We had deaths in our colliery too, and were witness to terrible injuries. Evert and I only ever had a graze or two. We most certainly did not believe in the ‘troll of the mountains’ and his ‘aggressive powers’ over those daring to intrude into his world which could certainly be ‘spooky’. Often there was nothing to be heard but a monotonous drip, drip of water whose echo mixed with the airwaves. When the old and porous support beams soaked in phosphor glowed in the dark, then the gullible could believe in a ‘something’ which they could not define, and so were willing to believe in that ‘little beast’.
At the end of the day, and as Brigitte picked me up from work, she had difficulty in recognising me as we left the cage to cross the yard to the shower-room, for we all looked alike, like Blackamoors. So she waited until one of those black beings winked at her and it was me. It was like a conveyor-belt in the hot steamy shower-room. We stood in a long line and soaped the back of the man in front in readiness for a good scrub. We were always about an hour before we could be called clean, and then we all had black rims around our eyes, like women with eye make-up.
One could not ignore the fact that many of the old miners were chronically, even terminally ill. One could hear the hacking, raw coughs of those invalids on the streets. There was no shower that could wash the dust-caked lungs of those men, trying to take some fresh air into their clogged lungs that no longer functioned properly.
One day passed into the next. But one day was not like any other for Evert, for he was suddenly seized with miners’ claustrophobia. He simply had to leave the seam in which we were working and reach daylight. He never went underground again. That was not unusual amongst miners. I was not affected in the same way, but I too left some months after Evert. My next job was also underground, but not to the same extent, for it was a vaulted wine-cellar and only a couple of metres under the surface. I climbed inside the giant wine vats to wash and brush them, as I was the right size to climb into the small openings. I washed the wine-bottles and re-filled them too.
We experienced a distinct improvement with the Currency Reform of 1948. Overnight the shops filled with all of the pre-war goods that we had been denied, with a shake of the head, from shop-owners. Every man received a one-off payment of 40 marks, but the rationing was not yet at an end.
After five years of separation, came the day in the summer of 1949, when I could take my mother in my arms at long last. She arrived by train in Dortmund. It was extremely moving, for I had not seen her since 1944. Some of my letters had not reached her, so she did know that I had served some of my time in East Prussia, Silesia and Breslau. She had not known about my time as a prisoner under the Russians. Now we were all together and she met her daughter-in-law, although at first there were language problems.
The presence of my family rather complicated my life. It appeared for some to have contradictions. As a ‘refugee’ from the east my mother was no longer my mother but an ‘aunt from Holland’. Brigitte and I had moved house since working in the mine. We now lived in a house owned by my former colliery director, who was always very friendly and sympathetic to us. I decided to make a clean breast of things to him. I was glad that I did, although it had not been necessary, for he had guessed anyway. It was however a relief to no longer have to hide the truth.
I was glad to have my work in the wine cellar. But it was not for life as it held no future, no advancement. With the land in ruins, the building trade offered work that did hold a future. The future Federal capital city, Bonn, seemed to be just the right place to look.
We were very impressed with Königswinter and its district. On a visit we made, the countryside of the Rhine and the Siebenbürge area seemed so much nicer than the mountains of black coal and silhouettes of mine works visible in the Ruhr. Bad Gödesberg in particular, with its tree-lined avenues, plus the style of the old villas, which had been spared the bombing raids, reminded me of the sleepy suburbs of Holland. A Cologne-based firm engaged Evert and I and sent us to Bonn. There we became floor-layers, of every type. With the construction of this new federal capital, there was an excess of work to be found, in new buildings of government, universities etc.
A year later, and with our move to Bad Gödesberg, we changed our work once more, to a firm in Königswinter, very near us. We had ended up with a former colonel who had been a commander in Hitler’s HQ in Prussia. He was the son-in-law of the owner of the perfume emporium “Eau-de-Cologne and Toilet-water”. He owned an estate, the Wintermuhlenh of near Petersberg and directed firms in different branches. Most of his employees were former officers. Most of his guests too, were from all branches of the former armed forces. They could be seen with him walking around the park. Although many impediments had been placed in the path of former German soldiers, many found their feet again quite quickly after the war. They were helped by having a positive mentality, and discipline from their soldiering days. Their behaviour towards their comrades, their conscientiousness and organisation, all of these were important assets for the reconstruction of the German economy.
The former soldier got to grips with every type of work that was offered. His willingness came from a close-knit comradeship that he had found during the war. The result was that former high-ranking, and some very senior Generals, became successful directors of many of the foremost firms. Later, as the economy improved, we also profited. Together with a former comrade, we formed our own firm in 1953, which had always been our dream. Shortly before the publishing of this book, our firm celebrated its Golden Jubilee. Our firm grew, based on a risk or two. Optimism and improvisation soon found us employing a couple of dozen men, giving them work and their daily bread. To do that we had to give our all, including many weekends, in the first years. The first vehicle in our car park was a pre-war lorry, an Adler with front-wheel drive, and a trailer. It was usually overloaded and gave us many a puncture, but that was how we visited our customers. In winter, when the motorway was iced, or if on an incline, then two of us sat on the front bumpers as ballast and we could continue on our way. That would not be permitted today, but then, we had to know how we could help ourselves. Physical efforts were the foundation of economic rehabilitation.
CHAPTER 23
Comradeship for Life
Evert and I were still living with false identities, which at some time or another had to be corrected. There was an Amnesty in 1954 which enabled us to do just that. We had to appear before a Court that understood the veiling of our identities. There was no case made against us. However, we were stateless, for Holland refused our rehabilitation. It had to stay that way for some years. Even citizens without nationality or fatherland, can be industrious, for themselves and for others. But I was not allowed in Holland with my business. My German colleagues however had the privilege of taking their business there. Seven years were to come and go, before we were reinstated as Dutch Nationals.
I can remember with clarity my very first return visit into my Fatherland after 17 years. I was deeply moved. My feelings were mixed as I drove over the border at Aachen, on the way to Maastricht, which was my first stop. My ‘passenger’ was my passport, sitting on the passenger seat, for with the safety of my family uppermost in my mind, I travelled alone on that occasion.
I must say that I was rather disappointed at being waved through with nonchalance by the border officials on the Dutch side of the border. Had I not been on the wanted list for many years? Now, armed with a new passport, and a bundle of correspondence from the Ministry of Justice, and my ‘rehabilitation’, they were not interested! All the better.