Living dangerously
"In the meantime the Germans had enough of my Opbouw (rebuilding) activities to send me home to report to a government employment bureau to find a job and avoid being sent to Germany.
First thing upon my arrival in Dordrecht was to look up Govers and to enquire about the cadetship. Unfortunately the new Nazi minister of Information (read Propaganda), a Dr. Goedewaagen, had decreed that each newspaper could have only a certain number of cadets, based on the number of papers published. The Dordtse Courant had Barend Mensen and that was its quota. But Govers was organising an underground press system and he asked me to join and get some experience for my post war career.
As it was an underground activity it was a very dangerous one, if you were caught it meant a bullet or they exported you to Auschwitz. As there were no radios—they all had been confiscated —our only source of news was the BBC and we listened to that in cellars, in attics on lonely farms on radios which were not handed in, or on crystal or on homemade radio sets. There was sometimes a girl in the cell who knew shorthand, she took the broadcast down in steno, then translated it in Dutch and finally on old mimeo machines the paper was printed and then distributed.
Among underground cells, in that exciting way we kept up with the real progress of the war. One day Govers called me in his office and handed me a bundle of photographs telling me to take them as far away as possible. Reason was that the Gestapo was sniffing around. A few underground cells had been eliminated and they had searched his office. I was not gainfully employed so off I went to Geldrop, 90 kilometres from Dordrecht and pretty safe from the Gestapo, so I thought. The bundle of photos were of the RAF bombarding some German warships, German cities and other war scenes, it were not the kind of pictures you show around the BBQ.
My sister Jeanne (Sjaan) was employed by a doctor in Aalst, not far from Eindhoven. And it so happened that the Ortskommandant, the local prima donna dictator, was billeted with that household, and that was an ideal place to hide some funny pictures because neither the Gestapo, nor the SS would think of raiding the abode of the local commander.
I gave her strict instructions not to look at them, put the whole bundle in a drawer and hide the key. One night her curiosity got the better of her so she took out the whole package, spread them all over the desk to look at. Suddenly a knock on the door and in walked Adolf's representative. He was late and wanted a cup of coffee. Sjaan got a heart stopping panic attack, spread her arm over the desk to swipe the pictures in the drawer. Naturally the Ortskommandant also wanted to have a look.
'Where did you get those?' he asked very sternly in German.
'From my brother,' she shakily said in Dutch.
And quick and smart she made him a cup of coffee and, no, she did not put any poison in it. While Sjaan was brewing the coffee the Ortskommander rang his compatriots in the Gestapo and told them all about the terrorist he had caught, for which he demanded the Iron Cross with leafs. During the time this mini-drama was played in Aalst, I was visiting my sister Marie, who was a patient in Eindhoven Hospital. After this visit I went home to Geldrop and disaster. When I went inside all my brothers and sisters and parents were crying. My first thought was that they were so happy to see me, but that was alas not the case. 'The Germans have been here to pick you up,' my father said. I knew it was not an invitation for a German dinner of Sauerkraut und Schweinefleisch.
Although the situation was dangerous my father saw me already as a resistant hero and suggested that I escape through the kitchen backdoor and hide in the woods. While he was saying those wise words, the front and back door were smashed open and we got a mini German invasion in our home. Soldiers and Feldwebels everywhere. My mother was breastfeeding my youngest brother Theo, the rest of the siblings were swimming in a flood of tears and lamenting as if they were at The Wailing Wall.
I was bundled in a patrol car and taken to Eindhoven for further interrogation. 'Where did the pictures come from?', 'Who gave them to me?', 'Was I a member of the underground movement?', 'Was I aware what could happen to me if I did not cooperate to establish a new order in Europe and what they can do to people like me?' etc. I was threatened with all sorts of horrible things and had to sign a paper saying that I would never do anything against the Third Reich, after that I could go home. But once one has been interrogated and marked in their books one is also a marked man or woman. In many cases they let you go to follow you and lead them to more suspects.
There was great jubilation when I came home very late that night, they already had written me off. The neighbours were immediately notified that Pete was back, the incident gave me a bit of hero status. Typically my father he did not want an unemployed son hanging around, so he contacted an old friend called Govers, no relative of the Dordrecht one! This Govers had a road building company and was building runways for the Luftwaffe on Welschap airfield in Eindhoven. I got a job as paymaster which was very boring, half the week I had nothing to do but I brought in some money.
There were two incidents during my time there which I will never forget. After work all workers had to line up at the exit gate and in a single line. A big fat obnoxious Feldwebel used to bend his knees to look along the line and shout if anybody was out of step. On one occasion after his shouting session one worker slipped a bit and was out of line, the big fat pig took his revolver and killed him on the spot. But there was another occasion when the occupiers were taken for a ride. One of the workers went to the German management to ask could he at the end of the day take a wheelbarrow with dirt home. He got permission and everyday he stood there with his wheelbarrow full with dirt as the last man in the line to happily push his wheelbarrow home. Nobody woke up to the fact that it was a different barrow every night and that this genius sold them on the black market.
I did not want to stay in Geldrop, it was not my scene, I said farewell to all my family and returned to the place of my birth. It would be a long time before I saw my family again."
First thing upon my arrival in Dordrecht was to look up Govers and to enquire about the cadetship. Unfortunately the new Nazi minister of Information (read Propaganda), a Dr. Goedewaagen, had decreed that each newspaper could have only a certain number of cadets, based on the number of papers published. The Dordtse Courant had Barend Mensen and that was its quota. But Govers was organising an underground press system and he asked me to join and get some experience for my post war career.
As it was an underground activity it was a very dangerous one, if you were caught it meant a bullet or they exported you to Auschwitz. As there were no radios—they all had been confiscated —our only source of news was the BBC and we listened to that in cellars, in attics on lonely farms on radios which were not handed in, or on crystal or on homemade radio sets. There was sometimes a girl in the cell who knew shorthand, she took the broadcast down in steno, then translated it in Dutch and finally on old mimeo machines the paper was printed and then distributed.
Among underground cells, in that exciting way we kept up with the real progress of the war. One day Govers called me in his office and handed me a bundle of photographs telling me to take them as far away as possible. Reason was that the Gestapo was sniffing around. A few underground cells had been eliminated and they had searched his office. I was not gainfully employed so off I went to Geldrop, 90 kilometres from Dordrecht and pretty safe from the Gestapo, so I thought. The bundle of photos were of the RAF bombarding some German warships, German cities and other war scenes, it were not the kind of pictures you show around the BBQ.
My sister Jeanne (Sjaan) was employed by a doctor in Aalst, not far from Eindhoven. And it so happened that the Ortskommandant, the local prima donna dictator, was billeted with that household, and that was an ideal place to hide some funny pictures because neither the Gestapo, nor the SS would think of raiding the abode of the local commander.
I gave her strict instructions not to look at them, put the whole bundle in a drawer and hide the key. One night her curiosity got the better of her so she took out the whole package, spread them all over the desk to look at. Suddenly a knock on the door and in walked Adolf's representative. He was late and wanted a cup of coffee. Sjaan got a heart stopping panic attack, spread her arm over the desk to swipe the pictures in the drawer. Naturally the Ortskommandant also wanted to have a look.
'Where did you get those?' he asked very sternly in German.
'From my brother,' she shakily said in Dutch.
And quick and smart she made him a cup of coffee and, no, she did not put any poison in it. While Sjaan was brewing the coffee the Ortskommander rang his compatriots in the Gestapo and told them all about the terrorist he had caught, for which he demanded the Iron Cross with leafs. During the time this mini-drama was played in Aalst, I was visiting my sister Marie, who was a patient in Eindhoven Hospital. After this visit I went home to Geldrop and disaster. When I went inside all my brothers and sisters and parents were crying. My first thought was that they were so happy to see me, but that was alas not the case. 'The Germans have been here to pick you up,' my father said. I knew it was not an invitation for a German dinner of Sauerkraut und Schweinefleisch.
Although the situation was dangerous my father saw me already as a resistant hero and suggested that I escape through the kitchen backdoor and hide in the woods. While he was saying those wise words, the front and back door were smashed open and we got a mini German invasion in our home. Soldiers and Feldwebels everywhere. My mother was breastfeeding my youngest brother Theo, the rest of the siblings were swimming in a flood of tears and lamenting as if they were at The Wailing Wall.
I was bundled in a patrol car and taken to Eindhoven for further interrogation. 'Where did the pictures come from?', 'Who gave them to me?', 'Was I a member of the underground movement?', 'Was I aware what could happen to me if I did not cooperate to establish a new order in Europe and what they can do to people like me?' etc. I was threatened with all sorts of horrible things and had to sign a paper saying that I would never do anything against the Third Reich, after that I could go home. But once one has been interrogated and marked in their books one is also a marked man or woman. In many cases they let you go to follow you and lead them to more suspects.
There was great jubilation when I came home very late that night, they already had written me off. The neighbours were immediately notified that Pete was back, the incident gave me a bit of hero status. Typically my father he did not want an unemployed son hanging around, so he contacted an old friend called Govers, no relative of the Dordrecht one! This Govers had a road building company and was building runways for the Luftwaffe on Welschap airfield in Eindhoven. I got a job as paymaster which was very boring, half the week I had nothing to do but I brought in some money.
There were two incidents during my time there which I will never forget. After work all workers had to line up at the exit gate and in a single line. A big fat obnoxious Feldwebel used to bend his knees to look along the line and shout if anybody was out of step. On one occasion after his shouting session one worker slipped a bit and was out of line, the big fat pig took his revolver and killed him on the spot. But there was another occasion when the occupiers were taken for a ride. One of the workers went to the German management to ask could he at the end of the day take a wheelbarrow with dirt home. He got permission and everyday he stood there with his wheelbarrow full with dirt as the last man in the line to happily push his wheelbarrow home. Nobody woke up to the fact that it was a different barrow every night and that this genius sold them on the black market.
I did not want to stay in Geldrop, it was not my scene, I said farewell to all my family and returned to the place of my birth. It would be a long time before I saw my family again."
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Piet and Alice in Echteld on the day they met.
