Growing Up Within Galle Fort in the 1950s

BC aka Bunchy Rahuman: “Essay One – Galle Fort: Introductory Kick Off to start the ball rolling”

I was born one morn when the sun didn’t shine: at one hour past midnight, how can the sun shine? yakku guss nagina welave’; at a time when demons climb back to their tree-top abodes. Midwife had me out at 1.00 a.m. at No. 1, Parawa Street, a stone’s throw [smallish stone lobbed by strongish arm] from the sea, in my beloved Fort, encircled by sea, in the ancient sea-farer town of Galle.

The Fort sits upon a peninsular rock mound as an assertive extension at the west end of the bay of Galle [natural] harbour. The area opposite the Fort was excavated along the full width of the peninsula, creating a little island of a Fort, three sides facing the sea and an extension of sea into a moat filled in by the sea, at front. Well before my birth, the moat created by the Dutch was filled out by their British successors and the fort ceased to be encircled by sea. Yet, I did say Fort encircled by sea while it was no longer true when I was born! Reader please note: I am a tweaker of facts to achieve effect or overcome gaps in information and other exigencies. but no lies – cross my heart and hope to die.

All my schooldays, I was at Lighthouse Street which formed a ‘Y’ axis line for the Fort. Most Fort lads and I schooled at St Aloysius’ College as did Michael Roberts. Michael was a mental + physical power-house son of a smart and fit British Civil Servant father of West Indian roots. Michael had many high achiever sisters and lived at Middle Street which crosses Lighthouse Street [somewhat off middle].

The same year Michael became captain of Murphy House in our school, I joined [at grade 1]. My house was also Murphy – common denominator for all Fort lads. Under the stewardship of Michael, our house scored highest all-round points in both sports and studies for the year; he organized a Murphy House Day and oversaw the entire event ensuring that each and every Murphy-ite participated and enjoyed himself. I wasn’t left out though aged just six and only nearing completion of my first year at school.

My prize that day on winning the Lime Race was a ‘trophy’ [still have it, engraved with my name, and the title Lime Race]. Murphy House Day was enormous fun – among other amusements, watching a weird, utterly novel three-legged race and a hilarious fancy dress exchange race by the seniors [some in female garb]. It was a whole day of fun and great joy for us kids no less than for the bigger boys.

Michael the steadfast Fort-Gallian possibly sees me as (admittedly flyweight), flag carrier, to prod me on toward a task of writing essays on Relevantiae of the Fort and of Galle. Presumably, I am to access information and histories on events and artifacts that only older ‘Fort-born’ codgers could ferret out and record for posterity. Of course, being a maverick, my submissions can be expected to be a willy nilly record of impressions, thoughts, experiences, anecdotes and wild digressions as well.

This is the first of my essays with Galle Fort as focal point and source of anecdote. I presume by now readers will have gathered that terms such as focal point and source of anecdote will be as clay in my hands – but I do venture that every essay I pen will relate to some little nut, bolt, church, cobblestone, catacomb, dungeon, rickshaw or whatever connected with Fort. In a sense it will be biographical, but alas! I ‘emigrated’ at age nineteen to Colombo via Peradeniya [that’s another story] but was prudent enough to retain ‘dual constituent status’ with regular visits to Galle.

A few topics in forthcoming essays: A replica for the old lighthouse that stood at end of Lighthouse Street? Gun carriage, center post and rails at the different Bastions during World War II? Significance of the Breadfruit tree adjoining the pilot’s bungalow? Zero salinity of water in well beside the Muslim Saint’s grave at Bathiri cove? Windmill in the Fort, Butterfly bridge and the canal under it that eventually discharges via what has come to be nicknamed the stupid canal but which should have been named genius canal. First church started by Portuguese but taken over and completed by the Dutch Wild Card – Morris Minor Taxi & the Accountant who should have been appointed Auditor General.

******

EDITOR’S NOTE: I refrained from my usual policy of deploying highlights because that would interfere with Bunchy’s style. And let me admit here to being stunned by Bunchy’s reference to “Murphy House Day.” I had totally forgotten that event in the St. Aloysius College premises. But can now assert that Shiraz Cassim, Feizal and Sarri Junaid from the Fort were among the key organisers. I recall now that it involved considerable organisational endeavour; but went off well. Hodi Heleyi Heliyyiyahh ….