HAUNTING MEMORIES– By Des Kelly

“The Haunting of Hill-House”, a very recent “horror-movie”

that is supposed to be so spooky, people are passing-out in fright, even as they watch this “flick”. What is this World coming to ?, I ask you. Nowadays, one does not have to spend money, going to theatres to watch these miserable films, only to go back home and, instead of making love, to some romantic music, go to bed, only to recapture these nightmarish movies in their dreams.

Enough is enough. Even our television stations in Australia (and there are plenty of them, at the moment), seem to have forgotten all the beautiful, happy, musical-movies of days gone by, movies such as “Anchors Aweigh”,

“The Jolson Story”, “Singing in the rain” and dozens of others of the same ilk, that leave viewers feeling at peace with the World. Instead, we have even the very young playing computer-games featuring 90% violence, leading them to think (quite naturally), that THIS is the way to go.

Lately, in addition to the horror movies, Programme-Managers of most television stations are now featuring movies about the end of the World, as we see it. Armageddon, Earthquake, etc., etc., I am beginning to wonder if there is some truth that a huge meteor which is supposed to be heading our way, will, after all, be the swan-song for Earth. According to the Scientists following the direction of this huge rock, the meteor is now plummeting toward us at about 50 thousand kilometres a second, but is still a few ‘light-years” away, so we do not have to worry or have nightmares about that!!, at least.

My dear eLanka readers, & thousands of others, who are now “getting on-board”, this is a true story (& part of my still unfinished autobiography), which I will share with you, right now. If you are interested, read on, if not, go, jump in the Yarra. Your’s truly is now 82 years of age, am in the departure-lounge, even as I write this, live alone & have never ever worried about ghosts, the “undead” & such, as I, me & myself was mistaken for one, (a bloody ghost, mate)!

In Ceylon, when I was about 16 years old.

To make a long story short, I was touring the little Island with an English Circus Troupe under contract to the late great Donavan Andree, doing a show entitled ” Continental Non-stop Revue”, 3/2 hour shows 24/7, when, dressed in an off-white tussore suit (+ black bow-tie), my usual costume worn on stage, I meandered one night, shortly after midnight to a little “kade” (boutique), to get myself something to eat & a cup of plain tea, after which I had to get back to the Communal hall in the little Village, to get some sleep. Being new to the area, with hardly any Street lighting, I lost my way back, took a wrong turn in the Road & walked into a fenced-off area of land, which I soon noticed, was very “bumpy”. I walked on, coming to an old barbed-wire fence, where I stopped, wondering where the hell I was. I then heard the tinkle of a bicycle bell. It was a Villager, going back home, after a shift, I suppose.

I wanted to find out where I was, so I raised both my arms and accosted this man, who screamed something in Sinhalese, calling his mother for help. “AMMAY”, he yelled.

I didn’t know what he was screaming about, forgot all about asking for directions, the hairs on the back of my neck standing straight up, at the sound of his screeching, I screeched back. What I didn’t know, then, was the fact that I had accidentally walked into a little Village Cemetary and this poor guy thought that this must have been a bloody “Holmung”(Ghost), he was seeing, white suit, white face and all, & somehow, after his shock he peddled his bicycle away, still screaming, of course.

I was too panic-striken by now, still did not know that I was in a cemetary, so I just sat down to get my breath back.

The grass was soft, beneath me and I was just beginning to feel more comfortable, when I saw about ten bare-bodied men, carrying what was called a “polatthu-torch” (a blazing coconut-tree branch, used as a torch, come looking for the ghost that had their “aiya”(brother) almost coming in for a nervous breakdown, after reaching home.

There was nothing I could do. I tried to explain, in broken- Sinhala, that I didn’t know what was happening. These angry Villagers gave me a sound thrashing, probably thought that it was absolutely useless, killing a ghost, and left me totally unconscious on a grave-mound for the rest of the night. When the “Kossas” (Cops) found me the next morning, they did not know whether to believe me or believe the group of thugs who attacked me. Naturally, they all lived in the same little Village, so we just let it go.

What I am trying to say is that if ANYONE had to see a ghost, in their life, it was your editor, himself. I spent a whole night in a bloody cemetery & anyway I do believe that compared with the spooks and undead nestling in your necropolis’s anywhere, the “undead” roaming the Streets outside could be far worse.

The only difference in my “Sinhala-Song-Clip” is that I wasn’t carrying my guitar with me, when “mama-bohoma-bayawunaa” (I got very frightened, indeed).