According to a well-known Dutch saying, everything comes to an end. That was also true for the winter of 1944-1945. The thaw set in at the beginning of February and the first signs of spring appeared in March. What did not disappear was the food shortage. I remember well that my mother once took my youngest brother and me to the city and we went to eat at a restaurant on the Damrak. That was possible if you had enough money. I have no idea how we got there. The tram was no longer running and it was quite a distance from Scheldestraat to Central Station.
Amsterdam
For the vast majority of Amsterdam’s population, hunger remained, and it seemed as if the war would never end. Did we know at the time that the south of our country had already been liberated in the autumn of 1944? I think so. The illegal press kept us regularly informed about the progress of the war with posted stencils.
In any case, the provinces of Utrecht and North and South Holland were still occupied by the Germans and we were waiting for the fall of Berlin and the surrender of the Germans.
In order to alleviate the suffering of the starving part of the Netherlands, the Americans and British entered into negotiations at the end of April with the German Reich Commissioner for the still-occupied territory, Seyss-Inquart. He apparently realised that there was little point in resisting this request and agreed that British and American aircraft would carry out food drops over a number of airfields and other areas.
Droppings
This agreement was announced on pamphlets posted by the illegal press, and we looked forward to this event with great anticipation. I later found the exact date on which it took place in a publication by the municipality of Amsterdam: 30 April. On that date, the first aircraft appeared early in the morning. It was a magnificent spectacle, which we could see clearly from our house in Scheldestraat.
Heavy bombers, loaded with food parcels, approached from the east as seen from our location, and from the window I saw how they dropped their load after passing the current residential area of Buitenveldert and the Amstelveense Weg. You could see them falling like little black dots in a place we assumed was the old Schiphol Airport on the Ringvaart. The latter turned out to be correct. This fantastic spectacle continued almost all day long.
As simple as I have described it here, it was one of the most beautiful things I have ever experienced.
Perhaps it was just a drop in the ocean, but it gave us a tremendous boost to keep going a little longer.
We were really in the final stages.
Sorting the parcels took so much time that it was not until 12 May that distribution to the seriously ill could begin. The rest of the population did not receive their share until 17 May, when each person was given 100 grams of butter, a tin of sausage or cheese, a bar of chocolate and some tea.
Although the food situation gradually improved with the arrival of the Canadians and food was brought in from all sides by military lorries, it did not appear in the shops for the inhabitants of Amsterdam until the second half of May. I still remember the biscuits we received at the time. “No less than 900 grams per person,” I read in a municipal report that I later got my hands on. “To the exuberant joy of all Amsterdammers, whose youthful zest for life led them to turn the empty biscuit tins into drums.” And I remember from my own observations how they made rafts out of them to sail on the canals.
Last but not least, in mid-May, the central kitchens (we called them the soup kitchens) were back in full swing, distributing hot meals to 450,000 people every day, which no longer consisted of tulip bulbs and sugar beets but of potatoes and vegetables.
So things improved after the liberation, but only very gradually in the first month.