The Rich Life of an Ordinary Man

By Lou Geraets

This is a story where the richness of life has been found in ordinary things family, sport and faith.
For this ordinary man, lifes meaning is not found in pursuing power or money but in living everyday life searching only to find value in life itself.
Beginning in dramatic events of wartime Europe and its aftermath, the story moves to its main location, a New Zealand undergoing great changes in its way of life.
Early personal insecurities and lack of self-belief became part of a lesson which precedes a journey into confidence and a wonderful realisation that the greatest gift of all is to get to know that as an ordinary human being he is the equal of any other person on earth.
It is a story that leads all ordinary people to realise that we have this gift within us and there is no need to desire anything else.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris NZ
• Release date: Jul 14, 2015
• ISBN: 9781499097207

Lou Geraets

Lou is married to Sandra. Together they are proud parents of five lovely children. When he was two years old, living in Holland, World War 2 had only just ended when his parents decided they would take him on a new adventure to a new land in New Zealand. Lou began writing in 2011 when his grandfather asked him to write his biography. Soon after this request his children asked him to write his own autobiography. Lou lives a semi-retired life together with Sandra and a few animals on a small farm overlooking Lake Rotorua in the North Island of New Zealand.

Book preview

Copyright © 2015 by Lou Geraets. 618174

ISBN: Softcover 978-1-4990-9718-4

Hardcover 978-1-4990-9719-1

EBook 978-1-4990-9720-7

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.

Rev. date: 07/15/2015

Xlibris

0800-443-678

www.xlibris.co.nz

Dedication

For Sandra. After many years together she still inspires me. We are two in one.

And this story is also for my dear children.

Mum and Dad, you are not on our earth yet your spirit still sings in my soul.

This is also for all those men, women and children living rich lives in ordinary families experiencing the same joys and hurts that I have had living an ordinary life. These lives need to be celebrated.

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Contents

Chapter 1: Born Holland – Family

Chapter 2: Leaving Dutch Shores

Chapter 3: New Zealand, Takapuna, The Valley

Chapter 4: Henderson

Chapter 5: Teenage Years

Chapter 6: A Young Adult; Meeting Sandra; Starting Work; Sport; Fashion; Music and Cars

Chapter 7: Sandra’s Story

Chapter 8: Early married life, 1970 - 1974

Chapter 9: Work and home

Chapter 10: Rotorua – new roles

Chapter 11: A Move to the Country

Chapter 12: Thoughts on my children

Chapter 13: Believing

Chapter 14: Life’s Summary

Acknowledgements

To Sandra, my fondest thoughts. You have given me a treasure to write about.

To Kim, for putting her talents to use in searching the archives and the photo cupboards, drawers and computer files and finding materials and memories, many used in this story. Your sweet anecdotes add a zest to my story.

To my children — Claudine, David, Kim, Michael and Karen — for enriching my life.

To Mum and Dad, although you have both left this earthly life, for me you are still here in spirit. Without those things you gave me, I would not now be celebrating my life.

To my brothers and sisters for stimulating the place where memories reside.

To Twan Verryt, for sharing thoughts and recollections of our youth and for sharing his research on our grandparents lives during the war.

To Michael Day for his insights into my writing and for lighting up the world of writing for me. What a difference a shared mind and some gentle encouragement makes.

To Mike Smith for sharing his ideas and to Marj Griffiths for her proof reading.

The Rich Life

of an

Ordinary Man

Introduction

Talking is probably the thing we do most of in our lives. We are always communicating, sending messages to each other. We all want to say things, to be heard. We all have stories to tell. When we get the chance to share moments from our lives we should take them. So here I am.

This story is for my wife and my children to enjoy, although I realise that each of them may see this account of my life differently. Writing down what is behind the exterior person that I have presented to the world adds to the painting of my life. My life has been no more important than anyone else’s and yet it has been extremely important, just like yours.

Life asks of us many things - one of the simplest yet most difficult, being to communicate. Writing is but one way of communicating. The richness of this story is in its ordinariness. My personal sense of worth never required me to aim at being successful in someone else’s eyes.

Earlier in 2011 I had the privilege of writing my father-in-law, Pop Knill’s story, after first spending many enjoyable and challenging hours looking back over his long life. One lesson I learnt from that project was that although you may think you know someone well, you find you will learn much more by doing some colouring in using the written word.

Our lives go by and so little of what life really meant to you is ever known by anyone else, even by those within your own families. In a way, my life began before my birth happened. It began with my parents and their parents before them. Partly through their influence, I can freely celebrate what life has offered me — my youth, relationships, sisters and brothers, my children, work, sport and faith. In each part of my life, I have found richness worth celebrating and writing about.

Memories remain a part of our lives. Some memories we share and some we hold privately, sometimes waiting for the right time to relate them. Sometimes we never get the chance to speak of them and our memories die with us never to be shared. I find that somewhat sad and so want to tell my story.

There are many important people who are an integral part of this story. Their stories become part of my own. For example, Sandra and I have lived together as one for nearly fifty years. And of course my mother had a huge effect on who I am. Five years before my mother passed away, she wrote down a few jottings which provided glimpses into her thoughts on life. Her thoughts and memories enrich my story. Where appropriate I have used Mum’s own words as she wrote them, without making grammatical corrections.

Historical and grammatical accuracy is not so important in telling my story - however, I have tried to get it as right as I can. Where possible I have sought and received permissions to publish photographs and maps. Where it has not been possible to contact or obtain permission, I have acknowledged the source. If you believe your copyright has been infringed you are welcome to contact the author. Thank you to all those who have given permission to utilise their material.

On the following pages I share my life with you.

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Geraets and Verryt Family Tree

Note: the alternative spelling for Verryt is Verrijt.

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Above - Lou’s Life Timeline

Chapter 1

Born Holland – Family

My first day of life was Monday, the 19th September, 1949. In the morning when I was born fog enveloped the roads and fields around the hospital. By early afternoon a pleasant 20 degrees warmed this Dutch autumn day. Summer had just passed, and now the equinox was beginning.

Dad, I’m told, stood there privately proud, and Mum from those first moments started to fuss and care, something which I was to get to know well.

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Ludovicus Antonius Wilhelmus Marie Geraets – Birth Certificate

My parents called me Ludovicus Antonius Wilhelmus Marie Geraets, a royal sounding name guaranteeing a lot of fun in the future. Ludovicus can be interpreted about a hundred ways. Ludo was the shortened version of Ludovicus but had nothing to do with Ludo, the popular board game. Dutch tradition had it that the first born male would be named after his grandfather, then in turn after his father. To include all main players, the fourth given name would be my mother’s. Fancy my own name including a female one. Pride in my name grew as time went on but in earlier days I would go to great lengths to avoid revealing it to anybody in its Dutch version, preferring to be known simply as Lou. I got used to being called Ludo by some and I didn’t mind because I thought Ludo sounded intelligent. There were a few well known people who had a first name sounding something like mine such as Ludovic Ludo Lefebvre, a well-known French chef and television personality.

Permission was granted for me to stay a few days in the maternity hospital, my name prominently displayed on my cot. As is common among Dutch people, there were plenty of family members around passing on to Mum and Dad their views of the best way to look after a new little boy. The family themselves apparently believed that the advice they gave should be thought of as help or ideas rather than as advice since that implied they were telling my parents what to do. To my parents it sounded like they were being instructed.

A time before my birth

"Stories do not have a beginning or an end - one arbitrarily chooses a moment of experience from which to look back or from which to look ahead.

The richness of who we are always continues in a line down through civilisation." Graham Greene.

I was lucky enough to come into the world in a place with a long cultural history, one which was alive and continuing. It was to influence my life in many ways, and so my story would be missing something if I did not tell of my parents’ and grandparents’ lives before I arrived on the scene.

I’ve been told that as they prepared for my arrival, my parents and grandparents shared their excitement, discussion, and ideas. That’s the way it goes for most of us lucky to be born into caring families where parents give their all for their children.

Looking back to the time when my parents lived, and even back before them to their own parents’ time, adds understanding as to who I am. It also allows me to respect the beauty of their lives for I see it as a beauty, irrespective if for others it may have seemed rather inconsequential and devoid of adventure.

Grandparents Geraets

The sternest two faces that would have looked at me in my cot belonged to my paternal grandparents. Both worked like slaves. They lived their lives with duty and with sincerity, and they persevered no matter what hardships they endured. Family was everything to them. Outwardly they went about their business, putting everything in its right place and at the same time avoiding showing any signs of family conflict or struggles with their religious belief. Tradition ruled their life. They valued it, upheld it and hardly ever examined its origins. They never wanted to show any sign of weakness, any sign of doubt. There was no room to question how things were done so there was no discussion. Life happened the way it did and that was that. Unlike today when people question everything, they questioned nothing. If family queried tradition or belief it was seen to be arguing or rebellion. There was no room for rebels in these households.

I was to discover this a good few years after I got out of my crib. Mum of course learnt this soon after meeting Dad. She paints a pretty clear picture of family life, using her own special way of saying things:

"Dad’s parents, Ludovicus Hubertus and Wilhelmina Winkelmolen, lived in Neer. There they worked on their farm. Wilhelmina not only had to look after the homestead but she also worked out in the fields taking Dad with her every day and sitting him in the ‘varkensbakt’ which was a pig’s pen. In Holland it was common practice to take children out into the fields where mothers often worked. Children were kept safe (in the pen) - there was no room for spending time with children on childhood development programmes as parents worked dawn to dusk.

It was in 1944 when Dad introduced me to his mother. She studied me closely up and down but said little and asked me even less. Needless to say I didn’t get to know much about her life. We didn’t share many personal conversations and, if we did, we didn’t stray into sharing opinions or personal beliefs. Wilhelmina was a rather stern, grumpy lady who went about her days quietly applying herself to her role as the household matriarch. My visions ofher led me to believe she would have let Opa know ofher opinion ofme."

Not too many intellectual or enlightened discussions with parents happened in typical rural Dutch households. Sharing passions and joys never really happened or, if they did, they came a poor second to what was seen as the most important thing in a child’s development –receiving religious instruction and guidance. In the home, such lessons of life were taught by example. There were further regimented instructions delivered in school classrooms and in the church. Parents went to church and the children followed, no questions asked.

For entertainment and pleasure, my grandparents enjoyed simple household activities like listening to the radio. Grandfather occasionally visited the local tavern for a yarn and a song – there were no weekly extravagances or big spendups. Wilhelmina did the cooking and a little baking, along with some clothing repairs and crocheting. She deemed this to be her pleasure although it seemed more like just another one of the many chores women were expected to do. Opa Geraets smoked large cigars and played cards often into late evening hours. He enjoyed playing but in the throes of a game his face displayed a grim determination, and the few words he muttered were usually stern. This was serious, pain evident all around. On the odd occasion he even got quite demonstrative which was probably an outlet for him since Wilhelmina frowned upon such behaviour during normal household hours. Opa was a tall and solid man. He stood out in a crowded room, although in the household hierarchy his position was a lot more inconspicuous. In his home he was relegated to second in command. In that he had no choice, because Wilhelmina organised proceedings in the house. The steely frowns on her face and her frequent short sharp verbal orders ensured control was maintained.

The Catholic faith was central to their lives. There was always grace before meals, and prayers every night. Sundays were taken up attending Mass, and often Benediction in the afternoon. Mass was said in Latin. Parents and children knew all the responses off-by-heart even if they didn’t know what it all meant. Years of repetition guaranteed that the Latin phrases would be remembered, such as Domino, non sum dignus (Lord, I am not worthy).

Opa and Oma Geraets made sure their children received religious instruction via the Catechism at school and by means of devotional practices at home. First Communions and First Confessions were followed a few years later by Confirmation. A young Christian’s religious development was measured by these sacraments of the church. Children received a colourful First Communion certificate from the priest acknowledging this major advancement in the progress of their faith. On the big day itself parents concentrated a lot on the whiteness of their boy’s shirts or with the neatness of their daughter’s dresses and shawls.

In case the faithful ran out of formal prayers to say there was always a rosary handy, with its repetitive rounds of well-known prayers. Crucifixes and pictures of the saints adorned the rooms in the houses. Holy water sat in finger dippers positioned beside the door in bedrooms. Candles, blessed by priests, illuminated mini altars and religious icons were set up for special occasions of adoration.

When Opa Geraets, then 74, visited his family in New Zealand in the early 1960’s there was lots of visiting to be done. Dad, my uncle Mattie Geraets, and other relatives had his schedule all sorted out. Visiting to the Dutch was seen as a duty, and you would be frowned upon if you tried to get out of it or break the cycle of turns.

I got to experience just two years having Oma Geraets around. In that time she saw only a little of my brother Twan and I before we left Holland. She would only have known of my siblings born in New Zealand via letters and the odd telephone call. Wilhelmina passed away in 1963, never having visited New Zealand.

It is particularly difficult when parents die and families are not together. Mum tells of how Dad was affected when first his mother and later his father passed away:

Dad’s mother passed away in Holland in 1963. Dad was obviously upset over his mother’s death, more so because he could not afford the expense of the trip back. That situation left a yearning and a sense of guilt in his heart.

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Opa – Ludovicus Hubertus Geraets (1885–1981)

Oma – Wilhelmina Winkelmolen (1895 -1963)

Opa Geraets lies buried next to his wife Wihelmina at their gravesite in Neer near Venlo. In 1997 Sandra and I visited their final resting place, standing in front of their graves on a cold rainy day sharing the few memories we had of my grandfather, but next to none of my grandmother.

Grandparents Verryt

Mum’s parents had just as keen an interest in my birth as Dad’s. They lived with the same duty and perseverance and followed the same traditions. Religion and work were the two cornerstones of their lives.

The upbringing mum received from her parents guaranteed that my life would be firmly signposted, its direction set right from the start. This offered its own security and I am sure that somehow I sensed this from my earliest childhood.

Mum describes her parents’ dedication in a straightforward yet sensitive way. Her words provide an insight into the character of their day-to-day lives:

"My mother had lots of work to do but she had some help in the house till my sister was old enough to do some work. I remember my sister chasing you always out of the house when she had to clean.

I remember home but nothing special when I was young. We were with nine children and had a very happy childhood. Mum and Dad were always with us. Our home was big with four bedrooms, two lounges, big kitchen with dining room, and two garages.

The weather in winter was very cold but very cosy inside because all people had central heating. Summer was not as warm as here but dry heat. The warm meals most had at lunchtime, and bread at night. The meals were nice, not so steamed than here. We did not eat as much meat. We had to help a bit at home. But our days were long at school so Mum did not ask too much. We had not much homework that days.

My parents were very religious. They led by example. Their faith was simple. They followed what the Pope and the Church said without question. I followed in the same way. When I was seven and had to do my First Confession I screamed out to Mum while she was on the toilet that I got already seven sins.

We did not receive pocket money, but they always give us money when we needed it.

In Holland my father was a builder and the two boys worked very hard too. Dad had a big business with about 10 people at work and Bill (my brother Wiel) was at the office.

If I had to use just a few words to describe my parents they would be: strict, hard- working, loving, religious and caring.

The war is not nice for anyone. It terrified my mother and father. They were suddenly thrown into a state of chaos wondering what the hell was happening, for it was a hell. I was just 14 and it was with the eyes and ears of a child that my perceptions of war were formed. It was not until years later that I understood more about how dramatic things were for my parents. I was only one year in a middle school, when the war started. When we harboured a few Jewish people in our home I thought of them more like strange friends but later I realised the fear that sat behind my parents taking them into our home, for they were just beginning to understand the callousness of German Nazi policy which would see Jewish people exterminated on the spot, right there in front of you - or they would be taken away and sent to concentration camps. They suffered from a constant fear of German troops bursting into their home, treating them as if they were criminals, ransacking the place at their whim and kicking them out into the street. This is exactly what happened at our home eventually."

My brother Wiel (Willem), in his book, ‘The War Determined Our Destiny,’ told of what it was like when our family first became aware of the reality of the war being fought right here at our back door step. His account is similar to mine although you can detect the ‘soldier’ in him:

"It was the 10th May, 1940. At 5am I woke to the sound of hundreds of war planes -the Germans had invaded our beloved country. The family had woken up at the same time. Our first reaction was to turn on the radio. Mum and Dad and the bigger children cried – the smaller children did not understand."

"Our mother (Oma Verryt) was kept prisoner in her own home, interrogated several times, ‘Where is your son, Willem, your husband and your other sons?’ Not getting anywhere, the Germans, under the command of the S.D, had had enough. They loaded our home with explosives; Mum was ordered to pack some clothing and a few blankets and given 10 minutes to get out. Once out, with soldiers chasing them, Mum and the children ran through gardens and fields towards Seelen where a small group of farms lay, one owned by Dad’s second cousin. There they received us with open arms. Our family stayed here until liberation came on the 10th of November, 1944. Our house where we had lived was destroyed, blown up.

Our parents became disillusioned by the upsetting events that enveloped them. Whereas they had for years gone along living a life that was totally predictable in its makeup, here they now were facing uncertainty and chaos. They had suffered four years of war. They began to believe as many others did that now nothing was predictable anymore, they believed that another war would soon start again, this time between the Russians and the Allies.

Now that the war had ended, any expectation that things would return to normal had been shattered by the events that unfolded. Gone were the day-to-day struggles with the work we had been used to, work which itself, although tough, had brought a consistency of purpose. The state of affairs we had known before was being replaced with things not previously experienced, with bureaucracy, jealousy and individual promotion pushing. Recovery was slow. Liberation did not bring the changes many had expected. Many people were discouraged."

(Extracts taken from ‘The War Shaped Our Destiny’ – Willem Verryt)

In 2014 I received a surprise message from a cousin, Twan Verryt, in Holland informing me that Opa and Oma Verryt were to receive special recognition in a Jewish Yad Vashem ceremony to be held in Horst aan de Maas on 6 March, 2014.

Twan had written a short extract describing our grandparents’ heroic actions in risking their lives by sheltering two Jewish children during WWII. The children would have faced certain death at the hands of the Germans had they been discovered. The following is a copy of Twan’s account:

"Soon after the German invasion in May 1940 it became clear that Hitler was planning the destruction of all Jews in Europe. Their rights were taken away, they had to live in ghettos and eventually most of them were arrested and taken via the Westbork transport camp to extermination camps in the East. There were raids on Jewish hospitals for example and the patients and physicians were unceremoniously deported to the camps unless they managed to escape and find a place to go into hiding.

Eight months after his birth in 1941, Max Vogel was hospitalised in the Jewish Hospital on the Keizersgracht in Amsterdam. He had tuberculosis and was seriously ill. When there were rumours that the hospital would be emptied by the Gestapo, Max was returned to his mother just in time. They went into hiding at different addresses, but were eventually betrayed and Max ended up in the nursery across the street from the Hollandsche in the Schouwburg. Like many other children from that nursery Max was smuggled out by students and housed elsewhere.

Eventually he was put with the Verrijt family in Helden, who took him lovingly into their family. His mother, grandfather, his disabled brother Loutje and an aunt were hiding nearby.

Antonius and Anna Verrijt lived in Helden – Panningen in Limburg, with their nine children, three daughters and six sons. Antonius was a building contractor and his eldest son was already working with him. Anna took care of the busy household and until 1940 the family led a relatively carefree existence. While a lot of Dutch during the war looked the other way and kept their doors closed, this was not so with the Verrijts. Immediately after the German invasion, son Willem was involved in the so-called passive resistance. He arranged escape routes for people who were fleeing from the Germans. Later, along with Wiel Houwen, he founded the resistance group Bovesbos. The activities of this group were more extensive and became increasingly dangerous. The group got in touch with Hilda Jetten who, along with her family, worked for the underground and had a central role in collecting and redirecting Jewish children amongst other duties. Antonius and Anna agreed to take some children into their home: Rietje, pseudonym for Rita Cohen de Lara, a girl named Tonny and later Max Vogel. At the time, Antonius himself and two of his sons went into hiding elsewhere to escape having to work in Germany. In July 1943, Willem was captured and sent to Camp Amersfoort, and from there to Berlin to do forced labour. He escaped with an excuse and went into hiding back in the Netherlands at Truus Jetten’s and elsewhere. Although he was wanted by the Germans, he just continued his sabotage activities. When once he was spotted in his parent’s house, he could barely escape in time. The house was surrounded and Anna was interrogated for three days, with Rita playing in the living room and Max occasionally sitting on her lap. Then she got 15 minutes to pack her stuff and then the house was blown up on October 10, 1944. Anna found shelter with relatives, Antonius continued in his hiding place, Rita was now hiding with daughter Nellie and Max with another family in Panningen. That house, however, was bombed and Max had to be moved again to a different address. Eventually he went back to the Verrijt family where he remained until the liberation.

Antonius and Anna Verrijt – Roij have risked their lives and those of their children by saving the lives of two Jewish girls and Max Vogel. For that they will be honoured with the Yad Vashem award ‘Righteous Among the Nations’. Their names will forever be etched in the Wall of Honour at Yad Vashem in Jerusalem."

I was fortunate to communicate with Max in 2014 – a privilege indeed. Max was the little Jewish boy Opa and Oma Verryt took into their own home, sheltering him from the Germans, thus saving his life. I had no idea of this boy’s name or if he was still alive as mother had never elaborated on who Max was or what happened to him. She never mentioned him by name. I think mother found it difficult to overcome the fear that this situation generated. In my communications with Max I was struck by the way he expressed his fond memories of Mum:

My beloved Mia who carried me on her shoulders through the landscapes (of Holland).

I also met with Jacki Verryt who had a major part to play in initiating the award recognition for my grandparents. Jackie had an obvious passion and interest in the family connection with Jewish history. Jackie is my second cousin, the daughter of Margaret Verryt, daughter of Martha and Gerrit Verryt.

Although the immediate post-war period was a time of much adversity in Holland, in other parts of the world the war had opened up opportunities, some available to Dutch citizens. The governments in Australia, Canada and New Zealand were seeking immigrants to help build the economies of their countries and so they began discussing their needs with various other governments, including the Dutch. On reaching an agreement the Dutch Government produced brochures explaining immigration options for their people.

Oom Wiel, Oma’s eldest son, was the first in our family to set out for another land. Wiel headed off to New Zealand in May, 1950, landing in Mechanics Bay, Auckland, in a Catalina Seaplane. He immediately began looking for work in preparation for bringing his own family to his newly adopted country – he started work as a bricklayer just two days later. That tells me something about the focused determination of the Dutch settlers. He soon started making provisions for helping other Dutch families, including his own, to make the same journey.

Unlike Dad’s parents who had decided to remain in Holland, Mum’s were prepared to uproot themselves and follow their family. They should be admired for taking such dramatics steps at their advanced age. Their action showed that family considerations took priority over any other.

That they came to join Mum and Dad in New Zealand was a comfort for Mum but it must have been a testing exercise for people in their senior years who had to face learning a new language, had to leave other family behind in Holland and had to practice their precious faith in a foreign land.

Dad and Mum had emigrated in 1951, and Opa and Oma Verryt arrived in February of the next year. Wiel had begun building his own home. He first lived in a little makeshift house he had converted from a workshop in Newington Road, Henderson, later enabling Opa and Oma to live there. Shortly afterward they moved on to a chook farm in the Henderson Valley where they were far happier; from there they moved to Robert Burke Place near where we lived. This happened just after Dad started building our own home on Matai Road.

Mum’s description is simple but engaging: Opa had a lot more time on his hands once they moved away from the Valley. They walked just about every day (from Burke Place) to our place, what was very good for them that they could do that. They had a lot of Dutch friends too. Dad (Opa) had still a car what we didn’t like much because he could not see well at all. But the doctor did not take it away from them because he said they needed that car to see their friends. I was there a lot to give Mum a hand here and there.

Their modest home was situated down a longish drive next to the nuns’ convent. The house was surrounded by clusters of dense trees which kept out much of the light. A few free range chooks meandered around the yard. Their humble abode reminded me of the woodcutter’s home in Hansel and Gretel. It was only later that Burke Place was developed, with other people building houses in the area.

Their original homestead at Robert Burke Place is still there, modified only slightly, but is now out in the open and surrounded by houses and letterboxes - in that respect it has lost much of its appeal.

As traditionalists, Opa and Oma followed the straight and narrow. Their example has left an impression on me but I used to think that they seemed to act with so much predictability that it was almost as if they had no passionate interests of their own. I see it all differently now but can’t help asking myself why it was like that for them. Did their commitment to their religious beliefs stifle any opportunity for them to find other pursuits they could get excited about? Did they question their faith? Were there doubts or did they stifle them, automatically doing so to keep out anything they saw as a threat? Did they teach their children to think for themselves and did our parents teach us the same? I suspect not. It seemed easier for our elders to hold on to their faith by suppressing doubts and avoiding any feelings that might lead them to question the strict norms of the religion and society they had inherited. These restrictive practices weren’t going to make life easy for me in my formative years.

In his garage at home Opa made brick ties from gauged steel wire. The purpose of the ties was to secure brick veneers (walls) to timber framing. Having this part-time employment helped keep his mind busy and allowed him to feel useful. Opa never needed a sales team because he had a captive market at his backdoor – his sons were bricklayers so you could say that the family had it all tied up.

Oma and Opa lived a simple life. There was no television for them. Playing cards was their main entertainment. A difficulty for Opa was his poor eyesight, and I recall Oma, on the doctor’s advice, preparing daily doses of carrot juice for him - but I don’t think the juice drinks made much difference to his eyesight.

Oma was a very devout Catholic. One of her sons, John, became a Catholic priest. Oma gained comfort from being able to attend Mass at the Catholic Church at the bottom end of Matai Road. It became a common sight to see her toddling off down the road to attend weekday morning services.

As Mum’s parents saw the world, most of what happened in it could be broken down to good and evil, to right and wrong. They lived preparing for the day they would be called back to their maker. It was that simple for them.

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Opa – Antoon Hubertus Verrijt, (1891 - 1970)

Oma – Anna Maria Verrijt (nee Van Roij), (1892 - 1974)

When Opa Verryt suffered heart problems and had to be admitted to hospital, he became confused and disorientated, unfamiliar with his surroundings, and struggling with having to communicate in English. As people grow old they revert more to the familiarity of early days and for Opa that included traditional food, prayer and speaking in Dutch, difficult unfamiliarity’s to experience in a New Zealand hospital.

Shortly after this unsettling experience Opa and Oma chose to return to Holland to spend their last days there. Another factor which influenced their decision to return home after spending 15 years in New Zealand was their entitlement to a Dutch pension, something they weren’t entitled to while living here. For a second time they had to make the heart wrenching decision to leave family – family with whom they had enjoyed many years as they pioneered a new life far from Holland. They had to set up home once more, this time back where they had come from but thousands of miles away from New Zealand.

Both sets of grandparents led lives that were much the same. For them things were both easy and difficult at the same time. In one way it is easy to live a straight life when all the rules are the same everywhere, at home, next door, in town or across the seas. But it could not have been easy. If there ever was a temptation to be different you couldn’t give into it for there would be a thousand eyes staring at you - eyes that could see around corners. Everyone had to conform, to behave; otherwise they had to worry about the threat of excommunication. No one wanted that.

Individuality was in short supply. In fact it was lost. Faith and life had more to do with an unquestioning allegiance than it had to do with a freedom to be tested by temptation. The understanding that Jesus had been tempted for 40 days in the desert had no relevance for those whose every effort went into denying any hint of doubt or temptation knocking at their door.

Opa and Oma Verryt’s family meant so much to them that twice they gave up the comforts and security of home to move thousands of miles away to be with them. They endured four years of war and all the hardships associated with war including so many uncertainties. In amongst that they risked their own lives hiding and protecting Jewish children they had not known previously.

They may not have filled their lives with excitement and they may never have set the world on fire but they showed me that you don’t need those things to end up being accorded a deep respect for a life well lived.

I don’t know exactly how all this example impacted on my life but I have no doubt that it has – before I was born, when I was born and after I was born. I felt it and feel it still.

Yet I was to struggle myself with the idea of believing without searching for truth. How could I ever learn anything about life if my whole focus had to be on making sure that I would never go astray?

Mum and Dad

First-born children provide their parents with an experience they have never had before. The brief stories told here of how my grandparents lived provide an indication of how my babyhood was going to go.

Mum’s own words show how the different paths in my parents’ life journey joined together after first being set in motion by her parents and by her in-laws. Life was fairly predictable, providing a measure of security but there was not much freedom to think outside the family’s circle of beliefs. In this environment I began my membership of the human race, eventually growing into who I became – myself.

"My father was a builder who always worked hard, often working 10 – 12 hours each day, six days a week. My brothers Wiel (Bill or Willem) and Gerrit were always involved with youth clubs, Wiel special did a lot of good work for that boys till he started to go out with Tante Jeanne but was still very much in it even here in NZ.

John, my oldest brother, became a priest and so was Herman but he had to go out because of sickness. Jac and Twan became bricklayers here (in NZ), a shame because they were still studying in Holland. John met God. Nelly met John v Oosterhout, Bill met Jeanne Cryns, Gerrit met Martha Smets, Herman met Truus Stals and I, dad. Jac met Rose and Twan met Colleen."

It is interesting how in listing her family Mum mentions Rose and Colleen last. Maybe that was because Jac and Twan were her younger brothers, and Rose and Colleen were the only two married partners who were not Dutch. My memories as a lad tell me that there were feelings within the family of these two women being distant or different. There were problems in these marriages. Mum had her own views on it. The subject was not discussed often, rightfully so. However, when it was mentioned, Mum’s explanations seemed to contain a degree of protection of blood relatives within them and hints were given that any fault lay largely with the women. Did these two ladies struggle with this Dutch way of doing things? Were they accepted as easily as Dutch partners were? Did they sometimes feel like appendages?

Mum continues describing her life:

"Dad went to H Hart School and me to H Maria School. Dad had to walk there every morning for half an hour and back again. I had to walk only 5 minutes. For teachers, dad had Mr Timmermans and Sef Geelen, I had two nuns, Juff te Locke and Juff Wies Juff. They were very tough, boy you had to listen and learn the whole day. At school we used pen and ink; we were not allowed anything else. School was from 9am to 4pm, Wednesday afternoon was free. There was no free milk. Most children went home and had their warm meal, only the ones what had to go far stayed at school. The whole class were friends but we were with three girls together all the time. All of the family stayed at the same schools. They were all Catholic schools and a lot of religion work. The priests were at school every day. I left school at 14. I was only one year in a middle (or higher) school then the war started. I did not like to leave school. My father did not like me to go any more with all the Germans about.

I can remember the town well. Dad’s town (Brumhold, Neer) was small and is still the same. My town (Kerkstr, Helden, Panningen) did grow into a city. I don’t even know it hardly now. Lots and lots of shops. The character is different too. People don’t know each other well, more like a real city. Our family stayed all in the same place. Only dad and me went to live in Venlo.

Our town was only Catholics. Every Sunday we went to mass and at 3 o’clock to benediction and my mother went every day at 7am in the mornings. Most of the time I went with her. The priests were involved with the people too. And the other way, the people brought always meat and other stuff to them.

Dad’s family were farmers, they had to work very hard in the weekdays. In the weekends they went out with their friends to pubs, clubs etc.

Shops were much fuller than here. You could buy everything. When we came to New Zealand we thought that they had nothing in the shops, but this days they got everything. Business was very good before the war. People were very well dressed and very proud people too. Radio was all we had – news stories and soaps. Just before we left Holland the TV started to come. There were about six newspapers every day. They were the same than here; new births, deaths, politics. Books were books, the same than this days.

Music was very different but we loved it. Still like that music very much. Dad did too.

The Dutch cooked nicer food than here. When we came to NZ the food was all steamed,