silver glow. In the daytime we would go a few miles north, to mile upon mile of sandy beaches at Nilaveli.At this time of the year, in the middle of the North East monsoon, the sea was particularly violent with gigantic rollers pounding the beach coupled with an extremely dangerous undertow, and we only would venture up to our waists so as not to be swept away by the current. But one bonus we would have after such a severe storm was the shores would be festooned with brightly coloured seashells, coweries, cones, spiral cones and occasionally the odd pearly chambered nautilus, and myriads of translucent clam shells in a whole range of colours. Walking barefoot on the beaches in the soft evening light picking up treasures spewed from the violent sea from the reefs off- shore was a pleasure that sadly future generations will never see again after the plunder that mass tourism and cheap air travel has caused. All this we had for ourselves with not a sole in sight apart from the odd fishermen in their dugouts or catamarans that they would launch off the beach. The very word catamaran is from the Tamil ‘Kata - marram’ tied-tree. The main dugout was tradionally made from mango wood which was hard relatively light and resisistant to warping. Above the dugout part which was very narrow at its uppermost , boards were tied on vertically to extend the freeboard and on these were a few planks for seats. On one side two strong curved branches were hashed onto to a shaped outrigger to give stability and with a simple sail, the boat could perform remarkably well in the rough monsoon storms, bearing in mind that they were never many miles from shore. The fishermen’s life was hard and over the coming years with the introduction of more modern methods of boat design, nets and nylon lines, it was to get harder and harder with overfishing. In the late afternoon we would take the camera and binoculars and stroll in the gentle setting sun walking along on the bund of one of the many “irrigation tanks” around Trinco. These tanks had been originally built centuries earlier by the Tamil and Sinhalese Kings by damming rivers and creating large inland shallow lakes for the irrigation of their paddy fields. Over the centuries most had been abandoned and had reverted to jungle but with the advent of cheap mechanical earthmoving equipment they had been restored as well as many great new schemes created. They were a fantastic source of wild life especially every concievable sort of bird. One of the real joys of Ceylon was the fact that the local people respected birds and did not as a rule eat them. As a result we could stroll on the bunds in the evening with huge flocks of parrots screeching overhead, with a huge variety of teal, duck , and coots and other water fowl. Kingfishers were everywhere from the rare giant one that was about the size of an English pigeon, to the tiniest ones iridescent blue and not much bigger than a wren. Then there was the hovering black and white pied kingfisher which when it saw its prey would fold its wings and drop like a bomb and catch it and fly away. The huge wild fig trees were home to countless green and imperial pigeons and always circling around high above it all were the brahminy kites and other eagles. Monkeys of course abounded everywhere particularly the black faced langur or wanderoo but there were in many places large troops of small macaques which were reddish with white faces and looked old and wizened in appearance. So we passed our time in this ideal. About three days after our arrival one afternoon we had a newly weds rumpus. I have no recollection at all what caused it, but obviously I must have made some remark or done something out of turn. Suddenly as I was sitting by the bed Jill picked up a vase and flung it at me! I ducked and it hit the wall and broke into smithereens. I thought in a flash , “Oh my God, I have got this girl out 5,000 miles from England and am so thrilled to have married her, and now after only three days it all over. Surely this must be the shortest marriage ever”.
But I need not have worried, the crisis was like a tropical storm with lightening and thunder and immediately afterwards bright sunshine. We kissed and made it up. I just had to learn to try harder, and over the next nearly 50 years or so there were many more sudden explosions from both of us, which have been like safety valves of steam that were never allowed to develop into anything too serious. I realised more and more what a huge shock it was for her to have to take in suddenly a completely different way of life, and how much help she needed from me in this early transitional period. At that time in the mid fifties, Britain still maintained the Naval base at Trincomalee. There was in an area known as the dockyard on Ostenberg on the other side of the harbour which was like a mini-bit of England set in the tropical heat. We had many friends among the naval personnel , and visiting the dockyard was like a step into suburbia. It was the small things that struck one. Everything was orderly and done impeccably. The road edges were concreted , the Naval Hospital was immaculate. In the officers quarters, the floors gleamed with a mirror polish, and the service men had messes that oozed brasso, polish and whitewash on the outside stones. In Admiralty House the admiral lorded it over both the base and the fleet when in port, and meanwhile the Senior British Naval Officer would knock back pink gins in Chardon Lodge, the house that Father and Hugh Gordon had built in the nineteen thirties and had been commandeered from us during the war. So that much as we enjoyed our life at Trinco for its relaxation, the golden beaches, the deepsea fishing, hand lining at night, and the walks around the tanks, there was also the attraction of meeting ordinary English folk who had no connection with planting but were engaged in maintaining the last sad remnants of the dying Empire.
