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New digs, some amusing anecdotes from London and sailing back home

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Excerpted from the Memoirs of a Cabinet Secretary by BP Peiris

At the end of my third year at Sutton, I had, with deep regret, to find another home. As I stated before, each lot of girls left in December to be at home for Christmas and the next lot was not due till the February following. Miss Overton, who was old and wealthy, preferred to spend the cold English winter in Italy or on the Mediterranean coast. The house was therefore let for a couple of months.

In the three years I had been at Sutton, I had accumulated a fair collection of books other than my law books, about 300 in all, and it was inconvenient to move just for a month or two with such a deal of baggage. I explained the position to Miss Overton and she agreed that when I next moved out, it would be a move for good. The loss was mine. I was losing a good home, a very kind hostess and a charming lot of friends.

In finding a new home, luck was again with me. My brother, S. W., who was doing engineering, found the traveling from Sutton to London a bit tiring and had found a good home in Ealing, about nine miles to the west of London. He invited me to come and stay with him and I was glad to accept the offer. Soon afterwards, he left for Berlin to continue his studies with the world-famous firm of Siemens.

I moved with my baggage and my books to a delightful and cultured home, that of Captain and Mrs Woodward and five children, two girls and three boys.They had been a wealthy family but had come down in the world after a crash in Vickers-Armstrong in which Woodward had invested. Some of the things in the house showed that they had been used to a very high standard of living. There were rare Chinese art pictures hanging on the walls, exquisite antique tables in the lounge, and one set of books, a complete leather-bound set of the works of George Bernard Shaw, which Mrs Woodward knew almost by heart.

The conversation at table was of a very high level. The eldest, Nancy, at that time aged about 19, spoke French and German fluently. The next, also a girl, whom we used to call ‘Jimmy’ was a beauty of 17 and an artist’s model. The two elder boys also knew their French and German and the older boy was sent to Russia to study that language with a view to entering the diplomatic service. The youngest, Mike, was a mischievous fellow of four who spent his time in climbing trees in the garden.

His broad-minded mother did not put him into shoes till he was nearly five years old and used to take him barefooted along the streets, both summer and winter. On one occasion when Mike was walking barefooted on the snow with his mother, an angry lady came up and threatened to report her to the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children. Nothing came of this; but Mike never caught a cold.

Mrs Woodward’s father, a man nearly 80 years of age, used to have a dip every morning in the Serpentine in Hyde Park and, in winter, if the lake was frozen, used to break the ice to have his plunge. He never caught a cold either. The doctors probably have some explanation for this.

There was also a German girl in the house, Felizitas Tillmann. Woodward’s eldest boy had been in a German home to study the language and this was an ‘exchange’. She paid no fees but ran the house with typical German efficiency, relieving Mrs Woodward of most of her household work. The house ran like a clock. I never had breakfast because Fay, as we all called her, ordered the table to be cleared if we were not down before a particular time.

She was a charming girl and we became very friendly. Hitler had made an order prohibiting women from using lipstick and rouge and from wearing stockings. Like any German, she loved her beer, and we used to walk a mile to the pub every evening. I sipped my beer; in German style she put her’s down at a ‘sitting’. The English people’ present were amazed at this strange girl without make-up, bareheaded and stockingless, knocking a beer down faster than they could. One day, she was unable to come with me and I went alone. As I ordered my pint, one of the Englishmen, all friendly people,

walked up to me and whispered “We have all admired the way your wife puts down her beer”.

On one of these trips with Fay to the pub, we found Mike about half a mile from the house, in the middle of the street on his bicycle, right under the arm of a policeman controlling the traffic. I shouted “Mike! What are you doing here?” and walked across to him. The policeman asked me “Are you the gentleman from Queen’s Road?” and allowed me to take him away. My name, as one of the darkies in the area, was on the books of Scotland Yard and every policeman in the area knew me and, I presume, was expected to keep an eye on me.

Another incident comes to my mind. I invited Fay to dine with me at Veeraswamy’s in London. It was a very expensive place – a rice and one curry costing about ten shillings and six pence. We were served by the head waiter, a fair, military-looking man with a row of war medals on his breast, a silver chain like a Lord Mayor’s round, his neck and dressed in white sherwani, jodhpurs, red sash and red; turban. I took him for a Kashmiri.

Having finished dinner, Fay and I retired downstairs for smokes and liqueur. I do not know how many liqueurs we consumed, but when I called for two more, the ‘Lord Mayor’ refused to serve saying that I had had enough. “You are in charge of a lady, Sir’ he said “and you have a long way to go.” How he knew where I lived, I did not know. I asked him to bring me the liqueurs or to call the manager, and the following dialogue ensued:

He: I will certainly call the manager, Sir, but I think you have had enough.

I: That is not a matter for you.

He: Are you from Ceylon, Sir?

I: I am from Ceylon, but that has nothing to do with the liqueurs.

He: What school Sir?

I: Royal.

He: I am Poulier from St Thomas’, Sir. Been here 25-years. I think you’ve had enough, Sir.

I: Thank you, Poulier. I am going.

Some time later I invited a Spanish friend of mine to dine with me at Veeraswamy’s. He returned the invitation by asking me to dinner at the Royal Alphonso in Regent Street, another exclusive restaurant. He said he would order a special dish which would take about 15 minutes to prepare. And it came: about three spoons of boiled rice with a sliced, fried banana on top.

One summer, we had a delightful holiday in the Isle of Wight with the Woodwards who had booked a large house for a month. Apart from the family, there were several new faces. There was the late Dr B. E. Fernando of revered memory. There was Mr V. Coomaraswamy (later to be knighted) and Mrs Coom as everybody called her. And Jimmy, Woodward’s daughter, had brought a male friend whom she introduced as a student of the Slade School of Art of the University of London.

From the very first day, his behaviour gave room for suspicion. Art students are poor, but during the month, this student traveled several times from Southampton to London, “on business” he said, and he traveled first class. On moonlight nights, the art student used to take the entire household to the pub after dinner for liqueurs. Mrs Woodward was curious to find out the identity of the person introduced to her by the daughter as a Slade School student. On one of our friend’s frequent trips to London, Mrs Woodward, against all the rules of British ethics, searched the student’s luggage and closely inspected every article of clothing. There were no initials on anything to disclose the identity of the guest and she drew a complete blank.

Coming down to the hall, she saw his overcoat hanging in the hall-stand and looked into it. In the inside pocket, there was the usual tailor’s tab which he had forgotten to remove. It said “G. Brockhurst Esq – W. J. Pickett, Bond Street, Tailor.” A well-known artist had been caught masquerading as a poor art student.

Gerald Brockhurst, at that time about 35 years of age, was already an Associate of the Royal Academy, a Royal Etcher and a Royal Portrait Painter. As soon as it was known that he had commenced work on a picture, an etching or a portrait, it was booked by some wealthy person for about two thousand guineas. He was in the surtax grade and was, at that time, paying tax at the rate of nineteen and six in the pound.

He had a Rolls-Royce car and kept his wife in Dieppe across the Channel, paying her almost weekly visits. In spite of his wealth he was the simplest of men. He told me he came from a very poor family, so poor that his parents had not sent him to school because they could not afford the fees. He started very early in life helping his mother by carrying coals on his head in a basket for sale. While he was waiting on the doorstep for a favourable order, he would draw on the step with a piece of coal. So are great men made.

Was it Emerson who said that the truly great man is he who is never conscious of his greatness? With his lack of education, he was deficient in grammar and spelling. He rarely wrote a letter, always preferring to send a telegram, which often went into many pages, because, as he said, plural subjects can be mixed with singular verbs. Always modest, always conscious of his small beginnings and his lack of learning, he kept his head on those artistic shoulders and never talked ‘money’. In later years, he reminded me of that other great artist, Lionel Wendt and his brother Harry, both the most unassuming of men.

We were now back after our summer holiday in the Isle or Wight. One day, it was the August Bank holiday, I suddenly came across three of my good friends in London: A. F. Wijemanne, later to become a Senator and Minister of Justice, Siripala Samarakkody, later to become a member of the State Council, a very good and fluent speaker, and Hilton M. Fernando, a linguist who knew his English, Latin and Greek and spoke French, German, Italian and Spanish. The last two have been taken away from us to their heavenly rest.

Wijemanne said his landlady had gone away for the weekend holiday, his house was empty, and would we come? Naturally, with the holiday feeling, the three of us jumped at Wije’s invitation. I invited them, as a quid pro quo for Wije’s impending hospitality, to dine with me at a Chinese restaurant and, on the way to dinner, turned in at the first pub for a ‘touch’.

The invitation had been so sudden and unexpected that none of us carried a razor, toothbrush or pyjamas for the excursion. Our host had, I believe, one drink at the pub and left to “get the place ready”. In our excitement, we forgot to ask him where his landlady lived. But Samarakkody knew. Siripala, a teetotaller took port, Hilton drank beer and I anticipating trouble, took creme de menthe before dinner.

And so, we walked along the Edgeware Road to dinner in Soho but turned in at every pub we passed just for one more until we were at the 13th place and the 13th port went into Siripala’s head. The pub was full with the Bank holiday crowds. Suddenly, Siripala, in his loud and perfect diction, started “Gentlemen of the Jury, if the prisoner be guilty etc. etc.” quoting Galsworthy from memory. The barman came and requested us to leave if we could not remain quiet. As we were leaving, two persons shook hands with us saying “Congratulations. We are Irish”.

There was no point, now, in going for dinner. Instead, Hilton went for a taxi while I was looking after the casualty who was shouting, about once in every half-minute “Independence for India”. This was the time of the Indian Round Table Conference when Winston Churchill referred to Gandhi as that half-naked fakir walking up the steps of Vice Regal Lodge.

In the taxi, after a great deal of coaxing and in the midst of his shouting, we extracted from Siripala that Wije lived in Golders Green. With more difficulty, we got the name of the street and the number of the house – 13. When we got to the house, Siripala said “Give my bloody wallet to the good old English bastard” and there was another row with the man.

We were standing on the pavement. It was nearly midnight. There was an “Independence for India” shout and a torch was flashed in our faces. They were two policemen on the beat and we inquired for number 13. They flashed the torch up the gravel path saying “Quiet, now, quiet”, and we crept in quietly. Having put Siripala to bed, we looked about the house for something to eat as we were hungry.

There was a roast chicken in the refrigerator. Wije said it was not his, but we ate it nevertheless.Many years later, back in Ceylon, I was invited by my cousin, Professor G. H. Cooray to a party at his house. There I was introduced to an English girl who was then matron at a private hospital. I related this story to her and she asked me whether I remember the number of the house. When I said “Thirteen” she shouted to her mother who was seated at the other and of the room “Mummy, here is the gentleman who stole and ate our chicken.” So small is the world.

Woodward was a charming man. He would tiptoe into my room and say, “Let’s slip out for a pint of beer, old boy”. To his wife he would say, “Mummy, Percy and I are going to post a letter”. On one of these walks to the pub to post a letter we were accosted by a pretty, painted young thing, clearly a tart who, addressing Woodward, said “Hello. Good evening. What about it?”

Woodward, who was a clean and honourable man who had served in the Duke of Westminster’s Regiment in France in the First World War, politely raised his head and said “What about what?” The girl, probably realizing that this was the wrong type of fish she was trying to hook, said “Aren’t you the gentleman I spoke to yesterday about a house?” “No, madam,” said Woodward, “You are making a mistake. I’m not a house agent.”

When we were out of earshot, Woodward asked me what he should have done in the circumstances. I told him that if she had addressed me, I would have asked her across the street behind the coffee stall and inquired what it was all about. All Woodward said was “You naughty boy”.

The time was now coming for me to leave Ealing and England for good. I had passed the LL.B and been called to the Bar. Captain Woodward himself packed my several hundred books in a crate and sealed it. I took the Dutch liner P. C. Hooft from Southampton and arrived in Colombo towards the end of May 1932.



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Features

Why spill water and reject sunlight while burning imported fuel?

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Sri Lanka needs a fairer and more transparent approach to renewable energy

by K R Pushparanjan

Sri Lanka has spent several decades encouraging private investment in renewable energy. Small hydropower was among the earliest successes of this policy while rooftop solar has more recently enabled thousands of ordinary households and businesses to become electricity producers. These developments have reduced the country’s dependence on imported fuel, mobilised private capital for electricity generation and contributed towards a cleaner and more diversified energy system.

It is therefore difficult to reconcile these objectives with reports that renewable generators are increasingly being required to curtail production during periods of low electricity demand, particularly on Sundays, Poya days and other holidays. The question is especially relevant to run-of-river mini-hydropower, where naturally available water may simply pass downstream when generation is stopped, and to rooftop solar, where abundant midday sunshine cannot be postponed until the evening peak.

There are, of course, legitimate technical reasons why the Ceylon Electricity Board (CEB), as system operator, may occasionally have to curtail renewable generation. An electricity system must maintain a continuous balance between generation and consumption. On Sundays and holidays, industrial and commercial demand can fall considerably while solar, hydro and wind generation remain available. Certain conventional generating units may sometimes have to remain connected to provide frequency control, voltage support, operating reserves and other services essential for grid stability. Transmission constraints can also make it impossible to substitute generation in one part of the country directly for generation elsewhere.

No responsible renewable-energy producer would suggest that grid security should be compromised merely to accept every available unit of renewable electricity. However, legitimate engineering considerations should not become a blanket explanation that places curtailment decisions beyond public scrutiny.

The CEB itself describes the economic principle underlying electricity dispatch as merit-order dispatch, under which lower-cost generation is normally utilised before progressively more expensive generation. Consequently, whenever inexpensive renewable electricity is deliberately curtailed while substantially more expensive oil-fired generation continues, electricity consumers and renewable producers are entitled to ask why. If a particular thermal generating unit must remain online for frequency stability, voltage support, network security or some other technical requirement, that can be explained. If transmission congestion requires renewable generation in a particular area to be reduced, that too can be demonstrated. Transparency should strengthen technically sound decisions, not threaten them.

Mini-hydro and an unequal contractual relationship

Run-of-river mini-hydropower deserves particular consideration. Unlike reservoir hydro, most such plants have limited ability to store water. When sufficient water is available, but the plant is instructed not to generate, that water may simply bypass the turbines and continue downstream. The opportunity to produce that electricity is then lost. No imported diesel, furnace oil or coal is required to allow that water to turn a turbine, and there is no corresponding fuel-related foreign-exchange expenditure.

Sri Lanka’s mini-hydropower industry was developed largely through private investment. The CEB currently records 219 commissioned mini-hydro projects with an aggregate capacity of approximately 430 MW and acknowledges the role of government policy in encouraging private-sector development of this indigenous renewable resource.

Yet, there has always been a fundamental imbalance in the commercial relationship between the small power producer and the national purchaser. Mini-hydro projects have historically sold their electricity through the Standardised Power Purchase Agreement (SPPA). The very nature of a standardised agreement substantially limits the individual developer’s negotiating position. Published material concerning Sri Lanka’s small-power-producer framework has described the SPPA as standardized and non-negotiable.

This is hardly a negotiation between parties of equal bargaining strength. A mini-hydro developer cannot realistically reject an unfavorable provision and offer the electricity to another national grid. For much of the industry’s history there has effectively been one purchaser, leaving the developer with little practical alternative but to accept the terms offered.

The weakness of that position becomes particularly evident when curtailment occurs. A PUCSL-commissioned study has recorded that under the original SPPA there was no penalty on the CEB for not purchasing energy. The developer may have invested the capital, borrowed the money, undertaken the construction and hydrological risks, maintained the machinery and had both water and generating equipment available, yet still carry the financial loss when electricity cannot be accepted for reasons originating within the national system.

If curtailment is genuinely necessary for grid security, the plant operator may have to accept the technical instruction. It does not logically follow, however, that the entire financial consequence should automatically be imposed upon the weaker contracting party.

Germany curtails renewables too – but differently

Germany provides a useful comparison precisely because it demonstrates that renewable curtailment is sometimes unavoidable even in an advanced electricity system. With very large quantities of wind and solar generation, Germany regularly experiences transmission congestion and occasions when all available renewable electricity cannot immediately be transported to consumers.

The important difference lies in how the problem is managed. Germany operates a regulated redispatch system. European electricity-market rules require redispatch to be undertaken according to objective, transparent and non-discriminatory criteria. Conventional generation, renewable generation and storage can all form part of the process, with interventions determined by what is required to relieve network constraints safely and economically.

Equally important is the recognition that curtailment has financial consequences. Germany’s Federal Network Agency explains that affected generators and storage operators have statutory entitlements to appropriate financial compensation within the redispatch framework. Depending upon the circumstances, relevant arrangements can take account of generation expenditure, lost revenue opportunities, readiness costs, maintenance implications and costs avoided because generation was reduced. The German framework also provides balancing mechanisms intended to address the commercial position of installations affected by redispatch, including renewable generators.

The principle is worth considering in Sri Lanka. When a privately financed generator is required to sacrifice otherwise available production for the security and benefit of the national electricity system, why should that cost automatically and entirely be borne by the generator?

Germany offers another lesson that may be even more important: transparency. Through the Federal Network Agency and its SMARD electricity-market information platform, information on congestion management, renewable curtailment and conventional redispatch is publicly available. Official German figures show that renewable curtailment amounted to approximately 3.5 percent of renewable generation in 2025, meaning that more than 96 percent of renewable electricity generated reached the system and consumers.

Sri Lanka cannot simply copy Germany. The two electricity systems differ enormously in size, resources, interconnections and market structure. What can be adopted, however, are the principles of transparency, non-discrimination, accountability and fair treatment of generators affected by decisions taken for the benefit of the wider system.

What generation remained online?

Whenever significant renewable curtailment occurs in Sri Lanka, sufficient information should therefore be made publicly available to answer some straightforward questions. How many megawatts were curtailed, for how many hours, and how many megawatt-hours of renewable electricity were consequently lost? Which thermal generating units remained operational during those hours? What fuel were they using and what was their approximate generation cost? Why was each of those units technically required to remain online? Was the curtailment caused by system-wide oversupply, a local transmission constraint, frequency considerations or some other identifiable requirement? These are not unreasonable questions. If the decisions are technically and economically sound, the answers should vindicate the system operator.

The issue assumes particular importance because Sri Lanka has historically spent enormous sums purchasing thermal electricity. An Auditor General’s special audit concerning ACE Power Embilipitiya reported expenditure of approximately Rs. 59.454 billion on electricity purchased from that plant between 2016 and 2021. The audit also drew attention to transmission-system problems and the consequences of permanent solutions not being implemented in a timely manner.

This does not establish that thermal generation is unnecessary or that private thermal producers have acted improperly. Nor should allegations of corruption be made against particular parties without evidence. Nevertheless, Sri Lanka’s long history of public concern regarding procurement, governance and major public expenditure makes transparency particularly important. Large thermal power contracts, fuel purchases and capacity arrangements involve substantial sums of money. The best protection against suspicion is not secrecy but disclosure.

If expensive thermal generation genuinely has to remain online while inexpensive renewable generation is curtailed, publish the technical reason. Publish the quantities. Publish the relevant costs. Allow engineers, economists, regulators, investors and electricity consumers to examine the decision for themselves.

Rooftop solar must not become the next casualty

The same argument now applies to rooftop solar. Sri Lanka successfully encouraged households and businesses to invest their own money in solar installations. Net Metering, Net Accounting and related arrangements helped transform consumers into small-scale electricity producers and contributed substantially to the growth of distributed renewable energy. PUCSL continues to recognise Net Metering, Net Accounting and Net Plus within Sri Lanka’s rooftop-solar framework.

The rapid expansion of rooftop solar undoubtedly creates genuine technical difficulties. Solar production is concentrated around daytime hours, while Sri Lanka’s major electricity demand peak occurs later. On a sunny Sunday or holiday, solar production can therefore be substantial precisely when commercial and industrial demand is low. Distribution networks designed for one-way electricity flows may also encounter voltage and hosting-capacity limitations as increasing quantities of electricity flow back from consumers towards the grid.

But it would be fundamentally unfair to encourage citizens to invest their savings in solar energy and subsequently treat their electricity as a problem simply because the national grid has not developed quickly enough to accommodate it.

Battery energy storage offers an important part of the eventual solution. A household battery can capture surplus solar energy around midday and release it during the evening, when both the household and the national system need electricity most. PUCSL has already recognized the value of combining rooftop solar with battery storage in its evolving regulatory arrangements.

However, domestic battery storage still represents a considerable additional investment for an ordinary household. Public policy should therefore be careful not to make battery ownership an economic prerequisite for participating in rooftop solar before such systems become reasonably affordable.

Until domestic battery storage becomes economically accessible to the average household, Net Metering and Net Accounting should be preserved, strengthened and made genuinely accessible. They provide a practical bridge between today’s rapidly growing distributed solar generation and tomorrow’s electricity system in which affordable batteries, utility-scale storage, pumped hydro and sophisticated demand management can shift much more renewable energy from periods of surplus to periods of high demand.

The national grid should, during this transition, continue to perform an important balancing function. Meanwhile, policy should encourage rather than compel household batteries through appropriate time-of-use tariffs and incentives. As battery prices decline, consumers will increasingly adopt them voluntarily because the economics make sense.

The grid must evolve with renewable energy

The longer-term answer is therefore not to choose between renewable energy and grid stability. Sri Lanka needs both.

Investment is required in battery storage, pumped-storage hydro, stronger transmission and distribution networks, better renewable forecasting, modern inverter technology, sophisticated system-control facilities and demand-response programmes. Electricity tariffs can also be designed to encourage industries, commercial establishments, water pumping, electric-vehicle charging and other flexible loads to consume more electricity during periods of abundant solar production.

The electricity system must gradually become capable of moving energy not merely geographically but also across time—storing electricity when nature provides more than consumers require and releasing it when demand rises.

This is also essential for maintaining investor confidence. Private investors make renewable-energy decisions according to expected annual generation, financing costs and anticipated revenue. If a developer can spend substantial capital constructing a renewable project only to face unpredictable curtailment outside his control and without adequate compensation or contractual recourse, the investment risk increases. Eventually that risk translates into higher financing costs, higher required returns and fewer projects.

A country cannot credibly invite private investors to finance renewable energy infrastructure while retaining an overwhelmingly one-sided contractual ability to discard their output and transfer the resulting financial loss back to them.

Transparency should not frighten the CEB

Nobody should expect the CEB to compromise national grid security merely to accommodate a mini-hydro plant or rooftop-solar producer. Where curtailment is technically unavoidable, it should occur.

But “system stability” should never become a phrase that ends the discussion.

Where synchronous generation must remain operating, explain why. Where transmission congestion requires renewable curtailment, identify the constraint. Where renewable producers sacrifice available generation for the benefit of the national system, develop a fair compensation mechanism. Where expensive thermal generation remains operational while naturally available water bypasses turbines, disclose why that was the technically necessary and economically preferable decision.

Germany demonstrates that renewable curtailment and renewable-energy development are not contradictory. Even sophisticated electricity systems sometimes have to discard renewable electricity. The difference is that a mature system attempts to minimize curtailment, operates under transparent rules, publishes relevant information and recognizes the financial consequences imposed upon generators.

Sri Lanka should aspire to the same principles.

We should not encourage private investors to build mini-hydropower plants and then place them against the wall through contracts over which they have little negotiating power. We should not encourage households to spend their savings installing solar panels and later make them bear the cost of deficiencies in the electricity network. And we should certainly not discard economically usable indigenous renewable energy without a convincing explanation while scarce foreign exchange is being spent importing fuel.

Sri Lanka should not spill usable water, reject available sunlight and then burn imported fuel to produce electricity that nature was prepared to provide without a fuel bill.

The issue is not whether every unit of renewable electricity can always be accepted. Clearly it cannot. The real test is whether every unit curtailed was genuinely necessary, whether the least-cost and least-wasteful solution was chosen, whether affected producers were treated fairly, and whether the public is permitted to see the evidence.

That is not an unreasonable demand from renewable-energy producers. It is the standard of transparency, accountability and economic discipline that Sri Lanka’s electricity consumers should expect from a modern national power system.

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‘Career of Evil’

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Tales of Mystery and Suspense 22

by Prof. Rajiva Wijesinha

I return now to J K Rowling of Harry Potter fame, writing under the pseudonym Robert Galbraith about Cormoran Strike. There are several books in this series of off-beat detective stories, featuring a private investigator who lost a leg while serving in the army, and his assistant Robin Ellacott, who had been raped when a student, with lasting psychological effects. Strike himself was the child of a rock band groupie, who had lived a sordid life, her last attachment being to a failed rock star of relatively aristocratic provenance and brutal habits.

Career of Evil is the third in the Strike series, and markedly different from the two books I read previously, the first and the fifth. Those were relatively speaking classic whodunnits, with a range of possible murderers, the solution in the end being quite unexpected but also convincing. The murderers in both cases are unhinged, but this does not become obvious until Strike has put two and two together and revealed a history of aberrant behaviour.

This novel has just a few suspects, all of them bizarre, as is made clear from the moment they are introduced. The case begins with Robin being sent a severed leg from a dead body, or rather it begins with the thoughts of the murderer who seeks revenge from Strike, which it seems he intends to achieve by first terrifying and then killing the woman he calls Strike’s Secretary. He also evinces a horrid desire to mutilate women after abusing them.

The first person Strike thinks of as a possible suspect is a member of a crime syndicate known to have sent body parts through the post, but Strike soon decides that he cannot be the perpetrator, in part because he is not likely to have known that Strike was responsible for his conviction earlier. Rather Strike is convinced it is one of three people who hate him, two of them individuals he helped to prosecute when he was in the investigating unit of the army, the third his step-father whom he suspected had killed his mother.

Unfortunately, Wardle, the policeman assigned to the case, who gets on well with Strike, is convinced it is the first person Strike had suggested, and does not seem interested in the rest, so Strike sets about trying to find out what they are up to.

They are not easy to trace, but Strike eventually tracks them down. He finds Laing’s mother in Scotland, although she is no longer able to provide any useful information. He then tracks down the mother of Laing’s first wife, Rona, whom Strike had found tied up and tortured. It was this incident that led to Laing’s conviction and imprisonment, and ultimately fuelled his hatred of Strike.

He finds the sister of the second suspect, Noel Brockbank, and learns that she and her brother were both abused as children by their stepfather. Brockbank later went on to abuse young girls himself. When Strike went to arrest him over the abuse of his stepdaughter, Brockbank attacked him with a broken bottle, and Strike knocked him out. Brockbank subsequently suffered seizures and was found to have a serious brain injury. Although Strike was initially blamed for the injury, it was later established that Brockbank had fractured his skull in a rugby match before the confrontation. Brockbank was therefore never convicted of the abuse allegations, while Strike was cleared of responsibility for his brain injury.

Strike’s third suspect is his former stepfather, Jeff Whittaker, whom he describes as unutterably filthy and abusive, yet strangely attractive to women. When Strike tracks him down, he finds Whittaker living with Stephanie, a woman who supports him with what she earns as a sex worker. Despite being abused by Whittaker, she remains devoted to him.

In his musings, the killer refers to the woman he lives with as “It”, suggesting that he could be Whittaker, who lives off Stephanie’s earnings. But when Robin is attacked by a man dressed differently from Whittaker, whom she had seen shortly before, it becomes clear that Whittaker is not the killer. Laing, the first of Strike’s three suspects, is also apparently ruled out when Robin sees him on crutches and learns that he is claiming disability benefits. Strike and Robin therefore concentrate on the third suspect, Noel Brockbank, whom they eventually trace to a home he shares with his girlfriend, Alyssa, and her two young daughters. Robin has seen the younger girl and becomes increasingly worried about what Brockbank might do to her. Although Strike has ordered her to leave Brockbank alone, Robin continues investigating because of her concern for the child. She eventually discovers that Brockbank has been sexually abusing the older of the two girls.

Meanwhile, Strike and Robin manage to identify the girl whose leg was sent to the agency. Among the bizarre letters Strike had received in the past was one from a young woman who fantasizes about having her healthy leg amputated and believed that Strike had deliberately had his own leg removed. Robin realises that the girl was suffering from a condition known as body integrity identity disorder, or BIID, in which a person has a persistent desire to have a healthy limb or other body part removed. Strike simply ignored the letter, unaware that the girl was suffering from a recognised condition and that her request was serious. The girl, Kelsey Platt, is subsequently found to have been murdered, and the police discover forged letters apparently written by Strike in response to her.

Wardle has his suspicions of the man married to the girl’s sister, with whom she had lived. Strike thinks this absurd, and it turns out that the man has an alibi for the time of the murder, but Strike does go along when the sister asks to see him and is overwhelmed by the sense of grief she and her husband evince.

The girl is evidently a godsend to the murderer, whose desire to remove body parts could not be controlled. He chops fingers off a girl he almost kills, and then removes the nose and ears of a girl he kills soon afterwards. And previously he had sent Robin the toe of the girl whose leg had been sent earlier.

All this horror can seem over the top, and one may wonder how Rowling could bring herself to wallow in such grim material. But perhaps she felt very strongly about the abuse women were subject to, and though her depiction of the way women played into the hands of abusive men seems excessive, she feels that awareness of that increases the need for support groups and other mechanisms to provide safety nets.

But there is also another side to the novel, namely the relationship between Strike and his partner Robin, which verges on the romantic though neither wishes to move on the matter. Strike feels diffident about taking advantage of his position as her employer, while Robin is engaged to a young man she has known for years, and whom she was virtually engaged to while at university. He has stood by her after the rape, when she could barely face society, and she finally decides to accept him and they are planning their wedding at the beginning of this book. But she finds that he is jealous of Strike, and hence his resentment of her commitment to her work, she breaks off the relationship when they are staying with her parents to finalize arrangements for the wedding.

But they still share a flat, and given the threat looming over her she cannot really move to live by herself. And gradually his misery wears her determination down, and she agrees again to marry him. The novel ends with their wedding, which Strike just manages to get to, causing her to beam, though she ‘had not once smiled in the entire service’.

But they still share a flat, and with the threat hanging over her, Robin cannot really move out and live by herself. Gradually, Matthew’s misery wears down her determination, and she agrees to marry him after all. The novel ends with their wedding. Strike arrives just in time, battered and bloodied after his confrontation with the killer. Robin has not smiled once during the ceremony, but when she sees Strike, she suddenly beams.

Before that, in the kerfuffle caused by Robin’s attempt to rescue the children of the woman Brockbank was living with, Strike sacks her. This turns out to be useful to him, because he subsequently enlists the children’s mother, Alyssa, to help trap the killer, whom he has by then identified as Donald Laing. With Shanker’s help, Strike arranges for Alyssa to pose as his new secretary and lure Laing into the open while he gains access to the flat Laing has been using as a hideout. There he discovers the evidence of the murders, including the severed body parts kept in a refrigerator.

This leads to a dramatic climax in which the murderer turns up. Strike has difficulty subduing him, partly because of his missing leg, but he is helped by Shanker, a man whom his mother, Leda, had taken in as a neglected and badly beaten boy and who has remained deeply grateful to the family. With the murderer captured and the case effectively wrapped up, Strike asks Shanker to drive him to Yorkshire, where Robin’s wedding is taking place. They arrive while the ceremony is still in progress, and Strike manages to get into the church just as Robin is making her vows. When she sees him, she beams and says “I do” while looking at him rather than at Matthew.

Clearly, this suggests that the relationship between Strike and Robin is far from settled. Indeed, as I discovered when I read the fifth book in the series, the story certainly does run and run.

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Ananda Ganegoda: Pioneer in popularising Sinhala music

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Ananda Ganegoda

by Dr Upul Wijayawardhana

It was with a great sense of sadness that I received the news about the death of Ananda Ganegoda at the age of 80 years; the last of the famous industrialist Ganegoda brothers to depart. Ananada was a businessman par excellence but he ought to be remembered specially for his outstanding contribution to popularising Sinhala music by founding the music label Singlanka in 1980. Unfortunately, I lost touch with him, having seen him only once since I left Sri Lanka in May 1988. As I mentioned in my article on statins (Cholesterol lowering statins: Scope for use widens – The Island; 18 September) I have met some remarkable people in my practice of medicine and Ananda was certainly one of them.

The Ganegoda brothers were actually two sets of first cousins though they worked as a single family. Nandajeewa, Sumanalatha, Wimalajeeva, Karunajeewa and Ratnajeeva were the children of Jineris Ganegoda whilst Chandrasiri, Jinadri and Ananda were the children of Jineris’ younger brother Johanis. Sadly, it seems to have been forgotten by many that the Ganegoda brothers were instrumental in changing our export economy by starting garment factories in 1954, one of the first groups of non-traditional exports. According to a family post on Facebook, the visionary leader was Wimalajeewa, who started Noortex, Mayura, GIL and Eurolanka garment factories. Others followed suit and they presided over a vast business empire.

My first contact was not with Ananda but Karunajeeva, if my memory serves me right. After a consultation and a friendly chat, he invited me to a factory visit, which I readily agreed to. He took me to one of the factories in Ratmalana and I was very pleasantly surprised with the high standards maintained in the factory including workers’ welfare. I was able to taste the delicious food served to the workers. The icing on the cake was his measuring me out for shirts and trousers which I wore for a very long time!

Maybe around late 1983 or early ‘84, Ananda ‘channelled’ me for a consultation in the Central Hospital for chest pain and was accompanied by his wife, Nandani. I noted that, in addition to the cigarette smell, he had heavy nicotine staining of fingers. After having ensured that his pain was not cardiac, I tore into him stating, “What is wrong with you? You are among the Sri Lankan businessman doing well and you seem determined to commit suicide with chain smoking,” Then I started wondering whether I had been too blunt, but Ananda said “Dr, Thank you very much. I will stop smoking” and his calm response took me by surprise. On a subsequent social occasion, Nandani whispered in my ear that he had an occasional ‘secret smoke’ and when I encountered, Ananda said “Dr, hari amarui” but promised he would give up completely. I do not know whether he did so but the significant reduction of consumption, hopefully, contributed to his longevity.

I met him last in 1995, in the role of a peacemaker when he was in open conflict with a close relative of mine. I pleaded with him to stop the battle, pointing out that one of his nieces was being courted by the son of my relative. Though shocked, he promised to make peace.

Ananda’s crowning achievement was the founding of Singlanka which made Sinhala songs accessible to the masses. Those of us, old enough to remember, know how difficult it was to listen to music. As a child, I had to go to the village Community Centre to listen to the radio, which is in utter contrast to what is happening today. With just a click on the smartphone anyone can listen to music of any choice, anytime, anywhere as long as you are connected to the internet! Recording with the ability to playback, started with the Phonograph invented by Thomas Edison in 1877, Vinyl records being available from the early twentieth century. They came in various speeds and sizes but needed cumbersome players.

The real breakthrough came in 1963, when the Dutch company Philips introduced the Compact Cassette with more convenient players. Singlanka gave everyone the opportunity to listen to their favourite artists on Compact Cassettes. When the Compact Disc format, developed jointly by Philips and Sony, released in 1983, gathered momentum, Singlanka too moved to this format but most of us are still in possession of Singlanka cassettes. I still occasionally listen to Nanda Malini’s “Pavana”, which has become relevant because of the recent death of Nanda Malini and the ascent of JVP to power, but that is another story.

Most of our famous singers, including the greats like Amaradeva and Nanda Malini, owe at least a significant part of their fame and fortune to Singlanka, which was Ananda’s brainchild. Looking at the discography of Singlanka is like looking at a list of all favourite singers. In addition, Ananda gave the opportunity to the less known in the field of music also to showcase their talent, the best example being Carlo Fonseka’s Calochita Gee, which was a compilation of songs sung by various artists to the lyrics and melodies of Carlo. Who would have imagined multi-talented Carlo having musical creativity as well!

As for me, one event illustrated his generosity and his sense of gratitude. When Dr N J Wallooppillai retired, and I succeeded him as Cardiologist, I arranged for an international conference “Cardiology Update”, which was held on 6th and 7th of June 1985 at Galadari Meridien Hotel, culminating in a banquet. When I rang Ananda about this, he immediately offered to sponsor music for the evening and arranged for Patrick Denipitiya Combo to play and Ivor Dennis, Indrani and Sisira Senaratna to sing. It was a memorable evening, with plaudits from attendees, though we did not have an opportunity to rehearse. I compeered and we selected the songs as we went on. When Indrani wanted to sing Gaya Geethayan I had to stop as it was a Hindi tune and Indians were in the audience! My wife Primrose joined Ivor Dennis to duet “Olu Pipila Wela Lela Denawa”. We ended the banquet with Ivor Dennis singing, and the audience joining, the patriotic song Dakuna, Negenahira, Batahira, Uturada, Eka Kodiye Sevene thanks to Ananda. I am eternally grateful to him.

May Ananda attain the Supreme Bliss of Nibbana!

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