A Look Through My Eyes

By Dawn Vandenberg

This book begins with the story of a young boy, Rem Vandenberg, who was born in 1937 in the Netherlands just before the onslaught of the Second World War. His youth was a struggle to exist under the German occupation and in combating the depravation of poverty. Added to these hardships was the ongoing personal battle he fought daily in accepting the doctrines of the Roman Catholic Church which were heavily imposed on him by the uncompromising adult belief of the time. His authoritarian father loaded with the responsibility of caring for the large family was staunch in upholding his strong principles and instilling them into his children. Of a less serious nature and with a strong desire to be free of the bonds restricting him from freedom of expression and thought Rem was often on the punitive end of the disciple rod, both at school and home. Opposing this oppression was the endless love and compassion of his mother, who through the strength of her faith, was able to engulf the whole family under her mantle of love and bind them together into a caring family unit.
At a young age Rem had to begin work to help support the family. What he was expected to do for a few cents per week was beyond the capability of this small undernourished lad. His father insisted on strength of character and allowed him to be pushed to the limit of his endurance. Held by the love of his family but tormented with the urge to be free of restrictions Rem finally took his life in his own hands. At the age of sixteen driven by the spirit of adventure he left home and joined the merchant navy. His first voyage was on a whaling ship to the South Pole which was followed by voyages throughout the world for the next few years.
On sailing into his first Australian port his desire to stay in Australia took over. He jumped ship and went inland where he took a job on the railway. After six months as gang worker he was finally picked up by the law and experienced a short jail sentence before being deported back to Holland. His love for Australia was strong and within two years he returned as a legal migrant and still lives in his beloved land today.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Nov 9, 2012
• ISBN: 9781479738885

Dawn Vandenberg

Dawn Vandenberg was born in Brisbane but grew up on the family property in the hinterland of Mundubbera. She spent over forty years teaching in primary and secondary schools in many areas of Queensland. Her first school as a graduate from college was in the mining town of Mary Kathleen where she met her future husband. During her teaching years she wrote many stories for her pupils bringing their own life interests into the classroom to motivate struggling and disinterested readers. This book A Look Through My Eyes motivates the readers to follow the exciting journey of her husband from his youth up until he was married at the age of twenty four. Dawn lives with her husband in the little town of Wondai Qld where she is now bringing her writings to the wider public.

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Copyright © 2012 by Dawn Vandenberg.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

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Contents

Prologue

Introduction

Chapter One My Parents

Chapter Two Galiga Street

Chapter Three Faith and Doctrine

Chapter Four Struggle for Survival

Chapter Five Post War Years

Chapter Six Family Life

Chapter Seven All at Sea

Chapter Eight Whaling

Chapter Nine Homecoming

Chapter Ten Trouble At Sea

Chapter Eleven A Luring Land

Chapter Twelve Working on the Railway

Chapter Thirteen Tent Life

Chapter Fourteen Don’t Fence Me In

Chapter Fifteen Gotta Go

Chapter Sixteen A Long Hike

Chapter Seventeen Oh What a Circus

Chapter Eighteen Mary Kathleen

Chapter Nineteen Great Expectations

Biography Of Author

Prologue

A Look Through my Eyes unravels through honest documentation much more than the beginning of one life or an individual’s experience in the world. It talks of the journey of a family, a religion, and a culture of pride which, to many, perhaps errs on the side of arrogance. It gives a humanitarian understanding of the birth of the philosophy whose impetus will continue to drive all future generations’ struggles for an anti war policy. Closer to home, it speaks of the ground roots that populated a new country, previously oblivious to the restrictive conservative, religious traditions and histories of the then current world. The stories, with their struggles and desperation and the seemingly small victories and relief’s; although brutally personal and relevant to my family, transcend to a global authenticity which shares truths and secrets from so many families of this era. The reader is granted a private privilege of insight into what became an existence in a country oppressed by war and foreign occupancy that can only help demystify the individual’s choices that had to be made, the years that had to be tolerated and the experiences that wielded such wicked lessons. Never far in my thoughts throughout the book was the vast ripple effect the circumstances endured at this time would have on the future families of those lucky to survive, and the families of those who didn’t. It is from this perspective, as the family of the future, that I ponder this effect nearly every day.

A Look Through my Eyes written about my father is approached in a factual, frank manner by my mother, who is the ultimate custodian of both these qualities in work, play and other! Uncomplicatedly laid out as-matter-of-fact as possible, the book doesn’t dwell too long on any one thought, atrocity, or triumph. Its unbiased accounts of occurrences not only make it easy to read, but does wonders to encourage one’s own feelings and opinions. At no point does disbelief creep into the mind of the reader despite the unbelievable things that happen. The story confidently tells it like it is.

I am sure it was this honest if not naive quality that Dawn possesses that attracted Rem to her upon their first meeting. Time with her must have given him some kind of relief from the thoughts and anguish of his own mind from which he could not escape right from the moment he could think. This need for relief was so strong it surpassed all the turmoil and attraction of family across continents, religious conflict, ethical expectations and all the other things that have not yet been told about the new Australian; Remmert Vandenberg and his family.

Lisa Vandenberg ( daughter)

Introduction

This is a true and insightful account of Rem Vandenberg’s earlier years. Rem did indeed go on to marry his first true love, Dawn. They celebrated their 50th Wedding Anniversary together last year. They have four children, 9 grandchildren and 5 great grandchildren.

Rem has continued to have an adventurous journey through life and has pursued many diverse interests. He is still a passionate angler and musician and enjoys relaxing with these pursuits. He is currently 76 years young and resides with his wife Dawn in Wondai, Queensland.

Jen and Nick Vandenberg (Son and Daughter in law.`)

Chapter One

My Parents

Of course I don’t remember anything about it but I was born in Nijmegen, a town in the east of Netherland in the province of Gelderland. The Romans founded the city in the year 0 which makes it the oldest town in Holland. It is close to the German border and has been subject to influences by its neighbour over the centuries. To me this town has no special significance since my family left when I was only eight months old and I have never considered it my home town.

My father’s family lived in Nijmegen. His father worked for the railway on maintenance and his mother ran a boarding house. There were eight children in his family and he was one of the youngest. With the encouragement of his mother my father took on an apprenticeship after he left school to became a hair dresser. His first appointment was with a barber where he had the task of soaping the clients in preparation for their shave. He apparently showed great promise so after weeks of practice his boss considered him ready to move on to the next step and do the actual shaving. My father tells the story of how important he felt as this was a promotion. However his excitement was dampened somewhat when the boss informed him that his first jobs would be on the corpses being prepared for viewing and subsequent burial. At that time most people died at home and it was there that their body was prepared for the funeral. This meant that my father had to visit the homes to shave the deceased. The best of his stories was the one where he could not get at the body because it was in such a small enclosure and on the wrong side for him to use his right hand. He was forced to climb over the body to carry out the procedure from the other side. However, this guy had died with his mouth open. It had somehow been pushed closed and jammed shut with a small stick. As my father slowly but awkwardly climbed over the body he knocked the stick. Just at the moment poor Pa was straddling the client the mouth suddenly fell open. Pa’s retreat was swift and decisive. He landed on his feet in the next room a few meters from the bed. True to form his next move was also decisive. ‘I don’t back down for anyone,’ he murmured, ‘especially not a corpse.’ He picked up his equipment, crawled over the now gaping corpse and completed the job.

My mother was born in Sneek a small town in Friesland which is a province in the north of Netherland. Friesland was not always a province. It was not until 1814 when Holland became a monarchy that Friesland took on that status. It retained its own language which is spoken widely throughout the province and is also now being taught in schools. In my time at school Fries was not taught and we were not encouraged to speak it at home as my father could not understand it. Much to Pa’s annoyance we spoke a dialect among ourselves that was unique to our district. Pa was a fluent and sophisticated speaker with a wide and expressive vocabulary. He instilled in us the art of clear and vivid expression which could set us apart from our mates. This is why we loved the dialect. It made us one of the gang.

My mother’s father was a tailor. He worked from home in the attic. When they were old enough two of the sons worked with him. The other boys learnt a trade and worked for themselves. It was the custom that girls stayed at home to work in the house. Beginning at the eldest each sister had her turn. As the next sister became old enough she took over and the older sister was free to work out side or perhaps get married. My mother also took her turn with the house hold cleaning and cooking. She loved children so whenever she could she did child minding as well. This would have been a most enjoyable task.

My mother loved Friesland. She came from a large family of ten children. They all lived in Friesland so she was right at home there. She never had any intention of living anywhere else but sometimes life can take on surprising turns and it was an unexpected and momentous event that forced my mother to make an amazing decision when she was barely out of her teens.

At the age of twenty her love of children drew her to a position as a nanny in Den Haag. This was an adventurous step since she was now working far from home. She had no idea of how this decision would change the course of her life forever. It was while she was working there that she visited the neighbouring town to go to the hairdresser. Here she met a handsome young hairdresser who was smitten with her on their first encounter.

Pa continued working at shaving and cutting in the barber shop but it was not what he had trained for or what he wanted. His ambition was to be involved with ladies hairdressing. After a few years with the help of his mother he finally began his own salon. The quality of his work was exceptional and he soon had a long list of classy clientele. Business was booming and Pa was well focused for a long and prosperous career. He was his own boss and enjoying making his own choices. He was in control. Life was exciting and stimulating. It couldn’t get any better.

Bizarrely his control was lost the day Wilhelmina walked into the saloon and sat down to wait her turn. Busy with another customer Pa glanced at her knowing that she was his next customer. He saw a beautiful young woman humbly dressed with wavy black hair sitting delicately in the waiting niche. A warm glow radiated from her and seemed to engulf him. He could not take his eyes off her and stood by his customer spell bound. Wilhelmina felt his gaze, raised her eyes to meet his and smiled. Wow! His heart bounced. With great effort he pulled his stare from her, turned his back and quickly finished off with the client sitting in the chair under his now clumsy hands.

One would think that a self assured successful person such as Pa should have no trouble in wooing this tender naive girl. He was soon to discover that along with her tenderness and beauty lay a moral ethic with strength that drew from a solid religious spiritual belief.

In Nijmegan at that time over fifty percent of the population were staunch Roman Catholic. The remaining numbers were Protestants and many not so staunch. Pa and his family belonged to this group. He had never thought seriously about religion. It just wasn’t important. When the love of his life informed him that she was Roman Catholic and could never marry anybody who didn’t practise her faith he was stunned. Was this the end? He couldn’t change. What would his family say? His mother, always a controlling force, would not allow it. His siblings would never talk to him again. There had always been an underlying antagonism towards Roman Catholicism in his family. He didn’t know why because nobody thought religion important. This included him as well. His only hope was that Wilhelimina would change her mind. Surely her spiritual beliefs would not over ride the love that had developed between them. Later in life Pa would wonder how he could have ever entertained this thought.

Finally the inevitable happened. Pa reasoned, ‘The only way to have this girl is to join her faith. Perhaps it’s time anyway that I got serious about spiritual matters. If it produces such a girl as Wilhelmina then it must be okay.’ From the moment he made the decision to change he embraced the faith fully. He married his sweetheart, my future mother, and they began a long life together.

Pa kept working the salon. He became very popular with all clientele since he provided charming service and excellent results. Business was booming. Not only was the work front booming things were booming at home as well. Moeder soon had her first baby, then the next, the next and the next. She was so happy that the dear Lord had blessed her with these babies and it looked as if He was going to continue to do so. I was the fifth child and the last to be born in Nijmegan. With five young children her life was fully occupied. She loved them all but she was so alone. She missed her family in Sneek. There were no parents to visit, no sisters to call by and no chit chatter about the babies. She had no one with whom she could share her babies and sharing had always been an important part of Moeder’s life. Pa’s family had abandoned them and she strongly felt that she was the cause of this. Moeder fell sick. She was sad and could not rally back to her normal cheerful self. Alarm bells started ringing in Pa’s thoughts when the doctor told him that his wife would die if she did not go home to her family.

As always, Pa’s decisiveness instigated action. He sold his booming business, packed up and took his young family to Sneek. This was territory as foreign to him as it would have been to anybody living on the other side of the world. Typical of Pa he did not look back. He was ready for the next leg of his journey and he tackled it with an astounding zest knowing that now his precious wife was once again happy and on the road to recovery.

Chapter Two

Galiga Street

For me, awareness of my surroundings began in the house in Galiga Street where we lived for fifteen years. The house was situated in a narrow street surrounded by shops, opposite and on both sides. Most people lived above their shops just as we did. Our house consisted of three storeys. The bottom one which opened onto the street was my father’s hairdressing salon. Second floor was the living area and kitchen. Above were the bedrooms. We lived in crowded circumstances and still the babies kept on coming. For as long as I can remember there were always two babies sleeping in my parent’s bedroom. One lay in the crib near the bed and the other in a cot at the foot of the bed. There was hardly any space to move around.

Initially there were two sets of double bunks in the boys’ bedroom which slept four. As each of the older babies had to leave Moeder’s room, to make space for a newly born we eventually had a shortage of beds. Arrangements were changed. Instead of two sets of single bunks we had one set of double bed bunks. Each bed slept three persons. We were on the third floor. The toilet was outside on the ground floor so the pot under the bed which we had to share was full to capacity every morning. I have uncomfortable memories of waking up lying in a wet bed because the younger brother beside me did not wake to use the pot. We had no bathroom. Washing occurred in the kitchen in a tub. We had a bath on Saturday night so that we were ready for clean clothes on Sunday. Everybody had two sets of clothes, one for the wash and one on the body.

Arrangements in the girls’ room were just as crowded. There were two double size bed bunks also sleeping three and two cupboards. One cupboard held the linen and everybody’s clothes. Boys’ clothes were on one shelf, girls’ clothes on another. The other cupboard was for hanging garments. By the time the seventh girl was old enough to move in our oldest sister moved out. This room had no window. The only ventilation came over the dividing partition from a window in the boys’ room. This window was closed all winter. During the winter months there was a thick layer of ice on the inside glass each morning. All winter we were cold. Our blankets were too thin and too few. Cuddling up to your brother offered some warmth if you were lucky enough to sleep next to one who did not wet the bed. In cold weather dampness is a curse. I have often had frozen hair because it was wet when I went to bed. Wet washing froze and stiffened on the line outside on the roof top.

Below the bedrooms were the kitchen and the living room. In the living room stood a table, chairs and stove which provided the only warming in the house. The heart of this room