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since I had for many years not heard anything personal about him, 

 only reports and comments in the EngHsh press. The 'Dokter' had 

 mellowed with age, and his political antagonisms had been tem- 

 pered by achievement and success. My mind drifted away and 

 back many years to the time when this man Malan, the 'Renegade 

 Parson' as many of the more English section stigmatised him, had 

 suddenly emerged as a force in the expression and forging of 

 South African nationalism. Minister of Education in Hertzog's 

 Cabinet, represented in the press as anti-British, a solemn, 

 earnest, and troublesome opponent, he was plainly of such un- 

 swerving rectitude that no one could ever find even one foot of 

 clay. 



Rhodes University College in Grahamstown was in need of 

 funds and had an Art School to open. A Nationalist Cabinet 

 Minister for such a function would in Grahamstown indeed be a 

 phenomenon, but the invitation was sent and promptly accepted. 

 There were comments and speculations. Would he drown every- 

 one in a flood of Afrikaans ? In the morning, formal but aff^able 

 and correct, he inspected what he was shown and made proper 

 response. Grahamstown turned out in force that day, town as 

 well as gown. I shall never forget the course of the ceremony, the 

 rustle as Malan stood to speak, the relief that it was to be in English, 

 anticipation gradually changing to astonishment that this vaunted 

 anti-British politician should be able to roll out such polished 

 phrases. He stood solid, quiet, and firm, and for well over an 

 hour, without any notes, this amazing man held his audience 

 submerged and quiet beneath an eloquent stream of English, 

 perfect in sense and construction, so smooth that it was only from 

 intonation and accent that one could know that this was not his 

 mother tongue. It was by all standards an impressive achieve- 

 ment. Young as I was then and little as politics meant to me, it 

 was clear that this man could not fail to become a force in South 

 Africa, and that while he might be hated for his strength no one 

 could fail to respect him. He radiated honesty, courage, and deter- 

 mination, and even if these were employed as weapons in a field 

 not to everyone's liking. . . . 'Yes, they call him the Sphinx.' 

 Shearer was speaking again, 'and' — his words were cut off 

 abruptly as the telephone went again, and he was off in a flash. 

 'Yes, yes. Shearer, yes Shearer.' Silence — then in Afrikaans, 



