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Ian’s Richmond days: "From egghead to bookworm"

The plenitude of tributes paid to Dr. Ian Goonetileke in the newspapers shows the extent to which this wonderful and unique man was loved, admired and appreciated by all who knew him. Persons of the calibre of Ian Goonetileke are rare indeed. Ian was a man of exceptional intelligence, integrity and sincerity as well as absolute humility: one of the salts of the earth.

I should like to record an aspect of Ian's life which has not been referred to so far in any of the tributes - his childhood at Richmond College, Galle: the school which he loved so much and to which he was so devoted. I will also offer a few excerpts from some of Ian's writing in the 'Vintage News', the magazine of the Richmond Sixty Club and finally make three quotes from personal letters written by him to me.

Ian, who had both his primary and secondary schooling at Richmond showed promise at school of the achievements yet to come in later life. He participated in almost every school activity both in classroom and playing field. He walked away with some of the most coveted prizes and scholarships including the school's highest award to the best all-rounder of each year: the Darrell Medal, along with the Darrell Scholarship for entry into the University.

The Apollo Club devoted to Music and Drama, founded and nurtured by men like A.J. Platt, E.F.C. Ludowyke, A.F. de Saa Bandaranaike and Herbert Keuneman was also one of Ian's favourite areas of activity where he displayed his histrionic talents in several dramas presented in the late thirties and early forties. Ian drew inspiration from the aforementioned teachers who guided the club.

To dwell on his many accomplishments at school would be impossible. Instead, a few excerpts from some of his contributions to the "Vintage News" would be appropriate.

"From Egghead to Bookworm" [1998 issue]

"...I was entered into Richmond in the Michaelmas term of 1929 in Standard 2. My hair was close-cropped, and the new boy was promptly christened Bitharaya by Edward Bertram Gunatilaka - it was not my fault that my head did resemble the product of a laying hen... I faced the music determined to outwit them some day with my brains rather than with brawn, of which I had precious little to show, then or now. ...I had also discovered via a dictionary that "egghead" meant an intellectual and I set out to demonstrate that equation as well, with extensive and prolonged draughts of reading in every spare moment, and developing writing skills as well."

“... I devoured every scrap of paper I came across and read the morning and evening papers, quite often surreptitiously, as they were considered too corrupting in parts for an innocent mind. My mother gave me gifts of the Concise Oxford Dictionary and the Bible around this time, and this fuelled my vocabulary by leaps and bounds. There was also my father's treasure trove of books to glance at in a cupboard. My mother brought home her foodstuffs, groceries, eggs, fish and meat etc., wrapped in old English newspapers, exported from the mother country then. These contained pictures of sport, especially cricket and exciting events abroad. These were collected, sifted and stored in some order... Most of the ephemeral stuff was utilized more for extending knowledge of words rather than for the quality of their contents - yet all was grist to my mill...

"Bookworm to Embryo Bookman" [1999 Issue]

"It strikes me that I may as well offer the sequel to "From Egghead to Bookman" before the millennium arrives. I have no intention of retiring hurt but since father time is umpire and scorer, I cannot well be scornful of his scythe as I am about to enter my 78th year. I left off previously just as that little stockpile of assorted printed matter, my intellectual arsenal so to speak, was growing in a corner of my room, and the seeds of a future life in books were being planted and beginning to germinate. The Golden Jubilee of the school saw the emergence of the Darrell Memorial Library, an imposing, solid and congenial structure well away from the clamour and bustle of the classrooms. I was quickly drawn to the Library like a magnet, as much for its atmosphere as for its contents.

In my contribution to the Richmond Centenary 1876-1976 Souvenir I referred to that rewarding period of the first stirrings of intellectual ferment. It is comforting to pay tribute to that environment which nourished the endearing passion of the printed word and the endearing society of books in which I have discovered both unending satisfaction and surpassing delight. And in the midst of all this mental pabulum, I swung a bat, held catches in the slips, and was 'left inner' to the mercurial Caxton Njuki in the cricket and soccer eleven's respectively for two years before I left in March 1939. So I was by no means all bookworm. A new phase in my bookish pursuits began when I entered the hostel as a boarder in Hanover dorm in late 1936, and the reading room near the Junior pitch became a favourite haunt. Ikey A* knew best how to whet and widen a schoolboy's repertoire with a choice selection of magazines that opened fresh vistas. A side effect was that I was able to save some pocket money because both library and hostel reading room catered to my tastes in a critical phase of education for life. Even the loss of that boyhood store in Middle Street when my mother died in October 1937, though grievous, was compensated by the growing collections in the school library and Ikey's* weekly provender. I have never been to that library or that reading room since leaving almost 60 years ago, but I owe more to both inspirational shrines than I can ever put into words.

(*"Ikey" was Mr. A.C.G. Abeywardane, a greatly respected and much beloved teacher)

From an Editorial in the Vintage News, 1999

In the fading twilight of our respective lives there is a need to inject colour, romance and rapture into the grey areas of existence. I need not labour the point. Dredging up the past is a common pursuit, but how few of us have been moved to put pen to paper and pin it down. Each member must surely have his or her tale to tell, a significant episode, a colourful event, a valuable turning point in his/her school career to narrate. This retailing of the flavour and savour of the past in our formative years is surely a prime prescription for preserving the spirit of youth, a never failing recipe for tripping the light fantastic mental toe in our crabbed and knock-kneed years, when there is still light enough to play on, however cracked and worn the pitch.

This editorial focuses on a fervent plea to members to take the caps off their pens and to go on a voyage of discovery into that halcyon past not yet beyond recall, and to express the many splendoured fantasies, images and ecstasies which must surely have been part and parcel of their years on the Hill. There is little time to lose - so pick up your pens and begin scribbling your snatches of memoirs, grave or gay, as it is. I can tell you from long experience that it is a sure-fire formula for preventing the fire of life from growing cold earlier than it should. So stoke up those still glowing embers and make them crackle in these pages, so they may warm the cockles of fellow greybeards, and inspire them into similar exercises - the ripple effect so to speak.”

Finally, to quote brief excerpts from a letter to me:

12.05.99

"I am withdrawing further into myself now. As the shadows lengthen.

"...I have always been a loner, outsider and bohemian intellectual, and have now become one of the last witnesses and survivors of that other Time and another Country - changed beyond recognition.”

Very many other gems of thought and expression relating to a variety of matters appear in several letters written by Ian, and they all illustrate what an incisive mind he had and what an intellect he was but constraints of space do not permit me to quote yet more.

Dr. Ian Goonetileke was one of the finest and greatest men produced by this country within the last half century.

J.H.L.