ATV was of a symbolic nature. He lived far away from Cape Town and Stellenbosch, where the heart of the organisation was situated, and could not make any noteworthy administrative contribution. He had no training as a linguist or a literary theorist, and could not participate in any of the ATV’s spelling commissions that battled to provide the new language with its own spelling and grammar rules[53] – it was not the reason for his election in the first place. Like many of the ATV’s members, Malan had joined because of his sympathy for the cause – he and others like him recognised the nationalist potential of the Afrikaans language. The ATV was the precursor to the more explicitly nationalist organisations that would enter the political scene less than ten years later: it was a breeding ground for a new generation of young Afrikaner nationalists. Malan therefore did not make any contributions to the development of the Afrikaans language itself but, in terms of adding moral substance to the movement, he was worth his weight in gold. In 1908, he gave one of the most famous speeches of the Second Afrikaans Language Movement to an audience in Stellenbosch. In response to ‘Onze’ Jan Hofmeyr’s address ‘Is’t ons Ernst?’ and Gustav Preller’s booklet Laat’t ons toch Ernst wezen!, Malan’s address was entitled: ‘Het is ons Ernst’ (We are earnest about it).
In his speech, Malan made it clear that his promotion of the Afrikaans language was not for linguistic reasons. His aims were of a purely nationalist nature, as he stated: ‘The Afrikaans Language Movement is nothing less than an awakening of our nation to a feeling of self-worth and to the call to take up a more dignified place in the world’s civilisation.’[54] This meant that the Afrikaans language had to become a vehicle for the Afrikaner nation’s upliftment:
If our nation’s language can never be the bearer of our own literature and our national culture, what else does it mean but that we will always be regarded by others, and that we will regard ourselves, as a dialect-speaking nation. Elevate the Afrikaans language to a written language, make her the bearer of our culture, our history, our national ideals, and in so doing you elevate the nation who speaks it. Keep the national language at the level of a barely civilised provincial dialect, however, and in so doing you will keep the entire nation at the level of a barely civilised, illiterate and lowly class of people.[55]
These words struck a deeper chord than the endless debates on spelling and grammar that characterised the language movement. Without offering a solution to the immediate problem of the linguistic merits of Afrikaans, Malan united his audience behind a broader ideal. In response to Malan’s speech, Gustav Preller wrote: ‘Nou is’t ons ernst!” (Now we are earnest about it!).[56]
By shifting the focus away from linguistics, Malan also managed to maintain a conciliatory tone towards the Taalbond, stating that they had different methods of achieving the same goal – and envisioning the day that the two organisations would become one.[57] This took place within a year of his speech when, in 1909, the tension between the two organisations was diffused in the establishment of the Akademie voor Taal, Letteren en Kunst,[58] of which Malan became a member.[59]
This passion for the nation and its language permeated every aspect of Malan’s life. As the Malan family gathered to celebrate what was to be D.F. Malan Sr’s last birthday, Malan observed the Babel that reigned among the new generation of Malans. His sister Cinie’s two youngest daughters could speak only Chicaranga, a Shona dialect. Koos, who had since married an Englishwoman, had just returned to South Africa, and his little son could speak only English. Fanie’s and Mimie’s children, as well as the daughters from D.F. Malan Sr’s second marriage, spoke only Afrikaans. Nevertheless, the children managed to play together. Malan, the eldest son, and still the only one who did not have his own family, watched their multilingual games and drily remarked to one of his young half-sisters: ‘You had better make a plan to teach this little Englishman and these two little Kaffirs [sic] some Dutch.’[60]
His half-sisters were soon to become a prominent part of his life. To them, he was simply ‘Boetie’ who had studied in Holland, and who came to visit them during holidays; Boetie who was serious and withdrawn, yet enjoyed teasing them; Boetie who would go hiking in the nearby mountains – wearing his tie and tight collar – and who would join the children in roaming around the veld in search of kukumakrankas.[61] Soon after the large family reunion, D.F. Malan Sr passed away. About a year after the funeral his widow, Esther Malan, announced to her daughters that she had finally decided to accept her stepson’s offer to move to Montagu, where the girls would be able to attend a larger school. He, in turn, was desperate for a pastoriemoeder (mother of the parsonage) who could assist him with his work in the church, especially among its women – and, of course, someone who could manage his household.[62] Malan had a particular knack for eliciting the support and involvement of the women in his congregation, who took the tasks normally accorded to the minister’s wife upon themselves.[63] In spite of this, Malan still felt the need for the more extensive support that could only come from a pastoriemoeder.
When Esther Malan and her daughters took up residence in Montagu’s large parsonage – which used to echo whenever its lone occupant dropped something[64] – Malan received the support system he had been longing for. His relief must have been immense. The size of his 1 500-member congregation had never ceased to overwhelm him, and his interests stretched beyond the borders of Montagu’s district. His church council recognised this and was constantly engaged in searching for an assistant minister to lighten his load – but such efforts were not always successful. Malan continued to crisscross the extensive district on his horse cart – alone on the solitary plains or among the rocky outcrops of the Karoo – in order to conduct services for the most far-flung members of his scattered flock.[65] He liked these services, as he could stand among the people instead of preaching from the dizzying heights of the pulpit. The informality of the setting meant that he could greet each person by hand, and he did not have to preach in the formal language that the church demanded. He could preach in a language that the simple people understood, the language of plain evangelical truths, such as sin and grace, repentance and faith, forgiveness and redemption. And, moreover, he could preach in the language of his heart, Afrikaans.[66]
Now he found that he did not return from his journeys to an empty house; there were people with whom he could share the anecdotes from his visits. It was from one of these visits that Malan returned with another new companion that was to be at his side for the next seventeen years: a Collie puppy named Comet – after Halley’s Comet which could be seen in the night sky at the time. Comet shared Malan’s bed (and sometimes even his pillow), as well as the milk and biscuits that his sisters left at his bedside to sustain him through his late nights. Comet followed Malan wherever he went – which could be rather problematic. On Sunday mornings he hid as soon as the first church bells began to ring. He would then sneak in during the service. Sometimes he would quietly lie down by Malan’s sisters’ feet, and on other occasions sit in front of the pulpit, staring up at Malan as he preached. ‘His master’s voice,’ the sisters would whisper to each other. Comet’s decision to climb into the pulpit one day ended this endearing display of canine devotion. Thereafter, he had to be locked away early on Sunday mornings, before the bells could give him any forewarning.[67]
Malan never presumed to be a father to his sisters, but it was inevitable that he would occupy an authoritative role. He took a great deal of interest in their education and, along with their mother, kept a watchful eye on what they read. He never prescribed or forbade, but every now and then he would ask, ‘Are you reading an English or a Dutch book?’ or ‘When was the last time you read a Dutch story?’[68]
Malan’s sisters, in turn, became familiar with their older brother’s extraordinary powers of concentration. Their play seldom disturbed him while he was at work, and he hardly noticed three-year-old Stinie as she roamed around his study and even rode on the back of his chair while he wrote his sermons. But this gift was accompanied by intense absent-mindedness. If Malan was late for dinner his food was kept warm, and one of his sisters would be appointed to sit with him in order to ensure that he remembered to eat. He could become lost in thought and forget about the presence of his meal.[69] Visitors noted his eating habits with fascination – especially the manner in
