Cracks in Invisible Walls

By Val Hamann

Copyright © Val Hamann2017

Cape Town

Republic of South Africa

Email: valeriehamann@gmail.com

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval
system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying,
recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner, nor be
circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published.

Layout and design: Valerie Blanché Hamann

2
Dedication

I dedicate this story to my friend Gedeon de Goede who encourages and

inspires me to keep writing on.

3
Index

Preface 5

Introduction 6

Poem Wondering Wonderers 7

Chapter 1 I am Klippie 8

Chapter 2 My journey begins 9

Chapter 3 As darkness fell 10

Chapter 4 Keeping hope alive 13

Chapter 5 Wearing a crown 15

Chapter 6 Missing persons 17

Chapter 7 The search continues 19

Chapter 8 The apple tree 21

Chapter 9 Expect the unexpected 23

Chapter 10 Home sweet home 25

Chapter 11 More questions than answers 27

Chapter 12 Peggy’s death revealed 29

Chapter 13 Covering tracks 31

4
Preface

We live in a society where people turn a blind eye to homeless people.

The general perception of homeless people is that they are too lazy to work.

The true story is that there is a story behind every story, a crack in every
invisible wall of every person whether they are homeless out on the streets, or
homeless in their hearts.

Cracks in walls are visible and can always be repaired, however with cracks
in an invisible wall there is no way of telling how long, how deep and how
wide the crack is. The only positive thing about any crack in any wall is that it
always allows the light to shine through it.

One just needs to take a walk down some quiet alleys, along some railway
lines, under some bridges, behind some bushes and to homeless shelters to
see how many homeless people there are in a neighbourhood. But when one
take tubs of food, second hand clothing or shoes, the homeless seem to
creep out of little spaces you would have otherwise not known actually exist.

If you look closely you will always find those spaces have cracks in invisible
walls.

5
Introduction

A couple of days before Christmas, the Chairman of the company I work for
decided to call me into his office. He asked me to buy twenty loaves of
bread, glad wrap bags, spreads, cold meats, tinned fish, sauces, butter and
mayonnaise. He then proceeded to get a team of people at the company
to pitch in and make sandwiches.

Later armed with sandwiches wrapped in glad wrap, the team hit the streets
and we started feeding the homeless. We were able to reach one hundred
and fifty people only, before the sandwiches ran out. There were many who
did not receive sandwiches.

We travelled down one of the main roads in a quiet suburb of Cape Town
and were shocked to see how many homeless people, drug addicts and
gangsters there were, some fighting their way through life, others feeling
hopeless despair.

Not only did we feed them, we also stopped and spoke to them long enough
to hear their st ories of what transpired to leave them homeless.

This one life changing incident sparked the fire in me to write this story.

So many homeless people end up in prison, not just for stealing food or
washing off someone’s wash line, but for what prison offers them, a bed,
food, false sense of security in gangs, intervention programs, church and
friends.

For many homeless, a cardboard box is their only security, privacy and total
sum of possessions.

With no money for rent, food, counselling or medical care, there are so many
cracks in their invisible walls.

My question to society is: What good is it to give a homeless man a meal, if

you still leave him out on the street?

Being homeless is not determined by age, race or status. No one is immune,

not even the rich.

6
Poem

Wounded Wanderers

No place to lay my head

Except on a hard rock
Tiredness mixed with alcohol
Makes the hard, the soft mock!
No place to wash my clothes
No soap to wash my skin
No money to buy food
No one to turn to, no next of kin!
I walk miles to find a job
But my unruly beard is all they see
I want to do an honest day’s work
My smell keeps them from employing me!
I fell on hard times losing all in my life
I have nothing to look forward to
When I had plenty, friends were plenty
My friends now, are none or few!
I keep hoping one day
The winds of change will come
That I will rise above this horror
Of struggling for bread, food and home!
I appreciate the little things
That others take for granted
Food, water, transport and comfort
Where no seeds of lack have been planted!
I think back to my childhood days
The years of happiness made their mark
Where my days were filled with meaning
Yet my current days are dark!
I look at the fellow homeless around me
It is each man fighting for his own
In a sea of hopelessness and despair
I find I constantly drown!
I cry out to humanity for assistance
Some people treat animals better
Turning a blind eye with resistance
God needs to write them a letter!
They complain if I sleep under a street light
They feel threatened if I approach
They don’t know or care how weak I am
They see me as a giant cockroach!
When I ask for money, open your heart
Don’t hold your purse so tight
When I look into your eyes
Don’t run and take flight!
I am just a wounded wonderer
A simple human being
That fell on hard times
Hoping for things unseen!
Help me please I beg of you
I am every man, woman and child you meet
I need you to give me a job, home or simple meal
I am sleeping on the sidewalk, right in your street!

© Val Hamann 2017

7
Chapter 1

I am Klippie

My name is Klippie ‘lit t le pebble’ as my parents named me after meeting at

wedding held on a beach. They were drunk and decided to make love in
the rolling waves, which is how I was conceived. When my mother returned
home, covered in sand, she discovered a small shiny blue stone stuck to her
skin. She kept that stone as a reminder of her most spontaneous, romantic life
experience. My mother thought it was a once off occurrence, never
expecting to see my fat her again. My fat her however, made a point of
looking my mother up through family members and when he found her, he
immediately asked her to marry him. In a private ceremony they declared
their devotion to one another and were too poor to exchange rings, so they
exchanged the stone and kept it as a symbol of their love ever since. From
the second morning of their honeymoon my mother was vomiting violently
and every morning thereafter for the next few months. When I finally made
my way into the world, I was named Klippie, as an extension of their devotion
and love for one another. My life unfolded like those rolling waves.

My parents drinking never stopped, in fact it worsened and the marriage

relationship soon turned into physical abuse, verbal abuse and eventual hate
for one another. My fat her left my mother when I was two year’s old, my
mother then turned her frustration and anger toward me. I was taken away
from her to live with my grandparents. No one ever spoke of my parents ever
again, until I turned eight when I overheard my grandmother telling my
grandfather that my parents were homeless. Bums, Hobo’s, Drunks, Useless,
Losers, these were the words used to describe them.

My grandmother had kept the stone and gave it to me eventually when I

turned eighteen and finished school. I held onto that stone as the most
precious thing I would ever own. At age twenty seven I had finished my
studies and inherited my house from my grandparents who had both died by
then, leaving me enough money to live on without having to work for at least
five years.

It was hard growing up without parents and I got ridiculed many times by the
other kids, so one day while playing with the precious stone in my hand, I
decided to embark on an adventure to look for my parents. Perhaps by now
they have changed and would be glad to know how I have turned out.

Recognising the stone, could be t he only way they would ever know I was
their son. Yes, I am named after a blue shiny stone. Even after twenty seven
years, the stone never lost its shine.

8
Chapter 2

My journey begins

I realized that I could not just walk into the streets and ask to find my parents.
Their wedding photos were long lost, all I had as evidence was the stone.
Homeless people move around a lot and change their names. Their
belongings get stolen, they lose things in their drunken states and they rely
heavily on people in society to provide them with their next meal, money for
their daily needs and in some cases their next drug fix, or things like old
blankets and clothing. Begging is the norm and it’s a case of each man for
his own, no sharing.

I packed a bag with some changes of clothing, a sleeping bag and small
pillow tucked away inside it . I put my bank card and some cash into a side
zip compartment of my bag, with a photo of my grandparents and a photo
of my mother as a young girl. Hopefully I would recognise her by her eyes.

I put my protective hiking boots on. I slipped a small bible into the other zip
compartment of my bag, with the stone in a small jewellery box and added
a diary note book and three pens. I had enough toiletries and of course my
toothbrush. Finally I clipped my water bottle to the bottom of my bag and
then locked up my house and asked a neighbour to keep an eye on things
for me, like watering the plants and keeping the lawn trimmed. I informed her
that I was going on a hiking holiday and did not know when I would return. In
my heart I believed I would only return after I have found my parents, or at
least one of them.

I had some information as to where the nearest homeless people hung out,
so I would start there and play an undercover detective role. I walked up the
hill, into town and through the alleys but found no one. I asked someone
where all the homeless people went to and was advised that they only came
to their sleeping spots at nightfall.

I am Klippie van der Sandt and I intended to find out where Mr Bert and Mrs
Susan van der Sandt were in the world. My house and my heart are big
enough to have them both come home.

I took to the streets, it was a late summer but the sun was still shining high in
the sky.

I looked up and asked God to guide me and show me which way to go.

9
Chapter 3

As darkness fell

I sat waiting at a table of a small restaurant until nightfall fell and eventually
one by one through the window watched as the homeless people huddled
in little groups, vulnerable to the elements and threats that the darkness
offered. As the restaurant closed I walked over to the first group of people
that had just settled onto their blankets, unpacking their spoils of the day.
Some had food they had dug out of the dustbins, some had a loaf of dry
bread and some had a more luxurious dinner that someone from the nearest
houses blessed them with.

I approached an elderly man sitting on a step while his ‘wife’ made his bed.
He sat with his legs stretched straight out in front of him, unable to bend his
knees. I sat next to him and shook his hand asking if he would like some of my
cold drink, he graciously accepted.

I showed him the only picture of my mother and he immediately said he

would never forget those eyes! Deeply set prominent blue eyes, he smiled as
he remembered knowing ‘Susanna’ in the past. He called his wife and asked
her if she remembered her too, but she shook her head in a negative
manner.

The elderly man introduced himself as Jan and smelled like he cut and
cleaned fish last week and never bothered to wash his hands. He went on to
tell me that as a young man he was waiting for a taxi one day when a hit
and run drunken driver drove right into his legs. Both of his legs were instantly
broken and he was left lying on a pavement in agony, unable to move until
someone found him the next morning and took him to hospital. He had no
medical aid and was operated on by an inexperienced intern doctor, who
put pins in his legs incorrectly. There was no money for physiotherapy and in a
short amount of time, his legs stiffened and he became permanently unable
to bend his knees. He walked with difficulty or dragged his body wherever he
needed to go. His crutches were worn and broken, with filthy rags holding
one of them together. The thin blanket he slept on provided little relief for his
aching knees and the cold of the night caused them to pain.

I liked Jan. He had a sense of humour, yet he also had a deep sense of how
life robbed him of opportunities. His parents kicked him out of the house as he
became a liability, unable to work for himself. In their culture the eldest son
had to look after the parents, not the other way around.

Jan wiped a tear away as the picture of my mother obviously struck a nerve
of days gone by. It turns out Jan went to school with my fat her to a boys only
school.
10
Jan said Bert was a good student and had dreams of becoming a fireman at
school. He married my mother and she said the fireman job was too
dangerous so Bert worked as an apprentice fitter and turner.

The salary of a fitter and turner did not cover all expenses for my mother and I
as well as all the friends he liked to entertain, so Susan gave him an ultimatum
to choose between her and I, or drinking with his friends. The latter
unfortunately was more important to him. She followed suit drinking in excess
because she was always lonely with Bert never being home.

Jan remembered how his fat her would gamble every Friday night on
payday. Those nights always ended up with violent fights between his parents
as there was no money for food or school fees, or anything else Jan needed.

Jan remembered Bert, but not when or where he last saw him. He directed
me to the last known place my fat her worked and I intended going there the
next morning, however my priority was to purchase a new set of crutches for
Jan and four new blankets for him and his wife. I will never forget his face
when I brought the items to them the following night, their toothless smiles
were priceless. They dumped the old blankets in a nearby bin and not long
after that another homeless woman took the blankets out of the bin and
huddled them as if she had found gold.

The homeless woman walked to her corner and placed the blanket around
her eight year old daughter. The child was so thin and had no joy in her eyes
like other children of her age. In fact she looked very small for her size. My
expression must have shown the shock I felt in my heart, this child was so dirty
and smelled so bad, that I wondered when last she actually had a bath. How
many months ago? I approached the mother and gently tapped her
shoulder. She smiled at me and in her broken language ability told me she
charged fifty rand in exchange for an hour of sex. I immediately said I was
not interested in any of that sort of thing and realised that was her way of life,
her survival tool, the only way she knew to make any money at all.

I asked her to pack up her bags and blankets and walked her to a cheap
motel. I paid the room for three months, bed, breakfast and dinner. I told her
to get cleaned up and to bath her child daily. I left her some cash to try and
find another day job so she could take care of her child and send her t o
school. I asked the hotel manager to appoint an employee to keep an eye
on them and I gave them a cheque to purchase some new dresses, pyjamas
and underclothes for the girl and get her some school supplies, shoes and a
uniform. I prayed for them before I left and the mother could not stop crying
saying that even though she used prostitution as her profession, she always
prayed that God would deliver her from her circumstances.

11
The little girl slept on a bed with springs and had a proper bath for the first
time in years, afraid of the water at first, but enjoying the feel of the water
and soap on her skin as she got used to it.

They slept in peace with no fear of being robbed or stabbed. If I had not
rescued them, the mother confessed that she was considering her daughter
Lucinda being used for prostitution by age ten to help make income for
them. I thanked God that I got to the child in time.

I left my cell phone number with the hotel manager for feedback or anything
else they may need.

The next morning I went to Pylon Engineering to ask about my fat her. There
were two elderly Portuguese gentlemen named Mr Paul Patricio and Mr
Donatello Izzi that were the oldest employees at the company. They
remembered my fat her and shared some funny stories about his apprentice
days, but ended the conversation with what a pity so much talent was
wasted on booze. Mr Izzi remembered not long after my birth my fat her got
involved with the wrong group of friends and made a series of life altering
wrong choices. My fat her loved my mother but did not value her enough to
show it or stop drinking to take proper care of her.

Mr Patricio told me that my fat her became homeless last he heard, there was
a certain shop he slept outside of and helped the shop owner one or two
days a week to sweep the outside of the shop and keep the little garden
trimmed. Mr Patricio had not seen Bert there in years and perhaps if I asked
the shop owner he could point me in the right direction.

I booked myself into a motel for the night so that I could take a nice long
shower and eat a small meal and I suddenly felt such an appreciation for any
food and rest. I fully charged my cell phone battery, read some scriptures in
the bible and asked God to please help me find more information on my
fat her.

I lay for a long time that night in bed thinking about my conversation with Mr
Patricio and Mr Izzi, after carefully recording every detail in my journal.

12
Chapter 4

Keeping hope alive

I checked out of the hotel at midmorning and made my way down town to
the shop where my fat her was last seen working. Mr Ford was still the owner
and faithfully wore his old suit and hat as he had through the years. He wore
braces to keep his pants up and he had a long sleeve shirt on in the heat of
summer which was a little crinkled. He tried to iron it but could never quite get
it ironed as well as his beloved wife that passed away a few years back. He
kept a photo of her in the window sill and spoke to the photo as if she were
still alive.

He moved very slowly due to his old age, he should have retired years ago
but the shop was all he had left. He missed his wife very much. He pointed
me to a chair at the little wooden table, as he filled the kettle with water for
tea. His hands shook as took his old hat off and placed it on the empty chair,
then proceeded to pour some tea into the old cups and offered me some
shortbread biscuits.

I sat talking to Mr Ford for a while, getting to know him. He was very lonely
and very tired. I then asked him about my fat her and he shook his head
knowingly, remembering days gone by. He told me how my fat her was a
diligent worker, not lazy and innovativ e in his thinking. He slept on the
pavement outside the shop.

The last Mr Ford remembered was my fat her was telling him t hat after the last
argument with my fat her beating my mother, they were asked to leave the
family home by my grandfather, who was staunch in his ways. He insisted the
couple leave me behind so my grandmother could take care of me. He did
not take kindly to alcoholism and constant fighting in his Christian home. My
fat her beat my mother while he was stone cold drunk, leaving me screaming
at the top of my lungs. I was alone in my cot, when the lamp on the table
had fallen over and the globe was burning my leg. Had my grandfather not
walked in, I could very well have burned to death, along with the whole
house and all its contents. My parents were so intent on their argument that
never noticed my distress.

Once sober the next morning, my fat her took the packed bag of clothing for
himself and he walked to the shop to collect his last wages from Mr Ford and
then took to the streets. He walked out of my life as if I did not exist. I was
taken to hospital to have my leg treated for burns and was in bandages for
months before my leg healed. He later coaxed my mother into joining him
and she too left.

13
With no parents to comfort me, my grandmother would gently sing me to
sleep every night.

I remember how hard it was growing up without a mother and fat her, I
always admired the children whose parents attended their school events and
supported them with their school projects, packed them wonderful lunches
and hugged them hello and goodbye.

I never got to go on holiday with my family during school holidays I had to

help granddad work around the house and help grandma makes cookies
and spring clean the pantry, while we listened to the radio playing Christmas
carols. Easter and Christmas were the hardest times for me to accept that no
one cared if I was in the school play. I was always a tree on the stage. One
year I auditioned and got the leading role where I had to play Christ being
crucified.

My grandpa was ill and my grandma had to take care of him, so while the
other children enjoyed waving at their parents and having candy floss and
toffee apples bought for them at intervals, I sat alone looking on at their
smiles, while my heart cried inside.

I delved my pain into my studies and got top marks at school. That sparked
an argument between my grandma and grandpa as to who I took after. But
now I realise it must have been my fat her, he had so much wisdom, so much
potential, but wasted it on so much junk.

I greeted Mr Ford and promised to come back the next morning to collect an
old photograph of my fat her that Mr Ford had at home. He would find it and
give it to me. Having a photo of my fat her raised new hope in me finding him
as the only other information Mr Ford could give me was to tell me that my
fat her had headed for the neighbouring town to settle under the trees by the
river.

He told me that I looked just like my mother, yet I had my fat her’s eyebrows.

As a gift I went to a store downtown and bought Mr Ford a lovely new

gentleman’s hat.

14
Chapter 5

Wearing a crown

That evening I decided to walk the streets and talk to homeless people in
streets that I had not yet frequented. I wondered down an alley where I saw
at least five people huddled underneath two blankets. The wind was blowing
quite strong and they were shivering. I had already bought two loaves of
bread and two bottles of milk and some apples which I offered to them. A
little boy aged under two crawled out from under the blanket, he looked so
neglected, his vest torn, his nose running, his hands dirty and his mother had
no care in the world to clean him up anytime soon.

I watched from a short distance away how they hungrily ate the food and
gave the baby some milk. He was so thin and looked in dire need of love.

The next morning just before dawn I placed some money in the sleeping
fat her’s hand and prayed for the baby and left. When I looked at that child, I
realized that he had parents, but was worse off than I was at his age.

I cleaned myself up in a twenty four hour garage and walked over to Mr

Ford’s shop. The lights were on and the door wide open. Mr Ford sat in the
chair holding his old worn out hat over his tummy. He sat peacefully at the
table with the tea cups from yesterday that were still on the table unwashed.
Mr Ford’s body was motionless, the only thing moving was his hair blowing in
the breeze.

I touched his shoulder not wanting to shock him awake, but soon realised
that he had died, which I thought was probably a heart attack or stroke, that
must have happened not long after I left the shop.

I cleaned the tea cups and helped to straighten the shop after Mr Ford’s
body was removed. I gave the new hat to the ambulance driver and asked
him to arrange with the funeral parlour to place the hat on Mr Ford’s head as
a burial gift from my fat her for the kindness he showed him in the short time
he knew him. Mr Ford had only good things to say about Bert and I was
grateful for that. I realised that Mr Ford would wear my hat in his grave, but a
crown for eternity in the presence of our Lord.

Whilst in a very nostalgic mood, I started walking to the neighbouring town

very heart sore that Mr Ford died and that I missed the opportunity to gain a
photo of my fat her.

When I arrived at the town I headed down to the river. I was not sure what I
would find there after all these years.

15
I sat on a large rock overlooking the water, when an army of ants caught my
eye. They crawled in droves from a small hole in the sand up the large oak
tree that my back was leaning on.

As I looked up I had to blink twice to see if I was dreaming or if it was real.

Carved into the tree trunk were the initials SvdS loves BvdS and a heart. My
heart was racing. I touched the carving, after all these years, it was still
carved into the tree as a declaration of their love for one another. I
wondered how long ago they carved their initials on this tree trunk.

I swallowed back tears and took my cell phone out of my bag to take photos
of the carvings. I searched around the tree and found no other clues or
evidence that they had ever been there. Had I not seen the ants, I might
have missed the carvings.

I decided to sleep under the tree that night. I took out my bible and
notebook and carefully noted everything I had learned and seen regarding
my parents over the last few days.

Four days passed and no one else on the streets had any more information, I
seemed to hit a dead end.

I walked into town and booked a hotel room where I could sleep in a soft
bed and enjoy a hot shower and a wholesome meal. The next morning
breakfast was delivered to my room with a compliment ary local newspaper.
On t he fifth page of the newspaper was a small article on Mr Ford’s funeral,
since he had no family he was being buried as a pauper and his shop and
house were going to be placed on auction.

I walked back to the river, carved on the t ree ‘Klippie’ as well as a heart . I
then sat and sobbed on that rock as I held my hand over my parents initials,
as years of pain came tumbling out of me, the unfairness of all that occurred.
It took me a while to compose myself, but I felt lighter in my heart , it was
definitely the right thing to do.

I made my way back to town and immediately went to see the auctioneer to
ask about the contents of Mr Ford’s house, he in turn asked the local sheriff if I
could search the house for the picture of my fat her. After explaining my story,
I was given permission and escorted by a police officer to the house. I
rummaged through the cupboards and boxes and found an old photo
album. As soon as I saw those big eyebrows, it was like looking in a mirror. My
fat her was smiling as if he had known I would find this picture one day.

16
Chapter 6

Missing Persons

I treasured that picture. I placed it in my bible and zipped it back into my

bag. I had no clue where to search further and although I never got far, my
investigating at least got closer to where I had been when I left home.

It was good to arrive home again and as I looked around, I realised I was
surrounded by so many precious memories. Memories of my grandparents
during my childhood came flooding back. Not only that, I had protection
and comfort. There were cracks in the walls but it was my place called home.
The homeless had cracks in invisible walls, in their hearts, their minds and in
being judged and ignored by society as a whole.

I looked at the huge painting of my grandfather on the lounge wall and

could almost picture his dissatisfaction of my determination to find at least
one of my parents. I can only imagine the reason would be to protect me. He
protected me all my life from being hurt, but I was no longer a child and I was
seeking answers to all my questions.

I decided to place the picture of my fat her, along with the picture of my
mother as a child under the Missing Persons section of the local newspaper
with a short analysis of my journey to search for them, listing their names and
estimate ages. Four weeks passed and I had heard nothing until one
Thursday a detective from the local police station called me. He was an
elderly gentleman and agreed to meet me at a local Bistro for lunch to talk
about the pictures he had seen in the Weekly Sent inel newspaper.

Detective Morgan arrived a few moments late and in his hand he had a file
with some papers in. We shook hands and proceeded to order non-alcoholic
refreshing Rock Shandys. I was curious and very excited to hear what
information the detective had about my parents.

Surprisingly, he did not hand the file over to me or share any information
inside the file, but instead asked me what information I had which could assist
him. He was curious to know if I had found any of my parents or how much
information I was able to impart to him to assist with his case. I did not
understand why, until he revealed the basic outline of why he too was
seeking them.

My fat her was a wanted man. My mother was in hiding. No one knew if they
were separated or together. For some reason I held back the little information
I had and tried to pry information out of the detective.

17
On enjoying his prawns with lemon butter garlic sauce that covered the hot
crispy fried chips the detective decided to relax and try to win my trust. He
kept looking around the Bistro to ensure no policemen were in sight.

He told me that my fat her committ ed a murder and just before the police
could catch him, he ran off and was never found. My mother either ran off
with him, or ran from him. My fat her was a drunk who murdered a beautiful
young homeless woman and has been on the run since. The detective knew
my grandfather very well and kept in contact with him over the years just to
check if Bert ever made an appearance out of curiosity to see me, his son.

Detective Morgan advised me to not waste my time searching any further,

however if I found my fat her, not to hand him over to the authorities, but
since he was the detective on the case, he would appreciate me handing
Bert personally and directly to him and only him.

When I got home, I felt sick. I had a murder’s blood coursing through my
veins? I stared at my grandfather’s picture on the wall and understood why
he needed to prot ect me.

But God’s still voice rang in my heart and in my ears.

Find t hem!

I decided the next morning to obey that voice and to keep searching, but
told God they could be anywhere by now as living on the run is a killer in
itself.

18
Chapter 7

The search continues

Detective Morgan gave me no clues as to what happened regarding the

actual murder, the name of the woman my fat her killed, the circumstances
or dates of the occurrence.

I needed more information and decided to go to the local library to do some

research of my own.

After much searching I came across one small article in the Weekly Sent inel
that described the murder of a homeless woman by a homeless man that
fled the scene. I paid for a print of the article and as the librarian copied it,
she had a knowing look in her eyes and commented that that man had
never been found.

The young woman who was killed was the daughter of a prominent business
man, who had an argument with her due to her choice of man she wished to
marry. In a moment of anger the business man Mr Percy Lennon ordered his
daughter to leave his house and never return. She lived on the streets and
had too much pride to ask her fat her for forgiveness, in fact she did not want
his forgiveness as she was truly in love with the man she wished to marry. His
name was Morgan, now known as Detective Morgan, a retired gentleman
who lives with much bitterness for not finding the homeless man and locking
him away for life.

What Mr Percy Lennon did not know was that his daughter was pregnant until
they found her dead body a few months later. The librarian wanted to
continue with what I felt was that any volunteered information was useful
information, however someone approached her for assistance in locating a
book for research, so the conversation ended as her attention was diverted.

I took the article home and wrote down all I could remember about what the
librarian shared with me.

Detective Morgan was now retired, which was information he did not share
with me. He wanted me to be under the impression that he was still part of
the police force and therefore had a right to question me for information. I
was grateful that God gave me the discernment to hold back on all that I
had learned about my parents. Obedience is better than sacrifice, after all.

I contacted the Weekly Sent inel to rerun the missing person’s article on a
more prominent page and to print the photos of my parents larger, as I was
more determined than ever to find out what happened to my poor mother
after this ordeal. I also offered a handsome reward for any information given.

19
I was notified that this article would cost me a lot more to feature and I was
quite willing to pay the price. I prayed that God would help me and send me
the information I needed to find my mother.

Only one person that contacted me had solid information, which was better
than ten people contacting me with prank calls, false sightings of my parents
and information that cost me many phone calls and goose chasing with no
results. Detective Morgan was one among the phone calls that asked me if I
had any new leads. His concern ran deeper than losing the love of his life, he
lost his baby too so in a way I understood his pain.

I got my first solid lead from Aunty Patsy, a grey haired woman who looked a
little airy fairy, slightly unstable. She seemed to be in a daze most of the time. I
visited her at her beaut iful home and as I sat at the kitchen table for tea, she
introduced herself as Patsy Lennon, sister of the young lady who was
murdered. Amid fighting off the four cats that kept jumping on the kitchen
table, she placed a plate of homemade cookies which I graciously declined.
I kept my teacup close to my nose for fear of a stray cat hair floating into my
cup.

She rambled on about the weather, her children and her apple tree in the
garden. She was old and had no one to help her pick the apples at the top
of the tree. I offered to come back one Saturday morning and stand on a
ladder to pick the beautiful red apples for her.

I turned the conversation on to her fat her and sister. Her eyes turned sad as
she spoke of her sister Peggy. She missed having Peggy in her life and
seemed to blame her fat her for Peggy’s murder. She stated that it would not
have surprised her if she found out her fat her had paid someone to murder
Peggy. He certainly had enough money to do so.

I asked her if she knew who murdered Peggy and she immediately replied a
homeless man who ran off with the woman he called his wife. Aunty Patsy
smiled and asked what it mattered anyway, they were just homeless
nobody’s that killed a beautiful somebody, her pregnant sister.

That statement was like a knife jabbing my heart. The homeless nobodies
were precious somebodies to God. They were the somebodies God chose as
my parents.

20
Chapter 8

The apple tree

Peggy’s body was found by other homeless people rummaging in the

garbage for food in a dark alley. She was found naked except for her shoes
and strangled, the wire chord still around her bruised neck. Her fat her paid for
the funeral and in public refused to take the blame for her death stating that
Peggy had brought this upon herself.

What Aunty Patsy did not know was that librarian already told me that Mr
Percy Lennon blamed himself and became a recluse over the years, living
with guilt and sorrow for his stubborn choices.

Aunty Patsy left home and married young in order to escape living with her
fat her, as she hated him and wanted nothing to do with him.

She then asked me why I was seeking the homeless couple. I nodded in
response and told her that I was just interested in the case being solved, as a
project I was working on. She seemed satisfied with my answer and after a
short while I left.

As I turned the corner, I saw sitting in his car the retired Detective Morgan. He
was reading a newspaper and eating a pie. He looked at me, a strange look
but quickly changed his expression to a friendly one and waved at me. I
nodded and acknowledged him with a slight wave back.

I carefully recorded every detail of what Aunty Patsy revealed to me when I

got home and decided to lock my book of findings in the safe.

On contemplating the events and going over the conversation with Aunty
Patsy in my head repeatedly, I suddenly I felt angry towards my fat her, how
could he kill a defenceless pregnant woman? And how could my mother run
off with him and defend him and still stand by him after what he had done?
Why did he leave the woman he killed naked?

I received another call from Detective Morgan asking if I had any information
to share with him. I told him Aunty Patsy looked too unstable to share
anything solid and I was unable to get her to change the subject from talking
about her children and the apple tree. Detective Morgan chuckled and said
I should not worry about the apple tree, as he would send someone to assist
her.

Over the next couple of days I contemplated going to the police station for
more information, however decided against it. The police were unaware that
the retired detective still had illegal copies of the confidential file and was
posing as an active, not retired, policeman.

21
I understood this case was very personal for him yet I was not willing to assist
him, all the information I gathered I kept to myself.

Aunty Patsy earlier also revealed that the detective made it his life mission to
become a policeman after Peggy’s murder. He wanted justice for her and
would not find peace until Bert van der Sandt was locked up in prison for life.

About a week later Aunty Patsy was found dead, face down with her arms
and legs spread out beside her, under the apple tree. Detective Morgan had
forgotten to send someone to assist her with picking the apples and she
decided to stand on a ladder and pick them herself. I had obviously not
gone back because I believed she had the assistance she needed. I was told
that she climbed into the tree and one of the branches snapped.

I called the retired detective and screamed at him that this whole episode
could have been prevented. He tried to make feeble excuses as to why he
forgot to send someone to Aunty Patsy. I slammed the phone down.

What a lovely lady Aunty Patsy was. I took a drive to her home and collected
all the cats. I handed them over to the animal protection services and
donated ten bags of cat food as well as a crate of the same tinned fish she
had fed them, in honour of her memory.

I took a drive out to the river and sat under the big oak tree just to clear my
head. In a way I blamed myself for not following up and checking if Aunty
Patsy was alright.

Then it dawned on me, during the silence of sitting under the tree, how ironic
that after I question people about my fat her that they suddenly die? Could it
be possible that Mr Ford and Aunty Patsy could have been murdered?

I look to beautiful blue sky for answers to all my questions, I think to myself that
even if God shows me a sign through the shape of a cloud, it would at least
be an answer, but no answers were forthcoming. The more questions I asked,
the more questions I had!

22
Chapter 9

Expect the unexpected

As I stood at the grave of Aunty Patsy that had just been closed, I apologised
to her in my mind countless times. I felt so guilty.

Detective Morgan walked up to me placing his hand on my shoulder and

squeezed it slightly. He apologised for the death of Aunty Patsy as what he
described as a mishap, a misunderstanding, an unimportant event as she
lived in an airy fairy fantasy world of denial, so what was the point of her living
anyway, she was at peace now.

He also made a point of informing me that no one else in town knew the
Lennon family. I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck standing up, I
had an urge to punch him, but had to withhold my urge.

That afternoon I received a call from the Weekly Sent inel’s offices, I was
requested to come in as t here was someone who wanted to talk to me. It
was a homeless woman named Edwina. She had seen the article on a
newspaper page that she slept on and wanted to report what she knew. I
took my time driving there as I considered the fact that being homeless and
desperate, Edwina could possibly give false information just to receive the
offered reward.

The journalist that called me to come in looked at me strangely and called

me one side to inform me that the Weekly Sent inel would no longer be
featuring my article as he had received a threatening phone call that the
caller knew which school his children attended and the timeframe they
arrived at school, which old age home his mother lived in and the caller
named the company his wife worked at. The journalist then asked me to
please take the homeless woman off their premises to question her
somewhere else, but to also consider rather letting her go and rather not
questioning her at all.

Shocked by his request I looked at this homeless woman Edwina, took her by
the arm and led her to my Mercedes. I placed her in the front passenger seat
and quickly scanned the area with my eyes. I saw no one watching us and
decided to drive to the river. We drove in silence. She was wearing a scarf
over her head, her face hidden and she did not smell good. She held a
broken crumpled packet in her dirty old hands.

The packet I could see must have been tied and untied a hundred times in its
lifespan and I wondered why she did not obtain a new packet.

23
We climbed out the car and walked towards the old oak t ree, overlooking
the river. Edwina seemed to recognise the place and walked to the trunk of
the tree. She placed her hand over the carving as tears spilled out of her
eyes. She took the scarf off her head and revealed her identity. I recognised
her by her eyes, in shock I stared back as Susan van der Sandt stared at me.

Her skin looked like old leather from the ravages of time and the environment
that she lived in, took its toll on her. Her eyes were deep set and her smile was
dead in that it formed her lips but did not reach her eyes. She looked at me
confused for a moment, searching my eyes almost as if she was not sure if I
was going to accept or condemn her. She said my name followed by the
comment, which was more like a question, that I am her son.

I realized that it was a very brave move for my mother to reach out to me,
not knowing what the outcome would be. She was a woman that had
nothing to lose, except what she had just found - me.

24
Chapter 10

Home sweet home

I led my mother back to the Mercedes and took her home. I parked in the
garage and closed the automatic door behind me, so that we could access
the house without being seen by neighbours or prying eyes.

I led my mother to the kitchen where I made her a nice cup of coffee, my
hands were shaking and I was quietly praising God. I made her a sandwich
with ham, cheese and tomato as she hungrily yet patiently looked on. She
only had a few teeth in her mouth to chew with. She still clung to the packet,
her only possession.

It was awkward at first when we started speaking and she cried as she told
me in her broken uneducated understanding of why she left me and how it
was best for me that as a broken woman she was not a part of my life. She
was proud of my achievements and I reminded her that the fancy car, house
and all its contents were inherited from my grandfather, not achieved by
anything I had done.

At the mention of my grandfather her faced changed, her eyes showed a

little fear. At the ment ion of my grandmother, he eyes softened and she
smiled shyly as she shared some memories of eating my grandmothers
wonderful baking and how the house always smelled like home with the
vanilla essence aroma of the latest milk tart or cake she was baking or icing.

It was evident that my mother had been through a tough time in her life, no
possibility of furthering her education or making a home as a mother. In my
opinion she got a raw deal and my fat her was clearly to blame, as she
chased after her love for him as opposed to chasing after me and a career
of sorts.

After explaining where she had been all the years and telling me about how
much she cried over losing me, her homeless friends that comforted her, I
had a new found respect for her. She showed me in her packet was a small
Gideon’s bible which she read every now and then. She prayed one day
that she would find me and now she knew God heard her.

She also told me over the years she had never stopped loving or praying for
my fat her, which I could not understand. She told me she forgave him for
beating her a long time ago and showed me in the bible where Jesus died
for us and forgave us and required we do the same. With tears in my heart,
not openly showing it with tears in my eyes, I asked her what happened and
where my fat her was.

25
She explained that she did not know the name of the place, but she could
take me there tomorrow. She was feeling tired and wanted to sleep and
promised to tell me tomorrow what transpired for Bert to run away. I already
knew, but wanted to hear her version of the story anyway.

She asked me to drop her off on the corner of Brink and Stratton Roads where
she slept and enquired what time would I pick her up tomorrow morning. She
would pack her bedding away early and wait for me there. I chuckled softly
and gently took her hand as I led her to the spare bedroom, the one she
shared with my fat her years ago just after they got married. I told her that this
was her home now, she could sleep in peace. I showed her where the
bathroom was and ran some water for her thin body to bath in. I placed
some milky body wash into the water to soften her skin and gave her a bottle
of lotion to rub on her body when the bath was over. I warmed some towels
for her to dry herself off.

I took a nightgown out of my grandmother’s cupboard and handed it to her

to sleep in and later I sat in the rocking chair and watched her sleeping, while
tears of love and gratitude spilled down my cheeks. While she was sleeping I
had placed one of my grandmother’s prettiest dresses and sandals which I
hoped fit her, at the foot of the bed for her to wear the next day.

She woke up the next morning confused and not sure where she was. I
walked in with a breakfast tray which had a beautiful freshly picked pink rose
on and some bacon and eggs with soft buttered toast. I made her a nice
cup of coffee and gave her my best smile as I leaned forward and touched
her hair, then kissed her forehead and told her that I thank God t hat she
found me.

26
Chapter 11

More questions than answers

Before the day started I made an appointment at the dentist for my mother
to have her mouth fixed. Even with the mock teeth the dentist used to
measure her mouth’s dimensions, she started looking better and I was excited
for her to get her false teeth within the next four to six weeks.

We had not spoken about Bert yet and she asked me how much time I had
to spare because Bert was quite far away. I had all day and was in no hurry
or needed to be anywhere else.

During the drive we laughed and caught up on my school days as she kept
pointing to turnoffs and roads I needed to take. I was surprised at her
knowledge of the area. The drive was about two hours and we stopped
along the way for refreshments. She explained as we got closer that she had
only been there once before and vowed never to go back but she felt safe
going with me.

We drove down a long beautiful country lane, with lots of trees and saw a
few horses grazing along the way. I pulled up in front of a big grey neglected
old building and I could see fear return to her eyes. She reached out for my
hand as we climbed out the car. I decided I would send her for counselling
when the time was right.

We walked into the building. People were screaming and repeating

sentences, or talking to air as if they were talking to invisible people, some sat
around in wheelchairs. I saw crippled people and prison bars and unfriendly
impatient nurses dressed in white. The nurses spoke to the patients as if they
were scum, impatient and intolerant with them. Many of the patients had
been dumped at this facility by relatives and purposely forgotten. Some
patients were heavily medicated and sedated. The place smelled bad and
most of the patients were treated like animals, locked in small cages as
punishment when they misbehaved.

I watched in horror how an elderly patient messed himself, faeces running

down his legs while being beaten by a male nurse. The nurse turned and
walked away washing his own hands and leaving the patient t o his own
devices. The place was called Devin’s Lunatic Asylum but I was convinced it
should have been called Devil’s Den. Anger silently welled up inside of me,
watching these defenceless people being treated with such contempt. I
made a mental note to look in to who owned this place and try to do
something about the conditions of treatment of these people.

27
My heart started pounding as I realised this was the moment I had waited for
all my life, to meet my fat her. I wished it were under better circumstances, it
was not how I imagined it to be over the years, however I was just too
grateful to care. I did not know what I was going to say to him, or how I was
going to say it but I asked God for wisdom to do the right thing.

We waited in the reception until a snobbish nurse asked me who I was

looking for. I told her my fat her’s name and she immediately said there was
no such person here. My mother looked at me apologetically and suggested
he may have escaped. We walked around the other side of the building on
our way to the car, when Susan spotted Bert through a window.

We ran back into the reception and asked the nurse why she had lied to us
as we had just seen Bert through the window. She rolled her eyes to the
ceiling and looked at us as if we needed to be admitted to this institution
ourselves, as she asked us to point ‘Bert’ out to her please.

On looking at him she informed us that we must be mistaken as that man’s

name was Graham Morgan. She went on to say that she would get into big
trouble if we divulged that she gave us confidential information but he was a
close relative of a retired detective with the same surname. Detective
Morgan never came around here anymore however did pay for Graham’s
treatment and medication every month, for the last twenty years.

I was shocked into silence, I could understand if the fat her of the Peggy took
care of Bert, but not Detective Morgan. Why was the detective not revealing
to me that he was retired, posing as a legitimate policeman, pretending to
need information from me about Bert’s whereabouts when he knew exactly
where he was? Why was Bert’s name changed to Graham? Why did the
detective put Bert in this asylum instead of in prison, after he murdered that
homeless woman? More questions and I knew exactly where to find the
answers!

28
Chapter 12

Peggy’s death revealed

I asked the nurse if she would allow my mother and I a few moments with
Graham alone. She refused us. I took my wallet out and left a couple of notes
on the table and I looked the other way. The nurse had grabbed the cash
and stuffed it into her bosom with what I thought was the speed of a cobra.

Susan slipped her hand into mine again as we walked to Bert’s room. As we
entered the nurse closed the door. Susan stood in front of Bert and greet ed
him as he smiled as if he was in another world, but remembered a past life.
Due to the medication he was on, he was not himself and did not recognise
her. I unzipped my bag and placed the shiny blue stone in his hand. My
mother gasped as she saw it. Bert reacted too and without looking at her, but
staring though the window he called out Susanna, Susanna, Susanna, over
and over again. His sleeves were rolled up and I saw the scars of so many
injections he had had on his old leather skinned frail arms.

Susan took his hand and comforted him. She was smiling as if she had met
Bert for the first time. She searched my eyes for a solution to this problem and
I promised her I would get to the bottom of it.

I wished I could take Bert home with me but the law prohibited me from
doing so. I would have to seek legal counsel and somehow need to get Bert
off this strong medication. I later asked the nurse why he was on medication
and she informed me that Detective Morgan insisted on it and his file stated
that he could only be kept here on the condition that he was permanently
sedated. Alternatively, he would have to go to prison for life. Susan looked at
me shocked and held her hand over her mouth. She clearly needed to tell
me something I did not yet know.

We sat in the Mercedes while she recanted the story of how the murder
unfolded. Bert and Susan were in a deep sleep after a heavy binge of
drinking. They were sleeping behind a couple of bins where they were not
easily spotted. Quite a distance from them the young pregnant woman slept
when Bert woke up to the sounds of her muffled voice struggling to scream
and breathe. Bert watched from behind the bins as Morgan stripped the girl
of her clothing, tied her up and rolled a rock on her stomach to try and kill her
baby without actually killing her. Peggy fought as best she could but Morgan,
who was a married man and not a detective or policeman at the time, felt
threatened by her as she wanted to reveal to his wife that she was pregnant
with his baby.

29
He ordered her for months to get an abortion, to get rid of the baby. Peggy
in an attempt to save her life assured him that she would keep the baby but
never let his wife know.

He was not willing to take the risk and even after rolling the rock and
smashing it into her stomach repeatedly, the baby still moved and kicked.

Morgan panicked and decided to strangle Peggy with a piece of wire chord
lying near the bins. Peggy struggled to run away, she managed to flee but
ran into nearby thorn bushes and her naked body was pierced with thorns. As
Peggy fell Morgan finished her off, squeezing her neck with all his strength
while watching the life ebb out of her, until her eyes stood still and wide
open. Morgan felt no emotion towards her death or the death of his child
growing inside of her.

He knew as a homeless woman, no one cared about her life or her death.
Morgan stepped out of the thorn bushes not even feeling the blood running
down his legs from the thorns embedded in his flesh. He then heard Bert
scream and Morgan panicked again. He had no idea someone was
watching him. He was completely out of breath because Peggy put up quite
a fight, but he managed to grab Bert and tie his hands behind his back to
place him into the back seat of his car, until he could think of a plan of what
to do with Bert to keep his mouth shut . He had thankfully not spotted Susan
hiding behind the bin watching this whole event unfold.

Morgan ripped a large thorn bush out of the ground, he then drove home
and tore the thorns into Bert’s arms and upper legs until they bled. Morgan
changed into clean clothing, then drove Bert to the nearest police station
and accused him of being the murderer stating that he Morgan, was the only
eye witness. At the trial he told the court how he had made a life altering
decision to become a policeman in order to protect people from the likes of
Bert van der Sandt.

As a concerned member of the community with a social responsibility

conscience Morgan suggested the asylum for Bert, where he would be taken
good care of instead of a prison sentence. He insisted that he would take
Bert to the asylum in person and ensure his safety.

Overnight Morgan became a hero, a respected man of the community and

he was welcomed into the police academy as an example of an upstanding
member of society.

From that day my mother changed her name to Edwina and permanently
wore a scarf over her head, so no one could recognise her or question her
about Bert and the murder case.

30
Chapter 13

Covering tracks

Morgan changed Bert’s name to Graham Morgan.

He never informed the asylum that Graham was a murderer. He said Graham
was his uncle and that because he loved Graham so much he would take
care of his expenses. Graham was kept on strong medication in order that he
may appear crazy so that he never told the truth about what he witnessed.

Detective Morgan, the murderer, was using my fat her who was a homeless
man in a vulnerable position to do the time for the crime, to hide his own sin
of murder and unfaithfulness to his wife.

Looking back and going over the turn of events it all made sense now, but
how did I prove this to the police?

I took my mother home and let her sleep after an eventful, tiring and
upsetting day.

The next day I took my mother with me to the court for transcripts of the court
case. The court notified me a week later that the transcripts were missing, as
was the file on the case at the police station. I opened an official case at the
police station and they knew without me telling them, that the only person
who would have taken that file would have been Detective Morgan as he
was obsessed with the case and through the years never stopped talking
about it.

Detective Morgan was arrested as his wife looked on horrified. She was told
the truth after Morgan was questioned and made a full confession. Posing as
a policeman, being involved in the two deaths of Mr Ford and Aunty Patsy,
killing Peggy and framing Bert van der Sandt, to silence them and cover the
tracks of his horrendous crimes.

My fat her was exonerated and later paid out by the state a huge sum of
money. The doctor ordered that my fat her to be taken off the medication in
slow lesser doses until he was able to function without them. I was nominated
by the court as guardian over my fat her’s money and I used some of it to buy
my parents a small house. They were now more in love than ever with each
other and praised God that they were together again.

After many months of counselling and church going, my parents prayed and
got confirmation from God to buy the building where everyone was kept in
the asylum. We converted the asylum into a shelter where homeless people
were welcome to free meals at the soup kit chen, basic medical treatment
and a place to rest their heads on a soft pillow.

31
Embedded in the front door of the shelter we placed the blue shiny stone into
the new nameplate: Klippie’s Shelt er.

One morning I decided to take my parents for an outing for the day. I had
three specific places to take them, to tie up some loose ends. We stopped at
Clinton Prison where we went to see Detective Morgan. Morgan was not
happy to see us at all but we told him we will not take up much of his time.
We just came to inform him that as painful as it was to be robbed of so many
things all our lives because of his choices, we had forgiven him.

The second stop we made was down at the river and we sat for a while
under the big old oak tree. My fat her was overjoyed to see all our carvings
and hugged me really tight. We all three wept and prayed and clung to
each other for the longest time. My fat her then surprised my mother by
placing a ring on her finger, as all he was able to give her on their wedding
day was the blue shiny stone, which to them was as precious as a diamond.
They kissed each other and Bert told his Susanna that she was still as beautiful
as the day he met her.

The third stop was to the graveyard where my grandparents were buried. My
fat her asked for some time alone there and my mother and I watched from a
distance how sobs racked his body as he forgave his fat her for kicking him
out, giving up on him and believing all those lies about him. Years of pent up
pain and anger and unforgiveness tumbled out of his heart. When he finally
stood up to walk back to the car, he felt so much weight lifted off his
shoulders.

32
In Conclusion

My fat her sadly died a few weeks after this incident, we were told that the
medication over the years had weakened his heart and it simply stopped
working. My fat her was so happy in the last days of his life, finding me and of
course finding his one true love again my mother and being truly free for the
first time in his adult life. Bert told us that even when medicated, he used to
stare into space and call out my mother’s and my name. He prayed that
God would release him from the prison he was in, yet he felt he deserved
what he got for making bad choices and walking out of his son’s life.

As Susanna and Klippie we would do our best to change the world, one
homeless person at a time. God helped me to find my homeless parents
which was truly a heart breaking journey, but well worth the sacrifice. I
unlocked my journal from the safe, a new journey with my mother has just
begun and I want to record every precious moment.

A year later I received a letter from Clinton prison, written by Morgan. He was
in a confined space, with a lot of time to think of all the crimes he commit ted,
the hurt and unhappiness he caused for me and my family, as well as all the
other people. He asked my forgiveness and sincerely apologised. His remorse
was evident when he told me that God found him during a prison church
service and now his biggest regret was not knowing or accepting God into
his heart sooner. Morgan recently ordered his lawyer to write out a cheque of
the remainder of his pension fund, since he was never likely to get out of
prison, in the name of Klippie’s Shelt er and he trusted that I could use the
money to change many homeless people’s lives.

I came to realise that while not everybody has the money to change
people’s lives, giving of their time is as valuable.

I set out on this journey by praying that I could teach homeless people about
God caring about their situation and circumstances, his love and compassion
for them unconditional and unending - however I must declare that the
journey God took me on, taught me the most in the end!

THE END

Val Hamann © 2017

33
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