letters

With the death of Philip Mervyn Jayasuriya last week, the media mourned one of its finest and most eminent broadcasting and journalistic legends.

Mervyn was among a stable of thoroughbred post-colonial announcers at the then Radio Ceylon, the likes of whose almost deified voices we will perhaps never hear again. They included such celebrities as Livy Wijemanne, Mill Sansoni, Jimmy Barucha, Tim Horshington and Greg Roskowski to name but a few, who all could have matched the heavyweights of the BBC with their superb diction and mellifluous voices. Mercifully for us some among this noble, genteel breed are still among the land of the living.

With his characteristic soft, purling voice and expressive articulation, Mervyn Jayasuriya made a name for himself among these gifted and illustrious radio personalities of a bygone era.

Exalted radio man, Livy Wijemanne recalled the other day how a cool, composed Mervyn handled his first mike test with superb equanimity at the Radio Ceylon studios in 1951. Livy called in Rex Morfoot, the then programme officer hired from the BBC telling him: "You've got to listen to this!". Morfoot , immediately recognising the dulcet tones of an obvious professional in the making didn't hesitate. "Hire him, now" was Morfoot's immediate response.

Mervyn, known affectionately as "Snowball" by his friends for his jolly, rotund figure and dark complexion was soon to become a nationally known personality, after Clifford Dodd, an Australian, hired to set up Radio Ceylon's Commercial Service dragooned him into the operation.

As a schoolboy at the time, I remember listening avidly to Mervyn's Sports Newsreel, Radio Mike and subsequently Roving Mike programmes. Mervyn displayed a great deal of courage while interviewing the best known politicians of the land with his Roving Mike, a programme viewed as the most controversial of its kind at the time.

But gracious politicians of the calibre of S. W. R. D. Bandaranaike and Sir John Kotelawela appeared amused by the pushy, feisty interviewer, even when he was attempting to give them a hard time.

In later years, I consider myself fortunate to have worked with Mervyn on the editorial of the Ceylon Observer, where we were both assigned to the "graveyard" shift. Mervyn, who never imbibed hard alcohol, made even the worst hangovers bearable for young bleary-eyed journalists working the 4 am shift after a night on the tiles.

Although he kept his sang froid most of the time Mervyn was ebuillient, a veritable mini-tornado. He was always radiant, full-blown and a joy to listen to. He had a reputation as being a bit of a blade with the ladies during his youth.

I was present at a party when a young woman coqetteshily turned to Mervyn and said: "You've got a nerve, Merv." Mervyn's comeback was spontaneous: "I've also got swerve, and verve, but am definitely not a perv."

A third-generation Thomian , he taught his colleagues admirable lessons in professional discipline and camaraderie. He never sought to ostentatiously display his intellectual gifts although quite adept at most forms of rhetoric or dialectic. A born raconteur, Mervyn was always quick, witty and unexpected in conversation that it was a delight to listen to him.

The frankness and freedom with which he talked and argued were remarkable. Mervyn was a great foil to test one's skills of repartee and rejoinder which flashed between the friendly opponents he considered worthy and versatile.

Above all, Mervyn possessed great personal charm. But he could also be totally forthright and acerbic when the circumstances warranted it. His harsher critics may have dubbed him "as abrasive" when confronted by hostile forces.

His sister Nalini, the renowned artist, who was constantly at his bedside throughout his short illness, recalls that Mervyn treated life as a joyous game.

With years of journalistic and broadcasting experience under his belt, Mervyn also conveyed a peculiar languor and a breezy self-deprecating humour. His sprightly speech was often couched in wry, convincing understatement.

And if one were sufficiently sharp to get the point he would characteristically clap your shoulder, throw back his head and laugh long and loud. No one I have known has laughed as lustily and heartily as "Snowball" Jayasuriya.

A few weeks ago, Mervyn and I met to discuss a free training programme in journaslism. We were both excited at the prospect and planning the project when Mervyn, the older guru-elect was felled by illness. He has faded away into that great Valhalla, specially reserved for the noblesse of the media professionals, leaving me with the onerous task which I am committed toundertake alone.

But while engaged in carrying the torch of learning, I shall be listening closely for traces of the liquid flow of that exultant, rollicking laugh.