Even outside we could hear Hitler’s rants

We lived on the Waaldijk, near the Wiel, beyond the old Reformed church. That place is significant in my memory; from that dyke I witnessed many things!

The first years of the war were very calm for us. I worked on my father’s farm. Things became much less calm after the Allied landing on the Normandy coast and especially after the Battle of Arnhem in September 1944. The Allied troops were then positioned along the river Maas. The Germans had retreated and were stationed along the river Waal. In the winter of 1944, evacuees began to arrive on our side, but we also had Germans billeted with us. And countless hungry people from the Randstad came to us as well. Almost every night, there were people sleeping in our back house. Among the Germans, many long had enough of Hitler and his Nazi propaganda. I remember a command vehicle being parked near our house and the occupants were listening to the German radio. Even outside, we could hear Hitler’s rants. At one point, there was an argument among the Germans. One of them became so angry that he got out, cut the battery cables, and threw the battery into the street. I saw what happened and asked, ‘Can I have it?’ He said I could. I took it home and a handy friend of ours mounted a car lamp between the two poles. There was no power anymore, but we had light again! Not for long, though, because after a week, the battery died. We had an address in Gorkum where we could go to have it recharged. To do that, we had to give the battery to the ferry boss at the crossing in Sleeuwijk. The first week, it went well, but the following week, the battery didn’t come back. It turned out that some Germans had seen it on the ferry and recognized it as military property. The ferry boss had to talk his way out of it to avoid being arrested on charges of theft and sabotage!

Around Christmas 1944, three Germans—one sergeant and two soldiers—returned from their posts. They had been relieved and could rest for a while. On the way, they had shot a hare and asked my mother for a pan to roast it. The three of them stood outside around the fire, and I thought it would be a good opportunity to snoop around in their room. And what do you know: there was a holster with a pistol in it! I didn’t hesitate to grab it and ran off to hide it somewhere. Until I suddenly came to my senses. We had heard about the razzia in Putten in early October, and realized that my father would most likely be held responsible and could even be in mortal danger. I rushed back to their room to hang the holster and pistol back. Fortunately, I wasn’t caught!

Months earlier, on a beautiful sunny afternoon on the Waaldijk near the Brakelse ferry, I saw three German patrol boats getting attacked by English Spitfires. A fierce firefight broke out. The Germans returned fire, but were ultimately outgunned. Two of the three boats sought refuge at the Loevenstein brick factory. I rode my bike there to see how they were faring. It turned out one of the boats had been hit in the munition storage. The entire upper part was blown off, and there were several dead and wounded aboard. The men were so shaken they didn’t even chase us away. Although the many air battles were quite sensational for a young boy, the consequences were often horrific. A downed English fighter pilot crashed into the house of a farmhand, Bertus van der Meijden, and his family. He, along with his two daughters Leentje and Mijntje, perished in the flames and rubble. From the dyke, through the open side window, I saw his charred body. I will never forget it.