Henfold
bungalow, more like a town house
One morning earlier this year Dashika Edwards was doing what most planters' wives do well, making sure the plantation bungalow looked spick and span. Then a ghost from the past knocked at the front door.
Dashika's husband, Rohan Edwards, is the manager of Henfold Estate, over 480 hectares of tea in what is best described as "deep tea country" - the rolling hills of neatly plucked tea bushes around Lindula, eight miles from Talawakelle.
Mr & Ms Edwards have been living in the Henfold Bungalow for two years during which time they have transformed the long, rambling, block built mansion into a delightful home.
Visitors arrive at Henfold without the formality of a long driveway with a glimpse of the mansion at the end. The stranger is at the front door before realizing it, since the building adjoins the plantation office and is approached from its side.
When Ms Edwards heard that knock at the front door, she was surprised. She glanced out to see a van and some foreigners in the yard. She opened the door cautiously.
"Hello," said a man with a typically British accent. "Do you mind if I look around? I was born here."
The visitor introduced himself as J.A.B. Baillie-Hamilton from Cheltenham, England. His father, he said, had been the resident planter at Henfold and he and his sister had been born in the bungalow. They had left it when they were very young but could remember some of the old trees growing in the garden.
Ms. Edwards showed them around and recalls them telling her that the original bungalow was a red brick, ranch style building. Today Henfold is not a bungalow in the strict sense since it is a two-storey building, more like a solidly built town house than a traditional planter's bungalow.
The building itself reflects its origins in the 1930s. The half-spiral staircase that greets visitors on entry is a sweep of art deco fantasy. Rohan Edwards, who himself knew the bungalow when he was a child, remembers there was once brass beading on the stairs, but that has gone now.
The floors of the bungalow and the magnificent staircase are of cement, polished red. While some of the rooms have walls damp as though through weeping for money to be spent on them to bring them back to their original condition, the lobby and lounge are a delight for visitors, expected or unexpected.
Baillie-Hamilton was very impressed at seeing again the bungalow he was born in. According to that chronicle of colonial Ceylon, Ferguson's Directory, his father, J.E.B. Baillie-Hamilton was planting at Henfold in 1910. He stayed there thirty years supervising the building of the then new plantation house in 1938.
Architecturally, the building is more practical than pretty. Its front sports a small gallery from upstairs bedrooms. Concessions to eye appeal have been made with slender curving bays overlooking the back lawns. On the ground floor the bay windows catch the morning sun, brightening the morning room and filling the lounge with sunlight.
Unlike many plantation houses, Henfold has been given the homely touch by its occupants. The lounge, with shining parquet flooring, has many of the Edwards' own items of furniture. A bar counter of bamboo has been built at one end for entertaining guests. The fireplace, with art deco curves, recalls the flow of the staircase. Luckily, the fire place accessories of brass tongs, a shovel and a poker have survived plundering over the years, as have two pairs of bellows and the brass-knobbed fender.
The house has six bedrooms, the downstairs one designated as the Visiting Agent's room and always ready for unexpected visitors. Another bedroom is called the Creeper's Room which is traditionally where a trainee plantation assistant would lodge.
Dashika Edwards has tackled the daunting task of making such a formidable mansion look welcoming by using potted plants and flowers to enhance dull corners. Roses grow in the garden, as do a vast variety of cool country vegetables.
At 4,500 feet above sea level, the climate demands a residence that is cosy. Ballie-Hamilton, the scion of a planter and not the ghost of one, must have been delighted to find Henfold as pleasant a place today as it was when he was born there.
G'day Brian, me old cock! Val bugger no, I can hear you telling the others, went abroad and nothing heard after that. Must be wearing suits and al1 and walking around like a big shot; only knowing people know hands full of "majan" and drinking "gal" here and all. Don't lie now, I know you, no? Actually machan, been working really hard from the time I got here.
You know me, no, put my hand into anything even though in this country, even if you don't work you get money, they call it the "dole". Go to the employment office and say you are looking for work and they say, Ôrighto, here is 300 dollars every two weeks until you find work! Funny bloody set-up, that' s about 12,000 rupees, a lot of moola in good ole Sri Lanka.
But before you say "aw,aw" remember the expenses are just as high. The gas, power, water people and others seems to synchronise (bara words no, I can hear you saying!) their bills with your payment and in next to no time, "hulang" machan even for the fags and the Scotch. Although, the cost of food is very low. Apples, oranges, meat the butchers over there would sell their grannies for, you name it man, we've got it.
But couldn't wait at home just doing nothing machan. Watching TV on about 25,000 channels all about love and all and kissing galore! In the nights they show nice ones which they label "Mature Audiences only" and machan, the scenes, glad my mamma is still there otherwise she'll fall down dead in front of the TV! Something to do with real life they say. Tell that to my other half; I say, all the time muttering "chik" when she passes the telly, and she passes it quite often, I can tell you!
And of course the other reason was HER. Imagine having to stay cooped up in the home with the old dragon. Drag me off to the supermarket every day, sighing and looking at al1 the goodies. "My God, pay 200 rupees for a bottle of "katta sambol" she says, instantly converting everything into rupees. She was driving me up the wall!
So went looking for a job, any job, and finally found some work in a stationery store. The boss - he insists we call him Bill, although I still feel funny about that, something about equality and all - gives us a list of invoices and off we go from row to row of huge racks and put the stuff in cardboard boxes. Mind- numbing stuff, but they give you fancy uniforms, you know.
Once I suggested some short-cuts, you know we Sri Lankans, always looking for easy ways out. Bill he looked at me as if I was from Outer Space! Apparently, all you've got to do here is do your share and leave the rest to God and Bill who knows it all. Can't understand it at all, machan, thought the idea was to improve the working of the joint. But "yakko" buggers like us are not paid to think, it seems.
The Sunday Times of 17th November carried a review of the novel referred to above and I was stimulated to write this comment with the hope that it will lead to a discussion on how local writings in English are seen by the local audience.
Mahasenan's review begins with an assertion that this is not a novel. The argument which is not really presented but which lies somewhere in the background is that The Libyan Episode contains material which is expository, as for example the account of tea trading and tasting that is found in it. Though this is not straight narrative about people it is yet important background for the understanding of the action. The intention of the author appears to be to keep a reader who is uninformed of the intricacies of the tea trade aware of the background of the action. One thing I liked very much in the novel is its ability to deal with the kind of professional material which is the stuff of middle class life in a developing country and make a gripping story out of it. The crisis of the Libyan tea business is told with rare skill to provide suspense as well as instruction. As Chaucer puts it this is a "tale of high sentence and moost solas" i.e. combining instruction and enjoyment. I would therefore characterise this as a genuine post- colonial novel, dealing with the public and private interests of a typical post-colonial society. It has marked a stage in the development of the novel in English where it no longer restricts it to rural life or to low life characters in the urban environment. It is a look at ourselves, the English educated. Yasmin Gooneratne's The Pleasures of Conquest could be similarly characterised.this novel's achievement. It is logical in such a novel to introduce the Mahavamsa or any other features of the local scene with an eye on the international audience as well. Also there is no reason to believe that even a Sri Lankan audience would understand all of the references to local matters if they were not made explicit.
Another criticism that Mahasenan makes is that literary quotes are sprinkled freely throughout the novel - "stream of consciousness technique" as Mahasenan rightly points out. The hero of the Libyan Eposide is a literary minded, university educated bureaucrat who admits that he sees the world through literature. It is characteristic of him to find literary memories swimming up to describe situations which are real. Thus faced with a Sinhalese newspaper article written "As The Hawk Sees It" he is immediately reminded of W.H. Auden's opening line: "As the hawk sees it or the helmeted airman" and concludes that the writer in the Sinhalese newspaper is an English Literature graduate. This kind of characterisation is new to the novel in Sri Lanka but isn't the hero of The Libyan Episode a typical character whom we meet in real life? I remember a literary lion, who now graces a campus chair, quoting Shakespeare at the carrom table when the disk struck a fly sitting on the carrom board and disabled it: "Alas poor Yorick. I knew him well." Isn't he an interesting character? Perhaps amenable to satire but interesting nevertheless. So the quoting of literary lines is an interesting innovation which is consistent with the character just as much as the technical details regarding the tea trade are necessary for the story.
Mahasenan's article has been very opportune because it has provided an opportunity to discuss these various considerations which lie at the back of opinions. The rest of his article can be described as nitpickings where he displays an amazing hostility to the character Jerry, who is the protagonist. - "Santha" does not mean holy but means peace. Get your facts right Jerry! - Mahasenan tells the imaginary hero of the novel thereby making him come alive even though Mahasenan complains that Jerry never comes alive! T.S. Eliot in The Wasteland says that "Shanti"means the peace that passeth all understanding. But that is not the same word as "Santha" as in Santhalingam, which means "holy lingam" therefore. A trifling matter.
Another argument which is mentioned and asserted but not developed is that this is not a Sri Lankan novel. This is clearly a novel with an international arena of interest and can be enjoyed either by a Sri Lankan or an Indian or an Englishman who knows his tea as well as by anyone who likes a good tale of realpolitik in the world of business. To narrow the interests of Sri Lankans to merely local scenes is not to be Sri Lankan, because fifty years after independence we have weaned ourselves from the attitude of insularity that seemed natural immediately after independence, and which is best expressed in a critical article such as Godfrey Gunatilleke's Language Without Metaphor. It is now possible to use material and metaphors which are international because we are now international too. That too is a signal feature of
Director in the baseball cap, is once more coming out with a production that promises to put you in stitches.
Jith Peries, backed by The Creative Arts Foundation, will present "Christmas at St. Andrew's", on December 5,6 and 7 at the Lionel Wendt.
This seasonal comedy is an adaptation of a Ray Cooney script. It is a carefully constructed plot of lying and cover-ups. The play is set in St. Andrew's Hospital, in the Neurosurgical Unit with three days left to Christmas.
As the countdown begins, the Ponsonby Memorial Lecture is to be delivered to delegates from around the world. Dr. David Rosmead (Jehan Aloysius) is preparing for the great event when confronted by a former nurse. The nurse, Miss Pate (Michelle Perera) reveals to him the existence of his illegitimate son; the result of a relationship they had eighteen years ago, and all hell breaks loose, what with trying to keep the news a secret from Dr. Rosmead's wife.
Set in the modern era, with a contemporary twist to the play the set is designed as the interior of the common room of a hospital, by designer Mano Chanmugam.
The two-act play, was made possible by sheer determination alone, according to Jith, who pointed out the lack of seasonal productions in the country for several years now.
The cast comprises a talented bunch of young dramatists, among them, Hans Bilimoria, Needra Williams, Samantha De S. Wijeyaratne, Surein De S. Wijeyaratne, Vinod Hirdramani, Ruwanthi de Chickera, Sunil Shamsdasani and Ruwan Fernando.
With a wicked turn at the end of the story, and the Christmas theme and melodies evoking the spirit of the festive season, this is one show that ought not to be missed.
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