My name has been changed to Roy McQue. This is for the protection of Innocent People involved and for the protection of others.

This is my Biography and life story.

Although this manuscript has not been published, due to the vast amount interest, this could become possible. If you are potentially

interested in purchasing a copy, please send an e-mail to sales@monray.co.uk with your name and e-mail address. When enough

interest has been generated, all will be contacted and offered the chance to purchase a copy.

       

 

           WHEN FREEDOM

                     CALLS.

                                                          

        SUFFER  NOT  LITTLE

                CHILDREN. . . . .

 

                        

                                                       W A R N I N G !

 

                     THIS BOOK CONTAINS EXPLICIT MATERIAL.

                      NOT RECOMMENDED FOR THE SENSITIVE

                                              OR THE WEAK !

                          

 

Although the contents of this script is based on actual

fact, certain names and places will be changed for the

protection of the innocent and their families. The

Author’s name will be changed to Roy.

                

 

                                                  The Author.

 

 

 

 

                                            WHEN FREEDOM CALLS

                                      SUFFER NOT LITTLE CHILDREN.....

                                                                

 

Introduction and Political History of South Africa.

 

This powerful yet gripping story tells of the physical and mental abuse inflicted on a young child and the effect it had on his life. As a child and teenager Roy McQue had seen and experienced more in life than the average, normal child his own age. The mental torment and aggressive abuse finally unleashed the dark and horrific side of him.

At the age of 10, his first encounter with a fire arm, was loaded by Mike Hoare at the home of Frank Mangeon, fellow comrades and mercenaries during the Congo war. Roy and Frank's family were neighbours. Both mercenaries encouraged Roy to learn the art of marksmanship.

At 15, Roy was desperate to experience love and affection and was forced to seek it in the arms and beds of any female willing to oblige. Many married and young women became his tutors.

This led to his involvement with Alice - professional prostitute, Kevin - gunrunner and cold blooded killer, Nikki - top international model and trained assassin, drugs and a wave of various different crimes.

Once he acquired the sweet taste of love he became determined that nothing would deprive him of it again. Alice's brutal murder forced an unscheduled change of events in his life. Justice and revenge consumed his every thought and became food for his soul and the new revived inner strength gave him the will to survive. The African National Congress would soon experience the wrath of a man deprived of his pregnant young love, a wrath they would never forget! They changed him from ANC supporter, suppresser of Apartheid and loyal friend into ...... the enemy.

 

He became a thorn in the side of the South African Police. His ability to elude and escape whilst in custody, from places of safety, police cells and prison, gave the police no other option but to impose the order; 'Shoot to kill'. This they did but his determination, courage, skill, quick thinking and angelic nature kept him alive. Duty officers were demoted and enraged after his daring escapes from under their very noses. Savagely beaten and tortured they soon experienced the strength and extremely high pain threshold from within this teenager. Engelbrecht at Germiston Police Station and Tikkie van Heerden at Alberton Police Station had enough reason in wanting to see him laying flat out on a mortuary slab in a body bag.

At the age of sixteen he was one of the most wanted in the Witwatersrand area. Roy McQue lived on the adrenalin rush and 'living on a knife edge' was how he lived his life. Daring car chases, gun battles, fleeing the hail of deadly bullets running from armed police to escaping from a high speed train while his captors wept in frustration, motivated and drove the police in their determination to detain or kill him. One morning in 1978, he walked into the Alberton police station and handed himself over to 'Tikkie' van Heerden, the only member of the South African CID who guaranteed his personal safety and a fair trial. Tikkie van Heerden was true to his word. He protected Roy from the aggression and personal hate by members of the South African Police. He had to protect Roy and the only possible way this could be accomplished, was to place him in prison under the protection of hardened and toughened criminals.

Roy had no idea what this cost or the negotiations van Heerden had to adhere to and honour the demands these criminals insisted on.

 

 

Whilst serving an 18 year prison sentence he met and befriended many hard and toughened criminals. His fighting skills and ability earned him the Pretoria Central Prison's (Sentoria) middleweight boxing title. Every prisoner and prison warden knew his name and reputation. He was a prisoner you didn't mess with. During his sentence he waged war against hard drugs, the bullying of the weaker prisoners and the prison rape of young male offenders. It soon paid off.

Cannabis became the only form of drug available within the prison walls. Drug ring-leaders became angry and the numerous attempts by paid individuals to end his life, were unsuccessful. His wide and renowned reputation soon travelled from prison to prison. By the time he reached Zonderwater prison in Cullinan, he was received with caution.

On his arrival, a doctor was waiting to perform anal searches for illegal substances. The prisoners had a name for this. It was called 'finger fucked'. Roy waited his turn. When his name was called, it was to the reception desk.

'Coffee or tea McQue'? the prison warden asked. This was something that did not happen. 'We've heard about you .....' a pause then 'No finger fuck for you today' was the only response he got to his inquisitive glance.

It was here, once again, he met the detained Mike Hoare and a group of South African mercenaries accused of conspiring to overthrow Rene and restore the Mancham Government to power in the Seychelles during 1981. He was made aware of Magnus Malan's intentions of forming, training and deploying an elite squad of military marksmen. He was also informed that Magnus Malan had been made aware of him, his existence and skill with a rifle. Was this Roy's ticket to freedom?

Roy masterminded the escape of notorious criminals Allan Heyl, Patrick Lee McCall and Andre Charles Stander. Roy recalls the first attempted escape of Andre Stander from Pretoria Central Prison.

It was Saturday morning and Roy entered the court yard where prisoners were allowed to exercise, keep fit by jogging and A group prisoners had contact visits. The keep fit program happened once a week and on a Saturday only. The reason for this was that on Saturdays, the only space where prisoners could train was the soccer field and this was used for soccer on Saturdays. As Roy jogged, he was joined by Andre. They chatted as they jogged and Roy noticed the guard in the tower shaking his head at Stander each time they completed a round and passed close to the tower. Finally, the guard nodded at Stander. ‘You better get back Roy. I’ll give you ten minutes’. Roy looked at him. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Just get in and go back to your section’.  Roy smiled. He knew what was about to happen and without further question, headed back to the gate. ‘Thank you gate’, he called and a guard appeared and unlocked the gate. Roy headed back towards the open Old section where he was kept. Without warning it happened. Guards swarmed the place rounding up the prisoners and moving them back towards their cells. Roy recognised one of the guards. It was Ben. Ben was in charge of Roy's welding section in the sheet metal workshop and him and Roy were quite close. ‘What’s going on? he asked Ben.

‘It’s Stander. He’s been apprehended trying to escape over the wall’.

‘How? There are armed guards in the towers'.

‘There was a car waiting for him on the other side. He would have made it as well if it hadn’t been for one of the prisoners coming down the stairs in A Block. He spotted Stander on the roof heading towards the wall and raised the alarm. Stander, the driver of the vehicle a woman I believe and the guard have been apprehended. They suspect the guard was paid off to assist with the escape.’

He was right. A few weeks later, the guard on duty the morning of Stander’s attempted escape, committed suicide by blowing his brains out with a R1 rifle. He was placed on night shift until the investigation had been completed. Rather than face prison, he took his own life. Stander was transferred to Zonderwater Prison.

It was here, once again, Roy and Stander’s paths crossed. ‘Question for you Andre. What was the shaking and nodding of head between you and the guard at Pretoria Central? I understand everything but not what the head shaking and nodding was all about'.

‘Confirmation when my get away car arrived’, Andre replied. ‘I’ve got to get out of here. I need to get out. This place will kill me Roy. I need a plan.’

 

 

It was some weeks later before Roy approached Andre Stander. ‘I have a plan that might just work’ Roy said to Stander. ‘How and what’ was Stander’s reply. Roy explained in detail and Stander listened with interest. When Roy finish talking, Stander was nodding in approval and agreement. ‘It could work Roy, It may just work. Why don’t you come with us?’

‘I’ve struck a deal with Malan. I’ll be free in a few months Andre.’ Stander looked at him nodding his head. ‘I heard Malan was here. Was it to see you?’ ‘Yes. He’s forming a special military squad. I have been offered the command. He wants it to be conditional but I don’t want conditions. I may have to accept certain conditions though or , like yourself, I’ll rot in here.’

‘You will come and see me won’t you?’ Stander enquired.  Roy looked at him. 'In all my time knowing you Andre, that is and was the most stupid question you have ever asked. How the hell do you expect me to know where you are or where you will be staying, if you ever manage to escape? You don't even know?' Roy looked at him. 'You can always send it to me here before my release. Can you imagine the faces if that ever happened?' They both laughed.

The plan was put into action. McCall and Stander were injured whilst playing rugby on the Saturday. They were escorted to the local hospital the following week. Prison hospital staff received pay-offs in return for placing McCall and Stander on the same treatment list at the local Physiotherapist in Cullinan. Warrant Officer ‘Fires’ van Vuuren escorted both prisoners. It was here he got the fright of his life. Before the incident he was a loud mouthed idiot who swore at the prisoners every time he inhaled. The names he called them would have him killed if he spoke to people outside of prison in that manner. After the incident he became placid and showed more respect towards the prisoners. McCall desperately wanted to kill Van Vuuren. It was Stander who stopped him. McCall had already cocked the revolver and pointed it at him before Stander calmed him down. ‘He’s a f…ing pig’ McCall screamed. Stander agreed and said there would be another time. They made their getaway.

Heyl’s Escape would be easier. During October 1983, Heyl was freed whilst taking his trade test at Olifantsfontein. The prison guard escorting Heyl stared down the barrels of the firearms pointed at him. He did not object as Heyl walked off with the two escapees. McCall died during a harrowing shoot-out with the South African Police. Stander and Heyl managed to elude them and Stander made his escape to Fort Lauderdale in Florida. He was shot four times by a patrolman whilst wrestling over a firearm. Heyl was sentenced to life in prison.

At the age of 24, Roy McQue was released on the 24th January 1984 after serving only five and a half years of his sentence. There were certain conditions .......

 

 

 

 

                                                           *         *         *         *         *

 

 

 

 

African National Congress (ANC):-

Founded in 1912, a South African political organisation devoted to the removal of Apartheid and racial discrimination, and the equalisation of relations between all communities and races within South Africa. An organisation committed to non- violence.

ANC membership increased in the 1950's after the implementation of the Apartheid policy of racial segregation in 1948. The ANC actively opposed this policy. In 1955 the ANC issued its Freedom Charter, which stated that “South Africa belongs to all who live in it, black or white”. This caused uneasiness within the ANC and those members who believed that South Africa belonged to black Africans, formed a rival party, the Pan African Congress (PAC). The PAC, seeking to displace the ANC, organised mass demonstrations, which resulted in the Sharpeville Massacre of black protesters in 1960.

In response to the demonstration, the government declared a state of emergency, which resulted in the banning of all black political organisations, including the ANC and PAC. In 1961 the ANC dropped its non- violence policy and formed the military wing of Umkhonto we Sizwe (Spear of the Nation), which began the sabotage campaign against the government.

July 1964 brought a conclusion to the Rivonia Treason Trial. Mandela, Sisulu, Govan Mbeki and other ANC leaders were charged with sabotage and high treason. Sentenced to life imprison, they were extremely fortunate to escape the death sentence.

At the time, Joe Slovo was out of the country and Govan, after his arrest, instructed his son Thabo Mbeki to leave South Africa. There were other members of the ANC outside the country at the time and the warrants for their arrests ensured they did not return. They went into exile.

Oliver Tambo established an external wing of the ANC outside South Africa. For the next 30 years the ANC operated in cells as an underground organisation. The Soweto Massacre, which resulted from students refusing to use the compulsory Afrikaans language in their schools, re-awakened the black African resistance against Apartheid. This attracted a growing number of people to the ANC.

Throughout the 1980's direct action led to the imposition of a state emergency in many areas of South Africa. The direct action was the black strikes, boycotts and the battles between youths and the police.

After the release of Nelson Mandela in 1993, the ban on the ANC was lifted and they operated as a political party once again. The ANC justified the murders, massacres and act of terrorism and abuse they were responsible for, by stating it was necessary for their cause and fight for freedom.

 

 

Black Consciousness Movement:-

An organisation founded in the late 1960's. Its objectives were to unite all black Africans and to ensure they stopped depending upon the white organisations and community. A black racist group whose aim was to unite all blacks, coloureds and Asians in their war against the whites.

The influence of this movement played a large part in the mass opposition in 1976 in the introduction of Afrikaans into black schools in Soweto and other townships. The uprisings resulted in at least 575 deaths.

18 associated movements to the Black Consciousness Movement were banned as well as 50 of their leaders being detained, including Steve Biko.

 In the immediate aftermath of Soweto many young people escaped across the South African borders to join armed wings of the liberation movements.

Stephen Biko, one of the founders of the Black Consciousness Movement, died in custody after being submitted to severe beatings by the South African Police.

In 1971 he wrote: ‘Black consciousness is in essence the realisation by the black man of the need to rally together with his brothers around the cause of their subjection- the blackness of their skin- and to operate as a group in order to rid themselves of the shackles that bind them to perpetual servitude.’

In my view, an excellent and distinguished form of racism.

Let us not judge racists or racism. Let us not participate in this cruel ethnic fight and struggle for supremacy either. Within each person, immaterial of race or colour, racism exists, although more within others than many.

 

 

 

 

 

Inkatha Freedom Party (IFP):-

 

Yabaka Zulu, Inkatha, was originally a Zulu cultural organisation, which in 1976, became a Zulu political party at a time when black politics were severely restricted. Mangosuthu Buthelezi, the founder of IFP, soon became the ruling political party leader in the bantustan of KwaZulu. The only weakness of this party was the fact that they depended entirely on the Zulu support. From the very onset Inkatha was involved in the affairs of the KwaZulu government and won every seat for the legislative assembly during 1978. This party is antagonistic towards non-Zulus as the ANC is towards Zulus. Government slush funds were used to support the IFP and to arm them against their enemy, the hostile ANC.

 

 

 

 

 

1984 - 1994.

The assassination of Samora Moises Machel is a subject of which the answer is unknown by most.

Oliver Tambo, president of the ANC, approved the assassination on the condition that it could not be linked to himself or the ANC. It was approved in support and revenge of Joe Slovo’s wife Ruth. Tambo  was aware that Samora's wife, Graca supported the ANC and their cause and what they believed in. She became good friends with Nelson Mandela under the impression that his release, during discussions with P.W. Botha in 1985, was imminent.

Graca Machel had fallen in love with Nelson Mandela and the actions of Winnie Mandela were forcing the Mandelas apart. There could be no better time to get rid of Machel.

It was also Slovo's revenge for the Nkomati Accord which had been signed during 1984. The Nkomati Accord was a non-aggression agreement between South Africa and Mozambique. South Africa's agreement was not to aid or support the Resistencia Nacional Mocambicana (Renamo). Machel was the Commander to Frente de Libertacao de Mocambique (Frelimo) and had no option but to keep his end of the agreement. This was to cease aid and to ban all ANC members and the movement from Mozambique. Slovo was forced back into exile on account of this Accord.

However, he did have confirmation that Machel, in coalition with the South African Government, were responsible for the parcel bomb, which killed his wife Ruth First in Maputo during 1982.

Ruth First was a South African journalist and a lifelong opponent of Apartheid (segregation) as well as a member of the South African Communist Party (SACP). It did not take the Government long to identify her as being involved in the blacks' struggle against Apartheid. In 1949 she married Joe Slovo who, at the time, was the leader of the SACP. In 1963, following the publication of her book South West Africa, she was arrested and held in solitary confinement for a total of 117 days. She was held under the law, which permitted the detention of suspected dangerous anti-state activists.

In 1978 she became research director at the Centre for African Studies in Maputo until she received the parcel bomb, which ended her life.

It was Oliver Tambo's intention to deny all knowledge and involvement of Machel's death to Nelson Mandela.

A Tupolev TU-134 flew across the Swaziland border and a single object was seemingly hurtled from the plane. The parachute blossomed and the figure floated to earth, heading for the mobile VOR (VHF Omni - directional Radio Range), in the field. The plane's engines changed from a drone to a loud whine as it began its descent, disintegrating on impact, as it struck the rocky countryside.

The hired mercenary gathered his parachute and headed for the military vehicle. On the 19 October 1986, Samora Moises Machel, president of Mozambique, died in that plane crash along with another 24 passengers. There were 10 survivors. There were no links to any evidence, only suspected foul play. But how could suspected foul play be proven if there was no evidence. The Mobile VOR unit was quickly disassembled, destroying all trace of any signals received from the plane and pilot.

 

 

Nkosikazi Nomzamo Madikizela, recently known as Winnie Mandela, abused her power and position as wife of Nelson Mandela, to blackmail and institute fear into ANC supporters. She formed the Mandela United Football Team, which were non other than her personal bodyguards.

Attending many prearranged rallies, she used the name of her husband to bully her way into obtaining what she wanted, stating that it was Nelson's wishes. No one argued as she was Nelson's wife.

She incited many cruel and savage attacks and elimination of many of her supporters.

Winnie introduced 'Neck lacing'. This was a term used to describe a form of death, which was associated to supporters found guilty of betrayal to her cause. The victim/s were taken to her home and tried in a 'kangaroo court'. She was the judge and her bodyguards the jurors. If one was tried, there was only one verdict..... Guilty! The sentence was executed in a public place.

The victim's hands were securely tied behind their backs and a car tyre (necklace) was placed around their neck resting and supported on the shoulders. The rim of the tyre was filled with petrol and set ablaze. She would watch the screaming victim until they died and collapsed to the ground. Her supporters would leave the victim until the flames were doused by the SAP or the tyre finally burnt out.

During 1988, she and her bodyguards viciously attacked and beat four young black men at her home. One of these young men died. He was a young teenager called Stompi Moeketsi Seipei.

 

Matamela Cyril Ramaphosa, a South African lawyer and a founder of the Congress of South African Trade Unions (COSATU), became yet another victim of ANC betrayal. During the biggest mining strike in South African history, he lost 50,000 members of the National Union of Mine Workers (NUM) and did not obtain the rate of pay the strike was in support of. The miners returned empty handed.

Members of the Mine Workers Union (MWU) manned the shifts and mined the richest gold ore areas within the gold mines. What Ramaphosa was unaware of was the vast amount of ANC supporters who were actually returning to work under the cover of darkness, during the strikes, and were helping the MWU workers in achieving their targets and aim.

Furthermore, the mining industry were tipped off of a possible mining strike, by the ANC, months before Ramaphosa actually ordered the members of NUM to strike.

This information helped in assuring a gold reserve being built up before the strike. This was the reason why Ramaphosa suffered defeat.

Four gold mines within the Evander area, Winkelhaak, Kinross, Bracken and Leslie had a large gold reserve available which could have lasted a few months.

 

On the 11 February 1990, the attempted assassination of Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela was seconds away from being executed as four military snipers prepared to open fire.

One of these snipers, Roy McQue, transferred his finger from the trigger guard and was preparing to apply pressure to the hair trigger of the 7.62mm Dragunov SVD. Mandela, in clear view through the sights of the PSO-1 telescope, waved to the gathered and cheering crowds through the side, rear window of the vehicle. The order 'Abort, abort, abort' was hastily and clearly conveyed through the snipers' ear pieces by their spotters.

At the last minute it was revealed that the donated Mercedes Benz transporting Nelson Mandela, was armour plated and bullet proof, an element Magnus Malan, Minister of Defence, the South African Defence Force (SADF) and the snipers had not contemplated.

They did not have the correct or necessary firing power with them to penetrate the glass or body of the vehicle.

 

The SADF, in close collaboration with the Zulu leader Mangosuthu Buthelezi and Inkatha Freedom Party, deployed IFP fighters to wage and fight the war for freedom of South Africa against terrorism and to end the oppression and the suppression of all races both black and white.

There was another element though.

Although Buthelezi's goal was to achieve equal rights for all, he was not prepared to see South Africa ruled by a black government, especially the ANC. He wanted the white regime to remain in Government.

This would protect him and his position of influence within KwaZulu.

The SADF trained the IFP fighters in secret and undisclosed locations and used them to penetrate black locations and Townships where whites could not enter without jeopardising themselves or their lives.

The IFP executed suspected supporters of the ANC as well as any innocent bystander who could possibly identify them at a later stage. They were under strict orders to leave one or more AK47s, assegaais, knobkierries or any other home made weapons they had behind, where their discovery could not be linked to the SADF. Thus it would be recorded as a massacre due to faction fighting.

This was not an unusual fighting tact, as the SADF regularly carried out these types of operations in neighbouring states and countries. They used AK47s, leaving the spent foreign cartridge shells and empty magazines behind. This would not raise suspicion of South African involvement. They were always careful not to use South African manufactured weapons, supplies or ammunition.

No matter what tactics the IFP and the SADF executed, they could never be as ruthless, brutal or savage as the methods used by ANC supporters.

There were vast numbers of whites and blacks who died at the hands of supporters of the ANC. Be prepared to read some of those horrific and disturbing methods within the contents of this script.

 

Regarded as one of the most dangerous ANC leaders, Chris Martin Thembisile Hani, successor to Joe Slovo as chief of staff to the armed wing of the ANC's, Umkhonto we Sizwe, and member of the SACP central committee, was assassinated as he stepped from his car on a warm Saturday morning in a predominant white suburb in Johannesburg.

It was the 10 April 1993, a day earlier that originally planned. The date had been changed due to personal reasons by the government assassin. The 11^th April was the planned date, but this was his son’s birthday and he would not commit or perform any form of illegal activities on that day.

Stepping from his car, Roy McQue took a firm grip of the stock of the Mauser. The rifle held three rounds. Chris Hani stepped from his car. He was wearing white shorts, blue t-shirt and white trainers. Suddenly and without warning, another gunman appeared as if from nowhere and fired at Hani. The surprised attack and sound of gunfire sent Roy’s mind into overdrive. All his training came back and he was diving to the ground in defence mode. The Mauser came up but he did not fire, shock clearly displayed on his face. Their eyes met and locked before the assassin turned and ran from sight. Roy’s mind was racing. He knew the assassin but could not place him. He seen him recently but couldn’t remember where. He had been with someone of high authority, but couldn’t recall who. Who was the assassin? Why this day? There was just no way he could accept his target had been eliminated by someone he didn’t know. Hani was his. He had to suffer for just a short period as Roy reminded him of Alice before squeezing the trigger. His thoughts came back to reality as Chris Hani’s wife started screaming at the sight of her dead husband. Roy reached the safety of his car and engine racing, sped off as fast as he could. The car could not run as fast as his mind was at that moment. He had one person in mind. The one person who should not have breached his operation or interfered with his target. ‘Son of a bitch’ Roy shouted out loud, both hands crashing down on the steering wheel of the powerful vehicle as he recalled where he had seen the assassin. He knew who ordered the hit. It was Clive Derby-Lewis or Eugene Riley! The Assassin was Janusz Walus. Roy was the only witness, yet within 10 minutes of the assassination, Walus was arrested. How the hell was that possible? Riley would have the answer.

 

Eugene Riley sat quietly. Both men stared at each other but not a word was said. McQue was clearly in control and the 9mm Beretta in his hand confirmed this. 'So now you know the story. You screwed up my hit. I want one name Eugene, one name only'. 'I can't Roy. I can't tell you who ordered the hit.'

'So you are prepared to die to protect the identity of someone else?' Eugene sat quietly, eyes diverted to the floor. 'How long have I known you Eugene? If you can't trust me by now, will you ever?' Eugene Riley looked up at Roy. 'If I had known you were going to exterminate Hani Roy, do you think Walus would have been there? I tried to stop the hit. I warned them months before hand but they wouldn't listen.' 'Who are they. You have to tell me Eugene. You have to tell me who they are. Who ordered the hit?'

' I guess my life is not worth living anyway. It was Modise. Joe Modise.' There was a pause and a silence. Joseph Modise was a savage and both him and Hani go back a long time. He had an axe to grind with Hani over a letter sent during 1968 to the ANC. Roy could not understand. He did not understand why Modise would suddenly want Hani dead. He stood up and walked over to the window, the Beretta held by his side. 'They'll surely kill you too Eugene.' That was the last words Roy said to Riley before turning and walking out the house. He never seen Riley again.

Eugene Riley's body was found on the 29th January 1994. It contained a single gunshot wound to the head.

 

                                                        

 

 

           

     Samora Machel                                Graça and Samora Machel with president                      The body of Chris Hani      

                                                               P.W. Botha & foreign minister Pik Botha

                                                               at the signing of the Nkomati Accord in 1984

 

                                            

 

 

The weapons used by Roy McQue.

                                                                                                                                      

    Baretta 9mm Parabellum 92FS                                    Mauser SP66  Sniper Rifle with removable Bi-pod 

 

                       

 

                

      Dragunov SVD Sniper Rifle                                                                 FR-F1 Sniper’s Rifle                             

                                

 

 

      Suppressor (Silencer)                                  South African 9mm BXP

   

                                                                                    

 

 

                                                                                   

Crash site of  Samora Machel’s                                  Joe Slovo                        Oliver Tambo                   Ruth First murdered by

                   plane                                                                                                                                                       a letter bomb

 

 

                                                           

 

  Nelson Mandela                Winnie Mandela             Stompie Moeketsi Seipei                  Mangosuthu Buthelezi

                                                                                Murdered by Winnie Mandela       

      

              

 

Police Officer Turned Bank Robber

                                                              

 

Thomas Jane as Andre                          Andre Stander                             Patrick Lee McCall                          Allan Heyl

Stander in the film            

     Stander

 

 

   Nelson and Graca after their marriage.

 

 

During the mid 80's, sanctions were imposed on South Africa. Obviously, this had its negative and positive effects.

Unskilled labourers became unemployed as there were not enough vacancies available to keep them employed. Major brand products disappeared from the shelves in supermarkets and shops as the manufacturers and suppliers withdrew their business from the country. Blacks suffered the most as the political leaders of the world turned a blind eye.

The name Barclays Bank disappeared almost overnight and First National Bank appeared on all the branches of Barclays. Barclays did not want their name associated with this country. Was it that they sold their business or were they just not prepared to pay the price of losing their capital investments, gains and business worth billions of rands? (A question which will be answered and confirmed within the contents of this book).

So, as the world trade lost millions by supporting and upholding sanctions, First National Bank acquired and massed a fortune.

This was one of the reasons the ANC supporters decided to target First National Bank and their branches. They felt betrayed by Barclays and the sudden name change. It was their belief that Barclays now supported the white regime and Apartheid (segregation) by not closing the doors to their banks in support of sanctions. They believed that Barclay's name change to First National Bank was to retain their International status and to prevent themselves being boycotted by all their account holders in every country around the world.

They firmly believed that First National Bank and Barclays were one and the same. First National Bank fell victim to many armed robberies by the blacks.

The supporters insisted that by committing these robberies, First National Bank would unwillingly supply them with the financial assistance for their cause and then eventually, facing financial ruin, would be forced to resign and leave South Africa.

 

South Africa did not need produce from the International communities but the same communities depended, needed and wanted S.A's produce and minerals.

The South African nation never stopped smiling and continued their business and daily routines as usual without missing or stumbling in their stride.

Apartheid was already in the process of being abolished before sanctions were imposed. P.W. Botha's offer to Nelson Mandela (1985), of conditional release, was refused by Mandela. He was not willing to compromise his position over the issue of Apartheid. Botha stepped down as Prime minister in 1989.

He would not be associated with the government when they abolished and ended Apartheid.  He was a supporter of the Afrikaanse Weerstand Beweging (AWB) and was well aware of the anger which would erupt within the White Supremacist and extreme Right Wing Group of Eugene Terreblanche.

The AWB were violently opposed to majority rule. He handed the Office and Presidency of the country to F.W. de Klerk.

 

During the arms embargo, South Africa were forced to manufacture their own weapons and had a collection and an armoury of weapons of such force and destruction like the world have never seen or witnessed before. They remained silent and never announced their fire power or nuclear weapons.

Yet, even with the arms embargo, foreign weapons continued to appeared in all Gun shops and Government armouries.

 

Busy Wimpy Bars and fast food outlets became the ANC's prime targets. These were the only places they could inflict devastating confusion and terror.

They attacked and killed the women and children dining during lunch breaks or school outings.

Bombs were placed in public areas. They were not man enough to stand their own ground, could not attack in small numbers or as individuals and were cowards.

They raped and mutilated their victims, immaterial of race or colour. Foreign objects i.e. bottles, branches, pieces of glass, broom handles, etc. were then forced up the vaginal passages after the gang rapes, and when they had finished with their victims, spat on them.

Supporters and leaders of the ANC were mostly Xhosas or tribes from the Transkei and Ciskei Bantustans or tuislande (homelands).

 

It was during these troubled times, the South African Minister of Defence decided to establish an elite team of crack Government assassins.

Trained to the highest degree in warfare and anti-terrorist counter attack and defence systems, their task was to serve and protect the Government and citizens of South Africa, to eliminate and destroy anyone implicated, and anything capable of posing a threat to these defence systems.

All known supporters and ANC activists became an immediate and instant target.

Recruited by the South African Government, Roy McQue became leader of the Anti-Terrorist hit squad.

They code named him ‘The Black Ace'! He was to become the most powerful and feared assassin within the defence force.

 

Trained to the highest possible degree in explosives, weapons, mechanical and electrical engineering, welding, carpentry and the majority of trades, he was the ideal candidate for any mission the Government could throw at him.

From master sniper to picking his way through locks, by-passing and deactivating alarm systems, safe cracking and mining, widened his skills and could enable him entry to any vault by tunnelling, supporting and penetrating the floor. Alarm systems would be useless as he could secure the door from the inside with welding equipment eliminating the surprise interruption of unexpected and unwelcome quests. He was as silent as a cat, the stealth of a striking cobra and was as deadly as a black widow.

 

This is a story of survival in a game with no odds where survival was extremely unlikely. It was the game of defeating death. He was prepared to pay the highest and ultimate penalty and would destroy anything and anyone who stood in his way, including himself. His every thought, very existence was consumed with revenge. He was Roy McQue and once you met him, you never forgot him..........!

 

 

                                             AND JESUS SAID UNTO HIS DISCIPLES,

                               “ SUFFER NOT LITTLE CHILDREN TO COME UNTO ME. “

 

  

 

                                                                PART   ONE.                                          

                                                            

                                                            CHAPTER  ONE.

 

 

 

 

The road was deserted as the single green, camouflaged, Bedford truck changed direction. It turned off the main road onto a narrow dirt track, the trees and shrubs doing their intended job by blocking the view from curious and prying eyes of travellers and citizens of the capital city, Pretoria.

The SADF (South African Defence Force), had considered various locations and finally decided this was the most unobtrusive and natural location in which they could perform their intended operation.

In the rear of the vehicle, seated on the wooden benches which ran the full length of the sides of the truck with a further two, back to back down the centre, sat the silent soldiers, their eyes prying the darkness of the early morning. They could no longer see the lights of the distant Pretoria.

Lieutenant Roy McQue briefly studied the faces of the men under his command. He had reason to feel the pride he was, as he was the leader of the best company in the country. They were his men and treated him with the respect he deserved and the respect he worked hard to earn. It had not been easy.

The Bedford travelled a few kilometres before coming to a grinding halt within clear view of the paper targets on the firing range, the early morning light creating the dark black outline of the 'enemy' to look realistic.

On Roy's sharp and authoritative command, the soldiers disembarked forming and closing ranks. The sight of their movements, as they reacted to each command, was grand, a performance to be witnessed to actually believe the discipline of the South African military. They stood to attention not moving except the slight rising of their chests as they breathed the cool fresh morning air. They waited.

A jeep approached and halted behind the truck.

The Officer, together with his batman, sat for a moment before the officer stood up and stepped down from the vehicle. With hands behind his back, he approached the waiting soldiers returning Roy's salute.

There was a difference in uniform worn by the officer, the batman and those of the snipers. The snipers, easily distinguished by the gold plaque of the marksman's rifle pinned to their tunics, were all dressed in black except the green beret covering the neat short cropped hair. The batman in the jeep was dressed in camouflage. The officer wore a light khaki shirt with a darker tie, similar in shade to that of his neat and freshly ironed tunic and trousers. The epaulets on his shoulders bore a single pip. It was the brass five sided castle. The peak on the cap on his head bore further distinguishing markings of his rank. It was gold braid. He held the rank of major.

‘Pre..se..nt arms!’ On Roy's command the platoon moved as one. The officer, commanding officer to the 31st brigade, held a brief inspection before he took his position in front of the soldiers. He spoke with the authority of his command.

‘In answer to the question churning in each of your minds, you are here on my orders. Your task is rather unusual than you would expect and a task without risk or the danger you are used to and prefer. During the past few days we have captured a number of terrorists or rather, suspected terrorists. One in particular. Behind one of those targets you see up there........’ He pointing at the wall of targets placed close together as not to disclose the identity of the person or persons behind them. He continued.

‘Behind one of those targets, there's a woman......’ Once again he paused to study the faces seeking a slight hint of uncertainty. They revealed a slight hint of surprise, but other that that, they showed no form of emotion.

‘ Let me take this opportunity by explaining to you why she is here. Each day for a long, long time, she crossed the border from Swaziland into our country. As the days and weeks turned to months, her behaviour, advanced education and extremely well manners helped ensure there were no suspicious circumstances for body searches to be carried out on her. The border guards became lax as she was a regular and well liked lady. She knew each guard by name. Each day she had her baby securely wrapped to her back.’ He hesitated for a few seconds. ‘When a newly appointed officer was assigned to command the border post he instructed that random searches be carried out. To make the searches fair, he introduced a hand held metal container in the shape of a bottle. The mouth was wide enough to pass table tennis balls down the neck into the bowl. He placed three white balls and a red ball into the container. When a person crossed the border, the container was shaken and tipped upside down for a ball to pass down the neck and into the guard's hand. The ball was not visible until it emerged. If a white ball was first to emerge the person was allowed to pass freely. However, if the red ball was first to emerge, the person was taken into the search bay and a full body search was carried out. On the first day this was introduced, a red ball emerged when our female 'friend'........,’ he hesitated long enough to, once again, point in the direction of the targets.

‘............passed through the gate. She was escorted and brought into the search bay. When the officer tried to take the baby from her, she opened fire with a concealed AK 47, which she carried beneath her coat. The officer and two female duty officers were gunned down in cold blood. She stormed from the room firing at soldiers on both sides of the border until the firing pin clicked on an empty chamber and she ran out of ammunition.. Arrested by the South African Defence Force, the baby was carefully removed from her back.............’ He paused, diverting his gaze to the ground. ‘........The child was dead. It had been murdered and an incision had been made large enough for her purposes. All the baby's internal organs and intestines had been removed. They had been replaced with handguns, ammunition and hand grenades. She'd been smuggling them across the border to terrorists in the Republic. No one knows exactly how many trips she made or how many weapons entered our country. According to a doctor's report, the baby had been dead for an approximated four months. Balms and their own mixtures of herbs and medicines had prevented the body from decomposing. She was sentenced to death by a military court and was to hang for her crimes. Her last wish was to die by firing squad and that is the reason why you are here today.’

During his story, the hardened soldiers eyes diverted to the ground. They could well believe the story as

this was not as bad as some gruesome scenes they had witnessed in the past.

Some incidents on the borders and neighbouring states would have shocked the toughest soldier and man alive. Terrorists would do anything to win the war and terrorise the South African Nation.

The C.O. moved off toward his jeep with Roy accompanying him. The soldiers talked amongst themselves. Their talk was not of home or their families, but of the black woman behind one of the targets.

‘You are to fire as many rounds as you can into those targets lieutenant. You and your men are to regard this execution as highly confidential and with the same amount of respect as any normal operation you have carried out during the past. There are to be no excuses and no questions by yourself or anyone else. Do you understand your orders lieutenant?’

 Roy was staring at him, lost in his own thoughts and without concentration. He had his suspicions that this was not what it seemed. There was more to it than the C.O. let on. He was well aware of how the officers lied to protect themselves against the wrath of a military court, especially, if one was an officer. His thoughts were interrupted by the C.O's tone of voice.

‘Do you understand your orders?’

‘Yes sir!’

‘Dismissed.’

‘Sir,’ Roy saluted and headed back to the waiting soldiers.

He did not see the smirk or the evil smile from the C.O as he turned his back and the jeep drove off in the direction it had arrived from. He did not hear the commands barked across the hand-held radio either.

‘All right corporal. Prepare those kaffirs to meet their maker!’

 

 

 

The sun had risen and the warm rays were comforting to the snipers as they lay on the hard ground, weapons loaded and held ready. Each of them were deadly marksmen, trained to execute and eliminate any threat and danger to troops on the borders.

The rifles they held were FR-F1's Snipers Rifle, manufactured at d'Armes de St Etienne in France. The rounds were Nato 7.62mm x 51mm. These weapons are capable of hitting their targets at extremely long distances and are fitted with telescopic sights for daylight sniping.

Each weapon is extremely carefully manufactured with precision components. The butt length is adjustable with use of extension pieces and fitted with a folding bipod for steady and accurate aiming. The trigger is adjustable by means of a micrometer screw. The velocity of the weapon is an amazing 852 metres per second and when empty, weighs approximately 5kgs. The integral magazine holds 10 rounds. What makes them even more remarkable, was the fact that each one was fitted with a permanent silencer as not to attract the attention of the enemy on the terrorist infected borders.

Once you were in their sights and depending on the experience and training of the person firing the weapon, there was no escaping the deadly hail of bullets.

On this day, today, the soldiers firing those weapons were the best and the Government's secret weapon, the only company licensed to kill.

Roy stood on the tail end of the Bedford truck, behind the soldiers, holding a fully loaded SS-77. One could clearly tell by the way he was standing that the weapon was heavy. His face was that of pure concentration as he set the weapon down on the adjustable bipod on the steel floor.

This gun was manufactured by Lyttleton Engineering Works in South Africa. It is gas operated which uses a breech block, swinging sideways into a recess in the receiver wall to lock. When fired, the gas forces the piston back and the piston extension rides in a cam groove in the block and swings out of engagement, withdrawing it to extract and eject the empty case. The belt feed arm engages with the post on top of the block, moving the ammunition belt a half step inward and forward. On the return stroke, the belt completes the further half stroke and the cartridge is removed from the belt and chambered. The final stroke forces the block back into engagement. The piston post strikes the firing pin to fire the rounds  and repeats the same movement. The barrel has a fluted cooling system and quick change facility. The weapon is fitted with a gas regulator and in the exhaust closed position, releases a minimum amount of gas making it easy to fire in confined and closed spaces. The velocity is 845 metres per second and fires an approximated 745 rounds per minute. It operates on a disintegrating link belt system.

Roy opened his mouth and inhaled the fresh air loudly and deeply.

‘Fire!’ he barked and the snipers fired as one, their shots muffled by the protection of the silencers. The SS-77 remained silent.

‘Fire!’ he barked again.

With each command the soldiers fired, their bullets finding and hitting the paper targets. Still the SS-77 remained silent. Roy counted each volley and when they had fired nine shots, retrieved his firing position behind the gun. He lay behind the weapon and slightly to the left, legs spread. His grip tightened on the SS-77 and the trigger.

‘Fire!’ came the final order, this time with a difference. The SS-77 came into life.

Roy was violently shaken with the power of each short burst fired, the bullets ripping the paper targets to shreds.

Seconds later, a number of the targets torn and dislodged from their frames, the SS-77 became silent. There were moans and groans from the snipers. Roy remained silent, speechless at the sight before him.

Behind the dislodged targets were the bodies of adults and children likewise. They were securely bound to wooden stakes.

The SS-77 dropped from Roy’s grip as he slowly rose to his feet. He jumped from the tailpiece of the truck to the ground below. His slow advancing pace became quicker and faster ending in a run. Ripping the remaining targets from the frames, he briefly studied each body praying he would find them alive. In his heart he was aware there was no hope.

If the snipers had been the average soldier, there would have been a faint chance of survivors but being who they were, there was no chance of finding any of the victims alive.

He stopped in front of a child. She was no more than fourteen years of age, her body and clothing ripped by the impact of the bullets and slowly turning crimson as the final blood oozed from her tiny frail body. He dropped to his knees clutching her small brown hand securely fastened and held with nylon rope behind her back. He studied the wrists and could not ignore the chafe marks and abrasions where she had desperately tried to slip the bonds, which secured her small brown hands before the firing began. Her face was thin and anyone who looked at her would have thought she was suffering from malnutrition, starvation maybe. For her age and height, she was nowhere near her ideal weight. Another 25 kilograms heavier, maybe.

‘Dear God’ he murmured as if in prayer

Realising it was no dream, he unsheathed the razor sharp bayonet from his side and cut the ropes supporting the body to the stake. The lifeless child began slumping down and he reached out and under her arms and she fell forward against his chest. He held her up while his gentle fingers stroked her black curly hair as if offering her the comfort she desperately desired only a few minutes before. Her large brown eyes were open the way she died. The snipers approached and gathered around him.

‘Is she dead sir?’ came the curious question.

‘She's dead......... The child is dead,’ came the reply from one of the watching soldiers. Two of them took hold of the girl, trying to prise her from Roy’s grip.

‘Let her be,’ he whispered. ‘Check the others. Find me survivors. I want a survivor!’ The soldiers examined each body in turn.

‘There's nothing you can do Lieutenant. There are no survivors.’

He clutched the tiny frail body tighter and closer to his chest. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he silently wept.

When he eventually surrendered the dead child, her hair was wet with tears. He closed her eyes with two fingers as she was taken from his arms.

They gently lay her down on the grass, looking around for something to cover the small black body. Roy turned. The expression on his face was one of sheer rage and almost similar to that of a demented lunatic.

‘Cut the bodies down and wait for my return.’ He briskly strode towards the truck.

 It was not over yet.

 

 

 

The C.O. was not expecting his return so soon. Turning away from the window in the office, which he occupied, he moved behind the desk to the phone and took hold of the receiver. His index finger dialled a familiar two digit number. He didn't have long to wait before a voice answered at the other end.

‘Get your butt down here. McQue's reported back.’ The phone went dead. He moved from behind the desk and waited. The door burst open taking him by surprise.

‘Don't you knock Lieutenant ?’

Without answering, Roy was upon him not allowing him time to put up his defences. His fist smashed into the Officer's face breaking the nose on contact. Blood spouted in all directions. Roy struck again, this time to the short rib. As the officer doubled over, Roy brought his knee up, the impact sending the C.O. flying across the room. As he crashed against the wall, he was aware his life wasn't worth a dime to Mc Que.

He reached for the holster housing the service revolver at his side and in a single swift and well executed movement, brought the sights level and aimed at Roy's chest. The hammer clicked as it was forced back, but still Roy continued his forward advance. The visions of the sight of the murdered black child danced before his eyes. The C.O. could expect no mercy from him. His finger tightened on the trigger then relaxed as his eyes diverted to behind Roy.

 ‘Halt right there!’ came the sharp command from behind Roy. He had not noticed or heard the three military policemen enter the room. They were armed with 9mm BXPs used for close range combat. The lieutenant in charge had his weapon trained on Roy.

‘Put that weapon down!’ he called across to the C.O. It clattered to the floor.

‘What the hell do you think you're doing?’ The question was directed at Roy.

‘Ask him!’ Roy nodded toward the major.

‘I'm asking YOU lieutenant!’

‘He ordered the murder of innocent and helpless civilians. He's responsible for the death of 22 women and children tied to stakes on Alpha Zero 712. I want him taken into custody.’

‘He's crazy. McQue's gone insane. He doesn't have the faintest idea what he's talking about. He's crazy. Look what he's done! Look at my face! Arrest him!’

The MPs moved taking hold of Roy. He tried to free himself from the strong hands but was no match for their joint strength. Handcuffs were securely placed on his wrists as his arms were forced behind his back.

‘What about my rights? What about the people he is responsible for murdering?’

‘Lieutenant. When did this alleged accusation take place?’

‘Half an hour ago!’

‘I'm afraid that's not possible. Major van Niekerk has been here all morning. He arrived shortly after zero seven hundred hours and has not left the base since then. Would you like to explain how it is possible for him to be in two places at once?’ They locked eyes and Roy did not answer.

‘Lieutenant, you have no rights. The evidence of your brutal attack on this officer is sufficient for your arrest. I will advise you that anything you say will and could be held against you in a court martial. Take him away!’

‘What about him!’

‘Your accusation will be investigated.’ He was led away between the two stocky MPs.

‘What the hell are you playing at? What the hell delayed you? What was all that mumbo jumbo stuff?’

‘Shut-up. There were MPs present. Right now there are more important matters to attend to than worry about my whereabouts. Where are the snipers from his platoon?’

‘On Alpha Zero 712’

‘Who authorised the LMG?’

‘What LMG?’

‘The SS-77 McQue signed for!’

‘There were no LMGs present during my inspection this morning. Remember, I was there. I didn't see no LMG.’ The MP threw the signed order down on the desk for the major to study

‘I take it you didn't see the ammo either?  Do you know how many rounds that is?’ He moved his head cockily awaiting an answer. When there was no reply, he answered himself. ‘One thousand rounds.’

‘I know how many rounds are in a box damn it. Don't you patronise me. Anyway, he doesn't need authorisation for arms. His signature is all the authority he needs. He's a government sniper. A God damn assassin.’ There was a brief silence as the two officers stared at each other.

‘Our orders were clear. He has to be dishonourably discharged. It's the only way they'll get him to join. I'll send a squad to escort his men back. I suggest you take a trip over to the duty sergeant and lodge an official complaint and charge against McQue. Trust me, we don't want him running around after this. You lodge that complaint and I'll take care of the rest.’ He turned and casually strolled from the office, trying hard to conceal the hidden and growing concern within.

 

The trial lasted two days with enough evidence to end his military career if he was found guilty. He was. He could not believe the amount of lies contained within the statements against him.

‘Will the accused please stand. It is the findings of this court that you, Roy McQue, without provocation or justified causes, deliberately and viciously assaulted an officer of the South African Defence Force, with the intent to do grievous bodily harm. Your act of revenge against this officer was totally and quite clear in the eyes of this court, an act of cowardice and lack of self discipline. How can the defence force have a soldier in your position and rank commanding a platoon of snipers whos lives, faith and trust are in your hands? You cannot be allowed to continue serving as a soldier in our forces.’

There was an eerie silence.

‘You will be stripped of rank at a military parade this afternoon and further more, you will be dishonourably discharged. If I had my way soldier, you would be thrown in a prison cell for a very long time. However, after studying your record and after serious deliberation between senior officers, it has been decided that this would not be the recommendation. You are a disgrace to yourself as well as to your regiment. We cannot have people like yourself running amok and assaulting whoever- and whenever you please. One last thing. Your accusations were unfound. You tried to disgrace a Military Officer. You are worse than the terrorists and the scum who terrorise our country. I suggest you go back to the UK where you came from. Case dismissed.’

Roy held his head high as he strolled from the court to the holding cells. His eyes briefly met with those of the officer. He slowly nodded his head.

‘I'll get you, van Niekerk. I'll get you.’ The major turned his head breaking the cold stare. Roy's words were ignored. He relaxed. It was over and he could concentrate on commanding his outfit without the interference of Roy. He let out a sigh of relief. Just words from a embittered soldier who could not touch or harm him.

His orders had been carried out. McQue was a small price they had to pay for the success of the accomplished operation. Chemical warfare and experiments was a part of 'Operation-Koevoet' the world need not know. One thing he did not understand. Why was McQue chosen to be the one? Him, Karl van Niekerk was just as good and had more experience and was a higher ranking officer.

 

A single tear rolled down Roy's cheek as he was demoted and degraded in front of the entire regiment. The set of epaulets housing the twin set of well polished and trimmed stars, the distinct identification of a lieutenant, lay on the ground at his feet.

His FR-F1 was thrust barrel first into the soft ground. This was a ritual performed by snipers when their intentions were to disgrace one of their own. When the barrel was ploughed barrel first into the ground, it was an insult and portrayed a traitor.

The uniform was cut from his body and the beret stamped and trod upon. He was reduced from officer to a useless nothing, deprived of all pride and respect he had. The sergeant stripping him of rank and honour, spat in his face.

His every movement and action was closely watched as he picked up the folded jeans and T-shirt from the table. He put the underpants on before pulling the civvy clothes over his cold shivering body.

Picking up the epaulets from the ground, he walked to the major and faced him. In one brief movement, he threw them in his smug face.

‘Laugh all you want. I will not rest until you are past history and six foot under. I will get even. You have my solemn word and promise.’ He turned one last time and marched with pride towards the perimeter of the base and the only home he knew for the past four years. The platoon he once commanded could not keep their eyes on him or follow his movement. They were guilt ridden and their frustrations were beginning to show as they pushed and shoved each other out of the way to get indoors to drown their sorrow and guilty conscience with as much alcohol as they could consume.

                               

 

 

The trip lasted for which seemed an eternity. He walked the short distance from the military parking lot to the main entrance of the SADF Headquarters. Signing in, he didn't have long to wait before he was called into an interview room. He briefly described his account of the operation and murders carried out on the instructions of Major Karl van Niekerk.

The interrogation lasted two and a half hours, monitored from behind a double-sided mirror. The two plain clothed agents never spoke or acknowledged the presence of the other. They listened with intense interest until McQue was alone sipping at a scalding hot cup of coffee.

‘What do you think?’ The bald headed, elderly man turned to face the speaker.

‘Very calm. I like him.’

‘Was it a wise choice? Can you use him?’

‘Maybe,’ he muttered. ‘Just maybe.’ He studied Roy's athletic physique.

‘What's that?’

‘Nothing. I'm thinking. Yes I can use him.’ He watched Roy for a few more minutes before turning.

‘I want McQue's files in my office within 48 hours. Make the arrangements and make certain they're here.’

The elderly man strolled from the darkened room. His thoughts were of Roy. Entering his office, he sat behind the oak desk and lit a cigar. Reaching forward, he pressed the intercom switch. A friendly female's voice acknowledged his buzz.

‘I want any and all information you can collect on a certain sniper from 31st brigade. Lieutenant R. Mc Que. Do me a favour sweetheart? When I say all and any information, don't withhold anything you regard as unimportant. I want as much as you can gather. You have 48 hours. I suggest you make use of it Miss Wilson. Zack will be bringing his military record from 31st brigade. I want it on top of the documentation for priority viewing. That's all. Thank you Amy.’

Closing his briefcase, he scooped up the umbrella and hat before leaving and locking the office.  He had a feeling this was not the last he had seen of McQue. If his haunch was correct, McQue was far from being forgotten and his file far from being tossed in an old cardboard box in a filing cabinet in the basement of military headquarters.

The sun was breaking through the clouds bringing a slight touch of warmth as he hailed a cab in the busy high street of Pretoria. He was humming merrily to himself. As the cab drove off, he turned to watch Roy emerge from the building, descending the steps two at a time.

Sooner or later he would have to inform and explain to McQue why the massacre on Alpha Zero 712 had to be accomplished. They were the unfortunate victims of an experiment horribly gone wrong during 1978. They had been infected with a possible cure for a highly contagious disease. Instead of a cure, they had been infected with a disease no one could have ever imagined was possible and something they had never anticipated. This disease was later to be identified and named as HIV. An unfortunate and unsuspecting group of white male visitors had passed through the village and there had been two known incidents of sexual intercourse with two of the infected females. By the time it was revealed, the immigrants had already left the country. The disease would spread and had to be stopped and contained at all costs.

 

Roy was pleased with his achievement but not at all satisfied with the out come as he would have hoped for.

The interrogating officer did not seem convinced. His story seemed more like a fairy tale than reality. How the hell was he going to prove his innocence and be reinstated at his position with the 31st brigade? Did he for one moment believe or think van Niekerk would allow him back? If he did, Roy would never last the week. He would be killed in some accident carefully prepared and planned by van Niekerk.

H.Q. would contact him after completing their investigation, which could take weeks or months, even a year. Right now at this moment, he had to plan and prepare his future.

He had a rented apartment in Johannesburg where he spent time off from the military and days he was stationed there. He had cash in the bank, enough to live on for a few months. He needed the break and time to sort out his life. Maybe he could get a job at a later stage.

As he left the building, he noticed a bald headed old man staring back at him from the rear window of a cab pulling away from the curb. He descended the steps taking them two at a time.

 

 

Two days later there was a loud knock on his apartment door. As he unlocked the safety lock he felt the comfort of the 9mm Beretta Parabellum tucked safely in the belt in the back of his trousers.

‘Priority delivery. Could you sign here please?’

Roy took and signed the delivery note handed to him by the unshaven, untidy delivery man.  As he handed it back, he was handed a large brown envelope in return. It was marked 'Private and Confidential' in thick bold capital letters with the priority delivery stamp glued at the left hand bottom corner.

He kicked the door closed before the deliveryman had time to extend his hand for an expected tip. He studied the markings across the front and rear and was not at all surprised when he noticed the abbreviations SADF on both sides. This could only mean one thing. It contained his discharge papers boldly stamped from corner to corner with one word, DISHONOURABLE. Tearing it open he sat down. The documents it contained were not what he expected. It read:-

Lieut. Roy McQue,

 

You have been reinstated to your command.  It is with regret however, that we cannot post or reinstate you at the 31st brigade due to unforeseen and possible future incidents.

 

After long and extensive consideration, it is our belief you are of sound mind and fit enough to command a platoon of soldiers once again. At 08:00 on the first Monday morning after your ten day pass you will report directly to me at Head Office.

 

Good luck!

 

It was written in Afrikaans and signed by Brigadier Clarke. A 10 Day pass had accompanied the letter. A grin appeared on Roy's face. Lifting both fists into the air, he let out a victorious yell. Van Niekerk hadn't won after all. He would enjoy this well earned and deserved rest.

 

 

Karl van Niekerk sat with a solemn face gazing into space. They were seriously thinking of giving McQue a post at the Department of Internal and External Security. Had they gone nuts? They told him they wanted McQue to join the Reccies. Not the bloody anti terrorist organization. He was aware of the consequences this could lead to. McQue would have the power and the authority to lead an investigation into any military operation and inquiry. He would have more power than any C.O. The thought of this frightened him. Who the hell did Malan think he was? McQue could ruin it all. He could ruin his life forever.

A meeting with lieutenant du Preez was scheduled for that afternoon. He wondered how the Military Police lieutenant would react to the fax when he was shown. He would have to wait and see.

 

 

                                                      *    *    *    *    *    *    *

 

 

Lieutenant du Preez was not a happy man when he left the office. So McQue was one step ahead. Nobody got the upper hand on Cornelius du Preez and got off easily without paying some kind of penalty afterwards. Roy McQue would get his just desserts sooner than he imagined.

Entering the duty office, he retreated to his private office at the rear far corner. After a brief search he found what he wanted and held it up as he flicked through the pages stopping at a private phone number. There were no names to link the number to; and no available address. He reached the phone in one quick stride and dialled. He was determined Karl would have the available position McQue had qualified for.

‘Kevin du Preez.’

‘It's me. Cornelius.’

‘What are you doing calling me on this extension?’

‘It's a matter of utmost importance and extreme urgency.’

‘It better be. What's wrong?"

‘What do you know about McQue?’

‘Why do you ask?’

‘I have a rather large and serious problem I was hoping you could take care of. I think he’ll be working with you, or rather you’ll be working under his command.’

 

 

 

·     *    *    *    *    *    *    * 

·      

 

 

As nightfall settled over Johannesburg, Roy admired the beautiful lights of the city from his balcony on the fourteenth floor.

The city seemed and looked innocent enough from this height. One would not believe the murders, rapes and crimes going on at that precise moment in the Internationally acclaimed City of Gold.

Drug users were prostituting themselves for a few rand whilst the pushers were counting the rewards they were reaping at the expense of the users. It was sad seeing the beautiful girls, most of them young runaways, selling themselves to old overweight married men in their sleek fast cars out for one reason, and one reason only.

It brought back memories of Alice, a prostitute he befriended and lived with for four months. He never got over her brutal murder. She was one of the reasons he joined the SADF. The other reason was the early release from prison to join the 31st Brigade. She was the woman who changed his life from notorious criminal to a law abiding citizen and her greatest wish was for Roy to become successful in a career where he was in the position of helping others. He never took her serious until after her murder. Picking up the glass next to him, he gulped the contents down in one swallow before re-entering the apartment. He was hungry and needed something to fulfil his appetite.

In Hillbrow, there was one place a meal was cheap and easy accessible, Highpoint!

Taking his keys and slipping into his leather jacket, he left the apartment making his way to the main entrance of the building. He didn't have far to walk, greeting and speaking to the well known prostitutes in the area.

The main street of Hillbrow was as busy and active as usual. Girls were trying to negotiate a price through the car windows of potential customers whilst their husbands watched from the street shadows, jotting down registration number plates for their wife's protection. Not that it would and could protect her, but for future reference in case something went wrong.

Roy smilingly shook his head as he entered the busy take-away shop. The aromatic smell of barbecue chicken made him hungrier. Ordering chicken, French fries and a bowl of fresh salad, he studied the daily news paper whilst waiting, unaware of the tall stranger purchasing cigarettes at the tobacco counter.

‘Number 49!’ the waitress called and Roy acknowledged with a wave of the hand.

Taking the paper packet, he started back toward his apartment, using the same route as he came. He ate of the fries and a drumstick from the half chicken he purchased. He turned as a dark blue Toyota Corolla drew level with him.

Spotting the barrel of a firearm being protruded through the rear window, he tossed the warm food into the air as his hand automatically went for the Beretta. He never cleared it.

The first bullet smashed into his chest close to the heart followed by pain in different areas as a second, third and fourth smashed into his body. The deafening roars of the shots were muffled by the protection of the silencer. He slowly slid down a shop window ending face down on the pavement.

People walked around him ignoring his very existence and preferring not to get involved, wanting to reach the safety and comfort of their own homes after a hard days work in a stuffy office or a dusty industrial atmosphere.  

"The poor bastard's drunk," he vaguely heard someone say.

"Probably on drugs," another laughed. Then a woman screamed. She was first to notice the blood seeping from beneath him, forming a pool on the ground. Roy turned onto his side, extending a hand toward a young man. The world spun before him, slowly fading until it became a blurred vision. As his hand dropped back to the ground he was aware of hands touching him. Losing consciousness, he was whirled into a vicious world, a world where childhood was more than a memory and the horrific nightmare became reality once again. He was a child ..............                                                 

 

 

 

 

 

                                                             Chapter Two.        

                                                 The Making of an Assassin.

 

Not available on the internet site, but here’s the beginning of Chapter two…..

 

 

 

 

The little boy stood in the centre of the neat and tidy garden. All the hard work these past few weeks had been in vain. He had kept the garden clean from litter and objects brought in by the strong South African winds. The two, fully grown Alsations did not make his task any easier.

Their droppings covered the beautiful green, short mown lawn. This, the little six year old carefully buried well out of sight at the rear of the house.

The flowerbeds were weeded and raked, the thinly growing grass between the plants removed and disposed of in litterbags and stacked neatly and close to the dustbins at the corner of the carport. A small pile of rocks in the corner of the garden close to the gates, reminded him of his hard labour during the past few weeks.

He was a proud little worker who often weeded neighbour's gardens to earn pocket money. This his mother took from him in payment for her consent to work on their premises. Each garden weeded, earned him fifty cents. Some of the people would pay him as much as seventy cents for a full weekend's hard work.

The little Volkswagen beetle for which he worked so hard for, would have to remain on the toy shop's shelf until he could raise the necessary thirty cents to pay for it.

Daily after school, he would head straight for the shop and gaze at the car for a good twenty minutes. He dreamt of the day it would be his. The shopkeeper allowed him to hold it on more than one occasion and watched as he held it close to his chest, as if afraid someone would take it from him. He recalled the afternoon he took his mother to see it.

 

‘My, my, what a pretty car. If you want it, you'll have to work hard to earn the money.’

‘What must I do mummy?’

‘You will have to keep the garden clean and tidy. If you do, I will let you have the money,’ she had said, smiling at the old lady behind the counter.

Now that he requested his reward, she would not give him the money. When he asked her, her answer was blunt and cold.

‘How many times do I have to tell you, those who ask do not receive.’

‘But you promised me mummy.’

Throwing the knife down on the kitchen table, she turned.

‘Damn you and your bloody money. You live in this house and the garden is part of your chores. I buy you food and clothing and you have to work to earn it. No child is going to place a price on my head. Do you hear me?’

‘I didn't put a price on your head. You put a price on your own head. You told me what to do and now you're not keeping your word. May I have my money, please mummy?’

Her vicious backhand caught him across the face. As he fell to the floor, he tasted the salty taste of blood in his mouth.

‘No child is going to speak to me like that!’ she hissed through her teeth. Picking himself off the floor, he walked to the door.

‘Clean your own garden,’ he whispered through the tears.

Before he reached the door, a heavy blow from her hand sent him sprawling. He screamed out with pain and fear as he tried to get to his feet. She punched him with all her strength. A distinguished crack was heard as his head slammed into the wall. Half unconscious he slowly slid to the floor.

Rushing over she scooped his lifeless body in her arms, realisation of what she did, sinking home. She held him to her chest.

‘My baby, my poor, poor baby,’ she cried. ‘What have I done to you? Talk to me Roy. Please talk to me. Don't do this. Talk to me.’

Opening his eyes, he looked up at her fighting back the tears.

‘Why mummy, why?’ he asked, a loud sob escaping his lips.

The tears streamed from his eyes, running down his red cheeks towards his ears. Seeing he was alive and well, she tossed him onto the couch.

‘Don't you ever do that again. Don't you ever scare the hell out of me again. Do you hear me?’ she screamed at him. He nodded his head.

‘Get to your room this instance. Move. Get to your room!’ He headed for his bedroom.

‘And don't you come out until I say so. You intentionally put the fear of God into me.’

She heard the bedroom door slam. Roy knew it was not over yet. He would get no supper as was the case whenever he was punished. Rolling the blankets down, he lay on the cold sheet, sleep finally overcoming him, his little body curled into a ball seeking security and comfort.

 

 

‘Bath my boy,’ she commanded as she woke him.

The news was finishing on the radio, giving him a time check. It was 7:15 p.m. His tummy was rumbling with hunger.

‘May I have a slice of bread please mummy?’

‘What! After the way you spoke to me. How dare you ask for any thing. Get bathed and back to your bed.’

Donald was seated in the bath watching Roy's every move.

‘Hello,’ he greeted.

‘Hello Donald.’ His mouth was swollen and ached when he spoke. It hurt.

‘Mummy told daddy you swore at her this afternoon.’

‘What. That's not true!’

‘I know. Mummy told my daddy you did and now he's angry.’

Removing his clothing, he slid in beside Donald. The lukewarm water hurt his aching and swollen body. Examining the red marks on his upper torso, he wondered what his back looked like. Opening the cold tap, he drank thirstily, hoping the cold water would ease the hunger pangs. It didn't. Donald sat watching him. He was their mother's favourite and couldn't do anything wrong.

A baby started crying. It was Mary. There were six children in the McQue household. Mary was the youngest then Marion, Donald, Roy, John and Margaret the eldest. There were two more, but they were in the United Kingdom.

‘What did you have for supper tonight?’

‘Peas, chicken, roast tatoes, gem-squashes and gravy.’

Roy licked his lips, his hunger getting the better of him. Donald was the last person he could ask to get him a slice of bread from the kitchen, as he would go straight to their mother and tell her. He would receive another hiding for asking his brother to steal food for him.

He washed himself, dried and slipped into his summer pyjamas. Helping Donald wash and dry himself, he got ready for bed. He didn't sleep, but lay paging through a picture book until his two brothers came to bed. Having slept earlier on, he was last to fall asleep.

When he finally did, he dreamt of the most wonderful and delicious food he had ever seen. There was a wicked, evil witch keeping watch over the spread table, not allowing him to come too close. She was eating all the cakes, cream covering her lips and chin. Waving her wand at him, she laughed and laughed, threatening to turn him into a frog. Her face was that of his mother!

 

A few weeks later, the children hung their stockings up for father Christmas. He was excited and couldn't wait for morning. When he finally awoke, he rushed to the lounge and to where his presents were. In his letter to father Christmas he asked for the red Volkswagen beetle. Tearing at the wrappers, he ripped them off one by one and discarded each gift. There was no car. Soon the lounge was filled with the rest of the children and their merry screams and laughter brought their parents through. Roy was sitting holding onto a plastic machine gun, disappointment clearly visible on his sad little face. His father noticed his disappointment and sat beside him.

‘What's wrong son?’ he asked, putting an arm around his shoulder.

‘My car daddy. Santa Claus forgot my car.’ His lips were trembling as he fought back the tears.

‘Come on son. Don't be upset. I'm sure he didn't forget it on purpose. I'll tell you what. I'll talk to your mother and you can have it for your birthday next week. Would you like that?’

He looked up as his dad as his excitement started to reappear.

‘Really. Can I have it for my birthday?’

‘Of course you can. Come on then. Show me how that gun works.’

 

Once again excitement filled the body and soul of the youngster as his parents wished him a happy birthday and his mother handed him the present. He ripped it open and looked up at them in surprise. In his hands he held a yellow, plastic aeroplane.

‘Daddy,’ he cried, allowing the toy to drop from his hands.

‘Pick it up,’ his mother said sternly, her face betraying a hint of anger.

‘Where's my car? You promised daddy. You promised I could have it.’

A single, lonely tear ran down his face. He wiped it away with his sleeve, determined not to cry. Why should he allow her the pleasure of seeing him upset?

Retrieving the aeroplane from the floor, he turned and went outside. The aeroplane was a nice gift, but it was not what he wanted. He could not understand the joy his mother got whenever he was upset or disappointed. It was confusing and very difficult for him to understand the lies and deceit. His mother joined him.

‘Do you like the present then?’ she asked.

‘You knew I wanted the car. Why didn't you get me the car?’

‘The aeroplane was more expensive than the car.’

‘I didn't want the plane. I wanted the car.’

‘I don't care what you wanted. I bought you a lovely gift. If you don't want it, I'm sure one of your brothers wouldn't mind having it. You are an ungrateful little bugger. Never happy with anything we do for you. We try our best, but it's never good enough for Roy McQue, is it?  Do you want it or shall I give it to Donald?’

‘No, I like it,’ he lied.

‘Good. One more word about that damn car and I`ll skin you alive. You cannot have it and that's final.’

‘I don't want the car anymore.’

‘Just be glad it's your birthday today. If it wasn't.......’

She never completed the sentence, although she didn`t have to. He knew what she meant. There was a strange feeling inside him. A feeling he had never experienced up till now. Being far too young to understand, he wanted it to go away. It scared him. Unknowing to him, he was to experience the same feeling whenever his mother was around. It seemed to get stronger and more terrifying with each passing day. He could not control it, no matter how hard he tried. It was the bitter taste of hate!

                              

                                          

 

                                                       *       *       *       *       *

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 

 

 

During the second week in January, the three boys were enrolled into a Primary school in Pretoria. Donald and Roy were both enrolled into grade one and John, grade two. On the second weekend of the same month, Barbara, a friend of the family, came to visit. She lived close by and visited on a regular basis. After visiting for a few hours, Roy's  mother called him inside.

‘Be a good boy and run up to aunt Barbara's house. Tell Joyce not to prepare supper as they're eating with us this evening.’

Taking his time, he kicked at a tin can all the way to Barbara's house. He walked to the rear of the house. The kitchen door was wide open and he heard the loud hum of the vacuum cleaner. Entering, he went in search of Joyce. She was in the bedroom and jumped with fright as he entered.

‘What you want? Why you give me the fright?’

‘The Madam said you mustn't cook supper tonight. They're eating with us.’

‘Okay. You go now,’ she replied in the thick, unmistakable, African accent. Roy retreated to the kitchen as the vacuum cleaner resumed its hum. Passing the table, he noticed a handful of coins. Stopping, he listened for Joyce. She was trying to sing above the noise of the cleaner. Reaching out, he took a fifty cent piece and hastily stuffed it into his pocket. Running from the house, he didn't stop until reaching the toy shop.

The lady knew why he was there the moment he placed the coin on the counter. Reaching up, she removed the car from the shelf and handed it to him. After all these weeks, the little boy's dream was now a reality. She smiled with happiness as his face lit up, the car held close to his chest. He took the change and hurried from the shop.

He ran straight back to Barbara's house. Joyce was washing the dishes in the kitchen. Entering, he held the coin to her. She clapped her hands and curtsied, thanking him.

‘Oh you don't have to thank me, it's your money.’ She looked at him in surprise.

‘What you mean?’

‘I took the money from the table. It's your change from the fifty cents,’ he replied pointing towards the small pile of coins on the table. She let out a startled scream.

‘You tookum de Madam's money. Why you takum de money?’

He wasn't waiting around to answer her. As she advanced toward him, he turned and ran from the yard, heading home. He could hear her shouting behind him in a language he didn't and couldn't understand. He knew she was going to tell his mother and aunt Barbara.

He ran straight to the garage and frantically searched for a hiding place for the red car. He hid it behind an old cardboard box. As he scrambled from the garage, Joyce approached the gates. She was still swearing in the foreign language and seeing Roy, didn't make matters easier.

Keizer and Bismark, the two family pet Alsations, barked and jumped noisily against the gate. His mother came out and the two dogs retreated. She approached Joyce, smiling and talking to her. She allowed Joyce to enter and walked with her toward the house, Joyce telling her what had happened. Barbara joined the two women and Joyce repeated her story. His mother pointed a finger at him.

‘Get in the house this instance,’ she shrieked.

He was running before she completed the sentence, making sure he reached the front door before she did. He waited in the bedroom.

‘For God's sake Marion. You don't have to hit him with that thing!’ he heard Barbara pleading.

‘Go ahead and punish him. But please, not with that thing. As a matter of fact, it was only thirty cents and I don't mind at all. Let him keep the money. Please Marion.’

‘It's not the money Barbara. It's the principal. He will not go unpunished.’

Roy heard her coming down the passage and stood up waiting for her entrance. His eyes caught and locked on the weapon she held in her hand, a startled scream escaping his throat.

‘Please mummy. Please!’ he whimpered.

‘Shut up you little thief.’

‘No mummy please don't.’

‘I'll teach you a thing or two. Steal from my friends will you.’

His hands and arms went up to protect his face as she raised the split piece of wood.

‘Thief, thief, thief,’ she shouted as the weapon came crashing down.

His painful screams were ignored as blow after merciless blow came raining down on his unprotected body. He fell heavily to the floor, but still her aggression continued. Seventeen blows later, Barbara hanging onto her arm, the beating stopped. Seeing the little boy curled up on the floor with his head under the bed for protection, Barbara burst into tears.

‘Oh God. Dear, dear God,’ she cried. ‘ What have you done to your son?’

‘Leave him alone! He deserves more than he got!’

 Barbara was on her knees, fighting hard to restrain the tears. She hugged and rocked his sobbing body in her arms, trying to assure him everything was going to be alright. His sobbing was unbearable and she cried with him. His mother left the room, cursing and swearing at both of them. Roy turned and reached up trying to wipe the tears from Barbara's eyes, his own tears soaking her dress. She hugged him tighter, her hands examining the nasty bruises beginning to appear on his arms, legs and face. She slowly lifted his shirt and examined his body, her hand reaching up to cover her mouth with a sudden sharp intake of breath. This was the first time she witnessed such horrific abuse on any human being, let alone a young child.

‘Why did you take the money Roy? Just tell me why? You know I would have given it to you if you asked me. Why, why, why?’

Through the sobbing and crying, he tried to answer her question. Not understanding anything he was saying, she told him to hush. It was heart-breaking listening to him cry, his entire body convulsing with the bitter weeping.

It was almost forty minutes later when Barbara left. Roy had stopped crying, but every now and again, a sob escaped his lips. His chest heaving violently and painfully with each intake of breath. His mother and Barbara were arguing in the lounge before the door eventually slammed. He knew Barbara was leaving. It wasn't long before she re-entered his bedroom.

‘I hope you're satisfied now!’ she bawled at him.

‘You and your thieving fingers have just ruined a damn good friendship. I feel like cutting your hands off!’

She slapped him hard across the face causing him to weep once again. She left the room slamming the door behind her. He was aware he would not be allowed to leave the room for the rest of the day and maybe for the remainder of the weekend, and he would not be allowed to have supper that evening. It was part of the punishment.

 

                                                                  CHAPTER 3.

 

 

 

 

 

Each night he watched his mother and Donald playing games. She would blow upon his face and he would push her head away laughing. He would sit on her lap and she smothered him with kisses as they sat listening to the radio.

Roy longed to be held and loved the same as Donald. Each night before bed, Roy went over and tried to kiss her. She turned her face and allowed him to kiss her on the cheek. How he longed for his mother’s love and attention. Yes, he was a bit jealous of Donald and often wished he could die and be reborn with loving parents who cared for him. He wished for the impossible.

At school, his friends were given sandwiches and sweets each day as well as a small bottle of fresh fruit juice. They often mentioned what they were going to buy with their pocket money. They could spend it on whatever they wanted. Roy often made excuses why he did not bring sandwiches to school, saying he ate them on the bus or before the school bell went. His mother thought it pure greed and a waste for him to have school lunch. He had one good, healthy meal every day and that was enough for a child his age.

The teacher at school had a soft spot for him. For some reason, she took to his silent angelic nature and he was one of her favourites. Not only was he the brightest in class, his reading and writing was excellent and advanced for a child his age. It made her task easier in a class as large as she taught. He often did little things to please her and she rewarded him by giving him a little hug and sometimes a peck on the cheek, a sweet or fruit. It made him try even harder.

‘Oh my God,’ he often heard her whisper as she spotted the bruises and red marks on his arms and legs.

He took no notice as he did not know what she was on about.

 

It was after a school break when it became obvious to him what she meant.

‘Dear Lord,’ she whispered as she studied the fresh welt marks. Roy pulled away.

‘She didn't do it!’ he screamed at the top of his voice. ‘She didn't do it. It was an accident. My mother didn't do it!’ Pushing his chair back, he ran from the classroom.

Running after him, she eventually found him sitting on the steps next to the rugby field. He was toying with his shoe laces.

‘Roy.......’ she began.

He looked up at her.

‘.......Why does your mother punish you like this?’

He diverted his gaze before once again, looked straight into her soft, almost pleading eyes.

‘I was naughty. My mummy doesn't like children who are naughty. Jesus wants her to punish me for being naughty. She says He doesn't want me in heaven. Only my brothers and sisters. She says I am going to the devil.’

‘No Roy. You are not going to hell. Jesus loves all the little children. You are his child and only on loan to your mummy. You are God's child no matter how naughty you are. One day your mummy will be punished for lying to you and for beating you like this. He will judge her according to her wrongful deeds her on earth. God loves you very, very much.’

‘If God loves me so much, why does he tell her to hit me so hard then?’

She found it difficult to explain who and what God was. She explained his mum was punishing him out of her own free will and not according to the Lords wishes. He didn't understand. Taking his hand, she led him back towards the classroom.

‘I know who God is. I haven’t forgotten. I remember the wars in heaven.’

She stared at him in confusion.

‘What wars?’

‘My brother Lucifer. He tried to make us join him. God abolished him and his followers from heaven.’

She had no idea what the child was talking about.

‘Remember one thing. It's your mummy punishing you. It’s not God. Jesus said to his disciples; suffer not little children to come unto Me. You are His child and your mummy will never ever be able to change that.’

 

 

As the days and months passed, Roy withdrew more and more from the world. He wanted no friends or acquaintances. All he asked for and all he wanted, was to be left alone. He refused to participate in class discussions about fishing trips, holidays and days out with his family. He couldn't participate in something he knew nothing about. They never went out or did things families usually do together.

He recalled the first time he lied to the class and ended up making a complete fool of himself. He said his father had taken him fishing.

‘And where did you go?’ the teacher asked.

‘I don't know the name of the dam or where it was. We did go fishing though.’

‘Did you catch anything?’

‘Yes we caught a lot of fish. There were green ones, blue ones and other ones as well. I caught a pink one this big,’ he said throwing his arms as wide as they could go.

The children in the class laughed at him. He felt rather stupid and took out a children's book from his bag and showed it to the teacher. Sure enough, there were all the multicoloured fish he had described. The large pink one was the king fish! The teacher knew where he got his idea from and would never ask him another question which could embarrass him. After all, what was wrong with a child creating and turning his dad into the super hero he wished him to be.

 

 

 

                                                *      *      *      *      *

 

 

 

During the months which followed, the McQue family moved several times.

After moving out of Pretoria, their new home came in the shape of a six berth caravan in one of the Witwatersrand's many caravan parks. Their parents were seeking their fortune in the Johannesburg area where there were more job opportunities and vacancies than there were in Pretoria. How could one explain this to six young children who had to walk a long distance to the nearest toilet, who had difficulties trying to have a bath with the long queues and when their turn came, bathed in cold water as the boiler was empty.

It didn't take long for them to begin longing for their warm comfortable Pretoria home. They worked on each others nerves and Roy was continuously in trouble fighting with the neighbour’s children. Their stay in the first caravan park lasted but a few months before the owners asked them to leave. The reason being, the children were disturbing the residents and forcing them to consider moving away, which would cost them, the owners and landlords, a considerable amount of money. The only other alternative and solution, the McQue family had to leave.

His mother blamed him and he suffered considerably at her hands. They moved on the first Saturday four days later. Their parents had found new landlords and again it was a caravan park. There was one grave problem which was not discussed with the children until some time later when the school holidays arrived and Christmas was over.

 

 

The family played games the whole day and their father didn't touch a drink. After enjoying their meal, their father called for silence.

‘Okay kids. I want your attention,’ he said in a loud voice.

A deadly hush and silence filled the caravan.

‘I want you boys to pay extra special attention to what I have to say.’

Seeing the innocence on the children’s little faces, he turned to face his wife. She sat trying to usher him to say what he had to. Instead of speaking, he shrugged his shoulders and spoke directly to her.

‘I'm sorry Marion. I don't know how to tell them. You know I'm no good at things like this. I'm sorry. You will have to tell them yourself.’

Roy felt the butterflies in his stomach appear. He knew something was wrong.

‘We have a small problem and I'm afraid it will affect everyone,’ their mother began, her facial expressions not changing.

‘The caravan park has rules and one of them is.........’ She hesitated for a moment before continuing. ‘........they allow three children per family.’

She looked at the boys and one by one their eyes diverted towards the floor.

‘Your father and I have decided, but not without long consideration and with deep regret, the three boys will be placed in a boarding school. This is the last thing we wanted but have no other alternative.’

‘Why don't we move to another caravan park?’ Donald asked.

‘Yeah, why don't we move?’ Roy seconded.

She looked at him, her face contorting with anger.

‘How dare you speak. It's your bloody fault we had to move from the last caravan park. If you minded your own business more often, then maybe this would never have happened. You're never happy unless you're causing havoc or creating problems for everyone else. It's your fault and it's about time you accepted responsibility.’

John never said a word. Instead he reacted to the news by knocking the things from the table. As they crashed to the floor, all eyes turned to him. Their parents never said a word. It was understandable for him to react in that way.

‘The girls will be staying here with us as they are too young for boarding school. Donald, you must understand son. It won't be for long. When we save up enough money to buy a house, we'll be moving and you can come home again. It won't be long.’ She gave him a hug and he clung on to her not wanting to let go.

‘Come on you lot. Time to put your pyjamas on and get ready for bed.’

They slowly moved from around the table and one by one, they changed out of their clothing.

 

Roy lay awake listening to the whispered conversation from the two adults. He couldn't make out a single word being said.

‘They brought us into this world and now they don't want us anymore,’ John said from his bottom bunk.

‘Yeah,’ Roy agreed.

Donald cried louder and his sobbing caused the bunk beds to jerk and shake.

‘I wish I were dead,’ Roy said staring up at the roof of the caravan.

‘If I were, Jesus will take care of me and I wouldn't have to worry about anything ever again.’

‘You're not going to heaven. Mummy told you so. You're going to hell to live with your real father, the devil,’ came John's voice from the opposite side of the caravan.

‘I wish I were alive again,’ he said out loud remembering his mother's words and her threats.

‘Will you boys keep quiet and go to sleep,’ came the stern voice of their mother.

On hearing the tone of her voice, Roy turned and cuddled into his pillow. He lay awake thinking of the boarding school and wondered what it would be like living away from home. The idea gave him the cold shivers but, it couldn't be any worse than living at home. He would just have to wait and see.

 

When the children awoke on the Monday morning, their parents had already departed for work. The day before, Donald cried most of the time, begging and pleading with their mother not to send him away. He was still a baby and did not deserve what their parents were doing to him. On the other hand, did any of them deserve what she was doing to them?

John and Roy were older and would be able to handle it far better than Donald. He was heart-broken and could not begin to understand why he had to be sent away from home. They were all too young for boarding school and needed the guiding hand of their parents to guide and help them whenever they needed it.

Pushing his thoughts aside, Roy got out of his bed and got dressed. He headed for the streets and in the direction of the shops. He wanted some sweets and a big juicy apple. Having no money on him, he would have to steal what he wanted. This was nothing new to him, and as a matter of fact, he liked the excitement of doing it.

The shopkeeper, a young Greek, knew Roy and turned his attention back to his racing card on seeing him enter. Walking up the lane, pretending to admire the toys, he took a chocolate bar and slowly placed in his coat pocket. The Greek hadn't taken his eyes from the race card he was studying. Next, Roy took a juicy red apple and put it beneath his coat and under his arm. He walked in the direction of the Greek behind the till.

‘Anything you fancy for a win today?’

‘I can't find anything I like. Got any of those red-hot tips of yours?’

‘I heard my father say no6 in the 4th race was a definite winner.’

‘Thanks. No6 in the 4th race it is then.’

Roy smiled and walked from the shop, deliberately stopping in the doorway for the Greek to see. He turned left and headed in the direction of the caravan park.

Once he was out of sight of the shop, he took the apple out and put it in his pocket. He opened the chocolate and slowly nibbled at it. It was really tasty. The apple was next, which he enjoyed more than the chocolate bar. He was happy and very pleased with himself. The shop became one of his favourite places and he loved his so called new game, shop-lifting!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                                             CHAPTER 3.

 

 

 

 

 

As darkness settled over Johannesburg, the McQue boys boarded the train with their mother. Their father was staying behind to take care of the three girls whilst their mother escorted the boys on their journey to their new school and home for the next year. It was the first train the boys could remember being on. They remained quiet as the train shunted out of the station and started its journey towards the far off boarding school in the town of Barberton. A black man made their beds whilst they went for tea in the dining car.

Much later when they were in bed, Roy lay listening to the clickety-clack of the wheels on the rails. He could not sleep with excitement and was wondering whether he would miss his family the way he thought he would. He had actually looked forward to making the trip and couldn't wait for the journey to end. Their mother put the book she was reading down and checked on them. As she came to his side, he closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep. He opened them as she left the compartment. He was nodding off as she returned almost an hour later. His eyes were closed as she checked on them again, but opened wide as she spoke to someone else.

‘It's okay. They're fast asleep,’ he heard her whisper.

A young man, dressed in military uniform, entered the compartment. Without invitation or wasting time, he took hold of their mother and started kissing her. Roy watched as they stripped their clothing off and made love right in front of the sleeping boys. Confused and with tears in his eyes, he watched the two naked bodies perform different movements and change positions every so often. First he was on top of her, behind her and then she was on top. As they continued, he thought they would never stop. He wanted to scream out in anger, wanted them to stop doing what they were. Not being able to watch them any longer, he turned his back on them. They stopped for a few seconds, thinking he was turning in his sleep, before continuing their dirty lovemaking. It felt like an eternity before the soldier got dressed and departed as silently as he came.

Their mother lit a cigarette and lay smoking. Roy wanted to jump up and question her but, he couldn't. How would his father feel if he ever found out? Would he believe Roy if he ever decided to tell him? He would probably receive a damn good hiding for making up the dirty, filthy story. No, he wouldn't say anything which could endanger him. He would remain quiet.

 

                    

The following morning, they had breakfast on the train. The soldier joined them on invitation from their mother. He greeted the boys warmly. John and Donald both acknowledged his greeting, but Roy never looked up from his plate. He ate his meal in silence, giving the soldier and his mother both dirty looks. It caused the soldier to feel uncomfortable. After breakfast, they returned to their compartment, followed by the soldier. He tried to be friendly toward Roy, who in turn, ignored his very existence.

‘Why the hell must you always be so God damn ignorant?’ his mother snapped at him.

In return and least expecting it, he gave her an evil, dirty look. This made both adults very restless and uncomfortable. Roy became aware of their suspicions and made it more unbearable by looking the soldier straight in the eye, smiled and deliberately, nodded his head. The soldier got to his feet and hastily departed from the compartment. Roy sat staring at his mother.

‘Why are you looking at me like that?’

‘You think I'm stupid don't you?’

‘What the hell are you talking about?’

In reply, Roy created and imitated similar noises they had made the night before. Her mouth gapped and hung open.

‘.......Harder, faster, harder, harder......’ he mimicked. Her hand went up to cover her mouth.

‘My God. You were awake!’

He nodded his head. Grabbing him by the arm, she dragged him from the compartment.

‘One word about this to anyone and as God is my witness.......’ She slowly nodded her head.

‘.....I'll kill you!’

He knew his mother was serious and her threats were not to be taken lightly. She would kill him if ever the story, or mention of it, came to light. His prayers were answered when the journey finally came to an end.

 

 

At the station, their mother and the soldier said their final farewells to each other. Roy stood watching them as his two brothers ran ahead with their suitcases. The soldier departed in the opposite direction to the McQues, with Mrs McQue staring after him until he disappeared from their sight.

Rejoining her three children, they set off down the street in the direction of the boarding school, which they were yet to find. It was easy enough. It lay directly ahead of them a few hundred metres down the street.

Entering the premises, they found their way to the reception area. There was a bell switch on the wall under a notice board which read 'Ring bell', which their mother did. A young lady made her appearance and led them to her little office at the end of the corridor. The three boys remained standing outside whilst the two women chatted and their mother filled in the necessary documentation to have them enrolled.

When they emerged, the matron led them upstairs and showed the boys where they were to sleep. Roy was in dormitory one and the other two boys were to share beds facing each other in dormitory five. They were issued lockers where their belongings were to be kept.

‘Right boys. I think it's time to say goodbye to your mother before we unpack your things. Come on then, downstairs.’

Their mother was carrying Donald, who by this time, was clinging to her as though his life depended on it. They sat together on one of the school benches on the lawn whilst they waited for the matron to return. She returned a few minutes later walking with a tall elderly male. She introduced him to the family as the principal of the school. He welcomed the boys by shaking hands and asking them their names. He assured their mother they would be very well taken care of and looked after. She smiled before turning to her boys.

‘It's time mummy said goodbye then. Come give me a hug and kiss.’

John was the first to kiss her, followed by Roy and then Donald. He refused to let go. The matron had to pull him away and hold him as their mother left the school.

‘Mummy!’ Donald screamed.

‘Mummy! I want my mummy! Don't leave me mummy, mummy!’ he cried hysterically.

From the gates she waved to them and continued walking in the direction of the station. The matron took them inside and allowed them to unpack their clothing from their cases into their lockers, still trying to calm Donald, who was sobbing his little heart out.

Next she took waterproofing from the linen cupboard and remade their beds. Their mother must have mentioned their bed-wetting problem to her.

‘I don't want you to make your beds in the mornings. One of the cleaning staff will do it after examining your beds to make sure they aren't wet. Don't feel embarrassed as there are many youngsters who wet their beds. You will not be punished either. If ever you are experiencing any problems, don't be afraid. I want you to come and talk to me. Your mother has explained the problems one of you are having at home. If you want or need anything, come and talk to me first before you do anything stupid.’ She frowningly questioned the three brothers with her eyes making certain they understood what she was trying to explain to them. One by one they nodded.

‘Good," she said.’ So we all understand then?’

Once again they nodded. She walked with Roy to his dormitory. Taking a mint from her pocket, she lifted it to her mouth but stopped as she noticed Roy staring up at her. Looking at the mint, she offered it to him.

‘Thank you,’ he said as he popped it into his mouth.

She then took the boys into the playground and introduced them to some of the children happily playing. They were invited to join in and did so. The matron stood watching for a few moments before going back to her office.

 

 

At supper time, the boys could not believe the sight of all the food on the table. Roy had never eaten so much at one sitting before. He sat at the same table as his room mates. John and Donald sat a few tables away and Roy watched as they ate as eagerly and as hungrily as he did. That night he retired to bed feeling entirely satisfied and fulfilled. He was going to be happy here. He could feel it. Already he was looking forward to the next supper time. What he didn’t know was that there would be breakfast, sandwiches at school and lunch as well.

 

 

The matron took to Roy within the next few weeks. She often slipped him the odd fruit or sweets whenever she had the chance of doing so. Roy often found himself talking to her and their relationship grew stronger. He found a person he could talk to and confide in. She often told him he was the best, well mannered child she had come across and wished she had a little boy like him.

‘I wish I had a mother like you,’ he found himself tell her on more than one occasion.

Every day, before and after school, she gave him a hug and a peck on the cheek. With all the loving and fondness, there were reprimands as well. The first time she reprimanded him the incident which unfolded before her, brought tears to her eyes. Roy punched a boy his own age for hitting Donald. She called him to her office.

‘Roy, you know better than fight on the school premises or anywhere at all. You hit Darryl unnecessarily. What have you got to say for yourself?’

He explained what happened.

‘I know Donald is your little brother and you want to protect him from being bullied by older boys but, the school has rules and we have to abide by them. One of them is, no fighting on the school property. I have to punish you for lifting your..............’ She never completed the sentence.

Roy moved over to the sick berth, pulled his pants down and lay on the bed.

‘Does this mean I don't get any supper tonight?’

She stood shocked at his action and what he asked her. He held his head for protection of the blows.

‘What are you doing? I didn't mean corporal punishment.’

She went over, pulled him up from the bed and fastened his trousers.

‘Aren't you going to give me a hiding?’ he asked her frowningly.

‘No Roy. When I said you are to be punished I meant bathroom duty for a week. Another thing. What did you mean about supper?’

‘Whenever I'm naughty my mother never allows me to have supper. It's part of the punishment.’

‘My God!’ she exclaimed.

‘How can anyone take a child's food away? Come here,’ she said as she hugged him.

‘Your food will never be taken away from you whilst you're living here. No matter what punishment you receive, you will have a meal every meal time. No living human could do that to a child.’

‘My mother can. Do you really mean what you said about my food? You won't take it away not ever?’

‘No, not ever.’

He was a confused child now. He didn't understand what the matron just said. She was allowing him to eat but his mother said it was part of the punishment.

‘You mean if I stole money or something, you will still give me food?’

‘Of course I will. But, you must not steal money Roy. I want you to promise me you will never steal anything. If you need something, ask me.’

‘I promise I won't steal anything. Cross my heart and hope to die.’

‘Okay Roy. Remember now, you have bathroom duty for a week and no more fighting.’

‘I'll try not to fight again.’

‘Right then. You may go now. I want the bathroom spotless in the morning.’

‘Yes ma'am,’ he answer saluting her.

She playfully returned his salute. He left, heading down the corridor, stopping as he remembered his school bag in her office. When he returned, she was sitting at her desk silently crying.

‘What's wrong matron?’ he asked coming to her side.

She never expected him to return.

‘I banged my knee on the desk,’ she lied.

Placing his arms around her neck, he hugged her trying to soothe her. She hugged him even tighter. There were no more incidents involving him after that. The first school holidays were due in another week and he would be going home to spend them with his family. He wasn`t looking forward to them and would rather spend them at the boarding school.

 

 

                                        

·     *     *     *     *

·      

 

 

During the first week of the holidays, Roy was punished twice for disobedience. The second night without food, he fell to his knees at the bedside. As he began praying, a deathly silence fell on the caravan. His voice could distinctively be heard by his mother, brothers and sisters. His father was at work.

‘Hello Lord. It's me......again. Just thought I'd say hello and to thank You for listening to me and all these little problems. Even though I'm hungry and sore from the hiding, I want You to forgive my mummy for punishing me the way she does. I know You really love me and have forgiven me for being naughty. One last thing before I say Amen. Could You please, please take me back to the boarding school and to the matron. Thank You for listening to me. Amen.’

His mother burst through the curtains separating the sleeping berths from the rest of the caravan, just as Roy was getting to his feet.

‘What the bloody hell do you think you're playing at? So you want the Lord to forgive me do you? How many times do I have to tell you, He doesn't want you in heaven. You're too damn naughty. He wants good, well behaved children as his angels. You're the son of the devil and you're going to hell!’

‘The teachers and the matron say God loves me and I am going to heaven. They say you are the one going to hell. God doesn't want you in his Kingdom, not now and not ever. We are His children. He will protect and look after us.’

She laughed out loud.

‘Well I must say He's doing a mighty fine job with you. Why isn't he protecting and looking after you then? Get into your bed before I do something I could regret later.’

That night, John offered him a slice of bread he removed from the supper table. As he devoured it, his thoughts were on her. Once again he had defeated and defied her. It was turning into a game now. It was the game of defeating his mother. A game where winning was of utmost importance to him. It was the game of hate and revenge!

 

 

Later that night when everyone was fast asleep, Roy found himself standing over her bed with a large, razor sharp, bread knife in his hand. Raising it high above his head, he prepared for the downward thrust. Then it happened. It was like a steel clamp tightening around his wrist. He lifted his left hand and tried to pull his right arm down. He couldn`t move it. The bread knife was slowly being wrenched from his hand and it clattered to the floor as it came free. His parents never stirred. His father was a very light sleeper and the slightest sound awoke him.

This time though, he remained fast asleep. Roy had never experienced fear the way he was at that moment. There was no-one around, yet someone or something invisible had grabbed his hand and taken the knife from him. He felt himself gently being guided back to his bed. Turning around he tried to catch sight of the knife. It was nowhere to be seen. He thought it must have rolled in under the bed. As he lay down, he was shaking with fear, yet no matter how hard he tried to cry, tears would not flow. He fell asleep still shaking. It was the most peaceful of sleeps the young child had ever known. His dreams were those of angels and of Paradise.

 

 

The following morning when he awoke, his mother was busy preparing breakfast for the family. Roy could smell the aroma of the bacon and eggs frying. This was unusual and quite odd. Since when could they afford such a luxury? His wrists was aching and remembering the previous evening, he gaped at the awful bruise encircling his right wrist. He shot up, pulled his pants on over his pyjamas and entered the dining area. His mother turned to face him.

‘And how did you sleep last night?’

‘Not too good,’ he replied, eyes searching for the missing knife.

‘I`m not at all surprised. You slept on an empty tummy. I bet you're starving this morning.’

He nodded his head in reply. He backed away as she took hold of a loaf of bread and opened the kitchen drawer. Too his surprise and utter bewilderment, she produced the knife he lost the night before. He glanced at his wrist again. It was no dream. The knife had been returned to the utensil drawer. The breakfast was beginning to arouse his suspicions. Something must be wrong.

‘Where did you find that knife mummy?’

‘In the drawer where I placed it last night. Why do you ask?’

‘It's just.....well......It's nothing,’ came his reply.

She was being far too nice. Her friendly attitude created an unpleasant, uneasiness from within him. Maybe his dad found the knife before leaving for work that morning. He had to find out.

‘Did dad have breakfast?’

‘You know your dad never eats before going to work.’

‘Did he take sandwiches?’

‘No he did not.’

She looked at him suspiciously, a frown appearing on her brow.

‘Why are you asking all these questions?’

‘I just wanna know that's all.’

‘Sit down and eat this,’ she said putting a plate of  food before him.

He ate hungrily. He would thank John properly for the slice of bread he took the risk of giving before he went to sleep. He couldn't understand the sudden change in John or from his mother. They never cared before, but this morning, here he was eating a large breakfast with his mother, and she was acting like a true parent. Was it guilt of the incident on the train with the soldier? It couldn't have been. He knew better than ask or even mention it to her. The subject was not to be discussed and to be forgotten. The sooner he pushed it from his mind, the better.

 

 

All through the holidays, Donald clung on to her hoping she wouldn't send him back to the boarding school. They hardly set eyes on their dad as he worked from early till late. Roy spent most of the time in the hills at the foot of the caravan park or at the shop, shop-lifting. John was quiet as usual and spent his time enjoying the outdoor life, returning with stray cats and dogs. He hoped to become a veterinary surgeon some day.

 

Then the day arrived for them to return to Barberton. Once again they travelled by train. There were no soldiers this time and Roy noticed their mother glancing and staring around as if expecting him to appear. If she was, what a disappointing trip this would turn out to be. Maybe not, as there were plenty of single men aboard. Roy could not prevent himself from thinking this way. She gave him good enough reason during the first trip to think that way.

The journey ended on a happy note. She behaved herself and Roy was relieved as he would not be able to cope with any more nightmares, seeing her in the arms of a faceless stranger. He led the way from the station to the boarding school and was overwhelmed with joy when the matron met them at the door. She helped the boys with their luggage and watched as they kissed their mother goodbye. Donald didn't cry as much as he did on the first day of their enrolment. He seemed more at ease when he joined his brothers to unpack. Twenty minutes later, Roy made his way to the matron’s office.

‘Hi sweetheart. Coming to give me a kiss and hug then?’

Her arms were outstretched as he approached, kissing and holding her.

‘And what did you do with yourself these past few weeks then?’

‘Nothing much. The usual I guess.’

‘Didn`t you enjoy the seaside then?’

‘What seaside?’ he asked rather surprised.

‘Your mother said they intended a surprise holiday for you and your brothers.’

‘The seaside? We didn`t go anywhere near the sea. We stayed at home the whole time. My dad did promise us a holiday, but it won`t be for some time yet. We don`t have the money for holidays just yet.’

‘But your mother said...............She didn`t did she? She lied to me and I actually fell for it.’

She shook her head from side to side in disbelief before turning to stare out the window at the hills above the school.

‘We never go anywhere. My dad has to work everyday till late as he wants to buy us a house as soon as possible. I hate going home when my mother comes for us. Can I stay here with you the next holiday?’

Instead of replying, she hugged him. What he asked, was impossible. His mother would never agree to him staying there or going home with her during holidays. She could ask the principal to contact and ask her. She could only say no. It was a long shot, but worth a try.

 

 

At first she refused point blank, but as the third quarter drew to an end, she telephoned the school.

‘How good of you to phone. Is there anything I can assist with?’

‘It`s about the boys.’

‘The boys are fine. Nothing to worry about. They`re looking forward to seeing you again.’

‘It`s not that. It`s the school break. My husband and I can`t afford the fares. They`re far too expensive and I was wondering whether your offer was still open?’

‘Yes it`s still open. Would you like them to spend the holidays with us then?’

‘Only if they won`t be a nuisance or a problem to you.’

‘No problem at all. Would you mind if they spent some time with my wife and me at the farm?’

‘I really don`t want to cause you any inconvenience.’

‘Non at all. They will be well looked after and treated as our own. The matron will be thrilled if you would agree for Roy to spend the vacation with her.’

‘You asked me that a few months ago and I`m sorry if I sounded unpleasant and angry. Yes I agree for him to go with her. Please thank her and convey my sincere appreciation to her and her family.’

‘Thank you for phoning and I will inform the matron and convey your message. Goodbye Mrs Mc Que.’

‘Thank you Mr Coetzee. Goodbye then.’

Replacing the receiver, a wide smile broke on his face. He thought of the matron and wondered what her reaction would be when she was informed. He was sure she would be thrilled to bits.

 

 

He was right. Her reaction was far greater than he imagined. Tears of joy streamed from her eyes. She could not believe the good fortune or the sudden change of heart from Roy`s mother. She spent the morning singing with joy. This was the way Roy found her when he arrived back from school.

‘Hello matron.’

‘Hello. And how`s my favourite boy this afternoon then?’

He frowned, slightly amazed by her strange mood.

‘Quite boring. We finished our exams yesterday and now there`s nothing left for us to do anymore, except read books I`ve read many times and play around the classroom.’

‘Well I`m sure all your hard work this quarter will be rewarded with an excellent report card. You`ll reap the rewards and who knows, maybe a greater reward than you think.’

Before replying, he lowered his head and gazed at the floor.

‘I`m glad you think so. I can tell you exactly what will happen this break. More hidings and punishment as usual.’

He looked up and straight into her eyes.

‘I don`t want to go home. I want to stay here. Please don`t make me go home. Please,’ he pleaded.

‘I`m sure you`ll have an unforgettable and remarkable holiday,’ she replied.

Unhappiness and sorrow were clearly visible on his face.

‘Do you know what it`s like going to sleep without eating and your stomach aching with hunger?’

She shook her head.

‘No you don`t. It`s not very nice. I`ll never treat my children that way. I`ll always give them food.’

She hated herself for causing him the distress, the hurt, anger and frustration. She wanted to tell him he was going home with her, but this was a surprise she didn`t wish to spoil. Instead she looked away.

‘You`ll have a nice holiday. You have my word on it.’

‘You don`t know anything. You don`t live with us. You`ll never understand.’

‘Cheer up Roy. Give me that cute smile of yours.’

She tickled his neck, and was rewarded with one of his false smiles.

 

                        

 

·     *     *     *     *

·      

 

 

The school closed and Roy was very pleased with his achievement. He fared the best in his class and was first. He received a certificate of achievement and was proud of himself. The matron congratulated him, giving him a hug. She was as proud as he was.

 

When they arrived at the hostel, their mother was nowhere to be seen. Their cases had been prepacked and was exactly where they left them. After dinner, they sat huddled together on the bench, outside on the lawn, waiting patiently for her arrival. It was some time before they were joined by the principal.

‘How would you two boys like to spend some time on the farm with my wife and me?’ he asked, looking directly at Donald and John.

‘On a real farm!’ John excitedly shouted.

‘Yes. On a real farm with live animals.’

‘I want my mummy,’ came Donald`s reply.

‘Wouldn`t you like to see a real farm?’

Donald shook his head.

‘I want to go home to my mummy.’

‘Your mummy can't come for you this holiday as something has happened at home. John and you will be going to the farm with my wife and me. You can phone her from there if you wish.’

‘What about me?’ came the loud demanding voice from Roy.

‘John and Donald will be going with us as you are going somewhere else.’

‘Do you wanna bet on that one? I go where my brothers go,’ came his stubborn reply.

‘I want my mummy and Roy to come with us,’ Donald howled.

‘Roy will not be going with us and that's final.’

‘Oh no you don't. I'm going with my brothers and that is final!’

Mr Coetzee placed John and Donald's suitcases in the rear of his car. Roy dragged his closer and attempted to put it in the car as well. Mr Coetzee picked it up and walked to the centre of the lawn where he put it down.

‘You are not going and that's that.’

‘Oh yes I am. I'm not staying here all alone. I'm going with my brothers.’

‘Your mother gave her permission for your two brothers to come with me and you to spend some time with a very special person.’

‘Hello Roy.’

He spun around to face the matron. She was out of her uniform and dressed in a casual summer dress.

‘Matron! I was coming to say goodbye in a few minutes, honest.’

‘I didn't come to say goodbye. I came to get you. You are going home with me.’

‘With you!’

‘What did you expect? Who did you think you were going with then?’

‘I don't know. I thought I was staying here all alone. I never thought I was going with you.’

‘You're going with me for that long awaited vacation by the sea.’

He stood without moving or speaking, then suddenly leapt forward as she held her arms outstretched to him.

‘Am I really going home with you?’

‘ Of course you are. Let's get your case into my car.’

Together they carried the suitcase and placed it into her waiting vehicle.

‘I don't believe it’ he shouted excitedly.

‘You had better believe it and thank the good Lord for allowing your wish to become a reality.’

‘Thank you Lord!’ he shouting looking up into the sky.

She opened the door for him and he leapt in. The brothers waved until they were out of sight. Roy was laughing and crying at the same time with excitement and happiness. His mother must have changed her mind or he wouldn't be sitting next to the matron right now. This was his dream come true.

 

The matron insisted he call her aunt Kate whilst they were on vacation. She stopped several times during the journey to allow herself and Roy access to toilets, for petrol and at a restaurant where they enjoyed a large meal. He was beaming with joy and very talkative which was very unusual for him. He continually glanced at her as she drove, her concentration on the road. He wished she were his mother or his mother was as loving and kind as she was.

Exhausted and tired, he soon fell asleep on the rear seat of the moving car. As she drove, she often glanced at his sleeping figure making sure he was alright. Where they were headed was to be a surprise for the youngster. There were so many things she wanted to show him but the ten day break was far too short to allow her this. She would show him what she could and was certain it would be enough. Somehow she had the feeling he would never see the sea with his parents, so this was going to be a very special vacation for both of them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                                                 Chapter  4.

 

 

 

 

The car was motionless by the time Roy finally awoke. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he sat up. He could not believe the sight before him. Aunt Kate was no where to be seen. Straight ahead of him lay the magnificent Indian ocean surrounded by the beautifully kept sandy beach. Thinking it was all a dream, he fell back onto the seat, this time not closing his eyes. Sitting up again, more slowly than before, he took another look. It was no dream. He sat transfixed at the beauty unfolding before him. The car was parked in the driveway of a large house almost as beautiful as the beach. Getting out of the car, he began a slow advance towards the beach, stopping at Aunt Kate's call.

‘Up here sweetheart!’

She was standing on the balcony on the upper level of the house waving to him.

‘Is that....Is that the sea?’ he stammered.

‘Yes my angel. That's the Indian Ocean.’

‘Can I go closer?’

‘No you can't go alone. Come on in and we'll go down a little later.’

He seemed somewhat disappointed. Kate disappeared inside and reappeared at the front door. Taking him by the hand, she led him inside. Her parents were elderly and very friendly. The old woman was first to speak.

‘So you're the lovely little boy we've heard so much about. Kate has told us so many good things about you. I am Elsie and this is Jan my husband,’ she introduced pointing at the old man.

‘You may call us Ouma and Oupa if you like.’

‘Hello. I’ve never had an Ouma and Oupa before,’ he shyly said as he introduced himself.

‘I'm Roy and I live in Johannesburg with my parents, brothers and sisters. This here's Kate and a matron at the boarding school.’

They burst out laughing at the introduction.

‘We know Kate. She's our daughter.’

‘She's too old to have a mummy and daddy. You're kidding me aren't you?’

‘No Roy. This is my mummy and daddy. Don't you have an ouma and oupa?’

‘I think I do, but I don't know them. They live in Scotland on a farm.’

Ouma turned to Kate speaking in Afrikaans, a language Roy was learning.

‘Would you like some tea, coffee, hot chocolate or a cold drink?’ Kate asked him.

‘A cold drink please.’

‘Aren't you tired honey? Driving straight through was a stupid thing to do. You should have stopped off at a hotel and spent the night. However, we're mighty glad you made it safe.’

‘No I'm not tired at all,’ she replied retreating to the kitchen leaving Roy nervously playing and toying with his fingers. Seeing his nervousness, Ouma spoke.

‘How old are you Roy?’

‘I'm turning nine in December.’

‘And how many brothers and sisters do you have then?’

‘I have another two brothers and three sisters. I'm the third eldest.’

‘Do you like staying at the boarding school?’

‘Oh yes. I love staying there. I wish it was as nice at home as it was in the boarding school. I wish I could live there forever.’

The two old people looked at each other without commenting. Kate entered carrying a tray with their tea and his cold drink. Placing it on the table, she turned to him handing him the cold drink.

‘Roy?’

‘Yes Aunt Kate?’

‘We want you to think this home as your own. You don't have to be nervous. My mother and father want you to make yourself comfortable and feel at home. You are here to enjoy yourself.’

Nodding his head, he sipped at the cold drink.

‘It's nice to see a child with manners,’ Oupa said approvingly as he sipped his tea.

‘How would you like to take a walk on the beach?’ Kate asked.

‘Yes. Yes please. Can we go now?’

‘When we've finished our tea.’

He wasn't waiting for further invitation and hastily gulped the drink down as fast as he could. In the process, a trickle ran down his chin and dripped onto the couch. Jumping up, he asked Kate for a cloth repeatedly repeating he was sorry and it was an accident.

‘It's alright Roy. I'll clean it in a second.’

‘I didn't mean to mess. It was an accident. I'll clean it up. I promise you it won't leave a stain or even a mark. Please give me a cloth Aunt Kate. Please get me one.’

‘It's okay sweetheart. It's okay. Don't worry about it.’

‘I must. I must clean it now. Quickly before my mummy sees it. We must clean it now.’

Tears of frustration and anger were beginning to form at the corner of his eyes. Kate gently took hold of his shoulders and shook him. He was almost hysterical. His eyes were riveted to the wet spot on the couch, fear showing. He turned, eyes pleading for them to do something.

‘Please,’ he whimpered. ‘Please clean it up now!’

Ouma rushed to the kitchen returning with a damp cloth. She gently dabbed and cleaned the small wet spot under the watchful eye of Roy.

‘Thank you. Thank you,’ he repeated forcing a weak smile of gratitude.

Ouma turned to Kate.

‘I see what you mean honey. I never thought it was this bad. I thought you were exaggerating a bit. I understand better now.’

Oupa sat forcing back the lump in his throat. He was sixty five and in all this time, never before had he witnessed so much fear in a child. He cursed under his breath.

‘This is our home Roy,’ Kate began staring directly into his large green eyes.

‘In this house, you will not shed tears of fear or unhappiness. You will not have to worry about cleaning small things similar to the accident you had in the lounge. This house and the contents belong to my parents and not to your mother. Accidents happen especially where there’s a young child like yourself around. When and if you do have another accident, you will not be punished for it. I do expect you to tell one of us and it will be cleaned. No accident can be undone once it has happened but an accident is an accident. Like I said, this is not your mother's home and you will not be punished for accidents or for making small mistakes. Do you understand what I'm saying?’

Seeing him nod, she continued.

‘I don't want to see another tear cross your cheeks for as long as this holiday lasts. Remember, no one is perfect and all the punishment in the world cannot undo what happened.’

‘But I can't ruin things you worked for. My mummy says money doesn't grow on trees and we should respect what we have.’

‘I agree with your mother for once. Money doesn't grow on trees and one should respect what they have, but on the other hand, money isn't everything in the world either. There are more important things than money or a stain or mark on earthly goods as well.’

Oupa scooped up his pipe and headed for the back door. He heard and seen enough for one day and for the rest of his life. He wanted to be alone, so pretended to study the plants with no concentration what-so-ever, the saddening incident fresh on his mind. He would never know or begin to understand what the child went through at home or the destiny awaiting him further on in life. He wiped away the tear from his eye before it had time to fall.

 

 

During the next few days, Roy had a ball. He was given so many things and Kate allowed him to do most of the things he always wanted to do. Each night before bed, she read him a story from the Arabian Nights 1001 tales. They would sit chatting for a few minutes discussing and making plans for the following day.

After tucking him in, tiredness and sheer exhaustion would ensure him a good night's sleep. Kate showed him different places and allowed him roller coaster rides, took him to the Aquarium on the South coast, open boat rides on the sea, horse riding and Oupa took him on his first fishing trip. Although they never caught anything, they had a good time.

The only thing really bothering Roy was the fact they were spending so much money on him. They enjoyed having him around and were not shy of showing it. He was hugged, kissed and cuddled from morning till night. He became very fond and attached to them and they toward him. His heart and soul craved and ached for parents like them. He knew it would and could never be. Not once did he have the urge or desire to be naughty in any way. Friends of Kate and her parents grew used to having him around. In the few days, he experienced the meaning of parental love and it really scared him. With all the love and attention he received, there was reality as well, something he would have to face sooner or later. He couldn't stay there forever. He would have to face his own family soon. He pushed the thought from his mind..

 

 

The morning of reality came two days later. It was time for farewells and goodbyes to be exchanged with all his new found friends. It wasn't easy for anyone.

Oupa refused to leave the top floor bedroom and stood behind the curtains watching his daughter and the young boy preparing for their long journey back to the boarding school. Roy was howling and kept calling for Oupa to come out. He was determined to say goodbye to the old man.

Where's Oupa? I want to say bye to Oupa. Oupa! he called out looking up at the silhouette behind the curtains. Oupa slowly lifted his hand in farewell to the child. In his heart he knew it was the last time he would see him again. The lump would not leave the old man’s throat.

‘What's wrong with you, you old softie? You haven't cried in forty two years," he found himself say as he forced out a little chuckle.

‘The kid's really got to you.’

‘Goodbye Oupa!’ Roy shouted waving back. He felt relieved seeing Oupa wave, but not better. He wanted to stay with the old people. Kate opened the car door for him and safely buckled him in. It was mid afternoon as they drove out of the driveway and headed for the Transvaal border. Roy sat staring at the flowers and scenery. When he did speak, it was a question.

‘Where's your husband and children?’

‘I don't have any.’

‘Why not?’

‘He died last year.’

‘Was he good to you?’

‘Yes. He was the best.’

‘Did you love him?’

‘I loved him very much.’

‘How did he die?’

‘A car accident. A drunk driver skipped a red light............’ There was a slight pause.

‘Jacques didn't stand a chance. He died instantly.’

‘Do you hate the man who killed him?’

‘It was a female driver and yes I did hate her for sometime. She was tried, found guilty of manslaughter and walked free with a suspended sentence. I wanted to see her suffer the way I did. I wanted revenge more than anything else. I couldn't eat, sleep or continue with my life after his death.’

‘Did you kill her?’

‘No. As the days and weeks turned into months, I eventually forgave her. It was hard, but I did. I still love Jacques and guess I always will.’

‘I'll never touch alcohol. My daddy hits my mummy when he's been drinking. They always argue about money and how hard he works to earn it. He says she spends it on stupid things and begrudges him a drink and a night out with his friends. He's always out with his friends.’

‘Do you think he's entitled to a night out with his friends?’

‘Yes I do. But only one night a fortnight and he should take my mummy with him. He never takes her anywhere. Whenever she questions him, he shouts and screams at her. My mummy blames me. She says it's my fault because I'm so naughty. They can’t go anywhere as they can’t trust my behaviour.’

‘Do you think it's your fault?’

‘Yeah, I suppose it is .’

‘It's not your fault. Adults always argue about trivial things whenever they are upset or angry. The problem lies with your parents and not with you."

Roy was playing with his fingers. He played with his fingers or a piece of string whenever he was confronted with uncertainty or unsure about something. He really fascinated her and very intelligent for a child his age. He would rather face and solve problems by himself than ask anyone for help. What child could accept the lies and deceit believing he was responsible for his parent’s arguments and differences? She sensed there was something he was withholding from her. He would tell her when he was ready. She was wrong. He never told anyone the secret of what happened on the train on their first journey to Barberton. It was a secret he would not reveal.

 

 

Arriving at the hostel late that evening, she carried the sleeping child to her own quarters and placed him in her bed. Sitting down next to him, she studied the innocence on his face whilst he slept. Careful not to wake him, she slipped in beside him and cradled him in her arm. They slept.

 

 

The following morning the three brothers got together excitedly telling of their holidays and experiences. Donald seemed far happier and more at ease than Roy expected. John couldn't stop talking. They exchanged gifts and merrily played as the matron and principal watched from a distance.

‘We had a problem getting Donald to settle down during the first two days, but after that, he was no problem what-so-ever. They really enjoyed themselves. What was Roy like around your parents?’

‘Great. It was a pleasure having him. I wouldn't hesitate or think twice about taking him again.’

‘Those two boys made my wife broody again. She's talking of having another baby. If it wasn't for our ages, I would gladly consider.’

The matron stood watching Roy. Her thoughts somewhere else. She recalled the feeling and the temptation of wanting to run off with him during the return journey. She didn't want to return him, but run off to some far place.  She grew really fond of this little heart-break kid. At the sound of the dinner bell, the two adults headed downstairs occupied with their own individual thoughts.

 

 

The final term found Roy studying harder than before. He didn't actively take part in any form of activities which could land him in trouble. The matron encouraged him to write home and keep in good contact with his mother and family.

At the annual school fete, the brothers had no money from home to take part in any of the things their friends were. Aware of this, the principal gave instructions to the teachers and helpers to allow the boys to have free rides, and without diverting attention to themselves, on each of the funfair implements. He gave them each a cold drink, bag of crisps, candy floss and a packet of sweets. Roy realised how unselfish strangers were and how much some of them actually cared.

The three brothers were not the same as they were when first arriving at the boarding school in Barberton, and anyone knowing them, would certainly agree. The selfish streak in them toward one another, was something of the past. They learnt to share amongst themselves and did things together they never did before. Roy passed grade two with a distinction and once again the studying and hard effort was well rewarded. He was first in the class again. The matron congratulated him and gave him a present. It was a story book of Jesus and the twelve disciples. She wanted to tell him they were informed of some upsetting and disturbing news that morning. The boys wouldn't be returning to the school the following year. She couldn't bring herself to break the news to him. She had tried to think and be positive hoping their mother would call and say she changed her mind. On the final day of enrolments for the following year,  she accepted they would not be returning when the impatiently awaited call never came. She had to break the news to him.

 

 

On the final morning of the school year, she called him to her office before he set off for school.

‘Roy,’ she began trying to choose her words right.

‘Roy, I want you to behave yourself when you return home this afternoon. You must promise you won't steal or get involved in activities which could land you in trouble. I don't want you going to bed hungry and getting nasty hidings you don't deserve. You listen to your mummy and be real good. I want you to promise me.’

She watched sadly as he listened to her with undivided attention.

‘I promise matron. I will be good. You'll see. I'll pray every night and ask the Lord to help bring me back again safely next year.’

‘Oh God NO!’ she cried.

‘What's wrong Aunt Kate?’

‘You won't be coming back next year. Your mother has made herself quite clear on that. They've found a new home for you and your family. You won't be coming back.’

He threw his arms around her neck violently shaking his head.

‘Why are you lying to me?’ he demanded.

‘I'm not lying Roy. I'm telling you the truth.’

‘You're not. You're lying to me!’ He pushed away looking directly into her eyes.

‘Get away from me!’ he shouted at her.

‘You said you were going to ask her if we could come back again. You were lying to me. You don't want me to come back!’

‘I do Roy. I did my best for you. I tried as hard I could. Your mot.....’

‘You're lying. You said you loved me and I could come back!’ he cried as tears openly streamed from his eyes.

‘Get away from me! I don't love you anymore either. Get away from me. Get away!’

She moved toward him wanting to hug and comfort him.

‘Don't come near me! Get away!’

‘Please Roy. Let ...........’

‘Go away. You don't want me here. You don't love me. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you. Get away from me!’ he screeched as she advanced toward him.

Her eyes were pleading as she stared at him. Instead of going toward her, he ran from the office covering both ears as she called out to him.

 

 

When their mother arrived that afternoon, the matron was nowhere to be seen. Roy didn't care as he never wanted to see her again. His suitcase was packed and on the bed with the book she gave him on top. Picking up the suitcase, he threw the book to the floor. He didn't want it. The taxi was waiting by the time they emerged from the hostel. The driver stacked and securely tied the luggage to the roof rack. As the taxi slowly pulled away, Roy turned around for a final glimpse of the school which had been his home for the past year. The matron was standing in the hostel door, tears running down her cheeks as she clutched the book to her bosom. Roy watched her for a moment.

‘Stop!’ he shouted and the bewildered driver immediately applied brakes, not knowing what was going on. Ignoring his mother's protests, he jumped from the taxi and ran toward the matron. She was running to him with arms outstretched as he got closer. They stood in the middle of the drive hugging and kissing each other. She didn't want to let go of him. As he wiped the tears from her face, he smiled.

‘I love you Aunt Kate and I always will. Thank you for everything.’

‘I'll always love you and you'll always be in my heart and thoughts.’

‘Do you love me as much as you love Jacques?’

‘More than that. You brought a new light and happiness to my life. I'll never forget you Roy McQue!’

‘Goodbye matron. Goodbye Aunt Kate. I'll never forget you either.’

‘Goodbye sweetheart. You write to me. My address and phone number's in the front of the book. If you ever need anything, you call me.’

‘I will. I love you Aunt Kate,’ he said as he turned and headed to the taxi and his cursing mother. As they resumed their journey, he waved his final farewell, not knowing if he would ever see her again. If he didn't, he would certainly never forget her.

 

 

to be continued..........

 

Extrusions

She allowed her blouse to slip halfway down her naked body as she sat on the carpet in front of him. He gently scratched and rubbed her back. They talked and made general conversation before he switched to a more serious nature of conversation.

‘What made you become a prostitute? I mean, you could have done far better for yourself. With your looks, charm and education, you could have married some rich guy. A doctor or a lawyer perhaps. Why do what you are doing now”?

‘It's a long story. One you don't want to hear. It's boring, really.’

‘Why don't you let me be the judge on that?’

‘Not tonight Roy. Another time maybe.’

He left it at that. She didn't want to discuss it and he could understand why. They barely knew each other. It was almost three am when they retired to their own separate bedrooms. He lay awake listening to the activity in the streets outside. This was Hillbrow, home of night life and activity. He thought of Kevin and the assignments they accomplished and completed together. The happier days of his life and the only ones he knew were with this man, dead at the hands of the organisation he trusted. They helped build a strong relationship between him and Kelvin. Together they supplied them with the weapons and bombs to carry out assignments and their fight for freedom and to end Apartheid. The words 'Amandla' and 'Black Power' were something of the past and bore no more meaning to him. The ANC and the organisation were his enemy and had to be defeated some way or another. He wanted to see them fail in everything they accomplished and were trying to accomplish.

 

 

 

 

*      *      *      *      *

 

 

 

The days turned into weeks and eventually seven months had passed since he moved in with Alice. Her working hours got shorter and shorter each month until finally, she gave up prostitution. She could afford to give up her profession as she had a small fortune saved. They were spending more and more time together and completely trusted each other and the decisions made without the consent of the other. They were slowly getting closer and closer. One evening as they sat listening to her favourite song, ‘Break it to them Gently, a tear rolled from her eye. Roy wiped it away and cradled her in his arms. She told him of her reason and why she turned to prostitution.

‘I grew up in a happy Christian family with my parents and older brother. At the age of nine, my mother passed away after a long illness. She died of Leukaemia. My father went to ruin. He couldn't continue without her. He stopped going to church and blamed God for taking her away from us. He turned to drink which became heavier and heavier. It invaded and ruled his life. When I reached the age of twelve, the sexual abuse began. He came to my room every second or third night, drunk as usual, and forced me to have sexual intercourse with him. At first I refused, knowing my brother was there to protect and help me. Then he sent my brother to boarding school. It was a living nightmare. I was forced to do the most horrible and perverted things possible. At the age of fourteen, mentally destroyed by this time, I met a man who gave me true love. He was six years older than me and said had an apartment in the city. Being a farm girl and sick of the abuse, it was my dream to get away from my father and to live in the city. I ran away with Hugo. At first he was good to me, gave me everything I needed and wanted. Then he changed and I seen an opposite side of him. He was having severe cash flow problems and owed almost everybody money. They started knocking on the door, roughing him up and threatened to kill him. Know what the bastard did? Blamed it on me. Said I was the cause of the problems wanting everything and the good life. He said he was going to phone my father and tell him to come and get me. I begged him, said I'd do anything if he didn't. He started bringing men home and told me I had to sleep with them so he could pay our debts. They didn't pay me anything, gave him all the money. Then I found out he was dating another girl, a teenager the same age as myself and a few other things. I wasn't the first and wouldn't be the last girl he forced into prostitution. The men who roughed him up and threatened him? They were his mates. He didn't owe anyone anything. He paid them to visit the apartment to scare the wits out of me. I was young and naive, believed everything he told me. Another one of his ex girls warned me what would happen when I didn't bring in a certain amount of money each night. She said he would eventually send me to work the streets. That night he beat the living daylights out of me when I asked if it were true. Said I listened to other people too much. I buried a knife in him as he slept. A few of the girls helped me move the body to a nearby alley, cleaned the apartment and burnt the blood soaked mattress and bedding. I lived with one of the girls until I had enough money to rent this apartment. They loaned me the money for the furniture, which I paid off from the money I made on the streets.. I've been on the game for five years now. Earned enough money to retire whenever I like. Some of the girls are real jealous as I almost took every customer from them. They used to line up waiting for me. The minute I was dropped off, another car was waiting. My young age and looks was what they were after. I had sex with sixteen men on one night. I made thousands. Those rich fat men in their fancy Mercedes, BMWs and expensive sport cars literally bid for my services, throwing money at me but one thing is for certain, they certainly knew how to treat a girl. One old goat paid me thirty thousand to escort him on a trip abroad. It lasted six days. It was the easiest money I ever made and worth every cent. He treated me like a queen. Died a few months later. Wasn't mean with his money. Now you know why I turned to prostitution and everything else about me. Want to move out now?’

‘No chance. You don't get rid of me that quick. What happened to your brother and your father?’

‘George, that's my brother, he's in University studying to be a doctor. My father committed suicide shortly after I ran away. Didn't find out 'til I was seventeen. Best thing he did. Now tell me more about yourself and your childhood.’

He told her of his upbringing, childhood and life. Throughout his story she remained silent, blowing her nose every now and then and clearing the lump from her throat. There were the odd tear. When he finished, they were laying on the couch close to each other and very comfortable. She reached across, pulled his arm out and lay with her head on his chest. He put his outstretched arm around her holding her close. He told her of his involvement with the ANC.

‘I can’t understand why you worked for the people you worked for. The ANC are renowned for their violence and bloodshed. Why did you join them?’

‘Kevin,’ was the only thing he said.

She tilted her head up and affectionately kissed his neck. This turned him on and tickled where it felt good. He responded by placing his hand on the small of her back. Her lips sought his and they kissed long and passionately, both their hands wandering and exploring. She pushed away and turned to him.

‘Are you sure this is a good idea?’

‘Alice, this time you talk too much.’

He pulled her closer and allowed his lips to seek hers. He kissed her face, neck and ears.

‘I've loved you for a few months now. I wasn't sure how you felt.’

‘I know you have. I wasn't sure how I felt until tonight. I think I’m in love with you too Alice.’

‘Oh Roy. I gave up prostitution as an option and needed you to say and give me a chance to love you. You've made me a happy girl tonight.’

‘You're not a girl anymore. All you've been through and experienced turned you into a woman well before your time. You are a woman.’

Once again they entwined. They kissed and slowly but surely their clothing were removed until they were making passionate love. Roy didn't know what to expect. He was surprised at the tightness of her vagina, her well formed and firm breasts and her soft smooth body. Later, as they lay side by side, he spoke.

‘I thought all prostitutes were worn out down there.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well when I was a youngster, my mates told me a prostitute's, you know what...’

‘Her pussy you mean,’ she helped him.

‘Yeah. Her pussy was as big as a hole and your penis didn't touch sides. I'm sorry. It was different to what I expected. I was surprised. I must admit, I was scared to enter you in case it were true.’

‘How do you feel now, knowing it's not true?’

‘You impressed me and it was beautiful.’

‘How many women you made love to Roy?’

He blushed at her question.

‘You're the Third woman I've made love with.’

‘I could tell. You were nervous, tense and unsure of what to do. Don't blush or act so shy. You were fine, just need a bit more experience.’

‘Will you teach me. I mean.............’

‘You don't have to blush. Yes I will share my experience and knowledge with you. I'll teach you all you need to know.’

They slept.

 

During the months which followed, Alice was true to her word. She taught him how to perform oral sex  on a woman, what they liked and the G-spots which turned her on. She performed oral sex as frequent as he desired as she knew he liked it after the first time. He became the type of lover any woman would crave and desire. He wasn't huge, but large enough to make any woman tremble with pleasure, excitement and climax more than once. Then Alice fell pregnant. Roy was over the moon. He wouldn't allow her to scrub floors or over strain herself. He did almost everything in and around the apartment. Alice felt more looked after and honoured than the queen of England herself. She was five months pregnant when they had their first major row. She was moody and felt overweight and fat in her pregnancy. She told him to get out and he decided it was time to go for a short walk to allow her time to calm down. She was aware that he knew that she didn't really mean it. She wanted to be alone for awhile. She needed a bit of a break without him around telling her to rest and sit down. This was what sparked the argument in the first place.

 

 

When Roy returned, the apartment door was wide open. He frowned, but thought she was uncomfortable  with the heat and the humidity and had opened the door for fresh air. The apartment was a mess. As he walked down the short passage, the view of the lounge before him, he could see the graffiti and message sprayed in red on the walls. His heart raced.

‘Alice!’ he called, louder and more desperate with each shout.

He found her in the bedroom on the bed. The blood soaked bed clothes told the story before he reached her side. She was staring up at him trying to speak. Scooping her in his arms, he tried to ensure her she was going to be alright.

‘Promise me you won't cry Roy.’

‘Shush. Try and save your strength.’

Hearing voices within the apartment, he yelled for someone to phone an ambulance. It was too late. She died in his arms. He called her name, her limp and lifeless body telling him it was too late. He could tell she had put up a brave struggle and fight. He gently stroked her face hoping she would wake up.

‘My angel. Don't die on me now. I love you so much. Please don't die. Our baby. The baby will need you. You can't do this to me Alice. Please open your eyes. Tell me you love me. Alice! Alice! Al.........ice!’ he screamed as the blood from the knife wounds stained his clothes.

Voices brought him back to reality. He studied the walls and the message spray painted in red.

'CH with love. Traitor, traitor, traitor.'

All across the walls were the initials of the African National Congress. They had branded him a traitor.

‘The police are on their way,’ he heard a male voice say.

‘Get out!’ he shouted, forcing and pushing them back out through the door before they could enter the bedroom. He bit his trembling lips, forcing back the tears as the first sirens drew closer. He couldn't allow them to take him in as he was a fugitive from the law. He opened the balcony door, took one last look and jumped down to the pavement below.

‘Death to the ANC and Chris Hani!’ he shouted as he held his arms outstretched towards the heavens. He ran from Hillbrow and from Johannesburg, stopping when he collapsed outside the city limits. He cried and could hear her voice.

’You must not give up. You have come too far. Think of what your baby and I would have wanted. No Roy. Don't give up. Remember your promise. You must keep your word.

‘Alice,’ he whispered sitting up in the field surrounded by grass, trees and shrubs.

Nothing. She wasn't there. He was hearing things. It did bring him back to his senses and to reality. Looking at the clothes he was wearing, he realised he had to get a clean set from somewhere. He had to reach a suburban area and get some clothing. A washing line in someone's back yard would be the best bet and only chance. Getting to his feet he headed for the distant lights of Alberton, the town from which he had escaped from with Kevin.