1919 -45

1919 was not a good year to start a new life, albeit better than the war years. The troops returned and brought Spanish flu and PTSD problems. More young people died of flu throughout the world than died in the trenches. Spanish flu was fatal to those weakened by poverty, war, and stress. Both great grandparents survived the flu epidemic but were unable to find employment. The embargo was lifted on goods travelling to and from Dutch ports but as Europe passed from maximum war production and full employment, to unemployment, the peace dividend did not happen. Bankers and holders of war bonds demanded repayment pushing all countries except America to bankruptcy.Work was scarce, wages poor, relief through the church. The poor relief became more important to the congregation than the church foibles. Work and survival was a matter of whom you knew not your worth.Rozenburg had four churches all protestant. One church sang hymns, the other church thought hymns pagan but sang psalms. The other church thought any singing was pagan and heretical, but chanted psalms. The last church neither sang nor chanted hymns, songs of praise, poetry, prose, including psalms. Any artistic fervour was heresy and they stuck to dogma according to the holy book (their version of it). Included was a passage saying Noah had 3 sons one black (lazy) one yellow (dishonest) and one white (just right, honest and favoured by god). The fundamental church gave more poor relief so the Klapwijk's became fundamental evangelical extreme protestants. Neeltje belonged to that church and believe fervently in all its teachings. Huibregt had attended all other churches in his time was less dogmatic.1922 was very stressful. Huibregt could find no work. He tended the church, work tirelessly for no money but food relief. The baker delivered stale bread as charity and did not charge. The butcher gave the bones dog owners would not buy, normally full of maggots. Clothing was from the scrap bags, woollens were unwound and the wool reused. Cotton squares were sewn together to form checked or patchwork clothing. In Holland it was not unusual to wear clogs. They were water proof and could be adjusted with sandpaper. All children wore clogs as did most adults to work in. Shoes a rarity was for Sunday, weddings and funerals. When Hubert, (Huibregt junior) was born in 1923 Neeltje had a difficult and stressful pregnancy. Hubert grew up a difficult child with a gender question.By 1925 when you grandmother was born Huibregt had found meaningful work and Neeltje had established herself as a competent seamstress. Daughter Nelly (Neeltje) was weak and in need of constant attention. The birth of Jacoba was too soon after Nelly and her mother was suffering post natal depression. Jacoba was neglected, this neglect was felt by the child. Mother and daughter were never close. Never again would Neeltje have children one year apart, from then on, all children were separated by at least two years.1929 the wall street crash. Holland was plunged into recession but still tried to maintain the gold standard far longer than any other country. This political decision brought abject poverty to the people. By 1930 everyone was suffering. Church poor relief had to cover more needy people. Those already poor suffered more than most. Work was temporary, even lower paid and the hours longer. Huibregt never saw his family, they were asleep before he got home from work, too tired to wash. Everything was scavenged. They had starvation supplies of food, but no soap, wax for candles, oil for heating, polish for shoes or floors, soda for laundry, or clothes pegs. Washing after beating out in the river was tied up with baler twine. The mantra for all the children was keep clean, do not play, or soil clothes. You may remember granny's mantra of keep yourself clean, this came from the inability to wash or launder when she was young. The elder children that attended school had clothes to go out in. Neeltje, Jacoba, Phillipus, and Janietje did no go out of the house until they were 5 they wore a patchwork fabric sheets wrapped around them. Granny blames this imprisonment on her lack of navigational skill, she has never been able to find her way around, even Hilary had to tell her which way to go in Rye.Huibregt worked hard, he developed a way to plant crops faster than anyone else. He could harvest crops with less damage and faster than most. By 1931 Arie aged 12 was also working the fields full time. Taught by his father the importance of hard work and honesty they expected to be retained for the winter. In 1933 all other farm workers had been laid off. Huibregt and Arie the best workers remained, but hard work did not save them they were laid off in the autumn. Huibregt realised that although the farmer owned and planted the crop it was useless unless harvested properly. The harvester was the lowest paid yet the fortunes of the farm relied on the seasonal pickers.He had an idea to ensure work over winter, if he could hire some land and plant Brussels sprouts, which could be harvested until spring when work was available. He approached a bank and provisionally obtained a loan to hire an acre of land. Aunty Fei's husband and his brother told the bank he was unreliable so he failed to secure the money needed, although he paid a deposit to the bank. He never trusted banks or his family again.Out of work, betrayed by family he sought work in Germany as did Arie. Adolf Hitler came to power and set Germany to work. These were the prosperous years of the distasteful regime. Full employment was achieved, food production increased and questionable land available to rent.Huibregt worked in Kaldenkirchen alone, Artie worked on a farm near Venlo close to the Dutch border. Arie although close, never returned to visit the family or sent any money home. Huibregt returned to Holland with money monthly and sent money in the post to sustain the family.

He managed to borrow a deposit for 12 acres of fertile grade one land by the side of the railway near Walhutte farm. He found it to be far from grade one land but an uncultivated swamp. After a few years of picking and planting seasonal work he was employed at Krefeld Market as a fruit grader. He kept that job in full time work and part time for the rest of his working life. With this funding and hard work he managed to bring the 12 acre land into cultivation. In 1936 he returned home and did a midnight flit with the family leaving huge debts behind him. The family lived in a two bedroom house in Kaldenkirchen, but he managed to rent a two bedroom house at Waldhütte farm run by the Steinfardt family. The elder children (granny and the elder boys) lived at Waldhütte farm. The rest of the family including Nelly and Greta stayed with their mother at Kaldenkirchen.


Every family has some tension, the poorer the family the greater the tension. A large family has more tension than a small family. Parents need special skills to bring up a family properly, no one is trained for it, no one has all the answers. You only do what you think is best at the time considering the circumstances. The Klapwijk's were both poor, a large family and without support of a wider network to advise or help out. Their parents were very Victorian and both were brought up with the belief that children should be seen but not heard. The father was the head of the family, made all the decisions, was obeyed and responsible for discipline. The mother kept the family together, did the love and encouraging. Neither parent should have favourites and should treat all children equally. You may have found by now that is a very difficult project.The head of the family earned the money, and was responsible for allocation of funds. The head of the household had to get to work and pay for work related expenses. What was left over went to the mother for housekeeping and treats. In the Klapwijk family there was not enough for treats or enough to pay the housekeeping bills. The only thing that was paid was the rent, which was paid by the head of the house before other considerations. All money coming into the house either went to the father or mother. All children if paid for odd jobs gave the money to mother who would spend it accordingly. No one kept money for themselves. So when Arie set off on his own and kept all he earned it was a shock to the family. This act of selfishness broke the mould. It was considered normal for parents to look after the children and when they could no longer look after themselves the family would look after them. Children were the old age pension, so when one child broke away and went it alone, the old order broke down. Neeltje never forgave Arie for his selfishness or Huibregt for not bringing him back.Arie found work in Germany but when the family moved to Germany he moved back to Holland, eventually returning to Rozenburg where he married Stiencha. He acted on the idea of his father to rent land, and rented land to grow Brussels sprouts for the winter. Harvesting on other farms and maintaining his sprout enterprise over winter, kept his family going. When the war started and Holland invaded he was conscripted, but discharged before deployed, when the country surrendered. Near the end of the war he was again conscripted only this time by the German army, but never saw conflict. By joining the German army he lost his right to a Dutch passport and was not allowed to leave the country. He was not able to visit his family again until the common market was formed, and passport controls abolished.The defiance of Arie was the watershed, if one child can do his own thing and not support the family why should they?The next conflict was due to Jacoba. As you know she can not cook. The idea that Gerbrand and Hubert could work with Jacoba in the fields and then Jacoba would leave early to cook did not work. They complained that they had to try and cook for themselves, so Nelly was despatched to cook, something she very much resented. Nelly was her mothers favourite because she was a sickly child and Neeltje spent so much time nursing her. Jacoba's inability to cook made an enemy of Nelly, and upset their mother greatly.
During the war the family moved out of Kaldenkirchen to Waldhütte farm. An air raid shelter was built in the field opposite, under a bridge. The stream was diverted through a culvert which gave the family space either side of it. The top corner of the field was requisitioned for an anti aircraft battery. The gun crew pillage the fields for food. The family were poor again. During this time Huibregt befriended the Debunga's a Black poor family. The Germans had no quarrel with blacks and treated them as second class humans, being black they could not disguise themselves as the master race. The Debunga family shared the shelter and were supported by Huibregt throughout the war.The only action they saw was when a hospital train was attacked by spitfires killing hundreds of unarmed wounded civilians and soldiers. At night they could see the towns of Monchengladach and Krefeld burning. Huge flames lit up the night sky.
They could not afford newspapers and the only news available was from the pre-set state radio. Many believed the propaganda but Huibregt read between the lines. He knew the end was nigh and suspected the allied troops were not far off. A rich farmer from Rottweil offered him accommodation and some land, on his farm in exchange for work, and on the condition he brought his whole family. So they loaded a horse cart with all their worldly possessions and set off to make the journey to the Swiss border.Hubert opted to remain on the farm to look after things. The family set off walking, or riding the cart, with the goat tied behind. They had to stop frequently to allow the horse and goat to graze. The journey took months.When they arrived they found the rich farmer was only interested in abusing the daughters, so they set off back. They dodged armed forces, and scavenged for food. It took them longer to get back home. On return they found the Anti aircraft gun moved, the crops eaten, all the glass cloches smashed and Hubert suffering a serious mental illness. The allied army had moved past but not before atrocities were committed in Willich. The victims of Willich were not on the winning side and war crimes are only attributed to the loosing side. The war was over for the family, the peace was harder to deal with.


Hubert was a sensitive child. His mind was always active. He thought deeply and was obsessed with maths. Although not taught traditionally his mind unravelled mathematical problems. Today we would probably say he was autistic. He left school at 12 with difficulty in reading and writing, although he could multiply complicated mathematical problems in his head. He taught granny how to multiply by 11 quickly, and the anomalies of 9, which she has always used. He worked out untaught algebra and loved to see the mathematical pattern in everything. He got on well with granny but no one else because he was not functional and always had his head in the clouds. Today he would be considered as gifted and encouraged to follow pure mathematics or physics. In the 1930s anyone not an all round scholar was considered thick. He achieved poor marks for language, art, literature, history, and geography. He did well in science and was smarter than the teachers in maths thus put down and humiliated.
In Holland unless supported by rich parents or church scholarship you left school at 12. Granny did well at school and considered too smart by half. She was second in the class beaten by one point by the brightest rich child that had home tutoring and support. Granny was not supported, she was a girl, and not expected to do well against the rich children. She also left school at 12 and resented it. Hubert welcomed leaving school to escape the bullying and enjoyed working in the fields where his mind could wonder, and he didn’t have to talk to any one. He tried to talk to his father about the things he discovered but Huibregt could not understand. He did allow him to do the accounts and trusted his calculations that took seconds instead of the hours Huibregt would slave over them.
Sexuality was a problem for Hubert. Today he would have been considered as bisexual, in rural backwaters of religious bigotry he was a freak. I have no idea what your stance is on sexuality, and I may upset your with my beliefs. Sexuality is not just male female it is a wide spectrum from ultra male heterosexual to ultra female lesbian. There is no right or wrong in sex. Each person has the sexual desires their body has developed. Too many of one hormone or too little may cause the person to have sexual desires for male, Female, both, or neither. No sexual desires are wrong between consenting adults and that means puberty not 21, 18 or any other figure plucked out of thin air. Everyone should be treated as a human to their character not their sexual proclivity. I have friends of all shades of sexual behaviour and enemies of all as well.
In Nazi Germany being different was dangerous. In the family Neeltje preached against sexual deviation because it was in the GOOD book. This meant retribution against Hubert. To enforce discipline Huibregt would have to take him in hand. If lenient he risked upsetting the family if harsh he would destroy Hubert. Huibregt tried to find a middle path hence hurt everyone. Huibregt was greatly concerned that Hubert sought and found gay men. Being gay, like mental illness could mean death. He tried to restrict Hubert’s activity, or at least his detection. The presence of military and Nazi gunners on the farm was deeply worrying. He tried to keep Hubert away from the soldiers. Being gay or mentally unstable meant death.

Stowlangtoft Hall

I was three. There was a lot of shouting, hand gestures but no tears the first time I smelt that powerful disinfectant. I was pulled to the cream London County Council bus, carrying only my festival of Britain Pixie and thrown on board. I went to the back of the bus and looked out of the window, no one looked back at me. The bus drove off slowly

Soon other children were picked up, some had parcels most like me had only what they stood up in. The smell in the bus was overpowering. Others and I, asked to go to the toilet, the driver ignored us. Eventually we all needed to go, but told to do it in our pants. The smell of urine mixed with the disinfectant started most vomiting. Still the bus sped on unwilling to stop in case some one escaped.

A few children were taken off at a large house, the rest of us stayed on the bus, with a drop off, for the odd one or two, at smaller houses. Only three remained on board the bus, to the final destination, Stowlangtoft Hall. The bus drove down a line of trees to a gravel parking area in front of the North entrance to the grand house.

We were taken straight to the bathroom stripped and bathed in the same tub of tepid water. I let go of Pixie and never saw him again. Once clean and in coarse pyjamas we were taken to our dormitories. Mine was on the cold North side of the house facing the tower.  The dormitory had two huge oblong windows, open at the top. The room smelt like a toilet. The walls were bare, windows without curtain, beds without pillows. The six beds were metal with a thin horsehair mattress protected by a rubber sheet. In summer which, it was, one sheet lay on the bed, and you were expected to roll up in it at night. In winter the sheet was folded but a blanket was placed on the top. The reduction of laundering more important than comfort of children.  I was the youngest in the dormitory, all the others were orphans, their parents killed in the war by Germans.

I spoke a mixture of German, Dutch, and Cockney English. Speaking was a mistake, I became the kraut, bottom of the heap, the kicking stool to be lashed out at for any excuse. After that first beating, a bell rang, and the other boys ran off. They went for supper while I, cried in a corner, going to bed hungry.

In the morning those that wet the bed were taken to the bathroom, stripped, beaten, and dunked in a bath of cold water. The first in the bath suffered the extreme cold but had a dry towel to use. Others enjoyed warmed water, by the passing of small bodies through it, but had the saturated towel to use as a scraper for removing running water.

Once dressed in damp clothes you went to breakfast. The few that did not wet the bed had already had their breakfast of lumpy porridge and a mug of tea. The rest had the cool or cold porridge when they arrived late. Tate and Lyle golden syrup sweetened the porridge. A metal bowl for syrup sat in the middle of the table for the porridge and tea, when empty was not refilled.

After breakfast those of primary school age went to school, away from the Hall. Infant age children were taught at the Hall. Only one had to be taught English, me.

By the time I had learnt my true place in life, at the bottom, I was left alone, treated as an outsider. Then I met Peter, He was older than I was, and more acceptable to the other boys. Peter had both legs in callipers and supported himself on one crutch. We were pleased to discover a child lower in status than ourselves. Peter had a penknife. He kept it with him always, I never did find out how he managed to avoid loosing it to older boys, or those in charge. He taught me all that boys needed to know. He taught me how to make a bow and arrow, how to make a catapult, and how to set a snare. He showed me his greatest gift, how to endure, how to take the beatings and punishment without tears. He taught me the battle was not avoiding conflict but acceptance of pain with dignity, as he did every day of his life.

The Matrons in charge were religiously motivated to bring their wards to the true faith. Suffer little children to come unto me was not just a religious text. They taught us to pray, and pray we did. I was convinced God was utterly incompetent until the miracle. All the orphan older boys went. They did not go all at once but in ones and twos over a short period. The result of which was a sorting of children and changing of dormitory for some. I stayed where I was but Peter was moved in. I was thus able to clean the sores and wounds on his ankles and legs.

In 2010 the British government apologized to a deputation of Australian orphans that were deported to Australia from England. Many were brutally treated in their new country. That seemed to explain the miracle, Vengeance is mine said the lord, I wonder.

King Albert

You tend to believe the person that taught you how to make a bow and arrow. That person was Peter, but now I know he did not always get it right. We were in detention when he told me the wonderful stories of King Albert the king of Canterbury.

The Americans were beginning to come every Saturday, laden with supplies for the Hall, treats for staff and the children. The children’s teats had a heavy price that I was not going to pay. The week previous I had misbehaved, and managed to get the punishment I wanted, detention. Detention was by no means pleasant but better that subjected to abuse by the American airman, especially Gold Tooth. Detention was being shut up in the broom cupboard for the duration of the visit. The real skill was to get detention, without the cane first, and with the more soft hearted of the staff that left the light on. If they brought you a drink occasionally and American sweets, but kept you locked in, and safe was a bonus. I was good at judging the scale for punishment, and talked Peter in joining me. We sang badly at hymns, out of tune and laughing. When told off, became disruptive, leaving no alternative, than to be sent out for a talking to by matron, and the ultimate punishment the following day, of detention during the visit. What I got wrong, was the kind-hearted staff to carry out the punishment. We had the furious music teacher that took her revenge by locking us in and switching off the light.
All we could do was talk, and Peter told stories, that he had been told fairly recently, the story of King Albert, king of Canterbury. The king lived many years ago when knights on horseback roamed the country, saving damsels in distress, whatever they were, slaying dragons, and driving off bad people. King Albert was special even in those days, and had a magic sword he kept in a huge boulder at night. Only he could draw the sword so it was always safe.

He sent all his knights out to roam the country and do good deeds, but one got fed up with being sent out and wanted to stay at home. So they had a fight, and King Albert killed him, but was sorry. He threw the sword in the water, and went into a cave to live, until needed. He would only return if the good and defenceless of the land were in real danger.

A good story but was it true? Peter thought it was, and one day we might see King Albert at the Hall.

When let out, it was obvious that something had happened. All the children had been sent to their dormitories while the staff went out to sort out the problem.

 We looked out the window and saw Matron with some others, walking briskly in the direction of the woodshed. Things did not look good. What if they found we went there? What if they made too much noise? It was the too much noise,that really bothered us.

We had gone to the woodshed a few times. The Woodman was a friend, a kind friend, even if he smelt a bit, and never spoke. A few weeks earlier we were in the shed when a loud bang was heard. Peter and I jumped but the Woodman dived under his bed, covered his head, shook from head to toe, and made strange noises. We left him.

During the following week Peter and I talked about it, what we should do. His actions were disturbing, and we were a bit frightened at this shaking man having a fit. After a while we thought his actions must be something to do with the burns on his face. Peter said we expected too much from the Woodman, he was kind, and good to us. Never touched us, never expected anything from us, but would share what little he had, for nothing. Peter said he must be like us, not like them. We were not perfect, why should he be.

We then felt bad, we had betrayed him, left him when he was in need. We said we would not do it again, not betray him, not expect more than what he was. The time until we could visit the wood shed dragged, but eventually we could go after church when everyone else was playing.

The thin wisp of smoke rose from the woodshed, and we set off quickly to see if he was in, he was. We stood outside the half door looking in. He sat on a log plucking a bird. He looked up, we smiled. I think he smiled it was hard to tell with all the scars. We opened the door and walked in, I sat on my log, Peter lay on the old trough covered in leaves, as if we owned the place. We were glad to be here, and I thought he was glad to see us, the incident forgotten and forgiven.

But now Matron was heading that way and there was nothing we could do about it.

Next morning we looked out to see if there was smoke coming from the shed, there was none. We looked again at night, still no smoke. We wondered why. 

Then we heard what happened while we were in detention. Gold Tooth was attacked by a mad man that had a sack on his head and shoulders with a hat on top of it. The mad man had beaten Gold Tooth badly, and Gold Tooth ran away. Now it looks like Matron has chased the Woodman off. But that was not all of what happened, Gold Tooth was with a boy, behind the wall. Gold Tooth did run away but with difficulty as he had his trousers down by his ankles, so was beaten until the stick broke over his back. The boy escaped.

The Woodman had saved a boy in need. He came to the rescue when the good and defenceless of the land were in real danger. We knew who the Woodman was, even with that hideous disguise. He would return, there were many boys that needed to be rescued, and he knew where we were.

There is something comforting about wood smoke.

Sam and Tommy

Sam was nine and although stocky to adults he seemed a giant to a four-year-old, like me. Sam had greasy short black hair, cut, as most of us, in the compulsory short back and sides with a tuft on the top. His top hair did not flop over his eyes, he made sure of that, nothing would distract his fighters vision. There must have been some endearing features about Sam, but I could not see them at the time, for Sam was a thug, violent, and casual. Tommy his sidekick was taller although a few months younger, was a pleasing boy, with attractive features. His angelic face, blonde wavy hair, kept longer than other boys’ hair and wide eyes meant he could lie convincingly. Sam and Tommy went around together. Never mixed with the other boys’ just dominated them. Sam would beat a child to the ground, once on the ground he was content to leave them there, as a natural end of violence. Tommy had no natural limit to his violence, and would kick anyone on the ground mercilessly until he was tired of it. If Sam decided to fight you, the ground was safety, but if Tommy was with him the ground was a dangerous place, standing up brought you into conflict with Sam again. Seeing both walking about, looking for trouble was something to avoid.

It was in the autumn that things started to change. Tommy became ill. Much to everyone’s surprise Sam seemed to care. Sam upset at loosing his friend during the day embarked on frustration diversion, taking it out on smaller boys. Peter and I were prime targets so did our best to escape to the safety of the boiler room, an area clearly out of bounds and punishable by a severe thrashing. It was just a matter of scale, the matrons did not intentionally leave evidence of beating if they could help it. Sam was not bothered, a good bruise was a good advertisement and a warning to others not to fight back. After a few days Tommy returned to the fold though not quite up to his normal manipulative self. He started to cough. He coughed most of the day and kept us awake at night. Told to use a handkerchief, he walked about with the rag held firmly against his face coughing frequently. He became a nuisance, the matrons could not make themselves heard over the coughing, so eventually sent him to the dormitory to stay in the room, alone. Sam seem concerned, became argumentative with the matrons for not looking after Tommy, and was severely thrashed, to our pleasure. By now Tommy was on 10 handkerchiefs a day. He was out of sight except for meal times where his constant coughing brought unwelcome attention from the staff. It was only the laundry maid that raised the alarm. The handkerchiefs sent for washing were getting redder and redder, extremely difficult to clean. She complained about the increase of blood in the wash.

Matron arrived in the morning, woke us up and sent us off to be cleaned after wetting the bed, but none of us had. All beds in the dormitory were dry and all children very tired after a night of listening to Tommy coughing. Tommy’s pillow was splattered with blood. Sam was angry complaining even against matron and severely beaten. Happily the rest of us went to breakfast, Sam was kept in detention. That evening Tommy was taken away. Sam was on his own. He became quiet and resentful. He seemed to be wrapped up in his own thoughts, and did not take the opportunity to thrash other boys in his way. He was not reformed, just lashed out when necessary, to maintain his position, but had no inclination to seek out victims. He became more rebellious to the matrons, and beaten frequently. Sam and two other boys were taken away after breakfast, they obviously were on a long journey. It was a few days before we realised that he would not be coming back. We did not care where he went, most thought he had gone straight to hell, we had all prayed for that frequently, and now our prayers were answered.

No one child dominated the orphanage, a vacancy had arisen for those inclined, and violent enough. The problem was that most of the remaining eight or nine-year-old boys were evenly matched. Life was becoming unbearable for those at the bottom of the heap. All boys beat us, it was the natural first step to domination. Anarchy ruled, fights were frequent, and vicious, there seemed to be no natural boundary or limit to the violence. We had to avoid everyone. In the dormitory it was not possible to avoid. Peter and I decided it could not continue we had to pray for the return of Sam and Tommy.

Sam and Tommy did not return, but other boys, the orphans began to leave. God moves in mysterious ways!

By the end of winter the fit orphans had gone. All that was left were the sickly, and new children from homes that had parents, but had been mistreated. Children like us

the woodman

It was out of bounds, punishable by flogging if caught, and so tempting.
Wisps of smoke rose aimlessly from the low chimney that could only be seen from our dormitory window. I knew I could not go alone Peter would have to go. We said nothing just looked nodded and smiled.

The pathway by the side of Matrons block, was hidden from view, by a thorn bush. The cut thorns left scattered on the path to act as a deterrent. But we had a weapon, Shoes. All the children ran around shoe-less in the summer months. In winter cast off sandals were issued, it was not cold enough for sandals but too cold for bare feet. Peter was the only child with shoes, large ugly bulky black leather. The shoes were attached to the calipers for his legs, keeping them in place. He moved slowly over the ground pushing the odd thorn twig with his crutch or shuffling them aside with his shoes, many thorns were impaled the soles. I followed slowly treading only where he led. Soon we were in the woods amidst the soft leaf litter and buoyant grass. The structure was in a clearing, hidden on the house side, by a lush green hedge.

It seemed deserted. The woodshed was not just one structure, there was a number of angular buildings conjoined. The walls were wood and the roof either thatched, wood tiled or bark. A rustic disturbing place that had no windows just half doors. No one was around so we went closer, and opened the top section of a door. The interior basked in a red glow from an oil drum brazier. Above the brazier was a large funnel that drew smoke into the metal chimney. Logs were piled against the walls; the large circular saw dominated the space with a splitting area for long logs beside it. There was large odd shaped wooded block at the other side for chopping. On further inspection it was the root of a tree that had been felled to create space, for the ramshackle building.
Should we go in?

We had come this far why not, but then we heard a sound, behind us, we turned around to see the tall stooping man looking at us. He was close, we could smell him but he did not move, as if waiting for us to run. Peter could not run, so I would not. We looked defiantly back at the man as if right was on our side, which it was not. He blinked first; ignoring us he opened the door pushing us aside and walked in. He was not that scary, he said nothing, did not tell us to go away, so we did not. We stood outside the building looking in. Ignoring us he opened the Hessian sack he was carrying, took out a dead rabbit, and began to skin, and prepare it. We watched. After he had completed his work, he placed the meat into a pot, collected water from a barrel with a ladle, and placed it directly on the fire, after removing a large kettle. The innards of the rabbit he wrapped in moss and put them on the fire. The smell was revolting. We continued watching. He tilted his head in a gesture we took as “ enter if you must”. He indicated for us to sit, so we pulled up a log each and sat opposite, feeling the warmth of the fire. The flickering flames lit up the features of the man. He wore a floppy felt hat with a cloth underneath that covered his shoulders. His face was distorted, his left eye half closed, and the skin on his face stretched as if pulled at the corner of his eye. He had facial hair on the right of his face the left side was smooth and shiny. He saw us looking. He poked the fire then busied himself with making a hot drink. After he made this, he removed the hat and cloth. We watched but said nothing, or made any sound of alarm. The left side of his face was badly burnt, with twisted skin from below the neck unseen, to three fingers wide, above the shrivelled ear. Grey hair covered the rest of his head as normal. He drank from his mug. We watched. After a while, drinking and watching, he passed us the mug to drink. It was hot with a strange grassy smell, more a hay meadow than tea. Small bits of stick floated on the top, but we drank filtering the floating debris with out lips. It tasted sweet and muddy. When the meat was cooked he placed some on a wooden bowl for himself and a wooden board for us. We ate and drank but did not talk. He looked at us and we looked at him, and for the first time in years I felt safe. After a while he started working and we rolled the logs for him to split. I say we, but only I was working Peter could not bend enough.

After what seemed like loads of chopping, the woodsman stopped and looked at Peter. He circled his fingers indicating for Peter to turn around, he pulled his shirt up over Peter's head and traced the curvature of Peter’s spine with his finger, then pulled down the shirt. He measured the distance from under Peter’s arm to the ground on one side and then on the other. They were not the same lengths. Peter had only one short crutch. No one except this strange silent man, noticed or cared. That was the first time we saw the woodsman. It was not the last. Many days we escaped, to the house in the wood, to help. Peter had new crutches made that were adjustable with holes and pegs. No one noticed his crutches, or the changes. It never occurred to any of those in charge, that Peter had one short crutch but now had two.

Grand parents

The family

Huibregt Klapwijk 22-4-1892 died 15-5-1973

Neeltje Jannetje Van Dijk 3-11-1895 died 10-3-59

children

Arie 3-4-19 to 20-10-2005

Gerbrand 3-4-20 17-1-1979

krijntje – (Greta) 16-10-21 August 2016

Huibregt 2-4-23 25-5-2006

Neeltje 26-9-24 22-10-08

Jacoba (granny) 21-9-25 22-12-2015

Phillipus (Phillip) 14-7-27

Jannetje – Janni 11-3-29

Herdrika – Rika 25-9-30 27-9-2012

Gerrit 10-9-32

Pieter 18-1-34 25-5-1953

Lena – Lanni 17-12-36 13-10-1993

Huibregt Klapwijk (Hubert in English) and Neeltje Jannetje Van Dijk ( Nelly in English) were both from large families of 12. Hubert's older brother Gerrit married Aunty Fei Great grandmothers elder sister. They lived on the island of Rozenburg on the river Maas, upstream of Hoek van Holland. The main town Maassluis was over the river and accessible by ferry only. Today the area down stream has been reclaimed and is now Europort the largest oil terminal in Europe. A bridge links Europort to Rozenburg, and further docks and refineries are upstream of what was once a quiet island. It is now a commuter town for the oil industry. I last visited it in 1974 and was shocked at the place. It made Holbury (where we lived when you were born) look like a rural retreat. But in your great grandparents day it was a backwater rural horticultural island growing good crops on esturial silt.

How they met is conjecture what is known is Nelly was in service to the rich landowner, and possibly a distant relative. It is not known if she originally came from Rozenburg or moved to take up her position. Hubert a resident of Rozenburg was an itinerant horticultural labourer. Some say they both worked at a time for the big house but had to leave when they had to marry. This was because Arie was on the way. The other version is they met when Fei married. Nelly was always harping back to the days in service, the right way to do thinks and the trappings of money.

Hubert was down to earth, opinionated, obdurate, hard working and honest, obviously destined for a hard life in poverty.

In those days sex before marriage was frowned upon, the average age of marriage was 20 to 21. At 24 Nelly was very much on the shelf and working in service would be destined to remain a spinster serving the family until utterly dependant for survival thus totally loyal. They were expected to be hard working, honest, thrifty, and religious. That way they knew their place and would be satisfied with their lot. Religion emphasised contentment in what God had allotted your position in life.

The rich family had two sons that went to university, education was beyond the reach or aspirations of servants. She was not thick and picked up many things including a smattering of French the language of education.

When cast out of service she would have had nothing, no pension, no savings, no dowry, and more damning no reference. She was totally dependant on what Hubert could earn, which was little. In the next six years she had six children so went from being poor to being destitute.

Nelly's time in service taught her self reliance, how to cook clean and repair clothing all these skills she would need just to survive. Hubert was less conventional. Most of his past is shrouded in mystery but whispers from friends and enemies paint a troubled past.

Belgium had separated from Holland in the 19^th century and was a separate country when Hubert was born. Belgium was mainly catholic French speaking or Walloon. The northern coastal strip was still Flemish, Dutch speaking. The Schlieffen plan was to invade France through Holland but Moltke modernised the plan and did not invade Holland in 1914 but kept it neutral. Neutrality did not mean free from pain both allies and Germany wanted what Holland produced and blockaded the other side to ensure they didn't get anything. As a result conscription was introduced. Hubert shot off the little finger on his right hand. It is not sure if this was done once conscripted to get discharged or done to ensure he did not get conscripted.

Holland suffered severe food shortages with riots over potatoes and bread. Smuggling into and out of Holland was rife and an electric fence ran the length of the Belgium border. Many smugglers were shot or electrocuted on the fence. Hubert smuggled.

At the end of the war Hubert was living in Rozenburg making do with any work including smuggling and vegetable picking. Arie was conceived before the armistice. The period of peace did not mean prosperity for this young couple.

Introduction

A local writers group asked members to write as if, writing to grandchildren they will never see, about their life and times. In years to come, all we thought important, may be considers as trivial, and vice versa.

So for this blog I will collate incidents into short story form, to allow the Grandchildren, I will never meet, and their offspring, to have an insight into their past. Controversially I will also post, at a later date, or will be posted after my death, all letters sent to me by my ex family. The grandchildren thus armed with evidence of the appalling behavior, may find out why, something I have not been able to discover.

I will post as I get things which will not be chronological, or even logical.

enjoy the blog