The Flower Boy Read Online Free Page A
new to the Portuguese.
In 1642, the Dutch sailed in to see what all the fuss was about. After unceremoniously getting rid of the Portuguese, they claimed the island as their own. With them came the Dutch Reformed religion, Roman Dutch law, a whole bunch of Dutch recipes and a few more intermarriages. They too ruled all but the still inviolate Kandyan kingdom.
In 1796, flushed with success in recently acquired India, the British decided that it was now their turn. Having equally unceremoniously got rid of the Dutch, they claimed the island for
their
own. This time, the whole island.
With the help of a few turncoat Sinhalese, they stormed Kandy, imprisoned the ruler Rajasinghe II and set up home.
They did this quite literally, building typical English residences ranging from stately Tudor mansions to quaint cottages, bringing everything but the kitchen sink over from England. The bathroom sinks
were
brought over, porcelain Armitage Shanks affairs, which were proudly installed in their English-tiled bathrooms.
The British brought over the Protestant faith, but found the convertible natives all taken; they belonged to either the Catholic Church or the Dutch Reformed Church. But minor setbacks like this were no great deterrents, and they settled down to a long and hopefully profitable rule.
It was soon discovered that while Colombo on the coastline was warm and humid for most of the year, the hill country was delightful: cool, temperate and ideal for plantations.
So mountains were blasted, roads were built and railways were laid. Some islanders were enlisted to work by means of bribery and promises of later jobs, but since the British didnât really trust them to do anything but the most menial of labor, the bulk of the work was done by the British themselves.
The Ceylonese, an essentially lazy lot, had no complaints but watched with interest to see what would come next.
Next came coffee.
Recognizing the money to be made from cultivating the rich, fertile hill country, the British decided that since tea was already being successfully grown in India, Ceylon would be the coffee producer for the empire.
So coffee was planted and all went swimmingly until a blight struck, ruining entire plantations. After battling unsuccessfully to contain, if not eradicate it, they gave in and watched helplessly as the fruits of their labors literally went up in smoke.
But the British fighting spirit was not to be quelled by little things like coffee blights. Tea had worked fine in India. No reason why it couldnât here.
Once it was safely established that tea was doing well and there was no foreseeable danger of blights, the British dug their heels in and laid their pipes and slippers firmly down on Ceylonese soil.
The hills were alive with the Kingâs English.
By this year, 1935, the British were as firmly established as they would ever be, and if there were ominous rumblings from the natives, they were firmly ignored, like everything else remotely unpleasant in this tolerably pleasant land.
Up in the mountains their mini-England flourished, ably commanded by British planters and their British wives. Clubs did brisk business and tea parties, bridge nights and cricket matches were the order of the day.
The weather also usually behaved itself.
Tea plantations sprang up one after the other, all with nostalgic British names like St. Anneâs, Abercrombie, Loolecondera, Windsor, St. Coombs and, of course, Glencairn. Each had its own tea factory and bungalow on the lines of an English country manor, complete with fireplaces, bay windows, music rooms and solariums on the inside, and pergolas, lily ponds, swimming pools and manicured gardens on the outside.
While tea plantations thrived, so did the bungalow gardens, which were full of imported British blooms to complement the imported British belles. Marigolds, hydrangeas, daisies, lilies, chrysanthemums, carnations and English roses grew in carefully manicured beds and
In 1642, the Dutch sailed in to see what all the fuss was about. After unceremoniously getting rid of the Portuguese, they claimed the island as their own. With them came the Dutch Reformed religion, Roman Dutch law, a whole bunch of Dutch recipes and a few more intermarriages. They too ruled all but the still inviolate Kandyan kingdom.
In 1796, flushed with success in recently acquired India, the British decided that it was now their turn. Having equally unceremoniously got rid of the Dutch, they claimed the island for
their
own. This time, the whole island.
With the help of a few turncoat Sinhalese, they stormed Kandy, imprisoned the ruler Rajasinghe II and set up home.
They did this quite literally, building typical English residences ranging from stately Tudor mansions to quaint cottages, bringing everything but the kitchen sink over from England. The bathroom sinks
were
brought over, porcelain Armitage Shanks affairs, which were proudly installed in their English-tiled bathrooms.
The British brought over the Protestant faith, but found the convertible natives all taken; they belonged to either the Catholic Church or the Dutch Reformed Church. But minor setbacks like this were no great deterrents, and they settled down to a long and hopefully profitable rule.
It was soon discovered that while Colombo on the coastline was warm and humid for most of the year, the hill country was delightful: cool, temperate and ideal for plantations.
So mountains were blasted, roads were built and railways were laid. Some islanders were enlisted to work by means of bribery and promises of later jobs, but since the British didnât really trust them to do anything but the most menial of labor, the bulk of the work was done by the British themselves.
The Ceylonese, an essentially lazy lot, had no complaints but watched with interest to see what would come next.
Next came coffee.
Recognizing the money to be made from cultivating the rich, fertile hill country, the British decided that since tea was already being successfully grown in India, Ceylon would be the coffee producer for the empire.
So coffee was planted and all went swimmingly until a blight struck, ruining entire plantations. After battling unsuccessfully to contain, if not eradicate it, they gave in and watched helplessly as the fruits of their labors literally went up in smoke.
But the British fighting spirit was not to be quelled by little things like coffee blights. Tea had worked fine in India. No reason why it couldnât here.
Once it was safely established that tea was doing well and there was no foreseeable danger of blights, the British dug their heels in and laid their pipes and slippers firmly down on Ceylonese soil.
The hills were alive with the Kingâs English.
By this year, 1935, the British were as firmly established as they would ever be, and if there were ominous rumblings from the natives, they were firmly ignored, like everything else remotely unpleasant in this tolerably pleasant land.
Up in the mountains their mini-England flourished, ably commanded by British planters and their British wives. Clubs did brisk business and tea parties, bridge nights and cricket matches were the order of the day.
The weather also usually behaved itself.
Tea plantations sprang up one after the other, all with nostalgic British names like St. Anneâs, Abercrombie, Loolecondera, Windsor, St. Coombs and, of course, Glencairn. Each had its own tea factory and bungalow on the lines of an English country manor, complete with fireplaces, bay windows, music rooms and solariums on the inside, and pergolas, lily ponds, swimming pools and manicured gardens on the outside.
While tea plantations thrived, so did the bungalow gardens, which were full of imported British blooms to complement the imported British belles. Marigolds, hydrangeas, daisies, lilies, chrysanthemums, carnations and English roses grew in carefully manicured beds and
Readers choose
J.A. Roberts-Parkes
Kit Rocha
Diana Rowland
Georges Simenon
Katherine John
L. Neil Smith
Kaylea Cross
Andy McNab
Lori King
Cassandra Black