A LL T H E G A N G W A Y S

ARE UP
An expatriate in the Ceylon kaleidoscope

1916 – 1945

VALESCA REIMANN
 ALL TH E G A N G W A Y S
ARE UP
An expatriate in the Ceylon kaleidoscope

1916 – 1945

VALESCA REIMANN

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Abstract and author photo:

see back page.

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 CONTENTS
Preface vi

Tributes from Trinity ix

Introduction xi

Map xii

1. All the Gangways are Up 1

2. School in Two Days 5

3. The Kaleidoscope 8

4. Anuradhapura 13

5. The Bishop's Visit 16

6. Up-country 18

7. The Little Monsoon 23

8. Negombo 24

9. The Kandy Perahera 27

10. Alankan, Afghans and Anchylostomiasis 30

11. Nawanagalla 33

12. Snake Upsets 37

13. A Mad Dog and Other Scares 39

14. Perumal 41

15. Supernatural Ceylon 42

16. The Rice Famine 43

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17. Timitar Estate 45

18. Dambulla and Sigiriya by Bicycle 51

19. Polonnaruwa 56

20. Trincomalee 59

21. An Elephant Kraal 62

22. Caste and Customs 65

23. Meetings with Snakes 68

24. From the Bungalow 70

25. Six Years Later 73

26. Jaffna 75

27. A Jungle Trek 77

28. Two Kinds of Drought 88

29. Yala Game Sanctuary 89

30. Life and Death at School 96

31. The River 98

32. Westminster Abbey 105

33. Yapahuwa and Kala Wewa 110

34. Elephant Pass 114

35. The War Years 115

Appendix 1. “Visiting Adelaide. Miss Valesca Reimann” 131

Appendix 2. Staff Photos Supplied by Trinity College 134

Appendix 3. History of Trinity College, Kandy 135

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 PREFACE
I first met my aunt Valesca when she visited Brisbane in 1948. I was 11 and she had returned from
thirty years teaching the classics, Latin and mathematics at Trinity College, Kandy, in Ceylon. That
visit is etched on my memory. We were immediately on the same wave-length and she had a
quirky sense of humour.

Now, at the other end of my span, I have inherited all her diaries, her book "A History of Trinity
College, Kandy" and the manuscript and photos for another book she wanted to publish on her
experiences in Ceylon.

Ceylon (now Sri Lanka) was approaching the end of the British colonial era. Trinity College was
founded on Christianity in a largely Buddhist, Hindu and Moslem country. Sinhalese and Tamil
cultures added to the mix. The boys at the school were mostly from these cultures. Valesca, from
South Australia, navigated her way through this and added travel adventures on the way - ever
curious and mostly undaunted.

Valesca says that in March 1915, the Rev A G Fraser, Principal of Trinity College, Kandy, visited
Australia under the auspices of the Australian Student Christian Movement. The College had been
established by the Church Missionary Society in England in 1872 and was a leading boys' school in
Ceylon. It had been increasingly difficult during the war years to obtain suitable men from
overseas for special purposes, so while Principal Fraser was in Adelaide he invited her to join the
staff as head Classics teacher.

Her appointment was for two years, but this extended to thirty. At the end of every five years, she
was given a year's furlough to England. She found the school was run along the lines of an English
public school. Many nationalities were represented and boys came from all over Ceylon, India,
Burma, Siam, Malaya and even Uganda. The ‘lingua franca’ was English, but gradually with the
awakening of national feeling, the national languages, Sinhalese and Tamil, began to take a more
prominent place. At first, while Ceylon had only a University College affiliated with London, the
main examinations held in the Island were the Cambridge Junior and Senior, London Matriculation
and London Intermediate in Arts and Science. Later on the University of Ceylon was established
and introduced its own system of examinations. About 50% of the boys were boarders, divided
into their respective Houses.

She lived all these years in one or other of the College bungalows. Until she left she remained head
teacher of Western Classics, but afterwards these were almost entirely superceded by Eastern
languages. She took an active interest in all College activities, helping to edit the College magazine,

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took over the Glee Club, acted on committees and latterly even judged some athletic events. In
spite of the White Australia Policy, much resented in Ceylon, she was accepted as a full member of
the College by the boys and staff. Being female was not considered a handicap. In fact most of the
smaller boys called her "Sir”.

Valesca was born in Adelaide in 1888 and died there in 1964. Her grand-parents farmed in
Hahndorf in the hills east of Adelaide. They migrated with many others during the first half of the
19th century from Germany, seeking greater Lutheran religious freedom. Her father taught music
and founded the College of Music in Adelaide (Australia’s first), later to merge with the Elder
Conservatorium of Music. There were six children, the survivors being Valesca, a sister and two
brothers. Valesca was educated in Adelaide, achieving a Master of Arts from the University.

I have picked the ‘teeth’ out of the manuscript and diaries and added a selection of her photos. I
have tried to keep to her writing style, but with editing by me and some additions (see notes
below). Valesca visited Adelaide for a holiday in 1923 and a newspaper article of her impressions
of Trinity and Ceylon is transcribed in Appendix 1. Trinity College kindly supplied some tributes and
staff photos, which are in the next section "Tributes from Trinity" and Appendix 2. A brief history
of the College is in Appendix 3, taken from Valesca's book on the College and other sources.

Peter Reimann
Wellington, New Zealand, 2014.

Notes on changes and additions:

Valesca unsuccessfully attempted to publish the manuscript in the early 1960s. My editing takes
into account the comments of the publishers' reviewers.

My thanks go to the current Principal, Brigadier W G K Aryaratne for his biographical material and
photographs relating to Valesca’s 30 years at the College. I added a little family background above.
More on changes and additions are as follows:

 In keeping with the 'kaleidoscope' theme, I have tried to give equal weight to historical,
cultural, religious, travel adventure, wildlife, personal and school/educational aspects.
Accordingly, some material of cultural/religious interest found in diaries has been inserted
and some on visits to places with little accompanying story have been left out, as
information can be readily sourced from travel books and the internet.
 Her hand-drawn map had yellowed and frayed and the lettering was too small, so I have
re-drawn this. A link to Google maps is added.
 Many words considered superfluous or extreme were deleted, eg “very” or “terribly”
before adverbs, eg “suddenly” before “exploded” and “completely” before “abandoned”.
 “specially” changed to “especially”, “till” to “until” and “round” to “around”.
 Changes or deletions to avoid over-use of “have” and “had”, eg in “have been”.
 A few statements of the obvious deleted, eg “But it had its disadvantages.”

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 Many long sentences connected by “and” split into two.
 Some long paragraphs split.
 The comma before “and” deleted.
 Terminology and expressions of the day retained, eg the jungle “infested by wild beasts”,
“It was vile”, “verandah”, “snaps” for “photos”.
 Spelling of place-names changed to those on current maps where possible, eg "Horabora
Wewa" instead of "Sorabora Wewa".
 Some chapters have been split and re-named to cover one topic, instead of several, eg one
on snakes and others on caste and customs, Jaffna, Perumal (the servant).
 Notes on tea production and gems found in diaries added, as chapter end-notes.
 Some historical/mythological content transferred to chapter end-notes.
 Frequent changes between past and present tense retained (to keep sense of immediacy
and because each chapter is headed with a date).
 Title changed from "The Isle of Spicy Breezes" to "All the Gangways are Up" to obscurely
reflect Valesca's 30 years of adventures (see third paragraph of Preface above).

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 TRIBUTES FROM TRINITY
By Mr R R Breckenridge in the School Magazine of August 1946

"V. L. O. R.

"TRINITY without Valesca Reimann is one of those voids caused in 1945 by the changes and
chances of time. For thirty years she lived and moved in our midst shyly and tentatively at first, as
became a newcomer to these shores from far Australia, plunged into a whirl of an athletically-
minded boys' school. She had come to teach the Western Classics, having graduated with high
honours in Classics and Mathematics. Presently we found that she was devoted to classical music;
and then we found she could wield a useful tennis racket, and go on mountain-climbing hikes, and
swim in the swift running streams. A dreary wet afternoon found her ready to play chess or take a
hand at bridge. And when the theatricals were in season she would play an aunt or a devoted
mother. If a sing song were proposed she would be accompanist, and with unswerving charm
range from soulful ballads to rousing sea-shanties.

"No wonder that Trinity got used to the presence of a dame teaching the higher forms, and
presently found that V.L.O.R. was needed at every turn.

"It is not the intention of this sketch to catalogue her many activities - it would be enough to say
that hardly any part of the many-sided life at Trinity was left untouched by her helpful influence.
Generations of Old Boys of the school remember with affection their association with her, as they
testified at various farewell gatherings held in her honour. We know that she cherishes a deep
affection for the School where so many years of her active life were spent; and that her many
friends in Lanka would like to say as Alexander Pope said two centuries ago:-

"'I know a thing that's most uncommon;

(Envy! be silent and attend!)
I know a reasonable woman,
Handsome and witty, yet a friend!'"

From the School History “Trinity College Kandy – Centenary Number 1872-1972”

“…The next new member of staff came from the University of Adelaide in 1915 and stayed for the
next thirty years. She was Miss V. L. O. Reimann who taught Classics in the higher forms and later
trained the choir and played the piano in Chapel. She was probably, during that time, the most
familiar figure in the school for there was no activity that she ever missed, be it a Society meeting
or a house match. She also has to her credit the School History which she wrote up to 1922 for the

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Fiftieth Anniversary, a monumental piece of research. After she retired she returned to Australia
but the call of Lanka was too much for her and she came out for a short while in 1955.”

From the current Trinity College Principal, Brigadier W G K Aryaratne

“Ms. Valesca Reimann is a legend here at Trinity. There are 9 (nine) scholarships in operation every
year named “Valesca Reimann Scholarship” sponsored by the T C K Family Foundation in Australia
from the donations given by the Old Boys. A deserving student good in academics and extra-
curricular activities is selected by a Committee for admission to Trinity at Grade 6 level every year
who will continue his studies up to GCE (Advanced Level) examination and his progress is carefully
monitored by the Committee. The scholarship benefit is full school fees.”

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 INTRODUCTION
For thirty years I was on the staff of a Church Missionary Society school in Kandy, Trinity College,
one of the leading boys' colleges in Ceylon. Until the island gained independence in 1947, English
was the official language and all the secondary schools used English as the medium of instruction.
In European houses the servants could mostly speak and understand English and it was spoken in
all the shops and markets. There was little need to learn Sinhalese or Tamil, unless one's work was
out in the villages. But although English was used so copiously, it was not always of a very high
standard:

Once on a wayside railway station two friends unexpectedly met. "Ah!" said one enthusiastically,
"How are you, I hope?" And the other, equally overjoyed, replied: "Of course, no doubt."

Or this: "And how are things going with you?"

"Ah, things are very difficult to keep the cat out of the bag."

And too: "How far is it from Pussellawa to Nuwara Eliya?"

"Well, as the cock crows, I think it is about 20 miles."

We had a Sinhalese member of the Municipal Council in Kandy, a most efficient man, but without
the advantage of higher education. During the last war he became Minister of Health. On one
occasion they were considering the shortage of milk in the villages. "We have only one
alternative." said the Minister, "We must take the bull by the horns and squeeze out every drop of
milk." On another occasion, when he was visiting one of the hospitals, he asked the doctors how
supplies of medicines were working out. One doctor said they were faring almost entirely with the
use of local anaesthetics. "Splendid," said the Minister, "I am all in favour of supporting home
products."

Valesca Reimann
Adelaide, 1956

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xii
For more details while reading, see Google map at
https://www.google.co.nz/maps/@7.8054356,78.7914683,8z, then look for places using 'search'
function.

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 1

ALL THE GANGWAYS ARE UP

The R M S "Omrah" left Adelaide Outer
Harbour on Christmas Eve, 1915. There
were 29 passengers, of whom 27 of us
were in second class. The sea was
choppy and Christmas was not
enjoyable. On the fourth day we
reached Fremantle. Then nothing
happened. Rumours abounded: we had
sprung a leak and would be delayed at
least three days, or perhaps three
weeks and we would have to go into dry
dock. A diver went down. He found that
a fire in Sydney had warped one of the
plates. There was a hole two and a half
inches across. After several attempts, a
wooden plug was made to fit.

The poor old "Omrah" was a ramshackle

boat and would have been scrapped
long ago had it not been for the War. One morning we nearly lost a member of the crew. He was
leaning against the railing on the top deck, when it suddenly gave way.

Among the passengers were Town Guard Artillery men, returning to Ceylon after delivering some
German prisoners to Sydney. We found them very friendly. Billy made a habit of kissing the young
ladies "goodnight". Another passenger had artistic tendencies. He engraved my initials on my
travelling clock and on a couple of silver-topped jars.

Hilda was attractive and rather a flirt. She became especially friendly with Bobbie, the Marconi
operator and spent many pleasant evenings with him on the top deck. I was invited to act in the
capacity of 'gooseberry' [chaperone]. But they quarrelled violently the day before we reached
Colombo. Perhaps it was as well, as Bobbie looked far from attractive in plain, civilian clothes
when he went ashore.

We arrived at 8.30 p.m. on 7 January, 1916 and it was already dark. This was disappointing, as I
had heard so much of the wonder of one's first impressions of the Orient. Jack met me and took
me to the Church Missionary Society bungalow on Galle Face, where I was given a huge room off
the verandah and told to lock myself in for the night. Before bed-time, Jack took me for a rickshaw
ride. The first puller just crawled. He said he was too tired to run. So we hired another who did not
mind running. These rickshaw pullers do not last many years. The strain affects their hearts. Then
they usually become dhobies [washer-men/women].

Next morning we went for a tram ride to the Pettah, or native quarters. We travelled first-class on
the front seat behind the driver, passing rickshaws and clumsy native carts drawn by stunted bulls,
all in a brilliant sunlit medley of coloured costumes, swarthy faces, green lawns, palms and
flowers.

There seemed to be a strange aimlessness about the people in the native quarters. They just sat
on their doorsteps and lazily watched the world as it passed by. Jack pointed out the various
nationalities of the people. Many of the low-country Sinhalese wear a yellow comb stuck in their
hair. Moslems, of Moor or Malay descent, wear fez caps or turbans. Pathans from the north-west
frontiers of India are tall and well-built. They wear baggy white trousers of material forty feet long,
wound around their legs to form trousers. They are hated in Ceylon, being unscrupulous money-
lenders. If a man once gets into their clutches, he rarely gets out again. They charge something like
100% interest per month.

For lunch we had a most curious curry. First we helped ourselves to plenty of rice. We added
curried meat with gravy, like a thick stew, then several curried vegetables and a very hot mixture
of onions, pounded chillies and ground coconut called "Sambal". Finally, over the whole mixture
we sprinkled coconut and added some hot chutney and plantain. Luckily I did not take much as I
found it very hot and my eyes began to stream.

We caught the afternoon train up to Kandy, also with one of the Sinhalese masters of the College.
He had an unpronounceable name of six syllables and fifteen letters. Near Colombo the
countryside was full of bogs and swampy ground. In the middle of these were buffaloes covered
with wet mud and scantily clad natives standing up to their middle in the water, fishing. At one of
the stations we bought plantains, mangoes and golden ‘King’ coconuts. Jack just cut a small hole in
the top of the coconut for a refreshing drink.

On either side of the line were terraced rice fields, emerald green and arranged in a picturesque
pattern. Each terrace was full of water and separated from the one below by an earth wall a few
inches high. Connection by channels allows regulation of the water supply. As soon as the paddy
begins to ripen, the water has to be drained. (Every rice plant after sowing has to be replanted by
hand, mostly by women. It must be back-breaking).

The scenery along the line was superb - trees with different shades of green and young leaves with
an autumn tint. The kapok cotton trees had a mass of scarlet flowers, without leaves. The distant
mountains were of peculiar shapes and a lovely misty blue. As we got closer, we could see they
were clothed in a tangle of jungle growth. Some of the mountains had bare pinnacles of purple
rock. We saw a couple of elephants walking along one of the jungle paths. At several of the villages
there seemed to be festivals. There were swarms of villagers in gaily-coloured costumes and a
large array of flags of all shapes and sizes, representing many countries, friend and foe alike.

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The College Principal met us at Kandy station. We rode up to the college in rickshaws. On the way
he pointed out the Roman Catholic Cathedral. I thought the white-washed walls looked rather
soiled and neglected. White-wash is much used in Ceylon, with some ornamentation of houses in a
sort of Reckitt's blue or lolly-pink. The College buildings too, with their white-wash and peeling
paint, did not impress me very much. But there are plenty of windows and doors and they are
quite bright and attractive inside.

I am to live with a missionary family in a bungalow on the side of a steep hill in the College
compound. The town lies along a valley. In the distance are rounded hills and peaked mountains of
fantastic shape. Hantane is four thousand feet high - so sharp it looks dangerous to sit on it.
Behind it is a row of precipitous crags. At the back of the bungalow is a dense jungle, kept out by a
concrete wall, but there are masses of ferns and creepers close by.

Early on Sunday morning my hostess took me for a walk in Lady Horton's Jungle, so named after
the wife of a former Governor. It is full of paths winding in all directions, so fairly safe from snakes.
The only wild animals here are a few jackals and families of small brown monkeys, attracted to the
jak-fruits, papaws and pineapples. Scattered through the jungle are tiny, muddy lakes and native
huts of mud and thatch. Each has its own plantation of coconut, areke-nut, plantain, jak and betel.
The natives mix the leaves of the betel-creeper mixed with areke-nut and lime. It fills their mouth
with red juice and makes their teeth pink around the gums. There is a great deal of expectorating.
As we went around the Pettah in Colombo, all over the footpath were patches of red. At first I
thought it was blood and that there had been a great many murders committed recently. The
Principal says that betel-chewing is about their only source of lime.

The meals here are strange and numerous. Morning tea at 6.30 a.m. comes with boiled egg, toast,
jam, marmalade, bread and butter, tea and plantains. We get plantains for every meal apparently,
as they are cheap. They are placed on the table in a great bundle and we just pull them off. At nine
o'clock comes cocoa and biscuits. Then at eleven-thirty we have breakfast. My first seems typical
for a Sunday. At first we had curried soup, called mallagatannig, from a Tamil word meaning
‘curried water’. A servant brought us rice and lemon to put into it. After that we had scrambled
eggs on toast, then meat, potatoes and vegetables. Finally the servant brought us brass finger-
bowls, fruit plates, knives and forks, plantains and pawpaw. At three-thirty we have ‘tiffin’ - not
really afternoon tea, as we sit down to table. It consists of toast, bread, jam, butter, cake, tea and
plantains and an optional sweet. Between five and six there is tea and cake if desired. We dine at
7.30 on soup, fish or meat, potatoes, vegetables, a sweet, plantains and coffee. In Ceylon there is
scarcely any fat on the meat and it is usually very tough. The milk too is not very rich. The cows are
small and inferior, unless they are imported. In spite of the vast quantities I consume, I seem
eternally hungry.

All the legs of the cupboards and tables in the dining room stand in little tins of water to deter the
ants. Added oil prevents mosquitoes breeding. If dust collects on the oil, it forms a bridge for the
ants.

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As I write this, there is a glorious star shining in at my door. It gets dark very quickly here - sunset
and then darkness. There are some lights down in the town, but I can scarcely see them, as the
College compound is thickly wooded. The fire-flies are darting about in the trees, like tiny
flickering candles on a Christmas tree.

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 2

SCHOOL IN TWO DAYS

(January 1916)

One of the English masters called to make my acquaintance. Then the Principal suggested a walk,
so the three of us went. We walked down into the town, through the Buddhist precincts to
Asgiriya, where there is a Bo-tree, sprung from the original Bo-tree under which Lord Buddha
found enlightenment at Sarnath in India. Every temple Bo-tree is said to spring from the parent
tree at Anuradhapura. This grew from a twig brought to Ceylon from India by Mahinda, the
missionary son of King Asoka, more than two thousand years ago. The tree is surrounded by a
white wall containing niches for the red clay oil lamps, lit at festivals to honour Buddha. Around
the tree is a shrine like an alter, for offerings of rice and flowers.

Just beyond this is our College playing field - four or five acres, formed by excavating the slope and
filling in the valley to a height of 90 feet. It is a lovely square field, surrounded by flowering trees
and a glorious view over distant mountains. There is a pavilion, scoring-box and tennis court. The
grass is kept short and smooth and is sacred to the game of cricket. Rugby football has to be
played on the town field.

Next we came to a monastery, with a temple and house for the high priest. All the Buddhist priests
wear bright yellow robes, dyed from the sap of the jak tree. The chief priest's robe is a little
darker. They have only one meal, at noon and spend the mornings visiting houses with a begging
bowl. Some of the priests have fine faces, but others seem degenerate and of low mentality.
When we passed a priest preaching in the street the people's interest was on us, rather than the
sermon. Even the priest stopped for a moment. There are no temple services, as we understand
them, but Poya days occur at New Moon and Full Moon. Then people visit the temples and there
is preaching called "bannu" and worshippers come with flower offerings.

Last year terrible riots broke out in Kandy and spread to other parts of the Island - Buddhists
against Moslems. The Principal told me that a wounded Moslem man ran to a government
official's house and asked the official's wife to give him shelter. She refused, fearing attack on
herself and the man was killed by the mob. By contrast there was the courage of one of our own
teachers, a Burgher of Dutch descent. She saw a man, bleeding, being hunted along the street and
called to him to take shelter at her house. She then slammed the door and faced the mob, telling
them to come on and that she only had only an aged father and mother in the house and no other
protection. The crowd hammered on the door for a while and eventually went away.

At the end of our walk we came to a large paddy field with a village clustered around it in the
midst of a thick growth of trees. Each family is allotted a section of the paddy in rotation by the
village headman, who lives in a house slightly more pretentious than the others. Each hut, built of
mud and thatch, has its own clump of coconut trees. Coconut is exceedingly useful to the villager.
The milk makes a refreshing drink. The ripe coconut is split in halves with an axe and left in the sun

5
to dry for several days. The nut shrinks so is easily removed from the shell. This is copra - usually
exported for its oil or desiccation. If 20% of the oil is left in the nut it can be crushed to make
poonac (cow's biscuit). To make the milk for curry the cooks grate the nut and then squeeze it by
hand in a little water. The sap of the flower is tapped for sweet toddy or fermented into arrack,
which is more potent than brandy. Or the sweet toddy can be boiled down to make jaggery sugar.
The fibrous husk is used for mats and rope. This is done by soaking it in water for a few weeks until
it becomes soft. Then it is beaten and the fibre is easily removed from the shell by hand. It can
then be plaited and twisted into coir rope. The leaf is plaited to make cadjans for fencing and
roofing and the ekels or ribs are tied together for brooms. Spoons and cups can be made from the
shell. The wood of the stem is burned or carved into elephants and other animals and sold to
tourists.

On our way home, we walked by the side of a beautiful lake, with high wooded hills on either side.
It is artificial, with a wide bund at the town end. It is said to be so cold that nobody has swum
across it with impunity and many have drowned. The story goes that King Sri Wickreme Raja Sinha,
who made the lake, treated his labourers so cruelly that their ghosts demand at least one
drowning every year. All along the banks are palms and rain trees. In the centre is a little palm
covered island, all that remains of the built-up causeway which the King used to cross to his
favourite bathing place. At night the feathery leaves of the rain trees close and imprison the
moisture in the air. Next morning, when the sun warms them, the leaves open and the dew falls
like a shower of rain in the breeze.

The Portuguese conquered Ceylon in the sixteenth century. One hundred and fifty years later
came the Dutch and finally in 1802 Ceylon became a British possession. There has been
intermarriage with the native population in all three periods. Those of Dutch descent are called
Burghers and those of English descent Eurasians. The Eurasians are usually the illegitimate off-
spring of English planters and soldiers. But the Dutch married their Singhalese or semi-Portuguese
wives. There is a Dutch-Burgher Union which admits to its membership only those who can trace a
pure Dutch descent on their father's side. There is little social intercourse between the pure
whites and the Ceylonese - a comprehensive term for all who are born and bred in Ceylon. There is
practically no Dutch family here which can claim an absolutely pure European descent. If only one
ancestor has Ceylon blood in him, that family is excluded from much social intercourse with the
Englishman and cannot be admitted to his club. An Englishman could have a native mistress and
illegitimate children and keep them in the background. But if he then marries his mistress, he is
ostracised by his fellows. One is not surprised that the 'coloured' person chafes at the attitude of
superiority adopted by many of the Europeans.

On the boat I had a heated argument with a man who had spent a few years in India in a minor
position. He maintained that coloured people were absolutely inferior to white people in every
way and they should be made to feel it. I insisted that they were my equals, except perhaps in
opportunity, that the colour of the skin could make no difference if education and moral standards
were the same. He insisted that it was missionaries and people like me who did a lot of harm in

6
India and Ceylon and that we were the real cause of disaffection and outbreaks against the
government. Fortunately, his opinion is not shared by many Europeans.

We begin school in two day's time. I have just received my time-table. There are eight periods in
the day, but I am to teach only five, with six on Mondays. I shall be taking the Intermediate Arts
class in Classics, with Roman and Greek History and a few other classes in Latin and Mathematics.
There are more than twenty men on the staff of various races, chiefly Burgher, Tamil and
Sinhalese, also four Europeans and about half a dozen women. One Tamil man, after the first staff
meeting said he thought I had a "sweet, vacant face". I did not know whether to take this as a
compliment or the reverse.

Kandy Lake at dawn

7
 3

THE KALEIDOSCOPE
(February 1916)

No wonder people who come to such countries are spoilt for ever after. Servants do everything,
even to the extent of preparing one's bath and emptying it again, or pouring water into the wash
basins. I find it a fine life - beautiful meals and plenty of attention.

Labour is very cheap here. The table servant's name is Juanis. He is a Buddhist. Dishes are not
placed on the table, but Juanis hands everything around. He does this noiselessly, as he is bare-
footed. He is dressed in a white sarong and coat with a coloured head-cloth and girdle. He wears a
large yellow comb in his hair, showing that he is a lowlander. Every day after breakfast Juanis goes
down to the Town to post letters and buy stamps if we need them.

My room is twelve by fifteen feet, with a cement floor and bathroom in a corner. People say that
warm water is essential for foreigners in the tropics, but I find it bracing pouring cold water over
myself from a tin. I have a door onto the verandah, the top half barred and wire-netted for
coolness with safety. My two windows have iron bars, but no glass. There are plenty of thieves, so
the door must be locked at night. The walls are white-washed and there is no wall-paper. I have
been warned never to walk about in the dark without a light, as snakes and scorpions often come
into the rooms on the ground floor. There are no flies in Kandy, or anywhere in Ceylon, except on
the coast. Mosquitoes are bad, but we usually sleep under nets.

Our daily life is full of incidents and to me everything still seems unusual and interesting, even in
my ordinary class teaching. It is bound to be so when our classes are made up of boys of so many
nationalities and religions.

The boys in the school dress more or less the same, despite the many nationalities and religions.
However, there are some differences. For instance, one of the Indian boys in my geometry class
wears a sort of white cape all round him below his waist-coat. I found it was his shirt and that it is
the normal Indian custom to wear the shirt outside the trousers. Gupta, in my geometry class, is of
the merchant class from Bombay. When he dresses for any occasion he looks very fine, with a
gorgeous silk scarf wound around his head to form a turban. He has turbans of many different
colours. He also has a moustache and long, white, slender pants. Sometimes, Gupta comes to call
on the ladies in the compound. Then his turban is especially elaborate. His English is halting and
conversation becomes difficult. But finally, he bows and says: "Madam, I beg to take your leave."
When he gets up in College debates he usually begins: "Gentlemens and brethrens." Poor Gupta,
he hopes to take the London Matriculation, but I fear he will never get there.

At first I was puzzled by the Tamil system of names. I have a boy in my class registered as
Thuriappa, but he told me his name was T. Kanagasabapathy and his father's name was Thuriappa.
I could not understand why his name was different from his father's, so asked what the "T" stood

8
for - what was his Christian name? He said he was not a Christian and seemed puzzled when I
asked what his people called him. He said the father was Thuriappa so all sons had the initial "T"
before their own names - in this case Kanagasabapathy. They speak to us in the third person, for
politeness. So, "Does Miss Reimann like it in Ceylon?" they often ask.

As tennis servant we have a little dark boy, Andris, with a very large head. A week ago he had his
head shaved, except for a fringe on the front. The shaven head is for coolness and to control the
‘poochies’ (lice). But a fringe has to be kept for luck. A completely shaven head brings ill-luck to
the person who sees it first thing in the morning. Andris gets sworn at for forgetting to pick up the
balls. I feel it would be quicker to pick them up ourselves, but one is not expected to do this.

The Ceylon people bathe at least once a day. Ablutions are often on the front door-step or at the
village well. Each bather pours a definite number of buckets of cold water over himself, the
horoscope fixing the number. If he pours fewer he will not be properly clean, if more, he will catch
a cold. A boy at the boarding school here refused to use the shower, until he was persuaded to
stand in a tub in which the right amount of water had previously been measured. Then he was
able to stand under the shower until the strategic level was reached. But even after a bath many
do not give the impression of cleanliness. Often they are so poor they have no change of clothes.
Bathing is nearly always taken in the morning. Afternoon bathing is considered dangerous to the
health.

Teeth are cleaned with charcoal rubbed on with the finger, or twigs frayed out to get into the
crevices. The use of a toothbrush constantly is considered a dirty habit. Washing out the mouth
and clearing the throat are essentials.

The use of the handkerchief is rare. A College boy thinks nothing of sniffing hard right through a
lesson. I found it very unpleasant at first, but one gets hardened to it. The habit of spitting is
unpleasant too. I have a boy who gets up at frequent intervals and goes to the window and spits.
Nobody seems to notice it. Many of the boys are bare-footed. The soles get so hard, they often
develop great cracks. All the people keep their hair black and glossy with coconut oil. They do not
like the brownish tinge of un-oiled hair. The boys have a certain amount of vanity. Most carry a
little comb and mirror in their pockets and use them in public.

Our nearest town, Peradeniya, is about four miles from Kandy and world-famed for its beautiful
gardens and wonderful collection of trees. My friend and her mother had come up to Kandy for a
few days and we hired one of the Victoria carriages, in which the driver sits perched up high on the
seat in front. I decided I should get a better view if I sat up alongside him. As we proceeded we
noticed we were the subject of great amusement. One man actually stood in the middle of the
road and roared with laughter. Comments were frequent, but they were in a strange tongue. Later
on I was told that no female would dream of sitting up there with the driver.

At the Gardens we found what we took to be a lovely princess sweeping fallen leaves from the
path with a coconut ekel broom. She wore a gaily coloured sari and was bedecked with a wealth of
necklaces, nose-studs, ear-rings and anklets. She was young and very beautiful and gazed at us

9
limpidly from large black eyes. I was disappointed to learn later that she was only a ‘coolie
woman’.

Just north of Kandy lies Katugastota. Here the elephants come down to the river and bathe. A
tame elephant will not keep fit unless he spends several hours in the water every day. An old boy
of the College has some fine tuskers. Here they lie on their sides in the water looking like dark
smooth rocks. A little further off one sees just the tip of a trunk showing above the surface of the
water. Their keepers scrub them with soap or coconut husk and the elephants lie quite still. When
they have finished, the keeper climbs on to the elephant's foot. Then the elephant raises him up
high and he climbs onto the bent knee and so finally onto its back. Then they all go home for
supper. I have been to Katugastota several times by bullock cart. The driver twists the bullock's tail
and cries "pittah" to make him go.

A few nights ago we were expecting a recrudescence of last year's riots. The Principal and Padre
went out with great sticks and they let me accompany them. The Buddhists had been refused a
full-moon festival and procession by the Government. The Moslems had wanted one for the same
night and had likewise been refused. It was too late to inform the villagers and they came flocking
into Kandy from all over the district. The mosque was lit by torches and the Buddhist Temple of
the Tooth was a mass of illuminations in red, white and blue. On top of the Temple was a life-
sized portrait of one of last year's ring-leaders, who had been condemned to life imprisonment
and died there. He was regarded as a martyr and the crowds who came to pay homage were not
likely to feel well-disposed towards the British Government. All the Town Guard had been sent
into Kandy and the Punjabis were standing by the Temple with rifles and fixed bayonets. However,
nothing violent happened.

Yesterday some monkeys from the jungle climbed on to our cotton trees to drink the honey from
the scarlet flowers. It seemed to make them a little tipsy. After a while they jumped from tree to
tree and were lost sight of in the jungle.

There are plenty of glow-worms and fire-flies here, as well as squirrels, geckos, bats and flying
foxes. The crows, sparrows, hawks and the brain-fever bird do not sing sweetly. The brain-fever
bird is so called because its monotonous cry, rising higher and higher, is supposed to give people
brain fever. But there are some birds with glorious plumage: the blue king-fisher, golden aureole
and red-crested wood-pecker.

At present the kapok cotton trees are a mass of scarlet flowers, with a beautiful red carpet below.
The sensitive plant grows like a weed everywhere and is entertaining. It shrivels at once if touched
and opens out again after a while. It has a pretty pink or purple feathery flower. At the edges of
the jungle are brilliant bushes of mauve or orange lantana.

One of our visitors to the College was a Y M C A man from America - a Professor of Human
Relations. He considered the scenery of Kandy was "on a good basis for appreciation". He told us
that for his address to the Y M C A he was going to give them "half an hour's worth of moral
uplift."

10
In the valley below I can hear the chant of the muezzin from the mosque. His voice is clear and
beautiful. "There is no god but Allah and Mohammed is his prophet." I usually hear his call to
prayer at sunrise and sunset.

Life is never dull. If I ever feel lonely, I just go for a walk down Trincomalee Street in the late
afternoon. I pass a little native barber shop, with a notice on the door:

HAIRC
UTTING
SALOON

Nearby is an office claiming to be an "EMPLOYMENT BUREAU FOR THE UNEMPLOYABLE" and a

humble boot-maker whose sign reads: "BOOT BUILDER AND FOOT COSTUMIER". A little way
down the street is a shop which has "COFFINS FOR SALE OR FOR HIRE".

All along the street are little sewing shops with the native tailors sitting outside by the door and
sewing machines whirring. Or there are the chetties, the South Indian money lenders and
businessmen. They wear thin white muslin drapery on their lower half, but the top is usually sleek
and bare, with perhaps an embroidered scarf across their shoulders. Usually they squat just inside
their doorway, with incense burning and counting their money. Shrewd and reliable, they have a
better reputation then the Afghans. Further along are the Bombay merchants with shops of rich
silks and carpets, carved tables, brass and ivory. And there are jewellers, selling brilliant sapphires,
rubies and emeralds. Many of the shops stay open all night.

On the street may be a yellow-clad Buddhist priest carrying a palmyra leaf umbrella, or a telegram
delivery boy on a bicycle, his legs clad in puttees, but bare-footed. Or there is a scissor-grinder
with a large grinding stone on wheels and dozens of broken and faded umbrellas, waiting for
repairs. He always combines the two trades. And you may even meet an elephant carrying home a
great bundle of leaves or the trunk of a palm tree, which he is going to enjoy for his supper.

Then I go home and read in the newspaper that "we must look twice before you leap," or that "If
the Colombo arrack vendor were to adopt Mr. Bacchus' table, he will do a very fine trade and Mr
Bacchus could laugh at his sleeves." Or I hear that one of our boys has received a telegram: "Uncle
expiring. Funeral tomorrow." and next it is followed by another: "Uncle recovering. Funeral
postponed."

11
 Elephants working (morning)

Bathing at Katugastota (afternoon)

12
 4

ANURADHAPURA
(March 1916)

[See chapter end-notes for history]

A few weeks ago my hostess, Alice, and I went to Anuradhapura for the weekend. These ancient
Buddhist ruins date from the third century B. C. We visited the ruins in a bullock cart. We paid the
driver only two rupees for four hours. I felt rather ashamed of this low amount and the driver
made a big fuss. But he came back next day, so I presume he was really satisfied.

The most sacred of all things at Anuradhapura is the historic Bo-tree, enclosed in a stone-walled
square quadrangle and grown from the branch of the original sacred Bo-tree in India. It is said to
be the oldest tree in the world. Whether it is so old is open to doubt, but a calamity equal to the
death of such a tree would hardly have escaped mention in the Buddhist sacred chronicle the
Mahawansa. Not far from this enclosure is the Brazen Palace, not brazen now, but merely a mass
of plain stone pillars. It was originally nine stories high and built by King Dutta Gemanu, who was
responsible for the most important Anuradhapura buildings. In this palace lived the priesthood of
various ranks, the highest being at the top. The ones on the ground floor had not yet attained the
state of sanctification.

All the stone work and carving at Anuradhapura is in gneissic rock, some very beautiful. The
monasteries and temples are approached by several steps. At the foot is a semi-circular slab of
“moonstone”, often carved in concentric rings of sacred figures and lotus emblems. One of the
rings usually includes figures of the Hansa or sacred goose in procession. The Hansa represents
wisdom. There is a legend that the Hansa is so wise that if offered a mixture of milk and water, it
can drink the milk and leave the water. At either side of the steps are “guard-stones” depicting the
naga-rajah or “snake-king”, with the cobra hood over his head and a little dwarf at his feet. The
naga-rajas were a mythological race, half snake, half man, who lived in the bowels of the earth and
had many superhuman qualities.

Besides the temples and monasteries there were large baths, paved and lined with stone slabs,
and flights of steps leading down into them. There were enormous circular dagabas built of
millions of bricks – bell-shaped and containing some ancient relic. The oldest is the Thuparama
Dagaba, said to contain Buddha’s right collar bone. Some of the dagabas were so big that their
ruins have formed a hill. We climbed to the top of Abhayagiriya Dagaba through a narrow, dark
passage. It was the home of myriads of bats and the smell was quite overpowering. From the top
we had a splendid view over Anuradhapura.

Besides the numerous stone buildings there are some wonderful tanks at Anuradhapura, really
enormous reservoirs or artificial lakes. These huge sheets of water are impounded by a wide bund

13
or embankment built across the valley. They are now the homes of crocodiles, fish, tortoises and
water-birds.

About a mile from the centre of Anuradhapura is the ancient Vihare or rock temple of
Issarumuniya. Some time ago a Buddhist priest discovered its ruins overgrown with jungle,
harbouring families of bears and monkeys. He has spent the whole of his life excavating and
restoring it. He is now 86 and nearly blind, but still spends his time beautifying the temple. He
showed us in the visitor’s book the names of the Crown Prince of Germany and his wife, the
Princess Cecilia. The old priest seemed very pleased and proud of these names and said the Crown
Prince gave him a golden sovereign for the Temple.

In the surrounding jungle are leopards and elephants. Rogue elephants are lonely males thrust out
of the herd by a younger male. They become savage and uproot trees and trample down fields.

We stayed in a mission bungalow and at night there was a terrible noise over the ceiling.
Apparently there were rat-snakes chasing rats or frogs. The funniest thing I saw were the gekkos
on the walls and ceiling catching moths attracted by the light. They sat in rows on the picture
frames. I counted 10 on one picture. Sometimes there was a sickening plop as one would lose its
footing on the ceiling and tumble onto the floor, apparently unharmed.

Ceylon/Anuradhapura History
According to the story in the Mahawansa, Ceylon was invaded in the sixth century B. C. by North Indian
prince Vijaya, who had been banished by his father because of his lawlessness. Vijaya and his followers
were the beginning of the Sinhalese people. Sinha means “lion” and the grandfather of Vijaya is said to
have been a lion. The invasion began on the very day that Buddha attained Nirvana, They found the island,
Lanka, peopled by a dark race of stone-age aborigines, whom they called Yakkus, or “demons”. Gradually,
the whole of Lanka was conquered and the Yakkus were driven into the forests, or they intermarried with
the Sinhalese. The small remnants are called Veddahs. The Sinhalese founded Anuradhapura, which to the
present day is the capital of the North Central Province.

Meanwhile North India became Buddhist and King Asoka sent out missionaries, chiefly to the countries
beyond the Himalayas, but also to Burma and Ceylon. Devanampiya Tissa (“Delight of the Gods”), was the
king in Ceylon at the time. One day he was out hunting near Anuradhapura, when a stag fled up the side of
a mountain. The king followed until he reached a place surrounded by hills and was confronted by a man.
This was Mahinda, the missionary son of King Asoka. Mahinda is supposed to have flown over from India
with four Buddhist priests and alighted on that spot, now called Mihintale. That day the king and 40,000 of
his followers were converted to Buddhism, which became their national religion. From these early times
date the wonderful temples and monasteries, whose ruins still stand in Anuradhapura.

A little later, in the third and second centuries B. C., began a long and bitter struggle against the invasions
of Tamils from South India. The Tamils gradually seized parts of Ceylon and eventually drove the Sinhalese
out of Anuradhapura and the low-lying districts. For many centuries the history of Ceylon centres around
these struggles between the two races, with the constant retreat of the Sinhalese. The ruins of
Anuradhapura are said to be within an area 16 miles square. The city was partially destroyed several times
but rebuilt by later kings. The result is somewhat mixed architecture.

14
In the early fifth century a famous Chinese traveller, Fa Hsien, visited Ceylon. He wrote of the greatness of
Anuradhapura – its temples, monasteries and Bo-tree. He spoke of the Tooth relic which had recently been
brought from India and the great procession held in its honour. The Sinhalese kings, especially Mahanama,
used to send embassies to China between the fifth and eighth centuries, owing to their common allegiance
to Buddhism. It took anything up to 10 years to make the journey.

The Tamils are still in Ceylon, chiefly in the north and east. They remain distinct in their religion (Hindu),
customs, appearance and language.

15
 5

THE BISHOP'S VISIT

(March 1916)

The car was a beauty and the driver most reliable. But the Bishop kept calling to him to "steady,
boy, steady." After 35 years in Ceylon, the Bishop's nerves were not as they had been.

The scenery on the way to Hanguranketha was wonderful. We followed the course of the
Mahaweli Ganga, which got more and more rocky. The waters began to roar and swirl and tumble.
In the distance the mountains rose to 6,000 feet. Then we climbed to the top of a pass. The
descent was terrifying, with hairpin bends needing several reverses to negotiate. On one side was
a precipice without a protective fence, even on the bends. There was scarcely room for two cars to
pass. The wide bullock carts are the most dangerous to meet. The bulls are yoked together with a
heavy log jutting out from either side. Pass too close and the bulls are likely to swing the log back
in their endeavour to regain the centre of the road. Mostly the bullock driver stands at their heads
and tries to hold them back by their horns. Often pi-dogs chased us.

From Hanguranketha, where we had a large breakfast of rice and various curries, we drove to
Wellegiriya, lying at the foot of rugged and fantastic peaks, many covered with misty clouds. All
the time, the road wound down until we came to a mountain stream frothing over great boulders,
or splashing down over waterfalls and sending spray across the road. The villages were built of
mud and thatch. Inside lived the villagers with their goats and fowls to protect them from prowling
jackals at night. The men wore just a loin cloth and the women a bodice and cloth. The babies
were naked, except for a bracelet or necklace, or ornamental chain around the waist.

About a mile from the site of the new school we were met by a procession of some 200 children,
two abreast, with their teacher. Each child carried a coloured paper flag on a long stick. At the
front was a big white panoply, really a sheet held aloft by four poles. Under this, we were
expected to walk.

Before the procession started, a venerable old man with white hair and flowing beard welcomed
us. He held a staff and was dressed in white robes. He bulged a little, as he suffered from dropsy.
In a minute he had told the Bishop all about the dropsy and how they had removed twelve bottles
of fluid from him. We were each given a somewhat murky glass of lemonade to drink. Then we
turned about and started off up-hill, led by the school master and the children, ourselves under
the panoply at the rear. All the way, the teacher chanted in Sinhalese, with the children shouting
refrains. It was two o'clock and blazing hot.

At last we arrived and the children sat in rows on the hill-side, while the Bishop addressed them in
classical Sinhalese. They probably understood very little. Then the Bishop laid the foundation
stone.

16
After the ceremony we returned to the village and had tiffin at the house of the dropsical
patriarch. The Bishop and Padre asked the most personal questions about the food - where they
had got it, when and how and what it cost. I was horrified at such rudeness, but was later told that
it was expected of us. If we failed to show a proper interest, they would think we did not
appreciate their efforts. Of the household, all were Buddhists except the patriarch, but all felt
honoured by the Bishop's visit. Our host told him with choking voice and tears streaming that he
never expected to be so highly honoured before his approaching death by this visit of "my Lord".
He thanked "my Lord" for coming to his humble dwelling and lowering himself to partake of his
fare. It was all very moving.

At the door crouched an old hag with one long tooth and a broad grin. She was thin and shrivelled
- a poor beggar from the village. She held out her hands in supplication. When the Padre asked
what she wanted, she replied "nikkan" (nothing); but still stretched out her palms, still with a
broad grin. The Padre gave her twenty five cents and she bowed to the ground at her feet.

The patriarch was very old and ill - a nice old man, so genuinely glad of our visit. He had sent for
the best strawberry jam all the way from Kandy.

17
 6

UP-COUNTRY
(May 1916)

I have just returned from my first long vacation. This was to Nuwara Eliya, Ceylon's highest "hill
station". It is 6,200 feet high and cold enough in the evenings to have fires. However, I continued
to have cold baths every morning, though my hosts warned me that my liver would suffer.

Nuwara Eliya means "City of Light" or “City of Fire”. Prince Rama, son of the King of Ayodhya
(Oudh), was wandering one day in the forests of central India with his beautiful bride, Sita, when
she was seized and carried away to Lanka by the Demon-king Ravana. Prince Rama gathered a
great army and called upon the King of the Vultures and the King of the Monkeys to assist in a war
against Ravana. Hanuman, the King of the Monkeys, built Adam's Bridge, a ridge of sand between
India and Ceylon, for the army to cross. In one of the battles, Rama tied a burning faggot to
Ravana's tail and chased him up and down the mountains, so that they were all burned black. That
is why the jungle around Nuwara Eliya is so dark. Finally, after 12 years of warfare, Ravana was
defeated and slain. The story of Rama and Sita and the siege of Ravana is the subject of the great
Indian epic, “The Ramayana”.

Just above the town, which lies in a basin between high mountains, is Pidurutalagala, Ceylon's
highest mountain (8,200 feet). We set off to climb this at 4.30 in the afternoon. It had been
pouring most of the day and a heavy mist covered the summit. On either side of the steep path
was dense jungle, smelling fresh and earthy after the rain. Sometimes we saw tracks of wild pig.
They are fierce and do not hesitate to rip one open with their tusks. In these jungles there are also
wild elephants, leopards and elk.

When we reached the top the sun was just setting and the mists beginning to clear. Far away the
steep cone of Adam's Peak rose sheer from the surrounding mountains. We decided to climb it in
the near future. All around us were mists and ranges of dark blue mountains. After the sun had set
and darkness was falling, we began the descent in the fitful light of a half moon.

It is glorious walking in the dark in Ceylon. The jungle is silent and eerie. The only sound is the
sleepy call of a bird from its nest, or occasionally one's own footfall. But all one's faculties are
quickened as one imagines shapes in the black tree trunks and almost sees the eyes of the leopard
glaring out from the darkness, or thinks one hears the stealthy foot-fall of a boar about to attack.

A few days later an Englishman and some friends went up Pedru with a pack of hounds just arrived
from England. They disappeared near the top. After a long search they were found - terribly
mauled by pigs and leopards. The same fate overtook a Government mineralogist. He and his
family were holidaying in N'Eliya and one afternoon he went for a walk alone through Scrubbs'
tea-estate. When he did not return and it began to get dark, gangs of coolies went out in the
pouring rain to search the jungle. They looked for days in vain. Huge rewards were offered. Stories

18
began to circulate: he had been seen in Colombo on the wharf, he had left the country in disguise
because of financial difficulties. Three months later a coolie found his body in a pool of water,
below a large sloping rock, only 50 yards inside the jungle. It was torn to pieces with bits of
clothing scattered everywhere. It looked as if he had injured himself on the slippery wet rock. It
transpired that the coolies allotted to that area were afraid to go into the jungle in the stormy
night and waited until morning. And then it was too late.

Tappel-coolies, or native postmen, who have to carry their letters long distances through lonely
jungles, are always armed with a knife and have a large bell which they ring continuously as they
jog along through the night. The villager is afraid of the dark and will never sleep alone. He goes
nowhere at night without a fire-brand or lantern.

One night we climbed Adam's Peak (7,500 feet). We motored to Maskeliya, about 40 miles from
N'Eliya, down the Nanu Oya Pass - a lovely drive. At Maskeliya the Padre shed his motor bike and
joined the car, already overloaded with six of us in a five-seater and a friend of the driver riding on
the foot-board. At a village we picked up some Tamil coolies to carry our luggage, food, rugs and
coats. This made ten passengers in all.

We passed a tea estate and the road became narrow - full of twists and turns. I felt sick. It was
now dark and the driver was uncertain of the road. On one side was a precipice and we had to
cross narrow bridges with almost impossible curves and sharp corners. Our journey ended at an
unsavoury manure shed, where we had a meal.

At 8.30 p.m. we began the ascent. Three hours later we reached an Ambalam - a shelter shed for
pilgrims. It was full. They were strewn about the floor. A fire was blazing in the centre. The keeper
made the pilgrims clear a space for us near the fire and spread rush mats on the floor for our
bedding. We had another meal, with all the pilgrims standing around, staring. Then we rolled up in
our rugs, crammed together and tried to sleep to loud snoring. All the time the fire flickered and
the hurricane lamp smoked as the wind swayed it to and fro. Shivering pilgrims got up and
crouched by the fire to warm their thinly clad bodies. Rats squealed and gnawed at the woodwork.
I made no attempt to sleep and tried not to disturb the people sleeping on my knees and feet.

The peak is sacred to Buddhists, Hindus and Moslems. The Buddhists call it Sripada, or "holy foot-
print", because once Lord Buddha landed there from a journey through the air, leaving his sacred
foot-print on the top. Thousands of Buddhist pilgrims make the climb each year, to acquire merit.
They bring with them even their babies and old, feeble parents. The Hindus call it Sivanadipathan.
It is sacred because this is where the god Siva first reached Ceylon when he came south. He recited
his sacred mantrams to his disciples and left his footprint on the mountain. The Moslems say that
our first ancestor, Adam, had to stand on the top of the peak on one foot for two thousand years,
for punishment. This, naturally, made a dent on the mountain - now cemented in to preserve it.

At 3.30 a.m. we got up, had some more food and set out with the pilgrims, many with hurricane
lanterns. We climbed up an almost perpendicular path, in single file. All along were huge rocks and
roots jutting out. In some places it was a direct water-course, with water splashing down from the

19
rain of the previous evening. All the way, the pilgrims cried "Sahdhu, Sahdu, Sa-a-a", a salutation
to Lord Buddha. I had hardly enough breath in me for the climb - I could never have shouted as
well. One little Singhalese lass gave me her hand to guide me, as it was fairly dark in spite of the
moon and the shadows cast by the swinging lanterns made it even more precarious. Sometimes
we had to pull ourselves up by ropes and iron bars. The rain made everything slippery.

At last we got to the top, just before sunrise. Everything was soaking wet and puddles were lying
about within the concrete enclosure. It was chilly, even wrapped in our coats and rugs. The lightly-
clad pilgrims must have been frozen.

There was a great bell hanging on some posts. The pilgrims rang it according to the number of
times they had been up the Peak. It was uncanny to hear the clanging in the cold gloom of the
early morning. Some had been up 24 times. There was also a pole from which hung a bunch of
hair. The pilgrims each added one of their hairs to the bundle.

Just before the sun began to rise and the light was turning grey, they formed a Perahera and
walked round and round, chanting and praying to Lord Buddha. Once, a woman got too close to
the man in front of her. He turned around in a fury: "Get behind, you devil!" he shouted in
Singhalese. At the shrine, reeking coconut-oil lamps were flickering, torches flared and pilgrims
knelt in adoration of the footprint.

Then the sun rose in all its glory. Towards the west it cast the shadow of the peak far into the
distance on the mists and white fluffy clouds which covered the hills and valleys - a great narrow,
purple cone. As the sun rose higher the mists began to scatter in a brilliant rosy light.

20
At seven o'clock we began the descent. In some ways it was more trying than the ascent. With
such wobbly knees it was difficult to hold our course.

On another day we visited Horton Plains. We set out very early to walk the five miles down the
Pass to Nanu Oya. How lovely it was, so early in the morning, walking between high mountains
with the mists covering the valleys! When the sun rose it threw rainbows in the mist. Two hours by
train followed, to Ohiya. Then we climbed through miles of jungle. Suddenly, the jungle ended and
before us were great undulating plains of grass-covered patana. Eventually, after many miles and
wrong turnings, we reached World's End, famous for its view. But the mists refused to clear and
rain came hurrying through the mountains. The rest of the party grew weary of waiting and I
stayed on alone. I was on the brink of a precipice going down sheer for hundreds of feet. Behind
me was jungle. In front and to the left and right was only oppressive space. It was absolutely, the
End of the World. Far below I could hear the rushing of water. At my feet were red flowers of
rhododendrons, growing at the top of the precipice. Then suddenly the fog cleared. Right below
me was a village and in the valley were emerald paddy fields, waterfalls and jungle-clad slopes. Far
away in the distance through a gap in the hills I could see mile upon mile of plains and misty blue
mountain ranges, fading away to meet the blue of the sky in an indistinguishable haze. Then the
mist closed in again. Twice this happened before I turned back to join the others.

After tiffin we set out for Pattipola to catch the train to Nanu Oya, arriving at 9.30 p.m. Then
followed the weary walk up-hill in pitch darkness back to Nuwara Eliya. Hot cocoa was waiting for
us - and a chance to minister to our blisters, after our 29 miles on foot.

Some miles from Nuwara Eliya beyond the Lake and down a steep pass are the Hakgala Gardens.
Hakgala itself is a huge precipitous rock, bare and black, rising up sheer in the landscape. The
lower slopes are clothed in jungle and at its foot are the famous Gardens.

We decided to climb the rock along a steep jungle path. Half way up we came to a tiny lake, where
wild beasts come at night to drink. We heard the constant chatter of wanderus (big black
monkeys) and the cry of jungle fowl. We saw the tracks of elephant and pig. There is a story that
aged elephants come sometimes to this pool to die. One rarely sees a dead elephant. Only years
later their bones are found, in some remote pool or lake.

Overhanging the path was a plant with pink and red flowers, called nellu. The scent is pleasant, but
the flowers are sticky, like honey. There are many varieties and they bloom irregularly - up to
twelve year intervals. Whenever the nellu is in flower, there are plenty of jungle-fowl about, who
find it a great delicacy. Jungle rats sometimes come to an untimely end through over-eating.

Notes on Tea Planting and Production

Protective trees – Grevillia is useful for providing shade and wind protection. The dead leaves help to hold
the soil together. Dadap is leguminous so adds nitrogen to the soil.
Manuring – A trench is dug in alternate rows, so that each tea bush gets manure on one side. Dead leaves
and bone dust are added to the trench.

21
Pruning – done every year or two. The tea bush must be level at the top, so that all the leaves get the light,
the growth is thick and picking is quicker.
Plucking – Usually two leaves and the bud are plucked, sometimes three leaves below the bud. Plucking
occurs about every eight days. The tender stems are picked with the leaves.
Pests – The shot-borer (a tiny beetle) is a great enemy of tea. It bores into the stem making a hole about as
wide as a pin’s head – or small shot. Then it bores along the stem, lays eggs and bores its way out again.
The young are hatched in the stem and feed on it. Eventually the stem withers and breaks. The only remedy
is manuring, which strengthens the plant and causes the break to heal over. Such plants are often crooked.
Tea making –

 The leaves are plucked and brought to the factory.

 They are spread on hessian trays, one above the other and allowed to wither for 24 hours. The leaves
should not be too brittle for the next process – regulated with warm air if it is too damp. The drying
brings the moisture to the surface of the leaf.

 The withered leaves are poured down a chute into a rolling machine, where they are rolled for about
30 minutes.
 Then they are put onto glass trays for about two hours to ferment (from bacteria). They go brown in
the process. There are water trickles to keep the air cool.
 Next they are dried in ovens on trays for about 20 minutes, until they are quite dry (like tea).

 Sifting then occurs on shaking trays. The coarsest can be broken up further.
Yield: 400 – 500 pounds per acre, depending on manuring.

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 7

THE LITTLE MONSOON

(May 1916)

Now I am back in Kandy. It is the hottest and stickiest time of the year. Every morning there is
brilliant sunshine, but later in the afternoon the monsoon clouds begin to gather from the south-
west, thicker and blacker, every day. In the distance thunder rolls and lightning flashes. Suddenly,
without warning, there is a brilliant flash, followed immediately by a furious clap of thunder which
shakes the whole foundations. Yesterday when that happened I was practicing on the piano. I
jumped straight out of my seat. Then came a huge downpour lasting several hours, interspersed
with lightning and rolling bursts of thunder. The wind gets very strong, just before the rain.

This happens every day in the late afternoon. This is the start of the little south-west monsoon,
they tell me. What the big one will be like at the end of May, I shudder to think. The little one
flooded the study a few days ago. It nearly washed away our steep path. All the doors were
banging and pictures on the walls rattling. My papers were chasing each other about the floor.
Outside was a Ceylon snow-storm. The cotton pods had burst, the wind carrying the fluff in all
directions.

At present the Principal and I are taking pot-luck in our bungalow for meals. The two families are
away up-country with their servants and we only have a kitchen coolie left in each bungalow.
Neither of them knows much about cooking. So we got John, the College peon, to come and help,
but he knows almost as little. Sometimes the food is boiling hot and other days it is cold and
greasy and only half-cooked.

A few days ago, the Principal had to go to Colombo and I had my meals alone. It seems the height
of absurdity to have three men just to keep me fed.

For early tea we now have apas, vulgarly called “hoppers”. They are a sort of pancake made of rice
flour and coconut milk and baked on a flat piece of iron. They are spread with butter and jam and
rolled up to eat. Or they are dipped in juggery syrup or sambal, or eaten with plantains. Since the
Principal has been here, we have been having papadams with our rice and curry. They are a thin,
brittle kind of biscuit with a cheesy flavour and fried in fat.

23
 8

NEGOMBO
(August 1916)

We have just spent a week at Negombo, by the sea, about 20 miles from Colombo. Our boarding
house was right on the shore, in the midst of shady coconut palms. All around were the huts of the
native fisher folk. These coast people form a caste in themselves. Their women dress like the
Singhalese, but their language is Tamil and they hand on their trade from father to son, with very
few exceptions. There is much speculation as to why Tamil-speaking people should wear
Singhalese costume. One theory is that many generations ago Tamil raiders settled on the coast
and intermarried with the Singhalese, adopting their costume, but imposing their language. The
men wear little more than a loin-cloth and a round straw hat. Many of the people along the coast
have become Christian, chiefly Roman Catholic.

The fishermen launch their catamarans early every morning, by the light of lanterns. They drag
them down to the water’s edge and wait until a big wave breaks. Then they push the catamaran
down into the back-wash until suddenly the boat swings clear of the sand and leaps into the
water. The fishermen, thoroughly drenched, hop on board and away they go. When they have
paddled across the line of breakers they hoist a picturesque reddish sail, or continue to row with a
flat piece of wood.

Catamarans are really rafts, consisting of long heavy logs of wood, slightly curved and sharpened
at one end. Four or five logs are fixed together by a wooden skewer a few feet from each end and
tied tightly with rope. The word comes from the Tamil katu maran meaning “tied wood”.

Often when they get into the surf on their return they tip over, or the surf sweeps the fishermen,
nets and fish into the sea. But they help each other to salvage their possessions.

Other boats used at Mt Lavinia, Negombo and other coastal towns are out-riggers – long, high and
narrow canoes with a log some feet long attached by curved beams as an outrigger. These boats
are too narrow to sit in and the fishermen have to balance on their edges. They carry a mast and a
big rectangular sail of brown or reddish colour. In the rising and setting sun the sail looks blood red
or golden. As these graceful boats glide out of the lagoon in the greyness or scarlet of the early
morning, against a shadowy background of palm trees, they present a picture of amazing beauty.

The Roman Catholic fisher-folk on the south and west coast wear charms around their necks and
many have a figure of a crucified Christ tattooed on their breasts. On the beaches in the morning,
smoke curls from little braziers burning incense, to ensure a prosperous day. When they return, a
tenth part of their catch is put aside for the church. A priest comes down to the shore to preside
over the division. But these fishing folk are hot-blooded and sometimes knives are unsheathed.

24
One evening we sat on the beach and watched the little crabs emerging cautiously from their
holes to hunt for the little nuts the tide brought in. If we made the slightest movement, they
scuttled back and went down with a ‘plop’. We tried to dig one out but it was too deep and
twisted.

Negombo outrigger

On another day we went for a row on an outrigger on the lagoon with a fisherman named Pedro.
The boats with sails full-spread were coming into the lagoon, casting their reflections on its still
waters. We rowed lazily past mangroves and palms. Every now and then we passed a man
standing in the water to his waist, casting his net into the lagoon for prawns. After a while we
landed and walked through a native village till we came to the open sea on the other side. There
was a cemetery on the beach. In recent storms the waves had washed up to the cemetery and
many of the coffins had begun to float about. The breakers were now pounding on the beach,
brilliant blue and white in the sunshine. There was a great outcrop of rocks running into the sea,
white with foam.

The Dutch people built a fort in Negombo with a lovely old gate-way and some canals connecting
with Colombo and Kotte. The canals are lined with palms and are full of barges with curved
coconut matting roofs. The men punt them along or use a tow-rope. In Negombo there is an
enormous banyan tree, said to date from Portuguese times. It has over 200 branches, rooted to
the ground.

25
 Sometimes we crossed the bridge and
walked inland along the lagoon, through
villages in the midst of coconut palms.
We found a man and woman making salt.
They had filled a large earthenware pot
with sand and water from the lagoon.
The pot was supported on a tripod made
from the ribs of coconut leaf. At the
bottom of the pot was a small hole
covered with a pad of rope. The salty
water dripped slowly through the hole
into another earthenware pot below.
After this, the salty water was boiled
over a fire to evaporate and leave clean,
white salt. Why did they not just boil
ordinary sea water?

All along the lagoon were little crab

holes. In front of the holes were piles of
little sandy bullets made of the earth
they carried out of the holes. The small
crabs had a single, large red claw. Some
crabs were brown, with blue spots.

Our hostess, Miss Carry, was wonderful.

Though well over sixty, she played tennis
and swam with the best of us. Her jokes were never flat. At her end of the table there was always
uproar. Her face was wrinkled and somewhat fat, her hair grey, thin and untidy. But her eyes were
full of fun. Her clothes were pinned on, often with pins missing. Her house was unconventional
and untidy. The men took as much pleasure in her company as if she was 17. I often saw them
helping her cut up a salad we were to have for breakfast and ‘swapping yarns’. The supply and
variety of food she gave us was more than lavish. Between meals she was full of suggestions for
our entertainment or ready to fall in with any plans we had made.

26
 9

THE KANDY PERAHERA

(August 1916)

The great Kandy Perahera (procession) commences about ten days before full moon in late
July/early August. Buddhists from all over Ceylon and even from Burma and Siam flock to Kandy.
All the Ratemahatmayas, or chiefs, bring in their elephants and troupes of dancers. Night after
night the procession walks through the streets, taking a longer route each night. The first night
there are usually only about thirty elephants, but by the end there are often as many as a
hundred. Some are huge and their keepers reach only half-way up their legs. Others are babies,
who toddle along by the side of their mothers. Each elephant has one or two keepers, who hold on
to their tusks, if they have any, or control them with long iron spikes. All the elephants, except the
babies, wear trappings of different colours to cover their faces and backs. Each has a great bell
hanging down on either side. As they walk the bells clang musically on different notes.

Elephants are risky, specifically when they are in “must”. If they get mad almost nothing can
control them. The more risky ones walk with their legs heavily chained, their little eyes rolling and
gleaming red. Elephants are terrified of fire. So for the procession men carry flaming torches or
hanging wire baskets on poles, filled with blazing coconut shells, soaked in oil. These are at close
intervals on each side and also provide illumination. When elephants have been noosed at a kraal
they are enclosed in an area fenced in with stakes and coconut leaves and leafy branches. The
elephants could easily break through, but all round the palisades are great fires and lighted
torches.

Many of the Ceylon elephants have no tusks at all, but some have tusks several feet long and this
makes them very valuable. I have heard that another sign of good breeding and high value is the
pink spots all over the trunk and ears. It makes them look as if they have measles. There are not
many tuskers in the Perahera, but some have sheaths of gold fitted on to their tusks.

The finest tusker, the Temple elephant, carries on its back the golden casket, which is supposed to
contain the sacred tooth of Lord Buddha. This tooth is housed in the Dalada Maligawa, or Temple
of the Tooth, in Kandy and is locked in an inner shrine behind heavy iron doors. It was brought to
Ceylon in 313 A. D. in the time of King Siri Mevan, by an Indian princess disguised as an ascetic. She
hid the sacred relic in her hair, because her father, who had the tooth at Kalinga in India, was
being attacked by another king in an attempt to procure it for himself. There is a story that once
the Sinhalese were defeated by their South Indian enemies in a battle. The enemy captured the
sacred tooth, crushed it to powder and flung the dust into the Mahaweli Ganga. But next day the
tooth was found intact floating on a lotus leaf. So now the lotus is regarded as sacred and the
tooth rests in a golden circlet of lotus petals. The Temple of the Tooth has been in Kandy only a
few centuries. The earliest Dalada Maligawa was in Anuradhapura, but with the Tamil invasions it
changed its locality to various sacred cities, until finally it found rest in Kandy.

27
Every night the sacred elephant mounts the steps of the Temple to receive the golden casket from
the shrine. As this is placed on its back by the highest chiefs, an ancient gun is fired, amid the din
of tom-toms and native horns, while all of the worshippers bow and cry “Sadhu, Sahdu, Sa”. Then
the elephant comes down the steps and takes its place under a huge embroidered canopy
between two other tuskers. Its feet are not permitted to touch the dust of the streets, so runners
of white cloth are laid before it and gathered up when the elephant has passed and flung again to
the man in front.

The dancers at the back and front of the sacred elephant are especially fine and the rhythm of the
tom-toms is highly excited. The whole art of the tom-tom beater lies in his capacity to beat
intricate rhythms, or to answer the rhythm set by the head beater. As the Perahera proceeds, the
dancers work themselves up into a frenzy. On the last night they dance the whole night through.

No one sits on the back of the temple elephant and its trappings are expensive. Just before the
1916 Perahera, the sacred elephant, which had carried the casket for 30 years, died. Another
tusker had to be bought from India at a huge price.

The chiefs who own the troupes walk in groups of three behind their dancers, who dance chiefly in
their honour. Around their waists they carry 30 yards of white cloth, which their servants have to
wind round them (so thick that no enemy dagger can penetrate). They wear long narrow white
trousers, frilled at the bottom, also a short red or blue velvet jacket richly embroidered with gold,
a gold embroidered square hat or cap, anklets, embroidered turned-up slippers, a sheathed carved
dagger in their wide belts, golden necklaces and costly, massive rings. It takes a couple of hours to
robe a Kandyan chief. Surrounded by their retainers, they walk along with proud dignity. No priest
takes part in the procession.

The Perahera is really made up of five separate groups of chiefs, dancers and elephants,
representing the five temples or devalas in Kandy. But the groups are all linked up to form a single
Perahera. It is partly religious and partly historical to commemorate a great victory of the
Singhalese over the Tamils in the third invasion of 110 – 113 A. D. At first the Perahera was held
every year in Anuradhapura, but from the time that the Tooth was placed in the Dalada Maligawa
in Kandy, the Great Perahera has been held there.

It is said to be the finest Oriental procession in the world. It is a gorgeous spectacle – the
moonlight filtering through the feathery leaves of the trees, blazing torches, the silent tread of the
caparisoned elephants, the dancers in their white skirts, peaked hats and clanging anklets, the
splendour of the chiefs, the savage din of the tom-toms, the ringing elephant bells, cries of the
betel and sweet-meat vendors and the devout throngs of spectators. The streets are packed with
people, but they are the most orderly crowd I have ever seen. There is little noise or jostling and
no cat-calling.

The dancing at the Perahera is really folk-dancing, based on village incidents, such as sowing and
reaping the paddy, winnowing and pounding the rice. The men with the long drums are said to be
of low caste, but others are of any caste. The dancers are connected with different temples. They

28
cultivate the temple lands. In return they become temple dancers, to be available when required.
The large hats that some of them wear are a relic of sun worshipping days of old. The spikes
represent the rays of the sun, while the bead ornamentation on the breast is the sun surrounded
by the planets. The dancers make the ornamentation themselves.

Last night an elephant trumpeted. It was like the scream of a lion. We sat on the wall near the
Governor's gate and had a wonderful view. The moon shone through the leaves of the tamarinds
and rain-trees and it was very beautiful. We bought sugar cane from a street vendor and the sticky
juice ran down our arms.

As soon as the Procession ends the people melt away. Walking the silent streets, one can scarcely
believe that only a short while ago there were over 50 thousand people lining the streets of Kandy.

“Devil dancing” is different. In 200 A. D. there was a drought and plague of the eyes in Ceylon.
Devil dancing was established to ward off the red-eye demon. It is still performed to drive out the
evil spirit from a person who is sick.

29
 10

ALANKAN, AFGHANS AND ANCHYLOSTOMIASIS

(October 1916)

Now the north-east monsoon rains have begun. I scarcely noticed the break between the south-
west and north-east. It is cool enough to wear a thin coat in the evenings and early mornings. The
north-east is usually ushered in by terrific thunderstorms, they say. I thought the south-west was
bad enough, but presumably worse is coming. Apart from the wet I find monsoon weather very
discouraging. A few weeks ago I dusted all my books because they were green with mould. Soon
they were covered again, as well as my shoes and even some clothes. I bought some special book
varnish for my camera and some of the books. Now they smell like very new furniture and the
bellows of the camera are stuck.

Yesterday, in sheer desperation, I put on old clothes and went for a walk in Lady Horton’s, without
coat, hat or umbrella. The rain was considerate enough to stop, so I had a lovely walk on a sticky,
sodden path. But when I returned home, I found my legs covered with leeches. Leech bites itch for
days and if one scratches them they may easily begin to bleed again. It is not safe to pull the
leeches off, as they are apt to leave their heads behind and the sore may become sceptic. I burned
them off with matches. Some had become so saturated with blood that they rolled off of their
own accord, slimy inflated round balls. These I burned and they ejected my gore all over the place
and tried to crawl away. They also dislike salt, tobacco or lemon juice. Some people carry limes
with them while on such walks.

I have now moved to the Principal’s bungalow to live. Our cook is a Tamil, named Alankan. He has
a wild appearance with long dishevelled hair and fierce rolling eyes and looks none too clean. The
first time I saw him enter the sitting room I was almost afraid he had come to murder us. But for
all his unkempt looks he is really a very clean cook. He has been with the family for nine years and
refuses to go anywhere else. When they go on furlough periodically he takes a job in the college
until they return. His mistress suggested that he should go to cook for another family while they
were absent. “No lady”, he said, “I not cook for anybody else. When lady coming back, I coming
back to cook for lady.”

The other day the children’s ayah complained to Mrs Fraser that Alankan always drove her out of
the kitchen and said he was not going to allow her to use his pots and pans to cook the baby’s
food. Mrs Fraser went along to the kitchen and said, “Alankan, since when have these pots and
pans been yours?” “Lady knows very well,” he replied “that they are mine”. So that was that. Nor
do we get for our meals necessarily what has been ordered. A few nights ago, tripe and batter
appeared instead of chicken. On enquiry, Alankan explained that the tripe was left over from
breakfast and had to be eaten first. Tomorrow we could have chicken. So too when rice-pudding
was served up for tiffin instead of fritters which had been ordered. Alankan informed his mistress
that the rice had been left over from the last curry. If it was all finished by tomorrow’s tiffin, then

30
Alankan would be pleased to make fritters for her. In the evening we had rice-pudding again for
dinner.

Alankan is a man of many accomplishments. He says the garden coolies are all fools and know
nothing about gardening. So in his spare time he grows flowers. At present the garden is a picture
of dahlias, cosmos and sunflowers, all grown by Alankan. He is a Hindu and became so irritated
when people talked to him about Christianity, that he had a cobra and the word “Hindu” tattooed
on his arm. Now, if anyone mentions religion to him, he just pulls up his shirt-sleeves and points to
the tattoo in scornful silence.

Recently the Principal had invited some important people to dine. So Mrs Fraser ordered a nice
dinner of five courses, hoping the servants would cope with it satisfactorily. When the party came
to the table they found it beautifully decorated with coloured rice and flower petals. There were
menu cards in gold lettering surmounted by a green laurel leaf. Mrs Fraser was perplexed, as the
card seemed to contain a great many courses. To her amusement and that of her guests she read
as follows:

MENU
Recherché dinner for Twelve
Turtle soup
Pigeon on toast

and a long list of courses, which bore no resemblance at all to the dinner provided. Alankan, the
cook, to maintain the prestige of the family, had got hold of Mrs Beeton’s cookery book, taken it
down to a printer and with him examined all the examples of menus. This particular one took their
fancy, partly because it was for twelve people, the exact number to be present at the dinner. So
between them they had this card printed in grand style.

Another night at a smaller party, after the sweets Alankan produced Welsh rarebit, his own
addition, to keep up the Principal’s reputation. Afterwards he was asked where he had obtained
the cheese. “Lady,” replied Alankan, raising his hand to dismiss so trifling a matter, “that is all
right. Tomorrow lady finding it on her account. Very small amount of money.” But originality is not
confined to Ceylon servants, apparently. Once in Uganda Mr and Mrs Fraser were entertaining the
Governor. To their horror the potatoes came in, a bright pink. They had been cooked in cochineal
to make them look nice.

I have mentioned before what a menace the Afghan money-lenders are and how they get the
simple villagers and others into their clutches. A Sinhalese man went to a missionary and asked
him to free him from threats of a certain Afghan. He said a few months previously he borrowed
only ten rupees and now owed him two hundred and fifty. This is how it happens. A man is hard
up and needs money badly for a wedding, or funeral or some clothes. He goes to an Afghan and
easily borrows say, ten rupees. The Afghan makes him sign an agreement that at the end of the
month he will pay back the money, with interest added. At the end of the month he is unable to
pay. The Afghan tears up the agreement and makes the man sign another to the effect that he will

31
pay him a much larger sum in a month’s time. Again he is unable to pay and the sum mounts up at
an enormous pace. From that time on the borrower’s life is Hell. The Afghan dogs his steps
wherever he goes. On pay-day he is on the spot and relieves him of nearly all his money and so
forces him to borrow more. Even his home is not private. The Afghan walks in whenever and
wherever he likes, squats on the floor and refuses to go. The victim has no chance in court
because the Afghan sees to it that there is no scrap of evidence that the original loan was only ten
rupees. Often the villager cannot even read the I O U which he marks with his cross. No wonder
the money-lenders are hated and feared by the Ceylonese.

At the Municipal offices one always knows when pay-day has come. The street outside is crowded
with Afghans squatting near the gates or peering over the walls waiting for their unhappy debtors.
They are huge, oily men and sometimes handsome. But most of them look depraved. The only way
to overcome the difficulty seems to be to set up a rival business. The Y M C A has done something
along these lines. They lend money to honest decent people and charge them only a small rate of
interest. So these, at least, are saved from applying to the Afghans. But unfortunately, many
people borrow readily and are less eager to repay their debts.

Many Malays came over as soldiers or police and have stayed in the country for generations. The
Moors are traders and usually much wealthier.

Recently there has been an anti-hookworm campaign in Ceylon, launched by American experts.
Hookworm, or anchylostomasis, is a disease common especially to tropical and sub-tropical
countries and has only recently been discovered. Of all the people tested in Ceylon, 90% of the
Ceylonese were found to have it and 81% of the Europeans. Hookworm is a tiny worm that
hatches out in the ground and gets into the human body, chiefly through the soles of the feet or
palms of the hands. Then it works its way up through the tissues and blood-stream until reaching
the intestines. There it grows to about an eighth of an inch and sucks away at human nourishment.
So it lives and feeds, stunting the growth of its victim and dulling the intellect. A single person may
harbour hundreds or even thousands of them. Next they breed and lay their eggs, which pass out
of the body with the excreta and hatch again in the ground. A few of these parasites do not do
much damage. The symptoms are only occasional headaches and a lack of energy. But the worst
cases are very badly affected, resulting in an almost complete loss of mental and physical capacity.

One of our boys, a dwarfed, skinny and anaemic child was tested a month ago and it was found
that his was one of the worst cases so far discovered in Ceylon. He was cured by chenopodium and
is gradually becoming a changed boy. His body is growing and filling out and he is already ‘full of
beans’. Chenopodium is a flowering plant that includes about 250 species. It is highly nutritious
and rich in protein, dietary fibre, fat, ash and useful minerals.

Hookworm accounts for much of the lack of vitality in tropical countries. Unfortunately many of
the ignorant people refuse to be tested or treated and they flee to the jungles when the doctors
arrive in their villages.

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 11

NAWANAGALLA
(April 1917)

It is our long vacation again and the Gasters and I are up at Nawanagalla in the Rangala district,
living on the side of a mountain. Behind us the mountains rise rugged and precipitous, covered in
dark tangles of jungle. In places the vertical face of a black cliff stands out sheer. The jungle is
beautiful to look at but seems quite impenetrable. It is not advisable to try, as it is the home of
large grey monkeys, elk, wild pig and leopards. The leopards have lately been carrying off some of
the village cattle, which pasture on the lower slopes. Every evening towards sunset, grey scurrying
mists gather around the tops of the cliffs and the Sleeping Warrior has his head shrouded in filmy
white. Then the sun is blotted out and the jungle gets dark and sinister. On either side of us are
stretches of mountain ranges, becoming bluer as they fade away in the distance. In front are
rounder hills covered in short grass and on these the cattle and buffalo graze.

Not far from here, over several ranges, the Mahaweli Ganga winds down until it gets to the Low
Country. It empties into the sea at Trincomalee. On clear days we can trace its source for many
miles. Just below is a tea estate and beyond that a wide gap in the mountains. Through this gap,
4,000 feet below us, we can see mile upon mile of low country with isolated mountains breaking
through the jungle. Every morning there are soft white clouds over the whole expanse, with a few
peaks standing out above. It is like a great foaming sea full of little blue islands. When the sun gets
hotter the clouds disappear and a shimmering haze settles over the low country, making it blurred
and indistinct. The sunrise is always lovely in the mountains and the whole country takes on a
reddish tinge. Just below the edge of the mountains, where the low country begins, is a great
irrigation tank or reservoir, hundreds of years old. In it live crocodiles, tortoises and fish. Between
the mountain ranges in the valleys are brilliant terraces of paddy. The colours vary from bright
gold, when the paddy is ripe, to emerald green, when it is still young.

It has rained a good deal lately, so the leeches are terrible. A few days ago we walked along a
jungle path where cardamoms had been planted. The path was damp and sunless and the leeches
were thick. We could see them hurrying towards us, hooking themselves on to blades of grass and
stretching out their long, elastic bodies. Every time we got to a rock, we stopped to pull off dozens
of them from our shoes and stockings. Now I have some very irritating sores on my ankles.

We spend a good deal of time netting butterflies. There are some wonderful butterflies in Ceylon,
especially here at Nawanagalla. We have our own popular names for them - ghosts, peacock blues,
orange tips and so on. We lay them between folds of paper, then at home put them in killing
bottles of potassium cyanide, then mount them on a cork frame until they are properly set. Finally
they are pinned in our butterfly boxes.

At present there is a war on between the north-east and the south-west monsoon, with varying
fortunes. The north-east is at its last gasp and the south-west is just fresh after six months in the

33
north of Australia. At times the battle gets quite furious. We just happened to choose such a time
to walk down to a planter's bungalow, a few miles away. The south-west was having its own way
and our path was facing right into the full blast of the onslaught, complete with full artillery of
rain. Casualties were caused by ever-vigilant leeches. Nevertheless, we did succeed in reaching the
bungalow, to breakfast on half a dozen courses, followed by billiards for a few hours until tiffin-
time. We arranged to go on an expedition in a few days time to the Binchenne district in the Low
Country.

We set out by car. It had been raining fairly steadily and the road had become muddy and slippery
and chopped about by bullock carts. Sometimes our wheels refused to grip and just spun around,
shooting out showers of wet mud. We all had to get out and push, trying to avoid the muddy jets.
The zig-zags on this particular road are terrifying and there are eighteen of them. Most of the way
we passed through jungle or patana land, but when we got to the lower levels the jungle became
much wilder. Several times we saw recent tracks of elephant herds.

There are not many villages in the Binchenne district and much of it is wild and unexplored. At last
we came to the river at Weeragamtote and had to wait for the ferry.

Ferry - Weeragamtote to Alutnawara

At the opposite side is Alutnuwara, an ancient town with many Buddhist ruins. There is a large
temple which is gradually being restored by the pilgrims who visit the sacred sites at full moon or
at Wesak, Buddha's birthday in May.

Then we went along to the Rest House to get some tea. We were given sweet biscuits with cheese
and tea with solid lumps of condensed milk floating in it. We had just finished when we received a

34
visit from the Ratemahatmaya or district governor. He could speak no English but some of our
party spoke fluently in Sinhalese. He was very friendly and invited us all to dinner at his Wallauwa,
a few yards away. We failed to enquire at what hour he dined, so we arrived a little after seven
and sat on the verandah, drinking glasses of karumba (coconut milk), while the men smoked and
the R M smiled his welcome. We waited and waited, but apparently they had not even begun to
cook the dinner, as we heard a chicken squark in the vicinity of the kitchen. We were all
desperately tired and Mr Gaster went right off to sleep in his chair.

At half past nine dinner was ready and I began my soup by dropping my new college tie into it.
However, the servants brought me some cold water to clean the grease off. We had many courses
- soup, eggs, tinned sardines mixed with onion and chilli, some kind of minced meat and tank fish,
then chicken, potato and vegetables, several kinds of curry and lastly all sorts of Sinhalese sweet-
meats and tea mixed with plenty of sugar. I was very thirsty and asked for a glass of water, but
when it arrived I decided against it. It was the colour of mud and was evidently water straight
from the Mahaweli Ganga, the Great Sand River. The sweet-meats were oily but very attractive
and I tasted every kind. There was the dark jelly-like doldol and the soft brown balls of coconut
mixture called narunkawan. Then there was the pale kondekawan, rather leathery and tasteless,
made of rice flour and boiled in coconut oil. We also had honey-comb of wild honey, slightly
fermented.

Dinner was over long after ten and after a decent interval we retired back to the Rest House and
tumbled into bed. The men slept outside, but we had a bedroom with a mud and cow-dung floor.
The windows were tightly closed with wooden shutters, but we soon got those open.

Early in the morning we found the room full of squeaking bats. We washed in the red muddy river-
water and even had to use it for our teeth. The R M was very kind and sent along our morning tea
– egg hoppers, looking like huge poached eggs, and plain hoppers which we ate with plantains and
more sweet-meats.

A little later the R M appeared in person and said he was coming with us to the tank and that he
had brought a bull-cart for the two ladies. The two ladies were not over-pleased with this
arrangement, as the carts are extremely shaky and a walk through the jungle in the early morning
is far more pleasant than being bumped and jarred in a springless cart. It would have been churlish
to refuse. The seats faced sideways and there was very little room for our knees, but we wedged
them in somehow. I dare say we have not learned the proper art. The track was half under water,
full of mud and rocks. The long tail of the bull kept swishing mud and water into our faces.
Sometimes one wheel sank several feet deeper than the other and we were in constant danger of
being pitched out headlong. But the R M had thoughtfully provided some coolies to support the
cart on either side. Sometimes, we simply had to get out and walk. The R M was apologetic when
this happened and we did manage to get through most weak spots with a good deal of shoving
and pushing on the part of the coolies. The R M had a retinue of servants, who appeared to be
carrying provisions for us. One small boy carried three karumbas and another carried the R M’s
gun.

35
At last we were thankful to see the end of the cart track. We got very stiff in our cramped position.
But the jungle was fresh after the rain in the cool of the early morning. We saw jungle birds, the
spoor of more elephants and the track of wild pig and deer – but no animals. Then we reached a
channel of water fed by the tank, fairly swollen after the heavy rains. We took off our shoes and
stockings to cross, but got wet to the waist.

The tank, Horabora Wewa, was beautiful, set in the midst of hills. It is twelve miles round and full
of little inlets running down from the valleys. The bund, where the valley is banked up to form the
tank, is about twenty feet wide and very high. In the surrounding jungle live monkeys, deer, pigs,
elephants, bears and cheetahs. The animals in Ceylon which attack without provocation are wild
boars, bears, wild buffaloes, rogue elephants and cow elephants with calves. We saw a crocodile
in the lake lying still like a log of wood. The R M fired at it but missed. Crocodiles that live in the
tanks are sluggish and only rarely attack humans, but river crocodiles are more active and
dangerous. The lake was full of birds and butterflies of every hue. Mr Gaster and I had brought our
nets with us and we caught some beautiful specimens of peacocks, low-fliers and orange-tips.

The R M gave us refreshments of coconut milk, tea and biscuits. It was very welcome as it had
become hot by the lake. From here we had to find our way to a spot on the river where a boat was
waiting to take us across. But the guide seemed to have lost his way. He took us over a huge paddy
field, muddy and full of wallowing buffaloes and pure white egrets. We had to zig-zag on muddy
embankments and wade across muddy and slimy streams to a path which led through some miles
of jungle. Finally, we reached the river an hour and a half late. The boat was still waiting – time has
little meaning in Ceylon. The hospitable R M then gave us more karumbas to drink and we said our
grateful farewells. Unfortunately we had very little money and could not give a proper ‘present’ to
his servants.

A ‘present’ sounds better than a ‘tip’. The other day a man came to the bungalow and offered us
some lovely fruit. We asked him how much he wanted for it but he rejected the idea that it might
be for sale. He was bringing it to us as a present and we could give him a present in return. The
return present would naturally be in the form of money. This mutual bestowal of gifts establishes
a better relationship than sordid buying and selling. Also, the return present is usually larger than
the value of the fruit. The donor feels generous for having given a present and he feels pleased to
have received a larger present in return.

Near Nawangalla is a mountain called Kodiyabedapuhenakande. We went there one day, but
struck a narrow path teeming with leeches. We tried the mountain stream route and when that
became too precipitous we were driven back into the jungle. Here we ran into a mass of giant
stinging nettle, unrecognisable until we felt the agonising stings on our legs, hands and arms. This
nettle is a tree with apparently perfectly smooth leaves, but actually covered with minute
poisoned hairs. That night we got little sleep from the pain and next day it had barely subsided. In
fact we felt it for several weeks. One way to remove the hairs is to pour burning candle grease
over the affected areas – a remedy almost as bad as the disease.

36
 12

SNAKE UPSETS
(July 1917)

All sorts of things have been happening, the most serious being the departure of Mr Fraser for the
Front as chaplain. Mr Gaster is carrying on as Acting Principal. I have stayed on in the Principal’s
bungalow and am living with the mother of the Vice-Principal.

One day a snake charmer came to visit us. He had a number of round flat baskets in which he kept
his cobras. He would take off the lid of one or two of them and begin to play his magic pipe. The
cobras reared up and opened their hoods, to display beautiful markings across the hood, exactly
like a pair of spectacles. Their bodies trembled, whether with ecstasy or anger I could not tell.
Occasionally they struck suddenly, but did no damage. They seemed quite willing to be pushed
back into their baskets and offered no resistance, except an occasional hiss.

A few nights ago, just before dinner, James and Perumal brought along a snake which they killed
on the back verandah. It was about three feet long, thin and fawn coloured with a diamond-
shaped head and darker markings on its body. The servants said it was a mapila and very
dangerous.

The story goes that mapilas come in groups of seven at night time and loop themselves together
to form a chain, which hangs down from the ceiling, so that the lowest snake comes in contact
with the face of the sleeper below. It then very gently rubs the surface of the skin backwards and
forwards with its head until the sleeper becomes hypnotised. Eventually the bottom snake draws
blood. When it has slaked its thirst, it makes room for the next one and so on until they have all
had their fill. The sleeper is drained of blood and dies. The face of the dead man becomes
extraordinarily chalky, so the villager always knows how he met his death.

The servants were very excited. James, being a Buddhist, refused to kill the snake himself, but had
no compunction in calling the Hindu Perumal to do the deed. The servants told us they would burn
the snake and bury it to keep the others away. Mrs Mack, my companion, was absolutely terrified
and all the time after dinner she was worrying about the snake. She seemed to expect the other
six to slither into the sitting room at any moment. When we went to bed she insisted that I should
keep a light on all night and she forced herself to keep awake until 3.30 a.m.

Actually, I find scorpions worse. They are often nine or ten inches long, with a tail that curls up has
claws like that of a crab. They are dark bluish-black in colour and they sometimes come into the
bungalow after rain. One night I found one crawling over my pillow, just as I was going to bed and
had to noose it by the tail with a piece of string. There are plenty of them in Lady Horton’s jungle,
especially after rain.

Less dangerous was a snake which Philip, the college grounds-man, caught in the playing field at
Asgiriya. It was brilliant green, about six feet long and known as an eye-pecker. It has a small head

37
and a long pointed mouth like a beak. These snakes are said to hang from the branches of trees
and peck out the eyes of unwary travellers as they pass beneath. They can certainly dart about
very quickly. Philip handed the snake over to the Nature-study master, who left it in a glass-
covered box and fed it on lizards and frogs. Then to give it an airing he would take it to the Green
and hold it by the tail, while the snake stretched and exercised itself. After that he tied a long tape
to the snake’s tail to give it more freedom of movement. He used to carry it about in his pocket
and let it out on the string to show people. Then he stuffed it back by the neck. Soon the snake got
quite tame and could be let loose without the tape, to crawl all over the room. Sometimes it was
even allowed to take the air by itself outside. It just stayed there until it was brought in again. But
one fine day it became very fierce and darted savagely at all the small boys. Its master was hastily
summoned. The snake had puffed itself right out and looked very fat, so the master did not
recognise it as his own. He grabbed a stick and broke its back and then found he had killed his
cherished pet, which had swallowed a large toad and did not want its digestion interfered with by
little boys.

38
 13

A MAD DOG AND OTHER SCARES

(July 1917)

There is great excitement at the college just now. Two masters and twenty boys are at the
Coonoor Pasteur Institute in South India, receiving anti-rabies injections. One of the boarders had
a little dog at school and kept it hidden in the kitchen for some time. After a while the dog began
to get savage and bit and scratched several boys when they tried to play with it. So its master was
told to remove it. After two days it reached his village home, bit his father and five of the servants.
It went quite mad and died. As soon as the Vice-Principal heard of this, he went around to every
class asking for the names of any of the boys who had been licked, scratched or bitten by the dog.
There were 16. The next day they were to start for Coonoor.

Meanwhile the excitement had grown and by the end of the day at least 15 boys discovered that
they had been licked. The numbers were mounting rapidly. “Sir, I don’t definitely remember being
licked, but I played with the dog and may have been.” Another said to his friend: “You must come
too. I saw the dog lick you on the left leg.” And so the infection spread. The boys thought it was
going to be a grand picnic. The V P did not feel he could refuse a boy who said he had been licked
and the doctor was loath to assert that licking was not dangerous. So next day a huge bullock
bandy was stacked with luggage, pillows and blankets. Alas! When the army reached the station
the doctor was there to meet them. He had just had a message from Coonoor to say that licking
was not dangerous unless there was a cut or sore. So all except fourteen boys with one master in
charge, had to return to College. The Government had kindly issued a free pass on the railways.
Just before the train started, another master who thought he might have been licked, began to get
scared. He felt a queer pain in his leg and thought he was definitely feverish. As he seemed in no
real danger, he was persuaded not to go. But just as the train was moving off, he changed his
mind, jumped on board and left his luggage behind on the platform. At the next station he decided
not to go after all and returned to Kandy. But he felt more and more unhappy and tried to talk
himself out of the scare at the tuck-shop or wherever he could find a group of people ready to
listen. Finally he could endure the suspense no longer and hopped into a car which was meeting
the train that night across country at Kurunegala. So he went after all, beyond recall. At
Kurunegala four more boarders joined the party. One of the mothers had been hysterical all night,
though her son had only been licked. The owner of the dog was not allowed to go himself as his
father said the boy could get expert treatment in his own village – treatment which would consist
of incantations and devil dancing.

There is a lot of rabies in the Low Country, especially among pi-dogs. There are all sorts of
suggestions to get rid of these dogs and to import others and sell them at a reasonable price. A
dog is dangerous in the seven or eight days before it actually shows signs of rabies and becomes
mad. There is some sense in the order that all dogs in the street must be muzzled, especially in the
hot weather before the south-west monsoon breaks.

39
In due course the mad-dog patients returned. They seemed to have had a good time on the whole,
though daily punctures in the stomach made them feel sick. They were injected with lymph taken
from the brains and spines of rabbits and other animals which had been injected with hydrophobia
germs. A little Moslem boy had died of the disease at Coonoor. He came from Colombo but they
sent him too late. Before there was a station at Coonoor people had to go all the way to Paris and
many of them died before they could get there. The same happened to the Burmese before a
station was set up there. In this last year thousands of people have been treated at Coonoor.
While our boys were there no less than eighty cases were being treated every day. The return trip
was uneventful, except that on the Indian side, the train ran over a bull and cut it in halves. The
stench, they said, was awful. Then when they reached the coast there was some seaweed smelling
equally badly and the boys felt sure another bull must have been massacred.

Servants have a horror of being cut. Juanis wept and nearly fainted when he cut himself opening a
lemonade bottle. Recently the college peon, John, had quite a bad attack of appendicitis. The
college authorities wanted to send him to hospital for an operation, but his old mother refused
point blank to have her son cut. The peon, about thirty years of age, had to respect his mother’s
wishes. He took native treatment, often very effective.

Many of the Buddhist priests are particularly skilled in the use of oils and herbs. They know certain
cures for some of the deadliest bites from snakes, such as the cobra and tik-pollonga. Usually a
priest is skilled in one particular remedy. The secret of the cure will have been revealed to him by
another priest on his death-bed. If he reveals it before, it will lose its potency. A secret of this
nature may be transmitted too by father to son. The result is that many of the secrets die with the
men who hold them. Near the College at Asgiriya is a priest who is very clever with bones and
joints. Often the boys who get hurt in football or other games go to him for treatment.

One day one of the College youngsters crashed into another in a game of football, with the result
that his eye was nearly knocked out of its socket. He was at once rushed to hospital, but the
doctor said nothing could be done. The father took the boy home and sent for an old priest from a
long distance. The priest came and for some weeks treated his eye with special oils and herbs.
Now his eye is perfectly well and there is not even a scar. The priest refused to receive any
payment. Some of them, however, are more mercenary than this.

There is an objection to a vedarala (native doctor) publishing his secrets. He says the medicine
would lose its virtue. In reality the vedarala fears he might be deprived of his monopoly. There are
many secret cures for all sorts of diseases in India and Ceylon. Much of this knowledge of herbs
and oils is used by the men who practice ayurvedic remedies.

40
 14

PERUMAL
(July 1917)

Perumal was the rickshaw puller. He became the centre of attraction to a large group of servants
when he harangued them outside a shop where he had been sent a message. He is a Tamil of very
low caste, big and strong and handsome, with a remarkably good taste in floral descriptions. He
often puts a beautiful bowl of flowers in my bedroom. He is like a big overgrown boy, full of
moods and whims. Recently he was dismissed for drunkenness. There had been a great Hindu
festival and he borrowed two rupees from me and got dead drunk. He sent a message to his
mistress that he was ill and ‘spitting blood,’ so could not pull the rickshaw. Unfortunately he was
seen outside an arrack tavern, where he was behaving in a ferocious and quarrelsome manner. He
nearly ended up in prison as he noisily threatened a policeman and other people. He often
borrows money from me, but always pays back. It must be difficult to keep going on only 15
rupees a month, with a wife and children. Servants are paid their totally inadequate wages only at
the end of each month, then in a lump sum. That means extravagance at the beginning of the
month and poverty at the end. Some masters and mistresses refuse to give advances for any
reason. That often leads to borrowing from a money-lender. Since the war servants have received
slightly better wages.

A few days after his dismissal, he returned. For several days his ‘lady’ had tried to get a new boy.
But none was forthcoming, except for an Indian boy, who refused to do any sweeping. The first
day his mistress said: “Oh dear, I quite miss Perumal – the ruffian.” The next day she said: “I do
miss my rickshaw rides in the morning and I suppose it will be difficult to get a boy just now,
because they make such a harvest at Perahera time.” The third day James announced that
Perumal had bought a letter for her. She strongly suspected that she had not been able to get a
boy because the other servants wanted the cheerful Perumal back – but of course they hotly
denied any such thing. Then Perumal strategically appeared at the door all dressed ready to take
‘lady’ out in the rickshaw. It was a lovely afternoon and Perumal was reinstated. For a time he
became wonderfully industrious and the arrack bottle offered no temptation.

41
 15

SUPERNATURAL CEYLON
(July 1919)

Some of the superstitions die hard. Apart from the evil influence of a completely shaven head, it is
even more dangerous to see a widow or Buddhist priest early in the morning. To counteract this,
many people carry a small mirror in their pockets and look at themselves first of all. It is
dangerous, too, to see a Buddhist priest or hear a gecko chuckle as one leaves the house to go on
a journey. Sometimes the journey is abandoned, but often it is sufficient to return and set out
again with the left foot first. Also, peacock feathers have an evil effect and should never be kept in
the house. One does not bury on Tuesdays or Fridays as they are unlucky days and the spirit of the
dead person will haunt the living. It is unlucky if one is in a car and refuses a beggar – one could
meet with an accident.

The Sinhalese kings started a superstition that it was very unlucky to have ebony and satinwood
furniture in the house. The reason was that they wanted all this wood for their palaces and
temples so wished to keep a monopoly.

As soon as a child is born, an astrologer is summoned to cast the child’s horoscope, including lucky
and unlucky days. When any important event is to take place, the horoscope is always consulted.
One main reason for the horoscope is to prevent two incompatible characters from marrying each
other. A professional matchmaker, before he arranges a union, is always careful to consult their
horoscopes.

Often boys have returned to school after the holidays several days or even weeks late, because
they have to wait for an auspicious day. Excuses of this sort are no longer accepted and parents
are obliged to pay a fine if their sons returned late. Usually they prefer to risk the unlucky day.
There are stories of appendix operations being postponed because the horoscope declares bad
luck. When at last a favourable time comes, it is sometimes too late and the patient dies.

42
 16

THE RICE FAMINE

(July 1919)

Two weeks ago the rice supply gave out in Ceylon, a terrible disaster. Rice is the staple diet of the
Island, which is by no means self-supporting and depends largely on imports from India and
Burma. The imports failed because of shortage of ships, famine in India and increased demand
from the West.

There was chaos in Ceylon. The Social Service League managed to secure about one hundred bags
to feed the whole of Kandy – population more than 30,000. So the town was divided into districts
and we were allotted different districts. My responsibility was Malabar Street, with two other
people from the College. We had to visit every house, find out the circumstances of the people,
the numbers of adults and children and issue food-cards. This does not sound very strenuous, but
every street in Kandy has numerous little alleys running off it, with hovels packed to overflowing.
To visit even a few yards of street took hours. It was no simple matter to issue cards, because
people told us lies about the number of inmates and we found ourselves issuing cards to members
of the same household under different names. Not even the house numbers could be used as a
check, because there were often several dwellings under the same number. We refused to issue
chits to anyone coming to us in the street, however plausible the story, but made them go to their
houses to wait for us there. Wherever we went, we had a long procession of men, women and
children following us, chattering and offering advice.

Depots were set up where people could buy rice according to the amounts stated on their cards.
However, some people presented their cards again and again to hoard great quantities of rice. So
we had to re-visit, with a new system of detachable dated coupons to last for a week. We spent
the whole of Sunday from 7 a.m. until after midday visiting our people. The heat was over-
powering.

At the depots, congestion was terrible. The people had to be kept out by force, only 50 allowed in
at a time. When they paid their money, they spread out their cloths, hankies or head coverings on
the ground, had their ration poured into them and were told to “palayan” quickly. Many had to
wait hours. Finally, the bags ran out.

A ship-load reached Colombo from Burma as a result of the Governor’s earnest appeals. It was
expected in Kandy that night, but failed to arrive. The next day murmuring grew loud and there
was danger of food riots. In many of the villages people had been living on nothing but fruits for
weeks past. At seven o’clock in the evening the rice at last reached Kandy. People had been
without since the previous morning. Temporary stores had to be set up. We had one at Trinity
College. It was beautiful beneath the shining stars, with only dim, flickering lanterns to light the
scene and hungry and eager folk with their silent tread and colourful clothing.

43
The following Sunday we issued another lot of tickets under a third system. This time we had
different districts allotted to us. As I had a bicycle I was responsible for Katugastota Road. All the
northern side of Kandy, including the villages, was allotted to our College. A number of our boys
helped at the stores. The stores were part of the new system, to give people a choice. The depots
were a little cheaper, but many preferred the stores because they could get credit until the end of
the month and they disliked waiting in queues. Rationing happened for some time – about one-
half the normal amount.

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 17

TIMITAR ESTATE
(April 1920)

This time, Edna, Bertie, Christie and I planned to visit a coconut estate 50 miles south of Batticaloa
on the East coast, not far from Pottuvil. Edna’s brother, Vernon, manages the estate. We left
Kandy at 5 a.m. by car to do the 200 miles to Batticaloa. Kandy is only 1,600 feet high. First we had
to climb up the Ramboda Pass to N’Eliya, 6,500 feet, then down again to sea level. By the time we
were half way up the pass, Edna and I were feeling car sick. Then there was the long and winding
descent down the Hakgala Pass to Welimada and up again to Haputale, 5,000 feet. By this time,
Edna was really ill and icy cold in spite of all the blankets and pillows I piled on her at the Haputale
Rest House. I even used the tea pot to try to warm her feet.

After a few hours, we set out again. From the gap we had a magnificent view over the Low
Country, spread out 5,000 feet below us. Into this we had to descend, with more awful curves.
Half way down we passed Koslanda and Diyaluma Falls, a glorious sight with the spray floating
down like a bridal veil. Towards sunset we reached Pottuvil Rest House. On the way, Christie shot
a jungle-fowl, a beautiful cock. Their inquisitiveness often brings about their destruction. It was
sitting in the grass by the road-side when it heard us coming. It flew into a tree close by and from
there sat and watched us. We had it for dinner later on at the Rest House, where Vernon met us.
The trees were swarming with grey monkeys and the air was thick with mosquitoes.

The next morning early we motored the last ten miles to Timitar Estate. The soil on the estate is
simply grey and yellow sand. It is extraordinary that the coconut palms get any nourishment from
it. It was hard work walking through a mile of dry, heavy sand to the bungalow, when the car could
go no further. The bungalow walls are only three feet high and the roof is thatched with cadjan. All
the rooms have these low walls, except the bedrooms, which have partitions on two sides for
privacy. So we got as much of the breeze as possible. The walls and floor are made of mud mixed
with wet cow dung. All the houses are built this way.

Vernon had an excellent cook and we had wonderful meals there. For breakfast there were four or
five courses, the same for dinner. People do not live by clocks down here. Dinner must be
between 9.30 and 10.30 at night. Early in the mornings we bathed in the sea, some distance along
the beach, because of the undertow in front of the bungalow.

Just out to sea was the wrecked "Botanist", stuck on a sunken reef with one end tilted up and the
other down in the water. It was a Hampshire liner of about 3,500 tons, carrying some thousand
tons of cargo, not yet salvaged, as the accident happened only two weeks ago. We rescued a 15
pound tin of bully-beef from the sea and lived on it for some days.

45
When we bathed we could not go out far because of sharks and the strong back-wash. The beach
is covered with shells, especially cowries. Like most Ceylon beaches it shelves rapidly and is soft
and heavy for walking. After the bathe came morning tea - eggs, toast and coffee.

One morning we found some turtle's eggs in a hole in the sand. Unfortunately they had been
discovered first by a bear, but he left a few for us. We boiled them but they were rather mealy and
fishy to the taste.

The surrounding jungle is full of birds and wild animals. The wild doves we shot were good eating.
The other morning I got fourteen doves! After the morning's ramble and a day of reading and
sleeping, we would tramp through the estate to a waiting bull-cart for a three mile drive to a large
swampy tank, called Kumari. The lake swarms with all kinds of water-fowl and is infested with
crocodile, like every sizeable piece of water here. Last time Christie waded across to a clump of
rocks with a tracker, a great crocodile slipped into the water right in front of him. While we were
waiting for the teal, a large flock of flamingos soared over our heads. Christie missed his crocodile
but got some teal. As the sun goes down over the tank the birds fly home to their nests among the
rushes and for a long time one hears them crooning to each other sleepily before everything
grows silent. Occasionally there is the plop of a fish.

On one occasion, we decided to shoot crocodiles, often found lying in the mud near the water’s
edge. We set out before dawn, but there was a bright moon. Just before we reached the cart,
Vernon saw an elephant some distance away at the edge of the jungle. He must have the eyes of a
lynx. I could barely see it even when he showed me where it was. We decided to give up the crocs
for another day and chase the elephant instead. We waited for the tracker to get the elephant-
gun, but the beast disappeared into the jungle. While tracking it, Vernon saw a wild pig in the long
grass. He and Christie crept towards it. Christie fired and bowled it over. The shot roused half a
dozen more, with a lot of sucklings close behind, all rushing past. The boys fired again but missed.
We began to track the elephant again, but the watcher said it was a ‘rogue’, then too far off to
chase. The fine for shooting an elephant, except a ‘rogue’ is 100 rupees. When elephants die in the
jungle the stench is so awful that nothing grows for yards around. All the leaves of the trees and
blades of grass wither and fall.

We have now returned from our ten day sojourn in the jungle. We got back early yesterday
morning after travelling all night in bullock carts. We were not sorry when it ended. At night the
mosquitoes were terrible. As soon as the sun went down they began to swarm with the hum of an
approaching army. Many would have been malarial, so we had to take quinine regularly. For all
those ten days we had no bread. Every day we had rice hoppers or string hoppers. How we longed
for a bit of bread! Finally, we were ready to depart, because we had scared all the game away. For
the last few days we had shot practically nothing at all. Vernon did get a couple of wild boars with
splendid tusks. But all the deer had been frightened away and we saw no leopards or bears, only
their tracks. Actually, we did not shoot much in the jungle. Christie shot two boars, two stags and
some rock-squirrels.

46
One night, Christie got lost in the jungle. He had gone out with the watcher to shoot deer, but by
eight o’clock he had not returned. It was pitch dark and we were getting anxious. We fired signal
shots into the air and far away there was a single answering shot. Vernon sent for some trackers
from the estate and they arrived at 3 a.m. At dawn the two boys and a party of coolies and
trackers set out and a couple of hours later they returned with Christie and the tracker. The two
had got benighted and eventually decided that the safest thing to do was to light fires and spend
the night in a tree, out of reach of prowling animals.

In the jungle, close to us was a lovely shady stream where we used to bathe. It was not deep and
there were sandbanks everywhere, but it was cool and beautiful. All along were jungle trees
growing right in the water and there were birds with brilliant plumage of all colours, chattering
monkeys – brown ones and grey ones with long white beards and whiskers all round their faces.
They seemed annoyed that we were trespassing. About two miles from our jungle hut was
another river, much deeper. We caught little fish, not much good for eating, but it was fun. I
caught lots of butterflies for my collection. But plenty more I missed, because they were too quick
for me.

During our absence, a rogue elephant had been making a mess of the estate, destroying coconut
trees and in broad daylight a leopard carried off one of the bulls used for ploughing the estate. A
few days ago, Vernon put some bait on two enormous hooks to catch crocodile in a pond nearby.
The bait was a dog which had been shot. The next day a watcher reported that a crocodile was on
the bait. Vernon and the watcher rowed across to the spot and dragged it towards the shore. They
found it difficult, though it was only a baby, about eight feet long. Vernon gave me the shot to kill
it and I shot it through the skull and shattered it. The coolies then cut up the meat for their curries.

One afternoon Christie and I went out with the watcher, so that I could have a shoot. We walked
for many miles and finally came to a patch of tall grass in the jungle. Everywhere were the tracks
of pig and deer. At last we saw a pig only about 25 yards away, just the top of its back above the
high grass. I shot and hit, but did not kill it outright. Immediately, the whole herd jumped up and
made for the jungle. We tried to find my pig, but it had got away!

Before we reached the main road again and it was getting dark, we heard an elephant feeding at
the side of it. When we got to the road, we heard a party of coolies approaching, singing lustily, all
unconscious of the elephant. Suddenly we all met, the coolies right in front of us and the elephant
only about five yards to our left. The coolies scattered in all directions shouting “alaya” (elephant)
and two of them tried to hide under a culvert. Christie shouted to them, “Stop, you idiots!”, as a
show of panic might easily infuriate the beast. Then we saw another elephant on our right, about
the same distance away. It was truly alarming to walk between the two elephants and to wonder if
they would attack us. We did not wait to see what happened to the coolies.

The next excitement began after four o’clock tea. We all came into the sitting-room, except Bertie.
A little later Edna announced that he had gone shooting by himself, but that he would stay close
by. Vernon was angry as he had warned us all on no account to go shooting alone. By eight o’clock

47
Bertie had not returned, but we heard that he had been walking along the road a few hours
before, about three miles away. All that night he failed to arrive. We were worried, especially as
he had gone to a part of the jungle full of bears and there were always snakes about. When he did
not turn up in the morning Vernon sent out search parties. One watcher – a Burgher – said he had
investigated Bertie’s fate in a Saathara (a charm) and that he was safe. The charm consists of
boiling rice and mixing certain leaves in it. If the leaves shrivel, the person is dead. If they stay
fresh, he is alive.

At about 6 p.m. a search party brought him back. They found him wandering on a road. He said he
had tried to find a tank where he had shot pig before. He could not find it and instead followed a
cart-track into the jungle until he came to some open grass land. There he met a pig and shot at it
twice. He wounded it, but the pig ran into the jungle with Bertie after it. After about 200 yards he
killed it. He tried to find his way out but lost the track. He wandered about in the jungle until night
time. It was pitch dark but then the moon came up. Bertie climbed a tree and got in a funk every
time he heard a branch snap. It was cold and uncomfortable, sitting in the tree. So he spent the
night alternatively in trees and walking through the jungle. All next day he wandered about
without food or water. At about 4 p.m. he found the main road, seven miles from the estate. He
did not know whether to go to the right or left. He began in the wrong direction, but then turned
and went the right way. After a few miles he met the watcher, with lime water. At first he could
not talk and arrived at the estate looking dead beat.

Several officials were camping on the beach in cadjun huts to salvage as much as possible from the
wreck of the “Botanist”. There are schooners from Jaffna to transport the cargo to Colombo. One
of the schooners on its way from Jaffna got caught in a cyclone and sank with all men, except two
who managed to cling to the wreckage. The official became friendly with Vernon, so they were
willing to take us on board. We divided into two parties as the canoes do not hold many people.
They are high-sided, long and only about a foot wide. We had one and a half miles to go, so got
tossed about. We climbed aboard by rope ladder. The water came up to the funnel and one half of
the ship was submerged. The smell of the rotting cargo was awful. Mr Raffel, one of the officials,
told us that on one wreck, when they were salvaging the cargo, eight men were asphyxiated. Rice,
when wet, rots and gives off poisonous gases. I do not think there was rice on the “Botanist”. But
in the submerged hold was a brand new motor car which they could not reach. It was sad to see
the waves rushing in and retreating and to hear helpless banging to and fro of cabin doors. We
looked all over the dry part of the boat and helped ourselves to some bandages and medicine for
the scratches and sores from our jungle adventures. We found some pickles and a bottle of lime
juice from the pantry and gathered all the stray magazines we could find.

When we got back, the watcher, Marian, came at tea time and said the rogue was close to the
road. The three boys set out, with two watchers. They got into some dense jungle and to their
amazement they came upon one, then another and finally a third. Fortunately they had not shot
when they found the first one – they could easily have been charged by the other two. As soon as
the elephants got the human scent they decamped, but the boys chased the biggest of them until

48
coming to an almost impenetrable piece of jungle. All they could see was the trunk sniffing the air
and the for-legs. The watcher urged Vernon to shoot and wound or break the leg. Vernon, the
watcher, Christie and Bertie were all crouching one behind the other. When the elephant was shot
in the knee, it dropped like a stone, but Vernon could not follow up the shot as he could not see
through the thick and tangled bushes. Suddenly the elephant got up with an awful deafening
scream and charged straight at the boys and the watchers. They could do nothing but fly for their
lives. Vernon was too close even to run and he jumped behind a tree right in the path of the
elephant. He cocked his rifle but knew he could not kill the elephant as it was right over him like a
great house. The beast, blind with fury, rushed past the tree, its swinging tail brushing Vernon. He
expected the animal to swerve, but it saw the others right in front. Christie was only five yards
away, getting through and over bushes with great speed until he came to a bush intertwined with
creepers like thick lattice work. He could not penetrate this, so rushed to the right and thrust his
body far into the bushes and cocked his rifle. Bertie, too, had gone to the right and that fact saved
their lives. The elephant went stampeding straight on through and lost sight of the boys, who were
making for the road as fast as they could. Elephants have bad eye-sight in the daylight and can see
only half a dozen yards in front of them. The wind was blowing from the left. All along its path the
elephant was spurting blood from its knee. When the boys got to the road they found Vernon,
wondering if they were still alive. A little further along, they found Marian crouching on the
ground shaking like a leaf. The other watcher was nowhere to be seen but answered their calls
from a distance. When everyone was re-united the first thing they said was that it was a mercy
Edna and I had not come. Later on the watcher followed the bloody trail, which soon stopped.
Christie was in a poor condition, legs and hands covered with blood and scratches from the jungle
thorns and bushes.

Our final adventure was with another elephant. We decided to do some water-hole shooting at
night. A massé (platform) had been erected in a tree, out of elephant-reach. After an early dinner
we all set out in the half-light of the moon. While passing a stretch of open country we came face
to face with an elephant. The watcher got between us and tried to frighten it off with all sorts of
weird cries, but to our horror it came towards us. We scattered and fled. The next thing I knew I
was wallowing knee-deep in a bog. I got behind some bushes and lay there until the watcher had
driven the elephant into the jungle. The massé was horrible. We had to keep absolutely still while
hordes of mosquitoes chewed us alive. We heard the jungle crackle while some beast made its
way to the water-hole. Then the wind changed and it was useless staying any longer – our scent
would be blown straight onto the pool. We all tumbled thankfully into bed a little after midnight.

49
Our feet are sore and most of us have to wear bandages. It is probably due to the constant
rubbing of our shoes and walking through so much sand and water without stockings. We heard
there is a plague in Kandy and hope it will not interfere with my departure to Europe. So far there
have been only eight cases, but seven were fatal.

Christie and tracker

with deer

50
 18
DAMBULLA AND SIGIRIYA BY BICYCLE
(September 1921)

Six of us from the College set out at day-break on a cycling trip to Dambulla Rock, famous for its
old historic rock temples.

We cycled first to Matale, 17 miles from Kandy, including a long descent down Balakaduwa Pass.
The scenery was lovely – all palm trees, paddy fields, shady streams and in the distance, the misty
blue Matale Hills. We went to Dr. Weerapermall’s for morning tea and there picked up three more
members of the expedition.

None of us were very rich, so we carried all our food, instead of using the Rest House at Dambulla.
We had 16 loaves of bread, tins of salmon, sardines, butter, jam, milk, cocoa, tea and sugar. The
Ceylonese take plenty of sugar in their tea. It is more like syrup than tea. On top of this we carried
a complete change of clothes, bed linen and towels. We took a spirit-stove and kettle, which we
never used. With such loads, what we looked like defies imagination.

We left Matale at 9.30 a.m. to do the twenty-eight miles to Dambulla. It was pleasant at first, but
we soon got hot and thirsty. At a village we bought luke-warm lemonade at a small boutique
(native shop). It is not safe to drink water at such places, as it is never boiled and one is liable to
get enteric. More heat and thirst followed and our legs became wobbly and uncertain. As we had
nothing to drink we consumed milk chocolate and it actually made us feel much better. Soon there
was nothing but jungle on either side of us. Now and then we heard the cries of jungle-fowl near
the road-side, or saw their gay plumage disappear into the jungle as we approached. Otherwise
we saw no wild creatures and the jungle might have been dead, it was so silent.

We reached Dambulla after mid-day and at once went to the Rest House to swallow gallons of tea
and cool drinks, until we felt strong enough to tackle some food and a sleep. After more tea and
food, we set off to climb the Rock.

Dambulla Rock is a solitary outcrop of bare gneiss, which rises 500 feet from the plain and is about
a mile in circumference. This Rock makes Dambulla very hot. At the foot half a dozen little boys
attached themselves to us as guides, though they were not necessary. The way is quite clear, up
steps cut out of the rock or made of slabs of stone. We reached the ledge where the temples are
situated. They were locked, so one of our guides began to toll a bell for the priests who apparently
lived somewhere lower down. We waited and waited but still no priests came. The bell was rung
repeatedly and the boys called down the precipice. At last we saw them emerging from the jungle
by a little path – three young boy priests in saffron robes and with shaven heads. They had not yet
acquired the staid demeanour of the older priests and seemed amused at our strange assorted
company. One of them carried an enormous key, 12 - 18 inches long, thick and heavy.

51
These temples are great caves, formed partly by overhanging rock and partly by hollowing out for
three mighty caverns. Originally they were hiding places of King Walagambahu, when he was
driven by the Tamils from his throne at Anuradhapura in the first century B. C. After an exile of 15
years he recovered his throne and in gratitude transformed the caves into temples.

We had to take off our shoes and leave them outside, as we were entering holy ground. Our socks
and stockings got dirty, as everywhere we were stepping on candle grease. It was pitch dark inside
and oppressive with the lack of ventilation and heavy-scented flowers brought as offerings by the
devout. Our guides – we had collected three or four – each carried a candle to lighten the gloom.
There is a strange mixture of Brahmanism and Buddhism. The most famous thing to be seen is the
mighty recumbent Buddha, carved out of solid rock, with the head resting on a great stone pillow
and the elbows bent. The guide said it was 20 yards long, though the guide-books say it is only 16.
It was astonishing how these wonderful rock carvings were produced with the most primitive
tools, usually just a nail and hammer. Opposite is a large wooden carving of the Hindu God Vishnu.
All about are other figures, some of rock and some of wood – Buddhas, Hindu gods and ancient
Sinhalese kings. All the figures are painted. The walls and ceilings are ornamented, depicting
shrines or battles or just formal designs and decorations. Some of the paint is 2,000 years old, but
many of the frescoes were re-painted 600 years ago.

When we had finished there, the priest locked the door and went to the next one. This was the
Maha Vihare (Great Temple) and much larger – about 160 feet long and 50 feet deep, with a 23
foot high entrance, but only four feet high at the back. Here is a statue of King Walagambahu and
about fifty others. Many are Buddhas with curly hair, sitting beneath the five or seven headed
cobras and some are Hindu deities. In the frescoes there is a blending of Buddhism and Hinduism.
In the middle of the floor is a great stone vessel into which water drips from the ceiling. Nobody
knew where the water came from as there was no crack in the solid rock above. Despite the
continuous dripping, the vessel never overflowed.

From there we went into the third cavern. But the atmosphere was too much for me and I got out
as fast as I could and put my shoes over my greasy stockings. The sun was almost setting and we
wanted to climb to the top of the rock. One guide undertook to show us the way, though he
seemed afraid we might be benighted. We had to clamber through jungle and over loose rocks for
about 50 yards on hands and knees. The view from the top was fine in the setting sun – flat jungle
country with many lakes gleaming among the trees and here and there isolated hills rising up from
the plains. Far away in the dim distance were the ranges of the Kandy hills. Away to the east rose
Sigiri rock in lonely grandeur. We could not stay very long and in any case the wind was terrific.
We clambered down again by a different route and came to a big pond in the rocks full of frogs
and bull-frogs. That probably explained the mystery of the water dripping into the cave below. It
was quite dark when we got back to the Rest House.

The next morning we were so refreshed that seven of us decided to cycle the seven miles to
Sigiriya. But three went gaily ahead, took the wrong turn and never arrived. They cycled on for ten
miles, waited an hour for us to come along, then cycled back to Dambulla. We soon discovered we

52
were not as fresh as we had thought. At the Sigiri Rest House we borrowed a bed-room jug, had it
filled with lime squash and departed with it to the Rock. Sigiri rises sheer many hundreds of feet.
Around the base are several other great boulders. Some of them have been built on and the ruins
are still there.

The rock of Sigiri is of historic interest

and centres around a tragedy which
took place early in the fifth century A.
D. [See chapter end-notes].

To ascend the rock we first climbed

up the granite steps, then along a
gallery. A wall about nine feet high,
acts as a balustrade to the gallery and
is still highly polished like marble,
though it has been battered by the
monsoons for 15 centuries. This high
wall served as a protection against
any missiles that might be hurled.
Half-way up the side of the rock are
some beautiful frescoes of Indian
court scenes and noble ladies carrying
lotus buds or baskets of flowers.
These figures are wonderfully fresh
after all those centuries.

From the gallery we came to a level

piece of ground half way up the rock.
In the cliffs above were hornet’s nests
– dangerous if disturbed. Then we
passed though the Lion Gateway
between the lion paws and up some
stairs rising almost perpendicular.
Finally there were some more steps
cut in the rock. We had to cling to the railing in the boisterous wind.

On the top we saw the ruins of the palace walls and the baths carved out of the rock for the king
and queen. One of them was right on the edge. The water was clear as crystal and beautifully cool.
The king’s throne was up there too – a wide seat carved out of the rock. Naturally, we sat on the
throne. We spent more than an hour clambering over the top of the rock.

After that, we cycled back to Dambulla, arriving just before noon. After some food, we had to face
the return journey to Matale – 28 miles, largely up-hill with a strong head wind and the last train

53
for Kandy at 3.45 p.m. It was scorchingly hot. After struggling for seven miles we lay down by the
road-side to rest. I was almost at the end of my tether. Some of the party pushed on. I followed
them but could not keep up. I had left three others behind, as they did not have to catch the train.
I waited for the rest of the party, but there was no sign of them, so pushed on slowly, having
frequent rests by the roadside. I was really thirsty and there was nothing but jungle on either side.
I came to a village, but did not dare to drink the water. A Tamil woman saw me struggling and
asked sympathetically: “Enna?” (What is the matter?) She ran alongside the bicycle for a while, but
I could not answer her. By this time my right foot was completely out of my shoe, the sole flapping
about. I was too tired to cycle up even the slightest incline and free-wheeling down any incline was
almost impossible in the headwind.

Next I met two little Sinhalese boys carrying bundles of grass on their heads. They began to walk
with me, chatting all the while. But I could not understand. After a while I sat down on some grass
on a bank and they sat down too, facing me. Eventually they went. Opposite was a cocoa estate. I
knew that when the cocoa pods reach maturity the matrix around the seed gets acidic and will
quench one’s thirst for a while. I picked a pod and broke it against a tree, but it was all worm-
eaten inside. I picked another, but it was too hard to break. A coolie came along with a knife in his
belt and he cut it for me. Alas! It was far too young and the matrix and seeds were all a stodgy
jumble. I went on further, stopping opposite a rubber estate. My throat was sore and swollen for
want of a drink and my lips coated and parched. Coolie men and women were drawing water from
a well and carrying it away in buckets or brass pots on their heads, but I did not dare risk drinking
it. Near me was an old man grazing his cow. When he got nearer he began to say something about
“thanni” (water). I gathered he was telling me that I could get a drink close by, if I went further. So
I salaamed my thanks and trudged on. Only about two minutes on was a boutique with bottles of
lemonade!

By now the sun was setting and I had to shove on, wondering where the others were. I still had
seven miles of mostly up-hill to Matale. Then Dr Weerapermall appeared in his car. The vanguard
of our party had missed the train and gone to the bungalow long before and he came to gather up
the stragglers. I waited while he picked up the other three. We enjoyed a hot bath and a clean
change of clothes and I borrowed some shoes. We all stayed the night and were thoroughly bitten
by mosquitoes. Then we caught the train to Kandy.

My skin is burned a deep brown and I might easily be Sinhalese. I got back to an empty bungalow
and a servant who seemed to think I had a mania for beans. It was the only vegetable he served
for all the breakfasts and dinners for the next week. I spent the next day drinking. The others were
not in such a bad plight, partly because they risked the water and partly because I was unseasoned
after my year in Europe. However, I was not stiff, only saddle-sore and desperately sleepy. I
alternatively slept and drank for the next few days. After all, ninety miles in the low-country of
Ceylon on bicycles in two days was no joke. My feet and legs are covered with mosquito bites,
extending even to my body. The irritation is exasperating. That was the legacy of our cycle trip, but
it was well worth it.

54
Now Eva Martin is back at the bungalow and her first meal was celebrated with carrots instead of
beans. But that was only a temporary respite and we soon relapsed to beans. School begins again
this week, with the return of the housekeeper and a change of vegetables, I hope.

Sigiriya History

Dhatu Sen was a royal prince, but owing to the supremacy of the Tamils at the time, he was brought up in
retirement by a Buddhist Monk, named Mahanama. He became a priest. But at last the cruelty and
devastations of the Tamils roused him from his life of contemplation and he determined to regain the
throne for the Sinhalese. He succeeded, drove out the Tamils and gradually brought peace and happiness
to the country.

Though he seemed to be all that was kind and noble in himself, he had a streak of cruelty in his disposition.
He had married his only daughter, whom he greatly loved, to his commander-in-chief. One day he heard
that his son-in-law had beaten his beloved daughter in a horrible manner. In revenge, he seized the culprit’s
mother and put her to death with great cruelty. The son-in-law then conspired with the King’s son,
Kasyapa, to dethrone Dhatu Sen. The king was seized and thrown into prison, in spite of the protests of
Moggallama, another of his sons and Moggallana had to flee for his life to India.

The son-in-law then persuaded the new king Kasyapa that his father had hidden a great treasure and
Kasyapa sent messengers to his father to demand that he should reveal the hiding place. Dhatu Sen realised
that it was a plot against his life and replied: “It is well that I should die after I have beheld my old friends
again and bathed myself in the waters of Kala Wewa” and he promised to reveal the treasure if he were
taken to Kala Wewa, a huge irrigation tank he himself had built. Kasyapa was delighted and had his father
taken there in a chariot. But when the king had bathed and drunk the Kala Wewa waters, he pointed to the
old monk, Mahanama and the lake waters and said to his guards: “These are all the treasures I possess.” In
disappointed rage, Kasyapa handed him over to the commander-in-chief, who stripped him naked, bound
him in chains and walled up the entrance to his prison and so left him to die.

By this time Kasyapa had become very unpopular and was afraid that his brother might bring an army
against him from India. So he retired from his city Anuradhapura, to this lonely rock of Sigiri, which he
proceeded to fortify. He built a spiral gallery around it so that he could climb the precipitous rock. Then he
built a rampart around it, gathered in all his treasures and lived in luxury in the palace which he had built on
the top.

He tried to wipe out the memory of his past crimes by various acts of merit, such as the building of
monasteries and grants of land to the priesthood. But one day Moggallana, his brother, came with a mighty
army and invaded the island. Instead of remaining in his impregnable fortress, Kasyapa descended to the
plains. As he rode his elephant he came to a deep marsh and turned back to find another route. His
followers thought he was fleeing and broke into headlong confusion. Kesyapa committed suicide on the
field.

There is another version of his death – that he ordered a signal to be given in case of defeat, while he
watched from the rock. Through a misunderstanding the wrong signal was given and Kasyapa in despair
first hurled his wife down the precipice and then threw himself down after her. They were both dashed to
pieces.

55
 19

POLONNARUWA
(January 1924)

Eva and I did this trip with some guests from Melbourne, who were staying at our bungalow. The
hired car turned up early on New Year’s Day. It was a glorious morning, so we felt things augured
well. It had been raining for weeks on end and heavy monsoon rains often make low-country
roads impassable. Small streams overflow, culverts get blocked, or bunds burst and let out all the
tank water. During the north-east monsoon, all this part of Ceylon gets the heaviest rain and we
were going right into it. No roads had been declared impassable, but often we had to drive
through long stretches of water, where the road was quite invisible and we could judge our
direction only from its reappearance on the other side. Often we rushed through sending out
showers of spray on either side, like great silver wings. On one of these we passed a motor bicycle
with a lady passenger in the side car. I fear they must have got a fine ducking.

We got down to Matale in good time and the view over the distant hills was as lovely as ever.
Matale really is wonderfully situated, in a long valley with hills beyond. It was full of colour after
the rains and fine mists were scurrying over the mountains. Beyond Matale we passed through the
rubber and cocoa plantations. This is also the pepper-growing district and most of the trees near
the road were clad with green creepers with little bunches of pepper corns hung from them like
diminutive bunches of grapes. Graceful young girls and women were carrying brass water pots on
their heads or shoulders. They wore anklets and necklaces and ear-rings – a lovely picture of
Oriental beauty. We passed a broken suspension bridge that had stood high above the stream. But
the rain had loosened the fixtures at one end and it was now hanging far below water-level. The
paddy-fields were brilliant emerald in the morning light.

We drove straight through Matale’s main street, with its long row of Moorish shops and other
boutiques. The day’s work had begun. Buddhist priests, in their saffron robes were on their daily
rounds carrying their begging bowls and palmyra-palm sunshades, still furled. They always walk in
procession in single-file and make a wonderful picture against the intensely green back-ground.
The bright scarlet, red, orange and blue of the villagers’ sarongs and saris all seem to harmonise
and the only blot on the landscape is the ugly coat and trouser arrangement of the European
costume. Unfitting, too, is the motor-car as contrasted with the slow jolting of bullock-carts,
whose arched roofs are made of dried palm leaves drawn by bulls with heavy wooden yokes
between their big humps and necks. Nevertheless, I would not have enjoyed making our trip in a
bullock-cart, or wearing the heavy draperies of some of the graceful women.

We branched off the main road at Habarana to drive on to Polonnaruwa. We passed through
many miles of jungle, seeing various kinds of monkeys, moose deer, snakes, squirrels, jackals and
some lovely birds in all shades of yellow, golden, grey and blue.

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The Rest House at Polonnaruwa is built right on the edge of a tank – the Topa Wewa. It is not as
large as some tanks, but is beautiful. There were numerous water-birds swimming about or
fishing. There was the huge pelican, like a great white swan as it plied gracefully to and fro. Every
now and then it would dip down and bring out a wriggling fish, which it stuffed into its pouch.
Then there was the black cormorant with its long, snake-like neck. Its favourite position seemed to
be to stand on rock on tip-toe with wings outspread. It stayed like that for hours on end. There
were large flocks of teal, to delight the sportsman’s heart. Some of the most interesting birds were
the various kinds of divers that hovered ready-poised in mid-air and then suddenly shot straight
down into the water to bring out an unhappy fish each time. We saw a great eagle sitting on a
branch at the water’s edge. It saw us coming but was quite undisturbed. We tried to frighten it
away, but it merely flew to another tree a few yards off. There were also hawks or kites. At sunset
the teal circled around high up over the water. Then gradually everywhere sleepy birds began to
croon lullabies from their beds in the rushes. Occasionally we heard a swish in the water, but there
was nothing to be seen. It might have been a frog or tortoise or crocodile. Over it all, the sunset
clouds grew crimson and then came the dark and utter stillness, fire-flies, star-light and a myriad
of lake-insects.

One visits Polonnaruwa for its ruins or for hunting. We visited it for the ruins. They are not as old
as those at Anuradhapura and date mostly from the time of the Tamil King, Parakrama Bahu I, who
practically built the city. He was a brilliant king who reigned in Ceylon in the twelfth century,
between two periods of national chaos and depression. Anuradhapura, the great capital, had
gradually declined owing to constant wars between the Sinhalese, Tamils and South Indians.
Finally during the Tamil ascendancy in the reign of Parakrama Bahu, Polonnaruwa became the
capital, a large city whose ruins still stand. The ruins were not so much due to the age of the
ancient city as to wanton destruction on the part of the South Indian Cholyans. Anuradhapura had
been the capital of the Sinhalese and then it fell into the hands of the Tamils. Gradually
Polonnaruwa began to rival Anuradhapura as the seat of the kings and eventually entirely replaced
it when Anuradhapura was sacked and plundered. The buildings at Polonnaruwa were a mixture of
the old style of Anuradhapura and the Tamil art of the twelfth century. The ruins extended for
about four miles north and south, about the Topa Wewa [see further description and history at
chapter end-notes]. After the rain some of the paths were largely under water soaking our shoes.
Everywhere were grey bearded monkeys with black faces, leaping from branch to branch in the
trees above.

While we were there it began to rain hard, so we took refuge under the arms of a figure. We
reached up to his hips and he kept us dry for a while, but when he began to drip uncomfortably,
we left him to his solitary meditations in the jungle, while we hurried back to the Rest House.

More on Polonnaruwa History

Quite close to the Rest House are the ruins of some of the most important buildings – the Kings’ Council
Chamber, with forty-eight stone pillars, half still standing. Around the stone basement are carvings of lions,
elephants, geese and dwarfs. Nearby is a huge brick Audience Hall, completely ruined and a mausoleum,

57
most of whose walls are still standing. Further on is a large raised citadel on which stood the palace of the
kings. The citadel space is about 440 yards by 250. The Palace, as far as one could see then, is all of brick,
with many rooms, courts and halls. Parts of the high walls are still standing.

Close by is a really fine little building practically un-ruined. It is the Hindu Kovil or Temple of Siva and built
altogether of stone. It is divided into three chambers and beautifully preserved. A little further on is
another square raised platform on which are some of the finest ruins. There is the Watadage - a circular
relic house, surrounded by a brick wall and some fine stone carvings. In the centre is a dagaba with four
entrances and a large stone Buddha facing each entrance. Then there is the great Thuparama – a large
shrine with its roof still standing. Inside are images of Buddha and a flight of stairs leading to the roof. From
the top one gets a fine view over the ruins – preaching halls, stone railings, inscriptions on slabs of stone,
carvings of ganas, or dwarfs, all dancing in different attitudes, some even standing on their heads. One
large slab has a long inscription on it about one of the kings, Nissanka Malla, who was supposed to be
greatly devoted to works of charity. It is 28 feet high, five feet across and two and a half feet thick. This slab
was brought all the way from Mihintale, a distance of about 50 miles - one wonders how it was done.
Nearby is the Temple of the Tooth, built of stone, with very queer curved pillars.

One of the most wonderful ruins was the Jetawanarama – a huge Buddhist temple of brick, with a narrow
entrance and towering walls like a cathedral. At the end of it is a large brick figure of Buddha, standing
upright on a stone platform. When we stood alongside we reached only half-way to the knees.

About a quarter of a mile away through the jungle is the Gal Vihare or Rock Temple. The rock on the sides
of the cave has been carved into three huge Buddhas – one sedent, one standing and one recumbent (45
feet long). From there, we walked through the jungle still further to the Demala Maha Seya, a fairly well
preserved temple. On the walls inside are still some of the original paintings – mostly of conventional
geometric designs.

About a mile from the Rest House through the jungle at the far end of Topa Wewa is the statue of a man
carved in an outcrop of solid rock. He has a long beard and conical cap on his head. In his hands he carries
an open book – the ola leaf. It was popularly known as the statue of King Parakrawa, really the image of an
Indian sage or philosopher. He was tutor to the gods and the scroll portrayed that the lucky hour for
building Polonaruwa had come.

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 20

TRINCOMALEE
(January 1924)

On the way from Polonnaruwa to Trincomalee, we passed several tanks. The first was small and
very beautiful. The jungle-clad hills came right down to the water’s edge.

Further on and a little way off the road was Minneriya, one of the largest, about 20 miles round.
We saw several crocodiles lying flat in the water, like logs of wood. This tank, known as the
“Killarney of Ceylon” was lovely. We walked along the bund for some distance and it seemed to
get more beautiful all the time. Under a large tree over-looking the water, we came across some
stone figures, known as the Gods of Minneriya. They are more likely to be images of King Maha
Sena, who built the tank in the third century and some of his courtiers. They looked lonely and
forlorn standing in a row along the bank. Some devout people had brought them offerings of
flowers and rice. Again, the hills came right down to the water. There were numerous bays and
headlands and wonderful shadows and reflections in the water.

Not far from Trincomalee we passed another tank – Kantalai. We had a splendid view of it as the
road passed right along the bund.

This is all wonderful shooting country with its thick jungle everywhere for big game and the tanks
for birds. Like so many parts of Ceylon it is malarial.

From Trincomalee we walked to Fort Ostenberg, an old Dutch fort on one of the headlands in the
harbour. We thought the harbour must be one of the most beautiful in the world. It reminded me
of Sydney Harbour, but the hills were higher and not built on. Three battle cruisers were in –
“Southampton”, “Colombo” and “Cairo”. The “Sydney” was due later on. The harbour is going to
be used again as a naval base. It was abandoned some time ago by the British. Before them, it was
used by the Dutch.

Grey monkeys were sitting on the walls of the Fort, or playing in the court-yard. A large grey one
seemed to resent our intrusion. He sat there making horrible grimaces at us, poking out his head
and drawing up his nose and upper lip. His wife came up and advised him to get along, but he
refused. He was not going to be ousted by silly foreigners. His grimaces increased in intensity.
After a time I returned the compliment, to receive a gasp of surprise and annoyance.

The next morning we drove along the harbour esplanade, in the rain. We came to a group of
fishermen hauling in a big drag-net. A small boy was trying to take a hand with the men. He wore a
sailor cap, but was otherwise scantily clad. The fishermen wore an assortment of hats, some
ladies’ hats. Some had a brim without a crown. Some had a crown without a brim. Some men wore
two hats of different shapes and colours on top of each other. As the nets were being dragged in,
hosts of fish were jumping away and we felt sure none would be left. But when the net came in it
was bulging – fish of all colours, shapes and sizes. The small boy brought a basket. He began

59
helping the men clear the net, incidentally filling his hands with some nice fish and surreptitiously
stuffing them into his basket. He was told to go, but he was like an eel dodging about and
managed to slip his hands in again and again without being seen. Sometimes I thought the
fishermen pretended they did not see and the boy soon got his basket full to over-flowing.

When we got to the pier, it was full of men fishing. Off the end was a man in a boat, fishing for
sardines with his hands. He sprinkled some bait on the water and when crowds of little fish came
up to eat, he quickly caught some in his hands and threw them into the boat. The water was alive
with sardines and the man had caught hundreds. As we watched he became less successful. He
stopped, muttering to himself. Our driver explained that it was because we were watching. We
had brought the ‘evil eye’ and ruined his success.

In the afternoon we drove to Fort Frederick on the ocean side, to see the famous Swamy Rock
ceremony. The Swamy rock juts out from a mass of boulders about a hundred feet sheer from the
water, on the edge of the Fort Frederick headland. The rocks form a sort of great cavern. Once
many years ago the Hindus had a temple there – perhaps dedicated to a sea-god. The Swamy Rock
is one of the three spots from which the Hindu God, Siva, recited his mantarams when he came
South, so it was more likely to be a Siva temple. It is a wild and mysterious place. When the
Portuguese came they deliberately destroyed the temple and refused to allow the HIndus to
worship there. Now the British allow them to come to this spot and hold their ceremony from the
Swamy Rock twice a week. On Fridays the high-caste Hindus come and on Mondays the low-caste.
We saw the Friday ceremony.

Soon after five, the worshippers, chiefly men, dressed in white, filmy robes, began to collect on
the rocks just above the Swamy Rock. Each one stood with his hands clasped above his head and
made his prayer to the god. They all brought coconuts, leaves and flower offerings and some
brought candles or little oil lamps to light on the rocks. Soon the Brahmin priest came, swathed in
the same filmy robes from his waist, with an embroidered scarf thrown over his shoulders. Over
his left shoulder he wore the cord which all Brahmins wear. Around his neck was a long string of
brown and gold beads and around his brow a chaplet of the same. Then he began to prepare for
the ceremony. He had several brass vessels in which he put the leaves and flowers. Some of the
coconuts he broke against the rock and caught the milk in another brass vessel. All the time the
ceremony was going on, a man was beating on a gong and the worshippers bowed their heads in
prayer and repeated aloud some formula, which we did not understand. Then the priest took a
small brazier, filled it with oil and lit it. The wind was strong and the flames leapt from the brazier.
Then the priest held it aloft over his head, a bell rang and all the worshippers cried aloud, while
the priest recited some holy mantarams. Next he began to throw the leaves and flowers into the
sea, but most of them the wind caught and carried them high up into the air. Some circled back
amongst the worshippers, who caught them and pressed them to their brows or lips. Several times
the ceremony was repeated. Then the priest hurled with all his might one of the coconuts on to
the rocks below, so that it shattered to pieces.

60
Near us were standing two Hindu women – one young and the other old, in widow’s robes. There
was sorrow written all over their faces. In the older woman’s face was more resignation, but the
younger one seemed full of some longing denied. After raising the brazier three times over the
priest’s head, one of the worshippers sang a beautiful Tamil religious ode. Then the priest recited
another long incantation and the ceremony drew to a close. He took a jar of coconut milk and gave
some to each worshipper. Some drank it, others smeared it on their bodies or anointed their
heads. Next he took around some ashes and they smeared these on their brows. After that he
handed them some sandal-wood mixed with water and each worshipper put a spot right in the
middle of his forehead. The rest they smeared on their necks, arms and bodies. Finally, he gave
each man a small leaf and yellow flower and they put in their hair. Before they left many of them
prostrated themselves three times, touching the rock with their foreheads and temples. The
younger woman near us did this with tremendous intensity.

I found the ceremony awe inspiring, but poetical in such a setting - the wind blowing the white
flowing robes of the worshippers, the priest with the flaming lamp above his head and sheer down
a hundred feet the surging waves beating against the rocks and away in the distance the setting
sun. It might well have been some ancient Greek ceremony to Poseidon, god of the sea. Nearly all
the people in Trincomalee are fishers, so the sea would naturally need to be appeased more than
any other element.

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 21

AN ELEPHANT KRAAL
(March 1924)

I had been wondering how I could get to the elephant kraal in the Kurunegala district, when I
realised that Alfred, one of our old Kandyan boys and a great friend of mine, was President of that
district. I wrote to him and received a very warm invitation from him. He undertook to drive Eva
and me the 65 miles from Kurunegala to Kraal Town, in the heart of the jungle.

We were duly met at the station by Alfred and taken to his house for tea. Here we were joined by
the other two Australians on our staff – the “Uncle” and Stanley and half a dozen Kandyans. After
tea we packed into three cars and set out for a Rest House, where we had ordered dinner. It was
beautiful as the sun set and later there was a slender moon, stars and silent jungle.

After dinner we drove the last 25 miles to Kraal Town. At 11.30 p.m. we arrived at the barrier and
were stopped by a policeman who wanted to see our passes. There were eleven of us and Alfred
was the only one with a pass. We were not allowed inside. Alfred left us waiting for an hour while
he tried to collect passes. Every now and then we heard gun-shots and men shouting, to keep the
herd of elephants from breaking through the cordon. At last Alfred returned with enough passes
borrowed from friends inside to get us in. Next day a friend of his got us some beater’s tickets and
on those we were allowed inside the ‘Town’ itself.

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When there is going to be a kraal, weeks beforehand villagers or professional beaters form a big
circle around a herd of wild elephants. This circle may have a diameter of three miles or more.
Gradually, day by day, the beaters draw in closer to confine the elephants to a smaller space,
aided by watch fires at night and guns and noise during the day. Meanwhile a stockade is built in
the jungle, covering an acre of big trees. A water pipe is laid on and a small artificial pond dug in
the water. The walls of the stockade are made of stakes and branches of trees tied firmly together.
From the encircled herd to the stockade a narrowing funnel is similarly built and camouflaged with
leaves and tree branches. Once the leading elephant enters the stockade and finds the water, all
follow. Then the entrance is closed and the beaters with guns and spears encircle the stockade to
make sure the elephants do not break through. Beyond the stockade on the side opposite the
funnel is Kraal Town. The village Headman and Ratemahatmayas of the districts and others
interested gather some time before the kraal and put up tents and temporary wooden shacks to
form a little town in the heart of the jungle, with a barrier all around to keep out wild beasts.

When we arrived the elephants were only half a mile from the stockade and the drive-in was to
take place next morning. The elephants were fierce as they were already in the funnel and had
been without water for some time. All night the beaters were on the alert at the watch fires in
three concentric rings. We could see none of this, as the jungle was dense.

The next morning we all took our places outside the stockade near the funnel. But the
Government Agent sent us away, as we were not beaters and it was too dangerous. We were
disappointed, but had to be satisfied with positions on the town-side of the stockade on two
raised platforms, but it was impossible to see across the stockade, due to the thick jungle.

The beaters yelled, shot blank cartridges and beat tom-toms to frighten the herd. The din got
closer to the stockade. Suddenly there was dead silence. We knew the herd had broken through
the line of beaters and very soon they were far away. The trouble was that one cow elephant had
a baby and that made the herd particularly fierce. There was also a rogue amongst them. There
were three herds together, about 45 in all. All the people left their platforms and the beaters left
their places around the stockade.

In the afternoon they tried again. This time the men had been given more guns and not only blank
cartridges and they were told to shoot freely. Again the noise began and bullets whizzed
dangerously through the air and several struck the branches of the trees under which we were
standing. One man – a beater – was shot in the leg and we saw him being carried away. The cries
got closer until it seemed as if they were right in the stockade. Then the elephants broke through
again. It was a disaster and almost unknown to have two such failures. This time they were within
a few yards of the stockade when a cow elephant turned wildly and the beaters had only just
enough time to leap aside, while the whole herd stampeded. They got only half a mile away, but
there could be no further attempt until next day. A third failure would mean abandonment of the
whole kraal. We did not see the finish, as the four members of staff had to be back at school next
day.

63
We left at 4.30 by car for the nearest station, Talawakelle, 13 miles away. The Rest House was
crowded and we had to sleep on the cement verandah or on chairs. Our train left at 3.20 a.m. for
Kurunegala, where we arrived two hours later. Then we hired a car back to Kandy.

We were disappointed not to see the end, but it was an exciting experience. We heard what
happened afterwards. At the third attempt they had to shoot the cow elephant and a rogue and so
they got the herd into the stockade. One baby elephant was drowned in the pond and that sent its
mother mad. She charged the stockade three times and if she had broken through, lives would
have been forfeited. She tried in three different places and was driven back each time by the guns
and spears.

After they catch a herd they separate any wild elephant from the rest, while noosers rush out from
under the bellies of the tame elephants, noose its legs and tie it to a tree. They always noose the
baby first, as these are liable to be trampled to death. Then the noosed elephants are left to starve
for a while until they become more amenable. They are then led away between two tame
elephants and gradually taught the arts of civilised life! Many die as a result of fear and strain, as
they pull hard at their chains. Of this herd of 45 only 19 survived.

The Moors have a different method for catching elephants. They watch for the track in the jungle.
Then they dig a hole, place a noose ready in it and disguise it all with twigs and branches. At just
the right distance from the hidden hole they place a dry twig across the path. An elephant, which
walks silently, will never step on a dry twig. So it lifts one fore-foot over the twig and steps right
into the hole. The Moor, who has been hiding, pulls the rope and winds it tightly around the tree
and the elephant is caught. He then nooses the other legs and leaves the elephant to starve and
thirst for a few days before leading it away between two tame elephants.

Finally there is a story about a wild elephant, as told me by one of my pupils a few days ago. There
were several people working near their hut at the edge of the forest. Suddenly they saw a wild
elephant coming towards them. They fled into the hut and quite forgot the baby they had left lying
on the ground. The elephant approached the child and remained still for a little while. Then it
retreated a short distance and waited, but the people were too scared to come out and fetch the
baby. The elephant then returned, picked up the child in its trunk, placed it on the verandah of the
hut and retreated. When it saw the people had taken the child inside it disappeared into the
jungle. I do not vouch for the truth of this story, but it is quite possible. Many animals will not
harm babies.

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 22

CASTE AND CUSTOMS

(May 1926)

I have been hearing a lot lately about caste in Ceylon, especially in Jaffna, the peninsula in the
north. The people there are Tamils, as in South India, but they speak a purer Tamil than the Indian
Tamils, or so they say. The people are all Hindu and there are many Hindu rites and ceremonies
which have no place in the Buddhist part of Ceylon. Caste plays a more prominent part and in the
schools, high caste children will not sit with low-caste children. The low caste children in a
government school have to stand outside the door or window to get their education the best way
they can.

In the rest of Ceylon, this extreme caste feeling has largely disappeared, except in the case of
marriages. Some of the lower caste people in Ceylon, the so-called “fisher-caste”, are handsome,
well-educated and cultured. Many are wealthy and have been educated in the best English schools
and universities. Once, a daughter of a wealthy family was married to a cultured and well-
educated man of the same caste. Over a thousand guests attended the wedding. The English
community was represented by the Governor, Director of Education, the Bishop, Principals of
leading colleges and many government officials. The Queen sent a message of good wishes by
cable. The presents included motor cars, pianos, thorough-bred horses, a plate of sovereigns,
expensive jewels and so on. But no Sinhalese family of high rank attended the wedding and they
would have felt outraged if they had been invited. At school their children might mix and be
friends, but afterwards there would be no social intercourse at all. Until recently, high caste
Kandyan families would not inter-marry with low-country Sinhalese of good caste. Even now there
is opposition on the part of the older generation when it occurs. But much of this rigidity is
breaking down and Ceylon has become more democratic in outlook.

Family ties and obligations are much stronger in Ceylon than in the West. The father is the head of
the family. Later on when he dies the oldest son takes his place. Even when his brothers and
sisters are married and have children of their own, he is still regarded as the head of the clan and
his advice is sought and taken in most important matters. He, as the head of the clan, feels
responsibility for every member of the clan – even to the extent of providing dowries when the
girls’ father are not in a position to do it.

I once stayed with Mr W__, head of the W__ clan, the brother of Mrs P__. When she married Mr
P__, who is English, the feeling was bitter. After seven years they were reconciled, but Mr P__ and
his Eurasian children, whose tastes are far more English than Sinhalese, obviously do not fit into
the clan. Though they visit their relatives and are proud of them, there is a difference. Now his son
has fallen in love with his cousin, Connie M__, and Mrs W__ is opposed to any idea of marriage
between them. He wants Connie to marry one of her own people and not be lost to the clan.

65
There is again coolness between the families. The Sinhalese are proud and conservative and dislike
inter-marriage as much as the English do.

Closely connected with this is the strong family feeling in Ceylon and family obligation. Here it is
understood that brothers will shoulder the burdens of family education and support members of
the family who are unsupported. This feeling extends to cousins or even more remote relations.
Many members of the staff have not only their own children to provide for. Sometimes
impecunious relatives take advantage of this and become parasites.

There is the feeling of absolute authority of the father even in questions of marriage. This attitude
is gradually passing. Great respect is felt by younger members of the family for their elders. No son
would dream of smoking in the presence of his father and in every way he treats him with the
greatest respect. English education is undermining this attitude of respect.

The Sinhalese never refer to “my wife” or “my husband”. They use circumlocution. Plain “he”
means “my husband”. “My wife” is “my son’s mother”. So the husband and wife never call each
other by name. A younger child never uses the name of his brother or sister but always “brother”
or “sister” and refers to them as “big brother” and “big sister”. A father simply calls his boy “son”.
For the same reason many boys at school will not call us “sir”, it becomes “madam”. They have not
the same difficulty with masters as they are naturally ‘sir’.

It is never considered proper that the sisters should sit down at table before their brothers.
Usually the sisters wait on their brothers before they have their own meal, or if there are servants
the sisters sit down with their brothers but never before them. If the brothers are late, the sisters
wait for them.

Muslim girls leave school at the ages of 10 – 12 years, before they mature. A girl is considered to
come of age when she first becomes ‘unwell’ at the age of 12 or 13 or earlier. This is considered a
great event. The girl is taken home and put to bed. The friends and relatives are informed. There is
rejoicing, feasting and ceremonies are performed. Presents are given. Amongst the Kandyans, the
girl wears the tail of her sari thrown over her shoulder. Children wear it tucked in. They wait until
they are a little older until their fathers find a husband. They marry at about 15 – 16 years, or even
younger. Some fathers feel that this is not right, but they are afraid to stand up against the
community.

The conventions of courtship are strict. It is usually considered indecent for a young man and
woman to be alone together and certainly for the young man to hold the hand of his bride elect
would be regarded as very bad. But these conventions are breaking down with European contact.
Europeans are considered ‘different’ and so may do things which they cannot.

At a Buddhist wedding it is the uncle who ties the knot. The father and mother are each presented
with betel by the bride while the older men chant songs of good wishes. The young bride
prostrates herself and ‘worships’ her parents and the parents of her husband and receives their

66
blessing. She then serves her husband at table with rice and water. When he has eaten she sits
down and he serves her.

Weddings in Ceylon are a great liability to poorer people. They are elaborate and often far exceed
the family purse. But to be less than lavish would bring shame on the family. The guests and
relatives wear wonderful and expensive clothes, which sometimes have to be hired, if the family is
poor. Then there is the wedding cake, often as many as eighteen storeys high, all beautifully iced
and handsomely decorated with doves and harps and flowers in coloured icing. It is astonishing,
until one discovers that it is made only of cardboard iced over and the same structure is hired out
to many different weddings. But in the bottom storey is a door out of which are take little packets
of cake, all neatly wrapped in tissue paper and handed to the guests.

If a Sinhalese husband is left a widower it is quite customary for him to marry his deceased wife’s
sister. He may marry several times – even the third or fourth sister.

For Moorish Muslim marriages the bride is arrayed on a raised seat from around 6.30 a.m. There
she sits for three or four hours with lowered eyes, without uttering a word. After this time her
costume is changed and she is brought back again. She sits in this way for the whole day, right
through the reception and apparently takes no notice at all of the proceedings.

Funerals may be a great expense, as a funeral feast has to be given to the friends of the bereaved.
Apart from that the Buddhist priests are entertained at a special feast some time after the funeral.
Quite often we hear the tom-toms and pipes of the Sinhalese funeral dirge as the procession
passes down the street. It is one of the saddest rhythms I have ever heard.

A few days ago I passed a strange funeral taking place in the street. The deceased was probably a
man of the Appu (head-servant) class, as there were many appus in the procession. First there was
an atrocious band, playing out of tune. Then came a motor-car, having difficulty keeping to the
slow pace. Every now and then it banged into the drum or stopped altogether, holding up the
whole procession. Then it started with a jerk. Across the backs of the seats rested the coffin. All
around it, under it and standing on the steps of the car were the mourners, hanging on to the
coffin to stop falling off. They were not going to be done out of a motor-ride.

Mr George de Siva was accused of the following. At a Municipal meeting one member advised that
the Lake could be improved if a number of gondolas were introduced. “There is no need for a
number,” said George, “Why not get a pair and leave the rest to nature?”

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 23

MEETINGS WITH SNAKES

(July 1927)

On our way to Anuradhapura by bus recently, we passed two gipsy camps on the edge of the
jungle. These gipsies are said to be of Tamil origin and to come from South India. The women dress
gaily, but they are all dirty, like most gipsies the world over. They keep herds of goats which they
sell to the villagers, Their babies are hung from the branches of trees in a cloth, like a hammock.
They swing to and fro in the wind and are quickly rocked to sleep. On their camping ground the
gipsies build themselves tiny semi-circular shelters of palm-leaves, just large enough for one or
two people. Snake-charmers often travel in their company and some of the gipsies themselves are
snake-charmers. Though snakes are said to be deaf, there is no doubt that the charmers attract
them by means of the flute or pipe. They go along to the jungle’s edge and pipe and pipe, until at
last a snake is charmed by the music. Then they tease the snake and defend themselves with a
cloth which the snake bites. As soon as they get an opportunity they seize the snake just below the
head with their hand, thrust a stick into its mouth and so break out the poison teeth and extract
the poison. After this operation the snake lies still, as if dead. Then the charmer seizes it and
carries it off in a little round basket. He will never kill the snake, because he believes that if he
does he will lose his power and fall victim to a snake in the future. The process of snake-catching
may be painful to the snake, but the charmer never fails to catch one if he requires it. Most
charmers carry a mongoose about with them as well and in their performances they often stage a
mongoose and cobra fight. The mongoose nearly always gets the better of it, as it grips the snake
below the head. A charmer naturally never allows a fight to the death.

Most of the snakes used by the charmers are cobras. They are among the deadliest of Ceylon
snakes and may grow to a length of six feet and are brownish in colour. A Sinhalese man had a
wife who was terrified of these reptiles. One day he killed a cobra and placed it in the room to
cure his wife of her terror. When she went into the room he heard her screams but took no notice.
Later on he went in and found his wife lying dead. She had been bitten by a live cobra which had
come to seek its mate. When one kills a snake it is always safest to burn it.

Another Sinhalese man would not kill the snake that haunted his garden, but with his milk he
attracted it into a chatti (earthenware pot) and let it float down the river. Further along another
man saw the chatti and in retrieving it was stung by the snake and died.

As the cobra is the king of snakes, so the rat-snake is regarded as a low-caste snake. Hence if one
is bitten by a rat-snake, no other snake will bite and one becomes immune. Of course the difficulty
is to get a rat-snake to bite at all, as it is very timid.

Another deadly snake is the mapila. It is pale brown, with darker lines and not very long. A few
days ago one of our masters said he found one in his house, killed it and burned it. Next day there
was another in exactly the same spot.

68
But the deadliest of all is the tik-pollonga. It is not as long as the cobra and is brown, with dark
diamond shaped marks on its back. It is said that after a cobra bite one may live for 17 minutes,
but when a tik-pollonga has bitten, one is dead in three. One of these was killed on the college
farm a few days ago. It was among the pineapples and darted at the coolies, who fled. They
severed its head with a mammoty. The fangs of the teeth curved like hooks, each with a little hole
in it, from the poison gland.

There is a current belief that a cobra will always swallow a tik-pollonga. The other day a man
found a tik-pollonga in the undergrowth of our playing-field at Asgiriya. To test the theory, he put
a cobra there and he swore to us that it had swallowed the tik – he had seen it with his own eyes!

One late afternoon some men arrived at our bungalow with a large python in a bag. They had
caught it in Lady Horton’s, as it was very sluggish after a large meal. They offered it to us for five
rupees. Eva and I examined it and decided it would make us some lovely pairs of shoes. When we
asked them to kill it they refused. They said they were Buddhists and it was against their religion
to take life. So there we were with a live python, 16 feet long, on our hands. The Senior Prefect
undertook to despatch it and cure it for us and he took away the bundle in the bag. He put it
under his bed in the dormitory for the night. The next day during the breakfast interval while many
of the boys were in the dormitory, they decided to give the python an airing. The snake meanwhile
had digested its food and become very lively. It began to dart about after the smaller boys and
there was pandemonium. Finally with great difficulty they got it back into the bag. But the
housekeeper became alarmed and as soon as the boys went down to afternoon school, he got a
rifle from the armoury, opened the bag and shot the python through the head. Later on the
prefects skinned it and cured the skin with salt and alum. After a week they gave it back to us and
we hung it up for a while. But when we examined it we found great chunks seemed to peel off and
it looked rather moth-eaten. So we decided it was badly cured, rolled it up and stowed it away. A
few weeks later, to make quite certain, I took it along to a shoe-maker. He was most enthusiastic,
said it would make a beautiful skin and he would make us some lovely shoes. The shoes certainly
looked grand when he had finished, but for weeks afterwards we left little mounds of scales
around us wherever we sat. In the end the peeling process stopped and our shoes were then the
admiration of everyone who beheld them.

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 24

FROM THE BUNGALOW

(1927)

Pole-cats haunt our ceilings. These are the filthiest creatures. They come in from the jungle,
especially at night time, climb up our verandah posts or drain pipes and finally get on to the ceiling
under the tiled roof. During the night they run up and down, squeaking and chasing rats or each
other, beating the ceiling with their tails and otherwise making a fearful din and keeping us awake.
Often an evil-smelling shower will descend from above and make the room uninhabitable until the
mess has been cleared up and the abominable stench counteracted with an equally powerful
disinfectant poured on the infected area. One day a dhobi brought back my clothes nicely washed,
ironed and folded. I was rash enough to leave them exposed overnight and the next day they all
had to be sent away again. One night a cat performed on my bed and just avoided my head.

An attempt was made to render our bungalow pole-cat proof. The men took the tiles off the roof
to get inside and there they found a large male creature. It refused to budge, for pole-cats always
turn at bay when they are cornered. So it had to be shot. It measured 44 inches from nose to tail
and was a hideous, scraggy animal, greyish, with dark stripes on its back. Podisinho, our chief
house-boy and cook, skinned it, then dried it in the sun, put it together again, stuffed it and
mounted it on a board. But the skin had got so elongated in the process that it looked more like a
pre-historic reptile with legs spread wide apart. He put some feathers in its mouth in most realistic
fashion and presented the trophy to me with great pride. For a decent interval we had it on show
on our dining-room almirah. When poor Podisinho had to leave us because he developed T B we
presented it to the College Nature Study room, where it was possibly better appreciated.

I was very fond of Podisinho and missed him very much. He was a generous and faithful servant,
but his memory was poor. He loved to give me fried eggs for morning tea and in spite of my
almost daily chiding he found it difficult to remember or perhaps understand. At last I thought I
had made it clear that he was on no account to give me more than two each week. Then one week
I had them on Monday, on Wednesday, on Thursday with bacon and again on Friday. By this time I
was really feeling upset and I said to Podisinho: “I telling you I wanting only two in one week. You
giving me fried egg yesterday and fried egg the day before and today fried egg again.” “No, missy,”
he replied gently, “yesterday not having fried egg – having fried egg and bacon.”

Podisinho was specially attached to me and tried to keep my room tidy. He had a habit of making
newspaper parcels of everything and putting them out of sight in some corner. Sometimes I spent
ages looking for things and would finally discover them in some parcel. These parcels contained
such mixtures as one glove, a stocking, a camera, a jumper, a belt, some luggage labels and a shoe.
He used to mend my sheets, slippers and bed-spreads – not necessarily with the right coloured
cotton, but very neatly done. One day I found that a tear in my grey rain-coat had been mended
with bright purple silk.

70
Then Podisinho developed hay fever badly and consumption slightly, as we found when we sent
him to be overhauled by a doctor. He simply would not believe that he had it. He wept and
assured me: “Doctors always telling these things against cooks and then sending to the hospital.”
His wife completely turned against us. She had been very friendly before and presented me with
d’oyleys and antimacassars of her own crocheting. She believed it was all a plot to get rid of her
husband and glared at us stonily when we went to see her. Meanwhile we had to support her and
the two children. After six weeks Podisinho came back cured and expecting to be taken on again
by us. But he was not supposed to cook any longer and ought not to have remained in Kandy
where the climate was too damp. I felt like weeping too, when I told him that the other ladies
were unwilling to have him back and saw his stricken face. He still visited us sometimes. Later on
we heard he was building himself a little hut and had got a temporary job somewhere. Then he fell
victim to the malaria epidemic and died. We went to see his wife and tried to help her with some
money. She accepted it but never forgave us. She felt we were in some way responsible for his
death. Perhaps we were. I always felt we had not quite played the game.

Then we took on Francis. He was a much better cook and was very devoted but his manner was
surly. He waged a bitter war on the pole-cats. The bungalow did not stay proof very long, as the
bricks and pieces of wood quickly got displaced by crows and squirrels.

Among the less obnoxious pets are a family of squirrels. They visited me every morning when I had
my tea on the verandah. I fed them on bits of buttered toast and trained them to come nearer my
chair. Papa was even been bold enough to climb on the back of it, if he thought I was inattentive,
but mama remained rather timid. She and the baby squirrel would seize a piece of toast and rush
away to a safe distance. Then they all would sit up and hold it in their paws and daintily lick off the
butter, ignoring the toast entirely. Unfortunately their untidy habits attracted the crows and quite
a lot got lost to them. The crows would even try to take it out of their mouths.

But the squirrels were not an unmixed joy. One day I had washed some stockings and hung them
over a line on my private verandah. A few hours later six had disappeared and we found them
trailed over the kitchen roof where they had got stuck. They wanted them for their nest. Then I
found papa one day chewing a series of holes in my door curtains. Also, four of my cushions had
holes in them from which the kapok was being steadily removed. Even the rope for the clothes
line was gnawed.

My more vociferous friends were the house sparrows. In my bedroom, high up on the wall were
some elongated ventilators. Some sparrows decided that was an excellent place for their nest and
they began to build one with bits of dry grass and soft pieces of wool pecked from the edges of
floor-rugs. I frequently caught the sparrows admiring themselves in my dressing table mirror and
they duly left their visiting cards there. My writing desk got covered with bits of straw. I kept on
shooing the birds and trying to block up the ventilators, but I gave up in despair. The nest was built
and the eggs were laid. Papa would sit on my book-case and shrilly serenade his wife who was
sitting on the eggs.

71
When the little chicks appeared the noise became deafening. The babies lifted up their voices and
demanded to be fed all day. Papa and mama spent their time flying backwards and forwards and
filling the wide-open throats with anything they could find, meanwhile singing ear-splitting
lullabies to their beloved offspring, It was impossible for me to get my rest in the day-time and
there was constant mess on the floor when the nest had received its daily clean-up. I endured it all
until the birds were old enough to fend for themselves and then I had the ventilators boarded up
and I kept my doors tight shut. I had a little peace again, from that quarter at least.

A plague came to Kandy and all cases were fatal. It spread chiefly among the Moslems, because
they try to hide dead bodies owing to their religious beliefs. The other day a man died and for four
hours they had his body hidden among the sugar bags and went on selling the sugar. They pleaded
to be exempt from post-mortems, as it is against their religion to tamper with their dead.

The plague is caught chiefly through the bite of a flea off a plague-infested rat. About 3,000 rats
were killed in Kandy, but often when they are caught in traps the superstitious people let them out
again. All night long the Moslems had chanting at the Mosque to drive away the plague.

It was no wonder the plague spread. At Katukelle a man died at midnight. It was reported eight
hours later. The officials came at 4 p.m. for the post-mortem. Meanwhile everyone had been
walking in and looking at the corpse without hindrance. The relatives were asked to carry out the
corpse on a table and there the post-mortem was held, while the children and others looked on.
The policeman who was guarding the house was unable to cope with the crowds. The examination
was over at 6 p.m. and then the relatives had to bury the man – not the municipality. Four days
later the house was disinfected.

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 25

SIX YEARS LATER

(May 1933)

Last Sunday it rained just over seven inches in Kandy. The road to Gampola became impassable
and the bridge beyond Peradeniya Junction was submerged. Houses in the village collapsed –
especially those built of mud and wattle. The shop-keepers lost everything from their boutiques.

The Mahaweli Ganga was a swirling mass and huge logs were hurled down the river. Along Lady
Blake’s Drive the gorge and rapids were an amazing sight – wild rushing water and foam dashing
high into the air. Within three days the floods were the highest on record. At Getambe the
Peradeniya Road was fifteen feet under water. The railway bridge was covered and Kandy
completely cut off. The river was 42 feet high. Kandy had 13 inches of rain in three days and at
Nawalapitiya 22 inches. The water in Gampola rose to the top of the station roof and only the
signal posts could be seen. Refugees were housed at Peradeniya in the Training Colony Practicing
School. We visited them a few days ago. Each family had arranged a little corner for itself using
school desks and benches. One boutique-keeper had set up a little shop, as his bags of rice and
vegetables had been rescued by boat.

Just before the floods some thieves broke into our bungalow while we were down in the College
Hall at a concert. They ransacked Eva’s room and stole all her jewels. Jan’s room was untouched.
Mine was in such an untidy mess that they probably thought they had been there already. Our
servant Abraham and the peon John went to a soothsayer to consult him. He put a drop of oil on a
betel leaf to read the truth in it. He said it was a large, fat man and gave an exact description of a
recently dismissed College watcher, whom John did not at all love. He said the thief had sold the
jewels for Rs.45 and that they were now in a certain almirah in a certain pawn-shop in Colombo
Street. Francis and Abraham promised Rs.25 each to him if the jewels were found. Eva, the police-
inspector and Abraham went to the shop and found nothing. Then Abraham absented himself for
two separate days to consult the priest at Gampola. This man was said to be so clever that he
could tell where things were even if they were as far away as England. Each time he returned he
looked really ill. Finally we learned that the thief would go mad within a fortnight and would come
and confess. All this as a result of the rites and incantations! Unfortunately we were going on
holiday shortly, but we left Abraham to cope with the confession.

When we returned no more was said about the theft, but Abraham excelled at table decorations.
Mostly he does them with flowers, leaves and flower-petals. The designs are usually geometric,
but a fortnight ago we had a dinner party and found the decoration had taken the form of a series
of letters, such as – C M S, T C K, Good Luck and Good Night. Francis does intricate patterns in
coloured rice, very effective. Abraham cannot pronounce the letter ‘p’. He went to Jan and asked
for her ”fly”. After some time she realised he wanted the pliers.

73
Michael, the second college peon, recently got married. He is quite young and had no real desire,
but his father decided it would be a great advantage to have them as a family. Michael has been
living with his father, sister, brother, uncle and uncle’s little girl, in a tiny house. They paid ten
rupees per month as rent. The sister could not be married as she was needed to cook and look
after the child. Besides, the dowry would have caused difficulty. The girl whom Michael was to
marry lived with her mother in their own little house. Now all of Michael’s family have gone to live
with the bride and so the rent is saved. Also the sister can now marry and the young wife can cook
and mind the child – and the extra 10 rupees will supply her dowry. So everyone is happy and
Michael says she is a nice girl. A week after the wedding he had to sit at home all day to welcome
his relatives and friends. He was afraid to ask the Principal for a day off and nearly wept when the
Office refused. Eventually they took pity on him and he got his day off. Now he looks a sight with
barber’s itch.

Cotton women have been coming lately loaded with baskets of kapok. Each woman carries about
eight baskets on a board balanced on her head. The cotton is protected from rain by plantain
leaves. As I was getting a mattress made I needed plenty of cotton. They asked for 15 cents per
basket but were quite willing to take 8 cents. So I bought the 41 baskets. Next day they came with
90, but the servants said I had paid far too much and refused to give more than Rs.4.50. After a lot
of discussion the women agreed. As they were leaving one woman’s board tipped over and we
saw her basket full of cotton. The servants then examined all the baskets and found eight un-
emptied. The women were quite good-humoured about it.

One of our little Bandaranayake boys, aged 12, had to leave school, as he is to become a Buddhist
priest. The poor child seemed spiritless about it, but the father and elder brother said he was
eager and asked for it. The boy looked a little frightened. I suppose it is being forced on him to get
merit for the family. What a life. And soon he will have to take the oath of celibacy.

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 26

JAFFNA
(May 1933)

On a holiday I went to Jaffna by train and had the compartment to myself. In the middle of the
night I woke up, choking with smoke. On investigation I found that my hold-all together with some
of my bedding on the floor had caught fire from a spark from the engine and was blazing away
merrily. I at once pulled the communication cord and threw the hold-all out of the window. In
about a quarter of an hour, as I was thinking of lying down to sleep again, the train gradually
slowed down and finally came to a stop. The driver and guard came along with a hurricane lantern
to enquire why I had stopped the train. When I explained the situation I was told it would be all
right. This made me feel wrathful and I pointed out that but for my presence of mind I might have
been cinders by that time. Later on when I put in a claim for damages, it was refused on the
ground that the fire had not been due to “any official neglect”.

The origin of the name “Jaffna” is as follows. There was a blind musician who so delighted the King
with his music, that the King presented him with the sandy waste peninsula (which the blind man
could not see, of course). From this incident came the name “Yalpana”, or “Gift of Music”.
Gradually this changed to Yappana and finally to Jaffna. Jaffna is a great contrast to Kandy. It is
dry, sandy, flat and hot. It depends almost entirely on wells for its water, as it gets only the north-
east monsoon. Many of these wells have a plentiful supply and the land around is well irrigated by
little channels. There are very few coconut palms, but palmyra flourishes. From this juggery and
toddy are made. The water is drawn from the wells by a long pole like a see-saw on a central
support. At one end are weights and at the other a bucket hanging from a rope. A man pulls the
rope and lets the bucket down the well, while the weights pull it up again. But if the shaft is too
big and heavy, two men manipulate it by walking backwards and forwards on top. The water from
the bucket feeds the channels. The work is long and wearisome.

My hostess at Uduvil Girl’s School took me one morning to Manipay where there is a large
American Mission Hospital. It is difficult to keep a hospital clean, as the sick always bring their
families with them. These do the cooking for them and often interfere with medical arrangements.
There are usually several beds in the room with the patient, but there are also “lines” where the
facilities live and cook. Manipay had just had a nasty knock because Japan had confiscated their
new X-ray instrument on its way from America. Apparently Japan, being in a state of war, was able
to do this with impunity. In the afternoon the staff and girls at Uduvil performed Indian folk
dances and played Oriental music on some queer Indian instruments, called veenas. They were
shaped like enormous long trombones and emitted a very small sound. The music was mostly of
Telugu origin, monotonous but beautiful and plaintive. The teacher had studied the music and
dancing at Tagore’s school at Santiniketan.

75
All over Jaffna the flamboyants made a blaze of colour. One afternoon we visited the old Dutch
Fort. It has a great moat and massive walls overlooking the sea and Kayts and other islands.

We called on an English civil servant who was receiving a visit from a Buddhist priest. The priest
was collecting funds for a bathing tank and well at Kadugannawa. Though the people of Jaffna are
almost entirely Hindu, there is a Buddhist temple there. Many of the Sinhalese have migrated
north owing to the depression. They work more cheaply than the Jaffnese, who are slower to
move and they keep the same prices even when labour and production is cheaper. So the
Sinhalese are ousting the Tamils as carpenters, bus drivers, car drivers and so on. Some of these
occupations the Jaffnese regard as low-caste and refuse to do them. The Sinhalese, who migrate
to Jaffna, are not regarded as having any caste, because they are strangers. Hence they are
insinuating themselves into many of the jobs. Even Government appointments are falling into the
hands of the Sinhalese, many of whom have qualified in England.

One evening we had a picnic by the sea in the moonlight. The sea was wonderful for bathing,
smooth as a mirror and phosphorescent. In the darkness we sometimes saw the shadowy outline
of a boat or sailing vessel. Possibly they were smugglers. There is a great deal of smuggling from
India along the coast of Jaffna. It is mostly ganja (opium) smuggling.

Another afternoon we visited a village called Udupitti, where a Mrs Raju and Miss Matthews are in
charge of a splendid little Christian school. The children are taught by the project method. They
make anything that is required in the village. There are numerous temples but there is crime here.
However they fear Mrs Raju and regard her as a sort of sage. She is consulted by all kinds – Hindus
and Christians alike. She is a fine and courageous fighter.

The water in Jaffna is hard. One day I wanted to wash my hair and was told to rub a raw egg on my
scalp. This I did but the water was too hot and the egg set. The second attempt was more
successful. The servants made me a slimy green mixture of crushed shoe-flower (hibiscus) leaves.
It made an excellent shampoo.

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 27

A JUNGLE TREK
(August 1933)

Jan had gone ahead and was camping on the bund of Soraborawewa with some Guides and I was
to join her on the day the camp ended.

The car drive down to Alutnuwara was beautiful, but uneventful, except that in the drain at one of
the hair-pin bends we found the mangled carcase of a cow, a victim of a hungry leopard during the
night. The ferry-crossing over the Mahaweli Ganga to Alutnuwara was somewhat difficult, as the
river was swollen by the heavy rains up-country and local storms. We had reached the so-called
dry zone, but we found that even this was deluged by unseasonable rains. Paths and streams
which should have been dry, were swampy and often flooded.

From Alutnuwara we walked the three miles through the jungle to Horabora Wewa. Before we
had gone very far our personal company consisting of myself and two porters, had increased by a
dozen or so villagers homeward bound and a large herd of buffaloes driven by a man and a boy. As
the path was narrow, we became quite a lengthy procession and the eccentricities of the
buffaloes’ route made progress slow. At last, just after mid-day, we reached the lovely Horabora
Wewa, our camping ground for the next few days.

There was very little privacy attached to our camp. All day long villagers passed to and fro along
the bund and watched our doings with the deepest interest. Usually they just squatted and talked
or speculated about us and told each other tales of how we had opened a sardine tin and bathed
in the tank and how constantly we appeared to require cups of tea, which we drank entirely
without sugar. Sometimes they were helpful in getting us water, or assisting to blow up the fire for
our tea and potatoes. Our impromptu shelves for stores and cutlery intrigued them greatly. But
we had to keep a stern eye on our visitors when their investigations became a little too intimate.
Between sunset and sunrise we were left in complete solitude. No man, for fear of beasts,
ventured forth in the dark. We, being foolhardy, scarcely realised the danger. A complete stillness
surrounded us, except for the occasional crooning of a bird or frog and the distant cries and
drumming of watchers in the paddy-fields. Usually the evening was heralded by wind and a heavy
thunderstorm which lasted for several hours. Then we had to shelter in our little tent, with all the
flaps tied down securely.

One evening we found that nearby an old hollow tree had caught fire and was roaring and blazing
and spouting showers of sparks like meteors in the most glorious fashion. We were told by the
villagers that the tree had been struck by lightning. But later on a porter told us that in this district
trees were often set on fire secretly and the perpetrators could never be traced. At certain
seasons the Veddahs fire trees as part of a religious ceremony.

77
Early on Monday morning we struck camp to begin our 50 mile jungle trek along the river to
Polonnaruwa. This should have brought us to our destination by Thursday. Actually owing to the
limitations of our guide and the circuitous route adopted by our men, the trek was lengthened to
80 miles and we reached Polonnaruwa only on Friday afternoon. This Binthenne jungle is some of
the wildest and least frequented in Ceylon. It is infested by wild beasts and it is the home of many
of the aboriginal Veddah people who are still extant in Ceylon. We were escorted by the Police
Vidane of Hembarawe as guide and four Horabora men to carry our food, tent and bedding. A
Police Vidane is a kind of village headman.

We did not realise that our escort intended accompanying us only as far as Hembarawe and that
from there we would have to get a completely new set of people. Unfortunately our original plans
had gone awry. The R M of Alutnuwara, a Kandyan chief, whose boys were at the College, had
promised us his tracker for the whole journey. The night before we set out the tracker had to go
up-country to visit his sick wife. So the R M sent along the Police Vidane, who happened to be at
Alutnuwara, to guide us as far as Hembarawe, his own village. There he was to make other
arrangements for us.

While the Vidane was with us all went well. The path was well-defined, the jungle fresh after the
afternoon rain and the streams not too swollen. One caused us a little trouble. It was only waist-
deep, but its bed consisted of the stickiest, slimiest mud that it has ever been my lot to encounter.
Jan opened the proceedings by simply sliding in uncontrollably. Of course, we got very wet in the
crossing, but soon dried again in the hot sun. The greatest trouble was our shoes and socks. At first
we used to take them off each time, but after a while we got tired of this and walked through with
them on. As they quickly got muddy and sodden they became uncomfortable. It did not improve
the tick-bites that Jan had picked up at Horabora Wewa and they were beginning to turn septic.

We passed several Veddah villages consisting of a few huts grouped around a paddy-field. But
these Veddahs were less primitive, as they had to a large extent inter-married with the Sinhalese.

Our real adventure began with our arrival at Hembarawe. The R M of Alutnuwara had given the
villagers warning of our coming and had told them to give us a good reception. Nothing could have
equalled the sincerity and enthusiasm of their welcome. If their ideas of hospitality differed from
our own, it was probably we who were lacking. The whole village, about 60 people, men, women
and children, turned out to meet us and escort us to the Vidane’s newly-built house, which had
been put at our disposal. Two stretchers, covered with mats, had been placed on the verandah.
Jan and I, overheated, sank down to rest and cool off, while the population crowded into the
verandah and around its low mud walls to watch and discuss. Many of them had never seen white
women before. The noise was terrific – loud and eager voices all around us with the village pi-dogs
snarling and fighting in the background. When we drank water out of our dark-green vinegar
bottles the people decided it must be arrack. They offered us some karumba to drink. The Police
Vidane then informed the people that I had paid three rupees for my sun-glasses in England
(actually Malta). This piece of news, which he had extracted from me on the march, now became
the topic of quite a lengthy conversation. It cropped up again several times in the course of the

78
next few days. I could not decide whether the Vidane thought the glasses were cheap or a sign of
affluence.

Jan and I were weary, but we found the position of our stretchers somewhat public. So the people
carried them into an inner room. They then offered the village furniture for our use – a table with
a cloth and two chairs. The pillows we refused. It was only when we wished to sleep that we were
able to get any privacy. For two hours they left us in peace – partly because the rain was now
falling in torrents and the village was becoming a complete swamp.

Later on when we decided to bathe in the river the whole village escorted us. They carried our
soap, washers and towels. The women of the village insisted on soaping us and washing our hair.
Jan’s soap, an attractive green shade, met with special approval. One woman, bolder than the rest,
borrowed it for her own use. After this it was surreptitiously passed from hand to hand and many
a bare chest received a furtive rub. They were greatly alarmed when we dived in off the far side of
a raft moored to the bank. The current was running strong and there were crocodiles in the river.
However, we kept close to the bank and came to no harm.

When we were with difficulty clothed again all the village poured into the room to watch our
preparations for the evening meal. We had a little dry methylated spirit stove. This intrigued them
greatly. One man, feeling sceptical that little white solid cakes could really produce any kind of
heat, put his fingers into the flame to reassure himself. As soon as we sat down to eat, the room
cleared immediately. It is not considered polite to watch others eat their food. Then they came
back to hang up our mosquito nets, examine our bedding and the contents of our kit-bag. Our
pyjamas and dressing gowns received much attention. The people at Hembarawe are very poor.
Besides tilling their fields they make cheap earthenware pots which they take to Alutnuwara to
sell.

The next morning packing was difficult, as every square inch of room was occupied by spectators.
After a hurried meal we thanked our hosts and hostesses in a mixture of broken Tamil and
Sinhalese, distributed our empty tins and bottles and a few rupees. Then we set out on the next
stage of our journey, with four new porters and a new guide. The Police Vidane gave his last
instructions to the men for our comfort. We told them we were queerly constructed inside and
that at about midday it would always be necessary to rest by some water so that we could eat and
drink tea. Otherwise our stomachs (and he rubbed his stomach violently) would grow sick and we
should not be able to continue the march. Apparently they never stop until the day’s trek is
finished. Our Horabora porters had turned back immediately for the return journey the day
before, without any food or drink. And they had 18 miles to go.

Our guide now explained that we must turn east to Maha Ella. The northern jungle along the river
was too dense and thorny to get our luggage through. The real reason, we suspected afterwards,
was that there were no friendly villages along the river and our men were desperately afraid of the
jungle by night. So we agreed to go to Maha Ella though it lengthened our route by nearly twenty
miles. It was lengthened still further by the defects of our guide, who completely lost his way and

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took us through the densest and thorniest jungle along an almost invisible path that seemed to
lead nowhere. At last it brought us out to a Veddah village some five miles to the south of Maha
Ella. We passed some grand old trees in the jungle, all gnarled and twisted and surrounded with a
hedge of protruding roots. The air was heavy with the scent of jasmine.

We had now reached the heart of Veddah country. In the afternoon we had our first experience of
a pukka wild Veddah, when he suddenly confronted us with a hatchet in his hand. His wife and
child, who were looking for yams, ran away and hid. Our men rather timidly addressed the Veddah
with friendly words, but he made no reply – just stood up, straight and haughty and gazed at each
one of us without the flicker of an eyelid. But his nostrils quivered. He was a young handsome
man, surely descended from a proud line of Veddah kings. At last he stood aside and allowed us to
pass. His lips remained tightly closed.

Then our men did an unfortunate thing. The Veddah wife had got over her fear and came to peep
at us a little further on. She was carrying a bundle of yams on her head and our men took one
from her. They divided it up amongst themselves. Like a whirlwind the Veddah came upon us,
uttering a torrent at the top of his voice in some language of which we understood no word. Our
men looked alarmed and made no attempt to interfere when the Veddah seized Jan by the wrist. I
offered him a coin, but it obviously had no meaning for him. He demanded “salt” and “tobacco”,
but we had none to give him. Our guide offered him betel and this he snatched. He next seized me
by both wrists and then the tracker, still talking loudly in a throaty tone. Evidently appeased he
began to sing in a loud, clear voice, in words that were monotonously repeated. Finally he began
to dance. This haughty young prince suddenly converted into a performing monkey gave my
feelings an awful jolt. However, he now allowed us to pass and directed our route in loud fierce
tones. Later on we made tea for ourselves, but the only water we could find was in a little slimy
pool covered with green.

We reached Maha Ella at five o’clock. This village consisted of about three isolated Veddah huts in
the middle of some Chena land. Chena is a piece of land reclaimed from the jungle, cultivated for a
year or two and then allowed to relapse. It is a very destructive form of cultivation and causes the
loss of much valuable timber. At one of the huts our guide appeared to have a ‘friend’ and the
men decided to put up there for the night. We did not like having our sleeping quarters so close to
the Veddahs and suggested pitching our tent some distance away on the Chena land. The men
warned us against this as there were aliyas (elephants) and other wild animals about. So we had to
put up our tent within a few feet of the hut. The village was lost in admiration of our little
bangalawa (bungalow).

We now met our second wild Veddah, carrying a bow and arrow with feathered end and iron tip.
On his shoulder he bore a hatchet. This man was small and nearly black, with long curly hair and a
much-scarred body. He had a low retreating forehead and was a typical stone-age aboriginal. He
allowed us to take his photograph in return for a box of matches. He looked fierce and talked
loudly and caught me by both wrists. We began to realise that this was probably a sign of
friendliness. For a long time he stood in the doorway of the tent and refused to move even when

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the rain came down in a deluge and we were forced to close the flaps. We suspected that our
neighbours would try to rob us in the night. We took the precaution of explaining to our porters at
the outset that we carried practically no money, but that it would be waiting for us at
Polonnaruwa. I think they did not believe us. Before we went to bed we put loose newspaper all
round the tent inside to alert us. Sure enough, when everybody had apparently settled for the
night we heard somebody move stealthily towards the tent. But in the dark he tripped over one of
the guy-lines and gave himself away. After that we were left in peace, but took turns to keep
awake.

A Veddah inspects our camp

The next day our men proposed a new route. But we took the law into our own hands and insisted
we must go to Polonnaruwa through Dastota. So we set out. The Veddah ‘friend’, a silent, morose
sort of man, came with us as additional guide. Then the man with the bow and arrow turned up
again and joined the procession for about two miles along a sandy bed of a jungle oya (stream).
When we emerged into park country, our queer little Veddah escort sang and danced to us and
then disappeared into the jungle to “shoot his breakfast.”

So far we had seen no big game at all – only jackals, rock squirrels, monkeys and mongoose. We
heard a bear cough close to us in the jungle, but he did not appear. Now in the open park land we
saw numerous tall, graceful birds – black with white heads and tails, a sort of crane. To fly they ran
a few steps along the ground to get a push off. Their wings in flight were narrow and long. The
suddenly a herd of wild buffalo took fright and stampeded. Herds of deer in great numbers

81
appeared in the grass at the edge of the forest. One magnificent tall stag stood with head erect to
get a scent. We had a splendid view of him before the whole herd fled into the jungle.

Our men were weary and hungry. Their food was giving out and they had only some plain yams to
eat at Maha Ella. They had depended on being able to get curry-stuffs and sambal on the way in
the villages. This proved a forlorn hope. These jungle folk are all desperately poor and to a large
extent live only on yams and meat. In all the 80 miles of our trek, there was not a single place
where anything could be bought at all, not even at Hembarawe. Later on we gave them a loaf of
bread and some cheese and shared our raisins, tea and condensed milk. Owing to the longer route
we, too, were beginning to run low in our stores. By about three o’clock there was a thundery sky
and we were still seven miles from Kalukolawala. We had to pitch our camp quickly in the midst of
park land, the pasturage of innumerable beasts. For water there were a couple of buffalo swamps.
We lent the men one of our ground sheets and they erected some sort of shelter for themselves.
After the downpour, our guides shot a fine young stag which they cut into pieces and smoked all
night on a platform of twigs over a big fire. That night they had a royal feast – a fitting savoury to
their rice. They gave us some of the meat, but it was too tough. We ate some of the liver though.

All night they kept the watch fires going and shouted and beat tins to keep the animals away.
Elephants trumpeted nearby and deer barked, but nothing came close.

Since the night at Maha Ella we had suspicions that these men were hatching a plot to rob us and
perhaps abandon us in the forest. Possibly they believed we were going to cheat them and that
when we had got to Topa Wewa we would not pay them. We considered it might be safer to
secure our possessions at least. Perhaps they thought we had more money than we had led them
to believe and our story that it was waiting for us at Topa Wewa was merely a blind. That night,
when they thought we were asleep, the talk around the fire became more definite. There was
constant reference to our keys, our money, our boxes and especially our hats, which being double
terais, would do “for four men.” They sang songs of what they would do with the money and how
our goods would be divided. One young fellow was going to send his mother on a pilgrimage to
the Perahara at Alutnuwara. These songs were interspersed with invocations to Kiriamma, a spirit
of the forest and to the Raja of Binthenne – whoever that might be. Our men were superstitious.
Before entering a jungle they always broke a twig to appease the jungle spirit. When we crossed a
stream they splashed some water to propitiate the water-spirit.

Whatever their plots may have been – and our limited Sinhalese made this a little uncertain – we
felt we should be wary. We thought the plan might be carried into operation the next night at the
“Big River.” Why it was being postponed so late we could not imagine. They had wonderful
opportunities day and night in this lonely jungle. Perhaps it was only wild talk – talk which made
them feel strong and brave in the night. In the day-time they were just simple village folk, very
charming, helpful and courteous. In retrospect I think that we were the victims of a too vivid
imagination. We put together a story from the few words we understood. Whatever the truth, we
were afraid and even considered plan of abandoning our possessions and giving them the slip in
the night. We went so far as to pack our rucksacks in the dark with some bare essentials. Luckily

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we gave this idea away, as we could never have found our way through these miles of dense
jungle. But we decided we would keep close together all the time and walk only in the rear of the
procession.

Provisions were running low. Most of our bread, wet with mould, we had to throw out the night
before. The men scrambled for it. We hoped we might procure something at Yakkure, a Sinhalese
village large enough to have a school, as we saw by the survey map. The silent, brooding Veddah
escorted us for a few miles where the jungle path was almost entirely obliterated by swamps or
fallen leaves, or merely wound along the bed of a little stream. Some of the dried meat had been
stowed away in a hiding place, ready to be picked up on the return journey. Soon the Veddah took
leave of us and we were not sorry to see the last of him. He was uncanny. At Kalukoluebbe we
obtained another guide. We were glad the ‘friend’ whom our men had expected to find here was
absent. We did not much care for their friends. But we made use of his hut to boil some tea. Jan
and I kept strict guard while it was being made in case a poison mal (flower) should be inserted.

At last we arrived at Yakkure, where we had decided to seek the help of the school-master. But
alas: the school was closed and the school-master away and the village headman, too. But we saw
a man in the crowd, which had collected to see us, with a crucifix tattooed on his chest. Knowing
he was a Roman Catholic we thought we might appeal to him when the opportunity offered. Our
porters never seemed to leave us alone. But finally Jan managed to slip away to the Catholic’s hut
and explain our dilemma to him. He promised to find us another tracker with a gun. The tone of
this village was so entirely different from the wild Veddah villages through which we had come,
that we decided to make the school-room our head-quarters for the night, rather than camp at
Dastota on the “Big River” where disastrous plots might be hatched against us in the night. When
we told the men we were too tired to go on, their faces fell. They had no ‘friends’ in this village.
And they became surprisingly angry when we stated that we intended taking an additional guide
from this village to Topa Wewa. We refused to allow our porters to share the school-room with us
and in the night again we put crumpled newspaper all around the inside of the low wall. We made
our beds on the school forms and put a kitchen knife and torch under our pillows. We kept watch
again in turns through the night.

We ate the last of our mouldy bread and disguised its flavour with sardines and condensed milk –
an awful mixture. The men ate the last of their rice. Nothing was procurable in the village and
there was no boutique of any sort. The people seemed to live mostly on meat and buffalo milk and
had nothing to spare. One of our men brought us some wild honey in the comb, which he found
on a tree, but we foolishly feared poison and buried it. Around mid-night a herd of buffaloes broke
into the school compound and stampeded. We did not realise for some time what the noise was
about and felt alarmed.

The next day we shared our tea and few remaining water biscuits and raisins with the men and set
out on the last stage of our journey with an additional guide. The path was even swampier than on
previous days. All this swampy water had a bad effect on Jan’s septic tick-bites. We crossed the
swollen Mahaweli Ganga in a precarious dugout without an outrigger.

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 The ferry at Dastota

On the other side was Dastota, marked as a village on the map. But there was only a group of
abandoned huts at the edge of the jungle. Dastota Wewa was a glorious sight, covered with pink,
white and blue lotus and water-lilies. This tank was also abandoned. Next we came to the Nalande
Ganga flowing wide and flooded. There was no ferry and our men were inclined to abandon the
attempt to ford it. However, Jan and I put on our bathing gowns and plunged in and the men
formed a line behind us, carrying the luggage on their heads. The water was up to our necks and
the strong current carried us off our feet. Eventually we got across, and with dry luggage. Finally,
we had to walk through some miles of hot, low, scrubby jungle. At last, hungry and weary, we
reached the Rest House at Polonnaruwa in the early afternoon. We had walked 16 miles with
nothing to eat except two biscuits each in the early morning. Our men had little spunk left in them.
Here we found our servant, Abraham, who had been waiting for two days. To these simple folk he
seemed an impressive figure in his coat. They called him “Mahatmaya” (master). This so elated
Abraham that next day as we left, he tipped one of the Rest House servants.

We paid off our guides and porters. We had grown fond of these jungle folk. They were so simple
and ingenuous. The last we saw of them they were quarrelling over our empty tins and bottles. I
have related the story as we felt it at the time, but I realise now that it admits of an entirely
different interpretation. These men may have been entirely guileless and had no evil intentions
against us. At any rate we decided that if ever we visited Hembarawe again, we would take
presents of soap, tobacco, tins and bottles!

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As soon as they were gone we had a wonderful hot bath each. Then we ate and ate – especially
fruit and vegetables, which we had scarcely seen for a week. Finally we slept for hours. After that
we felt much better, only Jan’s sores were worrying her a good deal.

He next day we set out for Trincomalee but stayed the night at Kantale Tank. Most of the journey
was by bus – not a very comfortable mode of travel. European ladies were always given the front
seat with the driver. But we were right over the radiator and our feet got increasingly hot. There
was also a horrible smell of petrol, but on the whole if was preferable to the smell of damp human
bodies.

In the morning some nasty aggressive European men came to the Rest House. One had a gun and
he stood on the verandah and shot at every single bird he saw on the tank – pelicans, divers and
any other harmless thing. It was vile. Fortunately, he missed most of them. A little later the bus
called for us and we went on to Trincomalee. Here one of my pupils took charge of us and we
visited the Naval Dock Yards along the harbour.

In the Rest House at Trinco was a queer little drunken Sinhalese man. He was, so his prospectus
stated, a "Dentist and Toothache Specialist". A notice in our bedroom said that the management
could not hold themselves responsible for the loss of valuables, "provided they are put in charge
of the rest-house keeper."

On the way to Batticaloa, the bus was rowed or towed across seven streams and lagoons,
including three mouths of the Mahaweli Ganga. The Rest House stands on a large lagoon. At night
fishermen line the edges with lanterns and little casting nets of fibre. The fish are attracted by the
light. “Tiny”, an old boy of the College, discovered us and at once took charge. After dinner we
took a little narrow dug-out on to the lagoon to hear the singing fish. These fish are to be heard
only here, at Aden and in the Panama Canal. It was a nice moonlit night, so the fish were musical,
as they are not always. They refused to sing for the Governor when he came. They have about ten
notes and sing from the floor of the lagoon. It sounds like an orchestra tuning up, or a mouth-
organ blown in and out, or as Jan says, a “series of musical creaks.” One can hear them more
clearly by putting the oar to one’s ear. Of course, the mosquitoes were atrocious.

On the way to Badulla we bought little pots of curds for five cents each. The pots were of earthen-
ware and hold about two pints each. As the pots were thrown in, the curds were cheap enough.
The bus men bought up a lot and sold them in the hills later on for fifteen cents. At Badulla
another pupil took us to a picnic at the beautiful Dunhinde Falls. There is a legend that in the pool
at the base lives a fish which carries in its mouth a golden ring with a precious stone. But any who
try to catch the fish have fallen in and been drowned in the strong eddies and currents.

After the picnic we went straight down to Ratnapura to stay again with Bertie and his wife at
Timitar Estate. Ratnapura is the famous gem district of Ceylon [See chapter end-notes on gems].
Bertie took us to visit a gem pit. We walked through a rubber estate and swampy paddy fields.
Most of the pits are in paddy fields. A pit is somewhat like a coal shaft, usually not very wide.
Many feet down is a bed of clay and sand deposited by a prehistoric stream, in which the gems are

85
embedded. The gem-diggers bring up the sand and clay and pile it into a mound outside. The
whole of it gets washed in wicker baskets. All the clay and pebbles are washed away leaving only
stones. The larger stones are tossed to one side. After washing about 20 baskets, the small stones
at the bottom are examined. Gems, being heavier than ordinary stones, sink to the bottom. They
found nothing while we were there, but the previous day found a fair-sized blue sapphire, some
yellow sapphires and amethysts. The gems are auctioned and the proceeds divided among the few
shareholders, the manager and gemmers. They are all on the alert that nothing is stolen. The work
is done in the drier weather from December to March mainly by the Sinhalese, to whom its
gambling nature strongly appeals.

Bertie drove us down to Hambantota, where we arrived at sunset. The coast is beautiful here with
many sweeping bays and cliffs. En route we passed a gipsy camp with the little palm-leaf open
huts on either side of the road and innumerable dogs and donkeys.

Next day he drove us up to Kandy, where we arrived just half an hour before our first staff
meeting. The Principal was relieved to see us but was annoyed that we had taken such “fool-hardy
risks”.

Ceylon Gems
Corundum - When opaque, it is used as an abrasive. When transparent: sapphires in white, red (ruby), blue,
purple (oriental amethyst), green (oriental emerald - rare), yellow or orange (oriental topaz). The blue
sapphire is one of the most beautiful of Ceylon gems. The ruby and sapphire often have a milky-ness or silk.
When cut in a rounded form they show a star, known as star rubies or star sapphires, only found in Ceylon.
Zircon - Known as tourmaline when cut as a gem. It usually has a dull green colour which changes its tint
according to the direction of the light. The fine leaf-green colour is the most valuable. It can also be in
yellow, orange or red. The so-called Matara diamond, set in native jewellery, is colourless zircon obtained
by burning pale and poorly coloured stones.
Garnet – The red garnet, when cut en cabochon is known as carbuncle. A brown garnet is known as a
cinnamon stone. A magnificent flame red stone, a garnet containing manganese, is sometimes seen and
commands a high price.
Topaz – The white stone is cheap. When pale green, it is sold as aquamarine.
Beryl – Pale green specimens are common, also known as aquamarine. Dark green beryl is the emerald,
very rare in Ceylon.
Chrysoberyl – Pale green or yellow. A valuable variety is the alexandrite which is dark green by day and
crimson in artificial light. When silky in appearance it can be cut as a cat’s eye – a stone showing a sharp
line or ray of light along the middle. The cat’s eye is almost peculiar to Ceylon and is most prized when of a
fine green colour with a sharp ray.
Spinel – These are cheap stones with poor lustre, in red, blue, violet and green. Fine red and blue
specimens are liable to be mistaken for rubies or sapphires.
Quartz – Colourless, transparent quartz is known as rock crystal. When yellowish-brown it is cut as a gem
and may be known by the Scotch term cairngorm. If violet it is known an amethyst.

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Feldspar – Some of the Ceylon orthoclase feldspar, especially in the Kandy district, is semi-transparent and
shows a peculiar sheen, sometimes blue (the more valuable), sometimes white “moonstone”. It is a
beautiful but undervalued gem.
Cordierite – Known as water sapphire, a name often incorrectly given to white topaz. It is rarely found.
Andalusite – This is a somewhat rare and curious stone. When cut in an oblong shape it shows a pale green
colour with red patches in the four corners.
Gems are cut in Ceylon on lead wheels or laps, as a rule, with powdered corundum. But moonstones are cut
with wooden laps and powdered garnet. When the right shape has been obtained, it is polished on a
copper lap with the ash of a [rice] paddy straw.
The island has been famous for gems from very early times. They are mostly found in the alluvial plains to
the south-west of the Adam’s Peak range of mountains.
(Condensed from hand-written notes attributed to Miss C. Krause).

Gemmers at Ratnapura

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 28

TWO KINDS OF DROUGHT

(October 1934)

We are in the middle of the worst drought on record. Animals are dying in the jungles, and even
the leeches in Lady Horton’s are disappearing. In Jaffna monkeys come down and steal from the
villages.

There is a legend that one of the tanks is inhabited by an eel. If one could catch it by the tail it was
cause rain to fall. So the villagers emptied the tank to catch the eel, losing all the water they had.

The Buddhists have begun a Poya for a week and on the fifteenth the Tooth is to be displayed.
This, they say, will definitely bring rain. But I fear it will only bring the crowds to Kandy, where the
reservoir is only a muddy swamp. Lake water is being taken around in carts. People store it in all
the buckets and pots they can lay hands on. Long queues wait for the cart every day and there is
much quarrelling. But in Mannar, the newspaper reports, the asses brayed all night. This is
regarded as an infallible sign of rain. “Another equally certain sign,” it says, “is that all the frogs in
the swamps and lagoons have begun to croak, and were at it all night.”

Letter received by the Paynters from a young teacher Dominus Vobiscum:

“Dear Madam,

“I and the rest of our teachers are quite well here Dei gratia in your kind care. We one and
all earnestly for your safety return.

“En rapport to your orders, I have taken charge of the I. C. M. School at N__. Right from the
start I am doing my duty examino. But I am undergoing a thousand difficulties for my daily
bread. Have come out of the Training School as an in formapauperis. I do not have ready
money in hand. I have been trying for a little help live et ubique but in vain. Consequently I
feel hard for meals in a fine new village.

“As you are in loco parentis, I look ardently upon you for help in this ex recessiate rei. I beg
to remind you that I did not take any amount in advance on the day of your departure.
Nolens Volens I could not but keep quiet when you were pleased not to pay me in advance.

“So I humbly request you to be kind enough to send me some money ie quantum meruit or
sufficient for me pro tempore. Afterwards my labor omnia Vincit. Thanking you in
anticipation.

Viola tout,
With reverence I remain,
Yours obediently”

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 29

YALA GAME SANCTUARY

(April 1935)

We proposed to leave Kandy in two cars, Martin’s and mine. Most of the preliminary
arrangements were left to me, such as obtaining a permit from the Minister of Agriculture,
booking the Buttala area and a tracker and collecting all the food. We expected to buy bread en
route. I went on ahead with Mabel, as Martin’s car had parts scattered all over the grass. He had a
leaking radiator but was sure he could get everything together again in time to meet us at the
Tissamaharama Rest House at mid-day next day.

The weather was uncertain. At Pussellawa, where we finally procured bread, it began to rain hard,
but cleared for a while as we got near the foot of the Ramboda Pass. Then there was a black
deluge and for some time we had to shelter under some trees in case we got water in the petrol
tank. It was only 4 p.m. but got very dark going up the Pass. At last we arrived at the N’Eliya
Mission House and had a pleasant evening before a cosy fire.

Next morning we left early to avoid any more rain up-country. It was a beautiful morning with the
mountains in the distance a clear, brilliant blue. Between Welimade and Bandarawela we had
wonderful views over undulating patinas (grass lands), with their rounded hummocks and distant
mountains. From the top of Haputale the low-country looked like a wide blue sea with little island
hills in the midst and dark cloud shadows passing rapidly across. In some places there was rain, like
great circular whirl-winds of mist. In the distance we saw the triple peaks of Kataragama, a place
sacred to the Hindus. Here they hold an annual festival, when men in a frenzy of religious devotion
walk over red-hot coals or hasten along roads with a large number of hooks piercing the flesh of
their backs.

Then we ground our way down the long, winding Pass. At Koslande the Diyaluwa Falls were
magnificent after the rain. We lay on our backs on some rocks below and watched the misty spray
lightly splashing onto the jutting rocks down the precipice, pouring down like snow-drift. We
arrived at Wellawaya in the rain, only to find that all accommodation at the Rest House was gone,
so we had to return to Koslanda for the night. The next morning it was clear again and we left
early for Tissamaharama, where we arrived just after mid-day.

Tissa is full of ancient ruins and dagabas. It is a pilgrim centre, sacred to Buddhists, because
Princess Sanghamitta settled there after she brought to Anuradhapura a branch of the sacred Bo-
tree under which Gautama Buddha had found Enlightenment in India. Sanghamitta was a priestess
and the daughter of King Asoka. She came to Ceylon at the request of her brother, Mahinda, who
wanted her to teach the hundreds of women converts to Buddhism. This was much against the
wish of her father, who pleaded that he would be left lonely in his old age, but Sanghamitta felt
she could not disregard her brother’s appeal. So she came to Ceylon with 11 other priestesses and

89
as a result of her teaching many noble ladies were ordained to the priest-hood, including Anula,
the wife of King Tissa’s younger brother.

Just as we reached the Rest House we met Martin and Clifford, arriving on foot, looking
dishevelled. The radiator was beyond repair and they had to travel by three different newspaper
buses all night. The bag of vegetables was lost on the way. The lack of Martin’s car complicated
matters. Yala was 29 miles from Tissa, along a rough jungle track. It would take a long time in a
little car which could hold only two people and little luggage. So we decided to hire a bullock-cart
for the baggage and stores, while we drove and walked in relays. Mabel ransacked the village for
vegetables.

At the Rest House Mabel nearly came to grief. She found what she thought was a coiled up piece
of chain lying on the floor by her bed and was just going to pick it up when it un-wound itself. It
was a tik-pollonga of the most dangerous kind. It darted away, but the Rest House Keeper
managed to despatch it before it disappeared through the window.

The cart left at 2.30 a.m. but we waited until 9. The two men squeezed into the car and I drove
them to the jungle track to join the cart, while I returned for Mabel. The track was anything but a
motor road. It was full of boulders, deep sand and ruts, stumps of trees and thorny bushes. We
were now in the dry zone in the midst of low jungle, sand and thorn-trees. Every now and then we
passed a half-dried up, abandoned tank. Most of the time I had to drive on bottom gear to avoid
the bumps and a smashed axle. Some of the shrubs had thorns, several inches long. We had to
examine the tyres constantly to see that none of them had penetrated. Several had, but we got
them out before they punctured the inner tube. The track ran almost parallel to the sea, but
behind several lines of sand-hills. At one spot by a lagoon we came across masses of pig, deer and
buffalo, grazing together in the greatest amity.

Half way through the morning we reached Palatupana Circuit bungalow, where we decided to
leave the car and walk the remaining 12 miles to Yala. It was a risky thing to do, as the tracker was
waiting for us at Yala. We had no guns and the Reserve was full of wild buffaloes. We met many
herds of buffalo as we turned into a fairly open plain. Often we avoided them by leaving the track
and hiding among the trees. If any had charged, our only protection would have been the low
bushes or an occasional tree we might have climbed. It was blazing hot and we got weary and
parched. We rested several times in the shade. Once, a herd of spotted deer passed across the
path ahead of us in almost single file. We got very close, but suddenly one of them saw us, gave a
funny little frightened bark and they all fled. Next a peacock started up near us. There were a few
jackals and a lot of bleached bones. After three hours of heat, sand and the interminable track we
came to a great outcrop of rock, for a view of the sea. It was a lovely sight. We could see and hear
the big waves breaking on the yellow sand.

At last a tracker met us with a note from Travice, the Game Warden and an Old Boy of the College.
He said it was less than a mile further and there was plenty of tea waiting for us. At his little

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bungalow we drank tea as never before. It is remarkable how quickly one can revive after all the
weary strain.

We had no idea of the risk we were running, walking through the Reserve without a tracker or
firearms. There was a rogue elephant at large. One of the watchers met the rogue while collecting
his bulls and he had to flee for his life. Some of them met dangerous buffaloes and had to shin up
trees. That is their only protection, as they are not allowed to carry firearms. A few days later the
rogue visited the bungalow and broke off the disk of Travice’s sun-dial.

The bungalow was on the bank of the Menik Ganga, which forms one boundary of the Game
Sanctuary. Just across we could hear the animals and peacocks all day long. Between us and the
sea, about a quarter of a mile away, were jungle and sand-hills. The Menik Ganga was deep and
swollen through up-country rains. It had formed a great sand-bar across the mouth, so that the
pent-up waters had over-flowed into the Sanctuary and formed lakes. So for the time being it was
impossible for us to cross into the Sanctuary. Travice had sent men to dig through the bar, but so
far without success.

The next morning we went along to look at the barrier. It was about ten yards wide and at least six
feet high and ran right along the beach, so that the shut-in river water formed a sort of narrow
lake on the inside. The men had dug down almost level with the sea. Travice said they would try
again next day.

We expected to be able to bathe in the sea, but a few feet from the shore we saw a shark’s fin
protruding. Travice shot at it, but we realised how unsafe it was, quite apart from the shelving
coast and backwash. Then we climbed a mound overlooking the Sanctuary. It was as though
staged for our special benefit. On the plain in front we saw herds of pigs, deer and buffaloes, all
grazing together. Further along on the sea cliff was a lonely elephant flapping its ears and trunk.
There were peacocks strutting about everywhere. Near the mouth of the stream was a large
buffalo with only his great head and horns showing above the water. On the sand-hills near us
were lots of large grey monkeys with black faces.

Then we sat outside the bungalow on what Travice called his “lawn”. It was a large wooden
platform erected to avoid the dust and sand. On our side of the river on the bank was a huge tree
full of horn-bills, making a ridiculous clatter. On the other side were three magnificent peacocks
preening themselves and spreading out their brilliant tails. As it got darker we flashed our torches
along the banks to see if there were any beasts. We saw the gleam of a crocodile’s eyes, like two
red rubies. Travice fired a shot to frighten it away and there was no further gleam. A baby
elephant came down to the water to drink and some deer began to bark. It was so very peaceful,
until the mosquitoes drove us indoors.

The next morning we walked a few miles along the river bank and saw hosts of pig, deer, sambur,
jackals, monkeys and talagoyas (large ungainly lizards several feet long). We hid on the bank,
hoping a leopard might come down to drink, but only deer and buffalo came.

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After tea we went down to the beach again to see what progress the men had made at the bar
and found they had cut it a quarter of an hour before. The waters were rushing through madly,
making the channel wider and wider. It was terrifying. The roar of the water was so great that we
could not hear each other shout. In an hour the river had gone down three feet and the channel
had increased to 30 yards from its initial four feet. The men found lobsters stranded when the
water subsided. River fish which were carried down by the force of the current, fought hard at the
mouth against being carried into the sea, but they had no chance and the salt water quickly killed
them. A big crocodile was stranded among the reeds. The men gave chase, but it got away. As we
were returning over the sand-hills we heard a baby sambur in the bushes. When we approached it
ran out but we gave chase and eventually caught it. It struggled hard, but it would have been
eaten by a leopard in the night. It was only about two months old and the difficulty was to feed it.
At last we tried Klim in a bottle and the creature took to it with enthusiasm. It kept the men awake
nearly all night, but next morning it was much tamer. It was making inroads on our store of Klim
and we were afraid we should run out all together. However, it solved the problem for us by
jumping over the fence and disappearing.

The waters have now quite subsided and we left early with two bullock-carts for the Sanctuary.
After a mile along the bank we crossed the stream by the ford and then more with thick, slimy
mud at the bottom. At one crossing of a brackish sea-lagoon the floor was so slippery that we had
to hold on to the carts to keep our footing. It was a 12 mile walk through the Sanctuary to a fresh
water well where we were to camp for several days. We constantly met herds of deer, pig, sambur
and buffalo. At one place there were flocks of crows and jackals around a carcase. The tracker,
Andris, found it was the carcase of a bull belonging to one of the watchers. It had strayed across
the stream into the Sanctuary the night before and been killed by a leopard. We met several of the
jackals carrying off bits of the bull. They are nasty, slinking creatures, but the friend of all the
jungle animals. A jackal can eat a carcase with a leopard in complete safety. This is because the
jackal often helps to find food for the leopard by advertising the fact when it finds anything dead,
or even alive. Then it eats the less attractive parts, which the leopard does not relish.

We photographed pig and buffalo on the way. I got fairly close to a buffalo, under the protection
of the tracker. But I did not dare go any closer in case it should charge and that would have meant
shooting it in the Sanctuary. It objected to my photo and snorted loudly. We had to watch it for
some time in case it crept up behind us – a favourite trick of theirs.

We reached our camping site by the fresh water well half-way through the Sanctuary. This is
where pilgrims camp on their way from Jaffna to Kataragama, sometimes with disastrous results.
Recently some of them had lost their lives to prowling leopards. We arrived shortly before mid-day
and pitched our two tents, nets and ground-sheets, one of the tents being for “Master” and “Sir”.
“Master”, of course, was Travice, but which was “Sir”?

After lunch we bathed in a stream nearby. Trackers had to come with us with guns, in case of
buffaloes or crocodiles. We could not move from the camp without a tracker. Our stream was in
the midst of a huge plain. Herds of pig and buffalo, and further off, deer, watched us with the

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deepest interest, while the trackers sat on guard on the bank. That night a leopard prowled about
so the men got little sleep.

The next day we set out to photograph animals, but at first the wind was blowing in the wrong
direction and most of the deer vanished. So we made our way through the jungle. First we met
two bulls, one so large I thought it was an elephant. They stood and snorted, pawing the ground
and looked as if they might charge at any moment. We squatted by a tree while the tracker yelled
and threw mud at them. At last they went. On the plain there were three large pigs and six baby
ones. When anything frightened them one of the big pigs led the way, then came the little ones
and finally the other two big ones in the rear – all in single file. They looked very funny. Then we
crouched again to watch a large iguana come flopping towards us with clumsy gait. It put its
tongue out at every step. When it got about three yards form us without seeing us, I stood up to
photograph it. But it dashed away at terrific speed. The little group of pigs did not see us until they
were close. I got a lovely snap. They stood in sheer amazement until I had finished.

We had to crawl along on our hands and knees to get close to a wonderful looking herd of deer
with some beautiful antlers. I crawled very close and got a fine picture of them massed together.
Again they were too amazed to flee at once. Then they gave their little surprised frightened bark
and stampeded.

This evening we had prawns from the lagoon for dinner. The leopard left us alone as we had
watch-fires all night. But a little baby bandicoot came and fed out of our hands. It spent the night
with us. The next morning we rose early for a trek through the jungle to Mandugala rocks and
caves – a distance of five miles. We met the usual crowd of animals. Just before we reached the
rocks we came upon a little lily pond with a lone elephant standing in the middle spraying himself
with his trunk. We crept closer and got some fine snaps before he saw us. Mandugala is a crop of
rocks over 500 feet high. Near the top we saw a bricked-up rock cave with doors and some
dagabas. We did not climb up as the growth is very dense and it is now the haunt of bears and
leopards. Nearby are abandoned tanks, over-grown with scrub and jungle. On the way back we
boldly drank some water from a pond, squeezing lime-juice into it, which we hoped might disinfect
it. It probably did, as none of us developed enteric.

We decided to leave our camping ground that night instead of waiting until next day. This was to
spare the bulls which had a long trek before them after our return. So after tea and a bathe we
packed up. We had dinner by lantern-light in the open amidst a cloud of mosquitoes, while a
leopard prowled about close by among the trees. The carts were ready packed by 7.30 and off we
went. We were told to stay close to the carts for protection, while Travice and two trackers went
ahead flashing torches into the jungle on both sides.

When we got to a brackish lagoon a herd of elephants was close by trumpeting and growling,
evidently annoyed at us. Travice fired into the air to frighten them away, but it had no effect. They
still trumpeted loudly. After a while we plunged into the water, holding on to the carts. There was
a slight moon, but we could see nothing, except the flash of a crocodile’s eyes in the torch light.

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Progress was very slow. Then Travice wanted us to make a noise, unless he gave the signal to stop.
So we sang loudly all the songs we could think of, but it made us rather breathless. We passed
bears near the track, but did not see them – only heard them grunt. Quite often buffaloes had to
be frightened off, and several times elephants. We went on gaily, trusting implicitly Travice and
the trackers. But they had a nerve-racking time searching the jungle. One of the trackers said we
were the first people who had come through in the night. At about mid-night it came on to rain
and that made us all feel much cooler. Several times we had to cross swamps and nearly lost our
shoes in the thick mud and slush. Eventually we reached the border stream, which fortunately was
not swollen. We reached the bungalow at 1.30 a.m. and went to bed as soon as the carts were
unloaded. Travice was much relieved that he had got us all through safely.

We woke at 4.30 a.m. for an early start to Palatupana. Then we picked up the car and headed off
in relays to Wirawla tank near a bird sanctuary, to find a camping ground for the night. It was
terribly hot and the camping ground was a poor one, I thought. There was too much grass and it
was near a village buffalo pasture ground, probably full of ticks. We had already suffered a little
from these, especially Clifford. The water was filthy, just a buffalo swamp and like thick pea soup.
However, we had our tea there. The tea was quite thick and in the bottom of the can was about an
inch of sediment. After that we moved to a flatter place along the road.

At six-thirty we were having our dinner in the half-light, when a villager on a bicycle stopped on
the road and stood and watched for some time. I was beginning to feel irritated, when another
man came along. The two of them conferred for a while. Then they came to us and told us in
Tamil, which Mabel understood, that our camping place was not safe. The night before a rogue
elephant, two tigers (meaning leopards) and a bear had been there and would likely come again at
seven o’clock. They urged us to go to the circuit bungalow of Wirawila, half a mile away. By this
time another man and a Buddhist priest had come along and all added their bit to the lurid story. It
was now just on seven. We had to stop in the middle of the meal and load the car in the dark.
Martin drove the car to the bungalow, dumped the luggage and returned for a passenger. The
bungalow was shut, with a light inside and there was no one about. However, we managed to
break in and we made ourselves comfortable in the mosquito-proof room to finish our meal. The
caretaker turned up and seemed rather amused to find us in possession. However, he agreed
about the elephant. We tried to sleep on the verandah but the mosquitoes were very bad. Soon
rain came in torrents and leaked on to our bedding. It was as well we were not camping, as we had
no tent. Mabel and Martin moved into the mosquito-proof furnace, but Clifford and I stuck it out
on the verandah. After a while the rain cleared and an elephant trumpeted a little way off. Finally
we slept a bit. We found many ticks on us in the morning.

A few days after returning to Kandy Clifford’s leg began bothering him. One of the tick bites was
turning septic. We poulticed it and he had it dressed every day. But it got worse and the other leg
also became infected. Then one leg seemed to clear up and he played tennis twice. But it got
worse again and half-way through the term he needed injections. He was laid up for a month,
getting steadily worse, with fever. The doctor sent him to hospital. He was there for five weeks

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and had to have two operations, as abscesses had formed deep down. Eventually the infection
went and after nearly three weeks in a convalescent home in Nuwara Eliya, poor Clifford was
ready to start a new term and rehearsals for “H M S Pinafore”, in which he is taking a leading part.

Ticks are tiny and burrow right in and weeks after start some infection. I know of a man who lost
his life through the blood poisoning caused by a tick bite.

Clifford spent all his money on doctors and hospitals so could not go to Burma next Christmas. The
rest of us got off lightly, except that I had to pay a hundred rupees to get the springs of my car put
right after all the overloading to which it had been subjected.

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 30

LIFE AND DEATH AT SCHOOL

(1935 - 1936)

In the night Ehelemalpe died in the sick room. It was malarial enteritis with colitis. I heard awful
howling in the night and for a moment thought it must be women shrieking, then decided it was
dogs or jackals. Actually it was his mother and sisters.

We all went to the funeral. I took my car, but never would have if I had known what a difficult road
it was – all hair-pin bends and precipices. The funeral was at 5 p.m. The women were shrieking and
making a terrible noise. One man kept shooting off a gun which made me jump. The grave was on
a hill-side in the loveliest surroundings of mountains, paddy fields and wonderful sky. The women
kept up an awful din (it is not considered proper not to). Mr Stoppard took the service. We kept
the women quiet while this went on. Different people made orations about the dead boy and the
brilliant fortune he was cut off from. It was very sad. The family are terribly poor and everything
had been sacrificed to give this boy a good education. He was 18 and in the Senior form.

Coming back to Kandy it was awful. Not only was it dark, but with a thunderstorm and rain in
torrents. I could not see at all and had to crawl. Edna had to tell me which way to go. I could not
keep the lights on full beam because of reflections against the rain. The lightning helped to show
me where the road was. It took 2 ½ hours to Kandy. We were wet through as I had to keep the
wind-screen open or else I could not see at all.

The doctors in Colombo have declared Kandy an unhealthy place. The result is that many children
are leaving the Kandy schools. Further, the Roman Catholics of St Antony’s have issued an
ultimatum to parents that if they send their children to Protestant schools they will have to do
penance. So many R C children are also being taken away from Kandy schools.

I later attended the funeral of Abdeen at Nawalapitya. He had malaria for 29 days – badly. The day
before at 4 p.m. the doctor gave him an atebrin injection. He was with him until 5.30 p.m. Half an
hour later he shot himself. It must have been cerebral malaria. He had left only two terms ago.

As a Moslem, his funeral took the form of a procession of only men. I was the only woman
present. He was buried on the estate near the main estate road, up a bank. He was carried on a
cane bier with a covering over it. His body only was placed in the grave. Three feet from the
bottom, planks were placed across and then the grave filled with earth over the planks. This leaves
room for the dead man to sit up when the angel comes to him and examines his past life to decide
between Hell and Heaven. When the grave was covered, flowers were placed on it and the priest
said many Arabic prayers, to which the people responded with “amen”.

The river picnic along the Teldeninga Road was a disaster. On the way, boys in two of the buses
threw stones at people on the road. One of the coolies working on the road lost his eyesight. They
were the younger boys of Napier and Ryde. They were severely caned, apologies were written by

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their parents, the boys were gated for the term and all pocket-money was diverted to pay for the
coolie. The whole school was punished by cancelling the holiday on 6 March. There will be no
picnics for a long time.

Further, small boys began to rifle the cocoa pods by the side of the river – after the estate owner
had given generous permission for the picnic to take place there. Many pods were picked.

The next disaster was that the cutlets for the picnic breakfast made nearly the whole upper school
sick for the night. Apparently competition for the bathroom was appalling. I too was afflicted. The
next day the boarders made it an excuse to cut school, though many were not ill. They were all
given salts and leave from class when necessary. Hardly a boarder turned up after roll-call.
Afternoon school was cancelled.

A further disaster was that Miss Hoffman put pork in with the cutlets, hoping it would not be
discovered. This is a terrible offence against the Moslems in the School. She was severely ‘blown
up’ by Mr Stoppard, who felt he ought to write to the parents and apologise. He was advised not
to and trust the news would not get to the parents. The boys merely suspected, but were not sure.

The last disaster was the discovery of itch in the Lower School. The Junior School boys refused to
come out of the water when they were told. The Cub picnic for Saturday was cancelled.

The boys were frightened by a ghost that comes in the night and makes weird noises. They have
heard it for several nights and are so terrified they will not go to the lavatory alone. A branch has
been broken there. This is a sure proof of a ghost. In this country ghosts are in the habit of
breaking branches – cleanly – no jagged edges. Kamanangara heard a noise in the night like a child
being strangled. Jim, Young and Little waited up last night until midnight. Then they did a prowl
around the compound. There were numerous dogs whining at the moon. The watcher saw the
ghost and then it disappeared. It is probably ‘Angus’ – the skeleton which the biology class
borrowed from Dr Hay. Angus must be roaming at night from his cupboard. The best thing is to
look inside the cupboard at night.

I had my first attack of malaria of the alternating kind. My temperature was 103° for four days.
The treatment was atebrin and plasmo-quinine – most unpleasant.

Mr Fraser’s story: A little girl asked her brother where God lived. He replied “In the W C.” The
mother remonstrated, but the boy persisted. “He does. Daddy says so. I heard him say to Him - My
God, are you still in there!”

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 31

THE RIVER
(April 1937)

Rest at noon - river trip

How nice it is to have a car of one’s own! Though I have had my Morris Minor for only two years, I
seem to have driven practically all over Ceylon. There are a few isolated spots not yet penetrated,
but they are on my list.

Nearly every morning before I have my morning tea, I go out, either around the Lake or to
Peradeniya Gardens or Lady Horton's. They are all lovely in the early morning, but perhaps the
Lake is loveliest of all, especially in January and February, when the nights are comparatively chilly
and a dense mist covers the water. As the sun rises the Lake seems to breathe out cold vapour
from its glassy surface and then the mist gradually rises in long delicate spirals which turn golden
and rosy in the early morning light. Finally, shafts of silver stab through the shadowy trees and the
lake is bathed in gleaming sunlight.

But this is about our trip down the Mahaweli Ganga. There were five of us in three cars, with
mountains of luggage piled chiefly in David's car. His car is nicer in appearance than mine, so I
have Eve as my passenger and only a little luggage. Besides David, Eve and me, there were
Stoppers, (the Principal) and Martin King. Our luggage consisted of something like 48 pieces,
including such things as a billy, frying pan, hurricane lantern, eggs, bread, rusks, onions, potatoes,

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mosquito nets, bedding, clothes and several bags of tinned food. The frying pan was the property
of the College Glee Club. But as the Club is under my jurisdiction, I could easily borrow it with no
questions asked. I need not explain why the Glee Club owns a frying pan. We own even odder
things.

Our immediate destination was Trincomalee, 114 miles away and we had to leave early as we had
to catch a bus from there at three o'clock. It was almost cold. All the way down the Balakaduwa
Pass to Matale there was thick mist, with occasional lovely glimpses of the mountains, all fresh
and bright in the rising sun. This mist lasted even in the low-country beyond Dambulla. I have
never known it like that before. Just before Dambulla a strange animal slunk across the road in
front of my car, the colour of a jackal but the body of a small leopard. It may have been a leopard-
cat.

Our first resting place was Habarane, at the junction to Polonnaruwa, where we proposed to
spend the first night. We deposited all our luggage in the Habarane Rest House, to await our
arrival in the evening from Tincomalee. The Rest House Keeper was very helpful and undertook to
hold up the Polonnaruwa bus for us, in case we arrived late. We cleaned and hung the jungle fowl
which David had shot on the way and went across the road to a little boutique for hoppers,
plantains and tea. We were doing this holiday on the cheap, so could not afford rest-house meals.
The hoppers (pancakes made from rice flour and no eggs) were particularly good, so we ate a
great many. Boutique tea David calls "taka taka tea" from the noise made by the boutique keeper
when he beats up the milk and sugar violently in the glass. The tea gets a sort of airy, uplifted
quality in it. The water is kept boiling all the time in an urn. The thick tea essence seems to be
boiling all the time too, but as the tea is made very weak, one hardly notices any bitterness.

Martin and Stoppers arrived an hour later, with the car missing on two cylinders, the steering
faulty and petrol consumption appalling. By this time it was very hot and Stoppers was feeling ill
with a high temperature after an enteric inoculation the previous day. We transferred him to
David’s car and put Martin’s in the middle in case it came to grief. I was at the back and felt quite
ill watching Martin’s zig-zagging progress on the road. It was difficult driving so slowly.

We reached Trinco at 12.30 and hunted up various people to see if they would park our cars
during our absence. We lunched at Fort Frederick under the shade of Swami Rock. We had to hand
over our cameras and guns before we entered the Fort, because Trinco is now the chief naval base
for the Eastern Squadron and is being strongly fortified in preparation for the next war. The sea
was marvellous – a brilliant blue-green without a ripple. When we got back to the town we had
fizzy drinks at a superior boutique. They turned on the gramophone for our special benefit. It was
of the particularly blatant variety and I begged them to stop. Of course they could not hear what I
said. Then we climbed into the bus, loaded with smelly dried fish. We got back to Habarane at five.
We found the bus to Polonnaruwa waiting for us and apparently in no great hurry. After loading it
with our luggage from the Rest House, we had some tea at our old boutique. The bus driver very
obligingly took us to Polonnaruwa station, two miles from the village. The station master allowed
us to spend the night there rather than in the jungle. There happened to be a suitable tree from

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which to hang our nets. There were masses of night flies and mosquitoes, making eating near the
lamp an unpleasant affair. The only protection against them was slacks. From then on Eva and I
abandoned skirts and wore shorts by day and longs at night.

We rose early and Eva and I went into the jungle to wash, taking a railway bucket with us for the
purpose. From this time on Eva and I always shared a small bucket of water for our ablutions,
dipping in our washers alternately. We bought hoppers and hot water for our tea from a nearby
boutique, but the hoppers were too sodden to eat.

We wondered how we were going to get to the railway bridge where we had arranged for canoes
to wait for us to take us down the river. There was a train due shortly. We thought if we went first-
class and Stoppers made himself important as the Principal of a prominent college and David, as
Ceylon’s leading artist, the engine-driver might be encouraged to stop the train at the bridge. It
would certainly be simpler than getting all our stuff carried by an army of men. In spite of some
reluctance by the Principal we decided to try it. When the train arrived Stoppers went along to the
driver with David and the station-master. The driver agreed, as long as we told nobody about it. So
we bundled in for the journey of a quarter of an hour and bundled out again at the bridge.

Our boatmen were there to meet us, six of them. Below the bridge were the two canoes which we
had ordered on faith through our old friend Bertie. The canoes were about thirty feet long and
three feet wide in the middle – just ordinary dugouts without outriggers, The boatmen were coast
Moors and spoke only Tamil. David knew a little Tamil and I knew less, a handicap, so we missed
some interesting things along the river as a result.

We put our luggage in one boat and clambered into the other ourselves. Each boat had three men,
one to steer with a paddle and two to row if necessary. They had taken three days to punt the 60
miles upstream from Trinco. We left the bridge at 9.30. The river was very wide here with low
green banks and distant blue mountains. There was a cool breeze blowing. Almost immediately
David shot a large bush-snipe sitting on a sand-bank. This, with yesterday’s jungle fowl, was to be
our chief course at supper. Stoppers went ashore and tried to get the mate of the snipe, but after
a long chase it flew to the other bank. Next we got stuck on a sand-bank and the boatmen had to
work hard to get us off again. It began to get hot and we looked for a spot to land. But on both
banks there was only tobacco cultivation and we hoped we should get clear of it around the next
bend. Finally we found a sand-bank shaded by trees with only a little grass. David had a horror of
grass because of ticks. They seem to flock to him and he easily goes septic. We bathed in the river
as there seemed to be no crocodiles. Opposite us were some huge precipitous rocks, on the face
of which elephants were carved, but they are fully visible only when the water is low. Nobody
knows who carved them or why or when.

After lunch we slept or read, lying on our ground sheets beneath the trees, until it got cooler at
four. Our unhappy fowl was more than a little high. So we gave it a watery burial and half-cooked
the snipe with potatoes and onions. We were now in much denser cultivation and there were even
little villages. The Coast Moors come up-stream in canoes, settle on the banks and clear the jungle

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for about 100 yards inland. Their huts, cattle and irrigation make the river ugly and uninteresting.
We did not want to camp in the midst of habitation and David continued hopeful about “the next
bend”. But it was getting later and the cultivation denser. We were forced to land on a sand-bank
immediately opposite a village. We were disappointed and saw no reason why the banks should
not be cultivated all the way to Trinco. Instead of jungle down to the water’s edge, as we
expected, there was only red earth and a few dusty green plants, with cattle and unwelcome
humans, who shouted to our boatmen and exchanged news in a language we did not understand.
Nevertheless we did see plenty of birds and monkeys. There were horn-bills, a crested devil-bird
and peacocks. The peacocks kept out of range of our guns. We passed a dead buffalo on the sand
and a large kabaragoya waddled away as we approached. One tree was bare of leaves and against
the sky we saw monkeys silhouetted in lovely positions just as in a Chinese picture.

We camped on the bare sand, tying up our nets on punting poles and branches which the men cut
from nearby trees. While the men made a fire of driftwood, boiled water and heated the stew, we
stood at the edge of the bank with buckets and tried to get clean. We did not dare to get into the
water – river crocodiles are fiercer than the tank ones. The stew was as tough as leather, but the
potatoes, onions and gravy were delicious. After brushing our teeth in the tea we went to bed.
Brushing of teeth was a difficulty on this trip. There was never enough boiled water. The others
seemed not to mind if the operation had to fall through sometimes. But I have rather a kink about
brushing my teeth – at least the others thought so.

We slept under the stars, but the dew dripped through my net. I had to get my raincoat and put up
my umbrella. This became a regular performance every morning at about three. The others had
bell nets which did not collect the water on top. The moon was a slender crescent and the dawn
was streaky and red. When the sun appeared the mist rose on the river, a lovely sight.

David boiled the eggs for breakfast as he hates them hard. But he forgot about them for six
minutes, so we had them hard after all. The river water was filthy, but we had to make tea with it.
By seven it was hot so we packed quickly and set off. Peacocks were on the trees, but always just
out of range.

At last to our joy we were clear of the cultivation. The jungle was marvellous – so dense, with
great creepers hanging from the trees into the water. There were straight, grassy banks and
overgrown islands. Several times crocodiles slithered into the water as we approached. When it
became too hot we landed and camped under the trees. Everywhere were tracks of elephants and
leopards. Bears had torn bark from the trees. We saw many pigs and wild buffaloes on the banks.
The boatmen wanted us to shoot them a buffalo, but David said that if we did, they would simply
gorge all night and sleep all the next day and we would never get them to move. He seemed to
speak bitterly from the depths of his heart.

Towards evening we landed on a sandbank at the edge of the jungle, but the mosquitoes and night
flies were awful. We wanted to fry sausages for dinner, but the flies were in a dense mass around
the fire and in the pan. The dead bodies were lying in heaps inches high. I have never seen

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anything like it. We tried to eat some food under a mosquito net, but even then they got inside
and drowned in the fruit juice. It was revolting. We could get nowhere near the lamp.

David went out early to try to shoot something. All night there were jungle noises and some
elephants had come down to bathe on the other side of the river. We heard plenty of deer, also
peacocks. But David came back empty handed.

By about eleven we came to a part with wonderful rain-trees hanging over the water. They were
planted there, as they are not jungle trees. Later we heard their story. About 60 years ago some
Englishmen came up the river in a boat from Trinco, built a house, settled down and began to
plant an estate. In their ignorance they used to order tinned salmon, sardines and fruit to feed
their coolies. They had whisky to drink and gave some to the coolies. In the end one of them
drowned in the river when a sudden squall capsized the sailing boat and the other drank himself to
death. The rain-trees were planted by them and that was all that was left of the estate. Philip, a
famous tracker of earlier days was a podeon (small boy) in the bungalow. We met him when we
got to Trinco and he told us the story. Now the place is a favourite haunt of wild elephants. David
and Martin met one when they went into the jungle a little way to see if they could get a peacock.
They stood petrified under a tree and waited for it to go. A little later they met it again, blocking
their way back to the camp. At last it departed. Then a peacock flew out of the tree just above
their heads. It must have been there all the time. They felt it was adding insult to injury.

This night we camped on a large sandbank, but it was full of elephant and crocodile tracks and the
boatmen did not like it at all. Towards sunset we went for a walk along the jungle by an elephant
track. Then we heard one among the bushes close by, so we went hurriedly and silently past.
Coming back we lost the track and found a buffalo track instead, with the result that we got
tangled up in a filthy bog in which the buffaloes had been wallowing. Our white canvas shoes
became the colour of slimy mud and no amount of cleaning ever changed them. For the night we
collected stacks of drift-wood, as we would have to keep watch-fires going all night. One large
crocodile appeared near the bank and seemed determined to come ashore in spite of our efforts
to drive it off. We saw its evil face come out of the water several times. We took turns at being on
guard and tending the fires all night. My watch was from one to three. The stars were lovely and I
did not feel at all sleepy. Every now and then I searched the bank with a torch. Tending the fires
made me thirsty and there was little water ready boiled. It was not safe to risk getting any out of
the river in the dark.

As soon as the sun rose it became hotter and we got wet through with sweat packing our bedding.
After a restful morning we set off for the last lap. The river changed now, as we neared the sea.
Sometimes it divided and the jungle gave place to pampas grass, reeds and mangroves. The sunset
was glorious, with wonderful reflections in the water. Just as the sun went down we suddenly
came to the end – a landing bridge among the mangroves. It belonged to the Rest House at
Muttur, about 18 miles from Trinco. There was no way of getting to Trinco that night. So we
packed all our stuff in a room at the Rest House and decided to camp on the beach for the night.
The Rest House Keeper was not over-pleased to see us. I suppose we did not look very attractive

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with our queer bundles and crumpled clothes. In any case he was not going to get much out of it.
We decided to have a first class meal after a bathe. Stoppers made a fire on the beach, not easy in
the wind. After dinner we brought down our ground-sheets and bedding and slept like tops. A few
crabs crawled over us.

At six next morning a cart came to take our stuff across the ferry to the boat which crosses the
Koddiyar Bay to Trinco Harbour. These are fairly large boats, partly rowing and partly sailing –
three of them. We had twelve rowers and a large and odd assortment of passengers and luggage.
All the rowers shouted to each other all the way to Trinco. It took two hours to cross as the wind
had died down and the sails flapped about. We raced with one of the other boats. The sea was
choppy and of course I was sick.

Just as we entered the mouth of the harbour and a smoother sea, a Moslem beggar musician
began to sing to the accompaniment of his tambourine. He had a pleasant voice and people
listened in silence. People do not as a rule applaud in Ceylon. The musician earned his passage for
his half-hour – 25 cents – and one cent over. Most of that came from our party. The other
passengers were not very generous and the cents came in slowly. One passenger had a faded
black umbrella on which he had patched a large hole with figured red Turkey twill. Things like that
never strike the people of Ceylon as funny. They were all tremendously interested in us. Some of
our boatmen were splendid, handsome fellows, with wonderful limbs.

After collecting our cars our next objective was Kuchchaveli circuit bungalow – 26 miles north of
Trinco. We had to cross three lagoons by ferries. On the banks were trees with lovely scarlet and
yellow flowers. We saw many climbing fish. The jungle along the road to Kuchchaveli is dense and
full of beasts, but we only saw black monkeys. The bathing from the circuit bungalow is the finest I
have had in Ceylon. The sea was smooth, the sand fairly hard and one did not get out of one’s
depth immediately. There are few places on the Ceylon coast where people could learn to swim.

Stoppers left us for his second inoculation. David took him to Trinco for his bus and train to Kandy,
then arranged to meet us at the Kumburepitti Tank. David had done some fine bear and leopard
shooting there before. But on this occasion he shot a jungle fowl and missed a peacock. We saw
plenty of deer and pig, besides mongoose and monkeys, but it was useless trying to get a pig and
take it along in our car. Jungle fowl was quite sufficient for our next dinner. We spread our
bedding over the sand, but black clouds were building up and a few drops of rain fell. David
eventually persuaded us to de-camp in our night attire to a Roman Catholic church he knew of, a
few miles away. It was a primitive little place, built by Father Reichard and his village folk, of mud,
cadjun and galvanised iron. Father Reichard is French and devotes his whole life to these poor and
ignorant villagers. Unfortunately, we did not meet him. By this time the stars were shining
brightly, so we camped under the trees in front of the church. In the night there was grunting
close to us. I thought it must be a village cow with a bad cold. Then there was an awful hullabaloo
and stampede into the jungle. Some earth was kicked onto my face and bedding. In the morning
we found it had been a herd of wild pig.

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After returning to Trinco David had persuaded the caretaker of the circuit bungalow at Kiliveddi to
allow us to spend the next night there. On the way we visited Andankulam, a lovely tank with
great masses of rocks and cliffs at one end, with fantastic trees growing right in the water. David
had used some of the rock formations in his College Chapel frescoes.

At the bungalow at Kiliveddi, never in my life have I experienced such mosquitoes. It was meant to
be mosquito-proof. We decided to have our food inside in comfort and sleep on the cement
verandah where it would be cooler. While preparing our meal we got bitten to death. Certainly the
doors and windows were all wired, but there was an open gap between the top of the walls and
the ceiling. The mosquitoes swarmed in on the light. We could easily understand why the
caretaker seemed so lethargic and unwilling to help with hot water and washing our dirty cups and
plates. I suppose he was riddled with malaria. We were careful not to forget our quinine that
night.

On the way back we camped on the beach at Kalkuduh – a favourite weekend spot for planters
from Batticaloa and estates further inland. In the morning the fishermen arrived early and began
to fish and talk around us. We watched them throwing a casting net over a shoal. Then a man had
to dive down to gather up the edges under water and bring it up full of fish. They were able to stay
under water a remarkably long time. Other men were catching larger fish with bait snared on a
three pronged hook flicked about in a mass of little fish. The water was quite dark with myriads of
fish of all sizes.

Next night was at Batticaloa to stay with the Paynter’s cousin, Dr Kathleen Jayawardene. She had
not been told of our intention and would obviously have no food prepared for us, but people in
Ceylon are very hospitable and always welcome unannounced guests, even if they arrive in shoals.
She had just come in from the hospital. She was pleased to see us as she finds B’caloa a little
lonely still. She has not been there long and almost all the people are Tamils and Moors. She is
Sinhalese and speaks very little Tamil. Most of her work is among poor Moor women who live in
the dirtiest conditions. She says is astonished that any of the mothers or babies survive. Mortality
is high. After hot baths and a first-class luncheon of curry and rice we slept until five. When we
woke we found Tiny Edwards (an old boy from the College) had come to see us.

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 32

WESTMINSTER ABBEY
(April 1937)

After our journey down the River ending up finally at Dr Kathleen’s in Batticaloa, we stayed there a
few days. We were accompanied by Tiny who took us to his estate right in the middle of the jungle
about 15 miles from B'caloa. This estate is part of the “back to the land” scheme of the
government, who are trying to get young men of the better class to take up farming, by giving
them a certain number of acres of jungle and some assistance until they get going. But though Tiny
has cleared about 25 acres and it is producing paddy and kurrakan (native corn) and a certain
amount of fruit and other things, he is disillusioned. He says the farm is not likely to pay, owing to
the difficulty of transport, dry seasons and destruction by wild elephants, pigs and other animals.
Also the help provided by the government such as fencing and seeds is so slow in coming that
when and if it comes the need has long since passed, or the damage done irreparable. He refuses
to bribe, so can get none of his wants attended to. Last year he showed neither profit nor loss, and
that is after five years of hard work and privations. It is a lonely existence with no company except
for his overseer, who is uneducated, and a couple of coolies. He lives in a mud hut with no
furniture, except for a table, chair and a camp bed. The same hut also acts as a store-room. He is
disheartened and will throw it up as soon as he can. Perhaps farming in the dry zone never will
really offer a future to a man who wants more than a bare existence.

From Tiny's estate we went to Unichchi Tank and lunched in the P W D's little bungalow. The tank
is a huge sheet of water, restored for irrigation purposes. It is rather modern looking, but there are
lovely mountains in the distance. From the tank we had a marvellous drive to the main road
through very wild jungle, but we saw nothing more harmful than monkeys. We left Tiny on the
main road to wait for a bus to take him back close to his estate. I fear he must have waited for
hours, as we passed nothing for several hours. We were on our way to Bibile, where Senaka Bibile
and his uncle, Mr Rambukpothe, the Ratamahatmaya of the Bibile district, had made
arrangements for our climb of Westminster Abbey, a mountain in the heart of the jungle, and
called so by the English from its shape.

The Bibiles trace their descent from the ancient Veddah kings. There is a story that a certain
Veddah king sent his nine sons out in different directions to settle. One son found a place with a
number of natural springs and settled there. He called the place Bibile, which means "springs" and
the present family are his descendants. Senaka's father died last year. He was the R M of Bibile
and an old boy of Trinity. This post has been in the family for many generations, but Senaka was
too young to take it on, so his uncle is 'holding the fort' until Senaka finishes his education. It is a
government appointment, but there is every likelihood Senaka will be appointed, as the family is
regarded as the natural head by all villages in the district. In ancient times under the Sinhalese
Kings, the R M was the petty chieftain of a large district in the country. It is somewhat the same

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now, but part of the civil service. Mostly descendants of the old Sinhalese nobility are appointed
to these posts.

We got to Bibile at 4.30 and were made welcome by Mrs Bibile and all the family, as well as the
Rambukpothe family. There was a crowd of children – at least 13, six Bibiles alone and other
relatives for the holidays. Imagine the noise! Mrs Bibile is a low-country lady and a remarkable
manager. When her husband died she pulled things together and is now practically running the R
M-ship herself. She joins in with all the children’s fun and enjoys it as much as they do. Naturally
they all adore her.

Eva and I were given the best bedroom with a bathroom attached, in which there was an English
bath and running water. Martin camped on the verandah with David and the children lay in rows
on the drawing room floor. After a huge dinner and noisy gramophone we got to bed at 9.30 and
slept well.

Next morning we left for Siyambal Anduwa, 40 miles away. We left Martin’s car behind, as it was
still giving trouble, so we took David’s, mine and the Bibiles’. Senaka and Ananda Bibile were with
us on this trip. We got to S A by ten and camped in the little circuit bungalow. These huts always
have floors of mud mixed with cow-dung, quite a good mixture when it is wet. The bungalow was
at the edge of the jungle quite close to a lovely little stream. Soon after our arrival a villager came
along with an offering of pines, oranges and plantains. Senaka accepted such attentions as a
matter of course, as the son of the late R M of the district. Quite a lot of villagers came along to
‘worship’, that is, bow very low to Senaka and Ananda. The boys responded, but not so low, as
befitted their superior rank.

We spent the day at S A, then in the late afternoon all packed into one car to visit Lahugala Tank,
about 15 miles away. Senaka said there were lots of elephants near this tank. There were plenty of
jungle fowl on the road. Senaka started by missing two. Then Martin shot one and a little later
Senaka shot two. It began to drizzle and we got cold and damp. By the time we reached the tank
we were all shivering. It was too late to distinguish any elephants along the edge of the jungle in
the distance. We did see a number of teal among the reeds of the tank, but we refrained from
shooting because of the prospect of crocodiles.

We left S A before sunrise next morning for the 15 mile walk through the jungle to the foot of
Westminster Abbey. We had 11 porters to carry our luggage and food. We also had Bibiles’ cook,
so things were likely to be less slipshod. After three miles through lovely, wild jungle we came
upon a group of villagers waiting for us with karumbas. As soon as we arrived they started
‘worshipping’ Senaka and Ananda – but we came in for some of it as well. The karumba water was
most refreshing and welcome. After four more miles the same thing happened. This was the
advantage of having the trip arranged by the R M. He had asked the Korale (head of a group of
villages) to make the trip comfortable for us. At the end of 10 miles we were met by the Korale
himself with more coconut milk. We simply could not drink any more, so the villagers took them to
the little circuit bungalow, where the Korale had a breakfast ready for us.

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Great preparations had been made for our reception. A pandal was erected over the gateway,
made of young coconut leaves, the whole surmounted by a double flag, which, for lack of better
material, was made of two torn bits of newspaper. A pandal is a sort of triumphal archway made
of a coconut and bamboo framework and decorated usually with young coconut leaves and
stagmoss, flags or other available material. The approach to a pandal is generally decorated by a
double row of young coconut leaves hanging in arches. Only the tender yellow/white leaves are
used. In the little open mud bungalow a canopy, consisting of a white sheet, was erected over the
table in the dining room. All the chairs were draped with sheets and other cloths. Masses of
people collected to peep at us furtively through the jungle trees. They never see any but Sinhalese
women. They seemed much amused by our shorts and stared all the time we were there.

We had to wait some time for breakfast, but when it arrived it was a veritable feast of rice, curries
of game, chicken, eggs, fish and vegetables. It was about mid-day now. We ate far too much and
then before we had a chance of digesting the rich food we set out again in all the heat for the last
five miles to the foot of Westminster. This was a mistake as we discovered when the most
strenuous part of the journey upwards began. The jungle got wilder. A path had been especially
cut for us in some of the most overgrown places. There were many tracks of elephants and
leopards. Our first view of W A was from a little chena (clearing) about three miles from the
mountain. Only hardy things like Indian corn or dry-zone vegetables will grow in a chena. After one
or two crops the fertility of the soil is exhausted and the chena abandoned. The government
objects to chena cultivation as so many jungle trees get cut down and there is a loss of valuable
timber. They can not forbid it altogether as the poor people depend on it for much of their food,
but the regulations are stricter. A great deal of illicit chena cultivation is done in remote and
inaccessible jungle. We found several, some abandoned, some still in use.

This first view showed W A to be a huge outcrop of rock, much like a great abbey with a steeple at
one end. The steeple end is 1,800 feet high – a mass of sheer rock with some jungle on top. The
Sinhalese call it Govinda-hela, a corruption of Goya-innahela, (the height where the iguana lives}.
A large piece of rock juts out, which in shape resembles a huge lizard climbing up a rocky cliff. This
rock was once the refuge of King Bhuvenaka IV in the 14 th century. From the top he had a
magnificent view of the sea only 20 miles away and could make preparation against any Pandyan
or Tamil invasion from India.

Now we were at the foot of the rock and the ascent began. It was steep and rough and we were
hot enough before we began. The sun was under a cloud but the air was breathless and muggy.
We felt heavy after the rice and curry meal. We all began to drip in a fashion I thought not
possible. When we sat down to rest, the perspiration just poured off us. Our clothes were
completely soaked and we got thirstier. I really did not think I should get to the top alive. The first
1,400 feet were a scramble over boulders and tree stumps, with slippery damp earth in-between.
We had to cling to roots and tree trunks. The last 400 feet were up the sheer rocky precipice up
ladders. Villagers had gone ahead a few days before and put them up. They were made of cut tree
branches and the rungs tied on with jungle creepers, several feet apart. The ladders were attached

107
to the rock or roots and trees by creepers. Actually I did not find this part as trying as the first part,
although it was more risky. I do not know how the men managed to tie up the ladders. There was
very little foothold anywhere.

We eventually got to the top at about four and lay on the sun-baked rock to dry and recover. We
waited some time for tea, but when we did get it we drank cup after cup. By this time the clouds
were banking up everywhere, there was thunder and a few drops of rain. The Korale told us it had
rained every day for some time past. There was no shelter on top, but Eva and I were quite
content to risk it. Not so David. He insisted that we must climb down the ladders and take refuge
for the night in an overhanging cave a little way around from the foot of the ladders. In the end we
had to descend under strong protest from Eva and me. And after all there was no rain. When we
reached the cave we found masses of people gathered. Besides our cook and 11 porters, there
were 11 other people of all shapes and sizes who had joined us as visitors and were expecting us
to feed them until further notice. We undertook to keep them for that night, but made it plain
that we could not be responsible for them any longer. Apart from the food question, we had no
desire to be followed by a swarm of people wherever we went. The cave was large but with thirty
people sheltering under it for the night we needed to sleep at closer quarters than we relished.

As night approached we could see the mists scurrying over the cliffs. Some eagles began to quarrel
far above. The stars came out and it was a lovely night. The next morning the plains below were
covered in mist and only the solitary mountain peaks showed above it.

After morning tea we climbed to the top again. There was an absolutely marvellous view, the sea
from B’caloa to Pottuvil to the east, Friar’s Hood to the north, Perdu and the Horton’s Plains’
mountains and the whole of the Badulla range on the other sides. We went for a walk along the
cliff edges through some dense jungle to the crags of the steeple. The precipitous drops all around
were terrifying. The only ruins or remains of the royal habitation on top that we saw were a large
bathing place and smaller reservoir cut out of the rock. These were full of water clean enough for
us to drink. Some remains of brick walls were almost entirely overgrown with jungle and the bricks
had become quite crumbly. There are no wild beasts on top of this mountain except monkeys and
during the honey season bears come up. There are plenty of birds, of course.

Returning to the spot we had selected for camping on top we got very hot clambering over the
rock and pushing through the thick jungle. We found another visitor with a present of two dozen
oranges so we gave him a much warmer welcome than accorded to our ‘parasites’ of the night
before. Our cook and the porters stayed below in the cave. The cooking was all done there and
then brought up to us by the ladders. All the water was fetched from above. So the cook and the
porters got quite used to climbing up and down with the food or water. It was not at all easy, but I
do not think they had a single accident. Martin, David and Senaka went down once or twice to
fetch things we needed, but Eva and I stayed on top.

After lunch we played bridge and slept as far as the heat would allow. After tea we explored more
crags on the other side. We saw our men in the cave below. They looked like ants. Then we sat on

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the rocks and watched the sun set over the Badulla mountains. It was lovely – rather wild and
stormy looking with deep blue clouds and mountains.

Finally we spread our bedding on the bare rock surface wherever we could find a tolerably smooth
spot, for the rock was gneiss and unyielding. This night we needed no nets. It was too breezy and
anyway mosquitoes do not fly so high. All the clouds cleared away and the stars were brilliant. A
night-jar called all night and owls hooted – all very romantic. Less romantic was the heavy dew.
We and our bedding were soaked, but for all that we slept extremely well.

The next morning the sun rose gloriously and the valleys below were full of thinly spread mist.
Only the peaks stood out but away in the distance the sea was very clear. The night-jar ceased
calling and the other birds began to wake.

After breakfast we descended and the return journey started. It was hot but after a few miles we
were met with karumbas. They were very welcome, but we had the feeling that things were being
made too easy. All the same when the karumbas failed to appear on our last lap that evening we
would have given almost anything for them!

The Korale welcomed us once more with karumbas and an equally grand lunch at the same circuit
bungalow. The same people gathered to look at us. They thought we were on a religious
pilgrimage to the top of Westminster Abbey because they heard that we had a church of that
name held in great reverence. The Korale asked if this was the reason for our climbing the
mountain. They can never see the sense of doing anything like this without a definite purpose.
Once in Kashmir we climbed a mountain and our servant wanted to know why. “Was it our duty?”
he asked. One might do it to fulfil a vow, but to go to so much trouble for the sheer joy of it is
quite unintelligible to them.

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 33

YAPAHUWA AND KALA WEWA

(July 1937)

Yapahuwa was a place I always wanted to visit, as I was impressed by photographs of the ruins I
had seen. It is off the beaten track, a feature that always appeals to me.

Jan Taylor and I reached Kurunegala at about nine o’clock and then after several wrong turns at
last found the Puttalam road. It was a beautiful and interesting road, arched with huge shady rain
trees and constantly passing by great outcrops of rock on which were shrines, temples and
Buddhist monasteries – altogether a very sacred road. We passed many tanks, some abandoned
and covered with lotus and water-lilies. After some miles we branched off onto a minor road that
went to Maho. It is passable only when there have been no up-country rains, as it crosses several
causeways that get easily flooded. We decided to risk it. We now began to go through some
wonderful country – typical low-country jungle, a road that would be dangerous at night, but safe
enough by day, when the beasts disappear into the jungle. After five miles we reached the first
causeway, with only a foot of water in it. But the surface was tricky – slimy mud over a rock
bottom. We crawled over it and even then skidded a good deal. The other causeways were in
much the same state.

At Maho we took another branch for a couple of miles and then turned into the jungle by a small
cart track for the last two miles to Yapahuwa rock. At the foot of the great rock was a vast banyan
tree which gave us plenty of shade for ourselves and the car against the scorching sun. We
decided to camp there and set about making a fire. The only water we could find was thick green
swamp water where buffaloes wallowed. But an old villager I met on the way said it was very good
water and he insisted on carrying the bucket for me. I do not know why these villagers do not get
awful diseases, constantly using such ghastly water and often un-boiled. By the time I returned a
few villagers had collected and watched us with the greatest interest, but as soon as we began our
food they departed. The tea did not taste bad at all and we drank great quantities.

After a short rest we set out to explore the rock. The cliff was overhanging and covered with jungle
in which we could see rock caves where monks must once have lived, but now probably the
shelters of bear.

Yapahuwa means ‘excellent mountain’. It served as a fortress retreat for one of the kings against
Pandyan invaders from south India at the latter end of the 13 th century. King Wijaya Bahu IV began
the fortification of the rock and it became the capital of the next king, Bhuwaneka Bahu in 1277.
He reigned here for 11 years before he died. Yapahuwa was then taken by the Pandyans and the
Tooth relic was carried off to India. It was soon recovered by Parakrama Bahu III – but he did not
live at Yapahuwa and it was never after used as a capital. It was ruined by the Portuguese in the
16th century and only recently somewhat restored by the Archaeological Department. There are
very few buildings to be seen. Apart from the famous staircase in stone and the entrance porch to

110
what was planned as a magnificent palace, there are only a few brick dagabas, a few rock caves
and some broken statues and the ruins of the Dalada Maligawa, in which the Tooth relic was
housed. The kings always took the relic to their new capitals as a sign of authority and prestige.

A path leads from the cart track past a modern pansala or monastery to the staircase which leads
up to the palace porch. The staircase consists of three flights of steps, each each ending in a
terrace, but the top flight of stairs is the famous one. The balustrades are elaborately and
magnificently carved with lions on pedestals, demons or rakshas and gaja-singhas – fabulous
creatures with the head of an elephant and body of a lion. At the top is the porch resting on a
plinth of lotus leaf above which is a dado of dancers and musicians with all kinds of instruments.
On the porch are some pillars and a doorway handsomely carved and a stone window at each side
surmounted by makara torana, in which is carved the goddess Sri seated on a lotus throne and
holding a lotus flower. Over her throne stand two elephants on their hind legs. The whole of the
staircase and porch are of gneissic rock and the carving is Hindu in style. The palace was never
built. It is one of the finest examples of mediaeval sculpture. I have never seen anything that
impressed me more. It was all so intensely alive.

From the levelled space where the palace was to have been built a steep path leads up through
the jungle to some ruins on the flat surface of the rock. They are not remarkable in any way, but
there are a few caves near the top, which show the drip ledges very clearly. One contains a
battered Buddha of white quartz. It took us several hours to explore all this. We got down hot
enough for a bathe in a nearby tank.

Under the banyan tree was too damp, so we moved our camp a little further along by the
roadside. A little goatherd drove his flocks past us several times. When we began our meal quite a
crowd gathered around us, once more. All night we heard the distant cries of the watchers in the
fields frightening off wild beasts and their cries echoed against the rock. Passing showers
alternated with clear starry skies. In the early part of the night villagers kept on passing along the
road carrying native torches and singing or talking loudly to keep off wild beasts.

In the morning some women squatted down on the road and commented in Sinhalese on the way
we lit the fire. They do not use paper and always pour kerosene onto the wood to make it burn.
They criticised the way we boiled eggs, not putting them in cold water first, but being Buddhists I
do not suppose they ever boiled eggs. They got a bit of a shock when they found we understood
some of their comments and they quickly faded away.

We went back to Maho and took the road to Talawa, where Miss Karney has a splendid mission
which I had never seen. When we arrived we found her in a little schoolroom distributing the
weekly tins of condensed milk to poor mothers for their babies. Nearby one of her helpers was
distributing rice, chilli and salt to some destitute people.

After breakfast Miss Karney took us into Anuradhapura to deliver to a released prisoner his infant
son. The prisoner had arrived at prison six weeks beforehand with the infant, as he had no one

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else to care for him. The poor man broke down and wept like a child when Miss Karney gave him
his baby decently fed and clothed.

When we got back to Talawa, Miss Karney showed us all over her hospital, where she had 29
maternity cases and some other sick. Then we went to “Dawn”, her home for little orphans. She
had put up some little huts for the destitute aged called “Eventide”, but these were empty as
people refuse to come. They prefer to starve to death in their villages rather than uproot and
change.

We were also taken to Ehetuwewa, a village about 26 miles away where a branch of the maternity
hospital has been started under Mrs Napier-Clavering, the wife of a former Principal of Trinity
College. He died in England a few years ago. Ehetuwewa is a lovely little place surrounded by hills
and has an abandoned tank overgrown with lotus and reeds. It is a feeding ground for masses of
teal, which no one shoots. Mrs N C was in a somewhat nervy condition, so we took her back to
Talawa.

Next morning we departed early for Kala Wewa. On the way we visited a tank at Maha
Illuppallama, about two miles off the road. Some years ago I stayed here on a sisal hemp estate
and in the evenings we often used to go and watch the birds that roosted on the dead trees in the
tank water. Vernon was managing the estate for some Colombo firm. He had left Timitar Estate
after a nasty encounter with a leopard which he shot at in some high grass from a massé in the
trees. When the leopard made no movement and was apparently dead, he climbed down from the
massé and went to investigate. The beast suddenly sprang out at him from the grass, flung him
down and began to maul him. A leopard is particularly dangerous when it has been mortally
wounded. The shouts of the tracker and its own death agony finally made it relinquish its hold and
Vernon was with great difficulty transported partly by bullock cart and partly by car to hospital at
Batticaloa, a distance of over 50 miles. When he left hospital he had no heart to remain on the
lonely coconut estate at Akkaraipattu and had taken on the hemp estate at Maha Illuppallama. We
now found it abandoned, the hemp all overgrown with jungle and the whole place a desolate
waste. But the Irrigation Department was making efforts to reclaim the tank and irrigate paddy
fields all around. I was almost sorry I had not left the tank a happy memory, the home at sunset of
dense flocks of birds in its creepers and ghostly trees.

We got to Kala Wewa at nine and found the tank water very low. This tank is the largest in Ceylon.
It covers seven square miles, but used to extend right to Dambulla. It was built by King Dhatu Sena
in the middle of the fifth century. Dhatu Sena freed the land from the Tamils during his reign, but
there were internal troubles. I have previously mentioned about his grim end at Anuradhapura
and the hands of his son, Kasyapa and his chief general and nephew. To some extent he deserved
his fate, because when he was building the bund at Kala Wewa he would not wait for a priest to
finish his meditations on that spot, but gave orders to throw the earth over him and bury him
alive. All the same, one feels a sneaking sympathy for the king. The priest must have been very
irritating.

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Kala Wewa is connected with Anuradhapura by the Yodi Ella, a giant canal 50 – 60 miles long and
built by Dhatu Sena. Near Kala Wewa is the huge Aukana Buddha, originally in the Aukana Vihara
(temple). The temple has disappeared and only the statue remains standing. This is one of the
ruins I had long wanted to see. It was a three mile walk to see the Buddha. We found most of the
jungle had been cleared for the great new farm, to be irrigated by Kala Wewa.

The Buddha stands about 50 feet high by a cliff which had been the inner wall of the rock temple.
It is a remarkable piece of sculpture, cut out of one piece of rock. The draperies are especially fine.
They look like transparent gauze. The little guide who attached himself to us came barely above
its feet. Unfortunately the pious Buddhists, to protect the statue from heat and rain, have erected
a hideous wooden umbrella-like structure just above the head. It is a pity that piety is so often
combined with bad taste.

In the afternoon we bathed in the tank. The water was slimy and green, but cool. The tank used to
be full of crocodiles, but they have all been shot. The whole time we were bathing some startled
pewits fluttered over us asking, “Did you do it, did you do it?” They are irritating birds – the curse
of hunters in Ceylon, because they always give the alarm. While we were sitting on the bund we
saw two cobras at the edge of the water. They had their bodies intertwined and were making
darts at one another with their heads. Their hoods were open and we wondered if they were
playing or mating. They went on for quite a long time, then they parted and went off in opposite
directions. They were large snakes, over four feet long.

Owing to the howling wind and the noise and smell of bats in the bedroom, we spent a disturbed
night and were not really sorry to leave early next morning.

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 34

ELEPHANT PASS
(August 1937)

Elephant Pass is only 167 miles north of Kandy, This may not seem very far for a day’s journey. But
most of the driving is difficult and a great strain – up and down mountain passes, around terrible
hairpin bends and along roads that often have a yawning precipice on one side with absolutely
nothing to protect one from destruction except very careful driving. I think if one can drive in
Ceylon one can drive anywhere.

Elephant Pass was not in the least like what I had expected. The Rest House is on a huge lagoon
which seems to join the two seas, but the open sea is invisible at either end. The lagoon is more
than a mile across, but the water is less than knee deep and salty. I tried bathing in it and walked
out for a great distance, but it got no deeper and I had to lie down in it to get wet at all.

There are various explanations as to the origin of the name of Elephant Pass. One is that the long
causeway which now joins the Jaffna Peninsula to the mainland of Ceylon was once a shallow ford.
Across this, herds of elephants used to visit Jaffna during July and August, when the clusters of
sweet palmyra fruits began to ripen on the palms. Another explanation is that elephants were
taken across here by the Sinhalese as a tribute to the Portuguese and Dutch, who then shipped
them to Indian markets. Apart from this long built-up causeway on the western side, the only
other connection between the Peninsula and the rest of Ceylon is by a narrow strip of land on the
eastern side. The present Rest House was once a Dutch Fort.

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 35

THE WAR YEARS

November 1940

Today (11th) is Armistice Day. It makes me sad to think that the “War to End Wars” failed so
unhappily to achieve its purpose. The news is not good, but we feel a little remote in Ceylon. Some
of our Old Boys have begun to enlist for service overseas, but we do not know yet how it is going
to affect the East.

I have now abandoned all hope of visiting Australia next April. Even if I managed to get there I
might not be able to return. So I shall have to wait until I retire at the end of 1943. A serious blow
is that Stoppers has decided to leave in January. He has accepted the Principal ship of the Prince of
Wales College at Achimota, on the Gold Coast, the school which my first Principal, Rev. A G Fraser,
began in 1924. I do not know who will be the next Principal.

Francis has been waging war on the polecats again. For some months we have been haunted by a
family of them. The only advantage of the polecats was that a rat had been eating my bedroom
floor and that stopped. In the August holidays, while we were away, Francis shot papa dead and
for several weeks of the new term there was comparative peace. Then mama and the baby
returned and the situation steadily declined. Several times mama broke into the dining room,
helped herself to the fruit and left a hideous mess on the table. Jan and I put down rat poison –
enough for one hundred rats – and the cat cheerfully ate it all. There was a sound of a great
struggle in the ceiling and then complete silence. We naturally thought the poison had worked and
sent the servants up to investigate. There was nothing to be found. A few days later the polecat
came back for more and left its usual visiting card. Francis tied bait to a string which led outside to
the verandah and set a bell tinkling when disturbed. He went to bed with a rifle loaded with
ancient cartridges. The rifle and cartridges were given to him by his English “master” when he was
a lad on an estate many years before. The bell rang vociferously, but Francis slept peacefully
through it and next morning the dining room was a shambles. The following night the bell failed to
ring and the cat got all it wanted. Francis heard it but was too slow and the cat disappeared
through the high window. The next night arrangements were still more intricate. By means of a
series of strings tied to chairs and windows he fixed the bell outside close to his ear and another
string was attached to the window so that it could be closed as soon as the bell rang. It all worked
according to plan. We were wakened by a terrific explosion. The bell had rung and the cat had
been trapped. Then Francis got inside and shot the cat against the wall. The next morning he was
all smiles and showed us the large blood-splattered hole his bullet had made. We have had no
disturbance now for a week. I asked Francis what he would do with the dead polecat. Would he
bury it? He said some people liked to eat them. “What!” I exclaimed in horror, “Do you eat them?”
“Chi!” he answered in utter disgust and nearly spat. He later gave the cat to the woodman.

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Francis’ phonetic spelling in his housekeeping book: “grey fruit” (grapefruit), “rose meat” (roast
meat), “segu” (sago), “latis” (lettuce), “prornes” (prawns), “spinis” (spinach), “masted” (mustard),
“stirl” (ox-tail) and “keetan” (kiwi tin).

The Principal received a very charming letter from a mother in Jaffna recently, concerning her son,
whose education had been sadly neglected owing to a legal separation between the parents. The
Court had decided that the boy be sent to Trinity, but our Kindergarten staff had objected to his
admission as he was already 10 years old.

“Dear Sir,

“With reference to your kind letter of the 3rd. inst. I beg to inform you that B___ was not
studied English or English was not his home language. He has only passed his Tamil III Std.
It was my idea that he should begin his English in a decent college like Trinity.

“If he is acquainted with English speaking boys he may pick his due in no time.

“Trinity is a divine college, which turn stone into a mould of gold. Why not it experiment
B___, the stone that was found out by the learned Principal?

“It was my idea that my son start his A and B and C from Trinity.

“I hope you, as an English Gentleman, will consider this perticular case and help me. I have
set my hand at Trinity for the education of my boy.

“One day Bala. may become the Head of the Corner Stone of the Trinity. Who knows it? B.
is intelligent, gentle, frank and a nice boy.

Yours very sincerely”

I have attended a number of deaths lately. One was that of an old Tamil lady. When we went to
the house many women – relatives and visitors – were seated in silence around the sitting room.
The open coffin was in the centre and all the pictures were turned with their faces to the wall.
From time to time a visitor would get up, shake hands with all the members of the family and
depart. The men visitors, as they arrived, came in and looked at the body, then they went out to
the verandah and sat around in silence. After a time, they got up and departed.

Another was the death of a very Old Boy. The College choir had been asked to attend the service
held in the house. I had to play the hymns sitting at the head of the corpse with the coffin open.
All the mourners were sitting around the walls of the room. There were candles at the four
corners of the coffin and at one a bottle of lavender scent. The Principal was handed the bottle
and asked to sprinkle the corpse. He was then followed by all the relatives and friends. Some of
them sprinkled lavishly and I wondered if the coffin would get flooded.

Then there was the funeral of a young Kandyan. When we reached the Wallauwa we found all the
women throwing themselves about in paroxysms of grief. It is customary for the women to exhibit

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their sorrow uncontrolled. Then the bier was carried to the family burial ground, on top of a hill
some distance away and the pall-bearers walked on a white cloth. The road and path were lined
with festoons of young coconut leaves. A large decorated pandal had been erected over the grave
and many Buddhist priests were waiting there. First there was chanting between the priests and
people. Then the priests made long ovations on the virtues of the dead man, mostly in literary
Sinhalese. He was not the eldest son, so according to Kandyan customs his body was not
cremated.

June 1941

Our new College chaplain, Fred Woodd, and his family have arrived from Japan. The children speak
only Japanese. At present they are housed in the Principal’s bungalow, but if a principal is
appointed soon, we shall probably be turned out of our bungalow to make room for them.

Martin, Samara’s son, the garden coolie, came the other day to borrow Rs.5. His father’s eyes
were very bad and the priest refused to cure him unless he received Rs.15 down. This was the
whole of Martin’s wages. He was able to put up Rs.10 but the College would not advance him Rs.5,
so would we? Some of these priests are mercenary.

Now we have lost our second boy, Douglas. He and Francis did not get on well together. Actually
no one gets on with Francis, as he is a bit jealous of the other servants. So now we have nobody to
send on messages. Our bungalow, too, is falling to pieces. All the woodwork is being eaten away
by dry rot. But I expect it will last out our time. Repairs in the college are becoming increasingly
difficult.

An eminent Hindu doctor in Ceylon went to the Kataragam Hindu festival and came back deeply
impressed. He said to Mabel “You know it was a wonderful experience and has had a deep effect
on me. I feel I simply could not tell a lie. I really think that I shall feel like this for at least six
months.”

We have had highest floods on record. There was a lot of rain up-country. It began at 3 a.m. in
Kandy and by the end of the day we had five inches. By 4 p.m. next day the road to Peradeniya
was 20 feet under water at Getembe. The houses were completely submerged and the river at
Lady Blake’s was a seething cauldron, travelling at terrific speed. It had great waves that rose up in
a backwash and hurled the spray high in the air. The water carried down massive logs and trees as
if they were bits of stick. An elephant and many buffaloes were carried away and a few people
have lost their lives. The next day, when the waters subsided, the people returned to their houses
– those that were left – cleaned out the mud and settled in again. I do not know how they have
the courage.

This morning at six o’clock a large polecat with its kitten was sitting on the rails of the verandah
upstairs. I went for them with a stick. The mother fled, but the baby got stuck and took refuge on
the landing, where we easily caught it. It was a pretty little creature and mewed plaintively. I am
sorry we had to kill it, but the cats are so horrible when they grow up.

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I have been busy lately giving talks and lectures. I have given four on Kashmir and one on the
universe to the Astronomical Society. I am getting quite tired of Kashmir!

November 1941

This month I went down to Colombo to give a talk to the Classical Association on my travels in
Greece and Cyprus two years ago. I was not able to take my car as we are rationed for petrol. My
ration is six gallons a month. We are not in dire need in Ceylon yet, as our supply comes from
Burma. It was a great pleasure to meet some of my old pupils again.

The next day I went to Ragama with the Ladies’ College girls, as they were staging a play for the
Australian nurses and medical staff in the new military hospital. There are crowds of nurses and
staff and the hospital is large. We found them nice and friendly, but I did not know any of them,
though some were from Adelaide. They belong to a younger generation.

By way of variety I have been busy cleaning out an ants’ nest from my piano. It took me well over
an hour, as I had to remove all the insides and every key, as the eggs were thick underneath. I
sprayed and killed all the ants and with the aid of a knife managed to scrape out most of the eggs.
There were thousands of them. These ants’ nests are a curse in this country. One is constantly
finding them in unexpected places, some nearly an inch long. Jan found a nest in her flute some
time ago and has not been able to play it since, because of the taste of the spray.

At last the appointment of the Principal has been announced. He is an old Etonian with many
University scholarships to his credit and a first class economist. But at present he is doing his army
job in India and cannot be released until after the war. So the Vice-Principal, Mr Simithraaratchy,
has been appointed “Officiating Principal”. I doubt whether Jan and I will meet the new man at all.

Some of the boards and cement in the bungalow have been renewed, so we can get on until we
depart. At any rate we will not fall through the floor now. But we have been having more trouble
with the servants. Francis left at the end of last month after being with us for many years. He said
he wanted to retire and buy a little plot of ground with the money we had been putting aside for
him each month. At present our arrangements are very makeshift and we are trying out Punchi
Banda, Douglas’ successor, with cooking. He looks promising. But he had to be dismissed recently.
He was rather dishonest and finally he and Douglas had a flare-up and flew at each other, so I sent
off Punchi Banda on the spot. It is no use when servants begin to knife each other. Stephen, the
second boy, will not suit, I fear. He is slow and uncouth, an untrained village lad.

It looks as if Japan may cut us off from Australia. We depend on Australia for most of our imports
of wheat, butter, jam and other tinned and cold-storage goods. Our rice supplies from Burma are
running out. We had planned a trip to Mysore and South India for Christmas, but we have to
abandon it. I am anxious about my friends in Hong Kong and others in Malaya. Many ships are
being sunk in these waters.

January 1942

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I hear that planters were called up for military duty, but when they got to Colombo their agents or
managers told them to return to their estates until they received permission to leave them. The
matter was taken to the governor who decided that planting was of secondary importance. The
result was that all planters under 40 were called up. Their wives and children were to be provided
with bungalows on the estates and they were to receive half the husband’s salary or the children
three quarters. All this was to be at the expense of the estates.

February 1942

They are having a bad time in Singapore. Many of the women and children have come to Kandy
and other parts of Ceylon. Rice is being rationed here now and the Ceylonese are getting about a
third of their normal quantity. For the rest they have to make a sort of pancake of Australian flour
for their curries. But we are experiencing more difficulty in getting food from Australia. There has
been no news of our Ceylon friends in Malaya. Their regiment was badly mauled.

The monkeys lately have been coming down from Lady Horton’s and destroying things in our
gardens. They ate all the leaves and fruit of the young pawpaw tree, rooted up and carried away
young pie-apple plants and plantains which Mr Woodd planted. They took a short-cut over our
roof from the jak tree. When I went to the verandah upstairs about six of them were hanging
down from the roof to have a look at me. I had to shut my bedroom door and windows in case
they ran off with the things on my dressing table.

The squirrels have only just realised that with daylight saving time they must get up earlier to
catch me at my tea. Only two come now. The friendliest one, who came for a couple of years, has
stopped coming. I fear he must be dead. The timid one of the two gets panicky and generally does
a pirouette backwards and forwards until it at last has the courage to grab a bit of toast and flee.

June 1942

The news about Java and Burma is very disturbing. Our chief danger is being a small island. Our
problem will also be food. We depend so much on imports. Of course we have dug trenches and
built brick shelters and most of us have become Air Raid Wardens and have attended lectures on
First Aid. We have regular air-raid practices and our lights are all blacked out. But in these two-
storied bungalows it is difficult. Everywhere there are ventilators and carved wood-work, which let
the light through.

After along time we can get potatoes, flour and occasionally cheese and bacon. Most other things
we get off and on, but eggs are a dreadful price – nine pence each.

September 1942

Jan and I have moved down to a few rooms in the vacant Principal’s bungalow, as our Junior
School has been commandeered by the Military Police. We share the bungalow with the
kindergarten classes, while the Chaplain and his family have had to move up. We certainly have
fewer pests in this residence, but we miss the air and view from the top bungalow. We get no

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polecats or bats, because the windows and doors are wire-netted, but we do sometimes get a visit
from a frog from outside. After a while when the door is open, he hops out again. It is not very
restful here with all the children around us, but by 3.30 they are all gone and the week-ends are
quiet.

We have now been without a Principal for the last two years and the one from India has
withdrawn. If we get one before the war is over, I do not know where we will be stowed.

Mr W__, teacher at St Anthony’s, cram coach and owner of houses, is having all his land and house
ownership disputed by a dhobi. The dhobi married a woman by Kandyan law and the dowry was
some land. By Kandyan law the dowry land reverts to the father if the wife dies. The wife died but
the father had died before her. The wife’s brothers then took the land and it was sold to Mr W__.
The dispute was that the brothers had no claim to it. The dhobi offered privately to W__ to forego
all claims for Rs.3,000 and W__ angrily drove him away. So the dhobi put in a claim and won his
case before the Supreme Court. Now W__ has appealed to the High Privy Council. He has spent all
his time cramming boys and having them as boarders, making pots of money in the process. His
houses have been leased to St Anthony’s since their college was commandeered.

Servants never distinguish between tea towels and dusters. They use the same cloth for both
purposes. Nothing will cure them. One day Mabel found her head boy using a new tea towel as a
duster and her second boy drying the cups on a dirty bit of pink silk. She bought some tea towels
with coloured borders and next found the garden coolie wearing one as a turban. They were “very
good head cloths.”

January 1943

I have definitely decided to sell my car as I get only two gallons. The tyres and battery are wearing
too and I shall not be able to replace them.

Sharing a bungalow with the Kindergarten and the children’s ayahs and servants has its
disadvantages apart from the noise. The other day someone stole into our sitting room and
walked off with my clock. Luckily it was not a very good one. We also discovered that our cook is
taking a little of Jan’s money which she foolishly did not keep locked up. When Jan taxed him with
it he first collapsed on the floor and then admitted it. It is a pity, as we thought him honest, but it
is not fair to tempt people who earn so very little, especially now when prices are soaring.

Our sugar ration threatens to decline to a quarter of a pound a week. Juggery is a substitute to
some extent, but the price of this is rising rapidly.

July 1943

On 1 July for Ceylon:

Population 6,134,000
Sinhalese 4,113,000
Tamils 1,527,000

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Moors 389,000
Burgher and Eurasian 40,000
Malays 18,000
European 11,000
Other 36,000

August 1943

The caterpillars are awful this season, worse than I have ever known them. They fall on one’s head
while teaching, or down the front of one’s clothes. They crawl over the walls, inside and out. If
they come in contact with the skin, it becomes sore and inflamed, because of the minute hairs
they leave behind in the pores. It may be due to the excessive rain. Since May it has hardly
stopped. At least it has been cool, but our shoes and books get covered in mould.

January 1944

I spent my Christmas holidays with Bookie at Manipay in Jaffna - cool and green. There were vast
expanses of paddy fields. They were glorious this season – great stretches of emerald green,
watery pools and miniature lakes with fringes of palmyra palms in the distance. Sometimes there
were water lilies, white and pink and glowing sunsets reflected in the water.

Often we as sat by the edge of a field we heard the pealing of a temple bell. We used to walk to
the field through a palmyra grove, but could not take the path across, because the goddess
Lakshmi would have been offended if we had walked there in our shoes and she might have ruined
the crop. Just opposite was a human burning ghat under a huge banyan tree. The whole corpse is
burned to ashes, even the bones. Then a low-caste person collects the ashes and gives them to the
family. For some reason only a low-caste woman can handle the fish which is sold to the high-
caste Hindus. Sometimes she even cleans it for her patron. And yet all the food must be cooked by
high-caste people.

It is not polite in Jaffna to overtake people on a pathway unless one receives permission to do so.
As Bookie and I were walking one day we caught up with a Tamil gentleman on a little pathway. He
stood aside for us and said with a little bow: “You may go.”

On Christmas Eve we went to a church near-by where there was to be a Christmas pageant. The
service began half an hour late as the congregation had not yet collected and the lamps were not
quite ready. The eight little Angels came in and placed themselves with lighted candles all about
the pulpit and alter. One tiny child was placed on a chair in the centre. Just as proceedings were
about to begin, this babe took fright, opened her mouth wide and started to scream at the top of
her voice. She had to be removed. Then came the Shepherds and Kings and knelt before the altar.
There were many carols and lyrics from the choir, sung lustlly with chest notes even in the top
register. A blind man accompanied the harmonium on a fiddle and there was a tom-tom and
drum. The petrol lamps began to give trouble and had constantly to be removed for attention.
One near me flared up alarmingly. A lamp-glass exploded and a candle burned a hole in the alter

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cloth. The pastor put it out with his hand. Then Bookie preached a sermon on Christ’s Hands in
English and it had to be interpreted. Except for some of the carols it was a completely Tamil
service.

One day two Old Boys looked me up and took me on a trip to the island of Kayts. We went by bus
to Kathianagar Island across a long causeway which joined this island to the mainland and then
ferried across to Kayts. After lunch we walked along the beach and asked a fisherman to take us in
his native sailing boat past the old Dutch fort of Hammenheil between Kayts and Kathianagar
Island towards the open sea. He agreed to take us for two rupees and told us to get the key from
“Turkoturai” near the landing stage, but enquiries at the Rest House elicited the information that
the key was at the Police Station. The Police Station told us that the doctor at the hospital had it,
as the Fort was now a quarantine station. So we rang up the doctor for his permission and found
he was in bed. The hospital was some distance away, but after much delay the assistant doctor
obtained his permission, but said the key was in the court-house. The police sent a messenger
there and we waited interminably. Several messengers were sent but were vague in their reports
and we felt there was a definite scheme to put us off until 4 p.m., when the police boat would be
available and they would get the tip. So Deryck and I decided to quit the police station, or else we
might lose our fisherman and fall between two stools. But Willie’s blood was up. He persisted and
eventually brought the key to the boat and a policeman with it.

The boat simply skimmed through the water in the strong wind. The Fort was small, square and
well preserved. In it was a large fresh water tank and it had fine battlements all around and a
lovely view across the water in all directions. On our way back we passed a larger Indian sailing
boat – a beautiful sight. The people at Kayts’ landing looked very poor and under-developed, both
physically and mentally. One child had dreadful rickets with legs like bent sticks and a large
stomach and chest. Everybody was begging.

Another day we drove to Puttur to a meeting of the Jaffna Province Conference of Officers of
Village Reconstruction. We began with some speeches and then walked in procession along the
road to a village half a mile away. The officers all carried mamerties (hoes) and others carried
young mango trees in bamboo pots, to be planted in the village for those who had supported the
reconstruction scheme. The procession was led by a flute-player and tom-tom beaters. Then
Bookie planted a tree and I helped to shovel in the earth. Various other people planted trees, but
when I saw how soft and damp the red clay in the hole was, I felt reluctant to step down and risk
my good suede shoes. Next we returned to a cadjan shed where the village weaving looms had
been pushed to one side and seats arranged. The flute player and drummers sat on the floor and
made a terrific and piercing noise. The flautist was in an ecstacy and waved his great pipe about as
he played. Then a cake, plantain, wadde and cup of tea were passed around to each of us. After
that there were long and eloquent Tamil speeches from the village headman and the young chief
reconstruction officer. The chairman made a short speech in English and this I understood. This
reconstruction scheme is very fine. The officers go to the villages, giving advice and help about

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methods of cultivation and they introduce weaving and other occupations to the villagers for their
spare time.

The little town of Valvettithurai on the north coast is very prosperous as most of the inhabitants
are opium smugglers. The opium is brought from India in their fishing boats and then sold at a high
price to opium dens or else privately. One morning we saw a large boat off the coast, just outside
the reef. They said it came from India and had smuggled in 300 bags of rice, which five cars carried
away hastily. The people all look well-fed and prosperous. In the evening cars dashed up and down
the road and we heard that the police were after the rice and people were trying to hide it. The
inhabitants are rich enough to buy the rice in the black market at 2/25 rupees per measure instead
of the controlled price of 29 cents.

One day we went along to look at the modern Sivite temple in the village. It was a very fine
goparam, or tower, five stories high built only 10 years ago. It cost the donor Rs.15,000, all of
which he made from his traffic in opium. The three faces depict stories of the gods and village life.
The figures are beautifully made by Indian workmen out of a kind of cement and then painted. We
were not allowed inside, but an old man outside told us the story of it.

It was lovely to watch the catamarans cross the reef and surf in the mornings, hoist their brown
sails and disappear over the horizon. It was lovely, too, watching the women in their bright saris,
yellow, green or red, groping among the rocks within the reef for shell-fish, when the tide was low.
Sometimes they got right down in the water and then their saris glistened in the sunlight.

May 1944

In Kandy there has been a hen plague and in some quarters all the hens have died. It is a sort of
cholera and is transported by crows which drop bits of infected food all over the place. The hens
then eat it and die. The hens of one of our masters on the Peradeniya Road were infected, so his
sister told the bathroom-coolie to remove the corpses. He was quite eager and said that next door
ten had died and further down the road nine. It was later found that he and his fellow coolies had
been having a grand time feasting on chicken curry every day.

No fish has been arriving inland from the coast for some time, so the Food Controller made
enquiries. The reply was: “How to send fish without ice?” So he promised to supply ice, but still no
fish came. Then he found the men were not fishing because they made more profit selling the ice.

The food and servant problem is becoming more acute, especially since the arrival of Lord Louis
Mountbatten and all his staff in Kandy. James, Banda’s cousin, and Stephen’s successor left us to
earn four rupees a day for pumping a little water for some Wrens. Pieris, who came next, has gone
to Colombo where he gets a high wage. Private people cannot compete with the wages paid by
the Military and our only chance is with married men who are often afraid to join up in case they
are sent somewhere else. So now we have only Banda and we get our dinner brought up from the
College. It consists mostly of curried dried prawns. Meat is un-procurable unless one is prepared
to stand for hours in a queue and then it is limited to two pounds per person. This would not go

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far in a College of 300 boarders, so they get none at all. There are no permits for schools, hotels or
restaurants. But one day all the older boarders were sent to join the queue and they each brought
back two pounds of meat. There was a great feast at the College that night. Eggs have gone up to
30 cents each. They used to be five. Now they are trying to control the price and so they will
disappear into the black market. Recently masses of onions were held up because they were
rationed. The result was they all went bad and thousands of tons had to be buried all over Ceylon,
while the people went without or dug up the bad ones in the night.

Lord Louis Mountbatten lives in a pavilion just opposite the College. I quite often meet him riding
around Lady Horton’s on his white horse early in the morning, before he goes off to his
Headquarters in the Peradeniya Gardens. Since I have sold my car I usually go for a walk before
school in the jungle or around the Lake. It is very lovely, but I do miss my car.

With the rise in wages, easy employment and ready money, the “oppressed classes” have
developed a new spirit, which is often aggressive. The other day one of our masters, standing in a
meat queue in the market, objected when a boy took his stand on his boot. “You are standing on
my boot.” he remonstrated. “Well,” replied the youth, “what are you putting your boot in the way
for? Take it away.” Another master in a queue chanced to knock against a woman sitting on a box.
“Here you, what are you doing?” she demanded. The master apologised and said it was an
accident. “Well if it was an accident, move off.” she retorted.

Last February the Senior School Certificate results were published and we found we had 84%
passes. Then additional names kept appearing in the papers and finally in April the Principal had a
letter from the Department stating that they had decided to add a Third Division and that
therefore the following boys had also passed. It included the whole list of failures. So by this
method we obtained 100% passes! This happened all over Ceylon. The explanation became
current that an Assistant Director of Education had a son who had failed. Whatever the reason, we
felt that this year the examination had become a decided farce.

Lately the Minister of Education, who is pro-Buddhist, is reported to have discovered that the
Christians at the University numbered more than 50%. He was actually wrong in his figures, but he
deduced that the country was falling into the hands of Christians, that taxes were paid in order to
educate them, that all the future rulers of the country would be Christian and that it was high time
to put an end to this sort of thing. As entrance to the University is by a competitive Entrance
Examination one cannot quite see what his solution is going to be. Even our denominational
schools have more than 50% of non-Christians in them and the Minister himself and his own
daughter were educated in Christian schools in Colombo. When this was pointed out to him, he is
said to have replied: “I defy any school in Ceylon to refuse admission to my children.”

Yesterday there were 15 speeches in the State Council on the future official language in Ceylon.
One member proposed it should be Sinhalese, but kept adding an afterthought, “and Tamil”. As he
could not propose the amendment to his own motion, another member proposed: “and Tamil”.
Then a third, a Moslem, proposed: “and English.” And so the debate continued. No conclusion was

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reached. It is a very difficult question, as in Ceylon different races are scattered everywhere. In the
law-courts, the official language up to the present has been English and the Sinhalese and Tamils
have had an interpreter into English, even if the judge, jury and accused all understand and speak
Sinhalese and Tamil. This is completely absurd. With racial feeling running high, many Sinhalese
and Tamils do not want English, but at present it is still necessary for the Burghers, Eurasians,
Malays and English and many of those educated in English schools.

One reason why the price of goods from India is exorbitantly high in Ceylon, is that there is a
traffic by traders in permits. A trader gets a free permit to export to Ceylon. He then sells the
permit to another trader, who re-sells it at a still higher price, and so on. By the time the permit is
actually used, the price of the goods has gone up treble or four-fold. Jan recently bought an Indian
bath-towel for Rs.8/50. In Madras I bought on for less than Rs.2.

June 1944

Today is Poson and all schools are ordered to have a holiday. Poson commemorates the landing of
Mahinda in Ceylon. It is full moon, of course. In two days is the King's postponed birthday [George
VI], which we are also bidden to observe. This latter our school has never done in the past and I
don't know whether we shall this time.

The new Education Bill is up before the State Council. The Minister introduced it in a three hour
speech, much of it expressing great bitterness against the denominational schools. I presume the
Buddhist, Hindu and Moslem schools were included. If the report goes though, all the present
assisted schools will either become free under the new scheme, or if they can afford it, will
become private and receive no state aid. If they elect to come under the scheme they will possibly
have to sacrifice a great deal of their efficiency, as the equipment grant proposed will be only
Rs.2/50 per head per annum for Senior students and Rs.1/50 for Junior. This would barely cover
our expenditure in cricket! There will be no fees and the classes will be much larger, as 27 units of
attendance allow for only one teacher. Excess staff - which would include all teachers for extra
subjects - will not be paid from the Education Grant. Private schools will not be able to continue in
the Government Pension scheme for future teachers, or probably the present salary scale and so
many teachers, for the sake of security, will prefer to teach in Government Schools, even though
the new entrants to the profession are to be paid on a considerably lower scale. This will mean
that many of the best people will prefer other professions. Certainly education needs reform.
There must be compulsory education for all and greater opportunities for those who cannot afford
its high costs. But Ceylon does not seem rich enough to embark on an entirely free system without
sacrificing efficiency. Many denominational schools are afraid too, of increased interference in
their emphasis on religious values. The University is already free.

I have been badly cheated over some fire-wood. A few weeks ago a Sinhalese carter brought a
load which, he said contained four yards at Rs.6/50 per yard - cheap at the present juncture. So he
unloaded and stacked it. When he had finished, I found the length was only inches short of four
yards, but the height and width seemed all right. But he had stacked it between two trees at the

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edge of a steep bank, so examination from the rear on the part of a silly European woman would
be unlikely. Then Banda, who had been on sick leave with a bad bout of malaria, returned and
showed me the back view. The stack sloped badly, so that at the bottom it was only half a yard
wide. Also it had been packed in such a way that in the centre there were enormous holes and
gaps. Altogether it was only about two yards and not four and it lasted only 20 days instead of five
weeks or more. The wood was also of very poor quality, being cuttings from cocoa trees. Banda's
absence cost me a lot of money.

Another loss was of a different kind. A few days ago a crow lifted one of our only two remaining
coffee cups, which we had for many years - red ones with white spots, like a certain type of
mushroom. The crow seized it from the kitchen table when Banda would not permit it to take a
piece of pawpaw. It dropped the cup further along.

Textiles have become difficult to obtain and the prices have soared. Our ration is eight yards of
material in 15 months. Now the Cooperative Stores have been given some extra textiles from
America and India to sell at fixed prices. Our Cooperative Store in Kandy has decided on a lottery,
by which one draws lots for the goods. The result is I may get a sari when I really want three yards
of long-cloth. It has been murmured that our Cooperative branch sells to the black market and this
latest scheme looks like it. People will naturally refuse to buy what they do not want and the store
will be able to sell the rejected goods to the black market at a profit.

Prawns have yielded to bully beef in the College and we are so tired of it.

Recently a college servant, Hendrick, lost his little child through worms. He is a Buddhist and very
poor, but it was still expected that he should give a feast to six priests on the first, third and
seventh days after the death and again after six weeks. As rice is severely rationed, he had to buy
it from the black market. Richer folk usually feed the priests for about three weeks.

The other night some American soldiers refused to stand at the cinema for the National Anthem.
“Why should we ask God to save your king. It’s America who’s saving the king.”

November 1944

On Monday 27th was Hadji, a Moslem festival, so all the schools closed once more. The Moslems
asked and were granted permission to sacrifice 50 goats for the festival. They, at least, will have a
good square meal without having to stand in a queue.

Last night as I was having dinner, I saw a black scorpion, eight inches long, walking towards me.
Banda and noosed its tail and put it in a box for the Biology class. Then I found another scorpion,
equally long, walking over my pillow in the bedroom. Luckily, I saw it before it got into my bed-
clothes.

Some people are refusing to eat fish now, owing to the number of ships that are being sunk and
people getting drowned in these waters.

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There is a belief that sometimes at night the devil chases you, so if you hear footsteps behind you,
you must never look back as the devil gets power over you, Philip told of a man who heard
footsteps behind him near Hambantote. He hurried on but so did the footsteps. Then he started to
run, closely followed by the footsteps until he reached home in a state of complete exhaustion
and panic. For days afterwards he was ill with high fever. But the footsteps belonged to a baby
deer which had lost its mother and so followed the man home. They adopted the deer and it is
now fully grown.

February 1945

We are having a bad time in this old bungalow from the leaks which have developed from all parts
of the roof. The water has been splashing onto the electric wires and there were fuses blowing
and a couple of minor fires. Now the roof has been repaired and we can remove the buckets and
basins from our sitting and other rooms.

The floor is sinking unevenly, owing to the burrowing of ants and termites. Rats and squirrels rush
between the ceiling and roof and the timber is crumbling with dry rot. White ants come up
through the floor and walls unless we maintain a constant fight. Silver fish, an inch long, eat our
paper, books and clothes. Cockroaches are constantly turning up in drawers and cupboards and
they eat our food. We continue to struggle with the ordinary ants’ nests in boxes, suit-cases,
drawers and elsewhere. Cicadas cut holes about two inches in diameter in a curtain and cushion.
There was one fat one in my room, singing shrilly, but I could not catch it.

Worst of all, recently I opened my bathroom door and was faced with a beautiful cobra. I do not
know which of us was more surprised. The cobra immediately slithered away and disappeared
down the plug hole. I at once blocked up the hole with bricks and in the exit and over the drain I
stuffed paper wedges. Then I asked some masters to come up with a rifle. We removed the
blockages and tried to smoke out the snake, but without effect. At last we removed all the bricks
from the channel and found the snake had disappeared. It had forced its way through the paper
wedges. For some days I expected it to revisit me and entered the bathroom somewhat gingerly.
But I never saw it again.

Jan left for England at Christmas and I have entered my name for a passage back to Australia, so it
should not be long now. It is 10 years since I was last in Adelaide. Even the Paynters are all in India
now and I am feeling deserted.

May 1945

I spent my last vacation at Mount Frost in Nuwara Eliya with the Woodds. All the jungle paths are
greatly changed owing to military camps and roads everywhere. On the Elk Plains much of the
patina has been opened up for vegetables and the loveliness and isolation are gone. Even the
Circular and Parawela Rides have been widened and masses of trees cut down. So now there is
very little shade and the path is hot and sunny. The Ride has become a military road, built for

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practice in road building. It seems a pity that this happened. The jungle was so lovely and eerie,
the home of wild pig and leopards.

August 1945

There is a terrible drought in Kandy, the worst on record. Water is being pumped night and day
into the mains from the Lake and sandy islands are forming in its midst. The whole area has been
enclosed in barbed wire entanglements to keep the public from contaminating the water. As this
receded myriads of fish lie dead in the sand. As soon as we hear the lorry bringing the daily
allowance of chlorinated Lake water to the College, we all rush out with buckets, tubs, tins and
watering cans. If we are there in person the men fill the utensils, but if not, they only half fill them
and the servants try to steal the water from each other. One day Edna’s ayah accused Banda of
taking some bucketsful out of her tub. But Banda said the Ratnayakes’ servants took it. They
denied it and blamed the Chellappahs’ servants. It is all very comical. Edna told her ayah that when
she had a bath she was to be economical as we all had to be and not to pour so many bucketsful
over herself as in normal times. The ayah said she preferred not to have a bath at all, as it made
her head bad if she limited herself. So Edna asked Banda what he did and how her ayah could get
a proper bath. Banda answered cheerfully “I haven’t had a bath for a month.”

This month we had a Perahera again after three years and it was a lovely sight. 72 elephants took
part and there were more torches than usually. Thousands of pilgrims flocked into Kandy and I
have never seen such crowds in spite of all the discouragements – transport difficulties, acute
water situation and cases of small-pox all over the island.

Eggs have been 35 cents each for some time, largely owing to the demands of the military and
natural shortage caused by the hen plague and black marketing. My sugar ration is down to half a
pound per week. Meat and fish are un-procurable, except at black market rates unless one stands
in a queue for hours. Banda has no time for that as he is my only servant now. But for 12 days he
was away with malaria. I had no stove except a little methylated spirit one and this Is sold on a
permit basis, so I had very little. There was no fire-wood left but I managed to get some from the
College leftovers. So I had a bath only every third day. Just to get my lunch and boil water for
drinking and washing up took two hours. I got desperately weary of eating cold food and drinking
cold milk. I could get no food from the College, as it was vacation time. One day I tried to fry eggs
on the stove in the kitchen, but the wood would not burn and the frying pan had a hole in it. The
eggs were quite black from the smoke. If Banda had dished them up like that I would have made a
fuss and refused to eat them. And he never did. I do not know how the servants in Ceylon cope
with all their difficulties so uncomplainingly. My respect and sympathy for them has risen
enormously. Now Banda has returned at last and I get clean and hot food again. We also have a
new frying pan. Banda’s face was wreathed in smiles.

We have just had an Education Exhibition and Conference at the College to celebrate the 25 th
Anniversary of the All-Ceylon Teacher’s Union. There were many delegates from all over Ceylon
and about 15 rooms of exhibits of all sorts, many of high standard. The subject of the conference

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was Basic Education as practiced by the Wardha scheme in various parts of India. As guest
lecturers we had Mr. Arayanayakam and his wife, Shrimata Asha Devi. They come from Ghandi’s
ashram in a backward village near Wardha and are most charming people. Arayanayakam is a
Jaffna Tamil, but he threw in his lot with Ghandi 10 years ago. Both he and his wife were
imprisoned when Congress leaders and Ghandi were arrested. Asha Devi was released after three
weeks and Aryanakam after six months, when he demanded that either he be charged and tried or
repatriated to Ceylon as an Undesirable. He was never tried as there were no charges against
either of them. They had merely been engaged in educational work. I asked Asha Devi if she felt at
all resentful. “Oh no, not at all”, she replied. “Why should we?” Asha Devi is a Brahmin lady from
Bengal.

October 1945

We are all in quarantine for small-pox. Our Indian Rajah’s son somehow slipped through from
India after the holidays without reporting to the medical authorities. Soon the boy developed a
rash which Georgie, our Scottish matron and the doctor both thought was harmless. The boy was
not isolated, though he was kept in the College hospital, as he had some fever. Soon he went back
to school and in due course six more people on the compound went down with “chicken-pox” and
were isolated. One was Sinniah, the hospital attendant. It was later found that one little boy and
Sinniah had small-pox and not chicken-pox. Then the fun began – mass vaccination of the boys,
staff and servants, isolation of all contacts and semi-contacts, Upper School out of bounds for
Junior and vice versa. The dormitory housing the Indian Prince was kept apart for sleeping and
meals. Now Georgie and her family, the assistant-matron and the four chicken-pox patients have
been taken to Katugastota as direct contacts, A dozen other boys are in the top bungalow as
contacts through the hospital and cannot attend school. The two small-pox patients went to
Colombo. The boy nearly died as there was no adequate attention in the I D H in Kandy, but he is
recovering now. Georgie is really in danger, as she has not been vaccinated for four years. All the
day-boys come to school as usual, but boarders may not leave the compound. The doctor said the
day-boys might just as well be in school for the six hours per day. They are really only remote
contacts.

Banda had a day off recently, because his niece “is a big girl now.” There is always a celebration on
such occasions. She is now marriageable. But Banda is sensibly sending her back to school when
the fuss is over. Banda brought me a lot of the cakes – all Sinhalese baking, with juggery and
coconut oil. They are very palatable and will last me a week at least.

December 1945

The small-pox scare ended happily for the College, as no more people developed it. But there have
been a number of cases in the town and a few deaths. We were not responsible for its spread.

I intimated to the Powers-that-be that I was prepared to travel under any possible conditions to
Australia and that I would be ready to leave at very short notice.

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I left Ceylon by the “Otranto” on 27 December at a day’s notice. It had been converted into a New
Zealand troop ship and there were about 4,000 troops on board, including officers, their wives and
babies. I was allotted space in a 28-berth cabin which contained 12 children, besides adults. There
was no stewardess on board, but fortunately the sea was calm all the way. The only port of call
was Fremantle. After five days in Perth I got a cancellation on the Trans-Continental to Adelaide
and arrived on 12 January 1946.

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 APPENDIX 1

“VISITING ADELAIDE. MISS VALESCA REIMANN”

(From "A Page for Women" Conducted by Elizabeth Leigh for The Register, Adelaide, 27 March
1923, transcribed from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article64186272)

"The State is small, the University is great. When Adelaide graduates leave South Australia, it is
because the field here for educated workers is small, and when they come home it is usually to
bring their laurels home with them. Miss Valesca Reimann, M.A., who arrived yesterday from
Ceylon (to spend a holiday with her parents, Mr. and Mrs. I. G. Reimann of Norwood), is a teacher
of classics at Trinity College, Kandy, and the years since she left Adelaide have been, for her, as
successful as interesting. Her classes include - let us say, brown and white, for such distinctions are
unknown at Trinity College, but Buddhist, Mohammedan, and Hindu. There are over 300 boarders,
and an immense day school, and to live and work under such strange conditions, one of a staff of
nearly 50 - also varied in race and religion - is surely to put the finishing touches of experience to
the most thorough academic education.

"'We have Moors from Africa,' said Miss Reimann cheerfully, 'and Malays, and Sinhalese, and
Tamils, and Indians. Oh, yes, and a dozen or so Europeans. I like teaching boys, they are so
responsive and interested. The most harmonious conditions prevail among the staff, and between
the staff and the boys, who are friends as well as pupils. The other day I had a birthday party, and
after it was over I happened to remember that the 10 of us who were there, represented between
us, seven religions!'

"Miss Reimann had to pause just here to explain to me the difference between Tamils and
Sinhalese. 'The original inhabitants of Ceylon were Veddahs, a race not unlike our own aboriginals.
From the northern part of India - probably from Bengal, although that is not certain - came a
conquering race, who all but exterminated the Veddahs, and became known as the Sinhalese.
From the northern part of India came another party of invaders, the Tamils, who warred for
centuries with the Sinhalese. Gradually, they settled down to ignore each other, the Tamils in the
north and the Sinhalese in the south.

"'The burghers, too, form a very large element in our school. They are the descendants of the old
Dutch settlers in Ceylon. Lately the University College has decided that the vernacular shall be a
compulsory subject in the junior and senior. English, of course, is the language of teaching.'

"Trinity Mission College begins with the kindergarten, and its higher classes take the standard of
the Cambridge Arts and Sciences. It is run on the lines of the best English public schools, with
sports as a great feature. Occasionally among the boy students a girl or two studies, but this is
merely because there is practically no provision in Ceylon for the higher education of women.

"I asked Miss Reimann whether there was any justification for the popular idea that Hindus or
Sinhalese acquired only a 'veneer' of culture. 'That, I think,' she said, ‘is most often due to a

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misconception of the measure of culture. They have their own, which, of course, is very much
older and more rooted in the life of the world than ours. If they mean that only superficial
knowledge of western culture is acquired, well, I think that is quite natural. It is a pity they cannot
study their own literature, which is Sanskrit, instead of Greek, but then, there is such a dearth of
teachers. In Trinity College there is absolutely no distinction between members of the staff or
pupils. Mr Fraser, the pupil, has all his staff to breakfast, luncheon, or dinner at different times,
and his wife entertains the boys in just the same impartial way. Neither is there any distinction of
caste. Many of our boys from the wealthy planters’ families are some of Kandyan chiefs – that is,
descendants from the old nobility of the days when there were kings. Their parents objected very
strongly to the admission of one or two decidedly lower caste boys, and threatened to take their
boys away. ‘Very well,’ said Mr. Fraser; ‘You had better take them’ – but they didn’t! It was the
same with food at first. Some of the eastern religionists were very particular about food being
prepared by a member of their caste, and eaten from special plates; but Mr. Fraser announced
roundly that there was nothing of that sort in the school – and there isn’t. Buddhist and Hindu
feast together quite amicably.’

“It was a little more surprising to learn that there were no difficulties in connection with service.
Every Sunday, Mohammedans, Hindus, and Buddhists attend with their European fellows in a
Church of England service. Parents know that it is quite open for them to take their boys away –
and they also know that there are very definite advantages in having them there.

“’Even Scripture lesson presents no difficulties. There was a time when Mr. Fraser thought that
perhaps it was rather unfair to compel a Mohammedan, say, to attend the first lesson, which is
always Scripture, so he announced that biography might be taken as an alternative course. Only
one boy gave his name for biography! I think, as a matter of fact,’ added Miss Reimann, with a
twinkle in her eye, ‘that the very probable reason was that Scripture is an easy subject for the
junior and senior examination’ – which proves that human nature is much the same in all
countries. ‘At the end of the year,’ went on Miss Reimann, ‘special prizes are given and have to be
specially competed for. The Scripture prize, which is a very fine one, is nearly always won by a
Buddhist or a Mohammedan.’

“I asked Miss Reimann what careers were open to her pupils leaving the school, and she said
regretfully that the outlook was not bright, ‘It is sad to see the professions of law and medicine so
crowded, and most other boys taking any stray clerkship, while the great agricultural future of
Ceylon is all unthought of. That is, of course, what one would like to see them take up, for Ceylon
is essentially a great agricultural country. Agriculture is despised, and, of course, there are
centuries of prejudice and reasons behind that. This contempt must be removed if Ceylon is to
prosper. Mr. Fraser has bought a large area of land near the school, and he is going to establish an
agricultural college there… In the civil service, of course, there is not the scope there should be.
Only the lower positions are open, and the old argument is that Sinhalese cannot govern
themselves – as if anybody could without being allowed to gain experience. Ceylon has always

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been more tranquil – you never produce the leaders that India has, and that, perhaps, is a pity in
some ways. The Buddhist religion, I think, is mostly to blame for being content with too little.’

“When Miss Reimann first went to the school she was the only woman teacher in the huge
secondary school. Today there is only one other. She found the boys regarded her with extreme
reserve; they confided in her afterwards that since she was an Australian, member of a race which
excluded them from her country, they had resolved to see what her attitude was before they took
the first step. Now she is on the best of terms with them all. ‘I think,’ she remarked in parenthesis,
‘that my easy-going Australian ways alarmed them a bit too!’ Last year was the jubilee of the
college, and Miss Reimann was called upon to write its history. With other women members of the
staff she attended the jubilee dinner, and, following this example, quite a number of ‘old boys’
brought their wives and sisters – an unheard-of thing 10 years ago. ‘I think,’ said Miss Reimann,
‘that it has been a jolly good thing to have one or two women in the boys’ school, and to let the
boys see how European men treat them. It has reacted tremendously on their attitude to their
own women. Nowadays, quite a lot of them take their wives and daughters about just like
Europeans.’

“The illiterate Tamil or Sinhalese girl, by the way, is now a person of the past. Parents of high caste
protested bitterly at first against the education of their daughters, but when it grew rapidly
manifest that educated young men wanted helpmates, and had no intention of marrying illiterate
women, the parents came round quite suddenly! ‘They are charming women,’ said MIss Reimann,
‘and the Tamil manners are most gracious and beautiful.”’

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 APPENDIX 2

STAFF PHOTOS SUPPLIED BY TRINITY COLLEGE

(scanned from the book “Trinity College Kandy – Centenary Number 1872-1972”)

Staff, 1923. Valesca Reimann is seated 4th from right.

Staff, 1935. Valesca Reimann is seated 6th from left.

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 APPENDIX 3

HISTORY OF TRINITY COLLEGE, KANDY

Extracts and Notes from Valesca L. O. Reimann, A History of Trinity College, Kandy, The Diocesan
Press, Vepery, Madras, 1922.

The first missionaries of the Church Missionary Society arrived in Colombo in June 1818. "A little
later, at the suggestion of the Governor, Sir Robert Brownrigg, one of them left Colombo for
Kandy, which had recently come into British possession. This missionary was highly respected by
the people of Kandy and he was able to open the first Christian schools in the interior...The
buildings [in Kandy] were finished about 1823."

"Some years later an appeal was made for a school of higher education… In 1857 the Rev. J I Jones
arrived from England in order to open the Kandy Collegiate School with the object of reaching the
sons of the Kandian chiefs and bringing them under the influence of a Christian education". The
school flourished, with up to 75 students, until about 1863 or 1864, when it closed. Subjects
taught in the First Class of the Upper School were: scripture, evidences of Christianity, Euclid,
algebra, arithmetic, Latin, Greek, geography, history of India, history of England, astronomy,
English grammar, poetry, drawing.

"But the Singhalese people of Kandy and particularly the members of the Holy Trinity Church,
were unceasing in their appeals to the Church Missionary Society for the reopening of the school."
This happened in 1872, under the new name of Trinity College, after Rev. Jones' alma mater,
Trinity College, Dublin.

"The School continued to increase in numbers and efficiency; and the Principal added two extra
classes after school hours for the teaching of Sinhalese and Tamil."

1875: The Literary Association was formed, with essays, debates and readings. Religious and
secular subjects alternated.

Secular subjects eg: "The Planet Mars", "History", "Gambling", "The Social Customs of the
Sinhalese", "The Progress of Political Power in England", "Nobility".

Religious subjects eg: "Faith", "Courage", "Peace", "Love", "Duty".

"Another great feature of College life was the sham courts. On one occasion a sham trial nearly
ended fatally. The accused - a strapping Tamil youngster - was convicted of murder and actually
hanged with a curtain rope; but he was fortunately rescued before it was too late."

1879 boarder's timetable:

"6 a.m. Rising Bell.

6.30 a.m. Tea.
7 a.m. Roll-call, all students, in the College Hall.

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7.30 a.m. Chapel.
8 a. m. - 10 a.m. First School.
10 a.m. Breakfast.
11 a.m. - 2 p.m. Second School.
2 p.m. Dinner.
3 p.m. - 4.30 p.m. Study.
4.30 p.m. Exercise, games, or a walk in or out of town.
6.30 p.m. Supper.
7.30 p.m. - 9 p.m. Study.
9 p.m. Prayers conducted by the Principal.
9.30 p.m. Lights out.

On Sundays the boarders attended both Sinhalese services at Holy Trinity Church."

Sporting activities included cricket, tennis and swimming.

"On July 9, 1898, the Kandy Senatorial Association was formed. The meetings were held weekly
with an average attendance of twenty. Its object was the improvement and unity of the Kandyans
and the instruction of Kandyan students in the history, literature and social conditions of their own
community."

1901: "It appears...the day-boys were in mortal terror of the boarders, and the boarders used this
fact to their own advantage. It was discovered that if it rained heavily and the day-boys got wet on
their way to school or did not attend school at all, the Principal would give a 'rain-holiday' for that
day. Consequently when there were even short showers, the boarders used to form up at the gate
and refuse to allow any day-boy to pass until they had them thoroughly soaked [using buckets].
Many of the day-boys turned back home after this rough treatment, some even in tears. Later on
the Principal would go round the classes and find more than half the boys absent or shivering in
their wet clothes, and perforce pronounce the day a 'rain-holiday'. Slight showers accounted for
quite a number of extra holidays."

1903: "...overcrowding in the classrooms (there were 452 boys with accommodation for less than
400), a staff incapable of dealing with the increased numbers, an unsound financial position,
irregular attendance of the pupils, and consequent inefficient class-work, bad reports from the
Government Inspectors and a deceased grant, which again worked for greater inefficiency in an
underpaid staff."

However, in November, a new Principal arrived, Mr A G Fraser. During his tenure, until 1924,
radical improvements occurred. "Fraser was an inspiring personality and yet truly self-sacrificing.
All his best years were given to Trinity and all his efforts bore fruit. He had the power of
persuasion, which he used to inspire brilliant men from Oxford and Cambridge to serve as Anglican
missionaries at Trinity College... Decisions of Mr. Fraser were daring but far sighted. It was he who
introduced the mother tongue and broke away from conventional subjects mostly imported from
England. He introduced a diversified system of education with a strong bias towards national

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needs. Agriculture was introduced when it was not the practice in any other local school. The story
of Mr. Fraser is voluminous, for he was not merely a Principal but a stalwart among head masters."

1906: "...The Cambridge and London Examinations have been in vogue throughout Ceylon...

"Sinhalese and Tamil too became part of the school curriculum and so school closed half an hour
later. Ceylon History was revised as a school subject."

1908: "The following is an extract from the Principal's report: 'When I came here four years ago I
was astonished to find that Senior students who hoped to serve as R Ms amongst their people or
to enter Government offices or to be teachers could neither read nor write their own tongue, be it
Sinhalese or Tamil. Teaching throughout was given through the medium of English to boys who,
when they came to school, knew how to speak only their mother tongue, although they did not
read or write it. This memory work occupied of necessity far too large a place in their education,
and teaching became unintelligent and dull. When in addition to subjects outside their daily life
like English History and English Readers, Latin was added and possibly Greek the situation became
Gilbertian. These conditions are still largely unchanged. But we intend to change them gradually.
Latin becomes an optional subject in future, except in Standards IV and V, and will be taught only
to those who desire it or are candidates for examinations in which it is compulsory. Instead of it
and of hours given to Greek the English hours will be increased, book-keeping and shorthand will
be taught and the vernaculars will be gradually made compulsory for all. By next year we hope to
have large and well-equipped Science laboratories erected, chemical, physical and biological, and
to introduce these subjects into the curriculum whilst keeping them related and founded on the
vernaculars. We have seen in India and Ceylon of past days that invariably the best students and
speakers of English were first men with a cultured and literary knowledge of their own tongues. A
thorough knowledge of the mother tongue is indispensable to true culture or real thinking power.
More a College fails if it is not producing true citizens, and men who are isolated from the masses
of their own people by ignorance of their language and thought can never fulfil the part of
educated citizens or be true leaders of their race. For these reasons and on these grounds we are
continuing in our altered policy and curriculum.'

"...When these words were written the National Movement which has spread rapidly all over India
and Ceylon, and was largely a reaction against Westernisation, was still in its infancy.

"...The new scheme for Trinity College was an effort to blend the good of the East and the West.
Its method was the subordination of the Classics to Science and the Vernaculars... The Principal
expressed his opinion thus: 'In the study of science it is almost impossible for the pupil to rely
mainly on memory; observation, research, intelligent comparison and deduction, are almost
inevitably called into play. We require men who will reason for themselves and will act on what
they see as true, and we find in Science a better instrument of training than in another grammar of
another unknown tongue.' [However,] Trinity College now [1922] stands less definitely for Science
as against the Classics as a means of education. Latin is again compulsory with few exceptions, and
Greek becomes optional after a certain amount of compulsory science has been studied."

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1910: "The biggest thing the College did in 1910 was the formation of the Trinity College Union for
Social Service... Local doctors were consulted and on their advice boys were told off to visit certain
of the poorer and more significant patients to see that they received their medicines rightly.
Permission was given to visit the Hospital and this was done regularly. Magic lantern lectures and
concerts were given to patients. Then a shelter was built in August for the rickshaw coolies who
before had been exposed to all weathers. The coolies agreed to pay a quarter of the cost and to
refrain from gambling in it… A small vernacular school in Mahaiyawa for the children of the lowest
rank of coolies was supported by the boys...two opium patients were cared for and in conjunction
with the Friend-in-Need Society many beggars were traced and helped or discouraged. There were
lectures in the College on social questions, and cuttings from the news-papers dealing chiefly with
matters of social interest were printed weekly on a large map of the world.

"...Besides this, as the need arose, the work became more definite along special lines. Thus, as a
malaria epidemic had lately broken out, the principal energy of the Union was directed towards
alleviating the suffering. Several villages near Kandy were regularly visited and the malarial
patients dosed with quinine."

1912: "...opposition to Trinity College fell under two heads this year. The first was from the Maha
Bodhi - the organ of the Buddhist revival in Ceylon and bitter against Christianity. The reasons for
the opposition [were] the number of baptisms that occurred in the College this year. There were
nine, two of them old boys, and seven the sons of leading Kandyans and temple managers... The
other attacks came from the Educational Association, because they loved Latin and Greek, and the
English University Examinations and disliked the vernaculars.

"Since Ceylon was essentially an agricultural country and over 90 percent of the population were
engaged in agriculture, it was felt that Trinity boys should be able to contribute something to the
welfare of their people in that respect. And so they were taught agriculture... Practical lessons
were carried out on plots of ground in the College compound." The Union for Social Service carried
out an experiment in rice paddy cultivation according to a new productive method, for promotion
amongst villages.

1914: Some Trinitians volunteered for service in the First World War, but it was decided that "...a
contingent of Ceylonese was not possible. This was a great disappointment to the Ceylonese, and
it was a political blunder on the part of the Government to discourage a practical demonstration
of loyalty and patriotic sacrifice from the people of the Island themselves. But the Governor was
exceedingly anxious that Ceylon should not suffer from the war - so he forbade her sharing in it...
Those who enlisted, did so as individuals and were drafted into existing companies in England."

1915: "...on May 29, there broke out the Ceylon riots. The Sinhalese Buddhists had been
embittered by a long series of grievances, against the Mohammedans, and it culminated in a
attempt on the part of the Mohammedans to interfere with the erection of a dansala opposite the
mosque on Buddha's birthday. The trouble began in Kandy...when the Sinhalese broke into a
number of Moor shops, carried them out into the street and made a bonfire of them. Some of the

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Moors were beaten or roughly handled in the process. So far the sympathies were with the
Sinhalese. But the next night it became evident that the disturbance was likely to take a far more
serious turn. A false report had been spread that the Moors were planning to revenge themselves
by a raid on the Maligawa, and the Buddhists were immediately stirred to fury. Thousands of
Sinhalese took up their quarters in their temple, or formed smaller or larger bands which scoured
the streets, breaking into shops, looting, burning and hunting down the Moors. The police dashed
about everywhere, but they were far too few in number. Early in the morning of the 29th there
was an attack on the mosque which had objected to the erection of the dansala, and in a few
hours later it was nothing but an empty shell... On the third day, Sunday, Mr Fraser called for
volunteers from the school to serve as special constables, and so far as possible to preserve life
and property. Thirty-six boys responded and were marched down to the police station to be sworn
in...the College had incurred great hostility by the stand they had taken; and this was aggravated
by the protection they were affording to Moors on the compound. By evening there were eighty-
five men, women and children sheltered on the College premises. This meant guarding the
compound against attack, as it was quickly reported everywhere that there were Moorish refugees
in the College... School work was done in the mornings; then there was rest and after that daily
drill and exercise with patrol work at night. After a few days Martial Law was proclaimed in Kandy
and the boys were given rifles with ball cartridges and bayonets instead of their clubs... This went
on for a month until the riots finally ended and it was possible to resume the ordinary routine of
daily work...everywhere throughout the Island were Old Boys, who at great personal risk were out
to protect the lives of innocent victims... Mr Fraser was asked by the Buddhists and
Mohammedans both to represent their respective cases to the Governor in a deputation. He
naturally was more than ready to try to bring about a reconciliation between the two parties,
when all violence was laid aside."

1918: "There had once been the accusation that Trinity College was interested in nothing but
sport. Unfortunately the Ceylon parent does not realise the important and necessary part which
sport plays in a boy's education. A school is approved or condemned according as it is successful or
otherwise in examinations. Examinations are the be-all and end-all of a boy's education, and in the
past success in examinations has been regarded as a first class ticket to Heaven, Government
service or a medical or law career supplying the express train. But a boy who is a highly efficient
mental production may be but a poor specimen of manhood... During these years no school, could
afford to laugh at Trinity for her achievements in cricket rugger, athletics and military training. But
neither could they point the finger of scorn at her intellectual attainments."

The world influenza epidemic of 1918 and the great rice shortage of 1919 affected Ceylon, as well
as the College.

From http://www.trinitycollege.lk/

"In January, 1919, the Tamil Literary Union was formed to encourage and develop the study of
Tamil literature by Tamil boys. It began with a membership of forty-nine students and ten

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masters." "In the days of Fraser 17 different nationalities made use of the all round educational
Trinity provided."

Trinity College Now

"Trinity College has evolved into a national school emphasizing good discipline while offering
students every facility to grow into a complete personality; a school with activities so diversified
that there is abundant life throughout the day every day. Those passing through the school have
held positions of responsibility in their own land and have shown remarkable competence at
international level. It is a multi-ethnic and a multi-religious school which, having a Christian
foundation, will undoubtedly help to establish peace and harmony amongst a divided nation.

"Trinity College will build on its heritage and goes to greater heights in the new millennium. The
motto of Trinity is "Respice Finem", so Trinity looks if not to the end, but to the years ahead in
serving the youth of Sri Lanka."

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Between 1916 and 1945 Valesca Reimann, from South Australia, taught
Western classics, Latin and mathematics at Trinity College, Kandy, in Ceylon
(now Sri Lanka). Trinity College was founded on Christianity in a largely
Buddhist, Hindu and Moslem country. Sinhalese and Tamil cultures added
to the mix. The boys at the school were mostly from these cultures and
also came from nearby countries. The school was run along the lines of an
English public school.

In this book, Valesca Reimann tells how she navigated through this, fell in
love with the people and the country and added jungle adventures and
visits to historical places along the way - ever curious and mostly
undaunted. At the College, she is still remembered as a "legend".