Adieu! Glamour of letters

by Shireen SENADHIRA

A true daughter of Sri Lanka was Christine Wilson. One who knew every nook of our island and loved it so, just like her father Dr. R. L. Spittel. A few weeks ago, I met Christine, with Punyakante, for tea. She came smiling as always to welcome us, her hair coiffeured, slim, tall, clad in a summer dress and wearing a string of pearls. She made a picture of elegance indeed. When we greeted her, her pet dog who I called, 'Mr. White', well grown and handsome, put his face near us wanting to know what we were telling his mistress. Her two faithful women, Kamala and Seela, who took care of her, had to coax him away while we sat ourselves round the table in the verandah.

I will always remember her around this table, seated, surrounded with cushions due to her frailty. There, we talked, had tea and talked again. Her face glowed as the conversation became animated. She would always bring the conversation to "writing" as we all were in writers associations together.

Shireen Senadhira

"Now, seriously," she said, "what are you two writing at present"

"Short stories," we echoed.

"I thought as much. You must never stop the novels. You write short stories to finish the exercise quickly but when you write a novel, you need time to do research. So, promise me you'll get down to serious writing. You two must do that."

"Yes, we must."

Turning to Punyakante, she said, "don't stop your flow of books."

Once again, I managed to turn the conversation to some incident in Wilpattu. Then, her eyes gleamed and we talked about this wildlife sanctuary, especially how she visited the place by boat from Mannar side. The stories of long ago went on and I was entranced. Next, we spoke of Horton Plains and we told her how trekked to see Baker's Falls. She smilingly added about the time she had ridden on the plains on horseback. How exhilarating it was with the cold wind against your face, the savannah grass growing wild and bending to the wind. The plains were mostly untrammelled then except for some planters who went riding or hunting. The sharp cry of the eagle gliding above and his clean swoop downwards on an unsuspecting wild baby hare. The picture grew as she spoke and we are all in the wind blown plains above Ohio.

Thus, it went on with such enlivening conversation amidst a delightful ambience and being fortified with short eats, more tea or drinks and laughter too. I remember the many times her writer friends sat around this same table in easy camaraderie and read out our stories and poems and discussed them lengthily. Listening to these, Christine always gave us sound advice and focused on the main theme or commented on sentences. Sometimes, funny poems caused much laughter and it was a happy time.

Christine had an art exhibition a few years ago at the Dutch Burgher Union hall. All her friends and relations were there at the happy event. She painted to the last, it was only ill health that stopped her. When another friend gave her a digital camera, she mastered the working of it and then instructed Seela how to handle it. Next, she sent Seela in a trishaw all over Colombo to the places she wanted to go but couldn't. So, Seela took all the photos as Christine had instructed. The result was that, Christine had hundreds of beautiful photos. She showed us some with the sunlight falling on leaves and flowers, enhancing them. Another was of the sea rolling in the colours of the evening and there were some, with the tessellation of fronds of different trees taken from below.

"How are these for painting?", she asked.

"Christine, they are wonderful! What ideas you have?"

She was that. A person full of ideas. Very innovative she was. A writer, a painter, a reader, good conversationalist and one who had a warm heart. She was one who had travelled much, lived in Sri Lanka, schooled in England, she also lived in Africa when her husband was working there. She painted a lot in Africa too, in water colours and oils. She was a person who was full of knowledge of our jungles, like father, like daughter and was his stalwart companion in his jungle treks and befriended the Veddah tribe just like he did. What anecdotes she recounted to us, all of which we hugged to our hearts.

A courageous lady who lived alone with her staff for many years with her humour and wisdom. Her fiends, the writers, will certainly miss her and her staunch support in their endeavours but we will never forget all the good memories she left behind for us to ruminate, recapitulate and recast them, perhaps, in many future stories.

Thank you Christine, goodbye and God bless you.