THE ROYAL THOMIAN BUG BY A.E. CROWTHER
"Nonsense," I said to the Royal captain In
1938 or 1939. It was not on the field but on the
ferry-boat between Talaimannar and Dhanuskodi. He had just shown
me his identification papers - a letter from the Minister of
Education which referred to "Royal College, the premier
educational institution in Ceylon." "Nonsense, " I said on
reading this. He looked puzzled. "I am an old Thomian. and do
you expect me to swallow that stuff ?" He got the message. He
recognised in me a fellow victim of the bite of the Royal-Thomian
bug. We became friends at once.
The Royal-Thomian bug must have bitten me
almost at the turn of the century when my two brothers used to boast
that they had the biggest Thomian flag on the grounds. Of course, it
was before I had reached the age of reason. Yet I did not see a
match till 1904. 1 was then only a Thomian in embryo at Cathedral
Girls' School, presided over by the wife of the Sub-Warden of S.
Thomas'. That year A. S. Eliyathamby, anglicised into Elliot, was
captain, a friend of the family. I have a vague picture of the tall
Elliot bending over his bat, his shirt ballooning in the breeze. I
think he top-scored with 44 In the first innings but it rained that
night and he was out fora duck In the 2nd. But we won.
There was talk between my brothers that the
whole Royal team was staying on till 1905 to avenge the defeat of
1904. There were two giants among them by the name of de Saram and
Jonklaas. Came 1905 and the Gollaths were laid low. Needing 67 runs
to win. they were shot out for 52. By this time I had reached the
age of reason, being 7 plus, and I favoured Royal! It was partly an
impish spirit of contradiction and partly pity for the underdog who
in my memory had never won'. After the match a victory procession of
horse drawn carriages, which were called "traps" In those days,
seemed to be in order. And there we were streaming past Royal
College on San Sebastian Hill in victorias called also phaetons,
tall four-wheeled wagonettes, palanquins on wheels (pallaku vandils)
with flat tops seemingly made for viewing Royal-Thomian matches from
and perhaps a dog cart or two driven by young bloods. We were
greeted with brick-bats. As we were unarmed and utterly
peace-loving, Royal won.
With my entering S. Thomas' in 1906, all
sneaking sympathy for Royal vanished, never to return. That year we
won by ten wickets in one day of five hours play. Sourjah crouching
behind the stumps won my brothers' admiration for his tricks.
The next year we had a very young team, many of
them just over 16, and we proudly published their ages. The score
board read 16-6. Then Alan Tennekoon, a fresher with a rather portly
figure came to the rescue with a fine 52. The magazine, however,
said he was supposed to be a clumsy bat - before this Innings. With
the help of D. Pedris, who chipped In as last man with two sixes
over long on, he brought the score up to 122. We won that match too,
the fourth In succession, to bring the tally to more than twice that
of Royal.
1908 was a year of shame for S. Thomas' as the
match was drawn owing to one of our bowlers deliberately wasting
time setting the field. 1909 seemed to bring retribution for this as
we were beaten by the highest margin up to that time, an innings and
60 runs. For Royal H.C. Gunasekara, (Hector) later C. H. a lad of 14
batted right through the Innings showing the concentration of a Test
batsman and the dullness of most. In 1910 my brother I.T.S. Crowther
played and top scored in the 2nd innings, but I was far away in
Batticaloa recuperating from malaria. When the telegram came giving
the news of the victory and my brother's score, I hurrayed and ran
round the compound like a headless chicken. In 1911 the last year we
played on the prestigious C.C.C. grounds, we won by 149 runs. P.
Sara, who took to cricket late and was a solid if not elegant bat.
made 35 and 40. Hector Gunasekara, whom we little boys feared and
disliked, got a pair and we went wild with joy.
The 1912 match was played on the Sports Club
grounds on Galle Face and was drawn with honours even. Up to that
time the umpires used to be the heads of the two schools, who were
occasionally relieved by members of the staff. Warden Stone used to
go out armed with an umbrella which, when opened, was a useful
shield against shots to square leg. At this match one of the umpires
- not a head - was booed by the Thomians - rotten form what? - and
was replaced by another. The custom of having neutral R. A. umpires
seems to have started in 1913 when we lost badly. Dicky de Saram, in
spite of his shortened fingers, or perhaps because of them, bowled
extremely well for Royal.
The 1914 match, which was the first I played
in, took place on the Tamil Union grounds In Campbell Park. "There
is a chap on the other side," said Manicam Sara to me, "who looks
like you. His name is Kotelawela." (I wonder if the resemblance did
any good to either of us.) Royal batted first and scored 176. I
opened but was out for ten. Then from our tent I watched
with dismay Weerasinghe mow down the flower of our batting, the two
Saras, Selvaratnam and others, clean bowling most of them. At 8 for
40 a follow-on seemed inevitable. Then Leslie Labrooy, whose long
suit was his looks and not his batting, made 40 odd and put us well
beyond the danger line. That night a council of war, the only one in
my time, was held in Manicam's room, the others being S. Sara
(Thambirajah), Selvaratnam and me. We all agreed that there was
nothing much In the Royal bowling, but our batting order should be
changed. The next day we got Royal out for 95 and had to get some
175 to win. No side had ever before made that much In the fourth
Innings, and a Royal victory seemed assured. I was sent In at the
fall of the 3rd wicket at 56. Then at close range I watched
Thambirajah at his best, carpet driving to the ropes. Any slightly
over-pitched ball was treated as a half volley with the help of his
long reach and his footwork. Any short-pitched ball was smashed
through the covers off his back foot. All his strokes were in front
of the wicket;
no late cuts or leg glides for him. The score
was mounting fast when there was a commotion on the boundary line. A
Thomian flag was bobbing up and down with N. Sara (Nadungal) In the
midst of a crowd. The Saras were always ready for a fight for one
another (and at times among themselves) and Thamby dropped his bat
and rushed off to the rescue of his brother. "Don't be a damned
fool" I cried to him. But he paid no heed, and did not return till
peace, a Roman peace, had been restored. In the meantime, the Royal
team sat down and waited till the interlude was over, thankful for
the rest. The rest was appreciated because in those days the
continuity of the game was not spoiled by stops for tea or milk or
drinks. We snatched what refreshment or rest we could between
Innings. A hardy race Indeed! Cricket casuists can debate about the
different ways in which Thamby could have been given out. To come
back to the game. I left with the score at 4 for 128. I met Selva
coming out. "Carry on the good work. I have done my bit." "I will,"
he said with his square jaws set squarer than usual. And he did
carry on, keeping his end up while Thamby did most of the scoring.
We should have won by five wickets, but the umpires did not stop the
game when the total had been passed, and Thamby was caught out for
87. No innings had I seen till then which was like his in easy
hard-hitting brilliance. Unlike his two elder brothers, he began his
cricket early. If their strokes had the pedestrian utility of prose,
his had the exhilarating rhythm of poetry. He was just fifteen on
that memorable day, and 5 ft 10, but he batted 'like a man' was Mr.
Leonard Arndt's laconic comment.
In 1915 I was appointed captain. Manicam had
resigned from the captaincy for personal reasons, but joined the
team for the Royal match. Thambirajah kept out on medical advice. He
was growing too fast! Rick Jayatilleke was the only other second
year man In the team. On the advice of Mr. Arndt, the cricket
master, I sent Royal in and they made 235 after being I for 100 at
one stage. Rick and 1 opened to show them that v/e could bat too! We
put on 30 in even time and then I was tempted by Wijesinghe's spin
and was caught off a skier at mid on. What the Thomians thought or
said need not be mentioned, especially my old friend and ex-captain
"Elliot." Then Rick went into his shell to everyone's disgust and
put on 25 in 90 minutes and ended the day at 2 for 53. The next day
we were all out for 114, and had to follow on. As in the previous
year, I went In late when the score was 4 for 58. What were my
thoughts? None, or confused. If there were any at all, they were
two: I must stick and make runs, for nothing is accomplished without
runs. "Poor blighter" said Dr. Gerald de Saram to my brother, but
bawled out "Come on Batticaloa." After some time, Wijesinghe was put
on. I was nervous, but probably he was more nervous, for he sent me
three long hops going away on the leg side. I banged them for three
fours and figured I had got into the forties, the qualification at
that time for the roll of honour in souvenirs. The Royal team had a
few things to tell Wijesinghe. I was glad. Satan was getting divided
against Satan! I got a four off an uppish stroke between two
fielders on the square leg boundary. I tried it again and It just
touched the fielder's hand. My heart rocketed to my mouth. Groans
from the Royal tent. Imploring cries of anguish from the Thomians:
"Steady, Baba, steady!" Baba cheekily waved a reassuring hand as if
to say: "Don't worry. I have the situation under control." But I did
not stop their heart beats any more, being content with off and
straight drives along the ground. One straight drive has remained
imprinted in my memory - something between a push and a drive. To my
surprise I saw the ball rolling to the boundary, coaxed to cross it
by the little boys sitting there. Another gratifying experience was
my partnership with Reggie de Saram (now Canon), as we were rather
close friends, and our trying together to pull the match out of the
fire added something special to our friendship. Though our ways
parted since I left school, last year, after more than sixty years,
he too remembered the event.
At 180 for 8 Thambirajah rushed into the field.
A message: "You have broken the record." I was on top of the world.
The match had been saved and I had broken a record. I walked back to
the wicket in a daze. What more? A century? I had never thought of
it. I had never made even a fifty before. I felt everything was
going right now. I could do nothing wrong. I lashed out at the next
ball to square cut it for four. It soared into the hands of third
man. Modern critics would say I had lost my concentration. If so, I
had lost something I did not know I had ...... A crowd of boys
rushed in and carried me shoulder high into our tent. I did not even
pretend to fly the honour ! Ellawela came in and hooked a few fours
and the innings ended at 199. Royal got 2 for 22 in the 20 minutes
left for play and the match was drawn. After the match Douglas de
Saram made a speech and presented me with a hurried hat collection.
Not having the facile tongue of SWRD, my junior, I mumbled something
about having done no more than my duty, feeling all the time that I
was making an awful ass of myself. In two brief hours I had become a
hero. The hero-worship lasted another two hours when Rustum Banajee
the Royal captain caught sight of me in the Arcade tea rooms and
called for cheers. Haec et meminisse iuvabit, not the applause, but
the fine spirit it displayed. Applause is an uncertain passing
by-product of the game. Only a fool concentrates on by-products.
"The play is the thing" to use a quotation outside its context. The
Lord of the Dance is conceived as dancing in perfect freedom,
without any compulsion from within or attraction from without. Few
cricketers get the applause they are looking for. And those that do,
unless they have the saving grace of humour and can laugh at
themselves run the risk of becoming absolutely insufferable.
Examples abound. Later a cup was presented to me by some lawyers.
Warden Stone refused to give it away at the Annual Prize Giving. It
was, therefore, given to me almost shamefacedly on the lawn In the
presence of the donors. I don't know if the Warden gave the Old Boys
any reason for his refusal. He could be very peremptory. I can now
guess and warmly applaud his refusal. As members of a team, in our
boyish single-mindedness and according to the Thomian tradition, we
detested any one who sought his personal glory. By publicly
recognising an award for a personal achievement. Warden Stone would
have seemed to encourage a member of a team to seek his personal
glory. Was he right, were we boys right, or are all those right who
tempt boys to engage in a disgraceful scramble to be called the best
this or the best that of the year? In the true Thomian tradition,
the best cricketer, or the best anything else is the one who does
not give a damn to be called that, still less to receive a trophy
for it. Unbridled individualism has turned most of life into a
joyless, desolate desert. Cricket is one of the few oases in this
desert. Let us not allow the desert to overwhelm it.
In 1916 the match was played on the turf of the
N.C.C. grounds. The Thomian team was nearly the same as 1915.
Thambirajah came in, and Rick and Manicam were out. In my opinion we
were so much better than Royal that the match had little interest
for me. I was not surprised when we got them out for 101. Though I
got out when the score was 3 for 80, I was not disturbed as we were
capable of making 250. But we collapsed for 100. When Royal batted
again they were 3 for 90 and my spirits were low as I had split a
finger fielding and bound it up with a strip torn off my
handkerchief. But Royal got themselves out for 128. Our first
innings debacle had un-nerved us and 129 for a win seemed very far
off. At one time Thambirajah and I were together, but we did not
repeat the performance of 1914 when we put on 60 together. The old
fire was not there, kindled in a war council. This time it was his
turn to rebuke me, for hitting a ball riskily over the head of
mid-on. But he left shortly after that, and I ran out of partners.
At 9 for 80 little Ronald Jayatilleke came in. A strange scruple
prevented me from trying to monopolize the bowling. I thought it was
unfair to try to prevent Royal from getting the weak man out. I know
now that it was stupid. Ronald managed to survive till 102 when he
gave a catch to point a yard away from him and we lost by 27 runs. I
was carried into the pavilion again, but this time by a much smaller
crowd. Mr. Arndt told me that my 40 not out was better than my 94 of
the previous year, poor consolation for one who had lost a match
which he thought hardly worth playing.
Since 1916 I have been present at only three
matches, but I can hardly tear myself away from the radio broadcasts
of the match. The excellent descriptions and the commentaries of
1978 were spoiled, though, by the horrid mispronunciation of a boy's
name. Who's "Upper Dorai"; Is there a "Lower Dorai" too like the
Pukka Sahibs' Periya Doral and Sinna Doral? Is it too much to expect
Sri Lankan broadcasters to get Sri Lankan names right ?
I have done. What I have written for Royalists
and Thomians at the request of the Thomian Compilers of the joint
Centenary Souvenir will have had some meaning, I hope, for Royalists
and Thomians in so far as they have been bitten by the Royal-Thomian
bug. For others, if they have had the misfortune to read this
screed, most if not all of it will have been, to end where I began,
nonsense.
A. E. Crowther
