This issue of "The Johnian" will be the last issue for the year 1996. In this issue we have included an article by Mr.J.G.Aseerwatham, who had been an Old Boy and Teacher of St. John's., "Life's like that"and a letter from the past Principa1 of St.John's detailing damages to the College in the recent conflict. A few pictures of past Principals (since 1925 to 1966), old and present building structures of St.John's and an oldest photo of our cricket team are also included. I should thank Mr.Percy Handy for providing me with those photos. Let me also thank Mano and Tulin for their help in the publication of this bulletin.
Thank you.
Editor
P. Devendran
The last edition of 'The Johnian' gave us the heartening news that St John's College, that had perforce to close down due to the escalation of the war and the exodus of the people, had been restarted. It was a much welcome news that ended an eight-month period of anxiety and concern as to the fate of our beloved schools. We have yet to receive a more detailed account of the state of the Institution as of now, not knowing whether it has suffered damage or loss and whether all or only a percentage of the staff and students had rejoined the school. It is our fervent hope that our College had not suffered great damage and loss. Whatever it may be, on a return to the familiar surroundings the staff and students would face the challenge of restoration and reversion of normalcy. We salute them that are now engaged in this difficult task, beset as they are with scarcities of every sort necessary for the rebuilding work. Our hearts go out to them and wish them well and pray that what they rebuild may not be destroyed in the next round of warfare. May God forbid it.
It is probable that some things belonging to the school might have got lost during this period when the school remained unprotected but my fervent hope is that the only existing collection of all the Annual College Magazines, the series beginning wlth the first volume published in the year 1906 has survived. This collection was preserved in the College Library and is indeed a remarkable repository of the history of not only our College itself but also of the world outside for it carried, in addition to what pertained to the school, a general purview of all the important events, educational, social and political. I came to appreciate this collection of the College Magazines when in my effort to contribute an article on the extra-curricular activities in the College over the years, I resorted to the material published in these volumes and I had the opportunity to go through every one of them. In this process I came across little known snippets of history. Who would knew but for this collection that when Twynham Museum was built, (now it is used as the College Administration Block), there was placed within the foundation a time capsule, (probably a box containing items of historical interest) that would throw light on the life of the community and its history. One hopes that if and when this building gives way to another this item would be recovered intact. Or who would know that a group of families who traditionally worked in brassware and lived in Nallur decided to migrate south and settled down in a place near Panadura and called their village settlement Nalluruwa.As they were Christians it is recorded that the Nallur Parish Priest journeyed once a month or so to minister to them. In Iike manner there are many items and material to be found in this collection of magazines that are truly invaluable and therefore deserve special consideration towards preserving this irreplaceable collection for all time
When our Alma Mater restarts its life after a lapse of time it is good time to ponder on the uniqueness of our school and ensure that the future generation of staff and students are made aware of it. Time and again students in our time were told that St John's had jealously preserved its high traditions These traditions are like the unwritten conventions of the British Constitution, never written down, rarely spoken about but always acted upon. St John's has always maintained a high standard of discipline, in and out of the classroom and outside the school and school hours. As students we were an example of orderliness wherever we happened to be. We were called upon to show the true spirit of sportsmanship. The school provided a great variety of opportunities for the student to participate in activities such as sports and games, debating societies, drama, music, scouting, social service etc. In all these activities one would find the imprint of the school traditions of giving one's best, not only for one's own sake, but for the good name of the school.
To me who had experienced life at St John's both as a student and then as a teacher, it would appear that the uniqueness of St John's and the quality of life it endows to those who study and work therein is that all are involved in the pursuit of excellence in every field of activity, academic and non- academic and strive hard, not only for personal success, but to embellish the name of St John's. Anything that we organised as a school, whether it be the Annual Prize Giving or staging of a drama, or the variety of inter school competitions and events, the uppermost determining factor was the high standards and traditions set up by the school over the years and everyone, student and teachers gave their utmost towards that end. On such occasions, one could feel the oneness of the school community and makes up the stuff that fond memories are made of. Our strong attachment to our school arises from this fellowship. So it is our hope that these traditions which spring from one common factor, the pursuit of excellence - will pervade the activities of our much loved school in the years to come and in its fulfilment there will always be heard the full throated refrain "St John's uprears her crest on high".
Our Bishop was invited by the government to visit Jaffna to look into the schools and churches. He asked a few of us to join him. I went along as the Chairman of the Governing Body of CMS Schools to look into our three schools. The Ven. Sarvanandan, came along on his visit to Jaffna as Archdeacon to look into the churches. Mrs. Jeyaweerasingham, Principal of Chundikuli Girls' College, came along to hand over to the Acting Principal. Her husband Mr. Jeyaweerasingham was invited to join as a Civil Engineer to assess the damage and Rev. Nesakumar who is now a refugee in Kilinochchi joined as he is to go back to take charge of St. John's Jaffna.
We flew down, courtesy of the army on the 17th of June and returned on the l9th. When I went over to Jaffna on 1 Jan. 1988 to take over as Principal of St. John's College, Jaffna, there were about 25 army check points from the airport to Jaffna Town. This time too, it was the same check points, except that it was the IPKF then and the Sri Lankan Army this time. When I went to my school then, many of the buildings were damaged by the 1987 war. This time too it was the same, only worse.
What we saw was more than we had imagined. The whole place is devastated and about 80% of the houses are destroyed or damaged. Most of the people have lost all or most of their belongings. But after being in refugee camps for over six months, the people are happy to be back and start their lives all over again. Of the churches, St. James's Nallur, is the worst hit, both the Church and the Vicarage. St. Mary's Kopay has been hit, and the Vicarage and Parish Hall are badly damaged. St. John's Church, Chundikuli, is slightly damaged, but the roof being so steep, the tiles have all come down for the nearby blast. Urumpirai Church and Christ Church Jaffna, had been destroyed earlier and need to be rebuilt. Of the schools, St. John's is the worst hit, with about 10 buildings damaged, three of them badly. The damage to Chundikuli Girls' College is not that bad. Nuffield School for the Deaf and Blind, Kaithady, was slightly damaged. The total cost to the repairs is estimated by the Civil Engineer to be about Rs. 6 million to 7 million. As the people were forced to evacuate in Oct. 1995, they left their houses with only what they could carry on their long trek to refugee camps. Most of their things have been looted. In spite of all this, the mood of the people is one of joy and relief. Those who evacuated to various parts of the peninsula have been able to return to their homes, as the army is now in control.
But those who evacuated to the mainland, mainly to Kilinochchi are unable to get back. Schools, although damaged, have started to function. St. John's and Chundikuli have a strength of about 60% of teachers and students and the number is picking up by the day. Food is available, but the distribution system being inadequate, the CWE is unable to cope, and people buy from the CWE and sell at exorbitant prices. We were told that the problem is unloading at Kankesanthurai with just the one birth available. Only when road transport is restored, will there be free flow of food and all other commodities. The most urgent need is for cement and tile/asbestos sheets for roofing. When this is freely available, the repair work can be expedited. We were told that there is no demand for petrol as all cars and three-wheelers have been converted to kerosene. But kerosene sells at Rs. 100 per litre, Civil administration and police have been re-established.
The Sri Lankan Army, unlike in the past, has been most considerate to the civilians and one is able to see the good rapport between the army and the civilians. The army has made every effort to befriend the people and are there now not as rulers, but as liberators. People have responded well. Government and international assistance is needed in a big way to rebuild and one is confident that it will be forthcoming. May be we too should, as a church, do what we can, to help our fellow churches in Jaffna. It would be a very welcome gesture.
It was cool enough in the mornings, the monsoon months. By Christmas, the normally tepid water in the well was even cold and, not being brackish like it was along the coast, it was drinkable without having to drink half a dozen half-limes in it to drown out the fish oil taste.
It stayed cool too almost till ten o'clock despite the warm breeze that followed the frequent showers. My wet face, shoulders and thighs would be fanned dry within a mile or two as I cycled, cycled, cycled along the empty roads that snaked across the bare, scrubby land of the interior of the peninsula. Completely naked children from villages where schools and clinics were deemed taboo would chase alongside me for hundred yards, screaming with perfect delight. At night I added a thin cotton blanket to the sheet to ward off pre dawn chills.
At dawn the shadows of the palmyras were thick black stripes across the red sand road that led from the compound to the village street.
The compound was always quiet early morning. Behind my small house, a man and some women had been at work in the tobacco plantation since seven. Occasionally they called to each other across the clearing. In the stillness, the rattle of the old fridge was enough to make me jump until all of a sudden All India radio's Tamil service, relayed from Madras, would blare out from the main house, thirty yards away obliterating the calm silence
I ate my breakfast of boiled egg and yesterday evening's bread spread with margarine and slowly savoured the one locally available luxury, Indian Nescafe care of the smuggler mudalali whose fortress of a house towered over the palmyrah fences at the junction. Eight o'clock the sea breeze would be starting to sweep across the top of the peninsula. I hurriedly locked the house and balancing my foolscap notebook on the handle bars of the bike I had sent by train from Kandy, began the ten mile cycle over the flat - as - Holland landscape of Vaddukoddai which didn't quite rhyme with "never say die".
Why "never say die"? Well for one thing, besides myself the only other members of the female sex who cycled in Jaffna was the wife of the Japanese missionary. Once two teenage boys had leapt on me from behind the gate posts of Tellipallai Maha Vidyalayam, pulling me off the cycle into the ditch. Recognising them as brahmins by their fair fat faces and long oiled hair tied in buns, I dusted my knees and pulled myself up to my full diminutive height to deliver a fluent lecture on the moral superiority of Gandhian "passive resistance" over all other tried methods of physical dissent. Then having retrieved my ditched bike, I resumed my journey inwardly seething. And for another thing, girls, bicycles were not available in Sri Lanka at the time the sedate ladies cycle, complete with basket and baby seat which the missionary's wife rode, had been imported from Japan - so the crossbar on my boys' sports bike posed an ever present threat: one mistake at speed on a pot holed road could bring tears to my eyes.
The first mile was a maze of turnings, left and right. Then emerging out of this cloistered pocket of palmyrah fenced suburbia, I was suddenly in the relatively wide open space of the main road, passing Myliddy Co-operative and the house close to the Co-operative where the albino boy cowered in the shade at the rear of the verandah. His skin was white as beach sand and leeched by poya moonlight. His hair was as bleach blonde as a western pop star's. Every day he stared at me going past. Every day his pink eyes crinkled against the early rays of sunshine and his cracked, blistered lips parted in a half smile. I didn't think he smiled too often but ours was a mutual sympathy freak to freak.
Now I was on the metalled and tarred Palaly Tellipallai road, cambered from the centre. I hugged the left side to avoid the buses and bullock carts, passing a stream of pedestrians mainly gnarled, wizened women.
Their exposed breasts sagging, faded cloths pulled so tight round their waists, the loose folds of skin formed a runnel for the sweat to roll down their spines. Most were landless labourers on their way to chillie plantations or the paddy field whose half grown, waving sheaves shimmered like emerald oases between dense black patches of palmyrah forest. A few carried baskets of fish or vegetables on their heads. The die hard "topless" women of Jaffna wore their caste status with dogged pride. But what kind of irony was it that these gritty old women should share the same badge of seminudity as the young,nubile spoilt gadflies of modern western culture?
There close-face men, in weathered pyjama sarongs, could be seen seated on bus floors with sacks of rice, onions or chillies hugged to their bare ribs. They could wear no shirt, no towel, no banian. "High" caste men, claiming their right to the bus seats or cycling alongside, shirts flapping, towel thrown casually about the neck or wrapped turban style round the head, seemed to carry their sartorial privileges with equable self esteem. Cycling home in the evenings, I would see vellala men in their flimsy hip hugging silk vertis, white kurtas billowing, going in to the cavernous interior of a kovil, an orthodox brahmin hindu temple, whose outer walls, painted with fat, cherry red stripes, seemed to me to belong more to a gigantic ice cream parlour than a religious edifice, especially one that took itself and its "rights" so seriously. From behind high walls came the hysterical whine of the nadaswaram accompanied by a frenzy of drumming. Sometimes this exotic cacophony would be overlaid by the wonderfully fluid staccato of a duet of female temple singers.
Carnatic singing my introduction to that esoteric musical form had come the first Sunday I spent in Jaffna. From a house hidden somewhere behind a palmyrah grove, the sleepy afternoon silence had been split by a long sinuous phrase barely interpolated by breaths, from a man a tenor in a mellifluous roll of sound eliding from one note to another at great speed.After the barest of pauses, this was followed by the voice of his girl pupil, but her light contralto, while imitating precisely his phrasing, had produced a string of notes as lightly fluttering as the strings of butterflies that coursed through Kandy town during the Sri Pada season.
The palmyrah creaks through those Sunday afternoons like the masts of old sailing barques.
Weeks later the rains had almost ceased and it was Thai Pongal harvest home. At six in the morning, on the cement slab that served as rice drier by day and patio by night, a magical design was being created by my young neighbour from the main house. Half bending half squatting her gold bangles jingling, she poured perfectly executed spirals from slender bamboo pipettes. Beside her were ranged little containers of coloured rice flours, turquoise, orange, scarlet, yellow, white and royal blue from which she drew her ever more intricate "yantra" a mystic ground of pentangles and circles within an endlessly connected, whorled symmetry: the eternal knot. In the centre of the "yantra" was a small fire made of a few sticks of wood contained within a tripod of bricks. Over it an aluminium pot bubbled with Pongal "cunjee" sticky mess of rice, cadju treacle, sultanas, milk and ghee the original, enriched version of my favourite childhood tinned pudding "Ambrosia Creamed Rice".
My neighbour's classic "Nefertiti" profile exposed by her tightly drawn, oiled hair never ceased to amaze me. But this morning gold glinted from every part of her neck, ears, nose, fingers, wrists, ankles, toes. Golden threads woven into the crimson of her sari flashed in the first apricot rays of the sun. In the clear lawn of light she seemed to have fallen from another planet. I sat on the back step, clutching my knees, to admire her dexterity. The culture gap yawned between us but I could discern this much: she was giving of her religion and her culture to me the outsider, the alien and in so doing was bringing merit to her house hold and honour to herself. The web of an ancient tradition momentarily enfolded us both, host and guest: traditional whose nuances were as delicate and yet immutable as skeins, of spider's silk.
But there was something else at work as well plain old gratitude. And why should she be grateful to me? Because for one hour each weekday evening I had listened nodding intermittently usually to cover my embarrassment at being totally non plussed but occasionally with genuine sympathy as she had poured out her troubles to me in Tamil. I had scarcely understood a phrase but the spirit of her woes had come as a great wave of words, as soaked in sorrow as sea in brine,drenching me and filling my dreams at night with obscure fears and jagged images. Her huge black eyes would burn into mine or else she would stare at the red cement floor, twisting her slender brown fingers, before starting on another torrent of misery and regret. I sipped the Nescafe unobtrusively. She had carried it in both hands across the compound, great bars of shadow falling from the surrounding palmyrahs. Her bare feet had made no sound; she did not wear anklets, and as the sun had died blood red behind the giant fan shaped parchment leaves, I would hear a faint knock at my door.
There she was, cup and saucer in both hands, smiling I would invite her in. Ask her to sit. The coffee was always too milky, too sweet and too cool. I drank it dutifully, listening to the rise and fall of her voice; taut with misery at first and then softening with nostalgia amidst the gathering dusk. Cataracts of Tamil phrases, loaded with painful emotion, rained around me. Every now and then I would recognise a word I could translate: I would linger on it wonderingly. After an hour, I was trying in vain to piece together these assorted clues as more and more words spun past me into oblivion.
There was no comfort I could give. An hour would pass. I was growing weary with keeping so still. The backs of my knees were pasted to the rough plastic of the arm chair. I had studied small yellowing news-print in Jaffna College archives all day, making notes until my wrist and fingers had turned to jelly. And then cycled the ten miles back to Kurumpacciddy in 90 degree heat. I would find myself with wishing that she would be quickly purged of her sorrow and would leave me in peace. But I hadn't the heart to cut her off in mid flow and send her away. She was so very sad. And so very beautiful. And to whom else could she say these things? So we would sit on in the almost dark: she endlessly talking and I steeled by politeness, surreptitiously scratching my mosquito bites: not daring to turn on the light for although it would break the spell and I would be released, she would have to face my uncomprehending stare and in the knowledge of her utter isolation, would have to return across the compound to her fountain of sadness and drink of it again.
For this woman, my age or a year younger twenty one perhaps with a three year old son and a baby girl still suckling at her breast had made a gesture the enormity of whose consequences I could only dimly imagine. She had bowed before Kama, the God of desire: she had broken every rule in this society bound by the iron hoops of cast "distinction" (and note how that cunningly chosen word avoids the opprobrium associated with "discrimination" or "prejudice") by running away, by marrying "beneath" her and if she hadn't been burnt or stoned to death (for this was nearly the last quarter of the 20th century and these were the highly educated and cultured Jaffnese) she was being driven inch by inch, like nail by the sledgehammer of intolerance, into a wall of suicidal despair. How could I join the side of the glittering eyes bigots and turn on the light? No, I couldn't. Nor couId I take any solace from the glare of the electric light for wasn't all this "modern" science yet another falsehood, yet another and maybe even more insidious form of cultural totalitarianism?
But part of me was longing for silence and when she left finally. passing on her bare soles the well, its long boom lit by a swinging bulb, I could go to the back door and sit on the step and listen to the palmyrahs creak and the tobacco leaves swish in the small plantation and gaze at the limpid stars, pink, green, orange, blue, as rich and bright as lamps, hanging there in the great vault of the sky and feel some kind of peace come down at least not just on me but on all the desperate inhabitants of this fractured, tortured society in this oh. so beautiful and oh, so tragic land.
Preman's wife to Preman. " Darling see how our neighbour's wife kisses good bye to his wife when he goes for work every morning, Why can't you also do that"
Preman. " What nonsense, how can I do that when I do not know her well"
Bala was one of the eye witnesses to a car accident which took place near his residence.
Judge. " Bala you say that you saw this accident, can you tell the court how far were you from this accident "?
Bala. "It was 24 feet 2 inches my honour"
Judge. "How is that you are so accurate"
Bala. " My honour I knew some fool will ask me this question, so l measured it"
Blanchard. "My wife was always pestering me to buy her a video record player"
Len . " So did you buy her one"
Blanchard. " Yes, finally I bought her one"
Len. " Did you take any salary advance"~
Blanchard. " No machan I sold our TV and bought her the Video player.~
Mr. Stephen had a fanta, and Mr. Veerakathi had a coke at the Subash Cafe.
After a sip of fanta Stephens said " It is fantastic" Veerakathi said "It is cokesastic"
Dev, was at home taLking to his old friend. He saw his daughter coming home wearing the latest high heels shoes.
Dev. "Dear daughter, why don't you come down from your shoes, and meet my old friend"
Dear Mr. Ariaratnam,
Thank you for your kind letter of 6th August, inquiring about the happenings in Jaffna and at St. John's in particular, and the inquiry from Mr. John Watson, Trinity Grammar School, Melbourne.
As you can see from the above, I am now Chairman of the governing Body of CMS Schools and in that capacity I accompanied the Bishop of Colombo on a brief visit to Jaffna from 17 to l9th June. What we saw was worse than what we had expected. There was much more damage to the school than in the IPKF operations on 1987, when I took over as Principal. Also there was much looting both as the people left Jaffna and even after the army occupation. Practically all valuable equipment like computers, typewriters, generators, laboratory equipment has been looted or wilfully damaged. What was left succumbed to the elements with the rain and sun taking their toll of the exposed interiors.
In mid-June, things were looking up in Jaffna and we came back happy as the people were happy and relieved that they were back in their homes. So I starred contacting various agencies and embassies trying to get some assistance. In 1987, I received a lot of help from the embassies. This time, although five of them saw me personally, they all say that they are committed to go in with the Government and therefore are reluctant to consider individual requests. We may still get some assistance from the Canada Development Fund
It was also my plan to write to our Past Pupils' Associations in UK, Canada and Australia. But recently things have again soured as you might have heard. So I am keeping things in abeyance. We will repair what we can to run the school and others can wait till things settle down.
Some teachers and students had evacuated to Kilinochchi.in November '95 and we started a combined school there for SJC and CGC for about 250 students, having classes under trees. When Jaffna was opened, the numbers dwindled to 25 and we closed. Just as well as now Kilinochchi has also been evacuated..
St. John's and Chundikuli started classes in May with a handful of students. By mid-June when we were there, they had 910 students (out of 1 600). By 10th of July, the number had gone up to 1150. About 65% of the teachers had also reported back to work. Since that time, we have had no communication,as travel between, Jaffna and Colombo also has come to a standstill.
In any event, I am herewith enclosing a copy of the estimated cost of repairs, re-building and re-equipping,as well as photocopies of the damage.
Once again thank you for your concern
Yours sincerely
Dr. E. S. Thevasagayam
Chairman
A. Buildings badly damaged which may need re-buildin
Library - 100 years old - Repair Rs. 500 000 Re-build Rs 1 500 000
Principal's Bungalow - 100 years old - Repair Rs 200 000, Re-build Rs 1 200 000
Sub Total Rs 2,700,000.00
B. Buildings damaged - cost of repairs
Peto Memorial Hall - Rs 1,450,000.00
New ScienceBlock- Rs 500,000.00
Office Block - Rs 150,000.00
Williams Hall - Rs 125,000.00
Primarv school - Rs 300,000.00
Staffroom - Rs 100,000.00
All other buildings Rs 300,000.00
Sub- total Rs 2,925,000.00
TOTAL Rs 5,625,000.00
C. Loss and damage to equipment, furniture and fittings - cost of replacement
Most of the equipment was either looted or damaged during the conflict. These include all laboratory equipment,computers, electronic and manual typewriters, public address system, furniture from class rooms, office, library etc, hostel beads and kitchen utensils and various other school requisites. We are in the process of enumeration and costing.Our estimation is the it may cost up to about Rs 5 million to replace everything.
D. Loss and damage to personal property
Practically all personal belonging to the staff in the campus including the Principal, two vice Principals five staff members and seven non-tutorial staff, have all gone, looted or destroyed. Compensating them may have to be considered with Government assistance.