By S.T. “Teddy” Braine
After my stint with the Health Department, I worked as a purchasing officer in a cooperative establishment in Colombo and left that after a few years to join Savoy Hotel as assistant manager. I was tired of office life and applied to the Coconut Research Institute (CRI) for a training course in coconut estate management. At the Interview, I was selected amongst the first five out of 385 applicants. Thereafter I worked at coconut estates in Mundel, Minuwangoda, Dankotuwa, Badalgama, and Nattandiya. Essentially, I was following in the footsteps of my father who had also been the manager of coconut plantations.
Of all these jobs, I most enjoyed being the superintendent of Carrington Group, Dankotuwa. It was a large estate of over 500 acres. My bungalow was on the top of a hill with sweeping vistas on all sides. The estate had a flourishing dairy so we had the fresh milk delivered to our doorstep every morning. One day at about 10 am, there was a shower of rain followed a sound of rocks falling on the roof. We all ran out to see where the rocks were coming from to be met by a hailstorm. Large pieces of ice started falling and damaging the roofs of houses and motor vehicles. The ground around my bungalow was covered with ice. In those days (this was 1956), refrigerators were rare and ice could be only had at “hotels” and eating places. Most of the labourers would never have seen or touched ice in their lives. Many of them, and my children as well, were struck with wonder. For some reason, the labourers began to collect ice in basins and brought them to my bungalow, streaming up the hill followed by their children. With ice strewn all over the ground, the estate resembled a winter wonderland. Of course, it didn’t last long and the ice melted away, but I don’t think anyone who experienced ice falling from the sky would ever forget that unusual event.
The bungalow at Rathmalagara Estate in 1969
In 1960, the CRI advertised a vacancy for a person with around ten years experience for the post of superintendent. An interview was held by the Director Dr F. C. Cooke and I was selected and posted to Rathmalagara Research Station, Madampe. The CRI had four research stations in the Puttalam District and I was soon transferred to the Isolated Seed Garden at Ambakele off the Chilaw-Puttalam highway. This research station was so called because of its unique location. In order to carry out research that would not be affected by coconut pollen brought in by bees, air currents, or humans from outside, the 200-acre Seed Garden had been carved out of virgin jungle, with a mile-thick band of reserved and protected jungle around it. Beyond the jungle were the chena cultivations of the villagers. In the jungle lived wild boar, deer, sambhur, monkey, jungle fowl, rock squirrel, and numerous species of snakes and birds. And, when the elephant herds were on the move, the jungle also harboured wild elephants. Most staff members, watchers and labourers lived within Ambakelle. Some lobourers would walk to work through the jungle, risking their lives when the wild elephants were around.
Teddy and son George on a visit to Ambakelle, in May 2005. The massive "palu" tree stands at the entrance to the estate. Bertie Rodrigo, the first superintendent of Ambakelle, had saved it when he cleared the jungle to plant coconut.
Apparently, Ambakelle lay in the path of the jungle corridor that the famous Deduru Oya herd of elephants had been traversing for probably hundreds of years. In the dry season, as the waterholes in Wilpattu dried-up, the elephants numbering in the hundreds would travel south to the Deduru Oya in search of water. By the 1960s, when I was posted to Ambakelle, the jungles had been cleared for agriculture and human habitation and the elephants were largely confined to Wilpattu. Nevertheless, old instincts remained and a few stray elephants would do the annual trek to Deduru Oya, taking their revenge on the human interlopers by destroying their chena cultivation. And these elephants would raid Ambakelle because they relished the young coconut seedlings. Years of painstaking research could be destroyed overnight.
Of course, shooting the elephants was out of the question. So an electric fence consisting of a thin wire connected to electric horns and 6-volt car batteries was erected right round the perimeter of Ambakelle. The wire would be activated in the evening and when it was tripped, usually by an elephant, the nearest horn would sound, thereby warning the patrolling “barrier” watchers. The watchers were the first line of defense and would attempt to scare the elephant off by lighting firecrackers. I would soon be on the spot by jeep and with the help of the watchers, the loud jeep horn, firecrackers, yells and hoots, eventually drive the elephants back into the jungle. We had little sleep at night when the elephant season was on.
Life at Ambakelle, in the middle of the jungle, was boring. There was no TV or telephone. The radio and an old gramophone were the only means of entertainment. We listened regularly to the music programs and “Muwanpelessa”, a popular radio play at the time. The nearest town was Chilaw, a good 15 miles away. Occasionally, we would drive to Chilaw to watch a movie but getting back home through the jungle at night was risky, especially when lone bull elephants were around. So the tractor driver Thomas would wait just outside the jungle and drive the tractor ahead of my Peugeot 203, making as much noise as possible to scare off the elephants by accelerating the tractor engine. Son George was schooling at Chilaw during this time and would bicycle through the jungle to catch the bus. I would sometimes drive him to the bus, carrying my shotgun with me. The jungle fowl were good meat for the pot.
Wild elephants were not the only threat. Hunters would roam the jungle, poaching the deer and wild boar and sometimes setting deadly trap guns. The villagers would also enter the jungle to cut down valuable trees. So we had to hire watchers to patrol the jungle, too. Once, I discovered that a fellow staff member had cut down a large number of valuable satinwood and “palu” trees and sawn the timber into planks. The planks were stored in his quarters waiting to be taken out of Ambakelle at a convenient time. I had to report the staff member who was later dismissed from his job.
One night, the barrier watchers had noosed a 14-foot python that had come to attack their chickens. They had dragged the heavy reptile to my bungalow premises in the night and tied the rope to a stout tree. Next morning when I came to the veranda the flowering tree I see daily was conspicuous by its absence. To my surprise, I noticed the tree moving some distance away; the python had by sheer power uprooted the tree and was dragging it away. The men thereafter tethered it to a coconut tree before it was released back to the jungle.
On another occasion, I was disturbed in my afternoon siesta by the frenzied shrill of a squirrel in the garden. On verifying, I noticed the squirrel on the trunk of a coconut tree about 3 feet from the ground with its head turned down staring at the ground. Suddenly, the squirrel was no longer on the tree and everything was silent. On closer scrutiny I noticed a large Russell’s viper (“polonga”) under the tree with only the tail of the squirrel sticking out of its mouth. A labourer killed the snake and brought it to my office. It measured 5 ½ ft.in length and was 9 inches in circumference. This disproved the general belief among villagers that a “polonga” cannot see during daytime. It had sprung three feet up the tree to catch the squirrel.
During my tenure at Ambakelle, a classic tragedy of jealousy, revenge, and murder occurred that’s still fresh in my mind. Charles Peiris was a contractor who undertook minor works at Ambakelle. He had three daughters, the two eldest married to tractor drivers Thomas and Piyasena. They were both cheerful, hard working men, although Thomas was addicted to kassippu. The youngest, unmarried daughter of the family was the prettiest, and both Thomas and Piyasena had been eyeing this girl, unknown to her parents as well her sisters, who were their wives. When the girl began to favor Piyasena with her affection, Thomas flew into a rage. One day, blind with jealousy, he ambushed and shot Piyasena dead. Charles Peiris lost a son-in-law, and if the police arrested Thomas, his daughter (Thomas’ wife) would have to struggle alone with her five children. So Charles Peiris took the rap for the killing and was arrested by the police. But the villagers, who knew the truth, petitioned and Charles Peiris was later released. Thomas never went to jail but died a few years later, a broken man.
Another estate where Teddy served was at Poththukulama near Pallama, only about 5 miles from Amabakelle. Teddy is seen here with George in a photo taken on a visit in May 2005. The bungalow seen behind is the L-shaped original one, which was surrounded by jungle in the 1960s. Teddy served here twice, once in the mid-1960s and again in the early 1970s.
At Poththukulama in 1974. From left Beaula, Teddy, and Fernie. The boy is cousin Rohan. Fernie's mother Roslind is seated.
With Fernie in our retirement. She passed away in 2005
