50th Anniversary

Dad's story prior to meeting Mum

2006-08-18T16:32:00.000-07:00

I was born on the 19th of October, 1923 at Arnhem in the Netherlands, the second son of Willem Diederik Gradus LUCAS and Alberta LUCAS ELFFERICH. I was christened Gerhardus Jacobus (I am third from the left in the front row).

My brother, Johannes Benjamin (second from the left at the front), saw light two years earlier, on the 20th of August, 1921.

On the 31st of July, 1929, my sister Albarta Grada was born. We called her Bep for short.

My father came from a family of six. He was the second son and child of Johannes Lodevicus Lucas, who lived from 1856-1928, and his wife Grada Waltman (1863-1963) who became a centenarian and died in her 101st year.

Opa Lucas, my grandfather, was a painter and sign-writer, as were my dad and his three brothers. They were all very artistic and painted many landscapes and portraits.

Willem, my father, was born on the 18th of Dec. 1889. He lived through two world wars and the great depression, as did my mother, and he died in September 1964, in his 75th year.

Alberta, his wife, and my mother (extreme right in the front row) was born at Arnhem on the 17th of December, 1894, and died in 1981, in her 87th year.

My earliest recollection of life was when we shifted from Zeist in the province of Utrecht back to Arnhem. Apparently my parents had had some bad luck in Zeist, becoming bankrupt in some business venture. We rented a house at the Geitenkamp, one of Arnhem’s suburbs, and we were able to see all of my grandparents on a regular basis again. Opa and oma Elfferich had bought a house in the St. Antonielaan, number 238.

When my grandmother Opoe died, Opa was quite helpless on his own, and soon he asked my mother, his youngest daughter, to bring her family and live with him, which my parents did. As I recall, this occurred in 1927.

Opa Elfferich lived from 1859 – 1938. His wife lived from 1855 – 1927. Her maiden name was Colenbrander, and she was born in Lochem. Opa was a real character, and as his name indicates, his forebears came from Germany. He therefore had Pro-German feelings.

He loved Kaiser Wilhelm and the Boer leader Paul Kruger, and hated the English for what they had done in South Africa. He would never eat oranges, because in those days they came from Spain. Holland had fought an eighty-year war of independence with that country 400 years ago! “I hate that fruit”, he used to say.

He had been employed by the Dutch Railways as a head-conductor, and was retired on a decent pension. My father found it difficult to find regular work. Finally he started a painting business with two of his brothers, but the world was in a depression and they struggled to make ends meet. I am sure we were lucky that Opa lived with us. He quite often provided us with eggs, meat and other “luxuries”.

My brother, my sister and I made up our own games and played in the streets with all the other children of the neighbourhood. Our youth was carefree. There were hardly any cars or trucks on the roads. I remember standing at the side of the main road from Arnhem to Apeldoorn, counting the passing cars. We were lucky to count 18 to 20 in an hour.

Our school years were easy for we Lucas children, as we all were above average, and we always loved to show our school reports to Opa, because he rewarded us then with a silver coin.

I also want to mention the day that my Uncle Jan, Dad’s older brother, came to visit us one day in 1935 and presented us with a radio he had built. We were the first family in our street that owned one, and on weekends our house was full of neighbours listening to the news, especially when a Holland-Belgium football match was on the air.

We lived near a very large park called Sonsbeek. It had a deer park, several large ponds and beech and oak forests that were very hilly and an ideal playground for children. The winter months were fantastic, and we skated and sledged to our heart's content.

The emphasis in my early life was on Christianity. My dad was an elder in the Dutch Reformed Church. He was a religious man, born a Roman Catholic. He converted to Protestantism shortly after he got married.

In 1939, the year that I got my Diploma of Secondary Education, things were still tough economically. I was looking for a job and got one as an apprentice photographer with a large industrial firm that tested electrical goods. I worked in the darkroom mostly, and was earning $15 a month. It wasn't much, but it beat my brother's 10 dollars.

I started my job on the 1st of September, a few weeks before Hitler's armies invaded Poland, and Britain and France declared war on Germany. But life went on and really nothing much happened during the first winter of the war. Holland stayed neutral in the conflict, hoping to repeat her neutrality from the First World War.

Then came the month of May 1940, with beautiful spring weather. Our cousin, Rinus, arrived on the 9th, on his brand new bicycle, all the way from Delft, 120 km to the West. He was several years older than me, and a real showoff. He stayed with us for the night. And then, in the early morning of the 10th, all hell broke loose. The invasion of Holland had begun.

Queen Wilhelmina made a scathing attack over the radio on the German Reich and declared a state of war . It was a very emotional day for all of us. The Germans made rapid progress. Arnhem is only 18 km from the border and by midday German troops marched through our city. Only at the Grebbeberg, near Wageningen, were they resisted by the Dutch army.

On many places Germany dropped parachutists, and when the the Dutch kept stubbornly resisting, the Luftwaffe bombed Rotterdam, erasing most of the inner city. They gave our government an ultimatum, threatening to bomb Amsterdam the next day. Our Queen and her family had in the meantime managed to flee to England. On the 5th day, the 15th of May, Holland capitulated, and we were occupied by Germany, and Belgium and France quickly followed.

After those five fateful days, the country slowly got back to normal. Apart from seeing Germans everywhere, it didn’t affect our lives very much. Of course, we all were supplied with identity cards and ration books, which seemed normal practice in wartime. But now the Nazis had everyone on the books, including the Jews, and it wasn’t long before they started putting all sorts of restrictions on them. One was that every Jew was to wear a yellow star of David on all of their clothing, so they could be easily recognised in the street.

All this time I continued to work at photography. One day, a colleague of mine at work gave me a photograph of Princess Juliana and her two little daughters, Beatrix and Irene, taken in Canada, where she had gone from London, which was considered too dangerous because of the bombing. It was one of the photos that had been dropped over the country by the RAF.

Everyone was very interested, and asked if they could have one. So I started printing them off and felt very patriotic, but made sure always to carry the negative on me. An old school friend of mine wanted one too, and thanked me when I gave him one. Little did I know what lay ahead of me!

On the 5th of January 1941, I was at work when the telephone operator rang to say that somebody wanted to see me at the administration building. When I asked her who it was, she couldn't say, so I walked the small distance, wondering.

When I entered the room, I saw a stranger who introduced himself as detective so and so (I forget his name). He asked me to go to the local police station with him. I knew instantly I was in trouble. He was a Dutch policeman, and he wouldn't tell me what it was all about. In a police car we drove to the station.

My brain raced, and I thought of the negative in my pocket. I was wearing baggy trousers, plus fours they were called, and managed to slip the negative from my pocket into the top of my trousers, from where it would slide down as far as my calf, where the trousers were tied.

Once inside the police station, I was put in a cell where I had to wait for several hours. During that time, I fished up the negative, then chewed and swallowed it.

Eventually the detective took me into a room. He told me he'd learned I was distributing photos of the Royal House. Would I tell him where I got it? I did not intend to name any names, and told him that I had found the photo in our letterbox. He didn't believe me, but I stuck to my story. In that case, he told me, he had no option other than to hand the matter over to the Gestapo, the German Secret Police.

He took me to the local jail, and I was put in a communal cell that had four prisoners in it already. At night, we were locked in iron trellis cells separated from each other. After about a week, my name was called out, and I was taken to the Gestapo Headquarters where they started to interrogate me.

However, I stuck to my story. I was hit on the head and forced to do knee bends until I couldn't get up any more. I told them repeatedly that I had no further information for them.

At some stage somebody walked into the room, and lo and behold, it was the old “school friend” to whom I had given a photo of the royals. He had been called in to identify me. He obviously was a German sympathizer. After some more interrogating, I was taken back to the prison, where I was to stay for 8 months.

During that time, my parents were allowed to visit me only twice.

Then, suddenly one morning, I was taken to the Gestapo again, and on the way there all sorts of thoughts went through my head. But I was given a garden fork and ordered to do weeding. After being cooped up in a cell for so long, it seemed like being in heaven, especially as the weather was summery and warm.

The garden sloped gently, and was huge. I had been working for about an hour when I saw an officer coming towards me. He looked at me quizzically, and then I recognized him as the man who had been present when I was interrogated months ago. He asked me how long my sentence was. I told him that I had not been to court yet. He looked very surprised and promised he would look into the matter.

At about 17.00 they took me back to prison. The next morning my name was called out again, and I was taken to the garden where I happily picked up my fork. Anything was better than lingering in a cell. An hour or so passed by, and I felt on top of the world, weeding away in the late August sunshine, when my new “friend” turned up and told me to come with him.

Inside Headquarters, I was led into a room again, with the face of Hitler staring at me from a picture on the wall. An officer was sitting behind the desk. He gave me a lecture about cooperating with the German Army. A piece of paper was shoved under my nose. It stated that I would never again work against the Nazis, otherwise they would send me to a concentration camp.

After I signed it, the officer shook my hand, and a minute later I stood in the street, a free man. I paused for a while, thanking my lucky stars and the officer who had started the ball rolling. I guessed that my file had been put in some drawer and then forgotten. It made me realize that that there are good Germans too.

I never forget the feeling of elation as I walked down the road - the warm sun, the beautiful trees and gardens, the people walking, the traffic and the realization of being free! What an incredible experience. You should have seen my family's faces when, totally unexpected, I walked in!

We had a great party that night, and all the neighbors came in to congratulate me. I got my job back, but couldn't stand being cooped up in a darkroom anymore, so I applied for another job. I was soon accepted as a clerk at a semi-government department, and life returned to normal.

The autumn and winter passed. It was in late February 1942 when, sitting down at our evening meal, Dad told us that he and Mum had decided to take in a small Jewish boy for the duration of the war. He came from a family of four, and his parents and little sister would be staying at different addresses. The persecution of the Jews was well on the way, and the Church and Resistance movement had been looking for suitable hiding places. Dad was a very religious man, and felt it his duty to do his bit.

The boy, Nico Bohemen, arrived a few days later. He was 11 years old, had strong Jewish features, and was very well behaved. We liked him instantly. Our life changed dramatically from then on, because Nico wasn't allowed outside, although we sometimes took him for short walks on dark nights. He had to stay away from windows and avoid making too much noise, as we had neighbors living to our left and right and even above us. But it wasn't long before his little sister came to stay as well. Temporarily, Dad was told, until they found other accommodation for her.

Two weeks later, I had to go to an address 2 km away, to collect and bring home the children's mother, who had to leave her hiding place because her landlord told her that the German Army was going to billet two officers at that address.

I went there in the evening on my bike, loaded her travel bag on the carrier, and we walked all the way home, dodging busy streets and intersections - a very scary trip. However, it all went well. But then, a fortnight later, Dad got a phone call from a shopkeeper in the centre of town, begging him to come and collect Mr. Bohemen. He was very fearful of being discovered by the Gestapo.

Arrangements were made for Dad to meet him at 21.00 hrs, when it was dark, under the viaduct that crossed the main road to Apeldoorn. When he got there at the given time, a man lit a cigarette, and he knew it was the Jew. By then it was mid-June. I am sure that having 4 Jews to hide hadn't been my parents' intention, but there was no going back, we all realized, and we were determined to carry the whole operation through.

Food was going to become a problem, as every citizen had been supplied with a ration card. Every month a new one had to be collected from a distribution-bureau. Of course the Jews were now excluded from getting one, but were promised a new card every month by the resistance people. These cards were obtained through raids on the distribution bureaus, of which there were hundreds throughout the country. [edit]

Mum had to be very careful with buying in, and did her shopping in several shops. But the biggest worry were neighbours and visitors that came unexpectedly, as we had to make sure that the Jews were downstairs in their sleeping quarters.

One day my sister Bep was standing by the window looking out into the street when, suddenly, my mother‘s sister, aunt Sina, turned the corner coming towards our place. But aunty had seen her too, and waved to her. “O God, the Jews”. Bep ran to the back of the house to warn them, but by the time they had disappeared, aunty , who had expected the front door to be opened, angrily pushed the bell several times and was furious when Bep at last opened the door, and lambasted her for letting her wait so long.

Another time she called, my mother was making an enormous pan of peasoup and had to find some excuse. We often used to have relatives or friends staying the night, but now we had to find excuses like “sick children”, or “sorry, we won‘t be home” etc.. The strain was becoming heavier as time went on, and mum got the shingles at some stage. But we all persevered.

In September 1942 Dad decided that he was going to build a hiding place in the little alcove downstairs. He put up studs over the width of the dark room, [ it had no windows but got some light from the frontroom ] He then put scrim over it and put new wallpaper up in the entire room. He fabricated a trapdoor that opened from the bottom, in order to let the Jews in behind the surrogate wall, and then pull it shut from the inside. It was an ingenious job and gave everyone that much more confidence.

The hunting down of Jews had begun in earnest, especially in Amsterdam that had a big Jewish population. In the meantime, it was the cold winter of 1943, it became clear that the Germans were getting into difficulties in Russia. More men in Germany were called up, and more slave labour was required. That was when young men were forced to go and work in the factories in Germany.

I, too, was called up by the Labour department to report at the Railway station at a certain date, early in the morning. We had a family meeting to decide what to do; would I go or go “underground” somewhere in the country? I decided to go, because I didn‘t want to put everyone at grave risk. Good old Dad made me a suitcase of plywood.

Soon the day arrived that I had to leave, said my good byes and walked, carrying my rather heavy suitcase, to the railway station, where I saw roughly 100 young men, all packed and anxious. We had been promised that our identity papers would be returned to us before boarding the train, [they had been taken off us when we reported at the office a few weeks earlier], but were now told they would be sent later.

I realised that we would be just slave labour in enemy territory without any proof of our identity, once somewhere in Germany. From that moment I planned to escape as soon as an opportunity presented itself. We were put into rows and one of the guards, [a Dutchman in black uniform] counted us. There were about 10 guards, who travelled with us in the train.

During the trip I managed to change some Dutch money into German currency, thinking it might come handy later on. We travelled to the Ruhr region and, nearly there after 2 to 3 hours, the train stopped. We were at Dortmund, and ordered to get off and form a column. Then we started marching, and leaving the station, realised that most of the buildings lay in ruins. Dortmund had been bombed by 1000 RAF planes a few days ago.

We were marched through hastily cleared roads, many of the ruins still smoldering, and me in the meantime thinking of a way to escape, kept to the rear, pretending I could hardly keep up, the guard turning so now and then to prod me on. As we came to a corner, the last man in front of me disappeared and I took my chance, turned on my heels and started running the same way we‘d come, dreading to hear a gunshot. It is amazing how fast one can run if pressed!

Nothing dreadful happened, and after an hour or so I had arrived back at the station. There I joined a line of people waiting to be served at the ticket counter, listening to the way they applied for a trainticket, and thanked myself for changing money in the train. I asked for a single Emmerich, a little town near the Dutch border, passed the control and was on my way. So far so good!

On the train I happened to meet 3 young men from Arnhem who were going home on leave, and heard how they worked in Cologne. They all had passports and expected no trouble. I, on the other hand, had no papers at all.We arrived at Emmerich in the late afternoon and found a small hotel where we spent the night.

Early next morning, after a surprising good breakfast, they walked to the railway station to continue their journey and left me there, all alone, pondering what to do next. On an impulse I walked to the river Rhine and saw a large steam- ferry ready to cross the mighty river. I was just in time to board. About midway the crossing I saw a Gestapo soldier coming towards me, his gun pointed at my chest. “AUSWEIS,” (identity papers) he snarled.

I honestly thought my end had come, and my brain was racing for a suitable, credible answer. I knew my freedom and life probably depended on it.! I told him almost exactly what had happened. Almost. I had been on a transport, got sick at the border crossing and had been allowed to leave the train and go to the toilet, where I had been violently sick, and by the time I returned the train had left. I told him that I had panicked, didn’t want to go to the police as I had no identity papers on me, that my mother was very ill and that I wanted to try and get a job near the border so enabling me to see my mum on my day off, fhat I‘d heard there were jobs to be had near Kleve and that for that reason I was on this ferry.

He looked at me for several moments, as if to ascertain how much or little to believe of my tale. Thinking back now, this moment was one of the crises of my life. I guess the way I looked, [very young for my age] and the almost convincing manner I had told my story, made him say that he would let me go to Kleve. But in case I didn‘t find employment, I could come back to the ferry, where he was on duty 24 hours a day, and he would make sure I then could join the next transport. I thanked him from the bottom of my heart, gloating inwardly the way I had fooled him.

Soon the ferry berthed and I walked off the boat still a free man and another step further.Walking through the busy town I couldn‘t see any damage anywhere and soon arrived at the Labour office, went in, and asked the receptionist to see the boss.

She showed me to the waiting room and soon a thickset official led me into his office, offered me a chair and set himself down behind an enormous desk. Behind him up on the wall the inevitable face of Herr Adolf Hitler. I told him roughly the same story, emphasising my very sick mother and my desire to see her on a regular basis. He, too, seemed to like me and started using his telephone. He talked to several people. Then he put the phone down and told me that there was a job available at a timber mill near the border, and was I interested?

Was I ever! Then he wanted to see my identity papers, and when I told him that they were in Arnhem still, he got mad at those stupid cheeseheads [a German word for the Dutch], gave me a note with several important looking Swastica stamps and told me this would take me right to Arnhem. I was to go to the Labour office there and show those Dummkopfen his note.

Feeling light as a feather I left his office, went to the railway station, bought a ticket to Arnhem and rang the doorbell a few hours later.Everyone at home was amazed at the way I‘d been able to do this and I wonder as well, even as I‘m writing this.

The next day , after showing the German‘s note, they couldn‘t give me the papers quick enough. The next morning I went back to Kleve, saw my “friend” again, who gave me a stamped Grenzkarte [border crossing card] , and took me in his car to my place of employment in Donsbruggen, a small village just across the border from Nijmegen in Holland. I still have this Grenzkarte and I can tell you it has saved my life, several times over.

The job was tedious and not worth telling about. At 05.00 in the morning I had to leave home to be at work in time at 08.00, returning in the late evening at 09.00.

After a few weeks at that job, I had a weekend off. It was springtime and the cherries were ripe, so my brother, I and a couple of friends got our bikes and pedalled to the Betuwe where the orchards are. Had a glorious time eating as many as we could and took several kilograms with us for the folk at home.

Next morning, on my way to work, at the border we had to show our grenzkarte and got out the train to go through customs, I suddenly got horrible cramp in my stomach. The customs officer saw me cringe and told me to go to the toilet. There I was violently sick. When I came out he said to me that I still looked terrible and that I should go home to see my doctor.

I agreed heartily, but by the time I was on my way back to Arnhem the cramp had already subsided and I was well aware what had caused it. But cunning me saw a chance for a day off work. I did go and see my G.P. and when I told him the story he grinned at me wickedly and gave me 6 weeks sick leave.

What he wrote in the letter to my employer I‘m not sure about, possibly that I had some disease or serious illness. Good old doctor. It was great having six weeks off, I helped Dad a bit with his work, often wondering what to do next. But I made up my mind not to go back and , with a good friend, a student, decided to go into the countryside.

We biked for miles and ended up on a farm near Raalte, in Overijsel. We worked on a farm for about 7 weeks, and biked home again to see how things were getting on.

It soon became apparent that the strain at home was terrible. Dad told me that Mr. Bohemen told him that he couldn‘t stand it any longer, that he was going to give himself up. Dad stood in front of the door and told him to back off, that he would not only jeopardize his own, but also our family‘s life. The Jewish father then quieted down, and life came back to almost normal.

Then came the big Railway Strike. The employees of the Dutch railways refused to transport Jews to Germany. Hundreds of workers went “underground”, and transport virtually came to a standstill. That was in June 1944, when the Invasion of Europe by the Allies started. My friend and I had been for a walk in Sonsbeek Park, came out at the main-entrance and crossed the Apeldoornse weg, when suddenly a German soldier, his gun at the ready, came towards us and demanded our Ausweis.

My friend showed his student-card,was allowed to go, and I showed my Grenzkarte that had actually expired on 11-6-1943. But I had already rubbed the 3 out and very carefully made it into a 4. For myself it was quite noticable that it was a forgery, but for a stranger it could quite easily pass as genuine.

The soldier studied it for a while, then asked why I wasn‘t at my job now. I explained to him that the trains had not been running that morning, that we had been told to go home and wait for word from the authorities. He accepted my excuse and let me go on my way. Had he noticed the falsefication, it would have been the end of me, I‘m sure. We were two very lucky young men!

When we arrived at our place I rang the bell, and who would open the door? Mrs. Bohemen, the Jewish lady! I didn‘t say anything to my friend, who saw her of course and looked a bit sheepishly. Later on I said that she was our cleaning- lady, but he never mentioned the incident again. Only after the war did he say he knew instantly that she was a Jewess. I know that he had been the only person who ever knew we sheltered Jews.

Then came the 17th of September, the day of the Allied Airborn-troop landing near Arnhem. It all started with a bombardment of Deelen Airport just north of Arnhem. And soon we saw the Gliders over the lowlands south of our city. My brother and I hurried to my friend‘s place from where we could see the whole operation firsthand. There was an atmosphere of great excitement everywhere around us and soon we could hear the fighting in the distance. It took the Allies three days to secure the bridge over the Rhine, but the Germans hadn‘t been asleep either. They had a pantzer-division nearby and managed to throw the paratroopers back, inflicting heavy losses. People from the southern part of the city fled northward and soon every house in our part had refugees.

We took in my oma Lucas and her daughter and family and several others. But when they saw the Jews, the others rapidly left, still dead scared in case the Nazis discovered them. Only oma and family stayed. But we were optimistic and didn‘t worry about the Nazis any more, the war would now soon come to an end. Wishful thinking on our part.

The paratroopers were thrown back over the Rhine, the operation Arnhem had failed and the whole population of Arnhem was ordered to evacuate the city, all 120000 of them, nobody was allowed to stay behind.Oma Lucas was 82 years old, could not walk very far. Dad improvised and made a cart out of two old bicycles, tieing planks between them, putting pillows and cushions on the planks, making it like an easy chair.

The bikes had no tyres, [there were none]. We all carried what we could and off we went, taking the Jews in amongst us. The whole population was on the go, all roads leading North, East and West were full of people, bicycles, horse-drawn carriages, wheelbarrow you name it. The weather was kind to us though. We had chosen the Northern route, to Apeldoorn. Oma was quite comfortable in her makeshift feauteuil, the Jews made themselves inconspicuous amongst us and my brother and I pulled Oma‘s cadillac. She seemed happy enough and we all plodded on, people around us everywhere, it was a real emigration of a whole city, quite remarkable.

We saw German soldiers on trucks and travelling towards Arnhem, as we turned away from our hometown. We walked for over 6 hours, then reached Beekbergen, a village 2 km from Apeldoorn. Farmers with horse-drawn carriages were waiting there to pick up the weak and sick, and, seeing oma is her makeshift cart we were offered a carriage by one of the farmers, who thus became our “landlord” for the meantime. It took half an hour before we reached his farm.

We got out and shown to the “deel”, the very large shed, built on to the house that houses all the cattle in wintertime. On each side the farmer had spread thick layers of straw. This was to be a communal bed for the 35 evacuees he had taken in. We were all fed thick peasoup and were told by the farmer‘s wife that we could use the big kitchen, normally used by his personnel. It was still late summer and the cows were in the meadow till the frosts came, in late November.

In a way it was cosy, so many people lying next to each other on the straw, and many times laughter could be heard. We had been there three weeks when the farmer called us all together and told us that there wouldn‘t be enough food for 35 people and his family, and asked for volunteers, willing to go and look for other quarters. He would supply a horse and cart and take them further afield.

We Lucasses held a family conference at which we decided to volunteer, as we were still very scared that the Jews could easily be picked up. And in that case it would become dangerous for us as well. Along with others a party of 12 was made up, the next morning horse and wagon were brought in and by 9 the farmer and his volunteers were on the road West, to a place called Hoogland, in the Province of Utrecht.

The sun shone brilliantly. It felt like we were going on a holiday. My mother enjoyed it immensely and waved to passers-by the way our Queen used to do. But it was a long drawn-out trip and we were thankful when we ultimately arrived at a school in Den Ham. There the headmaster welcomed us and we were let into some classrooms, thick straw on the floors and the stoves burning. By the time we had installed ourselves it was 10’00 p.m., and everyone was soon fast asleep.

The next day we were collected by farmers from round about. Our family ended up at a modern farm at the Coelhorst, a Castle that had several farms, run by tenant-farmers . There were already a number of people in hiding, five I believe, so when we joined up it brought the total to 10, plus the farmer’s family of 4. Our communal bedroom was a little room above the horse- stable, that kept the room comfortably warm, and we slept on straw again. There was plenty of food on the farm, we never went hungry once during that last winter, called the hunger-winter in the big cities of the Western provinces, where people all but starved and were eating tulip bulbs, and many died from the cold and hunger.

We had become very friendly with the v.d.Broeks, the headmaster’s family and regularly walked to Den Ham. That took roughly 30 minutes. After the last big German offensive in the Belgian Ardennes, that failed, the waiting now was for the Allies. They began advancing in Germany and Holland and in March the Canadians had liberated Den Ham and we expected them at any moment to turn up at our farm. But then, for some reason or other, they stopped their offensive. This gave the Germans time to put landmines all around the area, and we got a whole platoon of SS soldiers staying on the farm.

People from Amersfoort used to come on their bikes to the farms to buy milk or potatoes, often bartering their precious possessions for food. They didn‘t know about the mines and several times we would hear a loud bang that told us another person had struck a landmine, loosing a foot or leg. The son of the farm next to us went out one morning to milk the cows. He had just entered the paddock when he struck a mine, blowing off his foot. He crawled back to the house but struck another one, 10 meters from the kitchen-door. It killed him, but nobody dared to go near him and he lay there for 13 days.

This happened about a week before the Germans capitulated. They were ordered to clear the mines they had laid and only then could we get to the young farmer‘s body. We had tea towels dipped in vinegar strapped round our noses and used rakes to gather what was left from his body. His parents had seen their son‘s body lying there for over a fortnight, unable to do anything. Such is war.

One day one of the German soldiers asked us if we‘d like to do some fishing. My brother and I went with him to the Eem, the little river that ran behind the dike at our farm. There was a small rowing boat moored, and the soldier took one of his hand granates, pulled the pin and threw it in the water. There was a big explosion lots of fish came floating to the surface, we got in the boat and started collecting the fish.

Suddenly we heard a plane and we hurried back to the shore and dived behind the dike, just before it came over very low. We were very lucky , as the warplanes were shooting at anything that moved at this of the war. But that evening we all had a great feast at the farm, fresh fried fish. Even the soldiers joined us.

We had another adventure. Joop my brother, was looking out the little window in the loft and saw a German patrol finding their way through the minefield. He suggested we take that same route to take us to Den Ham, already liberated by the Canadians, to find out how things were over there. A stupid thing to do of course, but we set off anyway and managed to get to the village, where we went to our friends the v.d.Broeks. There were Canadians who asked us how many Germans there were on the farm, how they were armed etc.. It was a crazy stage of the war, there was no fighting, it almost felt that something unusual was going to happen.

On our way back to the farm we suddenly heard “HALT”, and a German approached with his gun at the ready. We told him we‘d been to see a doctor in the village to come and see our sick mother, and also gave him some chocolate and cigarettes, a luxury even for him. He warned us then of the minefields and let us go.

Dad was angry at us for risking our lives so recklessly, and we realised that it had been a stupid thing to do. But then, at these last stages of the war, in such unusual circumstances, one was inclined to take risks, everybody was marking time, the Allies, the Germans and we.

Next morning we heard the sound of many planes coming overhead, and no anti-aircraft guns firing, so it had to be something special. Later that day we heard those planes were dropping food and medicines on the big cities to bring relief to the starving population.The German platoon packed their bags and left for Amersfoort and we heard later they had been taken prisoner there. We realised the war was nearly over, at least for us.

A few days later some of the Germans, guarded by Allied soldiers, began clearing our area of the landmines, and we were able to walk the roads again.. Then we waited for another week before we decided that Dad and the boys borrowed some bikes and went back to Arnhem, leaving mum and Bep behind. The plan was to go and see in what state our own house was, make it livable again and then go back to the farm and get the others.

We arrived in our hometown, only to find most of the inner-city in ruins. But our street and surroundings were still there, badly battered, all the windows broken, grass growing in between the street-bricks, most of the furniture broken and incredibly dirty. But what we also found was that the surrogate wall Dad had built downstairs, hadn‘t been touched, and all the linen and blankets mum had put behind it were still there and untouched.

We boarded up the windows, cleaned up and after a few days biked back to the farm and went home again all together as one family.Some time later we heard that the Jewish family Bohemen had survived the war, too. Towards the end of the occupation they had been caught by the Nazis, been taken to Westerbork, from where they were to be transported to Auschwitz, but at the last minute had been liberated by the Canadians. At least our effort had come to a good end.

A few months passed by, life slowly got back to normal when, one day, a car stopped in front of our door and out came the Bohemen family, all dressed up nicely, [he was a clothing manufacturer or something], and they told us their story. I believe he gave my Dad an old watch, and they thanked us for what we had done for them.

But I can still see mum looking at their clothes. They knew how desperate we were for clothing and shoes, she said. My Dad also received a certificate from the Israeli delegation in The Hague in recognition of his work for the Jewish community in Holland. In Israel they were planting a Pineforest, each tree carrying the name of the person[s] who had helped save a Jew or Jewish family. Well, we thought, at least mum and dad are getting some recognition.

Years later, I was in New Zealand a long time, my brother Joop was in Israel, visiting his daughter who lived there. On an impulse he made inquiries where to find this forest, but couldn‘t get any satisfaction. He went to the Dutch Embassy there, but they couldn‘t tell him either. I have often asked myself, had it ever been planted?

The war in the Far East was still raging and soon our government was asking for war-volunteers. It was still in the days of Nationalism and national pride. Those volunteers would first get military training in England, because Holland wasn‘t ready by a long shot to train them itself.

I suppose you can guess that Joop and myself were by the first ones to volunteer and by the end of November we were both in England, doing the initial course. I was selected for the Royal Engineer corps, and Joop for the Infantry. We were both there for a whole year, I graduated as a Sergeant, and J.was chosen for the Officers‘ Course that was done in Holland by that time. I arrived back in Holland in February 1947 and left for the Dutch East Indies in March that year.

Our company was the 6th Genie Veld Company, and we were the Quarter makers for the bulk of our Company that would come several months later.We sailed on a ship called the Nieuw Holland, a fairly ancient affair. We slept in hammocks, rather good really, because they swung with the ship on the waves and stopped most of us from being seasick.

We disembarked at Palembang, the biggest place in South- Sumatra, and got stationed in the Benteng, an ancient fort used by the Dutch Colonial Army. They taught us “the ropes” as it were, to prepare us for the strange conditions over there.

Soon after our Company arrived we went into action and it didn‘t take long before most of the important places were occupied and the planters came back to carry on where they had left off when the Japanese overran the Dutch in 1941.

Now there were the Indonesian Guerillas who made it somewhat difficult. They sometimes put landmines on our supply- routes, and had potshots at small units. I vividly remember an instant where I and four men were loading our truck with timber, needed for a bridge we were building. We were ready to leave . I was sitting beside the driver when we heard a bang. We dived into the ditch and fired in the direction the shot came from, but there was no more firing and after a while we climbed back in the truck and saw the hole in the front and back window, Where their bullet had passed between the drivers‘ and my head.

We didn‘t see very much action in Sumatra. The main action was on the island of Java. It was there that Sukarno proclaimed the Republik Indonesia, and under heavy pressure from the US and Britain our Government had to grant the former Colony its Independence.

Our old Queen Wilhelmina probably saw the writing on the wall early and had abdicated the throne in 1948, and passed it on to Juliana, who, in 1952, I think, signed the proclamation, giving Indonesia to the Indonesians.

I had returned to Holland in January 1950 and soon got demobilised, in March that year. Although I had seen much of the world, I have always seen my Army-years as wasted. Nearly 5 years of my life wasted.

But life goes on. I couldn‘t get a decent job, Holland was now even poorer since it had lost Indonesia and after year of just drifting I decided to emigrate. I had been in contact with one of my ex-colleagues in Indonesia who had emigrated to New- Zealand straight from Indonesia. He was working on a farm and had found a sponsor for me, and that made it so much easier.

I saw the N.Z. office in The Hague and was on my way in no time . I sailed on the Groote Beer, a Liberty- ship converted to a passenger liner. It left Rotterdam on the 17th of August 1951, the first ship to go to Australia and New-Zealand.

I soon made friends, a Dutch couple, just married. They were Arie and Jannie van Nugteren. I would see quite a bit of them later on. We arrived in Wellington on the 23rd of September ‘51, and I was interviewed by a journalist of some newspaper.

We all received an alienbook, in which our names and forwarding addresses were entered with instructions to always contact the police when our address changed. I didn‘t like the idea; it gave one a feeling of being kept under constant surveillance. However these were the rules in those early days, and we had to follow them.

My friend from Indonesia was there to greet me and that same afternoon on our way to Taumarunui in the Kingcountry. The actual farm I was going to was 25 km from town, in the middle of nowhere, at least that‘s what I thought. But the farmer‘s family was kind, and slowly I got used to herding sheep on horseback, digging fencepost holes, milking the cow and doing my own washing.

The meals were eaten with the family. I had my own batch, close to the house. All went reasonably well until one day, when the boss told me to kill a sheep. I refused, because I had never killed an animal. The boss said:” you city boys are all the same, you‘ll never make a farmer”, to which I retorted: “I don‘t want to be one anyway”.

I lasted on that farm for a year. I had decided not to make farming my career, and wondered what to do next. I went up North and headed for Tirau in the Waikato, where I knew Arie and Jannie were living. He worked as a baker in the one large bakery. They made me most welcome and I soon found a job in the dairy factory and also lodgings.

A few months later Arie saw an ad in the paper. There happened to be a small bakery for sale in Kaitangata, a mining town right down the South Island. It took his fancy and he went down there to see for himself and came back four days later and told his wife that he had bought the place, starting in a few weeks time.

He asked me to go with them. There was to be a room for me to rent and plenty of work in the coal mine. That seemed a good idea, and that ‘s how I became a trucker in the underground mine. I boarded with the Nugterens.

Then my sister Bep came out from Holland. She arrived in August ‘53 and came down to Kaitangata with me where she got a job in Balclutha hospital. But after a few months we decided to go back to Wellington, where there was plenty of work on the waterfront, and where there was also a better work opportunites for Bep. We found a nice flat in Benares street in the suburb of Khandallah. My job on the wharf suited me fine for the meantime, and there were many Dutch immigrants working there, and soon we‘d made a large circle of friends.

One of them, Gerrit Kerkmeester, let his eye fall on Bep, and after a short courtship they got married. He moved in with us, but it wasn‘t long before they bought a property in Johnsonville, on the main road at that time. I and his brother Jan rented rooms at their place. Bep became pregnant and when the time came, she went to Alexandra Hospital to have the baby.

Just at that time Rie Ottema came out from Holland, and I remember the day I went to visit Bep, who had had her first baby. She told me that she was being nursed by a Dutch nurse who had come out from Holland very recently. I was sitting by her bed, and there came the nurse with a cuppa for Bep. And that is how I first set eyes on my future wife.

Mum's story before she met Dad

2006-08-16T13:55:00.000-07:00

My name is Hendrika Ottema, and I was born on the 31st of May 1928 at Almelo, a town in the Province of Overijsel. I was the 10th child of Otte Ottema and Hendrina Ottema- Wanschers. Dad was born on the 12th of January 1889 and mother on the 31st of December 1889. They both were from Almelo.

Dad was a self-taught builder and architect and had a flourishing business in the 20`s, but when the stock-market crashed, his bank crashed as well and dad`s business went bankrupt with it. At that time he had 20 or so employees, and they all were suddenly unemployed.

He had come from sober beginnings, and often told us children that when he was 9 years old, his father had died, leaving his wife a widow with 7 children. Dad was the third oldest. His mother certainly knew what hardship was and did not know where the next meal had to come from. They lived near the Twente-Rijn canal, and used to run from one bridge to the next one, shouting on the top of his voice “ship coming!” and so warn the bridge-attendant to open the swing-bridge and let the ship through. This earned him a free meal from the skipper. Talk about the Good Old Days!

I grew up in a loving family, a warm nest, with lots of fun and laughter. Even now the great depression was here, and jobs were scarce. In Germany in the meantime, Hitler had come to power and he wiped the Treaty of Versailles and reoccupied Saarland. The Allies did nothing to stop him and the German people saw him as a Saviour. And so did many others the world over. It wasn`t very long that there was plenty of work in Germany, and many Dutch workers who lived near the border found themselves well paid jobs. My two older brothers were soon convinced that Hitler was doing an excellent job became true sympathizers of the man.

In Holland Antoon Mussert formed a new political party, on the same principles as the one in Germany and called it the N.S.B., freely translated the National Socialist Party. It was fiercely anti-communist, and had roughly a 10% following in Holland. Needless to say that the Ottemas joined the Party as well. But the Left-wing parties, the Communists and Socialists, didn`t like them and made it difficult for them.

I remember vividly one day that my parents were out and the younger children were at home, that suddenly a large brick was thrown through our window and the three of us dived under the table, trembling all over. I couldn`t understand what this was all about, as I was only 8 years old at this time. Sometimes stones were thrown at us while walking to school. These things make a big impression on small children and I am sure that these upheavals, at such a tender age, did leave a stamp on our later lives, making us unsure of ourselves.

Then, on the 10th of May 1940, the German Army marched into Holland and our country was occupied in 5 days. We felt a bit safer now. But Mum`s parents were anti-German, and wouldn`t have anything to do with us any more. I was very confused by all this, couldn`t understand why we didn`t go and see opoe and opa any more.

But Dad started a business again and soon needed personnel again, amongst them some of my uncles, and slowly the broken family-ties were taken up again. I remember one day in particular, we children were playing in the garden and Mum came running out of the house and shouted loudly: “Look who is coming!” We saw Opa with his white beard sitting on his horse-drawn carriage approaching. He had come to make up again with Dad. It made me very happy because my Dad was a good man.

My oldest sister Katrien, who was 27 years old at the time, was engaged to be married. In August 1943 she went camping with some girlfriends in Lunteren, at a holiday-camp. A week later we got a telegram that she was seriously ill in a hospital in Naarden. Mother rushed over the next day. Katrien had blood-poisoning, which was a serious illness in those days, because there was no penicilin then. Mother sat at her sickbed for a whole week,and later my Dad and her fiancee as well, but after a week of unbearable suffering she died. Her body was taken back to Almelo in a white railway-carriage put between the ordinary wagons. We children thought it was something very special. I was 15 years old then.

Katrien`s body lay in an open coffin in the front-room.Our dog Pukkie stayed with her all that time, lying under the table, and we, the four girls stayed with her every night, each in turn. In day-time we had many visitors. It was very sad. At the funeral there were also many people. The women all sat in carriages with drawn black curtains , so it was quite dark inside. The men all walked behind the horse-drawn hearse. We, the three girls all were in sober black and had a carriage all to ourselves.

We looked secretly through the windows, one at the time, and suddenly the one who`s turn it was started giggling , and said: “Have a look, Pukkie is in the procession too!” We all had a turn looking and we saw Pukkie our dog, followed by several other dogs. Apparently she was on heat. We couldn`t stop laughing, it was all nerves of course.

The day after Mum and I went to cemetery to see Katrien`s grave.
We walked and Pukkie went with us. But before we came to the entrance, Pukkie started running and when we arrived at the grave-site, Pukkie was already there, and digging away!Katrien was his favorite, you could tell. It really upset us.

Her fiance came to see us for a long time after her funeral, even after he got married.They had 3 children, 2 girls and a boy. His wife died rather young. His son studied for doctor. When I was on holidays in Holland in 1973, in winter-time, we heard that he and his son were killed in a car-accident. The roads had been iced over by the frost.

In the autumn of 1943 we had several bombardments. One evening, at 21.00 hrs. it started already, the R.A.F. wanted to bomb the Stork Works in Hengelo, but one pilot must have taken Almelo instead of Hengelo, as these two towns are very close to each other. The bombs fell fairly close, I shall never forget it..The son of a neighbour who was never scared, ran into the street, the most stupid thing one can do. His mother ran after him and then we heard screaming. Dad ran upstairs and saw the poor woman lying in the street, her arm ripped off by a piece of shrapnel. Together with another man they got a ladder, put her on it and ran as fast as they could to the hospital, but she bled to death before they got there.

Hours later you could hear them come back from their mission. Now and then one of the planes was damaged, or was short of fuel, and then the bombs that were left were discarded. We usually spent all night in the cellar. Our Pukkie had once been in the street when the sirens went. A bomb fell somewhere not far away and many windows in our street had broken,

Pukkie was scared and tried to get inside, thereby hurting it`s front paw quite badly. From then on, as soon as the warning sirens went, he was the first one in the cellar. Clever dog!

Two of my brothers had joined the German Army and when they invaded Russia my brothers took part as well. After all, Europe had to get rid of Bolsjewism, according to Hitler. Four months later a letter came from the German High Command. It stated that my oldest brother Jans had been reported as missing in action. That was a blow, but we kept hoping for better news. However, we never saw him again.

The war dragged on and many able men were called upon to work in Germany. The only way to get out of it was to be declared unfit. One of my uncles had sugar-diabetes and was rejected as being unfit. He was a cunning guy and used to sell little bottles of his own urine to friends who were going to be checked. In this way he saved many men from having to work in Germany.

My brother Otte came home on sickleave. He had been wounded in Russia and was allowed to recuperate at home. Later, when back in action again, he was nearly killed once more, but survived, and is to this day alive and well.

Then came that fateful day, the 17th of September 1944, the day of the Battle of Arnhem. It was on a Tuesday We called it Dolle Dinsdag [Crazy Tuesday]. There was panic amongst us NSBers, and and soon the rumor spread that Hitler was going to order that the whole of Holland was to be gassed and that he gave the Pro-German section of Holland to flee to Germany. Many including us, decided to go.

We were promised quarters on a farm, but instead wee put in a camp at Langendam, a small hamlet near Nienburg on the river Weser, not far from Hanover. It`s name was “Luna-Lager”. There were more camps, but these were for prisoners of war, who were shut in. We could move freely about but always had to show our passports. We slept with six in a small room, on three, two-high bunk-beds.

During working-hours in daytime we worked in an ammunition-factory, where grenades for canons were made. The factory was situated in a large forest. Every day we walked from our camp over the moors to the factory. It took us three quarters of an hour, and we used to sing all the way, mum, Ans and me.
Many prisoners worked there, too, Russians, French, Hungarians and many more, and we became friends with lots of them.

Although the factory was well camouflaged, the sirens sounded often and then we hurried out of the factory to the underground shelters. Poor mum, she was quite deaf, didn`t hear the siren and was often left on her own in the place I was 16 years at the time, and worked with 8 others, [including mum], in the last room. The grenades were ready, only had to be stamped. They were big, these grenades, and fairly heavy. Mum thought it was too tiring a job for me, because I was very thin. Quite often she had asked the foreman to give me a somewhat lighter task.

From September to the 2nd of February 1945 we had worked there, when, at last, I got another, lighter job. Mum was really pleased and called after me: “ Shouldn`t you give me a kiss?” “Oh mum, I said, a bit embarrassed, “I will see you later”.

An hour later we heard a loud explosion and we all ran outside to the shelters, thinking of an airraid. We came out after the danger had passed and then realized there had been sabotage in the factory itself. There were bodies lying around, covered with blankets. We panicked when mum didn`t turn up. We saw several bodies under a big blanket. One hand was sticking out from under it. My youngest brother Wim recognized it. I had a feeling of having a bad dream, that I would wake up soon. But we children still had each other. I could easily have been a victim as well.

The funeral was very scary, too. We had to jump behind rocks every time the Allied fighter-plane zoomed overhead, strafing us with machine-gun fire. Ans and I fled then, we couldn`t work in that factory any more. We went to the Labour Office, told them the story and were sent to a Home of Old People in a little village called Blenhorst. Most of these oldies came from the Ruhr area, that was bombed constantly. These poor souls were completely out of touch, some couldn`t even remember their own names any more. They all slept in a large hall, and we were to look after them at night-time.

We slept in day-time but it was even so difficult to keep awake. A few times it happened that the sirens went and we got so scared then, that we left the oldies on their own. We hurried to the air-shelter and fell asleep leaning against one another. We were lucky not to be discovered. I must tell you about the time that Ans and I were sitting at the table in the kitchen one night. She heard some noise and went to investigate. In the dark she bent over an old woman. Then, totally out of the blue, the patient slapped her face. She came back to the kitchen and told what had happened. I burst out laughing and that made her angry at me, but later on we both laughed

We hadn`t been there very long when, one day, my older sister Alie appeared, totally unexpected. She had heard that mother had been killed. She told us that our brother Henk had been shot in Holland. Alie was a nurse and worked in a hospital in Utrecht in Holland. She was on holidays and had decided to come and get us all. “We aren`t safe anywhere any more and might as well go back to where we belong”, was her motto, and that is what we did, leaving the next morning.

The journey from Blenhorst to Groningen took us three weeks roughly. We walked in daytime, now and then catching a ride on a farmer`s wagon, even on a tank once, and slept at night in haystacks, sheds, and once in a small railway-station. We celebrated Ans`s birthday [7th of April `45] on the road. The weather was good at the time, and sometimes we were lucky to get something to eat at a farm-house.

We used to wash ourselves at streams. We should have felt miserable though, slowly getting hungrier and dirtier, but I can only remember being happy, we did sing a lot and even had fun together. We were in good shape mentally, realizing that come what may, anything had to be better than the nightmare we had been through. A feeling that Jesus had put a hand on my shoulder.

…We carried several suitcases. Crossing the border we had to open all the suitcases. In one of them we carried all dirty clothes. It even contained our dirty underwear. We had all had our period! Of course it was my luck to carry that one and it was me to open it.

At last we arrived in the city of Groningen and had to tell a white lie, that we had been forced to work in Germany. We could not tell them that we were NSBers. They would have straight away put us in prison.We were placed with a young couple with a new-born baby,in the centre of town. After a few days the fighting became fierce, shooting everywhere. In the evening Most of our street was in flames, only three houses away from us. I thought: “Oh, my God, we are going to be burned alive”.

Our radio had been on all day. Suddenly there came an announcement that firing on both sides would stop for an hour, to give people living in the inner-city thr chance to flee. We then went to the couple`s parents, who lived a few km. away. Next morning the young man went back to fetch something the baby needed but he didn`t return. A terrible time for his wife and parents. After two more days the shooting stopped and they found the young man , lying dead on the roof of his house. They took him home. I never knew how bad a burnt body can smell.

After the funeral we started walking again, back to Almelo. By now the war was finished, but not for us, NSBers.After three days we arrived at our house where we had lived for so many years, all windows with glass broken, very sad. There was a soldier, gun at the ready. When we made ourselves known, he said: “You are being sought, go give yourselves up”. The streets were decorated and there was dancing, but we were put in a cell.

The prisons of those days were different from nowadays. We slept on straw-mattresses on the floor, no radio or other luxuries and were “aired” once a day. But we didn`t mind too much, at least we could rest and didn`t have to walk any more. We didn`t get bored really, talked a lot about what we were going to do once we were free, fantasised about favorite foods and spent hours picking lice from each other`s head. We even had scabies.

All this was a result of the rough time when we walked for weeks without being able to get a decent wash. We got rid of the little worms, just under the skin, by picking them out with a needle. We also did sing a lot in the cell. We stayed there for a fortnight, always being hungry.

After prison we were placed in a house with many others and got a year`s confinement. Luckily one day an aunt, sister of our mother came to see us and took us to her own home for that year. She had a letter from the Dutch authorities that we were enemies of the state. She ignored this completely and we stated the rest of the year with her and her family. This aunt [Sientje] had three children, 2 boys and a girl [17, 3 and 14 years old].

We had a great time together. We weren`t allowed outside, but they still took us for a camping-holiday to Dalfsen, supposedly for a week, but somebody betrayed us and we had to return home after a few days. My uncle got a nasty letter from the city-counsel telling him off and warning him that next time he would get a fine and we would be taken away from his care.

When the year was over, Ans and I went to Hilversum, where Alie, our sister, had rented a attic-room in a well-to-do neighbourhood. It was great there, we both got a job. I as a clerk in a laundry, and later as a nurse-aid in a nursing-home.. When we reached the age of 18, we applied for nursing and both got a job at the Hospital in Zutphen, where we did our nursing course. Alie was very happy because now her two little sisters had a roof over their head, as we were there intern.

Meanwhile our papa was serving time in Steenwijk, Dinie in Staphorst and brother Otte in Vught. They were allowed one visit a month, and we made sure they got that. There was no money for train-fares so we had to hitchhike. At first we were apprehensive and scared, but one gets used to it. We always traveled together and made sure we had plenty to eat for us and especially for the ones we went to see, because they were starving, always looked desperately hungry.

We managed to do those trips in one day, but once it had got too late to go back and wwe went to the police-station and spent a night in a cell.
During that period in our lives we really missed home. Other students went home at holiday-time, but we had to stay at the hospital, in our own room.

Papa was set free after nearly 3 years. All his possessions had been confiscated. But soon he found work again. Other oHe rented a room in a pub and it wasn`t long before he had saved enough money, bought an old motor-bus [without tyres]. It stood on a small piece of land of his [later it was taken off him]. What “gezellig”[homely] it was in that bus. We had a home again at last! All of our days-off we spent there. In the evening before we biked from Zutphen to Almelo and spent many a day with papa in his bus.

Papa would have preferred that we had found some other profession than nursing, because of contamination. Many men coming back “home” from German concentration-camps had tuberculosis and we nurses could easily contract that or some other disease. We in Zutphen nursed many of them. Of the 10 nurses that worked in the TB ward, 7 contracted Tuberculosis or Pleuricy.

Our Ans also got it and had to spend 2 years in bed. This was a great pity. She never got her Nursing-diploma. Also Alie contracted it while working in Zonnestraal sanatorium and was off work for a whole year. I managed to stay healthy, and sat my final exams in 1951.

After 3 study-years, we had started with 24 girls, only 5 passed the exams I got an opportunity to take over, temporarily, from a Matron in Hiversum. She needed an extended holiday, and during the time there I followed a course in chiropody. In 1953 I was working in Middelburg where I got my diploma Maternity. While there I experienced the big FLOOD

In February we had a frightening storm, in conjunction with abnormally high seas. In several places in Zeeland and Zuid-Holland the dikes broke. In the floods that followed 1985 people drowned, as did thousands of cattle and other animals. Our hospital stood on hilly ground, thank God, but we were completely surrounded by seawater. We were totally isolated and for a few days my family back home were very worried for my safety.

After this ordeal I worked in a rest-home in Oosterbeek, as matron. Ans was better again and was allowed to work. But in 1955 Ans emigrated to New-Zealand, and I was planning togo and work in Curacao.But from her letters I realized that she was homesick. And because we had always been together I decided to go to New Zealand as well and be together again.

After doing all the preliminaries like applying to the New Zealand Embassy, and booking the fare, I didn`t have to wait too long and boarded the “Zuiderkruis” on the 19th of January 1956. We sailed through the Panama Canal to Tahiti, where we had a break, a welcome interlude on a tropical island, and eventually arrived in Wellington on the 26th of February.

A few days before we had been interviewed and asked what our preferred destination was. In my case it was Dunedin, where my brother and sister live, but as my fare was an assisted one, I was told that there was a small possibility to be placed in a hospital somewhere else, but they warned me that chance was small.

In Wellington, still aboard, we were given our final destination and mine was to be Alexandra Maternity Hospital in Wellington. That was a blow, But Ans, who was there to meet me when I disembarked, said: “ We go and see the Matron in that place and tell her you are first coming with me to Dunedin to see your brother and when we are there you apply for a job in Dunedin.”

But the Matron was very unwilling and told me to report for duty the next morning. Ans persuaded me to come with, “Blow her, that woman has no feeling, we are going anyway.” And we sailed on the ferry to ChCh. That same evening. In Dunedin, after greeting Wim, and a good night`s rest we went to the Labour office, where I got word that Dunedin Hospital was crying out for nurses. That they would contact Wellington and would let me know when I could start.

But then I got word to return to Wellington forthwith, otherwise I would have to pay for my whole fare. Of course we hadn`t that amount, so I boarded the train again, Ans had promised me to follow on as soon as she could finish at the place she worked.

I think that I`ve never felt more miserable than I did in that train, I cried for a long , long time. When I arrived in Wellington next morning at 06.00, It was raining cats and dogs, and blowing, and when I arrived at Alexandra Hospital, the Matron was furious, calling me all sorts of names, of which I didn`t understand half, as my English was not very good at that stage. The only consolation was that I found that Aggie, a travel- companion from the Zuiderkruis, and who had chosen Auckland as destination, was also working at Alexandra Hospital.

She hated that Matron, [Miss Burdett her name was] as much as I did, and we formed a sort of pact, trying to ignore her nasty remarks. The hospital itself was primarily for unmarried mothers, in those days still a shameful thing for girls, but it also catered for married mothers.

One day in April, a Mrs. Bep Kerkmeester was admitted to have her first baby. She was Dutch and we clicked straight away. In the afternoon one day, as I was taking her a cup of tea, she had a visitor. She introduced him her brother and his name was Gerard Lucas. And that is how I got to know my future husband.

Married Life

2006-08-15T16:40:00.000-07:00

After the service we had a Dutch “wedding breakfast” at my sister’s home in Johnsonville, with speeches, drinks and food galore. It lasted till late that night. The next day we set off on our honeymoon, destination Kaitangata, where many of my old friends lived. I wanted to show off my wife to them. All went very well and after 10 days we were back in Johnsonville and stayed with Gerrit and Bep for a while.

We were lucky enough to find a house for rent, not far from them, inMorgan street, opposite the school playground, and soon Ans came and lived with us, very handy as far as the rent was concerned, as we didn’t have much money at the time. Rie was expecting and we travelled regularly to Wellington Hospital on the motorbike to see the doctor, down Ngauranga Gorge. The road was good and all went well.

Our neighbour, I forgot his name, Had promised to take her in when the baby was due. That was late afternoon on the 19th of Febr. 1957. As far as I can remember, William Otte came into the world at 5 minutes before midnight, but years later, when William needed a birth certificate, it stated that he was born on the 20th of Febr. 1957.

After mother and baby came home, our neighbour confessed he had been dead scared in case baby had been born in his car, as that had happened to him before. William was our pride and joy and a very easy baby. We were a happy family indeed. Ans and I went to work on the motorbike every morning. I worked on the wharf while Ans had a Dressmaking job.

It was nice having her staying with us because Gerard often worked till nine at night. And Ans was then good company for Rie and the baby. Then one day, it was nearly midday, Rie got a surprise as they both came walking in, Ans with her arm in a sling and Gerard limping. On the way to work in the morning they had an accident and were taken to hospital by ambulance, but were discharged soon after. Ans had a broken finger and Gerard a badly bruised leg. The bike was only slightly damaged. But they were to stay in bed for the time being, the doctor would call in a day or two, they were told.

Poor Rie had to run back and forth, from one room to the other. As it was cold, and because she thought of all the heaters going, she put William’s cot in the master bedroom and told Ans to get into ced with Gerard, and so having to use only one heater. “You’re both too mirerable to do anything you shouldn’t”, she said. So we did, in daytime.

The following day, at about eleven o’clock, the doctor called. Rie let him in and showed him to the bedroom. He looked at us in the bed, then to Rie and said: “But you are Mrs. Lucas, aren”t you?” He looked puzzled and I said: “ That”s our custom in Holland, wife or sister in law, it doesn’t make any difference”, and we all started laughing and doctor saw the joke too.

We had no income for a while, but still had to buy groceries etc., and the day came that Rie asked for some money to buy potatoes. I had none but thought she would have some hidden away. Normally Rie always managed somehow, but this time we were stuck. And for the first (and last) time I had to go to the greengrocer and humbly ask for some potatoes “on the slate”. He was very obliging but I felt sick.

We lived in Morgan street for a year and a half, William was doing well and the financial situation improved greatly. Everything seemed to be going fine, when a letter came from the owner of the house. He was living in Gisborne but was coming back to Johnsonville, and would we be kind enough to vacate the house within six weeks. We did not have the means to buy one and wondered what to do next.

Then a letter arrived from Bill, Rie’s brother who lived in Dunedin. He had just bought a house there, and he and his wife had decided to go overseas for a year, and would we be interested in coming down to Dunedin and live in it for a small rent, and look after the place? I did not really want to give up my job on the waterfront, but after talking it over with Rie, I finally gave in.

We packed all our belongings in crates, I gave my notice at work and asked for a transfer to the wharf in Dunedin, which they could not guarantee, and I booked a plane for Rie and William for the 30th of August 1958. I was to go on the ferry that day, to Lyttleton, and from there to Dunedin on my motorbike.

With mother and son safely on the plane, I crossed on the ferry that night and started early the next morning from Lyttleton to Dunedin. It was rather chilly but soon the sun broke through and all went well until I reached Oamaru. It got colder and darker and started snowing even. Helmets were not worn in those days, and I had to wrap the shawl round my head and felt more miserable as I came closer to my destination, and by the time I got there all feeling in my legs had gone.

It took hours of sitting by the open fire to thaw out, and I could not help thinking what I had myself let in for. It took a while getting a job, as there were no vacancies on the wharf. Anita, Bill’s wife, worked at the Roslyn woollen mills and got me work there, so we went to work on my motorbike.

One day, going home from work, we were driving through town past the Oval and were to pass under the Andy Bay railway viaduct. There used to be a street called Wharf street, on the left coming from town. I saw a still standing car, obviously waiting to turn right, I actually saw the driver talking to his companion, and just when I was to pass, he accelerated. I had no time to go left or right. He drove right in the left side of the bike, throwing us on the road.

I could not move and soon an ambulance arrived and put me on a stretcher, my left leg broken in two places. It was a compound fracture. Anita came off slightly better with a broken finger. In the meantime Rie had heard the siren, (we lived in Oxford street 37) and came out to the street and saw a lady on a bike coming towards her. She was a Dutch lady, too, and asked Rie if she knew of a Dutch family living here. Then Rie heard that the siren had been for us.

The lady offered to look after William in case she wanted to go to the hospital. Rie took her offer and took the bus. I was in agony in A & E when a doctor came to see me. He straight away offered me a cigarette and I accepted thankfully. Imagine a doctor doing that nowadays!

In the operating theatre my leg was put in plaster, but after ten days it had to be reset and a pin put in that I still carry to this day. After three weeks I came home and was in plaster for nine months before I could start work again.

During this period the police took the driver of the car to court for dangerous driving. I was a witness for the police. However, that man had a clever lawyer and the case was dismissed by the then magistrate Mr. Willis. But I was convinced that I had a very strong case and took out a civil case against that driver.

At first my lawyer was optimistic. A few weeks later, however, he called and told me my chances were poor and suggested I drop the case. I couldn’t make out what he was up to and insisted on persuing. He replied: “Well, Mr. Lucas, don't forget that you are a foreigner and he is a New Zealander!” to which I answered: “If this is the law in N.Z. and you approve of that, it’s time I look for another lawyer”.

My threat made him change his mind and he asked me politely to wait a few days so he could contact the Insurance Company. About three day after that he told me they had offered to settle out of court for 1300 pounds, that was for suffering and being 9 months off work. I was so fed up with the whole business that I reluctantly agreed, not realising that that lawyer would take off 500 pounds for doing absolutely nothing for me.

During that period our second son was born at Queen Mary Hospital, on the 28th of January 1959. In those days husbands were not allowed to be present at the birth, so Rie had asked the nurse to ring me as soon as the baby arrived. So when I came and visited her at 2 o’clock in the afternoon, my first words were: “ haven’t you started yet?” Rie said weepingly that it had already arrived at 10 in the morning and didn’t understand why she had not heard from me yet.

We gave each other a big cuddle and adored our son, whom we called Michael Henry, who would turn out very lively and mischievous and a nice playmate for William. When my brother in law and his wife came back from Holland, we felt it was time to move on.

We bought a leasehold dairy in Hanover street corner of Grange street, an old ramshackle two-story place. With the years it had sagged in the middle and as the pram had to be kept upstairs (there was no room on the groundfloor), we had to put a block of wood under the wheel from preventing it running down the stairs. It was a 7 day dairy, open from 07.00 – 22.00 hrs. The shop was a decent size, but the living quarters were so small, a little room behind the shop (3 by 4 meters) and a lean-to kitchen with small shower-room off it. Our cooker was a small Atlas one-plate electric, with a small oven, just big enough to warm 6 pies at a time. But we managed fine, and had a big turnover at lunch time. We even sold hard boiled eggs.

Before long we had to get up at 06.00 in the morning to make sandwiches etc. Rie always said she hoped the new baby would not arrive on a Monday as this was our busiest day of the week. But sure enough, on Monday the 2nd of July 1962, getting up at 05.00, and starting to butter the bread, the water broke. But we carried on as well as we could and had everything ready by 11.30.

We called Christine, a good friend of ours, and she came directly. At 19.00 hrs. Rie got in the van, her pains coming regularly at 10 min. interval, and I rushed her to Redroofs hosp., the place we had chosen because it was the only one where I, as the husband, was allowed to stay at her bed-site during the birth. We arrived there at 19.30 and the baby was born 5 minutes past 20.00. It had been a close call.

We were overcome by joy when it was a girl. We called her Hendrina Katrina Barbara, after Rie’s mother, eldest sister and stepmother. When mother and baby came home, we soon got back into routine again but decided not to carry on much longer, it would be too much of a strain for Rie. What made us more determined was a terrible near- accident.

One afternoon we were both busy in the shop, Baby sleeping in the pram upstairs and the boys in the room playing. It was cold and the electric heater in the room behind the shop was on because the boys were playing inside. The door had a large ribbled glass window. Rie and I were both serving customers. I happened to look towards the door and saw a large flame.

My reaction was so fast it wasn’t funny. I rushed in and saw a large cardboard box fully alight, grabbed my leather coat that was l draped over a chair and threw it over the flames. Soon everything was under control but we had almost had a catastrophe on our hands. We both had a terrible fright and were now really ready for action, so I put our business on the market. It took a while but by late September we were succesful and sold with profit to a Chinese gentleman.

We moved out at the beginning of October and moved to a large flat in Queens Drive in Sth. Dunedin. We hired a large van and shifted everything ourselves. Rie and I were unloading the truck and the boys were running around in the large garden. But boys are boys and after a while we heard them crying but didn’t take too much notice. Then Rie carried some linen inside, heard muffled crying and saw the large cabin trunk, lid closed, when before it had been open.

Her knees started trembling, she dropped the linen on the floor, rushed over to the trunk, opened the lid and out came two red faced boys. Thank God, we could have lost them. Even today they maintain mum exaggerated but we know the score.

The 6 to 8 weeks we lived in that flat was like heaven after nearly 3 years in a 7 day dairy. Gerard took a temporary job at Woolworths to pay the rent and living expenses and we had great times with the children at St.Kilda beach, only a few minutes walk from the flat. We were having a holiday even before the big one started.

On the 2nd of January ’63 we flew to Auckland where we spent two days in a motel. We boarded the Fair Sky, an Italian owned ship. Our cabin was right down but comfortable and the stewards were Italians and very find and helpful, especially towards little Katrina, then 9 months old. “little bambina” they called her, they made a big fuss of her.

Traveling to Europe by ship, the clock is put back one hour every so often, so the children woke up earlier and earlier. We didn’t want them to wake up other passengers, so we used to take them upstairs to the upper deck where the swimming pool was, and Gerard taught both boys to swim. And later, passing the equator, Father Neptune came on board and on that occasion sailors throw some passengers into the swimming pool to get “baptized” and receive a certificate that acknowledges the fact of you having crossed the equator.

While this ceremony was taking place, our young Michael threw a little playmate into the pool and one of the sailors had to jump in and save the youngster from drowning. His parents, a German couple, never talked to us any more. Poor Mike, he ran off to our cabin and didn’t show his face again for quite a while.

There also was a fancy dress party for the children. Our two boys entered as Adam and Eve and won first prize. We also had baby Katrina participate as a little aborigine. We had darkened her face with Nescafe and had her carry a boomerang, but by the time of the judging she had been crying and her wee face looked a mess. She got nowhere. We were on board for 6 weeks and had a wonderful holiday. Even a storm in the Mediterranian didn’t worry us, although at a meal session, all the dishes, cutlery and food was wiped off the tables at one stage. People were seasick all over the place, but our whole family came through unscathed.

Just think, six whole weeks with all meals provided for only 300 pounds for a family of six. By plane it would have cost at least five times as much. We did loose a certain amount of money, in Naples, where we went ashore to buy some warm clothing and shoes for the boys. I had been told that it would be profitable to change Aussie dollars for Italian Liras, not at the bank but in the street.

As soon as we came off the boat, a man walked up with us and asked if I had money to change. After some haggling we agreed on an exchange-rate. He took me with him to a deserted spot and started counting the paper money, when, suddenly, police sirens sounded. He shot away and left me standing there. I was disappointed, but Rie wanted to go back to the ship. We bought some coats and shoes and went back. As we got aboard, I told Rie that I was going back, as there was some time left. Getting to the square where I had first seen the man, he suddenly turned up beside me and told me to follow him.

We walked a fair way and ended up in a dark allyway, where we met another chap. He counted his notes again, then put them away, and started counting my notes. I had almost finished, when we heard the siren again. “Quick, change over”, he said, pushing his bundle into my hand, while grabbing my money, and they scurried away. It took me roughly ten minutes to walk back to the quay-side. There was a bookstall and I bought some comics for the boys, Took the bundle of notes from my pocket and nearly died! There was that one big Lira banknote with all pieces of newspaper inside it.

I got a nasty shock and a headache and felt weak at the knees. I walked unsteadily to the gangplank and then heard the ship’s siren. As I walked up, Rie was standing there waiting for me and almost crying. “Where have you been” she shouted, “You are the last one to come on board, the boat almost left without you”. But then she saw my face, probably green from misery. When I told her what had happened, she had a shock, too, but said it didn’t matter, I was safe and well on board.

In hindsight I had been lucky not to notice what was going on. I’m sure I would not have been here to tell the story, but lying there dead or wounded with a knife in my back. So loosing our 80 pounds in this way was stupid, but it had taught me a lesson. We had to borrow some money from a friend to see us through till we arrived in Holland.

We arrived in Holland in mid winter. The Noordzee Kanaal was frozen over and an ice breaker had to clear a path. We berthed at Amsterdam and Rie’s almost complete family were standing at the quay-side. Rie went ashore first because I had to search for our hand luggage. When I finally came ashore and was warmly greeted by papa Ottema, I turned to Alie who was holding a baby in her arms. So you are Alie, I said, and is that your youngest one? No, came her reply, it”s your youngest one!

That broke the ice and we all laughed heartily. We first stayed with papa Ottema for a few days. He spoiled us with plenty of coffee and meatballs that the boys loved. Then to Gerard’s parents in Arnhem, where Michael, as soon as we entered their home, threw the front door key in the toilet. Then to Dinie and Henk in Utrecht where we celebrated William’s 6th birthday and got a big surprise when the barrel-organ played Happy Birthday for him.

After a few days there, it was off to Alie and Huub in Goirle. We had a great time with them, but after 6 weeks it was time to get a place of our own, and we bought a big house in Tilburg. It had 6 bedrooms and we rented three of them to students. That money paid for the mortgage interest. I got a job as telephonist at the local Energy-Works.

1963 was an eventful year. There was the Cuban crisis that nearly plunged the world into the 3rd world war, we had our own eventful time and President Kennedy was assassinated in November.Just before I learned that I had a job, we took the boys to the big fair.We only had about 100 guilders left but we had promised the boys a ride in the bumper cars. They enjoyed it , and we had a second go. We went home quickly after that as a storm was brewing and arrived at the house when the first raindrops started to fall.

The next morning Rie asked me for the purse. She wanted to buy some milk. I could not find it, searched everywhere but no purse. I must have lost it, so I rang the police station hoping against hope that some honest person had found it. To my great surprise and relief I was told to go to some address. And, yes, a boy had found it and had handed it to the police. Thanking him and rewarding him with 10 guilders, I left, bought a bunch of flowers and gave these to Rie when I came home and said that it had not been my purse but that I had pretended. You should have seen the look of disgust on her face! But when I showed her the purse all was well.

Soon after I collected my first wages and our financial crisis belonged to the past. The job was pleasant, my two colleagues jovial guys. The senior one, Henk, one day said to me (it was on my 40th birthday) that I could still make 25 working years at his job and thus would give me a better pension when I turned 65. That shocked me as I never intended to have a permanent job.

That evening, in bed, unable to sleep and looking through our bedroom window, I saw the lit up neon cross on the steeple of the nearby church. Noticing that Rie was still awake I asked her if that would be our lookout for the next 25 years. This amused her greatly but she admitted she had been wondering at times as well. I think this was the moment we both began to think in terms of returning to New Zealand .

Then we got word from Arnhem that opa Lucas was in Hospital, he had suffered a stroke. They (opa and oma) had spent Christmas with us a month before. We had found it strange then already that opa wanted to go home shortly after. He must have had a foreboding, I guess.

Taking William with me, we went to Arnhem to see opa, and see how oma was coping. She was doing as well as could be expected, but opa looked bad. He hang on for 9 months, unable to speak or walk, never really got any better and he died in September, on the day we landed in Wellington. He was 74 years old.

In April 1964 we decided to return to New Zealand. We booked a passage on the Rangitane, a ship belonging to the N.Z. shipping company. The sailing date was beginning August. But we had to sell our house and put it on the market. It took about 8 weeks before a buyer turned up, and we sold it, making a decent profit, that enabled us to bring a sizable amount of money back to N.Z..

All in all we had lived in Holland for over one and a half years. We had enjoyed it. William had a full year at school, Michael at kindergarten, Katrina was two years old and Kristina was almost eight months old when we departed from Holland, first by taxi from Tilburg to Schiphol Amsterdam, then by plane to London, where we took a taxi to East London to the docks, where the Rangitane lay waiting. The whole trip had taken nine hours and by the time we arrived at the quay side, Katrina was fed up and started screaming, and whatever we tried, she was beyond reason. Then the purser came down the gangway and let our whole family on board first. We are still grateful to him for this gesture of goodwill.

Our cabin was very roomy, even had a round porthole. And the whole family was together. The journey was very pleasant and rather uneventful. We first came to the island of Curacao, where we were allowed ashore for half a day. There I took the radio I had bought in Holland to a repair shop because it wouldn’t go on the boat. The shopkeeper then switched it on and found nothing wrong with it. It ran on batteries and because the ships cabin was all iron, it would not operate. I looked a bit sheepish, hadn’t thought of that.

I remember the boys dug a cactus out the ground and we took it with us to N.Z.. We sailed through the Panama canal and then to Tahiti, where we were not allowed off the boat. Leaving from there, Katrina had a sore on her lip, and the ship’s doctor gave some penicillin to administer twice daily. But after two days she got some blisters and was very miserable, and Rie stopped giving the medicine. That same evening she went over to the cot and lifted her up, and discovered that her skin had let loose and she could see raw flesh.

Gerard hurried to get the doctor and he immediately took Rie and Katrina to the ship’s hospital. Katrina was very ill by then and was blistering from head to toe. We really feared for her life and so did the doctor. This lasted for two days and then, one morning, Rie got woken up by Katrina, who was sitting up and singing! The crisis had passed and she was on the way to recovery. We both thanked God that moment. Apparently the girl was allergic to Penicillin.

By the time we arrived in Wellington she was peeling from head to toe, and often said “papier here”, as she showed a bit of old skin she had just pulled off.