Source:Island
In the year 1973, the Galle Cricket Club playing their Daily News Trophy match against the Chilaw Cricket Club, registered the highest partnership of 210 runs for the 4th wicket in club cricket. The Galle C.C. players were R.L. Hewa and A.T. Fonseka, an Assistant Superintendent of Police (A.S.P) attached to the Galle Police.
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The last time I went to the Galle Police Station, it was to pay a courtesy call on A.S.P. Bandula Seneviratna, who had come from Badulla. Like me, he was a fellow columnist in ‘Amita’s Column’ in The Island. That was the only time I met him. His anecdotes enormously enlivened us, more so how G.A.S.M. Silva, who had a penchant for toddy, became G. U. S Mutti Silva.
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In the late 1950s, there was this policeman, Zoysa, attached to the Galle police, who was a popular Baila Maestro. One of his melodious Bailas was:
Dukayi kiya dukayi kiya handai lokaya!’
Aida priye yanna giye apa duke dama!
Ara asiyathika ratawala kathanayaka
Ma piyaneka garu Bandaranaike
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An A.S.P. serving away from his native Galle used to come to the Club on his visits to the town. One of his brothers was the new Mp, who rode on the tidal wave of 1977 and was the butt of many an unkind joke. This A.S.P very much liked to hear them. One such was about the ‘Nila’ Telephone. One day when the M.P. came home for lunch, he saw some workman busy installing a telephone. He asked them what was going on. “Manthrituma we are installing your Nila Telephone,” they said, meaning official telephone, but which literally translated, meant blue telephone. “Nila telephone be damned! I want a Kola Telephone!” (a green telephone). We gathered on the grapevine that he shared these jokes with his M.P. brother.
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In the late 1930s, the Galle folk were not without entertainment. On moonlit nights, under the able and popular direction of Inspector Lazarus, the Police Band played delightful music on the Ramparts to the enjoyment of the residents of the town. How nice it would be if we could revive it now? The Police Courts of Galle were established in 1844.
When a police party led by an OIC raided a kasippu (illicit liquor) den, run by a man and his sister, the man fired at the OIC with his unlicensed gun. When the OIC directed fire at the man, he fell dead. During the raid when one policeman attacked the man’s sister with a baton, she fell and sustained injuries to her leg. When the OIC went up to her, she said, “Forgive us, Sir! Despite my telling my brother not to engage in this illegal business, he carried on, as he said that he had no other job.” When the OIC looked at her sweet pathetic face, tears came to his eyes. Carrying her in his arms to his jeep, he took her to hospital.
When she recovered from her injuries, the OIC took pity on this pretty girl with nobody to support her and married by special licence and lived happily thereafter. A few days after the marriage, he received a letter from his father, asking him to come home, as there was a favourable proposal of marriage to a pretty girl with a fat dowry!
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Once two cars driven by two lady drivers collied. Alighting from their vehicles, the two ladies began abusing each other in shrill, strident tones. Not even the grizzled, elderly police sergeant who arrived on the scene could stop their shrieking. At last the sergeant got a brainwave. Talking out his notebook and pencil, he said aloud, “Now then ladies; will the older of you two please tell me what exactly happened!” Immediately there was a deafening silence!
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It was midnight and a policeman on beat duty watched curiously, as a drunk tried to insert his door key into a hole in the lamp post. Walking up to him, the policeman said “Hello, what are you doing?” “I am trying to open the door of my house!” said the drunk. “It’s no use,” said the policeman diplomatically. “Everybody in the house is out.” “Don’t be shilly,” said the drunk. Can’t you shee the light burning upstairs?”
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Writing to The Daily News of June 7, 1999, Herby Jayasuriya, the retired Senior Superintendent of police, stated that the Government Services Cricket Tournament in Kandy, in 1960, had been won by the Agriculture Department. Thereafter a match was arranged to be played at the Asgiriya Police grounds between the losing combined Government Services Teams and the champions – the Agriculture Department.
Duckworth from the Kandy Prisons was selected as the captain of the combined team while Cotalingam was the other player from the Kandy Prisons. B. Jurampathy and Herby Jayasuriya were selected from the Kandy Police. The former Zahira captain, Haleem, who played for the Agriculture Department bowled an over to Duckworth, who hammered all six balls for six sixes. After the next over was bowled from the other end, Haleem bowled his next over, this time to Cotalingam, who also hammered Haleem for six sixes that over. Bowler Haleem was so disappointed and disgusted that he sat on the ground and cried for 10 minutes. Play was interrupted till Haleem finished his crying session.
Ruhunu Puthra remembers Cotalingam, who was an old boy of S. Thomas’ College, Mt. Lavinia, serving as the Superintendent of Prison, Galle in the mid 1960s. He was a perfect gentleman and of the friendly type who used to come to our club in the evenings. After his retirement from the Prisons, he lived in Anuradhapura. Unfortunately, he met with a tragic death; he was stabbed by the very boy whom he had adopted, an avaricious fellow.
Here is an extract from Herby Jayasuriya’s book ‘A Policeman Remembers’ (pg;241):
EPILOGUE
These are the reminiscences of a person who spent almost 39 years as an officer in the Police service. Considering all, it was only by the Grace of God that I survived this period and ended with an unblemished record. I always endeavoured to do my duty without fear or favour. I may have got to a higher rank had I sought political patronage. Nevertheless, I leave with no regrets having thoroughly enjoyed my work as a Policeman.
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I wish to end my story with a Policeman’s Prayer, which I came across when I visited Singapore about ten years ago. The text was on the office wall of a Singaporean Police Inspector. I copied it, had it framed and hung in my office. This is the prayer.
Teach me that sixty minutes makes one hour, sixteen ounces a pound, and one hundred cents a dollar. Help me to live that I can lie down at night with a clear conscience, without a gun under my pillow and haunted by faces to whom I have brought pain. Grant that I may earn my meal ticket on the square and in earning it may do to others as I would have others do unto me. Deafen me to the jingle of tainted money and the rustle of unholy skirts. Blind me to the faults of the other fellow, but reveal to me my own. Guide me so that each night when I look over the dinner table at my wife, who has been a blessing to me, I shall have nothing to conceal. Keep me young enough to laugh with little children and sympathetic enough to be considerate to the old. And when comes the day of darkening shadows and the smell of flowers, the tread of footsteps and the crunch of wheels in the yard, make the ceremony short and the epitaph simple:
‘HERE LIES A MAN’
