Everyone has heard of the hunger winter, the final phase of the war when there was almost nothing left to eat. No electricity, no gas, hardly any fuel, in a winter that arrived early and brought weeks of frost and ice.
This situation had developed gradually. In the first year of the war, there was relatively little to worry about, but because the Germans requisitioned food and clothing on a large scale for their own country, all kinds of things gradually became scarce.
In order to distribute the available quantities as fairly as possible, rationing was introduced fairly quickly. This meant that all kinds of items were only available ‘on ration’. In addition to food and clothing, this also applied to cigarettes, coffee substitutes, fuel and much more.
As mentioned above, ration cards were issued once every two months.
This distribution system created an additional problem for anyone in hiding, such as members of the resistance, people of Jewish descent and other persecuted groups. Naturally, they did not have the so-called ‘stamkaart’ (registration card), which was required to collect your coupons from the distribution office.
One of the tasks assigned to the illegal organisations was to find a way to solve this problem. The solution was obvious. The distribution offices were regularly broken into at night.
The winter of 1944-45 had serious consequences for the part of our country above the major rivers. That part was still occupied by the Germans, unlike the south, which had already been liberated. The west, and especially the large cities, suffered the most. Between 15,000 and 20,000 people died during this period as a result of malnutrition, cold and disease.
Hunger in Barchem
This inscription relates to an incident that took place during one of our many moves.
To avoid detection by the SD, we had left a place again and arrived in Barchem at around eleven o’clock that morning, at a large, detached villa.
This naturally caused a lot of commotion, as we were sharing this house with Bertus and Reina again. Suitcases had to be unpacked and all kinds of things had to be distributed among the various rooms . In short, it was a busy time for the whole family. There was no time for the youngest, and my main task was to stay out of the way.
How does that work at that age? Around one o’clock, I got hungry and made the mistake – without realising it – of expressing this loudly with the exclamation “Hungry, hungry in the Netherlands”.
As if bitten by a viper, my father jumped up and angrily snapped at me to shut up. I don’t remember what I did then. Maybe I sulked in a corner.
In hindsight, his reaction was understandable. Imagine if a passing member of the NSB had heard it. Actually, it was characteristic of the tension under which he must have lived, but at the time I didn’t understand it at all.
As I already wrote, Bertus was also staying with us. I can still picture him outside with Fred, shooting at a target they had hung on a wall with an air rifle. Fred had bought the rifle in Deventer. My little brother and I were also allowed to try it sometimes. I found it fascinating, but I was no sharpshooter.
Lighting fires
Another telling-off I got in Barchem, which I understood very well, was about a fire I had started with my little brother. Did I say fire? It was almost a complete forest fire!
The villa in Barchem was located on a fairly quiet road with only a few similar houses in the neighbourhood. The house was surrounded by a large piece of land, partly covered with pine forest and heathland. It was a great place to play, build huts, dig holes and so on.
The pyromaniac in me sometimes whispered that you could light nice little fires there because, as a result of the beautiful dry summer, the heath was quite flammable. And so, on a beautiful sunny day, my little brother and I came up with the stupid idea of making a campfire with matches we had stolen from the kitchen. We chose the area behind the house as our location. There was also a patch of heathland there that bordered the garden of a neighbouring house.
Dry wood and thin branches from trees burned well with some newspapers. So well, in fact, that at one point the heath also started to burn. Of course, we tried to stamp it out, but the wind was blowing so hard that the fire got out of control. I don’t remember if we called for help. Maybe the family came running when they saw the smoke. Or maybe some people who were building a pond in the garden of the neighbouring house. In any case, they managed to extinguish the fire with all their might.
Boy, was everyone angry with us, and rightly so, of course.
As punishment, I had to go to my bedroom and write lines. Probably something like ‘I must not play with fire’. And I wasn’t allowed to eat, although in the evening my mother secretly brought me a few sandwiches.
In any case, the incident made quite an impression on me. And with stories about what could have happened if… that was emphasised even more by the family.
When I curiously looked at the piece of burnt heath the next day, I decided to refrain from playing with fire in that spot.
Hunger in the Netherlands, fire in the Netherlands, a little boy can have a lot on his conscience . Later, my ‘donation’ of Aunt Mieke’s doghouse to Toontje was added to that, but that’s another story.