Holiday on the continent and eating dinners at the Inns of Court

Excerpted from the Memoirs of a Cabinet Secretary by BP Peiris

In Heidelberg, I spent another three weeks. Crossing the Rhine from France to Germany, everything changed except the passengers and the rail cars because the train was one called a ‘through train’. At the frontier station, orders were shouted in guttural German that no passenger was to get out of the train. The train was about to cross a long bridge; we were also made to feel that we were about to cross from one country to another where even the air we breathed was going to be different.

The French engine driver, guards and attendants on the train got out, the French engine was detached, and a German engine with entire German staff were now in charge. The customs examination was on the train itself while on the move, and a very thorough examination it was. Every bag of mine was opened and searched and I was made to do the repacking myself without so much as a “Thank you”.

At Heidelberg station, I was met by my friend Ilse Wolff and her father, a tall military looking gentleman. He was a kindly man and Ilse’s mother was all kindliness too. They made me extremely comfortable. Unfortunately, they knew no English and I knew no German. We therefore conversed in French of which language we had a little knowledge.

Heidelberg, the ‘Oxford’ of Germany, is a beautiful city with an ancient castle on the top of a hill and the river Neckar flowing lazily along. In almost every shop there was a notice “English spoken here”. My host lived in a mansion and had an extensive library. But what I liked best was the beer, the variety of sausages and the beer gardens of which there were many and in which I spent most of my spare time.

Even the smallest beer garden had an orchestra playing German music. They were wonderful open air places and there appeared to be no closing hours. The Germans are great beer drinkers, and once when I ordered beer at one of the gardens, I was given some excellent black beer called ‘Miinchener’ in an enormous one litre porcelain mug with two handles. It was impossible to raise this large and heavy mug to the lips with one hand.

My beer and sausage holiday was coming to an end and I had to say “Good bye” to my host and hostess. Ilse and I left Heidelberg for Switzerland and were seen off at the station by her father.The Customs authorities at the Swiss frontier were charming after my experience with the German officials. Without inspection, they put the chalk marks on our bags.

They asked me questions about my Kandyan walking stick and requested me to show them the dagger which was inside. I said there was no dagger and submitted the stick for their inspection but they were not convinced. In the end, I presented the stick to them! I had extras in my baggage which I was carrying as presents for my friends.

We had to change trains at Olten junction and take a suburban train to Solothurn, a quiet little village. On the platform were our friends, Margrit Brunner and her sister Trudy and Margrit’s fiance, who took our bags out of our compartment into his car. A few miles drive and we were at the house of Margrit’s parents.

Although the girls and I used to walk in Sutton arm in arm, I was advised that Solothurn was not Sutton, that the people, were reserved, and the customs were different. It was indeed a quiet place, not thickly populated, but an orchestra played Wagner and other German music in the small park twice a week. These concerts were largely attended. There was no cinema in the place.

Again, the conversation had to be in broken French. Margrit’s family were German-Swiss and, although the girls spoke English, the parents knew neither English nor French. I had a happy time with kindly and hospitable people. After nearly a month in Solothurn, I returned to Sutton, fit and well, and was back at my studies.

At this time, in Sutton, there was a beautiful, young Czechoslovakian girl, about seventeen years of age. I have already mentioned her impossible name ‘Szmidel Szuszi’. After some months with us, she left to join the Hampstead Girls’ High School, but asked me to come now and then and escort her as she was nervous to get about London on her own.

One Sunday, I paid my usual visit to Sir Wilfred de Soysa at Hampstead. When we called, it was understood that we would wait for lunch, tea and dinner; but on this day, having promised to meet Szmidel at 6 p.m. I had to excuse myself from dinner after having had an excellent rice and curry lunch, billiards and a good tea.

The household was surprised that I was not staying to dinner. I said I had a previous appointment which I had to keep, made excuses and left. The Girls, School was next door to Sir Wilfred’s house, and his young son, Ryle, had glued his eyes to a side glass panel to see exactly where I was going and had been surprised when he saw me climbing the next door steps. He had kept his eyes glued to the panel until, five minutes later, he saw me walking out with the girl. On my next visit Sir Wilfred, in his humorous way, told the others that I had access to the school next door and was a lucky man.

I took the young lady to a Chinese restaurant for a dinner dance. As usual, I wore my turban. She was in an exquisite dress and anyone could have seen from her dress and stockings that I was not taking the housemaid out on her off day. Two Englishmen, seated at the next table, were obviously interested. They were also probably surprised that a darkie could be out with such a pretty, young thing, well-dressed at that.

They kept staring at the girl for some time, rose, and came to my table and said, “Excuse me, Sahib, are you related to the Maharajah of Kashmir?” I said “No. Pray sit down”, giving them the impression that I was Indian royalty traveling incognito. I ordered a drink for them but did not introduce the girl and as no Englishman speaks to a lady until he is introduced, and I was determined on that point, there was no conversation between them.

When the drink was over, one of them asked me, again addressing me as Sahib, whether I would have a drink, for which I thanked him with almost regal politeness. He then asked “What about the lady?” “No,” I said, “she will not drink anything except water.” They realized that they would have to look elsewhere for the little bit of fun which they were expecting and went back to their table.

At Sutton, I was the only darkie, my brother having found another place nearer to his College, and attracted much attention with my turban. Street urchins used to shout “nigger” at me. But the rest of the townspeople were generally kind. My status rose considerably when the late Mr C. E. A. Dias, with his daughter, now Mrs Earnest Soysa, paid me a visit in a Rolls Royce car, driven by a liveried chauffeur.

The car could not be turned into the drive because of its size, and had to be parked in front of the house on the narrow London—Brighton Road. Mr & Mrs H. W. Amarasuriya also visited me in an enormous Sunbeam. There were several inquiries from neighbours shortly afterwards regarding Miss Overton’s distinguished visitors and, when told that they were relatives of mine, there was a distinct improvement in the attitude of the people towards me. Men used to raise their hats to me in the street and women bowed with a certain degree of familiarity. As I had no hat to raise, I used to return the salutation in oriental fashion.

At Miss Overton’s request, I once spoke to the ladies and gentleman of the “Sutton Adult School” on Ceylon. I spoke for about 45 minutes without notes. At the conclusion of my talk, a vote of thanks to the speaker was proposed and seconded. One speaker complimented me for the fluency which I had acquired in their language in the short time that had elapsed since my arrival in England.

Law Student

I was admitted as a student both of Lincoln’s Inn and University College, London. The Inn was a beautiful place with stately old buildings and a dignified library. Passers-by used to stand on the roadside and gaze in amazement at the beautiful and well-kept lawns with flower beds on the borders. No one dared to step on that grass. We all respected the gardener and these lawns.

I cannot remember any notices ordering us to keep off the grass.

In another portion of the Inn, there were garden seats intended only for the members of the Honourable Society and their guests. One day, I took one of the girls at Sutton to show her the Inn. We sat on one of the seats enjoying a cigarette in the quiet of the place. A watchman arrived soon after and asked “Excuse me, Sir, are you a member of the Inn?” When I said that I was, he apologized and retired.

Lincoln’s Inn, from the Treasurer to the Librarian, the waiters and the gardeners, was always very courteous. Many years later, when I was Secretary to the Cabinet, I sent to the Librarian with my compliments, a Digest of Law Reports which I had compiled for the Ceylon Law Weekly. The reply, thanking me for the gift came from Lord Evershed, the Master of the Rolls and Treasurer of the Inn.

The officials had an amazing memory for names and spelling. There were several foreign students: Ceylonese, Indians, West Indians, Africans and others. One is required under the rules to eat Bar Dinners before one can be called to the Bar. There are four dining terms in each year and we were required to eat six dinners each term making twenty-fours dinners for the year, and you were not “called” until you had eaten seventy-two dinners, which meant three years.

The dinners were the cheapest one could have in London. For two shillings and six pence, one had soup, fish, meat, pudding, cheese, bread and butter, with unlimited quantities of beer, port, sherry and claret on ordinary nights. We were required to go to the office and pay in advance our fee for the six dinners. I have never heard the officer ask anyone his name. He received the cash, went inside, and came back with a receipt, your name correctly spelt. There were long Indian names like Rajagopalachariar and equally long Ceylonese names like Wijekulasuriya all correctly spelt. On my receipt, “Peiris” was correctly spelt although there were others who spelt their names ‘Pieris’ and ‘Peries’.

Once a term, there was a night called ‘Grand Night’, on which night we students, four in a mess, had in addition to other liquor, a magnum of champagne. I never understood how the Inn was able to give all this liquor for nothing, as the dinner charge was only for the eats, but someone told me that the Inn imported liquor free of duty under a Statute of Charles II. And the liquor, once drawn out of the cellars, never was put back. What was left over after the dinner was for the butler and the waiters.

On Grand Nights, the High Table was occupied by the Benchers and their very distinguished guests like the King, the Archbishops of Canterbury and York, Ambassadors and High Court Judges. Barristers sat at a middle table and the students, lower down, seated on benches. Grace was always said before and after dinner. On these nights I must confess the Ceylon students were always wide awake and acted with an eye to the main chance.

There were quite a number of us – D. S. Jayawickrama, Shelton de Silva, D. W. Fernando, D. W. F. Jayasekera, J. B. C. Rodrigo, K. A. P. Rajakaruna, T. S. Fernando and Victor de Soysa, to mention just a few. We used to wait until three Indian students had sat at a mess and one of us would then take the fourth place; and so it went on down the table. After grace had been said and the magnum of champagne opened, the Ceylonese would ask each of his three friends in the mess in turn “Champagne?”, and the reply always was “No thank you, I am a Hindu” or “I am a Muslim”. The Ceylonese had the magnum to himself.

The hosts on these dinner nights were the Benchers of the Inn, the governing body who have also the supreme power to strike a Barrister off the Roll. His Majesty, King George V, was a Bencher and Treasurer. Lord Sinha, an Indian, had been a Bencher and his coat of arms hangs in the Hall.

An amusing incident took place at dinner one Grand Night. The students, as I said, sit on benches and, in the middle of the dinner, one of the Ceylon students who had a wee drop too much probable forgot that there was no back to the bench, leaned back and fell on the boarded floor.

Not one of us dared to go to his rescue. He was just drunk and lay prostrate. It was winter time and freezing cold. The butler came with four waiters and carried the ‘corpse’ outside. When they came back shortly afterwards to attend to their duties, we were unable to find out how they had disposed of the body, because the body was incapable of steadying itself or of propelling itself under its own power.

After this incident, an order was made that no student should be served with more than two pints of beer, but Jayawickrama spoke kindly to the butler, after which we had all the drinks we wanted.

I did not attend any lectures at the Inn, the only requirement in our time being that we should eat our dinners. My law studies I did at the University, but used the library of the Inn in preference to the University library.

Travelling to work with me on the same bus every morning was a Negro student on his way to the Middle Temple library. We both had to get off the bus at the Chancery Lane stop. He was dressed in striped trousers, black coat, wing collar and wore a bowler hat. One day, from his seat by the window he was looking on to the pavement at one of the stops when a pretty, young girl with a small suitcase entered the bus and occupied the vacant seat next to him.

When the bus started and my friend turned round (I was seated immediately behind him) the girl saw his black face and just said “Uh”. My friend had a way with the Ladies. He half rose in his seat, bowed, raised his bowler and said “I’m sorry Madam if I frightened you.” The reply came “Oh! You speak English,” and an animated conversation followed until the bus came to our stop. I got out: my friend didn’t.

Some days later, I met him and asked what had happened. He said that the poor thing he had met was a complete stranger to London, so he had taken her out to lunch and a cinema, then to tea, sightseeing and dinner, when he discovered that, at that late hour, she was looking round for lodgings. My gallant friend had offered her, free of charge, the hospitality of his flat. He had said that he had a spare room which he could place at her disposal. The offer had been gratefully accepted. The girl had come for a weekend, but had stayed on for more than a week during which my friend attended no lectures.