Shirley, The Braveheart

A tragic story of youth bravery

11 min readOct 12, 2021

My first impressions of Shirley Fonseka were from a violent episode. Village lads in their prime had to invent contention, friction and rivalries just to be relevant in a pack mentality. A gang rivalry existed between Dalugama, my home village and its neighbouring, more affluent suburb, Kiribathgoda. Some lads from my home village had beaten a few fellows from Kiribathgoda a few days earlier. Everyone in my village anticipated retribution from their rivals. There was a rumour that a confrontation seeking revenge and a riot was imminent.

The carefree soul I was, I happened to be at the local road junction that evening. Then, as anticipated, the rival gang arrived in my village, making their presence known, and challenging the local lads.

I watched the two gangs going head-to-head, initially in shouting matches. While they were confronting each other, they brandished their weapons, sticks and swords. Street violence was way beyond me, and I watched this drama from the side of the road, taking refuge in a shop front, watching my first ever street fight in real-time with a bit of naivety and curiosity.

Leading the home gang was Shirley, unafraid of confrontation and conflict. Everybody knew Shirley. He was a frequent visitor to the local church compound. He was regularly seen in the main junction, hanging out with friends. He participated in all sports, wrestling and boxing, in the local Catholic club. Fitness was his mantra. Shirley was lean and athletic and took care of his body. Despite his popularity with the youth, I was not Shirley’s friend, just an acquaintance. I was cautious, keeping my distance from Shirley because we were like chalk and cheese. He was too street-smart and too tough for my liking.

The initial confrontation did not lead to any hard violence, despite youthful bravado and egging on between the two gangs, at least initially. A truce was declared. The rival gang had made their presence known and was getting ready to retreat and leave.

Then suddenly, a retreating gang member from Kiribathgoda hit Shirley with an empty coke bottle. It was an act of cowardice, hitting from behind. Chaos resulted, Shirley was bleeding profusely from his head, soaking blood from his long hair and into his body. Despite his injury, he did not relent and bravely picked a sword. Blood all over, Shirley kept chasing the rival gang along the road. Shirley’s friends tied a cloth to his head to control the bleeding. Despite his injury, Shirley was unrelenting and wanted to fight.

Revenge taken; the rival gang fled. There was no further violence between the two gangs.

That was enough drama and blood for me that night. I went home thinking about Shirley’s courage and confidence in confronting a gang and mateship despite a serious injury.

Becoming friends

Post that incident, Shirley remained bandaged for over a month. He wore his bandage and partly shaved head as a mark of honour and valour. Shirley was now a local hero, admired by many. Now with that episode, Shirley and I became friends. I marvelled at his bravery in a great time of adversity. Shirley’s friends Merril, Rienzie and Nimal became friends with me. They started hanging out with me and my other friends regularly while continuing to hang out on their own at their favourite jaunt. Of these four, only Rienzie had a steady job, working in the navy as a sailor. He and Shirley were into boxing, becoming sparring partners in their spare time in the Catholic club.

Youngsters move up the friendship ladder fast while increasing trust between them. Taking my friendship with Shirley a notch further, I visited his home in Nagahawatte, making friends with his brothers and sisters. Shirley had two elder brothers and one younger brother. Younger brother Chuti was very different to Shirley, short and dark. Shirley also had three elder sisters. The eldest was married and lived in Trincomalee. It was a large family with a lot of noise and activity. Shirley was the second youngest in the family. Shirley’s dad, Mr Fonseka, worked in a government job and could speak English.

One of his elder brothers was in the shoe business in Colombo city. When it was time for me to make a pair of platform shoes, his brother came to my rescue, making them in his workshop at cost. I was proud of that pair of colourful shoes, a fad in the seventies styling, lovingly made in Shirley’s brother’s leather workshop.

A few months later, Shirley invited me and some of my friends to Trincomalee, his eldest sister’s home in Sri Lanka’s east, some 270 kilometres away. I was always up for a trip and took up the offer. Cyril, Merril, Rienzie and Leonard and our guide, Shirley, accompanied us. We travelled there by train, a trip that took 10 hours. Listening to Shirley’s stories of street fights and ventures was a fun ride. Merril and Rienzie, his close friends from their street in Nagahawatte, where they had grown up together, added to Shirley’s stories with firsthand narrations making these anecdotal stories engrossing. It was a great experience, absorbing slightly different street dialects and languages from the three of them, our new friends.

We arrived in Trincomalee in the evening. Sarath, Shirley’s brother-in-law, a respectable and bespectacled government worker, received us at the station. He lived in the seaside town, in a beach outpost with his wife and kids, in a huge bungalow. He was the storekeeper for the government-owned rice storage facility for the district, and that position came with many benefits.

We had the time of our lives in Trincomalee, enjoying the best foods and drinks courtesy of our generous guests, Shirley’s sister and her husband, Sarath. Sarath liked his drink in the evenings and had a ready supply of alcohol which he plied on his kid brother-in-law and us. Shirley’s sister cooked for us while caring for their three young children, spoiling us with tasty curry meals twice daily.

During the day, we four took off touring the beach suburb of Trincomalee. We swam on the pristine blue beaches, visited Hindu temples, and climbed rock cliffs. We took a boat ride to the Pigeon islands. It was the height of the summer season and was unbelievably hot. Everybody in Trincomalee went around bare-chested, and so did we. Despite the heat, it was awesome, soaking in the sun, crowds, and markets.

We spent four days in Trincomalee and then returned home by train.

Church Feast

The annual church feast in late January was the biggest event in my home village, a predominantly Catholic suburb. It coincided with a huge village carnival on the church grounds with many attractions. Merry Go Round, Ferris Wheels and non-stop thrill rides and stalls. Young and old, whole families in the village and surrounding suburbs came together to enjoy the evenings, listening to blaring music, enjoying fun rides, competitions and stall shopping. The youth was seriously attracted to this carnival. Spending all my money, I tailored a blue jacket and bell-bottom pants and wore them with my suede shoes. I volunteered at the carnival, worked at the music bar, and enjoyed my fame as a fashionista.

With the recent altercation between youths from the neighbouring suburb, there were rumours that the rival gang would return to the carnival to avenge previous quarrels and settle scores. Many lads from my home village were ready for a confrontation, including Shirley and his sparring partner, Rienzie. While Shirley, Rienzie and some brave youngsters were gunning for a fight, we mortals feared and hoped nothing would come of it.

Police Violence

While I was on a break from my volunteer duties at the music bar, a slight altercation happened between two youths near me. A commotion erupted, and a young crowd surrounded them. A cop came with a bicycle chain and started hitting the bystanders willy-nilly, unchecked. The brutal idiot raised his hand, intending to hit me with the metal chain wrapped around his fist. I went into shock first. Then instead of being afraid, I became courageous and stared at the rogue cop. I stared at him so hard that he stopped and stepped back. This incident did not escape me from the irony of the injustice in Sri Lanka. Perhaps my relatively affluent clothes or pale skin colour prompted the idiot to think twice before taking his vengeance on an innocent lad. Whatever it is, I ducked brutality from a policeman, a servant of the state of Sri Lanka, put there to protect me.

Chandrika

Later in the evening, Shirley came to the music bar with a beautiful girl. Chandrika, Shirley’s new friend, boldly introduced herself to me. She was dark but stunning and a few years older than us. Chandrika had short hair and was dressed in a colourful frock. We three hung out in the music bar while I was busy in the stall. To impress this newfound friend, Chandrika, I played “Ring Ring” by Abba on the sound system for the whole carnival to hear. I did make an impression on Chandrika because she asked what my name was and where I lived.

1:1 Fight

Later that evening, when the carnival was ending, there was tension in the air. Everyone expected trouble, expecting the Kiribathgoda gang to turn up and create havoc at the carnival. They did turn up s close to midnight, and suddenly, the two gangs faced each other. Dalugama vs Kiribathgoda.

There was much egging and shouting between the two gangs, gunning for a confrontation and violence. Fortunately, a bit of sanity prevailed among the two gangs. Instead of two gangs fighting each other, they came to an agreement. The bravest of the two gangs would face each other in a 1:1 fight. The rest would not interfere and watch the duel. The winner’s gang would be declared the winner. It was a pragmatic solution to an age-old rivalry. Rienzie, our friend and the boxing genius, daring and rearing to go, volunteered from our neighbourhood. The Kiribathgoda crowd put up one of their best fighters for the duel.

There was a massive fight between Rienzie and his rival in the middle of the carnival ground. A crowd of about 100 lads circled the makeshift fight ring egging and cheering their fighters peacefully. The fight had its own Mohamed Ali — Fraser moments. Rienzie was a gung-ho fighter who fought hard. Fists and ducks, kicks, struggles on the ground and standing. There were no rules to this impromptu fight.

The fight continued for a few minutes. Sometimes Rienzie had the upper hand, and sometimes, the fearless lad from Kiribathgoda had the upper hand. They continued to fight unabated. Everybody cheered their fighter to a huge row. Shirley was Rienzie’s loudest supporter. There was no clear winner or loser in the end.

The fight was considered a draw. Old rivalries settled, Kiribathgoda crowd started to disperse and retreat. Friends took Rienzie away, wiped him and dressed him up. There was no serious injury to Rienzie — a few bruises. I watched Shirley’s leadership and Rienzie’s bravery up close that night.

Craving for violence subsided, and there was no more violence thereafter that night. The carnival was over after a few days.

House-sitters

Lucky, one of our mutual friends lived with his parents in a large bungalow-type home along old Kandy Road in our hometown. Lucky’s large family, including three sisters, went away on a trip to the hill country of Sri Lanka. Lucky asked Shirley to guard their home while they were away. Shirley willingly agreed to help his friend, taking a spare key for the house. Shirley asked me to join him and spend the weekend at Lucky’s home, housesitting.

I did not know that joining the two of us was Chandrika, the new girlfriend whom I met at the village carnival. We three stayed in their house, enjoying our youthful freedom that weekend. Chandrika looked after us both well. After that weekend, I went back home on Monday morning.

Leaving Sri Lanka by train and boat

Sri Lanka was following a socialist agenda in the seventies. Wishlists of the aspirational young, like music, fashion and cars, were denied to them. Youthful dreams were taken away; enterprising lads schemed to go overseas to realise their goals for a good life.

Like most friends, Shirley got the bug to leave Sri Lanka. He was planning to leave and work as a seaman on a ship in Europe. With limited funds, airfares were out of bounds for Shirley. He planned to find his way overland to Europe from Sri Lanka, a daring attempt.

The day of Shirley’s leaving Sri Lanka came. I joined my friends to drop Shirley off at the Colombo Central Railway station. He took the night train to Talaimannar, at the northern tip of Sri Lanka. Inquisitive I was, I asked him how he was planning to get to Europe to join a ship. His plan was to board a ferry from Talaimannar in northern Sri Lanka to Rameswaram, a south port in India. From there, he planned to take a train to Mumbai and travel by road via Pakistan, Afghanistan, Iran, Iraq, Turkey and Europe. It was a detailed and thought-out plan — a brave one.

Within a month, Shirley reached his intended destination in one piece and found work as a seaman in Europe. He wrote me a postcard from Barcelona two months after bidding him farewell at the train station in Colombo.

I left Sri Lanka for Dubai a year after my last seeing off Shirley.

Reunion in Dubai

A year passed; It was 1977. I was working in The Chartered Bank in sunny Dubai. A colleague at work informed me that a friend awaited me at the reception. I was surprised to see a smiling Shirley, smartly dressed in jeans, leather boots and a seaman’s t-shirt. His ship has anchored off the port of Dubai, and he had come to see me in the bank. Delighted with our reunion that day, I finished my work early and joined Shirley in shopping in the bazaars of Dubai.

We both had a lovely time, some 3500 kilometres away from where we met first. I spent the whole evening until it was time for him to return to his ship. It was close to midnight.

That was the last time I saw Shirley alive.

The Loss

In 2005 some 27 years later, I was on holiday in Sri Lanka with my family from Australia, visiting our extended families. A friend sent me a message that Shirley had passed away.

I took off immediately and came to his home in Nagahawatte Road, in my old home village, where I met Shirley as a young lad in the mid-seventies.

Shirley had returned to Sri Lanka a few years earlier. He had died in a road accident. With mixed emotions, I said goodbye for the final time to the brave Shirley that day. I met his wife and children for the first time that night. Shirley’s eldest son, a teenager, was a replica of his old man, just like Shirley was when I first met him.

That is the story of my friend, Shirley the braveheart.

Where are the other friends of this story today?

Cyril, Leonard and Rienzie live in retirement in Sri Lanka.

Merril, whom I met through Shirley, died from a motorcycle accident in my home village two years after I left Sri Lanka. Merril was also brave and did anything for a friend with Shirley’s backing. How both of them helped me to avenge a theft is a separate story you should read.

Lucky for whom Shirley and I house-sat, was stabbed to death following a money dispute in my home village a couple of years after I left Sri Lanka.

Shirley died crossing the main road at the same spot where I saw him first in his best bravery when we both were in our late teens.

They were short-lived lives.

Brutality by the police continues even today in 2021 in Sri Lanka.