A Glider Pilot's Story - continued (7)

CHAPTER 7

On one of our earlier visits to Jan, we had given him a whistle and told him that if ever he had important news for us, he could make contact by blowing the V-sign near the bottom of Molenstraat. Imagine our surprise one morning when we heard him doing so. Going quickly to the end of the street, we found Jan and Adriaan with the horse and cart. I don't know whether he was breathless from blowing the whistle or from excitement.

"Good morning, Bernard .... Philip. I bring you good news .... Tilburg is falling .... Breda is falling .... Bergen op Zoom is falling .... s'Hertogenbosch has fallen .... and also this morning the Marechausse are coming to see you."

As each fragment of news was imparted, Phil and I rose in expectation and then fell with anticlimax, heaved a sigh of relief at the definite news of s'Hertogenbosch and then asked why the Marechaussee were coming to Nieuwerkerk.

"They are coming to bring you food." said Jan. "Where will they come from ?" we asked. "From Zierikzee" he answered.

At this we climbed the tower and sure enough, across the flooded fields in the distance we could see a small boat with three occupants being rowed towards us from the direction of Zierikzee. Mindful of the fact that Jan de Waarde had previously warned us that the Politie Luitenant was not to be trusted, we asked Jan if he could recognise the occupants. He was not sure since they still had some way to row. We then went down to street level and walked along the street to show Jan and Adriaan where we were hiding. We suggested that it might be better if he met them alone. If they proved to be those he was expecting, then he could bring them along. If not and they turned out to be men he was doubtful about, then he would do nothing and no harm would be done.

We then left Jan near the church and went back to await the outcome. Our spirits rose with anticipation and in conversation we discussed the probability that one of the three policeman would almost certainly be our red-haired friend from the previous encounter.

Some twenty minutes later there came a rat-a-tat at the door. We were more than a little surprised to find that it was not as we had foreseen. Jan introduced us to Luitenant Schaap, the chief of police in Zierikzee, and his two henchmen, van Doeselaar and Visser. Then he took his leave and left us to it.

We all went upstairs to our living quarters where we had set a small table with chairs around. As I recall we also put on the kettle to make a cup of tea - but first the formalities. Lt. Schaap had brought a bottle of Vruchtenwijn which he gave to me. He had also brought a pocket dictionary, probably used by his son at school. Then Doeselaar and Visser began to unpack the attaché cases which they carried. They presented to me each item of the contents which I, in turn, passed on to Phil who carefully placed each in the cupboard. There was an air of ritual about all this. For Phil and I, there was also a sense of reverence and wonder for although, by today's standards, it was hardly a week's shopping, to us, our cupboard was beginning to look like Aladdin's cave.

I cannot remember every article of the contents but I am sure that there were three large loaves, some butter, rundvlees, apples, tobacco and cigarette papers. The piece de resistance came from Visser - carefully removing from his case a circular, dish-sized package wrapped in grease proof paper, he presented it to me with the words, "English cake, for the English men, from my wife!" This time before handing it to Phil, I carefully unwrapped it to reveal a freshly baked Victoria Jam Sandwich Sponge Cake, the top liberally sprinkled with sugar.

I suppose Phil and I accepted this embarrassment of riches with an aplomb which totally concealed our true feelings. We certainly made the right sort of grateful noises but we could hardly believe our good fortune. There we were, in a deserted village on a flooded island in mid-October, hungry hunted scavengers in an enemy occupied unfriendly landscape, with friends who could be counted on the fingers of one hand, about to sit down and entertain three new friends. And with a cupboard full of food as well. It was like having birthdays and Christmas all at once.

Then we all sat down at the small table on which we had placed our map. We drank tea (artificial without milk or sugar), we smoked cigarettes, and we talked to try to discover what progress the allies were making on the mainland. There were of course communication problems, partially solved by the use of the dictionary and a school English (Dutch) Grammar book which I had discovered on an earlier foraging expedition. In addition there was some spin off from some German classes I had attended at Tilshead where I had mastered a few verbs, nouns, and 'useful' military phrases, learned by rote. This was hardly the basis for great linguistic achievement.

I think also, my manual dexterity in rolling cigarettes left much to be desired. My first efforts produced not only a barely smokeable cylinder but also considerable mirth and comment from our visitors - one of whom said, "Staff-Sergeant Black - he rolls a cigar!" It must be said however that in the following weeks, my skill in this department improved considerably whenever the necessary materials came to hand.

This had been a morning of surprises; Jan's whistling; the arrival of the Marechaussee with the notable absence of de Waarde and the presence of Schaap the N.S.B.'er; and last but not least the stocking of our food cupboard. But there was more to come. When rather more than an hour had passed, Lt.Schaap produced his diary and after establishing that today was Monday, proceeded to make an appointment with us, saying that they would return on Thursday. The question which followed in Dutch, was at first not understood by us and when it finally was, seemed unbelievable in the circumstances.

He wanted to know what we needed and was offering to supply our requirements on their next visit. This new situation placed Phil and me in a quandary. Our first exaggerated reaction was that by our recent standards we had enough food for a month and that it was scarcely fitting for us to be offered the chance of living in the lap of luxury in a country impoverished by occupation. We did however seriously discuss our needs. On our expeditions we had by now an established routine of break-in and search. In the cupboards of the empty houses, we quickly came to recognise which packets contained remnants of starchy foods, mostly made from potato flour. Bottled fruit and vegetables preserved by thrifty housewives seemed more plentiful than was suitable for our diet and under the kitchen sink usually proved to be the place where paraffin oil was stored, mainly in minuscule quantities.

This latter we used in a paraffin stove for heating bottled vegetables and making tea. And so, turning from Phil, I tentatively asked for paraffin. This request produced consternation and the following pantomime:

"Waarvoor hebt U paraffine nodig?"

"For cooking; on the stove."

"Nee! U moet geen paraffine gebruiken. Met paraffine .... BOUMF! U hebt petrolie nodig."

"Petrol? You must be joking. Petrol in this .... BOUMF!"

The following Thursday on their next visit, along with other things, constable Visser handed me a bottle and said, "Petrolie, voor de koken." I uncorked it, sniffed the contents, passed it to Phil who also had a sniff. We both said "Paraffin!" and everyone laughed.

During the next three weeks or so, we did not need to go to Ouwerkerk. The police came to us on six or perhaps seven occasions. Each time they replenished our supplies and sustained our morale. They literally helped us to keep body and soul together not only with the food they brought but also because these meetings, eagerly anticipated, enlightened our otherwise drab existence. They provided us with topics of conversation and conjecture. Some little incidents almost came to the point of hilarity.

Our guests who were also our hosts were totally dissimilar. Lt.Schaap as chief of police was obviously the boss; he it was who would lead the conversation especially when it came to making arrangements for the next visit, and asking us what our future requirements might be. When it came down to it and we had made some request, he would turn to his subordinates to enquire whether they could fulfil our wishes. They would then seriously discuss the where and how of satisfying our needs.

Doeselaar appeared to be the fixer. He was somewhat heavily built, a middle-aged man, whose round face and glasses gave him a rather owl-like appearance. Characteristically not far removed from a pre-war, English village bobby, he was in fact the Wacht-Meester for Nieuwerkerk and we were living on his patch. (I discovered later that J. de Waarde was Wacht-Meester for Ouwerkerk). Once, Phil and I asked about the possibility of some sugar. Schaap turned to Visser and Doeselaar saying, "They need some sugar." Doeselaar appeared to lapse into a kind of Dutch monologue with interjections; by Visser. It is impossible for me to write exactly what he was saying. The word 'suiker' cropped up several times and also a number of rhetorical questions. I feel sure that had he been speaking English, the following fictitious account would not be far of the mark.

"Sugar! Where the heck do you think I'm going to get sugar ? Don't you know there's a war on ? Sugar! Bloody ridiculous! I don't know anyone who's got sugar to spare. Everyone I know doesn't have enough for themselves. I suppose I could try ..... who did you say ? .... No! That's no use. I suppose I could try so and so. 'mm ... yes. He's a pretty good scrounger. I'll try him, he's probably the best bet. After all his brother in law is married to the grocer's wife's sister. If he can't get sugar then I don't know who else can. Ah well, I suppose it will be all right. Go on then I'll get some sugar." Most of what he said was muttered, half grumbling, the remarks seemed to be addressed to himself as though he was arguing himself out of the impossibility of what was expected of him. Eventually he seemed to convince himself that maybe he could after all bring some sugar and at the end needed to reassure himself rather than his listeners. As an anticlimax Schaap indicated to us that the matter was settled.

Visser was tall, slim and blond. He was calm and quiet of speech. Sometimes serious though often smiling, he took an obvious pleasure in being able to help us. Any detailed recollection of him is overshadowed by the sponge cake baked by his wife. He too must have been a quiet fixer, otherwise where would his wife have found the eggs to make the cake.

On their last visit to us at Nieuwerkerk, our friends made only a conditional arrangement for a further visit. Their trips had been 'official' in order to review the extent of the flood damage and to generally supervise the security of the buildings. It was becoming obvious that they could not continue with the same excuse for much longer. I think also at this time the line had reached as far as Steenbergen and plans were moving for the invasion of Beveland and Walcheren .

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