大象传媒

Once again I was put on the carrier of Willy鈥檚 bike to yet another destination.
I was going to meet a surprise, she said, as long as I didn鈥檛 ask any questions.
To make the ride more comfortable, I had a little cushion to sit on and I could put my feet on the foot-props. Willy鈥檚 back provided me with some shelter, but also restricted my front-view. With my hands firmly tucked into her waistband, my arms followed her swaying body pushing hard against the wind. Of course
we had stopped a few times on the way, but I was very glad when this long journey of about sixty km, from Amsterdam to De Bilt had come to an end.
She put her bike against a high wall and opened a gate which led into the garden of a white-washed house. I was sure she had been here before!
What a surprise! Mrs.Arks, the mother, came to meet us followed by her two sons and Wim!!
Wim had heard about my predicament and through contacts with local friends, he knew about a children鈥檚 home in Zeist that might be just the place for me. He had asked them to make the arrangements. It was only about ten km away and the knowledge that he, Wim, was close by would certainly help me to settle.
It was obvious that Willy and Wim, as well as my father, had been in regular contact with each other.

Zeist was a residential town on the edge of an extensive wooded part of Holland.
The Slotlaan, the main avenue, finished at the gates of 鈥楬et Slot鈥�, a historic castle, which was occupied by the Germans and guarded by armed sentries. On either side of the Slotlaan, just before getting to the castle-grounds, were two big squares. One was called Sister-square, where the church, the school and the homes were for the retired missionaries. The Kinderheim was opposite this, on Brother-square. Both were looked after by the Hernhutters鈥檆ommunity.
Zeist was the centre of the Hernhutters, a Christian sect, which had its origin in Bohemia and was, above all, noted for their missionary work, mainly in Africa.
Willy and I were welcomed in the main room of this multi-storey house,
where a few small children were playing on the floor. Surely, these were not all of them? Before Willy had to leave Sister Han(Stan) and sister Tine(Stine) gave us a guided tour through the house. Stan, grey-haired and slim, seemed the friendlier of the two and was in charge. Stine was the complete opposite, with dark, short, hair, well-built and robust. She took us first to the kitchen and the dining-room in the basement, which was no surprise as she was the cook, at the same time explaining the high cleaning standards she demanded from the group of children who were delegated to this job. 鈥淵ou will find out soon enough, how we work here together as a team鈥�, Stan added. Hearing the noise from the rest of the children who had just come home, we went upstairs to meet them.
This was the moment when Willy decided that it was time for her to leave. Besides, Wim had asked her to call in and see him again on her way back to Amsterdam. After all, his knowledge about the home had been 鈥榟earsay鈥� from other people, therefore he insisted on getting a first-hand opinion from Willy.

I kept on waving, even after she had disappeared out of sight. I had never felt so lonely and deserted.
Maybe the idea of a children鈥檚 home created a sense of vulnerability in me?
One of the reasons for the sporadic contacts with the family had been due to the distances between us. At least Wim was living nearby and, although he was in hiding and restricted in his movements, he could see the same clouds in the sky as I did, which was a comforting thought whenever I was upset.
How I yearned for the war to end!

Stan took me by the hand and opened the door of the large living-room.
The noise changed abruptly into a deadly hush. Many pairs of eyes were looking at me in surprise 鈥� apparently new-comers were rare!
After Stan had introduced me, everybody started to talk at once and bombarded me with questions. Firstly, they were interested,( or worried ) which bed I would sleep in. Asking about families was discouraged, which pleased me.
They were mostly children whose parents were missionaries abroad and contacts were broken off, because of the war.
There were only four young boys and twelve girls of various ages, of whom Elly, the eldest at seventeen, had the same authority as the assistants, Mia, Dini and Nell. I felt bewildered and had not much to say.
In fact, we were weighing each other up, but when they noticed how horrified I looked when they mentioned school, I met with their sympathy!
School! Nobody had even hinted at that possibility!
Fortunately it was holiday time, thus I could concentrate on the house-rules first.
I shared a dormitory with four, rather nice, girls, who showed me how I had to fold my clothes at bedtime. I was exhausted and could easily have stayed in bed, when the gong woke us at 7 a.m. the following morning.
The order of the day went according to a strict, almost military, regime.
We had to strip to the waist and wash the top-half with cold water and then queue up to be checked that you were wet all over, before you were allowed to dry yourself. After you had made your bed, making sure no wrinkles were showing, you were sent down stairs. One by one we entered the dining room and when all of us were present, we could start our breakfast, a slice of bread with a glass of milk.
Everybody was given a daily task. Those in charge of the basement stayed behind, while the rest of us spread out to different parts of the house carrying brooms, buckets and dusters.
I had to help with cleaning the basins and the toilets, the least fancied job of all!
The rota changed every two weeks. A close eye was being kept on the one who excelled and, as a result, was then rewarded with privileged jobs, one of which was the honour to clean the rooms of the staff. In the course of time, I actually managed the top job: making Stan鈥檚 bed!
Holiday or not, everything had to be finished by 8.45 to fit in with school hours.
On Sundays we all went to the church on Sister Square, a white building with a very plain white interior, not even stained-glass windows for me to look at.
All the women sat together, wearing a lace cap ( Haube) tied under the chin with a ribbon. Ours being pink, like all the un-married, blue for the married and white was worn by the widows.
The service was held entirely in German of which I didn鈥檛 understand a word.
I always loved the singing, but only a few tunes were familiar to me and, because I could not read German, I was bored and glad to be outside again.
A group of local children were passing by and stopped to watch us on our way home, intrigued, because to them we seemed to be a weird lot.
They never missed an opportunity to quiz us about what went on in the home.
Whenever we played outside, you could be sure some of them would try and join in. We were warned, no threatened, not to divulge anything, not even a simple question about what we ate for dinner. On the whole they were not too bad, except that the boys could be very cruel to the frogs they found in great number on the square. One of the reasons we didn鈥檛 want much to do with them.
I had been fully accepted by our girls, who were excellent at inventing games, which helped when we were supposed to play outside between 2 and 4 in the afternoons, whatever the weather.
Nell was always busy with washing and ironing, but Mia and Dini took us on regular walks to the woods instead, where we were able to roam freely amongst the trees, where we could shout as loudly as we wanted and run about like wild animals. Mia always tolerated our behaviour with a smile.
She gladly shared her extensive knowledge of edible mushrooms with us, which we picked and then enjoyed them at meal- time.
We also collected plenty of dry sticks to keep the cooker in the kitchen going.
During the evenings we would assemble in the living room, for reading, games or needle-work, like mending. No noise, of course, and early to bed!
I had a cautious respect for Stan, but I was afraid of Stine, who looked fierce and easily lost her temper. She had a cast in her eye and you never knew, if it was you she was looking at.
One day, during breakfast, Henk, one of the small boys she often picked on, irritated her for some reason. She grabbed the biscuit tin and kept on hitting him on his head with it. Nobody moved a muscle, not even Stan. We were stunned.
To relieve the tension, we were taken up into the loft to choose clothes for the new season. Excitedly, we rummaged through the enormous trunks filled with dresses of all sizes, hoping the chosen one would fit. I managed to claim the dress I liked, particularly for the half-round, green apron that went with it.
All the clothes had been donated by charities and few dresses were the same.
It was less difficult for the boys to make a choice,because they wore mostly sailor-suits and there were plenty available.
Happily clutching our new outfits we lined up to go down the narrow ladder.
The attic was out of bounds, except for occasions like these. I had a good look around and was not only amazed at the size of it, but above all impressed with the vast quantity of stored food. Besides sacks of potatoes, apples and lentils, I saw sugar, jams and honey. At least we would not have to starve!
Funnily enough, the food was never mentioned. Neither was the war.

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.

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