5 children overland from Ceylon to UK
HeartSerene and Invincible
Sri Lanka to England in a Motor Home
“Sinha travels 11,000 miles before he can walk”, Family of Seven Can’t Stay Still”, these were some of the headlines that hit London when we
arrived on a cold May morning in 1962 after a six month overland drive from Sri Lanka to the United Kingdom.
We were a young family of seven. My wife Joyce, our daughters Rohini 6 years, Darshini 4 ½ years and Shiromi 1 ½ years and, our sons Anil
3 years and Sinha. Also travelling with us was Owen Ralph De La Motte, a close friend of many years as another male he was a
strengthening asset on the trip.
.
Earlier in the year, I spotted the Citroen Van seemingly abandoned on the front lawn of a house in Colombo and was able to purchase it for a
very low price because it was left-hand driven and the authorities would not allow such commercial vehicles.
Similar to the type used by the Police in France, it had corrugated sides, a very low wheel base, plenty of head room inside and fitted with
both a high capacity petrol tank and a high capacity water tank. It had a foot pump to convey water into a sink inside. A stove top with a
gas can for cooking.
By filling in the open spaces from the rear half doors and the raised hatch with glass panels, we were able to add about ten sq.ft.of room to
the space inside. We built in folding bunks for us all to allow room for movement and play during the day. It already had a 40 gallon water
tank on the left with a pump up facility for water into a sink, and another 40 gallon gas/petrol tank on the right hand side. A large roof rack
welded on to the roof completed the structural improvements making a place for everything to enable us to live in the motor home for the
entire trip.
Prior to the day we left, we took a trip down south with my parents and sisters. We stopped at a service station in the island to fill up with
water. With the entry door on the left open, the petrol/gas tank is hidden. I was preparing to fill up with water, when a local mechanic,
quite concerned that I would fill the tank with water instead of fuel, took my father aside and told him that my van could not run on water
and shaking his head, told onlookers to see what was going to happen.
My father said do not worry about it and turning to my mother asked for two quinine pills she had which he dropped in the tank. As we
drove off, the mechanic’s expression was something worth seeing. I have no doubt that he would have sworn to everyone that he did
witness a vehicle operating on water.
I think Ralph had the worst of it because he bunked across the driving seat and he was inconvenienced by our starting in the early morning
hours and going on until late at night. My sincere apologies to him. He was a very patient man and never complained, yet always very
supportive. 99% of the pictorial records were his photography.
While preparing for the trip, my brother-in-law painted our intended route on the side of the van. One evening we were parked in Galle Face
Green, one of the city’s favorite “lungs”. The children were playing outside when three cars turned in and parked alongside us. They were
heads of international companies operating in the island. After interestedly examining the route, they questioned us about our plans.
The result was that Michelin gave us tires and tubes to carry us through the journey, Nestles gave us milk and other products to be picked
up enroute as we needed and Castrol gave us an authorization to collect oils as we needed throughout the trip.
Sinha, not even born when we planned the trip, was just 3 months old when we embarked on the ferry one morning in November 1961 at
Talaimannar in the north east of Sri Lanka for the sea transfer to Thanushkodi in South India. As there was only a rail link from
Thanushkodi to Mandapan, our 19 foot, 4 cylnder Citroen Motor Home was loaded on to a rail bed to follow in the evening goods train,
while we had to leave on the morning train.
Ralph stayed back to travel with the Motor Home in the goods train that evening while we had to wait at Mandapan Station where there was
only one chair and a whole lot of flies with the almost unbearable heat. Joyce sat all day in the chair with the bay on her lap and we had to
lounge as best we could on the hard floor. Eventually, when Ralph arrived late in the evening with the Motor Home on the goods train, we
could hardly wait to get back in it.
Unfortunately, the truck bed that carried the Van was shunted up to the off ramp with its two bumpers creating an uncovered space between
the truck bed and the off ramp. How were we to drive off? We could not occupy the Motor Home while it was on the truck bed because
they had taken our stores off the roof and packed those boxes inside the Van.
To wait as advised until next morning was unacceptable. Yet, it was also past 7 pm. Driven by my desperation, I went into the nearby
village and recruited some coolies. Quite against Ralph‘s cautionary pleading, I got the coolies to build a rough bridge with bits of granite
and stones.
Then, under Ralph’s carefully watchful support, I started the engine, put it in gear and did a quick jump towards the ramp. I felt the Van
sliding sideways as the makeshift bridge gave way but I managed to get the front wheels securely on the ramp.
Again against Ralph’s pleadings, I got the coolies to rebuild the bridge and bringing the rear wheels up to the bridge, I did a quick dash and
just managed to get the rear wheels on the ramp when the bridge collapsed again. But by then the Van was on solid ground. Needless to
state, we emptied the Van and Joyce cooked us a very welcome meal while we repacked our baggage on the roof. We slept very soundly that
night.
Except for a few days when we enjoyed the hospitality of people along the way, we lived only in the Van, stopping for needs only at petrol
(gas) stations and police stations including at nights for safety. There were occasions when we had driven until late at night and stopped by
the wayside for the night where passing trucks stopped to enquire after our welfare, but assured us we would not be harmed when they saw
the children.
Because we were necessarily stopped enroute during the day for washing children and clothes (we had two babies who created a lot of
nappies for washing and drying), cooking, replenishing fuel, water and stores and, avoiding the intense heat in the desert during the hottest
part of the day.
The next day we drove on to Mangalore where we were hosted by the Chief Minister there. Unfortunately, Joyce slipped in the bathroom
and had to wear her arm in a sling for awhile. Meanwhile, having had to buy food locally the previous day resulted in our youngest
daughter Shiromi ending with an upset stomach. From Mangalore we went on to Bangalore, Garden City of India.
As we proceeded north and past the turn off to Cochin, we met convoys of the Indian Army travelling down. Our first fear was that they
were invading Ceylon (as Sri Lanka was known at the time). It was a great relief to learn that they were invading Cochin instead where
they just took over the place without a single shot being fired.
As we lived entirely on the facilities offered by the motor home and not at hotels, we learned to stop at nights only in petrol/gas stations and
police stations as they offered the best protection. As a result our day mileage was not that great because we were stopped for long periods
during the day, cooking, cleaning and washing, especially with 2 babies. We compensated by driving longer distances until late in the
evening and waking up early to travel as far as we could before the children awoke.
In Bombay we were hosted by a close friend Gerry de Souza who, also in the travel trade had partnered me in running air charters from
Ceylon and India for Haj pilgrims. The day after we arrived in London, my brother-in-law asked me to meet him at a travel agency he was
auditing and it was a great and pleasurable surprise to meet Gerry there.
Apparently the day after we wished him goodbye and left Bombay to continue our journey towards Delhi, Gerry had quit his job in Bombay
and moved to London. Gerry remained a close friend in all the years I lived in London and until he got married and moved to Australia.
Our youngest daughter, 2 year old Shiromi, developed indigestion and began dehydrating, probably from the food we had to buy in
Mandapan while waiting all day for the evening train which brought the motor home. By the time we arrived in Delhi, she was very weak.
When the High Commissioner for Sri Lanka, Sir Richard Aluvihare discovered it; he and my father had served in France together during
World War I, he tried to send us back to Ceylon but I was adamant about only stopping until Shiromi recovered to allow us to continue our
journey.
Sir Richard called a friend Dr. Rosy Manickam, a wonderful lady who immediately canceled her vacation to sit with us and nurse Shiromi
back to health. Dr. Manickam also advised Joyce on the food she could feed us all while on the trip.
We were delayed in Delhi about 2 weeks before we were able to safely resume our journey. The highlight of the rest of the journey to the
Pakistan border at Waga were the Red Fort in Delhi and the Taj Mahal. On arrival in Waga, we discovered that our intended route through
Afghanistant had become dangerous, not only from flood damage but also internal conflict.
We had little choice but to take a detour via Karachi and Quetta to Zahedan and all the way across Iran toTabriz.
Even the roads between Waga in Islamabad to Karachi were little better and although stone paved was full of potholes especially in and
around Multan. It was late in January 1962 when we arrived in Karachi. The High Commission for Ceylon in Pakistan was Major General
Anton Muttucumaru whose acquaintance I had made awhile earlier when I was serving with the British Forces in Singapore and I give
evidence at a Board of Enquiry chaired by him.
Mr. Dickinson the first secretary at the High Commission and his family took us under their wing and were exceedingly hospitable to us. We
parked outside their home for 2 weeks through the worst of the winter before continuing our journey. In Quetta, famous for the Duck that
had warned the city to save the people from a serious earthquake, we had a minor mishap.
The motor home needed servicing so it was raised on a hoist at a service station. Joyce, Darshini and the baby remained inside while the rest
of us were out. The hoist was a single tube lift. A few minutes after it was raised, the ramp on which the van was sitting began to tilt.
Fortunately there were two concrete pillars as part of the building and the van rested on one at a 45 degree angle. The lift itself was then
slowly lowered and the van righted as it reached the ground.
If not for the concrete pillar, all three inside the motor home would have been seriously injured, the van would have been a write-off and it
would have ended our trip.
With sighs of relief, we drove on to Zahedan and the Iran border. At that time there were no paved trunk roads nor bridges in Iran. We
faced 3000 miles of hard, corrugated, sandy track with hardly traceable roadway markings. On several occasions, because of sandstorms, the
markings were obliterated and we; including the children, had to use the hub caps to shovel the sand aside to find the roadway markings.
At the customs point in Zahedan we were pressured into giving a ride to some locals who were travelling to the next town. Because of the
corrugation in the road, it was very uncomfortable keeping a medium pace. But, a fairly fast pace was more comfortable. Adopting that, we
paid the price. The left side, rear torsion bar snapped, leaving the body of the van resting on the left rear wheel.
Our passengers left us and got a lift from a passing truck leaving us to figure out how we would move. Finally, we put Joyce at the wheel, all
the children moved to the right side of the vehicle and, Ralph and I hung on any handhold and foot hold we could find on the right, outside
the vehicle to raise the body off the left side wheel.
It was 140 miles to Bam, the next town. We could not drive faster than about 4 miles an hour, plus stopping to ease our limbs and cool the
engine. With limited water supplies we had to. It took us 2 days to reach Bam. In Bam, I wired funds to Citroen for a replacement torsion
bar. It never came. After waiting two weeks, I went to a local welder with two empty big milk cans.
Demonstrating with an old truck spring (it was difficult, I do not speak Farsi and he did not understand English), but with great difficulty I
managed to ask him to make two replacement shock absorbers for the rear and weld it on. I am happy to state that it lasted all the way to
England with partly deflated tires, although much less comfortable.
There were no bridges, merely the roadway going down into the riverbed and up the other side. A few vehicles have been known to have
got caught by sudden rushes of flood waters, which happen in that area.
The rest of our journey was uneventful and we were able to enjoy the Blue Mosque in Meshed. In Teheran, Joyce wanted to visit the covered
bazaar. We presented our problem to a policeman who spoke to his superior and allowed us to park in the police post at the entrance, with
him standing guard.
In the Bazaar, we lost count of time and Joyce suddenly realized the baby’s feeding time had passed. We rushed back but found everything
fine. The Policeman had asked Rohini where the milk foods were and he had both prepared it and fed the baby.
Erzerum was a military zone and as we went through emigration and customs in Tabriz, we were warned to stop for the night without
getting started on the mountain we had to cross to get into Turkey. This mountain was described to us as being in the same range as
Mount Ararat.
The whole area was still covered with snow and before we knew it, we were part way up this mountain. Turning back was impossible, too
much to the right and we could slide down the side into the ravine Too much to the left could slide is into the ditch. We made a decision to
stay in the middle. The van had only a 4 cylinder engine and front wheel driven no chains.
About an hour later and as it started getting dusk, two trucks came up behind us and wanted to pass us. We learned later, that they were
workers from Erzerum, returning to their homes on the other side of the mountain across the border in Turkey. It took us two hours to get
to the top.
All the while threatened by the men behind who were trying to reach us with pickaxe handles. We knew the men in the trucks behind
would give us a hot reception whenever they eventually overtook us. Because it was front wheel drive, we had asked all the children to
crowd into the front and increase traction with their weight. As we reached the top, we moved in against the cliff and stopped to allow the
trucks to pass. But only one truck went past us. All the men got off the trucks and yanked Ralph and me out.
Just then someone among them shouted something. He had noticed the children and realized why we were so cautious. Providence really
looks after the innocent. If those two trucks had not been there and we had tried to go down the mountain by ourselves, we would not
have survived it.
The men took Ralph and me and showed us the roadway down. It was ok to drive up on a 1 in 12 gradient but going down without chains
would have been dangerous. Because we had a front wheel drive vehicle there was nothing to prevent the rear of the vehicle from sliding
sideways when we braked.
They hooked us on to their trucks, one in front and one behind and with two men standing on the foot boards on the two sides, took us
safely down into their village. We stayed with them there a week enjoying their goodwill and hospitality. The poorer the people, the more
selfless they prove to be.
I have dined with kings and fared of the very best,
Also shared the fare of those who could hardly afford bread,
The poor I value more,
They went without to treat me like a king.
With our second sea crossing across the Bosphorus we went on from Turkey to Bulgaria and another setback. As we approached Sofia
down a sudden steep incline around a deep bend, I tried to change gears down and snapped the top gear shaft. The Bulgarian Police had us
towed into a garage in Sofia where we actually stayed for the whole of our visit in the country.
At the time, we had a socialist regime in Ceylon with Mrs. Sirimavo Bndaranaike serving as Prime Minister. Very popular with the Eastern
Bloc, we benefited from it. People including schools came in deputations with gifts to welcome us and treat us to their hospitality.
Meanwhile, we were offered two alternatives. The first was to be towed to the Yugoslavian border and be towed to Zagreb where we could
perhaps get a replacement shaft sent to us from Citroen in France. After their disappointing response to our request for a torsion bar, that
was not an option. The second was for their lathe-man to turnout what I was told was a spocket , not sprocket joint, which they assured me
would work except against excessive pressure.
We elected to accept it and I am happy to state it worked very well except up one mountain where it slipped. We had to get our vehicle towed
to the top. The 60 odd miles to Nis from the Bulgarian border was the worst section of roadway we encountered on the entire trip.
In Zagreb we met some Sri Lankan medical students. It was another very pleasurable time for us with them. One of the students, a girl
kindly arranged for us, including me to bath in her dormitories. It did not bother the other girl students to see me there, though it was
rather embarrassing for me.
Continuing our journey, we had another problem while crossing over on a mountain road from Yugoslavia to Austria. The accelerator
cable broke and, fortunately as it could be reached from inside, I was able to control the carburetor directly with my hand until we were able
to find a garage to repair the cable.
It was late on a Sunday evening when we arrived in a border town in Austria. We had run out of milk for the baby, so I took a litre bottle
and walked around for a store. I must have looked quite gaunt with a beard and not too inviting for anyone to offer to help. But, to my
delight, a lady who was English and married to an Austrian had overheard me asking and came to my rescue.
Sending her husband ahead to collect milk from friends, she took me to her apartment and began cutting up sandwiches and preparing a
hamper which when her husband returned we took back to the motor home. Imagine our surprise a little later when there was a knock in
our window and we found a whole host of people, not only with more food but also blankets and warm clothing for us all. They helped us
move and park in in better surroundings and promised to return the next morning with breakfast.
I confess it was too embarrassing and rather than face it again, we left early leaving a grateful note for their kindness.
Germany was also inviting and especially the warmth of their greeting “Grooss Gott” was heartening. From Munchen or Munich we drove
on through the Rhine Valley and into France. We found the French, not cold but reserved. As we drove along the French countryside,
we saw a farmer milking a cow. I showed a bottle and motioned that we needed some milk. He stretched his arms to convey that we should
bring a large container. We only needed a little for the baby, but he filled the saucepan and refused to accept payment.
A little later on our way out of Paris to Calais, the welding on our makeshift shock absorber on the left came loose and we had to find a
garage. It was a Sunday and all service stations and garages were closed. We were directed to a private workshop with welding facilities but
the owner would not do it for us but he opened his workshop and told us we would have to do the repair ourselves and left us to it, refusing
payment again.
The European countryside is very beautiful and we enjoyed driving through it. We arrived in Calais fairly late in the evening but just in
time to catch the last packet across to Dover, England. From Dover, our journey coming to an end, we were guided to take the North
Circular to reach Southgate and the home of my sisters where my parents were visiting at the time.
It was only when my father put his arms around me that the full weight of what we had accomplished dawned on me. The tension inside me
from the responsibility I had carried to get my family and friend safely into England. Three days later I collapsed with rheumatic fever and
ended in hospital. Ralph is happily settled successfully in Brighton. Joyce continued to live in England until she passed away in 2007.
Rohini and Shiromi are happily settled down south of London.
I moved out to the United States of America. The boys, Anil and Sinha joined me and finished their schooling with me before enlisting with
the US Airforce from which they have retired and are now working with the private sector. Darshini completed her education in UK and
moved out to America to join us and is settled down in California.
- We have had many ups and downs over our lives but I am thankful that all the children are happy with their lives.
The End
Sole Copyrights reserved by Sus'anta Heendeniya
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