Books that bring the plantation to life

Borneo Post

29-06-2025

After spending over three decades in the plantation industry, I've come across a handful of books that didn't just inform me, they inspired me. These aren't just pages filled with facts and anecdotes; they're stories that speak directly to the soul.
And what makes them even more meaningful is that I've been fortunate enough to have some personal connection — whether to the authors themselves or to the world they so vividly describe. That connection has allowed me to experience these works not just as a reader, but as someone who's lived part of the story. And now, I'd like to share a few of these gems with you.
The man who gave us 3Ws: Weevils, Words and a Way Forward
I was a young researcher back then, still green behind the ears. It was at one of those grand PORIM or ISP International Conferences, the kind where everyone wore name tags and no one dared spill their coffee. I was probably more interested in the buffet line than the plenary sessions. That was when I first spotted Leslie Davidson.
From afar, of course. He had that unmistakable air of quiet authority, like someone who'd wrestled with the jungle and won. I was told, in hushed tones, that he was a legend. At the time, I didn't know why but I made a mental note: Must check this man out.
Many years later, enter Purushothaman Kumaran — or just Puru, as everyone in IJM fondly called him. Puru, who had worked with Davidson at Unilever, introduced me to his book, East of Kinabalu. 'You have to read this,' he said, with the kind of tone people reserve for sacred texts and secret recipes. And so I did.
Only then did I begin to appreciate the true scale of Davidson's legacy — not just as a planter, but as the man who the game-changer in the pollination game. He was instrumental to bring in the mighty Elaeidobius kamerunicus — a tiny weevil with a work ethic that puts most of us to shame — and helped revolutionise the oil palm industry. No more back-breaking hand pollination by the hundreds; nature now had its own tiny army.
If the oil palm industry had a literary canon, East of Kinabalu would sit right at the top — dog-eared, coffee-stained, and proudly passed down from one planter to the next like a sacred field manual. More than just a memoir, it's a rollicking tale of grit, gumption and sheer jungle genius — chronicling how Davidson and his men transformed a patch along the Labuk River in Sabah into the cradle of a plantation revolution.
A lifelong Unilever man, Davidson didn't just grow oil palms, he grew history. Starting with nothing but a flooded tobacco estate, an attap hut and his signature stubbornness, he spearheaded Pamol's Tungud Estate in the early 1960s. Floods came, huts washed away, but Leslie stood firm and by the end of it all, over 20,000 acres of oil palm stood tall.
And he didn't keep those stories to himself. Came his book that's part survival saga, part love letter to Sabah and part masterclass in resilience. It's hilarious, heartfelt, a little spiced up but overall, hauntingly honest. If you've ever walked a muddy estate road or swatted a mosquito the size of a fist, this book will speak to your soul.
In fact, it spoke to me so loudly that when I was with IJM, I turned into a full-blown evangelist. I literally cleared out the Incorporated Society of Planters' stockroom — buying hundreds of copies until they ran out. I carried them across flights like a literary drug mule, stuffing them into my luggage entitlement with missionary zeal. Every executive under my watch in Sabah got a copy — not as a token, but as a torchlight. This wasn't just a book. It was a source of inspiration, a connection to their roots, and yes, a pretty effective tool for polishing up their English.
So if you're a planter and you haven't read East of Kinabalu, you're missing out on more than a great story. You're missing the blueprint of your own profession. Find it, read it, gift it. Let it live on — not just as history, but as a spark for your own chapter in the story of plantations. Leslie Davidson may have put down his pen, hung up his planter's boots and passed on but his weevils are still hard at work and his words still inspire.
Tales Beyond the Bungalow
Ever wondered what life was really like for estate managers deep in the sweaty, sweltering, snake-studded tropics? Not the carefully curated colonial postcards with their manicured lawns and gin-and-tonics at sunset. Not the corporate brochures with their glossy promises and staged smiles. No—I'm talking about the real plantation life: mud-caked boots, leech-bitten ankles and stories as tangled and wild as the jungle canopy overhead.
To lift the veil on that rugged, raw and richly human world, look no further than Mahbob Abdullah — a man who's not only lived the life but penned it in vivid, unforgettable strokes. His books, Planter's Tales – A Plantation Manager's Stories and Planter Upriver – More Stories from a Plantation Manager, contain a staggering collection of 120 stories of estate life. Together, they're not just memoirs – they're a masterclass in the art of surviving and thriving in the plantation world.
Mahbob writes with the sly wit of a campfire storyteller and the precision of a man who's had to coax a broken-down tractor back to life in the rain — with a wrench in one hand and a swear word on his lips, I think. His prose smells of diesel and durian, simmers like a Sunday curry, and squelches with the damp weight of monsoon-soaked earth.
With his pen as a machete, he carves vivid paths through estates in Perak, Johor, and Sabah — before jetting us off to the far reaches of the Solomon Islands, Cameroon, Zaire, Nigeria and Ghana. His CV? Think Indiana Jones in gumboots. Except every tale is true, and half of them involve outsmarting wildlife, rescuing rogue machinery or navigating the fine art of estate diplomacy with a smile and a swear.
Now, if you're really lucky — blessed, even — you might find yourself sharing a meal with Mahbob and his ever-gracious wife, Maznah. And let me tell you, reading his books is one thing. But hearing the stories live? That's a whole different jungle drum. The man doesn't just retell stories — he reanimates them, complete with voices, accents, and that mischievous glint in his eye that says, 'This really happened, I swear.'
Maznah might interject with the occasional correction or punchline, making the experience even richer. You'll laugh, you'll learn and you might just forget to eat your food because you're hanging on every word. Just don't forget to 'belanja' and pay for the meal, ya? That's the unspoken price for being transported back to the golden age of planting, one hilarious, heartwarming anecdote at a time.
It's not just a meal shared. It's an immersive time-travel session. A living, breathing journey down the muddy tracks of memory, guided by one of plantation life's finest custodian.
From the early 1960s to the mid-1980s, much of Mahbob's illustrious career unfolded under the vast and storied banner of Unilever Plantations, where he wrangled not just rubber and oil palm, but also cocoa, coconuts, and even cattle — because why not throw in some cows for good measure when you're already knee-deep in jungle logistics?
And he hasn't stopped. Mahbob continues to contribute his sharp insights and warm recollections to platforms like The Sun and The Planter, serving up reflections that are as nourishing as a strong kopi-O after morning muster. His collected works? A planter's treasure trove. They deserve to be preserved, compiled and translated — because storytelling like this shouldn't be limited by language. It's 3Hs: history, humour and heritage all rolled into one.
His writing captures every detail of estate life: the groggy morning roll calls, the languid Sunday lunches with fish curry, the bungalows that creak with memory, the unreliable generators, and the cast of colourful characters — the quirky colleagues, steadfast labourers, slithering reptiles, and bosses who could terrify tigers. He shows us the estate manager not as a colonial caricature, but as something far more interesting: part pioneer, part philosopher, part plumber and occasionally part crisis negotiator.
But Mahbob's stories aren't just about nostalgia. They're about grit. About improvisation. About enduring power outages, fixing collapsed bridges, and defusing labour disputes — all before breakfast. They speak to the spirit of problem-solvers who could read the clouds, talk to tappers, and coax a diesel engine back to life with a combination of skill, swearing and sheer force of will.
So, pour yourself a steaming cup of coffee or tea, settle into that rattan chair, and crack open these stories. The jungle's still whispering — and if you listen closely, you might just hear the laughter of a long-retired manager, the growl of an aging Land Rover, or the slap of a muddy boot on a veranda floor. Plantation life isn't over — it's just waiting to be remembered. BTW. Apparently, Mahbob has in store 3 more books awaiting publication!
A Grand Legacy in Green and Gold
If Mahbob Abdullah is the spirited raconteur of the plantation world — spinning tales with laughter, leeches, and many Sunday curries — then the late Datuk Boon Weng Siew, fondly known as Uncle Boon, is its revered elder statesman. His memoir, Uncle Boon Remembers – A Pioneer Malaysian Planter , is not just a book — it's a time machine. One that takes you through the very veins of Malaysia's plantation history, told by someone who didn't just live through it — he shaped it.
This is a man whose life reads like the evolution of an entire industry. From the rhythmic thok-thok of rubber tapping in the 1940s, to the roaring engine of the oil palm boom decades later. From Malaya's days under British rule, through the dark clouds of the Japanese Occupation, the tense grip of the Communist Insurgency, and finally the light of Independence and nationhood — Uncle Boon was there. Not as a bystander, but as a builder. As the longest-serving President of the Malaysian Estate Owners' Association (MEOA), his fingerprints are on every milestone the industry passed.
But don't expect a dry history lesson — Uncle Boon Remembers is rich with wisdom, humour, and heart. It's plantation life told by a man who led with both discipline and soul. His leadership was like a trusty old tractor — steady, reliable, and only truly appreciated when the harvest came in.
I should know. I had the tough job of succeeding him as MEOA President. Filling his boots? Not easy. Following his example? Even harder — but worth every step. I tried my best.
And how was this literary gem brought to life? With sweat, spirit — and a remarkable number of curry puffs. Yes, this was a true committee-born creation, painstakingly assembled over many long meetings with key contributors like Jacqueline Foo, Khoo Khee Ming, M R Chandran, Mahbob Abdullah and Dina Fuad. They didn't just compile a biography — they wove together an entire era. The project was generously supported by KLK's Tan Sri Lee Oi Hian, whose belief in the importance of preserving our plantation heritage made the publication possible. It was a tribute not just to Uncle Boon, but to a generation of unsung pioneers who paved the roads — literal and figurative — for today's industry.
Reading Uncle Boon Remembers is like sitting under a rubber tree (mind the mosquitoes), listening to a seasoned elder tell you where the land came from, who shaped it, and what it cost. His voice, though stilled by time, speaks through the pages — calm, measured but burning with conviction. He remembered…
Confessions of a Colonial Rubber Planter
We all know the story — how the Mat Sallehs brought rubber and oil palm to Malaya, along with their monocles, marmalade and a love for bureaucracy. But what really happened behind the white bungalows, under the rubber trees and after the club bell rang for last call?
Enter A Company of Planters, a cheeky, charming and at times deeply moving memoir by John Dodd, a British planter who landed in colonial Malaya in 1956 with a diary in one hand and a devil-may-care spirit in the other.
Written through letters to his best mate and father back in England — peppered with diary entries and a healthy dose of confessions — Dodd's tale offers a candid glimpse into the life of a young colonial rubber planter in the waning days of Empire. Yes, daily rubber output was the official objective — but as Dodd makes hilariously clear, the real KPIs were girls, gin and finding a reliable 'keep' (that's colonial code for a semi-permanent romantic arrangement).
The planters might have worn khaki by day, but by night, it was all 'stengahs' (whisky and soda, typically served with ice) at the clubhouse and whispered conversations in Penang's backstreets.
But this memoir isn't just about colonial antics and hormonal adventures. Life on the plantations also came with its fair share of danger and drama. This was the era of the Malayan Emergency, when the jungle wasn't just home to tigers and tapirs, but also Communist insurgents with a fondness for ambushes. Add to that strikes, snakes, fires and the slow-burning rise of nationalism leading to Independence, and you have a narrative as rich and unpredictable as the land itself.
I joined the industry in late 1991, a different era altogether — but the echoes of the past still lingered among the estates. That's when I met the man behind the stories — John Dodd himself, introduced to me by my boss-then, Mr. Loong Sing Guan, when John had retired to Ellar Estate in Johor after many loyal years with Sime Darby. Even in retirement, Dodd carried himself with that unmistakable colonial flair: the upright posture, the calm voice, the quiet confidence. He was, quite simply, a gentleman planter — with that indefinable quality best summed up by the classic Dunhill tagline of yesteryear: Gaya, mutu dan keunggulan.
John Dodd was more than just a writer — he was a living bridge between eras, a man who witnessed the final curtain call of British Malaya and stayed on to become part of Malaysia's story. In 1991, he was awarded the MBE for services to agriculture, but his true legacy is this book — a heartfelt time capsule filled with wit, warmth, and wonder. Dodd passed away in 2023, but his stories live on like footprints in the estate mud — faint, perhaps, but indelible.
Let's Inspire Before We Expire
Together, books by Leslie Davidson, Mahbob Abdullah, on Uncle Boon Remembers, John Dodd and a few more don't just tell stories — they preserve a way of life, a world built on mud, muscle and ambition. These aren't dusty recollections or nostalgia. They're living, breathing blueprints of grit, wit and sheer pioneering nerve — etched by men who braved monsoons, leeches and bureaucracy.
They cleared forests, crossed swollen rivers, built empires from sap and sweat and navigated the politics of everything from planting to independence. These books don't just document the past. They dare us to imagine what legacy we'll leave behind.
So whether you're a seasoned planter, a curious student, a wistful history buff or just someone who's ever wondered how Malaysia's economy came to lean so heavily on rubber and oil palm — these books are your essential reading kit. This isn't just their story. It's ours. And just as they wrote theirs, you should write yours too. Let us aspire to inspire — before we inevitably expire.
So go on — brew a strong kopi-O, or if you're feeling bold, pour yourself a good old stengah. Sink into that creaky rattan chair, let the ceiling fan spin like time itself, and crack open one of these gems. The jungle is calling — not with roars or compliance checklists, but with stories. Wild, witty, wonderful stories.
And trust me — they're far more thrilling than any EUDR or NDPE discourses.