Remembering Mrs Dona Romlin Agnes Suraweera Suriarachchi on her 45th death anniversary

My mother passed away on the 21st of November 1977. She was born at a place called Kalehe, about 4 miles away from Galle town. Her father was Aaron Suraweera and her mother was Catherina Wijesinghe. After a couple of years in the village school, she was boarded at the tender age of ten, at Rippon Girls School, Richmond Hill, established in 1817, which is recognised as the oldest girls’ school in Galle. Most school heads then were Europeans, and her Principal was Miss Bamford.

Amma had been a clever student and soon after the senior school examination, she was selected into the Training College as there were no universities in Ceylon then. After the final examinations, it was found that she had passed obtaining the second highest marks in their batch. At once, she was absorbed into the staff at St Clair’s Girls School, Wellawatta. After a year or so in Colombo, she yearned to return to her hometown, and had inquired from the Methodist Mission for any vacancies in Galle.

The European school manager had responded. The vacancy was for a head of a mixed school with male teachers on the staff, which he assumed would be a difficult job for a young woman to tackle. Usually, boys’ schools and mixed ones were headed by men. My mother, who had strong willpower, was willing to accept the challenge. This was in 1916, and she became the first woman head of a mixed school. It was known as Methodist Mixed School, Magalle, in the heart of Galle town. Although the school was managed by the Methodist mission, the staff was paid by the Government, and they were entitled to a pension as well.

When she arrived in school for the first time, she found that the school children sat according to their caste. The high caste children sat on chairs whilst the low caste children sat on benches. She was aghast! She promptly contacted the manager and explained the situation. Either everyone sat on chairs, or they all sat on benches. Amma wanted to change the system. The manager had replied that he has no problem, provided she can tackle the parents and the neighbourhood.

She got a carpenter to design a new set of school furniture, where there would be a long desk attached to a bench of similar length. About five to six students could easily sit together with no caste distinction. As expected, the parents and neighbours came to confront her. She informed them politely that if they did not like the new arrangement, they are free to remove their children. Protests died down and everything went on smoothly. She was a small-made person and thus was nicknamed “gammiris etay” – a black pepper seed which was small but quite a bit hot in taste.

After school, she taught and encouraged hard-working students for the training college examinations. All classes were free of charge. It was her dream to see her students doing well in society. She had also chosen a few students from low-income families and helped them with their school clothing, breakfast and lunch. I remember as a child myself, I collected jam labels and chocolate papers as a hobby. Each morning, Amma took bread, margarine and jam tins to school for her chosen lot. I took off the colourful labels and the jam tins were sent to school “naked”. The margarine tins had no labels. Its brand names were printed on the tin itself.

My father, Peter, was a witty and humourous man. He asked his wife whether the Government would offer a crown for her untiring efforts. Anyway, when the Inspectors had visited her school, after seeing all this, had written letters of appreciation and recommendations of her good work and sponsorship. Old as they are, I have a couple of letters, still with me. After retirement, we shifted to a place called Hirimbura, about two miles into the interior. Our new place had plenty of space with fruit trees like Jambu, veralu, pera, etc. and there were breadfruit, jak, coconut trees as well.

There was a school nearby and my mother would keep basins of fruits and gave handfuls to children when they passed our home after school. The less fortunate families would help themselves to del, kos and pol whenever they needed. Our drinking well, was theirs as well.

If a village couple needed a car on their wedding day or a pregnant mother were to be hospitalized, it was my mother who generously offered free use of her car and driver. There were no taxis or three-wheelers then. People had to hire the village mudalali’s car in case of emergency, which they could hardly afford. Amma never abused our domestic helpers. They would remain with us for years until they left for marriage.

She could cook, sew, do glass painting, crochet, do beeralu, sing, and even play the church organ. She was an ardent gardener, and we had a garden with flowers in full bloom. I am not gifted with half her talents. On the evening of her death, she was teaching my friend’s son, a primary student, English and Sinhala, showing she was a useful human up to her dying day.

Although I am her daughter, she addressed me always as putha. She lived to see her two granddaughters and was very grateful for that. With all the goodness and generosity within her, she certainly would have found it easy to go through the Pearly Gates. My family misses her.

Your one and only putha,

Pearl Suriarachchi Senarath Dassanayake
New Zealand.