The war, which is central to this book, began on 10 May 1940 with a surprise attack by our eastern neighbours. Without any warning, the Germans invaded our country in the early hours of that day with superior air and ground forces.
The weather was fine that Friday, it had been fine for several days and the Whitsun weekend was just around the corner. You can imagine that everyone had already made plans to go out, to the beach, to the woods, to play sports. To enjoy themselves without a care in the world.
However, I doubt that the latter is true. Germany had been planning for several years to establish a great thousand-year empire, and the neutrality of the Netherlands did not fit into that plan. And there had already been signs for a few months that an attack on our country was imminent.
Heralds of war
A few years ago, I came across a collection of old club magazines from my football club; they were magazines from that period. In them, I read that the club had been having problems fielding full teams for months because many players had been mobilised and did not get leave every weekend to play. Before the Whitsun weekend, all leave had even been withdrawn. So it was not a carefree weekend after all.
That Friday, I woke up earlier than usual to rumbling and booming outside and at first, still half asleep, I thought it was thunder. But I soon realised that the enormous noise outside must have come from something else. What or why was not clear to me. It wasn’t un s later that day that I heard it was a combination of the sound of aeroplanes in a dive and the bangs of a battery of anti-aircraft guns firing a curtain of shells into the air. Plus the occasional dull rumble of explosions coming from the direction of the harbour.
Perhaps I lay with my head under the covers for a while after that, but at some point I walked anxiously into the living room, where I found the rest of the family. They were sitting together listening to the radio. Through the windows, I saw that there was no one to be seen on the street. However, the sky was dotted with hundreds of small circular clouds, as if someone were blowing smoke rings.
I had to get away from that window immediately. It was far too dangerous to stand there. Those clouds were caused by exploding air grenades, the shrapnel whizzed through the air every now and then, and you never knew if one of them might fly inside. It was war!
War!
“Shh, quiet, the radio.”
The surprise must have been written all over my face. As I said, the radio was on and I listened to all kinds of reports, mainly about fighting. The course of the battle at the Afsluitdijk, near Noordwijk, where paratroopers had landed, and the ‘heroic resistance’ that was being offered everywhere. The aeroplanes, which were still buzzing in the air, were targeting oil storage tanks in the harbour area and Schiphol Airport.
Later that morning, things calmed down and everyone took to the streets. Young and old walked around with pieces of exploded anti-aircraft shells in their hands. Except me. My mother would not allow me to go near them under any circumstances. ‘One of those things could explode in your hand and you’d lose your fingers. ‘ ‘But everyone is looking for them, Mum, and I’ll be really careful.
However, her no was final, and when I went outside grumbling, everything had already disappeared.
Although I can’t remember many details, it must have been a chaotic day for everyone. My school was closed that day, of course, and the first few days of the following week as well. We had three or four days off for Pentecost.
Newspapers were still published, with extra editions on that same Friday, with big headlines on the front page, of course, and lots of photos. The newspaper of Saturday 11 May, the morning paper, began with a front page that was almost entirely taken up by reports on the course of the first day of the war. In a daily order, the commander-in-chief conveyed the Queen’s gratitude to the Dutch army. The population was also praised for its attitude, because the ‘strong attitude of our troops is reflected in the mood of our people, which shows determination’.
‘The German invasion could be considered a failure, with more than 100 German aircraft shot down by us and the attack on Belgium repelled on all fronts’.
What was missing from the newspapers was the reaction of the people of Amsterdam to the sudden state of war. For example, 12 May was Mother’s Day. What did all the fathers and children do that day? In the evening edition of the Algemeen Handelsblad on Saturday, a certain Flip put mothers on a pedestal for a day, overshadowing all other news in the paper. Under the headline ‘Tomorrow is Mother’s Day’, he urged everyone to rush out and buy something for their mothers . It was just a pity that the message came too late for many, because the Amsterdam City Council had decreed that all shops had to close at eight o’clock on Saturday evening.
I don’t know whether we made coloured crafts for our mothers at school. All memories of that have been erased from my mind.
One topic that was completely absent from the newspaper was a report on the annual Luilak celebration, which always took place on the Saturday before Pentecost. I don’t think much came of it this time. This folkloric custom in North Holland, in which young people roamed the streets before dawn to wake everyone up with a lot of noise, had been taken over by other troublemakers the day before.
There was also no mention of the consequences of the air battles above the city. Had bombs fallen in the harbours or at Schiphol Airport? The newspaper remained silent on the subject.
In Amsterdam, that one day of war in the air was over, but that did not mean that everyone had calmed down.
The ominous atmosphere lingered. What would happen next? Would the army hold out? Strict blackout measures were immediately put in place, requiring homes and businesses to darken their windows. Everyone and everything was checked for escaping rays of light by members of the air raid protection service.
All in all, it was a strange Whitsun weekend. All sporting events were cancelled. Theatres and cinemas were closed, as were most pubs. There was no advice on how best to spend the weekend. Was it actually still safe to leave the city?
After Sunday, the reports in the newspapers gradually became less optimistic.
As is well known, the fighting lasted five days. After the bombing of the centre of Rotterdam and the threat of bombing other cities, further resistance was deemed pointless and the fighting was halted. The Netherlands capitulated, and the royal family and the cabinet left for England to continue the fight there.
The German Invasion
German soldiers arrived in Amsterdam on 16 May.
Some of the troops drove into the city via the Hoofdweg, close to our house. And so the Germans once again entered the lowlands on the North Sea. Only this time, they did not arrive in hollowed-out tree trunks via the Rhine, but marching, with cars and motorcycles.
They passed by in an endless column, watched by the residents of the neighbourhood, who had gathered along the side of the road. I stood there with my mother among a thick row of people. Everyone watched in silence. For most of the spectators, it must have been their first encounter with the German Wehrmacht. Hundreds of soldiers in mouse-grey uniforms with black leather boots and the typical German helmet.
I don’t think they were singing, otherwise I would have noticed the similarity with the songs of the German group in Zandvoort.
(left) Destruction of Rotterdam.
(right) German troops marching through Amsterdam
The photo on the next page was taken on the Berlage Bridge. The spectators there, who must have been members of the NSB, cheer the occupiers and give the ‘ ‘ Hitler salute. Thus began a period in which everything changed, not only in the Netherlands but also in all those other places where war was being waged.
De Berlagebrug
It took five years for the liberators to arrive via that same bridge in Amsterdam. Five long years, which I will discuss in the following chapters.