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Law student days in London and Lincoln’s Inn

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Excerpted from The Memoirs of a Cabinet Secretary by BP Peiris

(Continued from last week)

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 eleven 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.

Before finishing with Lincoln’s Inn, I take the liberty of reproducing a very interesting and humorous editorial from the London Times of May 1931:

Polygamy in Lincoln’s Inn

The Inns of Court, as befits their great age and greater dignity, take particular pains about the character of those whom they allow to reside inside their gates; and as the Courts of Chancery claim a traditional pre-eminence over the Courts of Common Law as homes of the most austere rectitude, where rhetoric is never heard or is heard in tight-lipped silence, so is no Inn more careful to maintain the standard of impeccability among its tenants than Lincoln’s Inn. Common lawyers expect to jostle and mingle with all manner of men, but Chancery lawyers who take neither pride nor pleasure in the rough and tumble, are not to be offered any but the hand-picked company of highly necessary solicitors, the more thoughtful and statistical kind of politician and the steadier sort of journalist.

Into this company have now intruded individuals of a different stamp, whose general air of insolvency, combined with an addiction to the pond and to matrimonial irregularities, suggest that they have mistaken the Inn for the neighbouring Courts of Bankruptcy or Probate, Admiralty and Divorce. The Inn allows married couples, and smiles indulgently at the spectacle of children playing on its lawns. The law has always recognized marriage and its customary consequence as among the most valuable of the institutions which make the legal profession a necessity.

The litigation in Chancery is so peculiarly dependent on the family and the family quarrels, that the noise of children quarreling, so painful to many other men of affairs, is sweet prophetic music to the Chancery silk. But the three drakes and two ducks who have started to live in New Square an unseemly life of indolence and pleasure, with an absence of reticence that a Hollywood publicity man might envy, are carrying things altogether too far.

When a duck and a drake first appeared and settled in the pond at New Square and reared a family, everyone wished them well and the only anxiety was how to retain so model a couple as an encouragement to everyone else. They flew away, but another reappeared this year, and it looked as if the kindly offices of the Inn in making its pond comfortable have not been in vain, and that the lawyers were earning a good name among the better class of duck.

But the correspondent who has followed events for this journal has had an increasingly disreputable tale to unfold. The drake brought a second duck openly to the pond in full view of the King’s Proctor, and the appearance of two more drakes has now given the pond an example of the type of promiscuous modern household which has sometimes been described in fiction but which respectable people have liked to think was exaggerated.

It is only three days since this last development, but already the trouble which any experienced solicitor could have predicted seems to be breaking out, and the King’s peace is endangered where it ought to be most secure. There is an excuse, and it is the excuse common in such entangling alliances – the excuse of unhappiness. Four out of the first wife’s seven eggs were stolen, one by one, by rats, and the substitutes provided by the Inn never seemed the same.

If the feathered creation offends against the spirit of much of our legislation, at least it is guiltless of the kidnapping and rapine which makes the name of rat enjoy so little favour. But, though the guardians of the law must feel a little outraged that robbery can take place under their very noses like this, there is a certain consolation for legal men in the goings on by the pond. “That”, the lawyer can exclaim, “is nature for you, in all her notorious disrepute”.

So ruminating, he can turn away his gaze and, thinking with pride what the police mean and the judge have managed to make of human kind, and how seldom they steal each other’s offspring, he can settle down with all the clearer conscience to the preparation of his bills of costs.”

This was followed by a letter to the Editor…

The Ducks of Lincoln’s Inn Sir,

We are instructed by our clients, who, by the courtesy of the Benchers of Lincoln’s Inn, are occupying the premises known as “The pond”, to inform you that the other ladies and gentlemen referred to in your fourth leader of today were friends who sought a good address for census night, and some have stayed on to enjoy the hospitality of the beadle. There is no ground whatever for any suggestion of scandal.

We are directed to inform you that our clients require you to withdraw the imputation contained in your fourth leader. Otherwise they will take steps.

Yours faithfully Quackett and Quackett

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 marvellous man with a marvellous 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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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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