An area in my life that gave me immense pleasure and gave me an opportunity for innocent childhood dreams.

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I was born in Mount Lavinia by the sea into the salt wind, sea sounds and rumbling steam engines. My father was an Advocate who made his family nest at Beach Road in a house procured for a princely rent of Forty rupees per month in 1938. Born a weak child with a bleak physical future the weather fortunes of the oceans and monsoonal rains and winds took its toll by way of constant illness, added by chronic Tonsillitis. This however built a natural resistance to all adversity and has stood by me through life embedded in my human frame and mind.

Rumbling, hissing hooting of the Steam Engines and the ‘clickety clack’ of the Carriages plying the sea bordered rail track, disturbed my father’s work and our sleep at night. However these sounds intrigued my child mind. Touching the fire of imagination which is the birth right of every child. The magnitude of the power and dreadful noises attracted me to these “Yakada Yakas” a brilliant Sinhala substitute term for the Iron Monster crawling or walking stages in infancy always attracted me to the front door much to the consternation of my mother. I determined that I would step into life as an Engine Driver. The house has two open boxes at each end of the front doorway with large openings in front and the sides which facilitated my dreams of being an Engine Driver- practicing driving a Steam Loco in these boxes. Being a scraggy and thin character in typical legal sarcasm my father said “you will end up in the ‘Fire Box’ with the Coal. This did not deter me. But alas the advent of the Diesel Engine heralded the downfall of the ‘ Yakada Yakas' which were relegated to the grave yard of time only to be seen like falling stars on fleeting occasions. So my dreams of being an Engine Driver shattered and relegated like the Engines to the position of fading memories.

Blending with the terrain 

I can recall seeing the first Diesel Engine. When as I was waiting for the noise of whistle and steam I suddenly heard a heavy rumbling noise from the sea side and thinking it was something of the sea beheld a huge Engine in maroon colour coming on the railway track. I was flabbergasted. The Driver was in a very elevated position and looked very small in the large cab. This was I believe the first Diesel Engine of such proportions in Ceylon - the M1. I viewed it as an insipid monstrosity and devoid of all the Romance of the Steam Loco.

The only Diesel Engine that attracted me was the Canadian Engine a smart blue and silver colour loco with different names like“Ontario”, “British Columbia,” “Alberta “and looked elegant with the small twin headlights and having a very natural look like a large insect- The M2. To this day when I see and hear these engines the Railway spirit is kindled in me.

It was countless times and hours by the track that gave me immeasurable joy and heart beating, with childhood exuberance waiting in hope of seeing an engine pass by, too impatient to know time tables. There were many activities available to satiate the burning childhood fire of expectation and desires. The most sedate but ultra pulsating was to watch the “ Monster”pass by at a distance of 25- 30 from the rusted barbed wire fence imbibing the terrible noise, heat, smoke, soot and charcoal dust sometimes getting into the eye, part and parcel of the total experience. The Engine Drivers mostly burgher gentlemen in their Kaki “soot” literally and the Firemen sometimes bare bodied virtually steaming with sweat to keep the “Yakada Yaka” going on the track. The Engine drivers were seated or standing sometimes looking from a large vent placed the sides of the Engine always looking through the glass or side constantly hooting to warn people of the approaching Engine. The other was waving hoping for response mainly a hearty wave, stare giving the message ‘who is this imp’ or completely ignoring. But I built up a rapport with these passing Railway men by waving and smiling hoping they would last till I became an Engine Driver. The more dangerous pastimes were running with the Train or even in childish bravado by putting stones on the rails hoping the train would topple or be derailed only to see my dreams and stones shattered to dust. 

This placing of stones was a pastime of many who went to the sea and some of the poor children referred in derision as ‘ Welle Kollas’ . No wonder they hated the gentry from their cadjan huts on the beach. There were many of them one particular chap who used to call out ‘paan paan’ named ‘paan kolla’ by the people who disliked and saw them as ‘hora kollas’ a threat to their dignity. But my mother bless her soul was kind to all the ‘wella’ folk feeding them and admonishing them for some of their ways. This was natural to her with her background as Methodist Ministers granddaughter. ‘Pan Kolla’ would be given two slices of bread with butter and sugar sometimes on her good days even some Strawberry Jam imported of course in the tradition of the Colonial Days. This was a staple diet for us children before the wide use of good old parippu which I was told came with the Malaria epidemic to be distributed in the affected areas. Since ‘Pan Kolla’ was my friend I would quickly prepare the bread with sugar and add some glorious Golden Syrup from the green and white tin which I remember had a Gold coloured picture of a lion. He used to give me loads of ‘pin’ or merit. Luckily for me the Good Lord prevented me from being found out.

The Rail track and the sea taught me even as a child to see death and life as inevitable facts of life. The sea on the one hand having a great cross section of life in its birds, fish, turtles, jelly fish, fisher folk and their vibrant activities, people who sea bathed and lovers, the list goes on. A vibrant plant life, with a unique variety. All changing with the seasons. One saw death in the fish that were daily killed by drawing nets and fishing boats that had gone out to sea sometimes in the night and others in the day.  The night fish catch called ‘Ra Mudu’. To add the fish vendors who carried a variety of fish, crabs, lobsters. Turtle eggs were brought early morning to the house and gobbled up by us children with salt and pepper oblivious to destruction of the turtles. The Rail track had people, (Railway Party) the Khaki clad railway workers, repairing, bolting, hammering, railing and waving green and red flags for the trains, a motley but garrulous lot. The various vendors of different wares Gram, Pineapple ‘Bombai Muttai’ peddling them to the folk especially the lovers in the Wetakeya Bushes who were forced cough out money to avoid detection by others.

Death was seen in many ways. In the sea it was drowning of people of all ages and invariably a body or two washed ashore of the folk who did not bathe within the limits of the life savers. Sundays invariably washed up the most, dead bodies, only to be watched by a curious mob. I cannot but recall an incident when I was about 7 years. On a Sundays our garden and adjoining lands were full of people who came to enjoy the sea and sand, most of them unable to swim. One Sunday there was much shouting and a big commotion facing a small rock that was about 200 yards from the shore, while several boats were put to shore the fishermen straining at the oars to go at full speed and several Lifesavers swimming to sea. I too did the forbidden act crossing of the Rail track and saw a portly gentleman being carried to shore by the Life guards to be given artificial respiration on the beach. After some time the typical Volkswagen Ambulance at that time arrived and took away the patient who was a Cabinet Minister. (During those days people loved them and did everything to protect their life). But unfortunately an Engineer who was a father of a school and play mate of mine had also drowned. A true life incident of death. This incident is deeply embedded in my mind even today. 

The next death trap was the Railway line. Many were accidently run over by trains and some deliberately put their necks on the track to have an immediate execution. There were lovers who jumped onto the Rail Track in true ‘Swamy Rock’ tradition of Trincomalee. Next to our house there was large house owned by a former Cabinet Minister and legal Eagle at the time which had a high wall that facilitated people to hide and jump onto the track in front of the Train. I still remember my father rescuing a youth who had left home and come to end his life. I saw my father a very regal character speaking to the youth and bringing him home with his head hanging down. He was given food and lodging and a ton full of hard knuckle advice. This brought him back to his senses. My father who was an ardent and very good photographer and had many connections among studio owners, packed the youth off to a Studio in Nuwara Eliya. I remember several years later he came back with his own happy family to greet my father and later he became an owner of a Studio.  

 The Engine drivers used to throw coal at people to get them off the track at times.I recollect a railway artifact, a wooden door which was fashioned to meet the requirements of the rear door of our home ‘Bucket Toilet’ that existed those days. This door was one which was salvaged from a Train Collision in front of our house. My attempts to get the ‘romantic details’ of this accident were beyond the limits of my mother’s patience resulting in a threat, of having a good ear ringing and time In the ‘corner’. There are many tales of these ‘bucket toilets’ which due to constraints of space cannot be related here.

There were two more appendages to the great ‘Yakada Yaka’ that ran on the Rail Track. The beautiful Green and Cream coloured Railway Car and the “Dakkuwa” a contraption that two men on either side powered by moving two arms at either end up and down. I remember a few rides on one of them a poor alternative to a train drive for my ‘train dream’.

Enough of the death and life experiences of sea and track. 

I have entrenched memories of the upcountry train ride specially the Kadugannawa Railway Station and Railway Yard. Though what were seen by the sea were the passing locos. This train journey upcountry revealed the logistics of steam. The filling of water, the coupling of carriages, shunting, use of the sand box on the hills the great and massive Garrett’s pushing the front train up Kadugannawa onwards from Rambukkana, last but not least the deft handling of the Tablet by the Driver and the Receiver. The most lovable was experiencing the wind on my face looking out of the window or carriage door when the elders were otherwise engaged. Resulting, in sooty and dusty clothes. For good measure tiny coal pieces and grit to the eyes. The Tunnel experience both frightened and brought a unique response from my child’s mind to my Railway Dream land. This generated warmth that made me think that Railway was a lifeline to happy experiences. In later years I read in the Reader’s Digest of two engines stuck in a tunnel and the rear engine had been trying to go forward and the front engine in reverse. Many had died of suffocation. When the train stopped for any reasonable time I was able to cajole my father into going near the Engine and seeing the Firebox and the Engine controls that were like invaluable Gems to my child mind. The Train journey was full of pleasant and inner life generating greenery of paddy fields, trees buffalos plowing the muddy fields driven by shouts of the white turbaned paddy cultivators, sometimes lucky to see the beautiful ‘nil goyama’ of the infant paddy plants, the enchanting and forest cover that bred a multitude of visions and dreams including the hideout of ‘ Saradiel’ the Robin Hood of Ceylon and his waylaying of Horse Carriages on the Kandy Road and his capture. A tale told by my father of a whole Train going down the precipice of the Kadugannawa track and lying below the road near where the Rock was bored, enchanted me. But there was no possibility of going down and viewing the scene of the wreck which in all probability would have been vandalised. 

The wonderful and memorable experiences of the Kadugannawa Railway Yard are by itself fit for a story. My father had a friend who owned a Tea Estate above the Kadugannawa Railway Station and we spent many a holiday there. I waited in expectant anticipation for the next holidays. We stayed in a bungalow overlooking the Station from the hillside, a quaint house with wall paper which was alien to us sea lubbers. I remember damaging a wall paper and facing a severe reprimand. There were many Kitul trees and we imbibed the maiden unfermented sap of the Kitul flower called “Thelijja” the delicious nectar. Invariably I and my younger sibling went to the Railway Yard and watched the engines being made ready and the Boilers started, oiling and such work which were essential part of my Railway dream. There were several types of Steam Locos from the shunting up to the majestic Garrets. I loved theGarrets and watched them at close quarters absorbing their power and gigantic proportions compared to the other engines. 

Garret at full steam

These Garret engines had a special place in my tiny mind. The Drivers and Fireman were quite friendly and tolerant towards me and my brother and explained to us some of the workings, levers, meters, hooter, more so the firing of the boiler which we saw in situ and the coal which was an experience to touch and feel. The power source of steam. The Estate had many fruit trees including, Mango, Guawa, Jambu, Num Num among others. We spirited out some from the large basin that held them and gave it to the Drivers, Firemen and our many friends in the Yard. I felt an Engine Driver when we were given runs on the Engine going for watering sometimes short forward and reverse runs in the Yard. These were exclusive experiences that remain etched in the canvas of my life.

A Garret at Nawalapitiya

The Signals and their working by hand levers was another experience that evoked much interest as we watched the lever and cables working to bring the Signal Arm up or down. The elevated Signal box was another target for us with luck we found our way in and watched in amazement. The workings gave us much to think about on coming back to the Bungalow.

The changing of the tracks with a great noise and a potentially dangerous and fatal situation for anyone to be caught in it was awesome. The Lamps of the engines and carriages, on the tracks at some points and lanterns were other articles of interest that became joyful artifacts in my memory and their recall brings an experience of youthful exuberance and innocence to this day .The “Turntable” by which the Steam Locos were turned around was a masterpiece modeled on simple basics. My greatest joy was when I was offered a ride in a Steam Loco which was turned around at the “turntable”. I was really confident of being an Engine Driver with all expectations shattered by the Diesel Locos. Many more are the memories of Kadugannawa Railway Yard some of which have faded away with time and some through lack of space cannot be etched into these memories.

The Restaurant Car had a special place in my father’s Railway Journey for he loved to be seated there enjoying a “British” breakfast with Ham, Bacon and  Eggs with tea or coffee served by smart white coated and brass buttoned waiters, always at service with cordiality and concern very unlike the present set. I believe some Trains still have a similar service run in the Hotel Hospitality tradition. Most of the Restaurants have been relegated to cater to the taste of “Malu Paan and Bunis” of the present. imbibing the worst of wheat flower which has caused much ill health among the people. I remember a Bell which was rung to summon the Waiters and I used to jump at the idea of ringing it and asking my father for things so that I could ring the Bell. 

The next interesting place was the sleeping berth.  My father travelled by train sometimes to Badulla or Bandarawela by Night Mail Trains when he went for cases.  We were entertained as children in the Berth for a while to bid him farewell. The Brass wash basin which was opened by pressing a button was an item that endeared to my Railway Dream. The step ladder to the upper berth would be climbed by me if my father got it for his journey. Of course he preferred the bottom Berth and climbing the ladder was a rare chance for me. It was a deep disappointment as I never got the chance to travel in a Berth. However in later life going to India for a Conference I was hosted by several YMCA’s and spent about a month in India travelling by train. I went in a 1st Class Berth from Calcutta to Ranchi which was Air Conditioned and pleasant till it came to the hills and the engine slowed and it was suffocating inside. I had to open a window to breathe freely. The Second Class was a different kettle of fish with bags being chained to the beds in the Berth. I had an upper Berth and a big suitcase with me which made it impossible for me to sleep the whole night. The tension with the bag was further aggravated when a poter man ran carrying my suitcase. I chased him and luckily found him near a 3 wheeler. 

The Railway Guards formed the smart elite of the service. Dressed in Black Coats, with Silver Buttons, White Trousers, and Black Caps and well polished black shoes. Always, a flag or Lantern in hand they played a vital role both for the safety of the travelers and the train itself. This was a severe contrast to the Kakhi gentry who were with the ‘grit and dust’ of the Railway service.I used to admire an uncle of mine, a Railway Head Guard whom I met in my trek to school when we had shifted out of the Sea and Rail track environment. I used to meet this person in the morning returning from his Train duty with Lantern in hand in the smart Guard’s attire- even sporting a Cap early morning. He was a very kind gentleman and told me many stories of his train journeys. One I remember well was of a Station Master in the hill country who did the Tablet exercise with an English driver but was minus his Cap. This was reported by the Engine Driver in the typical style of that era and the Guard was reprimanded. When the Engine driver passed that way again the Station Master was standing with only his cap on and nothing else braving the cold weather. From what I heard from my Uncle it was a lonely and energy sapping life especially in the night runs with very little lighting and a kerosene lantern for use. It is sad to see today the conditions under which the Railway Guards work minus full uniform and sometimes even in rubber slippers. A glorious service relegated to a position of puerile conditions. We cannot blame the workers who continue to render yeoman service but our own rulers.

A KV LINE STEAM LOCOMOTIVE

The Narrow Gauge line has a history of its own. The information available refers to an early line 2’6” that plied the Hill Country and known as the Uda- Pussellawa line that ran from Nanu-oya to Ragala a distance of 32 Kilometers with steep gradients as 1 in 24. Started in 1902-4 and closed in 1940. The Uda Pussellawa had one Garret imported in 1930. Classed h1 H1and numbered 293, it toppled over in 1942.(Information courtesy Vinodh Wickremaratna)

I did see some of the relicts of this service on annual sojourns to the hill country with my family. The KV Line (now a broad gauge) referred to as the ‘Punchi Kochchiya’ was an exciting spectacle for children especially because of its size and speed. It was said that while the train was running one could get down, purchase a cigarette and after lighting get on the train again. However the change to Broad Gauge has served and is serving several thousands of workers even to this day.

We must be grateful to both local and international enthusiasts who keep the Steam Engines and its romance alive. Locally the Viceroy Special a beacon to brilliant and sacrificial efforts that prove the ability and dedication of local entrepreneurs and Railwaymen who still remain in our Motherland without heeding the mercenary call beyond our shores.   

I was engaged in professional Photography for some time. My good friend and fellow Boy Scout Priyal De Silva a former GMR invited me to take a photograph of the then new Hitachi Diesel and a Steam Engine together. I indicated a time to him. But I believe the Steam Loco took some time to get up steam and arrived much later to my consternation. However using all my expertise I got a good shot of the Engine Couple which was published in a Railway Magazine. The icing on the cake was meeting the Railway giant late Rampala at his residence to hand over the first copy. A short conversation with him forms part of my golden memorabilia.   

I have been greatly inspired to write this after reading the books of Mr. Hemasiri Fernando a vibrant force in the preservation of steam rail and its glorious memories. These books were presented to me by his son Pavithra.  Grateful thanks to J F Tours and Travels (Pvt) Ltd for some photos of the Viceroy Special. My friend Niroshan Pannapitiya who keeps my Railway interests alive with interesting and beautiful Posts on Face Book – a Railway enthusiast himself and VinodhWickremeratne of encyclopedic fame on Railways and Model Railway were extremely supportive and helpful to me in this very pleasant and endearing adventure of penning these words. Another reason for penning this is for today’s children who have been cheated of their childhood dreams with the utmost lack of space and playing areas. The electronic gadgetry especially the games and phones and related devices have made them addicts as well as bringing harm to their little brains. To add to it the constant hammering of knowledge into their minds without any concern for rest or childhood pursuits have made them into an exhausted generation with only a vision for success. One is reminded of the writings of D H Lawrence who saw the de-humanization of society by industrialization at that time but now further eroded by modern technology with massive unbelievable strides. I pray the children of today be released from this torment and captivity treated as unfeeling objects taken and shown various man made exhibitions of what should have been seen in their natural habitats – like the fish we saw and caught in the lakes and waterways. The thrill of it all is no more to them. A sad Story. A stolen birth right, by society and parents. At least a parent, child Rights person or education official who reads this may be moved to make some changes for the benefit of these innocent children.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

J F Tours and Travels (Pvt) Ltd

I am much indebted to  VinodhWickremeratne, an authority on our railways, early mechanization, old buildings, commercial/mercantile histories, genealogy, family trees, tram ways, period fashion, vintage vignettes, author and editor, film, documentary consultant, archivist....................

e-mail vinodhvix71@gmail.com

NiroshanPanapitiya Railway Photographer/Enthusiast

By Sunil Wanigatunga

From: Sri Lanka