Winky and the goldfish - 1942

This is not something I remember, but it is so much part of the oral history, that I seem to remember. We were over two years into the Nazi occupation and times were getting tough, what with nightly curfews, blackouts, air-raid sirens, food growing scarce etc. The Nazis had requisitioned our wonderful apartment near Scheveningen to billet some officers, so we were forced to move our furnishings into a smaller flat on the Escamplaan, a step down in neighbourhood which irked my Tantes.

We didn't leave a scrap behind for the Nazis, not even the broadloom, but alas, the beautiful bathtub had to be left behind. We were only given a couple of hours to vacate so my father, my Godfather, Gert van den Steenhoven (Oom Steen), my two tantes and my mother developed an ingenious way of spiriting away all the household goods that we should have left behind. They took turns wheeling the stuff to the Escamplaan in my comodious English pram. Those German officers were in for a rude shock when they moved in, no carpets, no curtains, no stove, nothing remained of the beautiful apartment they were promised.

I don't know why, but on the Escamplaan, my parents acquired a large goldfish to amuse me. Apparently I was very fond of that fish. So was Winky. He watched it swimming in its bowl for weeks. One evening my mother discovered an empty bowl, a small puddle on the floor, a contented cat and no goldfish. I was already in bed so she urged my poor father to go out and find a replacement before I woke up. He combed the city looking for a large fish that resembled Winky's supper. Finally he returned home successful. The new fish went into the bowl and my parents went to bed. The next morning I visited my fish, and announced that the fish must be sick, because it had shrunk. Indeed it had, because the new fish was smaller. I recall it lived for several years with a cover on the bowl and Winky never stopped watching that fish.

Into the Now for a while.

Did I mention that it is Spring and that I adore Spring? This is a rainy Sunday, and the birds are loving it. I can't get into the garden yet, because the frost is still in the ground. So I'm in that relaxing place that's filled with anticipation.

So many birds are back at my feeders, that they are old friends come to stay for the summer or just passing through. The robins have been back for a month as are the starlings. The house sparrows (all year regulars) have been joined by song sparrows, house finches, cowbirds, red winged blackbirds, grackles, and blackbirds. The cross bills who overwintered with the cardinals, nuthatches, chickadees and mourning doves are now meeting with a lot of competition at the feeders. Yesterday I watched at least 15 starlings jostling each other to get into the bird bath. LOL.

My Willy is in a very high state of excitement at all the windows, following the action. At intervals he rushes out onto the veranda to improve his view. He even got out into the garden a few days ago, where he dashed around madly, climbed a tree and then came back to roll for me. He was easy to catch so I think his manic days are over and his affection for me is taking over. A great relief.

I spent yesterday at the art school glazing my torso sculpture for firing. I chose a cobalt blue because it's such a rich and robust colour. I had taken my head home to finish at my leisure. I had decided to polychrome the head in the style of ancient Egyptian sculpture, and I didn't want to encounter any resistance from the teacher. She is a wonderful teacher, with a lot of technical information, but her knowledge of sculpture and art history is woefully limited. When I took my painted head in yesterday she was shocked. She was particularly upset by the yellowish skin tones, which I had worked hard to achieve. I wanted to replicate the Egyptian palate. Only after a couple of my fellow students admired it, did Gail reevaluate her views a little. I'm taking Herbert Reed's "History of Sculpture", a book of Egyptian art, and a book on plastic sculpture techniques on Thursday. Time to open some eyes.

I have a real problem with the way art is taught today. In high school, there is absolutely no Art History taught at all and very little in Art colleges. The entire emphasis is on creativity. It's the result of Art being taught by "Crafters". My sculpture teacher is a potter by profession. A good potter mind you, but no sculptor. Still, I like her a lot and she gives us a lot of freedom. I'm profoundly grateful that she is teaching this class which has given me a chance to rediscover myself. I'm already signed up for the Spring semester. Oh happy day!

About Winky

Winky came from a farm to reside with my parents. He was a well loved practical and very typical DS, grey, tabby, neutered male cat with green eyes and a white bib. He was about two years old when I arrived. He was adopted shortly after my parents married and legend has it that he was very clever and well disposed to indoor life. Winky was a good mouser and a pragmatic survivor which became ever more important as the war progressed and the food ran out.

My mother also adopted a beautiful wire-haired terrier for me, called Angus. Angus didn't last too long in our household because unlike Winky, he couldn't adapt to wartime rations. Whereas Winky would eat bread soaked in milk augmented with the occasional mouse, Angus sickened without meat. He was given to an elderly gentleman who could afford the luxury of feeding a dog.

Frankly, I don't remember anything about Angus except what I saw later in photos. I had little relationship with him, but I do remember Winky. He was always with me. He slept in my room and I recall touching his fur and staring into his eyes as we lay together in my crib. He was my comfort and possibly the foundation for the sense of well-being I have in the company of cats.

There was also a goldfish. I don't recall if the fish had a name. Winky was entranced by the fish, but I'll save that for another day.

Winky #1

March 15, 1940 was a big day for the Hogenkamp-van den Berg family for one reason - a first grandchild was born into a family of mainly women. It was a good thing I was a girl child. Not that a boy would have been unwelcome (after all my father, Jan Hogenkamp, was a boy) but a girl was welcomed warmly. It was a relief for my mother, who having survived TB in her early twenties, had a difficult and tiring delivery. I arrived hale and healthy and immediately became the focus of a very "trots" Oma and two proud maiden aunts.

My mother and father were living in a very comfortable remodelled flat in Den Haag where my father had added a modern Canadian style bathroom with tub and shower for my Canadian mother. He was a rising executive in KLM and a reservist with the Dutch army. My mother was a Canadian nurse who had moved to Holland a year earlier to marry my father. Winky was the family cat that my mother named after the cat she left behind in Ottawa.

So you could say that Winky was part of the welcoming committee when I was brought home from the hospital. Family history has it that the cat took an immediate shine to me and was never far from my side ever after. He guarded me and slept near the crib. I was his baby.
Of course I remember none of this but I do remember being very fond of him when I got older.

My two aunts Jo and Ina were my father's sisters and he was the baby brother of his family. They were both teachers, well read, highly educated and dedicated to their professions. Teaching was one of the few professions along with nursing, that was suitable for ladies of breeding, in reduced circumstances. And their circumstances were definately reduced because their father had died young leaving a huge debt as a legacy. Oma didn't work but the daughters and my father were expected to work and pay off the debt and salvage the family honour. The debt was not to a bank or a money lender, but to my Oma's two brothers. It seems that my Opa first went through his wife's considerable legacy before borrowing from her brothers to keep his book publishing business afloat. It is aid, my Opa was unable to embrace the emergence of trade unions in the printing business and constantly lost staff and contracts as a consequence. In the family he was always referred to as "bad at business". He died early for his troubles and his three children were reqired to assume the burden of his debts.

When my father married and had a child my aunts decided to take over his share of the debt to permit him to care for his family. So the two maiden aunts became the stewards of the Hogenkamp honour. You might well ask why their two van den Berg uncles didn't just cancel the debt when Opa died? After all, they had wealth and their widowed sister wasn't responsible for her husband's bad business decisions. I can't answer that. All I know is that my aunts put their lives on hold for years to support their mother and pay off every last penny that their father owed. I have always suspected that was the reason they both became committed labourites and staunch defenders of trade unions.

These same two aunts doted on me, the only family grandchild. I was read to in both Dutch and English, outings to the country happened and all was peaceful and happy in the family circle. But rumblings of war were being heard all over Europe. My father was called up to defend tiny neutral Holland in case it turned out not to be neutral after all. KLM was giving its people time off to train and prepare. My mother was alone a lot more and enfolded into the loving but bossy bosom of her mother-in-law. Plans were being made to secure the family life-line so that while each family lived independently, there was a fall back plan for cooperation as needed.

Germany disregarded Dutch neutrality and my father left for the front. May 1940, Holland was invaded and after a seven- day march to defend Holland's border, my father was taken prisoner of war along with the rest of the Dutch army. Holland surrendered and to make a point Germany bombed Rotterdam. During the bombing, my mother hid me with Winky, in my pram under the stairs. At two months old, my world would be turned upside down.

This Is My Virgin Post

This weblog was created by me (and Maya, my delightful daughter) to kick-start my chronicling ambitions. My intention with Paws Awhile is to trace my life and my family's stories through the eras of each of the family cats. There was a cat in my home when I was born and there have been cats throughout my life. There is a cat with me still.

We begin with Winky.