Postcards From No Man's Land (21 page)

Jacob laughed too. ‘And did they make it in one piece, false teeth and all?’

‘As far as I know. When I told Mother about it this morning on the telephone, she said she wished she had been there to see it.’

‘Maybe she’d have liked to jump as well.’

‘Oh yes. Already you understand my mother.’

‘She reminds me of Sarah. It’s what she would have said.’

‘My mother saw them coming down on the day the battle started. Did she tell you?’

‘No.’

‘I’m surprised.’

Their train arrived.

Settled into seats side by side in a full carriage, Tessel went on as if their conversation hadn’t been interrupted.

‘She likes to tell the story. I’ve heard it so many times since I was a child.’

‘We didn’t really talk about the war.’

‘I thought you would. After you left, Geertrui said very little. Nothing about your visit.’

The remark was all but a question.

‘She—your mother—’

‘Geertrui.’

‘Well, Geertrui. Sorry, I’m not very good at pronouncing it.’

‘Like your Gertrude.’

‘Yes. Gertrude. Hamlet’s mother.’ He tried again and failed again, but failed better this time.

They smiled at each other over his incompetence with the Dutch gargled gee and the moo of
rui
.

The train started off.

When they were out of the station, Jacob said, ‘She asked me why I live with my grandmother. I think I said too much about it. Used up too much time. I was a bit nervous of her, to be honest.’

‘Mother has that effect on many people. Me too sometimes, I should confess. The nurses even. They like
her, but they are a little afraid of her also.’

‘She asked me to go and see her tomorrow. She might tell me about the battle then.’

He felt Tessel stiffen beside him. Sitting packed together side by side, it was difficult to turn and check reactions on her face without seeming rude.

‘This is a very difficult time for us,’ she said. ‘You understand?’

‘Yes.’

‘Geertrui is a very determined person.’

‘Yes.’

‘As I told you, she invited you here without consulting any of us. Me or my husband anyhow. Daan, I don’t know. They are very close with each other. She only told me a few days before you arrived.’

Now Jacob did turn to face her.

‘I feel very embarrassed about it.’

‘No no. It isn’t your fault. I shouldn’t have mentioned it again. I only meant to say that Mother has always been a little full of secrets. And determined … stubborn, I should say, in her personality. Now it’s even worse because the drugs they give to help her endure pain make her confused.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s just how she is.’

Jacob looked beyond the passenger in front of him, a young woman whose knees he was having trouble not touching with his own, away down the carriage, but with unseeing eyes. He remembered Tessel meeting him at the airport, as arranged in a phone call with Sarah. She had seemed tense and brusque, even impatient with him. He had wondered if this was a typical Dutch way of going on or just the way she was. She had been nervous too, dropping the car keys, taking a wrong turning on the motorway, apologising for her poor English (which in fact struck him at the time as very good, especially as he hadn’t bothered to learn a word of Dutch)—that kind of thing. In the house, she had shown him ‘his’ room (still teenaged Daan’s to
judge by the posters and clothes and other stuff that occupied it, everything as neat as a museum), had given him a few minutes to settle in, and then had sat him down with a cup of strong Dutch coffee and explained in a rather flustered manner that she would not be able to do much to entertain him during his stay. She would take him to Oosterbeek on Sunday. But until then he would have to occupy himself. Of course, Jacob had said, yes yes, that would be quite okay. And then the story about Geertrui and her invitation came tumbling out, as if she could keep it to herself no longer. By which time Jacob’s insides were squirming, he felt he was an encumbrance, and wished he had not come.

It was Mr van Riet who suggested he should go on his own next day to visit the Anne Frank house and who then spent an hour and a half, first of all explaining the train system, then instructing him in the map of central Amsterdam, showing him where the Anne Frank house was located and how to get there by tram, which in turn led to a discourse on the city’s trams, and the listing of various places Mr van Riet thought Jacob might like to visit—the Rijksmuseum to view the Rembrandts and Vermeers, the Historical Museum, where there was, he said, a fascinating exhibition showing the growth of Amsterdam over the centuries along with a model revealing how the old Amsterdam houses were built of stout wooden frames standing on platforms of logs sunk into the waterlogged sand which was and still is all there was to build on, thus proving, he said, laughing, the Bible is wrong when it says that a house built on sand cannot last. In Amsterdam whole streets of houses built on sand three hundred years ago are still standing and are as elegant and beautiful now as they were when they were new. In order to see these houses in a short time and from a good perspective, Mr van Riet advised, Jacob should take one of the tourist boats that cruise the canals. He marked on the map the places where the boats could be
boarded and indicated how much the trip would cost. This reminded Mr van Riet to make sure Jacob understood Dutch money, including a ten-minute account of the meaning of the pictures and engravings on the notes and coins, which was, naturally, followed by a comparison with the British currency and its relative value. There was a sidetrack at this point on the importance of a common European currency coming into force as soon as possible, with one regret that the proposed designs were not at all as attractive or tasteful, in Mr van Riet’s opinion, as the present Dutch money. But the trading and politico-economic advantages were more important than mere appearance. We must all remember what brought Hitler to power: economic instability and a weak currency. Well, yes, bigotry and racial prejudice. But economic stability and strong trade were the essential factors for a healthy nation.

It was after this postprandial tutorial (Jacob had said almost nothing except for required noises of understanding and the odd question or two to show willing) that Mr van Riet suggested Jacob accompany him and the family dog (a bouncy, slightly drooling and ageing, not to mention smelly Sealyham) on their nightly walk. And it was while they were out that Mr van Riet gave Jacob Daan’s address, saying as he did so not to mention this to his wife. There were family problems between her and Daan at present, to do with his wife’s mother. Mrs van Riet was in an upset condition. Nothing for Jacob to worry about. You know how women can be—he chuckled—especially women of a certain age. Daan would be glad to help Jacob if help were needed, and, Mr van Riet knew, would like to meet him anyway.

All this left Jacob feeling in an awkward position and wishing even the more that he had not come.

James Sims:

We clambered aboard the aircraft on the order ‘Emplane’. The twin engines [of the Douglas Dakota C-47
‘Skytrain’] burst into life with a shattering roar, the plane gave a shudder and rolled forward along the tarmac. The American pilots taxied in Vic formation. Our aircraft lurched over as it turned at the head of the runway and stopped. Staggered on either side of us were two other aircraft and behind us were three more.

The plane shook as the engine revolutions increased. We began to pick up speed and were soon thundering along the runway. The noise grew to a howling storm of sound as we bumped and bucketed along. We glued our faces to the small windows and waved to our comrades in the other aircraft. It seemed as though we would hurtle on until we smashed into the boundary fence but a subtle change in the motion of the aircraft told us we were airborne; Lieutenant Woods confirmed this by lifting his outstretched hands and smiling. It was approximately 11:30 a.m. and—a sobering thought—we would be in Holland before lunch was over …

We watched the friendly soil of England drop away as we rose ponderously heavenwards. The Dakota was a sluggish aircraft and completely unarmed. When our aerial armada reached the coast we fell in with our fighter escort, mostly RAF Hawkers, Tempests and Typhoons armed with cannons and rockets. We had been promised ‘maximum fighter support’, which meant a thousand aircraft and was very comforting.

The imposing airborne army swung out over the North Sea and we settled down for the journey. We sat eight-a-side down the ribbed fuselage on bench-type seats. We were a right British cocktail of mixed blood: English, Irish, Scots and Welsh; Geordies, Scouses, Cockneys, men like Brum from the Midlands, men from Cambridge, Kent and Sussex. There were three Brightonians in our platoon. Some of us had been shop assistants, others salesmen, farmers, and barrow boys; there was even a poacher.

Lieutenant Woods as Number One was seated next to the open doorway. I was Number Fifteen and the man
behind me, the last man out, was Maurice Kalikoff [a sergeant and a Russian Jew—‘a first class soldier and one of the finest human beings I have ever met’] …

I tried to tell myself that this was what I had always wanted. It went with the red beret, wings and jump pay. We were flying at about four thousand feet [1220 metres] over masses of billowing cloud which reflected the sunshine and made me think I was already in heaven. It was one of those moments in life of sheer beauty. The Dakota droned on over the sea. Talking was impossible so we either dozed or read …

We were nearing the Dutch coast and were warned to brace ourselves as the aircraft dived down through the clouds to about two thousand feet [610 metres]. We were still over the North Sea when a German naval vessel opened fire on us. Fortunately it was a small boat and only had a machine gun. The American pilot took instant evasive action and we held on to one another, bracing our feet as we banked alarmingly. We watched fascinated as a stream of tracer bullets arched towards us, slowly at first but then finally whipping past the open doorway like angry hornets.

Now we were told that the Dutch coastline lay just ahead, and my stomach did another somersault. All that marked the coastline of flooded Holland [the Germans had flooded the coastal area to try and prevent Allied landings] was a long ridge of land, not unlike the spine of some extinct prehistoric animal. As we flew inland the water gradually gave way to ribbons of soil and then whole fields. [
Sims, pp 52–5
]

The change of trains at Utrecht was simple enough but the platforms and stairways were crowded. Again, they sat side by side, this time with Jacob next to the window the better to see the view. As they travelled east, the country became less flat, there were patches of wooded areas, not such a noticeable grid of canals.

‘Do you know a lot about the battle?’ Tessel asked.

‘Wouldn’t say a lot,’ Jacob said. ‘Read a couple of books on it, out of interest, you know, because of Grandad. And I’ve seen the film of course. Anthony Hopkins as a dashing officer. Pretty funny. Don’t expect that’s what it was really like.’

‘Films never are, I would think. How can they be?’

‘One of the books I read was a proper history. But the one I liked best is by an ordinary soldier who took part, not an officer, just a squaddy. The sort of man I suppose my grandfather must have been. It’s not brilliantly written, but I like it because he tells you the sort of detail that doesn’t get into books written by professional historians who are trying to cover the whole battle. He tells things you can only know if you were there. And being an ordinary guy, he sees everything differently from the way historians or officers do. And he’s not gung-ho, you know. But he’s proud to have been there and done that. So it makes a good story as well as being a history of the battle.’

‘I’ve never read anything about it,’ Tessel said. ‘I heard so much from my mother it was enough. Besides, all war is horrible, dreadful, I don’t like to hear about it. And that war, Hitler’s war, is still so much talked about here in the Netherlands, on and on, almost as if it only ended yesterday. I wish people would stop. So much pain, why do we go on remembering it so much? It would be better if we forgot. But people say, no, we must always remember so that nothing like it ever happens again. To which I ask, when has the human race ever forgotten about their wars, and how much has that prevented another being fought?’

‘I don’t know. But I don’t think I agree. You know Anne Frank’s
Diary
?’

‘Everyone must by now, surely?’

‘And you know how she wanted to be a famous writer? Well, she started rewriting her diary not long before she was captured because she heard a broadcast by one of the
Dutch ministers. He said he wanted everyone to save letters and diaries and things like that, things they had written during the occupation, and after the war they would collect these together and put them into a national library so that in future people would be able to read what it was actually like for ordinary people during the war, and not just have to rely on books by professional historians.’

‘It was done. It’s our State Institute for War Documentation in Amsterdam.’

‘Don’t you think that was a great idea? Don’t you think it’s good to know how things were and what people were like in the past? I mean, know about it from what the actual people wrote at the time?’

‘I suppose it is, yes. I just dislike going on and on about the days of the war as if that were all there was of the past.’

‘Well, yes. But it’s always boring if people go on and on about anything.’ He had Mr van Riet in mind.

Tessel laughed. ‘Yes, that’s true.’

‘Sometimes I wish there were some letters of Grandad’s, or a diary maybe. It’s not that I want to know about the battle, as a battle, but I would like to know what it was like for him, what he did, and what happened to him. Everything as
he
saw it. I’d really like that. He’d be more alive for me then. I mean, alive in the way Anne Frank is alive for me. Because when you can read what someone wrote, the way she did, you somehow feel you’re living with them. Inside their head, if you know what I mean.’