Starlight in the Ring

by H. N. Quinnen

  The driver wants to drop me in town. As it is very late, I ask for a lift to the township where natives live; I know where I belong. The first house I go into takes me in for the night, and I proceed home the next day. I feel relieved that I’ve visited the farm to look for Mark. I don’t give up hope that I might bump into him one day.

  6th June 1974

  Dear Betty,

  Sometimes, when I’m alone, your voice echoes faintly across the broad sea. When the touch and feel of your beautiful body are out of reach, I wonder…where will we meet again?

  Will it be down a long country lane, with hedges of sweet-smelling hawthorn, wild raspberry bushes and honeysuckle?

  Or with dry stonewalls of limestone, winding as a viper to the lofty heights of an English hill?

  When will we meet again? Might it even be in another life?

  As maybe our physical bodies are destined never to reside together on this earth?

  One thing’s for sure, our souls are intertwined.

  We may need to retire to bed together, drifting into a sleep. Or in that place, speak, share thoughts, hopes and ambitions. Furthermore, in that place, we may hold hands until the raw light of dawn pulls us apart.

  So, for us…my Sweetheart, the night would hold no terror or fright. However, just a blissful walk together!

  Love from

  Greg x

  Poem sent from Great Britain

  Chapter 6

  The Hearing

  July 1968

  It’s a misty morning, with a cool breeze, in Aliwal North. Visibility is poor, with cars having their fog lights turned on, driving slowly, avoiding running over the pedestrians, crossing the streets randomly. Some drivers are blowing their horns, frustrated with the traffic jams on the road by the Magistrates’ Court. The streets are busy with many farm-workers, who have come to see justice for Mark Douglas, who the Bakers love. Some men are sitting by the Magistrates’ Court, smoking their long pipes and chatting across among themselves as early as seven o’clock, ensuring they get a place inside the tiny courtroom.

  The paperboys are doing their rounds, delivering newspapers to the shops. The headline on the front page of today’s ‘The Daily News’ reads, ‘JIMMIE DOUGLAS IN COURT’, attracting people’s attention. This seems to be the most read article this morning, especially by the natives, who have come from the farms around Burgersdorp, Aliwal North, Lady Grey and Bethulie. Newspapers in native languages have covered the story also.

  As the courtroom on the natives’ side is not big enough to accommodate everyone, so some people are listening to the deliberations through the loud speaker system, and an interpreter from outside. My dad, mama, uncle and aunt are among the people, who have come to see Baas Jimmie on trial.

  They have arrived on time, and secured a good view in the second row from the front. I’m happy to be seated with them.

  The court is summoned to stand up as the judge and court messengers walk in. There is a remarkable silence, with no one talking, moving about or shuffling – you could hear a penny drop. The back door opens, and two police officers accompanying Baas Jimmie walk in, with him in the middle. Today, he is dressed in a grey suit, his hair and beard well groomed. He has lost a lot of weight.

  “Where is Missus?” whispers my dad, appearing sad. He stands up to have a better view on the other side, perhaps hoping to see Theodora. Sitting down, he whispers again, “It’s strange for Theodora not to be here to support him.” My dad still loves the Douglas’ family like his own.

  Aunty shrugs her shoulders in response, as if to imply, ‘I don’t know’, but she scans the courtroom until she actually stands up, ensuring a clear view. “No, Theodora is not here,” she whispers. I think, should I tell them? How will they react?

  I tap my aunt on the shoulder, whispering in her ear, “Aunty, Missus passed away. I saw her grave in their cemetery.” My aunt looks at me for a moment, in disbelief, before turning around, whispering to my parents.

  Marie and her husband, the neighbours of the Douglases, are sitting in the front row, on the European side of the court. Jimmie is sitting closer to his solicitor on the dock situated on the right-hand side of the courtroom.

  The prosecutor stands up and calls the court to order, before reading the charges, and concluding with, “Jimmie Douglas, do you plead guilty, or innocent?”

  Jimmie stands up and responds, “I reserve my right to remain silent.”

  The prosecutor then says, “The defendant is exercising his right; therefore, the case number SA&P Douglas V State is adjourned for trial on Tuesday 22 October 1968, and that’s in three months’ time. The defendant will be remanded in custody. Bail is refused. You can take him back to the cells.”

  The officers take him through the back door into the cells, where he has been locked up, in preparation for the trial. The court is commanded to stand, and then dismissed.

  There is a lot of murmuring from the natives’ side, as they walk out to join others outside. Their views vary, but they are all sympathetic to the tragedy in the Douglas’ family. Some say Jimmie deserves punishment, if he is found guilty. Others are just shaking their heads, hiding their internal grief. Some have only heard that Theodora is late. I listen hoping to hear them mention Mark, and perhaps what has happened to him. Sadly, no one actually says anything about him. What I sense from most of them is shock, and disappointment. Some refer to ‘the dark cloud’ in Skoonfontein.

  I have known Betty Baker on a professional basis for a period of three years, and worked alongside her, and as a teacher supporting children learning English as an additional language. Betty was aware of the needs of the children in her class, and always asked for and acted upon advice, providing appropriate support. An example of this was her constant concern about a boy who spoke very little English when he was admitted to her class. Betty supported both his language and learning needs, and ensured he had access to the curriculum by providing one-to-one support where possible, checking that he understood during the introduction of a lesson and during the activity. He made excellent progress with his spoken and written English, and progressed from being a beginner, working towards Level One to Level Two, during the academic year. Betty has the highest expectations for all her pupils, and a broad knowledge of their needs.

  Mrs Patsy Farmer

  English Specialist

  Ben Schoeman Primere Skool

  July 1974

  Chapter 7

  The Trial

  October 1968

  Three months seems to be over soon since attending a pre-hearing of Baas’ case, I think. On Tuesday morning the 22nd October we all travel from Kanevlak village in my uncle’s minibus to Baas Jimmie’s trial in Burgersdorp. Every seat is filled with our family members and the farm labourers we picked up around Skoonfontein on our way to court. Being the key witness, it is imperative that I attend, and I also desperately need closure with Mark. Is he alive or not? We promised to love each other for ever, and he suffered for my sake. How could I pay him back for that? Perhaps I’ll meet him again in court; who knows what might happen?

  The moment everybody has been waiting for comes; at 10.30am, the door from the cells flings opens, suddenly.

  Baas Jimmie Douglas enters the courtroom through this back door, looking down, appearing frustrated and more miserable than before with his shoulders sagging, tense lines about his mouth and wispy unkempt hair. Two police officers are accompanying him, one on each side. His hands are handcuffed. I look at him, feeling sad about how a good man could be in this situation. How his life could turn into such a misery is unbelievable. I then realise he is just as much a victim of the Law as the natives have been. Looking at him above other people’s heads, I remember his kindness, giving me a lift in his van when I had a heavy metal trunk to carry home from school. Unable to stop tears rolling down my cheeks, I look up at the ceiling for a little while to gather my strength. I dismiss the thoughts of the nasty things he’s done to us in the past. I know it’s his weakness
es, but today I choose to focus on his strengths, and feel the pain and the shame he must be going through.

  They are walking very slowly towards the dock. I expect him to have his usual walk, with his feet apart. But his feet appear restricted; walking is a struggle for him. I know Baas Jimmie; he always makes giant strides, but strangely, not today. I rise up from my seat until I’m on tiptoes to have a clear view of his feet. Unaware of my actions, I shout loudly in surprise, “Huh, Baas!”

  His feet are in chains. Could it be he attempted to escape from his cell? I remember the night I spent in the stables with Rita, and the man who cried constantly throughout the night, with his hands in chains and the corn sheaves left beside him to exhibit theft evidence. He must have been uncomfortable to be in handcuffs all night long, waiting for the day, to be handed over to the police authorities for the alleged theft.

  Jimmie, in a pinstriped navy blue suit and a creased blue shirt and a blue tie with black stripes sits on a wooden bench closer to his solicitor, who has a file opened in front of himself, and a pen in his hand. The two police officers remain standing behind him. The solicitor is here to offer him professional advice throughout the proceedings. He has been warned previously that the crimes he is accused of carry a sentence of life imprisonment. Jimmie, as I know him, would not expect to get this kind of penalty in South Africa. All the people rise when the judges walk in, dressed in their dignified robes. I am fortunate to be inside. Crowds are gathered outside, and there are scuffles as people are pushing to get a better view among the reporters, who are raising their cameras, obstructing other people. The atmosphere is chaotic. I dart my eyes all around the room. I look across to the side for the Europeans, hoping to see Mark.

  The trial starts with the Prosecutor reading the accusations. Baas Jimmie is charged with attempted murder of his son, Mark Douglas, and murdering his own wife, Theodora.

  “Are you guilty or not guilty, Mr Douglas?”

  He rises up saying, “Innocent, Sir.” There is uproar and shuffling in the court, until the usher shouts, “Silence!”

  Everyone on both sides of the court room becomes quiet instantly. Staring at Baas, with my head throbbing from stress, I find it hard to believe the crimes he is accused of, yet I was there the night he shot Mark. I heard the bullet sound, and felt Mark’s weight on me before he dropped down. I find it difficult to comprehend that this ‘loving dad’, as Mark called him, is today accused of murdering his own family. This hurts me the most because I know all of these people very well, and love them as my own.

  Jimmie’s solicitor rises to speak in his defence.

  “Your honour, my clients is known to be a kind and helpful man. He is very sorry for his actions. He had not intentions to hurt anyone.”

  He describes him as a responsible man, who upheld the laws. When the Prosecutor asks Jimmie some questions, his response shows remorse. Jimmie’s voice sounds hoarse; he looks across to our side, as if he remembers the good olden days at Skoonfontein. His voice fades completely, and he reaches for a glass of water. He takes a sip and puts the glass down. He unblocks his throat ready to talk, tries to speak, but upon mentioning Mark and Theodora’s names, he breaks down into uncontrollable tears. The court is dismissed for a short break, and then resumes.

  “Mark Douglas!” the prosecutor calls, and the usher leads him to the witness box, on their side. “Huh!” I whisper, and then take a deep breath, followed by a sharp sting in my heart. My face heats up from blushing. Clenching my jaws, and holding my hands together, I look down, and then up to the dock, listening to Mark, feeling some energy has just left me. He narrates the events surrounding the attempted murder, as he recalls them. Finally, he says, “After hearing the second shot, I remember no more.” Mark, rubbing his eyes gently, looks at his dad and then speaks with a slurred voice, “Daddy, I love you.” And then Mark looks down; his tears drip and disappear beneath his chin. He puts his hand into his pocket, takes out a handkerchief and presses it onto his face with both hands, sobbing. This confession must have triggered the ‘daddy-and-son’ affection, and perhaps brought up the memories of what was once a happy, rich family.

  As he recalls that evening, Mark’s voice is faint, and he pauses a lot. He is constantly looking at Baas Jimmie. He makes a clear point about what he wants to study in the future, and become in later life. “It is right to stand up for my beliefs. I have a right to defend the people of all races that I believe to be innocent. I do not have to apologise because some of these people are ‘natives’. They also need protection. That’s why I wanted to be a lawyer. My dad told me to drop law. Betty’s family committed themselves to us. It was right for me to love her.” Mark stops talking for a moment, closes his eyes, and after that looks up at Jimmie saying, “Dad, you hurt me.” Then Mark returns to his seat.

  A state witness, Maureen, one of their neighbours, then gives evidence:

  “Jimmie’s life changed for the worse ever since he shot his son, Mark. He drank heavily, driving his van recklessly all day and shooting randomly. He has been terrorising almost everybody in and around Skoonfontein. I have been in their home several times, witnessing rows between him and his wife, Theodora.” Maureen reaches for her handkerchief, and covers her eyes. “What I saw him do to his wife was horrible. Surely, Theo didn’t want to die. She didn’t deserve it either. She ran for her life, and was close to me when the last bullet penetrated her heart from the back, sending her flying to the ground, face down. I turned her over to lie on her back, applying First Aid. Her eyes rolled over, and she died on the spot.”

  As this woman explains her side of the story, I wonder how painful her account is to Mark’s ears. For me, it was good to hear what actually sent Missus to the grave. For Mark, could it be like spraying a wound with salt?

  I start wondering if he knew anything himself. The court adjourns for lunch.

  This is the most horrible day for me and my parents. Should Jimmie go to prison, we will be losing two ‘family members’: Theodora in such a dreadful manner, and Jimmie, who will be put away for a long time, and probably die in jail. I stand up to locate Mark, but he isn’t there. This matter is unbearable for all of us. My dad’s holding my mum, her head covered with a black shawl, and they walk out of the court room. I see them wiping their faces: they are crying. My mum can hardly control herself. As soon as they are outside, she throws herself in my dad’s arms, screaming, “The Douglas’ family - my God, why have you allowed this?” Their friends go to comfort them.

  They walk across the road to the shops to buy loaves of brown bread and sour milk, which they share among themselves, sitting on the green lawn by the road side. My eyes are fixed on the European people milling outside the court; I wish to have Mark by my side. There are quite a number of Europeans in court today, yet there is no sight of Mark. I don’t dare to ask any of them. I hope he will be back in court after lunch.

  The court resumes in the afternoon, with the Prosecutor pronouncing further charges against Jimmie, including possessing unlicensed fire arms, and reckless shooting, endangering the farm-workers. I feel tears dripping slowly down my face, and I wipe them off discreetly with the back of my hand, careful not to smudge my mascara.

  I’m called to the witness box on the side of the natives. As I walk to take my stand, I look across the room by the door. Mark is now sitting at the end of the last row there dressed in a navy blue suit, and a striped tie. Words vanish from my mind. I stand still for a while, looking at him, more handsome, than ever before. Tearfully, I give the details of the events that occurred that night, and then sit down.

  Koos Van Tonder takes the witness stand on the European side.

  Koos, a constable off duty on that day and the Douglases’ friend, who was at the barbecue earlier on and had returned to collect his board game he left behind, gives his moving testimony, saying: “As I walked towards the door from my car, I heard and saw Theodora saying repeatedly ‘Oh my God!’ and pushing in the kitchen back door to open it. Hurriedly, s
he got to the corridor, reaching out for the telephone by the window. She turned the handle very fast and picked it up, screaming, ‘Hello, come to Skoonfontein – now! Quickly, Mark is alive!’

  “Unaware of what had happened after I had left, and as part of my work, I rushed to the sitting room to listen from another receiver, trying to figure out what the problem was, exactly. A voice said, ‘This is the Burgersdorp exchange; could I have the number please? Do you want the ambulance or the police?’ The operator, trying to get more information about the service Theodora needed, was becoming desperate with her hysterical utterances at the other end of the line. He required clear directions, in order to dispatch the emergency vehicle.

  “‘Hello! What’s happening?’ the telephone operator asked again. I reached out for my notebook and started taking notes, looking across the room to the corridor where Theodora was standing.

  “Theodora sobbed, ‘My son, Mark, is dying. Help! Hurry up!’

  “‘Okay, Skoonfontein, right… I can see it on the map.’

  “‘It’s my husband. He shot him. Please, hurry!’

  “Theodora hung up, and wound the telephone again. She got through to a different operator. Coincidentally, it was Jakobus, their family friend, who was not at the barbecue.

  “‘Number, please?’ he asked.

  “‘Ambulance! Please be quick! My son Mark, has been shot. I’m Theodora Douglas, from Skoonfontein.’

  “‘Okay, Theo - it’s me, Jako; I’m sending the ambulance now.’ Theodora could hardly speak; she just cried, pleading, ‘Please help! Come over straight away after sending the ambulance.’

  “Jako called Theodora, asking, what had happened and about where Jimmie was. ‘It’s him! He shot them,’ that was Theodora’s reply.

  “‘Shot who?’ asked Jako.

  “‘Mark.’

  “‘Mark? …Sorry, Theo… Okay, the ambulance is on its way,’ Jakobus reassured her, and hung up. I did not want to disturb her, so, I remained in the sitting room, shocked with this news. Theodora rang again, asking the exchange for number 70239. I could hear Marie, one of the friends who had visited the Douglas family earlier, answering the phone saying, ‘Hello, Marie, wat praat, kan ek help?’ meaning in English, ‘Marie speaking, can I help?’ Theodora, still screaming, explained. ‘Jimmie shot them; the bullets hit Mark; he’s badly hurt, bleeding and struggling to breathe.’