My friend, Noel Magerman, passed away suddenly and unexpectedly on the 16th of July 2015. I wrote the following letter as my tribute to him, which I read out at his funeral.
Dear Noel,
I never thought I would have to write this letter to you. I hope you don't mind my sharing it with the people who are here to attend your funeral. It seems and feels surreal to be talking about your funeral! It feels to me as if you're still in Pretoria, and that I'll see you soon.
As I write this to you, the memories of you and the times we shared together are flooding back into my consciousness and the associated emotions into my psyche. I remember when we first met in Pretoria, you in the Eersterust Circuit and I in the Pretoria Central Circuit. We immediately had a connection and struck up a friendship that has endured for almost 25 years. I remember how we both joined the SANDF in 1996, I in Louis Trichardt and you, the first ever so-called 'coloured' chaplain in the Air Force at Hoedspruit. I remember the late night phone calls where we were able to speak and encourage one another. I remember how we sought one another out at conferences and seminars so that we could talk, talk about the chaplaincy, the church and life in general. I remember driving through to Cape Town with you when we were both transferred to the Navy. I remember how I found courage in our friendship in the first difficult months. I remember with fondness the many hours we spent, sitting in your kitchen, drinking coffee and eating sandwiches, finding solace and encouragement in our friendship particularly after those bruising or humiliating incidents in meetings. I hear your words, "Soek jy brood?!" as I write this. I remember your standing outside to wave to me when I rode the Argus Cycle Tour - you would wave, smile and wish me well. I know you had to stand and wait for a long time, as my estimated time of arrival was always too ambitious, but you waited patiently. I remember your friendly greeting to everyone you met, "Mornings!" I remember your quiet, reserved unassuming presence at meetings and conferences. I remember your passionate commitment to your family and the pride that would radiate from you when you spoke of Nathan and Michael and their achievements, academic and sporting. I remember how you stood up for a young sub-lieutenant against a senior officer who lost his temper with the subordinate, how in your quiet but persistent manner ensured that the young man was not abused further. I remember how you preached with authority and depth at a Chaplain General's Conference, how people afterwards spoke of you with more respect. I remember the flash of painful nostalgia I saw in you the day we walked through that children's home in Port Elizabeth, how you quietly and graciously accepted my fumbling and inadequate words, "It brings back memories doesn't it?" I remember the one and only time you were genuinely angry with me to the point of it jeopardising our friendship: the time when I moved your office around, put your chair on your desk and shifted all your papers off the desk. I am reminded of how my wary apology immediately restored you to calm and rescued our friendship.
Noel you taught me many things. You taught me about circumspection. You had the ability to assess and to understand a situation properly before you acted. You quietly and unassumingly gauged the situation and gained deep, perceptive insights that placed you intellectually and morally in a superior position to those like me who react instinctively without much thought on the matter. You taught me about humility. You were never one to boast about your many, impressive achievements. You always regarded yourself as the least important. You even allowed some to take advantage of your quiet humility that led to your being disadvantaged or hurt, but that did not unsettle or alter your humble spirit in any way. You would rather hide the pain than allow others to see it. You taught me about tenacity. You had the gift of being able to stick to and to stick through a task, no matter how sticky that task may be. I always admired your painstaking attention to detail, the careful and meticulous manner with which you worked. You always, without exception saw a task through to its conclusion. You never sought recognition for your work and even when it was given, you were dismissive of that recognition, because according to you, you were just doing your job. You taught me the value of family. I think because of your own childhood where you were deprived of what one might term a 'normal' family life, you were committed to living for your own family. Your Whatsapp status used to read, 'Family is everything.' You deployed grudgingly as it deprived you of your family. When you were away from home you made a point of maintaining contact in your usual meticulous manner. You told me the only reason your promotion was important to you was because it would place your family in a better financial position. You taught me about faith. I knew you as a deep man of faith. In our discussions you would regularly make reference to how God was at work or how God was leading you or us. When you preached or shared a devotion with us as chaplains, you helped me to encounter God in a new and a fresh way. Your faith inspired my own faith.
Noel you were a very private person. Thank you for allowing me into your inner, private space. Thank you for being my friend. I will cherish it as long as I live.
Farewell Noel, my humble, quiet friend - may you find your place amongst those humble saints who have gone before us into the eternal presence of our Lord. Farewell Noel, family man - rest in the knowledge that your affection and love will be held in their memories and their hearts for as long as they live. Farewell Noel, man of faith - may light perpetual shine on you.
Affectionately,
Your friend,
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