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| Sunday, 6 March 2005 |
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Features |  |
| News Business Features Editorial
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Living history: the way we were Innocents Abroad by Anton Joseph 'The past is a foreign country They do things differently there' L. P. Hartley "The go-Between" There was a time when a Sri Lankan passport (or to be absolutely correct, a Ceylon passport) was welcomed in most countries. Those were the days when nobody in Ceylon wanted to leave their homeland. If you suggested that you were planning to go abroad, people shook their heads sadly and looked at you with compassion - you were obviously mentally unstable for wanting to leave this beautiful and blessed country. The diaspora started as a trickle in the late 50's and early 60's and grew to flood in the 70's and 80's. Nowadays, you will find a Sri Lankan in every country on the globe. I have been in Korea, Australia, the northern wastes of Canada and Cuba where I have bumped into my fellow countrymen. Both the Sinhalese and the Tamils are keen to leave the country (the Tamils for political and economic reasons, the Sinhalese for economic reasons and a better future for their children) for America, England, Australia, New Zealand, the Middle East or for that matter anywhere. For anybody under the age of 50, it is hard to imagine what Colombo was like in the fifties. Not only was it a capital city but also a village. Within the confines of a few streets one found all the government offices, trading institutions, department stores and embassies. The British Embassy was housed in Prince Street next to the British Council - visitors walked into and out of these institutions at will. One could visit the Colombo Port and watch the great ocean liners sailing into the harbour - great names in shipping: P & O, Bue Funnel Line, Shaw Saville, Union Line. Colombo was a relaxed place, traffic was non-existent and life moved at a slower pace and it was not the fortress it is today. Much has changed but there are some landmarks that have defied the years - Cargills, Millers, the Chatham Street Clock Tower, Fort Railway Station - whilst a great many well-known names have disappeared. It was pleasant to be a young man working in and travelling into and around Colombo. One could enjoy a great many things on a limited income. Hollywood films dominated the local cinemas and offered a pleasant escape. Conspicuous consumerism was absent. Restaurants were modest affairs and prices within the reach of even a humble clerk. It was against this background that I left Ceylon in the fifties. I travelled by boat - the Messageries Maritimes Liner 'Laos'. A motor launch took passengers to the ship, which was anchored in deeper waters a few miles away from the jetty. As a rule, everybody who travelled abroad travelled by sea - (air travel was for the few). Usually, friends and well-wishers swarmed over the boat to wish the travellers good bye and enjoy a guided tour as well. Traditionally, all shipping left Colombo at mid-night when the tide was high. I remember, vividly, standing on the deck at midnight, after my family and friends had left, as the great vessel pulled away from the island and looking towards the shores of Ceylon as my homeland receded in the distance and it seemed to disappear under the waves - my very last memory of home was seeing the red neon sign flashing 'Regal Cinema'. The next day we settled to the routine of ship life. The passengers were a mixed bunch. The First Class passengers were mostly European, perhaps French colonial servants, Army Officers or tourists. The dormitory deck was occupied by French soldiers returning from a spell of duty in Indo-China. Then there were the other passengers - the Ceylonese, a sprinkling of Chinese and Vietnamese and some Indians who joined the ship in Bombay. The Ceylonese stuck together, perhaps through fear or through unfamiliarity with 'French ways' that prevailed on board. We were not sophisticated enough to appreciate the excellent French cuisine that was set before us - we hankered after rice and curry. Seasickness too took its toll. We sat and discussed our dreams and wondered what lay ahead in the great wide world. Most of us were students, but there were a sprinkling of 'economic migrants' who were fleeing 'swabahasa'. We were all on our way to that mythical city, London. The ship took the well-plotted sea route from East to West, calling at Bombay, Dijibouti (a French colony at that time), Aden, then traversed the Suez Canal and finally, reached the Mediterranean Sea and the home port of Marseille. This great port was our first introduction to Europe. Ahead of us lay a train journey from the South to the North of France and the ferry to Dover. At Dover the Immigration Officer who examined my passport was delighted to discover that it was a Ceylon passport. "Did you know" he told me"I was seconded to the Ceylon Immigration Department after the war. You surely must heard of one my colleagues, Mr. Obeysekera, a charming man, a charming man". "Of course" I lied easily. "Do give him my best wishes when you next see him" "I will, I will I promised him. When we eventually reached Victoria Station in London and the time for parting arrived all of us swore undying friendship, never to meet again. Most newcomers, especially students, lived in bedsitters (fondly dubbed 'digs') unless they were lucky enough to live in a students's hostel. In these bedsitters we slept, cooked, relaxed and called it home. Landladies were dragons, who imposed a whole raft of petty rules which you dare not break. Living was cheap, rent being the largest expense in your weekly budget. London was still suffering from the aftermath of the war. Bomb damage was a familiar sight if you travelled around the City, especially in the East End. There was still a 1930's feel about the metropolis - everything was sepia coloured. Most of us lived in Central London - Bayswater, Notting Hill Gate, Kensington - areas which today command a king's ransom in prices. Then they were considered depressed areas fit only to be used for multiple occupation and lets to students, transients and the like. London, in the fifties and early sixties, did not have a huge population from the New Commonwealth and a brown face was rarity. There were many more immigrants and students from the Caribbean. The "ss Windrush" which brought from the West Indies the first recruits for the London Transport led to a great many West Indians coming to 'the mother country' in search of similar employment. Race was a emotive issue and in the absence of any race relation laws it was a free for all. It was usually assumed that all Asians and Africans (as opposed to West Indians) were in UK for higherstudies their studies and eventually return to their homeland. This assumption does not apply today, as the Asians, Africans and the West Indians have become a part of the fabric of British society, owning homes, cars and bringing up families. (To be continued) |
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