked Stanley yet. How about it young Stan, you can swim can’t you?’ Stan, who was sitting next to Herb, took a long, studied sip from his beer and, with froth shaking on his bristling mustache answered loudly, ‘Of course, I can bloody well swim. Well I could about 40 years ago.’ He looked sideways at Herb. ‘Look, I tell you what, if our fat little mate with the motor-mouth here gives it a go …’ He elbowed Herb in the ribs, ‘I will, too. Bloody oath I will.’ Herb made an expression of mock horror, his eyes seemed to fill the thick lenses of his glasses. He waved his arms around in despair and, slapping his wide forehead, gasped, ‘Scheeeee … I come down here for a little coffee and a chat, and I find myself having to make a blood oath with this crazy little guy to drown myself in the pool tomorrow night already.’ He gave Stan a good-natured slap on the back and everybody laughed. ‘OK then,’ Lance said, ‘what about that navy guy, Dutch. Is he available?’ ‘No, I don’t think so,’ Teddy answered. ‘I heard that he and Terri have gone up to Chang Mai for a few days. But what about you, Phil?’ Phil, who had been very quiet that evening listening to everything Herb had been saying, was sitting a bit apart from the others. He looked embarrassed. ‘Ah, I don’t know, I’m not good at competitive things. It is not really my style.’ He was careful not to make eye contact with Lance. Herb gave him a long, thoughtful look, but said nothing. ‘Oh come on mate,’ Teddy said smiling. ‘It’s not really competitive, it’s just a bit of fun, that’s all. Look, I’m no swimmer, believe me. Come on, give it a go.’

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‘OK, OK, I guess you can count me in, but why does it have to be the Aussies and the Yanks? Why can’t we just mix the teams up? What are we trying to prove?’ Lance started to say something, but thought better of it. Cedric cut in, ‘We’re trying to prove nothing, old son. We are just having a bit of fun while we can. From our side’s point of view, tomorrow may be the last night we have off. We have less than three weeks before the trade fair opens and we are horribly behind schedule. I know that after what you chaps have been doing in Vietnam you certainly deserve a bit of fun.’ ———————— The next day Teddy and Cedric had a hectic time at the pavilion. Things were happening fast now and they had little time to think about other things. Teddy was trying not to take the swimming race too seriously, but he was comforted knowing that Cedric was in the team. Although he was well into his forties, Cedric was an excellent swimmer. However, when Teddy looked at him, he noticed for the first time just how tired and worn out he looked. He seemed to have lost a lot of weight and looked haggard, with dark rings under his eyes. Teddy guessed that he must look the same. It had happened gradually over the time that they had been in Bangkok. The long hours, the climate, the crushing heat of the pavilion, the unfamiliar diet, the recurring stomach troubles, and the stress and tensions of the project were starting to show. Stan Blizzard scurried past on his way to a failing air-conditioner. He looked frail and stooped, his forearms an angry red with dermatitis. Teddy thought to himself that they didn’t really make a fit swimming team.

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That night there seemed to be more of the other guests and waiters around the swimming pool at the Rajah than usual. Word must have got around that something was going to happen. Teddy noticed Stan and Herb laughing and talking earnestly to Somchai, the waiter. Cedric and Lance had arranged that they would swim first, doing five laps, Teddy and Phil would then swim three laps, and Stan and Herb would finish the race with two laps. Tensions mounted as Cedric and Lance limbered up at one end of the pool, while Teddy and a sheepish Phil waited at the opposite end, with Stan and Herb relaxing on banana lounges nearby. Finally, Leon, who was acting as starter, waved a white towel and Ced and Lance dived in. Lance was fit and young and soon pulled away. By the time they reached the first turn he was half a body-length ahead, and increased this to a full body-length by the second turn. But Cedric had a beautiful smooth style and could hold it. Half-way down the third lap Lance started to lose form and churn a little, and Cedric started to gain. By the start of the fifth lap they were even again, and Lance was struggling. Cedric’s smooth even strokes drew him ahead and gave Teddy a whole body-length start on Phil. Teddy gave it all he could. He had never been a really good swimmer, but he was quite at home in the water. He flailed along and was confident that he was leaving Phil behind. After the first turn he was surprised to see Phil right beside him, swimming smoothly. No matter how hard Teddy tried Phil just stuck there, stroking effortlessly. For the last half-lap Teddy gave it all, but Phil stayed with him for a dead heat. It was now up to Stan and Herb. Stanley was wearing his old-fashioned maroon woollen swimming togs. Except for his infected forearms,

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which were inflamed red, his skinny body was luminous white. Herb wore yellow Bermuda shorts. His plump, paunchy body was mostly covered with a mat of dark, curly hair that matched the two strange tufts on the sides of his head. He squinted without his glasses. Stan’s arms were flailing while he was still in mid-air. Herb hit the water with an almighty splash. They moved slowly up the pool, side by side, Stan thrashing like some wild egg-beater, Herb grunting along with a sedate, matronly side-stroke. They were dead even at the turn. Cedric, Lance, Teddy, Leon and some of the other guests were screaming encouragement. They were neck and neck. Then, suddenly, when they were half-way down the pool, just a few metres from the finish, they both turned together and swam to the side of the pool. Somchai was waiting there with a tray. Herb and Stan heaved themselves up and sat on the edge of the pool. The others watched dumbfounded while Somchai served Herb a brimming cup of coffee and Stan a tall, ice-cold beer. Cedric smiled and shook his head, then looked down the pool to Teddy and shrugged. Lance was deeply upset. He stared hard at Stan and Herb, flashed a cool look down the pool to Phil, then walked over to pick up his towel and proceeded to dry himself angrily. Teddy looked at Phil and said, ‘Well, I guess those two know winning is not everything.’ ‘Yeah,’ Phil answered, smiling broadly. ‘How about those guys?’ Leon saw them talking and ambled across to them. ’You will have to forgive my hairy little friend, sometimes he just can’t help himself. He always has to stick his dumb neck out to make a point. He is pretty pissed off with our government at the moment, and he didn’t want to risk winning a race for the good old USA. Your buddy Stanley

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seemed quite happy to go along with the deal.’ Leon smiled ruefully, and strolled around the pool to join Herb and Stan. Teddy noticed Phil was watching Lance at the other end of the pool. Lance finished drying himself, grabbed his things, which were on a banana lounge, and walked testily out of the pool area towards his room. ‘Lance looks a bit upset. I don’t think he appreciates Herb’s actions,’ Teddy said. Phil didn’t answer for a while, he just stared thoughtfully down into the water, then said quietly, ‘It’s not Herb he’s shitty with, it’s me.’ He looked at Teddy and grinned. ‘No offence buddy, but I could have easily beaten you in the pool, but I guess I feel a bit like Herb. Lance knows that, and that’s what has pissed him off. He cares about winning and he really cares about his country. He is my closest buddy, he has been since we were kids, but there are some things we just don’t agree on, and never will.’ Teddy felt that Phil wanted to talk more about things. He noticed that Cedric had walked around to join Herb and Stan, who were laughing loudly about something. Teddy gestured to Somchai for two beers, and he and Phil went down to the far end of the pool, where their clothes were, dried off and sat on a couple of banana lounges. Phil told Teddy of his long friendship with Lance, how they had grown up together, sailed together and joined the Coast Guard together. He told of how he had become disillusioned by their harrowing duties in Vietnam. He envied Teddy for doing work he obviously really loved, and he now regretted joining the Coast Guard. And he was now sure that when this tour of duty was over he would leave the service and study architecture.

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As they were finishing their beers, Teddy said, ‘I guess I am fortunate to be doing the sort of work that I am, but in a funny way, I envy you blokes. I have always been fascinated by military things and by the sea. I can’t imagine anything much more exciting than manning a vessel like yours in a war zone.’ Phil frowned and shook his head. ‘Look Teddy, you just don’t understand, believe me.’ He sighed and continued, ‘I tell you what. Lance and I take it in turns to go down to the docks early each morning to check how the work is progressing. Tomorrow morning is my turn. If you’re interested, and if you can make the time, you could come down and I will show you over our cutter. It would only take an hour or so.’ ‘I’d like that Phil, but we really are so busy now.’ ‘Hey, we go early buddy, while it’s cool. I will have you out at your pavilion pretty much at your normal time, OK?’

44 The Trophy Bangkok, November 1, 1966.

PHIL PRETTES HARDLY SLEPT at all that night. He would doze for a while and then the image of that boy saluting him would come back, and he would snap awake, breathless and sweating. Christ, would it always be like this, would he ever be able to forget? He and Lance had volunteered to come to Vietnam to do ‘search and rescue duties’. The US Government had shipped out 26 of the little Point Class Cutters as deck cargo to Vietnam. Two officers and eight sailors manned each boat. The 25-metre-long cutters had been hastily modified. The smart white paint-work with the characteristic red sash-band had been painted over in drab navy grey, and they were given special fibreglass sheathing to their hulls to cope with the corrosive tropical conditions. Phil and Lance had gone through the Coast Guard Academy together. Lance had passed out with slightly

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higher grades than Phil, being judged as having better ‘leadership qualities’. He was put in command of one of these cutters with Phil as his executive officer. They had been stationed at An Thai on the southern coast of Vietnam. The Point Class Cutters were not designed for war. They were great sea-boats, with steel hulls and light aluminum upper-works, to give them a low centre of gravity to handle stormy seas. But they were very vulnerable even to small-arms fire, which could easily penetrate the thin aluminium plating. The approved drill was for the cutter to stand off from any suspicious craft and launch their outboard-powered, five-metre aluminium boat, with a boarding party of four, to conduct the inspection, while the cutter covered them with their long-range 50-calibre machine-gun. It had been Phil’s job to command the small boat. It was their fifth day out on patrol from their base at An Thai. Their job was to stop junks and sampans plying the coast of Vietnam and inspect them for contraband. These craft were a vital supply-line for guns and ammunition to the Vietcong. They had stopped many boats in the previous few days, but this one had behaved differently, changing its course subtly to avoid converging with them, then purposely veering into a rain squall. They had tracked it through the enveloping rain, and then, when the rain cleared, the sampan stopped dead in the water. The cutter had stopped to launch the outboard and the four-man boarding party, led by Phil, was strangely quiet, and devoid of the usual wiseacre banter. All wore helmets and flack jackets and carried side-arms, and the man in the bow carried a venerable Thompson sub machine-gun.

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The cutter stood off about 500 metres from the sampan. There was a steep oily chop running up from the South China Sea that made the cutter rock crazily. Phil steered the small boat in a wide flanking arc to starboard, so as not to obstruct the line of fire between the cutter and the sampan. He was aware of what a concentrated target the small boat was and how vulnerable they were. He stopped about 200 metres short of the sampan and tried to focus his binoculars on it. The heaving swell was making it difficult. ‘Duckling, Duckling, this is Mother Duck, do you read me? Over.’ Lance’s voice crackled over the radio. Phil picked up the hand-piece. ‘Mother Duck, Mother Duck, we read you. Over.’ ‘Duckling, Duckling, do you have a problem? Over.’ Phil was trying to focus on the sampan. He ignored radio procedure. ‘I don’t know Lance, something is screwy, it’s weird. They are dead in the water, and these three guys are just sitting there. Just sitting there looking over to you guys. They are ignoring us.’ Lance sounded tense. ‘Back off Phil, for Christ’s sake get out of there. We don’t need any damn heroes, just come back here. Do you read me Duckling?’ ‘Roger Mother Duck, we read you. Wait a minute, they’re doing something now.’ Phil struggled to keep the binoculars focused. ‘They’re lifting something ...Shit! They’ve got a weapon. They have got a weapon.’ The light breeze blew puffs of blue smoke from the sampan and there was the crackle of machine-gun fire. The men in the small boat ducked, but the fire was directed at the distant cutter. Phil saw little spurts of spray as the bullets skimmed the tops of the swells. There was a loud authoritative hammering from the cutter as the heavy 50-calibre machine-gun on the

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foredeck opened up. The first volley seemed to slice down into the waves close to the cutter. They’re abeam to the swell and rolling too much, Phil thought. The cutter slowly got under way and swung around so it was heading straight for the sampan, which was still firing with its 7.6mm light machine-gun. The cutter had stabilised and the next volley was much more accurate. Phil saw a line of tall geysers of spray march out across the waves and concentrate on the shabby little sampan. It disappeared in a welter of spray. Phil knew that the tall, gawky gunner, Alvin Ericson, was a good shot and wouldn’t miss if the cutter was stable. Jesus Barrio, the swarthy gunner’s mate, would keep the ammunition coming. The firing seemed to go on for ages, but in reality it was just one 10-second burst. The sampan was finished. The 50-calibre bullets were less than twice the diameter of the 7.6mm bullets fired from the sampan, but they were about six times the mass, and carried enormous energy. The long 10-second burst destroyed everything on the little sampan with a dreadful ferocity. ‘Duckling, Duckling, this is Mother Duck, what is your status? Over.’ Lance’s voice sounded edgy. Phil answered crisply, ‘Mother Duck, Mother Duck, this is Duckling, our status is A-OK. Over.’ The shock of the action had jarred him back into formal radio procedure. ‘Duckling, Duckling, the enemy craft looks like going down, you are closest, go and check it out. Collect anything that may interest our people. Make it snappy Duckling.’ The men in the little boat were shaken by what they saw as they approached the shattered sampan. None of them had seen what a storm of heavy-calibre gunfire can

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do to human targets. Two of the three Vietnamese were very young, probably in their mid-teens. The one behind the machine-gun was perhaps in his early twenties. All were horribly torn and shattered, an awful tangle of skinny knees and elbows, and pink entrails. Strangely, their faces were relatively unscathed. The soft breeze carried a disgusting odour across the water to the men in the approaching boat. As they slowly came alongside, the sampan started to sink stern-first, pulled down by the weight of the heavy old motor. Pieces of straw matting started to float out from the hull, exposing a row of metal ammunition boxes. It was then, in those few remaining seconds, Phil noticed that each of the crew had tied an ankle to the handle of one of those boxes. Just as the sampan was going under the Thompson man in the bow reached for the barrel of the light machine-gun that protruded over the sampan’s gunwale. He cursed as he gripped the still-hot barrel, then, shifting his grip, hoisted the weapon into the boat. The stricken sampan, with its dead crew, finally slipped from sight, to the depths of the South China Sea. After a few seconds a body surfaced, face-down just a few feet from the watching men. This boy had used a longer length of cord to tie his ankle into the boat, but, as the sinking craft took up the slack, it pulled his leg downwards. To the four men’s horror, the torso and head tilted upright in the water, floating in a ring of its own entrails. The face, so young, mouth agape, transfixed them with a terrible dead stare. He seemed to be looking straight into Phil’s eyes. As it sunk below the surface, perhaps because of an air bubble caught in the sleeve, the right arm swung up in a limp and mocking salute. A few pieces of ragged matting and a rapidly diluting cloud of pink blood in the water was all that was

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left. Phil nodded to the man at the outboard motor, and they headed towards the approaching cutter in shocked and sickened silence. After they got back to the cutter and were under way heading back to base, Phil went aft to be by himself for a while. Lance found him there sitting on the edge of the aft hatch, slumped forward, elbows on his knees, staring out into the churning wake that stretched out into the languid tropical dusk. He eased himself down on to the hatch cover beside him, and asked quietly, ‘How’s it goin’ buddy, you OK?’ Phil didn’t answer for a while, then, without looking up, said softly, ‘Why would they do it Lance? What would make them tie themselves into that stinking little boat? What were they trying to prove? Where the fuck does that sort of commitment come from? It just doesn’t make any fucking sense.’ ‘It’s not our job to make sense of any of this mess Phil. All we can do is follow orders and hope that someone in the goddamned command system does make sense of it, so we can win this filthy war.’ Lance got up and walked over to the stern railing. He took a long look out over the lumpy swells, which were changing from a drab-olive colour to a teal-green as the sky darkened. Phil said softly to himself, ‘We will never win this thing, not against people like that.’ It was later that night they discovered that the special fibreglass sheathing was peeling off the cutter’s bottom. When they got back to An Thai they, and two other cutters, were sent to Bangkok for repairs. ———————— The taxi dropped Phil and Teddy off at the edge of the commercially run dry-dock facility that was built

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downstream from the dock area on the Chao Praya River. Taxis in Bangkok weren’t equipped with meters. Usually there was a bout of spirited haggling to agree on the fare at the start of the trip, but Phil had made the trip many times, and knew exactly what the cost should be. When he told the driver as they jumped in the cab at the Rajah, the smiling little man just winked and gave a cheerful thumbs up. The three little cutters shared the same large drydock, lined up neatly bow to stern. They had that ungainly, embarrassed look that seagoing vessels have when ‘high and dry’ out of their element. As Teddy got out of the beaten-up little Datsun, through the constant thrum from the river and the busy clamour of the dockyards, he heard the funky beat of loud rock music. It came from Phil’s cutter, the last in the row. The cutter was propped up with large balks of teak timber, which seemed out of scale, and were obviously meant for much larger vessels. The hull was surrounded with equipment, air-compressors and sand-blasting gear. A few disinterested Thai workmen looked as if they were getting ready to start work. The faulty fibreglass sheathing had to be removed completely before the new material could be applied. Although some sheathing had peeled off on its own, most areas seemed to have bonded securely to the steel hull plating, and sand-blasting was the only way to remove it. This was taking a long time. Teddy was excited as they climbed the ladder to the deck level. He loved boats generally, but he was especially interested to visit a warship that was virtually still on active duty. The music was loud now that they were nearing its source. It was The Who blasting out My Generation.

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Phil was wearing an immaculately pressed khaki uniform, and when they reached the deck he was saluted by a fresh-faced young sailor in a t-shirt and dungarees. Teddy noted, with some surprise, that the boy wore a web belt with a side-arm in a webbing holster. ‘Morning sir,’ the boy shouted above the music. ‘Good morning Zac,’ Phil yelled back, then nodded down towards the equipment on the floor of the dock. ‘How are these guys progressing? They don’t seem to have done much in the past couple of days.’ Zac said something that Phil couldn’t hear. Phil gestured to Zac to turn the music down. Zac sauntered sulkily towards the wheel-house. When the music softened, Phil explained to Teddy how they always kept an armed crew member on board for security because the dry-dock was not in a secure military area. The young man on duty was Seaman First Class Edwin Zachary, their specialist helmsman. A civilian company, which was American owned, in a joint venture with a local Thai company, was carrying out the remedial work on the three cutters. The work was being done on a ‘cost plus’ basis, so there was no incentive to finish the work quickly. There were always excuses for hold-ups, equipment breakdowns, lack of material supplies and the ever-present mai bpen rai attitude. Phil wasn’t in any rush to get back to Vietnam. He didn’t share Lance’s conviction that their work would help bring about victory. He really couldn’t see how anyone could win in Vietnam. The workman-like little cutter fascinated Teddy. It seemed to be just the right size; he could imagine it being controlled by its young crew. He imagined a free, buccaneer spirit, a spirit of adventure. He began to understand how Lance must feel. Phil pointed out the

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empty gun mounting on the foredeck, explaining how, because Bangkok technically was a neutral, nonbelligerent port, certain protocols had to be observed. The heavy machine-gun and mortar combination had been removed and stowed below. All other weapons, except for personal side-arms, had to be securely stowed and locked away. Phil took Teddy through the cramped wheel-house, with its little fold-down ‘jump seat’ on the bulkhead close behind the stainless-steel wheel and control panel. The ship’s radio was built into a console just to the right of the wheel. Just above it was the ship’s PA system, which incorporated a tape player. This was the source of the music, which was still too loud for Phil’s taste. He tried to turn it down, but mistakenly turned the volume control of the ship’s radio, which was right next to the PA control. He finally found the right one and, smiling at Teddy, turned the music down. Phil ruefully pointed out a line of recently welded up bullet holes in the aluminium plating. They then went down a small companion-way to the ward room, which was still above deck level and just forward of the wheelhouse. They sat at the little formica table while Zachary brought them a couple of mugs of black coffee. ‘So this is where you and Lance live?’ Teddy asked, wincing as he sipped the hot black coffee. ‘How was Lance this morning, was he still shitty over last night?’ ‘I don’t know, I didn’t see him,’ Phil sighed and stretched back in the upholstered seat. ‘Lance and I have agreed to disagree over a lot of things. We are great buddies, as I explained, but there are some things we just don’t understand about each other, and never will.’ Phil put his coffee mug down loudly and stood up. ‘Here, let me show you something that really bugs me about Lance.’

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He pointed to the aft bulkhead of the little cabin. Screwed to the fake timber laminate, above a little builtin bench seat, were two stainless-steel hooks. Phil hinged up the upholstered seat and took something in a long cloth wrapping from the storage locker beneath. His hands shook as he unwrapped the Chinese-made light machine-gun, and fitted it into the two hooks on the bulkhead. ‘There you are,’ he said ‘Our trophy, our fucking, goddamn trophy.’ Teddy could see that Phil was really upset about something, but didn’t know why. He looked at the strange weapon. It was crudely made, and to Teddy’s eye it was a very bad piece of industrial design. The wooden butt and foregrip were roughly finished, and it had a strange ammunition drum fixed on top that made it seem terribly unbalanced. It was a supremely ugly thing. Phil came back to the table and sat down heavily. ‘Lance insists that it stays up there on the wall. He says it is good for the morale of the crew. He says it illustrates the reason why we are here, the job we have to do: to stop weapons and supplies getting through to be used against our guys out in the boonies.’ Phil pushed the full coffee mug away and said softly, ‘He just doesn’t understand, that’s all.’ He closed his eyes and saw the dead boy saluting him, he saw the skinny ankles tied to the ammunition cases, he smelled the obscene stink again. He shuddered and stood up. ‘He just doesn’t understand that we are never going to win in that place, against those people. We should all just pack up our things and go home and learn how to build things that really matter.’ He sighed then gave a crooked grin. ‘On that note Teddy, we had better get you back to your Golden Pavilion’.

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As they climbed down the ladder, Phil pointed out that they wouldn’t be leaving Bangkok until all three cutters were repaired. They were all sharing the one drydock and it couldn’t be flooded until all the vessels were seaworthy. The taxi had waited for them. As they climbed in they heard Zachary crank up the volume on the sound system again. It was The Kinks classic, which was to become the servicemen’s sad anthem for that war, We Gotta Get Out of This Place.

45 American Aid Bangkok, November , 1966.

WHEN THEY GOT TO the fair-grounds, Teddy invited Phil in for a quick tour of the pavilion. The size and complexity of the project staggered Phil. He followed Teddy around and shook his head in wonder. He was terribly impressed by what had been achieved, but more staggered by what still had to be done. He stayed for only 15 minutes or so, not wanting to hold Teddy up any longer. He left to return to the Rajah, declining the offer to visit the US pavilion. Cedric and Teddy didn’t get back to the Rajah until after 10 that night. Tan Cheoy Siang wanted to have a meeting, without interruptions, to discuss priorities for the next phase of construction. After a late dinner in the coffee shop, they found Phil having a drink with Herb and Leon at a table in the pool area. Lance was swimming laps in the pool. Phil pulled a couple of nearby chairs around and invited them to sit down.

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‘Look guys,’ Phil said, with a serious expression on his thin, intense face, ‘the three of us have been talking, and we figure we have done enough goddamn sightseeing around this burg to last a lifetime, and have drunk far more booze than is good for us. We all have a load of time on our hands with nothing much to do, so why don’t we come and give you guys a hand working on your pavilion?’ Teddy and Cedric gave each other a quick look. Herb put down his coffee cup. ‘Hey guys, just understand already, that we are bored shitless just hanging around here. We would love to feel useful, really we would.’ He looked to Leon for confirmation. Leon nodded vigorously. Lance had swum over to the side of the pool, and was listening. Cedric smiled and answered warmly, ‘That’s a very kind offer, it really is, but we couldn’t possibly expect you to do that.’ ‘We never thought that you would expect our help Cedric,’ Phil said ernestly, ‘but I know that you guys could use some help. OK, I know that we know nothing about exhibitions, but there must be lots of menial things we could do to take some of the load off you guys. C’mon guys, let us help.’ ‘Ahem,’ Cedric cleared his throat and said seriously, ‘I know you all mean well, but it really isn’t appropriate that you should help us work on our pavilion when the US pavilion is also running behind schedule. It would be very awkward, it really would.’ ‘Awkward, schmawkward,’ Herb blurted. ‘It has nothing to do with patriotism, nothing at all. You guys are our buddies, we are just offering to give a couple of buddies a hand, that’s all. We don’t even know the guys involved with the American pavilion, why should we bother to help them?’

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Lance had climbed out of the pool and was drying himself nearby. Teddy looked at Phil and said quietly, ‘I can tell you for sure that the US project is in just as bad a shape as we are. Benton is a hell of a nice chap, I know he could do with some help. He seems to be the only American on site.’ ‘Look, as Herb has said, it has nothing to do with wanting to help our country. It’s just to do with friendship. I can only speak for myself, but I feel I have been doing more than enough for Uncle Sam lately.’ Lance paused in drying himself and looked thoughtfully at the ground. Cedric got to his feet and said firmly, ‘Well, we have taken your kind offer on board, but I can’t accept your help without checking with our boss, Malcolm Devlin. There may be policy issues, you understand.’ Herb shrugged and mumbled something to Leon who gave a little smile. They all got to their feet, said goodnight, and shambled off towards their rooms. The next morning, as they were leaving the hotel, Teddy ran into Lance in the lobby. He was in uniform and just leaving to go down to the docks. He seemed pleased to see Teddy, and said, ‘I overheard what the guys were saying to you last night. I just want you to know, that if you really are in trouble, you can include me as far as giving a hand. That’s no problem and it would be my pleasure.’ His expression became more serious. ‘But that aside, it would be really great for Phil to be able to work with you for a bit. You probably know he is considering leaving the service and studying architecture. This would be a chance for him to get a taste of what may be ahead of him.’

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Lance smiled and, taking his peaked hat off, looked down at it and studied the gold Coast Guard crest on the front as he continued thoughtfully, ‘I think Phil would make a great architect. He has always been interested in that sort of thing. Have you seen any of his sketches? They are really terrific. I know he has loads of talent that is probably being wasted.’ He looked up from his hat and straight into Teddy’s eyes. ‘I don’t know what Phil might have been telling you, but he is my closest friend, and always will be. Hell, we are different in many ways, but that’s fine isn’t it? That might be why we have stayed such good buddies. Honestly Teddy, all I want is what’s best for him.’ Teddy could see that Lance was sincere, and really cared about his friend. He hoped Phil understood this. Cedric rang Malcolm that morning and was told that, due to the diplomatic ramifications, there was absolutely no way the offer of help could be accepted.

46 Coffee Break Bangkok, November 3, 1966.

IT WAS THE GENERAL tiredness — the whole team was getting tired, that’s what was slowing them down. Simple tasks seemed to be becoming so difficult. Cedric and Teddy would start each day resolved to achieve certain goals, feeling relatively fresh and effective. The bright and earnest Sumbart would arrive right on time, but as soon as they got into the car and started out through the hectic traffic, they would feel their energy sapping away. This particular morning the car was caught in a traffic jam just at the start of Petchaburi Road. They had been stuck there for 10 minutes or so and the car was heating up, and it was getting very stuffy. Teddy’s mind was laden with all the things that had to be done that day, but he was determined to keep a positive attitude and not let a little thing like a traffic jam get him down. Some fresh air, that would help, that’s

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what they needed. He wound down the window and took a deep breath. The car was filled immediately with the vilest of smells. He looked down through the open window, and there, right alongside the car, was a large black dead dog, fat and bloated, legs poking stiffly upwards. He quickly wound the window up, but it was too late, the horrible stench had permeated everything. They were stuck there, unable to move forward or back, for another 10 minutes. Sumbart turned to them and laughed. Teddy looked at Cedric, who was holding a hand over his nose and trying not to breathe. His friend looked thin and gaunt, with dark rings under his eyes, and he was shifting uneasily on the hot vinyl seat. Due to the unfamiliar diet, painful haemorrhoids had troubled them both. ‘Things aren’t meant to be as difficult as this are they Ced?’ Teddy asked. Cedric took his hand away from his face and smiled. ‘No, I don’t think so Teddy.’ He gave a sigh and, shifting in his seat again, stared out the window to the distant paddy fields that could be seen through a gap in the rag-tag bar buildings. ‘I was just thinking about another construction team, one that was operating quite near here just 20-odd years ago. They were building a railway line. Australian and British lads who were prisoners of the Japanese. Things certainly were difficult for them. No airconditioned hotel to stay in, no decent food, no swimming pool. If they had been stuck on the road beside a dead dog they would probably have considered ways of eating it.’ He looked back at Teddy. ‘Difficult is a very relative term, isn’t it?’ The traffic ahead started to move. Sumbart put the Holden into gear and they moved smoothly off towards the fair-grounds, taking the smell of the dead dog with

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them. It hung with Teddy like the guilt he felt for indulging in self-pity. By the time they got to the pavilion Teddy was determined to make this day count, and achieve all the goals he had set himself. One of the things that had been worrying him was the completion of the great Water Map feature. It had been finished in the broad sense, the pool beneath it painted and filled with water, but the capital city symbols were yet to be glued in place on the hanging glass panels. This was a difficult task that Teddy needed to do himself. But he was constantly needed by the Metro Lights boys to supervise all the other tasks that were going on simultaneously. The Water Map needed his uninterrupted attention. He made up his mind to stay at the pavilion that evening and work on it by himself until it was finished. They went back to the Rajah for lunch, but they had ceased having their lunch-time swims. They just didn’t have the strength. Teddy took a club sandwich wrapped in foil and a couple of bottles of 7-UP back to the pavilion for his evening meal. There were many food vendors at the fair-grounds to cater for the workers, but Ced and Teddy couldn’t risk using them. They had had their share of stomach problems just through eating at the hotels and restaurants, so they dare not risk getting seriously sick at this critical stage. There was one old coffee vendor, an ancient woman, tiny, with limbs like matchsticks, who set up her stall right in front of their pavilion. Every time they walked past her wizened old face would wreathe up in a toothless smile, and she would gesture towards her little cluster of old Nestlé Condensed Milk cans which she used as coffee cups. They always ignored her.

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It had been a busy day but Teddy felt they had achieved a lot. He was looking forward to finishing the Water Map, and was pleased when evening came and the Metro Lights boys started to leave for the day. Cedric had to go back to the hotel to work on his priority lists. This was vital. Teddy had a multitude of design matters to consider, but Cedric was in control of the whole project. Sumbart drove Cedric back to the hotel, but, because Teddy didn’t know how long his task would take, he would catch a taxi back later. Teddy had looked forward to sticking the capital city symbols in place, but it proved to be a difficult task. Helmut, the model-maker, had fashioned thick slabs of clear polished acrylic with selected pieces of silvery scrapmetal glued to them. There was also metallic lettering stuck in place to identify the cities, ‘Singapore’, ‘Jakarta’, etc. The special, two-part epoxy adhesive had to be carefully applied on the back of the acrylic slabs behind the metal sections, so it would not be seen. This was not easy. The epoxy glue took some hours to harden, so the slabs had to be supported with blocks of wood that had to be securely taped on to the swaying glass panels. All this had to be done while clinging to a wobbly bamboo scaffold, which was standing in a pool full of water. It would be a long and tedious task. Teddy had taken off his shoes and socks and rolled his cotton trousers up to the knees so he could wade in the pool. It was not hard to drag the bamboo scaffolding structure into position. It slid easily though the water and over the pool bottom. Teddy noted the spot, directly under Sumatra, where young Danu’s blood had stained the pool base. There was nothing to show for it. It was tiring climbing up and down the swaying scaffold. Teddy had to climb up and down at least three

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times to fix each symbol. First, he would cut a thin cardboard template to the shape of the symbol. No two symbols were exactly alike. Then he would climb up and tape this template into position on the hanging glass panel. Then he would climb down and sight the template up from floor level. This was important because the glass panels were on a different plane to the map background; they had to line up and look as if they were in the right location, and sometimes this took two or three attempts to get it right. Then he would climb up again with three or four wooden blocks and tape them securely below and beside the template. He could have used some help, and began to wish he was not working on his own. After removing the template he would climb down and prepare the acrylic symbol to be stuck in place by carefully mixing the epoxy parts together, and then applying the sticky goo so it was hidden behind the metal parts. Next came the hard part. He had to climb onehanded up the scaffold, juggling the sticky symbol, and being careful not to smear the glue because the solvent that would remove the glue would also spoil the acrylic slab. Placing the symbol precisely into position on the wooden blocks was difficult. The glass panel would sway and clink against its neighbours. It was a nerve-racking business. He started off by fixing the biggest symbol, which was Bangkok. It was so arduous he almost gave up, thinking he should get someone to stay back and help him the next night. But he thought he would do just one more while he was at it, the one immediately to the west, Rangoon. Bangkok to Rangoon: that was the route of the infamous Burma Railway. Suddenly all that Cedric had been talking about that morning flooded back to him. His

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head filled with images of thousands of young men, most of whom were younger than he, being forced into slave labour. He had been worrying about his heat rash and haemorrhoids, but those boys had been starved, riddled with beriberi, had horrendous tropical ulcers drained with sharpened teaspoons, and were often savagely beaten with pick handles and the like, for their trouble. He felt a terrible sadness, but then a surge of new energy. He would finish the Water Map tonight, as planned. It was easy now, climbing the scaffold, and, one by one, the symbols went into place. But it did take time. It was 4.30am when Teddy put the last one into place. It was fitting that it was his home town, Melbourne. His feet had swollen badly and had become softened by the immersion in the tepid water of the pool. When he stepped out on to the coarse jute carpet of the walkway the pain was acute. He couldn’t walk on it, nor could he put on his shoes due to the swelling. There was no way he could walk to the main gates. He was suddenly very tired, so he lay down on his back on the rough matting and in a few moments was fast asleep. He slept soundly for a couple of hours, then something woke him. Still lying flat on his back, he turned his head towards the pavilion entrance. The sun must have come up, the building lights were still on, but a flush of pink light was coming in from outside. Hearing a sound, he rolled his head the other way and stared at what looked like a pair of mummified or fossilised old feet in a pair of bright-pink plastic sandals. It was an old woman, the ancient coffee vendor from the front of the pavilion. She was squatting beside him, smiling her familiar toothless smile. He sat up and she handed him one of her condensed milk cans. It had some strands of raffia wound around it to

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hold it by. He took it without question. It was very hot and filled with what looked like very strong black coffee. She handed him a slither of split bamboo and made a stirring gesture. When he stirred it he felt something thick and sticky in the bottom. It was about one-third full of sweetened condensed milk, the kind he used to steal from his mother’s pantry when he was a little boy. The old lady kept smiling and leaned forward for a closer look as he stirred it up into a sticky tan soup. She rocked gently back on her haunches, her gummy mouth gaping, her tongue moving back and forth like a parrot’s, as she watched expectantly. He passed her back the stirring stick. Her black eyes glinted in their leathery folds as he raised the can to his lips. The hot rim stung his lips, he winced, but took the first sip. It was nectar, heavenly. He took two more eager sips and felt strength and life flow back into him as the sugar and caffeine kicked in. She stood up. Her smile seemed beautiful now. He reached into his pocket, but she waved her claw-like hand dismissively, and, still smiling, walked with joyful little mincing steps, like a girl, out into the pink light. The coffee had worked wonders. Teddy spent the next couple of hours tidying up and cleaning all his finger marks off the glass panels, mindful of Sergeant Sumbart’s inspection. The capital cities, plastered with adhesive tape, looked like bandaged wounds, but at last they were in place. When Sumbart arrived with Cedric and Stan Blizzard, he was very insistent about taking Teddy straight back to the Rajah. But Teddy had regained his strength and was in no hurry to go. Sumbart stood up straight and, with a hint of the same military note that he used to

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address the Thai workers, said firmly, ‘Come Mr Teddy, we go now. I will take you back to the hotel. You will have some food and then some rest. I will go back and fetch you later.’ This was said as an order, not a request. Teddy looked at Cedric, who pursed his lips and nodded in mock concern. Teddy was still unable to put his shoes on properly, but was able to fit the front of his feet in and wear them as scuffs. As they passed the old woman’s coffee stand, Teddy said to Sumbart, ‘That old lady was very kind to me earlier, she gave me a can of coffee, and she wouldn’t accept any payment. But I would very much like to pay her. Could you ask her how much the coffee costs?’ Sumbart took off his sunglasses and walked over and spoke to the old woman, who listened, smiling her wrinkled walnut smile, and nodding across to Teddy. She said something to Sumbart, who shrugged and smiled, and came back to Teddy. ‘She says she wants nothing from you. Nothing except to know that you now notice her, and do not ignore her, and know that she makes good coffee.’ Teddy was moved, and said, ‘Tell her that she makes really excellent coffee, the best coffee I have ever tasted.’ As Sumbart turned to go back, Teddy, in a flush of magnanimity added, ‘Tell her I am sure I will never taste better coffee, it was the best coffee I will ever have.’ As Sumbart spoke to the old woman her toothless mouth gaped as she threw her head back and cackled with laughter. A pair of workers she was serving turned and smiled widely at Teddy. Then, suddenly looking seriously across to Teddy, the old woman leant across and said something to Sumbart, who stopped smiling himself. As Teddy shuffled towards the gates he asked Sumbart, ‘What did the old dear say to you that was so serious?’

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Sumbart hesitated before answering carefully, ‘Sir, she said she was very happy that you enjoyed her coffee, but very sad that you could be so stupid.’ Teddy was miffed and asked churlishly, ‘What the hell did she mean by that?’ ‘She is an old and silly woman Mr Teddy, but she means no harm.’ ‘Come on Sumbart, what did she mean?’ ‘Mr Teddy, she thinks you are stupid to think that the best coffee you will ever have would be given to you by an old woman who you don’t even know.’ Sumbart was embarrassed, he paused and looked away, out across the lake, past the gilded royal barge to the little golden wat. ‘She said the best coffee you will ever have will be given to you by someone who loves you, by someone you love.’ As they drove quietly through the morning traffic, Teddy felt very tired again, but at peace with himself. He closed his eyes and saw the wonderful gummy smile on that old wrinkled-walnut face.

47 The Disappearing Sculpture Bangkok, November 8, 1966.

‘IT’S JUST BLOODY WELL disappeared, I can’t understand it.’ Clive Harris, the shipping agent, was exasperated. ‘My paperwork shows it was unloaded into the bonded area of the port, but it has just disappeared.’ He was having an early breakfast meeting with Cedric and Teddy at the Rajah. The Agrarian Sculpture, the large welded piece created in Melbourne by the Swiss sculptor using ploughshares and harrow discs, had gone missing. ‘It must be there somewhere old boy,’ Cedric said, frowning. ‘I mean, the place is bonded, no one can take anything in or out without the correct paperwork.’ ‘I don’t know,’ Clive said. ‘It was shipped up uncrated, evidently. I don’t know what the bloody thing looks like, but I can tell you there is nothing down there that looks even vaguely like a piece of sculpture. I have had my people looking for days now.’

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Teddy was worried. This sculptural piece was a vital ‘icon’, it expressed a lot about Australia’s mechanised farming. He looked at Cedric. ‘I had better go down this morning and have a look. I know what it looks like. If it’s there I’ll find it.’ The dock areas along the Chao Phraya River were a shambles. The combination of the huge military build-up and the trade fair had put them under unprecedented strain. They were totally clogged up. The port had always been run-down and out of date, a complex of rickety wharves and ancient, sagging warehouses, but now it was a lot worse. The bonded areas had been extended to include what had been junk and salvage yards. Teddy drove down straight after breakfast with Clive and Clive’s driver. The boot of the car ‘clinked’ with the bottles of Scotch Clive used to ‘oil the works’ with the Thai officials. Clive was a real pro and, after some goodnatured banter with the guards at the security gates, they were allowed to drive right into the bonded area. The place was a nightmare, a hopeless jumble of rusting discarded machinery, piles of corroding ship’s chain and untidy stacks of broken crates and dented metal drums. Everything seemed to blend together in a steamy haze of decay. A couple of bottles of Scotch changed hands, but the officials could only indicate the general area where the Australian consignment that included the sculptural piece might be. They had been searching in the mounting heat for nearly an hour when Teddy found it. It was lying on its side against a rusting wire-mesh fence. It had blended into the corroding environment so as to be almost invisible. The ploughshares, harrow discs and tynes the Swiss sculptor had so lovingly treated to appear oxidised and corroded to give the piece the subtle patina that seemed so interesting in the sophisticated

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atmosphere of the Melbourne studio gallery, now matched perfectly the dreary decay of the area. ‘Jesus Christ,’ said Clive. ‘You’re not going to put this heap of shit into our pavilion, are you?’ Teddy had to agree. Corrosion was too much the norm in Bangkok to be appreciated. They had the piece loaded on to a truck and taken to the pavilion, where Teddy had the Metro Lights boys spray-paint it a bright metallic silver before it was put into place. It was a decision that would never be understood back in Melbourne. The Swiss sculptor would never speak to him again.

48 The Jet Engine Bangkok, November 10, 1966.

AN ADDITION TO WILLIAM’S and Teddy’s original concept for the exhibition was the Australian-built Rolls Royce Avon 20 jet aircraft engine. This was an extremely prestigious item. It showed up during Cedric’s search through the list of potential exhibitors. Cedric had been looking for examples of Australian industrial products that would demonstrate a high level of engineering expertise. During the 1950s Australia had been looking for a high-performance jet fighter to build in Australia under a licensing arrangement. It decided on the North American Aviation F-86 Sabre but with modifications that would better suit Australia’s requirements. It was decided to build Sabres with heavier armament and a more powerful engine, the Rolls Royce Avon. The Commonwealth Aircraft Corporation in Melbourne built this wonderful fighter plane, including

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the engine. The Sabre CAC, as it was designated, was regarded as the best of the Sabre types built. The Avon 20 engine was a beautiful-looking thing. It was lighter, and more powerful, than the American engine it replaced, delivering a massive 7,500 pounds of thrust. William and Teddy decided to display it at the end of the Electrical and Electronics area, just before the walkway ramped up through the Image Tunnel to the Technical Manufacturing zone. William and Teddy had designed a special support stand to hold the Avon Engine in an upward angled ‘inflight’ attitude. They had had meetings with the CAC engineers to make sure that the fixing points on the stand would accurately fit the engine mounting points. A procedure was devised to lift the engine into place on the special stand. This involved suspending the engine from a temporary tripod that would be built by Metro Lights. The special stand would be put into position beneath the engine, bolted into place, and then the tripod would be taken away. This all seemed fairly simple, but, to make doubly sure, CAC arranged for an experienced RAAF engine-fitter to go to Bangkok to supervise the operation. RAAF Sabre squadrons had been stationed at Butterworth in Malaysia for some years and had become part of the South-East Asia Treaty Organisation, and were on active service in the area. A RAAF Sergeant was seconded to go to Bangkok for a couple of days. He was booked into the Rajah and reported to Cedric and Teddy at breakfast. Teddy was very impressed by him. He was about the same age as Teddy, straight and trim, and was wearing an impressive lightweight khaki flying suit that was criss-crossed with zips and stitched reinforcements. The shoulder patches had the word

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‘AUSTRALIA’ printed on them in light-blue letters. He wore a peaked cap with the impressive RAAF emblem on the front. He had a tanned face and a white smile, and wore the cap pulled down low over his blue eyes. His bearing was upright and confident. He was the first Australian serviceman Teddy had seen in Bangkok, and he felt quite proud of him, but Cedric seemed to be a little cool when he was introduced. ‘Good morning sir,’ the sergeant said jauntily. ‘I am here to make sure nobody wrecks our Avon 20.’ ‘Well, it was not our intention to wreck it,’ Cedric answered a little curtly, ‘but we would appreciate some guidance in putting the thing into place.’ Teddy noticed Sumbart arrive in the lobby and wave to them through the glass wall of the coffee shop. As they walked towards the door the sergeant said, ‘I didn’t think you would knowingly damage the engine, sir. It is just that it is a pretty delicate device, and I know that these ”rock-monkeys” you have to do the job would probably be bloody rough with it.’ Cedric stopped and, turning to the sergeant, said firmly, ‘We have a very capable team working on the project actually. They will need only a bit of technical guidance to get the job done.’ As they followed Sumbart out to the car, the sergeant said, ‘I was hoping to come out to the pavilion and have a quick look-see, and then, if it is OK with you, get your driver here,’ he nodded towards Sumbart, who had opened the door of the car for him, ‘to run me back into town, to pick up a few bits and pieces.’ He looked at Sumbart and said sternly, ‘You got all that, did you Charlie?’ Cedric indicated that the sergeant should come a few steps away from the car. ‘Yes, that can be arranged,

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but I must point out that our driver has a name: Sumbart. It is certainly not Charlie, and I would thank you not to address him in that way again. Do you understand?’ The sergeant’s eyes narrowed. He looked hard at Cedric. Then he smiled his white smile and said, ‘Yeah, right-oh. Just an old habit I guess.’ Cedric sat in the front with Sumbart, who was unusually quiet as he drove them out to the fair-grounds. As they drove along Petchaburi Road, past all the gaudy bars and massage parlours, the sergeant said in wonderment, ‘Oh my Gawd, a man could do himself a lot of damage along here.’ Teddy laughed politely, Cedric just shifted uncomfortably on the vinyl seat. When they got to the pavilion they found the Metro Lights boys had already erected the temporary tripod, and the Avon engine was positioned in its crate on the walkway ready to be hoisted into place. The sergeant inspected the situation, walking up and down, and, from time to time, shaking his head gravely. Cedric had gone out into the annex to talk to Mr Tan when Teddy asked the sergeant how things looked. The sergeant took his cap off and wiped his brow with the back of his forearm. ‘Jeez, it is bloody hot in here, isn’t it? Look this isn’t going to be as simple as I thought. I didn’t realise you wanted the engine stuck up at such a steep angle. We have no hope of getting it done by tomorrow night. I am afraid you will have to give me authorisation to stay here longer, at least a couple more days.’ ‘Why, I mean, what is the problem? Surely it is just a matter of fitting the four bolts into place?’ The sergeant looked at Teddy disdainfully, sighed, and said patiently, ‘If we are not very careful we could twist the whole shebang, pull the entire engine out of alignment and ruin it.’ He made a savage twisting gesture with his hands.

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‘What we have to do,’ he said conspiratorially, ‘is tighten those mounting bolts to exactly the right tension to offset the twisting effect.’ He frowned and stroked his squared chin. ‘I will have to search around town and find a special tool, a tension wrench, to do the job. I mean, that will take some time.’ He looked earnestly at Teddy and said, ‘You wouldn’t want to be responsible for ruining a very expensive piece of equipment by rushing things, would you?’ Sumbart drove the sergeant back into the city, and when he returned to the pavilion, just in time to take Cedric and Teddy back to the Rajah for lunch, Teddy was surprised to see he was alone. ‘Where’s the sergeant Sumbart, what have you done with him?’ ‘I have done nothing with him, Mr Teddy.’ Sumbart looked embarrassed. ‘He asked to be left in the city, as he had many things to arrange.’ Sumbart shrugged and looked away. Teddy looked at Cedric, who shook his head, and, when Sumbart had moved out of earshot, said, ‘There is something about that chap I don’t like. It’s understandable that he would welcome this trip to Bangkok as a break in his routine duties, but I have the feeling he will do all he can to prolong the job.’ ‘Does that really matter?’ Teddy said. ‘As long as the job gets done, it is one thing less we have to worry about.’ Cedric shrugged and said nothing. ————————

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The sergeant didn’t appear back at the pavilion that day, nor was there any sign of him at the Rajah Hotel that evening, but he did breeze in, hale and hearty, at breakfast the next morning. ‘Ah, great!’ he said, greeting Cedric and Teddy with his wide, white smile. ‘I was hoping to catch you here and hitch a ride with you out to the pavilion.’ He sat down at their table without being invited. ‘I had a bugger of a time finding the right wrench yesterday. The bloody things are as scarce as hens’ teeth in this place.’ Cedric didn’t say anything, but gave the sergeant a stern look, and continued to eat his breakfast. The sergeant’s smile faded, but he said heartily, ‘Well, I have all the gear now, so we can get stuck into it today, and make things happen, if I can get those little bastards off their arses.’ He was referring to the Metro Lights boys. Cedric looked up sharply, but had his mouth full and couldn’t speak. Teddy, feeling Cedric’s anger, said quickly, ‘Well, you certainly won’t have any trouble with those boys, believe me.’ Then, to change the subject, he asked cheerfully, ‘Did you get out and about last night, and have a look around?’ The sergeant considered the question ruefully, then the smile came back to his handsome face. ‘Yes, I guess you could say I went out and, er, poked around a bit.’ Cedric had finished chewing. He clattered his knife and fork down on to his unfinished bacon and eggs, and said impatiently, ‘Well, we had best get going, young Sumbart has just arrived, and need I say we have more than enough to do today.’ The tempo of activity at the pavilion was increasing each day. The task of fitting the many half-metrediameter photographic colour transparencies into the

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cylindrical light-boxes was proving to be a mammoth affair. There were literally hundreds of them. The exhibiting companies, at considerable cost, as specified on the design drawings William and Teddy had provided, had produced these. Most of them had been delivered to the Department of Trade offices months before, back in Melbourne. Teddy and Ced had carefully checked and coded them at the time, and they were properly packed and sent to Bangkok as one consolidated consignment. However a number of companies had missed the shipping deadline and had sent their transparencies, uncoded, to Bangkok as individual consignments. This was now causing terrible confusion. Teddy was fully occupied sorting through the transparencies and allocating them to their appropriate light-boxes. So much was happening in the pavilion there was no clear space in which to lay all these transparencies out to sort through them. Teddy had little time to check on the progress of the Avon jet engine. There was still a lot of dust and grit in the pavilion which could easily scratch and damage the delicate emulsion on the transparencies if they were laid out on the walkways, and always the risk they would be trodden on. As many of the transparencies were dusty and needed to be washed with clean water, Teddy solved the space problem by lying them in the water of the reflection pool under the Water Map. Here, the transparencies sank to the bottom of the shallow pool, where they were safely protected in their organised groupings until they needed to be mounted behind the acrylic faces of the light-boxes. At the end of that day, Teddy was dismayed to find that little progress had been made on the jet engine. It had been lifted into place over its stand, but was still hanging from the temporary tripod. The sergeant seemed

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to be still dissatisfied with the way the mounting bolts were fitting. A couple of the Metro Lights boys, who had been allocated to help, were standing holding a stepladder for the sergeant and looking very bored. Tan Cheoy Siang walked past and looked at Teddy and gave a little shake of his head. When the sergeant saw Teddy he climbed down from the stepladder, frowning. ‘As I said yesterday, mate, this is not as easy as it looks. You can’t just bolt the thing on any old way, it has to be done properly, and this takes time.’ He looked earnestly into Teddy’s eyes saying, ‘I really don’t think we will be finished tomorrow. I think you will have to authorise me to stay a couple more days, mate.’ He unzipped one of the many pockets on his flying suit and handed Teddy a form he had already filled out for him to sign. Teddy knew he was being conned, but he was too tired to care. And what did it matter? It just gave this poor bloke a bit more of a break from the routine of his job back at his base in Malaysia. What was the big deal? He took the piece of paper and signed it. The demands of the project were such that Teddy gave little more thought to the mounting of the jet engine; there was so much else to be worried about. On the afternoon of the third day that the sergeant was on the job, the pavilion had some strange visitors. Teddy was talking to Cedric and Clive Harris by the reflection pool, discussing the locating and sorting of the colour transparencies, when Sumbart approached them from the entrance. Following Sumbart, in single file, walking with purposeful dignity, were four Thai women in traditional formal costume. The first was young and very pretty, the next two a little older, and the fourth middle-aged and a little plump. They all carried themselves with the self-

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conscious formality of people who are in their very best clothes. Sumbart looked worried. ‘Mr Cedric, Mr Teddy, this girl here,’ he indicated the pretty one, who had lowered her eyes but was standing proudly erect, ‘would very much like to see the Air Force Sergeant.’ ‘What for, Sumbart?’ Cedric asked. ‘The sergeant is very busy. Is it important?’ Sumbart was looking agitated. ‘She says she and the sergeant are going to be married. She has brought her sisters and her mother to meet him.’ Cedric and Teddy were stunned, Clive Harris just shook his head and turned away, saying softly, ‘Aw, Jesus Christ Almighty.’ The four women picked up on the mood immediately. They closed ranks. The pretty one’s eyes flashed up from the floor, searching Cedric’s and Teddy’s faces in turn. The sisters looked worried and the mother bristled. Cedric took command of the situation. ‘Sumbart, it is very hot and uncomfortable in here, please take these ladies outside to wait in the fresh air while I go and find the sergeant.’ But the sergeant was nowhere to be found. The Singaporeans said he had left the pavilion about an hour earlier, saying he had something to get in the city and could be gone for some time. When Cedric went out and told Sumbart, who translated it to the four women, they looked unconvinced. Then when Sumbart told them he would pass on a message to the sergeant, and that perhaps they should go away and wait for him to contact them, they became very upset, shaking their heads and all talking at once. Sumbart reverted to his military style and barked harshly at them to go away, but they just glared

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back at him, and filed around to the side of the pavilion and squatted down to wait in the shade. Sumbart went back inside and explained to Cedric and Teddy that the girl had told him she had met the sergeant in a bar during the afternoon three days before, they had fallen in love, and had been seeing each other each night since then. He had told her that he wanted to marry her. Clive Harris, who was standing nearby, butted in roughly, ‘Jesus, these blokes give me the shits. They just don’t play by the rules. I have met a lot like this bloody sergeant. They aren’t content to just use these girls, pay them some money, and put them back where they found them …’ The plastic girl system again, Teddy thought. ‘… but they have to go pissing in their ears, making promises they can’t keep, just so they can get some added kick out of it all. If it was up to me I would cut their bloody balls off, then promise to put them back on, and then see how they feel.’ ‘Hang on Clive,’ Cedric was a stickler for fair play. ‘Perhaps we should give the sergeant the benefit of the doubt for the time being. Perhaps he really intends to marry the lass.’ Clive looked incredulously at Cedric and put a hand on his shoulder. ‘And pigs may fucking fly, mate.’ The sergeant didn’t get back to the pavilion that afternoon, nor did they see him back at the Rajah that night, but he did appear in the coffee shop the next morning, walking in as Cedric and Teddy were finishing their breakfast. He stood smiling down at them. ‘Sergeant,’ Cedric said sternly, ‘while you were gone from the pavilion yesterday a lady friend of yours, and most of her family it would seem, came looking for you.’

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The sergeant’s handsome smile widened. ‘Yeah, I think I know who you mean.’ He shrugged mockingly. ‘She thinks she loves me, the stupid little tart. But I have to say she’s a real little goer that one, she just can’t get enough, day or night. She keeps waking me up wanting more. Wears a man out, even someone like me.’ Cedric carefully folded his serviette, put it neatly on the table and stood up closely beside the sergeant. ‘Listen to me sergeant, what you do in your own time is none of our business. But when you go swanning off during the day on bogus errands, it is our business.’ The sergeant started to say something, but saw the look in Cedric’s eyes. ‘You may not have noticed, but we have a big job on our hands, so I insist you keep your sordid private life away from our pavilion. I will not have this project soiled by the behaviour of a shabby little “erk” who wouldn’t have lasted five minutes back in my squadron.’ Later that morning at the pavilion Teddy was approached by a tall, long-faced man in the khaki uniform of a Squadron Leader of the Royal Australian Air Force. ‘Are you Mr Edward Brown?’ He shook hands. ‘I’m the Military Attaché at the embassy. I have a piece of paper here with your signature on it, requesting that one of our sergeant’s stay in Bangkok be extended. I’m afraid we can’t grant that request. This man should have been back on duty days ago. From what I understand, he had a very simple job to do here. I have a signal from his commanding officer in Butterworth demanding he return immediately. I know you have a very difficult project under way here, which I must say is beginning to look sensational by the way, and, seeing that you are the signatory of the request, I thought it fitting that I check with you before we whisked this man away.’

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Teddy didn’t know what to say. He felt guilty that he had been party to the sergeant’s malingering. ‘I am sorry, I guess I knew we were stretching things out a bit here. But I didn’t think it would do too much harm to give the sergeant a bit more of a break here in Bangkok.’ The Squadron Leader smiled. ‘I am sure the sergeant spun a good line. I can see things are pretty hectic here.’ As he spoke, little Stan Blizzard scurried past on his way to another errant air-conditioner, his infected forearms still an angry red. ‘But you must appreciate that things are pretty darn hectic down in Butterworth as well. They are on active duty, the sergeant not being there is putting extra strain on his mates, and I am sure his wife is missing him.’ ‘He’s married?’ asked Teddy, astounded. ‘Oh yes. Butterworth has been a garrison base for some years, there are married quarters there. There is an aircraft leaving at 1600 hours today, I want the sergeant to be on board.’ At midday Teddy went around to see the jet engine. It was proudly in place and the supporting tripod had been removed. All was tidy and it looked great. There was no sign of the sergeant. Tan Cheoy Siang was standing looking at the shining engine. ‘It’s finally up in place Mr Tan,’ Teddy said. ‘Yes, indeed Mr Brown. It is a fine piece of engineering, but I am puzzled why it took so long to put it into place. As you know, the British Army trained me as an engineer. I would have thought that a couple of my boys here could have done the job in two or three hours.’ Teddy was saddened. The Metro Lights boys had all worked so hard, and now he understood what Cedric had meant by the project being ‘soiled’ by the sergeant, who

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didn’t really care about it. A vague whiff of the old latrine smells of the shit in the wall cavities came back to him.

49 Troublesome Farmers Bangkok, November 14, 1966.

THE CLIMATE, THE UNFAMILIAR diet and the relentless pressure of work had resulted in Ced and Teddy suffering the irksome effects of haemorrhoids. This wasn’t a subject they often discussed, and when they did, to ease embarrassment, they used the rhyming slang term for piles, ‘Farmer Giles’. In time, this was shortened to simply ‘farmers’. One morning, when they were driving along Petchaburi Road towards the fair-grounds, Ced noticed Teddy shifting his bottom uneasily from one side to the other on the hot vinyl car seat. ‘I take it the old “farmers”’ are giving you a bit of trouble today?’ he asked, frowning with concerned understanding. ‘Yes indeed they are.’ Teddy winced as he shifted again on the seat. ‘I guess you could say they really are a pain in the arse,’ he smiled.

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Sumbart gave a quick look over his shoulder as he drove them along the highway. The tatty little bars and massage parlours had petered out at this point, and there were a couple of kilometres of open rice paddies before coming to the fair-grounds. Rice production was carried on in the time-honoured way, with long-horned water buffaloes pulling crude wooden plouhs through the flooded delta silt. It was all part of the vast Chao Phraya River system, part of the richest rice bowl in Asia. Teddy had noted the irony of the siting of the trade fair in this ancient rural environment, where it would be used to introduce the latest in Western technologies in a bid to stem the threat of communism. Cedric continued sympathetically, ‘We really have to do something about the old “farmers”, I am suffering, too. They are a terrible drain on energy and strength. It is hard enough to get things done without being dragged down by them all the time.’ When they arrived at the fair-grounds Cedric and Sumbart waited as Teddy gently eased himself out of the car, then Sumbart turned to Cedric saying earnestly, ‘Mr Cedric, about the problems you are having, I am sure I could help.’ ‘What do you mean Sumbart?’ Ced was puzzled. What could Sumbart do about haemorrhoids? ‘Well sir, at least I can talk to them.’ Teddy and Cedric stopped in their tracks and stared at Sumbart, who had adopted his authoritative military attitude. ‘Talk to them?’ Teddy said. ’I don’t think talking to them will do much good Sumbart.’ ‘Mr Teddy, it is how I talk to them that may help. They need to be put in their proper place.’

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Well that’s certainly true, Teddy thought. Perhaps there is some strange Eastern technique Sumbart is referring to. ‘I, at least, can speak to them in their own language,’ Sumbart continued. ‘Hold on a minute Sumbart,’ Cedric interrupted. ‘What on Earth are you talking about?’ ‘The farmers sir,’ said Sumbart eagerly, nodding back down the road towards the rice paddies. ‘Some of them can be very stubborn, but I will come with you, and, if you explain to me the problems, and who are the “pains in the arse”, I will fix things for you.’ Cedric and Teddy looked at each other, then roared with laughter, rocking back and forth, tears running down their cheeks. Sumbart was shocked, and looked inquiringly from one to the other. He took off his sunglasses for a better look. ‘What is it Mr Cedric? Mr Teddy?’ Cedric slapped him on the back heartily, gasping for breath. ‘It’s all right, my friend, we’re not laughing at you. But please don’t you worry about the “farmers” any more.’ They both put their arms over his shoulders and, still doubled up with laughter, staggered to the pavilion with Sumbart between them. He really didn’t know what to do, so after a few paces he started laughing, too. ———————— When Teddy and Cedric had gone into the pavilion Sumbart followed his usual routine and did a quick circuit of the outside of the building. All four of the panel-fitting teams were at work, up on their bamboo scaffolding. They were good boys and were working well. Each team wanted to be regarded as the pace-setters and each was

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taking pride in keeping the panels plumb and straight, and in pristine condition. He was puzzled by the discussion about the ‘farmers’. Just when he thought he was beginning to understand these two farangs, they puzzle him. Perhaps the work on the Golden Sala was getting to be too much for them and they were going crazy? He hoped not. He was becoming fond of these two. He felt there was a bond beginning to form between him and them, now they were working on the Golden Pavilion together. Yes, there must be. Didn’t Mr Cedric refer to him just then as ‘my friend’? He stopped at the foot of the scaffolding he was passing and looked up. ‘Hey Dang,’ he shouted. ‘Your gloves look filthy. You didn’t wash them last night did you? Come down at once, there are clean ones in the box.’ Sumbart smiled as the embarrassed young lad scrambled down the bamboo uprights. Dang was a good boy, a hard worker. As he passed, Sumbart gave him a playful slap on the bottom. ‘C’mon Dang, you guys are doing a great job, but we can’t risk spoiling it with dirty marks on the panels, can we? This job has to be perfect, OK?’ Young Dang beamed at him and held up both his thumbs. ’Yes, number one, Naai, number one!’ Sumbart felt a jolt of pride. No one had ever called him Naai before.

50 Farewell at the Copacabana Bangkok, November 19, 1966.

‘HI GUYS, I’M GLAD I have caught you.’ Lance Pickwell was in uniform. He seemed excited as he greeted Cedric and Teddy in the lobby of the Rajah. ‘I hoped I’d catch you this morning before you left for the pavilion. The work on our boats is finished and they’re filling the drydock today. We’ll be shoving off sometime in the next couple of days. I know you guys are very busy, but we are having a party tonight, us and the crews of the two other cutters, as a sort of farewell to Bangkok. We’re having it at that little bar you told us about, the Copacabana.’ Cedric and Teddy hadn’t been to the Copacabana for a couple of weeks; they just hadn’t had the time. ‘Ah, look, it’s a nice thought,’ Teddy said, ‘but I don’t …’ ‘Ah, c’mon guys. You need a break, just call in for an hour tonight when you can. Herb and Leon are coming, and we have asked ol’ Stan as well.’

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———————— It was about 11 o’clock when Teddy and Cedric got there. The crooked little air- con unit was working hard and dribbling fluid furiously. The place was packed. The three crews, totalling 30 men, were all there and some of them had brought girlfriends. The straining jukebox had been turned up to full volume, and Chuck Berry’s classic, Johnny Be Good, was blaring out. Mama had organised a strobe light to boost the effect of the UVs. The little dance floor was crammed with the plastic girls and young Coast Guardsmen, all jerking to the strange stop-start frequency of the strobe. ‘Glad you could make it,’ Lance screamed into their ears as they brushed the air-con dribble off their shoulders. He led them over to Stan, Herb and Leon, who were at the bar talking to Mama. Teddy and Cedric were glad to see Stan Blizzard there. That day, just eight days before the opening, the Thai authorities had finally managed to supply enough water for Stan to get all the pavilion’s air-conditioner units working at the one time. It was the first time the pavilion had been comfortable to work in, and this was reason to celebrate. Stan was looking pleased with himself as he leaned across the bar, his mustache iced with beer froth. He yelled something into Mama’s ear, so as to be heard over Chuck Berry. Stan smiled and sat back down on his stool when he saw Cedric and Teddy squeezing their way between the dancing bodies towards him. Cedric grasped him by the hand yelling, ‘Well old man, I think it is time I bought those beers I promised.’

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‘Right-oh mate. So you reckon this “stupid old fool” deserves a drink now, eh?’ Stan slapped Cedric happily on the back and reached across and shook Teddy’s hand. ‘Look, I tell you what, let me buy you blokes a beer, you both look like you could use one. And besides, I have connections here.’ He inclined his head towards Mama, who was standing beaming at him, waiting to take his order. ‘I get my booze at a discount from the old luv because I have promised to fix that poxy little airconditioner for her.’ ‘Stan, we really want to thank you for your tremendous ...’ Teddy started, but Stan let go his hand and waved aside the praise brusquely. ‘Come on, enough of that bullshit.’ Stan looked embarrassed. ‘We all just do what we have to, don’t we?’ He swung back to Mama. ‘Two more nice cold ones, my good lady.’ Mama’s cunning little eyes shone in a way Teddy hadn’t seen before as she got the drinks. Herb and Leon were hunched over their drinks, with their backs to the dance floor, sheltering from the loud music like cattle from a strong wind, but they both lifted their glasses in greeting. Teddy had noticed that since the collusion between them at the relay race in the pool, a friendship had developed between Stan and the two middle-aged Americans. Before they had half-finished their first drink, Herb leant across, his face screwed up in a mock expression of pain, and shouted in his gravelly voice, ‘Guys, guys, guys, I am just too old for this many decibels.’ Looking at Stan, and nodding towards Mama, he asked, ‘Can’t you use your influence to get us a table down the back away from this goddamn racket?’ Chuck Berry had given way to a Beatles track, Love Me Do.

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The little bar was really packed with happy young American boys and pretty young Thai girls. The strobe lighting, coupled with the concentrated youthfulness of the crowd, had transformed the bar from being a place of dark mystery to one of life and vitality. Phil Prettes was dancing closely with a very pretty girl. He waved cheerfully to Teddy. Lance introduced them to a couple of the officers from their sister cutters, and to some of the members of his own crew. One was a tall, gawky boy with a big Adam’s Apple. His name was Alvin Ericson; his buddy, short and swarthy, with a wide white smile, was Jesus Barrio. Alvin had his arm around a smiling girl and Jesus was holding the hand of the curvaceous Nit, who reached across and gave Teddy an affectionate stroke on the cheek. They all looked very happy, and Teddy felt happy for them. Mama finally organised them a table at the rear of the building where conversation was at least possible without shouting. Cedric, Teddy, Stan, Herb and Leon filed gratefully away from the noise of the straining jukebox as Bill Haley and the Comets started to wind up Rock Around The Clock. ‘Hooly dooly,’ Herb said as he sat down. ‘Whatever happened to Lawrence Welk?’ He screwed around and looked admiringly at the gyrating girls in the strobe lights. ‘I guess I am just getting too old for this sort of thing.’ ‘You’re right on there, old buddy,’ Leon said. ‘Remember your blood pressure already.’ ‘Speaking of old guys,’ Herb said, squinting across the table at Stan Blizzard and raising his glass, ‘we would like to congratulate old Stanley here for all the work he’s done out at your pavilion. In fact, we would like to congratulate all you guys.’

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‘Hold on a minute old boy,’ Cedric interrupted quickly. ‘Our job isn’t finished yet, we are a long way off being finished.’ ‘You have it in the bag buddy, and anyway we won’t be here when you have your opening. We have to get back to our project tomorrow.’ Herb flashed a look at Leon before continuing. ‘There’s something we would like to tell you guys, because you wouldn’t know it, but you, and your goddamn Golden Pavilion, have been an influence on a decision Leon and I have made.’ Herb gave Leon another look and continued more seriously. ‘We’ve been watching you guys putting your heart and soul into your work and, quite frankly, we are envious of you.’ He gave a little shake of his head. ‘We really wanted to help you with it, to be part of it. You guys really believe in what you are doing and, win or loose, you’re giving it your best shot. Even old Methuselah here,’ he smiled at Stan, who made a rude gesture. ‘We’re going back up into the boondocks to finish the survey phase of our project, then we are going to pull the plug. We have an escape clause in our contract and we can exercise it at this point if we want, and leave it to some younger guys to finish the installation phase. Our hearts just aren’t in it, and anyway,’ he took another look at the girls dancing wildly to Bill Haley’s Comets, ‘we are just too old for this sort of job.’ Cedric frowned. ‘That sounds like a pretty big decision. From what I understand it’s a very big project you have been working on, there must be ramifications for you just pulling out at this stage?’ Leon drained what was left of his beer and put the glass down on the table. ‘Our incentive bonuses weren’t going to kick in until the later phases, so we will miss out

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on those. And our future with Penco will be pretty limited. But look, we aren’t total schmucks you know. Before we came away we had some doubts about this project, so we made some inquiries. Our old Alma Mater, MIT, offered us both technical-teaching positions. It will mean shifting back up to Boston, and taking a drop in salary, but so what? Sure, the dough would have helped with our kids’ education, but if our kids are going to go to college they can do what we did, and win scholarships, and work their way through. They will be better for it.’ ‘Guys,’ Herb’s eyes were closed behind his thick lenses, ‘it’s a very complicated situation, but when you involve corporate America in an impending war situation, the lines between right and wrong, between national interests and business interests, become blurred. We can’t expect you guys to understand what we don’t really understand ourselves, but we have both had bad gut feelings about this project right from the start.’ He paused, and looked around again towards the dance floor. Tall, gawky Alvin Ericson was gyrating absurdly with a girl who barely came up to his navel. Herb went on, ‘Hey, money’s important, money’s important. But when we see great kids like these and know that in a couple of days they will be back in Vietnam, facing up to God knows what, the money we would have made here just doesn’t seem important enough.’ Stan Blizzard said, ‘That sounds good-oh to me.’ He reached across and splashed some beer into Leon’s empty glass, then raised his own, saying, ‘Here’s to Good Decisions.’ They all lifted their glasses, but Herb said, ‘No, here’s to your Golden Pavilion.’ Cedric and Teddy excused themselves when they had finished their drinks; it was getting late and they

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needed their rest. As they were leaving they passed Phil Prettes, who grabbed Teddy’s arm saying, ‘Hey fellas, let me buy you a beer, this is the last chance I have to thank you.’ ‘Thanks Phil,’ Cedric smiled, ‘but we really have to get some shut-eye.’ ‘Just one quick drink, guys. There’s something I want to tell you.’ Phil looked Teddy straight in the eyes. Teddy turned to Cedric, ‘Look, you go on, I’ll have a quick drink with Phil. I won’t be long after you.’ Cedric shook hands with Phil and found Lance on the way out to say his farewell. As Phil turned to order a couple of beers, to Teddy’s amazement, a little man, a dwarf, came running along the bar-top, dodging the drink glasses and bowls of nuts. He stopped right in front of Phil and asked, in a strange croaky voice, ‘Sir, I get you two cold beers, eh?’ ‘Sure buddy, why not?’ Phil replied casually, and the little man scampered off towards Mama, who was standing up near the front end of the bar. It was then Teddy noticed that there was another little person, a dwarf girl, standing on the front end of the bar, facing the dance floor, boogieing to the music from the jukebox. She was wearing a tiny version of Thai traditional dress. The drinkers at the bar around her clapped in time as she swayed with hypnotic rhythm to what to Teddy seemed to be the bar’s theme song, Hang On Sloopy. ‘Where the devil did they come from?’ Teddy asked Phil. ‘Well, they just came as part of the deal, like with the special lighting. We asked Mama to sort of jazz the place up a bit for the occasion, some decorations, we thought,’ Phil shrugged. ‘But she came up with these. Clever I guess.’

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Mama really does have interesting friends, Teddy thought. As Phil passed Teddy his beer he said, ‘I really want to tell you how important it has been for me meeting you guys and seeing the work you are doing. Talking to you, and seeing your beautiful work, has convinced me to do what I had wanted to do for some time now. When we finish this tour of duty I am going to leave the service and take up one of our rehabilitation deals and study architecture.’ Phil paused and looked down into his drink for a while before continuing, ‘I guess you knew all that anyway, but what I wanted to tell you Teddy is that Lance is right on my side. I took him out to your fair-grounds and we had a long talk. When he saw your pavilion, all gold and shiny, he understood. And, I guess I understood things more clearly, too. You see, I just never thought I had the talent before, I was so unsure of myself, so I used the excuse of being loyal to my buddy, my best friend. But Lance only wants what is best for me, and is very supportive about me becoming an architect. All this has become clear now, because of you guys, and your Golden Pavilion.’ Teddy didn’t know what to say. He reached across and put his half-full glass on the bar top, and shook Phil’s hand. At that moment a slim, doe-eyed girl slid out of the darkness and draped herself down Phil’s side. Teddy smiled, turned and walked out of the bar. On the way he found Lance by the blaring jukebox. The music was so loud he could only shake Lance’s hand and smile. Lance nodded and smiled warmly back as Teddy walked out. ————————

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An hour or so Herb, Leon and Stan left the Copacabana. As they left, Mama came out from behind the bar and walked to the door with them, and, as Stan readied himself to duck under the leaky air-conditioner, she touched his arm, and gave him a beautiful smile, ‘Good night sir, you have sweet dreams, sir.’ He had had too much to drink, but that night, for the first time since his wife died, Stan Blizzard slept like a baby. He dreamt of Gwen: not sick, hot, damp and suffering on her lambswool under-rug, but vibrant, young and laughing, running with him through a purple mist of heather on the hills of bonny Scotland, their hearts full of love and joy as they looked down the glen to far Loch Lomond. And there, beyond the loch, as in Gwen’s treasured painting, in a little dip in a line of hazy blue hills, the soft, watercolour sunlight was catching something. It was the shining facade of their beautiful Golden Pavilion.

51 The Last Week Bangkok, November 20, 1966.

IT WAS GUT-WRENCHING to know that there were only seven days left before the big day. Seven fleeting days before the jazz-loving, sax-playing King Bhumibol Adulyadej, Rama IX, would cut the ceremonial Thai silk ribbon and open the first Asian International Trade Fair. To the Australian exhibitors, who had started to arrive in Bangkok, there seemed to be no way the Australian pavilion would be finished on time. They had every reason to think that. The place was in a mess, a terrible mess. The walkways were jammed with packing cases that contained products yet to be put into showcases or acrylic spheres. There were piles of packing material everywhere, and the reflection pool under the water map was still full of submerged colour transparencies waiting to be sorted and put into their designated light-boxes. There were still large areas of raw and ugly concrete floor visible under and around the exhibits, yet to be covered

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with a layer of shredded silver aluminum foil. What was even more disconcerting to the new arrivals was how tired and worn-out the workers looked. They seemed to be shambling around listlessly through this disorganised jumble, like sleep-walkers, working in slow motion. Although things looked an unholy mess, and Teddy was getting very worried, Cedric Lovejoy wasn’t panicking. He had years of experience behind him and, because of his ‘critical path’ planning, and his careful prioritising, he knew that all the essential and difficult things had been done. All of the items remaining on his ‘Priority A’ list would be completed, and the pavilion would open on time. Some of the ‘Priority B’ items, however, might be left out, but the general public would never know. Cedric kept copies of his priority lists in his briefcase, which he kept in the newly completed office area under the mezzanine floor. The office area was already becoming cramped, accommodating members of the Australian-based marketing team, led by the authoritative and energetic First Assistant Secretary for Trade, Duncan Partridge. Fresh from Australia, and the comforts of home, these people were fit and rearing to go, but were appalled by the apparently disorganised state of the pavilion. Cedric had to spend a great deal of his time reassuring them that, contrary to appearances, everything was under control and that, failing serious mishaps, the pavilion would open on time. On a tour of inspection with Duncan Patridge, Cedric pointed out that the external cladding was completed and the surrounding moat was filled with water. The arched perimeter wall that stood in the moat was completed. The all-important Water Map, which had posed so many problems, had been finished and was

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waiting to be connected to the water supply to have the first test of water poured down it, and its lighting effects adjusted. The Cloud of Sheep, the floating flock of giant merino rams, was proudly up in place, with the once lost Agrarian Sculpture in position in front of them. A little further along the walkway the Fountain of Grain, which incorporated the giant wheat auger, was all in place, ready to be tested. The huge photographic print of a vast open-cut mine, nine-metres high by 12-metres long, was up on the wall, introducing the Minerals and Mining section. Here, the large mocked-up steel foundry cauldron was hanging with its neon strip pouring down into the machine tool exhibits. The next theme focus, the Neon Lightning Strike, which introduced the electronic section, was well under way, and the Avon jet engine was on its special stand. And, more important than all else, now there was sufficient water supplied to have all the airconditioners working at the same time. For the first time, the pavilion was a comfortable place to be. Cedric explained that most of the individual commercial exhibits, which were integrated into these areas, and on the mezzanine floor, out in the annex area, and over in the Heavy Equipment Demonstration area, were well under way. Duncan Partridge did not seem very impressed by what had been achieved, but seemed to focus only on the work that was yet to be done. An essential facility in the planning of the Australian pavilion was the Trade Lounge. Because the commercial products were integrated into the continuous story that ran through the pavilion, the exhibitors were denied their own individual booths, so all trade discussions were to take place in the spacious lounge area that was being built under the mezzanine floor. To add prestige to the lounge

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area, a selection of original artworks by leading Australian artists, such as Arthur Boyd, Russell Drysdale and Sidney Nolan, were to be displayed on the walls. These were works originally done as cover pieces for Hemisphere, a prestigious international magazine published by the Australian Government. These artworks had been produced free of charge for the magazine, and they varied greatly in quality of execution, some being simple sketches on ordinary sheets of cardboard, but they were all very valuable. Teddy had unpacked them and stood them in position on the floor, leaning against the wall, waiting to be hung by the Metro Lights boys. This was regarded as a simple and low-priority job, so other more pressing tasks were done first and the artworks were left leaning against the wall for two or three days. The pavilion was in a dreadful mess and the team’s spirits were at a very low ebb. Cedric knew from experience that everyone’s energy would be boosted if the place was made tidy. This was arranged using teams of the same unskilled farm boys who had done so much of the work on the fair-grounds. Most of these boys were living in the temporary shanties that had sprung up around the fair site, shanties that were largely constructed from scrap materials. Permission was given to these workers to take away discarded materials, packing cases, cardboard boxes, etc., for their own use. They were good workers, and within a few hours the pavilion was starting to look tidy and organised, and, as Ced expected, there was an immediate lift in morale. At this point it was discovered that some of the artworks in the Trade Lounge had disappeared. These were two pieces by Sidney Nolan, minimalist sketches drawn on cheap cardboard sheets. It was thought they had been cleaned up by the over zealous farm boys, and

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were probably being used to patch up a gap in a shanty wall somewhere. They were valued at many thousands of dollars, so an extensive investigation was mounted, but, due to the casual manner of employing the workforce, there was no way of tracking them down. They were never found. Long and tedious investigations were carried out later by the Australian Federal Police, to clarify what had happened. Teddy’s main task was making sure that all of the many colour transparencies and text panels were mounted in their correct positions. Most of the cylindrical light-boxes were fixed in hanging clusters, rather like giant bunches of grapes. A convenient place to assemble these clusters, to fit and test the internal light fittings, and to fix on the acrylic faces that carried the colour transparencies, was the so-called Land of the Great Silence. This area was dedicated to telling the Australian story before European settlement and was a relatively open space, adjacent to the pool where most of the transparencies were waiting in their watery storage. Seeing all these expensive transparencies floating around in the water was of no little concern to the exhibitors, who were now starting to arrive at the pavilion. Teddy spent a great deal of time reassuring them that this was the safest way to sort out these fragile photographs. It was a tedious and tricky task fitting the square transparencies between the circular acrylic face panels, being dazzled by the bright lighting while positioning the images before trimming them off with a scalpel. Because of the free-form nature of the clusters, it was difficult to work out which was the top or the bottom when they were lying horizontally on the floor. It was, of course, critical that the photos and text lines were plumb

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and straight when the large and awkward clusters were hung in place. The installation of these transparencies took an inordinate amount of Teddy’s time. The little Rajah Hotel had filled up with Australian Government officials and exhibitors. At breakfast time in the coffee shop heads would turn inquiringly when Teddy was overheard telling Cedric that he would be spending most of the day ‘in the bloody Land of the Great Silence’. It was taxing work that took its toll on Teddy’s diminishing strength. One afternoon Cedric found him slumped across a cluster of light-boxes, his face pressed against the brightly lit acrylic panels, fast asleep. Cedric woke him gently, and the embarrassed Teddy, head swimming with fatigue, went outside and splashed his face with water from the moat surrounding the pavilion. Everyone was exhausted, but with less than five days before the opening, there was no time to rest. Even the seemingly tireless Tan Cheoy Siang and his Singaporean Metro Lights team were showing signs of strain. All who were part of the original construction team were just hanging on to get the job finished by the opening; there would be no energy left after that. Malcolm Devlin was a great help during this period, organising members of the Trade Commission staff at the embassy to help out at the pavilion in any way they could, with the unpacking of boxes of trade literature and general tidying up. Malcolm knew exactly what Cedric and Teddy and the Metro Lights boys had been through, and did all he could to lessen their load. Malcolm’s superior, Duncan Partridge, however, had a different view of things. He had arrived fresh from Australia and saw a project that appeared to be sadly behind schedule and in need of a firm hand to put things

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right. But the naturally energetic Duncan had no idea of just how exhausted the team was, or how close to breaking point they were. Malcolm knew Duncan’s businesslike attitude could cause frictions that would be decidedly counterproductive at this stage of the project. He wasn’t sure what to do about it, so he invited Duncan to lunch at the Oriental Hotel. Duncan was initially reluctant to accept the invitation, saying there wasn’t time for that sort of thing, but he relented when Malcolm said there were important things that needed to be discussed privately. ———————— Duncan was stiff and tense as the maître d’ showed them to Malcolm’s usual table on the terrace. The wide river thrummed away, as busy as always. ‘We’ll have to make this quick, Malcolm,’ Duncan glanced at his watch ‘We really haven’t got time for this sort of thing.’ Malcolm was never comfortable with people like Duncan, who was trim and sprightly, and always looked cool and immaculate. They made him feel hot, crumpled and pudgy. He began to sweat. ‘Oh come on Duncan, we have to eat, and it might as well be somewhere interesting. It’s quite an institution you know, the dear old Oriental. Don’t worry, we’ll make it quick.’ Malcolm beckoned to the waiter as they sat down, ‘Now what will you have to drink, a gin and tonic perhaps?’ ‘Good Lord no,’ Duncan answered, frowning. ‘No alcohol for me thank you very much. But you go ahead, if you like.’ ‘No, no, I’m not fussed. Er, how about some mineral water?’ Malcolm said, but thought just how much he

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could do with a good, stiff G & T. They ordered their food quickly, and the drink waiter brought them the mineral waters. Duncan was looking very stern, and Malcolm began to think that perhaps lunch wasn’t such a good idea, but he decided to pursue the matter. ‘Duncan, I thought I should fill you in a bit on what has been going on here over the past couple of months. I’m sure you know that lots of things happen that don’t go into our reports. It really has been a very hectic time, and I don’t know if you appreciate just how knackered everyone is. These people are all experienced professionals and have paced themselves to get the thing finished on time, but they have nothing in reserve, they are running on heart alone, all of them.’ Duncan had been listening, staring out across the river. He turned and looked hard at Malcolm, then, reaching into his inside jacket pocket he said, ‘So you say you will have the project properly finished on time? Well, how can you explain this?’ He passed a sheet of handwritten paper to Malcolm. Malcolm immediately recognised Cedric Lovejoy’s handwriting. It was Cedric’s ‘Priority B’ list, tasks to be carried out when all the more important things were done. ‘Did Lovejoy give you this?’ Malcolm asked quietly. ‘No, one of my chaps found it somewhere, but that’s not the point, is it? It is painfully obvious that there is no way that all those things will get done in the time we have left, so the damn project won’t be finished on time, will it?’ He looked accusingly at Malcolm. ‘For goodness sake Duncan, most of this,’ he flicked the list with the backs of his fingers, ‘is just piddling little detail stuff, no one would even notice if these things were done or not.’ As soon as he said it Malcolm knew he had made a mistake, and tried to salvage the situation, ‘What I

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mean is, those things have been left until last because they are items that aren’t holding anything else up.’ He knew it was a weak defence, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say. He looked down at the monkey tree to see if the monkey’s behaviour would give him some indication of how the rest of his day would be. He was startled to see that the little grey monkey wasn’t there. His chain was hanging down, straight and motionless, the stiff leather collar unbuckled. Malcolm looked around for the young waiter who usually attended to the monkey, but he was nowhere to be seen. ‘The point is Malcolm, if these things were important enough to be listed, they must matter. I am sure I don’t need to point out just how important this project is, it has to be completed in its entirety. It would seem somebody has been very slack.’ Malcolm felt his face reddening. ’No one has been slackening off over here, Duncan, I can assure you of that. But if you are unhappy with the way things have turned out, well, I will take responsibility for that.’ Duncan didn’t reply, but looked out across the wide khaki river which continued to throb with traffic. Soon the waiter brought their salads and they ate in silence. When they had finished their meal Malcolm said, ‘Look Duncan, Ced Lovejoy and Teddy Brown know what they are doing. Oscar Forrest wouldn’t have picked them if they weren’t the right people for the job.’ Duncan gave a little nod of agreement, and Malcolm continued as they left their table, ‘What I strongly suggest is that we don’t worry them with the items that are on that “B” list, until all the more important things are finished.’ Duncan said nothing but gave a grudging nod as they walked towards the exit. When they got to the little

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maître d’ waiting to farewell them, Malcolm stopped and said, ‘Duncan, do you mind if you go on ahead? I just need to talk to a man about a monkey.’ Duncan still said nothing, but, raising his eyebrows quizzically, reached out and shook Malcolm’s hand coolly, and left. When Malcolm asked the maître d’ about the monkey the polished, ingratiating little man stiffened with anger, the constant smile flicked off and was replaced with a look of dark rage. In a voice tight with emotion he told Malcolm how the night before two guests, American navy officers and their girlfriends, had dined at the Terrace Restaurant. During the evening, perhaps to impress their lady friends, the two men had soaked some pieces of papaya in their martinis, then taken them down and fed them to the trusting little monkey, who had been innocently sitting watching the moonlight on the river. It didn’t take long for the monkey to start putting on a floor show for the sailors and their giggling girlfriends. He swung wildly on his chain and lurched drunkenly from limb to limb before retiring to his leafy roost, out of sight high in the tree. The waiters on duty had seen what had gone on, but were too intimidated, and too busy to do anything about it. During the night, the monkey, in its drunken state, must have somehow got its chain entangled around its neck, and then fallen off its branch. The next morning, Ongart, the young waiter who had looked after the little monkey, found it dead, a pathetic little bundle of mousy grey-brown fur hanging there, one spidery little hand still holding the cruel chain. The little maître d’s eyes filled with tears as he finished the story. Malcolm put his hand on his shoulder and said softly, ‘I am very, very sorry. Please tell that boy, Ongart, that I know he was a wonderful friend to that monkey.’

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As Malcolm walked back to his office at the embassy, he tried desperately not to think of the death of the monkey. He knew he had been stupid equating the chained monkey, and the monkey tree, to himself and his career. But Jesus Christ, what was going to happen now?

52 What Else Can Go Wrong? Bangkok, November 22, 1966.

AS TEDDY, BANISHED TO the Land of the Great Silence, worked away on what seemed like an endless number of colour transparencies, he reflected on all the unforeseen problems that had kept the project constantly behind schedule: the priority given to war material for shipping clearance, the unusually long wet season that had delayed heavy vehicle access to the site, the appalling lack of water pressure that denied them reasonable air-conditioning to work in, and the frustrating laid-back mai bpen rai attitude of the Thai workers. These had been major and unexpected setbacks, but, by various means, they had all been overcome. During the past few days other problems had arisen. All of the cylindrical plywood units that acted as supports for the acrylic spheres, and formed most of the lightboxes, were to be covered with a mirror-finish silver ‘mylar’ film. This was to be glued to the plywood skin, but

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the adhesive used was not compatible with the silver film and it bubbled and distorted horribly. Other adhesives were tried but none worked. This was serious, as it was very important to the overall concept that all these elements had a sparkling mirror-finish. Precious time was lost until one of the Metro Lights boys solved the problem by simply wrapping the silver film around tightly and holding the edges together with cellotape out of sight at the rear. It worked perfectly, and the lost time was made up. Not so easy to solve was the problem of the acrylic showcases. A large number of square acrylic boxes, usually one-metre square, were made to act as showcases. Acrylic sheet is supplied with a protective paper covering both faces. It is usual practice to leave this protective covering in place, even after fabrication, to minimise the chance of the acrylic being damaged. The paper usually peels off easily, leaving the acrylic in a pristine condition. They had decided to leave this protection in place until the showcase covers were finally fitted over the product items being displayed. This could not happen until the last few days, then, to their horror, they found the protective paper would not peel off. Tan Cheoy Siang thought he had made a good deal when he had bought the Taiwanese acrylic sheeting. What he didn’t know was that it was old stock, and the ‘low-tack’ adhesive that held the paper coating in place had solidified and was stuck fast. Instead of peeling off easily in one piece, it took a lot of persuasion to tear it away in pieces not much bigger than a thumbnail. Once again, the seemingly endless resource of female labour was called upon, and teams of patient old ladies and girls sat on their haunches quietly picking away the stubborn paper for hours on end. Teddy found it

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nerve-racking to watch, and said so to their leader, who shrugged and said with a smile, ‘mai bpen rai’. Eventually, through sheer dint of numbers, they got the job done. But more precious time had been lost. Often, when Teddy was working in the Land of the Great Silence, he drew strength by looking at the nearby Water Map. The huge curved wall of glistening glass facets, with the sparkling metallic map mosaic hanging over the turquoise pool, looked absolutely marvellous. Today its lighting was being finally adjusted and, for the first time, the falling water effect would be tested. All the glass panels were suspended from a large water pipe that ran along the top. This pipe was fitted with special nozzles at close intervals that would squirt water to run down the hundreds of glass panels. This rippling water, combined with the special lighting, was designed to give a shimmering effect. The Water Map feature was vital as it provided the initial impact for visitors as they entered the pavilion, and it remained visible for most of the journey through the exhibition. Cedric and Teddy thought it only fair that Malcolm Devlin should be there to witness the turning on of the water effect, so they waited for him to return from his lunch with Duncan Partridge. Malcolm was totally deflated after his lunch with Duncan. But, as he walked from the fair-ground entrance, and saw again how the sun caught the gold of the pavilion’s cladding panels, and noticed that some workers were starting to fix the three-dimensional letters of the word ‘Australia’ to the shining facade, he cheered up. It was looking really great, it really was something special, he wasn’t going to let himself be dragged down by some little nit-picking bean-counter with a list of minor details. Not at all, this thing was bigger than that. If they could

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just get the major features finished properly it would be a great success. Teddy thought Malcolm was looking a little more florid than usual as he entered the pavilion. But he was smiling happily as he walked over to where Teddy, Cedric and Tan Cheoy Siang were standing in front of the Water Map. He said cheerily, ‘OK, so we are ready for the big moment, are we? Are we going to turn the water on now?’ ‘Indeed yes, Malcolm,’ Cedric smiled. ‘We’re ready when you are.’ He looked across to where Peter Lee, one of the Singaporeans, was at the water control cock against the pavilion wall. Peter nodded back and Cedric gave him a thumbs-up sign. He turned the water on. There seemed to be a long delay as the four men watched anxiously, but in a few seconds the pressure built in the top pipe and the water spurted out of the nozzles and started running down the crystal-clear glass. But it wasn’t the clear water they had expected, it was a frothy, milky emulsion, which within a few seconds left a streaky whitish residue all down the beautiful glass panels. ‘Turn it off! Turn it off!’ Teddy yelled to Peter Lee, but it seemed to take an age before the dreadful flow stopped. The glass was almost completely covered with the dirty residue. Teddy was devastated, and felt any remaining strength he had run out of his body to be replaced by profound despair. He realised they hadn’t thought to flush out the pipes to clear away the rubbish and oxides that exist in new pipe-work. The all-important Water Map feature was ruined. The warm feeling of reassured confidence that Malcolm had been given as he walked towards the pavilion drained away as the turgid water ran off the glass panels. He turned away and closed his eyes in despair. He saw Duncan’s cool stare, and the monkey’s chain and

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empty collar hanging down like a hangman’s noose. He quickly opened his eyes again, and turned back. Cedric and Cheoy Siang were talking calmly. ‘Do you think we can clean that blessed stuff off?’ Cedric asked. ‘I don’t know, Mr Lovejoy, it may be possible with enough people, but it will be very difficult where the glass panels overlap.’ Teddy couldn’t speak. If the biggest feature was stuffed up, what was the point of finishing anything else? Automatically, however, he walked back to his tasks in the Land of the Great Silence and, in a state of stunned emptiness, continued to work on the colour transparencies. After some time Tan Cheoy Siang sought him out, and stood quietly watching him work for a while. Then he said, ‘Mr Brown, try not to let this set-back upset you. Remember the bamboo we spoke of. Like it, we must be willing to bend with the winds of misfortune, but be quick to spring back again.’ Teddy put the scalpel he was using down. He was in no mood for philosophies. He looked up into the calm face of the Singaporean. ‘How can we spring back Mr Tan? We will never be able to clean between all those panels, it is a hopeless mess. I was so stupid not to think to flush out the damn pipes.’ Cheoy Siang smiled, ‘With all respect, Mr Brown, now is not the time to discuss what we should have done. Let me tell you what I think we should do now.’ He turned towards the Water Map, where some of his boys were erecting another bamboo scaffold in the pool. ‘I will get some people started cleaning the accessible panels immediately. We think the residue is mainly zinc oxide that has come off the inside of the new galvanised piping. It seems to wipe off the glass quite easily.’

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‘But that will make it look even worse if we can’t get the stuff off between the panels, as well,’ Teddy was almost sobbing. Tan Cheoy Siang nodded, and sat down beside Teddy on the glowing light-boxes. ‘It will be a battle Mr Brown, a big battle.’ He gave Teddy a long look, his hooded eyes were kindly. ‘It is said, Mr Brown, that for our biggest battles we should employ our two strongest warriors: time and patience, Mr Brown, they are our strongest warriors.’ Cheoy Siang got to his feet quickly. ‘Please let me explain. I have been thinking that if the running water could take the oxide off the inside of the pipes, then it can take it off our glass panels. The water will get where we can’t reach between the panels. We will clean what we can off manually, but then we should turn the water on again. I am sure that, eventually, the water will wash the residue away. Perhaps our biggest mistake was to turn the water off when we did, it allowed the residue to dry.’ Teddy felt a surge of hope return to him, but was almost too weary to grasp it. ‘But how can we be sure it will work Mr Tan? And, even if it did, it could take for ever. I just can’t bear to look at it as it is, really.’ Tan Cheoy Siang smiled, reached forward and put his hand lightly on Teddy’s shoulder. ‘Time and patience, Mr Brown, our strongest warriors. Time and patience.’ Teddy looked past Cheoy Siang to the Water Map, which had taken so much effort from so many people, under such awful conditions, and now was fouled and disgusting. He took a deep breath and was sure he got a whiff of the old shitty latrine smells from the pavilion walls. He sighed. Time and fucking patience.

53 The Opening Bangkok, November 27, 1966.

THE FINAL THREE DAYS seemed to blur together. So much intense activity was condensed into this period there was no time to think. The patient women had finally peeled all the stubborn paper off the acrylic showcases, and they were put in place. Teddy and his team finally got all the colour transparencies into their light-boxes and the clusters were hung in position. The accessible glass of the Water Map had been cleaned by hand and the water turned on again. ‘Time and patience’ started to pay off and, after a few hours, the areas of inaccessible residue started to diminish. Teddy should have been delighted, but he didn’t have time to think about it. He, Cedric, Cheoy Siang and all the Metro Lights boys were running on ‘automatic pilot’, they had no strength left for feelings. When they turned the huge grain auger on to test the Fountain of Grain feature, which they had so looked forward to, and they found

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that the dreadful noise it made was unacceptable in the tranquil atmosphere of the pavilion, they were too busy to feel more than fleeting disappointment. They quickly resigned themselves to the fact that it would be a static display only. There had been fears that, in the event of an electrical supply failure, the Australian pavilion would be rendered unusable due to its complete dependence on artificial lighting and air-conditioning. At great expense, a large diesel emergency generator was shipped from Australia. Special concrete footings had been provided for it behind the pavilion, and it had been connected up. But it was left until the last couple of days before it was tested, and it refused to start. Cedric and Peter Lee, a Metro Lights man with a mechanical bent, wasted many precious hours before they eventually accepted the fact it wouldn’t be made workable by the opening day. They could only hope that there wouldn’t be any electrical supply problems. During this period the pavilion was full of the Australian exhibitors, many of whom were not very happy when faced with the reality of having their products integrated into an overall story, and not having their usual booth spaces. Malcolm Devlin did all he could to act as a buffer between them and Cedric and Teddy, so the latter could stay focused on the important issues. Duncan Partridge hadn’t mentioned anything more about the ‘Priority B’ list, and was generally staying out of the way. Malcolm was grateful for that. At noon on Saturday November 27, at a ceremony in front of the formal lake, and in the presence of assembled dignitaries from the 33 exhibiting nations, as well as those from the Thai Government and trading organisations, His Majesty King Bhumibol Adulyadej would formally open the fair.

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They worked right through Thursday night. Teddy went out into the pink light of dawn hoping to find the old coffee vendor, but she wasn’t there. The authorities had cleared out all the casual vendors from the fairgrounds and, with the help of units from the Thai Army, were well advanced in clearing away the workers’ shanty town that had grown in organic clusters around the perimeter fence. Cedric and Teddy went back to the Rajah for some breakfast and a shower and change of clothes. They felt reasonably refreshed, but by the time they got back to the pavilion they had wilted and their heads buzzed with fatigue, but there was still so much to do. They dared not stop for fear of not being able to get started again. The Metro Lights people were the same; they were exhausted and it was only the emotional momentum that kept them going. It was superbly cool in the pavilion now. Stan Blizzard, his forearms now covered with healing scabs, wandered around proudly making minor adjustments to the air-conditioners’ directional louvres, expertly finetuning them for maximum efficiency. Although everyone seemed to be working in slow motion, Friday blurred by in no time at all. By late afternoon they were almost at a standstill, and there were still many things to be ticked off Cedric’s ‘A’ list. Just on dusk, Cedric gathered Teddy, Cheoy Siang, Malcolm, and most of the Metro Lights boys together and suggested they go outside for a break. He had timed it on purpose: the sun was just setting over the lake. It was magical. The sun turned almost blood-red through the haze to the west, and the still water of the lake followed suit, but the panels of the pavilion were not quite so obedient. The brazen metal turned the light to the richest of golds and splashed it back into the lake. Teddy

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wondered what the precious royal goldfish were thinking now. Some of the Metro Lights boys had lit cigarettes as they came out of the building, but none of them took a second draw while this incredible light show was on. Nobody said a word for a full five minutes while the light turned from red to mauve and then was gone. Then Cedric cleared his throat and said crisply, ‘All right then, let’s get this thing finished, shall we?’ They all walked back inside, recharged by the sun’s magic. One of the major remaining tasks was the covering of all the untreated floor areas between the carpeted walkways with a layer of silvery shredded aluminium waste. This was born of Teddy’s idea of using industrial off-cuts, his ‘afterbirth of industry’, to help tell the story, and to cut costs. In this case, the material was shredded strips of foil from which milk-bottle tops and the like had been punched out. It was to be laid in ‘scrambled’ fashion over the raw concrete beneath the exhibits to hide cable runs, etc. This process had to be left until late, when there was no longer any need for workers to walk in these areas, as they would crush down the aluminium foil and spoil the effect. It didn’t require skilled labour, and there were large areas to be treated, so another gang of the local farm boys was engaged. Teddy demonstrated the procedure and did a sample area as a guide for them to work to. He found the best way was to toss handfuls of the foil strips into the air in such a way as to allow it to settle gently and naturally on the floor. The assembled boys laughed as he demonstrated, and nodded knowingly to each other. Teddy thought it must have been akin to some farming process they were familiar with, perhaps winnowing rice.

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They certainly seemed to pick up the idea quickly, and were soon happily at work. It was a strange sight indeed. Twenty or so young Thai farm boys, in their faded sarongs and loose, tattered shirts, standing among the gleaming exhibition fitments, looking as much at home as if they were in a rice paddy. All moved in a loose swaying rhythm, throwing up handfuls of shredded foil, which hung in the air, sparkling brightly as they settled to the floor. After a while, one boy, the tallest of the group, started to sing softly. It must have been a song familiar to the others, perhaps a working song, because soon they all joined in. Teddy was mesmerised, and found it hard not to watch them. The song fitted the rhythm of their work perfectly. In that setting, with the moody display lighting, and the background sound of falling water from the Water Map, it was as if these good-natured, smiling boys were part of a carefully choreographed ballet. In what seemed like no time at all the work was completed. In fact, it was then midnight. The opening day had arrived. The farm boys left, as did Malcolm Devlin, who had a big day ahead of him, and most of the Metro Lights team. Cedric, Teddy, Cheoy Siang and a few of the key Singaporeans stayed to finish things off. There wasn’t much more to do, but they didn’t have much strength left. Finally, just before 4am, everything had been ticked off Cedric’s ‘A’ list, and they had worked themselves to a standstill. Cedric, Teddy and Cheoy Siang decided to have one last walk through the pavilion. The air-conditioners were working perfectly and the air was clean and fresh. Teddy took some deep breaths and couldn’t detect even the slightest trace of the old latrine smell that used to haunt him in times of despair.

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The Water Map was magnificent, glittering and shimmering with its falling water and special lighting, all seeming to float over the turquoise pool. Cheoy Siang’s strongest warriors, time and patience, had prevailed, the water had done its work and the glass panels were perfectly clean and sparkling. The soothing sound of the falling water filled the space. The three men walked through the pavilion, too tired to say anything. The whole exhibition shone and sparkled within the cool blue-black void. Teddy knew it was exactly how William had envisaged it, exactly how Helmet’s model depicted it, and exactly how Oscar Forrest would expect it to be. They decided to grab some rest for a few hours, freshen up, and get back to the pavilion about 8am to spend the morning generally tidying the place up and helping pacify any unhappy exhibitors. They had exhausted all their strength and now that, in their minds, the job was finished, they had lost the momentum that had kept them going. As he was packing up his equipment in the Land of the Great Silence, Teddy held up the scalpel he had been using for the past few weeks and said to Cedric, ’If I had to trim out another transparency I think I would just use this to cut my throat instead.’ Cedric nodded and smiled, ‘I know how you feel, believe me. But you can pack that thing away now, we have finished. Come on, we will go and wake poor old Sumbart, I think he’s asleep in the car. He’s a good lad, he wouldn’t go home, insisted on staying. I told him he had to have some sleep or I wouldn’t let him drive us anywhere.’ They got back to the Rajah about 4.30am. Teddy lay on his bed fully clothed and was asleep within seconds.

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Then, in what seemed like just a few more seconds, there was a loud knocking on his door. Fighting against the darkness that seemed to be pressing him to the bed, he turned the light on and looked at his watch, it was 6.10am. It was Cedric at the door. Like Teddy, he was still in yesterday’s clothes. He looked pale and stunned. ‘Just had a call from Duncan Partridge, he’s at the pavilion with some of his people. Says he’s surprised we are not there because it obviously isn’t finished yet.’ Cedric closed his eyes and put his hand to his forehead and shook his head. He said nothing for a few seconds, then sighed and opened his eyes. He gave Teddy a little grin and, patting him on the arm, said, ‘Come on old man, he wants us there straight away.’ They had time for a quick shave and a wash while the hotel called them a cab, and they were out at the pavilion before 7am. Duncan Partridge looked fresh in his crisp white shirt, and was smiling as he greeted them. ‘Ah, I am sorry if I have disturbed your beauty sleep, but we really don’t have much time left, do we?’ Not giving them time to answer, he continued, ‘I thought you chaps may need some help this morning, so I brought some of my marketing people out here to give you a hand. As you know, each of my chaps has been allocated a section of the exhibition to look after during the trade fair. They have lists of things that are yet to be done in their sections.’ Teddy was speechless, but Cedric responded firmly. ‘What do you mean, Duncan? As far as we are concerned, the exhibition is finished. I mean, there are a few piddling little things which we were going to fix this morning, but that is all.’ Duncan frowned. ‘There is no doubt that you and your team have done a wonderful job. The place is

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looking truly magnificent, but it is not finished yet, not by a long shot.’ Cedric started to say something but Duncan put up his hand sternly. ‘Look, I’m sorry, but this project is too important not to be absolutely perfect. Now I have things to do, so could you check with my chaps and organise whatever needs to be done.’ He gave each of them a cool stare, turned and briskly walked away. Teddy felt a terrible numbness creeping over him. The shitty latrine smells were wafting back. ‘Fucking hell Ced, what does he mean?’ ‘I don’t know Teddy, let’s find out shall we?’ They sought out one of the marketing officers, a polite young man who was an Assistant Trade Commissioner brought down from Hong Kong. He reached into his shirt pocket and unfolded a piece of paper. Cedric recognised it immediately, it was a photocopy of his handwritten ‘Priority B’ list. ‘Where the devil did you get this?’ The polite young man was taken aback, ‘I don’t know, it was just part of our briefing kits, I think. We all got them.’ Cedric flashed a look to Teddy and they both went quickly to Cedric’s desk in the little admin office under the mezzanine floor. He kept his briefcase discreetly placed in a gap between the end of the desk and the wall. It was still there. Cedric put it on the desk and fingered through the files in it. His ‘B’ list, the list made for his eyes only, was gone. They found Duncan in the lounge area, reading some correspondence. Cedric was white with rage, but was trying desperately to control himself. ‘Duncan, I would like to know how you came by that list your people are using. That was private, and for my personal use only.’

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Duncan put the papers he was reading down, and slid his reading glasses down his nose. He looked up at them and said tartly, ‘For your “personal use” indeed. Your “personal use”, what do you mean by that exactly?’ Cedric was determined to stay calm, ‘What I mean is it was a list of piddling little items that wouldn’t affect the big picture if they never got done.’ Duncan pursed his lips thoughtfully. ‘You have a good record Lovejoy, and Oscar Forrest says you are the best man for this job. The way I see it is if you take the trouble to make a list, then it must be important. Those items probably do affect the big picture, as you put it, so that work must be completed.’ Teddy couldn’t stop himself, ‘But there is a lot of work there, it would take days, and we just don’t have the strength …’ Duncan interrupted him, ‘Please understand, I know you are tired … we are all tired …’ Teddy was incredulous, he drew breath to set Duncan straight but Cedric touched his arm to quiet him as Duncan continued. ‘We will all help, but no one knows this project as well as you two and the Singaporeans. I know we won’t get it all done before the opening today, but what I propose is that we will get here each morning at 7am and work until opening time at 10am. I will bring my marketing people, and whoever Malcolm can grab from the embassy, but we need you here to supervise and do the tricky bits. All going well, in three or four days we should have it all done.’ They went through that morning as if in a trance. They talked to Duncan’s people in turn and tried to get their heads around what yet had to be done. Very little was achieved that day.

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The feeling of cold rage in Cedric had changed to a sense of profound gloom. Teddy felt a lump grow in his throat and had to fight back a need to sob. They were asking too much. The feeling of heroic success in finishing their Golden Pavilion had suddenly swirled into a gigantic anticlimax. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so unhappy. Sumbart had arrived soon after 8am. He was upset that he hadn’t been with them to bring them back to the pavilion earlier. He hadn’t had much sleep himself in the past few days, so Cedric sent him back to try to rest in the car. Duncan came to Cedric later in the morning and said he was needed urgently back at the embassy and would take their car, but he would be back before the opening at midday. He left hurriedly. About five minutes later a furious Duncan, with a disgruntled Sumbart in tow, came back to Cedric, who was talking to Teddy. ‘Would you please tell this man here,’ Duncan stabbed his finger towards the bristling Sumbart, ‘that he must take me, in his damn car, back to the Australian embassy, as I have told him three or four times now.’ Cedric found it hard not to smile. He tried to hide his face by stepping past Duncan to the disgruntled driver. ‘What’s the problem Sumbart? You must do as Mr Partridge says. He is the boss, he is number one around here.’ But Sumbart was not going to give in easily. ‘With respect, Mr Cedric, you said I was to help you build this Golden Pavilion. In the Golden Pavilion you, and Mr Teddy, are number one. This man,’ he stabbed his finger at the perplexed Duncan, ‘Is number 10.’ Teddy had to turn away. Cedric smiled at Sumbart and put his hand on his trembling shoulder. ‘Steady on

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now Sumbart, steady on. If you want to help us you will do as Mr Partridge tells, er, asks you to do. So please do as he says.’ Sumbart gave a grudging nod, and turned and started to walk slowly out of the pavilion. Duncan glowered at Cedric, turned, and quickly walked after Sumbart. ‘Come on, come on, I’m late now, I’m late. Hurry up will you, I won’t get back for the the damn opening.’ Cedric looked at Teddy. Good old Sumbart. They both felt just a little bit better. As far as Cedric and Teddy were concerned the opening was a non-event. Still in their stale clothes, they watched it in the distance, across the lake, from the entrance of the pavilion. Then they skulked around out of sight as the Royal Party was escorted through the Australian pavilion. King Bhumibol Adulyadej stayed nearly twice as long in the Australian pavilion as in any of the others, but Ced and Teddy were too tired to care. When the public was allowed in they came in such numbers, and in such a rush, that the front inquiry counter, and the bevy of pretty attendants behind it, were almost pushed backwards into the Water Map pool. The Golden Pavilion had established itself, right from the start, as the most popular. But Cedric and Teddy just wanted to get away from it. They found Sumbart and he drove them back to the Rajah Hotel, where they slept for the next 14 hours.

54 The Last Five Per Cent Bangkok, November 28, 1966.

HE WAS GETTING whiffs of that shit smell again. Teddy knew he was imagining it. The latrine stink from the pavilion walls always seemed to accompany his feelings of despair. The long night’s sleep had helped his body, but his spirits were still at a very low ebb. Cedric seemed to be in the same flattened mental state. They got to the pavilion at 7am, where Duncan met them, bright-eyed and eager. ‘Well now, I have some of my chaps here, they will do whatever you tell them to, but they will need your guidance.’ Duncan looked at them and paused before continuing, ‘Believe me, I can understand that this is rather irksome to you chaps, having to continue on when you felt that the job was finished. But really there isn’t much to do, probably less than five per cent of the total I would say. But in most endeavours it is that last five per

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cent that really matters. You have done a marvellous job and, from what I have heard, against great odds. The place is looking magnificent, but it deserves to be made perfect.’ Teddy knew Duncan was right, but he resented him terribly for it. He hadn’t sweated in the hot box, hadn’t got heat rash and haemorrhoids. The fact that he was right made no difference whatsoever; he didn’t understand about the stink from the walls, he had no right to expect this extra effort from them. What made things worse was that, in many cases, to do the things on the ‘B’ list often meant having to undo things that were already finished. This was a special agony. Light-boxes had to be dismantled to replace damaged transparencies and showcases reopened to improve the placement of exhibits within. Duncan’s marketing people were willing helpers, but apart from cleaning jobs and stacking things in the storage areas, there was not much they could do. They could work only until 10am, but the hours dragged and Teddy was glad when the doors were opened to the public and they could stop for the day. Cedric had an appointment with Malcolm Devlin so Teddy, who just wanted to get out of the pavilion, decided to go and check out some of the other national exhibits for a couple of hours and then go back to the Rajah with Cedric and Sumbart at lunch-time. A lot of work had gone into many of the other national pavilions, notably Japan, India and Malaysia, which had built large and impressive exhibits, but all using the usual display booth configuration. No others were totally air-conditioned, and none were nearly as complex as Australia’s Golden Pavilion. Had he and William tried too hard? Had they over-designed the

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thing? Was it all worth the extra effort? The dark cloud of anticlimax that had engulfed Teddy had spun him into an eddy of self-doubt. The fair-grounds were crowded with visitors even though it was still early in the day. The size of the lines of people waiting to enter the exhibits gave some indication as to their relative appeal. Teddy joined the large crowd filing through the American pavilion. It was wonderful entering through the beautiful garden setting and walking beneath the graceful fibreglass sails that filtered the sunlight into gentle hues of orange and mauve. Teddy was admiring the stylish exhibits when he noticed the designer, Benton Kramer, talking to a group of well-dressed Americans. When Benton saw him he excused himself from the group and walked over, smiling. ‘Hi there.’ The American extended his hand and shook Teddy’s warmly. ‘I’m glad you called in, I have just come back from your pavilion and I want to congratulate you.’ ‘Let’s make the congratulations mutual Benton,’ Teddy gestured all around. ‘This is looking really great. It all fits together so well, the way it flows in and out of the garden is fantastic. You should be very proud.’ Benton smiled widely. ‘Yes, I am proud I guess. I think what we have done fits very comfortably into the Thai environment, and it seems to work quite well.’ Then his expression changed. He frowned sincerely. ‘But you guys have done so much more. With your air-conditioning, all that glass and water and that wonderful dark theatrical space, your exhibits have given the visitors a whole new world to experience.’ He smiled again and slapped Teddy on the shoulder. ‘I hate your guts,’ he laughed, ‘I really do.’ As Teddy walked back to the Australian pavilion he could feel his attitude changing. He began to realise that their work had been an outstanding success, and Duncan’s

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insistence on them cleaning up all the little details was a positive thing, and they should be thankful to the busy First Assistant Secretary for caring, and for using his resources to help. Perhaps the effect of the good night’s sleep was kicking in, or perhaps it was the generous praise from the American designer, but he was beginning to feel a whole lot better. There was a huge crowd in front of the Australian pavilion lined up waiting to go in. Teddy stood watching them for a while. There were all sorts: businessmen with briefcases, family groups with children and ancient grandparents, groups of well-behaved, fresh-faced students in snowy-white shirts or tunics, and bevies of pretty young girls. He was about to go around to enter discreetly through the rear exit when he noticed Sumbart leaning in the shade of a spindly tree by the edge of the lake. He was gazing at the pavilion and the crowd. He walked over to the driver, who had become such an important part of the project. Sumbart straightened up when he saw Teddy approaching. ‘Hello Mr Teddy.’ The mouth below the dark sunglasses smiled shyly. ‘I have been in to see Mr Cedric, he is still with Mr Devlin and says he will be at least another half-hour before he will be ready to go back to the hotel, sir.’ Teddy and Cedric had become fond of the quiet young man. He smiled. ‘That’s OK Sumbart, it will give us time to go and find a cup of coffee somewhere.’ Sumbart was embarrassed. This was the first time he had been invited to socialise in this way. Teddy noticed his lack of ease. ‘I need you to help me find that old lady coffee vendor Sumbart, she makes the best coffee.’ Teddy knew the authorities had cleared all the rag-tag freelance

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vendors away and they had been replaced by large-scale contracted concessions, but he wanted to get Sumbart talking so he would relax. ‘Ah, that old one Mr Teddy, who knows where she is now? She could be anywhere, there are thousands like her in Bangkok. They are very poor people Mr Teddy, they work very hard but do not make much money.’ ‘Well, that lady was very kind to me, Sumbart. She didn’t seem to care about making money.’ ‘I have a friend who says that the path to true riches is through kindness, perhaps she was just trying to enrich herself in that way.’ Sumbart looked away shyly as he spoke. They had started to walk towards a collection of tables and chairs that had been set up beneath some colourful cloth canopies, a bit further along the lakeside. ‘This friend of yours sounds like a very wise man Sumbart, who is he?’ Sumbart didn’t answer, and Teddy didn’t push it. They found a vacant table and sat down and ordered coffees and sat quietly for some minutes before Sumbart spoke. ‘His name is Chatree Kongsiri, he was my naai, my master, when I was young. Yes Mr Teddy, he is very wise.’ Sumbart was sitting with his back to the lake. Over his left shoulder, in the middle of the lake, was the beautiful little gilded wat. He was staring past Teddy, back at the pavilion. In the dark lenses of his aviator sunglasses Teddy could see twin reflections of the golden facade. All sorts of things began to tumble through Teddy’s mind as he looked at this earnest young man. Teddy was interested that Sumbart had what he referred to as a ‘master’ in his younger days. He could relate to this; he had always had William to follow and to learn from. He thought how great it would be if William could be here now, to see his concept realised. But Will’s

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heart was in architecture, he was saddened by the lack of permanence of trade pavilion work. Teddy had argued that the permanence of this sort of work was in the lasting impressions that could be made on the mind-sets of the visitors to the pavilions, but Will was never convinced. Teddy desperately needed some strong reassurance to take back to his brother. Still fascinated by the bright reflections in Sumbart’s glasses, he leaned forward and asked, ‘Sumbart, I wonder if you can help me?’ Not knowing of the reflections, Sumbart wondered why Teddy was looking so intensely into his eyes, and was a little intimidated. ‘Yes Mr Teddy, of course, what is it?’ ‘What does it all mean to you Sumbart, what does our Golden Pavilion mean to you?’ Sumbart was taken aback. ‘Well, Mr Teddy, of course it has been a great honour for me to help you build it.’ ‘No Sumbart, that’s not what I mean. What does it tell you when you look at it, when you walk through it?’ Sumbart thought for a while and answered shakily. ’It, er, it is very beautiful, very beautiful. It tells me that your country cares enough to build something so beautiful for us to see. And …’ He stopped and thought some more before continuing, ‘It tells me much about your country and its industries.’ ‘Do you think that is a success Sumbart?’ ‘It is a step in the right direction Mr Teddy.’ ‘Just a step Sumbart?’ ‘Not just a step, Mr Teddy, an important step, the first step, a start. You asked if I thought the Golden Pavilion was a success. My friend Chatree says success is a continuing journey, and that even the longest and most important journeys start with a single step. I think the Golden Pavilion has set my people off well on the journey of understanding your country and its people.’

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Sumbart’s mouth gave its shy smile again, the pavilion still reflected in his sunglasses. ‘Yes Mr Teddy, it is a great success.’ Teddy was moved by what Sumbart had said. He knew little about him, but Malcolm had mentioned that Sumbart and his wife were separated. He thought of his own ailing marriage and, without thinking, asked, ‘Do you miss your wife Sumbart?’ Then, regretting his bluntness, ‘Forgive me Sumbart. I just ...’ ‘It’s all right Mr Teddy sir, it’s all right.’ Sumbart turned his head away, but went on. ‘Yes, I miss my Suni very much sir, very much.’ ‘Suni? That’s a very pretty name.’ Teddy had heard that name before. ‘She is a very pretty girl sir. Tall and very beautiful.’ Teddy was startled. Surely it couldn’t be that girl at the Copacabana? ‘Do you ever see her Sumbart?’ ‘No sir, I don’t know where she is. I only heard that she is somewhere here in Bangkok.’ Teddy thought for a while, then said, ‘I hope you don’t mind me asking this Sumbart, it is really none of my business, but if you could find her, would you want to get together again?’ Sumbart kept looking out at the little wat, then he turned back to face Teddy. ‘That has been my dream Mr Teddy, to get back with my wife. And perhaps to go back to my old job in my home village. That has always been my dream. But now, I really don’t know sir, I really don’t know.’ They drank their coffees in silence. Teddy finished first and left Sumbart there while he went to find Cedric. ————————

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Sumbart watched Teddy walking back towards his Golden Pavilion and took another sip of his coffee. He had grown fond of this strange farang with his long hair and unusual clothes. He was moved that he should show any interest in his personal life. Sumbart really didn’t know whether he would like to get back with Suni again. Working on the pavilion had made him feel a lot better about himself. The anger towards Suni that had been building inside him had abated. He was learning to understand himself better, and was beginning to like what he was discovering. He realised now that this new feeling of self-respect was the Golden Sala Chatree had spoken of. And he knew now that he had understood very little about Suni, other than that she was very beautiful. Getting her back now didn’t seem at all important. All that was important now was that she should find happiness. He put his coffee down and took his wallet out of his back pocket. Opening it, he carefully took out a folded piece of writing paper. It was worn and fragile, and had been folded and unfolded many times. My dear Sumbart, You would be forgiven to have thought that your troubled old friend had forsaken you. I will not ask for your forgiveness, for forgiveness is beneath a friendship such as ours. But I will ask that you understand that when I left the monastery I had no idea where fate would take me, so it was some weeks before my friends there could send your letter on to me. Let me warn you, my dearest boy, against the assumption that inner peace and wisdom come with the advancing years. Perhaps my problem is that I just can’t accept the

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teachings that say that my life doesn’t have to have a purpose. I still suffer that awful vanity, the notion that my existence should fulfil some purpose. Inner peace still eludes me, my Golden Sala is still distant, but you my dear Sumbart, bring me a little closer to it. I have no family, but I have our friendship, or can I say, my love for you, for I have indeed loved you with all my heart. The thought that I may have helped you along the way fills me with joy. I am happy to hear that you have found purpose in helping your friends build their ‘Golden Pavilion’. I am sure that it will be very beautiful, but please explain to them that anything that we can complete is just a step along the way. I would like you to know Sumbart that I have made arrangements with the authorities that what is left of my business in Nam Phong shall become yours should anything happen to me. Well, my dear young friend, I am travelling towards the east, where I have heard that our brothers are destroying themselves by killing their brothers. I have crossed man’s borders, but on the other side of them I experience the same kindness, kindness that fills my bowl each day. But I hear that further to the east, followers of the teachings of our Lord Buddha are suffering oppression, and I feel the need to help in some small way. Of course, I still have my little silver friend with me, and he tries to remind me that the time that I have in this state of existence is passing. I dearly love my little friend, the beautiful wrist-watch you gave me. But it is stupid, it thinks that it can measure time at a constant rate. Even a child knows that this is not the case. Time flows like a river, sometimes rushing joyously down waterfalls and

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rapids, sometimes flowing steadily and peacefully along straight reaches and around sweeping bends, other times creeping turgidly through swamps and marshes, and sometimes stopping altogether, and just evaporating away. I dearly hope that your river follows a different path to mine, and that it avoids these swamps and marshes. My heart is always with you. Your friend Chatree.

55 Reunion Bangkok, November 28, 1966.

WHEN TEDDY LEFT SUMBART at the coffee concession and went to find Cedric, instead of taking the short cut to the administration area through the rear exit of the pavilion, he opted to queue up with the waiting crowd at the front entrance. It was hot waiting in the bright sunshine, but the crowd was cheerful, talkative and expectant. When they entered the welcoming coolness of the pavilion though,the noisy banter ceased. Awed by the drama and scale of the shimmering Water Map and the calm of the pool beneath, the noisy crowd’s mood changed to one of quiet reverence. Teddy was moved to see how carefully the visitors studied the exhibits as they moved quietly through the cool, sparkling twilight of the pavilion. He was beginning to feel very happy about things again as he made his way towards the administration area.

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He had been standing for a while watching the rapturous faces of a group of school children who were crowded around the neon Lightning Strike, when he felt a cool, slim arm slip around his waist and give a friendly squeeze. ‘Hi there handsome, do you come here often?’ He stiffened with fright, then his heart leapt. Smiling radiantly, Terri Schultz looked even more beautiful than he had remembered. ‘Wow, Terri, this is great, er … I was just thinking … er I often … er … how’s Dutch?’ She was holding both his hands in hers looking up and smiling widely, nodding as he stumbled with the words. ‘Dutch is fine. Well, I hope he’s fine, he’s back in ‘Nam of course.’ ‘Oh, of course, look I am sorry…’ Teddy had been knocked off balance. She looked absolutely marvellous in a beautifully cut white suit. She seemed like part of the exhibition. ‘Oh don’t be sorry, he is exactly where he wants to be, believe me.’ Her smile faded for a second. She let go of his hands and gestured around her. ‘This place is really fantastic, I had no idea that it would be anything like this. You must be very proud.’ She looked at him closely and frowned. ‘Boy, you look beat though, I guess you have been very busy.’ She smiled that beautiful smile again. ‘You look like you could do with some R & R buddy.’ She took his arm. His heart gave another leap, then images of Dutch’s earnest face when they had been talking about surfing flashed before him, but he found it surprisingly easy to ignore them. ‘Come with me,’ she said. As she led him back against the flow of the crowd she looked at him and said, ‘Do you remember how we once discussed the importance of knowing when to seize opportunities if they presented themselves?’ Teddy

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nodded, and she continued quickly and a little breathlessly, ‘Well, I know you hit it off pretty well with Dutch, with your surfing and all, but I hope that you will understand.’ They were back to the Water Map. Terri led him over to a handsome middle-aged man who was gazing thoughtfully at the falling water. Teddy thought he saw a nervous flicker in Terri’s smile as she introduced him. ‘Teddy, I would like you to meet Earl, my boss, and now … well, my partner.’ ‘Your partner?’ Teddy was numbed. Earl’s handshake was crushingly firm. He was tall, suntanned with a black mustache and greying temples. He wore an expensive-looking seersucker suit. His accent was what Teddy imagined to be Southern. ‘I’m mighty pleased to meet you sir. I have sure heard a lot about you, and I have to say that I have reason to feel mighty guilty meeting you face to face.’ His smile seemed genuine. ‘Guilty? Er, I’m not sure …’ Teddy was puzzled. ‘Your bathrobe sir, your towelling bathrobe. I have been wearing it in the mornings when I get this charming lady here a cup of coffee.’ His arm slid around Terri’s waist and they smiled at each other. Images of Dutch came flooding back to Teddy but were quickly dispelled when he remembered how not many seconds ago he had been ready to forget about Dutch for his own ends. So this was Terri’s opportunity. He sighed inwardly and felt genuine relief. In that second Teddy saw everything clearly. For months he had been living a fantasy in the spell of this project, the Golden Pavilion, but there was much more to his life and many things that had to be faced and put in order. Sumbart’s friend had been right: the Golden Pavilion was not a place, not a destination, but part of a journey that must be travelled.

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Earl gave him his card, suggesting he should call around for a drink and pick up the bathrobe, but Teddy knew he wouldn’t go. He said a polite goodbye, shaking Earl’s hand, but this time out-squeezing him. He gave Terri a kiss on the cheek and went searching for Cedric. ———————— He found Cedric in the lounge area and told him about his conversation with Sumbart. ‘You don’t really think that the girl you spoke to at the Copacabana is Sumbart’s wife do you?’ Cedric asked. ‘Well, I don’t know Ced. But she was tall and gorgeous, and her name was Suni.’ ‘But Suni is quite a common name in these parts. I mean, the odds against it would seem to be very high.’ ‘I don’t know Ced, but Mama said that she was from the country, a village somewhere in the north. That must narrow the odds a bit.’ ‘For heaven’s sake Teddy, we can’t just go to Sumbart and say that we think we saw his wife working as a bar girl. We owe it to him to be sure of our facts. We’ll have to check it out.’ That night Teddy and Cedric went to the Copacabana and asked Mama about the tall pretty girl called Suni. ‘Ah. She is a strange one that girl. She not come back again after that time. I think I hear that she go back to her village. I not know where.’ ‘Are there many girls called Suni, Mama?’ Teddy asked. Mama nodded as she polished a glass. ‘Yes, plenty girls, plenty Suni.’ ‘Are there many girls as tall as that one?’ Mama stopped glass polishing and nodded eagerly. ‘Plenty, plenty pretty tall girl from country. You want?’

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‘No, no thank you Mama,’ Cedric laughed and turned to Teddy. ‘I think that just about settles it, Teddy old son. We can’t track down that popsy now to ask her, and it wouldn’t be right to build up Sumbart’s hopes on such flimsy evidence. Let’s just forget it.’ Teddy knew Cedric was right, but he was saddened. He would have liked to do something for Sumbart. He had become very fond of him. He drained what was left of his beer. Now he wanted to go home, not just back to the Rajah, but home, home to his family.

56 Displaying Some Balls Bangkok, The Senior Trade Commissioner’s Residence, November 28, 1966.

KALAT SERVED THE DRINKS to Malcolm and Anne out on the terrace as usual. He used the same beaten-brass tray that had reminded Malcolm of the pavilion panels. Anne knew immediately when Malcolm came in that something had happened. The stress of the trade fair’s opening had been enormous. He had told her how his superior, Duncan Partridge, had seen the Australian pavilion as being incomplete at the time of the opening, and she knew Malcolm would have to take the ultimate blame. He had gone off to a meeting at the pavilion that morning depressed and beaten, like a condemned man, but as soon as he bounced out of the car under the portico tonight, she knew things had changed. ‘Well, my love,’ he said as he took the chilled glass from the tray the dignified old servant proffered, ‘You just

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wouldn’t believe it.’ He smiled widely and clinked his glass against hers. ‘It seems your old husband isn’t such a slouch after all.’ ‘Oh for heaven’s sake,’ she gave a look that said to him, why do you say things like that? ‘Come on, tell me what’s happened.’ ‘Well, as you know, I had a meeting this morning at the pavilion with Cedric Lovejoy to start planning the dismantling and disposal of the exhibits when the trade fair finishes. The poor bastard has worked himself into the ground and is exhausted, but he and the designer are still playing pat-a-cake with Duncan and his boys to finish off a whole lot of little detail things. And there was I talking to him about pulling the thing down before the bloody thing is finished.’ He stretched his legs out and leant back in the cane planter’s chair and shook his head ruefully. ‘I really don’t know how those chaps coped with it all. I have to say this project turned out to be far bigger and much more complex than I had imagined.’ Anne was getting impatient. ‘Darling please, will you get to the point, what in heaven’s name happened?’ Malcolm was enjoying keeping Anne in suspense. ‘The fireflies are brighter tonight than usual, don’t you think?’ he nodded down towards the garden. ‘Malcolm!’ ‘As I was saying, I was having this sad little meeting with Lovejoy, and in walks Duncan, holding a telex form. He looked at me, frowning, and said, “I have a message here from the minister concerning you, both of you.” This was it, I thought, this is where we get the chop. I was scared stiff, I can tell you.’ Anne smiled, and nodded. She knew her husband was going to drag this thing out, but she was happy to see him enjoying himself.

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‘Anyway,’ he continued, ‘it seems that the pumping chap that helped us with our water-supply problems is …’ he smiled, ‘if I may make a pun, a man well-connected. Evidently he plays golf, or something, with the minister and serves on a couple of influential industry committees. He must have been impressed by the fact that we were considering sneaking some pipes into that big goldfish pool. He rang his friend the minister and told him he had never worked with a more energised and dedicated team before, and that the pavilion was a credit to our country. He finished off by referring to yours truly, saying how refreshing it was to meet a public servant willing to display the balls to make risky decisions when necessary.’ Anne was glowing with pride for Malcolm, and started to say something, but he interrupted, ‘Hold on, the best is to come. The minister sent his congratulations to me, and everyone at the post, especially the technical team, but then old Duncan, bless his heart, added his own. He included Cedric Lovejoy, of course, and the designers. Duncan doesn’t give praise lightly, believe me, he really meant it.’ Anne studied Malcolm’s expression as he gazed thoughtfully down to where the fireflies were stitching their fancy-work. He was thinking of the garden at the Oriental Hotel and of the monkey’s chain hanging down with that cruel collar, now empty. ‘I wonder,’ he said after a minute or so, ‘I wonder if it had really come to the pinch, if the authorities hadn’t finally delivered the water supply that we needed, whether I really would have had the nerve to let the chaps run our pipes into that lake?’ Anne put down her drink, got to her feet and walked over, taking his hand in both of hers, and smiled down at him. ‘My darling, you would have done whatever you had to do.’

57 In Some Small Way Saigon, South Vietnam, December 11, 1966.

THE WAR HAD CHANGED many things, but it hadn’t lessened the tangled congestion of bicycles and tri-shaws that filled Saigon’s streets at most times of the day. It was particularly busy in the central district, where Tran Qui Cap runs into Duong Duy Tan at a little circus called Chien Si, which runs around a weathered monument, and is quite close to the American Embassy. The traffic naturally veered around the ageing Buddhist monk when he stepped out on to the roadway. He stood there for a few moments with the bicycles and tri-shaws brushing by him. His saffron robe was frayed and worn and he was carrying something heavy in his left hand. Those who were less forbearing, rang their bells and yelled at him as they passed, but the tranquil expression on his face didn’t alter. Then, one young man approaching on his bicycle noticed what it was the monk was carrying. He cried out, and the traffic came to a jangling halt.

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The old monk sank to the roadway, stiffly adopted a ‘lotus’ position and started chanting a silent mantra to himself, rocking gently back and forth. The crowd of cyclists and pedestrians drew back, forming a circle around him. Then, his lips still moving in his silent chant, and continuing to rock back and forth, he deftly unscrewed the cap on a jerrycan he had placed beside him on the road. There was a horrified gasp from the watching crowd as he lifted the jerry can above his head and drenched himself in gasoline, but none among them moved to intervene. There was an acceptance of what was to follow. He continued to chant and rock back and forth from the hips, his eyes were open, and if the gasoline stung them, he made no sign. He looked smaller now, the bright saffron-orange robe had been changed to a dark tan, and had plastered itself to his thin body. He continued to rock back and forth, back and forth, and, fumbling in the wet folds of his robe, he produced an American ‘zippo’ cigarette lighter, the type issued to the GIs. Continuing to chant and rock back and forth, he held the lighter close in front of his chest and put his old and callused thumb on the friction wheel. The Military Police jeep had been patrolling around the American Embassy precinct, and had come along Hong Thap Tu and around Duy Tan and into Chien Si, where they saw the gathering crowd and realised there was some sort of disturbance they had better check out. There were two American and two South Vietnamese MPs in the jeep that stopped at the rear of the crowd. The older of the two Americans was an experienced sergeant, a career soldier who had almost completed his second tour of duty; the younger one was fresh from the States. Just as they were getting out of the jeep there was

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an audible ‘whoosh’, and a collective gasp from the crowd, as a column of yellow flames and oily black smoke rose above their heads. One of the South Vietnamese MPs pushed his way through the crowd, with the two Americans following. ‘Oh, Holy Jesus, Sarge!’ The young MP couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He was horrified, but spellbound, and couldn’t look away. In the middle of the open space the old monk was completely enveloped in fierce yellow flame, his lips still moving as he rocked back and forth, back and forth. The crowd watched in a strangely detached silence. The young MP finally broke the spell and, turning, he said through clenched teeth, ‘I’ll get the extinguisher from the jeep.’ His sergeant, a big man, put his hand out and stopped him. ‘No, leave it, it’s too late. It won’t do him any good now.’ The flames fizzed and crackled, but the old monk continued to rock back and forth, back and forth. Then, still rocking, he raised his left wrist and inclined his head, looking at his watch as if he was checking the time. ‘Wait, ’the sergeant said softly. ‘Wait until he stops moving.’ Slowly the rocking stopped and the body slumped sideways to the roadway. The flames continued to fizz and crackle and the oily column of black smoke extended high into the hazy sky. The second South Vietnamese MP had come from the jeep with the fire extinguisher. With a loud hiss of CO2, he doused the flames in a matter of seconds. There was the sound of police whistles and the silent crowd dispersed quickly no one wanted to get involved. The smell was terrible and the young MP had put his hand over his mouth and nose. He was trying very hard not to be sick. The sergeant was a good man, he knew the

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youngster would see worse than this during his tour of duty, but there was time for him to learn. ‘You’d better go back and guard the jeep before some bastard sticks a half a kilo of plastique under it as a little surprise. I just want to check this guy out for a minute.’ He nodded towards the charred remains. A while later, as they continued their patrol, the young American, who was still visibly pale, asked, ‘Jeeze Sarge, does this sort of thing happen often?’ The older man’s eyes were scanning from side to side as they drove, he had learned never to relax when on patrol. ‘Nah, not really, but I have heard about it. That sort of thing became a sort of fashion back a few years when old Ngo Dinh Diem was in control. He and his brother used the Buddhists as scapegoats, and blamed them for the spread of communism. Some Buddhist monks reacted like that. When we have something that pisses us off, and want to make a point, we may write a letter to our Congressman but these crazy bastards will go out and barbecue themselves.’ He stopped talking, swinging his head around to look up a side street, then he continued ‘I don’t think we understand the total commitment of these folk. I don’t know if we will ever properly figure them out.’ He thought for a while, and then went on. ‘I know that this Thieu regime gives the Buddhists a hard time now and again, but this is the first time I have seen this sort of thing happen.’ He took a quick look at his young friend then went back to scanning the scene around him. Absorbed as he was in the business of staying alive, he soon forgot about the old monk.

58 From the South China Sea The Gulf of Tonkin, Vietnam, May 10, 1967.

IT WAS THE GODDAMN Old Spice. There was something about that damn Old Spice after-shave, that sickly sweet smell, it really bugged the young pilot. It took only seconds after they closed the canopy for it to seep forward to him from the rear cockpit of the F-4. Before they had reached their take-off position, at the end of the slick-wet concrete runway at the sprawling Danang Air Base, he was well and truly fumigated by it. It just didn’t seem right, that when they were going out to kill people, his weapons man should want to smell pretty. It just didn’t seem right at all; it really bugged him. His buddy seemed to douse himself in that perfumed stuff only when they were going out on a real ‘search and destroy’ mission, he never used it around the base or on training flights. The young pilot wondered why this was so , and it was making it hard for him to concentrate as

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they went through their final pre-flight checks and waited for clearance to take off into the cloudy twilight. This mission was unscheduled and had been called in a hurry. North Vietnamese gunboats had been reported making raids on shore installations just below the Demilitarised Zone (DMZ). They were going on a sweep in the hope of catching one while there was still some daylight. Like most pilots, he loved flying, he especially loved this big, tough, ugly brute of an airplane. The McDonnell F-4 Phantom Fighter/Bomber was emerging as the workhorse of the Vietnam conflict; it was all power, and it showed. Nicknamed ‘Rhino’ by those who flew them, the F-4 was certainly not a pretty aircraft, but it was mightily effective in its air-to-ground strike role. It was equipped with a bewildering array of defensive electronic gear and offensive weapons, including several different types of air-to-ground missiles. ‘Mr Old Spice’, the weapons man in the back seat, controlled most of this incredible equipment. When permission to go finally crackled into his head-set, the young pilot gave a quick thumbs-up over his shoulder to the man behind him, kicked off the brakes and pushed the throttle levers forward to their pre-set settings. The twin General Electric turbojet engines, each producing nearly 18,000 pounds of static thrust, sent the heavy machine screaming down the glistening wet runway, and flung it, thundering, up into the rain-sodden monsoon clouds. The F-4 felt great, but it still didn’t seem right that his weapons man should want to smell pretty when they were going out to kill people, ‘slopes’ or not. ————————

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Phil Prettes had been confused when they left Bangkok to return to Vietnam. Previously he had dreaded even the thought of it, but now he was excited. There was a purpose in his life that wasn’t there before. He found himself looking forward to getting his tour of duty over with so he could get on with pursuing his new career. He had been moved by the support Lance was giving him, and somehow that made it important that his pursuit of excellence should start then. He applied himself fully in doing a good job carrying out his duties as a Coast Guard Officer. The trip back across the Gulf of Siam to their southern base at An Thai, in the company of the other two cutters, had a palpable holiday atmosphere. The new sheathing on the hulls seemed to be sound and everyone was in high spirits. They stayed only a few days at An Thai, then they were sent up to the northern base at Danang to allow a cutter from there to go to Bangkok to have its sheathing replaced. The patrols in the north proved to be less arduous than those in the south around the busy Mekong Delta. There was far less coastal traffic to check, but there was always the threat of raiding North Vietnamese gunboats from the north. Occasionally, they were called upon to provide fire support for friendly forces on shore, at places like Hue and Quang Tri. Ericson and Barrio became adept at using the heavy 81mm mortar. These fire-support missions were all conducted at long range and were impersonal, lacking the dreadful intimacy of the boarding parties. Phil was haunted less by the spectre of the saluting dead boy. The weeks went by, Christmas was celebrated at the huge US Base at Danang, weeks turned into months and it didn’t seem long before May brought the new monsoon

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with its dark rain squalls, sweeping in procession out of the South China Sea and into the Gulf of Tonkin. Lance had been happy to be back in action. He was very pleased with Phil’s attitude now; it was like old times again with them both working in accord. He was gratified to see his friend excited about the future, and a little concerned that they should get through this tour of duty unscathed. He was particularly tense today. It was overcast and the monsoon season was pushing the familiar lumpy, uneven swells up from the south-east. There was little wind between the dark rain squalls that veiled down from the thundery clouds. An hour or so earlier they had stopped a small sampan, which had responded obediently to their loud hailer. They were in the act of launching the boat when another sampan appeared out of a rain squall and veered away when it saw them, dodging into the cover of another squall. They tracked the suspicious craft on their radar; it was obviously trying to avoid them, and was heading north. Lance didn’t like it, he didn’t like it at all. Following the elusive sampan through the rain squalls was taking them north of their assigned patrol grid, and towards the DMZ, the agreed buffer zone between North and South Vietnam. Lance knew he would have to notify their base of their position, but just now his mind was on other things. They had been told to be on the look out for North Vietnamese gunboats that had been making sporadic raids below the DMZ, which wasn’t far north of their present position. Perhaps this craft had something to do with that. It was getting darker, the squalls more frequent, and the swell more uneasy. The clouds were boiling and flashing with blue lightning, and the dull roll of thunder was occasionally mixed with the whine and crackling roar

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of jet-planes above. Visibility was decreasing by the minute and Lance had a bad feeling about it all. He remembered just how vulnerable Phil and the boarding party could be if things turned bad. He left Zachary at the helm and went aft to where Phil and his crew were waiting by the aluminium boat. Lance beckoned for Phil to follow him to the stern railing, away from the other men. ‘I have decided to take this one myself, Phil. I need the experience, and it wouldn’t hurt for you to be in control on board here.’ Phil could tell Lance was trying very hard to be offhand about it, and this worried him. ‘Lance, I really don’t see why you need to …’ ‘That was an order lieutenant,’ Lance interrupted curtly. ‘You go back to the wheel house with Zachary, we have this guy on radar.’ He nodded out toward the blanketing rain squall. ‘When we get visibility we will go and check him out. Go and put some music on and relax a bit, I’ll take care of things back here.’ Lance turned away and looked out into their wake. He had neglected to tell Phil to notify base of their position. Phil felt a strange mixture of relief and regret as he went forward to the wheel house. Dusk was approaching and the low clouds rumbled with thunder, or was it a jetplane up there? It was hard to tell sometimes. Zachary was looking down into the radar scope on his left as he steered. He looked up and grinned as Phil entered the cramped wheel-house. ‘Hi Lieutenant, these guys are damn good at staying in the rain. They’ve got us zigzagging all over the ocean.’ ‘Stay with them Zac, we just need to keep them on the scope until the rain clears. Let’s hope it’s not dark by then.’

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Phil noticed that Zac was wearing his nonregulation orange sneakers, and wondered if Lance had said anything about them to him. ’What’s with the jazzy footwear Zac?’ Zachary looked sheepish, ‘Well sir, my girlfriend bought them for me in Bangkok, a sort of going-away present. They are very comfortable and have great grip, but the Skipper said I can’t wear them anymore coz they were made in goddamn China.’ Looking forward through the rain-spattered glass, Phil saw that Alvin Ericson and Jesus Barrio were manning the ugly machine-gun-mortar combination, their heads tilted so their helmets kept the rain out of their eyes as they stared out into the rain squall. They looked uncomfortable and tense. He was feeling tense, too. ‘What have we got in the way of music, Zac?’ ‘I think that Dylan tape is in the player, sir.’ Zac was looking down into the radar scope again. Trying to be casual, Phil reached across the instrument console to where the loud speaker switches were positioned, his hand fumbled as he switched the tape player on. Without noticing, he accidentally switched off the ship’s radio connection to the speakers. There was another dull rumbling from the clouds above as Bob Dylan’s nasal Blowin’ in the Wind piped through the cutter’s speaker system, Out at the gun position, Ericson turned his head towards the wheel-house and gave a thumbs up as the music came through the foredeck speaker. There was another rumble from above. ————————

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The turbulence just above the rain-sodden clouds was strong enough to make the heavy F-4 Phantom buck and twitch. Its young pilot could feel the wings flexing under the weight of the heavy missiles slung beneath. He was waiting impatiently for information from his weapons man in the rear seat. Although he had his oxygen mask on, the sweet and sickly smell of his partner’s Old Spice after-shave still lingered in his nostrils. It was getting dark and they were running out of time. Air-to-surface visibility was very bad, but they had been tracking a radar contact for some time now, waiting for a break in the rain squalls below to make a visual ID. They had been making a sweep hoping to catch some North Vietnamese gunboats that had been reported below the DMZ. This contact fitted the radar profile of a gunboat, and it had been behaving suspiciously, changing course erratically as if taking evasive action, but all the time edging to the north. ———————— Phil Prettes had always loved the nagging, plaintive quality of Bob Dylan’s music. He tapped time to the music with his slim fingers on the instrument console in front of him. The thunder in the clouds above seemed to be getting louder, and the rain was getting heavier. Rain would fall on all the buildings he would design one day, he would have to learn about guttering and flashings and the like. Hmm, that seemed too constant for thunder ... ————————

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The young pilot in the Phantom jet ran out of patience. The growing darkness highlighted the blue lightning in the clouds below them. ‘C’mon buddy, talk to me, talk to me.’ ‘OK, OK,’ his weapons man’s voice was shrill and edgy in his earphones. ‘I have checked with Control, none of our surface units have reported being in this sector. I have been calling on the coded frequency and so far I have got no answer. Their behaviour looks very evasive. I dunno, we just have to get a visual to be sure, but I figure they’re the bad guys.’ The pilot was not going to let these bastards slip through his fingers. ‘Arm me a couple of birds, we’ll go down and take a look. If we’re lucky enough to catch them in the open we may only have a couple of seconds to make an ID and take action. The light is nearly gone so we won’t get another shot.’ ———————— In the failing light, and shrouded by veils of falling rain, its sodden flag hanging down against the mast, the little Point Class Cutter looked very like a Soju Class North Vietnamese gunboat. The two heavy Juno rockets travelled faster than sound so they didn’t hear them coming. One skimmed low over the foredeck, narrowly missing Ericson’s helmeted head and exploded in the sea alongside. Splinters shredded the two gunners, who died instantly. In the same nano-second that Alvin Ericson’s protruding Adam’s apple was slashed away, the other rocket speared obliquely into the little wheel-house, passing through Edwin Zachary’s torso and exploding against the metal fold-down seat behind him, forcing it downwards at

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tremendous speed where it sheared his feet off at the ankles. Then he and Phillip Prettes, would-be architect, who was at that second wondering if the rain would ever leak into that Golden Pavilion in Bangkok, were vaporised by the white heat of the explosion. In that micro-second, all was gone, all that is, except for Zachary’s sneakers, which, with the feet still in them, were blown down through the little companion-way and across the ward room, to lodge neatly together against the forward bulkhead, directly beneath the ugly Chinese machine-gun. Lance Pickwell and his boarding crew, who were clustered around the little boat on the aft deck, were sprayed with molten aluminium and steel fragments; none of them escaped injury. The wheel-house no longer existed, replaced by a column of fire, which was to be mercifully quenched by another heavy downpour that had swept its way in from the South China Sea, as they always did at that time of the year.

59 The Journey Northern Thailand, 1967.

Sumbart used to get nervous when the bus turned off the main north-south highway and headed along the dusty road to Nam Phong, but not this time. Things were different now. He was different now, he had found his Golden Sala. Strangely, he hadn’t been surprised at all when he got his brother’s letter a couple of weeks ago. Suchet had written that Suni had been back in the village for some months now. She was living with her parents and working in the butcher’s shop near where they had had their wedding party. She had been asking about him. He had caught the night bus from Bangkok, so now the sun was just rising, and its rays were catching the hilltops that rolled up towards the highlands to the north. The countryside was supremely beautiful. He wondered why he had ever left it.

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Suchet knew when he was arriving. He wondered if he had told Suni. He didn’t know whether they had a future together, but that didn’t matter. He knew that he was different now, and that probably he could fill her life more completely, but that didn’t matter either. What mattered was that he would always love her and there was no place for hatred in his heart. Perhaps she would meet him under the old durian tree? Perhaps not. It didn’t matter. Sumbart looked out at the beautiful countryside again. The sun had turned the hill-tops to shining gold, the long shadows between were the darkest of blues. Wondering what this beautiful new day would bring him, he smiled and sighed, ‘Mai bpen rai, mai bpen rai.’ Until the Next Time. ————————

Melbourne, Australia, January 20, 1967. Miss Ridge loved this part of it. She loved the way her boss kept them waiting. There they were, Cedric Lovejoy and William and Edward Brown, sitting like good little soldiers waiting to see the dreadful Oscar Forrest. She was trying very hard not to smile. If she was to smile even a little bit she might start to giggle. At school she had always been a giggler. And if she started giggling she knew she would end up falling about laughing like a loon. No, she mustn’t smile. It was just so funny, so stupidly funny that they should be so tense, so scared of him. If they only knew. If they only knew how proud he was of them, or how much he had worried when they were up there in Bangkok. He had his Section Director ring the post nearly every day to

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see how things were going, but he never contacted them directly. She had been with him when he opened the first package of photos that showed the beautiful golden panels on the pavilion. He was ecstatic, and shuffled through them for hours. She knew her boss very well, but never really understood why he delighted in the charade of being the stern task-master. It was so funny watching these three sitting there in such tense anticipation. Didn’t they know it was Mr Forrest who countermanded the instructions of the First Assistant Secretary? Duncan Partridge had instructed Cedric Lovejoy to stay on in Bangkok for some time after the trade fair had finished to watch over the dismantling and disposal procedures of the pavilion. This would have kept him there well into the new year. When her boss had heard about this he rang Cedric and ordered him to let the local staff handle things, and to come home in good time to have Christmas with his family. Surely, they knew of that? The buzzer on her desk sounded and still trying not to smile, she looked over to them and said, ‘Mr Forrest can see you now.’ ———————— Oscar, as usual, didn’t look up as they entered. He had shut a file full of congratulatory telexes that had come from officers of other departments who had visited the trade fair, or who had read complimentary press reports. Still not looking up, he grunted and gestured towards the three shabby chairs that were arrayed in front of his desk. Oscar’s office was far from opulent, in fact, it was almost the opposite, and he went to some trouble to keep it that

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way. He would rather it be seen that their budget appropriations were put to better use. He shuffled through a report that Malcolm Devlin had sent him, then suddenly looked up and glared at each of them in turn. ‘Well,’ he tapped the report with the backs of his fingers, ‘it seems you didn’t stuff things up too badly.’ He gave a quick grimace of a smile, then glared directly at William. ‘I hope you appreciate the amount of trouble that your insistence on having the dammed thing air-conditioned caused.’ Cedric started to say something but Oscar silenced him with a sharp wave of his hand. ‘I am not implying that it wasn’t worth the trouble, not at all.’ Oscar’s glare swung from William to Teddy. ‘And I dearly hope that you have learned to design within the limitations of the available workforce in the future.’ Teddy opened his mouth to say something, but Oscar switched to Cedric without pausing. ‘How many people visited our pavilion over the course of the fair, Lovejoy?’ Cedric cleared his throat. ‘Our marketing people had chaps counting them with those sheep-counting gadgets, they got to just over a million I was told.’ Oscar slapped the report again. ‘Yes, that’s what it says here, but it also says that a total of one and a half million visited the trade fair. What the hell happened to the other half-million? Why didn’t they go to our pavilion, for God’s sake?’ ‘Well, there were peak periods of visitation to the fair and, at these times, the waiting crowd in front of our pavilion was so big I think it discouraged a lot of people, so they just went elsewhere.’ Cedric looked Oscar squarely in the eyes, but he looked away and back to William.

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‘It would seem you created a bottle neck. Your bloody front entrance should have been wider.’ William was taken off guard. ‘Er, no, that’s not how it works. It’s all to do with through-put, you see. There is no point just letting more people in at a faster rate than …’ Then he realised that Oscar knew all that. The old bastard was just baiting them. Oscar gave a slight smile and said nothing. There was silence for some time, then Cedric cleared his throat again and volunteered, ‘Even so, our pavilion had nearly double the average number of visits, and was regarded as easily the most popular exhibit. In the press they called it The Golden Pagoda and Thai Heaven.’ Oscar stood up, indicating that he had spent enough time with them. He gave Cedric a withering look. ‘More than double the average, eh? Let me tell you, I will give up this business if we start comparing ourselves with the average.’ He looked hard at each of them in turn. ‘Do you understand what I am saying?’ They all nodded as Oscar opened the door for them. ’OK, Bangkok was not a bad effort, but let’s see if you can get it right next time, eh?’ Miss Ridge gave them a little smile as they walked past her, and she didn’t giggle at all, because she was proud of them, too. As they stood waiting for the lift Teddy said quietly to William, ‘Bloody old Ocker: “get it right next time,’ Jesus Christ.’ William nudged Teddy with his elbow. ‘Well, at least he implied that there would be a next time.’ A next time? Teddy thought as the lift doors opened. It was a short ride down, but Teddy had time to think of what the Golden Pavilion had meant to him. They had

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reached the ground floor, they stepped out into the lobby, Cedric turned to Teddy and William and shook their hands. ‘Well you two,’ he said with a trace of a smile, ‘until the next time.’ Teddy knew that Sumbart and his friend were right. The Golden Pavilion was not a destination, not an end in itself. It was just part of a much longer journey. There must always be the next time. ————————