HUNGER There came a time that food became scarce. Really scarce.

We heard that some farmers in the North of our province were selling food. Pappie took his bike and went "up North" to the farmers. He left the house before daybreak and came home, exhausted, with some onions and tomatoes, just before curfew. We were a bit disappointed, but he said: "I'm lucky I have this. The farmers don't want money anymore, apparently they have more than enough, but I met a friendly one who gave me onions and tomatoes from his own provisions". He added: "I heard say that they now want jewelry". About a week later he went up North again, determined to get some kind of food for his family. He took mam's jewelry. Apparently all gold was welcome, gold that could be melted. "Not our wedding rings!" mam had said. Off he went with all the jewelry, but not the wedding rings. After what seemed to be a long time, dad again came back, empty handed. By now the farmers had all the gold they could possibly need. He came back as a shadow of himself. But he still had the gold.... However one farmer had told him his wife was pregnant, and needed babyclothes. Dad said that he had babyclothes from his babydaughter, his wife had saved everything! When mam heard about it she was a bit upset. She had saved these precious things hoping her grandchildren would wear them. But of course now clothes meant food, and so she wrapped them up for dad to take with him. About a week later when he had gathered strength, he went a fourth time up north. This time he had to go really far up north so he wouldn't be able to come back the same day, it would probably take 2 or 3 days, dad thought. It must have been a dreadful trip. First bicycling kilometer after kilometer, twice as far as he went the first two times, then walking up muddy drives and begging farmers to trade food for clothing. The main street of our village, called "the Breestraat" [Broad street] is part of the highway from Haarlem (south of us)to Alkmaar (north of us). During the war the Germans took good advantage of it and the road was always filled with German trucks, tanks, military motorcycles and soldiers marching while singing. Now hungry peope going up to the farmers also used that the road. On the 3rd day I went to the Breestraat so that, if I saw pap, I could walk home with him. All I saw was a stream of people coming back from "the North" with, or without food, and some with dead bodies in their cart; bodies that were already too undernourished to begin with, and could not complete the trip up, and back again. Some handcarts were pushed by children, bringing their dead father or brother home..I could not watch it without crying my eyes out. Imagine. These children walked 50 km or more to get food, only to return with a dead body in the cart, pushing it 50 or 40 kilometers back, to reach home. Some of those pushing the handcarts didn't even have shoes on their feet, but had them bound by rags.

I cried and cried, thinking how their families would feel when they saw them coming home. Not with food, but with a dead body. Now mam and I had a second reason to worry, perhaps pappie was dead... but everyday I went to the Breestraat hoping to welcome him. He was gone a long, long time and mam and I started worrying. Perhaps he was picked up by the Germans and on his way to a concentration camp. Pap was in the age group that was sent to Germany to work in work-camps where the conditions, so we heard, were not very nice. As he workd in the undergroud, pap had false papers declaring his job at the Hoog Ovens essential, and so far it had kept him out of the work-camps, but one never knows.... Imagine our elation when he came home. I saw him from the east-facing window of the frontroom. There he came. Sitting like a conquering hero on his bike. He rode very slowly, but he was alive, he was in one piece, he was healthy as far as we could determine, oh god he is back with us!!! we cried with happiness. After everybody had cried in everybody's arms and everybody had touched everybody else and everybody had kissed everybody else, dad told us a tiny little bit of his trip, namely that the first farmer who said he needed babyclothes, had enough already, but had send him to other pregnant farmers, only to be told they also already had all they needed. He had gone from farmer to farmer with the babyclothes (and that must have cost some energy, as farmers don't live 'next-door' to each other) but finally found a farmer whose wife was expecting a baby. However, she didn't like the clothes dad had to offer. It took him days before he met another farmer whose wife was expecting a baby, and liked our baby clothes. All they could give us in return were a few bags of brown beans. He had been gone for 6 days. Up the road to one farm, and down, then up the road of the next one, and down, then on to another, and down, and for all that trouble, that energy, he received a bag of brown beans by offering the baby clothes his wife so dearly loved. He had lost even more weight. But he also met some nice people. Farmers who let him sleep in the hayloft, or in an empty stall in the stable. When mam and I called out "how awful!" he said, with a smile:"That was warm and cosy". There were many other hungry men on the road and most helped each other. When curfew came, they often huddled together in a ditch and told each other where they had been, so the others knew where to go or not to go. The beans were daily lovingly distributed among us: 12 for pappie, 8 for me because I was growing, and 4 for mam because she wasn't hungry anyway, she said, and 4 beans pounded with water to make a nice gooey paste, for Hansje. He was too young to attack a bean directly. It took pappie a long time to get over these long and longer trips that almost lost him his health and we decided that, with all these farmers wanting this and that and if you didn't have it , just kicked you off their property, it was not worth it anymore. We would do without. Moreover, we heard a rumor, so called backed by facts, that tulip bulbs were very good for you.

We could get them from growers. They should be cooked lightly and they combined well with any other vegetable. We looked forward to finding this source for food.

THE SOUPKITCHEN There were rumours that a soupkitchen would open. Mam said she was not interested and would not to use it. In her mind (probably thinking back to the time of the "crash" in the 'thirties) it was to help the common man, the unemployed common man. However, by the time the soupkitchen did indeed open, she changed her mind, and send me there with one of our pans. As Hansje was illegally with us, he had no food stamps for himself. The underground tried to provide us with them, sometimes we received a card for an adult!! that means we could get more food! But that didn't happen often. It was not a regular thing anyway, the underground had to steal those cards from somewhere and, needless to say, they were not always successful. It wasn't as if you could order "supply for 2-year old please?" So through the underground we sometimes received an extra food ticket for 'Hansje' which gave us right to an extra potatoe or lettuce leaf or whatever else was available, or half a ladle of 'soup' from the soupkitchen. Sometimes the ticket was for a grown-up and boy did we feel lucky! because the portion would be a bit bigger. Everybody had a little 'miracle stove'. It was as big as a large soup tin with a hole in the side, to feed twigs through, and standing on 3 legs. On top we put the smallest sauce pan we had. I gathered little sprigs ,twigs, small enough to fit through the opening in the side, and mammie lit it. We could not really cook anything on it, but we could keep something warm. I stood in line, every day, to receive 3 ladles of whatever slop was served. Most of it consisted of potatoe peelings, but mam told us the peelings were the healthiest part of the potato! "The moffen don't know that, hahaha, if they did, they would keep the peelings for themselves". I almost felt proud to eat the peelings in the slop. However I didn't like the soldiers who stood along the wall of the building where I received the slop, near the exit, guns at the ready. Would they really shoot someone who took someone else's pot? It was a bit of a walk from the soup kitchen to home, at least with a pan full of soup. I mean, you had to walk carefully, otherwise it would slosh out of the pan, and we could not afford, healthwise, to lose one calorie. So I took the short-cut through the alleys behind the houses. The paths consisted of firmly downtrodden soil and some gravel. One day I was almost home when I saw the dog. Skinniest thing I had ever seen, crouching against the fence. It started to whine when I came closer, smelling the soup. I felt SO sorry for the thing I poured a bit of soup on the ground. I never saw food disappear that fast. It was my first encounter of a behaviour I later identified as "frenzy". Not only the soup, but also the dirty gravelly soil entered the dog's gullet. The

animal was SO grateful and yet still SO hungry, that I turned the pan upside down and gave him all I had. When the deed was done I realised I could not undo it and I felt, I didn't know how I felt. Happy, because I had given the dog a treat that would lengthen his life a bit, and unhappy because now we wouldn't have anything to eat. I should have thought of that before I emptied the pan. When I came home pap and Hansje were already at the table, waiting for their dinner, Hansje had his bib on. Mam was in the kitchen, ready to heat up the soup on the little tin. But I had nothing to show but an empty pan. Mam was dumbfounded..where was our soup? what happened? what..... I told them about the dog, and that the dog needed the food more than we did, because he was so skinny and had really cried when he sniffed the soup. And then I had cried, because I felt so sorry for that hungry mutt. My parents tried to explain that a human's life is worth more than a dog's life. "That poor animal will probably die because it all of a sudden ate more than it did in the three weeks before! mam said. I don't remember ever really regretting feeding the dog, all I know is that I never did it again. I just closed my eyes to whatever sadness was going on. Hunger wasn't really a big thing among children. It didn't keep us from playing, or from writing, or from dreaming. You get used to it. The hunger. From the beginning of the rationing of food, people adjust. They have no choice. One day I was standing in line to receive slop and received FOUR ladles. Oh my god what to do. Was this woman trying to trick me into admitting that we had an extra, illegal, mouth to feed? and call the German soldiers stationed in the room? She had looked at me funny.... I looked over my shoulder and saw the German soldiers in the back with guns at the ready. What to do what to do...... All this flitted through my mind in a matter of of a milisecond. I decided I could not betray my family and so I looked her in the eye and said "You made a mistake, I only have 3 tickets". "I know" she barked in a low voice"and I only gave you 3! now move!". Thoroughly confused I went home. I didn't tell my parents, it would only worry them. A few days later I was on my way to a friend when a streetdoor opened and somebody yelled "Hey, You!!" I looked up and saw the woman from the soup kitchen. "Come Here!" she barked. I almost wet my pants. I went over to her and she motioned me inside.[ "Oh my god, how could I get out of this...she must have found out we have Hansje... I must play dumb, Hansje is my little nephew, Hansje is my little nephew, Hansje is my ...."] We stood inside the vestibule while she towered over me and said "Don't EVER do that again!!!" "Do what?" I said, as innocently as I could. "You Know What!" she roared. She scared the living daylights out of me, she was SO big and SO loud and SO scary looking! By that time I gave up every attempt of lying, or telling the truth, I just stood there, awaiting the worst.

She seemed to sense that I was afraid almost beyond endurance and continued in a milder tone: "I am in the resistance. I know your father is in the resistance. I also know that you are hiding a Jewish baby. At the soup kitchen I tried to give you an extra ration because I know you need it. If I have a chance, I'll do it again. But don't give it away! All of us are risking our lives here!" Boy, was I relieved! but we didn't get the extra ladle very often. She kept a keen eye on who went ahead of me and who followed, to make sure there was no pattern, but apparently there was, because before long there were no more extra ladles. WINTER In the winter I found the evenings terrible. It was dark, I couldn't play outside. Inside it was dark, the only illumination the carbit lantern which did not give enough light to read by, or knit, or even work on a jigsaw puzzle. Hansje had no problem with the evenings, he was in bed, fast asleep. Sitting in the dark with absolutely nothing to do, mam would sometimes play 'I spy with my little eye' but we both pretty soon became tired of that game. Moreover it was so dark that 'my little eye' couldn't spy a thing. And there was of course always the nagging fear about pappie, not knowing where he was. Had he fled somewhere on his bike? had he crawled/climbled over fences at the back of our house? was somebody harbouring him? Was he hurt? Had he been caught? It was a relief to go upstairs when my bedtime came, and look on innocent Hansje sleeping the sleep of the just. With that sweet peaceful face in your mind it was possible to fall asleep. RAZZIAS Whenever a german soldier had been harmed, shot, or an attack was made on a train suspected of carrying weapons, or any other thing the underground could think of to hamper the German war and occupation, a razzia followed, but we never knew where..... So we were always warned during the night. We either must have friends under the Germans who leaked the news, or one of our men had infiltrated the German army. I favoured the first. Anyway, some nights there was a quiet knocking on our door. It was not repeated, the messenger had too many people to warn so, if you were a deep sleeper, you might be in trouble....I never found out where pappie hid. I imagined him running through our backyards, jumping fences, climbing trees, running over roofs to safety [007 hadn't been even invented yet) Because of the razzias he often didn't come home. In the underground everybody warned everybody else where the razzias were held, but of course this was not 100% certain. When 10 men and boys had been shot in the street around our corner in retaliation for something, pappie didn't show up for quite a while. One day mam was very nervous. She had heard that massive razzias had been executed and that the Kennemer Movie Theater was filled with men that had been picked up. "El, please go there and see if you can find pappie, I HAVE to know.

So off I went to the Kennemer. When I walked past, there even were men in the hallway behind the glass door! in the entrance hall! Some of them stood, some of them sat on the floor. This would mean that the movie theater was full! Imagine that, a large movie theater filled with hundreds of men that had been picked up. How could I get inside to check? A soldier came up and asked what I wanted. "Nothing, just looking" I said. "Looking for your father? or your brother?" he asked, and I realised I was in a corner. If I said 'yes' he knew there was a man they should have caught and if he was not there they would start looking for him. But if I said 'no' he would tell me to be on my way. He saved me the answer by grabbing me by the arm and bringing me inside. "What is his name?" "Henk van Vliet" I said (which is my mother's last name). He walked me on the podium and started hollering: "Henk van Vliet, is there a van Vliet here?" no answer. I figured if pappie was really there, he would look up at hearing this name and would see me, and take it from there. I walked out of the theater, carefully stepping over the sitting men behind the glass frontdoor. I felt bad that I could leave, but not they. So, although I was happy that pappie had not been picked up, I felt sad for the men who had been. "Are you looking for your father?" someone said in my ear. I must have jumped 2 meters high! I looked at the man and wondered what he was after. I know you are his daughter" he said "and I can tell you where he is". I must have smiled at the man because he showed me a laneway on the side of the theatre and said I would find him in the back. Oh my God, what was happening in the back? more men? Slowly I walked down that lane, not knowing what to expect, afraid of what I might see. What did I see? a glorious sight. My father in front of a huge pot, ladling out hot soup! I ran up to him and cried huge tears. He didn't know what was going on of course and I told him that mam had sent me to see if he had been caught and that I had been all through the movie theater and saw all those, mostly young men cramped together, who would be shot if they did or said anything, and that he better come home with me right now before the Germans realised he was there. He smiled and said that he had a visa declaring him to be indispensable for his work at the Hoogovens. As steel was made there, it was most important to the Germans to keep that business going, so for a little while he was relatively safe.. Another time we were warned of a razzia early in the morning. Pappie was nowhere to be found, so we assumed he was gone. Mam was nervous and said: "We have to wake up Hansje and dress him and you will have to go outside with him". "Why?" I asked. "Because if they find him in bed all they have to do is draw down his diaper and know he is Jewish!" So that was the plan. In no time Hansje and I were on the street. Lots of soldiers about, it seemed we escaped the house just in time. One soldier followed us (I had Bram in a little cart) "Is he your brother?" he asked. I said "no, my little cousin. His mother is sick, so we have him for a while". "I can see the resemblance" the young soldier said. And he wanted to chat, while I wanted to get away from him. It was, for me, an extremely difficult situation. Keeping the soldier talking was good, but it meant that I had to talk too, which was not good. I was most uneasy. Later mammie said that perhaps this young soldier had a wife back home and a baby of the

same age. It's true, he was just nice, and all he wanted was to chat a bit about the baby. Not all German soldiers are monsters, some of them are human. Like the one who came to the door demanding that the men in the house come out, right now. Mam nervously replied that her husband was not home. Really not home. "Ah" said the soldier "He is up North, to the farmer?". "Yes" said mam quickly, "that's where he is". So here was a soldier who gave her the excuse she needed.

LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS We had a new form of light: gaslight. The light was intense white with a bluish tint. You still couldn't read by it, but it gave off much more light than the kerosene lamp. The inside was called a "kousje", the Dutch word for a little sock, that lit up SO blue/white, that your eyes hurt. Throughout this dismal rotten time, mammie always set the table for breakfast, lunch and dinner. No matter how little or how lean or how sickening the food, the tablecloth for the appropriate time would cover the table with knives, forks, spoons & serviettes in place. It is somewhat late to praise and thank my mother, but I do know now how a strong figure she was during this war, and I am very, very proud of her. I remember my first dinner party.We were sitting at the diningroom table. Pap, mam, I, aunt Rie & her lifelong friend Corbert. In the light of the gas lamp the tablecloth looked SO white, and the silver shone..... and everybody was full of expectation, because we were going to eat something special! something that was not only available, but healthy at the same time!!! WHAT good news!!! The tulip bulbs were brought to the table. Mam had slightly seared them on the little souptin. I seem to remember we had red beets with them. Whatever it was, mam was ecstatic. She had been able to provide a healthy meal! although I don't remember any one of us agreeing on the taste. We all thought it was.... not too bad. But we were hungry, so we had second helpings of the bulbs. Uncle Corbert died a few months later of malnutrition. Since our dinner he had been on a diet of mostly tulip bulbs.... but he was not the only one who died that winter of malnutrition. Many, many people died of hunger. DISTRIBUTION OF NEWS There was an official underground newspaper (very small format) and everybody looked forward to receiving a copy. We heard news from England, and knew we were not forgotten by the rest of the free world. Delivery was not guaranteed, so pappie listened to a clandestine radio which he hid in the backgarden. I don't know how he made it work, but every now and then I

had to go to a drugstore to buy bathsalts. Twice to one and than change drugstore because, if we bought too much bathsalts, somebody could become curious..... Pappie received a bloc of news-pamphlets for distribution, and that's where I came in. I had to memorize the addresses, sneak up to the door, stick the paper through the mailslot, and tip-toe out again. Look left and right, and if the way is clear, go to the next address. It had to be done after curfew, when it was dark outside. One evening, passing the Kennemer Bioscoop, a short, fat soldier eased up against me and asked me out for a drink. Quickly pretentending to be younger, I said no, thank you, I'm 9. (I was 11)He turned away. While talking to him I tried to get rid of my newspapers. With my fingers and nails I made a hole in my pocket and slid the material through, hoping to God my lining was fastened to my coat. It was. When all seemed safe again I continued in the direction I had been walking and arrived at my last delivery. I rang the bell. They didn't want to let me in, it was late. I urged them to let me in. Finally they did and I told them what happened, and that it was better the mof thinking (in case I had been followed) I was having a cup of coffee here, than seeing me stuff a newsletter in their letterbox. That convinced them to keep me a while. Eventually I walked home, taking a different route, which took longer, but had an abundance of gardens I could pop into if there was a patrol coming up the street. I had to be careful, because it was past the curfew. Needless to say pap and mam were worried and I had to tell them why I was late. Although I handled this "hiccup" masterfully, my parents thought I should no longer do this work and shortly thereafter mam took over the deliveries.

LIBERATION It seemed the end of the war was coming. Some of the allied troups had landed in Zeeland and marched north, so daddy heard on the clandestine radio he kept on the patio under some sacking. People were so excited that the end was in site, some hung out the Dutch flag from their homes. They were shot dead. I knew where our flag was: folded up with daddy's freemason's palerfanalia; hiding in an innocent looking dresser. But I wouldn't dare to even touch it. I left everything the way it was, and no one could know what I had seen. No matter WHAT we heard, daddy said we were not bringing out the flag and I was not to look for it. I felt a bit guilty...but I didn't tell him I knew where the flag was, it would only worry him. It was a difficult time. The south of Holland had been liberated. Then a little bit more. Then there were counter attacks and the allies had to retreat. That illegal radio, running on bath salts, was a life line. It kept giving us hope. Pap would go to the patio and crawl under the sacks that

hid the radio, so he could listen to the English broadcast. Apparently the liberation was held up and none of us understood why. Well, we just had to accept it and be very, very careful because the Mof had become vengeful. Like when the people hanging out a flag were shot. Life under the yoke of the Germans continued and so did our hunger. As I said before, children are not really bothered by hunger. It is accepted as a part of life.With or without a full stomach, they just go on their merry way. So we were playing outside, and heard things. I heard that a motorcyclist in uniform, NOT a German uniform, was seen on the crossing between the Duinwijklaan & Zeestraat. I ran over to the spot. It is a large area where 5 roads come together and in the centre sat a man on a motorcycle speaking English. I ran home to tell mam. At first mam was quietly asking me about particulars. I had little to give except that he was not dressed like a German solder, and that he spoke English. "Listen very carefully" mam said. "You go to him and you ask: :Where are you from and where are you going. Have you got that?" "Yes" I said, and ran back to the soldier on the motorcycle. By now many, many people were around him, clamoring for news about the war. From what I understood he had no idea where the rest of his regiment was, he just hoped they would come in time. I had a long time to wait before I could ask him mam's question. He was giving out chocolates and nylons and there were many girls climbing all over him. Eventually I saw an opening, and quickly said: "Where do you come from and where are you going?" He gave me his answer, and I ran home to mam to tell her. To this day I don't remember what he said. Not long thereafter the war ended. The treaty was signed in Wageningen, a town whose name I proudly wear. German soldiers were marched down the Breestraat from way up North. I went down to the Breestraat to see them. I thought I would rejoice at their defeat. I did, for a few minutes...and then the sadness came. These men were just as hurt, psychologically damaged, as we were. They looked completely defeated, walking there with their previous subordinates looking on.