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172 | denis beckett<br />
on the fists getting heavier as verses got longer, so that the<br />
second part of the anthem offered the terrific vista of people’s<br />
eyes crossing in anxiety to work out how to drop your aching<br />
arm unnoticed.<br />
This article was a turning point. Previously I had been<br />
easily wounded by attacks, but now I got so much that I had<br />
to thicken my skin to armourplate specs. The free the children<br />
episode helped me to one of the few positions that I am<br />
unequivocal about, which is not caring what people say about<br />
me. (unequivocal in principle, you understand.) rob Greig,<br />
poet and arts ed, once gave me a poster of aristotle’s “care<br />
more for the truth than what people think.” funny grammar,<br />
but fine point. rob gave it to me not because he was knocked<br />
out by the sentiment but because he was throwing away a<br />
collection of homilies (“pompous crap”). aristotle stayed on<br />
my wall for years, together with rochefoucauld’s “few men are<br />
wise enough to prefer honest criticism to treacherous praise”.<br />
Pompous or not, aristotle was a solace, one I needed.<br />
My aim was never to cause offence. It was to inject thought<br />
even at the risk of causing offence. for every three people<br />
who bollocksed that article for heresy there was one who said,<br />
“That’s right, we liberals have got to do better” and for a heady<br />
moment I thought this seed might grow into the muscular<br />
liberalism I wanted to see, but no, the moment faded. I got so<br />
used to disappointments that they ceased to be disappointing.<br />
another guest at the free the children gig was Tony Bloom,<br />
the fifth, or thereabouts, main plutocrat in the country and<br />
reputedly the most socially-awake company boss. He invited<br />
me to a chairman’s-suite lunch soon after and expressed some<br />
interest – more than most of his guests – in the maximising of<br />
democracy.<br />
I reciprocated his lunch, of course. I would have reciprocated<br />
anyway but I also had a sharp dose of the usual ulterior motive:<br />
proselytise Tony. for venue, I chose the perfect place …<br />
In 1898, the repository of Johannesburg’s wealth and grace<br />
and elegance was Doornfontein. There, a Mr Wachenheimer
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