Neuengamme, July 23, 1944
Dear Jo,
Today is Sunday, letter-writing day, which is always nice. I am eagerly awaiting your letter and for news about Riek and the rest of you all. Is everything good with you and the family?
Things are going better here, you can write to Riek and tell her that she shouldn’t worry, that I’m fine, although I’m in need of everything, but that will come too.
Now Waldy, my son, how are you doing? Whether or not you passed, you’re now on vacation. Play lots of sports and study hard. Write back soon and send me a cigarette lighter, one of those little 25 cl. ones. And Jo, please don’t forget to send my shaving kit[,] a toothbrush and tobacco.
Greetings to the whole family and friends and especially to your parents and yourself.
Take good care,
Waldemar87
Rika endured several terrible weeks after Waldemar suddenly disappeared from Camp Vught. “Where is my husband?” she asked in every letter and note she managed to send home. “Where is my husband?” she kept asking during a visit with her brother Marcel that, after a great deal of hemming and hawing, he was finally permitted to make. Only after Waldemar’s first letter from Neuengamme arrived did she calm down a little bit: at least she knew her husband was still alive. Now she could focus on her own circumstances, which had also improved since she left the prison in Scheveningen. She enjoyed the sun and the fresh air, the camaraderie with all the other women around her, the relative freedom, and above all, being far away from the threat of Kaptein’s interrogations.
The political prisoners had managed to get Rika assigned to a work post at Philips, an electronics company that had been hiring camp labor since 1943. Her official job was to assist with mechanical flashlight and condenser manufacturing and radio repair, but in reality, that was a cover for her real work, which was to help see as many Dutch compatriots through the war as possible. The workers were handpicked by the prisoners themselves, who considered “usefulness”—or in other words, one’s support for the cause—as a primary criterion.
The production numbers were of little concern to Philips, and the forced laborers could spend part of their eleven-hour shift sleeping in peace. Although the operation was kept on a much shorter leash after the Dutch supervisor was fired in June for “sabotage” and replaced by a German engineer, the system remained alive and well.
Meanwhile, Rika’s family, especially her daughter, made sure that Rika, who had always been such a lover of good food, remained well stocked in prison. With the combination of Red Cross packages and the daily hot meal served at Philips, the prisoners often ate better than the people outside the camp. Sometimes they even flushed the camp meals down the toilet because they couldn’t finish them. And in terms of contact with the home front, Rika didn’t have anything to complain about either. There were plenty of letters exchanged between Vught and the outside world. In addition to the censored letters that the prisoners were allowed to send home twice a month, countless notes were smuggled out through the camp laundry and via released prisoners. Rika even managed to send her children handmade birthday presents, such as an embroidered cross and a plexiglass charm in the shape of a tear, fashioned from materials found in the camp’s airplane demolition unit.
Vught, July 17, 1944
Dear Father, Mother, brother and sisters, my dear sweet children. Received Waldy’s postcard this morning and Jo’s letter last Wednesday, very happy to get them and even happier that Waldy has passed to the next grade. Wonderful Waldy, Papa will be so happy to hear it. It’s now Sunday, and I haven’t received any packages this week, the last one from Marcel arrived 8 days ago. I was really happy with it, and thank you all so much, I hope this week’s package hasn’t been lost, that would be terrible. Make sure it’s not heavier than 3 kilograms, otherwise it’ll be sent back. If you want to send fruit or tomatoes and cucumbers, you can send a separate fruit parcel every week. If you do, you have to mark it as “fruit parcel.”
I hope you all are in the pink of health, I’m doing just fine. Only I long for you all. I hope that you’ll write back soon and that you’ve received good news from Waldemar, because I really long for him too. I hope that I can see you all soon, I’ve been away from home for six months this week. Pray that we will see each other again soon, I’m out of space, sending a big kiss to all of you, and love to all our friends and acquaintances from your loving mother and to all of you, Riek see you soon bye!!88
There was no shortage of illegal radios in the Philips factory, and the Vught prisoners were able to closely monitor the war’s progress. After invading northern France on June 6, 1944, the Allies launched the invasion of Western Europe. Slowly but surely, the American, British, and Canadian armies fought their way across the Continent that summer. Again and again, it was the Allies’ supremacy in the skies that determined their victory, with special thanks to Waldemar’s homeland of Suriname, which provided 60 percent of the bauxite needed for the Allied air fleet. The prison in Scheveningen was evacuated the day after the invasion. Those detained for milder offenses were sent home, and the more serious cases, like Kees Chardon, were placed in the isolated and heavily guarded bunker complex at Vught.
By mid-August, the Americans had reached Paris. The Third Reich had yielded to their demands, and the camp’s rumor mill was turning at full speed. The air was sparkling with optimism—surely, liberation must be right around the corner.
Vught, August 20, 1944
Dear Father, Mother, brothers and sisters, my dear sweet children. First of all, happy birthday to Jan. And I hope that this is the last family birthday I am unable to attend. The next birthday on this list is my Waldemar’s. Oh, it will be such a party if we can all celebrate it together. My dear little Waldy, keep waking up early and celebrate Holy Mass for your dear mother every day, pray for Peace to come soon for all people! I hope that Waldemar has received his mail and package by now. Did H. get a reply from him yet?
No postcard from Waldy this week. How can that be? Sis, your excellent fruit parcel was wonderful. It was almost like you were visiting me in person. Aunt Bert, thanks a lot for all your sweet care, everything arrived just fine, I just hope to see you all again soon. Love to Father, Mother, brothers and sisters, my darling children and all our friends and acquaintances, the aunts, uncles, nephews, nieces[,] everyone, lots of love to Waldy, Sis, Jan, Henk and a big kiss to everyone. Riek Mama89
But the war was playing a cruel game with the lives caught up in the Nazi war machine. For just as a twist in fate had cost Rika and Waldemar their guesthouse on the Seafront in 1942, the advance of the liberating armies led to increasingly worse conditions for the prisoners. Although his empire was crumbling, Adolf Hitler continued to frantically issue orders with one goal in mind: never surrender. His aim was to prolong the war as long as he could so as to wipe as many Jews from the face of the earth as possible. In Poland, the chimneys of the extermination camps were now smoking day and night, and people waited in line for hours for the gas chamber; in the concentration camps, the regime was becoming stricter by the day. At Vught, the Dutch Kapos were replaced by hard criminals from the German camps, the Red Cross packages and other privileges were cut, and the punishments became increasingly severe.
The guards at Vught had panic in their eyes, and the women in the barracks kept their ears open. In the distance did they hear the explosions of bridges being blown up to stop the Allies’ advance? They most certainly heard the firing squads in the men’s camp, where four hundred and fifty prisoners were executed at the end of the war. Meanwhile, rumors were flying around in The Hague about impending large-scale deportations from Vught to Germany, and in a smuggled letter, Rika’s sisters urgently advised her to fall from somewhere or to take some other drastic measure that would land her in the hospital so that if the trains did come, she wouldn’t have to get on. A few days later, her sisters went to the hospital near Vught in the hope of finding Rika there. But all they found were a few fellow prisoners who
had taken the same advice to heart. As for Rika, she replied with her usual bravado: “They can go right ahead, but I’m not about to do myself in for anybody.”90
On August 30, another smuggled letter arrived in The Hague:
Vught, Wednesday p.m.
Dear Father, Mother, brothers & sisters, my dear sweet children,
It’s evening again and it’s already getting dark. Just got the package from Jo. I already wrote about the other packages in my last letters. I’m writing to you in bed because we are now under strict watch. So, I don’t dare to write during the day anymore. I always thank God when the letter is gone. Everyone, please be careful when writing. Always make sure that when the letter changes hands, it won’t bring harm to the people trying to help us, understood! Because that would make me even sadder. Never say a word about these letters to anyone, you hear? Say you heard everything from the folks who brought the message.
Dear darlings, I hope that we can come home soon. I crave it. I don’t think I will be home before the war ends. It’s been 8 months already—rough, huh? But if Waldemar is doing okay, that’s the main thing, and that you all stay healthy, that’s my greatest wish. My spirit hasn’t been broken yet. And I remember that every day is one day closer to being home, and the days are sometimes horrible, for you all don’t know what Häftling [prisoner] means. You are nothing, there is nothing left of who you are. It is sometimes too wonderful to think of being free and being able to hug you all. And then I will see my sweet, good children and my dear husband once again. My goodness, how I yearn for all of you!
Hello to my dear brothers and sisters, hello to Father and Mother, embraced by you all. Riek.91
On Sunday, September 3, 1944, the prisoners worked from seven in the morning to twelve noon as usual. But when they returned to their barracks, it became clear that this had been their last relatively normal day. The guards were hastily packing their bags, and the entire camp smelled of burning paper—the prisoners’ files in flames. The radio had announced that Allied tanks were advancing through Belgium and now had the Dutch border in sight. In the days that followed, the prisoners gazed intently out at the horizon through the barbed wire: the liberating armies could appear at any moment, and finally, they’d all be able to go home. Two days later, Germans and members of the Dutch Nazi party all over the Netherlands took flight. In The Hague, Waldy and his buddies spent this “Dolle Dinsdag,” or Mad Tuesday, heckling the departing escapees from the Hoorn Bridge in Rijswijk. No one was cursing louder or dancing more wildly than Waldy. The madness was finally over, his parents would come home, and they could go back to the Seafront.
But while Waldy was enjoying the happiest moments of the war, long, empty cargo trains were rolling into Vught. The camp was completely evacuated within forty-eight minutes. Even the inventory from the camp hospital and the machines from the Philips workstations were loaded into the trains. Then, nearly thirty-five hundred prisoners were hastily boarded into the cars. They were given bread for three days. Among the last to board the train on the afternoon of September 6 were Rika and the remaining female prisoners.
Unlike their male counterparts, the women were allowed to take a few personal possessions with them. They were wearing their summer clothes—a light-blue uniform with a red cross on the back and headscarves with blue polka dots. No one thought to bring winter clothes, for surely the Dutch Resistance would sabotage the trains and set them free before they reached the German border. But that night, the trains thundered across the border in Zevenaar unhindered, leaving Holland behind. They were barreling toward an unknown destination—and the winter.
8
North-Northeast
For two days and two nights, the Vught women rode through darkened Germany. The train cars were overcrowded and suffocating, but still the male prisoners could hear the ladies singing over the chugging of the wheels. At the Sachsenhausen concentration camp in Oranienburg, the cars carrying the men were disconnected. Rika and the eight hundred women who shared her fate rode northward, following roughly the same route Waldemar had taken four months earlier: north-northeast. Midway through the morning of September 9, the train came to a halt in Fürstenberg, a tiny town in the vast forests of Brandenburg and Mecklenburg.
It was a beautiful late summer’s day. Dressed in their blue jumpsuits, the Dutch women marched proudly across the majestic landscape under the watchful eyes of the SS guards. A couple miles in, they passed an idyllic lake surrounded by reeds billowing in the wind, which was known as the Schwedtsee. Some of the women picked flowers, hoping that they would brighten up their new barracks. They knew where they were going by then—Ravensbrück, the concentration camp set up by Himmler in 1938 for all the women who did not fit the Aryan Kinder-Küche-Kirche ideal: criminals, prostitutes, Roma, and, in recent years, increasing numbers of Resistance fighters from all over Europe. One of the prisoners among them had already spent some time at Ravensbrück and assured them that it was quite clean and orderly. She told them how every morning they conducted a thorough check to make sure the prisoners had made their beds neatly.
A little while later, the Vught women entered the camp. Their first impression was already strange: behind the barbed wire were skinny, filthy women with arms stretched out and pleading looks on their faces. Unanimously, they decided to toss them the bread they had left over from the trip—it was stale anyway, and surely, they’d be getting fresh bread soon. But as soon as they arrived at the camp’s main building, they were rounded up onto a sort of soot-covered mound and left to their own devices. It started to rain and eventually got cold, but they were given neither food nor shelter. When blankets were distributed that evening, they realized that they would have to spend the night out there, hungry.
The orderly women’s camp of a few years prior no longer existed. Now that prisoners had been rounded up from every corner of the crumbling Third Reich and transported to the still seemingly “safe” camps in Schleswig-Holstein, Ravensbrück—which was already bursting at the seams after the emptying of the Polish ghettos—had fallen into complete chaos. The day after they arrived, the Dutch women were taken into a large tent and registered. Rika was assigned number 67001. They were sent to the showers, after which they had to trade in their tidy blue jumpsuits and headscarves for a pile of rags thrown to them by the German and Polish Kapos. A giant red cross was painted on the back of their clothes as a sign of their prisoner status. Some women didn’t receive underwear. They were lodged in a barrack built for four hundred people, but which now housed more than twelve hundred. There were hardly any beds: three prisoners had to share a single cot and a straw sack. The place was extraordinarily filthy, and it wasn’t long before the newcomers started violently scratching: the lice and fleas were all too eager to pounce on the fresh supply of flesh.
The news of the invasion of Western Europe, the course of the war, and the evacuation of the camps had reached Neuengamme as well. From his little post office, Waldemar frantically tried to find out what had happened to his wife:
September 10, 1944
Dear Jo,
Haven’t heard anything from you in a long time.
How is it going in Holland? You are all well, I hope. It must be a stressful time for you too. I’m worried about what happened to Riek. Whether she is staying there or being transferred.
And Waldy, how are you my boy? Are you back in school again?
Got a letter and a big package from Sis the day before yesterday, unfortunately the fruit had gone bad, but the other things were delicious. Thanks, Sis. Everything is fine here, only that it’s cold and rains a lot. Otherwise, nothing new to report. I’m just waiting.
Riek, the time is moving quickly and soon all this will be over. Sending my warmest greetings to all,
Waldemar92
But Waldemar’s words of comfort never reached Rika. At Vught, the prisoners had had plenty of opportunities to feel connected to their old lives, but at Ravensbrück they found themselves trapped on a sort of island, w
here all vital necessities were in short supply and where most prisoners had long since given up their humanity—a luxury that one simply couldn’t afford under such circumstances. Only once were the Dutch women allowed to write a letter home from Ravensbrück, and only a small number of those letters ever reached their destination. And the prisoners received no mail whatsoever, let alone food packages or smuggled correspondence.
Because of their experience at Philips, most of the forced laborers from Vught were sent to work in the Siemens electronics factory. They lined up for roll call every morning at four o’clock; and at six o’clock, they marched single file to their workstations, where they worked for twelve hours nonstop. At the end of the work day, they stood for the equally long evening roll call and never returned to their barracks before eight o’clock at night.
Despite everything, the Vught women were relatively fit and well fed, and their morale was largely unaffected at first. Although they became increasingly spread out across the camp, their solidarity remained high. And solidarity was as good a survival strategy as any, because without friends no one would make it. Rika shared her love and sorrow with a young concert pianist and her mother, both of whom had been in the Resistance in The Hague, and with a nurse from the Zaandam area who had worked as a courier. They comforted each other even as the daily misery, filth, lice, hunger, and illnesses threatened to overpower them. They distracted themselves with songs and little skits and kept each other going with optimistic scenarios: Siemens was building a new barrack—surely the conditions would be better there; Queen Wilhelmina was supposedly already back on Dutch soil—the liberation of Europe couldn’t be far off now. And in all the terrifying chaos, one thing seemed certain: the German Empire was collapsing—it couldn’t last much longer. Surely, they’d be home by Christmas.
On November 1, Rika celebrated All Saints’ Day with an improvised yet well-attended mass in the delousing tent. In circumstances that brought out the most godless side of humanity, faith had become, for Rika and many others, more important than ever. But weeks went by, the days were getting colder, and still they weren’t free. After a while despair started setting in, especially after the first vigils were held for friends who had succumbed to one of the many infectious diseases rampant in the filthy barracks. The final blow came in early December, when a Polish woman who had previously been in Auschwitz told them what was happening there.
The Boy Between Worlds: A Biography Page 15
