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Being called to the Bar and some eccentrics in British academia

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Excerpted from the Memoirs of BP Peiris, former Cabinet Secretary

One day, in the Library, J. B. C. Rodrigo was reading Pollock on torts. A ‘tort’ in law is a civil wrong. There was, next to him a hoary, old gentleman, making weird noises in his breathing which was distracting Rod’s attention. He went across to another table and asked someone who the old buffoon was, to be told “Good Lord, don’t you know? That’s Sir Frederic Pollock”.

Our law books are always styled with the author’s name first. For example, there is ‘Anson on the Crown’, ‘Parry on Contracts’ and ‘Odgers on Libel and Slander’. A girl friend of mine, seeing the last named book with me, asked me ‘What’s an odger?’

I passed my Roman Law in Class III within six weeks of my joining the Inn and was very proud of it and cabled my father to give him the good news. I had a snorter from him by ordinary mail. There was no hurry, he said, to pass these examinations, all the papers had to be taken together.

The Director of Legal studies of the Council of Legal Education informed me that I had got a good second class mark in the Common Law and Equity papers and a very good second class mark in the General Paper. In the Evidence and Civil Procedure papers and the paper on Roman-Dutch Law I had got a first class mark.

By a strange turn of events or an unusual stroke of luck, call it what you like, I was the only Ceylonese student to pass each of the principal law examinations which I sat. Seven of us sat the London University Intermediate Laws and six failed; nine of us sat the LL. B. and eight failed; twelve sat the Bar Final and 11 failed! I have before me, the Bar Final Examination results of the Hilary Examination, 1932: examined 94, passed 53. There was one in Class I (not from Lincoln’s Inn). I was placed in Class 11, fourth in order of merit, and I was just beaten by a silver-haired old lady who sat next to me during the examination.

Now came the day of our call to the Bar. The Juniors who had passed the Final and were about to be ‘called’ no longer sat at the students’ table. We had a table to ourselves and, as all my friends had failed the Final, I was the only Ceylonese at the table. At Lincoln’s Inn, Call is always after dinner. The different Inns have different customs in this matter. Our full names were shouted by an usher, we walked up to the dais as each name was called, the Treasurer on the dais bowed three times, each bow being returned by the student, the Treasurer shook hands and then said “By the authority and on behalf of the Masters of the Bench I publish Mr… a Barrister of this Honourable Society” Three more bows on each side and we were back at our table, each one a Barrister-at-law, awaiting our orders.

When the ceremony was over, barristers and students, who had been dining, left. The Benchers left for their private chamber. The Juniors remained. After a short time, the usher came and summoned us into this private, red-carpeted room. There were the Benchers, seated round the table, with vacant seats between them. A Junior sat with a Bencher on either side of him.

They rose as we entered. There were more drinks, and cigars and cigarettes served in ancient silver boxes. They were great gentlemen and great hosts. I sat between Lord Buckmaster and a well-known King’s Counsel, whose name I have forgotten. Several times the Peer shouted to the waiter to “Fill the gentleman’s glass”. I reluctantly kept pace hoping that I would not disgrace the Honourable Society by ending up as a casualty like my friend an Grand Night.

This reminds me of a poem by Benjamin H. Burt:
One evening in October,
When I was far from sober
And dragging home a load with manly pride,
My feet began to stutter
So I laid down in the gutter
And a pig came up and parked right by my side.
Then I warbled “It’s fair weather When good fellows get together”
Till a lady passing by was heard to say
“You can tell a man who boozes, By the company he chooses.”
Then the pig got up and slowly walked away.

The Treasurer, Lord Blanesborough, made a speech congratulating the Juniors and telling them a few things about professional ethics, the nobility of the profession and the dignity of the bar. The person who replied was the student, if any, who had passed in Class I. There was no one in my year. The task, under the rules, therefore fell on the student who, according to seniority, was the oldest by date of admission. The honour fell to someone who said in his speech that he was old vintage – he was enrolled in 1914 and was called in 1932.

At the time I was called, there were very few in Ceylon who had passed in Class I and I valued my Class II high. As far as I know, those who had passed in Class I were F. A. Hayley, A. E. Keuneman, D. S. Jayawickrama and Cyril E. S. Pereira.

After the speeches on Call Night, the Benchers retired arm in arm, and the Juniors were left to help themselves to more drinks and to bring in friends as the guests of the Inn. Each was allowed to have two guests. Then came the butler with a muslin bag for the only tip which one was required to give throughout one’s stay at the Inn, and each Junior dropped a five pound note in it.

At Lincoln’s Inn, no one stands up for the toast of the king. Tradition has it that King Charles II who was entertained at Lincoln’s Inn in 1671 dined so well that the King gave his permission for the Royal Toast to be drunk in this manner. And so it has been ever since.

It only remained to go the next day to the King’s Bench Division and sign the Roll of Barristers. My certificate states that I had paid all dues, that my deportment at the Inn “hath” been proper and that I had been called to the Outer Barrister as opposed to an Inner Barrister, one who sits at the inner Bar, that is, a Queen’s Counsel.

The lunches at the Inn were delightful and cheap. Lunch was served in the hall on all days on which the Courts were sitting. Judges, Barristers in their wigs and gowns, students all used to sit on the benches irrespective of status and an animated conversation went round the table over the meal. No bill was brought, but after the meal, one was expected to go to the butler who sat at a high table at the entrance to the hall and tell him what one had ordered and eaten. One was then told the amount due. Everyone was placed on trust and that trust was never misplaced.

Concurrently with my admission to Lincoln’s Inn, I entered as I have said, University College, London. The University Professors and lecturers were on the academic side, whereas the Bar lecturers, I was told, emphasized the practical or the court side of the law. Although I was enrolled at University College, lectures were also given at King’s College and at the London School of Economics, and the lecture hours were so fixed that, on the conclusion of one lecture, the students had time to walk to the other College for the next lecture.

I had many friends among the students. Amongst them was a Japanese professor of law who just didn’t and couldn’t understand what English Equity was. He was a most lovable man, fond of whisky. Before his departure for Tokyo, I presented him with a copy of Snell’s Equity.

I had the most amazing collection of professors and lecturers: amazing in the sense that most of them had an amazing memory, lecturing for an hour without a note before them and referring to leading cases by volume and page. There was Professor Parry lecturing on Contracts and Professor Lauterpacht on International law. He carried no notes with him but referred to the sections of the four treaties entered into after the first world war as if the treaties were before him.

There was Wolff who spoke on Logic, which was one of my sidelines. There was a very young and good-looking lecturer, very shabbily dressed, the only thing clean about him being his collar, who lectured to a class of about 60 students on the Conflict of Laws. The lectures were given on the third floor of the London School of Economics. The floor of the lecture room was boarded.

One day, the lecturer arrived in well-creased striped trousers, a smartly tailored black coat, wing collar, bow tie, etc. He looked a bridegroom. The entire class just gazed at the change in the man and 60 pairs of feet were going on the boarded floor creating a violent disturbance. Said the lecturer “Ladies and Gentlemen, I propose to proceed with my lecture. Please use your heads instead of your feet” and the noise subsided.

There was Professor Harold Laski about whom it would be impertinent for me to write. He is too well known in the world of politics and economics to need an introduction from me.

Special mention must be made of Professor Smith, the most eccentric man I ever met. I was following a course for the LL. M. on the Diplomatic History of the Nile, the Scheldt, the Elbe and the Danube. It happened that I was the only student following these lectures. Into a cold, large room in wintertime the Professor walked a minute before the lecture was due to start and asked me “You the only one?” I said I did not know and that no one else had come. He said “Oh. Come up to my room. I have a fire there.”

Up in his room, when I had removed my overcoat, he said “You may smoke”. I took my pipe, and he his. Then he addressed me in these terms. “My lectures are from 6. 30 to 8 p.m. You will come at 6.30, not a minute earlier, not a minute late. You will knock on the door but you needn’t wait for an answer. You will leave at 8, not a minute early and not a minute late. You don’t need my permission.”

I was terrified with all this introduction, but discovered later that he was one of the kindliest of men. I was outside his door for the next day’s lecture ten minutes before time. At 6.30 sharp, I knocked and entered, and he had started his lecture to his only pupil, pointing with the stem of his pipe at the source of the Nile on a huge map which was hanging on the wall. He used no notes and kept puffing at his pipe, pacing up and down his book-lined room while he talked.

At one minute to 8 p.m. I was collecting my overcoat and books. At about one second to 8, my hand was on the doorknob, about to take myself out, when I heard him saying “and from there we’ll continue next time”. It was the same each week. As I entered at 6.30 “As I was saying last time… etc.” talk, talk talk till 8 p.m. And then “and from there we’ll continue next time.” A marvelous man with a marvelous brain, but an utter eccentric.

With the drop in rubber prices in 1932, I decided to return home and in the few months left to me before I sailed, to study Income Tax Law. I therefore went to my Professor and asked him to excuse me from attending his lectures. He said (remember I was the only student) “Oh! It doesn’t matter. I am paid to deliver these lectures and I deliver them whether you are here or not.”



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Silence of the majority keeps West Asian conflict raging

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Pope Leo the XIVth / President Donald Trump

With no military quick-fix in sight to the ongoing, convoluted West Asian conflict it ought to be clear to the rationally inclined that there is no other way to a solution to the blood-letting other than through a negotiated one. Unfortunately, there are not many takers the world over for such an approach.

Consequently the war rages on incurring the gravest human costs to all relevant sides. Whereas it should be obvious to the Trump administration that Iran wouldn’t be backing down any time soon from its position of taking on the US frontally and with the required military competence in the Hormuz Strait and adjacent regions, the US demonstrates a stubbornness to persist with war strategies that are showing no quick, positive results on the ground.

Clearly, the virtual ‘lock down within a lock down’ situation in the Strait is not proving beneficial for either party. Instead, the spilling of civilian blood in particular continues with unsettling regularity along with an all-encompassing economic crisis that carries a staggering material toll for ordinary people all over the world.

From this viewpoint it is commendable for Pakistan to offer itself as a peace mediator and go ‘the extra mile’ to keep the principal parties engaged in some sort of negotiatory process. But its efforts need to win greater support from the world community. It is a time for peace-makers the world over to stand up and be counted.

It is also a time for straight-talking. To his glowing credit Pope Leo XIV is doing just that and he is the only religious head worldwide to do so. Very rightly he has called on President Trump to end the war through negotiations and described it as ‘unjust’ and ‘a scandal to humanity’.

May this crucial cause be taken up by more and more world leaders, is this columnist’s wish. Instead of speaking fatalistically about a ‘Third World War’, decision and policy makers and commentators, and these are found in plenty in Sri Lanka as well, would do better to help in drumming-up support for a peaceful solution and the latter is within the realms of the possible.

Incidentally, the commonplace definition of the phrase ‘World War’ is quite contentious and it would be premature to speak forebodingly about one right now. The fissures within the West on the Middle East conflict alone rule out the possibility of a ‘World War’ occurring any time soon.

Instead, it would be preferable for the international community, under the aegis of the UN, to take the ‘straight and narrow’ path to a peaceful solution. As implied, this path is no easy avenue; it is cluttered with obstacles that only doughty peace makers could take on and clear.

However, the path to a negotiated peace is worth taking and no less a power than the US should know this. After all, the US ‘bled white’ in Vietnam and had to bow out of the conflict, realizing the futility of pursuing a military solution. A similar lesson should have been learned by Russia which bled futilely in Afghanistan. It too is in an unwinnable situation in Ukraine.

The Pope’s observations to President Trump on negotiating peace have earned for him some snarls and growls of criticism but with time these critics would realize that peace could come only by peaceful means and not through ‘the barrel of a gun.’

For far too long the ‘silent majority’ of the world has allowed politicians to take the sole initiative on working towards peaceful solutions to conflicts and wars. As could be seen, the results have been disastrous. The majority of politicians speak the language of Realpolitik only and this tendency runs contrary to the ways of the selfless peace maker.

Power, which is the essence of Realpolitik, and peace are generally at loggerheads in the real world. Power and self-aggrandizement have to be shelved in the pursuit of durable peace anywhere and it is a pity that the likes of Donald Trump and his team are yet to realize this.

At this juncture the ‘peace constituency’ or the silent majority would need to take centre stage and play their rightful role as the ‘Conscience of the World’. If the latter begins to take on the cause of peace in earnest everywhere, the politicians would have no choice but to pay heed to their cause and take it up, since a contrary course would earn for them public displeasure and votes.

An immediate challenge would be for the ‘peace constituency’ to come together and act as one. Right now, such a coordinating role could be played effectively by only the UN and its agencies. Practical problems are likely to get in the way but these need to be managed insightfully and resourcefully by all stakeholders to peace.

In fact the time couldn’t be more appropriate for the backers of peace to come together and work as one. Right now, economic pressures are increasing worldwide and no less a public than that in the US is beginning to feel them in a major, crushing way.

Going ahead the US public, along with other polities, would find the economic consequences of war to be intolerable. There would be no choice but for governments and peoples to champion peace. Peace makers would need to ‘strike while the iron is hot.’

The success of the above endeavours hinges on the importance humans attach to their consciences. The danger about prolonged wars is that they deaden consciences; particularly those of politicians. The latter deaden their consciences to the extent that they prove impervious to the pain and suffering wars incur.

Thus, the ‘peace constituency’ has its work cut out; it cannot rest assured that politicians would prove sensitive to their demands. The latter would need to be constantly dinned into the hearts and minds of politicians and decision-makers if peaceful solutions to conflicts are to be arrived at.

Likewise, the publics of war-torn countries would need to demand the activation and sustaining of accountability processes with regard to those sections that are suspected of committing war crimes and like atrocities. Those publics that cease to demand accountability from powerful sections among them which are faced with war-time atrocity charges are as good as condemning themselves to lives of permanent dis-empowerment and enslavement.

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Don’t take the baby: In the quiet night, mother always returns

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Grey Slender Loris

Chaminda Jayasekara

There is a particular stillness in Sri Lanka’s forests, after dusk — a kind of hushed expectancy where shadows lengthen, cicadas soften their chorus, and the night begins to breathe in its own rhythm. It is a world that does not reveal itself easily. You have to wait for it. You have to listen.

And then, suddenly, you see them — a pair of luminous, unblinking eyes suspended in the dark.

The Grey Slender Loris, or unahapuluwa, emerges, not with drama, but with quiet precision. Small, slow-moving, and almost impossibly delicate, it is one of Sri Lanka’s most enigmatic nocturnal primates — a creature that has survived millennia by mastering the art of stillness.

Yet, during these months — from late March through July — the forests hold a more tender story. It is the breeding season of the slender loris, and with it comes a scene that is often misunderstood by those who encounter it for the first time: a tiny infant, alone on a branch, barely three inches long, its fragile body silhouetted against the night.

Grey Slender Loris with twin babies

To many, it appears to be a moment of abandonment.

To nature, it is a moment of trust.

“People often act out of compassion, but without understanding what they are seeing,” explains Chaminda Jayasekara of the University of Hertfordshire. “A baby loris left alone is not necessarily in danger. In fact, it is part of a natural process that is critical for its survival.”

According to Jayasekara, when a baby loris is about a month old, the mother begins a remarkable routine. As darkness settles, she gently places her infant on a secure branch and moves off into the forest to forage. Her journey can take her hundreds of metres away — sometimes close to 800 metres — as she searches for insects and other small prey.

In those hours of solitude, the infant is not abandoned. It is learning.

Clinging to the branch, it begins to explore its immediate surroundings. Tentatively, almost hesitantly, it reaches out — testing balance, grip, and instinct. It may attempt to catch tiny insects, mimicking behaviours it will one day rely on entirely. This is its first classroom, and the forest its only teacher.

“Those early nights are crucial,” Jayasekara says. “The baby is developing motor skills, coordination, and the ability to interact with its environment. These are things that cannot be replicated in captivity.”

And yet, this is precisely where human intervention often disrupts the process.

Across rural and even semi-urban Sri Lanka, stories circulate of well-meaning individuals who come across a lone baby loris and assume the worst. Driven by concern, they pick it up, take it home, or attempt to hand-rear it — believing they are saving a life.

Grey Slender Loris

But the reality is far more complex — and far more tragic.

“When a baby is removed unnecessarily, it loses something fundamental,” Jayasekara emphasises. “It loses the chance to learn how to survive in the wild. Without that, even if it survives in the short term, its long-term prospects are extremely poor.”

The forest, after all, is not just a habitat. It is a living, evolving system of lessons — how to detect predators, how to navigate branches, how to hunt silently, how to recognise territory. These are not instincts alone; they are behaviours refined through experience.

And the mother, contrary to assumption, is rarely far away.

“If people simply waited — even for several hours — they would often see the mother return,” Jayasekara explains. “She knows exactly where she left her baby. Her absence is temporary, purposeful.”

The advice from conservationists is clear and consistent: observe, but do not interfere.

If you encounter a baby loris, watch quietly from a distance. Avoid using bright lights or making noise. Give it time — at least 10 to 12 hours — before drawing conclusions. In most cases, the situation will resolve itself, just as nature intended.

35 days old Grey Slender Loris

Only if the animal is clearly injured, or if there is strong evidence of abandonment after prolonged observation, should intervention be considered — and even then, it must be done through the proper channels, particularly the Department of Wildlife Conservation.

Attempting to care for such a delicate animal at home is not only ineffective but often fatal.

Sri Lanka is home to two species of slender loris — the Grey Slender Loris and the Red Slender Loris — each adapted to specific ecological zones across the island. Both are protected under national legislation and recognised internationally as species requiring urgent conservation attention.

Their threats are many: habitat loss, road mortality, illegal pet trade, and, increasingly, human misunderstanding.

Yet, in the midst of these challenges, there are also signs of hope.

In recent years, the slender loris has become the focus of a unique form of wildlife tourism — one that values patience over spectacle. Night walks, conducted with trained naturalists and strict ethical guidelines, offer visitors a chance to witness the loris in its natural environment without disturbing its behaviour.

At places like Jetwing Vil Uyana, this approach has been refined into a model of responsible eco-tourism. Over more than a decade, the property has developed a dedicated Loris Conservation Project, recording thousands of sightings while educating visitors and supporting local communities.

Here, the loris is not handled, chased, or exploited. It is simply observed — a quiet presence in a carefully protected landscape.

“The success of such initiatives shows that conservation and tourism do not have to be at odds,” Jayasekara reflects. “When done responsibly, tourism can actually support conservation by creating awareness and value for these species.”

There is something profoundly moving about encountering a loris in the wild. It does not roar or charge. It does not demand attention. Instead, it exists — quietly, deliberately — as it has for millions of years.

And perhaps that is why it is so easily misunderstood.

In a world that often equates visibility with importance, the loris reminds us that some of the most extraordinary lives unfold beyond the spotlight.

It also reminds us of something else — something simpler, yet harder to practice.

Restraint.

Because conservation is not always about stepping in. Sometimes, it is about stepping back. About recognising when nature does not need our help, but our patience.

So if, on some future night, you find yourself walking beneath the trees, and your light catches a tiny figure sitting alone on a branch — do not rush forward.

Pause.
Watch.
Let the moment unfold.

Because somewhere, moving silently through the darkness, guided by instinct and memory, a mother is already on her way back.

And by morning, the forest will be whole again.

 

By Ifham Nizam

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Kumar de Silva: 40 years of fame and flair

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Kumar de Silva: The four-decade journey

We first saw him on the small screen in January 1986 – a relatively raw, totally untrained and a very nervous 24-year-old presenting ‘Bonsoir’ on ITN.

And now, 40 years later, and as one looks back, one realises what a multi-dimensional journey Kumar de Silva has navigated across the small screen yes, from your television screens to your laptops, and iPads, tabs, and mobile phones.

Says Kumar: “It is the French language I speak that opened the world of television to me, 40 years ago. It was ‘Bonsoir’ alone, and so to my French teacher at Wesley College, Mrs. BA Fernando, to ‘Bonsoir’, and to the Embassy of France in Sri Lanka, I am eternally grateful”.

Promoting the French language, and culture, in Sri Lanka, in a big way

Kumar went on to say that on the heels of ‘Bonsoir” came ‘Fanclub’, on ITN, describing it as yet another resounding success story which saw him as a music DJ on TV.

His inherent talent saw him handle a range of contrasting programmes across ITN, TNL, Prime TV and SLRC with consummate ease – from News Reading, Business Talk Shows, Celebrity Chats, to Dhamma discussions, on Poya Days, to name a few.

Kumar – the 1986 look

Trained in Paris in television production and presentation, the Government of France, in 2012, conferred on him the title of ‘Chevalier dans l’Ordre des Arts et Lettres’ (Chevalier in the Order of Arts and Letters) in recognition of his contribution to promoting the French language, and culture, in Sri Lanka.

In celebration of his four decades on the small screen, Kumar recently launched ‘Bonsoir Katha’, the Sinhala translation (by Ciara Mendis) of his English book ‘Bonsoir Diaries’ (2013), at a gala soiree. at the Alliance Francaise de Colombo, under the distinguished patronage of the French Ambassador in Sri Lanka, Remi Lambert, and francophone President Chandrika Kumaratunga.

He’s now excited about launching the French version of this book, ‘Les Coulisses de Bonsoir’, in Paris, in autumn this year. It is currently being translated by Guilhem Beugnon, a former Deputy Director of the Alliance Francaise de Colombo. This will, co-incidentally, also be Kumar’s 30th visit to Paris.

Chief Guest French Ambassador in Sri
Lanka Remi Lambert

Says Kumar: “The word GRATITUDE means a lot to me and so I always make it a point to spend time with two very special French people every time I go to France. One is Madame Josiane Thureau, formerly of the French Foreign Ministry, who began ‘Bonsoir’ in Sri Lanka. way back in the mid-1980s. The other is Madame Aline Berengier, the lady who designed the ‘Bonsoir’ logo – the Sri Lankan elephant in the colours of the French national flag”.

Kumar is also a much-sought-after Personal Development and Corporate Etiquette Coach in Colombo’s corporate world. Over the past 15 years, tens of thousands of corporates, have been through the different modules of his interactive training sessions. There have also been thousands of school leavers and undergraduates from national and private universities, many of whom will constitute the corporates of tomorrow.

Guest of Honour francophone President Chandrika Kumaratunga at the gala soiree
at the Alliance Francaise de Colombo

The multi-talented Kumar turns 65 next year, and his journey on the small screen still continues – you see him on the (monthly) ‘Rendez-Vous with Yasmin and Kumar’ on the French Embassy’s YouTube Channel, and (every Friday) on ‘Fame Game with Rozanne and Kumar’ on Daily Mirror Online, Hi Online and The Sun Online.

There’s yet another podcast in the pipeline, he indicated, but diplomatically declined to give us details. All he said, with a glint in his eye, was, “It will hit your screens soon.”

Whatever he has in mind, one can be certain that the new programme will continue to showcase Kumar de Silva’s enduring presence in Sri Lanka’s entertainment scene.

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