Letter
Wikus Louw, Jacques Hendrik and Karl Helmut were all in private accommodation, but not the luxury type that they were used to. The floors were hard, cold concrete with stains. There was a small window in each of their rooms with thick reinforced steel bars and an en-suite bathroom – actually an open plan bathroom and bedroom all in one, which smelled terrible. The toilets were missing their seats and covers and the bars to their cells were greasy from the hands of the many accused who had passed through the awaiting trial prisoner cells. The stench was worse than any racing horse stable that Wikus Louw had ever experienced. He constantly wanted to gag. The food was a mush meal of who knows what, he wouldn’t even feed it to the pigs on his farm.
His Christmas was going to be a long
