Ton Bakker schrijft:: Deze foto die in 2004 gemaakt is, heeft met de oorlog te maken.
Mijn man is als 16 jarige jongen tewerkgesteld in Berlijn.
Daar had hij altijd nog graag eens naar teruggegaan maar daar is nooit wat van gekomen.
Hij is in 1986 overleden en de (Berlijn) muur is pas in 1989 neergehaald.
Drie jaar geleden zijn mijn jongste dochter en ik er een aantal dagen geweest en toen heeft zij onderweg deze foto gemaakt.
 

Mij husband as a young man of 18, transported a few of his brothers and his little sister one by one to foster families. One of them he took to Zeist and two other he brought to Heilo and Feineart, respectively. As I understand, it went like this: "Doe you still have another brother or sister bring them to us." Whether this was preplanned or done as part of the Hunger March, I do not know.

I too went on the hunger march with my stepfather in January 1945. He had arrived home some time ago on a bicycle that he had borrowed of his brother. Somewhere he got to bags of wheat and I pleaded with him to allow me to come with him on the next trip. After walking for days and begging for food and a place to sleep we arrived in Gouda. Because he had a sore foot he went to hospital but as thy didn't have supplies they couldn't help him.

We got shelter in a sort of transit place and in the meantime they tried to get support from the Red Cross. That succeded and a few days later, in the middle of the night, we were transported in a Red Cross truck across the IJssel Bridge and were delived to a group of nuns. However, my father didn't want to leave me there and started to look around for a foster home for me. At a presbytery in Dalfsen we got the name of a farmer who might have space but by the time we got there that was gone. He sent us to another farm and I was accepted and allowed to stay. It was only after three weeks that he came to collect me again but they didn't want to let me go. He wanted to go back to Rotterdam but that didn't succeed and we got further away from home al the time to right at the German border.

In the meantime it was April and on a nice sunny day we saw the Germans retreat taken with them everything they could lay their hands on. We thought that thereafter we could travel in the direction of Rotterdam. Eventually, after having twice run unto advancing liberators  we got stranded in Barneveld. From there a milk truck travelled every day to the Lifestock market at 6:00 in the morning. After repeatedly trying we had success on the tenth day, we were allowed to ride in the truck. That's hoe we, after roaming all over the place we reached home on June 5, 1945.

In the summer of 1990 I went, with girlfriends on holidays to the Black Forest. It was with a tour bus and on the last day we had an excursion to a winetasting. We were sitting with the whole group at long wooden tables. Opposite us sat two couples that we hadn't talked to before. I thought that I  recognised the Dalfsen dialect and that checked out. These people came from Dalfsen and the son of one couple was a friend of the then farmer's wife. The grandmother was still alive and had just turned 96. I asked them if they would carry a small present back for me to the old lady and they said, yes, on the condition that I would enclose my name and address.

A few days later I received a phone call from the son who now managed the farm where I had stayed. He said that his mother was siiting next to him and wanted to speak to me. Her first question was whether I had grown up as a solid woman. She said, I saved you from the death and really would like to see you once more. We agreed with her son a suitable date because she was about to be admitted to a nursing home. The reunion was very emotional. THree weeks later she was admitted. I visted her several times thereafter and attende her 100th birthday. During one of the last visits she asked if I could do her the last honor. Luckily I was able to do that and she died after she had turned 102.

Mijn vader was tijdens de grote razzia op 10 November 1944 opgepakt en weggevoerd. Dit gebeurde met alle mannen tussen de 16 en 45 jaar. Mijn moeder stond er toen alleen voor. Er was geen stroom, gas of andere brandstof meer. Wij lagen dus hele dagen in bed, het enige plekje waar je nog een beetje warmte vond.

Mijn zus en ik moesten om de beurt naar de gaarkeuken om eten te halen, althans daar ging het voor door, de ander moest intussen de aangekoekte borden afwassen, met koud water uiteraard. Als we gegeten hadden kropen we gelijk onder de dekens om die warmte zo lang mogelijk vast te houden. We hadden een bepaalde kreet afgesproken voor degene die open moest doen want de bel deed het natuurlijk niet zonder electriciteit. 2x roepen betekende dat we dachten dat het lekker was. Op een dag riep mijn zus zelfs driemaal, ik wist niet hoe snel ik open moest doen, zij rolde bijna de gang in en riep, "er zit allemaal vlees in." Het bleken echter bonken rotte aardappelen - helaas

Een oom deed nogal eens een karweitje bij boeren waarvoor hij zich in voedsel liet betalen. Zijn vrouw had ons beloofd dat we alledrie een keer mochten komen eten, te beginnen met mijn zus omdat zij de oudste was. Er kwamen spruiten op tafel en ondanks haar lege maag kreeg zij die met geen mogelijkheid naar binnen. Tante hevig beledigd en zij heeft ons, mijn broertje en mij nooit uitgenodigd. Oma, die bij haar inwoonde, had kennelijk met ons te doen en kwam op een dag met een grote aardappel aan, zo groot als in haar tasje paste want haar dochter mocht het natuurlijk niet zien. Die werd op de fruitschaal te pronken gelegd want zonder vuur kon je hem nou eenmaal niet koken.

Na een aantal dagen hoorden we buiten iets roepen, wij uit bed en kijken wie of wat dat was. Het bleek Gekke Dirk te zijn die een halfje brood wilde ruilen voor de aardappel - de oplossing voor ons probleem. Maar mijn zus en ik hadden het lef niet om naar hem toe te gaan en ma was niet zo snel vanwege haar verlamde been. Mijn broertje, acht jaar oud, durfde wel. Onze straat lag wat lager en wij woonden net onderaan een brede stenen trap waar Dirk op dat moment vanaf kwam. M'n broertje liep, al roepend, "Gekke Dirk" een paar treden omhoog en kreeg van Dirk een draai om zijn oren vanwege die scheldnaam. Terwijl hij naar beneden duikelde zag Dirk die grote aardappel en ruilde hem netjes om. Eindelijk weer iets te eten, dankzij Oma. Later heeft zij haar diefstal gebiecht bij de pastoor en die heeft haar opgedragen dit nooit meer te doen.

My father was rounded up at the huge razzia on 10 November 1944 and trasported to Germany. This happened to all men between the ages of 16 and 45 years. Thereafter, my moher had to cope all by herself. There was no electricity, gas or sny other combustible materials left. We just stayed in bed all day as it was the only place where it was still a little warm.

My sister and I had to take turns going to the communal kitchen to get food, at least that's what it was suppode to be. De other one had to wash the crusted dishes with cold water. As soon as we had eaten we snuggled under the blankets to retain the warmth as ong as possible. WE had agreed on a certain yell to the person who had to open the door. Ofcourse, the doorbell didn't work without electricity. Yelling twice meant that we thought that the food tasted good. One day my sister yelled three times. I didn't know how soon to open the door. She nearly rolled into the passge en shouted, "there's a lot of meat in it." However, on closer inspection we found then to be rotten potatoes.

An uncle occasionally did some work for farmers and had himself paid with food. His wife had promosed us that one day we all three of us would be allowed to eat at their place. It was to start with my sister because she was the eldest. Brusslesprouts came on the tabel but despite het empty stomach sho couldn't get them down. The "auntie" felt very insulted and as a result she never invited my brother or me. Grandmother (Oma), who lived with her, probably took pity on us and one day she gave us theblargest potato that would fit in her handbag because her daughter was ofcourse not to know. We placed it on our fruit display because, without fuel, we had no way to cook it.

After a few days we heard someone outside calling out. We got out of bed to look who it was. It was, whom we called, Crazy Dirk. He wanted to exchange half of a loaf of bread for the huge potato. That would be a solution to our problem. My sister and I didn't have the courage to go out to him and mother couldn't move fast enough because of a crippled leg. Our little brother, then 8 years old, was game. Our street was at a lower elevation and our house was at the lowest end just above a wide stoen flight of steps. Dirk just came from that direction. My brother called out repeatedly Crazy Dick who promptly gave him a slap around the ears. As my brother tumbled down the stair Dick got sight of the potato and echanged it for the bread. Finally, we had something to eat again and that all thanks to Oma. Oma was a religious person and late confessed to the priest that she had stole a potato from her daughter to give it to us. The priest told her to never do it again.

Actually, I have more. You wrote about the liberators that you had seen in Hattem. I first saw the German troops retreat near the German border with everything they could lay their hands on, inclusive of horses and wagons. Thereafter, we could walk again in a westerly direction. Somewhere along our route we met de liberators and then once again in Almelo. I asked them for some cigarettes, for my father, and for chocolate. The request for cigarettes prompted a discussion about my age. They thought that I wasn't any older then 10 but I told them that I was 10. They asked where I had come from. I told them that I had come from Rotterdam and then he said' "OK, 13" and gave me the chocolate and the cigarettes. I still don't how we had communicated with each other but we understood each other perfectly.

Ton Bakker v.d.Giessen, Westerbeekstraat, Rotterdam

Ton Bakker v/d Giessen nog steeds erg actief