I MUST step back and share a story of how my journey into estate work began, and the importance of working with people you like.
In 1964, Cashwood welcomed a new assistant manager named Syed Yassin A. Kadir, while I was just a trainee then. He arrived in a Ford Anglia Super with racing stripes.
Syed was around twenty-six years old. Clad in smart shorts, a white shirt, long stockings, and sporting dark glasses, he awaited my descent from the wooden bungalow steps. He looked at the lawn and the area around him, and he had a style that spelled authority.
I was allowed to stay in the house by the previous assistant. Syed ventured into the dwelling to inspect it. The layout revealed a living room adjoining the master bedroom, complete with a private bathroom.
On the left were two additional rooms, with steps leading to the second bathroom. The water supply, which came from a well, was pumped for an hour daily to fill the tank outside the kitchen.
After Syed checked the house, he was satisfied and said: “You can stay.”
Later I learned that Syed hailed from Johor and his father had once served as the Chief Minister. Syed wasted no time after completing his studies in school, applying to Harrisons and Crossfield, a plantation company, and securing a job before his father became aware of his actions.
He told me about it over dinner one evening.
“I was at Pogoh Estate outside Segamat. When my father came to visit me and saw how I lived, with a good job, he left me alone.”
However, Syed was fond of his father, and I saw he had brought memorabilia, including a vinyl record of his father delivering a speech, a collection of pipes his father used to smoke and photos that included portraits of his parents. On a large side table, he had a gramophone with vinyl records of 33rpm. He had also stacked several board games.
“I used to have friends from Segamat who came on the weekends, and we played those board games.”
As it turned out, Syed was a strict person at work, approaching management with a serious and silent resolve, and erupting into a rage if he saw something.
As a result, the workers and supervisors approached him with caution. However, if things ran smoothly, he would give an approving smile.
His anger was swift like a flash, and if the person who was reprimanded improved the next time, he would gain his full respect.
For this, Syed earned the loyalty of the workers, and I marveled at the natural leadership style he wielded, realizing that it was a trait I could only hope to emulate.
After work, Syed was completely relaxed and would summon some of the staff to play board games, such as Monopoly. The game centered around acquiring property, igniting a competitive spirit that made the experience feel real.
Tempers would flare, especially if opponents were unwilling to part with a coveted property crucial for constructing a hotel and increasing rent.
Superstitions came into play as players cast hopeful glances upwards before rolling the dice.
In the end, only one player would stand to win, and often it was not Syed.
Despite these casual moments, I maintained a certain distance from him as he was my senior, and when I slackened in my job, I had to face his wrath: “I will take away your job, and give you smaller duties.”
I looked after a division of old rubber trees, which were still producing well, but on some days high absenteeism led to loss of earnings.
Of course, I feared about getting my duties reduced. I worked hard to recover the crop, ensuring that everything returned to normal.
In the house, we shared the costs of food and other expenses, although there was a big difference in our salaries. Syed recognized my problem and offered a solution: “From now on, I will pay the cost of the newspaper,” he said.
Syed knew I liked to read, and once a month he would visit the bookshop in Sitiawan, returning with a stack of storybooks he would place on the dining table. Among them was The Carpetbaggers by Harold Robbins.
“Read it first and give me a rundown,” he would instruct.
However, in favor of him was not for anything. At the end of each month, he would have to write a report on the estate for the estate manager, who would then add his part of it and send it to the head office.
Syed said: “Mahbob, I give you the key points, and you draft the report.”
It was not easy but I completed the task as requested, and it was sent to Donald Maw, an Englishman. Maw called Syed into his office and said: “This does not sound like your English.”
“Of course, not,” Syed replied. “Mahbob drafted it on my guidance. When else can I train him?”
Towards the end of my stay in Cashwood, Syed was also making arrangements to get married to his fiancee, Safiah. She was tall and elegant, a teacher living with her parents at Pekan Jabi in Segamat.
I accompanied him several times to visit her. It was a long drive. Syed had a penchant for speeding on those narrow roads, even navigating sharp corners with gusto. There were no rule about seatbelts then, and the car had only one.
“You are all right, Syed,” I said, “you have your seatbelt on.”
He was a good driver. He told me how the Ford Anglia engine worked.
“I used to own a Jaguar E-Type but I sold it after my engagement.”
After their marriage, Safiah got her transfer. With her arrival, the food improved, and the bungalow looked brighter, but I thought it was time for me to move out.
Fortunately, I attended a couple of interviews and I landed a position as assistant manager at Tanah Merah Estate in Tangkak, Johor.
Before I left, Syed gave me one of his suitcases to fill what little belongings I had. Seeing my worn-out shoes of him, he gave me one of his pairs of him, saying: “You have to present yourself well there.”
Tangkak was only a short detour on the way from Perak to Segamat, so I received some surprise visits from Syed and Safiah when they went to see her parents. He would nod quietly as he looked around.
Syed went on to earn higher pay and bigger positions. He would come with a different car most times, the Ford Anglia having been replaced by a Triumph Herald, and on another occasion, he rolled up in a green Saab, boasting of its speed and likening it to an airplane.
Safiah would smile when I inquired.
“What can I do? “He would just show up with a new car each time, without telling me.”
Like the rest of us, she would forgive Syed for everything he did.
The writer has extensive experience in the management of oil palm plantations.
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