6. 1943: Playing with fire

As the years went by, the Allies stepped up the pace of their bombing raids over Germany. By 1943, hundreds of British bombers would fly over The Netherlands on their way to Germany a couple of times a week. This usually happened in the evenings, generally when I was already in bed. 

The Germans had set up searchlights and anti-aircraft ranges all round Amsterdam. The resulting light show was spectacular. 

From Bussum we could see the searchlight beams and I often got out of bed to watch. They shone very high into the sky in search of enemy aircraft. If a searchlight managed to detect a plane, a second and perhaps a third beam would immediately be added, reducing the victim's chance of getting away. 

Of course, he would also be blasted with heavy rounds of anti-aircraft fire. A couple of minutes later, as the fleet reached the skies above Bussum; you would clearly hear the hum of British engines. That would give us hope because we knew that in a couple of hours Germany would be on the receiving end of a good blasting.

In 1941, when bicycles were beginning to become scarce, Father bought two new bikes: one for himself and one for me. He stored them temporarily at the house of a distant cousin in Zierikzee. At the time, his own bike was still in reasonable condition and he considered me too young for a new one. For years, Father had managed Cousin Anna Couvee's money and one day he decided to pay her a business visit. He let me accompany him. We were also to bring my new bike back home.

First we took the train from Bussum to Rotterdam, and from there in Roosenstraat, we caught the steam tram via Oud Beyerland to Numansdorp. A ferryboat then took us via St Philipsland to Zijpe on the Isle of Duiveland, where a steam tram was standing ready to take the passengers to our final destination in Zierikzee. The 150km trip took the entire day. 

We stayed a whole week with Cousin Anna. Father and I slept together in an antique four poster bed. While Father busied himself with Cousin Anna’s financial affairs during the day, I would make trips on my new bicycle to places like Zonnemair and Schuddebeurs.

We took a different route for our return to Bussum. We first caught the steamboat from Zierikzee to Rotterdam. Just outside the Zierikzee harbour, we were guided along the way by two little German naval vessels. A couple of weeks later, Allied fighter bombers sank them both.

Just before the bridge at Moerdijk we turned left into the Dordtse Kil. Suddenly we were startled by a bombing of the bridge. Enormous fountains of water shot into the air. For a moment we wondered whether we would be the next target, but luckily we were spared.

To jump ahead a little, first the following story:  Towards the end of the war, when Cousin Anna had long ago been evacuated together with all the other inhabitants of Zierikzee, a bomb fell just behind her house, bringing down the back of her house and revealing a brand new bicycle in the attic. The Ortskommandant immediately confiscated it for his own use and was seen riding around on it during the last months of the war. He probably took it back to Germany because Father never saw his bike again.

Present day Gerard Doulaan, Bussum

One afternoon I was playing close to home with my friend Kees Groenendaal in Gerard Doulaan, when two fighter planes suddenly appeared out of nowhere, racing close to each other very low over the roof tops. The one in the rear, a British fighter, fired furiously at the plane ahead. Although it only lasted a couple of seconds, the noise was deafening. 

Immediately afterwards everything was quiet again. 

I'll never know if the German plane was hit. 

Unfortunately, the daughter of Father's co-manager Mr. Stal was standing at the back of her home a little further up the road at the time. She was hit in the stomach by a machine gun bullet and died of internal haemorrhaging soon afterwards.

During the skirmish, a half-metre round of machine gun bullets and a couple of unexploded grenades fell to the ground from the British aircraft. The latter were about 2.5 cm wide and 15 cm long. This was live ammunition!  A boy had found the ammunition on the roof of a garage and later gave it all to me. My friend Dick Geuzenbroek later defused it. He pulled the bullet out of its casing with pliers, poured out the powdery explosives and replaced the bullet. It was so simple and I watched him doing this with fascination. I was aware though, that the percussion caps were still intact and an explosion would result in the loss of a couple of fingers. I forget what happened to the grenades.

A long time after the war, my brother brought the machine gun bullets as well as some other ammunition to the police headquarters in Bussum. He had packed everything in a grocery bag and took it with him on the back of his bicycle. 

At the police station, he dumped the bag in the middle of the duty sergeant's desk. 

The poor man casually opened the bag, but immediately recoiled in horror when he saw the contents!