Short Story

Singing merrily on his way to prison

by Lalitha K. Witanachchi

It was April 1940. We were six happy little girls, our ages ranging from five to 14, seated in a railway compartment, travelling from Kandy to Bandarawela with our grandfather for the Easter holidays.

Our six trunks were put in the luggage compartment and with our dolls and other toys and pillows we took our seats in the two compartments reserved for us. In the third compartment were five or six gentlemen as well as two men in khaki. As the train started grandfather made us sit in a row.

“One, two, three, four, five, six,” he said. “And with me there are seven. So if anyone falls off the train we'll know because then there'll be only six.”

Joke

We laughed at his little joke as he settled down to read the Daily News. We had done this journey every year and there was never a dull moment. We had found various devices to amuse ourselves. Somewhere near Nawalapitiya we began to play 'I spy.’ We ran along the corridors, peering out of the window, looking for some hidden thing the others had not seen as we played the game. “I spy with my little eye something beginning with F,” said Dinali.

“Factory,” said Ranee.
“I spy with my little eye something beginning with T,” said I.
“Tea estate,” said Tilaka.

“I spy something beginning with S”, said Manil who was five years old. We pretended we didn't know the answer till Sita said, “Station.”

Male voice

The trains were not crowded then so we went along the corridor trying to spy some unusual thing when suddenly a male voice growled, “I spy with my little eye something beginning with 'W'. We looked around and there was this tall dark gentleman joining us in our game. He had a twinkle in his eyes as we made various guesses.

“W for waterfall,” he said and he pointed towards the window.
“That's St. Claires.”
We had reached Talawakelle.

These gentlemen in the compartment joined us in our games and they even managed to conceal Manil when we played hide-and-seek. Later Manil actually sat on this dark gentleman's lap and began to pull something hard round his wrist. It was then that we discovered that all of them were handcuffed.

Handcuffs

“Take it off! Take it off!” said Manil and we asked the men in khaki to break the handcuffs while the gentlemen were amused. One of the men said, “So you are going to spend Avurudda with grandfather and we are going to spend it in His Majesty's prison!” After a while we began to sing rounds and they too joined us singing “Bits of paper,” and “Row, row, row your boat, merrily down the stream.”

The tall dark person then sang, “Punchi Bando, Punchi Bando, Nidimata do?” and we laughed so much that grandfather came and counted us to be sure one of us had not fallen off the train in our enthusiasm!

Grandfather happened to know one of the gentlemen named Philip and he called grandpa 'RM’ for grandpa was Ratemahaththaya of Udukinda at that time.

Hammer and sickle

Grandfather and these gentlemen began discussing something we did not understand. I saw a book on a seat titled The Soviet way with a hammer and sickle on the cover.

“Do you want to read it?” asked the dark gentleman.

I just smiled.

“When I get home to His Majesty's Prison as an honoured guest I shall send you a book to school,” he said and grandfather just smiled a bit.

Before long we reached Bandarawela, “Cheerio!” We shouted as we scrambled out of the train. We were so happy to meet our two uncles who had come to meet us but we did feel a tinge of regret that our friends were handcuffed.

“Cheerio!” they shouted as the train pulled away.

Wonderful holiday

We piled into the two hiring cars that were brought for us and then went home to spend a wonderful holiday at Ihala walauwa with our grandparents.

Next term Miss Rigg, the principal of Hillwood where we were boarded sent for me to her office.

“Dear, there is a parcel for you from Badulla. It is from prison so I'm afraid I will have to open it.”

She removed the heavily sealed brown paper and out came The Soviet Way.

“Dear, this book is not quite suitable for you. I shall give you something better instead, and we'll send this book back to the sender.”

Going through her books on her shelf she picked one with a beautiful cover. It was The Children of the New Forest, a book which I am never tired of reading.

“Do you know Colvin R. de Silva who sent this book?” she asked me.
“Yes,” I replied. “He travelled with us when grandpa took us for the holidays.”

And that's how I will remember Colvin, the doughty freedom fighter with his sense of humour, his fondness of children, singing merrily 'Bits of paper, bits of paper’ with six little girls even while going to spend 'a holiday in His majesty's Prison in Badulla as an honoured guest,’ so many years ago.