120 



'Yes, Madam, Vernon Shearer. How are you, Mrs. Malan, is the 

 Doctor well ? Yes, I have with me Professor Smith' ; and then a 

 brief outline of the main facts. My heart began to pound so madly 

 it almost choked me. Then there was silence, he was clearly 

 listening, it lasted some time, an agonisingly long time, my body 

 was shaking as in a fever. Then Shearer's voice, subdued now, 

 'You don't think it could be done now?' Another silence. 'Yes, 

 thank you very much indeed, very much obliged. Good night.' 

 Shearer came back slowly, his face despondent. I had no need of 

 his words, my heart fell from my boots through the floor. 'Mrs. 

 Malan,' said Shearer. 'I spoke to her. The Doctor was already 

 abed and she was emphatic that nothing was to disturb him, for 

 he was unusually weary and they were concerned about him. She 

 would promise nothing but would see how he was in the morning, 

 and if she judged it wise would tell him about it. So that's that.'* 



10.30 p.m. of the 26th December of the year of our Lord 1952. 

 It was probably the lowest ebb of my life. The sands of time were 

 running out, fate was screwing me down to the dregs, wringing 

 out the last drops of my spirit from the rags of my being. The 

 Dunnottar Castle was due to sail at 1 1 a.m. tomorrow, and what 

 on earth was I to do, for now there seemed no more hope ? Even 

 if Malan was told in the morning and took some interest in it, the 

 Strand was an awful long way off, diagonally across the Union, 

 about as far from Durban as Venice from London, and it was 

 Christmas holiday time when public services are difficult or dead. 

 I could hardly hope to have things settled before the ship sailed, 

 and to retain any last shred of hope I should have to pack and 

 prepare to leave the ship and stay on in Durban. Prime Ministers ! 

 Well, detachedly, I could sympathise, for I knew what their lives 

 were like. In another sphere I endure something like it myself, 

 but this was hard to take. I sat almost turned to stone with black 

 despair, and was curiously unable to get up and go as I felt I 

 should. I seemed to be paralysed, when Mrs. Shearer jumped up 

 and said brightly, 'No need to be gloomy. One never knows what 

 the morning will bring. You're not to go yet, Professor, I'm going 

 to make you a nice cup of tea.' And off she went. 



* Recently (August 1955) when I spoke again of these events to Dr. and 

 Mrs. Malan at their home, he said to me, 'You actually owe a lot to Shearer. 

 But for his help, as things were, it would have been very difficult to get through.* 



