"Ostend and area was now flooded with German ferrets asking all kinds of questions and opinions, with the barges with their fronts cut off, to allow vehicles to be taken on board from the installations along the banks were appearing everywhere, to take on the military paraphenalia....
All peace and quiet had gone and our allies the British had to bomb all this in return, without choice, and we would be in the midst of it again. I think we had more than enough of it and moved away into town where we got bombed instead as a convoy moved throughout and an articulated gun was chased by a flyer. Also, to remember the bombs that most of the time missed hitting the flack team nearest and above us which was placed at an old hotel called the Canon Hotel. Eventually, they blasted them out of position on the rooftop into oblivion.
We then thought it safer to ride to the countryside and a stricken plane proceeded to drop its bombs right next to us in a field. We just couldn't win! For a time no matter where we went the bombing was following us. We decided to take a rest with an old aunt of my Dad's in Beerst near Diksmuide and that was alright for a while. Enough to eat there and we could still take long rides into the surrounding countryside and look for apples and vegetables.
Slowly our funds where running out and my Dad had to go back to town to live, with us following him. Restrictions were really biting and hard now with the end of the war nowhere in sight. We were placed in good homes from Doctor friends my Mother knew very well, but the Germans requisitioned it all in turn, even my bike, as soon as we became nicely settled in.
I hid in trade schools where most resistance and information was gathered and given out from there too. I was offerred a chance to join, somebody put my name straight on a list which was the last straw as I thought it was unwise thing to do, "fancy giving the enemy a chance to get you through a list", so I didn't join. Many were caught this way and one of my friends even lost his head because of patriotic fervour when he was captured and spat in their faces. This was too simple an action and not for me to be extinquished.
I had another turn in the countryside with another good aunt on my Mother's side near the border, so I had the opportunity to make a crossing near there, it was pretty easy for the daring again! Total starvation was relieved on the coastal region by miraculous events such as the herring and sprats becoming stuck near Dunkirk and Calais, backing right up to Ostend. The little boats were still allowed to catch them. They came in loaded to the brim and near to the danger point of sinking through the shear weight of the catch.
We ate herring morning, noon and night and exchanged them for food with the farmers which we smuggled in from the countryside to keep ourselves and boxers alive for the sake of the sport, the only entertainment available which came to the peak of revival. It was a shame the German propaganda got hold of them to elevate Flemish nationalism. After the war they had to pay the wages of sin for that with a five year jail term and self exile afterwards, mostly to Argentina.
My Great Aunt's husband, Maurice was with the "White Brigade", Maurice was a secret silent man who deigned to talk to me. I still wonder whether he wanted me to join but I went back to Ostend and found other means of work instead.
The coast was on full alert now and put on the defensive after they lost The Battle of Britian, having tried their reign of terror there too, the Germans started losing so many planes there, they never achieved the superiority to make a landing remotely possible considering those barges! They attempted a small raid from France, we heard all about it, the Hitler Youth, who were fully involved got burned and extensively hospitalised in St Omairs afterwards.
The three walls of fire in the possible landings on the English coast were not fully envisaged and anticipated indeed but secretly unknown they got a partial inkling at that time, considering all things were possible but not advisable. They intended to drive the attention off this idea and direct it instead eastwards destroying at once the myth and the unholy alliance with Stalin, the main "Blitz'" Barborossa, the invasion of Russia.
Little did the Germans know that their quick temper would cloud their judgement and distract the leader of the "Luftwaffe", namely Goering, from the destruction of the air fields in Britain ...,
At this time, my Mother sacrificed a lot in rations giving up her share to us ... Sometimes, we stayed with my Aunt Ray and she managed to get things from the Railway Guards but eventually we had to do without extra helpings of food. We even went to funerals in the countryside just to eat and bring back something. You could get a pass for family business and we had a good fill up on such occasions but now we were unable to stock up and take things with us anymore. Somehow, the enemy gave you no choice, even to breath after a time.
About this time I felt it was about time to make a go of it out of the encirclement. The best way was a well prepared overland crossing via the three "S's", Spain, Switzerland and Sweden. The more contacts we could gather the better, that was my my ultimate aim" (Go Dad Go!)
To be continued ...
Sunday 8 January 2012
Friday 6 January 2012
Day 11 - The Launching of my Dad's Schuite
"The whole contraption (Schuite) was held by a thick rope from the top of the quay by me, with some help, and I had the idea to get a sharp breadknife worked into a polo stick. I had it at an angle and hooked it around the very thick rope of the connection in both boats, once that was done an up and down movement in the water would gradually cut the rope. At the same time my old school friend ,Ächiles, was holding the grappled schuite so as not to lose it and I joined in helping him secure the boat. The whole operation took less than 10 minutes and was so successful we couldn't believe our eyes. Having the schuite freed we pulled it in to the bridge between the two docks which turned out to be a considerable distance away. Ducking under the bridge we had to manoevre and continue along the whole length of the next dock till we came to a ramp to pull it upon. The problem now was to get to the creek.
This had taken a good deal of the day so one of us had to stand guard till the next morning while the others looked for a cart big enough to transport the vessel in. My Dad found an old customer of my Grandmother, a caretaker of Tilbury dock and sheds and he got us the best cart available with all hands now getting the boat on it on the small wharf near the Billard and Creighton works who were trawler makers. Once this was achieved it was quite easy to pull and push it to the creek to put it on the grassy slopes close to the Ibis, a boarding school for seaman's orphans.
The shrapnel damage on the side we managed to mend with a plank from the wood piles and caulked the rest to make it watertight and it was as good as ever. From the bombed and burnt out Tilbury offices we procured a flagpole for a mast, sail. Canvas we got from the cellar, it had been used to cover the boiler. The two oars were another matter, we procured two straight stems from the Spars on the inland sand dunes, the remains of a wooded area which soon would completely disappear. I wouldn't say by encroaching civilization, but rather by unscrupulous stripping mostly of the occupier. The only trouble not being hardwood they would bend slightly so we fixed it by putting skids/slits????on and bolting the planks inbetween. (So, Proud of my Dad!)
The day of the launching was approaching and all old friends and neighbours were present. It was the Vikings again going out a roving!. After this the creek, the river North-Ede to Bruges and front harbour were never safe again, while it lasted. We sailed, tackled, trawled and rowed to our hearts content, argued when one pulled too much to one side, especially the very strong one called Gentilis against the weakness of the group in athletics called Pierre. This caused the boat to go into a spin when they were aboard but everybody had a good time.
We augmented our food supply with eels, flat fish and sea bass, we also cultivated mussel beds and were thinking of going out to sea, just in front of the coast, that is the amount of leeway we were allowed because we were under close surveillance, but who knows was the hope, a sudden mist and we may have been able to get away. A couple had succeeded to do just that, but only one made it, the others never survived the straffing that followed soon after. After a while one could not even get onto the beaches there was barbed wire everywhere plus mines and guns pointed at you.
My Dad kept away from the boat; one day he got caught by his own rod which had a double hanger with hooks to fish with on one side.. As he tried to reel in a wiggling eel, it managed to swing wildly and the other hook embedded in his right cheek I don't know who was catching whom but it was another thing to free him from the entanglement!(Cute story of my Dad and Grandfather)
All good things had to come to an end, once Achiles and I having finished collecting the ropes from the barquentine, which had been thrown in before the government left for England, were involved in an incident that knocked me head first into the water. I was hauling in the ropes, at great speed, and Achiles was rowing. Unfortunately, he wasn't looking where he was going and headed straight into the rear of a bigger boat. As I was standing upright the upper read end of the barge knocked me over into the water, which was none to warm and I had to swim to the boat which was heavy going as I was fully clothed, shoes and all. To keep warm we rowed as fast as we could and we were still fiercely arguing as we passed the Tilbury wharves, that were being used for loading Germant torpedoes on to speed boats. The German sailors watching us too closely maybe thought the worst and knocked somehow their delicate load.
An unexpected chain reaction started gradually developing from that and transferring to everything else like a slow running fire. All I knew was the sparks started to fly suddenly in all directions. What had happened I'll
never know and we suddenly found ouselves rowing for dear life while the spattering of ammunition increased behind us, first in small explosions, to a whole battery of bullets going off simultaneously, it was like being on a battleground.
We just made it towards the stairs opposite our house, after securing the boat, then the whole wharf seemd to rise up in a great glowing red flame. We looked back and waited for the deafening bang which we knew would result from the explosions. When the displacement of air came we were blown along by the force and slid sideways into the hallway and quickly descended into the cellar for shelter. (Now I know why my Dad always appeared to be scared of nothing!) Before our dash for safety we noticed a cyclist coming towards us who never had to pedal, he was just swept away with the force of the rushing wind which carried him along for kilometeres he later told us. We never could figure out how this thing had really started!
A bus load of German artists and tourists dispatched to the war zone for entertainment had waited too long on the signals. Suddenly, the last man came running through the fence to tell them to get away in a hurry and run, which they did, that was after receiving first the full blast in their faces bleeding profusely from the cuts mainly on their heads.
Afterwards, we took a little walk further on from the scene wondering what else might go up and met with the cyclist who told us about the free and effortless ride he had made. After all was quiet we went back and could find no trace of the sailors, labourers or flack team on a tower who were watching the whole incident in their last doomed moments, unbeknown to them!
Soon afterwards a detachment of officers and soldiers made a thorough house search in our row or "wyk", bayonets on rifles, luger drawn in hand pointed towards us; as they looked at my Dad's recommendation on the wall picturing Belgian soldiers with rifle and bayonet looking at them too, wearing the Yzer Cross on the Yzer front of 1914-1918. I thought we were in for it, especially as it seemed the rifle in our picture pointed at them for their father's deeds.
A few questions were asked which I understood with our low German Flemish dialect, about whether we had seen a couple of fellows with a boat who had been near the scene about the time of the explosion. Of course, that is the the bit (of the conversation) that we didn't understand, we kept our fingers crossed. Phew, that was close! The carelessness of the German sailors turned the catastrophe to our favour far better than any sabotage could have done at that moment in time and that is how it was..."
To be continued ...
This had taken a good deal of the day so one of us had to stand guard till the next morning while the others looked for a cart big enough to transport the vessel in. My Dad found an old customer of my Grandmother, a caretaker of Tilbury dock and sheds and he got us the best cart available with all hands now getting the boat on it on the small wharf near the Billard and Creighton works who were trawler makers. Once this was achieved it was quite easy to pull and push it to the creek to put it on the grassy slopes close to the Ibis, a boarding school for seaman's orphans.
The shrapnel damage on the side we managed to mend with a plank from the wood piles and caulked the rest to make it watertight and it was as good as ever. From the bombed and burnt out Tilbury offices we procured a flagpole for a mast, sail. Canvas we got from the cellar, it had been used to cover the boiler. The two oars were another matter, we procured two straight stems from the Spars on the inland sand dunes, the remains of a wooded area which soon would completely disappear. I wouldn't say by encroaching civilization, but rather by unscrupulous stripping mostly of the occupier. The only trouble not being hardwood they would bend slightly so we fixed it by putting skids/slits????on and bolting the planks inbetween. (So, Proud of my Dad!)
The day of the launching was approaching and all old friends and neighbours were present. It was the Vikings again going out a roving!. After this the creek, the river North-Ede to Bruges and front harbour were never safe again, while it lasted. We sailed, tackled, trawled and rowed to our hearts content, argued when one pulled too much to one side, especially the very strong one called Gentilis against the weakness of the group in athletics called Pierre. This caused the boat to go into a spin when they were aboard but everybody had a good time.
We augmented our food supply with eels, flat fish and sea bass, we also cultivated mussel beds and were thinking of going out to sea, just in front of the coast, that is the amount of leeway we were allowed because we were under close surveillance, but who knows was the hope, a sudden mist and we may have been able to get away. A couple had succeeded to do just that, but only one made it, the others never survived the straffing that followed soon after. After a while one could not even get onto the beaches there was barbed wire everywhere plus mines and guns pointed at you.
My Dad kept away from the boat; one day he got caught by his own rod which had a double hanger with hooks to fish with on one side.. As he tried to reel in a wiggling eel, it managed to swing wildly and the other hook embedded in his right cheek I don't know who was catching whom but it was another thing to free him from the entanglement!(Cute story of my Dad and Grandfather)
All good things had to come to an end, once Achiles and I having finished collecting the ropes from the barquentine, which had been thrown in before the government left for England, were involved in an incident that knocked me head first into the water. I was hauling in the ropes, at great speed, and Achiles was rowing. Unfortunately, he wasn't looking where he was going and headed straight into the rear of a bigger boat. As I was standing upright the upper read end of the barge knocked me over into the water, which was none to warm and I had to swim to the boat which was heavy going as I was fully clothed, shoes and all. To keep warm we rowed as fast as we could and we were still fiercely arguing as we passed the Tilbury wharves, that were being used for loading Germant torpedoes on to speed boats. The German sailors watching us too closely maybe thought the worst and knocked somehow their delicate load.
An unexpected chain reaction started gradually developing from that and transferring to everything else like a slow running fire. All I knew was the sparks started to fly suddenly in all directions. What had happened I'll
never know and we suddenly found ouselves rowing for dear life while the spattering of ammunition increased behind us, first in small explosions, to a whole battery of bullets going off simultaneously, it was like being on a battleground.
We just made it towards the stairs opposite our house, after securing the boat, then the whole wharf seemd to rise up in a great glowing red flame. We looked back and waited for the deafening bang which we knew would result from the explosions. When the displacement of air came we were blown along by the force and slid sideways into the hallway and quickly descended into the cellar for shelter. (Now I know why my Dad always appeared to be scared of nothing!) Before our dash for safety we noticed a cyclist coming towards us who never had to pedal, he was just swept away with the force of the rushing wind which carried him along for kilometeres he later told us. We never could figure out how this thing had really started!
A bus load of German artists and tourists dispatched to the war zone for entertainment had waited too long on the signals. Suddenly, the last man came running through the fence to tell them to get away in a hurry and run, which they did, that was after receiving first the full blast in their faces bleeding profusely from the cuts mainly on their heads.
Afterwards, we took a little walk further on from the scene wondering what else might go up and met with the cyclist who told us about the free and effortless ride he had made. After all was quiet we went back and could find no trace of the sailors, labourers or flack team on a tower who were watching the whole incident in their last doomed moments, unbeknown to them!
Soon afterwards a detachment of officers and soldiers made a thorough house search in our row or "wyk", bayonets on rifles, luger drawn in hand pointed towards us; as they looked at my Dad's recommendation on the wall picturing Belgian soldiers with rifle and bayonet looking at them too, wearing the Yzer Cross on the Yzer front of 1914-1918. I thought we were in for it, especially as it seemed the rifle in our picture pointed at them for their father's deeds.
A few questions were asked which I understood with our low German Flemish dialect, about whether we had seen a couple of fellows with a boat who had been near the scene about the time of the explosion. Of course, that is the the bit (of the conversation) that we didn't understand, we kept our fingers crossed. Phew, that was close! The carelessness of the German sailors turned the catastrophe to our favour far better than any sabotage could have done at that moment in time and that is how it was..."
To be continued ...
Thursday 5 January 2012
Day 10 - Ostend Homecoming and The Resistance Movement
"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 ...
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 ...
Day 9 - Bullies and Resistance and Ostend in shambles!
"Big gun carriers, filled to the brim with soldiers were temporarily parked close to us, waiting for orders and one of the young bullies dropped his bayonet at my Dad's feet and I watched with trepidation, that could be the start of a massacre depending on how my Dad reacted.
I knew all the stories from the first World War, I knew his courage but also of his common sense: looking at us and smiling, he picked up the damned thing as if it was hot and presenting it back to front like a non-aggression offering he gave it back to the soldier. Which was accepted with a short snappy "Danke". We heaved a relieved sigh and thought what a close shave that had been. Just, the same, all of us were breeding secret thoughts of how to get this well armed enemy, we had to use underhanded methods from now on.
There were far too many of them and all that material it was rather difficult to try and jump them as it had been done in the past with success. We had to bide our time. It is no good to be a dead soldier or single hero, this was not the day for martyrdom. The battle was over for us for a while. We had our horse steaks to deal with and did not wish to deplete the supplies of our helpful aunt. The hearty meal carried us further on our way towards Ostend which we were finally able to reach and which turned out to be in a shambles of immense proportions.
The last minute bombing had left its destructive path in our wake, craters and debris all over the place. Telephone poles and lights in all positions laying across the streets. Some people walking aimlessly around with an incomprehensible glazed look. On reaching the centre cross-roads called "Petit Paris" people told us that Hitler Youth had stood on the corners of with an enourmous swastika flag trying to engage the attention of the German planes who were still bombing with their troops already crossing the town.
Approaching the Chapel Street that was practically destroyed, people were still coming from the dyke after helping rescue the wounded out of the hotels, they had gruesome tales to tell. The Casino was destroyed also. The British ships lay in front, with the German artillery firing a couple of shots quickly ordered by the officers to stop and proceed immediately to France. We heard the same stories over and over again from the few witnesses, most of the population being in the shelters at the time.
The great storm had subsided and calmed down. It was a great time to take account of it all. After this we proceeded in safety crossing the bridge, as usual, intact, and continued to the old tram-station where we had started our trip to nearly Bourbourg and back on the road to Saint-Omaire. We looked back in utter disbelief at the backlash and eagerness to totally bomb Ostend on the mad orders given by their leaders, similar to the destruction of Rotterdam!
The first German motorized platoon was completely annihilated, plastered on both sides of the house walls on the curve on the entrance to Ostend, its own soldiers crucified by their own planes. Most of the evidence, such as the bodies and human remnants had been quickly taken away but the wreck of cars and the blood splattered all around was overwhelming.
I wondered how the communique would be worded to the parents, wives and children of the victims. Would the incident be described as one of the hazards of war, fallen in the line of duty to the Fatherland on foreign soil. I don't think anybody enjoyed that either on any side and therefore we go back To Each His Own. (translation of the sign on the camp entrance to Buchenwald, meaning, at that time, Everybody Get's What They Deserve!
Luckily, we were on our own finding our way throughout the useless debris, otherwise we could have been mistaken for looters. The big ramp with busts of opulent women set in bronze was saved and intact, it crossed the railway track and sluices from The Barquentine Station towards the wood docks and onwards to Brussels.
The busts were an enterprise started in the reign of Leopold II. The pious fathers of the Bishopry had to interfere with the project with the pretence that their flock needed protection from the nakedness. Under indignant protest "The ladies" displayed had to be removed. Maybe the Germans would have used them for their shells anyway as cannon fodder.
All this was a traversity of free thought and liberal ideas. Our country had been used to free thought and liberty for centuries through its arts, culture and progressive policies. It also had became a cornerstone that would help tumble empires.
Maria Hendrika was the dowager who preferred to live in Belgium and so took up residence. Franz Joseph, despite his many reforms was obliged to leave Belgium because of the revolt of "Boerenkrijg", another Boer War. Napolean Bonaparte another occupier was responsible for building a fort in the dunes which was strategically placed to protect the harbour and on the other side of the town. We had just entered old Fort Wellington from Middlekerke, only a frontage was left.
The Guilds had played the biggest part in defending our freedoms to get our "Charters" established - sometimes in aristocratic families. Trade had begun to flourish including that, with the New World. Our new governors Albrecht and Isabella would became the intermediaries and the pacifiers.
The Flemish fleet would never recover its formal glory but the cruel times of the terrible Alva and his Inquisitors were over and times of burning heretics, plundering and destroying were finished. The best of the fleet stayed in Holland and so did the East India Company, found in Ostend.
From our vantage point, it was a short time before we noticed the marine school which had been partly destroyed by a "Voltreffer!!!", as they called it, a direct hit. The body of one of my school friends was still in it, which we later came to know was the reason for him being missing. He had gone there to get himself a typewriter at the crucial moment the bombing took place. His one and only ambition in life was to be a reporter, his life cut short in one moment, while attempting to achieve his ambition!"
To be continued ...
I knew all the stories from the first World War, I knew his courage but also of his common sense: looking at us and smiling, he picked up the damned thing as if it was hot and presenting it back to front like a non-aggression offering he gave it back to the soldier. Which was accepted with a short snappy "Danke". We heaved a relieved sigh and thought what a close shave that had been. Just, the same, all of us were breeding secret thoughts of how to get this well armed enemy, we had to use underhanded methods from now on.
There were far too many of them and all that material it was rather difficult to try and jump them as it had been done in the past with success. We had to bide our time. It is no good to be a dead soldier or single hero, this was not the day for martyrdom. The battle was over for us for a while. We had our horse steaks to deal with and did not wish to deplete the supplies of our helpful aunt. The hearty meal carried us further on our way towards Ostend which we were finally able to reach and which turned out to be in a shambles of immense proportions.
The last minute bombing had left its destructive path in our wake, craters and debris all over the place. Telephone poles and lights in all positions laying across the streets. Some people walking aimlessly around with an incomprehensible glazed look. On reaching the centre cross-roads called "Petit Paris" people told us that Hitler Youth had stood on the corners of with an enourmous swastika flag trying to engage the attention of the German planes who were still bombing with their troops already crossing the town.
Approaching the Chapel Street that was practically destroyed, people were still coming from the dyke after helping rescue the wounded out of the hotels, they had gruesome tales to tell. The Casino was destroyed also. The British ships lay in front, with the German artillery firing a couple of shots quickly ordered by the officers to stop and proceed immediately to France. We heard the same stories over and over again from the few witnesses, most of the population being in the shelters at the time.
The great storm had subsided and calmed down. It was a great time to take account of it all. After this we proceeded in safety crossing the bridge, as usual, intact, and continued to the old tram-station where we had started our trip to nearly Bourbourg and back on the road to Saint-Omaire. We looked back in utter disbelief at the backlash and eagerness to totally bomb Ostend on the mad orders given by their leaders, similar to the destruction of Rotterdam!
The first German motorized platoon was completely annihilated, plastered on both sides of the house walls on the curve on the entrance to Ostend, its own soldiers crucified by their own planes. Most of the evidence, such as the bodies and human remnants had been quickly taken away but the wreck of cars and the blood splattered all around was overwhelming.
I wondered how the communique would be worded to the parents, wives and children of the victims. Would the incident be described as one of the hazards of war, fallen in the line of duty to the Fatherland on foreign soil. I don't think anybody enjoyed that either on any side and therefore we go back To Each His Own. (translation of the sign on the camp entrance to Buchenwald, meaning, at that time, Everybody Get's What They Deserve!
Luckily, we were on our own finding our way throughout the useless debris, otherwise we could have been mistaken for looters. The big ramp with busts of opulent women set in bronze was saved and intact, it crossed the railway track and sluices from The Barquentine Station towards the wood docks and onwards to Brussels.
The busts were an enterprise started in the reign of Leopold II. The pious fathers of the Bishopry had to interfere with the project with the pretence that their flock needed protection from the nakedness. Under indignant protest "The ladies" displayed had to be removed. Maybe the Germans would have used them for their shells anyway as cannon fodder.
All this was a traversity of free thought and liberal ideas. Our country had been used to free thought and liberty for centuries through its arts, culture and progressive policies. It also had became a cornerstone that would help tumble empires.
Maria Hendrika was the dowager who preferred to live in Belgium and so took up residence. Franz Joseph, despite his many reforms was obliged to leave Belgium because of the revolt of "Boerenkrijg", another Boer War. Napolean Bonaparte another occupier was responsible for building a fort in the dunes which was strategically placed to protect the harbour and on the other side of the town. We had just entered old Fort Wellington from Middlekerke, only a frontage was left.
The Guilds had played the biggest part in defending our freedoms to get our "Charters" established - sometimes in aristocratic families. Trade had begun to flourish including that, with the New World. Our new governors Albrecht and Isabella would became the intermediaries and the pacifiers.
The Flemish fleet would never recover its formal glory but the cruel times of the terrible Alva and his Inquisitors were over and times of burning heretics, plundering and destroying were finished. The best of the fleet stayed in Holland and so did the East India Company, found in Ostend.
From our vantage point, it was a short time before we noticed the marine school which had been partly destroyed by a "Voltreffer!!!", as they called it, a direct hit. The body of one of my school friends was still in it, which we later came to know was the reason for him being missing. He had gone there to get himself a typewriter at the crucial moment the bombing took place. His one and only ambition in life was to be a reporter, his life cut short in one moment, while attempting to achieve his ambition!"
To be continued ...
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