Tribute to Christine Spittel Wilson :

Remarkable life of an eventful literatus

by Indeewara THILAKARATHNE and Ranga CHANDRARATHNE

It was at a colonial bungalow with the vestige of glorious life of the past and of the present, we encountered the charming lady, who was introduced to us as the daughter of the legendary Dr. R.L Spittel, Christine Spittel Wilson. The bungalow is in the land adjoining the Wycherly International School which was once the nursing home where Dr. Spittel had his lucrative private practice as a much-sought after surgeon. Although she was in her 90s, Christine sported a most welcoming smile, waving us to sit in her spacious living room which was always open to guests and particularly to writers.

Besides her abiding interest in painting which was manifested by several of her wildlife paintings adorning the walls of the bungalow, her heart was always at writing which she had mastered since very early in her life, as early as six years. Even at our first encounter, we visited her with other members of the Wadiya Group of Writers she was extremely fond of reading the works of member writers. Until she breathed her last, her interest in writing did not die down. For her it was a part of her life, perhaps, a very important part which sustained her through her difficult years.

Christine recalls how her father inculcated the habit of writing in her; " I follow my father's habit of jotting notes in a special notebook; pencil passages that struck me ; delved into encyclopaedia, fragments from the Greek, Romans; I learned to travel with the searching eye, and write about it for the newspaper ...I sat with Baby Corona outside a tent and wrote. My articles and stories were published, but gradually, the pupil was getting restless.

I was up against the writer of a number of published books. Now, when his pencil slashed my work, I grew rebellious, yet troubled. What now?

A distinguished professor in Scotland set me straight. "Write when you know and feel," he said. "Forget the articles. Write a novel set in your island. Write fearlessly. It's a long journey."

As far as the words of the famed professor are concerned, Christine wrote profusely adding gems of literature to the corpus of work left behind by her famous father Dr. R.L Spittel. She was the proverbial apple of the eye of her father who fondly called her "Bunting". To her last, Christine admired her father. In an article to Daily News, with the title "Richard Spittle, my father", Christine evoked her memories: "The memories are strongest in this, the month of his birthday. He sits at his desk, a fragile man, with a wide, wide forehead and piercing eyes that can twinkle, bore or go scalpel-hard with consternation.

"Hiya, Bunting!" I hear his voice say; an unusual thing for a doctor of the last millennium to say to his daughter, but he loved to pick up catch phrases....And at still other times, on a jungle trip with him, he'd wave for me the magic of birds and beasts, and hills and sculpted valleys and the dream remained forever.

....his own brain was brilliantly compartmentalised, and that probably, was the secret of his ability to tackle, and to achieve, success, in the many interests that absorbed him. I miss him and his sane assessment of order in a present day disorder.

Dr. R. L. Spittel in one of his jungle sojourns

He left a very personal indent on the island he adored. I can think of no other person who gave so much of his being to Sri Lanka, as a surgeon, a writer, a man who gifted the lost world of the Veddas back to this country, with no thought whatever of self gain".

Following in the footsteps of her father, Christine Spittel Wilson wrote the body of works including several novels and even the non- fiction work "Secrets of Eastern Cooking". Among her creative writings, 'The bitter Berry '(1957) stands out as her most brilliant creation of letters. It's a romance set against the backdrop of Colonial Sri Lanka (Then Ceylon).

The principal characters of the novel are drawn from the plantation community of Britishers from the hill country. The title 'Bitter Berry' is the coffee berry which attracted Europeans to Sri Lanka. They were lured by the brighter prospects of making a fortune in a newly colonized Ceylon. 'The Bitter Berry' is not a mere romance which happens in the green valley against the cold wind of hill country but a 'bitter' part of the colonial history of the land woven into a exquisitely worked tapestry of creative work.

"I'm a property owner, Tom, Eight hundred sweetest land man ever saw. Coffee! Coffee in Ceylon where money is to be had for asking and the sun shines all day". However, the sun did not shine forever for characters such as Hugh and Tom Neville, Sara Courtenacy and Alison Faraday as they lost fortune and some of them had to leave with bitter hearts.

The book is marked for its softly woven narrative which is expertly mingled with well researched material that Christine effortlessly incorporated into the narrative. In a moving passage the author describes how the dreams of the 'golden berry 'shattered:

"Or perhaps, rather, there was a power about the bitter berry, the golden berry that made man forget that anything existed beyond the terrain it reigned over; that offered them in return its promise of wealth, the denial of home and children, plain comfort and amenities of civilization.

Behind her lay the twenty or thirty long years of planting in this country with their frustrations. She saw the bearded pioneers in their jungle-surrounded mud-and-wattle cabins-an endless chain of men dying of dysentery and fevers, cholera, and loneliness. She saw others grow rich beyond their wildest dreams; and others still, selling up and returning home with their dreams shattered.

She, Tom and their generation had risen, phoenix like from the ashes of that previous generation of pioneers, yet, in essence, their lives repeated the pattern of the first. What of the next generation? Diana's and the child she bore within her? And young David Neville? Would they, too, be enslaved by the glossy -leafed trees which sentinelled the hills like an army of occupation?"

Christine's style is unique which spread over her books. Some of her books include 'Tea Plantation in Ceylon', 'The Mountain road', 'Growing up and other stories', 'Reach for the stars', 'I am the Wing', 'Brave Island' which she penned with her father and her father's biography' Surgeon of the Wilderness'.

Dr.Spittel in a pensive mood

Christine who was born in Colombo and educated at Bishop's College, Colombo and at Roedean in Brighton (UK) had extensively travelled here in Sri Lanka and abroad.

From a very early stage in her life, she travelled in Britain and Europe with her parents and then with her husband Major Alistair Mc Neil Wilson, she visited cities in Africa, Asia, Australia, Canada, Japan, Korea, South America and the USA.

Christine states: "Jungles, Veddah country, with them in search of their old caves and seeing how they lived; communities of rodiyas and kinnarayas, were visited regularly, as were the National Parks in which we took great interest".

Christine Wilson's life, though colourful and comfortable as it had been, it had also had its share of despair and moments of frustrations; her loss of her sister Yvonue and escape of her childhood playmate Vedda boy Keira into the concrete jungle of Colombo and his premature death would have been painful to her as well as her unsuccessful first marriage. Though her mortal remains turned to ashes , her rich legacy of writings will remain forever, reminding us always the dear 'Bunting' of her beloved father R.L Spittel who really could be proud of his daughter Christine.

For Christine Spittel Wilson

You were the darling 'Bunting'

for your legendary father

Dr.R.L Spittel

Yet

For the literary lovers

You were the brilliant writer

Of 'Bitter Berry'

'Tea Plantation in Ceylon'

'The growing up and other stories'

'Reach for the stars'

'I am the wind '

And the beloved author of

Your father's brilliant biography

'Surgeon of the wilderness'

But For us

You were a kind-hearted gracious lady

And a mentor

Who looked forward to help out

The budding writers

And above all

A kindred spirit

At last you have turned the last leaf

Of your book of life

a colourful book

punctuated by frustration and agony

love, ecstasy and despair

like a river that flew

through the valleys

of the civilization

- Ranga Chandrarathne