PREMADASA MADE KEHELWATTE FAMOUS

by ECB Wijeyesinghe

I have often wondered who was the man or woman who first said: “Politics is a dirty game,” because he or she deserves to be remembered by posterity in a big way. A massive monument, even bigger than the one erected by the Russian friends of S.W.R.D. Bandaranaike, or the one in Independence Square of D. S. Senanayake should find a place in an area where politicians most do congregate. Even if it is not a life-sized statue, at least a bust in the National State Assembly should suffice, because there are members who are allergic to that shape of memorial.

After all, of what value are statues to politicians, when in 1956 the chief pastime of East European hooligans was to put a rope round the necks of gigantic Stalin monoliths and practise tug-of-war in the public squares? Poor Stalin, who in his lifetime with one nod, could have sent a million strong men reeling to the funeral parlours in and around Moscow, now lies in various places, headless and helpless with none so poor to do him reverence.

And what a shame, that in this year of grace, even his very name should be erased from the tablets of the elderly moujiks’ memory by the new regime? That is the way an ungrateful public (from Stalin’s point of view) deals with Marxist politicians who do not come up to scratch – one another’s back.

TALKING POINT

Talking of politicians naturally takes me, without being pushed, to Ranasinghe Premadasa. His first major speech in the National State Assembly is still a talking point where two or three are gathered together.

One may or may not agree with what Premadasa said, but his biting invective cuts to the marrow, especially when he decides to take into his head to indulge in a bit of iconoclasm and to topple the idols of the past.

DERISIVE REMARKS

The remark that riled Premadasa most appears to have been an electioneering speech made by an SLFP stalwart who, it is alleged, tried to warm up, and that, the frozen backs of a Nuwara Eliya audience squatting on the hillside with a little joke about a Kehelwatte “laveriya seller.” Obviously, the gibe did not hit the target with the rustic hearers. It merely whetted the appetite of the famished crowd to taste this delicacy, which according to a simple recipe, is made as follows :- Take a string hopper and wrap it round a dab of scraped coconut, saturated with treacle. Warm it up to make the edges stick and lo ! you have a laveriya.

The man at whom these cheap remarks were directed now stands next to J.R. in line for the tenancy of “Temple Trees.” The story, however much as it may sound like another version of the Log Cabin to White House episode was denied by Premadasa. But Premadasa will go down in history as the man who made Kehelwatte famous.

People keep on asking what and where is Kehelwatte. I know because I bask in the glory reflected from Premadasa of having been born there. Kehelwatte is the strip of land between Price Park and Hulftsdorp Street. It was once bounded on the North by Wesley College in Dam Street, a name which kept on irritating the ears of the Methodist Ministers every time their address was mentioned, for reasons which Heaven alone knows.

South of the border of Hulftsdorp Street was Royal College which was probably attended by men like Arunachalam, Dornhorst, T.F. Garvin, H.V. Perera, Arthur E. Keuneman, N.E. Weerasooria and hundreds of other celebrities. The classrooms, where once the Young Idea was taught how to shoot, have now with grim and ironic propriety been converted to Police Barracks, while the halls where the Muttu Cumaraswamys first displayed the brilliance of their brains are now reeking with the ordure of police horses.

THE EXODUS

Then the great Exodus started. Everybody started moving with the schools. Kehelwatte, which was inhabited by the jet set of the period, deteriorated into a cluster of slums. A great part of it began to be occupied by Hoares – I mean the well-known engineering firm. The stately homes started running to seed and even the uncrowned king of the area, old C.P. Dias, the revered headmaster of Wesley, sought a new home in Buller’s Road. He used to say he liked the new place because it was close to Kanatte Cemetery.

Wesley College, which was run by the Methodist Church was very lucky. The Ministers, for some time had pondered on the ways of the leading families in Kehelwatte and found that their example was not conducive to producing respectable citizens. So they moved on to a site where the boys were able to get a bird’s eye view of Welikada jail.

The other big schools envied Wesley who were given such a wonderful opportunity to produce law-abiding citizens. One has only to talk to some of the distinguished Old Wesleyites and they will tell you that their teachers used to point out to their pupils some wretched criminal being taken past the college, and impressing on them the deplorable consequences of being found out.

WIN AND PLACE

Royal College moved out of Kehelwatte to a spot almost as interesting as Welikada. They fixed their tents next to the Havelock racecourse, where they learned that the race is not always to the swift nor the battle to the strong. There are cynics who maintain that the closest cut to Welikada is through the racecourse. But that depends.

My old boss D.R.Wijewardene used to bet Rs.5/- place on the favourite every Governor’s Cup Day. That was the only risk he took. He died a millionaire. As I said, young Royalists soon had the opportunity of occupying a ringside seat and watching the Sport of Kings – to say nothing of wiles of jockeys, trainers and bookies. They knew exactly what the Poet (was it Browning ?) meant when he wrote the lilting lines

I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris, and he;

I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three.

Though horses no longer are used to carry the good news there is a large fraternity of bookies who go on their knees and thank God every day that there are horses that can run – and lose.

(Excerpted from The Good at Their Best first published in 1977)