I have not yet discussed Tante Betsy. She was a cousin of my Opa and my Oma's best friend. Tante Betsy was a very distinguished and educated lady who was raised in a privileged Jewish family. I have almost no knowledge of my grandfather's family because he died before I was born. Thus I don't know anything about the Jewish connection. I do know that she played a huge role in helping my Oma provide for her children once she was widowed. Tante Betsy funded the post secondary educations for both Ina and Jo. She also settled the equivalent amount on my father when he married.
I remember her as dignified and aloof. She would visit Oma weekly and the two old friends would sit huddled over tea by the hearth deep in conversation. They clearly loved one another.
Did I mention she was Jewish? It was 1940, and the Nazis occupied Holland. As the occupation tightened its grip, life became incredibly dangerous for the Jews. It was decided that we would hide Tante Betsy. She first stayed with Oma at the flat on the Hazelaarstraat. It was a very large flat with a large central hall and bedrooms, living room, kitchen and dining room radiating out from the central hall. There was room to hide Tante Betsy but as the fuel got scarcer, the only rooms being heated were the living and dining rooms. This threw the old friends together too much and cracks began to appear in their friendship. Tante Betsy was accustomed to servants. Oma was not prepared to wait on her. Tante Betsy was supposed to be invisible but she couldn't grasp that. Both women were strong willed and independent. They began to bicker and Oma resented the invasion of her home by someone who couldn't grasp the danger her presence brought. Tante Betsy would bemoan the luxuries lost to her in Oma's house. It was clear that Tante Betsy needed a new hiding place. The stress on the two friends placed them both at risk.
My father moved Tante Betsy to our much smaller flat in the interim. This was unworkable for my mother who Tante Betsy ordered around like a parlor maid. The Nazis began sweeping neighborhoods in their periodic roundups of men of working age. The intent was to send the men to labour camps, but if they found Jews, they would kill them and those hiding them. It was imperative that a new safer hiding place be found for Tante Betsy. Through resistance contacts, a safe house was found in Arnhem (near the German border) and arrangements were made for her move. She cried and pleaded with my father to let her stay and not send her to strangers. The whole family was very upset, but she had to go. She was safely hidden in Arnhem and my father ensured that she received what she needed.
All went well until the Battle of Arnhem, when the Canadians launched an air/ parachute attack behind enemy lines, on the Germany border. They lost. Arnhem was inundated with German soldiers. There was absolutely no news about Tante Betsy and no way of getting any. The Hogenkamps experienced much collective guilt and helplessness. My father beat himself up endlessly for sending her to Arnhem.
As it turned out, hiding her in the midst of a battle hot spot, was a very good move. The Germans were much too busy fighting to be searching for Jews. So, after May 5, 1945, the liberation of Holland, we got the news that Tante Betsy was alive. She came back to Den Haag, resumed her life including regular visits with my Oma. The experience had humbled her and she was well aware of her good fortune. Her niece, on the other hand, was picked up and deported to a concentration camp where she disappeared.
The good old friends never reproached each other for stresses they had endured during those terrifying months.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
All about Winky and choking pigs.
True, I haven't mentioned that remarkable cat since the goldfish entry. That entry demonstrated his wily and superior survival skills. The Hunger Year of 44 had a terrible effect on everyone. There were absolutely no pets visible in the city. People who had pets kept them inside. Winky was one such indoor survivor. He learned to eat what we ate. If we were having potatoes, Winky got potatoes, the same with sugar beets or tulip bulbs. Meat was rare and he got very little. But Winky was resourceful - hence the disappearing goldfish.
One family tale was about Winky's hunting prowess. He caught mice in unexpected places like in the WC. He was observed lurking on the toilet seat staring at the floor. Then he would rise and stealthily move round and round the seat. This would continue for hours but finally paid off. He had caught his mouse. I can't imagine that any mouse that year could have provided much food, but a little fresh meat is better than none.
At the same time we were eating meatless meals. We had lots of potatoes though due to a KLM initiative where KLM employees were encouraged to contribute sweat equity to growing potatoes on KLM land. Senior Management paid for the seed potatoes and the gardening equipment. The project took off and potatoes were provided to everyone each fall. Neighbours were very suspicious of our bounty and assumed all kinds of nefarious activities. They were not lucky enough with their employers. KLM had a variety of initiatives that provided food and assistance to their workers.
At home, potatoes were augmented with sugar beets and tulip bulbs that provided a lot of nutrients. The only bread I remember, was very dark, grainy and sour tasting. I'm reminded of the taste when I eat dark pumpernickle bread. I dislike dark pumpernicle intensely. Most unpleasant.
Occasionally, my mother, father or one of my tantes got hold of a couple of eggs, or a slab of cheese. God only knows what they traded for those treats. My mother was very inventive. She made an imitation peanut butter from chick peas that was edible but not wonderful and of course ersatz coffee was made from chicory. My favourite food was a pudding made from corn meal with a fruit flavored sauce. This treat was produced for special occasions only. It was still possible to acquire some things for a steep price on the black market and special occasions meritted the extra expenditure.
Our big break came when my father went into hiding. He was sent to a safe house to live with a country butcher and his family. My father became their son who returned to assist in the slaughter house. My mom and I were later sent to join him. I don't remember for how long we stayed or the date precisely, but I do remember eating very well, everyone around a big family table - men, their wives and children eating meat.
There was a regulation that no livestock could be butchered for local consumption. All meat would go to the German military or be exported to Germany. The only exception to that rule, injured or sick animals could be butchered for local consumption. As my father would say, it's amazing how many pigs choked to death on potatoes. Once the Nazis attention shifted elsewhere and my father was in less danger, we returned to the city. That infusion of healthy eating was the equivallent of Winky's mouse and it kept us alive. Many, many others were not so lucky - they didn't have a mouse to catch.
One family tale was about Winky's hunting prowess. He caught mice in unexpected places like in the WC. He was observed lurking on the toilet seat staring at the floor. Then he would rise and stealthily move round and round the seat. This would continue for hours but finally paid off. He had caught his mouse. I can't imagine that any mouse that year could have provided much food, but a little fresh meat is better than none.
At the same time we were eating meatless meals. We had lots of potatoes though due to a KLM initiative where KLM employees were encouraged to contribute sweat equity to growing potatoes on KLM land. Senior Management paid for the seed potatoes and the gardening equipment. The project took off and potatoes were provided to everyone each fall. Neighbours were very suspicious of our bounty and assumed all kinds of nefarious activities. They were not lucky enough with their employers. KLM had a variety of initiatives that provided food and assistance to their workers.
At home, potatoes were augmented with sugar beets and tulip bulbs that provided a lot of nutrients. The only bread I remember, was very dark, grainy and sour tasting. I'm reminded of the taste when I eat dark pumpernickle bread. I dislike dark pumpernicle intensely. Most unpleasant.
Occasionally, my mother, father or one of my tantes got hold of a couple of eggs, or a slab of cheese. God only knows what they traded for those treats. My mother was very inventive. She made an imitation peanut butter from chick peas that was edible but not wonderful and of course ersatz coffee was made from chicory. My favourite food was a pudding made from corn meal with a fruit flavored sauce. This treat was produced for special occasions only. It was still possible to acquire some things for a steep price on the black market and special occasions meritted the extra expenditure.
Our big break came when my father went into hiding. He was sent to a safe house to live with a country butcher and his family. My father became their son who returned to assist in the slaughter house. My mom and I were later sent to join him. I don't remember for how long we stayed or the date precisely, but I do remember eating very well, everyone around a big family table - men, their wives and children eating meat.
There was a regulation that no livestock could be butchered for local consumption. All meat would go to the German military or be exported to Germany. The only exception to that rule, injured or sick animals could be butchered for local consumption. As my father would say, it's amazing how many pigs choked to death on potatoes. Once the Nazis attention shifted elsewhere and my father was in less danger, we returned to the city. That infusion of healthy eating was the equivallent of Winky's mouse and it kept us alive. Many, many others were not so lucky - they didn't have a mouse to catch.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
The Hunger Year - 1944
It's scary how much recent memory has been damaged by the pneumonia. I can remember the past but I can't remember how to access my blog. I'm told that both my physical strength and my mental activity will improve. Since I'm trapped in my past for now, I'll revisit it tonight.
1944 - The Hunger Year.
Germany was losing the war, and enduring hardships in the homeland. This was also very stressful for the occupied countries because the Germans were taking our food, livestock, natural resources and our men to keep German production going and the German people fed.
People in the cities of Holland were starving, as well as freezing because of the intensely cold winter. This was the period that produced those photos of starving children and the dead lying in the streets. It was also the year many farmers grew wealthy. Hunger drove people to the outlying farms to trade whatever they had for three eggs or a half pound of butter, a scrap of meat or whatever else their gold rings, family silver, or baby's Christening cup could purchase. These opportunistic farmers hoarded the booty they had acquired from their desperate urban cousins and cashed it in after the war. War brings out the very worst in some people.
Years later when we drove through the countryside and my aunts spotted a particularly prosperous farm, they would hiss with contempt. They had made the trek out to some of these farms themselves, on foot (all the bicycles had been seized by the Germans), to barter for food for the family. They remembered with humiliation trading fine embroidered sheets and table linens for a small loaf of bread and a meager slab of cheese.
My parents were a young couple who loved to entertaining. They would get together for Bridge and dinner periodically. Dinners were lavish feasts that rotated from one home to the next. They competed to see who could prepare the most original and sumptuous meal. But how was that possible with no food available? My mother and her friends had saved women' s magazines from before the war. They clipped photographs of food and recipes and set them out on the dinner table, everyone would gather around and comment on the delicious meal. They laughed and talked and kept their spirits up at their imaginary dinner parties and then rush home before curfew.
I can still remember how being deeply hungry felt. I remember asking for a piece of bread once and being told there was none. To this day, I always like to keep a well stocked kitchen so that nobody has to go away hungry. I never take food for granted, ever. It is a profound gift and I'm grateful for it.
1944 - The Hunger Year.
Germany was losing the war, and enduring hardships in the homeland. This was also very stressful for the occupied countries because the Germans were taking our food, livestock, natural resources and our men to keep German production going and the German people fed.
People in the cities of Holland were starving, as well as freezing because of the intensely cold winter. This was the period that produced those photos of starving children and the dead lying in the streets. It was also the year many farmers grew wealthy. Hunger drove people to the outlying farms to trade whatever they had for three eggs or a half pound of butter, a scrap of meat or whatever else their gold rings, family silver, or baby's Christening cup could purchase. These opportunistic farmers hoarded the booty they had acquired from their desperate urban cousins and cashed it in after the war. War brings out the very worst in some people.
Years later when we drove through the countryside and my aunts spotted a particularly prosperous farm, they would hiss with contempt. They had made the trek out to some of these farms themselves, on foot (all the bicycles had been seized by the Germans), to barter for food for the family. They remembered with humiliation trading fine embroidered sheets and table linens for a small loaf of bread and a meager slab of cheese.
My parents were a young couple who loved to entertaining. They would get together for Bridge and dinner periodically. Dinners were lavish feasts that rotated from one home to the next. They competed to see who could prepare the most original and sumptuous meal. But how was that possible with no food available? My mother and her friends had saved women' s magazines from before the war. They clipped photographs of food and recipes and set them out on the dinner table, everyone would gather around and comment on the delicious meal. They laughed and talked and kept their spirits up at their imaginary dinner parties and then rush home before curfew.
I can still remember how being deeply hungry felt. I remember asking for a piece of bread once and being told there was none. To this day, I always like to keep a well stocked kitchen so that nobody has to go away hungry. I never take food for granted, ever. It is a profound gift and I'm grateful for it.
Saturday, May 9, 2009
I'm back in the land of the living.
My God, illness can wipe you out. I have been very dislocated from anything resembling reality for the last month. Bronchitis quickly descended into my lungs leaving me delirious and drugged with double pneumonia - no food, no drink, no awareness and no interest in life. Thank heaven for good friends, Megan who took care of me till she left for BC. Freya and Gary who insisted on feeding me and shopping for me. Cindy my cleaning lady who checked on me and took home my laundry regularly. I was sweating so heavily that my bedding and nighties needed frequent replacing. Miles my gardener and handyman, who took care of the spring clean up and pond renewal without me. Erica who chauffeured me to and fro Frances' memorial because she knew I'd feel worse if I missed it. Doctor Cameron, for seeing me promptly and often. THANK YOU ALL for dragging me back into the world, because for a while, I didn't want to be here.
I'll get back to my memoirs soon, I promise.
I'll get back to my memoirs soon, I promise.
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