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| Saturday, 31 July 2004 |
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Abiding memories by Therese Motha Glancing through the Sunday newspapers of recent weeks, I find many of my age group are reminiscing of times gone by, so I thought to myself, why not I join the happy band of senior citizens, putting down thoughts on paper. Ours was a large family of five boys and four girls, and I was sixth in line. Meal times were fun. From about the age of thirteen, I was unofficial maker of a dessert every Sunday for lunch. Some nights I would give our cook, Anthonymuttu, the evening off, and would make a pie for dinner. Sunday morning breakfast was often hoppers (home-made, of course), with a soup made of veal bones and tinned sheep tongue make into a stirfry with onions. If there was pittu for breakfast, we kids always demanded from the cook lots of thick coconut milk to go with it, to be eaten with sugar. There was no talk of cholesterol then! On days I made guava jelly, the house would be redolent with the aroma of the boiling jelly. From the time I became a teenager, I wold always make on Christmas Eve, the stuffing for the chicken roast for Christmas day lunch. A tradition in our house was that on Ash Wednesday and Good Friday, dinner was always rice porridge (pol kiri kenda), with a lot of coconut milk and garlic in it, eaten with some sort of sambol, usually seeni sambol. This tradition I still adhere to. The servant boy would prepare a large jug of coffee each morning and a large jug of tea in the evening for all who wanted it. Now of course, I have to prepare my own tea and coffee or go without. I remember the first time I tried out a swiss roll. I was only thirteen plus, and the occasion was my recently acquired brother-in-law's birthday. Wasn't I thrilled when it turned out a success! Since my father's shop, F. X. Pereira and Sons, had the agency for the Italian Perugina chocolates, I remember the marzipan sweets that were always served at the end of every dinner for State Council members. (My father was a State Councillor). These sweets were filled with marzipan and were in the shape and colour of apples, oranges, pears and cherries. Any left over, I would distribute to my school friends the next day. There were also delicious liqueur filled chocolates in the shape of miniature bottles. Though school closed at 2.30 p.m., we had to wait in school till 4 p.m., for the car to come and pick us up, as my father had to attend State Council meetings at 2.30 p.m. When we arrived home, we were ravenous, and eagerly devoured the Tiffin that would be laid out for us. (Do our children in this day and age, know tiffin as we knew it?) The cook would have made lavariya, or panipol pancakes, or bread pudding liberally laced with strawberry jam, or banana fritters oozing with treacle, or Vadai, or Bhondas, or Bhajis, or my mother would have made her famous Kesari or Bibikan. This Bibikan was always made in the same dish, an oval ceramic ovenproof dish, brown on the outside and white within, which my father had bought in Italy a few days before I was born. This dish I still treasure as a memento of my mother. From the time I was thirteen or so, I used to collect recipe books. Any foreign magazine I came across which said "write for free recipe book" I would write in, with the result that I had a vast collection. After school, we would play Hopscotch until the car arrived to take us home. (Do present day children play Hopscotch now?) We used to run to the gate of St. Bridget's when we hear the tinkling sound of the bell of the Elephant House ice palam man. Ice palam was 5 cents and snopalam 7 cts. On one day of the week, I had to wait longer for the Girl Guides meeting. On such days, the cook would provide me with a parcel of egg and tomato sandwiches to stave off the pangs of hunger. We used to go with my brothers to witness the rugger matches played at the Police Park opposite our house. Rice was stored in a specially made large wooden box lined with zinc (to keep off the weevils, I presume). I remember my mother used to ring P. B. Umichy and Sons (if I remember the name aright) with her large order, and they would deliver it by van. I was only seven years old when my parents left three of us at the boarding at St. Bridget's, one in the senior boarding and two of us in the junior boarding, because they were going to the Holy Land and a tour of Europe. Ultimately, we were there in the boarding for two years. As a twelve year old, I remember I had to recite a specially composed poem for the Bharatha conference, before an audience of about two thousand people. I also remember when I was seven or eight years, I had to be bedridden for two months due to an infected wound in my heel, caused by a Bougainvillea thorn. This was the time my parents were abroad, and it was my eldest brother and sister-in-law, then newly married, who looked after me, and wiped away my tears. For a period of about ten years, every year my father used to book a house in Nuwara Eliya for the April holidays, owned by Mrs. Floor. Then later, he bought a house 'Glen-Helen' at Lewella, Kandy, but this was eventually sold. This is now the abode of the Jesuits. In the year I sat for the London Matriculation, I was chosen to read the address of welcome to the chief guest at our prize giving. I remember my father rushing from a State Council meeting to be in time to witness it. It was at this time too that I was one of those chosen to represent St. Bridget's at 'Spelling Bee' contests, and 'Do You Know' contests at Radio Ceylon. The house we stayed in at Vajira Road saw four weddings take place there, two of my sisters, one brother and myself. At my eldest sister's wedding, I believe there were a thousand guests, and the bedrooms were all filled to overflowing. The wedding cake pieces were ordered from Elephant House. I remember I very lavishly distributed the remaining pieces to my school friends in the succeeding days. I remember the day Lord Soulbury and his team came home for dinner. I also remember Jawaharlal Nehru's visit to our house. My father got permission from our neighbours to get the wall that divided our two houses demolished, so that part of the massive crowd could be accommodated in their garden. There were even men who had climbed the trees in the vicinity just to get a glimpse of Nehru. When all is said and done, our happiest times were our childhood days, days that can never be recaptured. |
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