History matters. Memories matter. From the stories told around fires by our ancestors to the documents of the Mayibuye Centre Collection at the University of the Western Cape and the Apartheid Archives Project at Wits University, we can understand better – and, hopefully, learn from – the lessons of the past.
My father, Bernard Gosschalk, died recently in London aged 91. He was one of the very small number of white people who had the courage and the tenacity to actively resist the apartheid government in the 1950s and 1960s. This came at considerable personal cost: He was banned for many years, imprisoned twice – including being held in solitary confinement for five months – then exiled with his family, forcing him to leave his beloved Cape Town.
He was born in Port Elizabeth. His father, Morris, was a gentle Englishman who was gassed in France during World War I; the doctors gave him less than a year to live, but he survived into his 80s.
He married Anne, the sister of South Africa’s first woman MP (Bertha Solomon); Bernard was their only child. After passing matric aged 16, Bernard moved to Cape Town and to UCT, where he studied architecture.
However, World War II was still raging, and he interrupted his studies to volunteer for the army and to “do his bit” to fight fascism. This took him to Italy, where he learnt not only about the horrors of war but also about the wonderful art and architecture of Italy. The experience helped make him a lifelong internationalist, fascinated by different cultures and histories.
He returned to UCT after the war to complete his studies. One of his own fireside stories related to the visit of the Queen Mother, who was used to high-quality sherry before dinner. Ever anti-establishment and with a wicked sense of fun, Bernard bought a bottle of the cheapest sherry available and substituted this for the Queen Mother’s. If anything was noticed, nothing was said…
In 1951, he began post-graduate studies in town planning at University College, London. He had been brought up on his father’s stories about England’s “green and pleasant land”; what he found came as a profound shock, with mass deprivation, slum housing, food rationing, and awful weather compared to Cape Town. The big compensation came from meeting his first wife, Ruth Fine, a fellow South African who was teaching in one of London’s most deprived areas in the East End.
Bernard joined the UK Ministry of Works as an architect. His first project involved working on the restoration of the House of Commons and Big Ben, its famous clock tower. But the lure of Cape Town was too strong, and he and Ruth moved back in 1954, before marrying the following year.
The National Party’s rule, and creation of apartheid, ran totally counter to the values of both Bernard and Ruth. Turning a blind eye to a profoundly unjust system, with all its damaging consequences for society, was simply not an option they could live with (although many whites chose to do so).
Each was politically active, in Bernard’s case as secretary of the Congress of Democrats in Cape Town from 1955-60. He was arrested after the Sharpeville Massacre in 1960, imprisoned, but eventually released without charge.
Life as a banned person, under constant police surveillance, was not easy; less determined people would have given up. Neither Bernard nor Ruth would do so, despite the pressures. They brought up their four children as “normally” as possible, so that my own memories of childhood, and of growing up in Newlands, are happy ones. Little did I really know or understand at that time: A normal social life and freedom of movement were impossible for my parents under their banning orders. Sadly, I have no recollection of meeting Chief (Albert) Luthuli, who visited my parents at home when I was still young enough for him to bounce me on his knees.
Ruth continued to work as a teacher, Bernard as an architect in the practice led by Jack Barnett, one of South Africa’s leading architects and also an opponent of apartheid. The government made sure the firm was not invited to tender for publicly-funded projects, in an effort to force its closure; but the team competed successfully for competitions, where the identities of bidders were confidential until the winner was selected.
The government’s attack on any internal opposition was stepped up following the Rivonia Trial. In due course Bernard was arrested, imprisoned and placed in solitary confinement – again, with no charges being brought. This led Ruth to take the government to court; amazingly, she won the case, which was led by Harry Snitcher QC, one of South Africa’s leading (and most expensive) lawyers. When Bernard heard who was defending him, he managed to smuggle out the message: “Get Snitcher off the case – he costs a fortune!” Unknown to him, the QC was doing his work on a pro bono basis.
On Bernard’s release, the authorities made it clear that the next time he was arrested, he would be kept in prison for a very long time. Reluctantly, Bernard and Ruth made the heart-breaking decision to leave South Africa with their four children aged under 11. Cape Town, with its stunning mountains, sea, and nature, remained part of Bernard’s soul for the rest of his life.
They moved to Manchester, a step which Bernard found difficult and depressing. He became a lecturer at the university’s School of Architecture and proved to be an inspiring tutor, not only for his students but for more than 1 000 councillors who attended the extra-mural courses he ran over a 20-year period. He was passionate about good design, about the importance of quality housing, and about architecture’s role in helping build a better society.
His personal life was marked by tragedy, with two happy marriages ended prematurely by health problems. Ruth died in June 1994 after a 10-year battle against leukaemia; as part of trying to come to terms with this, Bernard accepted the invitation from President (Nelson) Mandela to attend the reception he held in July in Pretoria to honour those who had resisted apartheid and thereby helped pave the way to a multiracial South Africa. During a visit to his old friend Barnett, Bernard met the prominent journalist Zelda Gordon Fish; they later married and moved to Manchester. After several years together, Zelda was cruelly hit by Alzheimer’s. Bernard was a tireless and devoted carer to both wives during their respective illnesses; a tribute to Zelda, who died in 2013, is in the poignant book he wrote about living with the disease (Z, Alzheimer’s – A Shared Journey).
Bernard was a passionate, caring, generous person, full of wisdom and complete integrity. He was idealistic and a strong believer in standing up for your principles, however difficult this might be.
His love for South Africa, and his commitment to a better world, never dimmed. He was also an inspiring role model as a husband, father and grandfather to his 12 adored (and adoring) grandchildren.
His story deserves to be told: History, and memories, matter.