of 867 of its members had died, whether in battle, in concentration camps, or in the field.[12] Malan worked with a battle-hardened church council: one of its members had lost an arm; another, both his eyes. The town also had a large orphanage that cared for the children who had been orphaned by the war.[13] Upon ‘Doctor’ Malan’s introduction to the Sunday school, the minister’s young daughter – under the impression that all ‘doctors’ were medics – exclaimed ecstatically: ‘But that means that he can treat the orphans free of charge!’[14]
The parish of Heidelberg’s flock was sparsely distributed along the Vaal River, which meant that Malan had to travel for up to fourteen hours in order to visit congregants who lived on the outskirts of the district. These travels would take him away from the town for up to three weeks at a time. On these far-flung farms he conducted services for people who had last attended the church in town before the outbreak of the war. In a crowded burnt-out wagon house – a remnant of the war – the searing heat literally took his voice away as he tried to minister to his deprived flock. Here, on the farms, he encountered desperate poverty, especially among the bywoners.[15]
And yet, in spite of all the hardship that he witnessed, Malan was inspired by the people he met. To Nettie he wrote:
Please do not hold it against me for saying it so bluntly – we have spoken about this many times. What is the difference between the Transvaal and the Colony? To be Afrikaans (not just to feel like it), and to speak and to write it (not least the ladies), is the most natural thing in the world. People do not even dream about doing it differently. Poor, watered-down, emasculated Colony – the limpness and wretchedness and inability to stand on its own feet, although there is more than enough lip patriotism. Men of character and great deeds can, at present, only be born in the Transvaal and the Free State. The Colonial spirit is too impoverished for that.[16]
In spite of its devastation, the Transvaal seemed to Malan like a nationalist’s paradise. These people were so different from those in the anglicised Cape Colony – they appeared to be the embodiment of his ideal. True to his nature, it was not long before Malan sniffed out kindred nationalist spirits. In the Transvaal, he was able to read Gustav Preller’s newspaper De Volkstem. Preller was to become famous for his work as an organiser of the Second Afrikaans Language Movement, as well as for his nationalist publications on Afrikaner history, which he managed to popularise to a phenomenal extent.[17] Like Theal before him, Preller portrayed the Afrikaners’ past as a battle between Afrikaner nationalism, British imperialism and black ‘barbarism’. Through the course of 1905 and 1906, which partially coincided with Malan’s stay in the Transvaal, Preller wrote a series of features on the Voortrekker leader Piet Retief that was published in De Volkstem. In 1906 these articles were published as a book, under the title Piet Retief, Lewensgeskiedenis van die grote Voortrekker. This book took a firm place as one of the first works of prose of the Second Afrikaans Language Movement.[18] It was filled with accounts of atrocities committed against the Voortrekkers, complete with ‘battered baby skulls, dead women, and drifting feathers from the ripped mattresses’.[19]
It was Preller’s work as a language activist that drew Malan to him in 1905. In March of that year, ‘Onze’ Jan Hofmeyr had given a seminal address in Stellenbosch entitled ‘Is’t ons Ernst?’ (Are we earnest about it?)[20] Taking up the issue of language rights, Hofmeyr questioned whether Afrikaners were really serious when they complained that Dutch was being pushed out of the public space by English, since they made no notable effort to exercise their right to language equality. He echoed Malan’s private complaints that much lip service was paid to the issue, but no action was taken.[21]
In response to Hofmeyr’s address, Preller published a series of articles in his newspaper, which were then collated into a booklet entitled Laat’t ons toch Ernst wezen! (Do let us be earnest about it!) While Hofmeyr’s address was concerned with the Afrikaners’ right to use Dutch, as opposed to English, in the public sphere – and especially in the education and religious instruction of their children[22] – the young Preller declared that for Afrikaners, Dutch was a dead language. There was certainly much to be gained from a study of Dutch, but Afrikaans was the language in which Afrikaners expressed their innermost feelings. Therefore, Afrikaans had to be elevated to a written language.[23]
In August 1905, Malan wrote to Preller and requested a copy of the booklet, as the matter was ‘of great importance in view of the future of our nation’.[24] After studying it, Malan wrote to Preller with enthusiasm:
For many years – I can say, since I first began to think about our language issue – I have been resolutely convinced that only the elevation of Afrikaans to our written language in South Africa will be able to safeguard the continued existence of the Dutch language, in whatever form. Your important, engaging and convincing plea about this issue in your pamphlet has filled me with an exceptional amount of interest. The movement, which you have inspired anew, has my full sympathy.[25]
Preller was indeed devoted to the revival of the Afrikaans Language Movement. In December 1905, he established the Afrikaanse Taalgenootskap (ATG) in Pretoria, with D.F. Malan as one of its members. Through this organisation, Malan became part of a new generation of Afrikaner intellectuals and nationalists. The Afrikaner students of the 1890s – who had already demonstrated their distinctness from their elders – had come of age, and now took a clear stance against the older generation that still clung to Dutch and dismissed Afrikaans as too underdeveloped to replace an established language.[26] The new generation recognised the potential nationalist power of the Afrikaans language, and it was they who would develop it into a viable replacement for Dutch through what became known as the Second Afrikaans Language Movement.
During that same December of 1905, Malan was preparing for the next big move in his life – he had received a call from the parish of Montagu in the southwestern Cape to become its minister. This meant much soul-searching, as he had to face his doubts all over again: was he, as a young preacher, able to lead a congregation by himself?[27] Finally, Malan took the step and thereby crossed an important threshold in his life. He accepted the call to Montagu in much the same manner as he had accepted God’s call to the ministry as a young student in Stellenbosch: with intense uncertainty and fervent faith in God’s will. This was reflected in his acceptance letter:
Although I have no doubts that God Himself has called me to this work, yet, taking this decision was not an easy step. I am especially hesitant of accepting work of such importance and extent at this stage. I am clearly conscious of my own weaknesses and shortcomings. Therefore I want to state it here emphatically, that I am willing to take up this work, not because of who I am or can become, but trusting only in God’s grace and the power of the Holy Spirit, and leaning on the tolerance and love of the Church Council and the congregation.[28]
So it happened that Malan bade Heidelberg and the Transvaal farewell, and returned to the Cape Colony to visit friends and family before moving to his new home.[29]
It was in the midst of the sweltering February heat of 1906 that D.F. Malan arrived in Montagu to a welcome that one might have thought would be accorded to visiting royalty, but which was the normal practice when a Dutch Reformed congregation welcomed its new minister. A procession of about sixty or seventy horse-drawn carts accompanied Malan into the town. Addresses were given by nearly every constituency within the church. There was a reception, a dinner, and an inaugural service. At the inaugural service, the church building was packed, which necessitated the church council to insist that only those over the age of fifteen would be allowed inside. Nevertheless, about 1 100 bodies managed to squeeze themselves into seats that were only built to accommodate somewhere between 700 and 800.[30]
The first challenge that Malan faced as minister of his own flock was that the addresses he had been given on his arrival included a petition from the English-speaking community in Montagu requesting that an English service be conducted one Sunday evening per month, as had been the custom in the past. Malan and his new church council had to consider the petition – which also carried the signatures of persons who were either
