Incidents at wet markets

When I lived in Hong Kong, I would drive to a nearby town to buy fish and prawns at the local wet market. Not the cleanest place, the market also sold live chicken, beef, pork, vegetables, and had stalls where one could have a quick bowl of warm noodles. Having been to enough filthy fish markets in Sri Lanka, the “wetness” of the Hong Kong market didn’t bother me at all. And I never saw any exotic meats for sale, as in the wet markets in Mainland China.

But, one day, I did witness an incident which made me pause. A man sat on a low stool, thrust his gloved hand into a sack, pulled out a live frog, and decapitated it with a chopper - a large, flat bladed knife. I assume this continued till all the frogs were “taken care of”. The Chinese, like the French, ate frogs.

A few months later, an under-19 girls hockey team from Sri Lanka traveled to Hong Kong for a tournament. The manager of the team, a school principal from Kandy, was a friend, so I went to watch a game. Sri Lanka was playing Japan and the game went badly for the Sri Lankans from the start. No doubt the Japanese players were better, but the Sri Lankans were slow and seemed lifeless. Upon inquiring, I was told that, on a walkabout in Hong Kong, the Sri Lankans had wandered into a wet market, where they had seen frogs displayed for sale along with fish and other meats. Horrified, the girls refused to eat any fish or meat. All they ate, for days, was dhal and rice.

So I went out and bought an armload of chocolates and gave them to the manager, to be consumed by the players before their next game. What more could I do?

Fr. Harold

Fr. Harold passed away three days ago.

He became friends with the Braine family many years ago while serving as the parish priest at Boralessa. He baptized my nephew Charlie, officiated at his marriage, baptized his two sons, baptized two of cousin Jerry's children, officiated at cousin Roy Chelvaratnam's marriage, and also baptized my granddaughter Nelum.

Fr. Harold would drop by Pondside if he knew I was there, and we had long chats. He was well read and interested in current affairs, so we got along. Early on, I realized that he had a cavalier, independent spirit, and wouldn't hesitate to criticize the bishop and even the cardinal, although he was fond of Pope Francis, and this strengthened our friendship. After his ordination, he had been sent to the Vatican for higher studies, and he read widely and wrote on liturgical matters; he was a scholar-priest. So, he was qualified to be a bishop or at least a lecturer at the seminary. I assume this independent spirit may have hindered his chances of advancement; the Catholic church is arch conservative and does not tolerate criticism from within.

He was the head of the Legion of Mary ("Mariya Hamudawa") for the Diocese of Chilaw, and was proud of his position as the "commander" of his army. The Legion is a lay Catholic organization whose members serve the church on a voluntary basis in almost every country. He drove around in a battered car, which did not have power steering or auto gear, to attend meetings around the diocese , and blamed the bishop for not buying him a better car. He even had a couple of accidents while driving that car, one of which was serious. Later on, Fr. Harold bought a new Toyota with his own money, a smaller car with modern conveniences, and he drove around more frequently.

At a time when hundreds of thousands of Catholics are deserting to evangelical churches, instead of loosening archaic rules and regulations, the Catholic church has become even more doctrinaire. (This is the legacy of Pope John Paul II, and his sidekick Cardinal who later became Pope Benedict.) So, when my granddaughter Nelum was to be baptized, in 2012, we ran into a problem. Roy and Shannon were not married in church, and she could not be baptized at Boralessa church either, because the priest wanted a letter from Roy's church in the USA.  I, too, did not have a family book ("pawul potha") or any relationship with the Boralessa church. So, when Fawzia and I asked Fr. Harold if he could baptize Nelum, he didn't hesitate for a moment: "Bring her, George. I'll baptize her". He later came to "Pondside" for lunch, just two days before Fawzia passed away. 

 Fr. Harold was at a small parish, Kudawewa, at that time. Although the church was imposing, built in Portuguese style, the congregation had dwindled to just 38 Catholic families. (I will mention later why I think Fr. Harold was moved from one small parish to another.) So, a few days before the baptism, I visited him with a bottle of Johnny Walker black label, telling him, with a wink,  not to finish it in one sitting! He was at his typewriter, composing another liturgical essay. On the morning of the baptism, when we turned-up, the church doors were still closed, and we we later saw the neglect, dust and cobwebs inside. Fr. Harold deserved better than that. Nevertheless,  the baptism proceeded smoothly, little Nelum at her best behavior. Fr. Harold later joined us for lunch at "Pondside". 

The life of a rural parish priest is not easy. If a convent is nearby, the nuns would supply him with meals, do his laundry, and help him around the church. Otherwise, at most, there would be a so called "appu", usually a elderly man of no fixed abode, who prepared the meals (usually awful) and hung around. Father did not even have an appu.  This was his life at Kudawewa. 

Fr. Harold would turn up at "Pondside" unannounced, knowing that he was welcome anytime. We chatted, and, when possible, I invited him to stay for lunch. After lunch, he took a long nap, followed by tea, and departed with a bottle of wine. He also visited cousin Marie and Bandara, where he always had lunch and his nap. He trusted us.

When I telephoned him one day, his ring tone played a Sinhala love song. He was startled when I told him. Later, he laughingly explained that a young boy who hung around the rectory often played with his phone, and must have mischievously downloaded the song.  As for his transfers from parish to parish, I believe the reason was his partial deafness. This was awkward for the parishioners, especially during confession, because sins, instead of being whispered within the confessional box, had to be said aloud. Everyone heard. So the parishioners complained to the bishop, and Fr. Harold wasn't kept at one parish for long.

Fr. Harold celebrated the 50th anniversary of his ordination a few years ago, at St. Joseph's Church, Wennappuwa, where he had been ordained. My sister Beaula, my BIL Bandara, and I attended. Our gift, of course, was a bottle of red wine.

We held an annual memorial service for Fawzia at the little chapel at St. Joseph's Elders Home in Marawila, and Fr. Harold always presided. 

Eventually, Father began to have health problems, and was frequently hospitalized. Once, for recuperation, he spent a longtime with his sister at Marawila, where he had been born. Eventually, he retired and came to reside in a little cottage at St. Joseph's Elders Home. He had written his portion of properties to his sister, and his worldly possessions were the car, a typewriter, a small TV, and lots of books and various manuscripts, and a easy chair ("hansiputuwa") which he loved. Till the end, he continued to read and write.

The nuns at the Elders Home were taking care of 150 destitute elderly people, some with mental problems. Themselves elderly, and unable to attract younger women to their order, the nuns struggled to cook, clean, and nurse the elders. They also had to take care of five retired priests, who lived in cottages around the premises. The sisters - I call them living saints - took on the added burden without complaint. 

Fr. Harold wasn't a charismatic priest. He did not give long, thundering orations, did not conduct healing services or prayer crusades. Instead, during his long service as a priest, he would have baptized thousands of children, officiated at numerous weddings, comforted and given the last rites to a many Catholics. He was a good shepherd.

Father was happy at the Elders Home. The nuns took good care of him, he had a young man, an apprentice priest I believe, who kept him company and attended to his needs, and saw his sister, who lived nearby, often. A large, shady tree sheltered his cottage. On a number of occasions, he told me that "God was looking after" him.

I last saw Father just before I left Sri Lanka about six months ago. I first visited Sister Maris Stella, the Mother Superior of the Elders Home, and, before I left, mentioned to her that Fr. Harold was grateful for all they did for him. Then, I went for a chat with Father. When his mid-morning tea arrived, he poured half for me.

May he rest in peace.