Sunday Times 2
The evening the Prince came to (Prince) Alfred House Gardens
Chance placed us within Prince Charles’s ambit the other day, as the royal went about his various rounds during his visit in November. He was here as the Queen’s representative at the Commonwealth Heads of Government Meeting, and one of his last non-CHOGM duties before leaving was to open the new block at the British Council premises in Alfred House Gardens, Colombo 3. The new education complex has come up on what was one of the premises’ most attractive features, a luxuriant expanse of lawn at the entrance that was as inviting as a swimming pool with greenery floating on top. It would have been the lawn, among other things, that prompted Prince Charles’s mother, Queen Elizabeth II, to exclaim, when she opened the original building, in October 1981, that the Colombo site “must surely be one of the most beautiful British Council premises in the world.”
Prince Charles meets staff at the new British Council education complex in Alfred House Gardens
That Saturday evening we stepped into Duplication Road to find police officers at every intersection. “Charles Kumaraya ewilla [the Prince has arrived],” one of the officers explained, pointing in the direction of the British Council. As we were in no hurry to get to where we were heading that night, we made our way to Alfred House Gardens. There were more police at the junction. It was dusk, about 6.30 pm. We joined a small group assembled at the corner. They were there to get a glimpse of the future King of England. The group included a couple of families and adult students following language classes at the British Council. Someone suggested we move closer to the Council entrance. No one stopped us to ask who we were or where we were heading. The atmosphere was expectant but relaxed. Everyone was keyed up yet smiling. The atmosphere was what you would expect at a garden party for Very Important Persons. There was a sound of Kandyan drums from within. The Prince would soon be emerging, someone murmured. Official-looking persons, local and foreign, came out ahead of the royal guest. And then the Prince appeared. The famous face, ruddy but fresh-looking, was illumined by the lights over the British Council entrance, and people in black suits and dresses were milling around him. The Prince was dressed in a light-coloured suit. A black Range Rover stood by. The Prince seemed in no hurry to go. He looked comfortable chatting, as if he knew his hosts valued every moment of his presence, and to give a little more of his time was the nice thing to do. Our group was positioned 25 feet away. Someone remarked that the Prince looked older than she had expected. Another voice observed, “How polite he seems.”
What were our thoughts?
That it was worth having taken the time and walked in this direction to get a glimpse of a royal – one from a very ancient, blue-blooded family. That here was noble lineage, and that if it takes a couple of generations to make a gentleman, then how much more it must take to produce a royal heir to a throne. That here was tradition and decency, refined over centuries, and that tradition matters, say what you like. If someone had suggested there was something more, some other value, attached to the occasion than mere proximity to a king-to-be, then it might be remembered that the King or Queen of England is also the Supreme Governor of the Church of England. All this we experienced gratefully, in the golden air of a cool tropic evening, at the quiet end of a private road named after a son of Queen Victoria, Prince Alfred, the royal who in 1870 visited a grand house around the corner as a guest of Victorian Ceylon’s wealthiest citizen. The Prince then climbed into the high backseat of the Range Rover, and as the car turned, the royal looked smilingly out of the window on his left and waved to our group.
Famous face, famous wave, like the famous face and famous wave when Prince Charles’s mother acknowledged the little group gathered to see the Queen as her car turned the corner at the 34th Lane- Queen’s Road-Queen’s Avenue junction one morning in October 1981. We were all smiling. We all felt good – and privileged. Someone said, “It was nice to have been there”, as we walked away through the yellow light of the street lamps and the wavering shadow of leaves.