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QUIET HEROES AND DEADLY RISKS (P.S. l)
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Whilst penning down my memories of the last few hours of the war in l945 in Utrecht , Holland, when I was 8, many other incidents came to mind that I had almost forgotten, but might still be of interest and worth a few additional epistles.
For example, even now I still have nightmares about trying hard to escape hordes of evil creatures in huge, black leather boots in Nazi uniforms. Nothing quite like this ever happened to me , I think, but the general climate of fear and suspense, especially for a small boy, must have been sufficient to carry a mental scar for the rest of his life. It reminds me of the mother of a Jewish friend , who had spent much of the war trying to escape from the Germans and eventually settled in neutral Switzerland, whose no doubt worse nightmares made her jump out of a 4-floor window when at 4 am and … 25 years after the war, she heard a car stopping outside and imagined it to be the Nazis . The agony of waiting for that dreaded knock on the front door was unbearable as it had been for years. This time it was more than she could bear….. If only someone had told her that the neighbour might return from his holiday in the early hours of the morning
After this, one feels almost ashamed to refer to a small incident that happened to me when my father had somehow managed to obtain something very special for my birthday , a small children bicycle It was in apprx. . 1943. I was extremely proud of it and played with it every day. Even a German soldier seemed impressed and asked me to have a look at it., However, he then walked away with it… I was , of course, extremely upset , but quickly ran home when he threatened me with his gun… My father tried to contact the local German HQ, but although the officer offered his apologies, he was unable to do anything since the soldier had just been called back home and must have taken my bicycle with him for his own little son.. Perhaps not the kind of incident that falls under any ´óÏó´«Ã½ WW2 category, but maybe not insignificant of the dreadful things that made all the difference between life in a German occupied country and one that was not.
Especially towards the end of the war, the number of air raids increased, particularly in Utrecht due its central position in the Netherlands and therefore its important Railway station for military and other transport purposes. A particular target for the RAF.. In addition to this, we lived close to the Gas Works, one of the largest in the country. My bedroom underneath the roof of our house had a small window, and standing on m y bed, I had an excellent view of all was going on in the air at night. Looking back, I must have remained very calm under the circumstances. Perhaps I saw it as an exciting movie rather than anything else…., until one night the Germans succeeded in shooting down one of the RAF planes. I remember it coming straight into my direction , a frightening sight of flames and noise. It missed the house by not more than a few hundred yards and fortunately just missed the gas works. I went to the area next morning and noticed a huge hole in the ground, smoking wreckage everywhere. Much later I heard that the pilot had miraculously escaped with his life and had been looked after by members of the Dutch underground until he was well enough to make his way back to England

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