Frank Jayasinghe That I Knew

The passing of Dr. Frank Jayasinghe marks the end of an era in Sri Lankan education. To many he was an eminent educationist, the founder of the Wycherley International School, and a visionary who transformed private education in Sri Lanka. To me, however, he was first and foremost the Headmaster of S. Thomas’ College, Gurutalawa—a man who arrived at a critical moment in the history of our beloved school.

When Dr. R. L. Hayman left Gurutalawa, the school entered a period of uncertainty. Although his distinguished chaplain, Rev. Canon A. J. Foster, was the natural choice to succeed him, fate intervened and he passed away while serving in a deputizing capacity. Thereafter, the school continued for some time without a permanent Headmaster, with respected senior masters such as Mr. A. K. Chapman carrying the responsibility of acting leadership.

During this transitional period, maintaining the unique culture and discipline established by Dr. Hayman became increasingly difficult. A few unfortunate incidents attracted unfavourable publicity, resulting in the temporary closure of the school. It was against this challenging backdrop that the Board made its first permanent appointment after Dr. Hayman’s departure by inviting Frank Jayasinghe from Wesley College, Colombo, to assume the Headmastership in 1965.

Looking back, one can only imagine the enormous responsibility that rested upon his shoulders. His task was not merely to administer the school but to restore confidence, discipline and stability. He approached that mission with unwavering determination, firmly believing in the old biblical maxim, “Spare the rod and spoil the child.” Whether one agreed with his methods or not, there is little doubt that he succeeded in re-establishing order and setting Gurutalawa back on a firm footing.

Those of us who were students during his tenure experienced that discipline first-hand. Dr. Jayasinghe wielded the cane with remarkable precision. We jokingly described his stroke as having the sweep of a golf swing. I vividly remember one rainy afternoon when over fifty senior boys were summoned and each received three cuts of the cane for teasing the duty master during evening prep in the dining hall. We juniors watched in stunned silence. It sent a clear message throughout the school that discipline had returned.

Some of us juniors also became familiar with the Headmaster’s office through another route. Mrs. Loretta Jayasinghe, who taught English in the Lower Fourth and Upper Fourth and also served as the school’s music teacher, occasionally sent mischievous boys to the Headmaster with a written note. My classmates Wathuhewa and Arshad Hassanali were frequent recipients of such notes and would quietly return to class, trying unsuccessfully to conceal their discomfort. Looking back, these are memories we now recall with amusement rather than resentment.

Yet beneath the stern exterior was a cultured family devoted to education and music. Mrs. Loretta Jayasinghe built an excellent school choir together with Mr. Arunachalam and Tuline Ratnam. Many old boys still cherish memories of singing under her direction. One contemporary recalls being selected for the choir after singing scales while Mrs. Jayasinghe played the piano, eventually performing songs like Waltzing Matilda. Another remembers singing as the soloist in the Christmas Eve service at Christ Church, Galle Face, in 1966—a performance broadcast over Radio Ceylon—which brought immense pride to Mrs. Jayasinghe.

Frank himself was an enthusiastic tennis player. Almost every evening he would be seen on the tennis courts, often partnering F. L. Amarasinghe and his wife. We used to joke that the same powerful arm that mastered the tennis racquet was equally effective in restoring order at Gurutalawa. Behind the humour was the reality that he inherited a school desperately needing firm leadership, and he delivered exactly that.

Although Dr. Hayman had departed, many of the great personalities of the Hayman era remained, including Mr. A. K. Chapman, Mr. J. de S. Jayasinghe and Rev Fr. H C Goodchild. Their presence ensured continuity while Frank Jayasinghe introduced renewed discipline and purpose. When he left Gurutalawa in 1968, he handed over a far more stable institution to Mr. E. L. Perera, another legendary Thomian educationist who would write his own distinguished chapter in the school’s history.

After leaving Gurutalawa, Dr. Jayasinghe briefly served at S. Thomas’ College, Mount Lavinia. Feeling called to a broader educational mission, he later moved to South India, where he became associated with Kodaikanal School during a period of significant transformation. The school evolved from serving missionary families into a multinational Christian institution that welcomed students from many countries while remaining rooted in service, character formation and intercultural understanding. Those experiences undoubtedly broadened his educational philosophy and administrative vision.

Returning to Sri Lanka, he founded the Wycherley International School, which would become one of the country’s most respected private educational institutions. Through Wycherley, he pioneered a new approach to international education and earned his place among the most influential educationists of modern Sri Lanka.

Dr. Frank Jayasinghe was a proud son of Richmond College, Galle and Wesley College, Colombo. A specialized teacher in Science and Mathematics and an honors graduate of the University of London in Sinhala and Oriental Languages lived a long and fulfilled life, reaching the remarkable age of ninety-two. Though remembered by many as a strict disciplinarian, those who knew him personally also remember his humility, warmth, deep Christian faith and genuine concern for young people. His beloved wife, Loretta, predeceased him. He leaves behind a son and a daughter. It is heartening to know that Sanjeev the son continues his father’s commitment to education and Christian values while serving in Thailand.

History often remembers great educators for the institutions they founded. I remember Frank Jayasinghe for something equally important. At a moment when Gurutalawa needed courage, conviction and uncompromising leadership, he accepted one of the most difficult appointments in the school’s history and restored confidence to an institution that was searching for direction.

As one of his former students, I can honestly say that although we feared his cane in those days, we have come to appreciate, with the wisdom of age, the purpose behind it. His discipline was never an end in itself; it was his way of shaping character, instilling responsibility and preparing young boys for life.

May Dr. Frank Jayasinghe rest in eternal peace. His legacy lives on in the thousands of students whose lives he touched, in the institutions he strengthened, and in the enduring values of discipline, service and education that he championed throughout his remarkable life.

Picture curtsey https://stcguru.edu.lk/

 

A Tour Organiser's Confession

There are many family excursions that are fondly remembered. There are some that are remembered because everything went according to plan. And then there are the rare ones that are remembered because absolutely nothing went according to plan.

This is the confession of the organiser of one such trip, undertaken around 1981 or 1982.

The idea originated within my wife's extended family. Someone suggested that we should all contribute and go on a three-day excursion with two overnight stays. Before long, the entire responsibility for planning, organising and managing the trip landed squarely on my shoulders.

Looking back, I sometimes wonder what possessed me to accept.

This was long before mobile phones. Even fixed telephone connections were scarce. Communication was by letter, postcard and word of mouth. Roads were rough, travel was slow and breakdown services were virtually unheard of. Most vehicles on the road were reconditioned imports that had only recently begun appearing after the open economy reforms.

Undeterred, I prepared an ambitious itinerary covering Buduruwagala, Polonnaruwa and Anuradhapura while taking a scenic route through the south-eastern and eastern parts of the country.

What I did not know was that a 17-seater van carrying twenty-two people would have very different ideas.

Yes, twenty-two.

The more people we added, the lower the individual contribution became. Most of us were government servants with modest salaries, so economy was everything.

By departure day we were packed into the van like sardines.

Our transport was a reconditioned Toyota van bearing the name "Prabath" painted proudly across its body.

The women organised the food. We carried cooked rice for lunch, ingredients for dinner and, because there was no cooking gas, a supply of firewood as well. Accommodation in Anuradhapura was easy enough. Polonnaruwa was another matter altogether, but that story comes later.

The day finally arrived.

We departed from Galle already behind schedule after spending too much time collecting passengers. Breakfast was planned at Ambalantota, courtesy of relatives. Unfortunately, what was intended to be breakfast became a family reunion. My repeated reminders about distances and schedules had little effect.

We eventually left almost two hours later than planned. The dry zone heat intensified. The van had no air conditioning. Three babies began crying in chorus. Two young children added their own contributions. The mothers eventually restored peace. At least for a while.

Now, every long journey requires entertainment.

Our entertainment consisted of a single cassette tape. Just one.

The cassette contained songs by the legendary duo Latha and Dharmadasa Walpola. That cassette remained in the player from the moment we left until almost the end of the journey. There was no radio reception worth mentioning, no alternative tapes and certainly no Spotify playlists. As the hours passed, the songs became familiar.

Then memorable. Then repetitive. Then unforgettable.

By the second day many of us knew the entire cassette by heart.

To this day, if one of those songs starts playing unexpectedly, I am instantly transported back into that overcrowded van somewhere between Maha Oya and Polonnaruwa.

Among the passengers was a family member blessed with considerable veto power.

During one particularly cheerful stretch of the journey, his wife enthusiastically joined one of the famous Walpola duets. It was the song in which the heroine declares to her beloved that he is the hero of her life and that she would do anything for him. As she sang along with great feeling, some of us could not help noticing the irony. For in our family hierarchy, her husband genuinely appeared to possess that sort of authority.

This became evident later.

After missed roads, washed-out routes, a puncture, endless delays and a police roadblock caused by a curfew in the eastern province, we found ourselves stranded at Maha Oya. Our attempt to obtain shelter at the local temple was politely rejected when the priest decided we were not true pilgrims.

We therefore occupied an abandoned school building under candlelight.

Babies cried. Dinner was cooked. Lunch for the next day was prepared. Some of us even visited the hot springs for a much-needed wash.

That night made what I considered a sensible proposal.

"Let us skip Polonnaruwa and proceed directly to Anuradhapura. There is simply not enough time for both." The proposal survived for approximately thirty seconds.

The gentleman with veto powers immediately declared that he had joined the excursion solely to visit Polonnaruwa. Polonnaruwa, therefore, would remain.

Discussion closed.

Even the drivers eventually agreed to extend the journey by an extra day. Thus, was democracy suspended for the duration of the excursion.

The following morning, before sunrise, we departed along the jungle track through Pimburetthewa. Soon afterwards another tyre punctured.

Not near a village. Not near a shop. Not near civilisation. But deep inside elephant country. With a damaged spare tyre. We waited for hours while tractors carried our tyres away for repair.

During this enforced break we admired the scenery while simultaneously keeping an eye open for elephants. Fortunately, only the tyres returned. The elephants did not.

Eventually we reached Polonnaruwa  and then, the following day, Anuradhapura .

Here occurred the most astonishing event of the entire excursion.

Weeks earlier I had sent a postcard seeking accommodation at a place near the Government Agent's bungalow. The address I wrote was simply "Near GA's House." The postman interpreted this rather differently.

Instead of delivering it near the GA's house, he delivered it to the Government Agent himself. The Government Agent, displaying far greater confidence in my planning abilities than I deserved, read the letter and forwarded it to the rest house.

When we failed to arrive on the appointed date, the caretaker nevertheless kept accommodation available in case we appeared late.

Which, of course, we did. Very late. The room was waiting.

At that moment I felt that Providence itself had intervened on behalf of a struggling tour organiser. The remainder of the trip passed with comparatively little drama. Nevertheless, I remained the principal target whenever discomfort, delays, crying babies, dust, heat or unexpected sleeping arrangements were discussed.

The ladies of the group, however, were kinder. "Don't worry, brother," they would say. "No one else could have organised a trip like this."

At the time I suspected that statement carried multiple meanings. Today, more than four decades later, I understand it as a compliment.

When we finally returned to Galle, a day late, exhausted and aching from head to toe, I swore never again to undertake such responsibility.

Yet the truth is that no carefully planned luxury tour could ever have produced so many stories.

The babies have grown up.

The roads have changed.

The cassette players have disappeared.

The veto powers have faded.

But whenever I hear a Latha and Dharmadasa Walpola song, I am once again sitting in that overcrowded van named "Prabath," watching another carefully prepared plan disappear over the horizon. And I remember, with equal measures of pride and embarrassment, my greatest achievement as a tour organiser.