Murder on the Verandah: Love and Betrayal in British Malaya

Shaw was not alone in that opinion. On 24 April 1907, the school’s masters and boys hosted an entertainment at which Proudlock was the guest of honour. The programme consisted of ‘musical items’ and scenes from The Merchant of Venice, ‘but the chief interest of the evening’, said the Mail, ‘centred on the speeches and presentations made to Mr Proudlock in view of his forthcoming marriage and departure on leave’. It was an emotional two hours. In speech after speech, Proudlock was praised for his commitment and dedication, his boundless energy, and his enormous decency. The school owed him a huge debt of gratitude, he was told, and there was no one – teacher or pupil – who did not hold him in the highest regard.

After being presented with three ‘purses of gold’ – one each from the students, the old boys, and the staff – Proudlock said his five years at the school had been so pleasant and so interesting, he was looking forward to resuming his duties in January. Shaw wound up the proceedings by wishing him ‘a good holiday and all happiness in his matrimonial venture’. He then called for three cheers for Mr Proudlock and his future bride ‘which were given with great enthusiasm’.

On the stand, Wyatt denied telling Wagner he had beaten the servants. Wagner, he said, had invented the conversation. As for his treatment of Mrs Proudlock, he said his consideration sprang from an awareness of the grief and trouble she was going through.

In a summation that lasted almost four hours – at one point Mr Justice Innes had to plead with him to hurry up – T. H. T. Rogers, Proudlock’s counsel, said his client was convinced that, had his wife been tried by a jury, she would never have been convicted. ‘Twelve manly men would never have stood by and seen a defenceless woman accused as she was.’ Proudlock saw trial by assessors as inherently unfair and had written to M.A.P. in the hope that public pressure would convince the Home Office to abolish it.

Rogers referred to Mrs Proudlock as ‘a defenceless woman suffering the deepest agony, charged with murder and separated from her defenceless child and with little evidence to support the charges. The conviction stood and would be a stigma that would keep to her during the rest of her life … The world was a cold, censorious place and nothing delighted the general public better, apparently, than something disastrous happening to one of their more unfortunate neighbours.’

On 11 November Mr Justice Innes found for the plaintiff. Proudlock, he said, had imperilled the reputation and the future of an officer. ‘That officer now leaves the court with his reputation unsullied and with a claim to enjoy the same confidence from his superiors as before.’ Proudlock was ordered to pay $300 and costs.

Even though he found for Wyatt, Innes admitted to admiring Proudlock. He gave his evidence, Innes said, ‘in a straightforward and manly way and with self-control under trying conditions. The attacks upon his character entirely failed to weaken his credibility.’ He seems as well to have felt some sympathy for him, going so far as to suggest extenuating circumstances. Before writing to M.A.P., Innes said, Proudlock had had to endure ‘the unspeakable horror of knowing that his wife’s reputation was besmirched by the vilest rumours which he described in his evidence as filthy lies’.

Less than three weeks later, William Proudlock left KL to join his wife in England. His departure was a sad one. He loved the city and believed that he had given it much. It had been his intention to spend his life there, and though he spoke of coming back, he must have known that this was now impossible. Proudlock departed the capital of the Federated Malay States on 21 November 1911. He never returned.

Of the two photographs of William Proudlock I have been able to find one is especially revealing. It’s a picture of him with members of VI’s First Eleven, one of the football teams he played for. A small, slight man, he had a compact head (an acorn comes to mind) and his hair is shorn almost to the scalp. There is a suggestion of the monk about him; it is easy to imagine him wearing a cowl. Seated in the middle of the group, he seems to sprawl slightly, as if to give an impression of indifference. But it is only an impression. Proudlock’s arms are folded so tightly across his chest, he might have been trying to staunch a wound. And his eyes: they engage the camera directly, but there’s a wariness about them. Hard as he tries to look insouciant, Proudlock has the air of a man all too conscious that he doesn’t measure up.

This must have caused him much distress because measuring up – mixing with others on equal terms; being accepted – was very important to him. While in KL, he worked tirelessly to make a good impression, though he would doubtless have denied it. In addition to after-hours tutoring, the piano recitals and the musical at-homes, he was a gymnastics instructor, coached the choir at St Mary’s, was president of the Selangor State Band and a lieutenant in the fire brigade. (In a competition for firemen in August 1909, Proudlock’s team won the Cape Hill Cup for best over-all performance, and the Selangor Government Cup for its skill in the four-men engine drill. Proudlock also took first place in the ladder competition, completing a complicated set of manoeuvres in a record time of 38 seconds.) And there was more: he belonged to the Malay State Volunteer Rifles – a group Winstedt considered to be very coarse. ‘I can enjoy a witty story of the smoking-room type,’ he said. ‘But I have never been able to discover why volunteer canteens must be regaled by cold indecencies that should upset the gorge even of Dan the lavatory-man.’

The son of a millwright, Proudlock was born on 18 April 1880, and received his education, not at Eton like some in Malaya, but at a state school in Whittlesford, Cambridgeshire. In KL, where social credentials mattered, Proudlock had none to speak of, but that was of no account, he told himself. (There are times when he strikes one as very naive.) He would prove himself in other ways. All those good deeds would redeem him. (He was an inveterate volunteer. When the Casuals, another football team, was founded in April 1910, Proudlock agreed to act not just as secretary, but as treasurer as well.)

During his trial for libel, Rogers referred to his client as a manly man. Proudlock would have been very proud. In Malaya in the early 1900s, to describe a man as manly – the tautology aside – was the ultimate compliment. The term had its origins in Muscular Christianity, a movement born in the 1850s whose aim was to re-invigorate British manhood. Muscular Christianity – its adherents preferred to be called manly Christians – emerged at a time when many believed that England had lost its way. Industrialization had made the country complacent and self-indulgent, people said; the masculine, Anglo-Saxon values of the rural gentry – values that had served England well in the past – were in eclipse.

In manly Christianity’s major texts – Westward Ho! and Tom Brown’s Schooldays are the most important – Charles Kingsley and Thomas Hughes proposed redeeming Britain by merging vigour with virtue. Men were encouraged to engage in athletics, the belief being that prowess on the playing field – in some way that was never fully explained – produced not just physical health, but spiritual health as well. As Victorian England saw him, the manly Christian was one who feared God and thought nothing of a 10-mile walk before sitting down to breakfast.

Manly Christianity proved hugely influential. It engendered the games culture that came to dominate the public schools where it also bred anti-intellectualism. (The boy who knew Virgil by heart ran a poor second to one who had earned his Flannels.) It informed as well the New Imperialism of the late 1890s, Joseph Chamberlain’s call to Britain to go forth and civilize the barbarian. (The scout movement was founded in 1908 when the New Imperialism was at its height.)

Manly Christianity did not remain Christian for very long. While the public schools were full of vigour, they were rarely full of virtue. (In some, cheating, especially at exams, was endemic.) And while the New Imperialism spoke much of raising up those who dwelt in darkness, an altogether more immediate concern was raising a profit. As Cecil Rhodes once put it, imperialism was philanthropy plus a 5 per cent dividend on investment.

By 1911, Muscular Christianity as a spiritual force was running out of steam. Even its terms had been secluarized. Now the manly Christian was merely a manly man but, even reduced like this, he had much to recommend him. He was resolute; he was resourceful; he was chivalrous; he loved adventure – all qualities Proudlock embodied.

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