Madonna On the Bridge

by Bert C. Wouters

  “We will find a way to contact Ferrat at the royal palace,” Kadir affirmed, attempting to console his wife.

  In the morning, the slamming of metal on metal signaled the opening of cell doors. Guards delivered breakfast through a little door to the prisoners’ cell. It consisted of one cup of imitation coffee, made from chicory, and a slice of bread, showing teeth marks from rats. However, the inmates were too hungry to notice such detail. They made sure not to leave any crumbs on the floor. Rats came out at night scampering over their blankets, looking for food scraps.

  Every Friday morning guards released the inmates to the exercise yard that amounted to an outside cage with barbed wire on top. As the sun came out, the prisoners rejoiced in a moment of singing the national anthem:

  “But woe to you if, willfully pursuing dreadful plans

  You turn on us the bloody cannons fire

  Then all is over, and all is changing

  And you shall see the Boches fall from the tree of Liberty.”

  Chanting in French helped disguise the changing of the words to “Boches,” a contemptuous term used to refer to a German soldier. The guards never caught on. The secret lifted their spirits in hopes that liberation would come soon.

  In prison, the drainpipe had been a reliable communication system to use by tapping on it in code. In the middle of the night, a mysterious voice sent this message: “Allied troops closing in on Brussels. Heavy artillery in the suburbs.” The prison was located four kilometers from the center of the city. Kadir could hear the pounding of the heavy guns. Now it became a matter of surviving the bombing of the liberation forces. He took Fatima in his arms to protect her from the onslaught.

  By the hour, the sounds of artillery changed to machine guns in the neighboring streets of the prison. The guards grew excited and worried, not knowing what to do with the prisoners. Some argued to set the inmates free; others opted to execute them.

  Suddenly, the guards flung open the cell doors with a loud bang, without any explanation. All of a sudden, in a single file, the inmates marched along the empty streets to the Gare du Nord train station. A long line of cattle cars came into view as they entered the station. The guards crammed the prisoners into the filthy vehicles reeking of urine. Standing, they cried, holding hands, not knowing their destination. They feared the worst, being sent to Germany.

  Kadir stood out in the car with his broad shoulders and long beard, grown in prison. He held Fatima. She recognized his expression of angry determination. With his loud voice, he addressed the crowd: “People, listen. Together we will be strong!” The group was too frightened to put any credence to his words.

  Acrid smoke puffing from the locomotive engines in the station filled the air to the stained glass ceiling above. The whistle blared, deafening the wailing and crying in the cattle cars. With a sharp jolt on each connector mechanism in the train, the locomotive labored to pick up speed. Gert De Vries was no friend of the Germans, but they needed him to be the conductor of the train.

  He was awakened early in the morning by two Gestapo agents banging on his door. They ordered him to the railway yard to ready his locomotive. He did not expect to be called up for duty since he planned to retire the following month. Many of his colleagues were in jail for having supported the Railroad Strike the previous month which crippled all transport of German war materiel. Gert was one of the few who had managed to stay out of trouble.

  Once he arrived at the railway yard, he was ordered to load enough coal and water to travel 500 kilometers. There was no doubt in his mind that his destination was Germany. When he rolled the locomotive from the parking into the station, he heard the sobbing and moaning of the prisoners locked in the cattle wagons. Gert shook his head and mumbled to himself.

  “I cannot do this. Another load of Jews to the gas chambers! With the Allied Forces close to liberating Brussels, I am going to save these poor souls,” he said under his breath. There was not a lot of time to come up with a ruse to delay the departure of the train and allow the liberating forces to catch the train before escaping to Germany.

  The train was at full steam power and ready to leave. Gert was still checking the gauges until three Gestapo agents boarded the engine compartment and ordered him at gunpoint to move the train.

  “To Antwerp. Now!” As the train moved from the station, Kadir kept himself occupied listening to the click-clacking of the iron wheels over the track joints. Tension grew amongst the inmates. One hour into the trip, several had fallen unconscious from heat and exhaustion. They collapsed on the floor, in danger of being trampled in the close quarters.

  The train approached Mechelen, the midpoint between Brussels and Antwerp. The train engineer had stoked the engine to an alarmingly high temperature. The gauge registered well over the red line, at which point it was no longer safe to operate. The locomotive could explode at any point, killing the crew and guards on the train. Gert knew all too well that he might end up dead on this journey, but he hoped at least he’d save the people in the cattle cars.

  The alarm sounded, alerting the guards. The engine lost power, and the train slowed down. Gert told the guard he had to steer the train on a side spur to allow military transport to come through as they evacuated in advance of the Allied Forces. One of the Gestapo hit Gert in the face with his pistol.

  “You get this train moving or else I will shoot you!” the Gestapo threatened. Gert said he needed to order a new gauge from the repair depot in Antwerp, knowing he would be unable to obtain a new gauge because the depot had been sabotaged by the White Brigade the week before.

  “If you shoot me, you will have nobody to drive the train, and the Allied Forces will find you within hours. Your only chance to make it out alive will be with me at the controls,” Gert bluffed.

  In the distance, they heard machine gunfire. The Allied cautiously approached the train. The prisoners started to sing “Ave Maria.”

  On Wednesday, September 3, at 2:30 p.m., the German guards jumped from the train and ran into the cornfield where the train was parked. As soon as they had left, Gert and his engineer went to the cattle wagons and opened the doors. The sunlight startled the emerging prisoners. Several failed to make it into the field. For them, it was too late.

  Cries of “Free at last!” rang through the air. The jubilant passengers had no idea what the engineer had accomplished, but they danced around him to say thanks to their hero. “Thank you for bringing the train to a halt and causing the guards to flee. You saved our lives!” After a while, a jeep belonging to the Canadian military rolled up to the locomotive. Gert quickly briefed them on what had transpired.

  Soon afterward, Canadian military trucks arrived with water and supplies. They loaded the freed prisoners for transport to a nearby school. The Mandraskits ended up in the rectory where Van Roey, cardinal of the Catholic Church of Belgium, resided.

  On the following day, for the first time in four years, the forty-nine bells of the carillon of Mechelen rang out over the city in all its glory. Three years later, the people of Belgium added the famous “Liberation Bell,” commemorating those who fought for freedom in Belgium.

  Chapter 18

  Canadians in the Street

  This morning, on Uckle Avenue, the sky was a faded blue, with thin clouds stretched as far as the eye could see. A sharp whistle, a loud crackle, followed by a sharp jolt, and it was over. The bullet by the German sharpshooter thrust her violently backward onto the dirt road. With her eyes wide open, her vision blurred into streaks of light and darkness. As she lay in the dirt of the avenue dying, the last image she saw was the British bombers on their mission to Germany to free Europe from the tyranny of the Nazis, fighting for the freedom she would never live to enjoy.

  As the big metal birds in the air disappeared, the silence of death descended upon the avenue, following the tragic death of a neighbor shot to death over a curfew violation. She succumbed
without doctor or priest.

  A German sentry, standing guard at the military compound at the end of the avenue, had fired a single bullet. The soldier obeyed orders and did his duty. To the people in the neighborhood, it was another execution of an innocent civilian. The women in the avenue pulled the curtain aside just enough to see who had fallen victim to the latest act of German brutality. Their eyes filled with tears as they wept in sorrow over another victim of the war.

  After four years of occupation, they had no choice but to keep on with their lives until the end of the war. The war was going badly for the Germans. Their ranks depleted of Wehrmacht soldiers, Hitler had no choice but to send fifteen-year-old teenagers and old men in their sixties. They were poorly trained soldiers, indoctrinated by a zeal for a cause long lost. The young ones were obsessed with an enthusiasm for revenge, not seen in the professional soldier of the Third Reich. People looked upon the young soldiers and lamented, “So young, just boys trudging through life with their heads hanging down, scared, desperately trying to stay alive.”

  Overnight, Allied bombers hit houses in the avenue. The cellar walls vibrated down to the foundation, with dust falling from the ceiling. A baby cried all night.

  “Shut that baby up! I am trying to sleep!” someone yelled.

  “He is afraid!” the mother yelled back.

  “So are we.” Silence finally fell over the city, almost more deafening than the sounds of war. By early morning, the “all clear” sounded, but it had become meaningless. All night long, everyone was awake.

  In the morning, one by one, people came outside to survey the carnage, talk with a neighbor, and share worries about what was to come. They pointed at the military compound at the end of the avenue, which was the primary reason for the frequent bombings. However, the people in the avenue were a stubborn kind and steadfastly refused to obey the orders from the Germans to leave their homes. “Nein” was the typical reaction when the Germans knocked on the door.

  “When will it end?” was the question on everybody’s mind. For only a few hours every day, the German military lifted the curfew to allow people to get food. Then it was back to the basement, where they did their best to survive by candlelight, oatmeal, cow udder, and a few drops of oil. Deprivation, hunger, and fear surrendered to despair as they spent yet another night holed up in the dank basement. At night, the Germans ordered a total blackout, to make sure the Allied bombers would fly over without noticing the well-camouflaged military command post at the end of the avenue. The tall Linden trees in the avenue offered the perfect cover for the fifty Panzer tanks pointed at Antwerp. The roar of the guns at night kept everyone sleepless.

  Neighbors became alarmed at the numbers of war victims dying in the rubble of their homes as the result of bombardments. People trapped in the basement as the result of a cave-in needed to find a way to escape to the outside. Someone mentioned breaking through the wall, connecting with the neighbor’s basement. This solution gave the trapped people a chance to survive. With the houses situated in rows, it created a safe passage to several adjacent homes. Within days, it became apparent that this solution saved lives. Moreover, there was the unintended consequence of building a social network. Neighbors shared news about the war efforts and gave each other a measure of hope that the liberation was coming soon. One of the neighbors was so brave to keep a radio receiver hidden from the Germans. At night, he listened to the latest news on the war efforts in Europe.

  At night, Louis, Bertha’s husband, risked it to climb to the attic, pushing the little roof window open to observe the spectacle of bombardments over Antwerp. Louis wanted to have a good view. He positioned himself on a wooden crate he had found in the far corner of the attic so he could look out over the landscape of the entire city. On orders of the Germans, the city lay under a mantle of darkness. The fall air in the streets shivered beneath a cold, dark sky. The wind tumbled through the trees, shaking loose the withering leaves. In a sudden flash, hundreds of phosphorous bombs were unleashed over the city, leaving a faint bluish light. It was a light spectacle reminiscent of Richard Wagner’s operas of doom. For half an hour, the lights floated over the city, illuminating the desired targets for the Allied bombers. Louis could barely make out the airplanes against the darkness in the sky. They moved like slinky monsters, intent on mechanized doom. In unison, six bombers fell out of their V formation and swooped down over their targets. Within seconds, the city was ablaze with dozens of fires. Then suddenly, the bombers were gone. The sky was empty, still and dark again. The moon dared to show only half its face, reassuring the world that life would go on.

  Every time the resistance committed another act of sabotage, the Germans reduced the curfew hours to punish the people. The new time would now run from 9 to 11 instead of 12 o’clock in the morning. With no food left on the shelves in the stores, mothers had nothing left to feed their children. Due to severe vitamin shortages, lice had become a scourge inflicted on young children. It was like a curse. Mothers hurried home sobbing as they returned from the doctor. They felt ashamed that their children were shaven bald. Doctors had no choice but to shave the children and apply a solution derived from petrol, which created an unpleasant odor. A little girl carried a bag of her cut curls as if to keep them for better times.

  A mother in the avenue grew desperate. Her four-year-old girl showed signs of malnutrition. Day by day the girl lost energy and had collapsed the day before. The mother went to the German commander and asked permission to pick up an extra cup of milk. When the commander steadfastly refused, she did not back down and refused to leave his office. He pulled his pistol and killed the young mother on the spot.

  When word got out about the murder of the mother, “Boomke” or “Little Tree,” as he was known, made up his mind. He decided that he had enough of the Germans denying milk to the children. He put on his black trench coat and bowler hat, grabbed a large bucket, and took off for the farm, located a kilometer from his home. Every morning, he walked in the middle of the avenue, in defiance of the armed sentry positioned at the gate of the military compound. He waved his white handkerchief at the sentry and went to fetch his milk. Upon his return, he went from door to door, distributing a cup to each family with small children. Mothers wept in thankfulness for saving their children.

  One day, the same German sentry had enough of his bravery and shot at him but missed. The bullet passed between his legs and pierced his raincoat, leaving a big hole. Every day, Boomke kept walking, despite the danger. Later on, nobody understood why the soldier did not shoot again. Had he intentionally misfired, as he remembered that he had children back home in Germany? Every morning, Boomke walked with his pail until liberation. After the war, he received the highest Medal of Honor bestowed upon a civilian for extreme bravery in the face of the enemy. Thirty years later, at his funeral, his raincoat with the bullet hole was spread over the casket, commemorating the heroism of this brave neighbor that had saved the children of Uckle Avenue.

  Desperation pushed people into dangerous acts. Every time the Germans banged on the front door with their rifles, ordering a family to leave, it infuriated Louis. He stood firm and boldly refused. Then one morning, he went to the shed in the backyard and placed a pitchfork next to the front door. In the hallway near the front door, a stroller stood ready with provisions in case of an emergency. When Bertha, his wife, noticed the pitchfork, she immediately knew what Louis had in mind and went into a panic.

  “Louis, please do not do this!” She fell to her knees and rested her tear-drenched cheek on his hand, begging him to remove the pitchfork. Louis was a fanatic anti-Nazi and, on many occasions, had declared he would have no problem taking care of the Germans.

  “The first German who forces himself through my door will go on this pitchfork,” he declared, as Bertha cried through her tears.

  “They will kill all of us!” He pulled her toward him and gave in, putting the pitchfork back in the shed.


  Every night, the family said the rosary, to be freed from the evil of the German occupation. Louis tossed his rosary on the table and shook his head when they continued their prayer: “To forgive those who trespass against us” in the “Our Father Prayer.”

  “No, I cannot say the words,” declared Louis. “That is too much for me. Remember the twenty-two young men executed at the school last week. The Germans must go first before I speak these words. Let’s skip that sentence and go to ‘Lead us not into temptation and deliver us from evil.’” He wiped a tear from his eye. Danya and Manus, Bertha and her father, Antonius Habers, fell silent when they heard Louis speak.

  As he had done for months, at the end of the day, Antonius let the delicate notes of the “Ave Maria” song roll from the strings of his violin. Those who lived with him in the basement intently listened to the music of Schubert. Danya, seated on the wooden bench in the cramped quarters of the basement, noticed the face of the neighbor’s six-year-old girl, Olivia. The beautiful black curls fell around her little face as she puckered a smile, listening to the music. She reminded her of her image in the mirror when she had prepared for her birthday party nine years ago.

  With the waning notes of the “Ave Maria,” Manus waxed reminiscent of the days when he wielded hammer and chisel, carving the details into the granite of the Stations of the Cross. He looked at Danya and put his arm around his Circassian beauty, who had so faithfully served as his model for the mother of Jesus. Would the carvings of the Stations of the Cross in Mill still be there, left untouched by the Germans? Would he find his atelier in the state he had left it?

  The next day, a neighbor at the end of the street knocked on the door and told Antonius that every night they hear his music reverberating through the passages of the basements on Uckle Avenue. He continued to play that song until the Allied Forces arrived to liberate their avenue.