Bert de Vink
Observer Contributor
In the early spring of 1944, in the middle of the night, my sister, younger brother and I were on the way to Steenwyk, which is not too far from the northern part of the former Zuider Sea.
My dad took us to the boat that was to take us to Steenwyk and was moored about a good hour’s walk under normal conditions. It was a dangerous walk because there was a curfew from 7 p.m. to 7 a.m., and anybody seen on the streets was shot. The middle of the night was the best time because there were not as many soldiers around.
My mom was crying when we left, and the four of us walked away in a row, a couple of feet behind our dad. My dad looked around every corner before we could proceed.
It took a couple of hours before we reached the boat. The boat was loaded with empty wooden crates in a way that left a space for us to hide in.
We said goodbye to our dad, who had to return the same dangerous route home.
We stayed hidden on the boat for a long time, but when we reached the open water of the former Zuider Sea, we could come out of our hiding place. We sailed across choppy water until we got close to the other coast and had to hide again.
When we got to Steenwyk, we were welcomed by the families who were taking us to their homes. They looked at us in wonderment because we must have been a sight. I was in my father’s suit, wearing shoes that were too small so the toe part was removed; my sister wore my mom’s dress, and my little brother wore my old clothes.
I ended up in a big old house with a mother and her young adult daughter. My bedroom was the former bedroom of her son, who was very active in the resistance movement. There was a little hole in the window glass because the Germans thought the son was in that room. This house has seen many raids because of her son.
My sister went with the owners of a fabric store that had living quarters in the back, and my little brother ended up in a house with two teenage sisters and their parents.
The next day, the daughter took me to the wooden shoemaker who lived in a very small village just outside Steenwyk. The wooden shoemaker outlined my feet on a piece of cardboard and told us to come back in a couple of days for a fit. When we got back to fit the wooden shoes, they were a bit tight in some places, which were fixed right there.
For a city kid, the walk home was painful because there is no give in wooden shoes.
Bert de Vink is a regular Observer contributor. This is the final installment of Bert’s life story for the Observer. He will continue to write his life story and hopes to one day have it published as a book.
Part 1 of Bert’s story was published in the April 4 edition of the Observer, Part 2 on April 25, Part 3 on May 9, Part 4 on May 16 and Part 5 on May 30.
