Fathers and Sons: The legacy of honour and duty

By Peter Cleary

In the winter of 1981 Luke Calder was taken into custody by the security branch of the South African Police Service as he attempted to enter the pedestrian gate into his residence at Rhodes University.

In many ways Luke was an extraordinary young man: top of his law class three years running, a provincial long distance runner and a leader, elected Senior Student of College House and a member of the Students’ Representative Council.

It didn’t help him, and in the next week he was kept in solitary confinement and when he was taken from that dark hole which stunk of his own body waste, he was beaten, tasered and subjected to various forms of asphyxiation.

He was innocent of their charges, was being punished for his association with others, but he and his father knew he had to leave the country of his birth. He would not have survived a second time in that torture house.
This is his story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Peter Cleary Books
• Release date: Mar 5, 2024
• ISBN: 9780796152053

Book preview

The legacy of honour and duty

© Peter Cleary 2024

ISBN 978-0-7961-5205-3

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the written permission of the copyright owner.

Published by Peter Cleary Books Mtunzini, KZN, 3867

www.peterclearybooks.co.za

[e-mail]

Cover photograph by Peter Cleary

Cover design by Jo Petzer of Cosmic Creations

It’s not time to make a change,

Just relax, take it easy

You’re still young, that’s your fault

There’s so much you have to know

Find a girl, settle down

If you want you can marry

Look at me, I’m old

But I’m happy

I was once like you are now

And I know that it’s not easy

To be calm when you’ve found

Something going on

But take your time, think a lot

Think of everything you’ve got

For you will still be here tomorrow

But your dreams may not.

Cat Stevens, Father and Son

This story is for Derrick, Andrew and Dylan.

Fathers and sons.

PART ONE

COMING HOME - 2002

Chapter 1

He stopped the rental car short of the entrance gate and got out, stretched his cramped limbs, smelling the dust disturbed by the passage of the car on the gravel road. Before him stood the gate that was a symbol of his youth. He had still been in junior school when his father bought the property.

The gate spread across the double entrance, high enough to admit the tallest truck, the steel crosspiece bearing the name:

Karoo Guest Farm

Luke Calder had not seen that entrance gate since the election of 1994, when he was free to return to the country, and now the second year of the new millennium.

He stood a long time, testing what he saw against the memories, feeling a kind of joy to be there, despite the heartache that lay waiting.

The Karoo Guest Farm was an oasis in that dry and empty land: the forest of trees planted by his parents nearly three decades earlier hiding many of the white painted cottages; the green meadows with the animals ambling back to their pens at that time of the evening, and the playing fields and tennis courts. But the feature that he most remembered in dreams was the mountain behind the resort that dominated what man had built at its foot.

In the light of the setting sun the mountain flamed orange, a timeless presence.

It was the end of a long day and night which had started with the late flight out of Heathrow. He had found no rest in the darkened cabin, uncomfortable and ill at ease with his memories. And once more he walked on the land of his birth, down the customs line designated for foreigners, he with his British passport, feeling the stir of emotions at being back despite the aggravation caused by the wait and the impersonal scrutiny of the officials.

Finally he was free of the will of others and driving out of the airport precinct and heading south.

Eight hundred kilometres. Traversing the country that he still called home, despite his enforced departure in 1981 and his passport proclaiming his citizenship of another country.

He was not sure how he would face the next few days.

*

Two days earlier his sergeant had entered his office to tell him Lieutenant Colonel Withers wished to see him. It was not far but he had to leave his building to cross to another. There was a strong wind blowing off the Channel. In the far distance he could see the white wave tops it was kicking up out at sea.

Lt Colonel Withers stood when he entered the office. That was unusual. Nick Withers was not known for social niceties. A no-nonsense man.

Ah, Luke. Come sit.

Even more unusual and Major Luke Calder readied himself for some kind of arm wrestle.

You wanted to see me, Sir?

Yes.

Withers looked ill at ease and Luke knew the conversation would not be about the brigade.

There’s no easy way to say this, Luke. I’m very sorry to tell you that your mother and father were killed in a car crash last evening.

His mind froze, the news catastrophic.

It was impossible to take it in. His mother and father. Those wonderful, young-at-heart people. The people closest to him in all the world, despite the years wasted, the absent years. All his potential plans to spend time with them after his duty was completed. To go home to the place where he had been at his happiest, spend some time there, reassess his life, lean on the wisdom of his father.

He composed himself the way they had been trained at Lympstone, the commando training facility. Hide the shock and outward manifestations of grief. Cheerfulness in the face of adversity. Ask questions.

Last evening?

Yes.

Where did it happen?

Doesn’t say, Major. Here’s the e-mail.

Luke read it. It said very little more. It was addressed to the Officer Commanding, 42 Commando, Royal Marines, Bickleigh, Devon, sent by a woman named Carol Dutton, no title. Luke did not know her. He knew his father had hired a manager when he reached sixty five years of age. That was two years ago. It was his habit to phone his parents once or twice a month unless he was in deployment. They had been pleased with the person they hired.

She knew the communication protocol and perhaps had the decency to make sure someone was with him when he read it.

You’ll want to be there?

Yes.

The work in the Gulf is as good as done, Luke. Take all the time you need, just keep my aide informed.

I will. Thank you, Sir.

*

Luke drove into the grounds and decided to go directly to his parents’ house which was on the slope of the mountain, the highest building, and walk back down to the main buildings which housed the office, reception area, kitchen, restaurant and bar. He hoped to find Carol Dutton still on duty, make her acquaintance, thank her and get the latest news. Then he saw a large Mercedes sedan at the house and changed his course to drive directly to the office.

A woman came out on to the verandah to the office. He assumed it was Dutton and she had been looking out for him, knew his flight schedule and his intention to drive straight through.

He parked directly below the verandah, saw she was about his age, dark haired, good upright stance, wearing jeans, a large jersey and riding boots, winter wear in the Karoo. She greeted him.

You must be Luke.

Yes.

You look like your father.

That’s a compliment. And you must be Carol.

Yes. You didn’t go straight to your house?

No, wanted to know the lay of the land. I assume that’s my sister’s car?

Yes, they arrived yesterday.

The whole tribe?

Husband, wife and three children. Is that the whole tribe?

Yes.

Close up he could see she was a good looking woman, regular features, and luxurious dark hair, worn long.

He shook her hand.

Thank you for sending the email, Carol. You did the right thing sending it to my OC.

Thank you, my father was in the military.

Permanent force?

Yes. Did his national service and decided to stay on for a short term duty.

That was unusual for those days. Fifties or sixties, I would guess.

Yes. Won’t you come into the office, it’s getting cold out here.

It was a nice office, planned to be that way by his father, facing west, catching the last light, nirvana in winter too hot in summer.

When they sat down she spoke again.

I’m so sorry for your loss, Luke. They were awesome people, and loved you dearly.

Thank you. Your loss too, I would guess. They spoke well of you.

Yes, a loss for all of us who work here. This has been a wonderful two years of my life.

He wondered what would happen to her, had no idea what the wishes of his parents were.

So what’s the plan, Carol?

"The memorial service is ten days off, next Saturday, at the Methodist church in Cradock. Your parents attended that church and had a good relationship with the pastor. His name is Charles Godwin. The reason for the delayed service is that the pastor was on leave and persuaded your sister to wait until he could conduct the service.

And their lawyer is coming out here tomorrow around ten to speak to you and your sister about the will.

That still Duncan Exelby?

Yes.

What happened, Carol?

They’re still trying to work it out. They were coming back on Sunday in the early evening from a visit to friends in Queenstown. It was getting dark. Bad light I suppose. The other vehicle was a heavy duty truck. Both vehicles ended up on your parent’s side of the road. On a corner. They think the truck was cutting the corner and that the driver had not switched his lights on.

Oh shit what a tragedy.

He composed himself and she waited for him.

What happened to the truck driver?

They don’t know.

What!

He ran away, Luke.

They do that in this country?

Yes.

Who owned the truck?

It was a furniture delivery truck, owned by Vulcan, a company operating mostly in the cheap end of the market.

And they’ve not identified their driver.

Yes, we have a name, but the man has disappeared.

God, how do you get your mind around that?

She said nothing.

Okay, Carol, thank you for the information. Are we eating in the dining room tonight?

No, your sister has arranged a meal in your folk’s house. She’s expecting you.

Chapter 2

He drove slowly the two hundred metres to his parents’ house, not relishing the evening to come.

There had been a time when they were the greatest of friends, his only sibling, Janice, and Chris Taylor, now her husband. That happened when Janice registered at Rhodes and he introduced them. He and Chris had started in Grahamstown two years earlier, both studying Law, competitors and friends.

Then the incident happened. Chris had warned him about the course he had taken. And he believed Luke was guilty. It polarised the campus, that question of his guilt. But not even the police of the security branch could beat a confession out of him, and they tried for a week. After that he had to leave the country. There was always the chance that they would find any excuse to jail him, did not need a trial in those days. And after all, it was one of their number who died.

Luke could not blame his sister for her loyalty to her husband. It was a terrible choice for her to make, the brother she grew up with, called her best friend, spent every school holiday with at the place they both loved, the Karoo Guest Farm, and the man she had become certain she would spend the rest of her life with.

That evening would be the second time he had seen his sister in seventeen years. A meeting brought about artificially by the untimely death of their parents.

He parked the car at his parents’ house and when he opened the door she was there and she threw her arms around him before he was even free of the car, and she was sobbing on his shoulder and he could do nothing, just hold her.

Oh God, Luke, I’m so glad you’re here.

He said nothing, just let the emotion wash over him, and when she calmed and pulled away he saw again that familiar face, now strained and tear streaked. She had always been the sister he was proud of, clever and loyal and as beautiful as their mother.

I love, you, Jan.

Had he even said that? They were words he had not used for anyone but his parents since the time he left the country. Not even with sincerity for some of the women he had known in those exile years.

Did that define the life he had spent in the service of Her Majesty’s Royal Marines? The lack of deep and sincere love?

Come, you’ve never even met my children.

They were all there on the verandah, watching, waiting for the cameo beneath them to end. Janice introduced them one by one, starting with the youngest,

This is our youngest, Bruce, only five.

He shook the boy’s hand.

Hello, Uncle Luke, like they had practised it, acknowledging this family member they had only heard about.

And Josephine, Jo. She’s seven.

Jo hugged him around the waist.

And finally Will, our oldest. Will’s ten.

Hello, Uncle Luke, solemnly, being the oldest and most responsible.

But it was not ‘finally’ because there was still Chris, once his closest friend.

Hello, Chris.

Shit, we can also hug.

It was strange and very welcome. More hugs than he had received in a very long time, and this his old friend, still fit and strong, not having given in to wealth and middle age. Luke had expected a terse and awkward evening and they had broken with the past that easily.

*

Luke begged off early that first evening. He had not slept for nearly forty hours. With the children present the important questions had not been answered: twenty years of their lives not yet shared and what the world would be like without Joe and Karen Calder, their parents.

And the more immediate questions: the will of their parents and the memorial service to come. Janice and Chris and their children would be returning to their home in Port Elizabeth in two days’ time, coming back on the following Friday to attend the memorial service the following day.

He would have only the next day, Friday, and that evening with them and then he would be alone on the guest farm. It would be a nostalgic week. He would attend the service on the Sunday in Cradock to meet the pastor, and he would explore some old haunts in Tarkastad and he would climb the mountain and walk the district.

It would tell him much about what he wanted to do with the rest of his life, but without the wisdom of his father. Luke’s twenty years of service came to an end in less than a year, the beginning of the northern hemisphere spring. But he could leave earlier if he wished, the mandatory service commitment already fulfilled.

The choice to continue, which he could as an officer, had not yet been made and he knew the jeopardy that awaited them. He was an intelligence officer and what they experienced in the short campaign in the Gulf told him there would be war in the Muslim heartlands, countries burning with religious zeal and hate. Very nasty war. He was a Marine and that was his job, what he had trained for, but what of his life outside the world of the Royal Marines: a home, a family, personal freedom?

He felt that what he would experience in the next week would tell him much.

*

Luke was up at first light walking in his combat boots, his most comfortable hiking footwear, his path out under the entrance gate and into the veld. He had forgotten how bright and clear the winter air was in the Karoo.

There was a favourite route he had taken when home during the university vacations and he took that route which required him to climb sheep fencing. There was frost on the ground which crackled under his boots as he quartered anti-clockwise around the mountain.

The walk got rid of the stale feeling from sitting on a plane and in a car for a long time. Unfortunately, balanced against those positive feelings was the memory of doing that route in his youth and arriving back home to be greeted by his father sitting on the verandah wanting that first chat of the day.

His sister Janice must have remembered those habits of the two men in her family and she was sitting waiting for him.

Old habits, Luke.

Hi, Jan, and you remembered.

Hard to forget. I used to be jealous of the relationship you two had. Not that Dad ever let me feel I was in the second-hand box, but of course he could discuss those boy things with you.

Boy things?

You know, hunting, sport, drinking beer, looking at girls.

Dad didn’t do that. He thought he had the belle of the ball as his wife.

True, of course. I’ve got some coffee and rusks for you.

Thanks.

He sat next to her.

You have a wonderful family, Jan.

Thank you. They were quite taken having you at the table. The famous commando uncle.

You’ve been telling them wild stories again?

You are doing a job that most think defines macho in man.

Really?

Seriously, yes, Luke. I never understood your choice of career. You got your bachelor’s degree with first class passes in your two majors, Theory of Law and Philosophy, got accepted for the LLB, and then halfway through the first semester you end up leaving for England and become a Marine. It intrigues me still.

He thought about his answer for it also intrigued him. His best read of it was that he needed an outlet for his anger and despair and chose the Royal Marines to lose himself in the purely physical. Ironically it became more than that when they realised his knowledge and analytical mind meant he had something more to offer and made him an intelligence officer.

I also don’t fully understand it, Jan, but all these years later I can say that it was a good choice at the time.

Will you carry on?

There’s a new battalion being formed, 30 Commando, which I could be transferred into. I need to decide about that and it would be a longer commitment.

I do hope you have a partner, Luke.

Nebulous word, sis. I hope you mean of the female variety.

She laughed.

Of course. Come now, do tell.

No. There have been women whose company I enjoyed but it never seemed to stick.

Is that because of Sarah Lamont?

Those memories would never leave him, troubled him still, but he would not admit that.

You think that?

She was remarkable and the two of you had a thing going that was almost sublime.

Yes, but the circumstances buggered that up. Do you ever hear of her?

No, she lied. It was not her role to tell him. She had not been able to even tell their parents. It would perhaps come out one day, but she would not be the one to burden him with it.

Chapter 3

Their parents’ lawyer Duncan Exelby drove 60 kilometres from Queenstown to read a will that contained a few lines on one sheet of paper.

The reading took place on the verandah of the main house. Carol Dutton had organised the donkey cart to take the children to the dam, a daily excursion which usually took place after lunch for those parents who wished to have an afternoon nap, or something else.

Luke had insisted that Chris be present.

He’s your husband, Jan. He should know everything and be in on the discussion, whatever it might be.

They were not sure what to expect. Their parents had never mentioned a will, nor their wishes for the future of their assets. That insured that the mood was solemn, more for a connection to their parents than for the actual determination.

At least they knew Duncan Exelby. He had done the conveyancing when Joe Calder bought the farm that had become the guest hotel. And there had been other matters he needed to attend to over the years, including a spurious land claim, easily defeated as all documentation and anthropological investigations showed that the Khoi were the first settlers in that part of the Karoo, and then the white pioneers and only then the first black occupants, forbears of the claimants.

And he and Joe Calder had become close friends and golf buddies. It had been Exelby and his wife they had been visiting on that fatal Sunday afternoon.

"I’m glad you’re included Chris. It avoids misunderstandings later when spouses are in on the discussion. And I must say, Luke and Jan, I’m here more for interpretation of your parents desires than for the actual will.

"They wrote only one will, and that was seventeen years ago when Luke joined the Royal Marines and your Dad worried, Luke, that you might die in some god-forsaken part of the world that the British thought they had to defend. I suppose it stimulated him sufficiently to commit their wishes to paper, although what good that would have been with you dead I don’t know. It was just the whole issue of death, and what those bastards did to you in Grahamstown. Got him thinking about mortality.

And this is it.

He extracted the one piece of paper from a fat file marked Calder and held it up.

"Quite simple. If your dad was to die first your mother inherited everything, and vice versa if you’re mom died first. If they died together you two were to inherit everything in equal share. There was one other behest, and that was that your Uncle George would be offered a place to stay here on the farm for the rest of his life. Well, as you know, he did live here until he died three years’ ago.

That’s the whole will. Now, I must say I tried to get them to write a newer version but the truth is they never wanted anything more than this. Most uncomplicated people I’ve ever known. They could have mentioned long term staff here on the guest farm, but they knew that the two of you would behave in much the way they would have wished. No need to tell you what to do. They knew your values.

His words made Luke feel the loss even more keenly. His parents had been the example which set his ethical base. In that regard he was a clone. Even in that viciousness in Grahamstown he had attempted to behave in the way his father would have wished, and he never gave up his friends to the security police, despite the pain and fear they exerted.

There was little more to add and Exelby left soon after, promising to register the will and any other legal issues required by law. That included the issue of the death certificates and the wish they both expressed that they would like their parents to be buried on the guest farm. 

He did not accept their offer to stay for lunch, but he did accept their request to do a testimonial at their parents’ memorial service.

*

After lunch, taken in the dining room with many curious eyes upon them, Luke and his sister went looking for the best place to have a small cemetery for their parents. Chris took the children on another ride in the donkey cart, the common clamour when asked what they would like to do.

Remember that outcrop on the slopes of the mountain where Dad liked to sit some evenings, Luke?

Yes, but I would think it’s too rocky up there. You’d need a front-end loader and even that might not be able to do the job. To change the subject, I found it remarkable that when the question of the burial came up we both had the same idea. Instantly.

Why, same genes?

Yes, I guess. And the same memories, the way they loved this place. It just seemed fitting.

What do we do with the farm now?

Interesting how we still just call it the farm.

Because that was always what they called it. No fancy names for mom and dad. Can it be run with just a manager, Luke, no members of the family?

In the short term, yes. But not ideal. And one of us would have to keep an eye on it, visit to see if standards were being kept up, have a close understanding of the finances.

Well you can’t do that from England or some other place where you’ll be posted. They say Iraq could continue to be a problem for years to come. I hate the thought that you were there in the Gulf War.

He looked at her with amusement.

So now you’ve become an expert on the Middle East?

Don’t mock, Luke. I know you’re an intelligence officer. I guess it’s your job to try to predict those movements. But seriously, you can’t do that overseeing role, and we can’t get too involved. Chris loves his work and is now a senior partner. We can’t do it. Do we have to consider selling?

I can’t even imagine doing that. Let’s leave this discussion to next week when you come back for the funeral. Give me time to look into it and have a better assessment of Carol Dutton’s capability.

Mom and dad loved her, were full of praise for her.

What’s her story?

She was an accountant in a big firm of auditors in Joburg, doing very well, apparently, but went through a bad divorce and wanted a new life. She had grown up in the Eastern Cape. A farm girl. Her parents own a place in the Gamtoos valley. The job here seemed a good fit, and it appears to have been so.

No children.

She lost a child before coming to term and never wanted the possibility of that happening again.

You’ve got to know her quite well.

Not really, mom’s words. But were getting off track. Are you suggesting that you might be interested in coming back here?

I don’t think that’s really an option, Jan. But my tour of duty comes to an end soon and I have to make a decision about the future. Coming here would be a radical change. But it’s interesting to have an option.

What were your choices before this terrible loss?

Sign up for another tour, and then those predictions of yours about war in the Middle East would be in play. But also the chance for further promotion. The bigger role is appealing, and the familiarity of life as a soldier, nearly half my life.

But you still have a hankering for the old country?

We’ll talk when you come back next week.

*

They eventually chose a spot under a lone Pin Oak in the sheep enclosure, remembering their father enjoying that shade in