Angel of the East Indies: Biography of the Van Dooremolen Family

By Dino Fanara

Angel of the East Indies is about two young people growing up in the simplicity of the Dutch farming community prior to World War II that fall in love only to get separated when one of them joins the military. Their reunion in the Dutch East Indies is unforgettably romantic.

Their world is torn apart when the war breaks out. Hendrika's courage and faith aids her family through their arduous imprisonment at the hands of their ruthless captors.

This historically accurate drama is full of suspense, romance and action that introduce you to the customs of living on a Dutch farm and life in the Dutch East Indies before, during and after the war.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Nov 7, 2006
• ISBN: 9780595860449

Dino Fanara

Dino Fanara is a writer of both fiction and non-fiction. Keep an eye out for his soon to be released new books: Creators Cracking New Worlds?Science Fiction and Mr. GPS?Non-Fiction Biographical. Dino spent time in Holland and Indonesia doing research for Angel of the East Indies and has close family ties with the main characters in the book. Dino and his family live in the Pacific North West. His interests are family, nature, writing and history.

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Copyright © 2006 by Dino Fanara

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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Many nations and people committed atrocities during the war. The atrocities in this book are relative to places and times specific to the Van Dooremolen family. Many other atrocities occurred that are not listed. Some of the people and countries that were responsible for committing atrocities during WWII have been held accountable, many have not. While some reparations have been made few of the Dutch have received just compensation for their suffering.

ISBN-13: 978-0-595-41701-8 (pbk)

ISBN-13: 978-0-595-86094-4 (cloth)

ISBN-13: 978-0-595-86044-9 (ebk)

ISBN-10: 0-595-41701-9 (pbk)

ISBN-10: 0-595-86094-X (cloth)

ISBN-10: 0-595-86044-3 (ebk)

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

Acknowledgments

HENDRIKA

A YOUNG GOODBYE

UNEXPECTED GREETINGS

NOBLE WOLF

DRAFTED

FATHER’S LAST BLESSING

BON VOYAGE

SELAMAT JALAN

DARK CLOUDS OVER THE CONTINENT

THE EDGE OF THE ABYSS

PRISONER OF WAR

ANGEL, DEVIL, ANGEL, DEVIL

ISLAND OF DEATH

FOR YOUR OWN SAFETY

RAILROAD OF THE DEAD

LITTLE MIRACLES IN CAMP TJIHAPIT

LETTERS OF HOPE AND DISPAIR IN CAMP SOLO

HELL SHIPS

CAMP MUNTILAN

AMBARAWA CAMP SIX

A FATHER LOST

PUNISHING BLOW

GAUNTLET OF GURKHA’S

KYUSHU COAL MINES

FROM HELL TO HEAVENS

EPILOGUE

Watch for titles soon to be released by Dino Fanara:

Creators

Cracking New Worlds

Mr. GPS

Biography of Dr. Fanara

This book is dedicated to all of those that suffered during the war and especially to Hendrika and Adolf Van Dooremolen, their children and their wards for having such courage and faith.

I must also give dedication to my wife Johanna who is the love of my life and my best friend. Her mother Maria tells me Johanna’s spirit is a lot like Hendrika’s, her grandmother. Hendrika must have been a truly wonderful person.

I have neither regrets nor anger towards anyone regarding my experiences during the war. Adolf Van Dooremolen-Sylmar California, June 15, 2005

Your Grandmother, (Hendrika), was my Angel. Mientje Verleun-Holland, May 11, 2006

Acknowledgments

Angel of the East Indies would not have come to fruition if it were not for the diligent and determined journaling of these events by Oma and Opa, (Hendrika and Adolf Van Dooremolen).

Maria Kusters, (Van Dooremolen) has been a fantastic help translating her mothers journals and letters from Dutch to English as well as sharing her personal experiences.

Frederika Jorritsma, (Van Dooremolen) help as a translator and guide while in Holland was truly remarkable.

Antony Van Dooremolen’s aid in remembering events and his friendship provided great input.

My time spent with Mientje Verleun will always be a precious memory; her willingness to share her life’s most personal and difficult moments during our tearful and joyous meeting will always be with me.

A big thank you to Ome Willie and Tante Tea Kusters for their hospitality while we were in Holland.

Thank you to Captain Johnny Kusters for helping make our trip to Holland possible.

HENDRIKA

Starving, laying in the stench of her own filth and bile while barely clinging to consciousness, Hendrika struggled desperately to move a finger, her lips or anything she could-to signal the Sister administering the Act of Contrition that unlike the other eleven of the thirteen women she came with she was still alive.

She clung to life hoping to one day tell her family the story of her childhood, her simple life that started in a land so far away, and how she came to be in this hellish imprisonment in what was once her island paradise where she lived like a queen. This is her true story from the beginning:

Papa! Papa! The two little pigtailed girls in simple checkered dresses and yellow wooden clogs squealed with excitement as they neared the tall slim man shlocking through the muck in the ditch. Hendrika and her younger sister Dina were allowed to bring their father, Jan Walraven, his coffee and sandwiches because he was working on the road close to home that sunny afternoon in the early nineteen hundreds.

Standing there at the edge of the ditch in his tall jackboots Jan had a beaming smile on his weather torn face as he told a joke that made his little girls giggle with laughter.

Jan said a little blessing before eating his butter and cheese sandwich while his daughters prepared his coffee.

Hendrika and Dina could not agree who should pour the coffee that their mother had packed so carefully in a straw lined box to stay warm. Dina grabbed the handle to the little metal pot and Hendrika grabbed the spout. They tugged back and forth.

It’s my turn.

No you did it last time!

Suddenly the spout cracked off the pot and the coffee spilled out allover the ground. At first the girls looked fearfully at their father worrying he would be angry but he only smiled back at them. Hendrika and Dina started laughing at the foolishness of their behavior and hugged each other.

Dina, I promise not to argue with you ever again, Hendrika said.

Me either, Dina replied.

A few years later Hendrika’s pulse quickened while she struggled to keep her clogs in place on the heavy leather and metal pedals of her Durkopp bicycle as she sped down the bridge that arched over the canal in the township of Raalte, in Overijssel, Holland. In the winter her clogs were easier to keep on since they were stuffed with straw for warmth. The bicycle with its long mud fenders and fully enclosed chain guard tended to rattle and clink as she pedaled.

For a moment her burdens back on the family’s little farm dissipated from her mind as she sped toward the meeting place at the old windmill where she would find her mother, Mrs. Walraven, patiently waiting for her.

The sails of the windmill were reefed on the wooden lattice work of the windmill and the mill was turned full into the wind. As Hendrika neared she could hear the whooshing of the canvas sails turning which reminded her to stay clear. The giant wooden cogs inside the mill were turning the grinding stones round and round. Hendrika waved to the old man that ran the mill who was nearly deaf from previously working at a windmill used to make linseed oil. The loud thumping of the ram slamming down to press linseed oil from the warmed flax seed mash had taken its toll on his hearing. Windmills in Holland drove wooden cogs for sawing logs and doing laundry as well as pumping water into the canals to dry the land via an Archimedean screw. In Hendrika’s youth there were over 10,000 windmills in use.

Hendrika’s blonde pigtails and checkered overdress fluttered as she coasted her little chain clinker to a stop near her mother. When she neared the bottom of the path the dimples on her cheeks faded back to her solemn smile as her thoughts strayed back to her younger sister Dina.

Hendrika felt troubled that her sister Dina could not enjoy such a simple pleasure as an outing with their mother. Dina had tried to make the trip on more than one occasion but she tired too easily and had to be carried back home by their father Jan. Hendrika loved her slender little sister Dina. She was always there at home willing to play quiet games or listen to Hendrika’s retelling of her favorite passages of the books that she buried her nose into whenever she had a moment between chores.

Hendrika shook the thought from her head as she dismounted the little chain clinker, settled it against an elm stump and sat a moment to catch her breath. Hendrika’s little trip up and down the arched bridge over the canal was her favorite part of accompanying her mother on her Saturday trip to confession and errands to purchase sewing materials in the small shops of Raalte.

The tall pointed spires of the large brick church could be seen throughout the village and caught Hendrika’s eye as she reflected a moment, My mother lives so pure and simple. What in the world does she ever have to confess about?

Moeder? Hendrika said politely.

Yes Hendrika, Mrs. Walraven replied.

Please tell me about the people who lived there? Hendrika asked solemnly as she pointed to the jumbled lichen covered stones nearby. Hendrika imagined the stones were remnants of what once formed a great castle with beautiful gardens of tulips, and stabled thoroughbreds cared for by servants. Hendrika twirled one of her blonde pig tails nervously and tilted her head while she waited for an answer.

That was once your great grandfather’s home, Mrs. Walraven replied as she adjusted her mutsen, (little white lace hat).

Moeder was he rich? Hendrika asked beaming with excitement.

Hendrika! Mrs. Walraven scolded Hendrika’s impertinence.

Hendrika gazed down at her well worn yellow wooden clogs that she had scrubbed clean with sand Sunday morning in preparation for church. Her clogs had the blunt rounded toe characteristic of their region. When meeting new people at church Hendrika’s mother could usually guess what region of Holland they were from by their dialect and looking at their clog design.

Hendrika’s simple dress was slit at the sides to provide access to the many hidden pockets of her slip. One of the pockets held the rosaries that she tightly clutched fearing she was overstepping her boundaries of politeness. She still remembered the spanking she received at the start of fourth grade for refusing to wear the handmade cape to school instead of the store bought one she wanted so badly.

Mrs. Walraven stared into Hendrika’s face a moment trying to guess if she had heard the rumors and finally conceded to Hendrika’s inquisitive persistence and started her story. I suppose you are old enough to understand.

The man that owned the land and the castle, your great-grandfather was very important. He was an important official of the city and hoped to become a Duke some day like his forefathers. Hendrika smiled while she listened and nodded her head in acknowledgement of each glance from her mother. His forefathers owned part of the Verenigde Oostindische Compagnie, (United East Indies Company or V.O.C.) The V.O.C. was a large trading company that had merchant contracts with Japan to trade goods from the East Indies where they established a Dutch colony in Batavia. They traded goods like silk, gold, silver, copper, tea and porcelain. Long ago the Dutch people had established exclusive trading rights with Japan and his company did very well and he became very wealthy.

Hendrika’s thoughts and hopes turned to the possibility of a relative with money, real money, money that could buy anything a person wanted from the shops in Raalte like the sweet little tarts and pastries that Hendrika looked at longingly through the bakery windows, money that would mean something to eat besides gruel, morning, noon and night for days and weeks on end.

Hendrika’s mother continued, Unfortunately the United States of America ended the exclusive trade agreement by force. The loss of exclusive trading made it harder to profit for the Dutch and your relative needed to raise money. He sold his castle in hopes of increasing his business rights. Unfortunately his notary took all the money and fled to America leaving him with nothing. He lost everything when the V.O.C. fell into bankruptcy.

Hendrika’s dimples faded as did her hopes that an unexpected act of kindness from a distant relative might ease their simplicity.

When did that happen? Hendrika asked, hoping that it was a recent and yet unsettled event.

A long time ago child.

When Moeder? Hendrika pressed for a more specific answer while secretly clutching her rosaries.

How old are you Hendrika? Mrs. Walraven asked.

Twelve Moeder! Hendrika replied with exasperation.

Mrs. Walraven began to count back the important dates, half to herself, half out loud. She tapped her thread worn fingers to her thumb to mark off each date. You are twelve now so you were born in nineteen ten before your sister’s Mary and Willemien. Dina was born in nineteen-o-seven. Your brother Jon is five years older than you so he would have been born in nineteen-o-five. Your grandparents passed away in their sixties in nineteen-o-three.

What did they do Moeder?

Your grandmother was a mutsen washer and your grandfather was a kuyper.

What is a kuyper Moeder?

They make the wood staves for storage barrels.

When Moeder, when did this all happen?

Let’s see, we built our house in nineteen hundred. Jan and I married in eighteen ninety eight. It was some time before that so it would have been in the late seventeen hundreds or early eighteen hundreds I guess. Sometime after Wilem III of Orange Stadholder married his first cousin Mary and expelled his father in law James the II so he could become King of England in 1688

Moeder?

You know Wilem I was known as Wilem the silent, Mrs. Walraven said as she nodded in the direction of their home.

Hendrika knew this meant it was time to be quiet and head home to feed the animals. They were at the halfway point between the town of Raalte and their home and had just turned from the cobbled streets on the outskirts of the town to the trail along the cattail and reed lined canal when Mrs. Walraven started the conversation again knowing it would ease the long walk atop the dike beside the canal.

I’m sorry Hendrika, what were you going to ask me earlier? Mrs. Walraven said as she helped push the little chain clinker along as they walked.

Moeder where did you meet papa? Hendrika continued.

Why so many questions today child? Mrs. Walraven complained.

I want to know these things Moeder, I have been reading a lot of books and I am curious.

Well I will tell you about papa. By the way I am proud of you for being so diligent with your reading. Your papa had a contract to work on a farm. Every Sunday he walked the four miles from the farm to the church. The same church I attended as well. He would walk by me and my friends as we walked to church. At first we did not pay much attention to him. After a while the other girls began to tease me and said that I liked him. I would always say that I had no interest in that friar and I was too interested in the other boys from the church. I was mean to him and even teased him in front of my friends. He was always quiet and when he was in church he was very serious. He was a very pious young man and I grew to respect him for that. After a while I started to have feelings for him. He was so handsome. He was tall and lean with jet black curly hair and strong muscles from all the hard labor on the farm.

Moeder did you fall in love with him?

Yes of course dear. We fell in love. We got married in the church where we met. Your father stayed a farmhand and we rented a small house near the farm. We saved what little we could for a down payment on a piece of land near where your father was born. I helped raise some extra money with my sewing. After your oldest brother was born we finished purchasing the land from the Catholic Church and built our house. I designed the house myself by the way.

Their home was roofed with the long slender reeds that grew along the canal. The reeds were gathered and dried and then woven into bundles that were secured to the roof giving it the appearance of a thick head of hair bobbed at the eaves. Inside there were two large rooms. One was an every day living room with a wood cook stove, eating table and chairs. The other room was their good room for Sundays and special occasions. It also had a wood cook stove. Bedsteads were on the center wall between the house and the barn. There was a small loft upstairs and a small larder dug in below the good room for storing food.

Moeder was it you that designed the bedsteads to be on the back wall of the barn? Hendrika asked referring to the sleeping rooms that were built into the wall of the main room.

Bedstead’s are like a built in cupboard with two thin doors in the wall about hip level high from the floor. The sleeping area is about three to four feet deep and four to five feet wide and not tall enough to stand in. Several pillows are stacked at one end on top of the straw stuffed mattress that is wrapped in a sheet. The wool top blanket is also wrapped in a sheet and there is no separate top sheet. The person sleeps with their upper torso elevated on the pillows.

The Dutch had a superstition that lying flat would cause blood to go to your head and be unhealthy since most dead people were seen to be lying flat. The woodstoves and cooking caused the cozy farm houses to be humid and the elevated sleeping position helped their breathing.

Yes of course I designed the location of the bedsteads. This way we can open the window in the bedstead and check on the birthing livestock. The heat from the animals and hay help keep the bedsteads warmer in the winter.

Moeder was it difficult for papa to keep up the house being a farm hand?

No dear. Your father found a better paying job as a coachman on the freight line between Raalte and Deventer. We raised pigs and grew corn, potatoes and vegetables for our larder and some we sold at the market to help pay our mortgage.

What happened Moeder? Hendrika asked.

Mrs. Walraven knew she was referring to their current state of affairs over the last few years. She frowned a moment and replied. Well, during World War I people that had only a little more than they needed had less and less. Times were really tough then. We may be poor with money child but we are rich with love and spirituality. Don’t you ever forget that child.

Yes Moeder, Hendrika replied respectfully while clutching her rosaries tighter.

It was a blessing for us that your older sister Anna married so young. It was also a blessing that your uncle found work on his farm and allowed your older brother Anton to move there when he was only eleven. He has an agreement to inherit his farm some day. (Anton indeed inherited the farm with the land and woods beyond. He and his wife raised twelve children and cared for his uncle and two aunts that lived well into their nineties.)

Your father eventually got the job he has now with the municipal government doing the cobblestone road work, clearing ditches and cleaning canals. The money is not a lot but it is stable and your papa loves to be outside. Sometimes he is able to bring home horsemeat to the table.

For Dina, Hendrika added.

Yes your sister needs it because of her health. Sometimes you get some as well.

Yes Moeder, Hendrika replied repentantly.

Our farming income helps pay the bills along with the money your brother John earns at the dairy plant and the money your older sister brings in working as an aid for business people. Somehow we manage.

Hendrika blurted out, Moeder I would like to be able to help out as well, I would like to go to secondary school when I am finished with grade school so I can get a good paying job. She was hoping to take advantage of her mother’s attention and good mood.

Hendrika! You trouble me so sometimes. Mrs. Walraven protested. You know it is an expense we cannot afford.

Hendrika frowned and her eyes welled.

I will talk it over with your father, Mrs. Walraven stated hoping to stem the flood of tears.

Thank you, Moeder, Hendrika replied as she forced a smile.

That evening Hendrika laid in her bedstead thinking about what her mother had said about their family history and her future. She could peek out of the bedstead and see the shadows of her parents from the oil lamp hanging over the table. Hendrika heard the cow groan that was in the stable for birthing. She opened the little window of the bedstead that looked into the stable. The sounds and the smell of the animals and the mustiness of the hay were comfortingly familiar. Hendrika’s mother blew out the oil lamp and Hendrika fell asleep daydreaming about the castle and the far away world of the East Indies.

A YOUNG GOODBYE

The next afternoon Mrs. Walraven pleaded with her husband while they sat at the table in the good dining room opposite the family room that Hendrika’s bedstead was in, Jan, please! Hendrika wants so badly to go to school.

Jan had just finished filling in his work card. He was already stressed about the hours of pay he lost due to the weather yet he calmly answered his wife.

I don’t know Reka. We can barely afford to care for ourselves now. How will we handle the cost of books and six years of boarding school? She will need new clothes to fit in with the other children. Jan replied thoughtfully.

Hendrika’s parents, Jan and Reka Walraven carefully and calmly discussed their options and took turns talking about each position pro and con while sipping coffee or tea in their cozy room warmed by the wood stove until they fully exhausted all the possibilities. This was their style for working on problems. A style that allowed them to live in harmony without the bickering or fighting that plagued so many of their poor neighbors.

Lord knows the girl loves to read. She is a very serious student, Jan stated with a thoughtful scrub of his chin.

What of our other children? Reka