IN A TEA GARDEN

Timaru Herald, Volume CXXXVII, Issue 19374, 24 December 1932, Page 19

IN A TEA GARDEN

THE PLANTER'S DAY. A tea planter’s day in mid-season begins early in the morning and finishes late—if it can be said to finish, for his nights are oft-en disturbed—(writes an Indian tea-planter to the “Manchester Guardian”). A coolie may have temporarily lost the use of his senses and run riot in the lines (garden village), an accident may have occurred to a teahouse coolie working on the night shift, or a hut in the garden village may have taken fire and be threatening to destroy the others. The manager's presence is always necessary on these occasions. I rise about 6.30 a.m.. hastily swallow my morning cup of tea and biscuits, and go immediately to the teahouse, which is some considerable distance away from my bungalow. My chief object before breakfast is to ascertain the quality of tea manufactured the day before. This is commonly known as “tea basting,” or in the vernacular as “tea spitting.” I have to taste at least two lots—the unsorted quality of the previous day’s manufacture, and the finished product of the day before that. In addition to these we obtain samples of neighbouring gardens’ teas to compare with our own—a state of rivalry which is extremely beneficial to the trade. This occupies a considerable portion of the time before breakfast, and is of importance, as it may result in slightly altering the process of manufacture in order to amend any lack of quality or fault which has been detected in the tea. It must be remembered that the leaf passes through many processes of manufacture —plucking, withering, rolling. fermenting, an firing—all having a definite bearing on the quality and all liable to slight alteration according to the state of the weather. I have several other minor duties to attend to in the early part of the morning—scheduling the day’s programme for the motor lorries, seeing what proportion of tea was produced to the amount of leaf weighed the previous day, and arranging for the packing and dispatch of the sorted teas. I also like to walk round every department in the teahouse to see that everything is in order for the day.

In the Garden. I have breakfast between 8.30 and 9.30, and on my return I spend all the time until lunch in the garden itself. I go near to the scene of the work in my car and tramp the rest of the way between the tea bushes. My first duty is to find out what proportion of the labour force has turned out to work. Shortage of labour in mid-season is one of the planter’s greatest troubles, and a slack labour force is a serious thing. The workers have to be treated with diplomacy, else they rebel and abscond and a greater evil succeeds the first.

Then I examine the quality of the plucking and walk over yesterday’s sections to see how they look when finished. I also visit the untouched sections of the garden to find out which should be plucked the following day. My other morning duties are to visit the nurseries, the sections where pruning is in progress, the places where shade trees are being planted, and so on. The average tea garden is between 700-800 acres, and employs about 1,200—1,300 coolies.

At 1 p.in. I supervise the weighingin. The coolies queue up with baskets filled with leaf, and these are weighed individually, the coolie being paid accordingly at the week-end. This also affords an excellent opportunity for ascertaining the work of the coolies individually. I then go to my bungalow and change—for in mid-season the rain comes down in torrents, and we have an average of 2in. a day—have my lunch, and take a well-earned rest on the bed for half an hour or more.

Office Work. About 3 p.m. I am back again, but in my office. I am beset with all manner of duties for the next three hours. Apart from general office work and accounts, analysing labour statistics, supplying Governmental wants, for which I am responsible through my native clerks, there are garden labour troubles to settle and coolies to bargain with. Labour recruits have to be dispatched to their own districts for additional labour. One of my coolies may want to marry a girl from a neighbouring garden, and I write to the manager to obtain his formal consent. I have to send rural policemen to search for absconders, inspect the private garden hospitals, and receive the doctor’s reports. We have the private roads and bridges to keep in order, the garden villages also, and at the weekend to distribute the coolies’ pay. But my main objective in the afternoons is to schedule the next day’s programme—to arrange what sections to pluck, prune, manure, etc. The next weighing-in time is about 6.30 p.m.. and at 7 p.m. or thereabouts I am glad to get home, change, bathe, and prepare for dinner.