Merrick Gooneratne’s recent article on the centenary of Maris Stella College, Negombo, rekindled my memories of the school from the late 1950s and early 60s.
Maris Stella had classes from Standard Two.
For lower and upper kindergarten (as they were called those days), all boys
attended Ave Maria Convent, along with girls, of course. One teacher I recall
is Sr. Mary Imelda, diminutive but a formidable force. As she taught, her two
dogs, spoiled rotten by the children, roamed the classroom.
Maris Stella sits on the road that extends
from Colombo to Chilaw, and beyond to Puttalam and Anuradhapura. Despite the
heavy traffic on the road, the school displays a somewhat serene ambience
because of the large, well maintained playground, and the lovely main building
set some distance from the road. Two storied, with a lengthy Italianesque
facade, the main building is reached along two narrow roadways lined by long,
single storied classrooms. In the center, shaded by massive mara trees, is a smaller playing field -
for soccer, softball cricket and gymnastics- in the 50s and 60s. These
buildings, the trees, and the playing field, now a lush green, have been well
preserved.
My father recalled that, during World War II,
when Allied troops were stationed at the school, these mara trees were covered with camouflage nets to hide the
anti-aircraft guns mounted below.
Teachers
and students
My father had been at Maris Stella in the 1930s
and 40s, and when I entered in 1957, some of his teachers were still there. Elias,
dark, wizened, and with a tousle of grey hair, taught me in Standard 2. Capt.
Jayamanne, a big man, tough as nails, had been the cadet platoon commander
during my father’s time, and still was. Bro. Jonas had been in charge of sports
for years. Obris, who taught English, had become the vice-principal. My father
also recalled Bros. Nizier, Valentine, and Xavier, a Spaniard. Mahaboob,
physical training instructor and Bro. Gerard had been his classmates.
Undoubtedly, the most unusual teacher was Johannes, who taught Sinhala. The
only teacher who wore a sarong to school, worn high up on the waist and held up
with a broad belt, he had an owlish, scholarly air; our textbooks on Sinhala had
been authored by him. Ms. Wallace, lustily playing the piano, taught us
singing. Two younger teachers were Dabarera and Kurera.
One hilarious memory is that of Bro. Jonas,
coaching the football team even during matches, running up and down the sidelines,
grey hair and cassock flying. He was strict, liberal with the cane and slaps. Another
is of Mahaboob, the PTI, in his impeccable polo shirt, pants, and tennis shoes,
all in spotless white, taking us through various drills on the playground.
The principals during my time were Bros.
Stanislaus and Peter, and the headmasters Bros. Nizier and Gerard.
We were living near Ave Maria Convent when I
joined Maris Stella, which meant a walk of more than a mile, crossing a railway
track and walking along Main Street till I reached Copra Junction along the
Colombo – Chilaw road. The street is chock-a-block with shops now, but, in
those days, I only passed houses with well-maintained gardens, a couple of
boutiques, a dispensary and a dental clinic. A well-off classmate was driven to
school and passed me on the way, but never offered me a lift.
Most students walked to school, or rode bicycles,
in wave after wave. Others came by train or bus. The only person who drove was
a senior student named Jayakody from Dankotuwa. This was extraordinary, when no
teacher owned a car, and some rode rickety bicycles. His Peugeot 203 was parked
under a mara tree while he attended classes
and later stayed for football practice.
At Marist Stella, a Catholic school, most students
were Catholic. But, ethnically, we were an eclectic band, marked by the
Bharatha community and Burghers. The family names of schoolmates I can recall
is evidence of this: Siriwardena, Jayawardena, Abeysekera, Swaminathan, Bolonghe,
Salgado, Leitan, Tissera, Hettiaarachi,
Jayamanne, Franke, Croos-Dabarera, Dabarera, Jayamaha, Coonghe, Aserappa,
Rodrigo, Fernando, Pereira, Costa, Gomez, Mirando. Ives Swaminathan had
immigrated from Mauritius, and sang French songs in a lovely voice.
After my brother entered Maris Stella, we were five
cousins there: Roy and Lloyd Chelvaratnam, George Wambeck, George and Roy Braine.
Roy C and Lloyd were in the Tamil stream. Two Georges and two Roys.
Latin was compulsory from the Junior School Certificate
(JSC) class. All that memorizations were intimidating, so I was relieved when
the requirement was taken off when I reached the JSC class. But, Latin
prevailed in the daily mass conducted at the chapel, and in the hymns sung
there. I recited prayers and sang those hymns, without any idea of what was
being said or sung.
Sports
Mention Maris Stella and sports during my time, and
the name that springs to mind is Melvin Mallawaratchi. Tall and good looking, with a ready smile that lit
up his face, Melvin was already legendary when I entered school. Our age gap
was more than 10 years, so I had no opportunity to know him personally. All I
knew was that, whenever he batted, he lit up the cricket field. I, along with
other schoolmates, simply hero worshipped him.
Home games were thronged with enthusiastic
spectators. When Melvin came to bat and took his stance, a collective hush fell
on the ground. Soon, we were cheering
wildly as the ball sailed over our heads, over trees, onto the main road, or
sped along to the boundary in a flash. In his stride, Melvin was unstoppable.
In one game with St. Anthony’s College, Wattala, I
watched as he scored a blistering 96 in the second innings, having scored an
unbeaten century in the first. In 1957, playing
Ibbagamuwa Central, Melvin had scored 96 in only 20 minutes, which included two
sixers and 18 fours.
Melvin’s flamboyance did not stop at cricket. He was
also a champion sprinter. Maris Stella’s rival school in Negombo, St. Mary’s,
had a champion sprinter named Mello. At every meet where they met, he dueled it
out with Melvin in the 100-yards sprint, running neck to neck. We stood near
the finish line to see Melvin triumph every time.
Fate can be cruel, and I eventually ended up at the
receiving end of a Melvin onslaught. By 1968, I was at St. Mary’s College,
Chilaw, and playing First XI cricket. An inaugural big match was planned with
Maris Stella, and, a week in advance, an old boys team from Maris Stella came
to play us, obviously to check us out. That morning. Before the game, I saw
Melvin and another formidable Maris Stella cricketer, Gladstone Dias, in the
visiting team. Knowing what was to come, I became a nervous wreck.
Melvin lived up to his reputation, thrashing my
bowling over the rope many times. It was humiliating, and I was taken off after
only four overs. Not surprisingly, I was also dropped from the team for the big
match!
Eddie and Rukmani
By 1958, we had moved to a house across the road
from Maris Stella; 120 Colombo Road, if memory serves. Now, I only had a 5-minute
walk to school. It also meant that we went to Sunday service at the Maris Stella
college chapel.
Eddie Jayamanne and Rukmani Devi, husband and wife,
were at the peak of their popularity. She was the reigning queen of Sinhala
cinema, and the nightingale of Sinhala music. Eddie was less flamboyant, somewhat
short, with curly hair and spectacles. He
was a comedian. Even to a mere schoolboy, Rukmani’s luminous beauty and grace
was overwhelming.
So, on Sunday morning, a two-toned Buick convertible
would drive up regally, passing those majestic mara trees, Eddie at the wheel, and the couple would walk up to the
chapel. They did not put on airs, and behaved just like the rest of us, sitting
on the benches, singing hymns, and walking up to the altar and kneeling to receive
communion. After the service, they mingled and chatted. And nobody asked for
autographs!
I think Eddie and Rukmani were fond of Maris Stella.
They attended fund raising events, like the Marist Mela carnival and a football
match, which I recall vividly. Their nephew, Gamini Jayamanne, was my
classmate.
Scouting, and a school
take-over
Cousin George Wambeck and I were Cub Scouts, Wolf
Cubs as they were called those days. The chip-a-job weeks were the best,
because we got to roam all over Negombo and beyond, with no adult supervision.
Most people treated us kindly, giving 50 cents or even a generous rupee for the
odd “job” we did, and also a snack and a soft drink into the bargain.
One day, George and I, along with another friend,
visited a relative’s house in search of a “job”. He had been drinking, and was stretched
out on a hansiputuwa when we
dropped-in. Thinking of having some fun with us, he assumed the role of a drill
sergeant, lined us up, and put us through military “maneuvers”: attention,
right turn, quick march, left turn, halt. Scouting doesn’t teach marching, and
we were mere 8-year olds anyway. Our female cousins were watching from behind
curtains, and we could hear the giggles. But, the man did reward us well, and
also insisted that we have a meal before letting us go.
On another day, we walked down Temple Road to
“Jaya-Ruk”, the residence of Eddie and Rukmani. But they weren’t home.
Perhaps the most memorable event was planned take-over
of schools by the government, in 1960. The Catholic church was opposed to the
move. The conflict escalated, and, as a final resort, parents of students occupied
some classrooms, bringing mats and pots and pans. They cooked, ate, and slept
there. They came to “defend” the school, but from whom wasn’t certain. From a
new principal appointed by the government, from the police, the army?
Classes were suspended, and we enjoyed loitering
around the school, waiting for the confrontation to take place. Eventually, the
matter was resolved, but, in Negombo, only Maris Stella and Ave Maria Convent
remain as private fee-levying schools.
When my father moved to Nattandiya for work, my
brother and I travelled to school from there, by steam train. We wore khaki
pith hats and carried our books and lunch in little, cardboard suitcases. Every
day was an adventure. Later, when father moved to Madampe, we were boarded at
Maris Stella.
What I recall most from the boarding is the constant
hunger. We didn’t have much pocket money, so gouging at the tuck shop was not
an option. On Sundays, a long line of boarders was taken for a walk, most often
to the beach. Going through town, the aroma from the thosai boutiques was irresistible. Despite Bro.
Raphael, an Italian, keeping a sharp eye, boys would take turns to dart into
the boutiques and buying up the vadais.
Our pockets would be stuffed and we salivated at the fest to come.
In 1962, my last year at Marist Stella, my brother and I were boarded at a home on Temple Road. Bertram Fernando, a pioneer comedian of Sinhala cinema, also lived there. Every Sunday, a card game went on for hours on the verandah around a round table. A regular attendee was Eddie Jayamanne, who drove up in his Buick convertible.
All our teachers named earlier have long departed. One by one, former classmates are also passing away. When I drive by Maris Stella and the memories come flooding in. For some, the past is a foreign country. Not for me.
Even after 60 years, the school anthem that we sang so robustly is fresh in my mind.
“All ye
lads of Maris Stella proudly sing
May
your voices boldly ring
Face
life’s trials bravely
Act
upon your motto gravely
Iter
para tutum”
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