大象传媒

At the end of 1942 the 大象传媒 broadcast some hopeful news. The British were fighting the Germans in North Africa!

Our stored, red, Edam was christened 鈥楾unis Cheese鈥� and would be consumed as soon as Tunesia had fallen, which happened in March. I can鈥檛 remember, but I bet it was delicious!

No 大象传媒 news was ever missed from now on. What really annoyed me were the discussions at home in either English or German. I felt very much left out. I thought myself disciplined enough not to talk about what went on in the home with anybody, one could not take any chances.

By now our home had become a through -house for people for whom a place to hide needed to be found. It was mostly for one person at a time. He or she slept in Wim鈥檚 room and was usually gone by the time I got up.

The introduction of the curfew had complicated matters , especially for Willy. Nights were far safer to move about, unseen, on her rounds to deliver coupons to the addresses of persons in hiding, or accompanied people to their new homes.

Years later, she told me about her fears, when she heard foot steps in the night, hoping there would be a dark corner to slip into, if need be. She always tried to pick the safest possible route, if she could manage it.

Finding new addresses was essential. There was a growing demand, not only for those who were Jewish, but also for students and young men. It was all very dangerous. You risked your life by putting them up and many people were just too scared. The big question was, who was really trustworthy? Money and favours were given for betrayals and not everybody was anti-German鈥�.

The badly needed money, clothing, but above all, false papers were my father and his group鈥檚 department, later also joined by Willy.

Whatever went on behind the scenes, great care had been taken that, at least, Sundays were kept as always before. My father tried to choose a good story-telling vicar for the church service, often not the nearest to walk to! I found sitting still for an hour an ordeal, but the singing made up for it. Willy or a house guest would baby-sit for Hans, who was too young and Fred, who always managed an excuse why he could not join.

To my delight, a visit to my maternal Oma was on the agenda when the weather was not good enough for walks. Oma was quite short, not much taller than me. Her long hair was plaited into a bun at the back of her head exposing her wrinkled face with the kindest of dark brown eyes. She was extremely deaf and used a horn as a hearing-aid, which she avoided, if possible. Her help was indispensable during those years.

Every given opportunity was taken to curl up on a chair to read.Once a week we borrowed books from the library, but it was a very long walk. Occasionally we would cycle, with me on the carrier, holding the books. However, a bike was an important mode of transport with which the Germans agreed. When they needed one they would stop you, take it and ride away on it! When they wanted even more, they would round up quite a number and load them onto trucks at the end of the day. So, we preferred to walk from then on.

Mr. R, had been one of our more permanent guests of late. He had Wim鈥檚 room, which was now out of bounds for everybody else.
Mr. R had a round, friendly face, always smiling and his eyes twinkled behind his gold-rimmed spectacles. The little hair left on his head was grey. I guessed he must have been a lot older than Matty, his secretary, who had also been living with us before. I liked him and so did Matty. She was a real beauty and great fun to have around, with lots of laughter. We often played board games together.I missed her when she moved upstairs to live with Lien and Jan Marijnis.

Fred had left us for some reason and went to live with the family Landrok.
He was the chauffeur for the same firm my father worked for. Fred had taken over Wim鈥檚 allotment with great enthusiasm. His contributions to our food supply would now certainly make a difference as he would be missing his 鈥榞arden鈥�, as he called it. Of that I was convinced. I missed him as a friend. He had been with us for a year.

My mother panicked when, one day, my father asked me what my headmaster was like Could he be trusted? 鈥� Dick! What are you saying!?鈥�, she exclaimed. 鈥� Don鈥檛 worry! I鈥檒l ask him if he belongs to the NSB鈥�, I suggested. I was strongly dissuaded to even think about it!

In view of the 鈥榓ctivities鈥� at home, my father thought it best to finally obey the 鈥榣ast鈥� order and hand in the radio. That way his name would be safely on that register. We had another one, anyway.
I went with him to deliver it to the collection point at a school close by.
I kissed it sadly goodbye, before it was put onto the pile Also tin and copper had to be handed in. If you had a garden, you could bury it. We painted ours! House searches took place at random, therefore, the less they could arrest you for, the better!

This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by Anastasia Travers a volunteer with WM CSV Actiondesk on behalf of Theodora Coleman and has been added to the site with his permission. Theodora Coleman fully understands the sites terms and conditions.

漏 Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.