acquaintance and the joy that he had given us all. We changed our tiny black austin A30 for a new sage green Morris Minor Tourer with a soft top. It was a real joy to drive up the winding hill roads, with the roof open in the evenings in the balmy tropical air and it enabled us to have a much greater and fuller and more enjoyable social life. And we certainly enjoyed ourselves to the full at tennis parties and gala dances in full evening dress at the Uva Club in Badulla and in the other direction at Dickson’s Corner. Here one evening in the dry weather we were returning home at about eleven o’clock at night and as we passed Delmar Estate there was a huge Tamil “Poosay” with a large procession of coolies carrying torches and beating tom-toms and drums. We drew the car in on the side of the narrow road to allow the procession to pass and we saw that they were drawing uphill on the 1-in- 12 slope a chariot with four large clumsy heavy wooden wheels with the effigy of Carly the God of life and destruction inside. But the chariot was not simply being pulled along as one would imagine. From it were about a dozen ropes attached, and at the other end large hooks were imbedded into the skin on the backs of those who were drawing it pulling out their skin and flesh about 6 or 9inches out in long strips as they toiled heaving it up the steep gradient. Jill was so sickened that she collapsed in the car turning her head away, as she could not bear to look at the spectacle. They seemed to be in no pain, totally hypnotised and entranced with the drumming from any sense of feeling whatsoever. There was not a drop of blood either. A month or so later there was a similar episode at Hugoland Bungalow when shortly after lunch the Tamils came and performed another Poosay dance on our lawn and on the doorstep of our verandah. This time some of the men had stuck skewers into their flesh and in one case a man had his tongue drawn right out with a large meat skewer stuck right through the back of it, across the back of his lips through all the mass of veins and arteries of that organ, and yet there was not a drop of blood and he appeared to be in no pain at all as he danced in a trance and writhed to the drums. They were praying for rain and as it so happened, an hour later it did rain though not a great deal. But when one thinks of the pain of mistakenly biting the tip of ones tongue, and here was a man with a thick dirty skewer plunged right through the back of it with no blood and no visible pain at all, one could not but marvel and wonder. One morning in the middle of the dry weather when Peter was just over 2 years old, I decided to take him for his first proper haircut at the barbers in the Grand Hotel in Nuwara Eliya. We left home in the cool dry wind before the sun had really started to warm up the withered landscape. As we climbed up from Welimada after a few miles, the little boy let out a deafening screech of pain whilst clutching his upper left arm. I stopped the car immediately to see what was the matter, and to my horror found that a large hornet had blown in through the window into his open neck shirt and had got under the arm of his pullover and then had stung him four times in a square. As I looked the insect flew off, and I was left wondering what sort of help I could give the poor child in the middle of no-where. I suddenly remembered that there was a Sinhalese village a couple of miles on and I drove there at a frantic speed, and saw that there was a native Ayurvedic clinic. I pulled up the car and in my most hurried Sinhalese, asked him if he had some ammonia for the child’s hornet sting. The physician looked at me and shook his head, whilst poor Peter was yelling his heart out. He stepped into the front of the next door caddie and picked up a fresh areca nut which they use with the beetle leaf for narcotic chewing. With his knife he ripped open the fibrous fresh wet husk, twisted it really hard so that a few drops of liquid sap oozed out straight onto the swellings. The very moment that the drop touched each sting, Peter stopped crying, I dried his eyes and profusely thanked the vederala for his ancient and most effective herbal knowledge and his miraculous cure, far quicker acting than any western medicine that one could have got from an English chemists. We continued our journey and had our haircuts, with no further sign of any pain whatsoever. In November we were back into the cold rainy season. Our tight fisted friend Ian Ritchie invited us all over for Guy Fawkes fireworks at his house, but we were all asked to bring our own fireworks. About 4 other young bachelors turned up including a couple of rather wild Scots on a cold, misty, drizzly, rainy night. Jill was the only woman present to add colour to the company. Ian had just had his sitting room redecorated and was very proudly showing us his room at one end, where he had a large roaring wood fire blazing away which gave a pleasant warmth and a nice cheer to the cold damp occasion. Drinks flowed round liberally with the young Scots drinking more than their fair share, until he said : “Well I think it is time to set off the fireworks now”. On this a chap called MacCullom, rose and picked up all the boxes of fireworks that had been placed on the table , walked over to the fire and put them all on top of the blazing logs. Someone grabbed Ian laughing. “ Well you said set them off and we have!”. “You Bloody Fools you’ll burn the place down , and I’ll get the sack” he shouted red with rage. In the meantime the fireworks had caught light and the whole room was filled with the most penetrating suffocating smoke and one could only dimly see through it, the fire burning magenta, green and violet in a distant glow with the odd bang. It was a mad laugh and actually apart from a lot of soot and mess the room was not too worse for wear, especially after a few more beers! Many of these young Scots were real tearaways always up to some mischief or other. Some were terrors on fancying the young tamil and sinhalese girls, others were prone to the booze. They were all hard working, and later when they left Ceylon many of the wildest with women and drink seem to have gained high positions in the Presbyterian Church in Scotland! There were always escapades such as the grand wedding in Bogawantalawa when Black Mac went into the garden, picked up a hive of bees and opened the lid in the middle of the Reception. Dorothy Gordon the Dowager got stung and she berated him in the best Aussie turn of phrase. Then there was the party in Colombo when again too much for drink that they decided to stay on a bit longer, and for an excuse someone sent a telegram back to one of their wives on the Estate in Uva : “Deeply regret poor John passed away suddenly yesterday. Coffin and ourselves returning to-morrow by train to Haputale”. They went on drinking completely forgetting of just what they had done until the moment the train drew in to the station and there was a whole party of planters consoling his wife dressed in black awaiting the train in full mourning. They dived out on the opposite side of the carriage, and ran down the rail when the “dead man” was spotted tearing off into the sidings. All very typical of wild but delightfully robust types, who gave a colour and sparkle to the industry and who without exception were greatly admired by the Sinhalese with whom they had a lot in common when it came to enjoyment. Father for instance told a story of a wedding reception with the Daughter of the David Devithotawela one of the Sinhalese Kandyan noblemen in our area. Everyone had far too much for drink and as it was a long drive a party decided to spend the night in Welimada Resthouse. Father said that when he got to his room with his head spinning with alcohol, he suddenly saw that the mosquito net of his bed was covered with an enormous swarm of bees. “ Halangoda”, he shouted to his Sinhalese friend “Help I cant sleep here with this swarm”. He came pushed Father back in and turned the key locking him in the room with the swarm! There was no way out, as the windows were barred as is usual against thieves, and so he spent the night with the swarm and with all the whisky was off in a deep sleep till morning, when he shouted again. This time Halangoda appeared and was most apologetic at what he had done the night before.

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Mongoose twins Jill & Pitch.