"Terrible...the war was terrible."

This was the time when rubber was used by the military, so kids and adults alike rode on the rims of their bicycles. These were the places where farmers would search downed aircraft for the asbestos-material for insulation and parachutes for cloth to make clothes. Fear of the Gestapo was palpable; everyone knew someone who had been taken away. Neighbors and family members in equal measure helped and ratted out Jews, enlistment-age men, white-market and black-market distributors, and the countless other divers and rebels to the occupying force.

My grandmother reminds her spouse of the radio, hidden in her parent's attic. She can't remember it ever working, but she knew they would be in a lot of trouble if the Germans found it. They never did, but not from lack of trying. They got as far as combing the attic, and then they dropped the search: the termite-bitten ceiling could not support the investigators away from the cross-braces.

Yet that wasn't the closest grandmother got to being caught in the wrong by the Germans. Regulations existed of what people could access in terms of food, and meat was supposed to be on the illicit side for the occupied. Farmers, nonetheless, still had to raise and butcher the German's meat. Inevitably, some ended up on black markets. My great-grandmother cooked such meat in pots and pans. The meat had to be hidden during the night, so she would put the meats and pans under grandmother's legs on her bed, and throw the covers over. Several times the Gestapo came in, and each time, her family insisted they don't wake the sleeping child. Obviously, she was terrified, but pretend to sleep she did, until they left.

Meat also brought my grandfather's family many close calls with the Germans. His father butchered and distributed meat, often distributing it to the citizens of nearby farms and cities. One time, he was caught. Luckily he knew a meat seller, who sold to both the Germans and to the Dutch. The Germans let him go after that, but he was on shaky ground--men up to age 60 were drafted with the exception of most farmers. In fact, boys on farms were often enlisted anyway. That's why my grandfather's family paid to have his elder brother exile. They couldn't afford to all leave, but at about twenty, his elder brother would have been at the prime age for the military.

My grandfather never was asked to leave, but he was asked once if he knew anyone of a certain vague description, a German tactic to get practically-innocent farm children to rat out hiding men. Not knowing better, he said he thought someone lived in the shed down the way. Luckily, he told his father about the incident, and he was able to warn the man before the Police could come.

How divers, food, newspapers, news, pamphlets, and other illicit freight was transported and hidden showed the ingenuity of a desperate population. My grandfather's story of how a neighbor of his smuggled meat is a prime example. The Hollander, knowing a security checkpoint was just a little farther along the road, took his bicycle to the nearby house, asked to borrow their dog in exchange for a little meat, and left the meat with the house-owners. Before the checkpoint, he put the dog in his bicycle's basket, above his front wheel. When the Germans had him yield, and demanded to see what was in the basket, he warned them and said he had just bought the dog, and if they let him out, he would run back to the house. Well, they ignored him, opened the basket, and the terrified dog ran back to the house. The bicyclist was upset, biked after him, and, upon reaching the house, put the meat in the basket instead of the dog. Upon reaching the checkpoint a second time, he said coldly, "Are you going to check the basket again, or let me pass?" And so he continued to his destination.

These are only a few isolated stories, and I hope to learn of more. But despite my interest in this particular tidbit of family history, I am far happier to regale in my grandparent's lives today and not press the memories of that dark time to the surface. Forgive me for my bias, try to understand that these are important but not the most important thing about my grandparents.

~RSW