In 1979 the war
in Rhodesia, now Zimbabwe, was at
its height. The government still kept
all main roads open, but the guerrillas
of the patriotic front controlled much
of the hinterland. Whites in outlying
areas were told that the government
could no longer protect them and
were invited to move to safer places.By August that year there were only two
white men left in the area of Mutoko,
a trading post about 70 miles east
from the capital, Salisbury (now Harare).
One was Fr. David Gibbs, a
priest at All Souls Mission. The other
was John Bradburne, an Englishman
who looked after lepers at their settlement
in Mutemwa. On the night of
September 2, 1979, Bradburne was abducted
from the round tin hut that was
his home.
In the early hours of September 5,
Fr. Gibbs found John Bradburne's
body beside the main road. He was
wearing only his underpants, and he
had been shot dead.
There were many deaths in that war.
Some have remained obscure and
many have been forgotten. But the
death of John Bradburne is fervently
commemorated, for many believe him
to be a saint.
John Bradburne was born in 1921,
into a High Anglican family of the
upper-middle class. His cousins included
Terence Rattigan, the playwright,
and Christopher Soames, the last Governor
of Rhodesia.
In World War II,]ohn was an officer
in the Gurkhas. After the fall of Singapore,
he and one brother officer had to
live in the Malayan jungle for a month
before managing to escape. Later he
served in Orde Wingate's Chindits.
During the war he began a life long
friendship with his fellow Gurkha John
Dove, later a Jesuit priest, who has been one of
the main guardians of his memory.
To the question, "So what do you do?" which the world always asks,]ohn Bradburne could provide no satisfactory answer. He had a few brief jobs after the war - forestry, teaching - but it was clear that his mind was elsewhere. He was searching for God. In 1947, he converted to Catholicism. In the ensuing years he tried to become a monk, twice in England and once in Belgium, but gave up each time. He fell in love and almost married. He made a penniless pilgrimage to Jerusalem, wandered England as a sort of Minstrel, became caretaker of the Archbishop of Westminster's country house in Hertfordshire, and while living for a year in southern Italy, made a private vow to the Virgin Mary that he would remain celibate. He was clearly holy, but equally clearly in the eyes of many, hopeless.
When he was nearly 40, Bradburne wrote to Father Dove, by this time a priest in Rhodesia, and asked him if he knew of "a cave in Africa where I can pray?" He went out to Rhodesia to join his old friend. Even there, he did not really settle. Although he worked happily enough on various mission stations, and loved the people, fauna and flora of Africa, he did not find a niche. "I'm a drone," he would say. He felt superfluous.