You cannot live with hate!

When the war started, I was already in a relationship with Willem Kersten, with whom I would go on to have more than 60 happy years of marriage. I was the youngest in a family with two older sisters and an older brother. My father was a police officer—first in Batenburg, but six weeks after I was born, my parents moved to Ewijk. I always felt connected to Nijmegen. That’s where I went to primary school and later attended an all-girls’ secondary school run by the nuns at Mariënbosch. I was still able to complete my final exams. So did my husband. He was attending the HBS (Higher Civic School) and planned to go to university. But he was mobilized and stationed in The Hague at Hotel Des Indes instead. After the Dutch capitulation, he was taken as a prisoner of war but managed to escape and went into hiding at a farm in Zyfflich, near the German border. We were still able to see each other regularly. I would cycle to Nijmegen, and he would come from Zyfflich. It was romantic!

During the war, my father remained in his police position while also being active in the resistance. Because of his role, he was often able to warn people in time about impending raids. Our family was always politically aware. In the 1930s, my mother read Hitler’s book Mein Kampf and had said; “That painter from Austria is going to cause us trouble!”
During the war, I felt a burning hatred toward the German occupiers. Of course, there were good people among them, but so much injustice was happening—it made me furious! That’s my nature; I can’t stand injustice. I wanted to do something, but there was so little you could do! Yes, we distributed copies of Vrij Nederland, but beyond that, we felt powerless.

When the liberators arrived, sometime in September 1944, Willem and I—along with many others—cycled to the bridge at Grave to welcome them. It was a beautiful day, and we stood there singing, dancing, and cheering as the tanks rolled past. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a few German fighter planes, Messerschmitts, appeared and started firing at the convoy. We had to take cover under the tanks with the British soldiers. When the shooting stopped, they gave us chocolate.

On 8 January 1945, Willem and I got married. It was an unusual time for a wedding. But people in the village were gossiping because he often stayed overnight at our house, when the curfew prevented him from going home. At our wedding, many English and Canadian soldiers were present. They all sang Old MacDonald Had a Farm together.

In the first years after the war, I still struggled with feelings of hatred. I absolutely refused to travel across the German border. But eventually, I forced myself to move on. You cannot live with hate. Have we truly learned from the war? I don’t think so. Discrimination and racism are part of human nature—they keep resurfacing. But we must fight against them. They must not be given space to grow. No one should ever be discriminated against because of their color, religion, or background!