My childhood memories of Kadugannawa
By Dr Nihal D Amerasekera
Returning to the past is
wonderful if one doesn’t dwell on sadness and regrets.
Memories are best filtered. I
reach for the wisdom of Omar Khayyam in the Rubaiyat for a
thought-provoking and timeless musing on the vicissitudes of life:
The Moving Finger writes;
and, having writ Moves on:
nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.
Although I was born in Kandy,
that charming citadel in the hills, I never had the good fortune to live there.
The nearest I got was when my parents moved to Kadugannawa. In 1946 it was a
sleepy little town. Charming and at times beguiling, It prided itself on its
unique middle-class appeal and the sheer good-natured generosity of its people.
My father was in charge of the Power Station that supplied electricity to the
town. That was an enormous responsibility and he was deeply aware of the
overwhelming burden of duty. Throughout my childhood, my father’s work ethic of
meticulous attention to detail wove a pattern which he encouraged me to
emulate. I wish I did!!!
In colonial times many power
stations were set up in towns and cities until we had adequate thermal and
hydroelectric power for a countrywide grid. The power station at Kadugannawa was
close to the centre of town. I still have images in my mind of the tall single-storey building painted a drab ‘samara’ yellow. This edifice housed the huge Lister
engine that generated electricity. I recall the large spinning fly-wheel and
the constant chugging of the pistons. There was the unmistakable smell of
grease all around. Despite the engine noise and mayhem, there was a sense of
calm in the way the workers set about their tasks.
We lived opposite the Dawson
Tower in a large house rented from the CGR. In 1820 Governor Sir Edward Barnes
appointed Dawson to construct the Colombo Kandy road. Sadly, Dawson died in 1829 of a snake bite
before the road was completed. Sir Edward Barnes’ great great ……… great granddaughter
was a consultant physician in my hospital in the UK. When she asked me about Edward
Barnes, I was embarrassed by my ignorance. He started the coffee plantations in
Ceylon and to facilitate the transport of coffee and other goods he built a
network of roads.
This was the “golden era” of
steam trains. They were noisy beasts. As they chugged along they hissed and
puffed steam and threw coal dust into the air. Just in front of our small front
garden was the busy Colombo-Kandy railway line and just beyond that was the
main Colombo - Kandy road. As the trains roared past at all hours of the day
and night the earth shook. We had to get used to the noise and the rumble. The house was surrounded by a grey picket
fence typical of the properties owned by the old CGR. My parents soon got used
to the rhythms of life in this quiet outpost.
These were Colonial times and I
wasn’t aware of the political ructions of the era. All I remember now is how
quiet and peaceful it was. My parents knew of my fascination for “the good old
days”. In turn, they too loved to talk about old times and often filled me in
with their descriptive narratives and recollections. My parents had a large collection
of photos from the time they were married. Although discoloured and moth-eaten they
captured the era perfectly. They brought to life the culture, people and events
of a time now long gone. The styles and fashions of the day are interesting
too. Men had hair short on the sides and back, long at the top with a side
parting. They wore baggy trousers. Women had long hair tied at the back into a
ball and wore saree. No one seemed to smile for the photos. Perhaps their faces
mirrored their insecure and uncertain lives.
The Government servants In
Kadugannawa were there on transfer. They started their lives as freshers in a
new town. Loneliness can swiftly nibble into one’s soul. Soon the social
circles engulfed them and they became part of a larger family. They often met
up in the evenings for a chat. One person I remember well is Postmaster Rodrigo.
Pleasantly old-fashioned he was a colourful raconteur, competent astrologer and popular with the ladies. Although people accepted their fate unflinching as
the unyielding force of destiny there was a tremendous yearning to know what
was in store. The Postmaster’s caged
mynah bird copied his master voice and reiterated his wisdom. People in those
days visited friends uninvited. They were welcomed with open arms.
There was no television. The short-wave
radio service was full of hiss and crackles. The only evening’s entertainment
was by meeting friends. Families joined together for company. Some played card games. There was much
helpful kindness on offer and social integration. It was fashionable for men to
smoke and drink. As the evening wore on there was the propensity for the
discussions to get heated and combative. Invariably there were misunderstandings
and moments of awkwardness. Evening parties were a popular form of
entertainment. It was Orange Barley or Lanka Lime for the ladies and children, booze
for the boys and patties and cutlets for all. The large CGR contingent were well
known for their drinking and socialising. Some were gifted musicians. When
there was a party they arrived with their guitars and drums and entertained us
singing well into the night. Growing up against a backdrop of alcohol and music,
those bohemian habits were hard-wired into me from an early age!!!
In those days women’s lives were
mostly domestic. Education and public life were confined to men. There were
maids to cook and do many of the household chores. When at a loose end the
wives found pleasure in frivolous tittle-tattle. The family gossip that brightened
up their lives also had the propensity to darken theirs too. Personal quarrels,
fraying friendships, love, marriage and romantic liaisons became big news and took
pride of place in their daily talk. In retrospect, it amazes me how impervious people
were to the extraordinary everyday sexism women encountered in those distant
days.
There was the overriding
perception that the British Crown was not accountable to the people. Unlike
today people didn’t complain about the government as they felt no one listened.
Jobs were scarce and they feared the consequences. In those dark days, a sense
of apocalypse dominated the lives of people. Very few owned cars. Public
transport was slow, costly and inconvenient. Safety and security on those
journeys were never guaranteed. Healthcare was poor and people died young. The schools
established by Christian Missionaries glorified British rule. The British way
of life pervaded the lives of the upper and middle classes in Ceylon.
When the CGR wanted our house back
for their Station Master we found a lovely, old house called Roydon on Alagalla
road. It had large glass windows all round. The sun came streaming in all day. The
locals called it the ‘Glass House’. This cosy house had the strains of old colonial
nostalgia with the architecture resembling an upcountry estate superintendent’s
bungalow. We were now far away from the town and it was ever so peaceful. Our
house was on a hill and had stunning views of the blue mountains of the
Alagalla range. There was a winding dirt track by the house that took us to the
bottom of the hill. This was a heavenly journey. Tall grass, ferns and
wildflowers lined our paths. We passed moss ridden culverts and trickling
streams. In the valley below there were vast stretches of uncultivated green
land. The large pond had fish and water lilies. The place was a haven for birds.
The soft wind whistled through the tall grass. It was ever so peaceful. Even
recalling these heavenly memories gives me such great joy.
I still remember how quiet and
dark the nights were at Roydon. There was a distinct chill in the air. In the
stillness of the night. We heard the eerie croaking of frogs and the din of
crickets. Our garden was full of fireflies that lit up those dark corners. Nature
can be a work of art. The bewitching magic of the full moon created a wonderland
illuminating the landscape with its mellow silvery light. When my parents went
away to meet their friends I sometimes stayed home with our maid. She had a
store of stories. I recall with much nostalgia those tales of long ago beautifully
embellished with her lavish descriptions.
My real love affair with
Kadugannawa began many years later. I
read about its strategic significance, fascinating history and its many places
of interest. The Balana pass was the doorway to the Kandyan Kingdom.
Strengthened by the Fort and the tall Alagalla mountains, Balana remained an
impenetrable natural defence for the Kingdom. We often travelled to visit the 14th-century Gadaladeniya temple. The bone-rattling journey was
perilous on narrow mountainous roads. It
was surrounded by thick jungle. The pristine beauty of the temple and its
splendid south Indian paintings and architecture seemed hidden away from the
public. The 200-year-old quaint ‘Amabalama’ near the hairpin bend on the
Colombo-Kandy road was constructed by the British. This was a popular stopover
for horsemen and merchants and is still kept in good repair. The famous
Kadugannawa tunnel created by boring a hole through solid rock is a tribute to
the British engineer W.F Davidson who designed it. The Dawson Tower will remain
a monolith for the great man and also the blood, sweat and guts of the
labourers who toiled day and night to make his dream a reality.
India became independent in 1947
and our politicians too were agitating for freedom. After 500 years of foreign
rule our people wanted to be free. Few of our friends were concerned about breaking
away from our colonial masters. They weren’t sure if we could govern ourselves
with that same fairness and efficiency.
Kadugannawa was my holiday resort.
I had to get back to school. There was
wailing and floods of tears when my parents left me with my grandparents in
Nugegoda. My father left Kadugannawa in 1948, the memorable year we got our
independence. I was far too young to appreciate the enormous significance of
the 4th of February. We have remained a democracy giving every
countryman the vote to elect a government of the people, by the people and for
the people. When things go wrong there is no one to blame but ourselves. It is
for us to judge if we have used our vote wisely and if those whom we have
elected have helped us achieve our goals. Sadly, politicians worldwide just enjoy
the power they have over us and prescribed for us what they thought was good enough
for us.
I remember Kadugannawa most
fondly of a happy time in my life and of the people who made it so special. Including
my parents, none of those adults are alive today but they and their way of life
will remain in my memory for many more years to come.
