It was a typical Cape winter's day. The wind had been howling from the north-west for a number of days already. The sky was grey as I looked out of the train window towards the mountain and Devil's Peak to the left. The rain pelted down and the bleak atmosphere even permeated through to the faces of my fellow passengers on the train. Sullen white faces peered down at 'The Cape Times', not sparing a look at their fellow passengers.

        Amidst the stony faced silence however, I was happy. After all, life was wonderful. I had finished school and I had then been unleashed on the world. I had got a job soon afterwards and now it was a wonderful experience earning some money. I had already been working for three months and commuting from Claremont, where I lived, to central Cape Town, wasn't so bad. It was only when I was late that my boss at the office of Sun Oil would growl at me. I used to catch the 7.25 train every morning which would get me there in time for my 8am. start. However, sometimes there were delays at Salt River station, or in heavy rain like today. The train then would stand still for what seemed like hours while agitated passengers looked at their watches anxiously (as if to stop time passing by) and like me, imagined their bosses wrath descending upon them.

        It was just that kind of day that bleak Monday morning, when all of a sudden the train screeched to a halt just outside Observatory station on the main line. The standing passengers lurched forward, even those holding on to the straps. Sighs of exasperation came forth from frustrated mouths at yet another delay. It really was going to be one of those days if the week started off like this - a real black Monday. People in the crowded rush-hour train started leaning out of the windows. I couldn't see much because I didn't have a seat. Only those fortunate enough to live some way down the line like in Fish Hoek or sometimes Diep River, stood much chance of reading the paper seated in comfort. Having climbed aboard at Claremont, I stood near the doors packed closely next to my fellow passengers like sardines.

        People then started talking excitedly amongst themselves. I saw the train driver in his white coat walking next to the tracks back toward "Zervs" station. In the sombre grey of morning his white coat matched his face which seemed drained of all its colour. Someone said that the train had run over somebody.

        After about ten minutes waiting, people started getting off the train and wandering around. I also got off taking that big step down to the ground. In the distance I saw a group of people crowded around. I sauntered closer and saw what looked like a body covered with newspaper and the protruding feet wearing a pair of pointed black boots. I stared at the boots then turned away. I thought nothing much, except for feeling sorry for the careless fellow getting run over by a train. I even felt a bit angry that my day was going to be spoiled for being late for work and this sentiment was shared by other people milling around. After a few minutes a ripe Afrikaans accent advised all passengers to get aboard "onmiddelik want die trein vertrek nou" (the train is now leaving).

        From then on the day was spoilt and after explaining my lateness to the boss, I got off with a severe reprimand. So this was freedom and responsibility after school (and then university). Perhaps one's schooldays, as I fondly recalled, were far happier and more carefree than joining the working force!

        The railway accident passed right out of my head until I caught my train the next morning. This time I left home 15 minutes earlier than normal. I stopped off at the cafe in Lansdowne Road to buy a Cape Times. The Malay lady there, Mrs Jaffer was always very friendly to us... since we were kids. Our family had been buying bread, milk and newspapers from Mr and Mrs Jaffer for years. There were only two papers left and Mrs Jaffer said: "Master Steven, lucky for you. The papers are 'nellie ol gon'. Terrible 'trubble' at the church hey!"

        While waiting on Claremont station for my train, I looked at the photographs covering the front page of 'The Cape Times'. If it wasn't a burly policeman bringing down a baton on a cowering terrified student, it was a horde of policemen and alsatian dogs chasing fleeing University of Cape Town students, who were seeking the sanctuary of St. Georges Cathedral in Wale St. "Why weren't the students busy with their studies - too much time they have", some people muttered. I overheard people on the station mutter, "typical UCT students". Oh well, my parents and their friends had always called students "communists". I didn't know for sure what a communist was, even though I read quite a bit and I was very interested in politics. In South Africa it was hard to know the truth and find out anything about communism. Others said : "Trouble-makers just like the cranks in the Black Sash. Thank goodness the 'Boere'(Afrikaners of farming stock) sorted them out." My parents and my friends did not read anything about politics in South Africa. "What was the big fuss about? The natives had a good life here, didn't they?". Often even I thought that you can get saturated with politics in South Africa! To most people it must be so boring reading about politics in the paper and it was not nearly as interesting as sport. It didn't affect their lives, so why concern yourself with it? So they never spoke about it.

        After thoroughly reading the main item on page one, I started scanning the paper, working backwards to the sports pages. Suddenly a small item on page three caught my eye. It was stuck away, dwarfed by the reports of police beating the students in the sanctuary of the Church. The heading was "Man killed by train". The short report stated simply that an unidentified man had been killed by a train the previous morning. Apparently he had thrown himself in front of the 6.45 Am. from Simonstown. Police were interviewing witnesses and were trying to establish the young man's identity. The image of those pointed black shoes haunted me and made me recall the happy days of my youth and old friends. The memories came flooding back...