My son was born on the 31^st January 1967. He was 19 years old when he was called up in January 1986. He returned on leave from his basic training in Kroonstad, and spent some time at home.

He was called again on the 1^st November 1986. At the time of this call he had spent ten days in Tygerberg Hospital and was recovering from a swollen arm, which we were told was caused by a blood clot in a vein that was to close to the ribs.

I didn’t know much about what would happen to him, or what he would do in the army. We had come to accept that it is the law. Your children get called up for two years and that’s it. You don’t question that but accept it as the law.

I had three boys and it made me feel sad to have my children taken away like that and being kept in the dark about what exactly was involved in the call-up - what they were going to do. But as I said you never ask questions, it was the law - that was that.

On the day I accompanied Wallace to be taken away, my heart was very sore. He carried only a few basic things with him in a small bag. It was strange to see him go like that. In fact the whole thing seemed odd.

Your child gets a letter telling him to be at such and such a place. Then you accompany him and watch him being loaded with others in a truck, almost like sheep.

I could feel that Wallace was a little sad on the day he was taken away. In retrospect it is as if he knew what was going to happen to him. Wallace was a very strong child, very disciplined, good in sports and he was a perfectionist. I never thought in the world that he would be taken away from me forever, never.

You know there are certain things you take for granted about your children. Life is one of them. So that when you pray for them, you just pray for there health and well being.

If I thought there was the remotes chance that I might loose him, I would have prayed for his life, prayed to the Lord to spare his life. One thing that struck me about the day I saw him off is how insecure he seemed. I remember that I wanted to go and buy some cooldrinks for us, and he said, but mommy you can’t leave me alone here. That surprised me, and it was very unchariteristic of him. But now I think he felt the sense of impending danger. A kind of premonition.

Had I been aware of that danger, I would have made more of the good-byes I shared with my son. If I knew he was going to fight in a war, I would have held him closer to me. And held him up in my prayers.

You see all we were told is that our children are going in the border, which meant guarding the South African boarders. I didn’t know that my son would be fighting in another country, across the border. Which is were his life was taken away. We were conditioned that there was this war. But somehow I didn’t think that my son would be put in the thick of it.

In his letters it was not clear either, he wrote to tell me that things were OK, and I accepted that.

Two days before I heard about Wallace’s death, on a Tuesday, I received an exciting letter from him, telling me about his plans for the break he was going to get from the army.

And then on Thursday, March 9^th , I was confronted with the total shock of the news of his death. I was told that my son was killed a few kilometers off Oshakati. He was brought home wrapped in a thick sealed plastic bag. The instructions was that the plastic bag should not be opened. The only thing I know about the state my son was in, is that all his limps were in tact. And this I heard from his uncle, who could only establish this by running his hands over his plastic bag.

Again I accepted this as Military law. You are not allowed to have the last glimpse of your own child. Even as he laid there, lifeless. On the day of Wallace’s funeral, his coffin wasn’t opened. It is ten years since I last laid eyes on my child. Nine years since he was laid to rest. But in this nine years I’ve been struggling to complete the process of mourning for Wallace.

A part of me wanders if in fact it was him in that plastic bag. How can I lay him to rest within my heart if I didn’t see him go. When I lost my mother, whom I loved very much, I saw her, I touched her and therefore I was able to separate from her, release her and move on.

But with Wallace there are so many question that are still unanswered. In my struggle with my grief, I would like to know were exactly he died. How it had happened. Who was there with him when it happened. Did anybody help him to prevent it from happening. Who was the doctor who attended to him. I’ve never had the opportunity to ask these questions. Nobody has ever explained anything to me about my son’s death.

They can say nobody asked, but who do you ask. And even if you do, you will not get any answers.

I sometimes see Wallace in the streets. I remember two distinct occasions when I though I was seeing him. And it turned out to be somebody who looked like him. My grief becomes more intense on the anniversaries of my sons death and on his birthday. He would have turned thirty in January. I’ve kept an album of all his photographs as a way of dealing with the many feelings I have about the loss. But it is very hard, when there are so many things you are not sure about.

On behalf of Wallace I write this statement. In a way I feel arrogant to write something on behalf of my brother. He’s been dead for a long time now and we will never know how he would have turned out to be. What his beliefs would have been. What he would have written if he was killed on the border.

I only knew him for short while but I knew him well and I think the following is more or less what he would have asked and said to you if I was shot dead on March 9^th 1987.

My name is Matthew William Wallace McGregor. My brother is dead today and I can think of no good reason why, he was just a child. What did he know about politics, all he knew was the lies. He was told that there were 40-thousand Cuban soldiers, wanting to invade South Africa. He was told that they joined SWAPO in their invasion, in their fight, and if they do not stop them at the Angolan Border, we will have to fight them at the South African Boarder, just north of Upington. Which is quite close to Nieuwoudville, where he grew up.

He was told that there was Russian involvement’s as well and that America was on our side, and that together we fought communism which the NG Kerk said was from the devil. He was taught that SWAPO not only wanted, then - the then South West Africa, but also South Africa.

All he knew was that he must go to the army and protect his country and the people he loves. He was taught that he will also be defending the black people from this outside evil. They do not fight with us, because they cannot be trained as good soldiers, and will only be a hustle in a war situation, and will kill more of their own people because they cannot shoot straight.

This outside evil also infiltrated South Africa somehow and was a little group called the ANC. In the township he had to defend the black people against this group. He was taught that people were easily influenced and it was his duty as a Christian to defend the blacks against this evil communist radicals.

This was all he had time for to learn before he was killed. He did not have time to learn that it was all lies. According to him he died a hero because that’s all he knew.

I regret that he did not live long enough - my brother - to know that the Cubans never fought against us but against UNITA for the Angolan Government. SWAPO was the people of South West Africa and got it’s independence three years after you died. And is now called Namibia.

They where never interested in South Africa, they just wanted their country back. And the NG Kerk that said communism is from the devil, they didn’t allow Antjie into the church at your funeral…

The people you defended against the ANC all along supported them. The ANC was never a little rebel group. It was the people of South Africa. They also got their independence and the National Party is now the opposition.

I want to ask the National Party if they thought they could get away with these lies. I want them to know that we all know the truth today.

I want to ask Pik Botha the night you got drunk at Rhundo and rounded up - some troops to go and shoot some SWAPO’s, did you think it was all a game? Today you say you were against the war all along.

Magnus Malan started a help center for former soldiers just last week. I don’t think any of the former soldiers want your help, to them you are nothing but a liar.