MEMORIES MOST
MEMORABLE
BY HEJAAZ HlZBULLAH
Having actually sat
down to it I have realized that the decision to accept the
invitation to contribute to the RT souvenir seems to be one the
worst decisions I have ever made. Apart from the difficulty in
actually composing a piece on the rather wide topic I have been
given i.e. 'write about the Royal Thomian, anything you want'
the task has become more onerous as the editors have asked me to
make it funny. Sadly for the Editors, I am in no way a funny
person, no Jay Leno and have never been identified as a
hedonist. My enthusiasm is further dampened by the fact that
they are publishing my article along with the contributions of
great cricketers, journalists and Peiris Siriwardene Gold
Medallists etc. However having accepted it, I believe I would
have to complete this assignment. I would like to advise the
reader that the following article could be one of the most
boring pieces ever written and you would have to be a
.thoroughly bored person to actually read it, especially if you
are reading this at the match.
I have read in RT
souvenirs enthralling stories from dressing rooms, of great
innings', victories and defeats. Of the many read, one that has
stuck to my memory is 'When the Lime failed' by Thomian Captain
P.L.D. Kariayawasam in the Thomian Souvenir to mark thai 114th
Battle of the Blues. The perusal of Thomian Souvenirs will
reveal that the Royal Thomian has had a vast and varied, yet
quintessentially rich effect on those who have participated in
it both as spectators and as players.
I am a first
generation Thomian and share an experience, which I suppose is
common to all first generation Thomians. It is undoubtedly an
element of great pride to the members of any family when their
two sons are attending STC, one of the best schools in the
country. In my family it was so. Getting my brother and me
admitted to STC is and I am sure will always be one of the
prettiest and most. At cherished feathers in my father's hat.
Being so the Royal Thomian was a grand event. There were many
rituals followed at home that made the Big Match seem almost a
religious festival. Two College Flags were flown outside the
house, to show solidarity to the passing 'trucks' and to tell
them that two Thomians resided there. My brother and I would get
a flag and other blue-black decorations like bands and golliwogs
etc. before the match. It was a tradition that my parents
strictly followed until we became independent enough to buy our
own material, to 'wear to the match'. The household helpwould
wear blue and black hair bands to tie their hair and wear only
blue and black skirts and blouses during the three days of the
match. That was the fervor.
Like the practice
today the Daily News would have a write up before the match with
the individual photographs of each player of the two teams.
[Something they have not done in the past few years] We would
sit near our mother and she would read the comments out loud to
the both of us. Being young and without any real knowledge of
cricket we really wouldn't know what to make out of it. So she
would tell us what it meant. She knew how sad we would get if
the commentators predicted a Royal victory. Mum would always
give a final verdict in such years reassuring that the College
team would not loose.
My Kindergarten year
we didn't go to watch the match. The radio was switched on and
we would eagerly listen to the commentaries. Once again the
high-flown technicalities of the commentaries were beyond us.
Our older sister would come to the rescue and interpret the
information for the two of us. If we felt that anything exciting
was happening we wopid shout and call her to the radio. She
would come and listen and then like an ancient doctor
considering a diagnosis she would think for awhile before
telling whether it was 'good for us' or 'bad for us'.
The next year we went
to watch the match and watched it from the Boys' Tent. It was a
culture shock of sorts. So this was the Royal Thomian. We
realized ...oh this is what they spoke about; ...oh this is what
this meant. The Papare band was a delight and the songs were
outrageous. [I in fact made the mistake of repeating them at
home!!!] The Royalist was hated like the Hun. Cheering out as
loud as we could was all we did. We shouted and cheered
like our lives
depended on it, young, we seriously thought our lives actually
depended on it!!! All our friends would be there at the Boys'
Tent and it was a learning experience. As for the first time we
came out of the narrow confines of the primary school classrooms
and saw the College as one living, homogenous body. We realized
the true meaning of the words Thomians young and old, Thomians
staunch and true'. We also realized, at that age, what it
actually meant to be a Thomian and felt proud and happy of the
knowledge we had gained. A Prize Giving nor a Sports Meet nor a
Thomian Fair would ever teach you those lessons. It had to be
leamt at the Boys' Tent at the Royal Thomian as a six or seven
year old. It was then the the Thomian spirit, the ethos entered
you and gripped your spirit and stuck with you for the rest of
your life.
It is rather sad that
few young Thomians are going through that experience. The
numbers of young Thomians in the Boys' Tent, waving the College
Flag, dancing away and cheering their hearts and souls out is on
the decrease. They actually are missing out on that opportunity
to bond with their fellow men, in that special way.
Times progressed and
we came to the era of trucking. This was the period; obviously
adolescence when driving aimlessly through Colombo in a truck
with a Papare band providing the music and scaling the walls of
Bishop's College was incorporated into the RT itinerary. The
task of organizing and putting out a truck was no mean task.
There were many things to be looked into. Our house was always
the meeting place as my brother was one of the chief organizers
of his class truck. I would, even before my batch mates
organized a truck, go trucking with my brother's class. Gate
crashing into girls' schools was a must, appointments had to be
kept with the many female acquaintances. My sister, who was at
Bishop's College, would provide us with a layout of the school
and when she later became a prefect, the day before the RT was a
day of great dilemma for her. Of course there is no pleasure
without pain. In this case the pain was in the form of getting
'copped'. The killjoys who would disrupt our plans for the day.
At that time, living in that time and space, we felt foolish and
defeated when we found ourselves counting bars, but today it is
all part of the sweet memories of school days and yearn to
relive those days.
Time went by, we
grew up and I too had my dosage of invading the grounds, getting
into fights and helping friends get sober. I had to play the
unenviae role of being the only sober person in my group of
friends. Thus being responsible for the actions and welfare of
all my friends. I remember carrying an inebriated friend from
the upper grand stand to the SSC swimming pool. The grateful
memories of the help we gave each other during fights and our
moments of vulnerability. In all of this friendships were built
up and we with every experience bound ourselves together into a
band of brothers.
I had the honour of
officiating in the Tent Committee and editing the Thomian
souvenir, one year. My brother graduated from a spectator to
become an organizer of the Royal Thomian, serving in the
Organizing Committee.
March is approaching
and there is a thing in the air, a feeling in theveins and a
tugging at the heart. I hear... I hear ....they call me to come,
to come home to re-live those happy days spent at the school by
the sea and to make a pact... a pact to return here same time
next year.
Always….
Esto Perpetua".
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