No salt in the sauerkraut!

My name is Jeltje Cornelia. I was named after my grandmother. My childhood was deeply affected by my parents’ marital problems and my mother’s mental breakdown. On doctor’s advice, we moved from Den Bosch to Tiel in 1940, as my mother was originally from there. She was admitted to a psychiatric clinic for some time, and so my four-year-younger sister and I initially stayed with my grandmother in Passewaay.

My father worked in a printing house in Den Bosch and remained there during the week. He only visited Tiel occasionally. Occasionally, he would take us with him to Den Bosch. When my mother was somewhat recovered in 1942, we moved to an old townhouse on Binnenhoek, next to the Daalderop premises. The tensions within our family overshadowed many other events. In the beginning, even the war largely passed me by.

Toward the end, of course, there was no escaping it. I still remember how we would often sit with our plates on our laps in a large cellar cupboard. The kitchen wasn’t safe, as there was heavy shooting from across the river Waal. Later, we even slept in the cellar. There were two beds, and between them, wooden planks were laid on the floor because of the groundwater. In January 1945, we had to leave. We walked through the snow to Wijk bij Duurstede, our luggage strapped to our bicycles. And our little dog—a Pekingese—came with us. In Wijk, we ended up with a family who shared our surname. Deen with Deen! No relation. After five days, we moved on to Cothen, and three days later, to Houten. There, in the dark, we boarded a freight train. Of course, there was no lighting after curfew.

Another family from Tiel was with us, a mother with four children. She had tied a thick rope around her waist, fastening her four children to it so they wouldn’t lose each other in the darkness! The freight wagons were filled with straw. We tried to sleep as best we could during the journey.

The next day, we arrived in Leeuwarden. In ‘De Harmonie,’ they handed out sauerkraut. We were looking forward to it, but at the first bite, it felt like a slap in the face—it was so incredibly bland! They hadn’t put any salt in it! After that, we were taken to the Beursgebouw, where people from Leeuwarden were waiting to take in evacuees. One family wanted to take in two girls, another couple took in our parents. I was so devastated that we were separated, I cried the entire weekend.