If I Retreat, Shoot Me

By Dave Baker

Side with the English? Never!
The sibling rivalry between brothers Pierre and Jan Rousseau escalates when the Smuts Government declares war on Nazi Germany. Pierre, the charming extrovert, chooses the more glamorous option, heading Up North with the Air Force but his equally good-looking rightwing brother Jan joins the militant wing of the Ossewa Brandwag.
The story tracks their adventures during the conflict, reaching a climax when Pierre survives a spell on the loose in Italy and returns home.
It portrays the deep division World War II created between groups and individuals in South Africa and the life-changing impact it had on many lives.
Youll be fascinated as you follow the brothers hairy and often romantic adventures.

I enjoyed being reminded of the complex nature of war and especially the disastrous consequences of limited access to information had for the world at large. Its hard to imagine in this day and age of tweeting and instant messaging that there were times when people sincerely didnt know the truth before it was too late. (Wir haben nicht gewusst!)
Amelia de Vaal, editor and literary translator

• Language: English
• Publisher: Partridge Publishing Africa
• Release date: Nov 6, 2015
• ISBN: 9781482809527

Dave Baker

Dave Baker's background and psyche are rooted in South Africa's rainbow of cultures. Born and raised in the capital of the then Transkeian Territories, Mthatha, less than forty kilometers from the birthplace of Nelson Mandela, he was raised as an English boy but, during many years of his business career, was closely associated with many Afrikaans-speaking colleagues and friends. His father, Frank, was placed in a Quaker orphanage in Bristol at age ten but served as a fighter pilot in the Royal Flying Corps during World War I before graduating with a science degree and fighting in North Africa with the South African Artillery in World War II. He and Dave's mother, a graduate from the Incorporated London Academy of Music, immigrated to South Africa in 1925, where his father was a math and science master and headmaster for over thirty years. Following abortive attempts to become a geologist or lawyer, caused partly by his keen interest in sporting and social activities, Dave entered the financial services industry. Qualifying as an associate of the Insurance Institute of South Africa and fellow of the Institute of Risk Management, he found fulfillment as a manager of an insurance company and director of two international insurance broking companies. During that time, his extramural interests included serving as the chairman of a round table and president of a rotary club.

Book preview

1

DECEMBER 1938

Jan barely noticed the evening breeze that was wafting off the Indian Ocean as he slammed shut the cottage door, flicked his cigarette onto the grass and strode back to the dance. His need for more cabernet sauvignon had been prompted by the infuriating sight of ‘big brother’ Pierre doing his best to charm the knickers off Deidre on the dance floor. Hell, he was fully five years older than her – and to make matters worse she seemed to be enjoying it! And trust Pierre to question his ability to hold his liquor when he was setting off to fetch more wine.

As the lights of the Coffee Bay Hotel came into view, joyful shouts and laughter reached him over the band’s rendition of ‘Red Sails in the Sunset’ and the steady throb of the power generator. He was finding it difficult to think straight. While everyone else at Coffee Bay appeared to be having a fabulous time celebrating another New Year’s Eve, he was having a bloody miserable one. He lengthened his stride.

The music stopped as he was approaching the hotel steps. Pierre and Deidre had been on the dance floor when he’d left and he expected them to be making their way back to their veranda table. But tension seized him on seeing that the rest of the party were already settling back in their places and there was still no sign of them.

As he scanned the area, Deidre’s older brother Luke called out above the din, ‘They’re probably at the cloak rooms. They should be back soon.’

Jan ran his hands through his hair and said, ‘Thanks. Luke, I think I’d better pay a visit there myself,’ before striding off.

A busty woman with peroxided hair wearing too much makeup emerged from the ladies’ toilet and smiled at him. ‘No, if it’s your blonde friend you’re looking for, she’s not in there.’

He dived into the gents but it was empty. Aware of Pierre’s reputation with women, he was beginning to fear the worst. As he strode through the foyer, lounge and card room he was plagued by images of his brother taking advantage of the innocence of his seventeen-year-old childhood sweetheart. True, Deidre had never allowed him to do much more than hug and kiss her, but he recognised that things could be a lot different with Pierre exercising the full force of his charm and experience.

He stopped a waiter. ‘Have you seen my brother and the young lady in a blue dress? Did they go this way?’

The waiter’s eyes were wide as he shook his head. ‘No boss.’

Jan’s search became increasingly desperate. Rounding a corner, he almost collided with a portly middle-aged man. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, ‘have you perhaps seen a young couple pass this way recently? She’s tall and blonde and – ’

‘Sorry,’ he said with a wink, ‘no such luck!’

Jan’s heart was pounding. Perhaps they’d gone to the Kyles’ cottage to fetch something – a stole? But the cottage lights were out and there was no sign of life.

He was about to extend his search to the laundry and garages when it struck him. He stopped in his tracks. The beach! … Of course! That was it! The moonlight would have provided Pierre with a perfect excuse! He pulled off his shoes, ripped off his socks and jogged down the path, along the winding path through the bush and onto the gleaming sand.

The peaceful sounds and pristine beauty of the scene were wasted on him as he scanned the length of the beach, strained his eyes for a sign of movement. The tide had obliterated the earlier pattern of footprints in the sand. Plodding along the beach, he nimbly avoided the more assertive waves as they swept hissing up the sand in foamy sheets of water before receding just as smoothly.

Suddenly the glow of a cigarette caught his attention. Focussing on the spot, he was able to make out the shapes of a man and a woman, perhaps a hundred metres ahead. Could it be them? He strode deliberately in their direction and as the gap narrowed he could see that they were strolling hand-in-hand. His concern turned to anger, then rage, when he realised that it was Pierre and Deidre. Jislaaik! he thought, just as I bloody well suspected!

Jan saw their heads turn briefly towards each other and heard a murmur followed by a low chuckle as they released each other’s hands, moved slightly apart but kept coming. It wasn’t difficult to guess the reason for the chuckle. He could feel his blood rushing to his head.

When the two were still about forty yards from him, there was a mocking tone in his brother’s voice as he called out, ‘Is that you, Boetie?’

Jan stopped, feet astride, hands on his hips. ‘Ja, it’s me alright!’ he shouted, ‘and I’m wondering what the hell you two are doing down here!’

He noticed Deidre hold out a restraining arm as Pierre shouted back, ‘What are we doing here? … Liewe land! Who or what gives you the right to tell us where or when we’re allowed to take a walk?’

‘You know exactly what I mean!’ As they came face to face Jan spotted a large smudge of sand on Deidre’s neck. ‘I suppose you think now she’s all of seventeen you can treat her like all those tarts at your so-called college!’

By now Pierre was confronting him with his feet astride, his arms at his sides and his fists clenched. ‘Listen, you little twerp, she’s a big girl now. She’s perfectly capable of deciding what she wants to do and when – and with whom!’

With that Jan muttered ‘Bliksem!’ and lunged forward swinging a powerful right cross at Pierre’s chin. But Pierre swayed back and it glanced off him and Jan felt a crushing blow to his midriff.

As he staggered back, Deidre cried out, ‘No, stop it! – both of you!’ But Pierre was already advancing in a boxer’s stance and he only just managed to block a haymaker. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed Deidre sprinting off.

They squared up again, Jan staring intently into his brother’s eyes in an attempt to anticipate his next punch. Feinting with his left, he caught Pierre with a vicious right hook but seconds later a vicious incoming blow split his lip and he tasted blood.

They’d fought several times before and Jan was fully aware that with his longer reach and age advantage, Pierre had generally won their fist fights. However, he also knew that his superior upper body strength had given him the upper hand whenever they’d wrestled. He had to wait for a suitable moment to make the switch. Meanwhile he drew on all his boxing skills in an effort to gain at least some sort of parity. But his brother kept landing with solid punches to his head and body. A right cross to his head spilt his eyebrow. The pain didn’t concern him much but his vision was blurred in that eye until he had a chance to step and wipe away the blood with his forearm. He had to repeat the process a few times as the fight continued.

Their brawl left the sand churned up over quite a wide area until eventually they found themselves in the swirling shallows. Painfully aware that he was taking more punishment than his brother, Jan realised that a determined change of tactics was his only hope. Ducking under a vicious straight right, he lunged forward and tackled Pierre around the chest with all might, causing him to crash onto his back in the water. He then leapt onto him and pinned him down, pressing both of his wrists into the wet sand. He felt Pierre’s hot breath on his neck as he used all of his weight and strength to keep him on his back. Then, in a pre-planned attack he then suddenly released his hold on Pierre’s left wrist, wrapped his right arm around both his head and freed arm and shifted his body across his brother’s chest, giving him a perfect choke-hold.

Pierre kept struggling violently but each time he did, Jan applied more pressure, shouting, ‘D’you give up?’

With Jan’s forearm pressed against his larynx Pierre could only make gurgling sounds. But he kept shaking his head vigorously and making fresh attempts to break the hold, until a wave washed over them and his face disappeared under foaming water for several seconds. Jan didn’t dare release his hold. Luckily the water soon subsided, allowing Pierre to breathe once more.

Jan was about to demand yet again that his brother surrender, when over the roar of the surf he heard a man shouting. It was Deidre’s brother, Luke.

‘Jan! Pierre! Stop it! Don’t be bloody crazy!’

Seconds later Luke and two others came splashing up to them and Jan felt Luke tugging at his arm as he screamed, ‘Jan, let him go! You’ll kill him!’

By now Jan’s initial fury had subsided. He released his hold and clambered up, shaking and soaked. But as he did so he kept a close eye on his victim in case he should attempt to retaliate. He didn’t. Seconds later the five young men were all standing with sea water swirling around their legs, not quite knowing what to do next.

Any feelings of relief and conquest Jan may have harboured came close to being obliterated by the shame he felt as he looked at his bedraggled, bloody and soaked wreck of a brother. And he then realised that he probably looked at least as bad. He caught sight of Deidre in the distance as she turned and began to run back up the beach towards the hotel. Luke made to follow her but changed his mind.

Turning back, he looked at the brothers. ‘Listen guys, you’ll have to sort this all out properly later. But right now I want you to shake hands.’

Standing with his hands on his head, Jan doubted that he would ever forgive his brother but convention demanded that he comply with Luke’s suggestion. The handshake was swift but if nothing else it signified the end of hostilities – for the night anyway.

Jan turned to their mediator, mumbled ‘Sorry Luke, thanks’ and began to splash his way back to the cottage and bed, feeling totally bereft.

Pierre continued standing there for a moment, gingerly fingering his injured eye. But to his relief, Luke then stepped forward, placed a hand on his shoulder and said, ‘Come on, pal, let’s get you cleaned up. We’ll go to my place. Dee will be in bed by now.’

Pierre turned to the other two, ‘Thanks guys – appreciated.’

They looked embarrassed and one mumbled something Pierre didn’t quite catch as they ambled off.

Luke asked, ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Tired … and sore.’

‘Yes, you do look a mess. But Jan wasn’t looking any better, was he!’

Pierre fingered his injured eye, which had closed completely. ‘Ja, I suppose so. He doesn’t often get the better of me but he’s a good wrestler.’ He turned to Luke. ‘But listen, Luke, I’m helluva sorry – I mean, to get you involved. I was – ’

Luke brushed aside his apology. ‘No, don’t worry about me. But what were the three of you doing on the beach anyway?’

Pierre stopped, attempting to stem the flow of blood from a cut on his cheek with a sodden handkerchief. ‘Well, Dee and I were dancing and she said something about the moonlight on the ocean. And, well, I suggested we take a walk on the beach.’

‘That must have gone down well with your brother!’

‘Ja, he would have jumped to conclusions – but I really don’t know why he had to make such a huge fuss about it. It’s not as though Dee’s his girlfriend.’

Luke cleared his throat. ‘Well, as long as that’s all it was … and you two patch it up.’

‘Of course we will; we always have before! But you know that Dee’s always been like a kid sister to me. Sure, she’s growing up fast and is looking lovely but I wouldn’t dream of spoiling what we have.’

As they were making a wide loop around the front of the hotel, the band struck up with the opening bars of ‘Auld Lang Syne’ and they heard the revellers pitching in with what Luke described as ‘more raw enthusiasm than musical skill’. As they trudged towards the Kyle’s cottage, he again broke the silence, saying, ‘You and Jan seem to have been at loggerheads all your lives.’

Pierre grunted. ‘Ja, we never seem to agree about anything – especially politics. It used to be about domestic politics, the old Nat-Sap conflict but now it’s the conflict building in Europe.’

Luke lowered his voice as they approached the cottage. ‘Hell yes, it’s looking bloody grim, isn’t it?’

Pierre kept touching his face. ‘Eina. Sure is. And it all seems to centre around one individual. ‘You know, Luke, that’s something else I can’t understand about Jan. I mean, how can an intelligent, educated person like him admire the man? Only the other day I came across him reading Mein Kampf!’

‘Honestly? What did you say?’

‘I told him he was mad to waste his time following the ravings of a lunatic like Hitler. You should have heard how he shouted. He said that if I stopped reading the propaganda in rags like The Friend and The Star, I would have a far better – ’

He was interrupted by the appearance of Luke’s father, Patrick Kyle. To Pierre’s relief he was smiling and looking surprisingly relaxed.

Luke was the first to greet him. ‘Morning, Dad. Happy New Year.’

Pierre followed suit but wondered how happy ‘Uncle Patrick’ would be on learning about the brawl – particularly what had caused it! At least the Kyles were due to return home the following day.

Limping up the hill to the family cottage, Jan was still plagued by feelings of humiliation and remorse, which were aggravated by a sharp pain in his split lip and an ankle. All he wanted to do was to splash cold water over his face and get into bed without having to explain anything to anyone – especially his mother.

There was no light on in the cottage. He tiptoed into the rondavel he shared with Pierre, closed the door and reached for matches to light the paraffin lamp next to his bed.

A torch flashed outside and he heard his mother ask, ‘Jannie, is that you?’ The door opened. It was his mother, wearing a dressing gown and nightcap and holding a torch. He shielded his eyes from the glare as she kept the beam directed at his face.

‘Goeie genade, Jannie! Look at your face!’ she gasped. ‘What happened?’

Jan flopped down on his bed, resigned to enduring the embarrassment of telling her all about it.

But she gestured to him to stay put. ‘Anyway, sit son, I’ll get the first aid box.’

Marie shuffled out and Jan lit a paraffin lamp, limped to the washstand, filled the enamel basin, drew up chair for her and sat down on a stool. Minutes later his mother returned, rummaged in the first aid box and produced cotton wool, dressings and bottles of Dettol and gentian violet and sat opposite him. She leaned forward and peered anxiously at his face. ‘Your lip may need stitches but I think when I’ve made sure everything’s clean the rest can just be patched up. But what about your ankle? You were limping.’

‘Ag, it’s a bit sore, Ma, but it’ll be okay.’

It hurt a lot when his mother attended to his lip but Jan’s main concern was that he would have to parade around for several days with purple patches on his face – and that he was about to receive a stern lecture.

Marie completed her ministrations, re-packed her first aid box and turned to look him in the eye. ‘And? I suppose you and Pierre had another fight?’

Jan lowered his head. ‘Ja, Ma, we did.’

‘What was it about this time? Not politics again?’

Jan hesitated. ‘No, not this time. It started when I went to fetch something from the cottage. When I came back Pierre and Dee had disappeared.’ Jan touched the dressing on his lip. ‘After the way Pierre had been behaving towards Dee I was worried about her and went to look for them. And after searching all over I eventually found them on the beach … Anyway, when I saw them, I just lost my rag. And we fought.’

His mother stared at him. ‘Pierre and Deidre alone on the beach? Why?’

‘Well that’s exactly what I asked him. But you know what Pierre’s like with girls. All he was interested in was – ’

‘Nooit! He’s much older than her. Deidre’s still a baby!’

‘Exactly! But he just told me I was being stupid and said I must mind my own business.’

‘Where’s he now?’

‘I don’t know. I left him on the beach – with Luke.’

‘And Deidre?’

‘Ran off. Probably to their cottage.’

Marie Rousseau held her hands over her mouth and stared at her son for several seconds before saying, ‘You know, Jannie, I really don’t think that they would have done anything bad.’ She paused, still frowning. ‘But I’ll speak to Luke later. But in the meantime I want you to know how disappointed I am at your behaviour. How often have I told you that you’re now – ’

Jan held up a hand. ‘Sorry Ma, but you don’t understand!’

‘Understand? Of course I understand – only too well. But you’re a grown man now. You simply can’t go around sorting out problems like that any more. You’ve got to learn some self-control – to turn the other cheek.’

Jan ran a hand through his hair. ‘I understand, Ma, and I’ll do my best. But I it’s not that easy. For as long as I can remember Pierre has always treated me – ’

‘Of course it’s not easy, Jannie! Very little in life is. Do you think it was easy for me to forgive the Khakis1 when they burnt down our farmhouse and killed and stole our animals? … Or when my baby sister died in the concentration camp? … No, you boys have a great deal to thank the Lord for. You’ve got to forgive each other and start behaving like brothers should.’ She sighed. ‘I don’t know what your father will say when we get home.’

‘But that’s what I’ve tried to explain to you before, Ma. Most of our fights are about politics. What I can never understand is that Pierre doesn’t even seem to care about what happened to you and your family back then. He keeps telling me how stupid I am to worry about it – that it was wrong but that I must forget about it and look to the future.’

Marie began to heave herself out of the chair. ‘Jannie, Jannie! I don’t think you even heard what I said.’

Jan stood, reached out and took her hand. ‘Ag, I’m really sorry, Ma,’ he said, ‘I know it makes you unhappy. I’ll try harder.’

His mother enveloped him in a warm hug, kissed him on the cheek and said, ‘Bless you, my boy, good night and sleep well.’

Jan was still lying wide awake when his brother tiptoed into the rondavel and began to undress in the dark. But he pretended to be asleep.

35520.png

2

JANUARY 1939

The morning rays were already stealing over the windowsill when Jan opened one eye. It was going to be another hot day. His lip was swollen and sore, his mouth was dry and his head throbbed. He was about to turn over and go back to sleep when he smelled the aroma of bacon. He had a strong sense of foreboding about the reaction he would have to face from just about everyone at Coffee Bay for the next two days. But at least his mother had forgiven him – after a tough lecture anyway. What would he do without Ma?

He felt a twinge in his ankle as he slipped out of bed and made for the washstand, relieved that his brother’s bed was already empty. But the sight that greeted him in the mirror gave him a shock. He began to touch the injured spots but then thought, ag wat; by midmorning everyone will know what happened anyway.

He shaved gingerly and ten minutes later was seated at the table on the veranda in his costume, doing justice to his mother’s breakfast – and hoping she wouldn’t join him. She did, but mercifully she didn’t appear intent on adding to her earlier comments. But taking no chances, he cleaned his plate, excused himself and strode off to fetch his towel.

The sand felt warm as he trotted barefoot onto the beach. A number of people were already there; swimming, frolicking about in the sun or just sunbathing. There was no sign of Deidre.

He heard a shout and spotting Luke Kyle sitting on his towel at the foot of a sand dune, walked over to him and was relieved when Luke patted the sand and suggested he join him.

But thereafter it was mostly downhill. Luke soon cut to the chase.

‘Look Jan, I don’t want to get involved in your dispute with your brother. I understand your anger but it should never have led to a brawl.’ He paused. ‘But don’t get me wrong, I’m not taking sides. My main concern is for my sister … Deidre’s highly embarrassed – ’

‘Ja, Luke, I know. It was completely wrong. I’m really sorry for the problems we’ve caused you and I’ll apologise to Dee as soon as I see – ’

Luke shook his head. ‘No, I don’t think you should try and speak to her – not just yet anyway. Right now she doesn’t want to have anything more to do with either of you. Rather just let things cool down. Time’s a great healer. Maybe write or phone in a week or two’s time.’

Two hours later Pierre was fishing on the rocks with Jacob, the young farmhand brought down as a general factotum. He bound a succulent piece of crayfish tail to his hook, stood and, taking up his stance with it swinging from the end of his rod, cast it into the turbulent sea. Jacob had beaten him and Pierre settled down to wait for a bite, ensuring that he kept his line at the right tension.

With the sun shimmering across the water and an Indian Ocean breeze keeping him cool, he was in his element. His sense of wellbeing was enhanced as he reflected that the young man at his side had started life as a herd boy, showed a great deal of aptitude at his mother’s farm school and risen to become a trusted junior colleague.

His eye was beginning to open but his cheekbone still hurt – not to mention his knuckles! Watching his line at the spot where it entered the water, he relived the events of the previous night: the ‘walk’ on the beach, what had taken place in the dunes, Jan’s angry challenge and what had followed. If only he’d managed to stop him from switching to wrestling!

Suddenly Jacob shouted, ‘Look there, ships!’

Following where Jacob was pointing, Pierre spotted three light grey vessels on the horizon; clearly warships, possibly British naval vessels, perhaps heading down the coast to their base at Simonstown. He wondered yet again what may lie in store for him and many thousands of other young South Africans if war did break out. Smuts’s opposition party would do its level best to persuade Parliament to back Britain. Pierre had no doubt as to what he would do if they succeeded – learn to fly at last! He was irritated that for some time the Government had done little about developing a national air force. If it proved to be a problem he would apply for training with the Royal Air Force.

He was jerked back to reality when Jacob muttered, ‘Hau! Boss Pierre, this is a big one!’

Jacob’s rod was bent u-shaped and Pierre reeled in immediately to avoid snagging his line, then shifted closer to share in the excitement.

‘D’you think it’s a silver?’ Pierre asked, referring to the one of the most prized fish along that stretch of the coast, the silver steenbras.

Jacob leaned back, pulled hard on his rod and reeled in a bit more, struggling to guide his quarry towards the entrance of a foaming gully. ‘I don’t know, but it’s really big!’

Ten minutes later Pierre waded up to his knees in the swirling water and gaffed what looked to him like one of the biggest silver steenbras he’d ever seen. As he helped Jacob to lug the fish up onto dry rock, he gave him a robust slap on the shoulder and shouted, ‘Okay, that makes it one nil! But the morning’s just a chicken!’

It was a three-hour drive for the Kyle family from Coffee Bay to their home in the Eastern Cape port of East London. They arrived at twelve noon. To Deidre’s relief, Luke had explained the circumstances around the debacle to their parents and the next morning Patrick Kyle had merely asked her if she’d enjoyed the dance. Even her stepmother, Constance, better known by Deidre and her fourteen-year-old sister Kaitlin as ‘Hawkeye’, hadn’t commented at all.

She couldn’t wait to share her experiences – and concerns – with her best friend, Wendy Mc Lean, and was on the telephone to her within minutes. Soon after two, they were on a bus rumbling down Oxford Road to the Orient Beach. Not sure just how much she could tell Wendy, she allowed her to kick off first with her news about her two weeks in Port Elizabeth. It was engrossing stuff and they were only briefly distracted when they passed a billboard announcing that the film I’m No Angel, starring Mae West and Cary Grant, was showing at the Coliseum.

Having bought change-room tickets and paid for blobs of suntan lotion from a dispenser, they ambled onto the beach, pretending to ignore the stares of a couple of deeply tanned life guards, strutting about in their red and black woollen bathing costumes, complete with narrow tops and shoulder straps. The moment they’d settled themselves on their towels, Wendy demanded, ‘Come on now Dee, spill the beans!’

Deidre was twirling a strand of hair. ‘Well, the weather was mostly good; a bit of wind and two rainy days but otherwise sunny. Most of the usual crowd were there. Most evenings we lay on rugs on the front lawn after dinner, listening to records. There were the usual –’

‘Dee! Give me the real news, the lowdown. Like, was there any fresh talent? I hope you’re not still playing best friends with Jan?’

‘No, I can’t say there any real new talent. And I’m not even speaking to Jan or his brother.’

‘Why?’

‘Deidre crinkled her nose. ‘I hate to say it but New Year’s Eve was a real shambles. And I’m not very proud of my part in it.’

‘Shame Dee, what happened?’

‘Well, it was great fun for the first couple of hours. I danced with Jan and Pierre and a guy Harry from Rhodesia. But for the first time ever Pierre began to show more than the usual amount of interest in me.’

‘Like how?’

‘Telling me how lovely I was looking – even dancing a bit close at times.’

‘Wow! But surely that wasn’t a problem; you’ve often said he’s quite a hunk.’

‘He is; tall, blonde, athletic build, blue eyes – and very charming! But he’s twenty-two and until this holiday he’s always treated me like a kid sister.’

‘Okay. But what went wrong then?’

Deidre hesitated, twisting her ring. ‘While I was dancing with Pierre, Jan went off to fetch some wine. Soon after we got on the floor, the band started playing Misty and Pierre pulled me close.’

‘You mean tight close?’

‘Yes! And he whispered in my ear, saying we shouldn’t waste the moonlight and suggested we take a stroll on beach.’

‘No! And did you?’

‘I must admit I was a bit scared. But he was so persuasive and with the music and the wine …’

‘Go on!’

‘It was fantastic walking hand-in-hand, barefoot on the sand and splashing around in the shallows.’ Deidre paused.

‘Then?’

‘He led me into the sand dunes and kissed me.’ She paused again. ‘Well that was just too much. One thing led to another and soon we were lying together in the sand with all of our clothes off.’

‘Naked? … Did you do it?’

‘We did! I mean, by then it was too late to stop.’

‘Wow Dee, so you’ve beaten me too it! Tell me, what was it like? Was it the way we’ve – ’

Wendy was interrupted by one of the life guards, who offered to buy them ice creams. She refused politely, eager to hear more.

When she turned back, Deidre placed a hand on her wrist. ‘But that wasn’t what caused the shambles. It was that while we were walking back, Jan suddenly appeared, looking wild. He confronted Pierre.’

‘On the beach?’

‘Yes! He began to shout at him, asking him what we were doing there.’

‘Was he jealous?’

‘I suppose so. But he used my age as the reason for his anger, accusing Pierre of taking advantage of me. Pierre challenged him and the next thing they were fighting. It was horrible!’

‘D’you mean fighting physically?’

‘Yes! With their fists! I was so scared. I just took off … Fortunately Pierre and two other guys had guessed something like that might happen and had followed Jan. They were able to stop them.’ She found a tissue and began to dry her eyes. ‘It was awful! I felt so scared, so embarrassed … and guilty.’

Wendy put a comforting arm around her shoulder. ‘It must have been horrible, Dee, but I don’t think you should feel guilty. It wasn’t really your fault.’ She paused. ‘Cheer up! It’s all behind you now. Who knows, once you’ve got over your anger you may be able to forgive Pierre. In a couple of year’s time the age gap will be ideal.’

Deidre sniffed and blew her nose. ‘I don’t think so, Wens. He’s very attractive and good company but he’s so fickle. He said some flattering things but I think he was just wanting a good time.’ She reached for another tissue. ‘I just hope I’m not pregnant.’

35523.png

3

JANUARY 1939

Pierre, Jan and Jacob were up and ready shortly before sunrise to load the Ford three-tonner, while Marie Rousseau set about making a mound of sandwiches. By six they were all ready to leave for Genade, meaning ‘grace’, the family’s farm in the Orange Free State.

Apart from some wagging tongues there’d been little reaction in the community to the New Year’s Eve incident. Jan had spent much of his time swimming and reading; Pierre and Jacob had caught more fish than the family could eat and had given several to neighbours.

It was about two hundred dusty miles to the Orange Free State border and a further thirty-five to the farm. Pierre took the wheel, demonstrating his experience of country roads as he dodged ruts and potholes from Coffee Bay to the main road. The going was easier from then on but still slow as they ground their way through the rolling hills and towering mountains of the Transkei, a ‘native reserve’ inhabited by the Pondo, Tembu and Fingo tribes.

Ever since the early part of the nineteenth century white settlers from the region around Cape Town had made increasingly frequent ventures across the Kei River to trade in raw goods such as elephant tusks and hides and skins. This had led to its annexation by Britain’s Cape Colonial Government and in 1910 it became a tribal trust area within the Union of South Africa.

There was little conversation. Recollecting what he’d learned about the turbulent history of the territory, Jan reflected that the names of many of the towns and villages, like Umtata, Engcobo, Elliot, Barkly East and Aliwal North, indicating the historical merger that had taken place between the European and African cultures.

They stopped only once for a picnic lunch, amid the mountain grandeur of the Barkly Pass, where they spread travelling rugs in the shade of an acacia tree, perched only metres from a sheer drop of several thousands of feet into the river gorge below. Pierre opened a quart of Lion Lager for his brother and himself and bottles of lemonade for the other two. Ma served her sandwiches, hard-boiled eggs and salads. For Jan, the beauty and tranquillity of their surroundings were marred by Pierre’s insistence that Jacob join him on his rug, in sharp conflict with the prevailing custom back at home. He said nothing until the three were back in the cab, when he turned on Pierre.

‘Why you keep treating Jacob like a bosom buddy when you know that black people are more comfortable with their own kind and prefer to eat separately? It’s so bloody artificial.’

He was further irritated when Pierre simply smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

As they crossed the Orange River, Jan was reminded of the desperate guerrilla warfare his forefathers had waged against the might of the British Commonwealth only four decades before. Like many, he was convinced that the British invasion of the twin Afrikaner Republics had been motivated almost entirely by the discovery of gold in Johannesburg and diamonds at Kimberley. But he’d often wondered exactly what there was in it for the Canadians, Australians and ‘Free Irish’.

He was dreading his father’s reaction on learning about the fight. As they eventually bumped their way along the farm road he tried to formulate a more credible excuse for his own part in it than his concern for a young lady’s virginity. Francois Rousseau was at the front gate to meet them and lifted his oily hands on high to avoid soiling their clothes as he hugged each family member in turn. To Jan’s relief, he had a broad smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye as he growled, ‘What are these strange animals I see before me; cheetahs? Or perhaps leopards?’ Looking at both sons in turn, he said, ‘I suppose you two have been at it again?’

Mercifully distraction came in the form of Pierre’s fox terrier, Max, and Jan’s Alsatian, Kitchener, as they scampered, yapped and barked around the new arrivals.

Jan felt certain his father would obtain a full report on the New Year’s Eve debacle from his mother and was thankful when it wasn’t raised at the supper table. As always his father read a passage from the family Bible and muttered a truncated form of grace that was barely recognisable, and the rest of the evening passed without incident.

The next morning Jan woke to the familiar sounds of the farm; a couple of cockerels heralding the dawn, cows lowing in the dairy and a hard broom sweeping the veranda. Pierre’s bed was already empty. He had graduated from his agricultural college two months ago and this would be his first day of official duty as their father’s right-hand man.

By the time Jan had showered and dressed the morning sun was flooding the back courtyard. He’d spent some time the previous evening bonding with Kitchener and his bay gelding, Ramkat, but was now looking for some real action. As he walked through the kitchen, one of Jacob’s aunts, Esther, was still stoking the Aga stove, which meant that breakfast would probably not be ready for an hour or so.

The minute he stepped onto the back veranda, Kitchener came bounding across the yard and leapt excitedly around his master. He rewarded his faithful pooch with pats and hugs, then pulled on his riding boots and strode across to the stables. Ramkat was clearly thrilled at the prospect of an outing and Jan had to pacify him with robust pats and sugar cubes while he saddled him up and fitted his bridle. With Kitchener still leaping around him, he mounted Ramkat, walked him out of the courtyard and up a short grassy slope to the dirt track that led up past his favourite spot, a clearing in the natural bush in a gap between two hills. He stroked his horse’s mane lovingly, then leaned forward and said, ‘Let’s go, boy!’ Pressing his knees firmly into Ramkat’s flanks, he urged him into a canter and finally a full gallop. Kitchener had no difficulty keeping up with the canter but couldn’t keep up for long with the gallop.

On reaching the clearing, Jan leapt down, dropped the reins and left Ramkat to browse on the grass while he sat down in the shade and lit a Springbok plain cigarette. The summer sun was well clear of the hills before him and a higher range ran from north to south behind him. Stretched out below him lay a panorama formed by a large natural basin that was bisected by the river that provided the natural boundary between Genade and Bertus de Wet’s farm, Sonop.

To his left, he could make out the roofs of the De Wet homestead, guarded by a fringe of poplar trees. Bertus de Wet had the reputation of being a fractious and extremely stubborn reactionary but was also known to be the proud, if rather possessive, father of three very pretty teenage daughters. Jan would have loved to have got to know either of the older two but his father and Bertus had fallen out a few years before over a church matter and the families were still not on speaking terms. Not that this caused Jan great anguish; there would be many pretty girls at the University.

Looking at Genade nestling peacefully at the foot of the hill, Jan felt as though he was light years removed from the war clouds building in Europe and wondered how on earth politicians could even contemplate sending their young men off to war … And even more so how any Afrikaner politician