By Cecil V. Wikramanayake
Way back in 1932, when Charles Vivian Wikramanayake changed his occupation from Bacteriological Assistant in the Medical Department, to Jailor Class II in the Prisons Department and took up appointment at the Bogambara prison, part of the perks of office were the khaki uniforms issued to him. The coats were ‘tunic coats’, buttoned from bottom to top, with a stiff collar that was held in place by two small brass hooks. Today, a jailor in the prisons department wears a khaki coat rather than a tunic-coat, open in front, with a white shirt and black tie. Jailor Wikramanayake was responsible for the change.

He found it stifling, this tunic-coat, to say nothing of being degrading, for even the jail guards wore the same tunic coat. And it was irritating, particularly since the weather in this country is typically tropical. As Warden Stone had predicted about his pupil being able to do "whatever he chooses", Jailor Wikramanayake soon found a way out.

With so many friends in the medical department, it was easy to get doctors to certify that he was suffering from laryngitis, the result of his wearing a tunic-coat, buttoned right up to the neck. And to support his medical certificate, Wikramanayake, whose theatrical capabilities would have put many a film star in the shade, feigned the symptoms of this ailment, speaking to everyone in a hoarse whisper.

That did the trick. He was permitted to wear the ordinary type of open coat, with a white shirt and black tie.

But the man was not satisfied with just being allowed to wear the kind of costume he preferred. He spoke to his colleagues, the other jailors, and persuaded them to take up the matter with the Commissioner of Prisons, his bete noir, C. C. Shockman.

And so it came about that all the jailors put up a petition to their head of department, pointing out that for a uniform to be uniform, there must be uniformity. If jailor Wikramanayake was permitted to wear a different costume, it was no longer uniform.

Since the exception to the rule was supported by medical evidence which could not be refuted, the Commissioner had to give in and thereafter, to this day, all jailors of whatever class, were permitted to wear a white shirt, black tie and open coat as their uniform.

In those days there were no trade unions, but jailor Wikramanayake had shown his fellowmen that there was strength in unity.

One of the most unforgettable characters of that era, when my father worked as a jailor, was the Assistant Government Agent of Batticaloa, to which station he had been transferred after a spell in Jaffna.

The Government Agent of Batticaloa was also the ex-officio Superintendent of Prisons. When we went to Batticaloa, the GA was M. Prasad, doyen of the Indian Civil Service, whose second son Maheswar was my classmate at the Methodist Central College, Batticaloa. He was succeeded by R. Y. Daniel, a civil servant who had got into that service by virtue of his service in World War I, despite the fact that he did not have the academic qualifications for the Civil Service. Daniel’s assistant was father’s cousin Victor L. Wirasinha, one of the most brilliant to adorn that service, and a man noted for his quick wit and sense of humour.

Victor, an old Richmondite like myself, was a favourite with us youngsters, particularly so with my youngest brother Derek Dalton, who was then four years old.

I still remember the two of them meeting for the first time, when Victor called at Prison Lodge, Hospital Road, Batticaloa, soon after he arrived at Batticaloa.

Derek was told by his mother that "Uncle Victor is the A.G.A."

"Uncle Victor" piped the little cherub, "What does A.G.A stand for?"

Pat came the reply from the visitor "Apey Gamay Arachchi". And when I meet Victor, even now, when both of us are well past the biblical span, I still tease him about that wonderful bit of repartee.

Victor had recently published a book of memoirs about his days in the Civil Service. I have not read it, being in that unfortunate position of not being able to afford books anymore. But having known the man from my infancy, so to speak, I can safely vouch for the fact that it should prove a best-seller.