Last week, the missionary found himself settling into a small, newly built bungalow beside the old church from 1929, which stood as a reminder of the early days when oil was first discovered in Brunei State. Life in the mission was simple and sometimes amusing, with stories like the great safe that once crashed through the floor, and the daily routines of parish and school business. The missionary taught English to children who spoke a lively mix of languages, and Sundays were filled with the sounds of a quirky choir and the taste of homemade egg curry and sweet “Gula melaka.” The community was close-knit, with Shell workers and local families gathering for church, and the missionary soon met old friends and new faces, including a priest from Labuan, as the mission adapted to changes in the region and the growing importance of the oil industry.
It all began in my third year as a seminarian in Mill Hill. One morning the Master of Discipline asked me to help a missionary with some luggage to the bus stop at the front gate. I changed into a suit and headed for the front door, where Ben was waiting for me with a pile of luggage and a huge statue of the Sacred Heart. I manfully ( there was not much of me then ) struggled to get him to the bus and was about to return when he grabbed me and said, “Surely you are not going to leave me now? How I will get to the Tube with all this?” Of course, put it that way, the question had only one answer. I reminded him that, as I had rushed out in a hurry, I had no money with me for the return fare. That, he assured me, would be taken care of. I helped him into the station at Burnt Oak. Again “You can’t leave me alone with all this”. In those days, discipline in Mill Hill was very strict. For me to go into London was far beyond the original remit. We were allowed to go there three days in the year. Here was a dilemma. Quite clearly he could not manage by himself. I decided that, “in for a penny, in for a pound” and “I might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb”. So casting all fears aside, I began to enjoy the stolen pleasure of a trip to the city. We got to Victoria, had lunch and set off to find his train.
But throughout all this, there was no mention of money for my fare back. I decided that even if it meant going with him all the way to Borneo ( where he was heading ), I was going to cling to him like a leech. He had such a forgetful, casual air about him that I felt that giving me money was not a priority. I saw him into his seat, with his luggage and statue and waited. At last, he dug his hand into his pocket and produced a half-crown, sufficient for the fare and few coppers to spare. As the old-timers say “A half-crown was a lot of money in those days”. Be that as it may be, it got me back to Mill Hill. It was early afternoon, after lunch, so I quickly got changed for football, to lose myself in the anonymity of 21 other students. But my absence at lunch had been noticed. Fr Thoonen came to me later and brought this up. I explained with all the details the story of the day. A seminarian had in those days to be a good advocate in his own cause. I made it sound like a kind of kidnapping and that Mill Hill should be glad that I had escaped from Ben and was able to return safely. He muttered, ” I knew him as a student. He was always like that”. With this cryptic remark, he left.
Having last seen him at Victoria in London, I felt it to be a coincidence that here he was again, this time inviting me to another Victoria, the name of the town area of Labuan, for a few days. We flew out on a small Shell plane, over the beautiful coral reefs that fringe all the little islands and all the huge shoals of fish. A helicopter pilot once told me that he could see the fishermen below unaware that they were just a few feet away from these shoals and he could not tell them. Ben cheered me up on the trip with stories of coming into land to discover lawnmowers and tractors left lying on the runway.
Labuan was by this time a backwater. It had been the centre of British power in this whole area; it had been the coaling station for ships plying between England, Australia and China but now there was little to remind one of its former glory. There were primary and secondary schools which, particularly the latter, had been a great help for children from Brunei State requiring a Catholic education. Now, the schools catered for the local children and a few children from mainland North Borneo, particularly from broken homes.
The house like most other missions was simple in the extreme, devoid of any decoration or comfort. I remember at meal times that Ben had this huge shaggy dog that rested at his feet. When the meal was over, he would reach down to it the remains of the meat dish which it scoffed with its huge lollopping tongue.
Labuan has a beautifully kept war cemetery, the reminder of the bitter battle with the Japanese in 1942. Later on in Australia I met a veteran who told me about the mighty armada assembled at the newly-liberated Labuan for the invasion of Borneo. It was expected that the Japanese would put up a fierce resistance. In fact, the Allied force were stood down almost at the last minute.
There was no seat on the plane for the return journey. The alternative was the Brunei Government launch which did the trip in 4 hours. It was quite rough, but calm descended when we started on the long trip through Brunei Bay into the heart of the town past the famous Kampong Ayer, or Water Village, with its houses on stilts over the water where the locals travel around in canoes. From this relic of the past, I was faced with the magnificent spectacle of the mosque. It was like some kind of time-fault. It stood high above all the coconut palms and ramshackle buildings of houses and shops. The central dome was gilt, dazzling in the sunlight, cupolas on towers, with a minaret slim, elegant piercing the skies. This was the gift of a devout Sultan courtesy of the new oil money. His son, the present sultan, reputed to be the world’s richest man, has taken some 10 years to complete his contribution to his religion with his mosque. Many reasons have been offered for the delay; the most bizarre was the discovery that in the sunset a cross was formed on a wall by the gathering shadows.
As the rain-soaked roads and bustling towns fade into memory, our missionary finds himself on the brink of a new adventure—one that promises unexpected friendships, curious encounters, and the challenge of building a life in a land both strange and beautiful. With every step, the past and present mingle, and the stage is set for fresh beginnings, surprising twists, and the kind of stories that linger long after the journey ends. What awaits in the next chapter? Only time—and a touch of tropical mischief—will tell.
