A Time of Gifts – 17. Another Summer

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Cornwall, France, Iceland, Italy, Oxford, Switzerland, USA

This was another idyllic term, with little pressure of work. But I also record my first disillusionment with politics, as well as the difficulties of unreserved devotion to one cause or another. And it notes again the fact that, though I relished the hectic social life, I was also extremely happy on my own.

 

4^th April 1973

I must confess my own determination to come back has weakened slightly and, my results having just come out today, with a 2^nd, I’ve decided in any case to do a postgraduate somewhere, before returning, though unfortunately I probably shan’t be able to do it here. Five of us here got 2^nds, though the sixth failed completely, which is a bit upsetting.

Having spent days at Clara’s, I came here last week partly to finish my work as I shall have to be free in London for Thatha, partly because I can’t bear to be away from here. I had various people around last week, including Aruna, and this week the Opera twice, once with the only Don left in College, and yesterday I found myself next to the Junior Dean and his wife who’ve asked me for dinner tomorrow. But even the weekend, when I was practically alone in College except for the barman in the Beer Cellar, was marvelous – I hope I have the energy to escape from Oxford next summer.

The Dean and Chaplain return tonight from the Schools’ men reading party to Cornwall, and I hope to get them to lunch to meet Thatha at Pam’s – I hope they’ll be satisfied with the 2^nd – my tutor seemed delighted.

This morning I spent at the Union and, being now trusted by the Higher Echelons, witnessed the opening of the President’s correspondence, and subsequent resealing – done at Balliol, of course – which was fascinating, but quite disillusioning, as there were the Senior Members of our side, which considers the other dishonest. I think I shall find the Union elections fun next term, but I can’t quite see myself fitting into one side or the other sufficiently dedicatedly enough to get very high. Besides, the complete unmasking of left–wing intentions in the Labour Club was quite upsetting. I shall try to write more often, and it wasn’t only politics that prevented frequent writing. I did do some work, as the results show.

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A Time of Gifts – 16. Triumph and Tragedy

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Buddhist Centre, Greek, High Table, Junior Common Room, Latin, Oxford, President

All other Oxford courses had an examination in the course of the first year, and then finals at the end of one’s third year (with Chemistry then having a fourth year too). The exception is Classics, which is a four year course with just two examinations, in the second term of one’s second year, and then at the end.

 

We were then out of kilter as it were with our peer group, since when they were fully relishing Oxford with no examination pressures, we had to study, for what was also the longest exam in the system. This was Honour Moderations in Literae Humaniores, as it was called, with eleven papers.

 

As the letters indicate, I did not study as I should have, and continued to enjoy an intense social life. I also had much to do, because I had been elected President of the Junior Common Room, the College student body. I was half surprised at this myself, since I was an unusual candidate, not playing any games or running any societies – the other contestants were the rugby captain and the conductor of the college choir. But I won by a fairly large margin, largely I think because I had been very hospitable to the first years when they came in.

 

Other political ventures were not successful, as noted here, and the term ended in tragedy with the death of the husband of Clara, my cousin, with whom I had stayed when I first came to England. I got the news of his heart attack just when Mods started, so I could not go down, and he suffered another and was dead by the time I got there. I think I was of use, despite my recording a detachment that I regretted.  

 

 

(39)

28^th January (1973)

Life’s been terribly busy, and looks likely to be so for the rest of the term, though one problem has been solved, by the Balliol and Univ machines reaching agreement – we gave in, I regret to say, though perhaps wisely – on Labour Club officials for next term and, as part of the agreement, the following term. It’s all terribly involved, but I should be Secretary next term.

At the moment, we’re having a violent campaign on for the Univ JCR, where I’m the underdog candidate for President – though I do have the stronger ticket. My opponent happens to be Captain of Rugger, which doesn’t help. Unfortunately, the elections being next Monday, I’ve got to give up the Dean’s trip to Covent Garden, to see Sibley and Dowell, which is all very annoying. Still, I’ve got enough to keep me occupied – I’ve been offered my 1^st paper speech at the Union, in favour of Euthanasia, along with Trevor Huddleston and other worthies, and though I don’t know whether I quite approve of Euthanasia, I accepted; having bought my dinner jacket last week for 28 pounds from my Bursary, which left 12 which will be swallowed up by the Union Anniversary Dinner and the Labour Club dinner, with Harold McMillan and Harold Wilson respectively. I should be on High Table for the latter, being the editor of the Club Magazine and so on – which I’m modelling blatantly on the New Statesman, with Competition and Diary – tomorrow, having a very Conservative and Social Chairman, we have Lord David Cecil speaking to us, with dinner beforehand. Most of the party regulars considered it anti-social to attend, so there’ll just be 3 of us, the Librarian of the Union, and Cecil – should be fun.

A Time of Gifts – 9. My second term

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ale, Aunty Ida, bridge, Cliff Richard, computer dating, Kurunegala, lectures, library, Old Place, Oxford, running, speech

The letters home in my second term make clear how I so rapidly absorbed, and was absorbed by, Oxford. But I have also included references to some changes at home, because they indicate the shifts in perspective on someone both deeply sentimental about the past and understanding the need to move on. These start with reflections on the death of my great aunt Ida, elder sister of my grandmother. I had left out my feelings on the death of her brother Leo, which I had heard about while in Denmark the previous August, but this coming so soon marked a decisive break with my childhood. Alone of my family I had spent many happy holidays at the Old Place, the house in Kurunegala where these two stayed, while my grandmother herself had moved to Colombo and its very different perspectives. I should note though that my assumption that the place would be sold was wrong, and Leo’s daughter Lakshmi stayed on there on her own till the late eighties. I was thus able to spend many happy days there even after I came home from Oxford.

 

Aruna Gooneratne, a great friend in those days, was daughter of our High Commissioner in London, Tilak who with his wife Pam proved most hospitable over the years.

 

As a footnote, the Russian grandmaster I mention here was Karpov, who soon enough became world champion. My contemporary who defeated him was a chap called Nick Lloyd, who also played bridge brilliantly. But he suffered from depression and commited suicide subsequently.

(28)

28^th January

A new craze seems to have struck Oxford and everyone goes running at all times of day in the freezing cold, and night too – needless to say, I shall never succumb to the infection – in fact due to a constitutional inability to run, I’m reducing the number of lectures to manageable proportions – 6 from next week, including 3 with 1 rather interesting character – doing Juvenal, if you know what that means. If not, you’re missing a lot and there’s a translation in my library which is at your disposal.

 

I did much better in my Greek Collections than I thought – ask if you don’t know what I’m talking about – B++, A—, B+, AB – whatever that means – and also AB for my essay which was, however, called little – not that I mind. Anyway I spend at least 3 hours a day in the library which is very creditable, I think, though I have developed a tendency to drop off repeatedly, though altogether I don’t sleep for more than 10 minutes. However, I have succeeded in getting up by 9 every morning, except, of course, on the morning after the bridge dinner which is an occasion when everyone including the Dean and the Admissions Tutor get drunk and play bridge. I believe I was since I didn’t stop talking from dinner except when weaving precariously to the bathroom but since that was occupied by people being sick – those who made it there, that is – I think I did rather well.  Of course, I did go down 1400 one hand and we lost – though, true to form, we did beat the winning team, Dean and all – they weren’t as drunk as they should have been. Besides my partner, who doesn’t get drunk, went down 1700 subsequently, so I don’t feel guilty.

A Time of Gifts – 2. In India for Advanced Levels

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Electra, India, Madras, Oxford

In June 1971 I set off for Oxford via India (to do my A/Levels) and Europe. Exit permits were needed to leave Ceylon after the April 1971 Youth Insurgency and, having obtained one, it was thought that asking for a second would be an unnecessary risk. Apart from my age, I had had a radio play banned on suspicion that it was political. It was not, being based on the Greek story of Electra, but it was assumed that I had intended to cast aspersions on the Bandaranaikes.

 

(5)

60/21 Edward Elliots Road

Madras

7^th June 1970

 

I had my first paper today, Ancient History 1, which I dreaded most of all, and it was quite nice, though I had to con my way through a fourth question.

I am very comfortable here, with a room and bathroom to myself and everyone is very nice – so much so that, at the exam today, with all the frantic Indian red tape, I began thinking of them as the last vestiges of civilization to which I could cling – the same feeling I had with the Weeramans last year. India frightens me, it’s so large and also so trivial, if you know what I mean.  I don’t suppose you do and it’ll take too long to explain – if I could.

Personal Perspectives – Richard’s Mother

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Evelyn Waugh, Kadirana, Manorani de Zoysa, Ranjan Wijeratne, Ravaya, Richard de Zoysa, The Terrorist Trilogy, Victor Ivan, Wilpattu

Over a decade ago I wrote the following in a series that appeared in over a couple of years in the Island Newspaper. I had forgotten it until it was sent me by those seeking to revive the memory of Manorani Saravanamuttu, Richard de Zoysa’s mother. At a time when ‘Ceylon Today’ is reproducing ‘The Terrorist Trilogy’ which was written with Richard and about him, I thought it fitting to republish this piece

…

Chanted loudly, chanted lowly
Till her blood was frozen slowly

(Tennyson)

I was out of the country when Manorani died, just as I had been when her son Richard de Zoysa was abducted and killed, 11 years previously. And it was before I came back that Victor Ivan published in the ‘Ravaya’ an article that led to a very forceful critique of Richard in the ‘Island’. Those raise issues that I suspect will have to be addressed shortly. However, for the moment it is time, as Evelyn Waugh put it about another woman of extraordinary beauty, to speak of Manorani.
The last time I saw her was in the intensive care unit in January, which was a terrible experience. She was unconscious, and under heavy medication. Yet there had also been reason for regret on previous occasions I saw her, for her memory had faded. On the last of those, her 71st birthday I think it was, one tried to take comfort in the fact that she was no longer tormented by thoughts of Richard and his death. But her contentment was that of a child, so that, that too was upsetting, for the two qualities one remembered most strongly in her were both lacking – her tremendous dignity and her passion. These are qualities one does not often associate, but Manorani had them both in abundance.

I had got to know her well, as all Richard’s friends did, for their lives were shared in a very deep sense. This was inevitable in that, after she and her husband parted, she embarked on a new life and career in Africa, but gave them up to come back to Richard. He in turn recognized what she had given up for him and felt equally committed. They both, only half jokingly, felt they had been together in previous lives – I still have a copy of a poem he sent her shortly before his death, a poem about commitment in various incarnations. His comment was that they were not the only two in a time warp.

Travels with Ena: 1983 and its Impact – Part 1

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Aelian Kannangara, Aluwihare, Bandaranaike, Cyril Wickremesinghe, Ena de Silva, Esme Goonewardene, John Kotelawala, Richard Aluwihare, SLFP, UNP

Half a life ago I got to know Ena de Silva well. Having heard about my adventures at S.Thomas’, she decided that there was another unorthodox person in the family, and invited me to stay with her at Aluwihare. This was her ancestral village, to which she had retired at the end of 1981. It was eighteen months later, in May 1983, that I made the first of what were to be frequent visits there over the next 29 years, half of my life.

Ena was not an especially close relation. Her mother Lucille was a Moonemalle, whose father’s sister was the mother of my maternal grandmother, Esme Goonewardene. But the two cousins, both born in the last year of the 19^th century, remained close, perhaps because they both married Civil Servants who were senior administrators in the last years of British rule.