BURGHER LIGHTS OF SRI LANKA by ECB Wijeyesinghe
Source:-island.lk
Those who think that all good Burghers, when they die, go to Holland, are sadly mistaken. The best of them, in life and death, have not only hitched their wagons to the fluctuating fortunes of this little island, but rendered such signal service to the land of their birth that they have amply qualified to be described as patriots.
One of them, R. L. de Boer Brohier, passed away the other day (1980). There was not an inch of this country he had not covered with his theodolite. He knew every village tank and anicut, every ancient ruin, every mountain, hill and valley, like the palm of his hand. There are many others of the same ilk like Andreas Nell, R. L. Spittel, E. Reimers, C. W. Nicholas, J. H. O. Paulusz and Sam Mottau who embraced their motherland with both arms and were proud of the soupcon of Ceylonese blood in their veins.
One of the saddest things that has happened to this island during the past two or three decades has been the exodus of this great group of law-abiding and cultured citizens to other climes. Globe trotters say that now you cannot throw a stone in Melbourne or Sydney without hitting one of this tribe.
Early in life it was my good fortune to have been associated with four or five of the most piquant personalities of that generation and they all happened to be Burghers. The rules of the Dutch Burgher Union formed the subject of much satirical comment at the time, and the best piece on the subject was a long amusing parody of a song entitled “Quite English”. The author was the incomparable Edmund de Livera who wrote under the nom-de-plume, “Adstans”, in the old “Independent” every Saturday, and helped to keep that newspaper alive.
I am indebted to my irrepressible friend, Eric La Brooy – himself a good Dutch Burgher, but with an infinite capacity for laughing at the foibles of chauvinists and charlatans – for this juicy morsel from his collection of Edmund de Livera’s verses which he regards as his own Golden Treasury:
O the things that they do and the things they indite
Are Burgher you know – Dutch Burgher you know
By the laws of the Union you’re given the right
To be Burgher, Dutch Burgher, you know
If your forefathers lived in the good old Dutch days
They’re Burgher you know – Dutch Burgher you know.
They may have come from far-off Japan
From Russia or Turkey or Afghanistan,
It matters not what was their nation or clan
You’re Burgher, Dutch Burgher, you know.
Eric La Brooy, as you probably know, is married to Coralie, daughter of Editor Hilaire Jansz. Hilaire Donald Jansz was one my earliest Burgher associates at Lake House. We came over together from Baillie Street, virtually arm-in-arm, and Herbert Hulugalle will tell you that a more sweet-tempered and helpful colleague it was difficult to find.
Lionel Wendt, whose ghost still haunts Chitrafoto, described Jansz as “a quaint, gaunt saint”. He was more. He was a literary genius. Another Burgher friend of my Lake House days was Pieter Keuneman whose ancestors hailed from that Southern home of culture, Matara. It was almost impossible to believe that this elegant, debonair youth, with neatly brushed hair exuding the aroma of an expensive pomade, was a Communist.
His clothes were cut in the latest Bond Street style. Or was it Saville Row? He had just come from Cambridge where he had been elected President of the Union. It was a rare honour, the last recipient being Sir James Peiris. With bated breath they whispered in the corridors of Lake House that this son ‘of a highly respected Supreme Court Judge and a true-blue Burgher had become a Red.
Here was a remarkable phenomenon, an ardent disciple of Lenin eating out of the hands of Ceylon’s arch-capitalist. But D. R. Wijewardene was not so naive as he pretended to be. He knew his onions and liked them even though they were red. D. R. W. had a nose for news, but he could also scent a good newspaperman a mile away and when he sent Pieter in to bat, a Mona Lisa smile would come over his countenance.
Pieter’s contributions had an exotic flavour, because no other writer in the premises could boast of his academic background or his achievements as a speaker in one of the world’s most famous debating societies. Very often one had to read between Pieter’s lines to get at what he was saying, and his discourses even on the gloomiest topics had a crimson lining.
After a couple of years of arduous duty in what the Marxists regard as the Citadel of Sin, Pieter packed up his kit-bag and plunged into the maelstrom of politics to sink or swim. He survived and has since then been in the front rank of the radicals. As for his literary abilities, some think it is a pity that he has given to the Communist Party what was meant for mankind.
Journalism is lucky in that it has been able to attract some of the best Burgher brains. Apart form old stalwarts like Lorenz, C. J. Staples and O. E. Martinus, there was at a later date, a brilliant young Trinitian and a pupil of W. S. Senior who made the grade. His name was Orion de Zylva. It was not for nothing that his parents christened him after a constellation, because for many years he was the bright, particular star of the Daily News staff.
Orion was often called upon by his Boss, DRW, to write the first leader. He would then retire to a quiet corner and let his fluent pen flow over specially selected glazed paper, He wrote without a single scratch or alteration. He would rather re-write a whole page than delete a word and spoil the beauty of the page. In short, he was an aesthete.
His gift for silence was amazing and he could spend hours in a crowded room without uttering a word. A man of moods, he wore a monocle and a black Homburg and had only a few friends. Once, he retired for three months and lived at Horagolla Walauwa and it was the common talk in the office that he had a lot to do with Sir Solomon Dias Bandaranaike’s “Remembered Yesterdays”.
There were other outstanding Burgher journalists during my time at Lake House such as Duke Wright, Stanley Morrison, S. P. Foenander, Mervyn Morgan and Frank Prins, to say nothing of P. C. A. Nelson and P. L. A. Deutrom who reinforced the business side.
Across the road the rival Times of Ceylon had an equally strong team with Dutch connections. Donovan Andree was perhaps the most picturesque of them all. A man with a large heart he abandoned the Press to become a Turf Accountant and an impresario. He made a fortune but what he earned with one hand he gave away with the other.
One of Donovan’s kinsmen was A. W. Lorenz-Andree, also popularly known as Sonny. Though he was attached to the Customs he was a prolific writer on any subject and a raconteur par excellence, gifts which he appeared to have inherited from his distinguished ancestor, Charles Ambrose Lorenz. As a freelance writer he was in great demand by the Press when centenaries and anniversaries. came round. He died a few years ago after having reached the ripe old age of 80. His birthday which falls on March 1 was usually an occasion for the convivial gathering of his old cronies, mostly from the Press.
It is not possible within the space of a brief article to give even a summary of the monumental contributions that Burghers have made in the spheres of Law, Medicine, Literature and Art. In Banking however, they have hit the jackpot. In this sphere the chief representative of the community is Christopher Anthonisz, the General Manager of the Bank of Ceylon.
The pink roses on his cheek assume a deeper red when the female members of the banking fraternity refer to him as the “Adonis of York Street”. He hails from Galle where the ashes of his ancestors rest in the yard of the Old Dutch Church, along with those of his relatives, the de Voses and Kales.
For those who have time to chew the cud of days that are dead, may I suggest the names of a few Burgher celebrities of a bygone age that may provide the fodder this week-end: Richard Morgan, Frederick Dornhorst, James Van Langenberg (pere et fill), F. J. Soertsz, G. A. Wille, Arthur Alvis, Evelyn Jansz, Durand Altendorf, Garvin Mack, Frank Grenier, Alan Drieberg, H. H. Bartholomeusz, Bede Beekmeyer and L. E. Blaze.
The list goes on: W. G. Van Dort, N. E. Ernst, Leonard Arndt, F. L. Beven, Lucian de Zilwa, Lucian Jansz, C. Horan, V. S. de Kretser, Edward Kelaart, H. G. Thomasz, O. L. de Kretser, J. R. Weinman, H. L. Wendt, Trixie Loos, Samuel Grenier, J. G. Vandersmagt, Eric Jansz, C. L. Ferdinands. L. M. Maartensz, A. J. R. Scharenguivel, J. Ludovici, Waldo Sansoni, Noel Gratiaen, G. S. Schneider, Clement de Jong, V. R. Schokman, Joseph Grenier, Hector Van Cuylenberg, F. Lourensz, Justin LaBrooy, Percy Cooke, E. H. Joseph, V. O. Wright, A. L. de Witt, A. E. Buultjens, Wace de Neise, Frank Markus, Claude Orr, Sam de Vos, Cyril A. Jansz, Aubrey Martensz and E. W. Foenander.
(Excerpted from The Good at Their Best first published in 1980)
