In which my grandparents unwittingly recreate the Four Yorkshiremen sketch
My paternal grandparents were 16 and 17 years old when the Nazis invaded the Netherlands in 1940. The occupation was a difficult one. My grandfather and his brothers were all rounded up to work as forced labourers in Germany; somehow my grandfather escaped. Only a few weeks ago I found records about one of my great uncle’s time as a forced labourer through the Arolsen Archives – International Center on Nazi Persecution. I was surprised to find that discovery, only because I was expecting to find records about one of the other brothers.
Needless to say, my grandparents rarely spoke about the war in my presence. In particular, the two times I ever heard my grandmother speak about it were astonishing because it was so rare it was for her to do so. My grandfather must have spoken about it more often, because I have heard several stories about the hardships he endured and the close scrapes he had with the Nazi occupiers. My father also tells the tale of when he was a boy, after his family had immigrated to Canada, about walking in a farm field with my grandfather. While they were walking, a small airplane flew overhead. My grandfather instinctively dove to the ground for cover. The war would have been over for at least ten years at the time, but clearly it had left its scars.
While the war was generally a proscribed topic, much to my amazement it came up during a visit I had with them in the late 90s, shortly before my grandmother passed away. I can’t remember how the topic came up, but I remember being absolutely gobsmacked that it did. It was particularly stunning that my grandmother participated in the discussion. Even more amazing was that the topic of conversation was the Hongerwinter (“Hunger Winter”), a famine the Nazis imposed on the Netherlands during the last winter of the war. However, what started off as a very somber recollection of their experience quickly spiraled into the famous Monty Python sketch.
The Allied strategy in the Netherlands was to get to Germany as quickly and directly as possible. This meant bypassing large parts of the northwest part of the country, including Amsterdam and the province of Noord-Holland. The Germans retained control of those areas until they surrendered on May 5, 1945. Over the winter of 1944-1945, which was particularly harsh, the Nazis deliberately blockaded the food and fuel supplies into the occupied portions of the Netherlands, resulting in the Hongerwinter. Malnutrition was rampant and about 22,000 people died of starvation.
My grandparents both lived in the central part of Noord-Holland and experienced full effects of the Hongerwinter. The famine occurred before they were married, so they experienced the hardship with their families.
When the topic came up, my grandparents began discussing how hard that winter had been and how they had each suffered. What caused the discussion to go sideways was when my grandmother said to my grandfather, “At least you lived on a farm!”
My grandfather countered by acknowledging the fact, but adding that my grandmother’s family was much better off economically. My grandmother reciprocated by pointing out some other advantage she believed my grandfather had that she did not. I am certain that my grandfather added that his mother was raising the family on her own, as his father had passed away in 1932.
They then began countering with what foodstuffs the other had access to, which they themselves did not. Finally, one of them said, “all we had to eat was the white beans!”, to which the other responded in a somewhat overdramatic voice, “oh, if only we had the white beans!”
I am certain that the competition to outdo the other’s hardship was black humor that served to ameliorate the trauma they had both experienced, even though it had been fifty years in the past.
I feel nothing but love and empathy for my grandparents when I think back on this. To this day, whenever I am in a Dutch store (my favourites are the Holland Shopping Centre in New Westminster and Coombs Wooden Shoe on Vancouver Island), I always make a point of buying a jar of white beans in their honour.
A Deck of Ancestors 