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by Geoff Wijesinghe

The April season in the hills is here again. Thousands of People living in Colombo and other areas in the lowlands move to the salubrious climes to get away for a few days from the sultry, sweltering heat.

The most popular, but equally expensive holiday resort in the hill-country is Nuwara Eliya, which is around 6,200 feet above sea level and an average temperature of 63 degrees Fahrenheit. Nuwara Eliya, surrounded by green hills, deep valleys and tea plantations, is the hub of activity.

There is a festive air during the season with horse races, dancers, beauty pageants and a whole lot of other activity. The Nuwara Eliya Park is a thing of beauty and of great joy not only to those who holiday there, but to large number of other domestic tourists who arrive from other less expensive, but equally healthy and pleasant holiday resorts such as Kandapola, Bandarawela, Diyatalawa, Haputale and Nanu Oya.

My first memories of a holiday in the hills was at Diyatalawa. I was a little tot of about five or six years and as was the custom in those days, my aunt, dad and I, with my close relations - cousins, uncles and aunts - travelled as a group and spent a couple of weeks, sometimes even a month under one roof.

The elders had rented out a rather spacious and comfortable house which was owned by a person they used to refer to as "butler," and I still know it as the "Butler's House".

I distinctly remember that at the approach to the house from the main road, there was in the left embankment a hollow in which everyone said there were snakes. Of course, I used to pass this spot with much fear and trepidation. But come to think of it, on two consecutive holidays I never saw a snake there.

On this first holiday of mine in the hills, one of my uncles and his family had travelled up from Colombo in the Singer tourer, which had a canvas hood.

One day, we all set out to climb the four miles to Bandarawela to spend the day there. We children were packed into the rear seat of the Singer with my uncle, a rather rotund schoolteacher with a chubby face and a moustache which made him look quite fierce when angry, driving.

My uncle was kind of heart, but lost his temper, which would subside in double quick time. He was harmless as a dove most times and would oft burst into song when in fine mood.

We were well on our way when my uncle burst into song belting out one of his favourites "Camptown Races Ten Miles Long, Doo Daa Day" in a loud gravel voice, which sometimes gave the impression that he was shouting more than singing.

Suddenly, there was a sharp gust of wind and much to our shock, the hood flew back, over heads and rested on the rear body of the car. But the driver carried on regardless, undoubtedly the adrenalin gushing in his veins. There was real trouble a few metres on when the engine packed up.

We waited for the others to arrive and then he had some of my older cousins, two of whom were well-set, to push the car and finally after much huffing and puffing, we reached Bandarawela. With my uncle at the wheel and us passengers walking behind, giggling as only children would as my uncle kept shouting to my cousins "push man. Push harder".

There was also an enjoyable hike to Fox Hill, where now a motocross is an annual event. We took our sandwiches in baskets, our tea in flasks and picnicked on the green hill.

My second holiday at Diyatalawa was spent in the town, where we rented out an annex from the post-master. I still feel the smell of the coal fires, which spiralled up from the chimneys of the green prisoners of war camp close by. The coal smoke wafting in the air gave me an indescribable, pleasant feeling, which I remember, upto this day.

Then there were the daily marches of the prisoners of war under British military guard.

I also remember our daily walks through the town where we called at Abraham Saibo's, the largest shop, which had everything from sweets to toys and textiles.

The scenery as one travels by train from Haputale to Diyatalawa is a thing of great beauty and of great joy. We usually booked a third class compartment on the night train from Colombo, as there were around 15 of us. Golden rays of the rising sun bathed the green patnas as we travelled from Haputale to Diyatalawa. It was nature in all its splendour, scenic and serene and we gazed from our windows with awe, drinking deep of nature's bounty.

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