by Julian Beale
The plane doors were open now and the King was moving. He carried only hand luggage and was intent on getting into his office at the American Embassy. The following day, he would chair the first meeting of a working committee including delegates from Great Britain, France, Spain and Portugal. He wanted to be well briefed and prepared and that meant no recovery sleep from his flight over. The tall, lithe figure slipped quickly through the quiet airport and was soon lost to view.
King would have loved to have dallied a few minutes to catch a cup of coffee with David Heaven and Conrad Aveling, but he had no way of knowing that they would be in Heathrow that day. David had spent another Christmas with the Aveling clan at Barrington Park and was now off on his travels again. He had lost count of the number of times during the last five years when he had passed through Heathrow en route to wherever, but he had never lost the appetite for this itinerant lifestyle. He relished the flights out and relaxed on the trips back. He had found his true metier and he was contented in his work.
And they were succeeding. Kirchoff and Son was no phenomenon. There were several similar companies in England which were busy metamorphosing from colonial trading houses into manufacturers’ export agents. The oldest could trace their origins from the days of the Raj and the times of imperial expansion, but during the 1960’s the famous wind of change was blowing strongly. New-found political independence for the previous colonies brought changes to the commercial scene so that many of the former brokers in Europe developed into providing an export service for manufacturing companies which were keen to expand into new markets across the world.
This was the business sector for Kirchoff and Son. Sol had seen the opportunity. He had moved steadily to establish the business in helping to sell products with which they could identify and to places of which they had some knowledge. They installed themselves quietly and built up their business in slow and measured style, the warm flamboyance of father contrasting productively with the conservative care exercised by son. Sol’s contacts, together with his natural flair, were the drivers to their expansion and equally valuable was Martin’s reserve and determination to temper daring with prudence.
David Heaven’s arrival had contrived to strengthen the characteristics of both father and son. David loved the international scene and discovered in himself a natural ability for languages and became quite fluent in French with a reasonable ability in Portuguese. He was always interested, without being pushy, in the business of others and was ever alive to how Kirchoff’s could expand their business base. Sol and Martin were amazed by the number of new clients whom David had introduced from unlikely beginnings — stray conversations on aeroplanes or in the single hotel bar of some remote town in the wilds of Africa.
At the same time, David was conscious of all that he did not know, especially about matters which tended to bore him for all that he recognised their importance: the detail of accounting and the legal provisions of contracts. Such things were Martin’s world and so it was that the two young men found it easy to play to one another’s strengths while the bond of friendship developed to the point when each could anticipate the thoughts and reactions of the other.
They spent a good deal of time together, both embraced under the paternalistic umbrella which dear old Sol rejoiced to hoist over their heads. There were a few social occasions, but their home lives were widely separated by custom and distance. For the past three and a half years, David had been living in London’s Parsons Green. He had bought a nondescript house, indistinguishable from its neighbours, quiet, self contained and reasonably generous of space with a bit of a garden which gave him pleasure. As with most things in his life at that time, David had consulted Sol before making the final commitment.
‘Get on and buy the place Davy,’ Sol had said without inspecting the house, ‘that part of London will take off in value over the next few years. All those young and smart people with money have already gone through Chelsea and are infesting Fulham. Where are they going to go next? Right up that street of yours and others like it you can be sure.’
On the first of January 1970, David was established now, enjoying his work, his lifestyle, his friends, his house and garden. He had a spasmodic love life which, as he admitted to himself, could only be just that for as long as he continued to be too selfish to commit himself and too absorbed in his business which was the centrepiece of his existence. It might sound pretentious, but he really did believe that they were building a dynasty. And right now that required him to spend ten days in the African States of Mauritania and Mali. It would be an extended visit although not by much. He was leaving London sooner than planned simply because his old friend Connie Aveling had been summoned to travel to Singapore two days in advance of schedule and David thought that he might as well accompany him to Heathrow.
Conrad had a similar commitment to his own career. He had followed his father into the Royal Green Jackets and quickly settled into regimental life, first at their home base in the UK, followed by a posting to Germany. He drew some military attention for his useful combination of brains and brawn. He was bright, with a special ability to think clearly whilst under pressure. He was no dummy as a linguist and developed as a competent communicator. And then there was the brawn. Conrad enjoyed his sports and played most to a better than average ability so it followed that he kept very fit, even as judged by the standards of his peer group. What was unusual was his exceptional strength. He stood just a bit above average height and had a build to match, but by some quirk of nature, his power to weight ratio was way above the norm with a devastating strength in his upper body and arms. This combination of brain and body made for a useful asset and Conrad was pulled back early from Germany to be assessed for secondment to the special forces. The British SAS in the late sixties was all the more effective for its anonymity.
By Christmas 1969, Conrad had spent a year with the SAS at its home base in Herefordshire, learning a hard trade and honing his skills. He had now received his marching orders to join a unit based in Singapore which operated throughout the region. A dose of malaria had cut down one of his colleagues already in post, so Conrad’s travel had been speeded up, bringing forward his departure date and interrupting his Christmas leave. He was not complaining, but he was quiet in David’s car as they drove up together to the airport from Barrington Park. David knew his old friend well enough to recognise that this withdrawal was Conrad’s way of getting himself prepared for action. He understood and asked no questions. He dropped Connie outside Terminal 3 for his long haul flight and they took leave of each other with a typically understated farewell. David drove on to leave his car in a long term park and take a bus into his terminal for a European destination. It was then about 3 pm.
After checking in for his flight to Paris, David found another surprise awaiting him. He moved easily through passport control, browsed briefly in the duty-free shop and went in search of a cup of coffee. In the self service restaurant, his eye was drawn to a huge figure, shapeless in a dark brown monk’s habit and slouched over a table on which rested a plate of sandwiches and a mug of something. No two people could possibly look like that, David decided and he moved up to place a hand on the monk’s shoulder.
Pente Broke Smith whipped his head round with surprising speed and goggled at him in momentary disbelief before springing up to tower over David and sweep him into a great bear hug embrace.
‘The Lord must be smiling on me to start the New Year’, Pente boomed in a voice to startle nearby onlookers. ‘David Heaven. How very damn good to see you! And just where are you off to?’
David extricated himself from the encircling arms, and grinned back. ‘Nowhere for at least an hour’, he said, ‘just let me get myself a coffee and I’ll tell you more.’
When they were both seated and still smiling at each other, it was David who spoke first.
‘Golly, Pente, it must be eighteen months or more since I saw you last. That’s about right too. You came and spent a couple of ni
ghts when they had let you out for a week to come down to London. But I thought you were now in Africa, nobly suffering somewhere: wasn’t it in Madagascar?’
‘You’re right. It was and it still is. I’m just on my way back there now. To Paris in an hour or so and then on overnight to Antan.’ David didn’t need to be told that Pente was referring to Antananarivo, the capital city.
‘Well that’s a good start. I’m for Paris too, and then on to Nouakchott, so we’ve got plenty of time to catch up on a bit of news. What a shame though. I’ve only just left Conrad whose now in Terminal 3 on his way to the Far East. His own version of Onward Christian Soldiers.’
Pente guffawed, ‘You don’t say. Well that is a pity. I haven’t seen old Connie for years — hardly since Oxford. Is he getting on OK?’
‘Yes he is, really well. Now part of the tough eggs brigade, and revelling in it. But tell me how things are going for you.’
There was a pause as the big man took a giant swig from his tea mug and David knew he was getting ready to set out his stall. Pente hunched his shoulders, drew in a mighty breath and removed his enormous tortoiseshell spectacles which he polished on the hem of his habit as he started to speak.
‘I’ve got to say that it’s a matter of mixed fortunes, David, and I’m really not sure that I’m going to make it in this calling. I was just mulling it over when you tapped me on the back.’
David was unsurprised by this dramatic candour. Pente was always one to wear his heart on his sleeve. He waited for him to continue.
‘When I was staying with you, I think I must have bored you with stories of my early days in training.’ Pente gave his familiar, lopsided grin.
‘It was hardly boring,’ rejoined David. During two long evenings, Pente had scarcely drawn breath in regaling David with his experiences in the remotely located Northumberland monastery, the home of his Order in which he had spent two years preparing for the priesthood.
‘Well anyway, it’s got a lot tougher since then.’ Pente drank some more of his tea and then fumbled in the folds of his vestment and came up with a short and very black cheroot which he preceded to light and blow all over David who coughed his objections.
‘Surely that thing constitutes a weakness of the flesh, Pente, mine if not yours. Are you allowed to smoke it?’
‘Oh sure. Nothing in the rules of either God or man which says no. There aren’t many smokers in the monastery and we’re pretty careful as to where and when. No, I’m afraid that this weed has been the least of my failings while I’ve been a Novice.’
David looked up sharply as he caught the thread of serious comment. Pente removed his spectacles and massaged his face with one huge hand.
‘Frankly’, he said at last, ‘I’ve been having real trouble with my faith. When I saw you last, I would have made light of it if I mentioned it at all and honestly, I thought I was just going through a learning curve which my mentors told me to expect. But lately, it’s become more deep seated and now I’m questioning whether I was right to take my vows.’
Pente sat back in his chair with a deep sigh, but David knew him better than to interrupt and waited for him to resume.
‘Do you remember, David, that during our first two years in training, we all spend a six month period away from the monastery. You might think of it as a stint of practical experience to leaven the mixture of learning, routine and theory.’
‘Yes’, David replied, ‘of course I remember because when you were with me in London, you had just returned from your time away and you were en route back to Northumberland. You were in South Africa, weren’t you, outside Cape Town somewhere?’
‘That’s right. But what I didn’t tell you was that I’d been sent home early. I was judged to have failed in my time down there, and was required to return to the monastery to do a load more study. Plus I had to put myself into solitary confinement for a whole month, to search my soul and to test my faith in order to find within me greater humility. I just scraped through the monks’ second test, and in June I was sent out to Madagascar to less politically sensitive surroundings. It is here that I have a final chance to prove myself in their eyes. And incidentally, I’ve only been back now for a few days because my old Mum, bless her, has just died so in addition to everything else, I am pretty distressed at leaving my father who is now nearly ninety and all on his own. But you didn’t know either of them.’
David replied, ‘that’s so and I’m sorry that we’ve never met, but even more so for you in having to leave him. That’s very tough on you. But look, I believe I understand all you’re saying, but you’d better spell it out for me.’
Pente stubbed out his noxious cigar and returned David’s gaze as he resumed.
‘When we were all together at Oxford, the sudden conviction that I wanted to spend my life in Holy Orders was a marvellous sensation in many ways, including the simple feeling of certainty: of decision made and never to be regretted. Oh, I knew there would be plenty to cope with along the way, no small discomfort and sometimes a bit of ridicule. But I had no qualms, you see, I was just completely sure from the very first that my faith would remain rock constant and utterly impervious to temptation and influence. But now? Well now I’m really not so sure. I’m afflicted by doubts and the more I’m bullied, the more those doubts multiply. To be honest with you, I am naturally a little rebellious and not really the typical aspirant for our Order. In training, I have chafed at some of the restrictions and requirements which strike me as petty and anachronistic, exactly the sort of Pharisee rules which our Lord would have debunked in short order.’
David couldn’t help himself. He said nothing, but could not prevent a smile spreading across his face. He could well imagine that Pente’s opinions would not have thrilled the authorities in their cloistered surroundings where life would be lived by long established rules and customs.
Pente went on speaking.
‘These are relatively little matters and we must rise above them. The greater problem is the feeling that I’m misplaced and the pivotal issue for me is all about life in Africa. Our Brotherhood is dedicated to missionary work. The Order is well established in both Kenya and Tanzania, also in South Africa and of course, we have the small mission in Madagascar. In all these places, we believe that our role is to improve the standard of life and the quality of spirit.’
‘So where’s the problem? You can surely identify plenty to be accomplished.’
‘Of course. But my problem, David, is that it’s all about politics rather than God’s word. The whole Order is consumed with the battle against apartheid in South Africa and anyone who is seen as being insufficiently committed is taken to be unreliable at best — or even some sort of heretic.’
Now David was really engaged.
‘So where do you stand with your conscience, Pente? Is this not one of the burning questions of the new decade?’
‘I agree’, said Pente, ‘but I also think that there’s more to life in South Africa than a struggle between black and white. Furthermore, I’m certain that the entire continent south of the Sahara can’t be judged simply by what’s going on in the extreme south.’
‘Do you mean that you churchmen shouldn’t get too involved? That you should devote yourselves to God and avoid getting your hands dirty with life in the raw?’
David had intended to provoke, but as soon as the words were out of his mouth he knew he’d gone too far. Pente started to turn puce at the perceived affront and David made to apologise but he was way too late and made to suffer with a stinging rebuke which half the lounge in the terminal could hear. But at least it encouraged him in the vision of good old Pente in full flow and he did enjoy the absence of priestly language as Pente completed his tirade.
‘Don’t you dare sneer at me and mine or I’ll kick your balls down your throat, you miserable, exploiting capitalist!’
Mercifully, Pente stopped for breath at this point and reached for another foul smelling cigar. David took advantage of the lull to rem
ark mildly,
‘Well I can at least see that your good brethren must have been gaining some fresh ideas and different language.’
They looked at each other and simultaneously burst out laughing, just as it had been with lively debates in days gone by. Pente said,
‘I guess you deserve an answer to your question, and it’s this. I do believe the Church should be involved in politics. Put another way, I don’t see how any individual, group or organisation can possibly engage in work of conscience and calling without being political. That’s life as the Almighty created it, and we must all get on and accept it.’ He waved a great paw as David sought to interject, ‘but actually, that’s not my point. What bothers me is whether the obsession of breaking apartheid and replacing it immediately with black majority rule is either sound or in God’s plan for us to pursue.’
He gazed intently at David for a second or two before concluding, ‘I don’t know what you think, knowing Africa as you do, but I can tell you that my views attract very little sympathy within our Order.’
David struggled with his reply, making several false starts before he was able to express himself clearly.
‘Just as a gut reaction, Pente, I will say three things to you. First, you must have real courage to be holding such a view and articulating it within your community. I admire you for that and I can imagine what pressure you provoke from both your colleagues and your conscience. Secondly, you can count on me as an interested listener. I love travelling in Africa, but the plain fact is that I’m just a bird of passage. It takes a lot of time and patience to get to know even one country, let alone the whole continent. That said, I must say that wherever I go, it does seem that the great majority is being taken to the cleaners by a very small minority and the rest of the world seems neither to recognise this nor to care too much.
