A Glider Pilot's Story - continued (9 to 11)

CHAPTER 9

Our departure from Nieuwerkerk had been forced upon us by the fortuitous entry on the scene of the two Germans and the subsequent capsizing of the little boat. It was a remarkable coincidence that Jan should have brought Dr. Schutter to see us at that particular time. It transpired later that they had used as an excuse the doctor's need to collect some medical equipment from his surgery at Nieuwerkerk. For them both there was considerable personal risk involved and their excuse for knocking on our door would not have withstood an enquiry since the surgery in question was several streets away. It does not require much imagination to envisage the possible consequences of a more untimely visit. Conjecture apart, we had taken for granted Jan's constant support, past, present, and future. My immediate reaction to their visit had been twofold. First to ensure some measure of safety for them by telling them so unceremoniously to go quickly; secondly in telling Jan that we would visit him later that evening.

And so when we arrived at the farm, we were able to explain to Jan in more detail, the events which had forced us to leave. We were about to begin a new routine of survival. Finished were the excursions on the streets of Nieuwerkerk with occasional visits to Ouwerkerk. From that moment the v.d. Stolpe barn was to become our sole dwelling. It would remain so until the early weeks of December.

Whereas previously we had appeared to be in control with the support of Jan and the Marechaussee, we were now to become totally dependent on Jan, his mother, and Adriaan. This particular evening at the Grote Hoofstede was very much like our earlier visits. It was to end in similar fashion when we left and went to the barn belonging to Jan's neighbour.

In some respects however it was totally different. The following evening would not see our return to Nieuwerkerk - instead Jan and Adriaan would cross the field with hot food cooked by Mevrouw Romeijn. On that following evening not long after darkness, there came a gentle but persistent tapping at the barn door. We opened the door quickly to let them in and closed it behind them. We exchanged greetings and shook hands. Adriaan carried a shopping bag and Jan took from it a lidded saucepan filled with steaming potatoes and cabbage. Resting on top of the vegetables were two small pieces of bacon.

Phil and I ate this magnificent meal sitting side by side on the sloping lids of the fodder bins near the entrance to the barn. One of us ate directly from the pan and the other used the upturned lid as a plate. Close by stood our two friends, Adriaan silent, Jan at times speaking quietly while we ate. Having consumed the contents of the pan, there remained a second course. This consisted of two hefty pancakes containing slices of apple (appelkoeken). They were wrapped in kitchen paper and were still warm. We did not finish these but decided to save them for breakfast. We finished eating and murmured our thanks. The bag was re-packed and they took their leave having assured us that they would return after dusk on the following evening.

Until the 4th December, this scene was repeated many times. The only time it did not happen was when they had previously arranged otherwise. Our first intimation of a change came while we were eating one night and Jan said quietly, "Tomorrow we will not come. You should come to the farm." Thus, after every five or six visits by them, we would be invited to come over the following evening.

These social calls were even more congenial than our earlier visits had been. From now on we did not arrive wet and dripping after our journey. We were however quite scruffy although we shaved whenever we could. The rest of our toilet was usually effected by using a small amount of water and a face flannel. It must be said though, that our uniforms were dirty and dusty from our full-time life in the barn. We slept in the loft using hay and straw to keep warm often with rats for company. One place where they reared their nests of young was in the fodder bins.

During the day we spent most of our time peering through cracks in the wall for any signs of activity. The only regular activity was at the beginning and end of each day when a young woman passed by. Early each morning she was to be seen coming from the direction of Ouwerkerk and going towards the Grote Hoofstede and making her return journey in the afternoon before dusk. Her passing was usually marked by the speed of her footsteps and often by the musical accompaniment of her whistling. I think she was the domestic help for the farm and was totally unaware of our existence. Her speed seemed to indicate that she was not very happy at passing the deserted buildings. This notion may be just my imagination but it is also possible that the early morning gloom caused her some disquiet. In the evening her homeward journey signified for us the approach of darkness and food.

One evening while we were eating, Phil and I nearly choked, when Jan quietly observed, "Last night the British came ...... but they have gone away again." There were no details of the landing except to say that it had taken place on the south coast somewhere towards the western end of the island. We didn't know the source of Jan's information. Most likely it was one of those pieces of news which the German occupiers were unable to suppress and was quickly circulated. For us it confirmed beyond doubt that the Beveland peninsula and Walcheren were under Allied control. It also induced in us a sort of impatience. When we had first arrived on Schouwen there was really nowhere to go. Now our own people were just across the water. Several times we asked Jan about the possibility of obtaining a boat. We did not know to what extent there was any organise underground movement or if in fact Jan was in contact with anyone in such an organisation. He had brought the Marechaussee to us and he had brought the doctor as well. We trusted him completely and were totally dependent on him. So when he told us that he wasn't very hopeful about a boat but would do what he could, we accepted his assurances and tried to control our impatience. Sometimes though we secretly wondered if he wasn't hoping the island would be liberated before we could escape from it, then he would really be able to give us some news and produce us like rabbits from a conjurers hat.

CHAPTER 10

In the days that followed it seemed sometimes as though the only variable factor in our lives was that Phil and I used to take it in turns to use the pan lid as a plate. It was a period of stability and comparative security. We knew where our next meal was coming from or where we would go to receive it.

One evening, it was the 4th of December, we had already had the accustomed visit and eaten our meal. An hour or so later we were disturbed by the sound of footsteps passing the barn. It was too dark to see who it was although there was a torch flashing from time to time.

About three quarters of an hour later we heard more footsteps. This time there was a knocking on the door accompanied by Jan's voice calling our names. We opened the barn door to admit Jan accompanied by a policeman. In the gloom, we recognised Jan de Waarde our red-haired friend from the first encounter with the police in Nieuwerkerk. We were quite pleased to see him without realising at first that there was a significant reason for his presence.

Jan explained, "We have to leave. We must go to Zierikzee." We exchanged friendly greeting with de Waarde whose unpleasant task had been to call on the householders still living in the Ouwerkerk area and deliver the German order that they must abandon their homes. Even in the midst of his own adversity Jan had not just come over to tell us the bad news but also to give us the opportunity for brief renewal of our acquaintance with de Waarde.

We took our leave of him and Jan said, "Come over to the house." We walked with him across the field to the Grote Hoofstede, saying very little. We were heavy hearted but I don't think we were feeling sorry for ourselves so much as grieving that our staunch friends should have to pack a few belongings together and leave their home at short notice. They were to report the following morning.

Jan's mother was very upset. She held my hand and said sadly, "Ik kan niet meer uw warm eten koken." She repeated this and probably for the first time, I understood some Dutch straight away other than a daily greeting. She was saying that no longer would she be able to cook hot meals for us. At the moment of being forced to leave her home, she was worried about what the future would hold for us. We had shared with them food and friendship which they had given to us freely in love for their fellowman.

It was more than an hour later before we said goodbye. During this time Jan suggested that we would perhaps like to live in the house after they had left because it would be warmer. We didn't like to tell him that it would also be more dangerous because there was every likelihood that it would prove to be an attractive target for German looters. He showed us the attic where he had some apples and wheat stored. He told us something we were to recall later; that in the barn was a small home-made boat. It was as though he was bequeathing to us all his worldly possessions.

Whilst all this was going on Jan's brother called. He had with him another man, a rather breezy individual who spoke English. It seemed to us that he was over friendly. Phil and I were polite but restrained. We found that he was a fruit farmer from Goes. He had left Beveland when the British had taken over and had come over to Schouwen. He too was a member of the Dutch National Socialist party (N.S.B.) and was staying with Keiser Romeijn. He was going to stay on there in secret and seemed to have the idea that together we would all be able to return with his help. Phil and I didn't object to this in principle but we had the feeling that he would not be welcome there on his own and that he needed us more than we needed him.

CHAPTER 11

On the morning of the 5th December we were heavy hearted for we knew that we may never see Jan or his mother again. We were alert however and before long we could see from the barn, signs of the activity we suspected would happen. Wandering pairs of German soldiers in the locality. Two came into the farmyard and broke into the v.d. Stolpe house. Two more went in the direction of the Grote Hoofstede and in the distance we saw several travelling along the top of the dike. One group were pulling a hand-drawn artillery piece. In spite of this activity we felt there was no immediate threat to our personal safety.

Early in the afternoon from the direction of Ouwerkerk we saw a man with a dog approaching. He was in plain clothes, breeches and woollen socks, leather boots. He wore a warm jacket with a woollen scarf around his neck and on his head was a peaked cap set at a jaunty angle. His stride was lively with the air of a man used to walking. The dog ran in front of him, hither and thither, occasionally walking to heel in response to a word or a whistle. In less time than it takes to describe he was beyond our sight and we rapidly crossed the barn to observe his progress across the other field. He did not appear however - instead there came a loud banging on the door of the barn accompanied by a voice calling "Bairnard Blek .... Pheeleep Hodson."

As quickly and quietly as we could we let him in. I think we felt that if we left him there too long the whole world would hear his banging and calling for us. As we let him in we were saying to each other - "Who the hell is this bloke ?" He introduced himself in a mixture of French and Dutch. His name was Jan Ringleberg and the dog was a working dog for he was a shepherd. He had been sent to give us a message from the underground. We were to meet Herman de Leeuw and a man called Jan Schoenmaker that evening in Nieuwerkerk. Then the four of us would make our way to the Wijde Linie on the Oude Polder Dijk where he would be waiting with his brother Joost, also a shepherd. From there they were to guide us to Zierikzee and we could expect to be taken off the island by the British on the following night. We were to have nothing whatever to do with the man who was hiding in the farm of Keiser Romeijn. De Leeuw and Schoenmaker would wait for us at the back of the hotel in Nieuwerkerk until 9 p.m. and the Ringleberg brothers would wait at the Steensdijk until 3 a.m. We would need a boat but he thought de Leeuw and Schoenmaker would have one.

Suddenly it seemed that the whole outlook had changed dramatically. Within a few short minutes from the appearance of this dashing fellow we were contemplating a completely new future. Gone were all the uncertainties and ahead of us lay a decisive plan of action with just a few difficulties in the way. Jan Ringleberg had been chosen to come to us because it was known that we had some knowledge of French. Jan Romeijn had known where to drop his little titbits of information. Before he left us he told us that Herman had been discovered earlier hiding in Sirjansland; that he and his brother had special permits which they exploited to the full, saying when challenged that they were going to move their sheep or that they were looking for strays. He took his leave in the expectation of seeing us a few hours later at the Wijde Linie and departed, striding boldly in the direction from which he had come.

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