I have an 85-year-old birth announcement that states: “God gave us a son named Huibertus de Vink.”
As I grew up, God was replaced by a stork that brought my brother and two sisters into our house. This made me look in wonder at these big birds that lived in the countryside, where my grandparents and my dad’s family lived.
We were located in the oldest part of Rotterdam, on the top floor of a very old big warehouse. My dad was an accountant in charge of the wholesale tire depot and his office was on the floor below us. We lived on the fourth floor; the rest of the building was tire storage.
I can remember going up and down in a big commercial elevator that by today’s standards would be declared an accident waiting to happen. The employees let me sit on top of stacks of tires going to different floors when a boat load of tires came from the factory. This elevator was controlled by two ropes, one for up and one for down, and was the only way out for our family.
The front entrance opened up directly on what used to be a carriage road, but time changed it into a busy narrow cobblestone harbour front. A team of horses or a 1930s truck had to be very careful when they passed each other. It could be very disastrous if you stepped outside without looking both ways.
Living there was not without danger, considering the wacky elevator and a front door that opened right into a busy roadway, and that was why I was not allowed to go outside by myself.
Since a big part of the fourth floor was living quarters, all the rooms were very big. My dad and I used to play with a wind-up toy motorbike that had a side car and a flint headlight. We turned the kitchen light off and send the bike back and forth across the big kitchen floor. The living room windows looked down on the busy road and a harbour with a drawbridge where the harbour turned into a wide canal.
Somewhere between my sixth and seventh year, we moved to a complex of living units that was built in a U shape. It was only a five-minute walk to where we used to live, so it was still in the old centre and harbour part of Rotterdam. It was the first time in my life I played with children my age that were not family.
It was very strange for me to live on ground level, I can remember that, but for the rest it was sort of monotonous – except for Sundays, when my mom cooked Sunday dinner and my dad smoked cigars. Little did we know what was in store for us!
I’d like to thank everybody who encouraged me to start writing again. It made me think about what I am doing with my life, when options are getting scarcer. Not only that, but family and friends asked me often: why don’t you write about your life? The editor of this paper told me that I can write when I want, so thanks to the editor, family and friends I have run out of excuses, so here I go again, but at a slower pace.
Bert de Vink is a regular Observer columnist.
