I must say something about my mother. She was the dearest and sweetest person I have known, as I suppose the humblest and poorest mother would and should be. Instances of the pain and trouble she took to bring up her children are too numerous to mention here. Not only would she supervise the preparation of the food but would insist that the children consumed it. She would take our lessons at the dining table before dinner, teaching us our history, geography, arithmetic, English etc., and explain to us the things we did not understand.

In the evening, if she had time to spare, she would sit at the piano and play old favourites like the “Robin’s Return” or the “Maiden’s Prayer.” At the age of about five, after listening to her playing, I was put under a teacher, Mrs Meier, and from there I went on in my musical education till I had to give up music because of the time I had to devote to my studies at school. I took Theory of Music as a subject for the Cambridge Junior, having been taught by a gracious lady whom I prefer to call ‘Aunt Sybil’. For her dear parents, both now departed, and the entire family of eight daughters I have always had the highest regard and respect. They all treated me as one of their family.

Mother was an expert at knitting, particularly stockings (the heel I am told is not too easy) for the planters up-country, who thought highly of her work and remunerated her well for it. I still treasure a high necked and long-sleeved pullover that she knitted for me and which I always use whenever I go on a holiday to Nuwara Eliya. I learnt tennis from my mother who used to play on the court at ‘Charley Villa’, the residence of Mr and Mrs V. S. A. Dias. It was a sort of private club and the membership was very restricted. Later, she joined the Panadura Sports Club but had to give up tennis owing to her high blood pressure.

On April 8, 1945, we had a friendly cricket match at Panadura, one side captained by my brother G. S. and the other by my uncle D. S. Jayawickrama. The teams were entertained to lunch by my sister Dorothy, and on our way back to Colombo, we called on father and mother who entertained us to drinks. She saw most of her children and her two surviving brothers that evening. She was not ill and joked and laughed with us in the verandah. Early next morning, father telephoned to me to say that mother had passed away peacefully in her sleep. What we owe to her cannot be expressed in words here.

Before I go on to my story proper, I should I like to take this opportunity to refer to my brothers and sisters. We were a musical family except for my brother S. W. who would sometimes sing a bit but could not play any instrument. My sister Olivia played the guitar and, later, passed a high examination in pianoforte and started teaching music. She married Dick Dias, the well-known playwright. My second sister Dorothy played the violin. She married Leslie, the yonger son of Mr M. A. Perera of Panadura. My brother J. Q. played the ukelele and G. S. the drums. In the family, we formed a musical club, and made brother S. W. Treasurer. We once played in public at Panadura and gave a fairly good performance. My youngest sister Matinee who is a pianist and violinist was too young at that time to take part in our activities. She married Somadeva Amarasuriya of Galle.

The Royal College

Schooling began in the St John’s Girls’ School, Panadura, at about the age of seven. There was also a Boys’ School and a College, all under the Principalship of the late Mr Cyril A. Jansz (Snr) of revered and enduring memory. My Principal was Miss Bett whom I came to like, and my teachers were Miss Goonetilleke (later Mrs Attygalle) and Miss May Young, both of whom I respected, although, from the latter, I received the only caning I have had in my school career – six cuts with a cane on the hand for hiding behind a wall in order to “cut” prayers. The two years in the Girls’ School were uneventful. What I learnt in the school I cannot now recall: probably the rudiments of English, addition and subtraction etc. We were not taught any Sinhala.

About the age of nine, father, anxious to get us into his old school, the Royal College, sent me and my brother S. W. to Mr Weerasinghe, the Head Master of the St John’s Boys’ School for private coaching to enable us to pass the entrance test. He taught us a little more arithmetic, multiplication, division and pounds, shillings, pence. He used to give us sums to do and, when we had not the correct answer, had only one remark to make – ‘Stupid’. In spite of our stupidity, with his coaching, my brother and I passed the test and became Royalists.

The Lower School at the Royal College, where I was taken into Form I, was then housed in the building that was later used for the Royal Primary with the entrance at the junction of Thurstan Road and Alfred Place. My brother and I boarded with Mr Jinoris Rodrigo, father of Professor J. L. C., J. G. C. and J. B. C. (later principal of Prince of Wales College, Moratuwa) at his house ‘Connington’ in Thimbirigasyaya Road. Later, we traveled daily by train from Panadura with a servant boy carrying our lunch basket.

From the Bambalapitiya station we walked up St Kilda’s Lane and School Lane until we came to the back garden of the huge Alfred House. From there on the Thurstan Road was all grass fields. The whole area is now a built-up area. Royal College, at that time, was in the present University building, the Lower School being housed in the Training College. My brother and I each received five cents as pocket money each day and had to decide between a lime juice at the tuck shop, the ice cream cart and the gram seller as regards the best buy for the day.

My teacher was Miss Agnes Spittel, a lady whom all the students loved- The Head Master was Roy Vanderwall. The Principal was Charles Hartley, a great gentleman. Always dressed in a simple cannannore suit, he spent his evenings picking the love grass from the college lawns. He knew every student, used to come round each month to the classes to take ‘Positions’ with his fountain pen between his nose and his upper lip. The class had to line up for him and he had a word for every boy. If you had come from second to first -‘Good’; from second to ninth – “Bad”, and if the decline was repeated – “Come to the armoury” where the canes were kept. We all liked him.

Hartley was succeeded by Major H. L. Reed, a very strict disciplinarian. Between Hartley’s departure and Reed’s arrival, L. H. W. Sampson, an Oxford classical scholar with a grumpy voice, was acting Principal. Like Dean Inge, he might well have been nicknamed ‘The Gloomy Dean’. It was while Sampson was acting that my brothers. J. Q., and G. S. sought entry to the College. G. S. passed the test, but J. Q. the older brother who suffered from a cleft in the palate and for that reason was a little backward, failed.

Father pleaded with Sampson to take the boy – reply “Can’t do”. When Reed arrived, father saw him by appointment and explained the circumstances, namely, that he was himself an old Royalist, that he had four sons, three of whom had been taken and the fourth rejected because of a slight backwardness due to a cleft in the palate, and that he did not like to send the boy to any other school. Reed made order in writing “Take the boy without examination”. The Old School Tie!

Alas. The Royal College of old is today a Central School. The old traditions appear to be fast disappearing, and I hear that the language the brats use is unprintable and their manners dreadful. The motto disce aut discede is almost forgotten. I remember Reed teaching me my manners on one occasion. I was walking along the college corridor with my bag in my hand and my hat on my head and Reed was coming towards me from the other end. As we were about to cross, he stopped me: “Young man,” he said, “never wear a hat when you are under a roof.”

From Form I, I had a “double” promotion to Lower III – Master E. C. T. Holsinger. I therefore missed being taught by our respected S. P. Foenander who was taking Form II. Our English in Lower III was taken by Mervyn Fonseka, later to be my Head of Department as Legal Draftsman, but of this later. From there on, I passed through the hands of a gentlemanly and scholarly set of teachers to whom I owe my present position. There was, as I said, Roy Vanderwall. There were L. V. Gooneratne, Victor C. Perera, R. C. Edwards, D. C. R. Gunawardena, H. J. Wijesinghe, T. M. Weerasinghe, T. H. Wijesinghe, F. D. Wijesinghe, Cameron Samarasinghe, P. I. Roberts, T. D. Jayasuriya, and finally Vollenhoven and Paulusz both of whom had taught my father when he was at Royal.

On the Mathematics side there were F. R. V. Gulasekeram and M. M. Kulasekeram, both experts in their line, whom I could not bluff. I had now passed Lower III and come up to Headmaster Vanderwall’s class at the top of the Lower School. During the Geography lesson, his practice was to hang four maps on the blackboard – England, Scotland, Ireland, Wales – and say “Point out Cardiff; point out Lossiemouth etc.”

The class of thirty decided to stage a strike. The next week’s lesson came and we all, on purpose, put our finger on the wrong map and groped about it looking for the town which was not there. “Go back and keep standing” said the teacher. At the end of the first round, twenty-nine out of thirty boys were standing in their places. The one boy who was seated, who today in strike parlance would be called a blackleg, was that brilliant boy George Chitty.

Came the second round and the same thing happened. To each boy, except Chitty, the Master said “Rise higher, Sir Percy” and so on, and we stood on the ‘form’. At the end of the third round, when the Master was saying things like “point out London” the newly knighted boys were further elevated and, except for the one, were all standing on the desks. Then the bell rang for the lunch interval and the small Johnnies in the lower forms streamed out and saw a strange sight. Fellows were pointing at us and my brothers J. Q. and G. S. were in the crowd. Vanderwall kept us standing on the desks for five minutes after the bell had rung.

We were then marched to the Principal’s office. Major Reed could not obviously cane twenty-nine pupils. He lined us on three sides of his office and kept silent. One mischievous chap pinched the “behind” of the fellow next to him who giggled. Reed made a military order “You stay behind. The rest of you can go.” The poor devil got six good and proper on the buttocks.

After passing Vanderwall, we came to Vollenhoven and Paulusz, both great gentlemen. Of them, I have two stories to relate. One of our classmates was a boarder at Vollenhoven’s house and he whispered to the boys “Today is Papa’s birthday”. ‘Papa’ was Vollenhoven’s nickname. We had rich boys in the class. A paper was quietly sent round from desk to desk and more than eighty rupees were collected in a few minutes. The money was handed to Alexis Roberts, an irrepressible fellow with a sense of humour and mischief and a love of the piano, who sat in the last row in the seat nearest the door.

While ‘Papa’ was chalking something on the Board with his back to the class, Alexis slipped out, got into one of the boy’s cars, went to the Fort and bought the birthday present for ‘Papa’ – an enamel toilet set, wash basin, toothbrush holder, soap dish, jug, chamber pot etc. He asked that the present (except the chamber pot which should be packed separately with the handle out) should be delivered at Papa’s bungalow at Deal Place. In due course, Alexis slipped back into his seat with the chamber pot, unnoticed by Papa who was working something on the board. Papa had not noticed his absence of about one hour.

Five minutes before the end of the lesson, Alexis stood up in his seat at the back and made a short speech, saying that he had heard that it was Papa’s birthday (Papa now taking out his pince-nez, bowing and saying “Now, now boys, I don’t want you to put yourselves to any trouble over my birthday”) and asking that as a birthday present “You accept this most elegant gift from the class.” “Thank you boys, thank you” said Papa. Alexis walked up and presented the chamber pot. “Get out of the class, Roberts” shouted Papa, and out went Roberts, glad to get out.

Later in the day, a chit was brought from Madam Papa saying that a large present from the class had been delivered at the house. “I will be very happy to see all you boys at my bungalow for refreshments today after school,” said Papa, and we had a good time, Alexis insisting on and getting a spot of alcoholic drink.

Papa was a very kind-hearted man. He wore a stiff collar and a tie which looked like a shoestring. Alexis, the spoilt son of that wealthy, respected and long-remembered father, the late Dr Emmanuel Roberts, came into class on a rainy day with his clothes all wet. He had, on purpose, put his head under a gutter. Papa was horrified. “My dear boy, you will catch pneumonia. Go home at once and change your clothes.” “I haven’t another suit, Sir”, said Alexis. “Here, take this note to my wife and she will give you one of my suits”, the kind man said.

So off Alexis went. In time, he returned, dressed in one of Papa’s suits with coat sleeves and trouser-bottoms rolled up because they were both too long, in one of Papa’s stiff collars, and for a tie, a shoelace. As soon as Papa saw him entering the class in this dress, he shrieked “Get out, Roberts” and, as usual, out went Roberts.

Genial old Mr Paulusz taking the Remove Form was calling the roll one morning and came to the name ‘Roberts’. There were several Silvas, Wijesinghes etc. after ‘R’. “Absent yesterday, Roberts?” asked the master. ‘Yes Sir’ said R. “Your letter of excuse, please”, and he proceeded to call the rest of the names. R, who came to school only about three times a week and that also without books, pen or pencil, quickly borrowed pen and paper from the fellow at the next desk and wrote out his letter of excuse. Whose signature he put on the letter no one knew. As he got to the end of the letter, the master had got to the end of the roll. R. walked boldly up to the table and handed the letter. The master read it and said “Somebody give me a piece of blotting paper, please. Thank you, Roberts.” That was the Royal in the 1920’s.

By some misfortune, I found myself in the top mathematics set with my brother S. W., my cousin C. O. Cooray, who passed into the Indian Civil Service, and P. H. Wickramasinghe who did likewise. I knew no higher maths and bluffed around until, one day, M. M. Kulasekeram taking the class, asked me to walk up to the blackboard and work out a problem on the “E” theorem which he had been explaining for two weeks. I could not put the chalk to the board because I had not the slightest notion what the “E” theorem was about. The teacher rubbed the board out and put a new problem on the “E” theorem which was simpler. I failed again. He asked me to clear out of the class and never come in again. I was happy.

I did not take much interest in games or athletics, but gave my time to our weekly meetings of the Debating Society of which later I became Vice-President, the Principal being president ex-officio. The “live” members at that time were J. R. Jayewardene and his brother Corbett, Shirley Corea, George Chitty and Panditha Gunawardena, to mention just a few.

In due course, I found myself in the top form on the classics side. English was taken by Reed, Latin by Sampson, Vice-Principal, and Greek by T. D. Jayasuriya. P. I. Roberts was Form Master. I had earlier passed the Cambridge Junior with honours. In 1925,1 had passed the Cambridge Senior with honours in English, Latin, Greek and, of all subjects, Mathematics and Drawing. In 1927, I obtained a First Division in the London Matriculation Examination with English, Latin, Greek, Mathematics and Logic and was made a Prefect.

I won the George Wille Prize for Greek prose and came second in Latin prose. I waited in school for a few more months because there was nothing for me to do till I entered the University College. Reed and Sampson exempted me from the English and Latin classes and I used to pass the time in the Prefects’ Room reading Hazlitt, Emerson and other general literature, and with the little pocket money available to me, buying a book now and then. The pocket money had, at this time, been increased beyond the original five cents.

I left the Royal College in May 1927. Cricket bored me and I am ashamed to confess that in my ten years at the Royal I never saw a Royal-Thomian match. The furthest I got in cricket was the 2nd XI in Boake House. On leaving, Reed gave me he following certificate:

“B. P. Peiris has done a full course at the Royal College finishing up on the Arts side by gaining a place in the First Division at the last London Matriculation Examination. He has always been a pupil of intelligence above the average who had displayed a taste for literature. He has plenty of force of character, which he has put to good use in the Literary Association and the Social Service league, an organization largely occupied in social service. I consider that he would do well at an English University, and that any College accepting him as a student would be unlikely to regret such a step.”