Winds of Change

By Gerald W Searle

The winds of change are blowing over Africa, and South Africa, the last bastion of white supremacy, refuses to give up its unjust policy of Apartheid in the midst of international pressure and internal conflict.

It is the late seventies and Father Christopher Wright one of the few ‘coloured priests’ in Cape Town meets a pregnant Joanna Poggenpoel, a simple coloured country girl working as housekeeper for Fr Patrick O’Shaunessy, a white priest, a missionary from Ireland. This sets off a wave of intricate events and relationships across the racial, religious and political divide bringing together whites, blacks, coloureds and every one in between as crimes unfold and forbidden liaisons are formed.

What unfolds is unimaginable and will shock you, but at the same time the characters in Winds of Change will make you laugh and cry.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: May 24, 2024
• ISBN: 9781035845910

Gerald W Searle

Gerald W Searle was born in Cape Town. The third-born of ten children. He grew up under the unjust and cruel policy of Apartheid at its worst. He finished his schooling in 1953. Gerald worked as a factory hand for three years then experienced a calling to priesthood. He then completed his high school followed by seven years at a pontifical university in Rome where he graduated in philosophy and theology. He was ordained in Rome in 1962. Gerald ministered as an ordained priest in Cape Town for seven years. Fell in love with and married Lorraine in 1971. Migrated to Western Australia in 1980. He took up writing as a way to enrich his retirement in 2001. Gerald has since published a theological work, a novel, and his memoir. He lives with his wife in Wanneroo in Perth, Western Australia.

Book preview

About the Author

Gerald W Searle was born in Cape Town. The third-born of ten children. He grew up under the unjust and cruel policy of Apartheid at its worst. He finished his schooling in 1953. Gerald worked as a factory hand for three years then experienced a calling to priesthood. He then completed his high school followed by seven years at a pontifical university in Rome where he graduated in philosophy and theology. He was ordained in Rome in 1962. Gerald ministered as an ordained priest in Cape Town for seven years. Fell in love with and married Lorraine in 1971. Migrated to Western Australia in 1980. He took up writing as a way to enrich his retirement in 2001. Gerald has since published a theological work, a novel, and his memoir. He lives with his wife in Wanneroo in Perth, Western Australia.

Dedication

I wish to dedicate this book to all those famous people as well as all the other unknown and unsung heroes who fought for and especially those who died to bring about the end of Apartheid in South Africa. And I also dedicate this book to all who work to end any kind of prejudice and injustice in our world.

Copyright Information ©

Gerald W Searle 2024

The right of Gerald W Searle to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

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

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781035845903 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781035845910 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2024

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

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Acknowledgement

I wish to acknowledge Kevin Wringe, who with his wife Patrice, welcomed my family as new migrants into his home and heart in 1980 and became our first Aussie friends and remain so today. My thanks to Kevin for reading Winds of Change and his feedback and corrections. And thanks to Judy Robinson who with her acute editing skills read my book and provided feedback.

Thanks to all at Austin Macauley who have become like a second family who guided me with patience and supported through the world of publishing.

And thanks to Larissa Searle, my daughter-in-law, for all her advice and technical help in assisting me in my use of modern-day technology.

Finally, I wish to thank my wife, Lorraine, my soulmate since 1969, for her love, support and companionship throughout this process of writing and publishing Winds of Change.

Chapter One

It was a bleak winter’s night in July 1978. Father Christopher Wright, parish priest of Holy Cross Church, situated in the notorious ‘coloured’ area of District Six, the Bronx of Cape Town, was unable to sleep. When Chris grew up, District Six was the home of skollies (thugs) and gangs who ruled the streets and struck fear into all who crossed their path. But now only their ghosts roamed these deserted streets. In 1966, the Apartheid government declared District Six to be a white-only residential area under its Group Areas Act. And since then, every person, mostly coloureds, people of mixed race were forced out of their homes together with a handful of blacks and Indians. By now, most of the more than 60,00 people had already been relocated to the barren Cape Flats 25 kilometres away. The rest would follow.

The bulldozing had already begun and within a few years, the whole of District Six would be bulldozed and flattened and would become a ghost town. The plan of the Apartheid government was to transform it into a white’s only affluent downtown suburb. Chris lay listening to the wind howling, shaking the windowpanes of the presbytery. The storm shifted his mind to the winds of change that were blowing over the continent of Africa and how South Africa, the last bastion of white supremacy, was digging in its heels, hanging on to white power and privilege, refusing to yield to growing international pressure and internal revolt.

The South-Easter growled as if in tune with the mood of the land but Chris was having his own internal storm. Within two years, he would reach thirty and realised that he would be just over fifty when the next millennium was reached and the winds of change will still be blowing over this God forsaken bottom end of the African continent. And the Nationalists will still be ruling this country and thumbing their noses at the rest of the world, refusing to let go of white power and privilege.

As a coloured person living under Apartheid, Chris was confused as to where he, or any other coloured for that matter, stood. Coloureds were ignored by the whites, scorned by the blacks and forgotten by the rest of the world. He had grown to hate whites for making him feel like an outcast in the country of his birth. As if to taunt him, the radio vibrated to the sounds of Die Stem, the national anthem sung entirely in Afrikaans. Chris grabbed the radio and slammed it against the wall. He couldn’t feel any national pride when this song was sung and envied the Yanks who held their hand to their heart at the sound of their national anthem. Die Stem left him cold.

As for the flag, he would have no qualms in spitting on it or burning it. He shuddered at the thought and an intense sadness descended on him. Cry the Beloved Country, a book by Alan Peyton, came to mind and a tear began to form in the corner of his eye. He felt as if his soul was dying and found it impossible to sleep.

Chris got up and walked across the room, intending to go downstairs and make himself a coffee. He stopped at his reflection in the mirror, staring at his smooth olive face. Who am I? He asked himself. What am I? When he was overseas studying for the priesthood no one could correctly identify where he came from. Malaysian, Indian, Indonesian or Burmese were the popular choices. Of course, once I opened my mouth, they knew.

Chris knew that he was descended from the British Settlers who had arrived at the Cape in 1820 and that he had a French heritage from his mother’s side. How proud I was made to feel about my European roots, Chris shook his head. But looking into the mirror, I cannot deny that I must have some African and Asian connections. He drew closer to the mirror, Yep, there’s Asian all right, most probably Indian or Indonesian slave ancestors. He studied his face some more. Mmm, I see a faint bit of Indigenous roots, and of that I am immensely proud, he grinned to himself. What the hell does it matter and why shouldn’t I be proud of my mixed coloured heritage and who I am? He thought.

At that moment, Chris felt more in tune with his slave roots as he realised that coloureds were not free to choose who they could marry, where they could live, who they could associate with, as well as many other choices. Then he remembered a conversation he had with another priest about blacks. Poor bastards, he thought. The blacks were robbed of their land, their nationhood. Devoid of any self-respect they move with bowed heads and stooped shoulders, like zombies. They obeyed the rules of their white masters, because not to do so could have bad consequences, even death. That has to change one day—you can’t oppress people forever, and this is a black man’s country, Chris said to himself.

Chris returned to his bed exhausted and thought about his vocation. He looked at his breviary, closed on the bedside pedestal. The divine office had ceased to be part of his daily prayer routine a long while ago. He had always been a man of prayer, it came naturally to him, but now he found it impossible to pray.

Chris realised he was at a crossroad. Ever since he began his journey to the priesthood a decade ago, through prayer, faith and a strong spiritual life he had remained faithful to his vow of celibacy. But now it seemed he was losing his grip and the temptations of the flesh were getting the better of him. He felt very vulnerable. He felt as if he was going through a winter of discontent. Is this what they call the dark night of the soul? Chris asked himself.

He turned his mind to more savoury things, Melanie, his new found friend, soulmate. Not new really, must be at least six months since they had first met. Since then, their friendship grew and it warmed his heart whenever he thought about her. Of course, it is purely platonic, Chris said to himself.

Suddenly Chris found himself on a park bench, one clearly marked Slegs vir Nie-Blankes (Only for Non-Whites). It was a pleasant afternoon and the sun was starting to dip towards the horizon.

He looked at his watch and saw that it was 5:00p.m. He walked across an expanse of freshly cut lawn towards his car. He suddenly noticed a man looking down at the ground in front of him as if he was studying something. The man then walked away. Chris, out of curiosity, found himself walking towards the spot, wanting to see what intrigued the stranger. Chris was surprised when he came across a large, deep hole in the ground. Who or what could have caused this, he wondered. Chris leaned forward to have a good look and saw that the sides were very steep—he couldn’t see the bottom. He leaned forward to have a better look and lost his footing. He began to slide down the side of the hole. It was wet, muddy, and slippery and there was nothing he could grab onto to stop himself. He had no option and finally landed with a splat on the bottom. He flapped his hands frantically as he felt his body sink into what felt like thick sludge.

The stench of excrement was overpowering. He must be in a sewer, he thought and felt something slimy around his legs and up and around his torso. My God, snakes was his immediate thought. Chris screamed with panic. It was dark and he couldn’t see what was attacking him. Whatever it was, it tightened its grip. The panic increased. Oh God, help me, he cried. Please help me. Chris was gripped with fear as he continued screaming for help. The screams woke him up. He was shaking but felt immense relief when he realised that it was all a dream.

He sat up, his legs over the side of the bed. He believed that God was speaking to him through this bizarre dream and he realised that he had to make choices to decide which way to go.

Chris sighed. He knew he needed help. The next day he sought out one of the few fellow priests that he respected and admired and in whom he felt he could confide. Father Heinrich Schweisselm had come from Germany six years ago, holding doctorates in theology and psychology. He worked in the black townships with great zeal and compassion. The blacks respected him as one of their own. Chris believed that, with Heinrich’s guidance, over time he could begin to climb out of the deep, dark pit that he had fallen into.

Chapter Two

Six months had come and gone. Christmas and New Year celebrations had gone smoothly. Chris had taken a couple of weeks off and felt refreshed. The time with Heinrich had proved most helpful. Chris had decided to break off his relationship with Melanie. He felt that it was the right thing to do as they were getting too close.

It was a warm, sunny January morning so Chris decided to walk to the Peninsula Maternity Hospital in the heart of District Six. He walked through the deserted streets. Although the Peninsula was within the boundaries of the Cathedral parish, Chris was asked to continue his visits there when he was transferred from the Cathedral to Holy Cross a year ago.

Chris felt that he had turned a corner and would not lose his faith or vocation after all, thanks to Heinrich’s help. He entered through the big double doors of the hospital, ready to visit the Catholic mothers, bless them and their babies, listen to their concerns and hear their confessions. They seemed to enjoy his visits; he wasn’t sure whether that was because he was a priest or because he had been likened to the famous film star, Alain Delon, by some of the staff, but enjoyed the popularity anyway. He felt sad that most of the women no longer attended Mass but smiled to himself when one woman told him that, If they are ordaining spunks like you—I’m thinking about going back to church. He also enjoyed holding the new born babies; they made him forget all his troubles and burdens.

Letitia, the head nurse, flirted playfully with Chris as usual, giving him the list of Catholic mothers waiting to give birth. The fourth mother, Chris called on, was Johanna Poggenpoel. She lay on her back, peeping at him from under the blankets. She was quite young, maybe late teens or early twenties, he thought. He could see her thick, coarse hair formed into an Afro. She glanced furtively at Chris through large glasses that gave her an owlish look. Chris thought that she could have a mixture of all three races, black, white and coloured. He learnt from Letitia that Johanna was from Umtata, which Chris knew was a country town with a village atmosphere and the main town of the Transkei in the Eastern Cape.

Chris sat down next to Johanna’s bed and watched as she pulled the blankets over her head, seeming to want to block him out. He was surprised by Johanna’s reaction. Most of the women sat up and showed delight with his visit. It was clear that he was the last person she wanted to see. Why? He asked himself. He pulled his chair closer, waiting. Finally, Johanna slowly pulled the blankets below her face but refused to make any eye contact. She seemed nervous and frightened.

Johanna, tell me. What’s wrong? Chris asked sympathetically. Johanna merely stared at him with large, wide eyes and tightly shut mouth. Chris tried to engage her in small talk about her baby, but Johanna remained tight lipped. What in heaven’s name is making her clam up like this? he wondered. What should I do? Just get up and go?

Johanna, I can see something’s bothering you. I’m here to help in whatever way I can. I’m here to listen and not to judge you, Chris said, thinking that probably Johanna was unmarried, the baby was illegitimate, and that she was feeling ashamed. Johanna, what you say to me is in the strictest confidence, he assured her. Johanna turned her head sideways, away from him and burst into tears.

Chris was at a loss. He wasn’t sure what to do. He sat there quietly, feeling helpless. Would you like to make your confession? He asked, not knowing what else to say.

Johanna turned around and looked up at Chris. She stopped crying and appeared to consider the invitation. Yes please, Father, she said feebly.

Chris was relieved, but apprehensive, as he draped the pocket size purple stole around his neck. Having heard thousands of confessions there was nothing that could shock him. He was there to dispense the Lord’s mercy and forgiveness, not judgement. Nevertheless, he felt a tinge of uneasiness.

Johanna slowly and nervously bared her soul, sharing her secret. At one point, Johanna became reluctant to continue. She was sweating and trembling. Chris understood just how much it was taking out of her to be so forthright, but he knew instinctively that it was important she tell him everything to regain any semblance of peace. Chris realised that she had kept this secret to herself for a long time and could see the relief on her face once she had told him her whole story. He could feel the burden lift from her soul. Weeping, Johanna told Chris that she felt ashamed and blamed herself for the sinful deed. His heart went out to her, understanding how alone and afraid she felt.

Johanna finally finished her story and thanked Chris for being so kind and understanding. She told him that she was glad that she had unburdened herself to him and made her confession. She felt strong again and hoped that he would come to see her again.

Chris sat back, momentarily stunned, not quite knowing how to deal with her revelation. But he knew that what Johanna needed most at that moment was to have her burden lifted, and feel the mercy and forgiveness of God wash over her. He reassured her of God’s infinite mercy, His boundless and unconditional love and forgiveness but Chris also knew that he had to act on the information that he had been given. He felt so shattered by what he had learnt that he couldn’t face seeing any other mothers and left the hospital immediately.

As Chris walked back to the presbytery, he felt deeply disturbed and at a loss about what to do. He needed to talk to someone about Johanna’s secret, a secret that now weighed heavily on him, but he knew that under the seal of confession he would be unable to tell anyone. His lips were sealed by a tradition, unbroken for almost two millennia. He remembered that priests had been jailed because they would not break this seal.

Chris had met Fr Patrick O’Shaunessy, the priest in question, on a few occasions. He saw him as a jolly sort of person in his mid-thirties, friendly and outgoing and, from all reports, popular. Chris had learnt from Johanna, that Patrick had gone to Umtata in search of someone to be his housekeeper. Johanna was one of ten children and had lived a quiet and protective life in the country village. Chris was well aware how Catholics regarded clergy.

They could do no wrong, were put on pedestals and treated like demi-gods. Her parents were only too glad to allow her to leave in the safekeeping of a Catholic priest, whom they implicitly trusted, doubly so, because he was white and Irish. They would have believed that their little Johanna, just turned eighteen and with no experience of the outside world, would be safe and secure and well-treated with a roof over her head, be well fed and would be able to send some money home to swell the family coffers. She was excited about going to the ‘big smoke’ and was promised a trip home every year for Christmas.

Chapter Three

That afternoon Chris contacted some of his clergy friends and gathered more information about Patrick O’Shaunessy. He had gone to a minor seminary in Ireland at the age of twelve and finished high school there. It was a cheap way for him to get an education and one less mouth for his parents to feed. He was the middle child of eight children. Ordained at the age of twenty-eight, he spent a few years in a country parish in Ireland before offering to minister in Cape Town. Ireland had an overabundance of clergy and religious, and the mission countries like South Africa were in need of spiritual leaders to spread the faith. He had begun his ministry in South Africa as an assistant priest at the Cathedral parish where he remained for four years. He was then given a parish of his own, St Francis in Salt River, which was a relatively small, coloured parish squeezed in the middle of two white parishes.

Friends of Chris confirmed that Patrick was well liked and related well with his parishioners. He was tall, rugged, good-looking with a slight resemblance to the movie star, Jeff Chandler, without the grey streaks of hair. He was a modern priest who liked a good time. He was down to earth, had a sense of humour and was warm and friendly. He was a good preacher, whose sermons were short and relevant. This endeared him to his parishioners, especially as their former priest gave sermons that were long, irrelevant and boring. He was a priest that was there for his parishioners in times of need. He baptised their babies, married them, buried them and was a frequent visitor to their homes.

That night, Chris reviewed all that Johanna revealed in her confession. It all started innocently between her and Patrick. A gentle, affectionate touch on her hand or shoulder. Then he started brushing up against her as they passed each other in the passageway or in the tiny kitchen. He always gave her a peck on the cheek when he went away for a while. Johanna said that she saw nothing unbecoming in his gestures and that she actually felt good about it at first. But she never forgot that he was a priest, and because she had been so protected, naively thought it was all innocent.

Then it began to get more serious. Patrick had returned from a fortnight’s holiday and had brought her a present of a pair of gold droplet earrings. Then he kissed her on the mouth and held her for a long time. Johanna had never been kissed on the mouth before as Fr Patrick had kissed her. She had grown close to Patrick but had not expected this. She was stunned and full of mixed emotions. She was somewhat flattered that he would want to kiss her in this way and enjoyed reliving the kiss because it felt good. However, she knew that as he was a priest, it was not right. She had told Chris that she didn’t think it would happen again.

But it did. Despite Johanna’s protests, Patrick’s kisses became more frequent and more passionate. Patrick reassured her that there was nothing wrong with what was happening. He told her, It’s only kisses. I am a normal hot-blooded male and you are a beautiful and desirable woman. We are living under the same roof. It’s the most natural thing in the world to embrace and kiss.

Johanna was convinced that, because Patrick was a man of God and wiser than her, that he wouldn’t do anything to hurt her. She confessed that she threw all caution to the wind. It was nice with his arms around me. I felt so warm and protected. His lips on mine and his body against mine. It made me feel like a woman. What’s wrong with that? She asked Chris.

Chris sighed as he sunk into his favourite easy chair in the upstairs lounge, a glass of scotch in his hand. He continued musing on Johanna’s confession. She had told him how Patrick had come home one night after she had gone to bed. She heard him come in and then was startled to see him enter her bedroom for the first time. It was apparent that he had drunk a lot. Her heart was pounding at this turn of events and she told herself that he wanted to hold her and kiss her again. It made her body tingle all over. She was then shocked to see Patrick undressing in the semi-darkness, she had never seen a naked man before. Johanna had confessed that she was confused and apprehensive, yet fascinated and excited all at once. She told how Patrick had climbed in beside her, and then began to kiss and fondle her. She was lost in his embrace. Her body was tingling all over with feelings she had never experienced before with a man. She became hot and flushed as she surrendered herself to Patrick.

Johanna told Chris that she was swept along into a world of make believe, that this wasn’t really happening. It couldn’t be. It was like a fairy tale and she was Sleeping Beauty. And the man next to her was her knight in shining armour that had come to rescue her and to love her.

Suddenly she felt Patrick hard against her and she panicked. No Father! She had cried out in alarm. She did not want him to enter her. She was excited but frightened. They could pleasure each other, but she didn’t want him to penetrate her. Her mother had warned her before she left, about city men and the consequences of such actions. Johanna knew that she would not be welcome home if she became pregnant.

She continued to cry out, No Father, please stop! No! When Patrick ignored her and started to remove her pyjamas, Johanna became terrified and screamed for him to stop.

It’s okay, it’s okay, Patrick had whispered. With that, Johanna panicked, screaming and struggling, trying to escape.

Patrick struggled with her as she tried to fight him off. He held her hands above her head as he climbed on top of her naked body. She felt so vulnerable as his mouth came down and sucked at her nipples. She tried to hit out but he was strong and pinned down her hands. She screamed and pleaded with him to stop. Patrick ignored her, he was consumed by passion. He told her that they had passed the point of no return. It’s okay Johanna, it will be alright. I’ll be gentle, he had whispered. Johanna struggled one last time, realised the futility of it and then lay still, crying. As Patrick entered her, she screamed in pain, then lay sobbing.

Patrick had said that he was sorry for what had happened, that he had drunk too much and it wouldn’t happen again. Johanna naively believed him but it did happen again. The second time she resisted less and began to enjoy it. It was a new experience and exciting. Johanna admitted that after the second time, she could no longer resist his approaches.

Chris could see the whole seduction in full. Johanna had fallen under Patrick’s spell. He became voracious, insatiable. She became his sexual object, not the goddess he made her believe she was. He could not stop himself; he was out of control. She was sworn to secrecy. He told her he would make her life hell if she spoke to anyone and no one would believe her anyway as he was a Catholic priest, white and Irish, especially chosen by God. She was only a lowly coloured, domestic servant.

Chris shuddered, took another sip of Scoth as he thought about how Johanna had been caught up in Patrick’s passion and she had let him have his way with her. Then she became pregnant and everything changed. He wanted her to get rid of the baby. He said that she was far too young to have a baby and it would complicate their lives. He threatened to kill her along with the baby if she didn’t have the abortion.

Chris sighed heavily as he recalled Johanna’s determination, although she was terrified. She could not, would not have an abortion. Not only did she fear the physical side of the operation but was petrified of the spiritual consequences. She believed that if she had the abortion she would burn in hell for all eternity. She would not commit murder. The murder of an innocent child, her child. So, she ran away.

Johanna had explained that, for the past seven months, she had lived in a hotel in District Six, eking out a living. At first, she worked as a domestic servant for a white family in Vredehoek. However, as soon as the family noticed that she was pregnant, they sacked her. Then she worked in the fish market in Hanover Street selling fish, but as her time approached, she had to stop working. She said that all the time she was terrified that Patrick would find her and do away with her baby.

The next day, Chris drove back to the Peninsula Maternity Hospital and went directly to Johanna’s bed, pondering on how he could reach out and help this poor, broken, sad and lonely girl. After chatting with Johanna for some time, he suggested that she contact her family and ask for help. No! She shouted adamantly. No way was she telling her parents of her shame.

Then you must go and tell the Archbishop, so that he can deal with Father Patrick and make him take responsibility for the support of the baby, Chris told her.

No, Johanna cried. No one else is ever to know and you are bound by the seal of confession to keep my secret. If I ever have to reveal who the father is I will say that he was an American sailor in town for a couple of days and I don’t know his name. I’ve had no contact with him since.

Chris felt totally out of his depth with Johanna’s situation. The seal of confession hampered any efforts he might contemplate to help her but he had to speak to someone. He thought of Heinrich, but didn’t want to pester him anymore. He then thought of Melanie Summers. Although he had decided to break off his relationship with Melanie, he realised that she would know how to talk with Johanna. He decided to ring her.

Chapter Four

Chris’ appointment as parish priest to Holy Cross a year ago came as a surprise to everyone. He was ordained in Rome four years ago and after spending a mere three years as curate at the Cathedral had been asked to take over as Parish Priest of Holy Cross. He was in his final few months at the Cathedral when he had met Melanie. He had noticed her one Sunday morning at Mass while he was delivering his sermon, his eyes drifting over the faces of the congregation. He couldn’t explain why, but he felt something stir inside of him, maybe it was because she looked so fragile and vulnerable.

A few weeks later after the 10:30a.m. Sunday Mass, Melanie had approached him and asked if she could speak to him. He was in hurry because he had to do the baptisms so he invited her to talk as they walked together to the presbytery at the rear of the Cathedral. They ended up sharing a coffee and that was how their friendship began. Chris was right about her feeling fragile and vulnerable. From their conversation, he gathered that she had recently split from her boyfriend, her first serious and longstanding relationship. Why she started to share her personal feelings with him, he couldn’t explain. She told Chris that she felt as if her world had fallen apart and she was feeling depressed.

Why are you feeling so depressed? Chris remembered asking her.

Father Chris, I’m almost twenty-two and out of love, feeling bruised and broken, Melanie had replied.

Twenty-two! You’re still young, clearly a beautiful young lady, you’ll find someone else, Chris had said in reply. He remembered how surprised both Melanie and he were by his words.

Chris could not explain his reactions, the feeling he had for Melanie right from the start, but deep down he knew that they were destined to become friends. For the first time in his life, he felt an attraction for someone of the opposite sex that he knew was—different and out of bounds for him as a priest. But he had convinced himself at the time that she needed a friend. He knew he should have backed away but couldn’t. She was so radiant with sparkling hazel eyes and dark wavy locks that cascaded over her shoulders. Their friendship blossomed quickly.

Since transferring to Holy Cross, they had met often on Sunday morning for coffee. Chris looked forward to those times together and could see that Melanie felt the same. And his feelings for Melanie grew deeper; he cherished her company, their conversations, her intelligence, sense of humour and fun. Chris saw no harm in his friendship with Melanie, convincing himself that even Christ had close female friends, such as Mary Magdalene, Martha and her sister Mary of Bethany.

From his study of the Gospels, Chris knew that whenever Christ was in Jerusalem, he would spend time with his friends in close-by Bethany sharing a meal with them and enjoying their company, just like what he was doing with Melanie. Chris saw no harm in his growing fondness for Melanie. He needed a friend, a female friend. Just like Christ seemed to have and to need female friends. Chris told himself that Melanie was to him like what Mary of Bethany and Mary Magdalene was to Christ.

And now he was going to meet with Melanie for the first time in six months. It wasn’t like a date, he told himself. It was more like a business meeting. A serious meeting. They arranged to meet during Melanie’s lunch hour at the popular botanical gardens in the heart of the city.

Many workers, locals and visitors were strolling along the shaded avenues, lazing on the well-manicured lawns, sitting on benches enjoying a bite or whiling away the time. Chris and Melanie sat eating their hot dog lunch, under the cool embracing branches of a huge oak tree and at the same time feeding the squirrels and the pigeons. Melanie could not contain her curiosity for long. All Chris had told her over the phone was that he wanted to discuss a serious issue concerning someone he had met at the Peninsula. Now she prompted him to reveal what was on his mind. And then Chris did the unthinkable. He broke the seal of confession. He thought he must be the first person in the history of the church to do so. He quietened his conscience with the thought that only God would know and would hopefully understand. He told Melanie the whole story, hoping that Melanie would know what to do about Johanna’s situation. He waited with bated breath for lightening to strike him and zap him to hell for all eternity.

The creep. How could he do such a thing? He should be castrated, Melanie hollered. Chris pleaded with her to keep her voice down. "Chris, take me to her now," Melanie insisted. It wasn’t long after they became friends that Chris had insisted Melanie not call him ‘Father’. It was what he preferred, especially from Melanie.

No, I can’t, replied Chris, My lips are supposed to be sealed. He gestured with his fingers zipping his mouth.

You can tell Johanna that you hoped she didn’t mind but you brought a friend with you and I’ll take it from there, Melanie insisted. Chris realised that Melanie wasn’t one to beat around the bush. This was serious and she needed to take immediate action. She wanted to help and protect Johanna at all costs. Chris acquiesced.

Melanie phoned her work and asked for an extension of her lunch time, telling her boss that some family business had come up. They walked out the side entrance of the Gardens, into Parliament Street, crossed at Roeland Street and then walked up Hope Street where Chris had parked his car.

Within minutes after Chris had introduced Melanie as his close friend and confidante and assured Johanna of their utmost discretion and confidentiality, Johanna had told Melanie everything. She revealed more than she had to Chris. She shared her shame and guilt with Melanie. Chris could see Johanna’s relief after speaking with Melanie. It was clear Johanna had taken an immediate liking to her. She seemed a different person to the frightened young girl peeping from under the blankets that he had first met. She obviously no longer felt alone as she had two new friends and allies. They had pledged Johanna their support through the birth due in a matter of hours and afterwards, no matter what.

As they left the Peninsula and walking towards his car, Chris expressed his admiration for Melanie, her competence and compassion. Chris knew she had no formal training in helping people but had come to respect her qualities, she was a good listener and obviously empathised with Johanna.

"Chris, you have to go tell the Archbishop. Father Patrick can’t get away with this. He took advantage of her, raped her, controlled her. He has to be held accountable. Before he does any further damage," Melanie said, as soon as they were back in the car.

I can’t Melanie. Unless Johanna gives me permission and as you saw, she is adamant that it goes no further. She is set on having the baby, then giving it up for adoption before her parents are any the wiser, Chris replied.

Two days later, Johanna gave birth to a healthy baby boy. After the baby was born Johanna had a change of heart and decided she wanted to keep him. Three months later, she still refused to give up her baby, Josh. She was determined to raise him, despite the struggle of being a single mother. Chris had found a room with a family from the church, the Fernandez. He also organised St Vincent de Paul members to call on Johanna regularly, to help with food, clothing and other necessities. The Fernandez family were very helpful, saying they wouldn’t charge her rent until she was able to find work. However, it was proving difficult to find a job where she could take Josh with her and he was still too young to leave with someone.

Johanna went out nearly every day looking for work, taking Josh with her. On one traumatic day in April, she turned a corner and came face to face with Fr Patrick O’Shaunessy.

Is that my baby? Patrick asked, after a while of making conversation.

Yes, said Johanna timidly.

You have to have him adopted, Patrick said and then went on convincing Johanna that it was in both her and Josh’s interest that she have the child adopted. It will ruin your life if you don’t. I can find a good family for you, said Patrick. If you do, I’ll give you back your job at the presbytery with much higher wages. I won’t touch you; I respect you now, and we can just be friends. Patrick then slipped her an envelope containing a hundred rands. This is to help you get on your feet. He then turned and left, leaving a shaken, trembling and confused Johanna behind.

Chris and Melanie were fuming when Johanna told them about her meeting with Patrick. It was clear to them that the meeting was no accident and that Johanna did not want to return to Patrick.

To make matters worse, Chris learnt that the Fernandez family were moving to the Indian suburb of Rylands. They were one of the few families still resident in District Six. Chris could not suppress the anger he felt at the Nationalist Government for their grab at the area of prime real estate so close to the city for the privileged white race. It all started more than a decade ago in June 1966 when Prime Minister Botha declared District Six as a ‘white’ district area. That meant relocating everyone out of District Six and into the Cape Flats, a waste land. Because of this, the Fernandez family had to move out of their house.

Melanie and Chris knew that Johanna was now facing homelessness, and without any income would be unable to support herself. She had already told them that she didn’t want to impose on them any further. They knew that she was now very vulnerable and open to Patrick’s advances. They soon learnt that he visited her frequently and gave her lots of money, food, clothes and gifts and went out of his way to be supportive and attentive. Chris and Melanie tried to warn Johanna but after a couple of months, Patrick eventually wore Johanna down, and seeing no alternative, she gave in. Much to Melanie and Chris’ anguish, Johanna agreed to have Josh adopted out, as Patrick convinced her that this would be the best for the child.

Poor Johanna, Melanie said to Chris, So naive and gullible, without any real control of her life.

As Johanna was now homeless, Patrick found her temporary accommodation until Josh was adopted out. It took only three months during which time Johanna had little contact with Chris and Johanna. She did however phone Melanie and tell of Josh’s adoption. And Melanie had managed to get Johanna to tell her that she was moving in with Patrick again.

Despite Chris and Melanie trying to persuade Johanna not to, she moved back to the presbytery. She believed Patrick’s reassurance that he had changed and would respect her in the future.

Patrick had informed Johanna’s parents earlier that she had run away without giving them any reason. When she returned to the presbytery, he rang them and informed them that he had rescued her from the streets. Patrick could hear how happy they were that their daughter was safe and sound and they could stop worrying about her. They were also pleased that she would be able to send her money again.

But after another couple of months, Johanna phoned Melanie. Patrick was up to his old tricks again. Chris persuaded Melanie to visit Johanna while Patrick was away from the presbytery.

When Melanie met with Chris after she had visited Johanna, Melanie told Chris that she was sure that Patrick and Johanna were sharing the same bed, despite Johanna denying it. Chris was not surprised that Johanna had fallen for Patrick’s wiles again but was fearful for Johanna’s future. He shook his head in disbelief that a priest could stoop so low, taking advantage of a fragile and vulnerable girl. At the same time, he felt a twinge of guilt about himself and Melanie and their relationship. While they were not sleeping together, was their friendship appropriate? Permitted by the church? he wondered.

Chapter Five

The inevitable happened again; Johanna fell pregnant and fled once again into the arms of Melanie and Chris. She told them that this time Patrick insisted that she definitely have an abortion. He would not take no for an answer. He would make her life hell and that of her family if she didn’t do as he said.

She told them that she felt so ashamed and so stupid. How could I have been so dim-witted as to think that he had changed? She sighed.

How many months are you, Johanna? Melanie asked, wanting to know the worse.

About eight weeks, Johanna replied timidly, a hand reaching for an eye to wipe away a tear. Melanie looked at Chris with a look that said, ’What do we do?’

I just need some help to find a job and accommodation and to get onto my feet again, Johanna said with a sigh Chris thought for a while and then excused himself, leaving Melanie with Johanna. He returned about twenty minutes later giving them the good news. He managed to find Johanna accommodation, close to the presbytery, in Bruce Street, the next street running parallel to his presbytery and branching off from Hanover Street, the spine of District Six. Before the day was gone, Johanna moved in.

The little granny flat at the back of the Williams family home in Bruce Street was attached to the house but had its own separate entrance and completely private with no adjoining doors between the house and the flat. The entrance to the flat was through a wooden gate in the lane alongside the house. It delighted both Chris and Melanie to see how happy Johanna was with her new lodgings and surroundings. She had her privacy. The flat had a fairly large bedroom with a double bed and a dressing table. It also had a tiny kitchen with stove and fridge and enough cupboard space. And she had her own toilet and bathroom. She was so content and hugged Chris and Melanie warmly when they left her to settle in.

A few days later, Chris found Johanna a job in a printing works in Paarden Island, that was owned by a parishioner of the Cathedral. It wasn’t too far for Johanna to travel to work. The parishioner accepted that Johanna was pregnant and said that she could work there until the birth of the baby.

Chris was at ease with Johanna sharing the Williams’ family premises. They were very kind. They lived in the house with their only child, Luke, who was twenty-two years old. He worked as a clerk for the Department of Coloured Affairs.

When Chris and Melanie visited Johanna a few days later she was as happy as they had ever seen her. And they also met Luke, who Melanie could see had already developed a crush on Johanna.

Chris let Johanna settle in and got on with his other pastoral duties. He felt good about Johanna and he and Melanie visited often discussing the coming baby, work and life in general. They again had St Vincent de Paul assisting with food and clothes until Johanna got on her feet and were pleased to see Johanna blossoming. They were also pleased to see that she was developing a fondness for Luke, who was also a frequent visitor.

A month passed quickly. Then one morning early, Chris was still having his breakfast when the front door bell rang. Chris was surprised when his housekeeper told him that a Father Patrick was in the front room and wanting to see him. Chris felt like letting Patrick wait so he could finish his breakfast but curiosity got the better of him. He put his breakfast aside and went to meet with Patrick.

Patrick wanted to know if Chris had seen Johanna. The nerve of the guy, Chris thought.

Patrick intimated that he was worried about Johanna as he suspected that she had developed a relationship with a no-hoper in Salt River.

I tried to warn her that he was not the right sort of man for her to know, but then she disappeared and I haven’t heard from her for several months, Patrick explained.

For a brief moment, Chris took in what Patrick was saying, but then quickly dismissed his insinuation. The bastard is just trying to cover his back with the pregnancy, Chris thought. I’ll let you know if I hear from her, replied Chris, thinking that Patrick would be the last person he would let know where Johanna was.

Two weeks later, on the Friday morning the presbytery was shattered with a frantic banging on the front door. Chris looked at the clock, noting that it was seven thirty, he had just finished saying early Mass and had not yet sat down for breakfast. Not Patrick again, he sighed.

Chris opened the door and found a frantic Luke standing outside. Luke, what in heavens name is wrong? Chris asked, filled with foreboding. He knew something bad had happened and that it could only have to do with Johanna.

Luke cried out, Johanna, Father, Johanna, you must come quickly.

Luke, what on earth do you mean. Come inside for a moment? Chris said.

Father, she’s dead, she’s dead, Johanna’s committed suicide, Luke said frantically, blurting out the terrible news, looking as if he was about to throw up.

Chris could not accept what he was hearing and was frozen in fear He began trembling and thought immediately of Melanie. He felt he needed her by his side. He phoned her and caught her just in time, she was about to head for work. She said she would come immediately. She advised Chris to get the full story from Luke, if he could.

Okay Luke. Here’s a glass of water, take a sip and steady yourself. Melanie is on her way. She will know what to do. In the meantime, tell me exactly what happened.

Luke sat down trembling. At seven every morning, he began, I watched Johanna as she passed our kitchen window on her way to the bus stop. She was like clockwork, Father. I always waited to see her before I began eating my breakfast. This morning she did not appear. I thought that maybe she was sick or had slept in so I waited for another fifteen minutes. When she still did not come, I went to check. I knocked on her door repeatedly. When there was no response, I went to fetch the spare keys and entered Johanna’s place. I screamed and my parents came running along the lane, Luke said, becoming agitated once again. We must go to her Father, he pleaded.

Yes, yes, right away. So, what did you see Luke? Chris asked, trying to remain calm.

I saw Johanna sprawled across the bed. There was an empty bottle of sleeping tablets and an almost empty bottle of brandy next to her. I found this typed letter on her dressing table, Luke said crying, handing it to Chris.

With trembling hands, Chris read the letter.

Dear Mom, Dad and family,

Please forgive me. I’ve just had enough. I’m so sorry for the shame I will cause you all by taking my own life. But I had no option. My life is in shambles. I have been involved with a man who has been so cruel to me. He is a very violent man. I have tried to leave him. But he always found me. He has threatened to kill me and my family if I ever left him again. Or if I went to the police. I was so stupid to leave Father Patrick’s place as his housekeeper. Father Patrick has been so good to me. And took me back. But this man found me and beat me up badly. He dragged me away. He said he would kill me if I ever left again. And he said he would find all of you and kill you all. I just could not let that happen. I felt trapped. So, I have decided to end it all. It’s the only way.

Please forgive me. I love you all.

Johanna.

Chris could not believe what he was reading. He sat down and read it again and again. He looked up at a distraught Luke. I’m so sorry Luke, this is awful. Just sit for a moment. Melanie will be here in a moment. Then we’ll go and have a look. And we will have to call the police.

They did not have to wait long, Melanie rushed into the presbytery and found Chris comforting Luke. They went straight to Johanna’s place. Chris and Melanie approached Johanna and they could not believe that she was dead. Melanie told Luke to place the letter exactly where he found it. Chris then phoned the police and they all waited for the police to come and do their investigation.

One of the officers, Detective Inspector Pretorius, spoke briefly to Luke and then to Mr and Mrs Williams. The second officer, Maloney, spoke to Melanie and Chris. They told Maloney about Johanna’s association with Father Patrick O’Shaunessy, and that she had recently left his employ. They were about to tell Maloney about Father Patrick’s response and threats to Johanna when she told him that she was pregnant, when they were interrupted by a uniformed policeman who went straight to Pretorius whispering in his ear.

Pretorius called Maloney, who turned and walked over to the Inspector. They then both left quickly, telling them to stay and wait and that other detectives would arrive to take down all the details. Chris and Melanie stayed with Luke and the Williams for as long as they could and offered to help in any way that was needed. An hour later the other detectives had still not arrived. Melanie said she had to go to work and that she would return after work to check how things were progressing.

Chapter Six

After receiving information from the two rookie detectives, Matt and Bruce, who had gathered information from Chris, Melanie and Luke, Detective Inspector Pretorius and his younger partner, Detective Sergeant Maloney arrived at the front door of Father Patrick O’Shaunessey’s presbytery in Salt River. They knocked several times until finally it was opened.

Yes, Patrick said.

Father Patrick O’Shaunessey? the younger detective asked.

Yes, that’s me, he replied. The detectives introduced themselves and asked if they could have a few minutes of his time. They explained that they had come about the death of Johanna Poggenpoel and needed to ask him some questions.

Patrick looked shocked and motioned for them to come in. He took them into his study and asked them to sit down.

Johanna, dead you say. When? How? What happened? Patrick stuttered, appearing to be unable to collect his thoughts.

She was found in her flat this morning. It appears that she took an overdose of pills and alcohol. She has left a note as well, said Sergeant Moloney. She was pregnant. Do you have any idea who the father might be, Father? The young detective, continued, feeling somewhat silly with the way he worded the question he put to Patrick. Maloney was Catholic and a regular churchgoer, so he felt uncomfortable talking to Patrick about the case. But he had to.

Pregnant? Patrick asked in surprise No I have no idea, Constable Maloney. I can’t believe that she took her own life. I warned her about living in District Six, Patrick continued, looking hard at the young detective with an Irish name and a distinct South African accent.

"It’s Sergeant Maloney," Liam corrected Patrick proudly.

I’m sorry, Sergeant. Johanna was a lovely girl. She was one of ten children. I met her family when I hired her. She’s from Umtata and she was my housekeeper. Besides a wage, I provided her with free board and lodging. I gave her a good wage because I knew she was sending money back to her struggling family in the Transkei.

Did she have a boyfriend? The older detective, Inspector Jacques Pretorius butted in, with his strong Afrikaner accent. Pretorius was an Afrikaner, born in Bloemfontein, the capital of the Orange Free State, the heartland of Afrikanerdom. He was in his early forties and had been in the force for about twenty years.

I’m not sure, Inspector, Patrick replied. She kept pretty much to herself although I do know she had been seeing a man who I suspected was a gang member. I also know she had the habit of visiting the ships when the American sailors were in port. I was a bit concerned about that and encouraged her to always go in a group. I know the sailors have a bad reputation, but our church has a special apostolate to the seafarers, making sure they have wholesome entertainment when in port.

How long had Miss Poggenpoel been living with you? Maloney asked. As soon as he had asked question, he embarrassingly realised how it sounded. ‘I’m not having a good day,’ Maloney thought.

But Pretorius leapt right in. What Maloney means is, Reverend, how long has Johanna been your live-in housemaid? Pretorius emphasised the live-in part. Pretorius had scant regard for the Catholic church, and their priests. He claimed to belong to the Dutch Reformed Church, but he was not involved or practicing in any way. It was more to further his career. He went along with his Calvanistic Church that claimed that Die Roomse Gevaar (The Roman Danger) had to be curbed just as much as the Red Peril, communism. Pretorius did not believe in the teachings of his church or any church for that matter. He never really gave the God question much thought and admitted to himself that he was most probably an agnostic.

Pretorius was, however, taking a fiendish delight in questioning Patrick, whom he disliked on sight, and believed that he knew more than he was revealing.

Well, let’s see. She came to work for me—eh—sometime around the middle of 1977, I think, Patrick replied.

It’s now March 1980, so that makes it more than two years ago.

And during the past two years or so had she any boyfriends? She was approximately six weeks pregnant and we need to find out who the father was, Reverend? Pretorius asked with authority, looking intently at Patrick.

It’s Father, not Reverend, Maloney corrected his senior partner. Maloney was feeling uncomfortable with the way Pretorius was talking to the priest.

"Did she ever mention any male friends, Father?" Pretorius asked.

No. Apart from the one man that I mentioned previously, I don’t know who she spent her spare time with. She didn’t speak to me about her private life. That wasn’t any of my business, in any case, Patrick replied caustically.

You mean to tell me that the victim spent more than two years living under the same roof with you and never once mentioned a boyfriend or a girlfriend? Pretorius said, raising his voice an octave.

Maloney glared disapprovingly at Pretorius. But Pretorius didn’t notice, he had his eyes fixed intently on Patrick.

She didn’t stay with me for the full two and a half years. She worked for me off and on, and she had her own personal life. She lived in District Six for quite a while, with different families, I believe, Patrick said.

Maloney could see that Patrick was beginning to become irritated with Pretorius’ questions. I’m sorry, Father Patrick, we’re just doing our job, Maloney said sympathetically.

Didn’t she tell you when she became pregnant? Pretorius did not relent.

No! And I never noticed any signs. Actually, I remember now that she mentioned a week or so before she disappeared, that she had met up with an Afro-American sailor whose ship was in port. She had gone with him to a nightclub. That’s all I remember.

Thank you, Father. You have been most helpful. We won’t take up any more of your time, Maloney said hastily.

Pretorius, who happened to be married to a Catholic, was well aware that Maloney, like most practicing Catholics, had the utmost respect for the men of the cloth. To Maloney, they could do no wrong. They were a stand-in for Christ. A cut below the angels. Pretorius could see that his partner felt uncomfortable questioning a priest and wanted to end the interview.

But Pretorius wasn’t finished. He gave Maloney a dirty look and asked Patrick "Reverend—eh—Father, did you have any relationship, physical or otherwise with the victim?"

Patrick and Maloney were both shocked into silence, staring wide-eyed at Pretorius.

I find it strange that the two of you lived alone in this house for so long and nothing developed except for an employer-employee relationship, Pretorius said, provocatively.

Pretorius was a man of the world. He liked female spice on the side and took it if the opportunity became available. For Christ’s sake, he thought, here is this guy, priest or not, celibate. I’m told, living alone with this buxom babe and sleeping under the same roof. He must be made of stone if he didn’t make any advances. This guy’s lying, Pretorius thought.

You don’t have to answer that, Father, Maloney interjected. He was shocked that Pretorius could