Look what I got!

At the end of the war, Canadians were sent in to come and fight the Germans out. The Canadians were rough, awful soldiers. They had been prisoners back in Canada who had been allowed out to come and fight. These were men who had killed or molested girls coming into our town. I remember when the fighting came to kind of a climax. Here's what happened:

 The soldiers, German and Canadian, were all out in the street fighting and stabbing each other with bayonets. It was complete chaos during the time of the end of war. Everybody was fighting. Bombs were dropping, the town was on fire, smoke everywhere. People screaming and yelling over dead bodies. Everybody was running, screaming and yelling. I myself was running to look, like always, for black market things. I looked over the dead soldiers as I passed em'. Everyone was taking things away from them, stealing and robbing whatever we could find. I made it to one street where I didn't know what was going on or who everyone was. But I soon realized. The Canadian soldiers. This one came towards me, he grabbed me and was trying to pull my chain off my neck. I didn't know what he was gonna do to me. I screamed and yelled as loud as I could and slipped away from him running as if Hell were on my heels. I kept looking back over my shoulder to see if he was following me. My terrified mind didn't even think to look where I was going. I ran straight into the chest of another one. He grabbed me again. My screaming reached the peak of its intensity. I didn't know what was gonna happen to me. Every horrible story I'd even heard about what these Canadian's did to Dutch girls came flying through my mind in perfect color. I was powerless to stop the screams as the other solider caught up with where we were standing. My captor held me tight as the man approached. I couldn't tell you what he was wearing, but I will never forget his face. Cheeks splattered with dirt and blood, eyes hungry and intrusive, and sly smile playing on his lips. He had me. I recoiled back as bile rose in my throat and tears stung my smoke smeared eyes. Just as I thought I was about to lose myself, my captor pulled out a long, black stick and began hitting the first. The man let me loose, but I was petrified. 

 "Run girl!" he barked. "Get on home!"

 That broke my trance and I bolted away. 

 The Germans were trying to round up all the people to and get them in a line to shoot us. Guess they didn't want us to tell what had happened. My whole family that was still in town was lined up against this wall waiting their turn to be shot. It was too late to hide away. I was shoved next to my sister at the end of the line. We had no means for retaliation or resistance. Then I hear this big noise from the end of the street. We all look down and see my brother Fred rolling down the street in a tank. Our streets were narrow so the tanks broke all the cobblestones on their way done. The Germans ran as the tank moved along shooting them all down.

 Fred stopped the tank in front of our home.

 "Look! Look what I got! Look what they gave us!" he screeched. We all jumped towards him and hugged him. Neither of us had known if the other was alive for quite some time. Fred went on to tell us how he had made a deal with the Canadians to help undo some dynamite the Germans had set to blow a bridge into town. In exchange, he got to drive the tank in.

"But there is even better news," Fred burst out. “The American soldiers are here!"

One of the American soldiers remembered our Mom and Dad when they first joined the church. Turns out he was a high rank American solider and we were the first ones to get chocolate. Boys were given razor blades so they could shave. We were given grapefruit, oranges; all kinds of fruit. We were all just all so happy with all the food they gave us, right at the brink of our destruction. The American solider had to go on and get our street free and clear but we were told to stay in because there was fighting from street to street to get all the Germans out. It was complete chaos. Everybody was screaming and yelling and looking for food. Everybody was going to see who was still there  and what was left of the town. The end of a war is still war. 

Not knowing one minute to the next

Air raids were times I wish I could forget. Here is what I remember:

I was so preoccupied fuming over the plummeting prices the rich were willing pay for food coupons, I hardly noticed dad talking to me.

"Jacoba! Get your supplies on the stairs," Dad ordered. He had us doing this every night now, as air raids were increasing. We had a big long stair case in our house, 15 steps. One for each child. We would put blankets, clothes, and other gear on the steps to grab in an emergency. As soon as the sirens began to wail we would leap out of bed, grab our supplies and run to the bomb shelters. Or at least usually that's what happened.

After securing my gear on the middle step, I climbed into bed next to two of my sisters. For some reason, sleep came easily that night. I was soon dreaming of Willie and I skating around the prison camp in the stage hall throwing chocolate to everyone around us. I loved chocolate. Suddenly, Willie was yelling and shaking my shoulders violently. Slowly Willie's face became my sister's as she was frantically trying to awaken me. I jumped out of the bed, cold toes hitting the ground with a thud. Gathering the little kids we bolted for the stairs. My mind raced, how long had the siren been going? Usually I made it awake long before-

A huge bang followed by blast that shook the house knocked me to my knees. I looked up too utter darkness--all the lights had been blown out in the blast. The next thing I was aware was Dad's voice from downstairs.

"It’s too late for the shelters! The bombs are too close. Everyone gather to the sound of my voice! Hurry!"

I groped around until I found two little hands to hold onto and dragged them towards the shouts. Once all together, the group of us sat helpless. Unable to do anything but await the next explosion. Even the babies were too scared to be crying. The walls of the house shook violently as the bombs dropped in quick succession. Our house had always stood in the past, so I knew there was a chance to survive. As time passed, all of our doors blew open and the sound of shattering glass revealed broken windows.

After a time, I don't know how long, the distances between explosions grew and the air seemed not to calm, but tighten further; not knowing if it was really over. It wasn't. A bomb hit the back of the house, the sound was deafening. A split second later one landed right in front and blew splintered boards and glass into our faces. Dad panicked. He grabbed the curtains and began beating the demolished walls. It took several moments to register what he was doing. Then it hit me, in his hysteria, Dad thought the walls were on fire. Mom began shouting his name.

"Stop! Come back! Get away from the hole!" she shrieked.

It didn't help. Dad didn't know what he was doing, he just wanted to save his family. Eventually my brother had to drag him back to us. And with that the raid was over.

We didn't know that much about bombs. Some of them caused great fires like the ones Dad was worried about. For a while he put water on them to try and squelch the flames. But this only made things worse. Eventually we found out you needed sand or dirt to kill it. But until then it was a new experience for everybody and it was just complete chaos. I don’t know how Dad did it. All those children to protect and take care of, not knowing from one minute to the next when the bomb would drop. Not knowing if you were gonna live another day. It was no wonder he had a moment of hysteria.

 

Me and some of the little kids

 

A White Raincoat, brown leather boots, and a red scarf.

 

I was the only gal in our town who sold the black market. I used to wear a white raincoat, brown leather boots, and red scarf. Here is the scheme I worked up: I would go out way out to the farmers where they were really poor. There I would buy up all their food coupons and take them back into town with me. Then I would sell them back to the rich people for more money. My brother Fred had the same idea as me. Only problem was, that we had the same customer. Sometimes he would beat me there and I wouldn't get any money. But usually I did pretty well. There wasn't a whole lot you could do with the money during the war, for fun that is. But I used to go to the movies an awful lot.  The black market was a dangerous business to be in, but we had to take a lot of chances during the war. Dare a lot of things. I wasn't afraid.

I remember my brothers understood what had to be done. Jacob he went with the Red Cross Army. He was captured. Another went off to fight in Germany. Ralph, he was also in prison during the war. He was never the same after that, had a real hard time. I knew my mother took that hard sometimes; she had so many children to watch after and worry about. But she always worked hard. There were many times we didn't get what we wanted, but we always had some kind of meal that my mom would put together.

 

Me in the middle

Raw Meat

Toward the end of the war, on the German soldiers was riding his horse right outside our house. I was watching from the window when somebody shot the solider, and the horse right out from underneath him. My mother came to the window when she heard the shot. We stared only for a brief second at the cobblestone before she said,

"Come with me Jacoba."

"Where are we going?" I asked. Mother didn't respond but rather walked into the kitchen and grabbed a butcher's knife and a basket. I realized what she intended to do and followed her silently outside. By the time we reached the dead horse, several other neighbors had gathered and were hurriedly cutting up the meat. We all worked in silence. My mother would cut off a piece with her knife and then hand it back for me to put in the basket. I glanced around and saw, to my horror, a man eating the raw meat straight off the body. He was just that hungry I guess.

Once our basket was nearly full, my mother grabbed my hand and pulled me quickly back inside. Most everyone else was backing away from the animal as well. Within a few moments, more German soldiers arrived. I again watched anxiously at the window for what would happen next.  The soldiers began demanding to know who fired the shot from the people that were still out there. Nobody knew. But that didn't stop the Germans any. They decided they were gonna get even one way or the other. I remember all the people were rounded up and killed for the solider who had died. I watched by the window until my Mother pulled the curtain down.

Just Young Boys

There was this big building where we used to have stage plays before the war. Now, it was used to house broken prisoners of war; the young Dutch boys. 18 to about 25, that were too weak to be of any use in any of the German camps. They would bring them on back to our town to get recuperated away from all the others. But as far as I could tell, there was no sort of recuperating going on in those prisons. The boys were just withering away in want of good food and a bath. I guess I just had a soft spot for these Dutch boys, same as the momma's needin' milk for their babies. Maybe they reminded me of my brothers. I would roller skate around the place searching for a way I might be of help. The guards assigned to the building were mostly just old soldiers, harmless as I saw them. The Germans knew these boys weren't going anywhere.

One day I struck up a conversation with one of em'. Just talking, nothing important at first. After a bit, the solider said he had a daughter back home, and that I reminded him an awful lot of her. At this I saw my chance.

"Sir,” I said. "Would it be alright for me to go inside and skate? There's a great big floor in there that makes for the best skating, especially on cold days like these."

The solider glanced around and then stepped aside, letting me slip in. This was the first of many trips to skate inside and talk with the prisoners. I often brought Willie along with me. We would hold hands and skate around and around, just offering smiles and words of encouragement to whoever was alert enough to want them. This worked for a time, but I knew we needed to do more. Willie and I discussed the problem at length and decided we had to get the boys out. They were in such desperate need of the assistance my mother could give em'.

"How are we gonna get them out of here?" Willie said. "The old guards are soft, but they won't release prisoners. We are going to have to sneak them out. Maybe the weakest ones first, and then we'll move on to--" but I cut him off.

"No. They would notice who was missing."

"Then what do you suggest? We just walk up and ask to take some home for a few hours?" Willie asked in frustrated sarcasm.

"That's exactly what I plan to do," I retorted right back.

"What?! If you ask and they say no we've lost all chance of getting them out!" Willie reminded as his hand swept around the room.

It took some explaining, but I convinced Willie this was the only way. The next day I went straight to the door where the guard who had let me was stationed. With all the innocence I could muster, I described to him what I wanted to do. If I could just take four or five boys home, and let them take showers, mend their clothes, and eat some food, I would bring them straight back in a few hours. The German thought for a moment and agreed that would be alright.

"But you remember girl, if these boys run off you, the death penalty will be there to greet you," he admonished.

But I knew they wouldn't escape. My life was at stake and I knew they wouldn't run. So about twice a week I was allowed to take four boys home with me. My mother would take great care of them. They were all very thankful and happy to get this opportunity. The boys said if the war was ever over with, they wanted us to come and visit. That we were welcome in their homes. We even took down their addresses. I did see one after the war, and he was always very thankful for things I did to help them.

The prisoners weren't the only ones my mother took care of. During the war, the people from our church really banded together. I guess we had to. I always felt like we were one big happy family. On Sunday's after the Sacrament service, we could all come to our home where mom was waiting to welcome them. She would fix big plates of sandwiches and hot chocolate. Once that was all gone, we would usually get a big sack of peanuts and other goodies on the table. Then we would all sing song together. So, so happy.

Mother also took in the LDS missionaries. Rough time to be a missionary I suppose. They had a difficult time speaking the language and often got real homesick. I remember, they were just young boys after all. But when they were at our home they forgot all about their problems. Those boys loved to play with all the children in the house. My mother was very happy with the missionaries and they were happy with her. Always called her mom, as I suppose she was their mom in Europe.

That's me on the far left

 

Nearly a Martyr for Milk

During the war when my mom still had little kids it was hard to get any milk or sometimes we weren’t really allowed. But, I was never scared of anything. My mother would have a little, tiny milk bucket and on my bicycle I would go out and in the fields early in the morning or late at night and try to bring a bucket of milk home for my little brothers and sisters. Usually I had to go a long ways, an hour or two on my bicycle but I always came back with milk for my mother for the little kids. I wasn’t frightened. Many times the Germans would sit outside of the big city where I had to pass over the bridge to cross the channel where they would see me. They took my bucket, I had it full sometimes, turn it upside down and scold me and tell me to get out of here to get home. So it wasn’t always easy to get milk. Early mornings when I went to get milk I would take the lids off the cans and I would just scoop up a handful of cream where it had risen and eat it. I always would drink a lot of milk before I ever left so I wouldn’t have to drink the milk at home. I wasn’t skinny I was nice and plump and fat.

But some people needed milk much more desperatly than our family. The Germans had gone and put all the wives and children of Dutch serviceman into a concentration camp. It was rough in those prisons. They only let them out once in a while for fresh air. My girlfriend Tini and I were out roller skating during one of those times. I remember what happened next:

Tini and I were skating slow circles around each other, the conversation rolling along with our wheels. A commotion from across the street stopped our feet and words in hurry. The prisoners and their children had been released into a fenced courtyard. Even from across the road, I could see just how tired and skinny they all was lookin'. After a few moments of sad silence, a small cry burst from my chest as I noticed something in particular.

"Tini," I gasped. "Do you see, just there to the left, that little baby on the grass? Oh just look at em."

There sitting on the withered ground sat the most sickly, skinny little babe I'd ever seen. She sat staring at us despondently, her mother laying down not far away. I could only handle the scene for a second before my feet were pushing their way towards the fence.

"Jacoba! Get back here!" Tini hissed in alarm. But I could hardly hear her. A few gals, including the mother, looked up as I drew close. I pulled up short just outside the gate and placed my fingers on the cold chain link. To my surprise, one of the gals began talking slow and fast.

"Please, we need milk and food for our babies. Can you bring us some?" Without hesitation I nodded. But before I could reply further a guard began to round the corner. I darted back to the street and skated away. I didn't dare look back then, but my mind was set. I was gonna get those babies some milk.

When I reached Tini and I related to her what had happened and how I planned to get milk through the fence. She gaped openly at me.

"Jacoba, we will be killed! And where are you going to the milk? And baby bottles?" Tini gushed. My mind and heart raced, not in fear this time, but excitement and determination.

"Don't you worry, I will take care of all that. But I'll need your help, Tini, when it comes to delievering it all. I need somebody to stand and watch," I said. While still looking very worried, Tini agreed to help.

That very evening I went and black marketed some baby bottles, trading some old shoes I'd found up in the attic. I was getting to be very familiar with the black market, but that's a story for another day. The next morning I left extra early to get milk for Mother. I would have to take two trips with that little bucket to get what I needed. If the German's saw me going back and forth like that they might get suspicious. So I arrived at the farm long before dawn to ensure my protection. After filling all the bottles I crammed them in to a large sack to be delievered. Then I strapped on my skates and went outside where Tini was nervously waiting. We had decided that we had better tell the gals we were coming, so they'd be ready for us. Just as before, Tini stayed across the street while I whispered through the fence what we were gonna do. As soon as the words escaped I rushed away, not giving much time for them to reply.

After telling the gals we were coming, I noticed big pile of straw sat cuddled up next to one side of the fence, kitty corner to the outhouse. That got me thinking, if was to give all the bottles I had collected, as there were quite a few, I would need some time. The break inbetween guards I had been using to communicate with em' just wouldn't be enough. But, if I could slip into that straw nobody would be able to see me. After making up my mind this was the best possible option, I risked one more trip to the fence to explain my plan. The gals agreed that would be best.

That night, as soon as it got dark, Tini and I strapped our skates on once again. I wasn't frightened. I just wanted to help.

Without a single murmur from either of us, Tini stayed across the street and I dived into that pile of hay. I waited. The dusty smell of old hay filling my nose with each short, gasping breath. After what was only a few moments, but felt like hours, I heard a door swing open. The soliders were lettin' the gals out to use the outhouse. As quitely as I could I shifted closer to the fence. There was a small gap where the outhouse met the fence, and here is where I would slip the bottles through. I sat, my eyes fixed to that gap waiting for a reaching hand to pass a bottle into. As each woman finished using the bathroom she would bend down and snatch the bottle I pressed into her palm.

All went well for the first eight or so. As the bottles started to disappear, however, I began to get excited. It was working! Just as thought entered my mind, I overstretched and the glass bottle met the end of the fence with a loud bang. I froze. The air seemed to be all sucked out of me. Next I heard a few shouts of German and footsteps approaching. I squished myself up as small as I could get, wishing with everything I could just disappear. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. My heart crushed right along with dry grass under those German boots. At last the sound stopped. I could see nor hear anything. Then, without any warning, a bayonet shot through the straw just to the left of my shoulder. Next a gun was shoved just in front of my face. I sat helpless as guns and bayonents stabbed all around me. Eventually I just closed my eyes and willed it all to stop. Time lost all meaning in that pile of smelly hay, but eventually the stabbing stopped. The crunch of boots was returned, but this now the sound was fading away. It was a considerable time before my muscles would allow me to slink out of that hay and skate back to a trembling Tini.

We continued delivering baby bottles for weeks. I would also carry messages back and forth from their families. Took a lot of chances. I realized the penalty of my actions, but wasn't frightened to recieve it. I just wanted to help. And I succeeded all those times in and out of camp.

 

That's me on the right

 

 

 

Willie

 

My Dad used to deliver coal and oil to a dance studio. All my brothers and sisters learned how to dance, it was important to Dad. I think he just wanted us to have something normal to do. I remember when my older brothers and sisters used to dress up, they always looked nice when they went dancing. I was always wishing someday I was going to be old enough just like them, so I can learn how to dance. Then the time came. While going to the dancing school twice a week I met a boy there. And I guess he was my first boyfriend. His name was Willie Dietricht. Oh, I liked him very much and he liked me. He was always my partner for dancing. As time came closer and nearer each week we got acquainted more. We used to go with friends after lessons and get something to eat or drink. Then Willie would always take me on home.

Willie and I would have enchanting, long nights of dancing together. He was the greatest source of happiness I could find in Groningen during those days. As each night would draw to a close, me and Willie would get back to my house in a hurry. We had this big tower in the middle of our town with a clock in it. Every hour its chimes reminded me this all had to end. My Dad was very strict, and I guess he had good reason to be so. The girls had to be home by eleven o'clock, and the boys twelve so they could take their girlfriends home. Sometimes I had to watch that clock very closely, just making it in before the eleventh bang resonated out. Dad would always punish you if you weren't in on time. He never would spank me, but I had to stay inside for a whole month. This meant I couldn't go and see Willie. For a month. I would rather have had a beating anytime.

It wasn't just Willie that made life worth living those days. Sometimes he would come pick me up and take me to his mom's house on Sunday. These were good times. Willie's mom would always feed me goodies because I had fasted the twenty-four hours before. She saved everything for me. She was a wonderful mom. And his Dad, I loved him very much. They were wonderful people. They were very close to me. Even now, I remember Willie.

 

 

I'm second in from the right

When Hilter Comes to Town

I remember when Hitler came to town. Those were big days in out in the square. The tension amongst the soldiers was as palpable as I was hungry; today they had to be perfect. We knew when he was coming, the Germans were would up tight and alarmingly short tempered. It was best to stay especially far away on those days.

The day of Hitler’s arrival was exciting to me. I loved to follow the soldiers as they'd sing and march in the parades. It was beautiful. When they went past Hitler himself there was not one place out of line. I watched in awe as they all saluted and shouted in perfect harmony. Each uniform was perfectly pressed, each hair well placed, and each eye gazing straight ahead. There is a sort of beauty in perfect uniformity. After the initial welcome and parades, Hitler offered a free meal to everyone who wanted to be on his side. My girlfriend Tini and her family belonged to Hitler's party. She would always tell me to come on and get some food. They always had fruit, meat, milk--luxuries I had not seen in months. When a child is hungry, you do anything, you don't care. My Dad always said, "Don't you dare." But I went anyway. I was hungry. That is all I wish to speak about that.

 

 

 

 

Sleeping with Pigs

The German soldiers would take everything they wanted from our families. It didn't matter how hungry and starving we all were. We all had coupons, you see, to buy food with. The larger your family the more coupons you were given. But it was never enough. Especially with fifteen children to feed. If you were caught with food you weren't supposed to have, the penalty was death. A sort of sad thing began to happen around the town. People, in an effort to gain the good graces of the soldiers, would tattle on each other as to who had what illegally. I remember a time that practice almost cost my entire family our lives. Here's what happened:

 

My Dad had hidden a little farm outside of the city where he raised some pigs and had some horses. Meat was one of those things the German were quick to steal away, I think they liked it too much for themselves. One day my dad brought home one of the pigs he had killed and butchered. I remember just sitting up there in the attic smelling in deep, every cell in my body tingling for even just a lick of that fatty meat. It had been so long since we had any on our bread. After a time, I heard my mother's footsteps pounding up the stairs. The door flew open and she darted inside.

"Jacoba. Help me quick. We've got to get all this down and hidden away. Now!" she hissed. The urgency in her voice went like a shock through my body and I jolted up.

"Once going on mom? What's happening?" I whispered.

"Somebody squealed on us," she muttered as she furiously threw the meat into a basket. "The Germans are coming to search the house. We've got to get this all down and hidden. Hurry girl! They'll shoot us!"

In a few moments we had all the slabs collected. While we worked I scanned my mind. Where were we going to hide this much meat in such a small house? My aching belly prevented any thought of throwing it away, but only of how we might conceal it. My heart raced and my fingers shook--I could think of nowhere. The Germans were going to find it. This was it.

 

Oh how I underestimated the cleverness of my mother. In an instant, she had swept up the basket of meat and was pushing me down the stairs and into my room.

 

"Quick. Get you and your sister in night clothes," she said. Once again, the urgency in her voice eliminated any room for hesitation. I whipped on my nightgown and slipped one over my six year old sister’s head. Meanwhile, to my astonishment, my mother was stuffing the meat beneath our bed sheets! Between the two beds, she was able to cram every piece of meat into concealment. Her next command surprised my shocked mind further.

 

"Get in bed. You have been sick with the measles, still highly contagious. Don't say a word," she ordered. Her face softened slightly as she turned to the six year old. "Just be quiet and lay and bed. Everything is going to be alright." With that all softness disappeared as she raced to answer the pounding of the front door.

 

Without a word, trembling hands brought the sheets up to just below our eyeballs. We listened in paralyzed silence as the soldiers searched their way through the house. Each shout of German making gymnasts out of our leaping hearts. At last the footsteps grew close and a solider burst through the door, my mother right behind him.

 

"Please," she said. "They've just come down with the measles. This is the most contagious stage of the disease." Her voice was calm and slow, I could detect none of the panic I knew must be laced throughout her entire body.

 

With a quick scan of the room, his eyes lingering for a terrifying instant on mine, the German nodded briskly and left the room. While still immobilized in fear, I slowly became aware of how tight my muscles were and shallow my breathing. Only when the roar of their car had faded into the distance did the tension begin to leak out of me.

 

We ate the rest of that meat in a real hurry.

 

 

 

 

A Brand New Sweater

The Germans came in over night. Everybody was screaming and running. It was horrid. Such confusion, everybody running. The schools were closed, and that was all very exciting. But then again, I guess we didn't realize what the problem was or what was in store for us. It was a hard time of five years we had through the German occupation. 

 

Now I go back to my 13th birthday. The was the day when a lot of things happened. That morning, my mother had given me a brand new sweater to wear. I had gone out to school feeling like everything was normal. The moring sun was shining on my new sweater as a marched along the path. Everyone was going to love my new gift, and I was eager to show it off. Once the initial excitment wore off, the school day was as long and boring as every other day I suppose. How I would come to miss those boring days. When the school bell rang I filed out with everyone else. Before heading back to home, I had to stop at the market to get a can of oil for mother.  We used it for cooking. It was on my way home that all the crazy broke out. German soliders were suddenly everywhere. The yelling and the screaming alarmed me and I began running as fast as I could for home. As a ran around a corner, some German soldier bumped into me. That cooking oil spilled all across my front. My brand new sweater was ruined. I pushed away from that man just as fast as I could and bolted. The invigorating fear of being that close to one of them making me fly. After what seemed like an eternity of waving through chaos, I collapsed inside the front door, my oil-covered chest heaving. My mother and sisters were at my side in a moment clamoring to know if I was hurt. In all the confusion and tears I could only shake my head. As soon as I could manage speech I lifted up the front of my sweater. "Can we mend it?" I breathed. My mother's shoulders slumped, her whole body did really. I remember she then looked me squarely in the eye and said, "Jacoba. The war is literally at our doorstep. We can no longer care about things as ruined sweaters."

 

 

 

 

He knew what was gonna happen.

Let me tell you about my family, before I begin to relate what happened during the war. At home I had a lot of brothers and sisters. Six brothers and nine sisters, fifteen of them all in all. As far as I can remember we always had a good time because there were so many children. My mom was always happy, smiling. My dad worked hard, he was a hard worker. Early morning until late at night. He wasn’t a selfish dad, he worked hard and did all he could to provide for his children. He had his business with coal and oil and evidently he was pretty successful but it was hard laboring work.

We all worked as soon as we could out of school. Nobody sat around, that was not like those days. You worked to help out, to pay board and room, that was expected of you in Europe. I graduated from high school and went and got my first job at a bakery store. I was thirteen. I wanted to work in the bakery store because I always liked pastry, I thought I could eat all the pastry I wanted. But I soon got tired of it. I used to bring home goodies for my mom, she loved pastries and chocolate. When I got my paycheck once a week, we had to give it to our mom for groceries and the like. But she did give us back maybe a dollar for the week. That wasn't much, but it was quite a bit for us. I was happy to have a dollar.

Before the war broke out, my Dad met the LDS missionaries. He was a strong LDS man. The missionaries always told him about the food storage program, and my dad believed it. He began his own program and saved everything he could. Lots of food, and grain and salt--it all went in the attic. There was old shoes, old clothes, old tires. Just about anything we were going to throw away or grew out of, Dad put it in the attic. I remember my mom kept wanting to clean it all up and throw everything out. But my dad always said, "Don't you dare. Save everything. Someday we gonna need it."  He just knew. My Dad knew what was gonna happen and he was prepared.

As part of his preparation, my Father had taken the motor off my mother's washing machine and taken it up in the attic. He put a wheel on it from a bicycle and made sort of a wheat grinding contraption. Later, when the Germans came, we would have to grind that wheat at night so they wouldn't take it. We had a screen where the flour came through and the rough part would lay on top. That top part was like oatmeal, just one cup of it really held ya over. It was good. I remember, we had a lot of things stored thanks to my Dad who knew we would be desperate for the things he put away.

Jacoba-Third in from the right