Premil Ratnayake reminisces . . . Lake House: Then and Now:

'Kaabiriya' and 'Sudda' of the Daily News

They were the two giants in the Daily News - both six-footers. Christie Seneviratne, Sports Editor, as black as a solid native African, slim and wiry with the physique of an athlete in top form, raconteur par excellence especially of lewd jokes; his buddy Neville de la Motte, could easily pass off for a European, Chief Sub-Editor, a silent Gulliver. They earned the nicknames following a brawl in the outskirts of Colombo. Both were out on a binge drinking at an illicit hooch joint. They fell into an argument with the owner, knocked him out and then reduced the place to pulp. Later a complaint was lodged at the police station that a 'Kabiriya' and 'Sudda' had smashed the place. Police determined that two drunken sailors out on a spree after their ship had berthed at the Colombo harbour had done the damage and the case was dismissed.

Christie was a fine cricketer and wrote his cricket commentaries to the Daily News under the nom de plume 'Wrong 'Un' and when the West Indies cricket squad toured Ceylon, Christie played host to them. West Indians took an immediate liking to him perhaps because of his colour or his capacity to entertain them with endless funny anecdotes. As I said he was a superb story teller.

Christie was a Don Juan and did not conceal the fact. He openly flirted with wives of colleagues who came to visit their husbands in office. He had had a chequered career before he took to journalism. During the Second World War he was in Singapore spying, as he claimed furtively, for the Japanese. You were incredulous but he had proof (including documents) to testify to the veracity of his claim. People like Christie don't lie unnecessarily.

Lake House canteen

In the Daily News Sports Desk though, he had a bete noire: sports reporter Aloy Perera. Aloy claimed he could play 13 sports and was more qualified to hold the post of Sports Editor. Aloy was a young wayward boy, a very talented reporter who could tune into a broken down old wireless and take down a cricket commentary beamed across the world. Christie and Aloy hated each other's guts. Once Aloy annoyed Christie to the extreme and Christie who had just returned to office after his afternoon booze, ran down to the Lake House canteen kitchen fetched a manna knife and chased after Aloy. Aloy fled.

Christie loved fun and at any office party you could see him dancing away with girl reporters; he was easy to deal with and the girls loved dancing with him. In one such engagement William de Alwis interrupted him rather crudely and Christie sent him crashing to the floor. Willie was struggling to get on his feet but Christie stood over him menacingly with clenched fists daring Willie to take the challenge. Willie was a tough guy but he was sozzled and did not take the challenge. It was not anything serious: like some school boys' fight. Christie and Willie were good friends. Christie's pal Neville had had a chequered career too before he joined Lake House. Neville was the Chief Jailor in the Prisons Department who helped the Samasamajists - NM, Phillip, Colvin and Edmund - to escape from jail. Neville was sacked for his misdemeanour. Neville didn't give a damn - he joined Lake House as a sub-editor. In 1956 when Phillip Gunawardena became a Minister under the premiership of S. W. R. D. Bandaranaike, he sent for Neville and asked whether he wanted to get back to the Prisons Department or whether Neville wanted some other situation in government service. Neville with his broad smile thanked Minister Gunawardena and said, "No, I am happy as a journalist," and walked off.

Neville always did the night shift. Even in rubber slippers and crumpled trousers with a torch in hand standing on the stairs of the Fort Railway Station after his train ride from Dehiwela he looked a mighty figure.

Personal consumption

At his desk when he was not in the cups Neville wrote profusely in his diaries of which he had quite a number. I used to watch him write and write in a frenzy; I would have loved to read what he wrote but I could not; nobody knew what he wrote. After he died his sister came to office and removed dozens of those unpublished works of Neville de la Motte. Somebody at the desk suggested that those notes of his should be published. But I think it was Gamini Weerakoon who interposed: "No, they were not intended that way. Neville wrote for his personal consumption." Yes, Neville would have disliked his memoirs being published. Neville had his crazy bouts of drinking. For weeks he would keep off work and go on a binge.

Once drunk he confessed to me: "I have one regret; I have no progeny." Neville never married.

He was an excellent sub-editor. In the old Rotary, boys lamented when they did not see Neville's subbed copy. They were so familiar with his hand writing. When his writing re-appeared they were exulted. They used to walk to the desk and say so. Neville of course greeted them with a good-natured smile. No comment.

In between work he ran out for a quickie. In an instant he was back at his desk. I was typing parliamentary copy. Neville turned to me and whispered: "Three down so far," alluding to cricket commentary parlance.

Of the two friends Neville was the first to leave us to whichever land they all went after the brief stay on this earthy land. Lake House provided us with special transport to travel to the Galkissa cemetery to attend Neville's funeral. His death was ironic: he didn't die of cirrhosis. He died of a snake bite: a tragedy encountered while staying with a colleague in the outstations in a rambling house surrounded by wild reptiles. Christie came to the cemetery groggy, crying: "Oh my friend is dead."

To be continued