London in 1965
But when you went looking for them it was almost always a different story. Most of the landlords (landladies actually) answered your bell, had one look at you and said, "Oh, I am sorry Mister the room is given." Or they would simply say, "Sorry mate, we are full!" As a result I had to stay put at hotel Campden for a few days. Although the owner charged me only half rate as a mark of respect for my fellow countryman, Stanley Jayasinghe (who was a star player for Leicestershire at that time) it was still too expensive for me.
So for another week or so I sought the help of a friend of mine working at the Ceylon High Commission in London at that time - Mrs. Ranee Weerasingham. She had worked with us at the Public Works Dept., before she migrated to England a few years back. I contacted her at the High Commission and explained my problem to her and she was very glad to help. "I have a house in Media Vale Henry. Only I have a few girls there as boarders and both the extra rooms are given. If you can sleep on the settee in the hall I will be able to accommodate you for a week or so." Ranee told me. I was prepared even to sleep on the floor. And so while I spent a few very pleasant days with her, all of us (meaning also the girls boarded with her) were looking for a room. The British Drama League in Fitzroy Square was situated in a fairly famous area. Firstly because George Bernard Shaw's house - by now a preserved property - was almost right opposite the BDL, and secondly because of a well patronised Indian restaurant close by. One morning, as I was walking towards the BDL., I happened to notice a small hand written notice on the gate of one of the houses just two doors next to the Bernard Shaw house. It simply said: 'Room available. Enquire inside.' I promptly opened the little gate and rang the bell. A very well dressed lady, perhaps in her thirties, (I can never guess the age of well made up, manicured white women) opened the door. She was smiling, a nice honest smile I must say. I was greatly encouraged by that smile. Room As briefly as possible, but without hurrying I told her that I was looking for a room, that I was a student of the BDL across the street and that I have come here on a UNESCO fellowship. Fortunately it was early morning - not yet eight - and I was looking a little fresh, I believe, dressed in some of the best clothes I had. "Well, you are the first caller in fact," declared the lady. "Good thing you came before I left for office. Come upstairs and have a look at the room. I must say it will be a little too expensive for a student." We were already on the stairway. "But of course you are a UNESCO fellowship holder. Anyway let me show you the room," she added as we approached the room. It was in fact a nice large room with a double bed and other furniture that goes with a room. "There is no attached toilet. You will have to use the visitors' toilet on the passage," the lady declared. Then she asked me a few questions about Ceylon, what I was doing, whether I was married etc. "The rent will be six pounds a week, is that okey by you?" As cultured people do, she mentioned the money part of it only at the last. I made a few mental calculations and found that I could manage six pounds a week. I was paying something like four pounds a day, at the hotel. "Yes madam, I can afford it," I said and asked her if I could move in almost immediately. "I am Jean. Jean Harrow. You can call me Jean." She was talking about her husband and other things while we descended the stair. Her husband was an architect she told me. "He goes to work early. You see I am his secretary and I am allowed a few concessions like coming to office half an hour late." This woman, Jean Harrow was a very pleasant woman indeed. She did not show any concern about my being black. I was very grateful that she was going to give the room to me. We had already arrived at the 1st floor into her kitchenette. She showed me the gas cooker, the fridge and the other gadgets in the kitchen. "Henry, may I call you Henry?" "Yes, of course Mrs. Harrow," I hastened. "Call me Jean, okay? It's easier. In any case 'Harrow' is a little harrowing!" She declared sweetly. "Actually I will not be doing any cooking, er...Jean. To begin with I cannot because I know nothing of cooking. "Ah, that's better. I was a wee bit worried you might cook some curry, as most Asians do. In fact we are rather fond of curry. But we don't cook it at home. When we feel like having a curry we go to the Indian restaurant right across," said Jean. But you can always make a cup of tea or coffee, if you like. By the way, Henry, we will not be able to give you any meals. Not even breakfast. Perhaps a cup of coffee in the morning which I will keep here in the kitchen - okay?" "That's fine and thanks," I said. "Last but not the least, here in this cupboard is a bottle of sherry. You can help yourself to a thimbleful when you feel like it," she smiled broadly with a little bit of mischief in her eyes. Kitchen door "Can I move in tomorrow?" I asked. She thought for a while and said, "Make it Wednesday, that's day after tomorrow. I want to put a little order into that room," said Jean. 'You will pay your rent every Wednesday, okay? By the way how long will you be staying?" "Just a few weeks. The BDL course will be over end of June and I have about another month in Stratford-on-Avon. And then I'll be heading home," I said. "Ah, that's very little which means we'll have to put up another notice all too soon. Never mind Henry, I have already given my word. So, Wednesday, it will be," Jean closed the kitchen door, came up to the landing, on her way to office. I bid her goodbye at the gate and walked across to my BDL with stars in my eyes. That night I invited my friend Ranee Weerasingham and her girls for a drink at the local pub in Meida Vale in appreciation of their kindness in accommodating me. I had a couple of 'bitters' and they had a glass of wine each. Incidentally 'bitters' is what most Britains drink at a pub. I have hardly seen anyone ordering a whiskey. Just a few may go for a gin and lemon. Whiskey was far too expensive for the ordinary man. In any case what they call 'bitters' is a rather nice sour-bitter long drink which tasted fairly close to our stout. That night Ranee gave me a nice home-made dinner with chicken curry, fried potatoes and a kind of 'pol sambol' as a parting gesture. I moved into the new room on Wednesday. I was very lucky. I had just to cross the road to get to my classes. When I told Jean Knight that I had got a room just across the road she was surprised. "You are cleverer than we thought, Henry. That will be very convenient for you. No travelling expenses and close to most of the London Theatres. You are lucky, Henry," declared a delighted Jean. "Yes, Jean, it is more luck than any cleverness on my part." History Although my stay in London was less than two months, I managed to see quite a few plays during that brief time. Theatre tickets - especially for the more favoured plays - were very difficult to get. The British Drama League helped. They had a running arrangement with most of the theatre houses to provide tickets to their students at cut rates. That was very helpful. The famous Agatha Christie play, The Mouse Trap was running in one of the Theatres even at that time. (I believe it was the longest running play in a theatre in the whole history of theatre in the world!) I had got a ticket for it and was on my way to the theatre by tube train. I had got down from the tube train and was proceeding upstairs when an old man, his hair totally white and his face drawn with extreme stress, his eyes straining in the semi-light of the stairway, came right in front of me and blocked my way. The man both his hands laden with bags full of provisions etc. looked at me almost pleading in and asked me, "Young man, are you from Ceylon?" "Yes, sir, I am from Ceylon," I replied. "Thank heavens for that!" He heaved a sigh of relief and with his eyes directed me to a corner of the passage so that we would not block the way. I could have easily escaped him and gone my way. I did not, because the man's eyes both pleaded and commanded that I listen to him. Once in a corner, he relieved his hands from the loads he was carrying by placing them against the wall, got closer to me, looked deep into my eyes and started talking. "Young man," he began. "Listen to me young man. I can see that you are a married man. If you have come here to find a job and settle down go back as soon as you can. Don't commit the same mistake I did 25 years ago." He paused for a little breath and continued, not allowing me even to get a word in. "My name is Munasinghe. I had a good job in Ceylon and we were getting on very well. We had a son, just two years old and we were quite happy. Then suddenly my wife got this madness into her. She insisted that we come to England and find the gold, like Dick Whittington. I protested. I was very happy in my country. Then she started quarrelling with me. She vowed to leave me and come here alone with our son." Emotion By now I was getting impatient and I had to make it in time to the theatre. I told him that. His face just fell and he looked so helpless and forlorn. "So you too have to go. It's alright then. You go, my son." said Mr. Munasinghe in a broken voice. When he called me son, my heart melted. "Don't let down this old man." Something deep within me prompted. "Listen to him. You can see your play some other day." The same emotion prompted and I decided to wait and listen to him. "No, Mr. Munasinghe, there is no compulsion that I should go. Okay, let's talk a little more. It is stuffy here. Let's get out of the tube way and sit somewhere and have a coffee." I said and lifted one of his bags. Mr. M. pressed my hand and followed me. Soon we found a wayside cafe and sat down. I ordered two coffees and Mr. M continued his story. He had still not asked for my name. "We are much better off now son. But my wife has got into bad company. She wants to live it up. And the boys, yes, now we have three, also follow her. They don't care a tuppence for me. I have to earn the money for them..." "I am sorry to interrupt you Mr. Munasinghe. You could have always chucked up and gone back. Then they would have learnt to fend for themselves. To me they sound like an ungrateful lot!" Mr. M looked at me with very sad eyes. So sad that my heart wept for him. He drained the remainder of the coffee in one gulp. "Where can I go now, son? We sold all we had there to come here. We have nothing there now and I have no savings here. I can't go back and find a job at my age. I have become their slave, for life," he moaned. "How old are your kids? Can't you punish them?" I asked in desperation. "Not here my son, we are not allowed to punish our children. There is a law against it. But they can punish us..." I just watched him helplessly. "I have to go now," he said at long last. He got up sadly and lifted his bags. "If I don't take the provision home in time, she will eat me!" he said. "Son, if you are here to settle down don't. Get back to your wife and family as soon as possible. This is a hell here!" Thought of the week My thoughts this week are with my friend and mentor - Sybil Wettasinghe - (I call her Sybil Akka) that fascinating lady of letters, specially of children's literature and that, all the time I knew her which is more than 50 years. When I was working in the PWD in the fifties, she was a young journalist of the Lake House - very petite, beautifully draped in saree and plenty of personality. She turned many a head at that time. But she did much more than turn heads with her pen and brush. I have been an avid reader of all the lovely little stories she wrote from Kuda Hora, to Magul Gedara Buth Netho, Podi Achchige Pulun and a hundred other books, even past 'The Child in Me' - a bit of a biography. I called her mentor. Yes, I have learnt a lot about writing for children from Sybil Akka. Her work has been translated into many languages, including Japanese. She has won applause, accolades and many awards both at home and abroad. I received a card the other day. Sybil's friends were celebrating the 50th anniversary of the publication of 'Kuda Hora' with a three day exhibition of Sybil's work and drawings together with a workshop for children. This, on July 20, 21 and 22 at the Art Gallery. My dearest Sybil Akka, I am sorry I missed the event because Manel's second death anniversary Bana and Daana activities fell on the same days. I am sure you will know that I was there with you all the time, although not physically. May our children be blessed with more of your inimitable work for years and years to come. |
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