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My family and Royal College

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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.”



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Regime change and the vacuum:Strategic lessons of Iraq and Libya

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Post-Gaddafi Civil war: the rebellion triggered by the arab spring of 2011 soon toppled the regime of Muammar Gaddafi. the power vacuum created by Gaddafi’s ouster has been exploited by local actors, as well as extraneous actors, with the only intention of making libya a war theatre for proxy wars and political disintegration

by Col. (R) Nalin Herath

There is a question that the international community must periodically ask itself: What happens to a State after its regime has been ousted?

The question is particularly relevant when examining Iraq and Libya. Saddam Hussein and Muammar Gaddafi were authoritarian rulers. Their governments were associated with political repression, human-rights violations and the suppression of political opposition. None of this should be ignored or excused. But recognising the failures of authoritarian rule does not prevent us from asking another, equally important strategic question:

Did the removal of these regimes adequately prepare for what came next?

The experience of Iraq and Libya suggests that removing a ruler is considerably easier than replacing the political, administrative and security architecture around that ruler.

Danger of confusing regime change with State reconstruction

A state is more than its leader. It consists of institutions, security forces, civil servants, courts, political structures, infrastructure, economic systems and, perhaps most importantly, an accepted monopoly over the legitimate use of force. When an authoritarian system has concentrated enormous power around one individual, removing that individual can expose weaknesses that were previously hidden. The strategic mistake is to assume that once the dictator has gone, a democratic and stable state will naturally emerge. History does not support such an assumption. The aftermath of Iraq demonstrates this particularly clearly. Following the 2003 invasion, the Coalition Provisional Authority issued Order No. 2, formally dissolving the Iraqi Ministry of Defence and the Iraqi Army, among other security institutions. A US congressional report later documented the enormous consequences of this decision, including the disappearance of hundreds of thousands of military personnel from the institutional framework of the state. Whatever the intentions behind the decision, the strategic consequence was that an established security structure had to be rebuilt while the country was simultaneously experiencing political upheaval and growing violence. That is a dangerous combination.

Iraq: Removing the structure before building the replacement

Saddam Hussein’s government was unquestionably authoritarian. It also reflected a complicated sectarian and political structure in which members of the Sunni minority occupied disproportionate positions of power despite being a demographic minority. But the question for strategic planners should not simply be whether Saddam deserved to remain in power. The question should have been:

What institutional structure would replace the system once he was removed?

An army can be politically controlled without being politically representative. A bureaucracy can serve an authoritarian government while still providing essential state functions. A security institution can be reformed without necessarily being destroyed. The distinction between reforming institutions and eliminating institutions is therefore critical. The post-2003 experience demonstrated the consequences of institutional disruption. Security vacuums contributed to insurgency and instability, while the process of rebuilding Iraq’s security forces took place amid an increasingly deteriorating security environment. The lesson is not that authoritarian institutions should never be reformed. The lesson is that state capacity should not be casually destroyed without a credible replacement.

Libya: prosperity, authoritarianism and institutional fragility

Libya presents an even more complicated case. Gaddafi’s government was authoritarian and deeply personalised. Political freedom was severely restricted, and the security apparatus was deliberately structured around regime survival. Yet Libya, under Gaddafi, also used substantial oil revenues to fund education, healthcare, infrastructure and social services. World Bank data from around the end of the Gaddafi era show life expectancy reaching approximately 75 years by 2011, skilled attendance at birth at 100 percent and measles immunisation at 98 percent. This does not prove that Gaddafi’s system was politically legitimate. It demonstrates something different: economic and social outcomes can coexist with authoritarian political structures.

The Great Man-Made River illustrates the scale of Libya’s investment ambitions. The World Bank described the project as one of the world’s largest engineering schemes, involving thousands of kilometres of planned pipelines to transport water from deep desert aquifers toward the populated coastal belt. The original project was estimated at approximately US$ 25 billion over several phases. Again, this should not become nostalgia for dictatorship. It should become a lesson in state capacity.

What happened after Gaddafi?

The post-2011 experience is perhaps the clearest illustration of the vacuum problem. Libya did not simply move from dictatorship to a consolidated democratic state. Instead, competing armed groups, political factions and institutions emerged. A UN economic and social affairs analysis concluded that the fall of the Gaddafi regime exposed weak state institutions and that the post-Gaddafi period was characterised by the proliferation of armed militias and institutional fragmentation.

The World Bank has similarly described how the security vacuum allowed armed groups to expand, while attempts to integrate them into the formal security apparatus produced a hybrid system in which state institutions and powerful armed groups operated alongside one another. This is the heart of the lesson. The consequences of regime change were also evident in Libya. The 2012 Benghazi attack, later portrayed in 13 Hours: The Secret Soldiers of Benghazi, illustrated the security vacuum that emerged after Gaddafi’s fall. The collapse of central authority allowed militias and competing armed groups to fill the space left by weakened state institutions. The lesson is clear: removing a regime may achieve military victory, but without a credible plan to rebuild the state, victory can quickly become a security vacuum.

When the state withdraws, something else occupies the space. If the replacement is not a legitimate national institution, the vacuum can be filled by militias, tribes, ideological movements, criminal networks or competing political authorities. The vacuum does not remain empty.

Terrorism question

There is another uncomfortable issue. Authoritarian regimes frequently suppress political and armed movements through coercive security systems. When those systems disappear abruptly, previously contained organisations can find new operating space. This does not mean that dictatorship is an appropriate method of counterterrorism. It means that counterterrorism cannot be separated from State capacity. The international community therefore needs to distinguish between defeating a particular terrorist organisation and maintaining the institutional conditions that prevent multiple armed actors from competing for power. The destruction of one regime does not automatically eliminate the forces that created insecurity. Sometimes it creates an environment in which those forces multiply.

Strategic mistake: winning the war but losing the peace

Military intervention can have a clearly defined operational objective. State reconstruction does not. A military campaign may successfully remove a government in weeks or months. Building legitimate institutions can take decades.This creates a fundamental strategic asymmetry. The shorter the planning horizon for intervention, the greater the danger of a long-term vacuum. The international community therefore needs to think beyond the first question: How do we remove the regime?

It must ask: Who governs the country the next morning? Who controls the borders? Who controls the security forces? Who pays government employees? Who maintains electricity, water and hospitals? Who protects critical infrastructure? Who administers justice? Who prevents armed groups from becoming alternative governments? Who provides political legitimacy? And perhaps most importantly: Who possesses the authority to enforce the decisions of the new state? If there are no convincing answers, regime change is only the beginning of the problem.

The lesson should not be that the United States or its allies should never intervene. Nor should it be that Saddam Hussein or Muammar Gaddafi should be rehabilitated as models of governance. The lesson is more practical. Regime change must never be confused with state-building.

Before dismantling an established political order, external powers need a credible understanding of the institutions that will replace it. Security-sector reform should normally distinguish between individuals who must be removed and institutions that must be preserved. A national army may need reform. A ministry may need restructuring. A security service may need accountability and civilian oversight. But destroying institutional capacity without having an operational replacement can create consequences far beyond the original objective.

Wider geopolitical lesson

The consequences of Iraq and Libya did not remain within their borders. State fragmentation affects neighbouring countries, migration, organised crime, arms trafficking, terrorism, energy markets and regional power competition. In today’s interconnected world, a failed transition in one country can become a security problem for an entire region. That is why intervention planning should include not only military objectives but also political, economic, humanitarian and security-sector objectives. The most important planning document may therefore not be the operational plan for removing the regime. It may be the plan for Day One after the regime has disappeared.

History should not be written as a simple choice between dictatorship and democracy. The real strategic challenge is more complicated. Saddam Hussein and Muammar Gaddafi were dictators. Their governments committed serious abuses, and their populations had legitimate grievances. But the failures of authoritarian rule do not automatically justify the destruction of state institutions without a credible plan for rebuilding them. The experience of Iraq and Libya demonstrates a fundamental principle of international security: A political vacuum is not neutral space. Someone will fill it. If legitimate national institutions cannot fill that space, armed groups, sectarian interests, extremist organisations or foreign-backed factions may do so. The ultimate lesson for the United States, its allies and the wider international community is therefore straightforward:

Removing a regime may win the immediate battle. Building a legitimate, functioning and secure state determines whether the intervention succeeds in the long term. The world should learn to ask not only “How do we remove the dictator?”. It must also ask:

“What happens to the country when he is gone?”

That may be the most important strategic question of all.

(The writer is the Secretary General of the Ceylon Chamber of Shipping, former Director General of the Institute of National Security Studies (INSS), and former Spokesman of the Ministry of Defence. He is also a Non-Resident Fellow at the London Dialogue. His areas of expertise include international relations, geopolitics, maritime affairs, national security, economic policy, and strategic governance. He is a consultant at JITT Group and a member of World Pace Board.).

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‘Death at the Sign of the Rook’

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Tales of Mystery and Suspense – 23

By Prof. Rajiva Wijesinha

As I have noted with regard to the adventures of John Rebus, I am indebted to Dinali Fernando and her husband Steve for whole hosts of thrillers. The latter strongly recommended Kate Atkinson when I borrowed four books. I wondered about this, for I had not been too impressed with her debut novel, Behind the Scenes at the Museum, which was amongst the entries I had to judge for the Eurasian section of the Commonwealth Writing Prize. Two decades later, I had forgotten what it had been about.

But I am glad Steve persuaded me to read her. Kate Atkinson is distinctively British, and Death at the Sign of the Rook is set in a country house and the surrounding village, and seems a modern descendant of the laidback Agatha Christies I so much enjoy.

There are, however, many differences in that we have a policeman who can go rogue, like Rebus, with again a female sidekick who has a mind of her own, again like Rebus. But Jackson Brodie has retired and set up as a private investigator, while Reggie, a young lady, is still in the police.

There is a lesbian couple living in the converted dairy of the manor house, as has occurred in Agatha Christie too, in A Murder is Announced. But they are peripheral to the story, unlike Ben, the brother of one of them who left the army after losing a leg in Afghanistan. When he turns up at the Manor House to shelter from a snowstorm, along with its chatelaine, Lady Milton, he is asked to answer the door as various characters turn up, including Jackson and Reggie, who then starts fantasising about him.

The others who turn up are two couples, one from America, who have paid for a murder weekend at the hotel. The family is impoverished, and has sold lots of pictures to survive, but most recently a Turner had been stolen, almost certainly by Lady Milton’s housekeeper Sophie, who vanished one night along with the picture. Reggie had been involved in that investigation, but there had been no trace of either picture or young lady.

Jackson Brodie suspects a connection between that theft and the one he has been called in to investigate, which has not been reported to the police. The picture hung opposite the bed of an old woman whose carer vanished after she died, along with it. Her children, adopted twins, have asked Jackson to investigate and also try to trace the carer, though he suspects something strange in that they did not go to the police.

Kate Atkinson

Brodie, in studying the stolen art, is also struck by the disappearance of a Rembrandt from a house in Scotland, along with a member of the cleaning staff. He thinks the three women might be the same one.

But Brodie’s assumption that the three women who vanished when valuable pictures did were identical would not have helped except that Beatrice, as she was also called, kept turning up, including to the funeral home where the old lady’s body was kept. And then that picture turned up, in the village church, and was found by the local vicar, Simon Cate, whose life story is also a prominent feature of the novel. He was an aspiring actor but then smitten by faith, and became a priest, but in time he lost his faith. His wife left him after the death of their son, and he is now in this backwater, where he feels he is of no use to anyone. But he has a great feel for living beings, and his most successful service has been one in which he blessed pets. And he was deeply concerned about the bees that Ben looks after for his sister and her wife.

He too staggers into the manor house in the midst of the storm, in which everyone concerned loses their way comprehensively. But amongst those Ben lets in is a man in a tracksuit with cuts and bruises, who then vanishes after he has been led to a bedroom, when Ben went in search of brandy. We soon work out that it is the escaped murderer about whom Reggie has been alerted.

Simon also turns up, through the back door, carrying the picture and also a gun, for he has found the dead body of one of his parishioners when he went to her house in search of his mobile phone. She had been shot and he had picked up the gun he found there. But he could not tell the police, for though he called he had lost his voice, and for the last few days had communicated only through writing.

This chaotic mix of characters at the manor house is further complicated by the group of players putting on the murder mystery play though some members have either cried off or died before reaching the venue. So, there is much doubling up and confusion over who is an actor and who is not.

The grand now largely empty rooms of the manor house, and its various odd passages and multiple doors, make it a splendid set for the lunacy that runs on and on. Reggie finds herself in a pantry Atkinsonwith a dead body, though this turns out to be the nanny who fell down the stairs and was put there by Lady Milton’s younger son. And there is high drama on the roof when the murderer nearly kills Ben, but he is saved by Reggie, and when he tries to kill Brody with an axe, he is shot by Beatrice, who has been the maid who served at the dinner before the murder mystery play, and explains to Brody how she has managed all her thefts.

And then in the melee, she vanishes on a motorbike, along with the daughter of the old lady’s adopted daughter, the only person who seemed to grieve at the funeral, and to whom the old lady had left her house in a codicil to her will, which her children have not known about. She leaves the picture to the carer, but it is brought to Simon Cate as he lies in hospital, recovering from a heart attack which adds confusion to the play.

Wonderfully convoluted, but all very clear, despite the headlong pace of the book and its shifts from one scene to another, from one character to another (or rather combinations of them) and from one-time span to another. A writer and a detective well worth looking out for. e more books by her on Dinali’s shelves.

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Safety, security and teamwork in aviation

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Indian Captain Smit Machchhar injured in the cockpit attack

by Capt. (Ret.).G.A. Fernando, MBA

There are three essential components to a commercial airline operation: safety, security and teamwork.

Aviation and teamwork at the ‘sharp’ end of a commercial aircraft, i.e. the flight deck, is unique. Unlike many other teams, it may be quite literally the first and the last time a particular combination of small teams of two, three, or four individual airmen (or women) will fly together. Sometimes even in the same airline that employs them.

Therefore, to make conditions safe and practical, while understanding and trusting tech other, they have to rely on a series of Standard Operating Procedures (SOPs), and ‘Normal’ and ‘Emergency’ checklists for every conceivable situation. That is, to be able to do the right things, and do things right. In fact, there is a saying in aviation to the effect that ‘if you make a mistake in aviation, be original and make a new one’.

To ensure that safety standards are constantly maintained, airline pilots’ proficiency is tested every six months, in simulators, under the supervision of examiners from the civil aviation regulator. In Sri Lanka that organisaton is the Civil Aviation Authority-Sri Lanka (CAASL). Three simulator checks are conducted every 12 months in keeping with the tenet that ‘practice makes perfect’. A pithy adage not confined to the world of aviation warns that ‘prior preparation prevents piss-poor performance’.

The simulator exercises include rejected takeoffs, including in cross-wind situations, landings, engine fires and/or engine failures from a variety of causes, cabin pressurisation failure, precision and non-precision approaches, and landings in bad visibility – amongst other conditions that could be expected in actual flight.

In addition, a flight in a real airplane, on a regular passenger service under the supervision of an examiner from the airline, is undertaken to ensure that the company’s standard practices and procedures are carried out and maintained as prescribed in the airline’s manuals. These publications are in turn approved by the national regulator.

Crash axe

Finally, flight crew members must take a written test annually, on emergency equipment locations and procedures, with 90% as the pass mark.

Since the mid-1980s it has been mandatory for airline pilots to undertake a Crew Resource Management (CRM) programme once every two years. This training essentially emphasises what to do and what not to do to, in a specific emergency situation, or even during normal operations, to make the team cohesive and effective. During the course, the CRM facilitators discuss recent incidents and accidents that have occurred. Results of those events are recorded and could be retrieved, when necessary, by the official aviation bodies.

Not unexpectedly, it is demanding on a pilot to fulfill these requirements on a regular basis throughout his/her career, along with presenting for a bi-annual medical examination, all with the objective of retaining one’s licence to operate an aircraft. It may not be understood, therefore, by persons outside the aviation industry, or even some working in other aspects of an airline organisation, that it is often the passion for flight that keeps many pilots doing what they do to earn a living.

Security

Another important factor is the challenge of maintaining security in all aspects of airline operations, not least in the cockpit. The challenges are many, with new ones surfacing almost every day. It is therefore essential to be always prepared for the activities and ‘methods’ of perpetrators seeking to wreak evil on an aircraft and its occupants. As it is impossible for any airline or national security organisation to cover all aspects, systematic management of risks to effect a safe outcome becomes imperative.

Flydubai Incident

In the recent Flydubai incident of 30 September, 2026, a first officer (co-pilot) attacked the captain of the flight with a crash axe to accomplish his sinister motives, into which investigations are continuing. For the time being, it prompts the questions: should the crash axe be easily accessible to the flight crew? Or even be there at all? I believe it is a case of assessing the greater risk.

With regard to that event, and the circumstances that led to it, other deterrents could have been applied more thoroughly. For example, more thorough screening of pilots’ and other crewpersons’ backgrounds, with emphasis on their mental health, ideological affiliations and previous employment history. Separately, during a time of conflict in the Middle East, should Flydubai have even been operating between Dubai and Tel Aviv? Notwithstanding that cost-cutting and profit maximisation are key aims of any business, an airline’s apparent failure to conduct adequate psychological profiling of flight crew members, while continuing to operate ‘profitable’ routes, regardless of potential danger, can only be regarded and condemned as greed and disregard for human lives.

( Captain. Fernando, RCyAF, SLAF, Air Ceylon, Air Lanka, Singapore Airlines (SIA), SriLankan Airlines, Former Chief Pilot, Air Lanka Boeing 737, Former Deputy Chief Pilot, Lockheed L 1011, Former Crew Resource Management (CRM) Facilitator, SIA, Former Deputy Director (Air Operations) CAASL, Former President, Aircraft Owners and Operators Association Sri Lanka (AOAOASL), President, The Colombo Flying Club, Representative for Aviation, Organisation of Professional Associations (OPA), Hony, and Member Sri Lanka Society of Transport and Logistics.)

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