I don't know much about Paul's early life but am fairly sure that he worked in some kind of clerical job and played sport, just like our father. But all the time I knew him he was an invalid, confined to bed or a wheelchair.
Whenever we were in Cape Town Rolf would see him often. His home, a small terraced or semi-detached house, was situated about 50 metres from a rear entrance to Cape Town Public Gardens. The Gardens were originally established by Simon van der Stel a successor of Jan van Riebeeck, the first Governor, over 300 years ago. Some of the original oaks still survived when I was last there. Our Dad's family grew up in the area.
I would sometimes be taken along by my Dad and so saw Paul quite often in the ten or so years that I knew him. I didn't much enjoy such visits. As a young child I found him a bit spooky and frightening, and never felt comfortable with him even when older.
He was crippled with arthritis. His hands were twisted and ugly, the skin very soft. The disease must have affected all of him. I don't think he could stand or walk, or even propel a wheelchair, unaided. Rolf would spend a lot of time pushing him round the Gardens while they talked, mainly about sport, with me in tow watching out for squirrels or anything interesting.
Seeing him in his bedroom was not much fun. Apart from newspapers open at the sports page, there were always sick-room paraphernalia such as urine bottles around. I found it dismal.
I later learnt he also had a colostomy because of a bowel malfunction, but whether and how this might have been connected to the arthritis I don't know. It's possible that bowel problems run in the family. (Just to cheer you up, if you belong to it.)
When he died in 1954 (Alan thinks 1956) I, as the namesake, had to be a pall-bearer. I had a strong twinge of guilt upon thinking that the term pall-bearer was an ironic pun in the circumstances.
Paul married Jean, presumably when he was still healthy. But I have always imagined he soon became ill, and she the bread-winner. I think she worked in a department store, in the office. So she was not at home most of the day, and nurses or others needed to call from time to time.
Jean was a lean, slightly angular woman, as I remember her. Kind and pleasant, but with a suggestion of tension about her which came across in the stiffness of her lips when she kissed me. Lots of lipstick and face-powder - par for the course in those days. She also had a faint moustache. (This is the sort of thing that sticks in the six-year-old mind.)
Both Rolf and Muriel were, I think, genuinely fond of her, and would write often, and see her when in Cape Town.
I have no reason to believe that she ever complained, but can't help thinking that sometimes she must have felt she'd been dealt a really lousy hand when she married Paul. In the late 1950s she had a breast removed because of cancer.
Hey man! This is getting a bit depressing. There used to be a few laughs on this site.
OK. How's this?
Does that cheer you up some? You think this site is just here for your amusement? You are supposed to be learning something serious. When I was young we didn't have television or computers or things like that. We had to make our own entertainment. And we didn't have money to waste on luxuries...
OK man. Thanks for the advice.
Apart from my own youthful observations, all I know of Paul comes from what my Dad had to say about him. Rolf seemed very attached to his elder brother and would write to Paul every Sunday evening. Mostly I remember him using a dipper and a bottle of Stephen's blue-black ink. 
He favoured a "relief" nib. (Though later he got a fountain pen.) His handwriting was quite distinctive, and difficult to read - it was part of his personality. (If anyone has a sample send it and I'll publish it.)
Back in the old days in Cape Town they saw a lot of each other. Rolf told me that Paul was a self-taught pianist who could play some pretty good stuff by ear before his hands seized up. They shared an enthusiasm (almost an obsession) for sport and always knew the latest cricket scores. One of the reasons for my unease in Paul's company was that he expected me to know them too.
At one time they belonged to a card school playing auction bridge at the home of a woman of whom my mother disapproved. (She nearly blew up the only time I heard the woman's name mentioned.) Paul and Rolf had a system of signals on how to bid, by kicking each other under the table. They won money out of it, until one of them accidentally kicked the hostess.
Rolf told me that one evening he called to see Paul and found him collapsed on the floor, and that was the start of his illness.
Maybe our dad saw Paul as a kind of a father substitute, or role model. Perhaps they were just good friends. I only once heard any hint of criticism of Paul from him to the effect that he had never really tried to fight his ailments (as Rolf would) and that he was apt to lie in bed and drink brandy while Jean had to work to support him. I don't know whether this was a pattern or whether a particular instance had recalled the Olaf/Theodora relationship over which Rolf was particularly sensitive.
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