Writings
Memoir Stories

My connection with my mom started when I was 2 years old. I came home from living with my grandparents (my mom’s parents) since I was 6 weeks old. To explain what actually happened I have to go to the past experiences of my mother according to the birth of her first child. It was 1943 when my mother became pregnant with her first child when she was 18 years old. My parents married when she was in her fourth month of pregnancy and it was World war II. They got 1 bedroom and a living room on the first floor of my aunt’s and uncle’s home. The pregnancy progressed and she would deliver the baby at home. But when the time of birth came there were some complications and my mother finished up in the hospital. Her baby survived only a few hours and my mother never got to see her little baby girl. After 2 years she got another baby girl and after another 2 years her first son. Then the twins came 4 years later, a boy and a girl. Three years later I was up to come to Earth. I was discovered during a gallbladder surgery. My mom was already 4 months pregnant which she didn’t know and they right away stopped the surgery. Because of my mom’s complications with her first baby that died the doctors were afraid for my mother’s and my life. She was not allowed to go home and went from the hospital to a kind of rehab for the rest of her pregnancy till delivery. She had to lay on her back and was not allowed to move much. My siblings went to family but all apart as only the twins stayed together with relatives in Amsterdam. It was a stressful time for everyone involved. My mother was very afraid to lose a baby again and missed her children who couldn’t visit her. My father had to work and could only visit his wife on the weekend. I also heard stories from my parents that sometimes in the week when he had an early shift he biked to the place. This was a 15 mile ride and he stood then at the end of the yard at a fence waving to his wife for 5 minutes. The nurses helped my mother to stand up for just 5 minutes. What a deep love and care my father had for my mother. I was born on August 29 1953 after an easy delivery in the hospital. I was healthy, had a good weight and didn’t have any problem with breastfeeding. After 10 days my mom and I came home. Family and friends had gathered clothing, diapers and a crib because the doctor's advice was not having anything because they were not sure if I would make it alive. I surprised everyone. Coming home with her baby was one improvement but when a little while later all of her other 4 children came back home it was too overwhelming. Suddenly she was in a position of 5 months totally resting, back to a busy family life and now of 5 children. She also suffered from post natal depression which caused her not being able to take care of me properly. I was malnourished and my grandmother saw that her daughter needed serious help caring for her family and she made the decision to take me to her home. Wrapped in sheets she picked me up off the crib and held me in her arms sitting on the back of my grandfather's bycicle. This is about 70 years ago and it was a totally different time where you were able to solve this problem by relatives without the intervention of child care. My grandmother became my mother during my first two years and taught me to sit, to crawl, to walk and to talk. There was a time when I was 1 1⁄2 years old that my grandmother was in the hospital for 3 months because of complications after hip surgeries. My youngest brother was just born. He had health issues with his lungs and was several times hospitalized which was a big concern for my parents. To prevent my mother from a breakdown she decided with the best intentions not to bring me back yet. She asked her sister who was living in Amsterdam with her 5 or 6 children to care for me till she was able to care for me again. My mother told me that when I was a baby of 9 months old she came to see me for the first time and I rejected her by screaming at the top of my lungs. I was very afraid of her and held onto my grandmother. My mother shared with me that she was deeply shocked and hurt. There was never a strong connection developed.with my mom and I for the rest of my life and we walked a rocky road. I fully understand that it was very difficult for her to find the right coping skills with all what happened in her life. Although I love my mom and she will always have a warm spot in my heart.

I was 6 years old and in the first grade of a 6 grade Catholic School named after St. Franciscus of Assisi. There were two classes of the first grade. The school building had two entrances and the playground in front was separated by a wall. The left side entrance was for the boys and the right side for the girls. Each part of the building was separated by a first floor of six grades and a second floor of 6 grades. I don’t know why my older sisters and I were placed on the first floor. A block away from our house was the family Rabou with three daughters and also my parents' friends. They were placed on the second floor. Most of our teachers were Catholic Nuns, and for the boys at the other side of the building were mostly taught by Catholic Brothers. All of my three brothers were also placed at their part on the first floor. We had different break times so we never really connected with the school classes above us. Each had their own religious teachers. The only time when there was a connection was because we would live in the same neighborhood and play together or hang out in the street. On the third floor of both schools was a high school still separated by boys and girls. If we had a break and we could go outside, we were not allowed to climb the wall of separation to look at the boys and vice versa. This was strictly forbidden and punishment would be harsh like standing in the corner when you were little, and when older you had to write 300 times by example that you had to obey. Even when the reason was to see your other siblings. The class groups were very large, around 50 children, so the teacher was very strict to keep us in line and to control us. We had old fashioned teaching benches where we sometimes sat with three kids together. You do understand it was packed and I always sat up front because my birthday was August 29 which was around the start of the school year and I just became 6 years old and I was little. Over the years I was often punished because I liked to talk to my classmates next to me. Wonder above wonder my grades still were always just right. I am sure it could be better if I was focused on the learning material. In the catholic church the boys and girls were also strictly separated and had to sit all the way in the front. Parents were allowed to sit together with their babies or toddlers. The family service at 10:30 was always one and a half hour in Latin. We hardly understood where it was about but repeated the prayers aloud and sang also in Latin. When I look back now, I have to say I love the Latin language and singing because it sounded beautiful. Today the services are in Holland, Dutch. The “High Mass” service started with a procession of some young altar servants carrying the cross on a pole and some others carrying incense burners and waving from left to right. At the end was the priest walking in the middle and his hands devotedly put together and just staring in front of him. Sometimes kids or older people passed out from the incense and were carried outside in the fresh air. God thanks that never happened to me or my family. I actually liked the smell and it was explained to me that it was a holy smell. We had to be in the church 15 minutes before the start of the service and when the bells started to ring everyone stood up for the procession. I went to church as a little child of three years old with my grandmother and she always took her seats at the back of the church. I could stay with her till I had my first communion done at six years old then I had to sit up front with the other girls. I liked it when grandma gave me little peppermints to keep me happy and calm. After I sat up in front with the other girls, we were not allowed to eat anything except the communion bread which was a little baked round thin bread the size of a coin and white of color. The body of Christ how it was explained to us in classes as preparation for the First Holy communion. You were not allowed to eat or drink that morning before Holy Mass. No wonder that some people passed out. What a big difference between then in 1959 and now 2026. You are allowed to eat and drink before the service, and you are also allowed to have a small candy like a little peppermint in your mouth during the service. You don’t get sent away if you whisper something to the child next to you, but respect is still in order.

I remember being with my grandparents who lived across the street. My grandfather was a tall man and well respected by many because he had set up a football club together with a good friend. His 3 sons grew up in a coal miner's neighborhood and their middle son was my father and his name was Benjamin. My grandmother was a very little woman and a little bit heavy set. He was a Dutch man from Amsterdam and my grandmother came from a little town in Germany. They had many differences but they loved each other and made their marriage work. My grandfather was an educated man and grew up in a middle-class environment in the big city. My grandmother didn’t have any education, came from a family of 17 children and her mother died in childbirth of the 17th. Her father was a hard-working coal miner but couldn’t take care of all these children by himself. So, most of the youngest ones, like my grandmother she was 11 years old was given to a wealthy family to become a housemaid and in return she received a bed to sleep and she was fed. No education involved and that is how she grew up to survive. My grandfather came from a family of 3 sons and 1 sister. So far, I know what was told to me he was the youngest and spoiled. He became very rebellious growing up and also liked alcohol too much. He was cast out by his family and did not have any rights anymore of inheritance. So, he moved from Amsterdam to the far South of the Netherlands. Worked as a coal miner but somehow, he didn’t fit in that environment. He read always 2 newspapers, one local and the other one nationally with also world news on a daily basis. My grandmother, she did what she was used to since she was young - taking care of the household and now of my grandfather. I do remember she cooked on a coal stove most of the year and it smelled always so good when you came in. There was always something she was cooking or canning food for the winter. In summertime she cooked only on 2 gas burners but most they ate cold food. She had chickens in her backyard, grew vegetables and had 3 fruit trees, apples, pears and cherries where a part of it was always canned for the winter. When she had her harvest by example of string beans then we grandkids were also invited to help her to pick it from the land and to clean. She always had great fresh lemonade and cookies for us. We went for it and enjoyed listening to the stories the adults were telling. Mostly it was about the good old times of course and the concerns about the future and my grandfathers’ stories were mostly about politics. He was a socialist and didn’t believe in a church because he said they are always after your money and has nothing to do with God. My grandfather was a devoted man grow up protestant and prayed a lot because he said you can pray anywhere and talk to God. Anyone could knock on the door for help and if he could help them, he never refused and reached out. Very interesting is that he was married to a woman who grew up Catholic and she was very devoted going to the church every single day except Saturday. Often in my childhood, I went with her to the first service early in the morning at 7AM. It was mostly dark when I went over to pick her up. I loved being together with her and my other siblings were not interested but all of us went to a Catholic school. My grandmother always gave me little peppermints in the church and some money for the donation collection. When we came home, she always made breakfast for the four of us and I set the table. My youngest brother Benjamin lived with them till he was 10 years old before he came back to the family of six children. I enjoyed having the focus so much on me and my little brother. At home my mother was sickly and not really able to take care of all of us. I had 2 older brothers – and 2 older sisters above me and were more major than I was. My lovely grandparents showed me a lot of how to overcome differences and live with each other with respect. They were loving and caring for us and we felt loved and cared for. Because of my grandparents I had a chance to grow up with my little brother although I lived – slept across the street with my parents and other siblings. Because of my mother's sickness, she had a brain tumor - no possibility to remove - and that paralyzed her for periods so my grandparents and family stepped in often to help. We had a family physician visiting my mother two times a week and one or the other day a nurse came to take care of my mother. The house cleaning and grocery shopping was done by all of us. One of the neighbors took care of our laundry and got paid of course. My father was a very hardworking coal miner and the only provider that needed to pay all of the bills. We always had family, friends and neighbors coming to our house to visit my sick mother. That means that one of us was directed to make coffee to at least offer a cup for their interest to visit my mother. My grandparents came over every night except Saturday to be with us and watch TV. I have only sweet memories about these lovely grandparents who were a big part of my life growing up. I am grateful for those life experiences.

When my father left for work in the mine by 7am he made sure that all of us were awake getting ready for school. Our morning classes started from 8:30 -12:15 and the afternoon from 1:00-3:30pm. Our breakfast of sandwiches were ready between 2 plates. My sick mother prepared them the evening before and would get up later in the morning. My oldest sister Marietje had to watch us getting up and dressed and finishing our breakfast with a glass of milk. Then we left walking to school which took us mostly 20 minutes so by 8am we left. The oldest ones had cleaned up everything and our beds were made up too. I was seven years old. We had to leave through the backyard and a fence door which brought us on a sand path. You walked down and made the first left turn which another sand path took us to the front of our street. Then we made a left turn again and at the corner were our first neighbors an elderly couple who lived most inside of their home. The street was named Treebeek Street number 75 in Treebeek. This was a very small coal miners’ town with all the same townhouses for the coal miner families and the more advanced houses with big yards were in another part where the supervisors and managers lived. That was not our street. Our street had small townhouses with big families. Mostly like our family of 6 kids and both parents of a total of 8 persons. Most of us had 3 bedrooms and the big families of 11 children received 5 bedroom housing. It was still too small for most of us. My father made a room on the attic next to the run for his pigeons for my oldest sister when she became a teenager. My other but older sister shared the bed with me in a small back room - the boys had the biggest room that actually was meant for my parents but there were three of them so there were 3 small beds. My parents had a smaller room too in the front of our house and there was hardly any space to walk around. They had a nice cabin with a mirror at least. In the other rooms my father just made shelves with a curtain in front to have our clothing stored up and of course a part where you could hang your clothing. Now walking down the street to school we passed our townhouse with a small yard in front surrounded with small stone brick walls. In the middle we had a small tree surrounded with some grass but below our front window there were pebbles. This is where visitors left their bicycle if they came to visit my sick mother. Next to us lived also an elderly couple and our front doors were close to each other so we saw them sometimes. Of course we were taught to always be polite and ask if we could do something for them. It must be hard for the elderly couples on each side of us because we were six children in small housing and very noisy with the very thin walls. We could hear them when they were talking some loud because of hearing issues so you can imagine what they had to hear from us. Then the next door lived a family with 5 children and a baby on the way. Unfortunately their father was in prison because while he was working extra evening hours in a metal workplace of the coal mine he had stolen goods. We were young and didn’t understand how hard it must be for this family because at that time you didn’t get welfare or any financial support. The mother did all kinds of work she could have her hands on to support her family. For example she took care of our laundry since my mother was too sick and made a little bit of money in this way. Later in life it was explained to me that she was pregnant with the sixth child because once a month he was allowed to come home for the weekend. My parents made sure that we never judged any of them because it was not her or the children’s fault that they were in this situation. Also we needed to stay polite and talk with respect. The kids were poorly dressed but the neighborhood gave them clothing that they could wear and that was not much because everyone had the same low income. I do remember that she was a lovely woman with a heart of gold and showed her gratitude to the neighborhood when the ice cream man came around then if possible she gave each of us the cheapest ice cream. She was also a very dedicated Salvation Army member and at sport events or holidays she was always collecting money for them. Sometimes they were singing at a corner of the street together with more members. The rest of the street were families like us but all had their own religion and I learned at this young age how interesting each religion was. We grew up Catholic but there was a mix of Protestants - Baptists - reformed - Salvation Army and I don’t know anymore about other religions. We Catholics were the only ones that played in the street on Sunday because all of the other religions had strict rules for the Sunday. The rest of the week we played all together in the street - there was a lot of street life in my generation. Everyone went along because parents would punish us if we wouldn’t because nobody wanted to have conflicts with each other. It was a close living neighborhood that helped each other if needed and possible. I have very warm memories about this part of my childhood and it gives me a smile on my face when I think back on it.

Which are my memories about my First Holy Communion? We received extra Holy Communion classes during school time. The pastor explained how important the Holy Communion was because Jesus loved us so much. That is why we would receive for the first time a little piece of bread that stands for Jesus' body (which was broken on the cross) and the juice/wine stands for his blood (which was poured out to show how much he loves us). The whole idea was to learn that this was a sign of connectedness with Jesus the Christ and the Roman Catholic Church Community. I am sure there was more to say about it, but I don’t remember since I was 6 years old. The explanation of the piece of bread and the importance of it lingered with me. Why? As a fifth of six siblings, I always missed the piece of bread at the Sunday service and felt left behind. I wanted to be a grown up like my older brothers and sisters. So finally, the day came that I could go together with them and couldn’t wait for that experience. The communion clothing was another very exciting thing because I needed to look very important in white. That was usually not my color because I was not so careful when I was out playing and it took less than 15 minutes before it was somehow stained. Both my grandparents would pay for the dress. An aunt, her name was aunt Tiny, who was a seamstress, was asked to make a communion dress for me. Many times, my mother took me to my aunt to adjust the dress. I had to stand still, which was difficult for me and sometimes I could feel the sharp end of the headpins on my skin and screamed out loud. It was a beautiful dress made from a white cotton underdress - a petticoat and then finally the finishing touch overdress which was made from extraordinary white lace. I looked like a little bride. They really went out of their way to get this dress for me. The dress came just a little bit below my knee which was a new development in the child's fashion those days. My aunt also made a pretty little purse of leftover material for the small communion book we would receive and the rosary. I do remember when my mother took me to the shoe shop to get white shoes which was uncommon for me too. She let me choose my shoes under supervision of her of course and we came to an agreement. The first time in my life that I was allowed to make my own choice. There was also a second dress for in the afternoon praise in the church which could be casual. My mother took me out shopping, and I do remember that she chose a navy fashioned dress for me and I was not happy because I didn’t like it at all. But everyone who saw it on me was telling me how good I looked in it. That didn’t help me at all because I still didn’t like it. The only thing I liked were the shoes that I got with this dress. They were called lac shoes and were shiny black. Finally, the big day arrived and I was dressed up and nervous because my mother told me hundreds of times that I had to be very careful with my communion dress. My long blond hair was made up in a bun on top of my head and decorated with fresh flowers. Walking between my parents and surrounded by my siblings we went to the church. We needed to be there earlier because we had to line up for the procession. In no time the church was filled with family members of all the communion girls and boys. When the marching drum band started to play, we had to start walking with our hands folded together straight all the way to the front. People were standing and staring at us. I was not used to this attention and made me even more nervous. The benches were beautifully decorated with beautiful fresh flowers and I loved the smell of it. The rest of the service I don’t remember even when I received the piece of bread. The drum band played several times and I loved that. When we came home the first thing my mother ordered was to change the communion dress for the new navy dress. Our living room was extended in one big room and had one big table (little tables put together) and wooden folding chairs. There were white tablecloths with glasses and I saw lots of cigarettes put together in a glass - some cigars in a glass. I don’t remember what we ate or drank. Many family members came over and we had people who served coffee with local pastry. Later on in the day, it was all alcohol and snacks. I received lots of gifts. My parents gave me a watch and I loved it because all my siblings had a watch from their first Holy communion. I feel now I have caught up with them. One of my aunts gave me a beautiful black piggy bank with pink ears. Some family members gave me money to put in it, and I was proud because now I was rich. What I liked most I do remember was a big beautiful colored ball an uncle gave me and of course I wanted right away outside playing with it. Only I was allowed to play outside when I changed my navy dress for old clothing because in the afternoon, we had to go to the church praise. I love my sweet memories about my first Holy Communion. I still have a photo taken the day after my first Holy communion in my beautiful lace dress with a photographer and my silver rosary given by the church. My family told me that I was the most beautifully dressed girl of all. A year later, the bishop came to our church and I was chosen together with the mayor’s daughter in our first Communion dresses, to say a prayer of 4 couplets. I do remember I was very nervous because the town came out and the press was there too. I was not at all used to this attention. The next day there was a photo of the Bishop and us the girls on the frontpage.