1964

For reasons which I no longer understand it seems vital that I do not go down those stairs again. If I am going to be rearrested it must be in open court, in full sight of the press and public. I elbow my way through the ring of policemen around the dock – they are uncertain whether to restrain me – and push through to our lawyers in the well of the court.

Detective Sergeant Dirker rushes over and starts to drag me away. He says I am under arrest. Vernon Berrangé intercepts him: ‘After your disgraceful exhibition in the witness box, I take it you will not oppose bail when we apply for it.’ Dirker is intimidated and pulls me away, muttering a reply which I cannot catch. Captain Swanepoel comes across and joins him and together they hurry me past the empty dock and out of the court. My colleagues are already down in the cells below, and I have not even seen them go.

Suddenly I feel terribly alone. We have been together, on and off, for so many years. We have sat together, talked together and decided everything together during the whole year of the trial. We have learnt to depend on each other for advice, for strength and courage. Now, suddenly it is all over. They have gone, without our being able to exchange a word or touch, and without any farewells.

It will be twenty-seven years before I see them again. Things are happening too fast. I no longer feel in control of my own fate, but have become a puppet being pushed about by people like Swanepoel and Dirker. I am unable to celebrate my good fortune; I am still shocked and numb as they take me back to the prison to collect my few belongings. Apart from the warders I see no one I know and talk to no one. I am put into the back of a car filled with Special Branch men and taken back to Johannesburg.

Swanepoel is bragging to the others as though I am not there. If he had his time over, he says, he would be a advocate – big money just for asking questions. The talk just washes over me.