aanspraak march 2020 english - svb · 2021. 7. 20. · edith eger’s story is testament to the...

AanspraakAfdeling Verzetsdeelnemers en Oorlogsgetroffenen

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Eva Weyl gives talks at schools about her first-hand experiences of camp Westerbork

Contents

Page 4Speaking for your benefit.

Page 5Announcement by the Board of Directors of the SVB: Ruud van Es bids farewell to V&O and introducing Coen van de Louw.

Page 6-9As a survivor I feel like a fortunate person.Eva Weyl gives talks at schools about her first-hand experiences of camp Westerbork.

Page 10-13The war has still a grip on me.Japanese internment camp survivor Gerard Pauw rescued his mother from the line of fire.

Aanspraak - March 2020 - 2

16Jack of all trades, master of most.Ed Waisvisz recounts his time in the Dutch East Indies and the effect it has had on his life.


Page 17Questions and answers.

No rights may be derived from this text.Translation: SVB, Amstelveen.

Speaking for your benefit

This year, 2020, marks the 75th anniversary of the end of the Second World War. Consequently, all manner of activities are being undertaken to com-memorate three quarters of a century of freedom. In addition to the customary remembrance ceremo-nies and special municipal activities, survivors and surviving relatives are reliving the liberation through newspaper and television interviews, often invoking deep emotions. One thing I’ve noticed about the way people perceive living in freedom is that, aside from a small dose of luck, personal choices can be key in equipping them to cope with the misery of war and process it after the fact. This is something I’ve also observed in the interviews in Aanspraak magazine, and personal accounts in books.

One book I was very touched by was ‘The Choice: Embrace the Possible’, written by the Hungarian-Jewish authoress Edith Eva Eger. It’s an impressive story. Known as the ‘Ballerina of Auschwitz’ because she would be sent for to dance for Dr Jozef Mengele at Auschwitz, as a sixteen-year-old girl Edith miracu-lously and admirably survived both Auschwitz and Mauthausen. After she and her younger sister were liberated, Edith spent many years feeling trapped in a secret world of her wartime experiences, in her feelings of guilt for having survived while others hadn’t, and by the conviction that she shouldn’t bur-den her children and other people with her ‘trauma’. She carried this heavy burden until she became inspired by the story of another Auschwitz survivor, the psychiatrist Viktor Frankl, whose philosophy led her to confront these issues head-on: ‘Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms – to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances (...) however frustrating,

painful and burdensome an experience may be, we have the freedom to choose how we react.’

‘There is a choice: you can free yourself from your trauma and choose freedom.’ This view triggered a major breakthrough for Edith Eger. She completed her degree in psychology, obtained a doctorate, and decided, through working as an experiential expert and professional therapist, to help others process their traumas – not just the traumas suffered by veterans, for instance, but also traumas resulting from other profound experiences. Edith Eger’s story is testament to the importance of sharing personal experiences, as well as realising that there is always a choice, and that one’s own attitude matters. This is what these 75 years of freedom are all about – the connection between the war and its ripple effect, now and in the future. That information and aware-ness will remain part of the emotional baggage of the young and of future generations.

Someone who understands that setbacks are a part of life, and that how we deal with those setbacks is key, is my fellow Sociale Verzekeringsbank columnist, Ruud van Es. Despite having been struck down by a serious illness that eventually forced him to with-draw from his position, Ruud has managed to remain positive. This is something I have tremendous respect for. You can read more about this elsewhere in this magazine.

Dineke Mulock HouwerChair of the Pension and Benefit Board


Announcement by the Board of Directors of the SVB

Ruud van Es bids farewell to V&O

From 1 January 2015 to 31 December 2019, Ruud van Es was responsible for the administration of the Department for Former Members of the Resistance and Victims of War (V&O) as part of his SVB portfolio. In his SVB career as Director of one of the regional offices, Director of Client Service Operations, and finally as a Member of the Board of Directors, Ruud van Es was closely connected to the provision of services for members of the resistance and victims of war. Unfortunately, ill health has now forced him to lay down his tasks and pass responsibility for the V&O department to his successor and fellow board member, Coen van de Louw.

Ruud van Es looks back on his time with V&O ‘In the many years that I have been involved in the application and administration of the war victims’ schemes, I have always shared the sense of passion and pride in the way the Department for Former Members of the Resistance and Victims of War carries out its work. It is evident from our customer satisfaction surveys that this has also been recognised and appreciated by our clients.

‘For me personally, it was an honour and pleasure to be able to meet representatives of the different target groups in person, and to hear how our services were received and where improvements, however small, could still be made. We have also had a good working relationship with the Pension and Benefit Board, and with the Dutch Ministry of Health, Welfare and Sport (VWS) that carries ultimate responsibility for the V&O schemes. In the past few months, I have been able to properly prepare my successor for this special task and I now feel that I can say goodbye with confidence.’

Introducing Coen van de Louw

Coen van de Louw (1963) became a member of the Board of Directors of the Sociale Verzekerings-bank (SVB) in 2015, and has been officially reap-pointed as from 12 April 2020. His portfolio as from 1 January 2020 includes the care and responsibility for members of the resistance and war victims.

Coen van de Louw looks ahead to his new role ‘I am delighted to be able to work for the SVB for another five years, and this special portfolio will also give me the opportunity of occasionally Speaking for your benefit.

‘It is clear to me that everyone in the V&O department is very dedicated to supporting their clients as far as they can within the limits of the law. As a director, I am confident that they will continue to do their job well and improve it where possible.

‘I will also be representing the SVB at commemo-ration ceremonies such as the recent National Holocaust Commemoration, where I witnessed the apologies offered by Prime Minister Mark Rutte on behalf of the government for the past actions of the Dutch state.

‘During the war, my grandfather was arrested by the Germans in Brabant, but he never spoke about it. In the same way, my wife’s family refuse to talk about their experience of the Japanese camps. I respect their position, of course, but I also have a lot of admiration for those who have found the courage to bear witness to their experiences in this magazine. I believe it is essential that we can continue to share their stories in this way in the future.’


As a survivor I feel like a fortunate person

Eva Weyl gives talks at schools about her first-hand experiences of camp Westerbork.

Recently, on 26 January 2020, Eva Weyl gave a speech at the Auschwitz Commemoration in the Wertheimpark in Amsterdam. “My name is not one of the 102,000 on the list read out in Westerbork of Jewish, Sinti and Roma people murdered in the German camps. I lived to tell the tale.” She contin-ues to tell her story at schools to warn pupils of the dangers of intolerance and discrimination.

As a six-year-old German-Jewish girl, Eva Weyl arrived at the transit camp Westerbork in January 1942 together with her parents. She and her parents survived the war. As a guest speaker at Camp Westerbork Memorial Centre, she gives talks at Dutch and German schools every year. This is Eva’s story.

German-Jewish family‘In 1934, my parents, Hans Adalbert Weyl (1907) and Margot Weyl-Wolff (1907), left Germany, where they had lived in Cleves, because Hitler had come to power and Jews were already being persecuted. Father’s family owned the first large department store in Cleves, where he had learned the trade. He had a Jewish upbringing. My mother’s family was the opposite: they were what was referred to as “assimilated”, which meant my mother had an upbringing in which the Jewish faith did not play a role. I was born on 7 June 1935 in Arnhem, where I had a secular upbringing. My parents initially spoke German, but learnt Dutch quickly because they had their own textile shop in Arnhem.

‘Being an only child, I was pampered and always protected. Like many other Jews, my parents thought they were safe in the Netherlands because it had remained neutral in the First World War. Furthermore, both of my grandfathers had been

awarded the Iron Cross for their bravery as German soldiers in the First World War. As honorary citizens, they thought nothing could happen to them. My father’s sister was anything but convinced and emigrated to America in 1938. I first became aware of the imminent danger after Kristallnacht in 1938, when both of my grandfathers moved in with us and there were discussions about the “krauts”. I loved my grandfather Wolff. His wife had died from an illness in 1928. My grandmother Sophie Weyl had passed away in hospital in Germany because, as a Jewish woman, she didn’t receive timely treatment.’

Call-up for Arbeitseinsatz in Westerbork‘In January 1942, we were called up by the Jewish Council to report for forced labour in Camp Westerbork. A year later, my grandfathers were also called up. My father received an offer of hiding places from the resistance, but that would have meant our family being split up, and my parents wanted to remain together. For this reason, they obeyed the order. Everyone was allowed to bring just one suitcase with them, and I took my doll. Shortly before we left, my mother replaced the buttons on my woolen winter coat with fabric buttons, in which she hid rough diamonds – an investment at the time. She also sewed loops onto my coat so I could fasten it. I didn’t find out about the diamonds until after the war. Fortunately, they were never discovered, because we were searched for gold and valuables upon our arrival.’

Arrival‘At that time, the railway line did not yet run into the camp, so when we arrived in Hooghalen we had to walk 6 kilometres. In January 1942, the temperature fell well below zero. Everyone in the camp was walking around in their own clothes.


When we arrived in Westerbork, which had previously been a refugee camp, there were already some fifteen hundred German Jews there who had previously fled Germany. In the wake of Kristallnacht, which had taken place in the night of 9-10 November 1938, many Jews wanted to leave Nazi Germany as quickly as possible. In order to cope with the large numbers of refugees, the Dutch government founded the Central Refugee Camp Westerbork in 1939. By this time, it had become clear to the Jewish people that they needed to take this threat seriously, and flee Germany. We were part of the first group of German Jews living in the Netherlands who were called up to go to Westerbork. I slept with my mother in the women’s barracks, and my father had to go to a men’s barracks. For the first time in my life, I was separated from my father, which was a major shock to me.’

The labour camp‘My mother was in sheer disbelief at the fact that she, coming from an assimilated family, was now imprisoned in a camp. For the first ten months, my father worked on the land on farms in the province of Drenthe that were under German guard. My mother was made to work in the wash house. I’d just turned six, and attended primary school six days a week, where I was taught by Jewish teachers. Children kept disappearing from my class, but at the same time, new ones kept appearing. This didn’t surprise me, because we’d also arrived by train. I assumed that we would also end up elsewhere at some stage. We were required to stand for roll call to be counted, and would mostly eat mashed potatoes from the kitchen. My mother tried to protect me from everything. At night, if there was panic amongst the women because they were on the deportation list, my mother would tell me I should ignore the squabbling women and get some sleep. Because my mother was always with me, I felt safe.’

A world of make-believe‘Camp commander Albert Gemmeker was responsible for sending Jews, Roma and Sinti for transportation. He turned the transit camp into a village heavily guarded by Kapos. Above all, Gemmeker wanted to make himself useful to the German government and keep all of the internees in the camp working. This led him to have a whole

variety of factories built. There were numerous traditional workshops, such as a sewing shop, a shoemaker’s, a forge and an aeroplane disassembly shop, so that everyone had a job. It was a world of make-believe. There was a primary school, a playground, and synagogue services were even allowed on Shabbat. Mayors would visit to marry internees. Families remained together. There was barely any abuse or murder. He had everyone work from 1942 until the liberation. There was entertainment in the form of a large orchestra, lectures, and performances by German and Dutch stand-up comedians, until the final train left in September 1944. Maintaining this make-believe world and ensuring people were so well cared for and had work is what enabled Gemmeker to transport so many people with little protest. No one could believe that the next camp would be an extermination camp. Even during the Dutch famine of 1944, we still had food. There was a camp hospital where the best Jewish doctors and nurses worked. Babies were delivered there and operations were performed. Camp commander Gemmeker once had an incubator brought from the hospital in Assen for a prematurely born baby, before putting the child whose life had been saved and her parents on a train to an extermination camp. These are the lengths he would go to to keep up the facade.’

Everything changed for us‘Within ten months, my father managed to get a job in the administrative department. The advantage of having a job in this department was that you had a “Sperre”, which temporarily exempted you from transportation. A Sperre was worth its weight in gold. My father’s department was made up of four camp administrators. When my father got this job, everything changed for us. We were given our own small barracks, number 15, which we shared with Mr. and Mrs. Dresden who had put their two daughters in hiding. In this small house, we had our own kitchen and own beds. It was a huge improvement. Certain people were allowed to leave the camp for their work. For instance, my father had to go and collect evidence for fellow internees who had applied for deferment of deportation because they had wanted to go to Palestine before the war or had family there. Only then would you be eligible for a so-called “Palestine certificate”, which allowed


you to be exchanged with a German prisoner of war who had been interned in the British-occupied Palestine. If my father didn’t return in time with the right evidence, we would have been put on the next transport. If he was able to prove a family’s use to the occupiers, they would be removed from the deportation list. With the help of a priest who was a member of the resistance in Amsterdam, some internees were provided with backdated baptism certificates or Christian marriage certificates. Those papers were checked by the camp guards, so the stamps needed to be accurate. When my parents came in from work, they would always play games with me and Mr. and Mrs. Dresden.’

Almost transported three times over‘My father didn’t manage to save either of my grandfathers from deportation to Theresienstadt. One day, our names also appeared on the list. The first time, an administrator who was a friend of ours secretly removed our names from the list. The second time, we were standing ready with our suitcases early in the morning in front of our barracks, when Allied planes started shooting at our camp. They’d probably mistaken the tall chimney in the camp for a German factory. This caused major panic and everyone ran to the barracks for shelter. In the chaos, the lists were lost and, fortunately for us, our transport didn’t go ahead. The third time was when, in the summer of 1944, my father couldn’t cope with his work anymore and wanted to put us on the train by his own volition. Sem Dresden convinced him otherwise. He said, “Here, you know how things are, but you have no clue as to what’s awaiting you there! However awful your work is, you can’t go!” We’d occasionally receive positive reactions from families for whom he’d arranged a Palestine certificate. To them, he was a hero! Conversely, there was a woman who wouldn’t sit next to me at the birthday party of an American aunt of mine because she thought my father had sent her whole family with a transport.’

Liberated by Canadian troops‘Camp commander Gemmeker and his team fled two days before we were liberated. We weren’t allowed to leave the camp because there was still heavy fighting between the Allies and the German army. Myself and some other children discovered

a wool store and started knitting to pass the time. On 12 April 1945, we heard fighting in the distance. In the afternoon, the Canadians drove into the camp in their tanks. We dropped our knitting and ran to greet our liberators outside the camp’s gates, shouting, “The Tommies are coming!” The Canadians handed out chocolate bars and white bread, and the adults were mostly given packets of cigarettes. Everyone was really happy, and afterwards all of us had to return to the camp until further notice because the area surrounding the camp was too dangerous. The Canadians left for Assen the same day. It would be another month before the Dresden family’s children moved in with their parents at the camp. Naturally, the family reunion was a big celebration.’

After the war‘Because we had to remain in the camp for so long, I saw how members of the NSB were imprisoned in the camp after the liberation and how the new Dutch guards and former internees would kick them. That was horrible to witness. We finally left the camp in July of 1945. Both of my grandfathers were liberated from Theresienstadt. Grandad Weyl went to in America to live with his daughter, where he passed away in 1948 from the consequences of the war. While she was interned in the camp, my mother started a relationship with another man. My father divorced her immediately after the war in Assen in 1945. I lived with my mother in Amsterdam and my father was often away. In my teenage years, I didn’t understand this and hated my mother and her boyfriend, who fortunately suddenly disappeared again. My father continued to love my mother and they remarried in 1948. They reopened our shop in Arnhem. During my studies at hotel management college, I met the Swiss man I would later marry and have two children and five grandchildren with.’

Fortunate‘Thanks to my parents’ protection, I was spared any suffering during my childhood. I’m always positive and, as a survivor, I feel fortunate. In 2018, after twelve years of giving talks at German and Dutch schools as a guest speaker for Camp Westerbork Memorial Centre, I was awarded the Bundesverdienstkreuz on behalf of the president of the Federal Republic of Germany at the German


Embassy in The Hague for sharing my eyewitness experiences of the persecution of the Jews. I’m proud of this award. The Nazis took everything our family had, murdered many people and, in a manner of speaking, murdered our name, too. Thanks to the Verdienstkreuz, the Weyl name has been restored. In a way, it also feels like our honour has been restored. The story that gets the most questions from children is the one about my coat. Years after the war, my mother reminded my father about the raw diamonds in the buttons, which he had made into a beautiful

diamond ring for her. When I turned sixty, my mother gave me the ring, and only then did she tell me the story behind it. Whenever I wear the ring, I carry the history of our survival with me. After I die, the ring will be exhibited at Camp Westerbork Memorial Centre with a video of my life story. By telling my life story, I want to make young people aware of intolerance so they’ll fight against discrimination. That’s my biggest wish.’

Interview: Ellen Lock


The war has still a grip on me

Japanese internment camp survivor Gerard Pauw rescued his mother from the line of fire.

Gerard Pauw lives in Huisduinen, in the far north of the Dutch province of North Holland, with his wife, Corrie. From their home, they have a view of the Huisduinen Lighthouse. Aged 92, Gerard is keen to share his experiences of the war while he still can. His wife says, “The war often bothers him. He sometimes kicks me during the night. Although it’s taxing for him, he wants to tell his story.” Gerard adds, “Because you never know, there may still be other camp inmates alive out there. I miss my three friends from the camp more than anyone!”

The best years of my life‘My father served in the Royal Netherlands Navy in Den Helder. He trained cadets and would be away at sea for months at a time. My mother married him by proxy, which is what you did if you married your partner at the register office in his absence. My parents moved in together at Van Hogendorpstraat 52 and had three daughters: Bep, Sjaan and Gerda. I came into the world on 28 September 1927, followed by my younger brother, Cor, six years later. We had a Roman Catholic upbringing.

‘In 1937, my father was stationed in Surabaya for the final period of his three-year stint in the Navy. We were allowed to go and join him as a family, and departed separately from Rotterdam with my mother on the passenger ship Indrapoera. I was ten years old at the time, and was given my own leather suitcase for my things. In Port Said, we were allowed to go ashore for 24 hours, and I got to pick a souvenir. I chose a beautiful book containing photos of traditional oriental clothing, and it survived the war in my suitcase. Father rented a house with a large garden for us at Hogendorplaan 46

in Surabaya. Because our father was always away at sea, my brother and I were free to get up to all kinds of mischief. These were the best years of my life. On Sunday afternoons, my parents would want to play bridge, and would give us money to go to the Cineac. It was wonderful to be able to see so many films on just one cinema ticket! Every day, my brother and I would climb the three tall trees in front of the house, in which we would chase our gibbon [monkey] in vain. After we had enjoyed three carefree years in the Dutch East Indies, war broke out with Japan.’

Temporary deferment of Japanese internment‘Shortly before the war, my youngest sister, Gerda, had volunteered to distribute food to the poor in the kampongs. By coincidence, father had just arrived in town when his Naval unit received orders to leave for Tjilatjap on the south coast to evacuate the crew members with families. Our cases were packed, ready for us to follow our father, but then Surabaya was occupied by the Japanese. All of the European men were interned. After a couple of months, the European women were also ordered to the camps, but thanks to Gerda’s voluntary work, we were given months of deferment. She wore a red armband as proof of deferment and was able to bring us food from work. We were able to entrust a large trunk to the parents of her Chinese school friend. Because we were without father’s income, my mother became adept at finding ways to earn money for shopping. Once, she took a bedspread and used it to knit socks that my brother and I sold to the Japanese. I also repaired bicycles in the women’s camp in the Darmo quarter, which you could simply walk in and out of at the time. This camp was fairly quickly fenced off and was guarded by Japanese soldiers.’


Interned in the women’s camp in the Darmo quarter‘On 11 January 1943, mother had to report at the women’s camp in the Darmo quarter with her five children. We were housed with a French lady who also had five children. Contact with people outside the camp was forbidden, but I would pick ripe mangos from the trees, put them in a stocking and sneakily sell them over the bamboo fence to a friend from the kampong. After a month, all of the internees were made to walk in line to the station in Surabaya, where we departed in a train with blacked-out windows to an unknown destination. We were able to sit together as a family, but all of the children were screaming because there was no toilet in the packed carriage. The stench was horrendous. After four hours, we arrived at Semarang station in Central Java. From there, we were taken to the Gedangan Convent women’s camp in army trucks.’

All of the older boys were taken to the men’s camp‘When we arrived, we saw several nuns walking across the square in front of the convent. We stood in long queues in the courtyard while the Japanese soldiers counted us, and made us bow deeply to them. As a fourteen-year-old boy, I was made to sleep separately with all of the other boys, who were divided between three classrooms. If you needed to go to the toilet in the night, you had to be accompanied by a Japanese guard. I would see my mother or sisters in the daytime, however, because I worked in the kitchens and would serve rice or watery soup to the internees. Together with another boy who worked in the kitchens, I would carry the heavy drums by attaching them to a stick I would rest on my shoulder. When we’d cleaned the large pans, we would throw the crusts we’d scraped from them into the disposal chute, which went into the “kali” [river]. Through a crack in the camp fence, I would watch hungry people from the kampong on the other side of this chute fishing grains of rice out of our rice water.

‘One day, I was washing myself in a packed bathhouse, when I suddenly heard several boys sobbing loudly outside. Shortly after, my mother told me, “Tomorrow, all of the older boys are being sent to the men’s camp.” My little brother was too

young and remained with my mother. Naturally, I cried at having to leave my family as we were driven away in army trucks. Fortunately, my mother had put a blanket and a little box with a few useful items in my suitcase. Those items would later came in handy. A short while later, we arrived in the men’s camp in Halmaheira, a small village made up of stone houses, which was also part of Semarang. Together with another boy, I was placed in one of these small houses with two men for a maximum period of two months. The only positive thing about it was that it reunited me with my old classmate Rudie Broekman.’

The 15th Battalion Encampment in Bandung‘In January 1944, Rudie Broekman and I were transported to the 15th Battalion Encampment, a former barracks of the Royal Netherlands Indies Army (KNIL), in Bandung, together with some two hundred other young men. The encampment housed around three thousand prisoners of war, who had been interned there by the Japanese. In the large sheds that housed us, we each had a space of only 60 centimetres to sleep in. It was cold at night time, and my mother’s blanket turned out to be my salvation. The camp had separate barracks for the Chinese and Jews. The camp regime was run by a single Japanese officer, who maintained a strict regime. Most of the guards, however, were cruel Koreans, who would beat us severely for any misdemeanour.

‘As a means of survival, myself and three other men formed a collective known as a “kongsi”. This meant we would work together, share what little food we had, and keep an eye on one another. The other members of my kongsi were Hans Piepenbrink, Joop Franken and Rudie Broekman. One day, a Korean guard made Rudie Broekman and I stand opposite one another and slap each other in the face. When I didn’t slap Rudie hard enough, the guard punched me in the jaw. We were made to dig deep ponds in the Japanese officer’s garden. Alongside the shed we lived in, we dug a wide, deep pool we would swim and wash ourselves in. My kongsi buddy Hans Piepenbrink almost drowned in that pool when he tried to swim in there at night and failed. Fortunately, we heard him and managed to pull him out just in time.’


Smuggling‘A day of forced labour outside the 15th Battalion Encampment would earn us five cents and a biscuit. With that money, we were able to buy some extra food from the camp’s shop. In my mother’s box was a hairpin, which I would use to hide extra money in my thick mop of hair so I could also buy extra food in the camp. In the camp inspections, this always went undetected. Mother had also given me a small glass pill tube capped with a cork. When our heads were shaved on account of lice, I asked a camp doctor, “Could I hide this tube in my anus to smuggle money into the camp?” He told me this wasn’t dangerous, so from them on I would smuggle money into the camp when I had been selling shirts that had belonged to older camp internees to people from the kampong. Even though the money stank, it was never discovered.

‘Education was prohibited in the camp, but Brother Schrader, who had been the headteacher of a secondary school would give me fascinating lessons in Dutch, English, algebra and geometry. On 19 October 1944, he gave me my “first-class secondary school certificate”, which was written on a sheet of paper from a notepad. We were, on occasion, allowed to write messages in Malay in preprinted Japanese cards and send them to other camps. When I received one of these cards from my sister Sjaan, who was interned at the camp in Lampersari, it came as a sign of life. She wrote that mother was in Camp Halmaheira in Semarang. We’d heard nothing from our father.’

Forced labour‘We had to build the embankment for the railway line from Madjalaja to Tjitjalenka. Early in the morning of 19 August 1945, I was transported from the 15th Battalion Encampment to Tjitjalenka, which lay 25 kilometres east of Bandung, as part of a group of around 260 men. Looking outside was strictly forbidden. On the way back, one boy was caught doing so and the whole of our fifty-man work crew was made to pay. A Korean Heiho was standing ready with his wooden stick, when our kongsi buddy Joop Franken said, “I’m going to stand in the front line to get it out of the way quickly.” We shouted to him that it was a bad idea, and stayed where we were, at the back. After a few goes with the stick,

this cruel Heiho suddenly picked up a steel bar, with which he proceeded to strike the people in the front few rows hard in the back of the knees, making them fall down. When he came to Joop Franken, he just kept on beating him, again and again. Exhausted, the monster abruptly stopped and walked away. One of the other boys and I picked up our bloodied friend Joop from the ground, put him in between us, and dragged him back to our sleeping quarters. Whenever I think about this incident, it still fills me with sorrow.’

Unexpectedly liberated‘In the third week of August 1945, the Japanese suddenly completely disappeared from the 15th Battalion Encampment. Our Dutch camp commander informed us that Japan had surrendered on 15 August. He warned us not to leave the camp because of the threat of attacks by Indonesian freedom fighters. After a couple of days, to my great surprise I read my father’s name on the pinboard. He was on the list of people who were in Australia, where he was safe in Melbourne. My kongsi buddies were over the moon for me. I received a letter from my sister Sjaan, who was in Semarang in Camp Lampersari, in which she told me that my mother was in hospital and asked me to come to see her. At the end of August, the Red Cross gave me a free ticket to Semarang. When I arrived at the protection camp in Lampersari, my sister Sjaan was the first family member I found. We rented a cart together to collect my mother from the hospital. We were shocked by how weak she was, and the fact that she weighed only 40 kilos. There was heavy fighting in the vicinity of the hospital between the freedom fighters and the British Indian Army, so we took our mother with us straight away on the handcart. We had arrived just in the nick of time, because a week later the freedom fighters murdered the medical staff and the patients and burned the hospital to the ground.’

The reunion‘Once we’d re-established contact with our father through the Navy, he had us brought over to Melbourne. We were taken to Batavia under the protection of British Indian Army and, from there, we were flown Port Darwin in Australia in a B25 bomber. My brother and I lay at the front of the


plane in the glass turret with a fantastic view. Upon our arrival in Port Darwin, we were first given a medical examination and put in quarantine for two days. My mother was severely malnourished, my sister had goitre – an enlarged thyroid gland – and I had oedema in my left leg.

‘In the night, we were flown to a disused American army base in Brisbane in a Dakota to convalesce for a week. After that, we were flown to Melbourne, where our father was waiting to be reunited with us after having not seen us for four years. The reunion was disappointing, because despite the fact that I was stood in front, my father rushed past me, straight into the arms of my mother. Now, I can understand it, but I couldn’t at the time.

‘We found out that, during the Japanese occupation of Surabaya in March 1942, he was sailing on one of three Naval ships bound for Australia, when the first and third ships were torpedoed. Father was on the second ship, which was not torpedoed, and was therefore able to sail on to Australia. We stayed in Long Island, by the beach, with a hospitable couple who had five children. I’m still in touch with one of the daughters. Father’s captain promised that I could sail back to the Netherlands on his Naval vessel, while my mother and younger brother would fly home. My sisters would never return to the Netherlands, as they found love and married in Australia, Indonesia and America, respectively. Father and I went to Surabaya and collected the trunk from Gerda’s Chinese friend. All of our valuable possessions had been perfectly kept.’

I’m no longer able to share those wartime experiences with anyone‘Upon returning to the Netherlands, I was able to attend secondary school for three years in Utrecht, thanks to my “junior school certificate”. At my new school, I met others who had been in the Dutch East Indies and shared the same experiences. Regrettably, I was unable to join the navy on

account of my colour blindness. After graduating from secondary school, I acquired a certificate in bookkeeping. My first job as a bookkeeper was in the Naval Air Force’s technical division at De Kooy airport. Later, I worked as a bookkeeper for the armament workshops. Throughout my life, I’ve suffered from nightmares about the war, which is why we lead a quiet life by the seaside. My worst memory is seeing my friend Joop Franken beaten to a pulp. He was the first of our kongsi to pass away, shortly after the war.

‘My wife is my tower of strength. In many respects, she understood what I was dealing with, because she had had to go into hiding at a very young age during the war on account of her father’s involvement in the resistance. Her father refused to put people on the trains to the concentration camps, so the whole family had to go into hiding.

‘Through group therapy with Professor Bastiaans at Centrum ‘45, I learned to talk about my wartime experiences, but my anxieties and nightmares never went away. Years later, a psychiatrist prescribed me some pills that helped me to sleep more easily, but the war still has a grip on me.

‘During the war, our old family photos were kept safely in the trunk by our Chinese friends. I recently typed out my wartime experiences for my children and grandchildren and supplemented them with photos from the trunk, because I think it’s important for them to know why I’m often so tense. I remained in contact with all of my kongsi buddies, but unfortunately the last of them passed on recently. The worst thing is that my friends from the camp are no longer with us, because it means I’m no longer able to share those wartime experiences with anyone. We endured so much misery together. In giving this interview, I hope to hear from some people who knew me at that time.’

Interview: Ellen Lock


Jack of all trades, master of most

Ed Waisvisz recounts his time in the Dutch East Indies and the effect it has had on his life.

Eduard Arnold (Ed) Waisvisz was born in Sintang (West Borneo) on 17 June 1937, the second son of Jewish parents, Max Waisvisz and Eveline de Jong. His father was Inspector of Domestic Administration in Sintang. Ed’s upbringing was not religious, and his early years were lived in compara-tive wealth and comfort. Towards the end of 1941, his father was transferred to Palembang on Sumatra and the rest of the family went with him.

When the Japanese attacked Sumatra, Ed’s mother left for Java taking Ed and his brother Herman, who was two and a half years older, with her. On the train to Palembang, they saw the oilfields burning. They reached Java safely and settled in Bandung. Soon after the Japanese occupation, Ed’s father, Max, was imprisoned in Muntok on the island of Bangka.

The Japanese camps‘At the end of April 1943, the women and children were sent to the internment camp at Tjihapit, a fenced-off residential area in the north-east of Bandung. At first, the women were allowed to trade with the outside world, exchanging items of clothing for food through the ‘gedek’, the bamboo fence. One day, my mother was standing behind the fence when a Japanese patrol guard rammed his bayonet through it without warning in order to force the women back. He caught my mother in the face, leaving her with a scarred lip for the rest of her life.

‘At the end of 1943, we were transferred to the camp at Adek, near the railway line from Koningsplein to Meester Cornelis. We were housed in barracks on the site of the General Deli Emigration Office, where coolies had been recruited for the tobacco plantations in Deli. The camp was surrounded by bamboo fencing and barbed wire. After three or

four months, we were transferred again, this time to Tangerang camp, situated in the youth prison of Tanah Tinggi in the west of Batavia, near the railway. We stayed there for about half a year until March 1944, when we were taken back to camp Adek.’ Separate sections‘In both Adek and Tangerang, there were separate sections for Jews and Iraqis. We were placed in Jewish families, but as we hadn’t had a religious upbringing, I wasn’t aware of what was happening. I read in Aanspraak, but that was much later of course, that the Germans had insisted that the Japanese should house Jewish people away from the rest, which is why we had separate barracks. We would stand for ages under the blistering sun during roll call because they kept having to have a recount. If any of the women were missing, people would be whipped. The fear and panic this caused left a deep impression on me as a child.

‘If there was no roll call, the little children would use the area as a playground, but this was only allowed as long as it was still daylight. Once, we were spotted playing after dark by a Japanese soldier. He caught me and made me run round the field ten times holding my ear and nose with my hands crossed. After that, he kicked me hard in the back and sent us all packing. In my memory, I was struck by an enormous boot. In fact, he wouldn’t have had very big feet, but to a child it felt like the boot of a giant. My brother said I flew through the air like a football. My back hurt terribly, but luckily the pain started to fade after a few days. Unfortunately, though, it led to a lot of back trouble after the war. The other strong memory I have of Adek is of the mortuary. People died there every day, and as a child, I would walk past the dead bodies and wonder


about the things I saw. I can remember asking myself if the fly that was crawling out of one nostril was the same as the one I had seen going into the other. Much later, I realised this was impossible, but at the time, I didn’t know a nasal septum existed.’

Liberation and repatriation‘We were in Adek when the liberation came in August 1945. As we were leaving the camp, under the protection of the English, I saw the Japanese being loaded onto a truck. A couple of them had had their wrists broken to make sure they couldn’t do anything. Even today, if I hear someone gnawing on a chicken bone, I can’t help thinking of that.

‘An amphibious vehicle took us out to our ship. Suddenly, there was enough to eat – the English had found warehouses full of food supplies that had been kept back by the Japanese. There were even sweets for the children; a real treat. We were taken via Batavia to Medan, our final destination. My father had survived the war but when we met him again in Sumatra, I hardly recognized him. He had a beard and his stomach was badly swollen with edema. It was there that we heard that my grandparents and other family members in the Netherlands hadn’t survived the war but had been murdered in Poland.

‘I spent some time in hospital with the measles and the effects of malnutrition. Finally, at the end of 1946, we were able to sail to the Netherlands on the motor vessel Sommelsdijk. On the way back, we stopped at Attaca where they gave us warm clothing to protect us against the cold when we got to Rotterdam. For the first few months in the Netherlands, we stayed at my mother’s aunt’s house in The Hague before moving to a boarding house.’

Back in the East Indies‘In 1947, my father went back to the East Indies, where he was appointed Assistant Resident of West Java. We followed him a year later, settling in Batavia where I went to primary school. In 1949, my father was promoted to Assistant Resident first-class in Surabaya, so we moved again. For a few months, I went to Bible school. The transfer of sovereignty was signed in December 1949, and around the middle of 1950, the whole family left for the Nether-lands on board the Johan van Oldenbarnevelt. We

disembarked in Amsterdam and travelled to Arnhem, where we stayed in a boarding house. I was put into the arts stream at secondary school, but I found it difficult as I had only had four years of primary school. At the end of 1950, we moved to Heemstede, and I switched to the science stream. One of our neighbours there was a ships mate, and he made the world of maritime shipping sound very attractive. I wanted to be free and discover the world. After the third year of secondary school, I moved to Vlissingen so that I could go to naval college.’

Life at sea‘After I got my diploma in 1957, I served as apprentice mate for the Dutch Steamship Company. I loved the life and work on board, but ten-hour workdays including four-hour watches only exacerbated my back problems. By this time, I was studying to become third mate in large commercial shipping, and I qualified in 1959. Despite my back problems, I was approved for training as a reserve officer in the Royal Netherlands Navy.

‘In 1960, I started working for Stanvac (ESSO) as third mate aboard commercial vessels sailing to Indonesia. I enjoyed going back to the land of my birth, but on board, the watches were six hours on and six hours off, which were often difficult because of the pain in my back. In 1961, after fifteen months’ service, the deteriorating relations between the Netherlands and Indonesia meant that they had to lay us off. I went back home and got a job as third mate for the Iranian Tanker Company. In November 1962, I gained my second mate’s licence and started on the theoretical part of the training for first mate. However, my back pain was getting steadily worse and in the end I was forced to stop sailing and look for work ashore. At the end of 1963, I started working for the shipping office of Vinke & Co. The thing I blame the Japanese for most is the damage that kick did to my back as a child; it ruined the career I loved and deprived me of the wonderful times I could have had at sea.’

From employee to entrepreneur‘In 1964, I met Waanderdina (Wanda) Schurgers and we married on 3 August of the same year. Since then we have been inseparable, sharing everything


life has thrown at us. At first, we lived in Amsterdam where I worked as editor of the magazine Bedrijf en Techniek (Business and Technology) for the Diligentia Publishing Company. In 1969, I set up the successful magazine Bedrijfsdocumentaire (Business documentation) for the Born publishing company. We moved to Osdorp, but because of tensions within the company, I left and set up my own company in Vinkeveen, specialising in industrial documentation.’

Graphology and handwriting expertise‘My wife Wanda had to give up her job as a doctor’s assistant for health reasons and decided to do something in her area of interest, which was calligraphy and handwriting. As I always took her to her course and picked her up again, I decided to start doing it myself; so we both became qualified graphologists and certified and court-approved handwriting experts. In 1980, we set up a joint company, E. and W. Waisvisz General Graphology Agency, specializing in handwriting analysis, second opinions, identity assessments and the psychological analysis of handwriting. As time went by, we did more and more work for the police, the courts and the legal profession, but also for businesses and private individuals who came to us for a second opinion to challenge the Netherlands Forensic Institute (then known as the Forensic Laboratory). Several judges based their judgments on the conclusions we had drawn.’

Ed and Wanda’s office at home is still full of extensive files and thank you letters relating to their work as expert witnesses, from simple fraud cases involving forgery to the infamous Deventer murder

case where they made handwriting comparisons, a technique much used in forensic research. Ed Waisvisz explains: ‘You have to look at form and texture, the degree to which the letters are slanted, rounded or joined up, the type of letter, spacing, spelling mistakes and punctuation.’

No time to relaxAlthough they have both turned eighty and have a few health issues, they are still sometimes called upon to act as experts in court cases. There are plenty of other things to keep them busy too. Wanda is bound to her local community and feels responsible for the wellbeing of the residents (animals as well as people), so that she is sure to report any dangerous or undesirable situations to the agencies concerned. Ed reflects constantly on what he sees and experiences, which makes him wonder, ‘Am I the only one who sees when something is wrong that could easily be put right?’ There are often pavements along the inside walls of tunnels where the edges form a potential danger. He wrote many letters about this, suggesting that it would be better to paint the edges black and white to make them easily visible. After years of waiting, he finally saw this implemented. He also has ideas for new inventions such as a drill where the drill pieces could be changed by simply pressing a button in the manner of a multi-colour ballpoint pen. This idea has since been patented in the Netherlands and the United States. He continues to find it difficult to talk about the war, but justice is and will always be of the utmost importance.

Interview: André Kuijpers


Questions and answers

What can I do if I have lost my annual statement, or if I have not received it?If you have lost your annual statement, you can ask the SVB Department for Members of the Resistance and Victims of War (V&O) to send you another copy. We will only send you an annual statement if you are receiving a pension or benefit which is subject to taxation. If you are only receiving a tax-free increment under Article 19 of the Wubo, or allowances for expenses such as home help, we will not send you an annual statement.

What expenses on court fees should I expect if I want to lodge an appeal?In relation to the Dutch schemes for former members of the resistance and victims of war, reduced court fees apply. If you disagree with a review decision by the Pension and Benefit Board (PUR) or the SVB and you wish to lodge an appeal with the Central Appeals Tribunal, they will charge a court fee of €48 which has to be paid at the beginning of the appeal procedure. You should bear in mind that your appeal may not be processed if you do not pay on time.

Do I have to pay for assistance if I want to claim benefits as a victim of war?No, you can get assistance free of charge from the Stichting Pelita, the Stichting 1940-1945, JMW (Joods Maatschappelijk Werk), or De Basis. They will be happy to help you for free. And of course, the SVB Department for Members of the Resistance and Victims of War (V&O) will also be happy to help you free of charge. If you live outside the Netherlands, you can get assistance from the Dutch embassy without charge.

Where can I find information on allowances under the Wubo to cover expenses?Please refer to our brochure entitled ‘Reimbursements and allowances under the Wuv Act and the Wubo Act’ which is available on our website (www.svb.nl/wvo). If you do not have internet access, you can request a paper copy from our Department for Members of the Resistance and Victims of War (V&O). On our website, you can also find the policy rules on awarding benefits as formulated by the Pension and Benefit Board (PUR).

I live outside the Netherlands and used to receive a Wuv form around my birthday which I had to complete in order to prove that I am alive. I have not received a form this year. Will it be sent later? At present, we do not send all of our clients outside the Netherlands a life certificate form in the month of their birthday. If we do, the form will always be sent within three months of the client’s birthday. We keep a precise record of the forms we send and who returns them. If a form is not returned to us, we will send a reminder with another copy of the form.

PAYMENT DATES FOR 2020Below is a list of the dates on which our payment orders will be sent to the banks.The dates for extraordinary pensions paid via the Stichting 1940-1945 differ from the dates shown below. The dates that payments are received in banks outside the Netherlands will also depend on the working days of the local banks concerned.

15 January 14 May 15 September13 February 15 June 15 October16 March 15 July 16 November15 April 13 August 15 December


http://www.svb.nl/wvo

aanspraak march 2020 english - svb · 2021. 7. 20. · edith eger’s story is testament to the...

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