Deliver Us From Darkness

by Ian Gardner

  When the second wave of planes appeared, Jenny returned home only to find that her front door had been accidentally locked.

  Standing alone in the street, overwhelmed by the noise of the exploding bombs and antiaircraft fire, I was almost hysterical. Totally oblivious, our elderly neighbor Trine (who suffered from dementia), stepped outside and began shaking the dust from an old cleaning cloth. Beating the duster against the wall she noticed me crying on the doorstep. Trine took one look at my face and scuttled away to find my parents who had been frantic with worry. Sobbing, I threw myself into my mum’s arms and promised never to run off like that again. The following afternoon we were horrified to learn that the library had been badly damaged in the raid. My parents were just getting over the shock when an unexploded bomb went off in the ruins causing the entire building to collapse.

  Wim Klerkx was also celebrating Sint Nicolaas Day at home. During the raid, he went outside with his younger brother Jos to wave at the low-flying RAF Mosquito bombers. “Later on we found out that most of the bombs had missed their intended targets and killed over one hundred people in the shopping area of Demer.* A couple of days later, while walking past the burnt-out ruins of the technical school, I couldn’t help but notice that all of the large circular light bulbs hanging from the ceilings had melted into bizarre candle-like shapes. Although regular Philips students like me were found new places in local schools, the bombing also sadly marked the end of Mr Philips’ protection scheme.”

  The Lichttoren was so badly damaged that many of the staff had to be laid off as Piet van den Heuvel recounts: “At the time of the raids, I was working at the lamp and valve factory and my office was in the administration wing situated in the lower part of the tower – below the main test facility. Luckily the works manager from City Hall, Mr Tops, stepped in and offered many of us new employment working for the municipality. I got a job as an accountant and worked at City Hall until September 1944, when I joined the British Army as a sergeant translator.”

  Many other raids followed and the local population soon got used to being woken up in the dead of night by the sirens and the sound of gunfire from the antiaircraft batteries along Marconilaan. Located close to the Philips Radio Works were three 40mm AAA guns, sited next to the football fields at Woensel. A small group of Russian POWs lived there in crude wooden huts, acting as cooks and cleaners for the German gun crews. The Russians were always hungry as Jenny Soons recalls: “Often on our way to school we would throw sandwiches over the perimeter fence. One night we were awoken by the unusual sound of small-arms fire coming from the gun site but no alarm was given so we stayed in bed. The following morning while walking to school we passed by the guns and noticed that the Russians were no longer there. A few days later we found out that there had been a minor uprising and most of the prisoners had escaped and been shot.”

  Due to shortages of domestic utilities, electricity and gas supplies were rationed and subsequently proved woefully inadequate during the bitterly cold winters of 1942 and 1943. Jenny Soons and her family spent most of their time in the kitchen where it was warmest. “My dad placed our heavy wooden dinner table outside and converted it into a makeshift air-raid shelter using sandbags and a cast-iron sheet,” recalls Jenny. “At night every household had to adhere to the ‘blackout’ and the appearance of any external light was forbidden. However, there were exceptions. For instance street lighting and bicycle lamps were fitted with hoods to diffuse and direct the light source downwards onto the ground. Bizarrely the Germans wrapped the golden statue of ‘the holy heart’ on top of the spire of Paterskerk church near Tramstraat with a black drape so that it would no longer be visible from the air.”

  Civil air defense patrols from the Luchtbeschermingdienst (LB) policed the streets after dark to make sure that the regulations were being strictly adhered too. Sometimes after school in the winter when it got dark earlier, Jenny and her friends would play the Licht Aus [lights out] game.

  Before the LB arrived we would march around the streets in a group, stamping our feet like soldiers, looking for any houses that were breaking the rules. We would bang on windows and mischievously shout “Licht Aus, Licht Aus,” forcing our nervous neighbors to scramble around frantically trying to adjust their heavy blackout curtains – much to our childish amusement!

  One of my friends told me that there were toads living down the manholes along Oirschotsedijk. But instead of amphibians we found a network of German underground communications cables belonging to the nearby Constant Rebecque Army Barracks [named after Dutch general Jean Victor baron de Constant Rebecque]. The next day I took my dad’s rubber-handled combination pliers and cut some of the wires. Of course there might have been serious consequences if we’d have been caught but although we were just kids the Germans were still our enemy.

  Across the street from Jenny’s house on Boschdijk was a Ford dealership known locally as the Obam Garage. The building was occupied by the Germans, and behind it was a small barracks.

  One of my friends lived next door to the garage so we decided to climb over the fence and explore. At the rear of the premises we found an old wooden storeroom, containing German vehicle spares and military equipment. We helped ourselves to handfuls of 9mm ammunition, a steel helmet and a pair of very smart-looking chrome headlamps. Kids will be kids, and it wasn’t long before we had built a camp, smashed up the headlights, thrown all the bullets onto a fire and invented a game that involved being struck on the head with a heavy stick while wearing the German helmet!

  Food became scarce and the Philips Corporation opened a number of kitchens, where their staff could receive basic low-quality produce in exchange for ration coupons. Around 50 percent of all vegetable and fruit [produced nationally] was exported to Germany and the remainder split equally between the occupying troops and the Dutch. The food that the company “sold” became known as “Philips grub” and as kids we sang a silly song about the kitchens set to the tune of Lily Marlene…

  Bij de poort van Philips lag ’n hoopje kak,

  We gingen er naar kijken het was de Philiprak,

  Alle mensen aten mee,

  En moesten weldra naar de plee,

  Van hutspot en hachee, van hutspot en hachee, van hutspot en hachee.

  [At the gates of Philips there lies a heap of pooh,

  We went to take a look but it was “Philips stew,”

  Everybody ate it then had to use the loo,

  All from goulash and stew, from goulash and stew, from goulash and stew.]

  Another popular rhyme that we used to sing in Dutch was “Tommy come and throw a bomb, throw it here, throw it there and smash all of Germany, Tommy come and throw a bomb all the way to Berlin.”

  In late 1943 Jenny’s uncle, Toon Hurkmans, fled from Germany where he had been working as forced labor.

  Toon was registered with my grandparents on Jan van Lieshoutstraat. As that was the first place the authorities would look, he came to stay with us on Boschdijk. The penalties for harboring “divers” [people hiding from the authorities] were severe and if discovered my parents and Toon risked being sent to a labor camp or much worse. My parents had to be vigilant because one of our neighbors, Jos van Stratum, was secretary to the NSB Mayor of Eindhoven, Hub Pulles. Although Jos was in his late twenties, he still lived at home with his parents and sister Riet, who was dating a German officer. Van Stratum’s father had been a successful cloth merchant before retiring and owned three houses along our street. Bizarrely, at about the same time Uncle Toon came to stay, the Van Stratums began having problems with their domestic electricity supply. When Jos asked if he could come to our house before work to shave, my father had no choice but to say “yes.” As Toon was never caught we couldn’t work out if Van Stratum was unaware or simply chose to ignore our little secret.*

  The Germans requisitioned and collected vehicles, motorcycles, and radios and every household was forced to hand over items made from copper and tin. Even the bells from local churches were r
emoved and melted down for the Nazi war effort. Jenny remembers walking with her friends past the Antonius Church on the corner of Boschdijk/Fellenoord and seeing the bells on the ground, awaiting collection by the authorities: “One of us had some chalk so we wrote across the bells in large letters, ‘HE WHO SHOOTS WITH GOD’S BELLS WILL NEVER WIN THE WAR!’”

  Jenny recalls one particular weekend when a Dutch SS man holding a revolver came to the house and spoke to her father:

  “Are you Jacobus Petrus Soons? We have reason to believe that you are hiding two fully serviceable motorcycles in a stable at the rear of this property.” The soldier knew exactly where he was going and stuck the pistol into the small of my dad’s back, frog-marching him through the house into the stable. My mother was out at the time, collecting ration coupons from the local distribution office. Luckily, my baby sisters were too young to understand what was happening.

  When the SS man discovered the bikes hidden behind a false wall, my dad knew he was in very serious trouble. Meanwhile, my mother came home and immediately went to see Jos van Stratum, who said he knew nothing about the search but promised to mediate if necessary. A short while later, the Germans collected the motorbikes but no formal charges were ever brought. I can only assume that Jos may have put in a good word to get my father off the hook.

  The hunger winter

  The situation in the larger cities to the west, such as The Hague, dramatically worsened as the war progressed due to German blockades carried out as punishment for industrial disputes. The most effective was the nationwide rail strike in mid-September 1944. The strike had delayed the Germans bringing in reinforcements from Belgium and the Zeeland pocket in the southwest. The effect was such that the enemy had to bring a large amount of troops in on foot and many of these units marched for several days before reaching the front lines. In order to boost morale, Prince Bernhard and Queen Wilhelmina made regular radio broadcasts from London encouraging “patience and victory” and went on air to proclaim that liberation was now close at hand. The Germans took their revenge through a blockade of The Hague, Rotterdam, and Amsterdam. Many starved to death during this period, which became known across the country as “the hunger winter.” Hendrik de Jong was ten-years-old at the time, and recounts his terrible experience living in The Hague:

  In 1939, my mother, who was only 39 years old, died from breast cancer. We were devastated and just coming to terms with her death when the Germans invaded. The winter of 1943/44 was one of the hardest in living memory. Although we had ration coupons there was no food in our part of the country, fuel was almost impossible to obtain, and starvation became commonplace.

  In August 1944, my dad died of a heart attack and our relatives came together and decided to adopt my sisters. I was sent to an uncle in Rotterdam who was in the NSB, but his wife didn’t really want me so I ended up living with a lady who owned a store in the centre of the city. I spent about six months with her until one of my aunts decided to take me in as her own son had been sent to Germany for war work. My auntie had three daughters, one of whom had dated a number of German soldiers and become pregnant. The girls were constantly stealing my food and there was nothing I could do about it. The family sent me to gather wood in Scheveningen, after the population there had been evacuated. We took anything that could be carried from the empty houses, doors, floorboards and staircases … anything that would burn.

  Food became so scarce that people broke into grocery stores and stole anything and everything. The Germans arrested many and one man in particular I saw was forced to write “Ik ben een plunderaar [I am a looter]” on a board before being shot. They left his body lying in the street for three days. Literally hundreds of people in The Hague died from starvation during the winter. Most of the bodies were taken away in cardboard coffins for burial. I almost died but luckily another relative came to my rescue. My aunt (who was also looking after my sisters) got me into a food kitchen at Loosduinen, which catered specifically for children and I truly believe she saved my life.

  Resistance is never futile

  In the summer of 1940, a group of ex-Dutch Army officers came together to create the Binnenlandse Strijdkrachten (BS or Domestic Forces). The idea was to recruit and train a covert army that would eventually rise up and fight alongside the Allies. As the occupation progressed, the national press was taken over by the Germans who then forbade any alternative publications that criticized the regime, reported on the royal family, or printed news of the war. Every month the RAF dropped millions of copies of De Vliegende Hollander (The Flying Dutchman), which were often copied and re-distributed by paramilitary groups like the Knokploegen (KP). Each KP cell was made up of six to ten people and eventually developed into a more cohesive national organization called the Landelijke Knokploegen (LKP or National Paramilitary Group). Expert forgers, KP units also provided “safe houses” for escaped political prisoners, refugees, and Allied airman. Many KP members like Johannes Peerbolte worked under false identities: “I was 18-years-old in 1942 and living in Utrecht. To avoid being conscripted for war work, I moved to The Hague, where my parents lived, and went into hiding before masquerading as a railway engineer called Bob Maas. My sister was also involved with the same KP unit and acted as a money courier for the ‘divers’ that we were protecting. Although times were tough, we just about managed to get by and the hardship we endured really focused our hatred for the Nazis.”

  To counter against the crude propaganda peddled by the NSB newspaper Volk en Vaderland (Folk and Fatherland) early resistance groups across the country prepared, printed, and distributed around 60 different anti-German leaflets that included such titles as Ons Volk (Our People) and Het Parool (The Password). Jo Peerbolte’s family produced one such publication: “My dad was a typographer for a printing company and owned a small hand-operated desktop printing machine. With the information that was broadcast by Radio Oranje and BBC Netherlands, we started producing an underground newspaper called Voor God en den Koning (For God and the King). My sister and I regularly distributed around 500 copies by hand to local homes.”

  More than 700 people were executed during the occupation for being involved in the illegal printing and distribution of anti-Nazi pamphlets or newspapers but this in no way deterred others from taking up arms to physically fight for their freedom.

  In early 1944, Jo Peerbolte returned to Utrecht to join his brother Peter in the Binnenlandse Strijdkrachten: “The BS was divided up into many districts and I was working ‘district 8’ – Utrecht Noord. We were trained in the use of hand grenades and Sten guns and issued dark-blue coveralls with an orange, white, and blue armband to be worn after the liberation. Five tons of supplies were usually dropped at any one time by the RAF – in 24 200kg containers – into open fields at Mijdrechtse polder and transported to a milk factory at Utrecht. All air-dropped weapons were covered in a thick layer of Cosmoline grease to prevent rusting. In total before the invasion we received 41 drops over 15 drop zones.”

  Others were not quite so lucky as Peerbolte – 30-year-old Henricus “Harry” van Genugten was arrested in September 1943. An active member of the KP, Harry lived and worked as a motor mechanic in the Stratum area of Eindhoven. The group had been responsible for raiding government offices and sabotaging rail networks. After a brief trial Harry was sent to the Kriegswehrmachtsgefängnis (Armed Forces War Prison) in Utrecht to await execution. On September 24, the night before the sentence was carried out – Harry wrote a heartrending letter to his wife Elsje, and son Matthij.

  This morning at 7am, the execution verdict was given. Yes dearest, it is sad that I haven’t been allowed the opportunity to see you and say goodbye but what can you expect from the Germans? Will you take good care of Matthij and tell him about me? I was so fond of that boy and would dearly have loved to see him grow up. Hold your head high and move on with the loving support from your son, through whom I shall continue to live. Thank you for all the sweet things we have experienced together. We have had a pleasant life a
lthough it was all too short. Don’t grieve for too long because life goes on but please think of me from time to time.

  There are six of us here in the cell, so I am not alone. Three of the men, Gerrit, Jan, and Bennie, are also waiting to be shot. One day the Netherlands will be free so please don’t forget the sacrifices we have made. I want to say so much to you but it isn’t easy. I am quiet and calm and hope to die as I have lived … the other boys feel the same.

  When the insurance money pays out, please put it towards Matthij’s education… Give my heartfelt greetings to my brother Louis, and tell him not to forget his little nephew. The same goes for my parents, your mother and father, family, friends and acquaintances … once again thanks for everything my love. Math, when you grow up and become a big boy please bear my name with honor and please be sure to take care of your mother for me. I send you both many kisses and wish you luck in whichever direction life’s road may take – from your very loving husband and daddy, Harry.

  Despite being tortured Harry revealed nothing. Following his execution everyone who had had any contact with him was brought in for questioning, but all were later released due to lack of evidence. Harry van Genugten’s body was never found and he is among the hundreds of civilians murdered by the Nazis in the Netherlands who are still missing.* The Germans regarded all convicted resistance fighters as “terrorists” and buried those executed in unmarked graves, a policy they called Nacht und Nebel (Night and Fog).

  Other groups were also trying their best to disrupt the Germans, such as Landeljke Organisatie (LO – National Organization) and the long-established Orde Dienst (OD – Order Service, who after the liberation became the Auxiliary Police). Many of these groups were eventually coordinated by the Raad van Verzet (RVV, Council for the Resistance), which became an important national paramilitary organization and a vital link for the Allies. Another group worthy of mention is the part-time Bijzondere Vrijwillige Landstorm (BVL).The BVL were a pro-royalist volunteer force, created in 1918 to protect the country during times of political unrest or revolution.