A beautifully descriptive account of St. Joseph’s Juniorate in Sri Lanka in 1969 evokes a sense of nostalgia and wonder. With its serene courtyards, the monastery becomes a sanctuary for young boys — a place to grow and forge lasting memories. The rituals of arrival, the bustling energy, and the tender moments between parents and sons all contribute to the rich tapestry of life within those walls. The spirit of discipline, independence, and idealism permeates the juniorate, shaping young minds and hearts. It is a captivating glimpse into a world where good things seem bound to happen.
Nestled amidst lush greenery and the coastal beauty of Colombo, the grand De La Salle Monastery is a testament to the harmonious blend of architectural wonder and historical significance. Its sprawling and robust structures, like silent guardians, have become one with the picturesque landscape over the 19th century, inspiring a sense of awe in every visitor.
As visitors enter through the charming gate, set within a protective wall, they are welcomed by a serene and spacious courtyard. To their right lies De La Salle College, a haven for underprivileged Catholic boys and a testament to the unwavering love and care of the Christian Brothers. On the left, a vast expanse of green emerald unfolds, and the school’s athletic field adds to the tranquillity of the courtyard and invites a sense of peace and serenity.
Further along the path, a commanding statue of Saint De La Salle stands proudly, his cap perched atop his head, flanked by two attentive young boys clutching books. This tribute, visible from afar, leads the eye to a majestic chapel. Its size rivals national churches, perched atop a flight of twenty-odd steps. The church’s arches reach for the sky in pointy style, invoking a spiritual connection. Adjacent to the chapel, a slender tower with a bell awaits the touch of those who can operate it.
In the foreground, an oval swath of green lawn is a visual delight and a place for quiet reflection. On the left of the lawn is a black parapet wall. On the right side of the lawn, a long two-story building stands, its large windows and doors brimming with curiosity. The first part of this building houses St. Joseph’s Juniorate, the subject of this essay and memories set in 1969. Next to it, in a similar architectural style, lies the residence of the Christian brothers. A driveway encircles the entire lawn, providing vehicle access to the facility. Beyond the parapet wall is a steep drop pointing to the beach below.
Beyond this, two refectories beckon to the right of the exquisite chapel: one reserved for the Christian brothers, the other a spacious hall with simple chairs and large tables for the Juniorate occupants, the boys. And just beyond the boys’ refectory, the large kitchen hums with activity, perched slightly lower — a place where sustenance meets community.
On the far side of the sprawling De La Salle Monastery lies a hidden gem — the De La Salle Printing Press. Tucked beneath the imposing chapel’s structure, the press hums with the rhythmic clatter of machinery, serving the printing needs of the Colombo Catholic community, particularly its business sector. A small number of hearing-impaired boys work and live there.
Behind the press, a large swathe of green lawn unfolds, where serenity reigns. Here, one can find respite from the industrious hum of the printing machines, a place to contemplate or soak in the tranquillity of the surroundings. At the edge is a grotto made of rock dedicated to Mother Mary, Jesus’s mother.
The idyllic spot on the monastery grounds remains a boys’ refuge. As the day wore on, the grassy area transformed into a vibrant hub of activity. After a hearty lunch, the students, fuelled by youthful energy, used the open space for a friendly game or to hang out on the adjoining basketball court.. Their laughter and cheers echoed through the air, punctuated by the rhythmic bounce of the balls.
Beyond the basketball court, a steep slope gave some bolder boys a sense of adventure. With hearts pounding and a mix of nervousness and excitement, they carefully navigated their way down the incline, eager to explore the beach that awaited them at the bottom. The Colombo coastline, with its promise of relaxed waves and a refreshing escape from the afternoon heat, beckoned irresistibly.
Life bustles around the monastery throughout the day. In the mornings, the peal of church bells signals the start of a new day. A mass is held, and sounds of energetic youth spill out of the monastery buildings. The boys disperse across the vast grounds with shouts, laughter, and lively conversations. Their enthusiastic energy fills the air. Soon after, a designated playtime ends and the joyful sounds subside as quickly as they begin, disappearing behind the monastery’s walls. The observer muses on the vibrancy of this place, a sanctuary for youthful exuberance and a place where hope and happiness seem to thrive. It feels like a place where good things are bound to happen.
This magnificent sanctuary, tucked away in the heart of the bustling city, has long been a haven for this dedicated group of Christian brothers and their young pupils. Here, amidst the beauty and serenity, they can focus on their studies and spiritual growth. Far from the distractions of the modern world, they are shielded from the constant hustle and bustle that can cloud the mind and spirit. In this protected environment, the gospel and religious teachings become their central focus, shaping them into pure and idealistic individuals.
At St. Joseph’s Juniorate, the experience of boarding school life is instrumental in nurturing independence and a sense of community among students. Supported by a foundation that covers their living and educational expenses, students are instilled with a unique spirit characterised by refinement and distinction. This spirit, ingrained during their time at the juniorate, remains a defining aspect of their identity. While most embrace this ethos, there are occasional outliers — students who stray from this path of discipline. Despite efforts to redirect such individuals through rehabilitation and counselling, those who persist in their undisciplined ways are expelled to preserve the integrity of the community and serve as a warning to others.
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Parents and sons perpetually relive the inaugural day with wistful gratitude. The dormitory, perched upstairs, boasts lengthy corridors adorned with metal beds and wooden cupboards. Beneath these sleeping quarters, trunks and suitcases find their abode. Accompanied by their fathers and mothers, boys remain engrossed in the timeless ritual of unpacking. Each boy is assigned a unique number and shown his designated desk in the study room downstairs. Parents and sons lean over their belongings spread across the beds. Brother Jerome, the guiding presence, meanders among them like a school principal, occasionally offering well-intentioned advice. Unfolded clothes, neatly folded shirts, stacks of books and rows of shoes and slippers create an orderly tableau. For most boys, the school outfits remain identical, adhering to the prescribed list of essential underclothing and other garments, including toothbrushes, toothpaste, soap, and combs. These latter items were carefully stored in the basement, each in its designated slot. Adjacent to the large underground basement was a communal bathroom with rows of water tanks and lavatories for the boys.
The boys remain perpetually preoccupied and excited. Their fathers, some clad in dark pants and others in striped or white sarongs, continue to smile and lend a hand. They consult their wives, who are always dressed in colourful sarees. However, it is the mothers who remain the busiest. They meticulously select various articles of clothing, smoothing out creases, separating different items, and folding them to fit into their tiny cupboards. This repeated activity accompanies a steady flow of warnings, suggestions, and affectionate encouragement.
‘You must be especially careful with your new shirts; each cost ten Rupees.’
‘Laundry day is always Friday. You need to have your dirty clothes ready in the afternoon on Friday after school and take them to the refectory area for the laundry man. He will return them on Sunday afternoon so that you can wear them on Monday.’
A slim, small-made, and dark woman continues to sit on one of the boy’s beds, her eyes filled with sadness at the thought of letting go of her little boy.
‘If you ever feel homesick,’ another voice advises, ‘write me a postcard. They cost five cents each.’
A graceful mother inspects her son’s clothes, passing her hand tenderly over the pile of linen, shirts, and shorts. After finishing the inspection, she begins to caress her boy. The slim child tries to stop her in embarrassment. Interestingly, the leave-taking seems to affect him less than it does his mother.
Conversely, some children gaze helplessly at their preoccupied mothers, appearing as though they would prefer to return home with them. Meanwhile, fathers look through large open windows, gazing over the distant sea. In the background, a ship in the Colombo harbour sends a deafening noise through its siren.
Notably, some boys remain unaffected by their parents’ presence, refusing to show dependence on their mothers. Instead, they showcase a defiant self-assertion of adolescence.
Younger boys around twelve or thirteen are on the brink of tears, yet they assume expressions of casual indifference. They behave as though they are not particularly concerned, and their mothers, too, manage smiles. Almost every boy has something to hide. One diminutive, small boy tries to conceal a tennis ball, but it drops to the ground, exposing his cover-up. The bouncing ball makes a noise, alerting the rest of the boys.
Sorting out who comes straight from home, the city, or villages and who has already been in a pre-boarding school like the Juvenate is straightforward. Even among those familiar with boarding school life, excitement and tension are palpable.
Some fathers admonish and moralise their sons, while mothers offer comfort and advice to their dazed children. Brother Jerome, the caretaker and master in charge of the juniorate, listens with an expressionless face to fathers reprimanding their sons.
A father expresses his hope that his son will be a credit to the family and obey authorities, including Brother Jerome; the son responds affirmatively.
‘I trust you will be a credit to your family and obey the authorities and Brother Jerome.’
‘Yes, I will, of course, father.’
The goodbyes were tearful but full of love. Some parents walked, a few took taxis, and a few scrambled into any bus they could find in their haste. With a final wave, their families disappeared down the road, leaving a quiet hush in their wake. A few boys lingered, waving at the shrinking figures until they were gone. The imposing monastery stood before them, but facing it together felt strangely comforting.
“Your families have said their goodbyes,” Brother Jerome said gently. Relief and curiosity replaced the initial sadness. The boys, now fellow mates, started getting to know each other. They compared belongings: pens, pencils and erasers, exercise books, textbooks, and instrument cases holding dreams of mastery. This strange new place began to feel a little less strange. Tentative introductions turned into easy conversations. ‘Where did you come from? What school did you go to?’ Pockets of laughter, at first nervous, echoed through the halls. By nightfall, some boys felt a surprising kinship — a bond forged in the shared experience of this new adventure. Like passengers on a long journey, they were in this together, ready to explore the uncharted territory of their time at the monastery.
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