There wasn’t anything in the air than the usual, that morning of a day in 1954 at the Peradeniya University campus. Walking from Ramanathan Hall with some books in hand we were on our way to the lectures. Most of us were just ambling along, hardly walking. I remember this due to a remark made by a senior who breezed past us with better intent. That provoked a remark, by that worthy that I did not look as if I (we) were going in search of the Truth. My feet shuffled just that little. A stiff cool breeze which blew in just then wafted the gibe away and over the trees. I moved on.
But only just that further, around the bend, there was something in the air and more on the ground. Some students were collected in groups. All along the Galaha road, from near the turn off to the Vice Chancellors Lodge past the Arts theatre, students were gathered. From them we learnt that this was the last day of Sir Ivor Jennings in the Peradeniya campus. Sir Ivor was to leave by 1000am and would be driving his own car, a Ford Prefect , from the Lodge down the driveway to the Galaha road junction and to the Colombo road from Peradeniya. The groups of students were here at vantage points to wish Sir Ivor goodbye on his way out.
No sooner as we were to see there were other arrangements made by yet others who had prior knowledge of the departure. They had organised a motor cycle escort to pilot the way for the car. Seven motor cycles (sic) soon arrived. Three were to cover either flank, with one at the point of the arrow leading from in front. That was a sight to behold. The motor cycles were naturally a motley collection, called to service at short notice. The motor cycle in front was a Harley Davidson ridden by Uwais whose more than ample torso stood majestically astride the huge motor cycle. Two of the others, as far as I remember, were Mahinda Wijenaike and Bandula de Silva. Scooters, Vespas, a Lambreta and others of make less reputed were enlisted to the task. The riders were equally an unassorted lot. Yet there was some order in their attire. They wore white longs and long sleeved shirts. They were lined up in arrow formation and set off at a ceremonial pace just when Sir Ivor’s car came up alongside.
The sun was up but it was now Darkness at Noon. A pall of gloom settled over the grateful students as they paid their humble tribute to Sir Ivor Jennings. The air was heavy. A big black threatening cloud hung heavily over, but did not express its grief. All was quiet. Even the birds had lost their chirp. Amorous whisperings were even muted. The more gregarious lot stood rock still and emotionless, cold as the pillars they were leaning against. Only the eyes moved following the motorcade to lose the sight at the furthest bend. That was the signal which tolled the knell for the parting of our own ways. That was the second dawn for the day. Even the black cloud was not to be seen, removed as but a stage-set after the play.
Sir Ivor and Lady Jennings were certainly surprised but took it all in their characteristic English style, though – I think- the stiff upper lip relented just that little on their way. Students waved good bye from either side of the road all along as far as we could see. This was a touching spectacle, all gripped with emotion in disapproval of the manoeuvres which brought on the departure of Sir Ivor Jennings form Peradeniya . Spontaneous gratitude and respect were shown for a man all students admired.
This end was however coming from the beginning. Sir Ivor’s first address, to us ‘freshers’, was memorable. He spelt out that his job was a very difficult one. He said, he is a Mayor of a town, a Chief Engineer of all the works, a policeman on a beat like no other, the Head of a supply organisation unlike the cooperatives, Curator and landscape artist with not a shadow of experience behind him, a chief accountant who had not seen a balance sheet, a sports trainer with even less credentials. As a Vice Chancellor, Sir Ivor said, this was his easiest task! Sir Ivor only wanted us freshmen, as we realised much later, to help him in this onerous task. Sir Ivor so endeared himself to students in this imitable manner. We freshmen had to keep our notebooks and pencils discreetly away!
Between the last farewell and out first initiation, there were many more exchanges which endeared us to Sir Ivor. The one about the Law and the Constitution went like this: The Action Committee which went before Sir Ivor near the Lodge was asked by Sir Ivor, how are you constituted? Where is your constitution? – a polite and clever way of addressing a rag tag? The reply came, if I am correct, from Gamini Irriyagolla. He replied Sir Ivor. ‘Sir we may be without a Constitution but we are within the Law’. This was a neat allusion to Sir Ivor’s book, the Law and the Constitution, which by now, students were submersed in. Sir Ivor appreciated the quip and invited all to tea!
Much has been written of Sir Ivor in the press recently, both serious and some light hearted. The final event somehow did not figure in all the accounts widely given. The reason is not clear. But the occasion signalled the esteem with which Sir Ivor was held by the student body.
Had a Hall of Residence to be named after Sir Ivor, as Jennings Hall, come at about that time, there would have been universal acclaim.
Clarifications, corrections, additions and subtractions, to this article, all are welcome. This is only from memory, as far as it goes.
Frank de Silva
Narahenpita
