I worked as a blacksmith all throughout the war

When the war started, I was already working. I was a blacksmith’s assistant at Koos Nijssen in Kedichem. He also had a workshop in Heukelum where I often worked. My greatest passion was shoeing horses. That continued throughout the war; there was always work for the blacksmith. It became difficult when we lost electricity. The bellows had to be operated manually again. When we were forced to work for the Germans, I once told a group of soldiers that should operate the bellows, so that I had fire to do my work. The next time, they brought Russian prisoners of war who stood by the bellows all day.

Those men worked in the smithy in Kedichem for quite a while. We got along well, even though we didn’t understand each other. We also got on fine with the Germans, by the way. They weren’t SS men, just ordinary soldiers like us. We did our work, and they did theirs.

You could say that Heukelum remained relatively calm throughout the war. But most of our young men, unless they were in hiding, were sent to work in Germany. Strangely enough, that never happened to me. I was called up for the medical examination in 1941, was promptly declared fit, and received orders to go to Germany. But I didn’t go. After that, I was called up three more times, but I always stayed here and continued to work in the smithy throughout.

I suspect that someone at the town hall had a protective hand over me. To this day, I don’t know the details. At one point, I was one of the very few young men left in our town. If a raid was imminent or there were rumours of one, I would sleep outside in the field just to be sure, or I’d spend the night at the stone factory. My father and one of my brothers had to dig shooting pits for the Germans in the field near Asperen. My other brother, Henk absolutely refused to work for the Germans. One day, we were ordered to escort a transport of horses to the German border. Walking there and back, Henk said, “I’m not doing it. What about you?”. So, we sneaked away together to Leerdam, where our sister Betje lived. At the barrier on the Notendijk, two young German soldiers were standing. They laughed, “Haben Sie Angst?” and then shouted, “Laufen!”

The most exciting event was the nighttime transport of a cow. My boss, the blacksmith in Kedichem, had bought a cow from a farmer in Heukelum with the intention of slaughtering it secret. He asked me to smuggle the animal across to the other side. So, on that fateful night, I went with my cousin Jacob and the unwilling beast. It was well past curfew, so we were doubly breaking the rules! At one point, we heard footsteps. We thought, “A German!”. Jacob, who was a bit hot-tempered, whispered, “If he’s alone, we’ll drown him!”. I’m more level-headed, so I made calming noises. Luckily, it turned out to be a good acquaintance, Wim Goes, who had a permit to go to work early in the morning. He helped us get the cow onto Koos’s ferry. That same morning, the animal was slaughtered.

I wasn’t scared, at no time during the war. I was at the age where you found these kinds of things more exciting than frightening!