Rotmof! Kaaskop! 

My youngest sister, Jantje, was born in 1941. I was sixteen at the time and had recently obtained my diploma from the domestic school in Leerdam. With that, my school years were finished. There was work to be done at home! My father was a blacksmith and a bicycle repairman. In addition, we had a little shop that sold household goods. Clothes needed to be sewn and mended because, during those scarce times, you had to be resourceful and inventive.

I noticed less of the war itself than the tension that existed in the months leading up to the start of the war. This was due to the many Dutch soldiers who were billeted with farmers in Leerbroek, along with their horses. Soon, three extra people were working in my father’s smithy: two soldiers who were blacksmiths in civilian life and a bicycle repairman. The soldiers would have their horses shod and their bicycles maintained at our place.

During the war years, two German soldiers worked in my father’s smithy for a long time. They slept at our neighbour’s house, who was alone and had enough space. During the day, they worked in the smithy. They were nice lads; one was from Wuppertal, the other from Nuremberg. They were very fond of Jantje, who was about two years old at the time. She would sit on one of their laps and say: “You’re a rotmof! (stupid Gerry)” and he would reply, “And you’re a kaaskop (cheese head)!” I remember how worried the lad from Wuppertal—who was only a few years older than me— was about his parents. The English carried out heavy bombings on the city and he hadn’t heard from them!

They had a little radio, which they often brought with them. We were allowed to listen too. They always said they took the reports from their news sources with a pinch of salt, and they even let us tune into Radio Oranje!

It was on a winter Monday morning in February 1945 when I was cycling with my father on our way to Acquoy. We couldn’t get any flour in Leerbroek, and my father knew some farmers in the Acquoy and Rhenoy areas with whom he occasionally did small barter trades. Bicycle parts for wheat, for example. He had even put together a little device in the attic that allowed us to grind the grain. Then we’d have the village baker bake fresh bread for us.

When traveling up the dyke from Leerdam to Acquoy, we were stopped by German soldiers. We had to lay our bicycles against the dyke and were directed to Klein’s garage in Asperen. It was packed with people, all disoriented and uncertain about what was to come. It soon became clear a large raid was underway. A German soldier came in and started shouting instructions, and soon, the men and women were separated. Then, the men of the right age for forced labour in Germany were pulled out. I clung to my father. Fortunately, he had an Ausweis (identity card) and was allowed to join the fortunate ones who could go home.

Looking back on those war years, I have mixed memories. Sometimes, as strange as it may sound, it was even somewhat pleasant. We skated in the dark, and even the boys who were in hiding in the village to avoid the Arbeitseinsatz would join us on the ice! But on the other hand, for a girl in the spring of her life, there wasn’t much. For example, you could never buy a nice new dress, because nothing was available! But you do learn to make the best of almost nothing and to make do with the resources you have. That mindset has benefited me throughout my lifetime.