AUNTY HELGA WAS A STUNNING GIRL
by Dr. Tilak S. Fernando
Of all my relatives, I developed a special affinity towards Aunty Helga
for inexplicable reasons. True, she was stunningly beautiful and
was like a princess when she was young and, for that matter, notwithstanding her
maturity, with her unfading beauty, elegance, and finesse, she would still stand
out in any company, even amongst youthful models! Perhaps, it was her very light complexion, her facial bone structure, her slim and
curvy figure, her mesmerizing charismatic smile and her alluring soft voice that
attracted people to her spontaneously. It could have been those very reasons, as
well as her pleasant ways, that attracted me, too, towards her, as a quite
young nephew, in the form of filial love.
Although aunty Helga and
uncle Bernard were very well- to- do and were doyens of the elite circles in
affluent Colombo 7 society, they were very kind, understanding, and sympathetic
individuals, with no ‘airs’ about them. As in the case of any normal human
being, it was not unusual that they should have their own imperfections, similar
to the typical Sri Lankan psyche, especially in regard to the prejudicial
social parasitic ideas of caste and pedigree!
Uncle Bernard had been
born with a silver spoon in his mouth. He hailed from a wealthy family and
lived on Ward Place, Colombo 7, a prestigious residential area, throughout his
life. He was regarded and respected as an eminent gentleman in Colombo society
from Colonial times, and resolutely stood by his principles, even with the
British, when the country was a British domain. Being a sportsman, who enjoyed
playing tennis and golf regularly, he maintained an athletic figure, to complement
his handsome demeanour, and was very much the dashing young man about town.
I have heard aunty Helga
endlessly recounting, like the repeating groove of a 78 r.p.m. gramophone
record, about uncle Bernard’s courageous exploits and his ‘no-nonsense’ attitudes. As a schoolboy, I used to spend my
holidays in Colombo in their palatial home at Ward Place, but never fathomed or
appreciated its gigantic dimension until I travelled to England and realized
how identical it was to the profile of the famous Lancaster House building in
London!
Uncle Bernard died over
a decade ago of a heart disease. Ever since, aunty Helga became even closer to
my heart, as she used to visit London quite often. London, in her perception,
was similar to roaming around Colombo’s high-end shopping complexes such as
Majestic City, Liberty Plaza, Odel, or the House of Fashion! She had lived in
England for several years as an adolescent and was very familiar with Central
London. Whenever she visited London, she would unfailingly visit Oxford Street,
and the famous Harrods Store in Knightsbridge, to satisfy her obsession for
shopping. From the time I took up residence in London, I assiduously persuaded
her to spend her holidays with us, whenever she visited London. Aunty Helga relished
the idea, not on account of any inability to afford the best of five star
hotels in London, but, obviously, because she enjoyed the company of her
adoring nephew, or so I supposed! In a manner of tacit reciprocity, I invariably
resided at her mansion, whenever I visited Colombo on holiday from London.
“Helga was quite a girl when she was young!”,
was a statement I constantly heard my mother express. “Helga was a typical tomboy”, she once reminisced with her sister,
Isabelle. Apparently, an astrologer had told aunty Helga that it was only on
account of a malefic karmic action in her past life that she had been born as a
female in the cycle of rebirth! I recall my mother’s sense of disapproval when
she described what an indomitable character Aunty Helga had been, during the
British rule. She had been one of the rare females amongst the “natives” to sit
behind a motorcar steering wheel and drive around Colombo during her heydays,
or to challenge an Englishman to a game of tennis!
During
one of my sojourns in Colombo at aunty Helga’s residence, when browsing through
her impressive and comprehensive library, I came across an enlightening and
enthralling literary gem, which I should more appropriately describe as a
sentimental autobiographical record of a particular period in her life, which
she obviously cherished. It was one of her old and well-preserved diaries,
meticulously maintained with entries on a day-to-day basis. The contents were
not of a confidential nature (by then, anyway), but were a collection of high
jinks she was a party to, as a blossoming young woman! Immediately my mother’s
comments to her sister Isabelle reverberated in my mind: “Helga
was quite a girl when she was young”.
As I
leafed through the pages, I was tempted to delve deeper into this narrative,
which related compelling episodes proceeding and leading up to her marriage. It
amply portrayed her daring and vivacity. I am pretty certain that aunty Helga,
during that time, would not have been aware of the much vaunted contemporary
phrase, ‘Women’s Lib’. However, if I
were to publish it as a biography, I would unhesitatingly give it the title,
‘How to win over the man of your dreams’!
On becoming overwhelmingly engrossed in reading the daily logs of her memoirs,
it became crystal clear to my mind on how determined she had been on marrying
the man she fancied, and what pranks she had got up to, in eventually realizing
her aspirations.
Her
very first entry referred to a most exciting occurrence in her life, which had
been written in bold letters, thus; I was
introduced to this handsome dashing young man today at the tennis club. We
conversed for a moment or two very graciously. He seems a rather shy type. That
very moment something, which I cannot express, happened to me. It’s a kind of
feeling that I would like to be near him all the time and keep on chatting to
him forever! He is the most attractive, polite young man, who has ever crossed
my path so far. Must make sure that I
am there when he comes to the club again.”
This
‘tall, handsome, dashing young man’, who made aunty Helga’s faculties go numb,
happened to be uncle Bernard. Uncle Bernard, being a member of the local Tennis
Club, suited aunty Helga’s purpose admirably. In subsequent entries in her
diary, terms such as, “Mr”, seemingly were transformed into ‘Dear Bernard,’ and with what rapture
must she have recorded these words:
“Today dear Bernard asked me to accompany him
to the Club Dance. Oh! How tall and
splendid he looked! His graceful Foxtrot, rhythmic Quick Step, electrifying
Jive, elegant Waltz and frolicking Cha-Cha! How much did I enjoy doing the
Tango with him!! We shall make an ideal couple, and I intend to be an excellent
wife to him.” As I kept on reading, I gathered that her growing affection
towards uncle Bernard knew no bounds. It became more and more interesting as I
kept on browsing through each entry that followed.
I must
say, it was akin to reading a Denis Robins’ novel. I continued enjoying every
entry that followed. “Today I met dear
Bernard again at the tennis court. I think he is beginning to care for
me……! He gave me a bottle of imported Nescafe and was chatting with me
for a long time, of course, touching on the subject of coffee cultivation in
old Ceylon. I bet it was only a ploy!
Wonder how soon he will ‘speak’!! If my
Ranjith gave me a jar of coffee, I think he would suggest that I should make
him a glass of Irish coffee rather than consider holy matrimony!”
Despite
uncle Bernard’s little gifts and invitations to dances, no proposal of marriage
had been forthcoming to her frustration. This obviously had worried aunty
Helga, not a little. In her next entry she had logged something of interest
about an incident, which took place while she was sitting by the river at the
back of the Club grounds, ‘sighing and
yearning’ for her beloved. In fact, she had been planning her next
strategy!
Uncle
Bernard, after a game of tennis and a double Scotch at the Clubhouse, had
strolled towards the river, puffing his Peterson pipe, to get some fresh
air. Eventually, he had ended up at a
shady spot where aunty Helga had been concentrating on her strategic planning
process, but had fallen asleep under a coconut tree on the bank of the river. Uncle
Bernard, in his slightly inebriated state, had placed himself on his side,
close to aunty Helga’s face, enchanted by her beauty, while propping his head
on his hand, with his left elbow supporting that position. How long he had kept
on gazing in that posture was not mentioned, but when aunty Helga suddenly
stirred, sighed and opened her eyes, she found, to her amazement, a face within
inches of her own. This made her sit bolt upright. By doing so, in her
excitement, she had accidentally knocked uncle Bernard's arm from under his
head, making uncle Bernard slide slowly but surely down the riverbank on the
slope into the river! Fortunately, it had been the shallow end of the river.
Nevertheless, he got fully drenched up to his waist, and looked a sorry sight
indeed, according to her notes.
Aunty
Helga, having grasped the situation and, with her presence of mind, had
suggested to the embarrassed uncle Bernard that they go behind the Bokutu
shrubs at the river bank, where she could remove her top skirt and let uncle
Bernard wear it, till at least the trousers became reasonably dry, rather than remaining
in soaking wet tennis shorts.
In the
meanwhile, aunty Helga’s mother, Sita Achchi
(my grandmother) had become worried about her daughter getting late after
tennis. She, therefore, had sent Seeya
(grandfather) hot foot after aunty Helga, immediately. Making matters worse, Seeya having walked through the tennis
club and was strolling towards the clubhouse, had spotted some activity, which
made him walk towards the river. Having seen aunty Helga’s ladies bicycle
leaning against a coconut tree near the river bushes, Seeya had walked straight in, just in time to catch dear uncle
Bernard, literally, with his pants down and his girlfriend adjusting her skirt!
In her
next diary entry she had described how her father’s face had reddened with rage and he had begun
to sputter, having seen the couple in that situation. In her next entry, in
bold letters, she had described how her father (Seeya) insisted, there
and then, that dear uncle Bernard
made an honest woman of his daughter.
Within
the next few weeks of this incident, their engagement appeared in the ‘Daily
News,’ in a prominent box, under the matrimonial column. Her final entry in the
diary summed it all up, interestingly, with much hilarity, as follows:
“How
strange it is the way lady luck plays in our lives! “ If dear Bernard had not
fallen into the water, there wouldn’t have been any need to remove his
trousers, let alone me having to get into the Bokutu bushes with him,
especially had we known my father was anywhere near”!
Sri Express - 2013
Sri Express - 2013