Anatomy of a Match: The Royal Thomian Up Close (Part II)

By Uditha Devapriya and Uthpala Wijesuriya

“It’s almost like a ritual, with its codes and ceremonies.”
Nimsara Thennakoon, Former Royal College Prefect

(Continued from last week)

The venue of the Royal Thomian has itself become an attraction. The inaugural encounter unfolded at Galle Face Green. From there, it shifted to the Nomads Cricket Club in Victoria Park, the Colombo Oval, the Nondescript Cricket Club, and the Singhalese Sports Club (SSC). These were, and remain, the most lucrative sports clubs in the country: the SSC, for instance, recently celebrated its 125th anniversary.

Yet, despite these charges of elitism, the Royal Thomian has readily absorbed several popular, non-elite cultural elements. These include the music.

In the early 20th century, one invariably heard only English songs: one old Royalist recalls that “Sinhala and Tamil were unheard of.” Today, by contrast, English songs have become something of an exception.

A typical Royal Thomian playlist would consist of Sinhala baila. Its characteristic six/eight beat puts wings on everyone’s feet: “It’s hard not to dance when you hear it,” one spectator puts it. A thoroughly hybridised art form – with a long and rich history – it has now become a must-include item at every function, from parties to weddings to corporate events. At the match, it occupies a pivotal place, following a rather predictable pattern.

To be sure, baila may not be to everyone’s liking. The uninitiated can find it too loud and too vulgar, too “masscult” or lowbrow for their tastes. But with time, it has transformed the Royal Thomian, along with its social composition.

One spectator put it rather heartily: “Who the hell listens to symphonies here?”

A Rite of Passage

Perhaps more than anything, the Royal Thomian provides an opportunity for Old Boys to relive and “reclaim” their childhoods. For students, it serves almost as a rite of passage: a grand spectacle against which they grow into adults while still retaining the joi de vivre of their schooldays. To be a schoolboy, in this scheme of things, is to break every rule in the book. That can be rather disconcerting for first timers: at the Boys’ Tent, for instance, not even teachers can forbid students from spitting out the obscenities without which no Royal Thomian, or baila session for that matter, would be complete.

Pulindu, a student who did his final exams this year, recalls his experience only too well.

“At first I wondered why teachers were okay with us singing these songs. It was like breaking a sacred vow. The more I sang, the more I felt like a part of it all.”

At the Boys’ Tent last year, Pulindu found himself playing a different role, as a Steward: instead of singing these verses, he had to get others to sing.

“The highlight was when the Principal entered the Tent. Even he was taken up by us. He just joined in and started talking and joking with us.”

In other words, age becomes just a number. Students defy adults, and adults, for their part, encourage their behaviour. It’s not unusual to see the youngest and the oldest of students and Old Boys sharing a beer and a smoke with each other, complete strangers though they may be. No less unusual is the sight of fathers encouraging their sons to indulge in the most outlandish pursuits. One not-so Old Thomian captures this well: “The Royal Thomian is primarily about boys – including those disguised as older and wiser men.” Perhaps this is why many Old Boys, even former prefects, tend to wear shorts at the match.

Royal Thomian

The tents serve a similar function here. Apart from the Mustangs, the Royal Thomian hosts several other tents, each belonging to a particular batch and generation. “The idea,” a member of Stables – put up by the S. Thomas’ “Class of 1979” – argues, “is for students to move from one generation to the next, from childhood to adulthood.”

Unlike in a rite of passage, however, the student does not “lose” his childhood as he moves from one tent to another: he reclaims it, and relives it.

Of course, this is not to say that the Royal Thomian is anarchic, or that it disregards every rule in the book. There are strict demarcations of roles and responsibilities, particularly within the student body: Stewards oversee the students at the Boys’ Tent, while Prefects – the only people, outside the players, the security personnel, and the Organising Committee allowed into the stadium while the match is going on – patrol the area.

Donning sunglasses and straw hats, with a stern demeanour that occasionally dissolves into smiles and laughs, they represent an ideal to aspire to for the boys: at both schools, becoming a Prefect is the highest honour a student can receive.

The Royal Thomian is the first event of the year where Prefects officiate. As far as the match goes, they are the highest authority figures: teachers have little sway here.

Teachers also have little sway over the events that lead to the Royal Thomian. These include a cycle parade and an “unofficial” vehicle parade. Arguably the most notorious of them all is “trucking” – the practice of jumping into nearby girls’ schools.

These events – “traditions”, as students prefer to call them – have exhaustive histories: records indicate that trucking, for instance, took place in the 1930s and 1940s, even earlier. Though they may have served a different function then, these practices unfold in a fairly concrete form today. In recent years, however, concerns over vandalization have compelled authorities to take action against would-be truckers.

The most typical response one gets when questioning or criticising these customs is that they have taken place for a long time and will take place no matter what. In the eyes of students and Old Boys, they have acquired the status of a ritual. Come what may, they must be performed. And somehow or the other, they are.

This curious blend of anarchy and authority is perhaps what best epitomises the Royal Thomian. One notices a reversal of roles throughout the event, with men behaving like boys and boys – especially Prefects and, to a lesser extent, Stewards – becoming adults. Such inversions are typical, and are an integral part of the fun.

In the context of South Asian cricket, the Royal Thomian has yet to be surpassed. At one level, this may be because schools in other South Asian countries don’t command the kind of loyalty or devotion which schools in Sri Lanka – elite or otherwise – do.

In the wider world of Sri Lankan cricket, of course, things have changed. Until recently, the top cricket players used to hail from these schools. Today, rather inevitably, the Royal Thomian hold over the game has faded. Yet at these schools, becoming part of the First XI squad is as much an honour as playing for the National Team.

Whatever one may think of the Royal Thomian – and it has its champions and detractors – there is certainly no denying this sense of fraternity. For Nimsara Thenakoon, who passed out as a student, Steward, and last year a Senior Prefect, it holds everyone together, like a clan, with its codes, ceremonies, and rites: “The Prefects take the lead, the Stewards serve as their assistants, and everyone else follows them.”

An Old Boy agrees: “The Royal Thomian is family – and ironically, sometimes much more than the dysfunctional social groups we grew up in.”

Such sentiments appear parochial at first glance. But students and Old Boys swear by them, claiming – with justifiable pride – that no other match can top this one.

In the final reckoning, then, the Royal Thomian is a cricket match that exists beyond the cricket, an elite encounter that somehow manages to include everyone.

Perhaps, at the end of the day, that is what a cricket match ought to be.

Uditha Devapriya is an international relations analyst, researcher, and freelance columnist who can be reached at udakdev1@gmail.com.

Uthpala Wijesuriya is a law and international relations student and history researcher who can be reached at wijesuriyau6@gmail.com.

Uditha and Uthpala are the two leads of U & U, an informal Sri Lankan collective that engages in art and culture research. Twitter handle: @uanduthoughts.