GLORY DAYS : THE LEGEND THAT WAS TOM DEEN.- By Bernard VanCuylenburg
The legend that was Tom Deen had its genesis on the playing fields of St. Anthony’s College Kandy, when he first attended cricket practice for the Under 12 team. Thus began a fairy tale when in no time this promising youngster graduated to the Under 14 team before one could say “How’s that?” in cricketing parlance ! Following this meteoric rise, he was called for practice for the Under 16 side. You guessed correctly……he had hardly taken his middle at the batting crease in the Under 16 team, when he received the call to attend practices for the first eleven side. And there the tremendous potential of this legend came to life when the powers that be soon realized they had a fast bowler the likes of which had not been seen at St.Anthony’s for a long time. At the other end was his partner Saliya Doranegama. They were a formidable pair. Like the Lone Ranger and Tonto, Tom Deen and his bowling partner Saliya Doranegama blazed a trail of glory on the green turf , earning the reputation as being the fastest opening bowlers in schools cricket, hurling down the red ball like a weapon of mass destruction making life very uncomfortable for batsmen. Sports journalists writing in the national newspapers at the time had some colourful adjectives paying tribute to their prowess with the ball, using phrases like ” Deen the destroyer”, “Terrors of the turf “, ” A batsman’s worst nightmare” etc….. In the ‘Big Match’ of 1953 against Trinity college, Deen won the prestigious “Eagle” for his haul of eleven wickets.
Apart from his tearaway reputation as a bowler, Deen could swing a mean bat to destroy any bowling attack ! The Anthonian – Josephian encounter of 1954 played at Darley Road…
From serial killers to celebrity victims, sensational murder cases tend to grab one’s collective imagination and just wont let go. In the past I wrote some articles about famous murder cases of English planters on the tea estates. The first was about the murder of Mr.John Frank Whitehouse, the Superintendent on Madampe Group Ratnapura in 1949 in the article titled “Tales from the Thotum”. The second, was the article “Murder at Midnight” which was about the murder of Mr.George Pope the Superintendent on Stellenberg Estate Pupuressa in 1941, and the third, “Murder around the Bend” was regarding the murder of a young Superintendent on Talgaswella Estate, Galle, Mr.Roger Blumer in 1939. In the first story titled TALES FROM THE THOTUM, I also briefly dealt with the murder of Mr.Geoffreys, the Superintendent on Kenilworth Estate Ginigathena by his chief clerk I believe in the late thirties. The title of this article was later changed to “Marked for Murder”.
The tragic incidents depicted in this article are similar to those in the article “Murder around the Bend”. Robbery was the only motive for the murder of Mr.Roger Blumer on Talgaswella estate, and the murder depicted in this article. They were both killed while returning to their respective estates with the labourers wages. Turn back the hands of time to the year 1851, the year when a young Assistant Superintendent on Galantenna Estate Galaha, Mr.E.A.Morgan was returning to the estate on horse back with the cooly pay, the phrase used in the lingua franca of the plantations for ‘Labourers Wages’, and was waylaid and murdered en route.…
GEORGE WALL – THE LION THAT ROARED – By Bernard VanCuylenburg
A few months ago I wrote an article titled “David and Goliath” which featured a young English tea planter Mark Anthony Bracegirdle, who rocked the colonial establishment when he sided with the workers and the unions, by demanding better living conditions for the estate labourers on the plantations. His colonial masters were dumbfounded and furious to find that it was “one of their own” who by the courage of his convictions, proved to be the proverbial thorn in their side.
This story is about another hero George Wall – an Englishman – a philanthropist who fought for the rights of the Ceylonese in the days of colonial rule almost a hundred years before Bracegirdle. I wonder how many will remember the Town Hall end of the De Soysa Circus in Slave Island, Colombo. There was an ornate fountain here with an inscription in mosaic which read “GEORGE WALL – PHILANTHROPIST – 1820 – 1894. I dont know if this fountain still stands and I came across it during a ramble in the gardens over fifty years ago. It was not working then and if it is still there, I am sure it is not working now !, It is a tribute to a giant among men, and will perhaps part the veil of time and evoke a host of memories particularly to Sri Lankans of an older generation, who reminisce on life in the land we once called home.
George Wall had many strings to his bow and was a luminary in his own right. Using more romantic prose, it could be said that in an academic sense he wore a coat of many colours.
Apart from being a salt of the earth human being who never lost the common touch, he was a coffee planter, botanist, astronomer, politician,and a merchant. Above all this he was a great humanitarian. He came to Ceylon in 1846 and became Acting Manager of The Ceylon Plantations Company which then was in Kandy. Many years later this Company moved to Nuwaraeliya and managed their estates from there until the nationalisation of the plantations. He inaugurated The Planter’s Association and held the position of Chairman for twenty eight years though not consecutively. While Acting Manager of the company in Kandy, he resided in a building which today is the Hotel Suisse. He also owned a home in Nuwaraeliya.
He was a member of the Chamber of Commerce and the Legislative Council and resigned from both. But it is his stand for the rights of the Ceylonese working class and advancing unpopular reforms in their favour, for which he is most remembered. In later years he became the editor of “The Ceylon Independent” one of the most popular journals of the time, and this was his platform to voice his opinions by one of the strongest weapons at his command – his pen ! He became a prolific writer and did not win any sympathy from his English colonial masters by his scathing editorials. Conversely, the working class looked upon him as the greatest of all Englishmen in the islands public life. Like a lion that roared, George Wall used his pen to maximum effect in order to drive fear into the ruling class of the colonial establishment.
As a businessman he won and lost fortunes but it is sad to record that fate did not treat him kindly in the end. Four years after his arrival in the island, he opened his own firm in Colombo, George Wall & Company. It was one of the pioneer European firms in Ceylon which lasted till 1879 and collapsed in the coffee crash. This collapse spelled the loss of George Wall’s fortune. This champion of the working class returned to England in 1894 and died a few days after his arrival in a Home in London. It is on record that this man of noble spirit who once paid three hundred English pounds for a single lens for his telescope died nearly bankrupt.
Men of his calibre were seldom seen again and the lion’s roar was silenced, until Mark Bracegirdle almost eighty years later arrived on the scene to rekindle the flame of fairplay and justice on behalf of the underdog.
The history of any business enterprise will reveal that success was possible due to the will of the entrepreneur, tenacity of purpose, and defiance in the face of any challenges or adversity. Sri Lanka recently lost a doyen of entrepreneurship who strode the business world like the proverbial colossus. His passing leaves a void in the business ranks of the nation, and an even bigger void in the hearts of his family and all who knew and love him. On my shoulders fell the task of writing and delivering a tribute at the memorial Mass held for George Ondaatjie on the 4th February at St.Mary’s Church, Bambalapitiya.
He was a man who believed in the phrase “From little things big things grow” and brought it to fruition
with a lifetime of achievement.
The world is a poorer place for his passing.
P.S. The “Travice” referred to in the tribute is one of George Ondaatjies sons
Subject: Tribute for the Memorial Mass of Mr.George Ondaatjie on the 4th February 2019.
TO SIR WITH LOVE
I am Bernard VanCuylenburg, and I joined Nilaveli Beach Hotels Limited in April 1973 as Administrative Manager of the Company under George Ondaatjie who was my boss. I have agonized writing this tribute trying to find the proper words to express my sentiments, and I paraphrased the song title of a popular hit song of yesteryear which sums it up – To Sir With Love. When my telephone rang that Summer night of January 4th and I heard Travice’s voice at the other end of the line, I shuddered anticipating the news I was about to hear. And now as I try to find the perfect words to pay tribute to a man who leaves an enormous void in the hearts of his family, friends, and all who knew and loved him, the past few weeks have been a whirlwind of emotion for me.
Since I arrived in the country, I have been deeply touched by the tremendous outpouring of love and grief by those who spoke to me about his passing.
As mortals we have to resign ourselves to the fact that we are a small part of God’s grand design.
Oh! But George Ondaatjie was such a big presence on God’s earth ! Love is not an easy feeling to put into words, nor is loyalty, trust or joy. But George Ondaatjie was all of these, and I pay this tribute mainly from my experience of having worked with him as my Boss – in fact of having worked only for him which was an experience and a privilege. He was always busy, and I do not say this lightly. Working for him, I soon found you had to be one step ahead because he was a visionary who broadened his horizons with daring decisions. But the horizons he saw were bright, hopeful, and full of promise.
He was genuinely optimistic and I saw first hand how he faced any challenges life threw at him. He made me believe that anything was possible, and with him it usually was !
I mentioned before that he was always busy. But, he was never too busy to share his love of life with those around him. He was an empathetic man who had an enormous capacity to give of himself and, to give in a philanthropic sense. I saw first hand the extent of his philanthropic deeds, and he gave the word new meaning. I have seen him help others more times than I can remember, and he once practically swore me to secrecy, saying he did not want me talking about this to anybody. He wished me to maintain strict anonymity and privacy whenever he did somebody a good deed…..a big man with a big heart…….
Although he strode the business world like the proverbial colossus, he could relate to people from all walks of life. He looked for the good in people and usually found it.
We live in a broken world which has lost its way. A world in which great men often lead with their egos. But George Ondaatjie led with his heart, his compassion and more importantly, his honour. He had a great time living , and to us who grieve there is one comforting thought. I have no doubt he is having the time of his life in that eternal city where the roses never fade.
To conclude I wish to share a small verse for all those who grieve, shed bitter tears and journey through this dark night of the soul. I hope it will solace and comfort you, and ease your burden of sorrow. The title of this verse is called HORIZONS and sadly, I had the painful task of reading it at my own Mother’s funeral.
Life is eternal
And love is immortal
But death…….what is death?
Death is only a horizon
And a horizon is nothing but the limit of our sight……..
THE SPIRIT OF ONE – MR GEORGE MACKY – By Bernard VanCuylenburg
Rather late on the road of an Anthonian journey, I take my place in line, pen in hand as I endeavour to pay tribute to a gentleman whose name now dwells in the realms of legend in the Anthonian community and beyond. I am at a distinct disadvantage because, although I was a student of that venerable institution St. Anthony’s College Kandy, I did not study under the great man and in my entire eleven years of life as an Anthonian, never had any conversations with him particularly about the things that matter in life. We crossed each other many times and apart from the customary greeting, went our separate ways. One of the disadvantages of being an ‘Arts’ student !! However, his second son Louis and I were classmates from the 2nd Standard in 1951 right up to the senior form, until I left college in January 1962 and I think Louis left at the end of 1963. Friendships forged in childhood run deep and through Louis I came to “know” and virtually had some insight into the Macky family and his iconic Dad. Disadvantage No.3 is that over the years many articles have been written about Mr.George Macky, and I feel I am only trying to gild the lily, concerning the high standard of literary ornamentation in the brilliant tributes that have been paid to him over the years.
The initials in his name GM seem to signify the mettle and spirit of the man. – The ‘Great Man’ who was George Macky. My impressions of Mr.George Macky are not “first hand”, but those fragrant petals which I have treasured in memories chain having watched him from afar. I also recollect what many of his students told me when I was in college, and even after I left those marble halls. Had I been one of his students I would have fared much better writing this tribute. So it is with some trepidation that I put pen to paper.
George Macky was not a magic teacher, but a realist who made most of the realities at hand. He was of a rare breed that had the power to discover enduring truths, making him popular with his students who succumbed to a beguiling vision, of a world unmoored from realities restraints. So why did he shine and excel in the challenging task of teaching ? It was not just his reputation and the aura about him, but his strength of character that drove him on. He had a total “Joie de Teaching”. It oozed from every pore and his showcase was the many students he taught and nurtured. He commanded the class – a teacher who never gave less than his all. And his students never gave him less than the best results in their exams, and their unconditional love. He also brought a magic realism into the mainstream. He loved his students. By love, I mean that condition in the human spirit so profound it encouraged one to develop courage and build bridges. And then, to trust those bridges and cross them in an attempt to reach other human beings – which is exactly what he did by his teaching. He also had the rare ability to cross the social spectrum with equal insight and empathy – a trait which endeared him to many. To quote one of his past students, “He did not believe in the “professional pattern” that invariably left the less capable to manage the best way they could…..” And, always impeccably turned out, his sartorial elegance added to the Macky mystique. This same student emphasized the fact that although he did not tolerate careless mistakes, never in living memory did he use the cane or hands by way of punishment. All his past pupils will vouch for this. I personally remember an incident where he refused to enter the classroom, until the cane which was left on the desk by the teacher who had taught the class in the preceeding period was removed. This student paid a very humble but “straight from the heart” tribute to his old teacher when he told me, quote – “I will remember him as a great teacher, a good man and most importantly, a great human being…..”
Another past student of my vintage paid this classic tribute to his old teacher when he told me – quote -“He made me fall in love with Mathematics ! To this day, I can take “short cuts” in this complex field and surprise my Accountant friends. What he taught me paid rich dividends in my professional life which included wage fixing and negotiations. I would rate Mr.George Macky as world class” .Tributes do not come better than this. This student was appointed a Prefect. On the day of his appointment Mr.Macky congratulated him with these words “I must congratulate you,but I voted against your appointment because your father and I are friends !!”. That was typical of the man. He was true to rigid codes of conduct and intolerant of cronyism. This student who was with me in the boarding and later played cricket for college, recalls an incident where his Father (also an old Anthonian) presented him with an expensive Swiss watch as a reward for doing well in a cricket match. He wore the watch with pride and the next day chanced to meet Mr.Macky along the corridor in the quadrangle. Noticing the expensive watch Mr.Macky told him ” Tell your Father not to buy you expensive watches. Instead, tell him to buy you things which will improve your mind !!” To the credit of this particular student, he never resented what some would perceive to be sarcasm, reflecting that Mr.GM only wanted him to rethink his priorities and in the greater scheme of things, learn what to value most in life. He also added “To me, Mr.George Macky was the oracle. When he told you anything, you took it seriously . A stern and uncompromising disciplinarian at first glance, once you really knew him, you had the confidence to go to him with any problem, personal or otherwise. I looked upon him as a father figure and the perfect gentleman : dignified, decorous and always predictable in his ways”……… That is one of the the most glowing tribute from a student to his teacher which I have ever read. There are several layers to the George Macky story, but there is one that shines like a beacon to anybody who loses hope in a sometimes dark world. He was successful in the London BA Examination in the Classics, securing a pass in Latin, Greek and Mathematics. What is laudable about this success is that he achieved it by sheer dint of self study, without a teacher. And, life was not always kind to GM. He recalled that at this time he had no desk and a light. As he says it, “My desk was a box, and for light all I had was a bottle lamp”. In the vernacular that would be a “Pakkis pettiya” and a “Bothal lampu”.
One particular incident laced with humour is worth mentioning. Mr. Macky was taking an English Language class where the subject under study was a poem titled “Mrs. Reece Laughs”, taken from the book, “All Poetry”. The principal character in this poem Mrs.Reece had a dimple. He came to a line in the poem which read “Laughter with Mrs.Reece is much less simple. It generates, it spreads, dimple by dimple……”. Stopping the lesson for awhile, he asked the class if anybody knew what a dimple was ! One student brimming with enthusiasm promptly arose and facing the rest of the class, pointed to the large pimple on his face !! He had confused the “Dim” and the “Pim” !! Loud laughter followed this display, with Mr.Macky joining heartily in. I am grateful to Tom Deen for informing me of this anecdote.
His talents and ability were not confined to the halls of academia. They were on display for all to see on the playing fields of St.Anthony’s and beyond. His prowess in cricket, soccer, and athletics was dream material for any sports journalist, and an inspiration to a lover of sport. He captained the college cricket, soccer and hockey teams, winning the coveted “Eagle” in cricket. It did not end there because he also excelled in tennis and billiards. He later captained that all star soccer team known as “The Invincibles”. I have seen a photo of this team shown to me by another Anthonian whose Dad was also a member of this formidable side. Watching his artistry on the soccer field another prominent old boy of Mr.Macky’ s vintage observed “He could head a ball into the goal without disturbing his hair !!” Now that is sartorial elegance on a hitherto unimaginable level ! He had a sense of humour which was predictable and unpredictable at the same time ! One of his best students was seated under the landmark flamboyant tree when Mr.GM passing by, asked him what position he had achieved in class.The student said that he had come 1st. To which Mr.Macky replied, “But that is useless because you cannot hold a bat !!!” This same student later became a Neurosurgeon, and today practices in England. As a finale, I have to part the curtain of memory and time travel back to the year 1865, to a land far far from the sacred grounds of St.Anthony’s College. We are now in the White House a day after the assassination of President Abraham Lincoln. His formidable Secretary of War, Edwin Stanton and other officials are standing round the coffin of the late President, the silence of the room broken only by muffled sobs. Mr.Stanton was asked to say a few words. Tears streaming down his face he began a speech which ended with these immortal words “And now he belongs to the ages……” Fast forward to the present day and 150 years later, his words echo the sentiments of all Anthonians who with one voice would say in an Anthonian context, when the legends, lore and stories about that great College on the hill are told and retold, for generations to come, “George Macky too belongs to the ages”.
I am grateful to the old Anthonians who provided me with information for this article. One was a contemporary of mine, and the others belonged to an older generation of Anthonians. And I penned this tribute “To Sir with love…..”
Kumaradhatusena – the great unknown – By Bernard VanCuylenburg
“Cometh the hour cometh the man” from John Chapter 4 Verse 23 in the Holy Bible, signifies that the right man will arrive at the right time. However, I may stand corrected on this, as there are varying interpretations of this saying. But it is an appropriate introduction to a great unknown in Lanka’s ancient history who is seldom spoken about, unlike some of the better known heroes of Sinhala royalty. Prince Kumara Dhatusena in his brief reign of nine years ruled the island with a firm but just hand and won the loyalty of his subjects by his meritorious deeds. Sadly, after his death there followed a period of violence, greed, treachery and murder, so often a feature in ancient Lanka’s history and in the history of many lands. His name in the chronicles is recorded as one word, ‘Kumaradhatusena’. I have broken it up to facilitate easy reading.
KUMARA DHATUSENA – THE MAN FOR ALL SEASONS.
In the year 513 AD following the death of King Moggallana, his son Prince Kumara Dhatusena ascended the throne. The chroniclers account in the Culavamsa regarding this young king is almost a contradiction. While referring to him as “a vigorous figure of God-like form” he writes that “He had repairs carried out to the Vihara built by his father” but the Vihara is not named . He further wrote ” He had a revision made to the sacred texts and reformed the Order”. The nine year rule of King Kumara Dhatusena ends with the words ” After many meritorious works he passed away in the ninth year of his reign, that is in the year 522 AD. He was after all the grandson of the great King Dhatusena but while the chronicler goes into rapture singing the praises of the great tank builder, the grandson’s rule and his “many meritorious works” have been skimmed over. Despite the flowery phrases describing King Kumara Dhatusena’s reign, there is a woeful lack of detail. Unless any new discoveries are made by way of rock inscriptions, stone tablets etc. referring to his rule, he will remain for the most part, another great unknown.
However, two ancient publications, the “Pujavaliya” and the “Rajavaliya” refer to a certain friendship which King Kumara Dhatusena had with Kalidasa, a boyhood friend and son of King Moggallana’s first minister. (This ‘Kalidasa’ is not to be confused with the great Indian Sanskrit poet and scholar by the same name). In the “Pujavaliya” Kumara Dhatusena is referred to as ‘Kumaradasa”. There is a sensational account in these manuscripts which state that the bonds of friendship between them were so strong that on Kalidasa’s death, Kumara Dhatusena was so distraught and overcome with grief that he flung himself on the pyre of his dead friend in a sort of immolation and perished with him. This is supposed to have occurred in present day Matara, and people in the area are familiar with the names of the two friends and their tragic fate. This of course is in conflict with the account in the Culavamsa which simply states that King Kumaradhasa “passed away in the ninth year of his reign….”
The stability which was a hallmark of the reigns of King Moggallana and his son King Kumara Dhatusena, was followed by a political firestorm. To call it an orgy of blood is no exaggeration. Prince Kittisena, Kumaradhatusena’s son ascended the throne in 522 AD the year of his father’s death. What followed was a family squabble of intrigue and lust for power with daggers drawn. King Kittisena ruled for only nine months and was murdered by his uncle , his mothers brother Siva. King Siva however did not last the distance. He ruled for twenty five days (The Culavamsa records that he ruled for “Five and twenty days”) and was killed by Upatissa. Upatissa in various Sinhalese sources is referred to as ‘Lamanitissa’ signifying that he came from the Lambakanna clan. It gets worse because Upatissa was the late King Moggallana’s brother-in-law, having married King Moggallana’s sister.
King Upatissa ruled from 522 – 524 AD but in the brief period of two years he managed to win the populace over and also gave his daughter in marriage to Silakala with a substantial financial grant. This was the same Silakala who fled the island twenty six years ago for fear of his life and sought refuge in India, when King Kasyappa 1st ruled in Sigiriya. He is best remembered for having brought the hair relic of the Buddha to Ceylon . Silakala however had other ideas. Deluded with a lust for power he fled to the central mountainous region of the island (which the Culavamsa for some unknown reason calls “Malaya”). Here he wasted no time in gathering a large and strong force. Confident that he could now take the throne he arrived on the outskirts of Anuradhapura in a show of might terrifying the populace and the royal court. And this is where in the confused blood soaked fortunes of this family, history repeated itself once more. Enter the second Kasyappa, King Upatissa’a son. Following the example of his ancestor by the same name twenty six years ago, Prince Kasyappa mounted his favourite elephant and with an army ventured forth to confront the would be usurper Silakala. Fortune favoured Prince Kasyappa because Silakala suffered defeat after defeat in eight encounters. Silakala is referred to as ‘The Sword Bearer’ – a title which suits his capability in the field of battle and his staying power against all odds. He was never captured and managed to flee, to live to fight another day. This ‘Sword Bearer’ seems to have been endowed with supernatural powers.
After some time in the wilderness, he raised another army and advanced on Anuradhapura for the second time. A ferocious battle raged for seven days and Prince Kasyappa finally saw the writing on the wall. Discretion he surmised, was the better part of valour and he decided to flee with his father King Upatisa and his mother, to the state of Merukandara in present day Malaysia. Merukandara was at the time a favourite place of refuge. It all went horribly wrong. The guides heading the fugitives and their band of loyalists lost their way and were surrounded by Silakala’s forces. If one does not believe in the saying that history repeats itself, the following incident may dispel any doubts.
In the final battle which the Culavamsa describes as “a fight between Gods and demons” Prince Kasyappa’s royal elephant succumbed to grievous flesh wounds and the prince doing what an ancestor of the same name did twenty six years ago. The chronicler writing in the Culavamsa states ” he cut his throat, wiped the blood from his dagger and stuck it back in its sheath. Then, supporting both hands on the temples of the elephant he sank down in death”. King Upatissa when he heard the news “died pierced by the arrow of grief ” (Culavamsa). This could be interpreted that the news when conveyed to him caused him such shock and sorrow that he died following a heart attack.
In 524 AD Silakala ascended the throne and this one time rebel rouser now turned out to be a benevolent monarch who ruled the island for thirteen years. Also known as Lamani Ambaherana Salamevan, he first increased the revenues of the hospitals and forbade the killing of wild animals. The Abhayagiri sect were particular recipients of his benefactions and he made daily sacrifices to the sacred Bodhi tree. Throughout his reign the Culavamsa confirms that “he performed meritorious deeds without number”.
In the year 527 AD he sent a letter to the Chinese court. There is no mention of this in the Culavamsa, but receipt of the letter at the Chinese court is confirmed by Chinese annals although the contents and purpose of the letter are not known. He died the same year after a just and peaceful rule. The orgy of blood and violence did not end with his death, but ultimately paved the way for one of the most distinguished Kings to sit on Lanka’s throne, who ranks second only to King Mahasena and King Dhatusena as one of the great tank building kings of the island, apart from being a gifted poet. He is better known as a king “who had poetic gifts without equal” (Culavamsa). The chronicles refer to King Silakala as “an abode of virtue, generosity and goodness”.
Regarding the chronological investigation of Lanka’s history, it is a matter of regret that often one has to rely on foreign testimony. I refer specifically to relations with China, particularly in the Culavamsa.
The name of “China” is not mentioned even once whereas Chinese historical records and South Indian inscriptions bear ample testimony to relations between ancient Lanka and China. So much on this subject that is important to the reader, has been concealed – a great pity.
THE LAND OF MY FOREFATHERS – (Part 2) THE BENELUX BONANZA – By Bernard VanCuylenburg
My memories of Luxembourg and Belgium will forever remain etched in memory as two jewels in the crown of any travel odyssey I have undertaken………..Pristine in their natural beauty, these countries have a rich history and vibrant culture, both of which are evident at every step of the road less travelled as I discovered. Recent history however has been bloody and I cannot avoid mentioning some incidents relating to World War 2.
THE BATTLE OF THE BULGE OR THE ARDENNES OFFENSIVE.
The Germans called their offensive the “Wacht Am Rhine” (The watch on the river Rhine) and the allied forces termed it “The Ardennes Offensive”. Due to the natural terrain on which this battle was fought in the Ardennes forest, history recorded it as “The Battle of the Bulge”. The Ardennes is a heavily wooded plateau in North East France extending to South East Belgium and Northern Luxembourg, which cuts through the river Meuse. It is breathtaking in in its natural beauty with thick forest cover in shades of glorious green and perceiving it from anywhere is soothing to the soul, a panorama of peaceful beauty resplendent in its verdant solitude. The Japanese have a phrase for nature’s treasures such as the Ardennes expressed in one simple line……”Take a walk in the wind and clear your mind…….” They refer to it very aptly as “Forest Bathing “. It is difficult to imagine that a little over seventy years ago this part of paradise around the town of Bastogne was the scene of savage blood letting, guts and gore and killing unlimited, as Adolf Hitler unleashed his plan for a breakthrough in the allied forces defensive line by his Field Marshall Von Runstedt.
The German attack took the allies by complete surprise, but ultimately they held out against a very superior German force in a conflict which lasted from the 16th December 1944 until the 28th January 1945. The allies lost 80,000 soldiers and the German casualties were listed at 130,000, including Hitler’s last powerful reserve, the Panzer Elite. The beauty of the Ardennes today conceals the horror and barbarism of that terrible time. Perhaps a line from the poem “The Windmill” by Henry Longfellow sums up the contrast today…… :
” On Sundays I take my rest, church going bells begin
I cross my hands upon my breast and all is peace within…..”
All is peace within today, but over seventy years ago it seemed that hell was unleashed on earth. A visit to the Luxembourg American cemetery and Memorial in Luxembourg City is a harsh lesson in reality. I spent a long time reading the names on the graves of the American soldiers who paid the supreme sacrifice, and what tears one’s heart out is reading the ages of the soldiers 22, 25, 23, 32, citing a few examples, and there was one of a soldier who was just nineteen years old. I suppose it is one of many. The graves are laid out row by row in a beautiful garden setting. At the entrance to the cemetery, as if by some bizarre twist of fate is the grave of General George S.Patton who was Commander of the US 7th army in the Mediterranean, and the US 3rd army in France and Germany. It was his decisive leadership which turned the tide in relieving the beleagured allied troops in Bastogne at ‘the Battle of the Bulge’. The graves of the fallen soldiers are laid out in a slight slope below his grave which is set apart. It gives one the impression that even in death he is at the head of his troops. It was General Patton who after the war once remarked ” We have accepted the mystery of the atom – and rejected the Sermon on the Mount”……” Having survived the dangers of war, General Patton was tragically killed in a car accident in Mannheim Germany, a few days before he was to return home to the USA.
In the senior forms at St.Anthony’s College Kandy, I recall the English literature class where under Mr.John Isaacs we studied the poems of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, two in particular “Kublai Khan” and “The Ancient Mariner”. Amazingly, while reading the epitaphs of the fallen US soldiers, the veil of time was parted and through the mists of time I recalled a passage from one of Coleridge’s passages dealing with melancholy thoughts of the past. It read ” If men could learn from history, what lessons it would teach us ! But passion blinds our eyes, and the light which experience gives us is a lantern on the stern which shines only on the waves behind us…..” I surmise what he was telling us is that the lessons of history are never learned.
The Mardasson Memorial also in Luxembourg city is worth a visit for those interested in World War 2 history, and is another tribute to all the American soldiers who gave their lives for their country.
A leisurely walking tour in the beautiful city center of Luxembourg is therapeutic to heart and mind. Marvel at the Grand Ducal Palace with its Flemish renaissance facades, and the medieval cathedral. To add a fairy tale character to this ethereal city, there are spectacular views of the gorge of the rivers Alzette and Petrusse. Here nature has excelled…….Following this walk, some of my travelling companions and I spent a leisurely afternoon in the leafy Place d’ Armes watching the world go by fortified by some of the best coffee in the world !
The 12th century Cistercian Orval Abbey in an excellent state of preservation is a pearl of great price. This medieval abbey which was founded in 1132, is in the Gaume region of Belgium and is renowned for its distinct cheese and for being one of the few breweries that produces Trappiste beer.
BELGIUM: Since 1945 this small country has been a major force for international co-operation in Europe being a founder member of the Benelux Economic Union, the Council of Europe, and the Economic Union. (EU). I found this country to be the proverbial pearl of great price — a rare gem in the chain of any travel itinerary. My introduction to this resplendent land commenced with a visit to the historic city of Bruges in North West Belgium. Bruges is the capital of the province of West Flanders. And there are more gems to behold – The 14th century cathedral of Notre Dame has a rare statue of the Virgin and Child by Michaelangelo. Visit the Gothic Town and Market Hall and you think a time machine has taken you back 800 hundred years, because the historic buildings and the old roads weaving in and out are the originals from that period……Bruges incidentally has been named for its many bridges. For lovers of chocolate, a visit to a chocolate factory or even a shop will reveal why Belgian chocolates are the most exquisite and so highly prized worldwide. I have no sweet tooth, but having tasted Belgian chocolates I swear they are worth every calorie !!
Before this however, there was another surprise in store. We stopped at the charming town of Dinant, an enchanting medieval village with history in every corner. But the most famous son of this town is Adolphe Sax, credited with having invented the saxophone. His home today is a museum visited by many, specially jazz music afficionados. This town is on the banks of a lovely river, and the scenery surrounding the area is once again, nature’s handiwork. Arriving in Bruges in the evening, another surprise awaited the group – a dinner invitation to the home of Marc and Judy Nyssen at their 17th century Bruges farmstead to learn about Flanders farm life and enjoy hearty Belgian fare. And cordon bleu fare it was, washed down by copious amounts of the nectar of the Gods – Belgian beer and homemade wine ! Much more than that, the dinner was prepared and served with a lot of love and hospitality and was a feast for the Gods. I wished the night would never end ! In this simple act of kindness – entertaining strangers in their home – Marc and Judy were sharing the essence of who they were, their humanity and generosity with us. Where there is sharing, everybody wins – the giver and the receiver. Waking up the next morning in beautiful Bruges was akin to living in a dream. The hotel was by the banks of a river and in a very historic quarter. Taking a stroll down the old medieval road before breakfast, I made a note of the house numbers…..1604, 1624, 1658, 1712, 1759, 1780, 1792…….all original historic houses still standing….the place is a time warp. I started the day with a walking tour of Bruges, and then took to the water to enjoy a whimsical sightseeing cruise along the city’s wonderful canals lined with Gothic facades. A visit to a Lace Centre run by the nuns of the Immaculate Conception to admire the delicate art of Belgian lace followed. I spent the rest of the day soaking up the old world charm of this beguiling city.
The next stop was the city of Ghent to delve into the centuries of port heritage of this city with its picturesque riverine backdrop. What stands out in Ghent are the three famous medieval towers – Saint Nichola’s church, the belfry and Saint Bavo’s cathedral dating from the eleven hundreds, in an excellent state of preservation. There was another surprise in store. Passing the municipality of Ixelles located South of the city centre of Brussels, I was told that this was the birthplace of Audrey Hepburn. Her mother was a Dutch baroness Ella Van Heemstra, and her father was an English banker. They divorced when she was only six years old and she spent her childhood in Belgium, the UK and the Netherlands. Hollywood and stardom followed much later.
The multicultural melting pot of the Belgian capital Brussells is a revelation. The Atomium which was designed for the 1958 Brussel’s World Fair and the exquisite Grand Palace with its opulent and ornate guildhalls are only a small sample of the many splendoured delights and attractions of this charming city. The first enchanted evening in Brussels was spent sampling taste bud tantalizing Belgian cuisine washed down with the city’s best beers ! The next day I embraced a full day at leisure to explore the Belgian capital on my own terms. A visit to the Cinquantenaire taught me all I needed to know about Belgian military history through the centuries. From there I meandered to the Royal Palace through the leafy lanes of the Brussels park. Intoxicated with the beautiful architecture of the buildings, I immersed myself in all this city had to offer and was not short of any food for thought.
The Belgian town of Ypres in West Flanders is not far from Brussels. Called ‘The City of Peace’ which I thought was very ironic, Ypres was a centre of heavy fighting during World War 1. I visited the cemeteries of Paschendale and Taryn Cot where many of the allied soldiers who paid the supreme sacrifice are buried. Again, the ages of the soldiers engraved on the tombstones will move the hardest heart. The poem by William Collins “How Sleep the Brave” expresses the emotion felt by any visitor to this spot…..As I pondered life’s futility in the calm of an Autumn evening, some lines from this poem came to mind……
How sleep the brave who sink to rest
By all their countries wishes blest
When Spring with dewy fingers cold
Returns to deck their hallowed mould
She there shall dress a sweeter sod
Than fancy feet have ever trod
By fairy hands their knell is rung
By forms unseen their dirge is sung
There honour comes a pilgrim grey
To bless the form that wraps their clay……..
If the dead are always with us, it is in places like this that their presence is felt so intensely. I cannot remember who asked the question “If we can rest in peace, why cant we live in peace?
Ypres was the town in which the bulk of the allied forces were stationed. Each morning they sallied forth to the battlefield, and many never returned. Exiting the town, they had to go through The Menin Gate. Today, a very moving memorial ceremony takes place at 6.00 pm. sharp each evening. It is a ceremony to remember the soldiers who perished in the battles of World War 1 fought around the town from 1914 to 1918, and commences with a small parade, a eulogy followed by a hymn or two, and then the climax of this ceremony when a trumpeter plays “The Last Post”. If one has managed to hold back his or her tears through the entire proceedings so far, the trumpeter’s rendition of ‘The Last Post’ will soon break down any emotional resistance. The sadness epitomised in each individual note sears through one’s very soul, and the only relief to assauge one’s grief is to let a few teardrops fall. The names of the soldiers who perished are engraved on the huge columns of the Menin Gate and I was also happy to read the names of the Indian and Bengali soldiers who left their home far away to fight for the empire and never returned to their homeland. I mention this because often in any remembrance ceremonies, the soldiers from the colonies hardly merit a mention. I hasten to add that this memorial ceremony has been enacted EVERY EVENING SINCE THE END OF THE FIRST WORLD WAR TO THIS VERY DAY. I was told that the place is packed every evening – there was hardly any room the evening, when I with the rest of the group were privileged to attend.
Two Canadians from the group and I made a special visit to the tomb of Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, the Canadian poet who served as a medical officer in the first World War. This poet has left us a lasting legacy in his masterpiece IN FLANDERS FIELD, which was the reason I made the visit because I had admired this poem for as long as I care to remember. Google it and you can read all three verses, but I shall quote the first verse to emphasise its poignancy :
“In Flanders Fields the poppies grow/ Between the crosses row on row/ That mark our place and in the sky/ The larks still bravely singing fly/ Scarce heard amid the guns below………”
This poem which was published in 1915, honours and commemorates the men who died in the horrific battles in Flanders. He was inspired to write it having presided over the funeral of a comrade Alex Helmer, and having seen the blood red poppies grow on the graves of the soldiers who lost their lives. He wrote it seated in the back of an ambulance. Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae died of pneumonia towards the end of the war.
WATERLOO – In the year 1815, a battle was fought here which changed the face of Europe forever. The all conquering Corsican colonel Napoleon Bonaparte confronted the British army led by the Duke of Wellington in what history records as The Battle of Waterloo. The result is known to history, and this is where the once mighty emperor met HIS Waterloo. I visited the house which the Duke of Wellington occupied for the duration of this conflict located in the town of Waterloo. It is a museum today and houses many valuable exhibits, maps, letters, arms, swords, and other interesting exhibits. The room occupied by the Duke is still preserved with his writing desk and the bed he slept on. At one stage in this battle Napoleon almost had the upper hand, and it was the gallant arrival of the Prussians under General Blucher which turned the tide and saved the day for the English. Having played his part, General Blucher suffered an unexpected mishap, and suffered a broken leg when his horse fell on him ! He had to be removed from the field of battle and there is a picture of him being commended and presented with honours and awards a few weeks after the battle lying on a bed, his injured leg swathed in thick bandages. General Blucher was also the oldest soldier on the field that day. He was 72 years of age, while Napoleon and the Duke of Wellington were in their forties.The battlefield is partly farmland today and wide beautiful fields and grassland bordered by a few farms.
This has been a journey on a long road of many twists and turns……there have been moments of euphoria, delights, surprises, sadness, a lot of inspiration and philosophy – and beautiful salt of the earth human beings who give of themselves unhesitatingly to make the world a better place. Art, culture, history, interaction with different people, unseen miracles which defy description but have to be experienced, the handiwork of Mother Nature, and other travel tit bits all combine to enrich one’s spirit and soothe the soul in a world which has lost its way. And I headed home having learned the best lesson of all – The more I saw and learned, I realized how little I knew, and how much more there was to learn……..
THE LAND OF MY FOREFATHERS (Part 1) – By Bernard VanCuylenburg
The journey I was about to undertake would not only in geographical terms span vast distances over land and sea……it was an odyssey which would cover a period of over four hundred years and one in which I would try to establish a “connection” with my ancestors. Navigating the paper chase of history and ancestry is never easy, but I was armed with a copy of the family tree which was sent to me by The Hague in Holland in 1987, packed in my hand luggage, and one which I had perused times without number. The records I had obtained set the dates from 1625, but a cousin of mine who travelled to Holland a few years ago had visited the town of Cuylenborg and even met some townsfolk with the same surname. The records he sent me dated from 1320. I was off on a tour of Holland and two Benelux countries and time was of the essence since the tour involved a packed itinerary everyday with some free time in between. I hoped to make a special trip to Cuylenborg in the free time available. It was a long long trail a winding, to quote the lyrics of an old song……….When I met my Tour Director in Amsterdam, he told me that in view of the busy tour schedule, which commenced the next day, a special trip to the home of my ancestors would be highly unlikely even in the free time available in between our daily travel itinerary. I still held on to the dream…….
The gentle throbbing of the four Rolls Royce Trent Jet Engines – the beating heart of the giant Airbus A-380 – as it sat on its designated runway at Tullamarine International airport, resembled the disgruntled growls of an angry beast straining at the leash in order to break its chains and seek its freedom. Inside the huge airbus, the cabin crew were all “action stations” as they prepared for take off, while the complement of passengers – 542 as I later found out, sat patiently lost in their own thoughts in anticipation of the long journey ahead. Ensconced in seat No.41 D, the lyrics of a country hit by the late Don Williams came to mind – “Some broken hearts never mend / Some memories never end……..” I mentally paraphrased the lyrics with my own version adding the words “Some Journeys never end……..” My experience has taught me that at the end of each destination, a new journey begins, there are new trails to explore, and distant horizons beckon, depending on how one fine tunes one’s antenna to life’s sensitivities. While the cabin crew explained the safety precautions, I was lost in a reverie of my own, until the calm collected voice of the Captain came soothingly over the speakers “Cabin crew prepare for take-off…..” and a few minutes later the behemoth of the skies slowly hurtled down the runway picking up speed as it went along. Then gradually, with the grace of a ballerina this giant Beluga gently lifted up into the night sky its engines at full throttle, slotted on to its flight path, and roared off defiantly on the 14 hour 15 minute non stop flight to Dubai. I was bound for Amsterdam after a three hour transit in Dubai, from where the flight to Amsterdam entailed a time of seven hours and fifteen minutes.
Twenty four hours and thirty minutes later I was one of the hundreds of passengers at Schipol International Airport standing in line in the “ALL OTHER PASSENGERS” queue waiting to clear Dutch immigration. Citizens of all European countries had a separate queue to facilitate immigration formalities. Exhausted beyond limits, I was finally happy to present my passport to the immigration officer. He took one look at it, looked at me again and then stated the obvious “But this is a Dutch name !!” As coherently as possible I explained to him that my Dad’s ancestors originally hailed from the Dutch city of “Cuylenborg”‘ and left Holland around the mid 1600’s to go to Dutch occupied Ceylon to seek their fortunes. He then replied that he had heard about the Dutch East India Company, and with a cheery “Enjoy your stay in Holland” he stamped my passport and waved me on……And this was my genesis to getting acquainted with the land of my forefathers.
In the collective human mind, the stereotyped image of Holland is a land of windmills, tulips and wooden shoes. This is almost cliched, because Holland today is much more than that. Amsterdam was my first port of call and I soon found it to be a free spirited city with an incredible diversity of cultures and cuisines in a fairy tale village like setting. The Dutch word “Gezellig” roughly translates it as ‘Cosy’ and ‘Convivial’. Its full meaning is more experienced than defined. It is a fascinating city. One hundred and sixty five canals criss cross the city spanned by 1753 bridges adding to her charm. In fact Amsterdam has more canals than Venice and getting on the water is one of the best ways to feel her pulse. The canals were built during the “Golden Age” which roughly spanned a good part of the 17th century. Feel the good vibrations as you sit by the canals and watch the boats glide by and time permitting, you can check the cities 3050 houseboats. A cruise along the famous “World Heritage” listed UNESCO canal district will reveal the elegant merchant’s houses which have lined the canals over the past 400 years, the majestic facades and gables, beautiful churches and the iconic “Magere Bruge (” The ‘Skinny Bridge”) and many more delights. The canals are just a backdrop for Amsterdams treasure packed museums, vintage shops, breweries, ultra niche restaurants, Dutch gin distilleries, and all the chocolate, coffee and cheese shops one could wish for ! It must be noted that since 2005 the houseboats have been required to connect to the cities sewerage system, and specialised cleaning boats patrol the canals regularly, to keep the waterways as pristine as possible. I would add that Amsterdam today is a city of coffee, cheese, and chocolate! Practically every street has one of these shops to satisfy one’s sweet tooth or caffeine cravings. And there is an added bonus – or temptation. Wander into any of these shops and there are rows of samples with all types of cheese and chocolate for the customer to sample before making a purchase. If one does not make a purchase, he or she is free to sample all they wish to anyway ! That is what I call an incentive to an indulgence – just nibble your way through on your own “tasting tour !”
Amsterdam’s love affair with coffee goes back a long way. The first coffee beans in Europe were “discovered” in the conquered Ottoman army garrisons. In the 17th century the Dutch bypassed the Arab trade monopoly in coffee and also opened up large plantations in the territories which they conquered. The writer Sanne Deurloo in her book “Why do we drink so much coffee?” writes “…….Coffee and the Dutch are made for each other ! Unlike with wine and beer, you can drink coffee all day long and not get sick….!!!” What a tantalising incentive to join the thousands of caffeine cravers ! The latest statistics place Spain and Italy second to Holland’s coffee rankings, and the American giant “Starbucks” got a foothold in Holland only five years ago. Much bigger than “Starbucks” is “Bagels and Beans” the Dutch Coffee giant which quoting their advertisements, “serves coffee pastries and happiness”.
ON YOUR BIKE !
Bicycles are what moves the masses to work in this delightful city which has more bicycles than cars. The young and the old, everybody rides a bike. Policeman on duty, executives in suits, clerks, schoolchildren, teachers, lawyers, shopkeepers , pedal power is their preferred mode of transport, and two wheeling is a way of life here. It is how the Amsterdammers get to work, do their shopping, and keep a date . The visitor if so inclined has an abundance of bike rental shops if he or she wishes to take a spin. Many visitors rent bikes and leaving the city behind head for the beautiful and green nature reserve called very aptly, “Waterland”.
THE JEWISH QUARTER
In the heart of Amsterdam is the Jewish Cultural Quarter. Magnificient synagogues, striking buildings and impressive memorials dominate the streetscape of the city’s Jewish neighbourhood. Jewish history, culture and traditions are evident in the Jewish Historical Museum and the national Holocaust Museum. Visiting the home of Anne Frank is a powerful and moving experience. During World War 2 the Germans occupied Holland in just five days, and many Jews like the Frank family went into hiding. The Franks moved into the upper floors of a building with another couple, the Van Pels. Here they survived until they were betrayed by the Gestapo in 1944. Except for Mr.Otto Frank, Anne and the rest perished in the gas chambers in the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp. The story is too well known to bear repeating here.
THE RED LIGHT DISTRICT
The centuries old Red Light District – or should I say the infamous Red Light District is where the action is pretty volatile ! And here’s the contradiction – The oldest historic church in Amsterdam the “Oude Kerk” (Old Church) is incongruously situated in full view of The Red Light District !! Once a Catholic church, it is now Protestant and dates from 1306. Many famous citizens including Rembrandt’s second wife Saskia VanCuylenburg are buried under the tombstones. The city’s oldest church bell which dates from 1450 is in this church.
THE ART WORLD
Each year, millions of visitors visit Holland and head for the world class art museums. Art collections take pride of place and one cannot walk a kilometre without bumping into a masterpiece. The glory goes to the tortured genius Vincent Van Gogh who toiled in ignominy while supported by his brother Theo. The other favourite Dutch Masters like Vermeer, and Rembrandt, are big drawcards, but the art scene in this city goes well beyond them. Several art galleries in the city provide an outlet for avant-garde and emerging artists. But three iconic figures like Rembrandt, Frans Hals, and Jan Vermeer are some of the world’s most revered and celebrated painters. Perhaps the 17th centuries greatest artist Rembrandt Van Rijn was born in Leiden in 1606, the son of a miller. By the 1620’s this genius of the brush and pallette had become an accomplished painter. I crave the readers indulgence if I dwell on Rembrandt among a host of other painters, because this is where my family name enters the picture. In 1631 he went to Amsterdam having obtained employment to manage an art studio of a wealthy art dealer, Hendrick VanCuylenburg. In 1634 he married his bosse’s niece, Saskia VanCuylenburg. Unfortunately, Rembrandt fell out with his boss, but his wife’s money helped him to buy the house next door. Here he turned out his masterpieces, his paintings were a success and his studio became the largest in Holland. Saskia and he had a son Titus who was born in 1641. But then tragedy struck. In 1642 Saskia died and the business suffered a sharp decline. That same year he produced his masterpiece “The Night Watch” which can be seen in all its splendour in the world famous Rijks Museum. If one has been travelling a jaded vale in the world of art, one look at Rembrandt’s “The Night Watch” will propel one to a mountain of enthusiasm. So graphic and realistic are the characters in this painting that they seem to be reaching out to the viewer over the centuries. This painting literally comes alive……….
The Rijks Museum and the Vincent Van Gogh museum are a must for lovers of art. The Rijks is of course Holland’s top treasure house, while the latter houses the largest collection by Van Gogh. There are over two hundred canvases on display, plus other works by Gauguin, Toulouse-Lautrec and Monet. While Van Gogh expressed the emotion of his tortured soul in his paintings, perhaps the most beautiful words he ever spoke were “The more I think it over, the more I think there is nothing more truly artistic than to love people…..”
The port city of Rotterdam is worth a visit. Most of the city was bombed out during World War 2, but has been completely rebuilt and is a joy to behold. To really appreciate the panoramic views of Rotterdam, ascend the iconic Euromast Tower and the beauty of this city and its surrounding landscapes will stun the senses. Visit the famous Food Market which has food from almost every European, Meditteranian, North African and Middle Eastern country to whet one’s appetite. A visit to Delft famous for its porcelaine blue pottery will not disappoint. Having visited the Wedgewood Pottery Plant in England a few years ago, and now having visited the Royal Delft Pottery workshop in Delft I surmised that beauty will always be in the eye of the beholder………
The fortified city of Maastricht with its beautiful old churches, ancient city walls and stunning merchant houses took centre stage on my visit to this city. Ambling through the cobblestone streets is a delight. And, on the way to Rotterdam discover the spectacular straight line of nineteen working windmills or the “Kinderdijk”.These windmills built in 1740 are below sea level and were built to pump water out of reclaimed land. And Masstricht is the home town of the classical music virtuoso Andre Rieu – the genius who gives the classics a shade of pop, which has kindled a love of the classics in pop and rock music fans. He is their favourite son as I soon discovered in the short time I spent in this city.
DEN HAAG – or THE HAGUE: Its treasured monuments, historic districts and prime location near the North Sea coastline makes The Hague one of the most extraordinary cities in Holland. Popularly known as “The Royal city by the sea”, The Hague is the residence of the Dutch royal family who have occupied it for the past four hundred years, and is also the seat of government. This entire area is set in a dreamworld fairy tale setting and a feast for the eyes to behold. It is a city easy to explore on foot and visitors who stay here for a few days will be amply rewarded with the numerous attractions the city offers – museums, theatres, royal parks, restaurants galore, art museums, historical monuments……..in short a cultural cornucopia to satisfy the most fastidious visitor.
On the way to Rotterdam and Utretcht in the North, my Tour Director showed me the sign leading off the highway to the town of ‘Cuylenborg’. (The “Van” has been omitted because it simply means ‘OF’ in Dutch). Alas for reasons explained earlier, a visit to this town was not possible and for now remains an elusive dream. What I have highlighted is only a very brief thumbnail sketch of the myriad delights of this country which will always be a land of scenic landscapes dotted with windmills, centuries old picturesque villages , babbling brooks and green pastures, meandering canals, locals dressed in traditional costumes, Dutch specialities and picture postcard beauty. There are certain things in this world which one sees with one’s soul…….as Helen Keller, the American author and lecturer who lost her sight at the age of 18 once said, “The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched. They must be felt with the heart……” .Helen Keller was one of the most visually challenged and inspiring people, and the first deaf and blind person to earn a Bachelor of Arts degree .
Part two of this article THE LAND OF MY FOREFATHERS – THE BENELUX BONANZA – will follow. It deals with my visit to two Benelux nations, Luxembourg and Belgium. It further confirmed to me that journeys have secret destinations of which the traveller is unaware……..
Present day Xian in China is more famous today for the Terra Cotta Warriors. But in ancient times this grand city was once the capital of China and was known as Chang An. This is the city which saw the genesis of the Silk Road which ultimately led to ancient Rome.
The Muslim Quarter in Xian deserves special mention due to its cultural diversity. As the name indicates, the Muslim Quarter has been home to the cities Hui community (Chinese Muslims) for centuries. Although Muslims have lived here since the 7th century, the community today did not take root until the time of the Ming dynasty. It is a fascinating place – full of shops of every description – books shops with copies of ancient maps and other historical trivia, coffee shops, tea shops, spice shops, shops with the best silks and items of clothing, shoe shops, shops with mountains of raisins, walnuts, almonds, pistacchios, plus the usual gauntlet of souvenir stands…..you name it, it is here.…
This is the ‘Travelogue’ which I wrote, following my tour along the Silk Road. . I returned from China after what must surely rank as one of the best trips I ever made to this empire within empires, of which the travels along the old Silk Road and all the historical sites along its route are what enriched and nourished my spirit. Although I returned extremely tired and somewhat battered after the intense travel involved, what I saw in terms of a rich cultural heritage will forever live in memory, and a rich memory at that.
THE SILK ROAD
When I embarked on a visit to sections of The Silk Road on one of four visits to China, I never dreamed that it would be a journey which has no end ! My tour began in Beijing and then went to Xian (ancient Chang An) a former capital of ancient China, from where the Silk Road started over 1600 years ago on its long way to Europe and ultimately to ancient Rome. The very term “Silk Road” conjures up romantic notions of a fabled highway from a fairy tale leading to distant lands and dreamlike far horizons abounding in riches in lands unknown…..that image is true, but a “fabled highway” it was not ! The Silk Road at that time was a tortuous track fraught with danger which went through half a dozen Asian kingdoms for more than 11,000 kilometers, and finally ended in imperial Rome. It was in the legendary city of Xian that the Silk Road had its genesis. This may take longer than I expect, but there is no other way, as it is impossible to skip detail on a journey of this nature.…