Thursday 27 August 2009

CHAPTER 2 In Unilever House

CHAPTER 2
In Unilever House

In the fifties and sixties, Unilever used to try hard to give the impression that it was really an ultra-respectable Anglo - Dutch margarine and soap business.
Every so often however, the company used to take off its grocer's apron and become, through its subsidiaries, UAC (United Africa Co.) and UPI (Unilever Plantations International), a swash-buckling adventurer, in far-flung parts of the globe.
Unilever House is on the periphery of the City of London, but is not really part of it. It bends its curved facade towards Blackfriars Bridge and the River Thames, which flows on to London's docks and down to the high seas beyond. On each side of its famous Art Deco building are two equestrian sculptures standing on plinths that protrude from the main body of the structure to form the East and West entrances.
The sculpture at the western end is of a massive cart-horse which looks as if it is being forcibly restrained from leaping into the middle of the Thames by a gigantic lady, with large breasts and a bath towel round her waist. On the eastern plinth is a similar horse which is being held by a less interesting male figure. The headquarters of UPI, from which the world-wide activities of the company's plantations businesses were directed, was on the first floor of the west wing. The chairman's office was actually situated inside the plinth.
Sitting patiently in front of Mr David Martin's imposing desk, whilst he used half a dozen matches, one after the other, to get his pipe going to his complete satisfaction, I calculated, for what it was worth, that his in-tray was almost directly under the backside of the horse. I did not consider it prudent to share this interest­ing observation with the chairman. I privately wondered, however, if the Unilever parent board was giving Plantations Group some sort of subtle message. Ever since the first Lord Leverhulme, on a cruise round the Pacific, had, in order to safeguard his supplies of raw material, purchased a group of coconut estates in the Solomon Islands, the more conventional directors had been asking what plantations had to do with Unilever's core business. Several were keen to get rid of them and get back to their groceries. I need not have worried. When I myself became chairman of Unilever Plantations International in London, twenty-three years later, and moved into the very same office, Unilever was still in the plantations business.
It was only, incidentally, when I moved into the famous plinth office myself that I discovered the full extent of its remarkable view. If you leant out of the win­dow as far as you could go, and looked directly upwards, you could see the huge left breast of the lady horse-handler protruding from the plinth just over your head.
The poet Wordsworth, looking down at the river from Westminster Bridge, thought that earth had not anything to show more fair. He should have seen the view from the chairman's office in the dusk of an autumn evening! It was a nocturne in blue, with the velvety ultramarine of the river, the faint indigo of the Houses of Parliament in the far distance, and the blue of Whitehall Court's Victorian-gothic turrets rearing up behind Waterloo Bridge. And above it all, brooding over the whole magic scene, the huge majestic left boob, silhouetted against the western sky. Whistler, one feels could have done it justice.
But I digress! Having at last got his pipe drawing well, Mr Martin looked at me with horror. "You want to consult an architect" he said disbelievingly. "What in heaven's name would you want to consult an architect for, man?" He waved his pipe dismissively at the skyline of the City through his east-facing window "You've seen what architects have managed to do to London, haven't you?"
"But you have just told me that we will need to build houses for over a thousand workers and their families, fifty staff houses, seven managers bungalows. We are going to have to build three complete villages with water, electricity, and sewage systems. Each village will need shops, a dispensary, a community centre, a school, a divisional office and store."
The chairman used his pipe like a conductor's baton to wave me to a halt. He was a southern Scot, with a pawky sense of humour. He had started life as an apprentice engineer before becoming a planter in Africa. Over the years, he had become a famous figure in the world of tropical agriculture. He was a handsome, portly, grey-haired Edwardian figure, a bit like a larger brother of Hercule Poirot. I cannot ever remember seeing him in London office without a flower in his button­hole. He leaned back in his leather chair and brushed a few flecks of pipe-ash from his immaculate Saville Row suit. This was always considered to be a sure warning sign of mounting irritation.
"Look Leslie, you're a planter like I used to be. You've been in the business for nearly ten years. Surely by now you know how to design a house. I thought you were interested in that sort of thing. Didn't you design the new village at Pamol Kluang before you went to Africa? Excellent lay-out," he added.
Colin Black, the vice-chairman was sitting-in on the discussions. The Borneo project was very much his baby. He had produced the initial capital-proposal and had nursed it through the various groups, which had to give their approval before the project was finally accepted by the parent board. Unlike the chairman, Colin was not a planter by background, and he was a newcomer to the plantation indus­try. He had come up through the soap-making side of the business. As a practical businessman, Colin probably felt that it was not completely unreasonable to employ an architect to design a house. He was not a man to hide his feelings. He arched his fingers together, raised his eyes wearily to the ceiling and sighed loudly.
David Martin gave him an irritated look and said, "We are not going to let an architect loose on our plantations. That's my final word." I had one last try.
"Of course I do have a basic idea of the sort of houses we want to build. I just thought that in the few days I'm in London I could get an architect to draw up an outline plan for each type of building. I could then hire a quantity-surveyor to produce the bills of quantity, so that I can place orders for building material well in advance."
David Martin jerked back as if he had been stung. "A quantity surveyor?" he choked. He was genuinely taken aback. If I had suggested that I wanted to hire the Pope to run an evening class in contraceptive techniques, he could not have been more astounded. His Dumfries accent thickened as he addressed his Maker! "My God, I wonder if we have made the right choice?" Fortunately for me perhaps, there was no answer from on high. "Look laddie," he continued, "Are you telling me that you don't know how to run-up a bill of quantities from a plan? When I opened up Ndian Estate in the Cameroons in 1933, do you think I had architects and quantity surveyors running around all over the place? No. I drew up the plans myself and worked out the bills of quantities by the light of a tilley lamp in the evenings. We didn't have any nonsense about electricity or table fans or refrigerators in those days either."
At the mention of Ndian Estate, Colin Black groaned quite audibly. I thought him incredibly brave. One had the distinct impression that Colin had heard the chairman's stories about Ndian Estate once or twice already. David Martin gave him a hard look that might have shrivelled up a lesser mortal. Colin yawned and scratched himself. I intervened hastily. Of course, I assured the chairman, I could do the necessary calculations myself if necessary. It was just that I felt I would have my hands full with a few other matters, such as David Martin stopped me again in full flow with another wave of his pipe. " I know perhaps better than anyone here in London, what lies ahead of you Leslie." Looking again at Colin, he continued, "There is of course rather more to developing an oil palm estate from scratch than merely cutting down trees and sticking palms in the ground. Since Colin here is to be in charge of the Tungud project at this end Leslie, it might be helpful to him if you were to take us through in some detail the sequence of the development operations. I think it might surprise him."
Thus encouraged, I launched into an explanation. One of the main problems in Borneo, I told them, would be the long lead times. In the case of the planting material, it could take anything up to a year from collecting the pollen, and pollinating the parent palms, producing the seeds and delivering them to Borneo. They would then have to be germinated and planted in pre-nursery beds. Two months later they would be transplanted into the nursery. After a further year, when they had grown to about waist high, they would be ready for planting out into the field. Whilst our planting material was being produced, the fields would have to be felled and two months afterwards if the ground was swampy and bulldozers could not get access, they would be burned. A good burn would make the subsequent development operations much easier, as well as adding readily available nutrients to the soil.
Immediately following the burn we would have a frantically busy time. We would have to start on four different operations simultaneously. We would com­mence drainage operations so that the swamps would dry out sufficiently before planting. We would have to make the necessary roads and bridges to get access to the fields. We would have to plant a leguminous cover-crop to shade the soil, to convert atmospheric nitrogen, and to prevent erosion. After a thick, rich, leguminous cover had been established, I told him, the soil was actually richer in nutrients than it was under the original jungle. Finally a team with a compass and chain would put in the lining pegs to show where the palms were to be planted. When the lining was completed, the chainsaw workers would then go in to clear a 4 ft. wide path up every alternate interline and a 6 ft. circle around every planting point. Behind them, another group would dig 2 ft. cube planting holes which would be back-filled with a mixture of topsoil and fertiliser to ensure that the palms got off to a good start.
When all these operations had been completed, the young palms could finally be planted in the field in their permanent positions. This operation must be done in a wet period. If there was a long dry spell after the planting, many of the palms would die. We would then have a three-year long immature period, when the fields would have to be kept weeded and the young trees fertilised. During this time, the palms would be vulnerable to a variety of pests and diseases. We could suffer losses from attacks by rats, porcupines, wild boar, and elephants as well as a wide range of-insects.
When I paused for breath, Colin Black groaned. "My God! Not much wonder our Unilever accountants prefer us to invest in soap factories," he said.
David Martin interjected: "In Malaya and Indonesia it is usually possible to get agricultural contractors who will carry out the development operations and then move on. However there will certainly be no experienced contractors in Borneo. Leslie will have to recruit and train the required number of workers in advance of each operation. It will be a great challenge," he said, "I just wish I was thirty years younger."
I broached another matter which had been bothering me. "When do you think Olive and the two girls will be able to join me in Borneo?"
"That will very much depend on how fast you can get the area developed," he replied. "There are no houses there at present of course, only secondary jungle. The first thing you will have to do is to put up some sort of temporary house for your­self. The only access is by boat. Living conditions may be a bit rough to begin with. I don't think you should be in too much of a rush to get your family out there. How old are your daughters again?"
"Catriona is coming up for five and Fiona is just two."
He nodded. "Your family will be better off in UK than in the Borneo jungle for the first few months, that's for sure. I think you should plan to get them out about this time next year, towards the end of the first twelve months."
"Let's look at the timing again," he continued. "You fly on September 15th.. You will stop for a couple of weeks with your old boss John Galpine in Pamol Kluang on the way through, to make plans for the shipping of tools and equipment, and to see if he can spare you any experienced staff. You will arrive in Borneo in early October. Incidentally, Colin here will be coming with you to Borneo for the first week or two. He will introduce you to the senior government officials and the banks, and so on. He might come up the river with you to have a look at the concession." With a hint of a twinkle in his eye he continued, "I am sure Colin is looking forward to a bit of jungle-bashing. It will do him good." Colin Black looked thoughtful.
We turned to the subject of planting material, I was informed that we were to use only Dura x Pisifera seeds, developed by our Research Department in Congo, in conjunction with Belgian colonial government scientists. It had been found that by crossing the shell-less Pisifera palms with the thick-shelled Dura palms we got a hybrid thin-shelled Tenera palm with a much higher oil extraction. Pollen had already been sent from our best Pisifera palms in Africa, and it had been used to pollinate very high yielding Dura palms at the Chemara Research Station in Johore.
"The arrival of the DxP palms," David Martin said, "is a real break-through for the oil palm industry. A few estates in Malaya and Indonesia have already planted up trial areas, as we have in Africa, but Tungud will I believe, be the first estate in the world to be planted up exclusively with the new hybrids. We probably have enough DxP seeds available in Johore for you to plant about 300 acres in the first planting year, and then about 1000 acres a year after that. You may think this is slow, but remember that oil palms are new to the country. Start by getting to know the local conditions and the local people, and build a firm foundation for the future."
When our meeting was finished, the chairman waited until Colin Black had left the room. He then called me back to his desk and produced from a drawer an ancient red book. I want you to take this with you", he said. "I found it useful at Ndian. You will have no medical facilities to start with and I believe your nearest doctor will be fifty miles away in Sandakan. You might find this book helpful if you have to deliver a baby or remove a worker's appendix." The book he handed over was The Ship Caption's Guide to Medicine. Along with a few packets of anti­malarial tablets, some Entero-Vioform tablets for diarrhoea, some tubes of Anthesan for insect bites, it formed my complete medical kit for my first few months in the Labuk.
As I turned to leave, the chairman put his hand on my shoulder, "And Leslie my boy," I waited for the chairman's final words of wisdom words…. perhaps that I could go back to, again and again, in the months to come when I was alone in the Borneo jungle, "No architects, eh?"

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