It was a dud — otherwise, I wouldn’t be here to tell the tale

My parents ran a mixed farm. I was attending secondary school (ULO) in Tiel when the war started. In 1940, the Germans seized our school building, causing me to be stuck at home. I never got the chance to take my final exams. A brother-in-law of mine worked at the town hall in Boven-Leeuwen and managed to arrange a volunteer position for me there. But I quickly realized I had no patience for office work—I much preferred helping my father on the farm.

Because I was born in 1923/24, I belonged to the group of young men who were expected to be sent to Germany for forced labour. I wanted nothing to do with that. So, a friend and I headed to Groesbeek, where a man named Fleuren lived. He had many contacts in the border region and often helped young Dutchmen find work on German farms, allowing them to avoid forced labour in German industry while staying relatively close to home. Through him, I ended up working for a farmer named Euwes in the village of Kranenburg, just across the border. Most Germans in that area had little love for the Nazis. Farmer Euwes managed to get me a document that legitimized my status as an agricultural worker. But when I presented it at the labour office in Nijmegen, the official tore it up right in front of me. At that point, I had no choice but to go into hiding—right back at home.

My father knew a Dutch official at the labour office in the neighboring village of Puiflijk. He was a good man. He suggested; “Tell little Jan to keep a low profile and avoid being seen too much in public. And if a raid is coming, I’ll warn you in advance.” There was never a raid, so I was able to keep working on the farm throughout the war. I remained a farmer for the rest of my life.

Still, I came face-to-face with death twice. By late 1944, our village was on the frontline. From September onwards, my parents, my six siblings, and I slept in the cellar every night. One evening, a shell tore through the roof, crashed through the attic, and exploded in one of the rooms. The house suffered heavy damage, but because we were in the cellar, we were unharmed. A short while later, I was outside chatting with a friend when we suddenly heard a whistling sound. A shell slammed into the ground just a metre and a half away from us. It didn’t explode. It was a dud—otherwise, little Jan wouldn’t have lived to tell the tale!