FLYING TACKLES AND BANDSTAND BEATS

by ECB Wijeyesinghe

As IGP Ana Seneviratne (Sept. 1979) and his gallant cops throughout the country celebrate Police Day next week the question is bound to be asked as to who was the fool who said that the Policeman’s lot was not a happy one.

So long as a man gets a chance of bringing down a dangerous criminal or two with a flying tackle, and earning a few thousand extra bucks in the process, there will never be any dearth of recruits to the Force. Besides, there is the added temptation of feeling the thrill which in an earlier age only Sidney de Zoysa, the rugger captain, and a few others experienced. Cynics say that next time there is a spectacular Police raid it would be a good thing to take Bob Harvey along with a mike, so that the common man can have a better idea of the hazards involved in nabbing desperate men like Aggona Chandare.

Furthermore, it is a splendid thing to see policemen, even during a life-and-death struggle, abiding strictly by the Rules laid down by the Rugby Union. Another Police branch of activity that has been in the limelight these last few days has been the Band, which has made a valuable, though vulnerable, contribution to the resounding success of “My Fair Lady” presented by the Peiris Foundation.

In the musical extravaganza at the BMICH a few staid cops had to keep pace with nearly 100 mercurial performers. Consequently, the flutes, piccolos, saxophones, trombones and oboes had to go flat out to accompany some of the singers. Incidentally, the trumpets and the drums of the Police Band have been sounded to good effect for over a century, and one of the most colourful characters to adorn the colonial landscape was its first Bandmaster, Herr Carl Pappe.

Pappe’s story is beautifully related by A. C. Dep, the former DIG, whose scholarly History of the Ceylon Police is an example to men engaged in research, because he paints a faithful picture of his old Department with “the warts, pimples, roughnesses and all”.

Carl Pappe was a German and went about his business with the thoroughness characteristic of his race. He was a gifted musician and conductor, but certain racial prejudices marred his judgment and brought him into conflict, not only with the natives, but with the first IGP, Mr. G. W. R. Campbell. According to Pappe -the Sinhalese and the Burghers have no ear for music, and the Tamils are no better”.

For his band, Pappe preferred Kaffir and Malay boys from 16-20 years of age, strong in chest and with good lips for the brass instruments. Most of the Malays were descendants of noblemen who had come here to serve the Dutch or the British as mercenaries. Like the Gurkhas, they were fearless and were noted more for their martial than for their musical qualities.

Pappe, however, preferred them to the Sinhalese, Tamils or even Burghers. Even at an earlier stage when the Police Department was started by the British, the Malays predominated because they came from sturdy fighting stock and were loyal to their masters. They had created a fearful impression on the Sinhalese after the 1848 rebellion, according to historian Dep.

Colour prejudice

Governor Ward had so much confidence in them that he despatched nearly all the European troops in Ceylon to help quell the Indian Mutiny, leaving the protection of the Island to “a handful of Malays” in the Ceylon Rifle Regiment. It was one of them, Constable Sabhan, who lost his life in the capture of the notorious outlaw, Sardiel of Utuwankande. Coming back to the beginnings of the Police Band, the Malay and Kaffir musicians made the grade and the band became popular, though the British bosses found the German bandmaster a bit too hot to handle. Pappe was also extremely irritable and hated to see his bandsmen chewing betel and getting their wind instruments as well as their wind pipes clogged by the thick red juice.

On one such occasion at Queen’s House he was heard to shout out: “You damned rascals, take your damned beetles out of your damned mouths”. At a public dinner in honour of Sir Richard and Lady Morgan, one of the organizers asked Pappe to play the Supper tune, “The Roast Beef of Old England.” That was not to Pappe’s taste and he refused point blank, to the dismay of the Governor who happened to be there and censured him.

But the bigger crisis came later when the band moved to Kandy and it was arranged to billet the musicians, Bandmaster and all in the Old Rifles Hospital. In a letter, Pappe protested against this arrangement, adding: “I cannot think it is the intention of the Government to put me under the same roof with niggers”.

The GA of Kandy forwarded the letter to the Governor who immediately smelt trouble and gave another rap on the Bandmaster’s knuckles for using a highly improper expression. A few years later Carl Pappe, who could not control his tongue or his temper, fell ill. Nursing him during that period was too much of a strain for his wife. Pappe recovered, but his wife died. Altogether he was a difficult character according to historians of the period. He was brilliant with the baton and set up high musical standards.

Next week when Policemen celebrate the 113th birthday of their Department and the Band begins to play, there may be cognoscenti who will make comparisons between the old and the new and set down their impressions in a slim little magazine called “Off Duty”, which is the journal where the best jokes against the Police appear. There is hope for men who can laugh at themselves.

For example an old Christmas number of this admirable publication, edited by S. A. (Jingle) Dissanayake, which happened to come into my hands, contains a number of cruel caricatures by that master cartoonist of a bygone age, Aubrey Collette, whose captions were as spicy as his sketches. Poor old O. S. (Osmund) de Silva the sober, athletic champion who succeeded his father-in-law, Sir Richard Aluwihare as IGP, is depicted hugging a bottle of arrack (O.S).

Then there is also C. C. Dissanayake, the amiable giant who was known as “Jungle”. He is called a cow-catcher “who pushes over everything”. They pay him the tribute however, of being the literary genius of the Police, while his best seller, in preparation, has been dubbed “A Bull in a China Shop”. E. A. Koelmeyer, who wanted to join the Christian Brothers’ monastery but instead went on to become the head of the CID, is described as a man “who spends his time either in church or at secret meetings”. Relies on Marshall Aid”, says the Collette caption, obviously a reference to his old Benedictine classmate, who was his adviser and friend, Mr. Justice Marshall Pulle.

Girls

Dark-skinned R. E. Kitto is given the nickname Real Ebony, “a splendid runner – after girls”. He was then a bachelor, and in charge of the Crime Police or as some call it the “Crying Police”. But one of the best of Collette in this journal is the drawing of the corpulent, well-fed cop J. H. A. Fernando, a popular raconteur and father of the onetime All Ceylon Cricketer, Dr. H. I. K. Fernando. J. H. A. made his name as an officer in the Northern Province and the cartoon describes him as “Jaffna’s Hari Amarukaraya Fernando” if you know what that means.

What follows can only be understood by his old colleagues in the force like John Attygalle, the ex IGP, because the caption says: “He is a keen horticulturist. Fond of trees. Spends many an hour walking about and talking about “Temple Trees”. This mystical allusion can still provide a talking point to policemen of the last and lost generation at next week’s convivial gathering on Police Day.

(Excerpted from The Good Among The Best first published in 1979)