THE ATTACK ON WOMEN, CHILDREN AND SOME OF THE MEN WHO HAD ALREADY COME BACK
The following story took place in 1946 in the than so called Dutch Indies, in a Jappenese prison camp.
Vibrant and jubilant, liberation had taken her entrance. It came suddenly, almost as a surprise, in one single day. It was great, seductive, intoxicating, unbelievable. Sitting up there in the tree, looking over the camp wall to freedom with a bright happy feeling: “we made it”. Other children in the tree laughed and shouted to each other and pointed at the mountains. But then, a terrible noise coming from everywhere, a whistling sound, something that flew past your ear, danger! Like apples we fell out of the tree.
Mothers came running to us, yelling “come along, they are attacking us”. Bullets, running, fleeing into our small rooms, quickly on the ground, what is happening, than loud yelling on the other site of the wall:" merdeka". My mother shouted to us, run, the Indonesians are coming, than we saw them coming over the wall like pirates with war colors on their faces and guns, other wapons, frighting looking fellows. We ran as fast as we could. More Indonesians came over the wall, everyone ran in panic into the narrow pathway to the other side of the camp, to the very large open field. There also were Indonesians yelling: “merdeka, merdeka”. We all ran on the field as far to the end as possible, there were already a lot of people. The Indonesians stood in a broad circle around this big field, they stood everywhere with rifles at gunpoint, waiting for the order to shoot.’
In some of the barracks, all women had barricaded the doors and windows with their beds, tables and all their luggage, they did not want to come out to be killed without a fight. And whatever the attackers tried, they didn’t manage to get them out, which ultimately was our salvation. It lasted and lasted, everything was silent, fearfull we stood there on the field listening if they would get them out of the barracks. Suddenly they began shooting at random and throwing grenades. “get down”, people screamed, “get down”, we also screamed. The men that had already come back to their wives and children in our camp, threw the grenades back as fast as possible. Everyone was dead silent and we all began to pray. Laying flat on the grass, I suddenly felt a terrible blow close by, it was so bad that I thought my chest would burst apart and I had blood all over me and pieces of all sort of things. Oh God, I am dead, everything is broken, this it it. How strange, I can still hear, I can still see, if this is death, that cannot be so bad. How strange I can still move my fingers. Oh God, I am only wounded, but I don’t feel any pain.
Carefully, I looked at the things that were lying upon me: “where, where am I wounded?” Then I heard my mother’s voice: “get up, quickly, we have to get out of here, we have to go further to the back, quick, quick”. Can I do that, Oh God, it is not mine, it’s someone else’s, I could not fully believe it, but coming up and running I found out their was nothing wrong with me. Away, far away we ran as fast as we could to the back, where no Indonesians were. In the running crowd we lost my brother and went for the toilets were we crept on top of each other. My mother then heard my brother crying. She called: “Anton, we are here”. He came to our toilet. Weeping he said: “Mummy, how should I pray?” You never forget something like that. Cramped together we all were praying aloud, waiting to be killed. After some time we heard even worse wild shouts from the rooftops. Everybody in our toilet looked up with terrible fear in their eyes, wich I never will forget, this is the end, they said. Kiss your children goodbye, we will die. More terrible shouts and infernal noise, then shooting, bullets were flying around, pops, running, screaming was all we heard. Absolutely terrified we waited.
Someone yelled: “they are ours, it’s the Gurka’s, it really is.” It became dead quiet. Was it possible, would we be rescued? Very carefully some went looking and saw dark men passing by, grinning and laughing at us: “the Gurka’s, the best warriors there are”, someone said. “They come to liberate us”. Everyone started to cry and thank God.
And yes, one hour later the had captured some Indonesians and others fled. We came creeping out of our toilets looking around for relatives, we found my grandmother, who was overcome by panic, had ran so fast that see fell down and had kept silent as if she was dead. How you feel then is indescribable. You get your life back, you live, it’s the most wonderful feeling in the world, I have never ever forgotten this feeling.
I didn’t want to tell this story at first, but my eldest daughter made me do it and I am glad I did.
Dinkie
zondag 8 mei 2011
woensdag 27 april 2011
ABOUT MY PARENTS
ABOUT MY PARENTS
Now come the best and worst stories of a 74 year life. Starting with a sad but also beautiful story. For me losing of both my parents within 4 months was a huge shock. We had survived all, the Japanese concentration camps in Indonesia and the difficult and fine years in Holland. On May 22nd my mother passed away, my father just stood there, very upset as if he had ended up in a nightmare. Disoriented he walked in his apartment. He was on the phone all day, asking: “what shall I do now, how do I do that, what would your mother want me to do, etc.”
He often stayed with us and I loved that. We talked about my mother for hours and he tried to be brave. Less than two months later he got a cerebral hemorrhage at home. He couldn’t talk anymore and was completely paralyzed at one side. From Leiden I could have him transferred to the hospital in Goes and from there to a nursing home in Zierikzee. I could visit him as much as I wanted all day, those were my best days with him and I was hoping for further recovery.
One morning, less than 2 months later, I got a call that he had had a heart attack and at 9 o’clock he was laying in the hospital in Zierikzee with various infusions. There my father was, he couldn’t talk anymore, he only could move his eyebrows up and down. Once was yes, twice was no, that way we could talk together. Sometimes tears ran down his cheeks. The whole day I hugged and talked to this very very dear man, holding his hand all the time. At 17.00 hours Willem came and at 7 o’clock p.m. a nurse came to tell that things weren’t going well. Doctors came and said: the end is near we can not save him. My sweet dear father, for the last time, he looked at us very sweetly, a little crooked smile and he was gone. God, how I cried.
Our life together had ended, my great support, my great friend, who had brought the family back together, was gone.
How he had lugged, first on his moped (Solex), later with a Ford Anglia and later even better. He managed to give us a fantastic life in Holland, not rich but good, solid and secure. He was never angry, there was only one thing that he did, he talked for hours. It drove my mother crazy: punish them, send them to their rooms. But no, he just said: child, listen to me, why are you doing this? Then followed hours full of wonderful discussions with someone who was never angry, it was great.
After his cremation we walked through their apartment, then you realize how awfull dying is. His cup of coffee was still there, his watch on the nightstand, his clothes on the chair. Also all his stuff in the bathroom, any minute you were expecting him home. This all has to go, my fathers live was over, for good.
Then came the most dreaded moment that we had to empty the apartment. All of their lives passed through our hands. Afterwards, it took me a year before I was functioning normal again. The apartment was sold and we inherited also a considerable sum of money.
My dear husband said: before we start renovating the house, you first have to do something for yourself, something you would like the most. For me that was regression hypnosis, back to past lives, but how and where do you do that in Zeeland in 1987.
On the floor at our door was a newspaper and while wiping my feet, my eye caught an article in the paper, it read that a young homeopathic medical hypnotherapist had opened a practice in Zonnemaire, what a coincidence! I called immediately and could already make an appointment for the next day. This lovely young woman is now, for already 30 years, a friend of mine. It took three sessions of 2 hours before it really happened, but then there was no stopping. There were numerous short visits to past lives in different times and an encounter with my deceased parents. This was so extraordinary, so real, so fantastic. I did not want to have missed this for the world and I learned a lot about myself and my life. (will be continued).
Dinkie
Now come the best and worst stories of a 74 year life. Starting with a sad but also beautiful story. For me losing of both my parents within 4 months was a huge shock. We had survived all, the Japanese concentration camps in Indonesia and the difficult and fine years in Holland. On May 22nd my mother passed away, my father just stood there, very upset as if he had ended up in a nightmare. Disoriented he walked in his apartment. He was on the phone all day, asking: “what shall I do now, how do I do that, what would your mother want me to do, etc.”
He often stayed with us and I loved that. We talked about my mother for hours and he tried to be brave. Less than two months later he got a cerebral hemorrhage at home. He couldn’t talk anymore and was completely paralyzed at one side. From Leiden I could have him transferred to the hospital in Goes and from there to a nursing home in Zierikzee. I could visit him as much as I wanted all day, those were my best days with him and I was hoping for further recovery.
One morning, less than 2 months later, I got a call that he had had a heart attack and at 9 o’clock he was laying in the hospital in Zierikzee with various infusions. There my father was, he couldn’t talk anymore, he only could move his eyebrows up and down. Once was yes, twice was no, that way we could talk together. Sometimes tears ran down his cheeks. The whole day I hugged and talked to this very very dear man, holding his hand all the time. At 17.00 hours Willem came and at 7 o’clock p.m. a nurse came to tell that things weren’t going well. Doctors came and said: the end is near we can not save him. My sweet dear father, for the last time, he looked at us very sweetly, a little crooked smile and he was gone. God, how I cried.
Our life together had ended, my great support, my great friend, who had brought the family back together, was gone.
How he had lugged, first on his moped (Solex), later with a Ford Anglia and later even better. He managed to give us a fantastic life in Holland, not rich but good, solid and secure. He was never angry, there was only one thing that he did, he talked for hours. It drove my mother crazy: punish them, send them to their rooms. But no, he just said: child, listen to me, why are you doing this? Then followed hours full of wonderful discussions with someone who was never angry, it was great.
After his cremation we walked through their apartment, then you realize how awfull dying is. His cup of coffee was still there, his watch on the nightstand, his clothes on the chair. Also all his stuff in the bathroom, any minute you were expecting him home. This all has to go, my fathers live was over, for good.
Then came the most dreaded moment that we had to empty the apartment. All of their lives passed through our hands. Afterwards, it took me a year before I was functioning normal again. The apartment was sold and we inherited also a considerable sum of money.
My dear husband said: before we start renovating the house, you first have to do something for yourself, something you would like the most. For me that was regression hypnosis, back to past lives, but how and where do you do that in Zeeland in 1987.
On the floor at our door was a newspaper and while wiping my feet, my eye caught an article in the paper, it read that a young homeopathic medical hypnotherapist had opened a practice in Zonnemaire, what a coincidence! I called immediately and could already make an appointment for the next day. This lovely young woman is now, for already 30 years, a friend of mine. It took three sessions of 2 hours before it really happened, but then there was no stopping. There were numerous short visits to past lives in different times and an encounter with my deceased parents. This was so extraordinary, so real, so fantastic. I did not want to have missed this for the world and I learned a lot about myself and my life. (will be continued).
Dinkie
More Music
If you are 72 years old and really do have everything, you still have a small part of your life ahead, you hope, you can fill it in to your own choice as long as your health permits.
Enjoying yourself you can do everywhere and in Holland there is a lot to enjoy. By chance we came (does chance actually exists?) to an Indian movie called Bombay. It is a fantastic story, but what fascinated us the most was the music and the dancing, what a perfection. Unbelievable, it got us in its grip.
Later, with much difficulty, the second Indian movie “Kabhi Kushi Kabhie Gham” came. In that movie the dancing, the interiors and the clothing was overwhelming and so graciously beautiful and elegant. In one word: eye catching.
Of those dramatically beautiful movies, we have now also the music on CD. In the morning at breakfast in our real flax farm in Zeeland, the Indian music rumbles through the house and we love it. Who would have expected that.
Dinkie
Enjoying yourself you can do everywhere and in Holland there is a lot to enjoy. By chance we came (does chance actually exists?) to an Indian movie called Bombay. It is a fantastic story, but what fascinated us the most was the music and the dancing, what a perfection. Unbelievable, it got us in its grip.
Later, with much difficulty, the second Indian movie “Kabhi Kushi Kabhie Gham” came. In that movie the dancing, the interiors and the clothing was overwhelming and so graciously beautiful and elegant. In one word: eye catching.
Of those dramatically beautiful movies, we have now also the music on CD. In the morning at breakfast in our real flax farm in Zeeland, the Indian music rumbles through the house and we love it. Who would have expected that.
Dinkie
dinsdag 26 april 2011
A HAPPY TIME IN NIGERIA
A HAPPY TIME IN NIGERIA IN 1970
Exhausted and tired with four children, after four moves and without help and with a husband, who came home at 08.00 p.m. and who was abroad a lot and never had time, so I arrived at our first station in Lagos, Nigeria.
Nigeria in 1970 was, just after the departure of the English and just after the Biafran war, still very colonial.
We got a pretty house in a park-like garden in Ikoy. One side of the house only had glass doors, all of which opened to the porch side. The house had a large kitchen, spacious bedrooms, a beautiful garden with many coconut trees and of course, not to forget, a lot of staff. Two servants (men), who lived behind the house on their own compound with their own families. A gardener with an assistant, a night watchman and a driver. So we arrived from hell in heaven, everything was done for us, the washing, ironing, really everything. I didn’t have to do a thing anymore, what a gigantic luxury. To make things even more easy, there also was the Ikoy club, still entirely based on the English trends with a library, a golf course, tennis, judo, squash and a wonderful swimmingpool and where you could also eat and drink something. After school all young people came here and kept themselves busy for hours.
The project was a government project performed by Nedeco and the Dutch Embassy, so it was a very prestigious project.
We had been given a lot of money for clothing, such as evening- and cocktail dresses, sport wear and more. This was obligatory and it certainly wasn’t a problem for a worn out housewife and the four children. This was a whole new world for us with many obligations and etiquette on one side and luxury and freedom on the other side. Next to the obligatory parties via the Embassy, there were also two great nightclubs in Lagos at the time, the Bachus and the Bagatelle, where many Libanese worked, extremely charming people.
Mostly I enjoyed having free time, no more housekeeping. To be able to do whatever you want, going out, swimming and when coming home finding diner ready on the table and the laundry all done, that was great.
The kids were perfectly cared for, there was always someone at home. The driver drove them everywhere and picked them up again, really unbelievable.
The finest moments of my stay there, were the days that I left in a banana boat from the Federal Palace Hotel (with swimming pool and more luxury) to go to Badagry beach via the major routes of all vessels, that went to Lagos. Those trips with that small boat with outboard motor, which preferably refused to start when we navigated in between the large vessels, were very scary as well. That small narrow wooden boat, floating closer and closer to a huge fraigtliner and the Nigerian on the helm was in great panic, pulling and pulling the engine to get it started again and we eagerly hoping not to be run over by one of those gigantic looking ships. Many a time I thought, that is it, now my life ends here, but then the bitchy engine started and we could just in time sail away from the great danger, sighing with relief. All this tension though, couldn’t disturb my desire for those marvelous hours on a lovely beach, sitting under a palm roof and listening to the blows of the huge waves on the beach, drinking the delicious coconut milk from the many coconuts.
I’ve spent hours there on my own. Sometimes in the company of an Expat or one of the Nigerian women, who sold me the coconuts. I enjoyed those wonderful days of sun, wind, waves and deep peace. Sometimes my youngest son came with me and would also play for hours on the beach.
I will never forget Badagry beach, so peaceful, so beautiful, so pristine with many palm trees.
Dinkie
Exhausted and tired with four children, after four moves and without help and with a husband, who came home at 08.00 p.m. and who was abroad a lot and never had time, so I arrived at our first station in Lagos, Nigeria.
Nigeria in 1970 was, just after the departure of the English and just after the Biafran war, still very colonial.
We got a pretty house in a park-like garden in Ikoy. One side of the house only had glass doors, all of which opened to the porch side. The house had a large kitchen, spacious bedrooms, a beautiful garden with many coconut trees and of course, not to forget, a lot of staff. Two servants (men), who lived behind the house on their own compound with their own families. A gardener with an assistant, a night watchman and a driver. So we arrived from hell in heaven, everything was done for us, the washing, ironing, really everything. I didn’t have to do a thing anymore, what a gigantic luxury. To make things even more easy, there also was the Ikoy club, still entirely based on the English trends with a library, a golf course, tennis, judo, squash and a wonderful swimmingpool and where you could also eat and drink something. After school all young people came here and kept themselves busy for hours.
The project was a government project performed by Nedeco and the Dutch Embassy, so it was a very prestigious project.
We had been given a lot of money for clothing, such as evening- and cocktail dresses, sport wear and more. This was obligatory and it certainly wasn’t a problem for a worn out housewife and the four children. This was a whole new world for us with many obligations and etiquette on one side and luxury and freedom on the other side. Next to the obligatory parties via the Embassy, there were also two great nightclubs in Lagos at the time, the Bachus and the Bagatelle, where many Libanese worked, extremely charming people.
Mostly I enjoyed having free time, no more housekeeping. To be able to do whatever you want, going out, swimming and when coming home finding diner ready on the table and the laundry all done, that was great.
The kids were perfectly cared for, there was always someone at home. The driver drove them everywhere and picked them up again, really unbelievable.
The finest moments of my stay there, were the days that I left in a banana boat from the Federal Palace Hotel (with swimming pool and more luxury) to go to Badagry beach via the major routes of all vessels, that went to Lagos. Those trips with that small boat with outboard motor, which preferably refused to start when we navigated in between the large vessels, were very scary as well. That small narrow wooden boat, floating closer and closer to a huge fraigtliner and the Nigerian on the helm was in great panic, pulling and pulling the engine to get it started again and we eagerly hoping not to be run over by one of those gigantic looking ships. Many a time I thought, that is it, now my life ends here, but then the bitchy engine started and we could just in time sail away from the great danger, sighing with relief. All this tension though, couldn’t disturb my desire for those marvelous hours on a lovely beach, sitting under a palm roof and listening to the blows of the huge waves on the beach, drinking the delicious coconut milk from the many coconuts.
I’ve spent hours there on my own. Sometimes in the company of an Expat or one of the Nigerian women, who sold me the coconuts. I enjoyed those wonderful days of sun, wind, waves and deep peace. Sometimes my youngest son came with me and would also play for hours on the beach.
I will never forget Badagry beach, so peaceful, so beautiful, so pristine with many palm trees.
Dinkie
FOLLOW UP ON MY PARENTS
FOLLOW UP ON MY PARENTS
Dark and gloomy was also the morning, realizing that her future would be without parents. The deep blue autumn sky, she saw through the window, seemed to mock her. Slowly she got dressed and went to the hypnotherapist in the next village for her first session. Feeling sad she drove to her appointment taking a small plant with her. Marianne, a small thin woman opened the door. After a pleasant chat with a cup of tea, she was summoned to lie down on the long chair with a pillow and blanket over her.
In the quiet dim room, Marianne spoke to her so softly, that she felt completely relaxed. Everything was quiet until she almost fell asleep: “now try to go to your own place, see a forest or a beach. Do you see something yet?” “No”. “Go inside your head and find your own place”. Everything remained dark, I sank deeper and deeper inwards. The soft voice continued in cadence. Suddenly, a bright flash of light, bright sun, clear blue sky. A girl walking in a lane with trees. I knew that girl, it was me!’
Surprised and shocked by the brightness of the light and the recognition, the image suddenly was gone.
And so three other sessions followed with flashes of a familiar past, very fascinating. The fourth session I was looking forward to turn into my head, it was as if a door suddenly opened and there was my own place, a very neglected terraced garden, a crystal clear image.
This wild garden went from high to low. I was sitting on two weathered tombstones on which the letters weren’t readable anymore due to age and the moss. Further there was grass. One terrace lower again grass and some wild flowers and plants. Then again another lower terrace with only tall grasses and wildflowers and next to it a grove of tall pines and meadows and above it a clear blue sky.
Near the grove of pines was a large pasture fenced with a high white fence, with in it a black horse. So this was my own place, how very odd,special and why a black horse?
Still I felt completely at home there. Marianne, wrote everything down and told me that you could meet whomever you want in your own place. Can I see my parents back, I asked. It should be possible, she said, if they also want to see you again. We will try it next time. I couldn’t wait, I longed for that moment, I so much wanted to see them. Finally, the moment was there.
I saw the garden, my own place, very quickly and again enjoyed the view and the beautiful wild black horse. In mind, I asked my parents to come and there, to my amazement, my father came, so clear, so real, with such a sweet smile, that I began to cry terribly. Then my mother came as well as a very young person. Weeping I said: Mum, how white your teeth are and you are so beautiful. Yeah, she said and I kept crying. If you keep on crying you ruin everything, she said, typically my mother. My father said: hello child, don’t be so sad my dear, enjoy the fact that we are with you now and here.
Is this your garden now, my mother asked. It looks more like a wilderness and what are those two tombstones doing there? I don’t understand that this is your favorite place, very strange. And what do you do with a black horse?
Look Gwen, a flower, my father said. Henk, that isn’t a flower, that is weed. This conversation flowed on like this, so typical of my parents, that I was laughing and crying at the same time.
My father turned back to me and said: child, you have to enjoy life, live, do not suffer, don’t worry so much, just enjoy. We will meet again soon, have some wonderful years.
Stop whining, my mother said. I then had to laugh about this comment, which was so typical for her, and slowly they faded away. I called: please stay, stay!
Marianne said: Dinkie, let them go, you have seen them now, let them go, girl and come back slowly. Are you all right again? she asked sweetly.
After a delicious cup of tea and a long talk about everything, I went home feeling very happy and I promised myself to follow my father’s advice to start living.
After another 5 amazing sessions with Marianne to various past lives, such as England, America, and Morocco with many people and good and bad situations, I also met my helper in the garden. A more optimistic and happier man you cannot imagine, I can still learn a lot from him. All this was one of the finest things I have witnessed in my life and I still think back about it with great joy. Thanks for all your patience, dear Marianne.
Dinkie
Dark and gloomy was also the morning, realizing that her future would be without parents. The deep blue autumn sky, she saw through the window, seemed to mock her. Slowly she got dressed and went to the hypnotherapist in the next village for her first session. Feeling sad she drove to her appointment taking a small plant with her. Marianne, a small thin woman opened the door. After a pleasant chat with a cup of tea, she was summoned to lie down on the long chair with a pillow and blanket over her.
In the quiet dim room, Marianne spoke to her so softly, that she felt completely relaxed. Everything was quiet until she almost fell asleep: “now try to go to your own place, see a forest or a beach. Do you see something yet?” “No”. “Go inside your head and find your own place”. Everything remained dark, I sank deeper and deeper inwards. The soft voice continued in cadence. Suddenly, a bright flash of light, bright sun, clear blue sky. A girl walking in a lane with trees. I knew that girl, it was me!’
Surprised and shocked by the brightness of the light and the recognition, the image suddenly was gone.
And so three other sessions followed with flashes of a familiar past, very fascinating. The fourth session I was looking forward to turn into my head, it was as if a door suddenly opened and there was my own place, a very neglected terraced garden, a crystal clear image.
This wild garden went from high to low. I was sitting on two weathered tombstones on which the letters weren’t readable anymore due to age and the moss. Further there was grass. One terrace lower again grass and some wild flowers and plants. Then again another lower terrace with only tall grasses and wildflowers and next to it a grove of tall pines and meadows and above it a clear blue sky.
Near the grove of pines was a large pasture fenced with a high white fence, with in it a black horse. So this was my own place, how very odd,special and why a black horse?
Still I felt completely at home there. Marianne, wrote everything down and told me that you could meet whomever you want in your own place. Can I see my parents back, I asked. It should be possible, she said, if they also want to see you again. We will try it next time. I couldn’t wait, I longed for that moment, I so much wanted to see them. Finally, the moment was there.
I saw the garden, my own place, very quickly and again enjoyed the view and the beautiful wild black horse. In mind, I asked my parents to come and there, to my amazement, my father came, so clear, so real, with such a sweet smile, that I began to cry terribly. Then my mother came as well as a very young person. Weeping I said: Mum, how white your teeth are and you are so beautiful. Yeah, she said and I kept crying. If you keep on crying you ruin everything, she said, typically my mother. My father said: hello child, don’t be so sad my dear, enjoy the fact that we are with you now and here.
Is this your garden now, my mother asked. It looks more like a wilderness and what are those two tombstones doing there? I don’t understand that this is your favorite place, very strange. And what do you do with a black horse?
Look Gwen, a flower, my father said. Henk, that isn’t a flower, that is weed. This conversation flowed on like this, so typical of my parents, that I was laughing and crying at the same time.
My father turned back to me and said: child, you have to enjoy life, live, do not suffer, don’t worry so much, just enjoy. We will meet again soon, have some wonderful years.
Stop whining, my mother said. I then had to laugh about this comment, which was so typical for her, and slowly they faded away. I called: please stay, stay!
Marianne said: Dinkie, let them go, you have seen them now, let them go, girl and come back slowly. Are you all right again? she asked sweetly.
After a delicious cup of tea and a long talk about everything, I went home feeling very happy and I promised myself to follow my father’s advice to start living.
After another 5 amazing sessions with Marianne to various past lives, such as England, America, and Morocco with many people and good and bad situations, I also met my helper in the garden. A more optimistic and happier man you cannot imagine, I can still learn a lot from him. All this was one of the finest things I have witnessed in my life and I still think back about it with great joy. Thanks for all your patience, dear Marianne.
Dinkie
DR ENGELS, CONCENTRATION CAMP SOLO
DR. ENGELS, CONCENTRATION CAMP SOLO
Slowly the dark night changed into another very hot day in camp Solo. Everyone was busy to get ready as soon as possible to be in time for the big roll call on the large spacious front square of the old part of this huge internment camp. The old part used to be a mental hospital for severe patients and now it was the largest women’s camp in Solo.
Our Japanese commander (Toewan Jap besar) was receiving very distinguished visitors, various pompous and dressed in gorgeous uniforms little Japanese, this for the glory of the commander, who wanted to make a good impression on these highly-placed gentlemen with his camp. Everyone had to be at the square and with everyone he also meant the sick from the infirmary. Still hungry everyone walked in silence to the large square wondering what would happen next. Every time it was a mystery to me, how all these hungry women still could give each other terrific recipes. At a certain moment we all stood in the right place with our barrack head and you could see how big the camp was and how many women there were in this camp. All names were called, everybody was there also the sick and half dead, it didn’t matter how you felt, you had to be there other wise the “kempetai” (something like the Gestapo) would come and take you away. All these rows full of women, children, sick, disabled and nuns stood perfectly still in the sweltering heat. In front of us was the large covered terrace, where a long table was placed with chairs behind it. After leaving us standing there for a quarter of an hour, the highly-placed men came out from aside the porch and sat down on their chairs. As last one the camp commander sat down with his shining sword. Suddenly there was a big commotion from where the beds of the sick were and before we knew it our only female physician, Dr. Engels was there, who initially had refused to take the dying people outside, but had done it because her helpers had pointed out to her, that they would be punished if she didn’t do it, because everyone had to be there.
From that corner came much noise of the wailing and sobbing of the very sick people in the scorching sun. Many fainted in their beds and nobody could do anything for them. The sun rose higher, the heat became even worse. Also in our group people fainted, children and babies began to moan. Desperate mothers tried to help them, but they also didn’t know what to do. Sweat gushed from you and you got a shortage of liquid. We were overcome by hunger, thirst and fatigue. On the porch the Japanese had an elaborate meal and drinks, served by Indonesian men, while our commander as proud as a peacock walked back and forth. Coming out of the blue Dr. Engels suddenly was on the porch and walked toward the commander with large steps and before anyone realized she venomously spoke to him without having bend for him first. Before anyone had got over the first fright, a terrible tragedy took place before all our eyes. The commander roared that she had to bow. She just kept nodding, she screamed about the dying and the sick. He slapped her in the middle of her face, she gave him a slap back. Deathly silence followed. All hell broke loose. He hit her again and she grabbed his sword. Even as a child, you knew this was completely wrong. Then before our eyes, she was beaten up by him with a whip. There she lay, a heap of misery, screaming in pain and was dragged away by two guards to the house outside the yard. Everybody knew that from there you didn’t come out alive. As punishment we had to stay on the square until deep into the night without food or drink and hear the screams coming from that little house just behind us, outside the yard. It slowly became softer and then suddenly it stopped. Around midnight we all were allowed to go. Totally gutted and devastated everyone went to their own barracks. First we drank as much as possible and then cleaned ourselves, because while on the square we just had to relieve ourselves there and then. Completely broken we went to bed. I don’t think anyone, big or small, will ever forget Dr. Engels. How pointless it all was and such a pity to loose such a sweet young doctor this way.
Dinkie
Slowly the dark night changed into another very hot day in camp Solo. Everyone was busy to get ready as soon as possible to be in time for the big roll call on the large spacious front square of the old part of this huge internment camp. The old part used to be a mental hospital for severe patients and now it was the largest women’s camp in Solo.
Our Japanese commander (Toewan Jap besar) was receiving very distinguished visitors, various pompous and dressed in gorgeous uniforms little Japanese, this for the glory of the commander, who wanted to make a good impression on these highly-placed gentlemen with his camp. Everyone had to be at the square and with everyone he also meant the sick from the infirmary. Still hungry everyone walked in silence to the large square wondering what would happen next. Every time it was a mystery to me, how all these hungry women still could give each other terrific recipes. At a certain moment we all stood in the right place with our barrack head and you could see how big the camp was and how many women there were in this camp. All names were called, everybody was there also the sick and half dead, it didn’t matter how you felt, you had to be there other wise the “kempetai” (something like the Gestapo) would come and take you away. All these rows full of women, children, sick, disabled and nuns stood perfectly still in the sweltering heat. In front of us was the large covered terrace, where a long table was placed with chairs behind it. After leaving us standing there for a quarter of an hour, the highly-placed men came out from aside the porch and sat down on their chairs. As last one the camp commander sat down with his shining sword. Suddenly there was a big commotion from where the beds of the sick were and before we knew it our only female physician, Dr. Engels was there, who initially had refused to take the dying people outside, but had done it because her helpers had pointed out to her, that they would be punished if she didn’t do it, because everyone had to be there.
From that corner came much noise of the wailing and sobbing of the very sick people in the scorching sun. Many fainted in their beds and nobody could do anything for them. The sun rose higher, the heat became even worse. Also in our group people fainted, children and babies began to moan. Desperate mothers tried to help them, but they also didn’t know what to do. Sweat gushed from you and you got a shortage of liquid. We were overcome by hunger, thirst and fatigue. On the porch the Japanese had an elaborate meal and drinks, served by Indonesian men, while our commander as proud as a peacock walked back and forth. Coming out of the blue Dr. Engels suddenly was on the porch and walked toward the commander with large steps and before anyone realized she venomously spoke to him without having bend for him first. Before anyone had got over the first fright, a terrible tragedy took place before all our eyes. The commander roared that she had to bow. She just kept nodding, she screamed about the dying and the sick. He slapped her in the middle of her face, she gave him a slap back. Deathly silence followed. All hell broke loose. He hit her again and she grabbed his sword. Even as a child, you knew this was completely wrong. Then before our eyes, she was beaten up by him with a whip. There she lay, a heap of misery, screaming in pain and was dragged away by two guards to the house outside the yard. Everybody knew that from there you didn’t come out alive. As punishment we had to stay on the square until deep into the night without food or drink and hear the screams coming from that little house just behind us, outside the yard. It slowly became softer and then suddenly it stopped. Around midnight we all were allowed to go. Totally gutted and devastated everyone went to their own barracks. First we drank as much as possible and then cleaned ourselves, because while on the square we just had to relieve ourselves there and then. Completely broken we went to bed. I don’t think anyone, big or small, will ever forget Dr. Engels. How pointless it all was and such a pity to loose such a sweet young doctor this way.
Dinkie
donderdag 31 maart 2011
The Second Remarkable Story of a Friend.
THE SECOND REMARKABLE STORY
Jubail, a camp in the dessert in Saudi Arabia, a giant litter of sand containing a few hundred prefab houses in the middle of nowhere, near to the coast of the Persian Gulf.
There were three companies represented, Volker (Holland), Hochtief (Germany) and CCC (a Lebanese company). We were there for Volker. In that camp I soon had a Dutch friend, Map, she stood head and shoulders above the rest. She was Dutch and very straight, what you see is what you get, had her heart on her sleeve, was honest and under her armor very sweet. We saw each other regularly at the pool or at her house. She had three children, who went to the Dutch school together with my youngest son. The rest of my days I spent with Lebanese, Egyptian and Palestinian women, with whom I felt at home. I also did a lot with little May, the baby of my Palestinian neighbour Leila, who also was my best friend there.
Later in Holland my friendship with Map continued, mostly via phone calls and once in two months, Map her husband, Willem and me, the four of us had diner together, which was always very nice. Her husband, a lover of big American cars, drove us around in Vlaardingen or in Zeeland, very luxurious and comfortable. Peter, her husband worked on an oil platform in the Caspian sea, one month he was there and one month he was at home. When he was at work, we phoned a lot talking about our kids, animals, houses and books.
One day out of the blue she decided to let the dentist pull all her teeth and wear a beautiful new denture, she would have it done all at once. She also wanted to lift her eyelids. I thought it was very rigorous. But resolutely as she was, it was done as she had said. Her teeth first, six weeks of pain, longer due to an inflammation, getting peneciline, eating porridge and soft foods and still in pain. To make matters worse, the plastic surgeon detected a small cancerous spot next to her eye. It wasn’t malicious, but it had to be taken away before she had the eyelid operation.
She also had a terrible fight with the daughter’s neighbour. She was very angry at him. Suddenly she called and said: “Dinkie, I will die very soon and I will not see my children and grandchildren grow up”. I was shocked: “Map, how can you say something like that? Only because of that spot on your skin, that is nothing. For your teeth you get peneciline so there is nothing wrong”. She kept on talking about her death and saying goodbye. I was very afraid, this wasn’t Map. She also told me that her daughters child, being two years old, had suddenly called out the name of their beloved cat who died years ago and who had become 18 years old and was immensly loved by her own children. She phoned me asking how is this possible, how could she had known the cat's name. How is that possible Dinkie? You believe in reincarnation, can you tell me something about it. That I believed in it, has to do with an incident that had taken place in my youth. I‘ve been outside my body for two hours, followed my parents who went to the movies, which unfortunately was sold out. Then they went to a cozy restaurant ordered coffee and cake and half past eight they went to another cinema where they were able to get tickets and went in. After that I went back and saw myself laying on bed and at that moment I became aware that I was out of my body and the next moment I was pulled back into my body. Next morning I went to my parents and told them what they had done, even what the waiter did, that they had white tablecloths and ate cakes and that there was live music. Everything in colour and odor. My father said that I had an out of body experience and that I should never do it again, because it was very dangerous. The babysitter that night had seen us (my brother and I) sleeping peacefully. Map kept on asking about it, she had to know everything. I then told her to buy a book about little children, who remembered their past lives, the book was named,: “Earlier when I was a grown up”, It is about children and reincarnation, she loved it and we talked for hours about this subject.
“Dinkie, if it is true, then dying is not so bad, because you’re not dead, you will live forever in your soul”. And so Map talked on and on about saying goodbye to all and everyone. First I thought that she was overdoing it and got scared of here talking constantly about dying.
One Friday afternoon she called again: “Dinkie, I am so afraid, I have to talk to you, do you have time?” I unfortunately didn’t have time because my granddaughter was with me and I had to take care of her. Then the most remarkable thing happened. She said: “that’s a pity, but always remember that I love you, never forget it”. I said: “I love you too and will call you first thing tomorrow”. “That’s not possible, I will be shopping with my daughter”. “Okay, then I’ll call you on Sunday”. “Fine, lots of love, till Sunday”. This was so not Map. I was pondering over it all Friday and Saturday. Then it was Sunday and I was going to call her. We were still in bed when at nine thirty the phone rang, it was her son. “I call to tell you that my mother died Saturday morning”. Oh God, we were shocked and completely devastated. No one knew what had happened. Her daughter had found her laying next to her bed, she was supposed to go shopping with here mother, but when her mother did not come, she phoned her, got no answer and went to the house where she found her. For days I was very sad and blamed myself that I hadn’t called her on Friday evening. It took a long time before I could grasp it and from now on I more often tell the people I care for that I love them. That one sentence from her has helped me through, that was a gift. Map was 52 years old.
Dinkie
Jubail, a camp in the dessert in Saudi Arabia, a giant litter of sand containing a few hundred prefab houses in the middle of nowhere, near to the coast of the Persian Gulf.
There were three companies represented, Volker (Holland), Hochtief (Germany) and CCC (a Lebanese company). We were there for Volker. In that camp I soon had a Dutch friend, Map, she stood head and shoulders above the rest. She was Dutch and very straight, what you see is what you get, had her heart on her sleeve, was honest and under her armor very sweet. We saw each other regularly at the pool or at her house. She had three children, who went to the Dutch school together with my youngest son. The rest of my days I spent with Lebanese, Egyptian and Palestinian women, with whom I felt at home. I also did a lot with little May, the baby of my Palestinian neighbour Leila, who also was my best friend there.
Later in Holland my friendship with Map continued, mostly via phone calls and once in two months, Map her husband, Willem and me, the four of us had diner together, which was always very nice. Her husband, a lover of big American cars, drove us around in Vlaardingen or in Zeeland, very luxurious and comfortable. Peter, her husband worked on an oil platform in the Caspian sea, one month he was there and one month he was at home. When he was at work, we phoned a lot talking about our kids, animals, houses and books.
One day out of the blue she decided to let the dentist pull all her teeth and wear a beautiful new denture, she would have it done all at once. She also wanted to lift her eyelids. I thought it was very rigorous. But resolutely as she was, it was done as she had said. Her teeth first, six weeks of pain, longer due to an inflammation, getting peneciline, eating porridge and soft foods and still in pain. To make matters worse, the plastic surgeon detected a small cancerous spot next to her eye. It wasn’t malicious, but it had to be taken away before she had the eyelid operation.
She also had a terrible fight with the daughter’s neighbour. She was very angry at him. Suddenly she called and said: “Dinkie, I will die very soon and I will not see my children and grandchildren grow up”. I was shocked: “Map, how can you say something like that? Only because of that spot on your skin, that is nothing. For your teeth you get peneciline so there is nothing wrong”. She kept on talking about her death and saying goodbye. I was very afraid, this wasn’t Map. She also told me that her daughters child, being two years old, had suddenly called out the name of their beloved cat who died years ago and who had become 18 years old and was immensly loved by her own children. She phoned me asking how is this possible, how could she had known the cat's name. How is that possible Dinkie? You believe in reincarnation, can you tell me something about it. That I believed in it, has to do with an incident that had taken place in my youth. I‘ve been outside my body for two hours, followed my parents who went to the movies, which unfortunately was sold out. Then they went to a cozy restaurant ordered coffee and cake and half past eight they went to another cinema where they were able to get tickets and went in. After that I went back and saw myself laying on bed and at that moment I became aware that I was out of my body and the next moment I was pulled back into my body. Next morning I went to my parents and told them what they had done, even what the waiter did, that they had white tablecloths and ate cakes and that there was live music. Everything in colour and odor. My father said that I had an out of body experience and that I should never do it again, because it was very dangerous. The babysitter that night had seen us (my brother and I) sleeping peacefully. Map kept on asking about it, she had to know everything. I then told her to buy a book about little children, who remembered their past lives, the book was named,: “Earlier when I was a grown up”, It is about children and reincarnation, she loved it and we talked for hours about this subject.
“Dinkie, if it is true, then dying is not so bad, because you’re not dead, you will live forever in your soul”. And so Map talked on and on about saying goodbye to all and everyone. First I thought that she was overdoing it and got scared of here talking constantly about dying.
One Friday afternoon she called again: “Dinkie, I am so afraid, I have to talk to you, do you have time?” I unfortunately didn’t have time because my granddaughter was with me and I had to take care of her. Then the most remarkable thing happened. She said: “that’s a pity, but always remember that I love you, never forget it”. I said: “I love you too and will call you first thing tomorrow”. “That’s not possible, I will be shopping with my daughter”. “Okay, then I’ll call you on Sunday”. “Fine, lots of love, till Sunday”. This was so not Map. I was pondering over it all Friday and Saturday. Then it was Sunday and I was going to call her. We were still in bed when at nine thirty the phone rang, it was her son. “I call to tell you that my mother died Saturday morning”. Oh God, we were shocked and completely devastated. No one knew what had happened. Her daughter had found her laying next to her bed, she was supposed to go shopping with here mother, but when her mother did not come, she phoned her, got no answer and went to the house where she found her. For days I was very sad and blamed myself that I hadn’t called her on Friday evening. It took a long time before I could grasp it and from now on I more often tell the people I care for that I love them. That one sentence from her has helped me through, that was a gift. Map was 52 years old.
Dinkie
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