In Germany, people like him are shot to death

My brother, who was seven years older than me, was spastic. He couldn’t walk and had no control over his arms and hands. Because of this, he couldn’t write, but he had a sharp mind. A few times a week, a teacher from school would come to teach him maths and reading. I would join them and study alongside him. We got along very well and often played games together. Not that we had many games—just a draughts board and dominoes. Whenever it was his turn, one of the pieces would often roll onto the floor. But he was cheerful most of time.

In 1944, we had German soldiers billeted in our home. Three of them. They slept in the attic at the back, where they had laid out their straw mattresses. My little sister and I slept in the front attic and had to pass by those soldiers whenever we went downstairs. We didn’t like that, so my father moved our beds downstairs, and the five of us slept together in my parents’ bedroom. They slept in the box bed, and then there were three separate beds. There was only about a meter and a half of walking space left. But we felt it was cozy!

They were friendly young men, the Germans. But there was one time when we almost had a serious conflict. In the end, it turned out to be a misunderstanding. The eldest German soldier was in the room, cleaning his rifle. He sat at the table. We were all inside as well. Suddenly, he stood up, pointed his gun at my brother, and said: “In Germany, people like him are shot to death. They’re worthless!” My father immediately lunged at him: “If you shoot my son, I’ll shoot you!” My mother and us children screamed! It turned out he was trying to demonstrate how things went in Germany, but he didn’t agree with it at all. They were sent to the front just before Christmas. There was still a Weihnachtsabend, but one of the soldiers didn’t want to go. He sat in my father’s chair crying—he was afraid!

Earlier, on 13 October, there was a razzia. They were looking for two men. Many men were rounded up and driven to the Paardenmarkt (Horse trading market). That was terrifying—the eerie silence hanging over the streets. In the end, it turned out that those men owed their lives to a fellow villager, who was an NSB member. The Germans had threatened to shoot hostages if the wanted men didn’t turn themselves in. The NSB member pleaded for them, saying that the two men they’ been looking for had long since left! We should have been grateful for what he did!

After the liberation, a large white sheet was stretched across the market square, and we got to watch a film. We couldn’t believe our eyes, seeing people walking across that screen just like that. That had never been shown in Brakel before!