Features
Another Time, Another Place by Anthea Senaratne
Reviewed by Rajiva Wijesinha
Shortly before Christmas the lawyer Sriyantha Senaratne and his wife Anthea both launched volumes of memoirs. I knew them both, though in very different contexts. Simon has acted as my lawyer, beginning from the days when he supported those of us on the Trinity College Board who were trying to overcome the abuses perpetrated by the then establishment there.
Anthea I knew through her writing, and as a pillar of the English Writers Cooperative when it had to survive after Anne Ranasinghe, who had run it efficiently for many years when I moved away, also passed on the baton.
The two books are very different in scope, though they do share a very attractive feature in that they are replete with old pictures that help to recreate the world of the forties and the fifties, a world which I find increasingly attractive as I grew older, though I did not really know it myself. And both books have a stunning picture of Anthea in her youth, a studio portrait which is redolent of youth and beauty, that can be traced too in the later pictures that are in her husband’s book.
Simon, as Sriyantha is generally known, describes his whole life, whereas Anthea confines herself to childhood. And while Simon moves swiftly through his manifold experiences, Anthea dwells upon hers so that the reader is made vividly aware of the emotions she underwent in the different places in which she lived, beginning with childhood in a house shared with relations in Colombo.
After that beginning, which ends with a sad bereavement, the book moves on to two distinct sections, first about her life outside Colombo when her father served in the Civil Service in Trincomalee and in Kurunagala, and then about her experiences as a schoolgirl and then as a youngster earning her living in Colombo. That period concludes with her meeting with Simon, with a very short postscript describing the joy of her marriage, which Simon has fleshed out in his own book.
The chapter is his book about their marriage is I think the longest there, and his description of family life is almost lyrical. The personality of Anthea lights up the book there and thereafter, and indeed before, for he describes earlier how he first saw her and in effect decided then and there that this was the girl for him, a decision he pursued with his customary gentle pertinacity.
Anthea’s own account of that first meeting is more circumspect, though in noting that it led to marriage she too has no inhibitions about making it clear how happy their married life has been. That is the culmination of an account of the joys and the sorrows of growing up, expressed vividly, and the more interesting because Anthea recreates a life that has now faded away.
The account of the spacious homes in which Civil Servants in provincial centres lived is fascinating, and the more so for me with regard to Kurunagala, where I spent many happy holidays during the last days of that era of gracious living. Coincidentally, the Government Agents with whom her father, Mr Jansz, worked were well known to me, Tilak Gooneratne in Trincomalee and, if not Herbert Tennekoon in Kurunagala, his wife Norma.
‘a dynamic lady’, as I myself found her to be, 40 years later. The massive houses occupied by not only the Government Agents but also their principal officers, such as Mr Jansz was, brought back fond memories of the mansions I saw, as with the one in Kurunagala in the early sixties, and the one I stayed in, the Lodge in Kandy, a few years later.
In Colombo there is a vivid account of a Burgher childhood, very different from the one Carl Muller describes, for Anthea’s background was a step higher in the social scale. Hers was a close knit family and there are vivid accounts of cousins and aunts and uncles, including those who were not blood relations but were even more intimate, including those who owned the rented accommodation in which the Jansz family lived.
Amongst the characters who stand out were the maiden aunts who insisted that children wear socks and shoes at home, and the friend who collected snakes and let them loose in the verandah at Trincomalee. And there are delightful vignettes of girls who shared the Jansz home, including one who developed a fine line in masquerades to tease any boys who visited.
Anthea’s descriptions of her life are very jolly, of family Christmases, of her entry into school at Methodist College and how she settled down there amidst a host of good friends, of schoolgirl japes and passions (for film stars as well as the boys they met), of her mother’s generous hospitality to all and sundry, and of her father’s whimsical sense of humour which led him once to masquerade as a ghost in the house in Trincomalee.
But she also notes his sense of both principle and decency, which led to him categorically abolish caste differentiation in his household at Trincomalee where previously the different castes had had to use different entrances to the house compound. At a very different level, it was also fun to read of a world I too if only dimly recall, of the Coconut Grove and the Jetliners, high points in entertainment in the sixties, so advanced then as it seemed to us but now so mild in comparison with what later developed.
But she also recreates movingly the sorrows she experienced, most movingly the death of her older brother which as a little girl she could not quite take in, so that she kept hoping when they moved from Colombo to Trincomalee that he would be waiting for her when they got back. The picture of him standing protectively over Anthea which she reproduces makes clear the closeness of their relationship despite the gap in years. Fortunately she had an older sister, who was also close, a closeness which she shows burgeoning over the years.
But though he appears only briefly, her brother makes as strong an impression. The account of his slow death, when he could no longer play the piano at which he had excelled, and which was taken to his room so he could play on his own, is perhaps the most moving section of the book.
But much later we are also taken through the death of her mother, who suffered a stroke when she was still quite young, and passed away shortly afterwards. How Anthea and her sister, now married, coped, and also with their bereaved father ‘who would lie on his bed the whole day’, is touchingly described.
And this I should note had to be done just when Anthea was making her way in the world, and had to get to work every day. Incidentally I found fascinating her account of her walk to work, along the byways of Wellawatte, from a road just beyond the canal from Bambalapitiya but a world away in those days from the richer sections of the town. Crossing an open drain on a log, with unsteady handrails, was one experience which she sensibly decided not to repeat, taking a longer way round on later journeys.
Anthea’s care for her father, essentially on her own for her sister was then married though she did what she could, continued after her marriage for in Simon’s book he relates how Anthea was determined her father should make his home with them.
Simon, always the soul of kindness, was quite happy about this, and old Mr Jansz proved a fond grandfather, and in turn got enormous pleasure from the next generation, and gave them much in turn.
Moving too is Anthea’s account of the animals that were part and parcel of her childhood, including birds and even monkeys, whose mischievous antics she relates with relish more than half a century on. Most important of these pets are the family ones she adored, especially the dog who went with them to Trincomalee, and then had to be put down when bitten by a rabid dog.
Her parents kept this from her so that her search for the animal when she got home from school is deeply moving. And then the last section about Trincomalee notes her farewell to the place, with ‘my final look at the front wall where I used to sit with my beloved Kim’. The capacity not only to recall but to recreate the emotion of that long ago loss is a hallmark of this fascinating book.
Features
Combining local resources,traditional knowledge and science to build a food-secure Sri Lanka
World Food Day 2026: Innovating today for a better food future
by Dr. Kaushalya Wijayasekara
What will be on the Sri Lankan dinner table ten years from now? Will our children be able to get nutritious food at a price their families can afford? Will farmers be able to grow enough despite changing weather and rising costs? And how much of the food we produce will actually reach the consumer, instead of being lost or wasted along the way?
These questions can’t wait. A farmer faces unpredictable weather. A family faces rising food costs. Fruit goes unsold after a good harvest. Some children do not get enough nutrition. The future of food is tied to the future of Sri Lanka itself.
World Food Day 2026 is a chance to look beyond the immediate problems and ask whether we can build a food system that feeds our people well, gives farmers better opportunities, protects the environment and makes better use of what we already have. The answer can be yes, but we will have to think differently.
We are not starting from zero. Sri Lanka has diverse crops, fisheries, traditional food knowledge, indigenous varieties, research institutions, universities and a young generation able to create new solutions. What we need is to bring these together and act. Producing more will not secure our food future on its own. It will depend on how intelligently we produce, process, preserve, distribute and consume food.
Making more of what we already have
Innovation does not always mean inventing something new. Often it means finding better uses for the resources we have.
Sri Lanka grows traditional rice varieties, kurakkan, green gram, cowpea, jackfruit, breadfruit, cassava, sweet potato, coconut and palmyrah. All of them have great potential for modern, nutritious, value-added foods. Jackfruit and breadfruit can be made into flour and other convenient products. Traditional rice varieties can go into new foods that suit changing consumer needs. Palmyrah, with its strong cultural heritage, can create new income through better processing, packaging, quality assurance and market development.
The aim is to connect our traditional food knowledge with modern consumer needs and technology, while keeping our food heritage.
Stop wasting the food we produce
Reducing food loss and waste should be a major priority. Seasonal fruits such as mango, banana, papaya and pineapple can be lost in large quantities when production exceeds demand or when storage, transport and processing facilities are inadequate. With suitable technology, these fruits can become dried products, pulps, powders, beverages and other shelf-stable foods.
Agricultural and fisheries by-products are resources too. They could be turned into food ingredients, animal feed, bio-based products and other useful materials, which would move us toward a more circular food economy.
Technology alone is not enough. We need stronger local processing facilities, cold storage, efficient transport, collection centres and market information systems, especially close to where food is produced. Cutting food loss raises the value of what our farmers and fishers already produce.
Nutrition and food safety come first
Food security means more than having enough food. People also need food that is safe and nutritious.
Sri Lanka can develop affordable, nutritious foods from local pulses, grains, vegetables, fruits and fish. Children and other vulnerable groups should get particular attention. Schoolchildren in particular deserve a focus: safe, nutritious, locally sourced products for school feeding programs would support child nutrition, local farmers and domestic food industries at the same time.
Food safety must stay at the centre of food innovation. Good hygiene, quality control, laboratory testing, traceability and appropriate food safety systems are what make new products safe as well as attractive and nutritious.
A food system that can cope with climate change
Climate change is already affecting agricultural production, water availability, crop yields and food prices. We need food systems that can handle changing conditions. That means climate-resilient crops, efficient water use, soil and water conservation, better storage and resource-efficient food processing.
Traditional knowledge matters here. Generations of Sri Lankan farmers have developed practices suited to local climates and ecosystems. Combining that experience with modern science can give us solutions that fit local conditions and are sustainable. Technology alone will not build the future of food. Science, experience and local knowledge together can.
Give young people a bigger role
Sri Lanka’s universities have an important part to play in shaping our food future. Young people should be encouraged to identify real problems in the food system and work on practical solutions in areas such as food waste, sustainable packaging, nutrition, food safety, modernising traditional foods and digital technologies.
A good research project should not always end as a research paper. Where appropriate, research should be supported to move on to products, technologies, enterprises and community solutions. That needs stronger partnerships between universities and industry, along with mentoring, research funding, business support and market connections. If young researchers and entrepreneurs can turn their ideas into viable food innovations, both consumers and producers will benefit.
A pathway designed for Sri Lanka
We do not need to copy food-system models from other countries. We can build a pathway that suits our own resources, culture and needs. It would bring together local resources, traditional knowledge, scientific research, appropriate technology and entrepreneurship, with farmers, fishers, universities, research institutions, food industries, entrepreneurs and policymakers working side by side.
The goal goes beyond selling raw materials. We need to create more value, reduce waste, improve nutrition, generate jobs and strengthen rural livelihoods. This matters especially for small and medium-scale food enterprises, which can drive local economic development when they get the right technical, financial and market support.
The choices we make today
The food future will not create itself. It will be shaped by what we grow, what we research, what we process, what we consume and what we choose not to waste.
So, the question for World Food Day 2026 is this: what can we do today so that every Sri Lankan has safe, nutritious, affordable and sustainable food tomorrow?
The answers are already around us, in our farms, fisheries, food businesses, universities, laboratories and communities. We have the resources, the traditional knowledge, the scientific expertise and talented young people. What we need now is to connect them and act.
A better food future begins with the choices we make today.
Dr. Kaushalya Wijayasekara
Senior Lecturer, Department of Biosystems Technology, Faculty of Technology, University of Ruhuna
Features
20th Anniversary of Digampathana blast – the day Sri Lanka Navy cried
By Admiral Ravindra C Wijegunaratne
WV, RWP and Bar, RSP, VSV, USP, NI (M) (Pakistan), ndc, psn, Bsc
(Hons) (War Studies) (Karachi) MPhil (Madras)
Former Navy Commander and Former Chief of Defence Staff
Former Chairman, Trincomalee Petroleum Terminals Ltd
Former Managing Director Ceylon Petroleum Corporation
Former High Commissioner to Pakistan
The Digampathana suicide truck attack on 16th October 2006 remains the deadliest single strike in Sri Lanka Navy history, leaving scars that time cannot erase.
It was a seemingly ordinary Monday morning on 16 October 2006, but the calm of that day would soon be shattered in a way none of us could have imagined. As the Commandant of the Naval and Maritime Academy and Flag Officer Commanding Naval Fleet at Trincomalee, I was aware that a number of my cadets were travelling that morning, part of a convoy of fifteen buses carrying naval personnel from Trincomalee, Colombo, and other bases, heading toward Dambulla to rendezvous with another group. The convoy also included trucks and escort vehicles, a routine movement planned and coordinated with the army to ensure the roads were clear. The morning started quietly. Some personnel greeted friends, handed over their weapons, or strolled to a nearby tea shop. It all seemed so ordinary—too ordinary for what would come next.

Sri Lanka Navy sunk LTTE Ships carrying arms, ammunition and warlike materials thousand miles away from Sri Lanka in Indian Ocean in September and October 2007.
By late morning, both convoys had reached the small ground at Digampathana, near the Sigiriya junction, and personnel mingled briefly, unaware that a carefully orchestrated act of terror was waiting. Then, suddenly, an empty half-truck veered directly into the convoy. It exploded with a ferocity I can still recall as if it were yesterday. Nuts, bolts, and high explosives tore through the air. Pandemonium erupted instantly. I later learned that 107 of our naval personnel were killed on the spot and another 153 critically injured. The scene was indescribable—bodies scattered, vehicles mangled, personal effects strewn across the ground. I remember later hearing that the head of the suicide bomber was recovered more than 100 meters away from the blast, a grim testament to the sheer force of the explosion.
I was in my office at the Naval and Maritime Academy when my mobile phone rang. A young midshipman from the 21st intake called, his voice trembling: “Sir, there was a huge explosion at the convoy point! Many are dead … my batch mate Wijesundara is among them.” I immediately jumped into my jeep with my escort Chief Petty Officer and driver and rushed to Digampathana, relying on every ounce of my driving skill to reach the scene. The journey, which usually took little more than an hour, felt endless that day, each passing mile weighed down by dread.
When I arrived, I was confronted with a sight that no training can prepare you for. The injured were being rushed to Dambulla Hospital, where doctors and nurses worked tirelessly, improvising in ways that saved lives despite the overwhelming chaos. I went back to the site after visiting the hospital. The remains of our naval personnel were scattered across the ground, and someone had begun collecting weapons and protective gear. I immediately contacted Surgeon Rear Admiral Nico Jayasekara and received his instructions: collect all body parts in separate bags and transport them to the Trincomalee Naval Hospital mortuary. This gruesome work had to be done with care and dignity, and it filled the icebox in my vehicle. Through DNA testing initiated by Rear Admiral Nico, we were able to identify every naval personnel lost that day, bringing some closure to grieving families.
The Navy Commander at the time, Vice Admiral Wasantha Karannagoda, was devastated. I had worked closely with him and knew how deeply he cared for his men. He ensured that the fallen were honoured with full ceremonial naval funerals at Welisara Naval Base, attended by families and comrades. Sixty-seven funerals were conducted in a single day—a number that still haunts me.
The Digampathana attack remains the largest single loss of naval life in our history. It was a day of sorrow, but also a day that reinforced our resolve. The tragedy galvanized the Navy to target the LTTE Sea Tiger wing with renewed determination and reshaped our maritime operations forever. Every time I think of that day, I remember not just the lives lost, but the courage, professionalism, and dedication of those who survived, those who treated the injured, and those who ensured the fallen were honored properly. May the souls of our naval hero’s rest in peace, their sacrifice guiding us and inspiring generations of naval personnel to come.
Features
‘Murder at Whitby Abbey’
Tales of Mystery and Suspense – 24
I was intrigued by the title of a book I found in a book drop at the condominium of a friend, Murder at Whitby Abbey, and I brought it home with me though I will not be able to return it in the near future. It was described on the cover page as ‘a standout in the crowded medieval mystery field’, though I fear I do not know of other books in this field, apart from the Cadfael series, which I have dealt with earlier.
The book, by Cassandra Clark, is set during the reign of Richard II and has as a backdrop his precarious position, which led to his being replaced, and murdered, by his cousin Henry, who reigned as Henry IV. It is a gloomy book, the action taking place in the twelve days of Christmas leading up to the Epiphany. And the gloom is pervasive, even though this is supposed to be a time of festivity, with mummers performing, and many of those in the guest house where the heroine stays going to town to enjoy themselves, with much drinking and much music, which also fills the guesthouse.
The heroine Hildegarde is a nun, sent to try to acquire a relic being sold by Whitby Abbey, though this was also a penance set by the Abbot of the monastery that governed her abbess because she had had sex with a man. Soon after she and her companions reach the Abbey set high on a cliff, she finds that there are other bidders, and soon suspects that the hierarchy, not perhaps the Abbot who seems a weakling, but his rapacious bursar, is determined to make money, and not above creating false relics to sell to several aspirants.
After Hildegarde and her Cistercian companions – Whitby is a Benedictine Foundation – two monks, Gregory and Egbert, and a young priest Mark, reach the abbey, they find that Aelwyn, a monk they had met on their way to the guesthouse had died. This was in the apple store, and they realize, when they find the surplices of novices stuffed into the air vents, that he had been left to suffocate in the overwhelming scent of apples.
The Cistercians are asked to look into the death, perhaps because they are likely to get no cooperation from the Abbey folk, but perhaps because those in charge are keen to know what happened. And the infirmarer, an old monk, suggests Hildegarde talk to a man called Edred who worked for the bursar, and had been a friend of Aelwyn’s. But Edred too is killed, before he can keep an appointment he had made with Hildegarde, drowned in a pool near the farmhouse of the Abbey.
Meanwhile tensions arise between the fisherfolk and the abbey for the bursar wants to charge them for using the beach that technically belongs to the abbey to dry their fish and their nets. This leads to physical battles, when the guards used by the abbey, under the command it seems of the bursar whose determination to make money is not resisted by the abbot and the prior, try to storm the area where the fishermen live.
Hildegard finds out more about what had happened through two youngsters, one of whom Torold is the son of Aelwyn by a woman who worked as a prostitute for a cartel, and with whom Mark fell in love. The other works on the farm and had seen Edred meet someone near the pool, after which that someone left the place by himself. And the boy had also found in the pool a sort of dagger with the seal of the abbey.
He and his dog, and Torold who follows her, rescue Hildegarde from a man at arms who has waylaid her and tries to rape her earlier. Escaping into the abbey she was nearly been raped then by the bursar, but she managed to escape, in the process setting fire to him and the muniments room, which led, when he was rescued, to the discovery of a box with the money he said had been stolen, blame being cast on both Aelwyn and Edred.
Matters come to a head when the fisherfolk try to storm the abbey, being resisted by the men at arms stationed on the towers. But then Hildegarde realizes that behind the murders was the bursar’s clerk, whom she pursued to the cathedral. There is great drama then as she escapes from him when he tries to kill her, and then from the man at arms who had tried to both rape and kill her, but they both fall from the scaffolding she had climbed, the latter coming from a tower where he had been stationed.
Both of them think they run the rapacity of the abbey, the latter claiming to work for the nobles opposed to Richard, who is presented throughout the book as devoted to his subjects, not to power or money. But though the villains die, the bursar continues, having got over the hysteria the fire had caused and his acknowledgment then of guilt – and though the abbot and the prior seem less vicious, whether they will be able to assert themselves is questionable.
Before the climax, when the others in the guesthouse were leaving, Hildegarde found that two of them were in possession of the relic, for which they seem to have paid well. Hildegarde herself had made a derisory offer, but before she leaves the abbot gives her the relic, perhaps in gratitude for what she and her fellow Cistercians had discovered, the abbey having made as much money as it needed and more from the gullible other buyers.
Mark’s inamorata is saved from the stews because she moves in with Edred’s widow whom the bursar had thrown out of the rooms he occupied when her husband was found dead. Hildegarde had paid for lodgings, in a house run by the man who ran the brothels, but he had a kindly side and was going to finance them to make nets for the fishermen.
So, the Cistercians set off for their home as swiftly as they can to get there on the day of the Epiphany, having stopped en route to pray for King Richard whose birthday it was.
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