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I was just a little boy, born in the big city of Utrecht, growing up as any other enterprising youngster, discovering what it felt growing up as my parents’ only child. They had a big store selling all sort of vegetables, pickled vegetables, potatoes, fruits and soft drinks, looked after by my mother, while my father operated a mobile horse-drawn store, both rather very busy during the time of the Great Depression and the looking after of their son was put in the hands of two young aunts, Betsie and Riek Spans, who at their young age exposed the cultural world to him, including the many concerts, opera, and Walt Disney movies. Enjoying the musical world, he enrolled as a boy soprano in one of the local church choirs. Everything was rather peaceful until his world changed on 10 May 1940, when Germany attacked Holland. He observed the rising of big clouds of smoke over Rotterdam and on 14 May the Germans threatened that the beautiful city of Utrecht would follow the same fate of Rotterdam if the Dutch army would not lay down their weapons. On 15 May 1940 the surrender followed, while on the next day we saw German troops passing our street, the 6th German Army of General von Paulus, well-known about his defeat at Stalingrad. Following my parents’ busy life, in 1942 my father accepted a position as Food Inspector of three Dutch provinces and decided to sell his store and move to a small villa in the village of Soest, about 20 kilometers north-east from Utrecht, bordering the Soester Woods and Dunes. Harty practically grew up in the nature of his new surroundings, exploring this newly discovered terrain with his dog. Here life was very peaceful and also enjoyed by many other visiting friends and relatives, establishing good relations with their neighbours, the van den Berg and Demoed families, but more with the van den Berg family. From our kitchen window we could almost look into the kitchen of the van den Berg’s and one day we observed somebody in their kitchen whom we had not met before and wondered who that person was, but we kept quiet. Later I did find out when one day after school I found that person we had observed in the neighbour’s kitchen was in our own home. Mother told me that Leo Karp was going to stay with us for a while, but I had to be kept quiet and immediately I realized that Leo was a Jewish person. As a boy I knew what we were doing was dangerous. I had no idea, however, just how dangerous. The situation in the large cities following the railways strike, stoppage of city gas and electricity, becoming quite unbearable, soon with shortages of food and the most necessary conditions for survival. Almost immediately we saw the caravans of people, many on bicycles, others with baby carriages, others with two or four wheeled carts, all heading to outlaying farms, trying to trade their heirlooms, jewellery, anything of any value for food. Once they had successfully obtained their foods, it was not uncommon that they had to undergo inspection by German soldiers, who frequently confiscated their prized foods. Cut off from the countryside, our lives became a struggle for survival as so little food was available. This was the beginning of the terrible Dutch Hunger Winter.
I was just a little boy, born in the big city of Utrecht, growing up as any other enterprising youngster, discovering what it felt growing up as my parents’ only child. They had a big store selling all sort of vegetables, pickled vegetables, potatoes, fruits and soft drinks, looked after by my mother, while my father operated a mobile horse-drawn store, both rather very busy during the time of the Great Depression and the looking after of their son was put in the hands of two young aunts, Betsie and Riek Spans, who at their young age exposed the cultural world to him, including the many concerts, opera, and Walt Disney movies. Enjoying the musical world, he enrolled as a boy soprano in one of the local church choirs. 1937 saw me getting enrolled in the Jacobikerk Boys Choir with the advantage of being able to read music, I loved music at that time, had been taking recorder lessons with an uncle of mine. I already had a nice soprano voice, according to family members for whom I had been requested to sing several times. This was also at the time when that the Hervormde Kerk were trying to introduce a new hymnal for the church. The major task for this introduction befell to our boys choir. Our boys choir had a very good choir director, Mijnheer van der Meijden. He was a very patient man and leader of our 50 boys choir that was also supplemented with 3 male singers as well. There was also a different type of singing for some of the psalms -- in the Gregorian style of singing. Some people found it funny as it sounded more in the style of the Roman Catholic Church than our own. But then also our repertoire started to include compositions by the great composers Bach, Handel and Mendelssohn. Once in a while we contributed our singing in a Domkerk choir festival.
Everything was rather peaceful until his quite boyhood and world of music changed on 10 May 1940, when Germany attacked Holland. He observed the rising of big clouds of smoke over Rotterdam and on 14 May the Germans threatened that the beautiful city of Utrecht would follow the same fate of Rotterdam if the Dutch army would not lay down their weapons. On 15 May 1940 the surrender followed, while on the next day we saw German troops passing our street, the 6th German Army of General von Paulus, well-known about his defeat at Stalingrad.
Following my parents’ busy life, in 1942 my father accepted a position as Food Inspector of three Dutch provinces and decided to sell his store and move to a small villa in the village of Soest, about 20 kilometers north-east from Utrecht, bordering the Soester Woods and Dunes. Harty practically grew up in the nature of his new surroundings, exploring this newly discovered terrain with his dog. Here life was very peaceful and also enjoyed by many other visiting friends and relatives, establishing good relations with their neighbours, the van den Berg and Demoed families, but more with the van den Berg family.
Meanwhile anti-Jewish actions began as soon as the Germans arrived in our country. Minor actions were followed by by increasingly severe restrictions, making life for our Jewish people very uncomfortable -- actually miserable with fear for the future. A strike by the rail workers of Amsterdam (February 1941), against deportations ended up in incarcerations and killing many rail workers by the Germans and this also heralded the activities by the Dutch Underground Resistance people. Then Jews had to wear the yellow Star of David (March 1942). Finally the Germans began mass-deportations (April 1942). Details about what happened to the deported Jews and the death camps were not known at the time. But it was widely believed based on German behavior that Jews were being subjected to intolerable conditions and likely being killed. The Polish Home Army delivered reports to the Allies of genocide (1942). These reports were not fully believed by the Allies and the Germans controlled all media in the Netherlands and other occupied countries, blocking all such reports. It was widely understood by 1943 that the Jews were being massacred in the East, but by this time much of the Jewish population had already been killed and the Germans were closing down the death camps. Sobibor where Dr. and Mrs Jacobson were murdered and was closed after a revolt (October 1943).
Attempting to save Jews was a very dangerous undertaking. It would mean arrest and incarceration in a concentration camp and very likely death. My parents were fully aware of this. My father was gymnast, top notched humanist and a strong believer in Christian principles. He was a leader in Christian principles and leader in YMCA activities. Those Christian principles meant that he could not turn his back on the Jews, not matter what the cost. And this meant not only the cost ti him personally, but to his family as well. He never believed in the word 'fear'. He told me, if one did, the war would be already lost. The only time I was afraid was, when an RAF Spitfire attacked a German Army truck not too far away from me. As a boy, I knew what we were doing was dangerous, I am not sure I fully understood the draconian consequences.
One of the reasons that people did not dare help Jews was children. Not only did parents have to worry about what would happen to their children if they would arrested, but what the children might innocently say and draw the attention of the authorities. I was 10 years of age when the Germans arrived and totally naive. Fortunately I was 12 years old when the Germans began rounding up the Jews and had learned a great deal in those 2 years about the Germans and the Dutch NAZIs. My thanks goes out to my parents, who advised me of possible dangers, but also to play it safe for all the people concerned and getting used to play the role of a war boy, but with limits. Much was said over the dinner table about what was going on and the dangers. And I had seen things on the street.
Still I was a boy and the dangers were enormous. Just listening to foreign radio broadcasts was dangerous and something said to friends at school could mean disaster. And it was not just the Dutch NAZIs, but some people would report to the Germans for personal gain. You could never be sure just who you were talking with. The Germans to us kids were the Rot Mof meaning rotten muffs. (I am not sure why they were called muffs and the term is no longer used in the Netherlands.) We used it without any consideration to any individual German we saw on the street. I was thinking about it when one Sunday at church I noticed a German officer joining our congregation at church. (Many Germans were Lutherans like us.). He looked friendly enough, made room to let another person sit next to him. When we got home, I asked dad, "Did you see that German officer this morning in the church?" “Yes, I did and so did Mom”. I asked him again, Would you ever invite such a person over for coffee after church." Then he tried to explain the reason that never would happen in our home hiding Jewish people. "But if we did not have those people in the house, Mom and I would have considered him coming over to our house for coffee. But what would the neighbours say? I know, I know...."
From our kitchen window we could almost look into the kitchen of the van den Berg’s and one day we observed somebody in their kitchen whom we had not met before and wondered who that person was, but we kept quiet. Later I did find out when one day after school I found that person we had observed in the neighbour’s kitchen was in our own home. Mother told me that Leo Karp was going to stay with us for a while, but I had to be kept quiet and immediately I realized that Leo was a Jewish person.
Following the first issue of my war manuscript, I also sent a copy to Leo’s wife Annie, then a widow to edit my story about her husband Leo. As a boy I knew what we were doing was dangerous. I had no idea, however, just how dangerous.
Slowly, as a boy of 12, I distanced myself from my three closest friends, in fear that they would ask why they were no longer invited into my house and I concentrated myself on my school studies that time.
Somehow, everything was well organized in our house with my mother, the organizer of the many tasks that had to take place every day. One thing that we could not allow was for Bob Bremer, a young boy of 4 or 5 to be seen outside and organized a special play area in our garage with an entrance in the back of the house.
Near our house, on the same street and corner with the Heideweg was a home for elderly people, called Buitenzorg, now occupied by the Germans, thus regular traffic to and from that home, passing our house, always took place frequently every day. But also somewhat across the street from our home, lived Dutch Nazis, the Blokzijl family, never to be trusted. The Dutch Nazis consisted of a group of 100,000 members, mainly of unemployed people. They followed Nazi principles, acting as replacement guards, spying, and supplying many young members to the Russian Front, dying by the thousands. Their leader Anton Mussert, received the death penalty in 1946. Across from them lived a local policeman, van der Laan, who sometimes came to our door with many food coupons that normally Jewish people and others could not obtain legally. Quite frequently Dutch resistance fighters, mainly just after closing hours, raided the distribution-of-food-coupons centres and found ready couriers responsible for distributing the coupons to homes that were known to shelter Jewish people, and our policeman almost next door, was one of the couriers.
That time most of the ‘good’ foods had come in a short supply, seeing that the Germans stole all the ‘good’ foods, such as cheese, butter, coffee, tea, meats, ham, sausages, eel, and other so-called desirable foods, they were shipped to Germany. No longer oranges and other related fruits, chocolate was made of a strange composition. Tea and coffee was now being replaced by their ‘ersatz’ compositions: other normal household goods saw undergoing these changes as well. If one wanted to purchase a standard battery or a fuse, one could only obtain these by handing over the used and non-functionable items. Foods that normally came in tin cans were replaced by carton containers. And so life went on as before until the summer of 1943.
One day. Mr. van der Laan, our almost next door policeman told us that the Germans were planning a razzia (police raid) on our street. Had the Dutch Nazi across from us been wondering what went on behind our curtained windows, passing his suspicions on to the Germans? We never knew. Now that we were informed about the date of the razzia, preparations were made to remove any suspicious items and coming up with plans of temporary hiding addresses, somewhere far removed from our own home. As of this day I still don’t know where the Bremer family were going to find a safe haven, in any case I was going to take Leo to one of the densest forest areas in our nearby woods. One late afternoon before the razzia was going to take place the Bremer family left under the cover of darkness, I took the responsibility to leave early in the morning together with Leo, bringing a number of sandwiches and coffee. Leo would take one of his books to while away until the all-clear signal was given. After I had taken Leo to the woods, making certain that he was going to be comfortable, I returned home, passing a Grüne Polizei (German Ordnungspolizei) guard at the beginning of our street that I passed without any trouble.
When I returned home I found a rather nervous mother, and asked her to continue doing her normal household chores as she did before and not thinking what might happen when the moment would arrive of the fatal doorbell ringing. That did arrive in the early afternoon and when I opened the front door, six Grüne Polizei ran into the house, three remained on the ground floor and three sprinted up the stairs to the second floor. And then, mother and I, were called to come to the second floor where a young policeman was inspecting one of the closets, first snuffling around and then found a little money box that he rattled for any secret coins, one penny followed, a few more other pennies, and then lost his interest. He then started emptying the dirty laundry sack where at the bottom he found a passport. An older Grüne Polizei man watched when the younger one opened one of the pages of the passport with a passport photo of Beppie Bremer, the older man asked me who that was. “Wer ist da?’ I answered in my poor German: „Eine gute Bekannte” (a good friend) , followed by: „Eine sehr gute Bekannte?“ „Jawohl, mein Herr, eine sehr gute Bekannte.“ End of the questioning, and shortly thereafter the two went down the stairs, joining three other Grüne Polizei, who were dancing on our compost heap, but soon left.
If they had only turned the page of that passport they would have found a stamp impression of the Star of David. Also if they really would have inspected the compost heap, they would have found a hidden radio. This time we had crept through the eye of a needle. When the all-clear signal was given, I found Leo reading his book and told him that we could go home, while asking me what had happened. When my father came home and told him what that afternoon had expired, he gave further instructions not to leave any tell-tales for the Germans to find, as for instance, a passport at the bottom of a laundry sack. I would have been disaster, not only for Leo, but for us as well.
Then in the third week of August 1943 my uncle Kees Verhoeven arrived with the news that my aunt Betsie had been captured by the Gestapo and was transported to the Oranje Hotel, the Dutch incarceration centre in Scheveningen. Apparently this happened when one day my aunt had taken Ilse’s letter for Eva to Mr. Postma, the leader of the Utrecht underground section. Those days, no letter that could give away a Jewish person was being sent any longer through the regular postal channels, but Underground couriers had taken over that task. While Betsie rang the doorbell, it was being opened by the Gestapo, hoping to find more Underground workers, expecting Betsie to be one of the members. The group was the Oranje Vrijbuiters. When Betsie realized that she was forcibly detained, she ran to the bathroom, tore Ilse’ letter in pieces and flushed them down the toilet. Her capture by the Gestapo could have some more dire consequences if they were going to visit her house, which they later did. She first was detained at Gestapo headquarters in Utrecht and later with 18 men and three woman transported to the Oranje Hotel. Her husband then realized that it would be too dangerous for Ilse staying in their home and asked my mother to take Ilse to Soest, to our house that already housed four other Jewish people. Following the weeks of being incarcerated in Scheveningen together with 21 other prisoners and after her trying to prove her innocence time and time again, she was suddenly released after five weeks, while 19 other prisoners, including Mr. Postma, faced the firing squad. Also at the time of her capture Betsie was one month pregnant with Wugbold.
Nearly every month Ilse traveled to Soest and stayed with us for a few days so that she could visit her older sister Eva, who also was hiding in Soest. Once, Eva, then a member of the Dutch Resistance, a very good looking young woman with a few airs, visited our house, dressed like a fashion model. But moving around was increasingly dangerous. During Aunt Betsie’s incarceration Ilse stayed with us for six weeks and finally it was decided that Ilse no longer should return to Utrecht, as Betsie’s home could be subject to continuous German surveillance. In discussions between my parents and Mr. and Mrs. van den Berg, our neighbours, a solution was found. It was suggested that Ilse was going to stay with Mrs. van den Berg’s sister, who lived on a farm in the North of Holland, in the Province of Friesland. My father arranged for transportation, and so it was going to be goodbye to Ilse for an undetermined period. At that time Ilse never talked about her family, not fully knowing if her parents had survived the concentration camp or not.
And so, we rolled along without anymore German interferences, mainly what had become a standard of life with more spiked boots and German songs, such as “Wir fahren gegen England” (We are going against England). Once we entered the new year of 1944, we tried to keep up with the continuation of the war via the hidden radio. Frequently these radio broadcasts were jammed by the Germans; fortunately the B.B.C. had many other different channels with some that did not experience any jamming on the Middle Wave section of our radio. Later we found the Voice of America on the Short Wave section of our radio, hidden by a curtain. Later in May, Wugbold Verhoeven was born. We experienced one more razzia, this time by the Waffen SS, who were less suspicious than the men of the Grüne Polizei by just looking in every room and closet trying to find people, and shortly thereafter left. They probably were just soldiers, lacking the experience of a police training. And so, even with all the fears and lack of freedom from the Germans, we arrived at the beginning of June and one day returning home from school, somebody shouted: “the Allies have landed on the coast of Normandy!”. Running home, I found my mother and Leo, busy peeling the many potatoes while shouting, “The Allies have landed in Normandy!”. Never did I see more happier faces than when I told them what I had just heard, some with more optimistic voices for a speedy liberation, but how speedy?
I was a good student and enjoyed school As with everything else, the War affected my schooling. As the occupation continued, the Germans started to occupy more schools, including my own school and our classes were now located in the basement of the rectory of the nearby church, with once a week the accompaniment of organ music from the church above us, performed by a well-known local organist and piano teacher. One really had to have an well-tuned ear to listen to Wider’s Toccata from his Fifth Symphony or other compositions. This was our final year in the elementary school and with five other students, I was being prepared for entrance examinations to a lyceum or gymnasium. I had selected the Christian Lyceum in Silversmith for my further education. As I had passed successfully, I started in the new school on 1 September 1944, unfortunately it only lasted fourteen days, just because of another hopeful sign of our liberation -- Market Garden
Operation Market Garden was the Allied effort to cross the Rhine at Arnhem and end the War by invading Germany. Battles for the Arnhem and Nijmegen bridges occurred, which ended up in another disaster. The Allies pushed into the central Netherlands, but failed to make the all important Rhine crossing at Arnhem. Followed by this debacle, the entire Dutch railways ground to a halt by striking railway personnel and then the Germans shut down the rail system entirely except for military transport. Without the supplies of coal from Southern Limburg province, coal and gas supplies stopped, and so also the generation of electricity. And more importantly for the Dutch still in German hands, food shipments into the cities and towns ceased.
Arnhem was of course the location of the famous 'bridge too far' crossing the Rhine. There was heavy fighting all around the town. People's homes were destroyed. There were many refugees as a result if the fighting. And the Germans evicted others to improve their defenses. One day the Town of Soest which was accepting many Arnhem evacuees, ordered us to accept two elderly Arnhem evacuees in our home. The town’s register only showed a total of three people lived at our house. My father already soon found a new address for the Bremer family to hide at the van Goor’s, one of his friends. They were a childless couple. This allowed us to make room for the two extra people, the van Eimerens. We also found room for another young man, who did not want to work in one of those German labour camps by the name of Bep de Graaf, whose parents were friends of our family. Our house counted now seven people again of which two were kept in complete hiding.
Now that the railways had stopped running and thereby reducing the mass transport of Jews to Germany. Tragically by this time most Dutch Jews had already been deported. German train engineering personnel arrived, who could only operate under the cover of darkness because Allied aircraft attacked anything hat moved. Trains were still being attacked sporadically at night, but only on a smaller scale. I met one of those German train engineers, a very friendly man, who hated everything about the war, Verdammte Krieg and longed to go home to find his family in a bombed-out city. Sometimes he shared some food with me, he was Eine gute Deutscher. Before the railway strike Ilse was always able to use the train to Soest dressed in a nun’s habit, or carrying false identification papers but when the the Germans shut down the rail system, we had to find different means of transportation for Ilse, and in his wide circle of friends and companies, my father was able to secure one more transport for Ilse when she had to go to Friesland following her six weeks stay in our house. I remember on the day of the second razzia, Leo was planning to go to Utrecht to stay a few days with my uncle and aunt Verhoeven, accompanied by my acting as a look-out for the German Sicherheits Polizei who often controlled and checked the identification papers of passengers in the train, by always making certain in which railway coach they could be found and then we moved away to other farther sections of the train at each of the two stops. Sometimes we had to change trains when I started looking again for any unwanted policemen.
The situation in the large cities following the railways strike, stoppage of city gas and electricity, becoming quite unbearable, soon with shortages of food and the most necessary conditions for survival. Almost immediately we saw the caravans of people, many on bicycles, others with baby carriages, others with two or four wheeled carts, all heading to outlaying farms, trying to trade their heirlooms, jewellery, anything of any value for food. Once they had successfully obtained their foods, it was not uncommon that they had to undergo inspection by German soldiers, who frequently confiscated their prized foods. Cut off from the countryside, our lives became a struggle for survival as so little food was available. This was the beginning of the terrible Dutch Hunger Winter. It was Hitler's way of teaching us a lesson. My father that time was like the Rock of Gibraltar, finding friends and farmers who knew about the composition of the van Engelen family and readily donated food of any form. Even so, it was hard to feed thirteen mouths every day, sometimes sixteen when we were feeding the Demoed’s family next door also. Now without school, I started to cut down trees in the woods, first dead trees and later trees that I was allowed to cut by special permission of the forestry ranger, each time two trees at a time, with the heavier parts placed on the steering bar of mom’s bicycle and the tops of the trees sliding across the road on the other side of the bicycle. Listening to the radio we learned of Allied and Russian advances in their battles with the Germans, but the front here in the Netherlands was static at the Rhine. The cities in Germany were regularly bombed during the day by American bombers and at night by the British bombers. Still the Dutch people north of the rivers, were clearly suffering of hunger, inadequately heated homes, eating tulip bulbs that made the people sick, the same with eating sugar beets. Meanwhile, Mother’s kitchen was still able to provide mostly meatless meals for the many people she was cooking for in a big laundry tub. Sometimes there were only the potato skins which she had saved up on previous peelings. Cooking for 13 people was quite a task, sometimes for 16 people, when we counted the Demoed family as well. Every evening one could see me loaded with many pans, cycling to the addresses of our regulars, my Mission of Food.
In many European countries, Christmas is the most important holiday. The Netherlands is one of these countries. It had been a very difficult year. The Allies were so close and yet so far. Food was becoming an increasingly difficult problem. We were determined, however, to have a wonderful Christmas celebration including a special Christmas. A Christmas goose which was the traditional centerpiece of the table was too much to hope for, but mother was preparing for a Christmas feast with what she had.
One period still is engraved in my soul when before Christmas my father arrived with two geese in a big jute bag. One goose was destined for our Christmas dinner, while the second one became my Father’s barter for trading with other people. For the second goose he received two sacks of potatoes and then one sack of potatoes was traded for a pound of butter and a box of cigars. Triumphantly he returned home with all his prized possessions, justifiably proud of his achievements. One should understand that we Dutch associate a goose with Christmas dinner like Americans associate a turkey with their Christmas dinner.
Meanwhile invitations were sent out to several people with the hope that they could spend the Christmas and New Year with our family. All accepted the invitations. Now, sleeping accommodations had to be found for seven extra people, besides the already seven people located in our home. A few mattresses and a number of blankets arrived on the attic floor in preparations for the guests we were expecting, that would be mainly used by the younger and male crowd. Probably, Ilse somehow had been able to find a different address, probably with Eva, for the same period. One week before Christmas our mysterious courier from the liberated area south of the rivers had arrived once more again for a sleep-over. He told us how the people in south of the rivers were enjoying their freedom. When in the morning we looked for him, he already had disappeared, but left us with two small packages of ‘real’ tea. The first to arrive was Annie Dekker, who had cycled all the way her 50 kilometers from Amsterdam, then Kees and Betsie Verhoeven, walking with a baby carriage with Wugbold in it, walking 20 kilometers to Soest, when the cold weather had already set in, arriving rather tired, cold and hungry. On Christmas Eve, the Bremer family arrived; everybody sharing around our red-glowing potbelly stove, exchanging their latest news. Meanwhile Leo Karp and Bep de Graaf had also been busy to organize the entertainment part for the two Christmas days, the so-called First and Second Christmas Days.
On Christmas morning, my father and I removed our Christmas tree from the cold front room to the room at the back of the house, placed a few decorations that we were able to find on the tree, and I started to make a few oil floating wicks instead of candles. Soon Mother came down to make tea, ‘real’ tea and once the kettle started to boil, our guests were invited for their first cup of tea with slices of bread, gathering around the red-glowing potbelly stove. Apparently all had slept well, even the people on the unheated attic floor. Besides the crackling sounds coming from our potbelly stove, everything else was pretty silent. Outside the sun shone on the fir trees now covered under snow, icicles hanging from some of the branches, feeling that the world was at peace.
Following the tea, most of the women were helping my mother in the kitchen preparing for today’s dinner. Soon the smell of a goose, presently doing its thing in the oven, drifted throughout the entire house, some women were preparing the vegetables, the potatoes, others were busy with baking cookies and others with the preparation of a dessert, while during these activities the women were singing Christmas carols. This time there was no sense of wars being fought in the many trenches, guns were silenced. Even Christmas was once again being celebrated between the German and Canadian troops, located in the trenches opposite of each other south of the river. They could hear the Canadian soldiers singing their Christmas carols, alternating with the Germans singing their Weihnachts Lieder.
When we were all gathered around the table, my father opened the dinner with a prayer thanking God that everybody had safely arrived to participate in this most unusual war dinner. Mother had always been a cook par excellence and we were all amazed at her handiwork. Following the goose vermicelli soup, a steaming goose now arrived at the table with all the different sorts of vegetables, boiled potatoes, and even stewed pears, finally reaching the stage of a delightful vanilla with an assortment of a various fruits pudding.
After all the dishes, pots and pans had been safely and cleanly stored away, it was time for some entertainment, mainly provided by Leo and Bep, singing with Leo’s guitar accompaniment, followed by the reading of many Dutch literary contributions by the many present, intermingled by the playing of the flute and violin by Kees and Betsie Verhoeven. It was hard to imagine that this was a Christmas celebration in war time, somehow it felt unreal that our entire group of people had for years never experienced a celebration like this, while thousands of people in the big cities were starving, most likely without a Christmas celebration and no music, as most of the radios had been confiscated.
Leo passed his idle time by writing poems. He had a flair for it. Those poems and especially his Christmas 1944 poem described his own personal feelings, shared by everybody, which I now want to share with you. It still brings a tear to my eyes.
Following all the various examples for our entertainment, some of the people wanted to stretch their legs and about six or seven decided to go for a refreshing walk in the woods with a moonlit evening, especially as the Germans were also celebrating their Weihnacht in the Buitenzorg home and when we passed the building their loud singing was already being heard from the street. We realized that we had to be back before the curfew; the only noise that was heard was the crunching, frozen snow under our feet. For a few of the people, this was the first time that they could walk outside without the danger that they normally would experience. Everybody sounded happy and optimistic that this Christmas would be the last one during war time.
New Year’s celebration was going to be the last as far we were concerned that was celebrated at the de Graafs’, Bep’s home. Bep’s mother and his sister Henny had done their best with all that was put in the front of us, while Bep and his sister at the piano started singing with the then well-known songs and we all joined in, staying until the end of the curfew time, wishing each other tearfully, a Very Happy New Year, when we all walked home at 4.30 in the morning.
When the food supply started reaching a low level, my dad decided to take our bicycles, cycling to Spakenburg and Bunschoten, two fishing and farming villages about 25 kilometers north of Soest. It was already quite cold when we left home and that cold and the snowy landscape was going to accompany us all the way. My father was able to secure three bags of potatoes and so we headed home at about four o’clock in the afternoon, happy that our trip had not been in vain. Father was going to take one heavy bag on his bicycle, Mom’s bicycle, not having a cross-bar, the other one, mine, was going to take the two bags, slung over my cross-bar, seeing that my bicycle was a man’s type, that I was riding on. When we left the two villages, it was already after four o’clock in the afternoon. Cycling my bike was impossible and I had to use the bicycle as a scooter, stepping it all the way from the back or walk next to it.
By now it was getting colder, the sun was slowly disappearing in the West while I was trying to make good time in this steppe-like, eerie silent, snow covered country side, without any traffic, even the birds were silent, only the mowing of cows was heard in the distance. Sometimes I walked next to the bicycle, as stepping made me too tired. Progress was rather slow and already darkness engulfed the country side, nothing stirred with an eerie silence, where were the people? When I read a road-sign telling the distance to Soest still being about 11 kilometers, it gave me some hope. All of a sudden the moon appeared, making me feel somewhat at ease, hopeful, illuminating the narrow road ahead of me, thinking that the worst was over. Once I discovered the spire of our church, I knew that Soest was not too far away and started to increase my speed somewhat. After almost four hours, I stopped at the home of the de Graaf family, where I was going to deliver one of my bags and once Mrs. de Graaf presented me with a warm drink, and feeling the warmth of her living room, I immediately passed out on her sofa and slept until break of day. After breakfast I cycled home again, where my parents had already been informed of my staying at Mrs. de Graaf’s home.
The Allies had landed in Normandy (June 1944). Our unrealistic hopes or immediate liberation did not materialize. Than the Allied troops liberated France (August) They reached Belgium and the southern part of Holland (September). Than the Allies were stopped at the Rhine which cut straight through our country (October). The Rhine was a major river and a huge barrier. We in the north were thus left in the German clutches and Hitler was determined to punish us with hunger for favoring the Allies. January passed and so did February. The Americans began fighting the Germans on their own soil. But we were all asking, when were they going to liberate us in the the rest of Holland. No relief was in sight, people were dying because of hunger at a rate of thousands a day. Others had been trying to keep warm during the exceptionally cold winter, by stealing pieces of wood from buildings, road signs, the last trees, park benches, streetcar and railroad ties. People were collapsing with these strenuous efforts. How long would we have to wait. How can we survive with no relief in sight?
With our food stocks running out, father decided another trip to the country was needed. Once more a final inspection of the two bicycles; this time the trip took us to family members in Voorst and Zutphen in the province of Gelderland. It was decided not to follow the main highway as they were continually under attack by Spitfires, Hurricanes, and other different types of aircraft, instead we took the longer, and less traveled secondary roads via Barneveld and Lunteren. Sometimes we heard or saw explosions along the main highway and by now we were glad that we had taken the secondary road.
The sun was shining brightly when we left, accompanying us all the way to Voorst that we reached after having cycled 70 kilometers since we left Soest. My uncle and aunt had already been fore-warned of our coming and we were warmly welcomed, also by a warm meal. The next day, my father was going to visit Zutphen, the van Engelen families, about 10 kilometers from Vorster, where he received a warm welcome. When was it that had that they had seen each other? More than a year ago? The van Engelen families were all joining to abundantly supply my dad with the necessary food products. We stayed in Voorst one more day before heading back to Soest. Weather conditions were absolutely perfect with warm sunshine, no wind, making good progress without meeting any German patrols. Once in a while we observed the low-flying V-1 rockets with their stuttering sounds and flames coming out of their tails, probably on their way to England. How many more, I wondered. After six or seven hours we finally reached home, welcomed by all our people….they could survive again!
Spring started early in 1945, birds were still building their nests and the van Engelens went out on the last food foraging expedition, the last one of the war. Finally there was some progress with the war-machine. Following the landing of paratroopers near Wesel, in Germany, one battalion headed north-west towards Holland and another to the German port city of Bremen. Finally we found Allied troops, mainly Canadian troops liberating the northern-east section of Holland, followed by another troop section conquering and liberating the eastern part of Holland. For the counter attack by the Germans, they had put the remnants of the German Navy, Luftwaffe, Wehrmacht, Grüne Polizei and the Waffen SS in the fray. Near Zutphen the Canadians met a fierce-fighting Waffen SS battle group, blowing up the bridge that crossed the IJssel River. Finally the course of the war headed towards the western part of Holland.
After liberating Apeldoorn, they were now making good progress and reached Hoevelaken, about 25 kilometers from Soest in the last part of April. We could now make use of the bomb shelter in our garden when we heard the whistling sounds and explosions of projectiles that were fired from both sides. And then there was an eerie silence, what was happening? Soon the answer arrived in April, when the Swedish Red Cross started to unload food supplies in the ports of Amsterdam and Rotterdam, followed by Manna from the heavens, when Lancasters and Flying Fortresses were flying low over our house, so low that we saw the pilots in their cockpits waving at us. Why did the Germans not shoot at these airplanes, what had happened? Soon it became quite clear that the airplanes were not on a bombing mission, but on food supply missions, when they reached the dropping zones, the bomb doors opened, the side doors opened and crates with food were tumbling down, collected by many volunteer workers, assisted by German soldiers and then transported to the various distribution centres. Apparently the German Command in the Netherlands in a special arrangement with the Allied Command had allowed the Allied bombers at set times and altitudes to enter Dutch air-space, unhindered to supply food to the starving Dutch people, on condition that the firing of all canons, German and Canadian, were going to be stopped during these timed food missions.
We could not believe it, but when some of these supplies reached our house, for the first time we saw white bread, Blue Band margarine, sausages in cans, vegetable & meat in cans, egg-powder, milk powder, biscuits – what a feast! Meanwhile talks were being held in Wageningen between the German General von Blaskowitz and the Canadian General Crerar, discussing an armistice agreement that would involve the laying down of all German weapons in the remaining, not liberated parts of Holland. Finally an agreement was reached on Friday 4 May 1945 which was going to commence the next day with the ceasing of all war activities and with the surrender of all of the German troops in occupied Holland. Our dreams finally came true, we were going to be free once again. Now we no longer could wait and one could find me, standing along our main street to welcome the Canadian troops on 5 May 1945. What a sight, tanks, jeeps and trucks formed this mass-parade of the troops that were welcomed exuberantly, with people climbing on the tanks and trucks, piling into the many Jeeps, throwing flowers, girls kissing and embracing the soldiers, people dancing on the street, being bombarded by the soldiers with cigarettes, chewing gum, and chocolates – what a great feast!
And this parade just kept on coming and coming with no end in sight – we were finally free! When I returned home Leo, Martin Bremer, my uncle Kees Verhoeven, who especially rode his bicycle from Utrecht and my father were dancing in the front of our house. I had never seen people so happy as at that moment. Already soon, Leo and Martin were making plans to return to Amsterdam to see if they could find their relatives. Since no trains were running yet, bridges still destroyed, they did make it to Amsterdam somehow, where the first reunions took place and the sad news was learned about hose who perished.
We had played a role in the survival of several people. I so admire my parents for their bravery and smart thinking. And am proud of mu own role. What they accomplished was a kind of miracle. The Netherlands was one of the most dangerous places for Jews in Europe. The Germans succeeded in killing some 75 percent of the Jews in the Netherlands. We were hiding two children. The first one, with his parents was Bob Bremer, he must have been 4 years old when he started staying in our home, I think born in 1939. Ilse was also very dear to us. Father eventually found a safe place for her in the countryside. Ilse was practically a young lady, born in 1928 and was 15 years old when she went into hiding.
We also helped save Leo Karp. Once a certain normalcy was experienced, we visited the Karp family in Amsterdam in August 1945, most of the family members were there with a few absentees. Two people had not survived such as Mr. Karp Senior and Leo's brother Max, passed away in concentration camps. There were a few absentees. Sister Roosje was still recuperating from her ordeals in Auschwitz and Ravensbrück concentration camps, the camp for women, who was saved by the White Buses of the Swedish Red Cross. And one brother had been unable to visit that day.
And so, our story comes to an end, my parents had done all in their power and humanistic approach to save a number of people, just five in number, wishing that more Dutch people would have shown their immediate concern to even hiding one single Jewish person, having followed my parents’ example. We did not want any honours to be bestowed upon us, we did not want any. The continuous war-time friendships with our Jewish friends until my parents’ passing away after the war, proved enough for us, which is continuing today. With tearful eyes we were at the Schiphol airport in 1947 when Ilse was going to her uncle and aunt in the United States, leaving us, as this was the only solution, seeing that her parents had not survived Sobibor Concentration Camp. – Adieu, dear Ilse, success in your future, God bless you!
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