Every Day Life on a Ceylon Cocoa Estate by Mary E. Steuart

I had scarcely settled down to my new life, when an invitation arrived for a dance. Our kind friends the M.'s had seized upon the double excuse of a birthday, and also the two days holiday at the time of the Tamil Thai Pongal Festival to fix January 12th for a sort of house-warming party, on the occasion of Mr. M. taking over the charge of a group of cocoa Estates in Dumbera. Our invitation having duly come, the vital question of transit next presented itself. My son's horse was lame, a great part of the road unfit for my bicycle and ten long miles (and _very_ long the Ceylon miles are) had to be traversed; so we had recourse to the good-nature of a neighbour, who lent us a bullock hackery, a vehicle which demands a few words of description. Imagine an Irish jaunting car, with the seats turned to face fore and aft, at each corner an iron rod which supports a waterproof canopy. The hackery has a pole, to this at the carriage end a little round flat piece of wood is attached, on which the driver sits, at the other end is a yoke which lies between the hump and the head of the bulls, and to which they are fastened by a somewhat complicated arrangement of rope, the reins also being thin rope. The dress of the driver baffles description, a red loin cloth, and red turban are the principal items, but in this case a short white jacket was added, out of respect for me. The white "running bulls" are handsome animals, with large, pathetic dark eyes, enormous dewlaps, and magnificent horns, they only took two hours to go ten miles, part of it over a very bad road.

Our means of conveyance being settled, the next important question was at what time we should start; this, however, did not take long to arrange, for I absolutely declined to go in the heat of the day, for two hours travelling under a Ceylon sun reduces one to a state of limpness, quite incompatible with the enjoyment of society. Wednesday, the 12th, dawned. Heavy rain during the night warned us that the N.E. monsoon was not yet over, but at 7.30 a.m. we made a start in spite of showery weather, but, first a box coolie had to be despatched carrying on his head a light tin box containing all my chiffons. This is the custom of the country, and even young men riding to pay a few hours visit, are preceded by their box coolie carrying the inevitable "steel trunk" on his head.