My Oma (Dutch grandmother) told me this story when I was twelve. It is a true story set in Holland of 1942. From May 1940 until 1945, Holland was an occupied territory of Hitler’s Germany. At that time life was not all that great for the Dutch. This is how my Oma tells it.
My mother taught me how to sew, a skill not all women learn. It is a clever skill to know though. As at the time of the war things were tough for everyone. The Germans took what they wanted to take and for everyone else and for everything else you must learn to trade. Big families meant there were lots of mouths to feed. My mother stayed home with the baby, your great aunt Johanna; I Nel, Petronella Tobe, I was sent out to lend my skill to our neighbors and friends. In turn I could earn potatoes, meat, and vegetable for our evening meal, and tobacco for father’s pipe. All of these were things that a large family needed always but especially during the hard times of occupation. The German soldiers had put a curfew in place, all had to be back home and indoors by sundown. This applied for all citizens unless you were a doctor, nurse or some other type of medic, for back then doctors would regularly make house calls; visits to families to check on the sick, ease the passing of those whose time was up, help welcome into this cruel world the newest members of the next generation. The doctors would help the soldiers too, they would make special trips to the German camps to help tend the wounded, ease suffering, heal the sick. An oath is an oath after all. Aiding the Germans and the importance of their work meant that the soldiers often would not detain a doctor or nurse, as long as they had their papers.
This story is about a day when my mother sent me to the Boog homestead. We had been offered two bags of the new season’s potatoes if I took care of the little ones while mending two pairs of pants, patching the right knee, for whatever reason I found that I was always patching the right knee. Pants were followed by two shirts and a pair of overalls. The little ones of the Boog family, Jess and Pete were a joy to look after though. They were far better behaved than Jo, never once did I hear Mistress Boog raise her voice at the two young ones. There was a boy there too, around my age, when his parents were in the town Johannes would read me poetry. I think he liked me and I in turn liked him too. I often whistled when I rode my bike, my whistle was especially loud when I knew I was cycling to the Boog’s house. I was planning how to balance the potato sacks for the trip home and I was certainly not concentrating on what was up ahead, the cobbled streets were so familiar to me that I knew every pothole. I did not see the young soldier though as he stepped out in front of me.
“Hey! Watch out!” the soldier called crossly as I swerved to avoid him.
My bike slipped and I fell from my seat.
“Where is such a pretty young lady going in such a hurry?” he asked me as he helped me to my feet.
The soldier’s smile seemed warm but his eyes were humorless. He was handsome enough but the war and his training had made that soldier hard. I did not want to spend any more time with that German soldier if I could help it. It did not feel right.
“I am sorry,” I begged. “I am already late.”
I jumped back onto my bike and began to peddle away.
“We shall meet again!” the soldier called, though I knew not if it was a promise or a threat.
I was scolded for my lateness by Mistress Boog, not nearly as harsh as the telling off that I was expecting when my mother found out. Without time to listen to my explanation Mistress Boog left for market. As I mentioned before it was no challenge to look after the young ones and as a seamstress I was quite skilled and quite quick at stitching and mending. Johannes’ sweet words quickly distracted me from my thoughts of worry as I am sure my encouraging smiles distracted him from the work he was supposed to be doing. We lunched together, Johannes and me, along with Jess and Pete. We had a picnic outdoors although the season was cool. There were apples from the orchard and smoked ham from the bone from Master Boog’s own smoke house. As the sun began to set on the day my work was done and I was ready for payment but Mistress Boog was nowhere in sight.
“It is my turn to apologize, Nel,” was all I was told as Mistress Boog had Johannes and I bring in the bags from the cart.
The sun was already halfway to set and I had a big decision to make. My late arrival had delayed Mistress Boog which in turn kept her later in town. I was never going to make it home before dark on my bike and if I was caught I could be detained by the Germans. My family was relying on my arrival with potatoes for the pot. Should Mistress Boog or Johannes escort me home then they would be placing themselves at risk.
“I will go to my home, alone,” I decided. “Better should just one of us get caught rather than two or three.”
“Here, for your understanding,” said Mistress Boog with a smile.
As well as the two small sacks of potatoes I was given a ripe apple for each member of my family which I carefully wrapped in the folds of my yellow cotton dress; Earth apples for the day’s work and sweet apples for my risk.
I peddled away without further delay and prayed to the Lord for safe passage home.
I was able to take the backstreets through the village at first, avoiding the main checkpoints set up by the German soldiers at night. As the sun finally set though I found I could ride no further. I left my bike in an alley, hidden as best as I was able. I took note of the street name and vowed to return for it during daylight hours. Burdened with the two sacks and the five loose fruits I crept as quickly and quietly as I could from shadow to shadow. My family would be worried; Mistress Boog and my mother did not dare to use the phone system with Hitler’s ears always listening. I was two blocks from my home when I heard that dreaded sound.
“Hey cutie, why are you still up?”
A bullseye lantern caught me dead in its beam.
Just in the nick of time the front door of the house I stood in front of opened and Doctor Hans Van Dijk stepped out. The De Jong’s were expecting a new baby in less than a week, our local doctor must have been checking in.
“Ah, Nel, there you are,” Doctor Van Dijk announced as he witnessed me caught in the light.
“You were expecting this girl, doctor?” the young soldier asked, surprised and somewhat annoyed.
He thought that he had caught me out past curfew, what he planned to do with me I did not want to find out.
“Of course!” barked back the good doctor.
He was nervous too but far better than me at disguising his fear.
“And for what reason?” barked back the young soldier, not wishing to be bettered than a Dutch man.
“Young Marcus De Jong has cut himself while carving the evening meal,” the doctor began to explain after a deep breath. “Nel Boog is the greatest young seamstress, her steady hand and young eyes may save a man’s life.”
At such praise my heart soared, though deep down I knew that Master De Jong was fine. What both Doctor Van Dijk and I hoped was that this German soldier did not know this fact and so would believe our lie.
“Mikele! What are you doing?” called a voice in the darkness.
This was the soldier’s superior and I knew it was now time for the German boy to make a decision. The bright beam of light from the unhooded lantern still blinded me. In the moments that passed I felt my heart beat a million times.
“It is just the doctor and his help,” the soldier called over his shoulder.
“Then check their papers and move on!” the superior ordered.
The lantern was hooded and darkness returned.
“Papers!” barked the young soldier.
Doctor Van Dijk presented his first.
“Hmmm… Be on your way…” the good doctor was told.
As I presented my folded identification I realized that I was still holding my breath.
“Ahhh… Miss Tobe…” the soldier read and smiled. “We met this morning.”
“Yes,” I nodded.
“I would so like to meet again,” the soldier suggested.
Not knowing what to do, I nodded again.
The soldier left then, satisfied with one of my apples in his hand.
As soon as we were sure that the Germans had left us, Doctor Van Dijk hurried me home.
“Thank you, doctor,” my mother and father said as they met us at the door.
After that I was always accompanied by my two older brothers, never allowed to ride alone. It was harder for the family with me no longer able to pick up extra jobs. It was the price we all had to pay for my risk. A price we luckily could afford.
I saw very little of Johannes after that but remembered his poetry. It was not until the war ended and the Germans left that Holland and I received our freedom again. That was just after the winter of 1945. As spring melted the snow and ice my romance with your Opa began to develop, and the rest, well the rest you know. The one thing we both will never find out is what happened to the young German soldier. Thankfully aside from a few sightings I never had the pleasure of speaking with him again. For that I am forever grateful.
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