My Dad, the legend — all man and all father and all true

My father, filled with ambition, rode his bike from Genadendal to Cape Town as an adventurous teenager.

My father herded cows, learning Latin declensions, concurrently.

My father loved Genadendal and its people, passionately.

My father had, essentially, a working childhood.

My father, after sabotaging a prospective position by saying that he was Coloured, was forced by his father to leave home and find shelter with a relative in Cape Town

My father demonstrated extraordinary discipline, ambition and powerful ingenuity which caused him to rise in business in apartheid South Africa

My father invented cunning devices to, among others, save thousands of chickens for farmers when the power dropped, and caused the Adderley Street Fountain to drop during high winds.

My father imported insulated high-voltage cables from France which he sold to Eskom in the darkest days of apartheid, bringing power to rural areas, small towns and townships which had previously not had access to electricity.

My father had white friends who would sign for import permits and building leases because these were affairs reserved for whites only.

My father cared for orphans and for widows. He had an enormous heart for poor people in remote towns and villages.

My father, with others, opened a non-racial school in Zonnebloem in the Eighties.

My father, together with my mother, travelled extensively, all over the world and around South Africa, making friends everywhere, extending their imagination and their understanding.

When the brethren church refused to allow guitars, jeans and make-up in church in the 1970s, my father and others led all the young people out of the church, many of whom would enrich other churches with their wisdom and energy.

My father was deeply committed to missions. He supported, mentored and coached countless young leaders.

My father wore the best shoes.

My father drove interesting cars, seasons in time now marked by “the blue Chevrolet” “the long Citroen”, “the Supra”.

My father was a quiet civic activist, a disruptor, creatively finding ways to beat the apartheid status quo.

My father sat on the board of Standard Bank in the late 1980s.

My father wooed my mother by taking her on long drives through Bainskloof Pass, playing classical music on his mobile turntable in his beautiful white Valiant.

My father was a man of faith, prayer and devotion.

My father built roads and eye clinics in the Transkei while deep in his retirement.

My father loved well. He loved strangers, associates, brothers and sisters, siblings, friends and family.

My father was magnanimous. My father was gracious.

Enthusiasm was his superpower.

Memories from abroad. (Photograph: Supplied by the author, Karen Mallinson)

A picture of Karen Mallison's father and mother together. (Photograph: Supplied by the author, Karen Mallinson)

A family gathering, with 'Pa Bernie' on the sofa. (Photograph: Supplied by the author, Karen Mallinson)

Another family gathering. (Photograph: Supplied by the author, Karen Mallinson)