Ian Robertson has kindly done some research to ascertain that Allan Ireland died in Greytown in 2005 of myocardial infarction Felicity tells me this is a heart attack). His spouse was Namisile Shongani Sibiaya, who he married in 2005. I an was motivated to investigate by our John Mason's moving tribute to Allan on the 1964 website. John has given me permission to post it here too:

All about Allan Ireland

Does anyone know where or how I can find this friend?

Enigmatic, independent, creative and compassionate were but a few of Allan’s traits, and the reason I came to regard him as a uniquely interesting character. My other great friend Mike Lalouette, used to tell the story of staying with Allan in his home - a small country cottage attached to the trading store at Tugela Ferry not too many k’s from Greytown. There were no high fences, threatening dogs or security guards -  the only protection Allan relied upon was a pistol and his rapport with the locals - by then he was as fluent in Zulu as he was in English - skills that he had acquired while serving in the SAP and before he resigned in favour of owning a trading store. Allan had warned Mike as they retired for bed, that under no circumstances were he to wander, or worse still creep about the house in the dark without waking Allan.

Inevitably Mike did wake and, not wanting to disturb Allan attempted to find his way to the toilet. The moment that has left a permanent imprint on Mike’s memory, was in an instant finding himself staring down the muzzle of a pistol and in a state of terror such that he could not find the voice to identify himself. He remembers that in the immediate aftermath Allan was both angry and very shaken - having almost shot a close friend. During his time in the police force Allan had been given the task of tracking down a homicide suspect; the upshot of this was that in a one-on-one confrontation in a remote village, he had shot and killed this man. According to Allan, and he was someone whose word I would never have doubted, it was very much a question of self-defence and survival. Not long thereafter Allan opted for the solitary life of owning and managing a trading store. The catalyst for this was not the trauma of having killed someone or indeed the lucrative potential of owning a trading store - a view he certainly subscribed to, but because of an approach by state security following his taking down of the suspect. More specifically, because of his effort in confronting a suspected killer with little if any back-up, and that his first language was English, he had been approached by his superior officers with the offer of being enrolled at Natal University - a predominantly English speaking institution and one that was inimical to the apartheid regime. He would be paid  a full salary and would be on a full university scholarship, on condition that he infiltrate left wing organisations on campus and feed back information that might be ‘useful’ to the government. These authorities had misread or underestimated Allan’s discernment and maverick tendencies. Moreover, that his integrity could not be compromised with bribes. Besides which Allan was first and foremost a free spirit and not one that could, for any extended period, be limited to the constraints of a government bureaucracy.

It was Allan who advised me that leaving SA was my most sensible option. That to stay and continue espousing anti-government views would result in arrest and detention. By then I had convinced myself that it was the power of the majority that would ultimately bring about change, but not before a lot of blood had been shed. This was at the start of the seventies, when the vast majority of ‘whites’ still believed that theirs was a much-deserved utopia for those designated white by the authorities, proof of which they sometimes argued was the value of the rand - at that time one rand could be exchanged for two Australian dollars. Prosperity is invariably regarded by society as an indicator that all is well - how can anything be wrong if it seems that there is no hindrance to wealth other than a lack of initiative or motivation? This was certainly the prevailing view amongst the vast majority of English and Afrikaans speakers - the only voters in the society of my formative years. Only a few left wing detractors questioned these assumptions, and the vast majority of black voters had yet to grasp the extent of the inequity foisted upon them - or so it seemed to me.

With all the stresses and demands of starting life in Australia and teaching reluctant ‘slow’ learners in an under-resourced state school, I failed to maintain contact with my friend and his isolated life in country Kwazulu. This was before the age of emails and electronic international links and so I lost contact with a very special friend - a cause of ongoing regret and not a little guilt. 

Allan was fellow boarder in Blackmores, but being a year ahead and given the severe hierarchical structures that had been beaten into us within the first few months in the boarding establishment - unless invited to do otherwise, we were only allowed to use the surnames of boys above us, I only knew Alan as ‘Ireland’ - someone to be respected and whose presence was a reminder of my lowly status. This changed when Al had to repeat fifth form and we ended up in the same class. 

I am quite certain that Allan was as academically able as his peers, but in those days, the fact that your mother had died suddenly was not factored in as a reason for under-performing in the end-of-year exams. Moreover, if you failed the exam you repeated the year and no-one questioned the divine right of the school to implement this method of maintaining standards. We never spoke about his Mum. That’s how we managed sensitive issues at that time - but there were swirling whispered rumours as to what had happened.

Initially our friendship grew out of a friendly competitiveness in the classroom. Allan’s determination not to emulate other poor souls and repeat his failure of the previous year, made him a worthy competitor in the classroom - that and the growing awareness that I was possibly the only other boy with a fear of failure - most, if not all of our peers were more interested in the possibilities of entertainment to be found in various practical jokes, especially those involving naive or incompetent school masters. Though like all efficient predators, they knew exactly how to identify their prey. 

So our attempts to out-perform each other remained an isolated affair. His was the desk immediately behind mine, and I recall picking up an exercise book lying on his desk, and finding that it was very much a work in progress - in fact an anthology of his sketches and poems which recorded his inner life and responses to various experiences . It was the first moment that I began to appreciate the complexity and depth that were the essence of this sensitive and perceptive acquaintance. 

In his final year Allan was appointed a dormitory Prefect, but only when a couple of probationers had been demoted. This role entitled Allan to have three junior boys assigned to him as ‘fags’ - essentially boys required to carry out menial tasks for their prefect such as polishing shoes, carting school books and other personal items between various parts of the school, scoreboard duties, and, reported by a hapless few, some were required to warm the toilet seat for their prefect - I could never see the ‘humour’ in this abuse of authority etc.

Allan interpreted his role as prefect very differently from the norm - essentially it was that he had to ensure the well-being of these boys and protection from bullying. I’m sure they had tasks to fulfil on his behalf, but given the rapport, I’m just as certain that they did not regard this as onerous or unreasonable. As a kind of farewell message to his fags, Allan invited them into the gym and having donned boxing gloves to use him as a potential target. Part of this arrangement was that he would only fend off the blows without mounting a counter offensive. The message was clear, you’ve had to put up with me for a year and run errands on my behalf, this is now your chance to vent any pent up anger or animosity. Eccentric certainly, but it was a gesture which revealed an empathy and generosity of spirit not often seen in that spartan world of bullying and intimidation.

I’m just as certain that it was from the same source of thoughtfulness that his advice to leave the country rather than risk arrest was proffered. When I tried to insist that while I might have had sympathy with the ANC cause, I was opposed to violence as a solution to anything and therefore Boss, the Bureau of State Security, would have little interest in my activities. Allan made it clear that my assessment of the security forces was at best naive and therefore foolhardy.

Sadly, acting on that advice resulted in the end of a friendship as the mundane matters of an existence in a foreign country gradually assumed control of our lives. Nearly fifty years have passed since I last had contact with Allan. Given his tendency towards self-reliance, I very much doubt that he has tried to make contact with me, or that he could see any point in trying to maintain a friendship separated by an ocean and a very different place, profession and lifestyle. I have tried unsuccessfully to establish his whereabouts and have more or less come to accept that it’s a door that will remain locked. My hope is that he has lived the life he deserved, and if that is so, then this nagging sense of loss and guilt is unnecessary and probably foolish.