Neville de Alwis’s key insight was to understand and accommodate the shifts of power and culture that had occurred in the Thomian community under the influence of social, demographic and political change in the country as a whole. Among these changes in national life, the most important was, of course, the ethnolinguistic power-shift that had taken place since 1956 and which, the war notwithstanding, had brought the Sinhalese Buddhist majority to a position of unassailable dominance both politically and economically. Another key factor was the relative diminution of the influence of the Church of Ceylon. The Anglican Bishop of Colombo had been a power of considerable magnitude in the colonial state. Now, nearly fifty years after independence, he was merely the head of one of the smallest denominations of the Christian religion in Sri Lanka. If the Church had any voice in the counsels of the nation, it was for historical and reputational reasons rather than for any substantive power wielded by its leaders and adherents.

       The dominant position of the Bishop of Colombo in the life of St Thomas’s College was, somewhat similarly, a product of law, history and convention rather than a reflection of political or economic reality. The Church no longer funded St Thomas’s; the only important financial stake it had retained was ownership of the land upon which S. Thomas’ Kollupitiya stood, and which had originally formed part of a famous bequest to the Bishop of Colombo from the founder of George Steuart & Co. The Board of Governors Ordinance of 1930 legally granted the bishop a dominant role in Thomian affairs, but it was only respect for the Church and its officers within the Thomian community that secured it. As would subsequently be proved, other Thomian interests could – though not easily – nullify an episcopal edict.

       But the Thomian community, as de Alwis knew, was also at odds with itself: traditionalists against modernisers, academists against sports devotees, Moratuwa vs. Colombo, the ongoing three-way tug of war of old money, new money and no money all pulling in different directions at different times. The one policy all factions agreed upon was the desirability of reviving the English medium, and the warden made good use of this shared sentiment to kindle some spark of confraternity among Thomians young and old; year after year, in his speeches on Prize Day, he referred to it. On one occasion, he opined somewhat controversially that boys educated in English ‘added colour and life to the College.’ Once, he even went so far as to suggest a national revival of English-medium education.

 

While no one in his right mind will contest the opinion that work up to the O level examination in Sinhala

or Tamil is a most adequate grounding, we feel that the student ought to be permitted to pursue post-O level studies in either Sinhala, Tamil or English. The majority will no doubt continue in Sinhala or Tamil, but a

smaller group will certainly shift to English… To fail to permit [this] would amount to national wastage, for

such potential would otherwise flow into other lands or be stultified at the GCE O level watershed.

 

But a campaign to revive English at STC, though certain to meet with general approval, was not enough to knit the fractured community together. Something more tangible was needed, a way to turn dissident elements of the community into active stakeholders in the Thomian project.

       The stratagem de Alwis hit upon was not new. William Stone, facing a similarly critical moment in the life of the school and the community, had made similar use of it. If loyal Thomians felt they had a part to play in the governance of the College – ‘as a thing to be fought for, and finally paid for’ was how Stone had put it – why then, let them earn the privilege by opening their pocketbooks. Addressing the OBA annual general meeting thirteen months into his incumbency, de Alwis modified to his purpose the words of Chief Justice Sir Alexander Wood-Renton at the consecration of the College at Mount Lavinia in 1918:

 

Our College… [has nurtured us] in order that she might engage for herself our best enterprise and talent,

permitting us to use for our needs so much, and so much only, as she does not require for her own. The

College needs your help to survive; every old boy must give the College the nurture fee he owes.

 

He went on to list various items of expenditure for which their contributions would be demanded that year, offering his hearers nothing in return save the honour of contributing to the restoration of their alma mater. If his hearers interpreted his words as a promise to accept their counsel in College affairs or reward them in other, more tangible ways, that was none of his business. Many, it seems, did so choose, assuming that a quid pro quo was on the table for wealthy old boys. And since very large amounts of money subsequently did change hands – classroom blocks, professional coaches, sports centres, Olympic-standard swimming pools and the like do not come cheap – much dissension did ensue within the Old Thomian ranks. Accusations of bribery and favouritism flew to and fro like poisoned arrows, while the warden’s personality, objectives and methods were harshly criticised. It is hard to believe that de Alwis, given his long years in government service, did not anticipate this. He must have been confident that he could deal with it, at least as long as he had the support of the bishop and Board of Governors. It is possible, indeed, that he felt that a metaphorical bloodletting would be therapeutic – for those who survived it. He would be proven right on both counts.