"Our homecoming was quite a spectacle. I noticed my tree was still standing there and so was the house, there were many gaps where other houses had originally stood and on the other side of the creek as well, it looked more like a mouth with broken teeth than a row of houses. Some of our best friends were killed in the bombing. A foul smell of humans mixed with plaster and wood was hanging over those places, especially with the present dampness from rainy weather. Complete families had disappeared in one swoop from the direct hits "voltreffers"; such people as the Swanpoels and Krugers.
Our throats and mouths were dry and we had looked forward to quenching our thirsts with some of the old stocks my grandmother had in her beer cellar, saved for such an occasion. Good old fashioned beers matured to perfection called Geuzen-Lambic beer. We would indulge before the Germans could lay their hands on it, what a lovely thought; this turned out to be an idle dream and the biggest disappointment yet of the whole trip, we were now at the cursing stage.
Our neighbours thinking that their moment had come during the bombing had drunk themselves into oblivion. This must have been going on since our departure. Anyway, they had a good time in bad circumstances and made the best of it. Right now some were stocking their larders with bully beef, Nestle's milk and boxes filled with all tinned food left behind in the dockyards by the B.E.F.
By the time we had re-established ourselves in our house the Germans had put their guards on the places and we just managed to rummage a couple of boxes, that was to last for the duration of the war; we were done for. You had to be glad with better than next to nothing from now on if you didn't want to be shot in the process. The Germans claimed it as their booty and we were the looters now, there was not much chance for filling our larders anymore.
The propaganda press and tourists came to take pictures of the deverstation their bombs had caused, the bodies of the victims rotting away underneath. We heard that one member of the Kruger family had survived, his knocking had been heard and he had been pulled from the rubble but his mind had gone, poor fellow. He was the oldest uncle of the children I knew so well of the Rixes and the Krugers. I had been astonished at the daring things the eldest Rix did just before the war got on its way. He seemed to get the last kick of living as if he knew time was running short for him.
The queues for the tinned food came to a definite stop with the German officers disciplining their soldiers for being too soft on us. Now and again gun shots were fired into the air to let us know who was in charge. The following six months was without shortages but once the restrictions orders came into force it hit us badly. The occupation forces wanted everything for themselves, even sending things to Germany and on top of that we had the blockade to contend with, this resulted in the farmers hiding their harvest for themselves and the black markets. With almost total restriction on movement it would be increasingly difficult to get some food in. The rationing was abysmal and you could hardly live on it. Not only was it meagre but the quantity and quality was just about at survival level from starvation.
Some of the Belgains ran away and hid till they could go home under the amnesty which was given after six months which Hitler provided for the Flemish soldiers. Maybe he hoped with this adverse news to sow dissension and put a wedge between the unity which was already shaky. It was fully used and the soldiers went home, most of them to form the Resistance Movement. People who had denied their Flemish roots and took the French side were only too glad to revert back to their origins to take advantage of the amnesty: some Walloons were also glad to take advantage of the situation after previous claims to have no knowlege of Flemish. My Grandmother also remembered the bad treatment we had received from the French soldiers, no water or food, so it was tit for tat as far as she was concerned short of spitting in the face. What happens to one is bound to happen to the other, all this has been said by famous philosophers like Erasmus', who wrote, "Praise to Foolishness".
The old lady would hold her position on this stand after being snubbed and I know quite a few others felt the same, like General De Gaulle and Mrs. Baels family, Lillian Baels was the second wife of King Leopold the Third. They had all experienced the same attitude and everybody had ended up in snubbing each other, of course the natural reaction to this was easier for some to get over than others, only time will heal the bitterness it created as long as it doesn't go the other way!
We had to forgive and forget in order to keep our heads, after a while petty thinking was out. The battle to better was better than to give in to worse situations. It was time to collect our wits and train in the lull. Weapons that had been thrown away were retrieved and cleaned and oiled and hidden away again, we gave ourselves a rough going over, hardening our bodies like the spartans, also living like it, on that we had no choice. All the tricks of unarmed combat were learned with the help of additional operatives who had been parachuted in. I don't think there was much the special forces could have taught us in all of this except their own codes and systems with contacts, which was picked up by our teachers anyway.
The harrassing of the enemy took all forms and shapes on a day to day basis, from helping ourselves to ration cards in the offices, to changing passes, obtaining provisions, stripping abandoned or requistioned buildings and general acts of sabotage. Schools were closed or used by the military and when they reopened, much later, there wasn't much in the way of supplies: most of us used the trade schools as they were giving extra rations of sardines out there, also, you could wait to take your final examinations because they wanted skilled youngsters to send to their factories in Germany, also becoming short of people. If you didn't go it was forced labour for you so we had to prepare ourselves well before this and make our own plans which was only for those who dared.
During the six months pause I managed to get myself a small skippers-boat which I had noticed laying submerged and tied to a barge in the woods docks. A bomb had sunk the barge and I figured the "schuite" a skippers-boat to be pretty well intact and worth the effort. We asked the sluice guard if we could have it and he agreed considering it to be war booty for us, otherwise it would rot away and the Germans had no interest in it anyway..."
To be continued ...
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