We stopped at the charming St. Andrew's Church in Haputale Town. British planters, most of whom were Protestants, built churches and chapels in the hill country. The Brits are long gone but many churches are still functioning thanks mainly to Tamil Christians who may have been converted from Hinduism in the days of the British.
St. Andrew's has nearly 200 parishioners and the buildings are well cared for. Apparently, two Caucasian or Eurasian parishioners, planters at nearby tea estates, still attend service occasionally. One is said to be Ken Murray, better known as a rugby player and the last of the "Merry Men of Uva".
The church walls were embedded with memorial tablets and my eyes caught the one pictured below, first because of the unusual family name and secondly because of the line "Protector of Elephants". Mr. Tutein-Nolthenius had also been a Member of Parliament, probably an appointed member representing European residents of Ceylon. The Internet revealed that he had edited a book, and was the last to capture the rare Mountain Loris back in 1937. Assumed to be extinct, it was seen again only in 2010.
"Although Saman and his team had seen “eye shine” of the montane slender loris in their headlamps like others before them, it had been way back in 1937 that planter A.C. Tutein-Nolthenius captured two of them in the Horton Plains region and kept them as pets. An offspring specimen of this pair is being exhibited at the British Museum of Natural History in London." (from the Sunday Times, July 25, 2010)
Some of my ancestors were coffee and tea planters and I keep a lookout for their graves in the hill country. So, I walked around the graveyard, part of which has been lost to road widening. I didn't find any Braines but did spot a memorial for Rev. Walter Senior, who was a Vice Principal at my old school Trinity College, Kandy. I reproduce below his best known poem "The Call of Lanka".
The Call of Lanka
I climbed o’er the crags of Lanka
And gazed on the golden sea
When out from her ancient places,
Her soul came forth to me;
Give me a bard,” said Lanka,
“A bard of the thing to be.”
“My cities are laid in ruins,
Their courts through the jungle spread,
My scepter is long departed
And the stranger Gods instead.
Yet, give me a bard,” said Lanka.
“I am living, I am not dead.”
“For high in my highland valleys,
And low in my lowland plains,
The pride of the past is pulsing
Hot in a people’s veins.
Give me a bard,” said Lanka,
“A bard for my joys and pains.”
I offer a voice O Lanka,
I, child of an alien Isle;
For my heart has heard thee and kindled,
Mine eyes have seen thee and smiled;
Take, foster mother, and use it,
‘Tis but for a little while.
For, surely of thine own children,
Born of thy womb, shall rise
The bard of the moonlit jungle,
The bard of the tropic skies,
Warm from his mother’s bosom,
Bright from his mother’s eyes.
He shall hymn thee of hoar Sri Pada,
The peak that is lone and tall.
He shall sing with her crags, Dunhinda,
The smoking waterfall.
Whatsoever is fair in Lanka,
He shall know it and love it all.
He shall sing thee of sheer Sigiriya,
Of Minneria’s wandering kine;
He shall sing of the lake and the lotus,
He shall sing of the rock-hewn shrine,
Whatsoever is old in Lanka,
Shall live in his Lordly line.
But most shall he sing of Lanka
In the bright new days that come.
When the races all have blended
And the voice of strife is dumb
When we leap to a single bugle,
March to a single drum.
March to a mighty purpose,
One man from shore to shore;
The stranger, becomes a brother,
The task of the tutor o’er,
When the ruined city rises
And the palace gleams once more.
Hark! Bard of the fateful future,
Hark! Bard of the bright to be;
A voice on the verdant mountains,
A voice by the golden sea.
Rise, child of Lanka, and answer
Thy mother hath called to thee.
.While at Haputale, we also visited the Adisham Monastery run by reclusive Benedictine monks. Unfortunately, the monastery was overrun with local tourists that morning and not a single monk was to be seen.
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