In the early days of Malaysia’s plantations, life was tough, but creativity thrived in ways that still tickle our imagination. While latex and fresh fruit bunches flowed from the estates, so did stories of how these plantations got their names. These tales, laced with wit, humour, and a touch of eccentricity, form a rich part of Malaysia’s plantation heritage. Let’s take a stroll down memory lane and uncover the colourful origins of several estate names, where the act of naming was as inventive as the planters themselves.

In those golden days, when tropical plantation trees swayed lazily in the tropical breeze, plantation owners had more on their minds than just crops – they were also crafting names that could stand the test of time. It wasn’t exactly a walk in the park. After all, a name was more than just a label; it carried the identity, legacy and sometimes the eccentric whimsy of its creator. What emerged was a delightful mix of twist, wit, humour and a surprising flair for innovation.

Tennamaram’s Twist: Coconut Estate That Became Oil Palm Pioneer

It’s been 108 years since the first commercial planting of oil palms in Malaysia. Elaeis guineensis Jacq. is the botanical name given to oil palm by a Dutchman, Nikolaus Josep Von Jacquin in 1763. The word “elaeis” is derived from the classical Greek word “elaia”, which means olive tree while the guineensis refers to its place of origin which is regarded to be the Gulf of Guinea in equatorial Africa.

The oil palm trees, which are a very common sight nowadays, were only introduced in Malaya then, in the early 1870’s by the British. Originating from West Africa, this tree was first planted as an ornamental plant.

It wasn’t until the year 1917 when the official commercial planting took place. Cultivation of oil palm among smallholders flourished across the country and surpassed rubber as the nation’s main economic crop in 1989.

Prompted by the 19th century Industrial Revolution in Europe, Henri Fauconnier, a Frenchman travelled to Malaya in search of his fortune. In 1911, he was impressed by oil palm development in Sumatra and brought some seeds back for experimentation on his own coffee estate in Malaya. When rubber and coffee prices began depreciating, he planted the oil palm seeds in Tennamaram in Batang Berjuntai (today Bestari Jaya) in Kuala Selangor which became the first commercial oil palm estate. He also set up the first palm oil mill in Malaya then.

The tale of oil palm’s commercialisation in Malaya is a classic story of agricultural ambition with a twist of linguistic confusion. Now, here’s where it gets a bit juicy: “Tennamaram” is thought to come from the Tamil words “tennam maram,” which translates to “coconut trees.” This likely hints at the fact that the area was once a coconut plantation before being converted to oil palms.

But hold on a second – here’s where the plot thickens. Why call an oil palm estate a coconut plantation? Apparently, Tamil workers, seeing the new palms sprouting up, mistook them for coconuts, hence dubbing the estate “the land of coconuts.”

According to oil palm veteran M. R. Chandran with over 60 years of experience in agrocommodities, the actual Tamil word for oil palm is “sempanai maram”, or alternatively “enney panai” or “pannai maram”. So, not only did they misidentify the tree, but they also gave the estate a name that had more to do with coconuts than the new crop altogether. It’s a delightful little linguistic mix-up, which many Indian-origin planters might not even be aware of.

Today, Tennamaram estate and mill are managed by SD Guthrie. So, in the grand irony of it all, the first commercial oil palm upstream supply chain in Malaysia is tied to the name of a coconut estate. Sometimes, history just can’t resist throwing in a curveball, can it?

Bangsar: From Rubber Estate to Property Hotspot

In 1906, the London-based Kuala Lumpur Rubber Co. Ltd. (KLR) was founded to plant rubber trees around Kuala Lumpur, meeting the growing demand for rubber tyres as motor cars began replacing horse-drawn carriages in the U.S.

M. R. Chandran shared an intriguing bit of history back in 2000 whilst we were at MPOA. Before joining MPOA, he worked with Societe Financiere des Caoutchoucs (Socfin), a well-known European plantation firm.

He often spoke with great affection about the founding members of Kuala Lumpur Rubber Co. Ltd (KLR) – Edouard Bunge, a Belgian, and Alfred Grisar, a Frenchman, and the indelible mark they left on the region’s agricultural landscape.

These two planters played a pivotal role in shaping an estate that would later make its mark on history.

Originally owned by Socfin, the estate was eventually sold and eventually transformed into the trendy, bustling suburb of Bangsar, Kuala Lumpur, as we know it today.

Back in the day, though, it was just a humble rubber plantation. So, when it came time to name their new venture, Bunge and Grisar did what any self-respecting European businessmen would do — combine their surnames into something that sounded grand and distinguished. Voilà – Bunge-Grisar was born. But perhaps, as fate would have it, the alphabets worked as follow: B comes before G, and not the other way around. Had it been the other way around, we might have ended up with “Grisar-Bunge” – and who knows, we could have been Sarbang today instead of Bangsar! No need to overthink it, right?
Now, Bunge-Grisar may have sounded sophisticated in European boardrooms, but in the heat and humidity of Malaya, the name took on a life of its own. Local workers, busy tapping rubber trees and possibly lacking the energy to pronounce “Bunge-Grisar” in full after a long day, began to simplify it. Soon, the estate was affectionately referred to as “Bungsar.”

As time passed and the plantation gave way to urban development, the name evolved once more. Perhaps someone decided that “Bungsar” needed a bit of polishing to suit the growing city. The result? “Bangsar,” a name that stuck and eventually became synonymous with affluence, culture and the good life in Kuala Lumpur.

And so, from rubber trees to rooftop restaurants, the legacy of Mr. Bunge and Mr. Grisar lives on in Bangsar – a neighbourhood where one can toast to history, perhaps with a glass of Belgian beer or French wine, in honour of its European Belgian-French roots.

Jeroco and Trushidup estates in Sabah

Let’s move to the creative world of estate names in Sabah – where you can learn a thing or two about branding, ingenuity, and let’s be honest, a healthy dose of tongue-in-cheek humour. I picked two.

Take Jeroco estate in Kinabatangan/Lahad Datu – the estate that sounds like it was named after a cool, mysterious superhero but is, in fact, a savvy acronym created by the fine folks at Hap Seng Plantations in Lahad Datu. Let’s not get too carried away with the biblical references here – Jeroco is certainly not to be confused with Jericho. While Jericho may bring to mind the dramatic image of Joshua leading the Israelites to bring down the mighty walls of the city with nothing but a shout and a blast of trumpets, Jeroco is a bit more … down-to-earth.

Jeroco Estate is a poster child for practicality and tropical savvy. This isn’t about divine intervention or mystical forces; it’s about getting your hands dirty with crops that actually make sense in the real tropical world. Jeroco is a name born from a genius fusion of four essential crops: JE for Jelutong (timber), R for Rattan (fiber), O for Oil Palm and CO for cocoa. It’s a four-in-one agricultural extravaganza, packed into a name that’s as snappy as it is smart.

But, as with any good plan, crop conversion happens. While JE for Jelutong, R for Rattan, and CO for Cocoa may have had their moment in the sun, only one crop passed the ultimate test of time: the mighty O for Oil Palm. And really, who can blame it? Oil palm is like that one employee who just keeps outperforming everyone else. It’s effective, it’s productive and it does all that requiring lesser workforce from other crops along with other agronomic needs.

There is also Trushidup estate of Genting Plantation Berhad. Sounds like a place where the trees never die, doesn’t it? Well, that’s because it’s not just any name; it’s a poetic abbreviation of Terus Hidup – which translates to “live on” or more fittingly, “forever flourishing.” If immortality were an estate, Trushidup would be its headquarters. It’s as though the estate itself has signed a lifelong contract with life itself – no expiration date, just pure, unadulterated persistence. Nothing says “eternal life” like a place where oil palm trees never stop waving and growing!

In the quirky world of Sabah estates, names are more than just labels – they’re little stories, sometimes with hidden meanings or a cheeky twist. Who knew that a plantation could pack so much backstory into a few syllables?

Yam Seng Estate

Next is a humorous story of how a rubber estate came to be named “Yam Seng” (Chinese for “Cheers”), as shared in D.B. Gardner’s in The Planter many years ago. The estate is located somewhere in Larut, Perak.

Once upon a time in the Malayan plantation world, there was an Irishman – perhaps a rarity among planters, since there were far fewer Irish than the English or Scots in the field. This particular Irishman was part of the only rubber plantation company registered in Ireland that traded in Malaya, making him and his company quite the novelty.

At the turn of the century, the company acquired a plot of land in Malaya from a local Chinese merchant.

Tradition demanded a proper handover ceremony and the Chinese “towkay” graciously agreed to host a celebration. Being the perfect host, the Irish chairman decided to throw a party for the towkay, complete with lots of VSOP brandy.

As the evening progressed, the gathering grew lively with rounds of “Yam Seng” echoing through the air.

The Chinese guests, flushed with good spirits, enthusiastically raised their glasses at every toast.

When the time came to officially name the estate, the towkay, now thoroughly enjoying the camaraderie, the government official turned to the Irishman and asked what he would name the property. The Irishman paused, aware of the need to fulfil his statutory obligation to name the estate. After a moment of deep contemplation – or perhaps just deeply influenced by the brandy and high ‘in spirit’, he raised his glass and exclaimed, “Yam Seng!”

The room burst into applause, and the towkay, pleased with the choice, declared with a grin, “Call it Yam Seng Estate!” And so, this cheerful and spirited name stuck.

Come to think about it, the name Yam Seng Estate is a fitting tribute to a rich cultural heritage, deeply rooted in the celebratory Cantonese phrase “Yam Seng,” which also translates to “Drink to Victory.” This phrase, often raised in a toast during moments of triumph or good fortune, evokes a sense of success and celebration. In the context of a rubber plantation, Yam Seng symbolises not only the estate’s prosperity – whether through a bountiful harvest, high-quality rubber production or a bright price outlook for the future – but also the spirit of achievement that accompanies such milestones.

Today, Yam Seng Estate stands as a testament to the harmonious fusion of Irish wit, Chinese hospitality and a global appreciation for life’s triumphs. It is a name that continues to inspire smiles, raise glasses and honour both tradition and progress. So, here’s to that – Yam Seng!

MOBE Estate

Here’s another humorous tale from the world of estates, this time about a rubber plantation named MOBE, a name derived from its rather unexpected acronym. The story, shared many years ago in D.B. Gardner’s article in The Planter, has since become a bit of a legend. But what exactly does MOBE stand for?
So, the story goes that there once was an Englishman, a proud proprietor of a small rubber estate, who became quite the talk of the local district office. The reason? He simply refused to register the name of his estate, despite official pressure, stern threats and even some casual cajolery from the authorities.

The situation reached a tipping point when the District Officer himself called on the Englishman. With officialdom breathing down his neck, the planter was sternly informed that failure to name his estate would result in it being repossessed. Faced with the ultimatum, the planter, in a burst of frustration and defiance, quipped, “Fine! I’ll call it My Own Bloody Estate!”

And so, “My Own Bloody Estate” or its acronym MOBE was officially registered. What began as a sarcastic retort to bureaucratic insistence turned into a name that has endured, at least in England, as a legendary piece of planter folklore.

Adding to the hilarity, there was another rule in place: every estate needed a grand signboard at its entrance. The sign was to display the estate’s name in bold letters, along with the details of its holding company, agents, secretaries and the pièce de resistance – the manager’s name. These signboards, standing at an imposing six feet by five feet, were impossible to miss, even for a casual passerby in a speeding car.

The Englishman’s antics inspired a new ambition among planters: to have their names inscribed on estate notice boards. One old-timer planter even advised, “Get your name on that notice board, my boy, and you’ll be made. Everyone will know you’re a senior planter, and your stock will rise!”

Taking the advice to heart, the planter proudly put his name up on the signboard for “My Own Bloody Estate” in October 1961. While he humorously awaited his fortune to improve, the story of MOBE became immortalised as an example of wit, rebellion and a pinch of planter eccentricity.

Nordanal and Lanadron Estates

Once upon a time in the lush rubber belts of Panchor, Johor, there was a clever plantation owner who prided himself not just on his thriving estates but also on his knack for innovation. His prized possession was Nordanal Estate, a sprawling expanse of green where rubber trees stood tall, each dripping with latex gold. The name Nordanal had a nice ring to it – a name that rolled off the tongue like the sap from his rubber trees. No one knew exactly how he came up with it, but it sounded important and European enough to impress his peers.

One day, as fate would have it, a nearby estate went up for sale. Never one to miss a golden opportunity, the Nordanal owner snapped it up. But then came the real challenge – not managing the estate but naming it. After all, branding was important, even in the rubber business. He wanted a name that tied this new estate to his existing one, something innovative and let’s be honest, easy to remember.

One evening, as he sipped on his evening tea, inspiration struck. Staring at the Nordanal signboard, he had a flash of brilliance. “What if,” he thought, “I simply flip it backward? A name in reverse!” And just like that, Lanadron was born. It was simple, it was clever and most importantly, it required zero creative effort.

The workers were amused. Lanadron? they said, scratching their heads. “Did Tuan just flip Nordanal backward?” But hey, they rolled with it. Word spread, and soon, other plantation owners began murmuring about the owner’s “innovative naming strategy.”

Today, both Nordanal and Lanadron Estates stand proudly under the stewardship of SD Guthrie and converted to oil palm, their quirky names a nod to an era when innovation wasn’t just about rubber-tapping – it was also about thinking outside the box (or in this case, flipping the box entirely).

Sometimes, the simplest solutions are the most genius. Or, as the workers would cheekily say, “Why reinvent the wheel when you can just turn it around?”

Excellent Challenger-1 and 2

At IJM Plantations Bhd back in the day, we had two estates in Sugut named Excellent Challenger 1 and Excellent Challenger 2 – grand titles that stuck from the moment the companies were formed and registered. Naturally, we shortened them to EC1 and EC2, which, in true Malaysian style, we affectionately dubbed “Easy-one” and “Easy-too.” Now, these estates were close to the Sugut River, which meant they had a rather ‘intimate’ relationship with floodwaters. When the rains poured relentlessly during the early development stage, large swathes of the estates would get submerged from the swelled up river, turning plantation life into anything but easy. So, while “Easy-one” and “Easy-too” might have sounded like a breezy walk in the park, during those floods, they were more like misnomers. But honestly, the “Challenger” part? Spot on! Facing those floodwaters was definitely a challenge.

And just when you thought things couldn’t get worse, the floods brought more than just water – there were fish to catch, sure, but there were also crocodiles lurking about. So, in addition to the usual operational and logistical headaches, we had to keep one eye on the crops and the other on the water’s edge. What a challenge!

Legacy of Plantation Names

Many estate names, once steeped in colonial history, have been changed over the years as ownership shifted hands. And in the process, we’ve lost a little bit of our past. One might wonder: Was this really necessary? After all, these names are part of our heritage, and heritage has a way of reminding us of the chapters that helped shape who we are. Sure, those names might carry some uncomfortable associations, but perhaps it’s not about erasing history – it’s about learning to live with it, acknowledging it and then moving forward. After all, progress doesn’t mean forgetting where we came from – it just means knowing where we’re going.

If we’re going to ponder the true essence of names, we must turn to the immortal words of Shakespeare, who famously quipped, “What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” But while the bard may have been suggesting that names are ultimately just labels – mere labels that cannot change the essence of the thing they represent – the names of plantations seem to beg to differ.

So, there you have it: a glimpse into the quirky, inventive and occasionally cheeky world of plantation names. Whether born out of practicality, humour or pure genius, these names are as much a part of Malaysia’s heritage as the crops that grew on those very estates. And honestly, after a few glasses accompanied with “Yam Seng,” they might just be the best part.

Not to be outdone were the sentimentalists and dreamers among the plantation owners, who wove their homesick hearts into the very names of their estates. These were the ones who looked beyond the swaying trees and the steamy tropical heat and mosquitoes, drawing inspiration from their homelands, loved ones or far-flung aspirations. For these dreamers, the act of naming wasn’t just about a label – it was a comforting reminder of distant shores. A hint of nostalgia for United Kingdom could transport an estate, for example, to Effingham in Surrey, UK (today Bandar Utama in KL), while a tribute to local names or a poetic flourish would give the land an almost enchanted quality.

You see, many of these names weren’t just geographical – they were deeply personal. They carried the echoes of family legacies, cherished memories and the spirit of the faraway places they called home.

Perhaps it was the fond remembrance of a hilltop village in Wales or the quiet streets of Edinburgh, infused into a plantation name with a warmth that made the tropical heat just a little bit more bearable. And then there were the names that spoke of dreams, ones that reached beyond the estate and into the future, transforming a simple stretch of rubber trees into a living tribute to a homeland far across the seas.

These names didn’t just identify the estates – they became a part of their legend. They were whispered in trade deals, printed on shipping labels and etched into the memories of workers and families who lived there. Today, as many of these estates stand under modern ownership, their quirky, clever names remain a testament to an era when even in the sweaty toil of plantation life, there was room for creativity, wit and a touch of humour.

In the end, the legacy of these names lies not just in the products but, in the laughter, camaraderie, challenges and ingenuity they reflected. After all, if you’re going to name a plantation, why not make it memorable?