The Diary Keepers, page 26
PHILIP MECHANICUS, JOURNALIST, WESTERBORK
SATURDAY, OCTOBER 30, 1943—My lust for writing has been tempered lately. The daily battle against the disgust for society, against the cacophony, against the banality, against the vulgarity, uses up much of my energy. Through writing, I have so far found a distraction that can sometimes help me forget these troubles. Also through playing chess. But lately I lack the motivation to take any notes. Am I just tired of observing the camp, or have I become indifferent to what takes place among the people here, just like others who have stayed here for a long time? Certainly, life here blunts the senses. Everyone must try to resist the dullness in order to make anything of their lives. That takes energy. . . .
I’m one of the few people in the camp who has no official job, but I’m not at all ashamed of that. After all, the majority of the work here is done to assist the German Wehrmacht. And therefore I feel no calling. For me, it seems more important to record the daily goings on here for those in the future who will want to have a picture of what happened here. That’s why I have a duty to continue writing.
ELISABETH VAN LOHUIZEN, GENERAL STORE OWNER, EPE
THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 25, 1943*—At 6.30 a.m., all of a sudden, we heard footsteps and talking around the house. I heard somebody say, “Van Wielink.”* I knew immediately that it was police. Loud ringing of the bell. Dick went to the window. “Police, open up.” While they continued ringing, Dick went downstairs. “Anziehen und sie gehen sofort mit!” (Dress and come along without delay!) Suddenly, the house was full of police, searching everything. They saw a half a bottle of cognac in the cellar and said, “Must be for the Tommies.”* Hermien’s suitcase was in the hallway. They asked whose it was. I said, “Mine.” I started to go downstairs to make tea. Siny had come in with them. It seems that ten men had arrived at her place at 5:45 a.m., searched the house, and began an interrogation. Obviously they were looking for Ger. When Siny mentioned Dick’s name, she was told to dress and show them the way to our house.
. . . They were awful fellows. We had dressed; Siny had poured tea, prepared some sandwiches. I packed some clothes and toiletries for Dick, as if we were going to stay with friends. We were quiet. Dick was very pale—he is always so scared—but it all went so fast that we didn’t quite realize what was happening.
The detectives left, and some Germans remained, who were reasonable. We had to go to the police van, parked near the church. I can still see the three of us walking through the cold morning, not knowing what awaited us, and that miserable feeling, knowing that Siny would be alone after we left. . . . She was brave, said goodbye to us at the police van, promised to look after things, and then went home alone. . . . When we got to the prison, men and women were separated immediately. I watched Dick move away from me in his row. That was miserable. I just wanted to run after him.
We were registered, everything was taken away—money, documents—and then we were searched and after that placed in the cell. Later, Mrs. Bik and Lien Overbosch came into the cell, so we were three in a one-person cell. One got the bed, two on the floor; I being the older one, in the bed. The bed was hard, but that did not matter. We got three slices of dry bread and very weak coffee, but we couldn’t eat. I was completely calm but still could not fall asleep. Much had happened, too much to think of it all. Had we not been careful enough? Why was Dick taken? Would Ger suffer more because of us? All kind of ideas. I tried to think through what they might ask me and how I should reply. Why had they picked us up? Was it because we were helping Jews, or because of the evenings with Jan and Maureen? Although they didn’t do much to actors anymore. Or was it the parcels to Vught?
FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 26, 1943—The next morning, we learned the rules of the prison: haul water inside, take the barrel outside, ventilate, and so forth. My thoughts were with Dick and in Epe the whole time. I was continuously thinking about poor Siny, now that all three of us are gone.
SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 27, 1943—It was a large room, where there were twelve of us. Large windows, a table, and everything neatly organized. Everyone introduced themselves and very soon we soon felt at home, like we were no longer in prison. We were treated to pancakes because on Friday a suitcase full of goodies was sent for Mrs. Jacques Rutgers. When we asked, how did you smuggle that in here, the answer was: through the front door. We read, played games, did some needlework, and learned about how things worked: how the interrogations went; what they always asked, and so forth. We received useful information. A lot of Reformed people there. . . . We were allowed to write one letter. The food was rather good and the old timers made a spread out of raw vegetables that was delicious on bread.
Nel Molenaar lit the stove in the morning. That evening we received our beds, 12 mattresses on the floor, with covers for each of us. We had to move things around to make space for the beds. . . . It was very primitive but we had a telephone in the room and in the evening we received a phone call bidding us good night. In the cell the lights went out at 7 o’clock, but here we were allowed to keep the lights on until half past 9. . . . We had a silent hour from 1 p.m. to 2:30 p.m.; no talking allowed. Also on Sunday mornings for one and a half hours. We read a lot, knitted, played cards, etc. A fantastic amount of wool clothing came out of that time. Our days passed quietly, those who were there for a long time already advised us in preparation for our interrogations: what we should say, believe, and not believe.
I had no interrogation the first week, and everybody considered that unfortunate, since my case could not move forward. I thought often of Dick how he would fare on the other side. Miek and Riet came to bring all kind of things. I was able to darn a lot, including socks for Dick, which they passed along to him. Several men from Epe were at the end of our hall, but the voice I wanted to hear was not among them. I did inquire if they knew anything about him, but they didn’t.
SUNDAY, DECEMBER 5, 1943—We celebrated St. Nicholas* with chocolate milk and speculaas cookies. It was so pleasant, we forgot about the prison.
MONDAY, DECEMBER 6, 1943—Suddenly, the telephone rings. We are informed that Mrs. Jacques Rutgers will have the first interrogation, a short while later, Jeanne Uytenboogaart from Epe, and right after that San Bik and then me. We had to rush. Those gents were always in a hurry. I had not had breakfast, so they quickly prepared something for all of us; we would not be back before one o’clock. We went downstairs, where there were already a lot of men—but alas no Dick—and a couple of snarling S.D. men.
They took us in a moving van to the Utrechtseweg. We were told that anyone who tries to flee will be shot dead. The group was varied, but quite cheerful. Placed again in a women’s cell. Mrs. Jacques Rutgers was called rather quickly; she was here about a friend of hers who had gone in hiding. Next Jeanne. Then finally I was called. A Dutch detective, A. Hoekstra, was in charge of my interrogation. He acted very kind hearted, but was as mean as the Germans. He started out by saying that they already knew everything because they had Boogert, who had admitted to everything. If you tell the truth, they said, you’ll be home again tonight. The mailman and the cobbler have also already confessed. I did not know yet where this was headed.
First, he asked all kinds of formal questions, then suddenly he wanted to know if I knew the Teahouse Schaveren, and the Rinkerhof. He said he didn’t quite understand, but then retrieved notes that had been written about Cor, a Jewish boy. Then I knew what it was all about. He [Cor] had said father and son Van Lohuizen were in charge of distribution of ration coupons. Mrs. Lohuizen delivered them. I kept denying everything, right and left, until I had to sign my name.
I, who am unable to tell a lie, told one lie after another, but when the moment came to sign, I got scared. I said, “I delivered one letter there once.” He asked, “Did you know what was in it?” I said, “No,” and then I signed. He brought me away, saying he would do his best for me. Out in the hall, I saw San Bik. All four of us were technically free, but they took me to a cell again. I was very calm, and I had a feeling that they could not do anything to me, as if I was protected, or as if many good thoughts were going out to me.
MONDAY, DECEMBER 13, 1943—I was summoned again by telephone for another interrogation. Just like the first time, I was calm, but for a moment I clasped my hands together, and prayed that I would not betray anyone. In the van, someone told me that he had seen my husband. He was ready to go to his interrogation, when it turned out that they’d called for me. Once again put in a cell, then I had to wait in the hall. Witt came out neatly dressed, and I had to go with him. I felt uneasy for a while. He pulled out the big guns right away: “You lied to us, etcetera.” I said, “No, I admitted that I was there.” He asked, “How did you dare do that while your son is in Vught? You did so just to oppose us.” “No, I only helped people.” He took out some papers and started to type. I thought that will be my judgment. But then he said, “Bitte Frau van Lohuizen (Please Mrs. Van Lohuizen) you are free, but do not interfere anymore.” The typist let me out. There I was, a free person again, walking through the streets of Arnhem.
. . . I could barely get to the station. I had a terribly sore back from a fall in the slippery courtyard. . . . But once I got there, I called Epe. Siny could not believe it. On the ride back to Epe, I met so many people I knew, who congratulated me. In Apeldoorn, Miek and Riet met me at the train, very happy. It became too much for me for a moment when I saw little Marja. I felt the urge to cry away all the tension, but I kept a grip on myself. Siny was extremely happy and immediately treated me to a wonderful meal. My thoughts were with Dick; I just wanted him to be free. In the evening, I visited Riet Roelands, then took a wonderful bath and went to bed.
WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 15, 1943—I’m staying in our old house with Siny. She prepared our old bedroom (now their room) for me, with the fire burning. If anyone asks, she will say that I am away. I do not feel like talking with anyone until I have some news about Dick. Siny and I have the same problems now. We do not have to say anything to be able to understand one another.
THURSDAY, DECEMBER 16, 1943—At 5 o’clock I was downstairs when Betje H. came to tell me that her fiancé, Jan Leenhouts, had been sent to Vught along with some other prisoners. Dick’s name was not included. Half an hour later, B. Bruynen also came by, and he had the complete list. Now it is certain; Dick has also been sent to Vught. In that case, at least Ger will see his father. I should have been the one to go, not him, but women count for less when they have their men. Maybe it’s better this way; at least I can help Siny when baby comes, and look after the business and the household. For a while, we were very depressed, you have to process it. Then Siny said, we will prepare a parcel for Papa at once, and you have to write to him; we have to do something! We will certainly not be defeated; we have known that this could happen. I just hope Dick can persevere. Will Ger come home for Christmas?
FRIDAY, DECEMBER 17, 1943—I received a very short note from Dick, a sign of life:*
Mrs. v. Lohuizen, Epe
We all are on the way to Vught.
D
MEIJER EMMERIK, DIAMOND CUTTER, BERINGE
WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 15, 1943—Today it is quite cold again. I’m downstairs in the farmhouse, where all the doors are closed. Every time someone comes in, I run upstairs. . . . Miss Tini came and told me that she had bad news for me. Dr. Verberne from Panningen tested my sputum and found that it is positive.* Now the doctor is of the opinion that I should not stay here at the farm, because there are four children here. I was very upset, because I have finally found myself among people who I can really trust, and who are extremely good to me. I discussed this with Miss Tini.
We agreed that when the farmer would come to get me I would tell him everything and let him make the decision about whether I must go or if I can stay. But then if I do stay, I must separate all my things and keep myself completely apart from the children. When the farmer did come to collect me at 10 a.m., we did just that, and he had so much empathy that he began to cry. He said that nothing would be too much for them and that if I wanted to stay I could stay. They would bring me more milk and eggs and anything I needed, and I should let them know anything else that I require. I was moved to tears, and even Miss Tini became emotional. She will discuss the matter with Dr. Verberne and will let him know that I can stay where I am. As long as I live, I will never forget the kindnesses of these good, simple people.
THURSDAY, DECEMBER 16, 1943—This morning I wrote a letter that, given the current circumstances, will have to serve as my last will and testament. I have deposited it here, in case anything happens to me. The farmer will have to give it to Lena, and if that isn’t possible, it must be handed over to Robert. The people here are exceptionally good to me; I really couldn’t receive any better care.
SATURDAY, DECEMBER 18, 1943—This morning Miss Tini brought me a letter from Robert in which he said that he has heard nothing from Van der Meulen.* He told me that from now on, only one package weighing two kilos can be sent to Westerbork each month. For people who only have one child with them, this is less than two ounces of food per week, and less of course if there are more children under their care. His opinion is that there will be no more transports to Poland. There are indeed so bitterly few Jews left behind that the Krauts probably think it is no longer worth the effort to transport them.
MONDAY, DECEMBER 20, 1943—Because the seamstress is here today, I went to see Mr. Simons, and there I met Lena. She told me that she has to leave her hiding place for two days, because the people she’s staying with are going away for two days. These people don’t care at all about their person in hiding; they only care about her money. Hopefully Miss Tini can find a place for her somewhere else. I stayed with her until 5 p.m. and I’ll go back tomorrow. While there, I saw an illegal newspaper called “Ons Volk,”* from December 1943, part of which I’m pasting into the diary here. It reports on the fate of our prisoners of war and the fate of the remaining Jews in Vught.*
TUESDAY, DECEMBER 21, 1943—I went back to Mr. Simons’ house today until five o’clock and have agreed with him that Lena can stay with him until Miss Tini finds something else for her. In any case, she won’t have to return to her old address because those people are incredibly disappointing. I met another gentleman there who said he listened to the English radio station yesterday, which reported that the Krauts were now transporting the Jews who are in Poland in animal wagons. They are gassed in these wagons and then they are brought to the border of Ukraine where their bodies are thrown into large limestone pits. When I heard this, my first thought was: maybe it is better than to be forced into hard labor without decent clothing, at some clothing factory and probably under constant assault. But how long will this misery last? I have begun to despair of every hope.
18
“The diary becomes a world”
A page from Douwe Bakker’s diary
Courtesy NIOD archive, from Douwe Bakker diary folder
Douwe Bakker wrote on every available page of Volume #18 of his diary, including the unlined inside cardboard leaf of the book’s marbleized back cover. Numbered #3292, it is the final page of his last extant journal, dated Sunday, October 24, 1943.
Was this the last journal that Bakker kept? Or did he start another that was lost? Were there many more volumes that he destroyed before they were discovered? It’s impossible for me to know. What is known is that eighteen volumes of his nearly 3,300-page diary were discovered by criminal prosecutors in 1946,* and entered into evidence in his post-war collaboration trials. Afterward, they were transferred to NIOD.
The first entry in Bakker’s initial volume, labeled “Kronyck,” (chronicles), was dated January 3, 1938. His primary goal seemed to be to record the progress of National Socialism, and Hitler’s advance through Europe, rather than to explore his intimate thoughts and feelings. Bakker’s diaries were not merely made up of words, either; he filled them with newspaper clippings, maps indicating the Reich’s military interventions across Europe, and anti-Semitic posters and flyers.
Flipping through his pages, one finds images of Nazi land and sea battles, multiple portraits of Hitler, and photos of Nazi rallies: Mussert’s NSB rally on Dam Square, for example, Heinrich Himmler’s visit to The Hague, and a large SS military parade outside the Rijksmuseum on Museumplein.
These were sometimes sourced from Dutch-language Nazi propaganda papers, which included the leading homegrown NSB daily, Het Nationale Dagblad, the weekly Volk en Vaderland, and Storm, a self-described “radical battle magazine” published weekly by the Dutch SS. Often, his clippings came from De Telegraaf, one of the mainstream Dutch papers that continued to operate under the occupying regime.1 As historian René Vos has demonstrated, such papers served as a “collaborationist press” during the war.2 De Telegraaf regularly filled column inches, for example, with translated articles from the German news agency Deutsches Nachrichtingsbüro, which was run and controlled “with an iron fist” by Joseph Goebbels’ propaganda ministry.3
Almost every day, Bakker wrote a few paragraphs of “German War News Report,” usually parroting Nazi propaganda papers; often he included a second “report” on military news about Axis powers Italy and Japan.
My guess is that there were more Bakker diaries that have been lost. By late 1943, he had developed a very robust habit of accounting for his daily activities—the weather, the war news, police actions in Amsterdam, his personal reflections—so it seems unlikely that he would have concluded his diary without summary remarks, and without signing off. But are there clues in his final pages as to why he might have stopped?
Bakker’s last entry was about a largely uneventful day: He planned to visit a “comrade” to pick up a kilo of apples and four corn husks that Agnes would pound into cornmeal. He noted that seven “murderers, saboteurs and spies” had been sentenced to execution. While attending a football match at Ajax Stadium, he heard air raid sirens at precisely 16:37. Schiphol was attacked, he reported, and a dozen enemy planes flew overhead.
