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| Wednesday, 2 March 2005 |
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Dear Henry,
Indeed, Malalasekera is a great man, a scholar and a linguist. By all means let us talk about him. Stanley Jayasinghe was a great batsman who faced world's fastest bowlers and spinners. He wore no helmet, protected himself with the bat because he had the technique. Whom we call great batsmen walk on to the pitch today, as if they are about to get on to a motorbike. They have never faced the likes of West Indies Hall and Griffiths, Aussie McKenzie and Davidson and English Truman and Statham nor have they faced spinners of the calibre of Lock, Underwood, Bedi, Gibbs.
This protest has come from thousands of miles and I hope you will take it seriously. Take care and keep writing and make us feel very homesick and bring on our own happy memories. Don't forget about Stanley! Sincerely yours, The letter quoted above should be self explanatory to the reader. I did mention Stanley Jayasinghe in the column referred to by the writer and I said that I'll be coming back to Stanely J. in this narrative. What I meant was that I'll be coming back to him in due course and not in that particular column itself. The episode that I was to come back to him happened in 1965 - much later than at the present point of my 'saga'. Anyway let me indulge Shirley S. who writes 'from thousands of miles' away. I am sure it'll be okay with my readers too. In any case these are ALL past happenings. That apart cricketers, past or present, are a much loved lot in this country. So here goes. In 1964, I won a UNESCO Fellowship to study Theatre Arts in any two countries of my choice. So I selected the Soviet Union and England. I spent the first six months of my Fellowship in the Soviet Union in a number of places such as Moscow, Leningrad (now Petersburg) Riga, Baku, Ukrine and Tashkent. Incidentally, it was in Moscow that I first experienced the plays of Bertold Brecht, including the famous Caucasian Chalk Circle - 'Hunuwataye Kathawa' to us. Although it was thick winter most of the time and although I had quite a rollicking time 'battling' with it, I am ever grateful for that spell in the Soviet Union from October 1964 to April 1965. First visit I had three more months in the U.K., to follow a 12-week course in Dramatic Art under the British Drama League. I arrived at Heathrow Airport in the dead of the night on a Sunday and frankly I was 'lost', this being my very first visit to London and not having many contacts there either. The only contact I had was the British Council, but one could hardly knock on British Council's door at dead of the night on a Sunday ! I bussed it to the terminal or whatever you call it and decided to try my luck with the London Cab Service of which I had heard so much. I hailed and boarded a cab - one of those lovely black/white checked limousines, known all over the world for their, polish, goodness and honesty. "Where to, Sir?" quarried the cabman's casual but well-toned voice from front. I could hardly see his face in the dark. In the London cabs, one never sat in the front seat, simply because there was none. That space was specially designed for keeping luggage. So the passenger always sat behind and talked to the cabman through a little space behind the driver's seat. And usually the driver shut this space closed once he had received his orders as to where to proceed. "Where to, Sir ?" was repeated and I had to do some quick thinking since I had no address to give him except the British Council one. "I need a place to spend the night over..." I told him and added for effect "I have to report at the British Council office tomorrow morning. Somewhere closeby would be fine," "Anything posh, or what, Sir?" was his next question. I am sure by now he had guessed that I was a 'kodukaraya' (first timer) in London, "No, certainly not 'posh', but neither downright dowdy." I told him frankly, "I am not a 'posh' man as you can see, neither quite a pauper." "I can hardly see you in the dark Sir, but I get what you mean." With that the cabman drove into the night and I held my tongue, quite assured that this man would take care of the night. He did. Shortly he drew up at a two-storeyed - not so posh building - got down from the cab and opened the door for me. He placed my rather heavy luggage at the entrance to the hotel, exchanged a few words with a round man with a round face, smiled with me and departed saying "There you are Sir, that's your place. Good night Sir." I looked up and read the board - Hotel Campden, Board Available, it said. I looked at the round man in a light blue suit and he smiled - I thought it was one of those expansive Italian smiles - the man looked like an Italian, at least my image of a portly, elderly Italian. First question "Where you from, Sir?" was his first question while helping me with my luggage. I told him I was from Ceylon, because that's how we were known then, before some 'Pandithaya' - or more likely a set of 'Pandithayas' - decided to call our country Sri Lanka. Now Sri is a very venerable prefix and is used only on persons or objects worthy of worship. We say Sri Buddhawarsha (year of the Buddha) Sri Maha Bodhi, and Sri Dalada. And history has never used this prefix so wantonly as it is used now. No wonder our woes have been endless ever since we caused this sacrilege! Anyway when I told the proprietor of the Campden Hotel of London, (I forget its location now - perhaps it's still there) that I am from Ceylon his eye brows went up at least by a few centimetres and he looked at me as if in wonderment. I was worried. I thought he was going to eject me. 'Don't tell me you are from the country that produced Stanley Jayasinghe? Our Leicestershire batsman?" Burst out a delighted hotelier. And, relieved, I was equal to the task. "Yes, I am." I assured him. "Stanley Jayasinghe and I were class-mates in college. We acted in a play together..." The man must have been a more than avid Stanley Jayasinghe fan. He still could not or would not believe me. Stanley must have been so precious to him. "Look, I am tired and I must get some sleep, before I report to the British Council (Yes, I added That for effect - after all I had the actor in me...!) tomorrow. Look, if you doubt me you could call Leicestershire County Club tomorrow, get hold of Stanley and verify. Tell him that Henry Jayasena from Nalanda Vidyalaya is with you in your hotel. Who knows he might pay us a visit...!" With that I disappeared into my room and left it at that. I was tired and needed some sleep. The next morning I was greeted by a jubilant Mr. Italian. "You are most welcome in my hotel Sir, and you can stay here as long as you like. And that's at half-rate Sir...!" He assured me. All because of my knowing Stanley, I thought most thankfully. I don't think our friend would have 'verified' the fact. Those fans of English Cricket had far too much respect for their favourite cricketers, than to probe into their private lives, I am sure... A belated "Thank You" to you my dear Stanley. Not quite, because I remember thanking you for this 'favour' once before at a cocktail party at the German Cultural Institute, to which I came with the aid of a crutch. I was given a seat and you came over to chat about old times.... **** Back **** |
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I write to register my protest on the contents of your column on
Nalanda batsman and Leicestershire player Stanley Jaysinghe whom you
mentioned in your column of February 9 and said that you will come back to
him before you end the column. However, you did not mention Stanley after
that and ended your column with G.P. Malalasekera.
There were only two Sri Lankan batsmen who shone in the world of
cricket in the 60s. Stanley Jayasinghe from Nalanda and Clive Inman from
St. Peter's. Both of them played for Leicestershire. As a life long
supporter of Leicestershire and an admirer of these two grates, let's hear
about Stanley in your next column.
