Liberation 1944-45

By Lini R. Grol

The people of Holland lost lives, homes and property during the Second World War, but never lost their faith in an Allied Liberation they knew was soon to come. Forced out of their home after it was ransacked and burned by occupying German forces, author Lini R. Grol and her family wandered the bombed-out Dutch countryside for weeks, sleeping in ditches, barns and basements as they waited for liberation.They faced danger at every turn. As Allied aircraft bombed German positions and the Nazis returned the fire, the homeless refugees were often caught in between the two forces. Liberation 1944-45 is a story of hardship, courage and faith, which will bring exciting inspiration to all who open its pages.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Books for Pleasure
• Release date: Sep 26, 2014
• ISBN: 9781553491132

Book preview

LIBERATION

1944-45

LINI R. GROL

Copyright Lini R. Grol 2001

All rights reserved

ISBN# 978-1-55349-113-2

Published by Books for Pleasure at Smashwords

First published in 1983

HOLLAND’S LIBERATION 1945

.

When the nights were dark and lonely

and filled with fearful sounds

The silence deepened in homes so cold

Where no fathers were around.

.

When every footstep in the night

Startled the women in fear

For these steps that came so close

They told them of death being near.

.

When mistrust grew and bitter words

Chilled every heart with doom.

When lowliness and lawlessness

Filled all hearts with gloom

.

When starvation hovered in every home

And no heart had left one song

We cried and prayed: God let freedom come

And send us your sons along.

.

Oh...the sun shone bright

That glorious day

One day in early spring

When finally the liberators came

And made all Holland Sing.

THE FINGER OF FATE

.

We are not aware

of the finger of FATE

drawing the line of our future

pushing some people on

and others out of our way.

A simple word may cause an explosion

a drastic reversal of events

which may lead us faster ahead

or astray.

What caused this?

When are we the makers

of our future...our fate?

When was the change decided?

Why and by whom?

When were we pushed in to

or out of the way of others

and why?

TO THE LIBERATORS OF HOLLAND

.

Because they came

all bells were ringing

the flags furled out

and children started singing.

our fears of years were gone

because they’d come.

.

Because they came

all lights sprang on so bright

for there was hope for you and me

because of those who died

our children grew up free

thank God that they came.

.

Because they came

we’ll praise forever their name

but let’s never forget

those who died,

let’s for them

sing a heartfelt Requiem

and thank God that they came.

.

Lini R. Grol

Nijmegen 1944

Heerenveen 1945

Chapter 1

Nymegen

All through the war our most treasured word was Liberation. We dreamed and talked about it. When and where would it come first? The Nazis had been flown in and dropped in Rotterdam in 1940. Would the Allies do the same? Which city would they come to first?

We had no clandestine radio like our friends, since my brother and sister worked in the underground and we could not risk an investigation and search of our house. My younger sister Miep and I stayed with our parents in an old house in Nymegen, a strategic place during World War II. At that time we were not aware of how precarious our position was. We believed the fighting would be somewhere near the sea around the capital of the country or the major ports, never near us! Calamity always strikes others.

We were brainwashed daily by the German radio, telling us how well they were progressing. A program was set up to evacuate all people in our part of the city, but when the forms arrived, father tore them up, roaring at the Nazis. Mother, German born, was fearful for this willful destruction. What are we going to do when they ask for the forms? she asked tremulously.

Tell them, father roared, we are not going anywhere. This is our house, our city! He stamped through the room as if he was bodily kicking out the Nazis.

Times were getting more difficult day by day. We’d traded trinkets and precious gems with farmers for food; with coal dealers for fuel. Our clothes were threadbare. I’d lost everything in previous bomb attacks. I was fortunate to have escaped safely but my loss depleted the clothing supply of my sisters and friends who shared with me their none too well-stocked wardrobes.

Our boyfriends were in hiding, working on some secret affairs. We saw them only for stolen hours, sometimes only minutes. For us no weekend dates, long walks or movies with our men.

We hoped for liberation, we prayed for it to come, and dreamed of it after every broadcast by the B.B.C. if we’d been fortunate enough to listen in at the house of one of our friends.

All is well. We took heart from Churchill’s assurance. Soon, now, they would come - the British, the Americans, the Canadians. But how soon? To us liberation was long overdue, yet we rejoiced with our friends after each broadcast and carried this message of hope home to father and mother. Father often went to his friends’ to listen in, but mother, because she had arthritis and didn’t walk too well, or maybe too, because she had loyalty to her own people stayed home. Did she feel it as a betrayal if she went to others to hear how her country was damned and destroyed? She was as anti-Nazi as we, but Germany had been her home and she loved it still.

In August 1944, we had a startling and exciting experience when the troops moved up in France and the Nazis fled in panic. We stood on the side of the road as they came by, in trucks, cars, horse and buggies, bikes and even on dog carts, frantically whipping the dogs to speed up their escape.

Everybody laughed and cheered. The Liberators are coming, get out the flags! Tonight we’ll be free!

We believed it. Who could doubt it seeing the signs before us? Thousands and thousands fled as fast as they could, one solid throng snaking through the wide boulevard of the old Emperor City. People ran to see their downfall, leered and sneered, waving the Dutch flag and throwing stones at them. Miep and I had dragged mother the few blocks down to see this, to us, cheerful event. Excited, we laughed and cried for joy as we talked about liberation, expecting the boys to be home in the next hours. Mom listened in silence.

We did not think these were her people. To us they were all Nazis who deserved to be stoned and shot, but to mother they were still her people, the kind she’d known in her youth. She stood in silence, tears running down her cheeks.

Why are you crying? we turned to her, angry at her tears. They didn’t cry for us when they bombed our cities and took our people away. Do you think they’d shed a tear for all those they’ve killed?

Some have. mother said softly. They’re not all Nazis. She turned to go home. We had to go with her, she being unable to walk the three blocks to our home alone. She leaned heavily on us as slowly we went back and talked of nothing but being free in the next hours.

And lucky that we did, for the next moment spitfires came. Before we reached our home, the planes came in, diving and shooting down, chasing people into their homes, scattering the fleeing German army into side streets and maybe to the realization of what they were doing, for their fleeing was like desertion. Suddenly the streets were empty, but behind closed doors and windows we all rejoiced: At last liberation was coming.

Before the night, however, the fleeing army had reversed and gone back to fighting in the south of Holland, the cause of their sudden panic seemingly remedied. The next day the newspaper, censored by the Nazis, mentioned only a change of army units.

Those who in a burst of enthusiasm had hung out Dutch flags had to bring them in quickly, or suffer the wrath of the Nazis. The returning Germans raced furiously around the city, searching house after house, often seizing someone in hiding or contraband articles.

After the excitement of the armies’ false withdrawal we dared not rejoice too soon nor too loud, and felt let down. We’d rejoiced too early. For a few days we doubted even the news on the B.B.C., which seemed to be too good, and the reality was disappointing. To us lay people, who didn’t know about war actions, it seemed needless delay. We said, It would have been so easy if the allies had simply followed the retreating army. Why hadn’t they? How little we knew about the theatres of war! We’d learn eventually, sooner than expected. At that time however, we thought only of freedom, and our future.

We didn’t really know what to expect. We had seen the Germans withdraw in a hurry and believed that was how we’d be liberated. I had experienced the fighting, the bombing and burning in Rotterdam in 1940 but somehow thought that the liberation by the allies would come calmly. But why I’d think that puzzles me now, for we’d been bombed all these years and saw the German flak in action, shooting off planes night after night. They were still strong. If the allies came in planes there would be lots of shooting, fire and casualties. But somehow even I had developed a blind spot for the dangers connected with our liberation, if and when it would come.

The war had delayed our plans and had taken our men away. Marriage was out of the question, and even courting done in secret. There were moments when we gave up hope and saw only a black void for our future.

But now finally, finally liberation came our way. It pushed from France, slowly, to Belgium. We hurried every day to our friends’ to be reassured by the B.B.C. Once again we hoped and believed. Now indeed there was action, they were coming.

We’ll never forget that 14th of September. Miep and I’d gone to church in an expectant mood. Our threadbare clothes were washed or brushed to look at least respectable. We went down the street in happy anticipation to meet our friends who might have listened to the B.B.C. that morning or last night, as the curfew had forced us off the street at 8 p.m. We marvelled at what news they’d have for us, and rejoiced as before. Who knew how far the allied army had advanced. Who knows, maybe our friends in the next city were already free.

We looked eagerly for those who had a radio. Still we had to be cautious, there were traitors among us who could yet cause trouble.

This was the worst part of the war, in that it had sown mistrust against some of our best friends. But even without the B.B.C. we knew the Germans were losing ground. Every time they spoke of a re-grouping we saw that they’d vacated another town or city.

But these news releases were often many days behind the facts, or so we claimed or hoped. The sun shone brightly against a cloudless blue sky, so rare in Holland where we have so much rain. Miep grabbed my arm and whispered, A perfect day for the Liberation. An Orange day, you watch. Her brown eyes laughed as she added, Once we are free we’ll see the boys and can make plans. I can hardly wait. How about you? She sighed but it was a happy sigh. We just knew that soon we’d be dancing in the street and sing as we’d often dreamed of. Wij leven vrij en leven blij. We live free and happy. We could see ourselves already and how life would be. We had missed so many of our friends, brothers and sisters all those years. It would be so good to have them all home, and Mom and Dad would be so glad.

Finally we found our friends, who winked meaningfully, and our hearts jumped for joy. They sidled up to us and whispered, They’re close - hardly 50km. from here. They’re in Venlo.

In Venlo? Venlo? Venlo.

I pictured my friends in Venlo running down the street waving the Dutch flag. Suddenly I felt Miep’s nails digging in my arm. Look there, she whispered. We looked and at once filled with misery as an SS car pulled up before an old house down the street. We trembled with indignation as we listened to their barked orders when they entered the house forcefully.

The SS car had at once dulled our joy and aroused the latent fury in us. We watched and waited till they came out with their poor victim between them. We cursed them wholeheartedly, forgetting we were on our way to church.

War does strange things to usually friendly and loving people. It seemed perfectly all right to be on our way to church and calling our enemies names, suspecting them of only meanness, then piously praying, Forgive us our sins, as we forgive others. War had upset our morals. Our church was among many destroyed in several bombings, and this small hall was filled to capacity. Community buildings were used as makeshift churches, often shared by different religions. Early in the morning the Roman Catholics gathered, later the Reformed came, in the afternoon the Brethren of Christ and at night, the Baptists.

The war had brought religions together. They all co-operated and helped where they could, not only their own but parishioners and ministers from the various other churches. During the war we knew a brotherhood as we’d never known before, but we also had learned to hate those who once had claimed brotherhood.

The churches were used even during the night for men and women to find safety, and often doubled as asylums for the homeless and the hunted. During the war the church was the true home for its hurt children, it did not ask what their denomination was. In the church all found comfort and peace.

We were the last to enter but managed to find a standing place in the crowded hall. The service had hardly started when the sirens, with their nerve-tearing sounds, ripped the peaceful Sunday to shreds. At the same time planes screamed as they sheared the city.

At once there was a commotion. The mothers fought their way out to the door, even before the order came with a hurried, Go in peace. Go home. As if there were a place to hide from bombs.

For the moment we were only anxious to get out and home in time before the bombing or the firing started, as everything horrible in this world seems bearable as long as one is home with loved ones.

We had found a place in the front of the crowded hall which had the disadvantage that now we were forced to be the last to leave. Though there was only one exit, it was remarkable to see how fast a church emptied in an emergency like this. Still, as fast as it went, we were impatient to get out, and we too pushed and were pushed, like the others.

When we reached the Square, however, we realized the urgency to reach home and the suspense and fear of the bombing had left. A crowd gathered in the sun drenched square and looked up to the blue sky. They laughed and sang the anthem - which for four years we had not been allowed to sing in public. Loud cheers went up. When parachutes blossomed in the air, windows opened and the flag - our flag - flew out. This was the sign of freedom and we laughed and cried at the same time, holding hands and dancing with the crowd. Complete strangers hugged us and cried, The invasion! The invasion! We are free!

All caution was gone. Everyone talked to everyone else. There was united shouting and laughing, singing and pointing at the red, white and blue flags with the orange streamer. Holding hands, we danced down the streets, forming an ever growing stream of delirious, happy people.

We were mostly women, girls and children - men and boys were either in hiding, in the Resistance or in prison. The few men who were around had special passes, due to ill health or age, or were suspected Nazi collaborators. No man would be around this time of the week or day.

And what a day it was!

As a wave of joy swept over the city, more and more doors opened and mothers with their children, some with a baby in arms, ran outside. Oldsters leaning on sticks, tears streaming down their cheeks, scrambled down steps to see for themselves that truly they had lived to see the end of the war, and to welcome peace. Some prayed out loud, thanking God and blessing the liberators.

More and more flags appeared till street after street sparkled with the red, white and blue and the orange streamers, the colour of our queen.

Again the alarm whined and warned us, but we laughed out loud and ignored the command to go inside. Who’d go off the street when the liberation was about to happen?

We danced around with the human serpentine and eagerly pointed at the parachutes floating from the planes.

There was repeated shouting. Hurrah for the Queen and Free Holland!

Finally - finally they’d come. This was the end of war, the beginning of freedom, love and joy in living. This meant living with hope, and faith in our future.

Now we could make plans without fear of death and destruction. Ignorant of the danger, we mocked the German soldiers who crisscrossed the streets on their roaring motorbikes. We ignored their shouting and barking to get off the street and back into our houses.

But our laughter subsided when they pointed their guns at us, and bullets flew past us or over our heads. At once there was a wild scramble as the crowd dispersed and darted into the narrow side streets and open doors. Miep and I ran, in a sudden urge to be home with our parents. Home still spelled safety.

Right and left, doors opened calling us inside, but we did not respond to the anxious gestures inviting us in. We ran, panting for breath and holding onto each other.

And ran. We were several blocks from home. Planes dived, chain shooting over the street. We had to hide in doorways for a few moments, panting in fear, then ran again, while bullets whistled around us.

We stopped short for a second when a window broke above our head, or a bullet ricocheted before our feet. Again we ran. It was like a nightmare. Would we ever get home? We held on tight to each other pulling when the other stumbled and wordlessly urging each other by the strong grip of our hands. We were the last ones on the deserted streets. The planes were after us, we thought, and had their fun playing a cat and mouse game with us.

We reached home panting, but with the glorious feeling that we’d made it. We were safe, we’d made it home, we’d outwitted the enemy. The door stood wide open, our parents anxiously watching and waiting for us.

Mom and Dad laughed, relieved when they let us in and mother, ever religious, said gratefully, Thank God you’re home, and hugged us.

Dad grumbled something less Christian as he slammed the door shut, (as if by closing the door he could keep us all safe.)

Have you seen them? we panted excitedly - our fear almost forgotten.

Still shaken, Mom nodded and smiled wanly. But Dad danced around us and shouted, beside himself with joy.

It is over! It’s over! They’ll have to roll up now. We’re the last port before Germany. They have to give up! They have to!

He whacked us playfully - and for once we forgot to protest.

We, too, felt like behaving crazily and doing something extraordinary. Not for one moment did we think the parachutists meant more war action on the front. And that we were part of the front we’d often read about in the papers nor how much we’d have to pay for our freedom.

We chatted lightheartedly about what we’d heard and seen in the street. Everyone talked about the forthcoming dances and parades, about kicking out the Nazi mayor, and naming a new one - all the things we had heard in that short memorable festive moment on the Square. For us the war had already ended. Little did we know the worst was yet to come.

We’ll dance all night! Miep cried out joyfully, Thank Heaven I’ve still a long dress. I hope the boys come soon.

Dad grabbed Mom and hugged her quite passionately for his age. We too will dance, he vowed with a breaking voice.

Mom made a face at him, and teased. Don’t forget to take your stick with you. You’ll need support. May I remind you that you are 65?

So what?

Dad laughed boisterously and she laughed with him, as he bragged: I dance as well as ever, we’ll dance all the young folks off the floor. We’ll show them. You and I. As if to show her, he grabbed her and danced her around the room as he often did in his happy moments.

We watched them and smiled, thinking how happy they were in their togetherness. Would we be as happy someday? Miep with her Carl, and I with Henk?

Suddenly they stopped dancing and father sheepishly wiped his eyes, then looked at each of us seriously. Thank God, that I’ve lived to see this day!

This was more like a prayer than we’d ever heard from him.

Mom nodded and agreed gently, urging us, Yes. let’s thank God. For once we needed no urging and joined our parents in prayer.

The next minute the room was quiet. I can still recall the sun shining over the set table, reflecting in the cups. The French doors were wide open to the patio, for it was a warm fall day and near noon. We reached out and held hands, sharing the strong feeling of peace and happiness even though we could hear the planes in the air shooting in the distance. We thanked God the end of our hardship and suppression had come. We were sure our city would be liberated that day - that hour.

But suddenly the shooting started at close range. Right above us planes furiously crisscrossed the sky, then one came down in a wreath of flames and smoke.

I don’t know who made the suggestion, but all at once we darted across the room into the hall and down to the cellar in the basement. Still we felt confident.

A matter of a few hours, Dad said knowingly. We believed him. You girls go and get some chairs down. Mother can’t stay long on her feet, he said, always concerned about her health and comfort. Miep and I ran up the stairs, taking down chairs for mother, father and us as well - we might as well be comfortable while waiting. Besides we were too restless to sit still, and up and down the stairs we went. The fighting subsided every once in a while and we used these moments to collect our most prized possessions and carry them down in the basement.

My thoughts went to our boys and our sister Ria. Officially, Ria was stationed in the Civic Service in Amsterdam but had become so involved in the Resistance that