‘We want you to help us hone our policies,’ Chitepo continued. ‘And in due course, we’d like you to tell the British Government about us. See what they say.’ His eyes flicked to his colleagues and back again. ‘To be honest, there are financial difficulties in launching a new party too.’

Stephen massaged the short hair at his temples. ‘Well, I agree that change is needed. And I’d very much like to see a government with a constitution that’s acceptable to all moderate, middle-of-the-road Rhodesians, black and white. But such a thing couldn’t happen overnight. Even if the present government was amenable to change, I’d recommend a handover period – time for training in the processes of government and administration.’

Sithole sat quite still, looking past Stephen. ‘We’re not demanding the immediate Africanization of the government. But we won’t accept continued domination by a small white minority.’

‘We want the country to be as stable and efficient as possible,’ said Chitepo. ‘No one wants to throw the white man out. We’d like parity in Parliament. We want to open the civil service and other areas of employment that are denied to Africans. We want appointments to be made on merit rather than according to the colour of skin.’

‘You’re quite right,’ said Stephen. For some moments, he struggled with himself. Politics were not for him and never had been. He prized his political neutrality, for by staying on the outside, he was free to speak his mind to each and every party and person. Nevertheless, these men were clearly exceptionally intelligent and able. Perhaps politics was a logical next step in his work for African advancement.

The men sat still, watching him patiently.

‘I am sympathetic to your objectives and I’m terribly frustrated by the current situation,’ he said at last. ‘All right, I’ll help you as best I can. Talk to me.’

Sithole’s eyes glowed with sombre satisfaction. ‘We have a vision for a free Zimbabwe. We’d like to achieve it through roundtable negotiations with the government. If that fails, the next option is by bringing about an economic breakdown – strikes and so on – but only if there is no other choice. We want it to be as peaceful as possible.’

Stephen nodded enthusiastically.

Hours later, the men stood up to leave. They had to be back for the curfew: all Africans who did not live in Umtali had to be in their homes by nine o’clock. They were anxious not to attract the attention of the township police, a particularly brutal class of people who ruled with gleeful and arbitrary violence.

The men had described having their houses searched by the police on more than one occasion, and being roughed up in front of their wives and children while their pamphlets and books were destroyed.