looked white as if it had snowed. Father had quickly photographed it and showed me these rare snaps. In the 40 years that he had been in Ceylon he had never ever seen anything like it, even on properties at much higher elevations. We toured around the Estate finally finishing up at the factory where the last of the pluckers were weighing off their baskets of leaf before going home. Then men collected up the soft apple green tangy leaf and spread it on “tats” of hessian to wither over night, helped by two 10 ft aerofoil fans blowing a constant stream of moving air over the surface. Once the leaf had withered to half its weight a process that took about 14 hours or so, it would then be taken down and passed to the rolling room for processing as mentioned before.
When we got back to the bungalow as evening fell, a car tore up the driveway, screeched to a sudden halt, tearing apart the gravel road. The door slammed and there in front of me was “Wee Mac!” bubbling and shaking with impatient vitality. MacIntryre, the Manager of Downside, Craigforest, Braughing and Hugoland was a man in his mid fifties, and once I had completed my creeping would become my future boss. I had of course known him as child but now our relationship would become a businesslike one. He was a Scotsman from Portsoy in Banff, situated on the northern coast half way between Inverness and Aberdeen, and in manner was like a piston constantly pressing and pushing forwards in a never ending impulsive action. Steam seemed to emanate from his ears and he spoke fast and staccato like a machine gun with a constant energetic impatience in his broad soft Scottish accent. He adored and greatly respected Father, more especially so whilst he was helping himself liberally to his whisky which he knocked back in copious quantities, all the time with a constant cigarette in his mouth. As one cigarette burnt out, he would grab another from his tin of 50 Craven A’s which he had already placed on the drinks table, then fumble in all his pockets tapping both sides of his chest until he had eventually found his lighter, and then with a shaking vibrating hand would attempt to re- light his new fag. This performance continued throughout the evening! We all had a good get together and I quickly got the impression that although he was a hard man, very exacting, and very quarrelsome and also a perfectionist, that we would get along together well as we both immediately had a respect for each other. He had that natural sympathy which that normally only comes to those that have had a poor childhood and a frugal and hard upbringing. Also he had undergone very tough times in his early days in Ceylon in the sweltering low country, rubber planting under some very hard Scots taskmasters. Mac was always fighting, quarrelling and arguing with staff, Sinhalese villagers that were disrespectful, and planters that irritated him. He had numerous enemies, but even more close friends, and next day when he took me for a drive in his Land Rover to show me Downside, one could see that here was a typical hard pioneering type of man of the very sort that had built up the Ceylon Tea Industry from scratch. He really commanded my respect as a self made man who had made good and had high ethics. The following afternoon was to be a tricky one, as I long had anticipated apprehensively, when I was taken up the hill to visit Charlie and Father’s paramour Lilian Paterson. She was now in her mid - fifties, and was in their new bungalow built recently about a 1/4 mile from the old rambling Allagolla one. Tea had been doing very well, and no expense had been spared in its construction nor in the elaborate landscaping of their garden which was immaculate, and full of interesting plants in little tropical glades ponds and fantasies. The house was beautifully furnished in a tasteful style with lots of old Dutch antique furniture. Festooned on the walls were a huge array of stuffed animal heads, trophies of Charlie and Hubert’s trips from their hunting lodge in the low country at Madulla. Leopard, wild boar, sambhur elk, and spotted deer all gazed down on us in a forlorn sorrowful manner which in a way I felt lent a sober tone to my meeting. I was polite, correct and reserved at the meeting, but later that evening as we drove home I said very kindly but very firmly to Father, that now that I had come out to work for him I wanted clear parameters drawn. Under no circumstances did I want our Hugoland Bungalow to become a place of approval for his lover, whilst my Mother was in England alone. I told him that I would always behave all the time as though she were present, and whilst I would always stay polite in Lilian’s presence either at her home or elsewhere, that politeness did not stretch to entertaining her at parties in our home. Father was a bit taken aback at this staunch attitude, but I thought that from the outset it was far better for all that there was no misunderstanding of my position and where my true loyalties lay. After all whatever happens in a family, ones own Mother’s feelings are paramount, and she must be treated with the respect and love due to a Goddess with everyone else having to take a lower position in the “pecking order”. If there is any ambiguity on this point of loyalty, the result can only be a disaster for all concerned as then one has mortgaged ones honour and self respect and that was something I could never ever contemplate. When we finally returned to Hugoland I walked around the garden in the dark, the fireflies sparkling in the orange trees, and I was well satisfied that I had put down my marker, and also that Father reluctantly had accepted and understood my position.
The following morning we rose early and left Hugoland at 5 o’clock for
the 9 hour drive to the port of Trincomalee in the north of the island.
There was a magical air as Adakan our Tamil driver started our Hillman Minx car, loaded with supplies for a weeks stay at the coast. By leaving early in the cool of the day, driving was easier with the roads upcountry free of all the traffic, bullocks, dogs and people who wandered all over the place. Also one saw nocturnal animals like ring tailed civet cats, jackals, mouse deer, owls and nightjars which gave one a tingle of expectant surprise as they were picked up by the headlights of the car as it swung around a corner. Then of course we also saw the firey clouds as the tropical sun rose throwing great shafts of light and making the high
clouds glow like burning coals. We had a stop 3 hours later in Kandy for
breakfast at the Queen’s Hotel by the lake, before setting forth through
the lush vegetation of Matale with its spices, cocoa and rubber
plantations. Then further on to Dambulla which was the last outpost of
cultivation before heading north through 80 miles of virgin dry zone
jungle to Trincomalee. The jungle there in many ways was rather
