You can find the course here (https://iowa.novoed.com/#!/courses/stories-of-place-iwp/flyer) if you are interested as it runs from 15 November to 31 December as an instructor-led course, but the course can be done at your own pace until 15 March 2019.
Below is my submission and I hope you like it.
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The ‘Hidden Village’
When I was a young girl, a young teenager, my grandparents lent me
a book to read. The book was called ‘Het Geheime Dorp’ and told the story of a
hidden village within a forest in the Netherlands during World War II. The
thing which made the book so special for me was that this story was about
real-life occurrences and took place just around the corner from where I lived.
I really enjoyed reading this book as it brought the stories of the resistance
and the refugees to life in a place I could relate to. If you ever read Anne
Frank’s diary, you know where I am coming from on this.
Nowadays, a museum has been built in the area the village was and
I will tell you about the history of the hidden village first to help you
relate to this piece of nature as I do.
*
* *
Between April 1943 and November 1944, between eighty and one
hundred and twenty refugees lived hidden in the forest near Nunspeet, a Dutch
village just east of the water in the middle of the Netherlands. Although the
refugees initially lived in a tent and a container, members of the resistance
built underground cabins in sections of the forest later.
Edouard von Baumhauer, Opa (grandpa) Bakker and his with Tante
(auntie) Cor were instrumental in the running of the village and bringing food
and supplies. Amongst those living in ‘Het Verscholen Dorp’, the Hidden Village
in English, were many Jews, allied airmen, a German deserter, a Russian and a
Pole. In total, ten cabins were erected to house eight to ten people each.
The village lay hidden deep in the woods, but not far from the
home of the Vos family, who allowed the refugees access to their water pump and
their home also acted as storage for food for the Hidden Village. A special
communication system was in place to inform the refugees whether it was safe to
come near the house. If it was unsafe, the Vos family would hang a piece of
fabric on a tree. If they considered it to be unsafe the entire night, they
would leave their guard dog outside, who would bark as soon as it noticed
movement. This acted as a signal to tell the refugees to return to the Hidden
Village instead. Eventually, a water pump was placed closer to the village.
The access to medical and
dental care was severely limited. This consisted of the presence of a medical
student and a dentist amongst the refugees. If hospital treatment was required,
the patient needed to be carried to a larger road, to be picked up by the
ambulance there and taken to the hospital.
The sections of the forest on which the cabins were placed, were
separated by fire corridors and it was strictly forbidden to visit the other
cabins or the water pump during the daytime to avoid detection. The refugees
were also expected to remain in absolute silence, something which was
especially difficult for the children.
Their days consisted of crafting, reading, preparing meals and
playing games and a few students provided the children with education. A
survivor mentioned he could not remember a time when he had been bored there as
a child.
When complacency set in as everything progressed so well, a member
of the resistance made a film about life in the village. On a search of his
home, the Germans confiscated this movie, but fortunately, something happened
to the film and it no longer could be viewed. Some say it was a German who
foolishly opened the container outside a dark room, others tell how a member of
the resistance caused the error at the lab the film went to be examined.
Discovery of the film led to the refugees being sent to other addresses in the
area temporarily.
On the 29th of October 1944, two members of the SS hunted in the
forest when they heard sounds of sawing and woodcutting. As they investigated
this, they noticed a boy on his way to collect water. A survivor remembers
hearing a loud shout, “Raus du Jude, raus
raus!” (Get out Jew, get out, get out!)
The members of the SS fired a few warning shots and a large group of refugees
was able to escape during this time. The boy was allowed to escape to allow the
SS-ers to get reinforcements from a camp nearby.
On their return, the majority of the refugees had escaped and
hidden elsewhere, but still, they threw hand grenades in the cabins,
demolishing them in the process. The soldiers had expected more resistance.
During a search of the area, eight refugees were caught, amongst which a
six-year-old boy. Two refugees faced the firing squad at the nearby camp, the
other six were forced to walk back to the village, dig a hole and were shot
there. On the site of the village now stands a monument in memory of these
eight.
Three cabins have been rebuilt in the section where the water pump
once stood. These are in memory of those who lived in the village during the
war. Opa Bakker was arrested in February 1945 and shot with forty-seven other
members of the resistance. His wife survived the war as did Edouard von
Baumhauer. All people who helped to support and hide the refugees were honoured
after the war.
*
* *
Now you know the back story of this place in the forests near
where I grew up, you may understand why this has made such an impression on a
young teenager. Many a time I would cycle there and visit the camp when I was a
little older. I would grab my bike and dog and cycle over, my dog running
alongside the bike. She was a large dog, a Rhodesian Ridgeback. We would ride down
the road in front of our house and at the end of the road, the forest already
lay waiting. There we would take a left and continue our route along the edge
of the forest. A lovely cycle path in the shade of the trees. The smells of the
forest would surround me as I inhaled, the fresh pine needles, the oaks and the
mulch underneath them.
We would ride further and cross over the motorway and then take a
right on the large road into the forest. This road was tarmacked and soon there
would be a sandy lane off towards the left. We would follow the cyclepath next to the lane, heather to our
right with trees behind it and trees on our right. After a while, we would pass
the ‘Waschkolk’ on our right. A small area of water where shepherds used to
wash their sheep. On different days we would go for walks here, often before
going to work in the morning. The lane continued and once we reached the
Tongerenseweg, we took a left towards Huize Pas-Op, once the home of the Vos
family. Once we passed the house, we took the first lane to the right and
continued further. It was a long journey, but well worth the effort and ideal
when you brought a packed lunch.
Near the site of the Hidden Village, I would park my bike against
a tree and lock it, then grab my bag and explore the site. It was really
amazing, hidden underground, with the roofs about at ground level, were huts
which during the war would have housed eight to ten people. Along one side of
the hut, bunk beds would be placed, all made of wood. Two beds above each other,
four next to each other. A total of eight per hut. A table stood in the middle
of the cabin. If I touched the wood around me, the memories were nearly
palpable. Even though I knew these were not the original cabins, the memory
still lingered in the woods and a lump would block my throat. A heaviness sat
on my chest as I remembered those who suffered during the war, those who died
and those who lost so much.
*
* *
Soon, I hope to visit the site again, to show my daughter this
amazing piece of history. As she loved the visit to the Battlefields in High
School, I’m certain she will appreciate this trip too.
*
* *
Nowadays the area is peaceful, you hear the birds sing and smell
the fresh air around you. But we should never forget the atrocities the war
brought. The devastation, but also the courage and solidarity of many who
risked their lives to save others. Would
I ever be brave enough to do something like that? Although I fantasised I would
as I read the book, I now realise I would possibly be too much of a coward.
Hat off to people like Edouard von Baumhauer, Opa Bakker and Tante
Cor! May we never forget.
Joni
Martins.
(Outside
of the story, my approach is the way I like to write if describing things, an
introduction, some background, the main, a discussion and a conclusion. This
most likely stems from the time I used to write reports as part of my job)
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