Monsignor
The Reverend Monsignor Giovanni Romano had been recommended by his Bishop for the honour, “Chaplain of His Holiness”, which was duly bestowed on this up and coming priest by the “Holy See”, Pope Pius XII shortly before the outbreak of the Second World War in Europe. He had been a priest in the southern suburbs of Cape Town since landing on South African shores from Italy in the early 1930s.
Monsignor Giovanni Romano was a highly regarded, though soft spoken and gentle man, with a heart for the poor. In 1930s Cape Town there were large numbers of people eking out a meagre living under trying economic conditions in the Great Depression that had struck South Africa like a tsunami after the Wall Street (New York Stock Exchange) crash of 1929. Jobs in the formal economy were decimated. As businesses shut their doors in the wake of the depression, working class whites, coloureds and black folk were hit the hardest. Many were beholden to churches and charitable organisations that doled out hot soup and a slice of bread once a day as the only sustenance these struggling souls could count on. The poverty was deep and desperation widespread. The young priest drove relief projects with all his energy, gaining plaudits for the Catholic Church and captured the attention of his Bishop – hence the recommendation to the Pope. His motives were genuine and unselfish, and the recognition was richly deserved.
The wealthy in South Africa, as was the case in most capitalist countries, hardly skipped a beat. It was the ordinary fellow, the lower middle class and the working classes that bore the brunt of the economic pain. The dreadful poverty that descended on the bulk of the population took its toll and lingered some time after the economy eventually recovered. South Africa’s mining sector pulled the country out of the quagmire quicker than most other states, and the Fusion government (led by bitter rivals Hertzog and Smuts who put their differences aside) took South Africa off the gold standard, allowing market forces to stabilise the economy. Agriculture took a severe knock and shed manual labour jobs at an alarming rate, sending scores to the cities to try their luck there. Many farmers who harboured debt, lost their property as the banks foreclosed on them. Small and medium enterprises also faced bankruptcy in droves, sending job seekers scurrying around the rapidly urbanising country in search of anything that would stave off starvation.
Father Giovanni had been spurred to action by the scores of struggling families (of all hues, but mostly black and coloured) he encountered in the course of his ministry. He witnessed families losing the roof over their heads and settling under bridges, in storm water pipes and between the black wattle of the Cape Flats in search of the meagre shelter they provided in the face of the wet, windy and bitterly cold Cape winters. Starvation was rife amongst some of the less fortunate communities, but these hard times also brought out the best in people fortunate enough to still have jobs – albeit poorly paid. He witnessed civil society stepping up to the challenge – Doris Syfret’s “Service Dining Rooms” offering a cooked meal every day to ensure some could get at least one square meal a day; Mosques and Churches serving home made soup on the street corners. The need was far greater than the ability of those with a social conscience to cater to the scores who lined up to gratefully accept the help. Most of these desperate souls trying to feed kids (and themselves) were deeply embarrassed about having descended into such dire poverty. These were hard working folk who were quite willing and very keen to earn their keep by the sweat of their brow, but their circumstances were foisted upon them by a global economic disaster the magnitude of which no-one had been able to anticipate.
After the honorific title “Monsignor” had been bestowed upon him, Giovanni continued to minister to the spiritual as well as the social needs of the communities he served with dedication. He was a familiar figure boarding the trains in and around the city. Often he would take his bicycle with him on the train so that he could reach congregants who lived in the more remote areas of the townships of greater Cape Town. He cut a somewhat comical figure when he pedaled his old thick wheeled bike along Main Road between Wynberg and Mowbray on those occasions he had doled out his last few shillings to someone in need and could not afford the train fare. Then he could be seen pedaling for all he was worth against the South Easter, his clerical robe merrily flapping behind him and appearing only to be held in check by his white starched “dog collar.” Priests are usually addressed as “Father” but mostly dressed like “Mother” – their robes being distinctive apparel for clergymen of his ilk. His skinny Italian legs with short socks and white “Depression Shoes” (tackies) on his feet, worked that bicycle chain frantically as he forged ahead. Passers-by would gaily wave and greet him enthusiastically, yet respectfully as “Monsignor!” Ever his polite self, he would wave graciously whilst winding the pedals with ever more vigour.
Giovanni Romano was a well known, gentlemanly figure held in high regard by his own flock of congregants, members of other churches and other faiths, agnostics, the wealthy and the poor. It was hard to imagine anyone who would have a harsh word to say to or about him. Despite his rather amusing appearance as he sat astride his bicycle, or walked along the train platform with an odd gait that suggested he might have coil springs in his tackies causing him to hop along merrily, he was well liked by one and all. Some found it entertaining to engage with him as he spoke a heavily accented English that had an unfamiliar ring even to the largely Afrikaans speaking folk that were beginning to populate the Cape Flats – either by their own volition, or after the Nationalist Party came to power in 1948 and they were coerced out of District Six and other areas and dumped in the sandy (and in the rainy season, muddy) central Cape Flats wasteland. Be that as it may, Monsignor Romano was both popular and respected.
One of the duties of a Roman Catholic Priest is to take confession – viewed as a sacramental act for penitent souls. Mortal (Cardinal) and Venial (everyday faults) confessed to the Priest, accompanied by the necessary contrition, is regarded as integral to the impartation of absolution. It is held to be the absolute duty of clergy hearing the confession not to disclose what they have heard from penitents during the course of this Sacrament. Confidentiality is deemed to be binding and the Seal of Confession may not be compromised even under threat of death. Monsignor Romano was beyond reproach on this score, and was utterly uncompromising as a keeper of this promise of total confidentiality. Presumably this is an irksome issue for law enforcement not so scrupulous in matters relating to secular confidentiality associated with lawyer – client privilege. Their scruples have on occasion not been rigid with regard to the bonds of the priesthood, either. Undue pressure has been brought to bear on clergy in many jurisdictions to reveal material information that could resolve a crime, or at the very least point in the direction of such a resolution.
One bleak day in the 1950s Monsignor Giovanni Romano failed to return to the rectory after having set out in the early morning on his customary visits to the Cape Flats to engage in church business. It caused no end of concern to his colleagues, as he was a stickler for punctuality and never departed from his routine. He was quite obsessive about this, really.
Shortly before midnight the sad news was communicated to the rectory by the police that Monsignor Giovanni Romano’s lifeless body had been discovered in a ditch near the Mowbray train station. Next to his remains was his bicycle. His purse was still in one of his pockets of the robe. The corpse was riddled with stab wounds of the most horrific sort. His throat was slit and his heart and lungs pierced with a sharp object. He had clearly bled to death where he lay.
The perpetrator was never brought to book. Rumours swirled about him having been privy to incriminating information shared in the confessional, and that a hardened gangster either did the deed himself, or commissioned a “hit” on the kindly figure by associated thugs to guarantee silence. The police were themselves under a cloud of suspicion, but this seems unlikely to have been perpetrated by them. They would simply not have killed a valuable potential witness, even if he had resisted attempts to break his silence. The act of a random thug or thief featured in the line of investigation for a short while, too. This, though, is unlikely, as nothing was taken from the body – the purse, the bicycle, a few coins that he had carried in his wallet.
The only line of enquiry that made any sense at all was that of a gangland “hit.” The Monsignor simply knew too much.
©Paul M Haupt
A PRIEST AND HIS BICYCLE – Photograph by Margaret Stevens
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