Let me go forward to 1962, the time I remember my grandmother well. I would have been four-years old when I first started to acknowledge her presence. She was a rather plumpish woman then with a mole on her chin, beautiful eyes which had a honey brown and a sort of mauve blue in them. The most striking quality about her was not her physical beauty, even though she had been beautiful in her younger days, but her serenity and her placid exterior. She had a calm that exuded from her like an ethereal angel.

Her endearing qualities were her outward compassion, and over-extended generosity to all around her. No one came to her home and left the house without being given a meal or some refreshment. In the tradition of true Burgher hospitality, she fed rich and poor alike.

During her lifetime she brought up four abandoned children. They were brought home by her sister, Brenda, who was then matron at the Badulla hospital. The children were Robert, Banda, Menika and Sunday and they entered the household in that order. They were educated, clothed, fed, emotionally nurtured and religiously instructed. This at a time, I might add, where most households would have treated such waifs as mere domestics Lily loved them unabashedly and peppered their upbringing with rationed discipline. She saw to their education and spiritual maturity in the most natural way.

In those early sixties, she had already retired as the leading English teacher of St Mary’s School, Hambantota. The rural Catholic school at that time had high standards thanks to the likes of Lily, Father Wickramasinghe who was principal and the tri-lingual language streams at the time.

No. 20 Hospital Street boasted giant lavender and pink bougainvillea rambling carelessly along the front wall; thorny cactus with yellow blossoms and borders of barberton daisies which are no longer seen in Hambantota and are less common than they were elsewhere. There was always an abundance of flowers and Lily put them to good use. Every Saturday we children were summoned for preparation of the church for the Sunday service. The brass vases had to be polished till they shone. The floor of the chapel had to be cleaned and polished too until Lily was satisfied. This was the training given to us even though she had a flock of domestics to do her bidding.

The day began for her at 5 a.m. She would then dress for daily mass, well powdered, corset in place, no jewellery and prayer book in hand. I remember the silver organza veil she wore on her salt and pepper hair. When she knelt in prayer, she was beautiful and with her voice melodiously intoning the Latin strains of the service, she was a vision of loveliness in the chapel of St. Mary. I instinctively knew I loved her from the time I was very small and resolved that I should model myself on her - a high standard for a girl of five.

Lily was not content to retire from her teaching job and become a lady of leisure. Post-retirement she became active in several arenas, mainly the home, the church, and her community.

She presided over her household with a stern matriarchal eye and the day was run to the precision of the old clock on the mantle piece. The house was like an alternative schoolroom. As the clock chimed the fractions and the hours, Lily ensured her timetable was followed just like in the classroom in her teaching days.

daily routine

Our daily routine was quietly mapped out holidays or not. No one was allowed to loll about in bed after 8 a.m. even when there was no school.

Breakfast at the large oval table was concluded by 9.00 a.m. and the dishes cleared; 10 a.m. saw some medicinal dispensation like ghastly castor oil or a glass of hot fresh milk made easier to swallow with one of Brenda’s home made treats.

I distinctly remember disappearing at this time till the milk drinking was finished, dodging the domestics charged with finding me, and reappearing only when it was safe to do so, timidly accepting quiet admonishment by Lily till the next time.

Around 10.30 we were escorted to the beach by Banda, the houseboy, for a swim in the sea. There was a gang of us 10 children, five from our family and five cousins. This was the sum of Dennis and St John’s broods.

Splashing about in the sparkling blue water of the Hambantota Bay was a delight. Banda would get two inner tubes inflated at the petrol shed to serve as life rafts and would yell at us not to go too far out to sea. The bright sunlight warmed our joyous faces and time seemed to stand still. We never came out of the water easily and had to be coerced by Banda who could not swim!

Back home by noon, looking like bedraggled rats with sand between our toes and desperately hungry, we were served a sumptuous meal of hot red rosa kekulu rice, drumsticks ( murunga), ash plantain, and a green mellun. Freshly killed curried chicken, free ranging gan kululas and not today’s broilers, graced the table and fresh meat was always available although there were no butchers in town at the time. All cooking was on the wood fire and the kitchen smells wafting out were most enticing! Curd and treacle followed in the tradition of the south and hearty appetites were well sated .

A quiet spell with my Noddy and Big Ear books in bed followed. There was an uncanny quiet over the house. Siesta time lent itself to all sorts of secret delights away from Lily’s eagle eye. While she snored contentedly like a mother cat, Grandaunt Brenda would resume duties in the kitchen. She was a superb cook and made our tiffins memorable.

Lily’s nap was an hour and a half long, long enough time for me to slip away to play with Dora, Banda’s daughter, just a year older than I, who also grew up in this house. This was taboo at that time with undue familiarity with the domestic staff frowned upon. Despite these rules, knock-kneed Dora and I would play hopscotch and marbles until the clock clanged due warning. I would quickly help Dora to finish her afternoon chores and we would go back to our respective places as my grandmother woke up.

By 5 p.m. the house was ready for visitors who came through the front door. The front door of 20, Hospital Street had its own unwritten social rules for those outside the family. Only a select few were permitted to associate with Lily and Patrick at this social level and enter through the front door. Among them were people like Mr. Butler, Mudaliyar Francis Wickramasuriya, colleagues of Patrick and his family, the Thassims, Bourahs, Buultjens, Arensz’s and Ranasinghes to name a few. Of course foreigners and Colombo friends also breezed in like the migrant birds that wintered on the salterns and the tanks.

reached maturity

The back door to the house was never closed and this is where Lily spent most of her day supervising the staff quietly taking in the village gossip. Her students frequented the house long after they left school and reached maturity. This procession of people were always put to good use in the kitchen and given a meal or whatever assistance as needed.

Lily would freshen up and instruct Brenda to supervise our washes after which tiffin, a sacred ritual in any Burgher household, followed. Home made cake was kept in a beautiful brass container that only Lily handled with her delicate hands. Lemon curd tarts, Izer kokis, seeni kema of soft, pancakes drenched with lemon juice and sugar was regular fare. I can still smell the almond, and rose scents of the potato toffee and sticky muscat put into our mouths with such tenderness.

I’m sure Patrick’s sensuality was aroused by the aromas from this kitchen and was directly responsible for the large family he sired.

Sometimes we would take a walk down to the beach with all maternal crew on hand. The entourage was led by Aunties Lorna and Brenda, and Menika, the chief domestic. Also two gorgeous felines called Pat and Cleo Ranasinghe. Sometimes Lily joined if visitors didn’t arrive at this time. It was lovely to watch the sunset on the beach, listen to the soothing lapping of the sea on the shore and pick seashells carelessly bundled into my dress, surrounded by these soft and gentle women and return home with sand between my toes.

We returned home before twilight fell and were taken directly to the bathroom where night ablutions took place under Brenda’s eagle eye. This was done under supervision as water was scarce and not wasted by excitable children even though we were old enough to wash ourselves. At the time there was no town water supply and water had to be bought.

Seven p.m. saw all in the household including the domestics reciting the Rosary with Lily leading. This was a theatrical performance that went on daily and may God forgive us for what we did. All of us mispronounced and spontaneously made up our own lines of the "Our Father" and had a variety of versions like," Our Father go out of heaven." Lester, my cousin, would intone, ``Our Father who fought in Heaven". The Hail Mary, with Menika echoing on cue, "fray for us: after every prayer. Lily never stopped or paused, remaining composed despite the giggles or giddiness on display. She would occasionally glare sternly over her glasses but continue unperturbed.

We were then given dinner. This was normally a protein and steamed vegetables. Aunt Brenda’s mouth-watering meat loaf and brain cutlets were memorable; sometimes oxtail or tripe stew which is a delicacy that the modern generation doesn’t appreciate. Also exotics like small mussel or bello and turtle eggs that could be got easily in town.

8.30 saw all the children in bed, whether we were tired or not. We were not allowed to stay up late even though it was holiday time. At that time electricity was off a generator knocked off by 9 p.m. The Laxapana Hydro Electrical Station was not yet built so lights were put out to save electricity. All the children slept in a long dormitory room with Lily. If one was sick or feigned illness, he or she was cosseted with Nurse Brenda in her room.

I remember the house being a little scary at night and us kids staying awake till the clock chimed 10 when Lily, our savior, appeared in the darkened room to undress. We children found it quite entertaining to watch a fat woman undress down to her corset and bra but disappointed that more was not revealed. Her generation removed clothes after their night clothes had been slipped on over their underclothes and these also were whisked off with a deftness that beat the eye.

Lily was the quiet achiever and involved herself with the community. In 1956 a society was formed called the Social Services League of which Fr. Wickramasinghe was President, Lily Andrado was Secretary and Mr. Alfred Butler (the Englishman) was Treasurer. I must add that this was not an exclusive or upper class society and it involved also the Malay community of which Hambantota has a high percentage. Other old Malay families apart from the Bourahs included the Dooles, Jayahs, Thassims, Thaliphs, Jaimons, and Moulanas to name but a few. The Malays, Sinhalese and others were members of this group and interacted harmoniously attending to the needs of the poor at a time when NGOs were unheard of.

Each year about Rs. 5,000 was spent on work like re-thatching cadjan huts of the needy, buying equipment for sports teams and also tennis items for the more gentile types.

Five p.m. Tuesdays were kept solely for Mr. Butler to discuss issues of this society and it’s only now that I have learnt of my grandmother’s reason for her regular appointment with Mr. Alfred Butler. As a child I suspected some illicit affair due to the absence of my grandfather at these meetings.

I would hide behind the curtains in the parlour hoping to hear some endearing lines. Children then were neither seen nor heard at adult events and I happily fed my curiosity and supported the thought that affairs of this nature should always be seriously conducted by a younger beautiful woman and an older articulate man.

Later, we cousins would fantasize and mimic this scene over and over again between the Secretary and the Treasurer adding infatuation to their relationship. We were never sure if this dialogue should be sealed with a kiss but such was never revealed much to my disappointment.

insatiable appetite

My grandmother though was quick to hide the arrack bottle after Mr Butler left in case Patrick should swill a few too many. This practice is still pursued by many a Burgher woman to curb insatiable appetite and prevent over amorous behavior. The trick is remembering next day where you hid the bottle!

Mr. Butler’s chief interest was the sports arena and he encouraged this amongst the young men by forming football and volleyball teams and donating the needed equipment to the cause.

There were tennis courts on the left hand side of the main bus road, the maha para leading into town opposite the now police station, on the corner of Barrack Street and the main road where Zahira College remains. Many a game of tennis was played by Patrick, my grandfather, Mudaliyar Wickramasuriya and his colleagues. The young Andrado boys would act as ball pickers and when the adults were having a rest would swing their rackets imitating their peers. In their white shorts and tennis shoes, the players cut dashing figures of masculine virility. This was a respite from a hard day’s work (and monotony) of government service when people had to find their own entertainment at a time when there was no television and good conversation was well appreciated.

I would have loved to catch a glimpse of Miss Lorna Andrado, her petite figure in well cut divided skirt on the courts, and grandaunt Brenda in full flight calling out "love" at the top of her voice to Mudaliyar Wickramasuriya!

These interim visitations to Hambantota and the Maha Gedera continued over the years that followed childhood discovery. Picnics on the beach, lighting tumbleweeds and watching the wind whirl sparks into a full moon night. I remember Lindsay Andrado, my uncle, returning at midnight from his hunting expeditions with deer and wild boar brought home ``for the pot".

I remember also talk of charms and charmers and things that went ``bump in the night;" the drums of the thovilay exorcising some evil spirit going on till the wee hours of the morning while the moon still rode high.

This was the deep south where the flamingoes flew home in the soft twilight and the outrigger boats bobbed on the bay lulling us to slumber. A dreamless sleep and the tangerine sunrise would light the peacock blue sky and another day would begin.

It was a procession of colorful people who came and went from No. 20 Hospital Street and the constant flow of entertainment was like a never ending flamenco dance that dazzled our eyes. They were indeed halcyon days and I didn’t know then that I would most miss was not the passing of my childhood or Colonial Ceylon so much but the enchantment of a place called Hambantota and the "Heart of Lily".