Of Windmills and War

by Diane Moody

  “I’ll never forget that as long as I live,” Billy croaked.

  “None of us will,” Charlie said. “Gentlemen, let’s head back to the base.”

  PART VI

  64

  06 May 1945

  Utrecht, The Netherlands

  After five years of German occupation, liberation unleashed a myriad of emotional responses in those who had survived. But to the Dutch who had witnessed the Allied food drops on their starving nation, they all wept—tears of joy, tears of relief, and tears of gratitude that the nightmare might actually be coming to an end.

  Throughout the Occupation, Queen Wilhelmina and her government kept in constant contact with her people. By fleeing her homeland before the Germans invaded, she alleviated the risk of her country’s “beheading” as so many other European leaders had experienced by remaining in their homelands. Tucked safely away in England, Wilhelmina had served her people valiantly by working with Allied leaders to fight the German oppressors.

  At no time was that more evident than her plea to Prime Minister Winston Churchill, President Franklin D. Roosevelt, and King George VI on behalf of the almost four million starving Dutch who had suffered under German Occupation:

  “Conditions have now become so desperate that it is very clear that if a major catastrophe, the like which has not been seen in Western Europe since the Middle Ages, is to be avoided in Holland, something drastic has to be done now, before and not after the liberation of the rest of the country!”

  To Anya and everyone else in Holland, such pleading on their behalf by their beloved Queen was perhaps the last gasp of hope left in them. Words of hope, but would they translate into actual relief? How could they possibly put food into the mouths of so many before it was too late? Anya’s main concern was the children walking about on toothpick legs, the haunting appearance of their sunken faces and vacant eyes, and the few surviving elderly whose shriveled bodies gave them precious little warmth on the still-chilly days of late spring.

  She’d heard the rumors and reports of low-flying aircraft dropping huge quantities of food at various locations. But at this point, she didn’t believe anything until she saw it with her own eyes. Besides, after walking for two days on her way home to Utrecht, she was bone weary and simply didn’t have a single ounce of energy to waste on rumors—even rumors about food.

  Anya might have been encouraged by the absence of German soldiers along her way home. She wanted to believe the announcements of liberation crackling over the radio day and night—first this section, then that, each followed by ecstatic descriptions of dancing in the streets. But deep down she could only dream of something good to eat and a nice warm bed to sleep in. She was just too tired to care about anything else.

  As need for activity by the Resistance had slowly waned, Anya found herself thinking of home. She had no illusions—she knew it wasn’t really home anymore. It didn’t really matter to her if it had been ransacked by the Germans. As long as it was still standing, she just knew it’s where she belonged. Throughout the long Occupation, after hearing her parents had been arrested, she had refused to think of going home. It would be too much, to walk in that house knowing both her mother and father were dead now. The house would surely feel betrayed and vacant, as though its family had deserted it somehow.

  A house feeling betrayed, as if it were a living, breathing organism? What a silly notion. But such ridiculous ideas seemed to constantly imbed themselves in her mind—especially at times like this when she hadn’t slept or eaten in days.

  Then came the fantasies. They flitted through her weary imagination most often as she walked long distances. Giving in to them for a while helped numb her mind to the excruciating pain of walking such a long distance in shoes so badly worn, they offered no support whatsoever. No amount of rags wrapped around them could cushion the miles she’d accumulated over the past several years.

  And so she dreamed. She imagined the younger, happier version of herself waking up in heaven. There, her steps brought no pain, and in wonderment she looked down to find the prettiest of wooden shoes upon her feet. Colorfully painted, comfortable, soothing reminders of her Dutch heritage. Then, looking up she gazed into the faces of her family—Mother, Father, and even Hans, all standing there at the pearly gates, their arms open wide to welcome her home.

  Home.

  The word rankled through her heart. Blinking, she looked around and remembered she wasn’t in heaven, and she wasn’t home. She was still on this crater-pocked road. She refused to cry, her tears long since dried up along with her hope. But as she looked around, she realized she wasn’t far from Helga’s house. She hadn’t seen her since that day . . . well, it had been weeks. If she could just get there, she would find a bed, crawl into it, and sleep for a month or two.

  Barely able to hold her eyes open, she finally spotted the little house. She had to tell her feet to keep moving—one step, then another—because she knew she only had a few more in her. As she turned to walk up the path to Helga’s porch, the front door flew open.

  “Anya! Oh, thank the Lord!” she cried, rushing out to meet her. “I have been so worried about you!” She smothered Anya in her arms.

  “Hello, Helga,” she mumbled. “If I could just come in for a few—”

  “There’s no time! You must come with me!” Helga turned toward the gate, pulling Anya along. “The planes are due any minute!”

  “What planes?”

  “Haven’t you heard? The Allies are bringing us food! And today is our turn. Hurry! We don’t want to miss it!”

  Anya stopped. “No, I can’t. I can’t take another step. I’m so tired, Helga.”

  Helga turned around. “Oh my dear child, I know you’re tired, but you need to see this. You, of all people, need to see this miracle from the sky! You have worked so hard—we all have—and to miss this would be just . . . well, you mustn’t!”

  “Helga, please—”

  “Come. You’ll thank me when this is all over. Here, loop your arms with mine and lean on me. We don’t have far to go. If I could pick you up, I would. Oh, Anya! It’s all so exciting!”

  They plodded along and soon neared the crowds of people rushing toward the field on the west side of Utrecht. Young and old, everyone was excited about the planes. Already people were pointing toward the sky.

  “Here they come! Can you hear them?”

  “It sounds like a buzzing bee—”

  “Look! There they are!”

  Helga hurried Anya to a spot alongside the wide, open field. People were lined up on both sides, like two long wiggling boundaries.

  “Do you see the white cross there yonder?” Helga asked pointing toward the middle of the open area. There, white sheets were sewn together to make an enormous cross on the ground. “This is where they drop the food!”

  “But the Germans!” Anya pointed to the soldiers standing on rooftops, their weapons drawn. “The planes don’t have a chance!”

  “No, Anya, no! They’ve agreed to a truce. They aren’t allowed to fire upon these planes bringing—”

  Whatever else Helga might have said was drowned out by the roar of engines as the B-17s drew closer. Anya was stunned how low they were flying—surely no more than three or four hundred feet. So low she could see the men inside the planes. She could even see the pilots and co-pilots as the planes neared them. She gasped—her heart pounding in her chest.

  Danny? Could Danny be in one of those planes?

  Until that moment, it hadn’t occurred to her that he could be in one of them. Was it possible? There were so many of them coming one after another. How could she possibly hope to catch a glimpse of him—that is, if he was even flying today?

  Out of nowhere—the unbidden, unspoken prayer tiptoed through her heart. She shook her head, physically dismissing such a thought.

  Still . . .

  Anxious, eager folks crowded all around them, blocking her view. People jumped up and down, screaming shouts of joy against the back
ground roar of those mighty Flying Fortress engines.

  “Helga! We must move away from everyone so I can see!”

  “What?”

  Anya saw her lips move but couldn’t hear a thing. Obviously Helga couldn’t either. She grabbed her friend’s hand and pulled her away from the others. Her view finally clear, she watched as each plane dropped its load on the field. Huge bags and boxes slammed down on the ground, some exploding as they landed. She watched in horror as a child ran out to the field to grab something. Her mother ran after her, then struggled as the little girl tried to find something to put in her mouth.

  As more planes flew over, people yelled, “KOM TERUG! KOM TERUG!” Come back! Come back!

  The mother finally picked the child up and ran back to the side, the little girl bawling all the way even as another plane roared over and dropped its load right where the child had been standing. As it flew by, the crew members threw little white parcels out the side and back windows which drifted down to the ground like so many tiny parachutes.

  Up and down both sides of the field, people jumped up and down, smiling and singing and dancing and waving Dutch flags.

  “God bless America!”

  “THANK YOU! THANK YOU!”

  Anya felt warm tears track down her face as her heart overflowed with gratitude. And to think I had no tears left, she thought to herself. Helga was right. She never would have believed it if she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes. So many planes! And still more coming, one after another!

  Occasionally, there would be a break when no planes were in sight. People would run out and grab a bag or box and drag it to the side, then tear into it, sharing its contents with those around them.

  “They’re not supposed to do that,” Helga said. “We were told the goods are to be gathered and taken to the Netherlands Food Distribution Service so that everyone gets a fair share.”

  “But can you blame them?” Anya said. “It could take days or weeks for them to sort out all the food.” She pointed toward a man handing out potatoes from a large bag. They watched as people bit into the raw potatoes, too hungry to wait for them to be cooked. Beside them a man grabbed a packet of cigarettes. Real cigarettes made from tobacco had been scarce. She watched the man who started smoking almost as soon as he’d opened the pack and wondered where he’d found a match. He puffed and puffed, a look of serene pleasure on his weathered face—then he promptly coughed and sputtered.

  People loaded carts and carried away what they could. Little ones laughed and carried on when the little handkerchief parachutes were handed around, their faces soon smeared with chocolate and other candies. Others unwrapped toys like tops and whirligigs and whistles. The air bustled with giggles and laughter—sounds she hadn’t heard in years.

  The distribution center would have more than enough to spread around by the looks of it. Cart after cart piled high with the goods made for an impromptu parade as they headed to the distribution center in town.

  “Here come more!” someone shouted as another group of the Flying Fortresses filled the western sky.

  Anya looked and hoped, wanting desperately to see Danny’s smiling face, to see him waving at her. But after a couple of hours she finally gave up. “Helga, can we please go now?”

  “Of course, dear.”

  They chatted about the miracle of the food drops and all they’d seen and experienced that day. As the made their way up the walkway to Helga’s home, mischief lit her wrinkled face. “Now hold out your hands.”

  “What?”

  “Hold out your hands!”

  Anya lifted her palms and in them Helga placed a red apple and a tin of chocolates. Anya gasped. “Helga!”

  “Someone handed them to me back there. Look!” She pulled another apple and tin from her other pocket. “Tonight we shall dine like royalty, you and I!”

  08 May 1945

  For two glorious days, Anya slept. As exciting as it was to witness one of the incredible food drops, she was simply too tired to offer any more help or find out how she might be useful. It seemed as though she had not rested in years. Only now, in the comfort of Helga’s home did she allow herself to truly forget everything else around her and just sleep. Helga’s husband Lars had finally returned home from his own journeys, tying up loose ends of what was left of the Resistance. He delighted them with bags of food for which he’d patiently waited in line at the Netherlands Food Distribution Service warehouse. The simple taste of a good cup of coffee nearly brought them to tears, it tasted so good.

  Then one morning Anya decided to get some fresh air by taking a walk with Helga. They’d only been out for a few minutes when word began to spread like wildfire.

  “WIJ ZIJN VRIJ! WIJ ZIJN VRIJ!” We are free! We are free!

  “The Germans capitulated! The Netherlands are free!”

  “The Allies have liberated us!”

  “The war is over! The war is over!”

  Anya and Helga looked at each other then hugged and cried all at once. “Oh Helga, can it be true? Is it really over?”

  The people of Utrecht poured into the streets, rushing from their homes to join the celebration. At first they felt hesitant to believe the wonderful news, but as reports of the armistice signed in Amsterdam filtered through the hordes of people, they dropped all caution and gave in to unrestrained joy. Suddenly, like a ripple of red, white, and blue water spreading through the streets, Dutch flags waved proudly once again.

  Anya had never seen anything so beautiful in all her life. Somewhere a loud speaker blared the announcement, validating the wonderful rumor. The people shouted with joy then hushed once again, as the voice of Queen Wilhelmina came from the speakers, confirming the news of their liberation.

  Then, even before they could applaud the comforting words from their queen, their beloved national anthem “Wilhelmus” played as their cheers turned to tears filled with longsuffering, patriotic emotion as they sang.

  As she too sang along, Anya had a momentary thought. If it is humanly possible for hundreds and hundreds of people to experience the same exact emotion at one given moment in time, surely this is that moment.

  When the song ended, the cheers rose again. Everyone hugged and kissed and danced, even with perfect strangers. Some fainted, too excited to take it all in. Some found refuge wherever they could find it and prayed out loud, giving thanks to God for giving them back their freedom. Church bells peeled, almost as if the Lord Almighty Himself had joined in the celebration.

  Hours later, they chatted all the way home, wondering what would happen next and how they would begin to live again. As they approached the steps, a boom-boom-boom-boom pounded the air. They clutched each other in fear, jolted by the terrifying sound, until a rainbow of colors exploded in the sky above them.

  “Will you look at that?” Helga marveled.

  They stepped up onto the porch then turned to watch the fireworks. “It’s all too good to be true, isn’t it? I keep thinking I’m going to wake up and find it was all a dream.”

  “And if that’s so, then let’s hold onto the dream as long as we can.”

  “Dear sweet Helga,” Anya began, leaning her head on the older woman’s shoulder. “All these years you’ve been such a blessing—always to my family, and now to me. How can I ever thank you?”

  “No need to thank me. Your father always preached about bestowing kindness on others. Jesus said, ‘Whatever you do to these least of these, you do it unto Me.’ And I am humbled to be His hands when others need a helping hand. Especially one as special as you.”

  65

  In the days that followed, Anya felt her heart gradually begin to grasp what her mind already knew—Holland was truly free! Like so many others throughout her country, Helga and Lars opened their home to welcome the Allied heroes and feed them with real food as a gesture of thanks. Helping her friends prepare the meals, Anya thought she’d never tasted anything so delicious as those first bites of corned beef and cheese and eggs—even powdered eggs—w
ith toasted bread and real butter. Where hunger had stolen their spirits, now each bite seemed to give them the strength and courage to live again. How better to celebrate this new beginning than by sharing their hospitality with those who had made it all possible.

  Along the way, they began to notice their Jewish friends and neighbors gradually coming out of hiding. Too frightened at first, the Jews finally accepted the news, especially after hearing Hitler was dead and the Germans had been defeated. Anya witnessed many of these reunions of Jewish family members and friends, their tears and laughter all mixed and flowing freely. Many of them hadn’t been outdoors in fresh air for years, and they couldn’t seem to get enough of it. It was such a joy just to see them walking down the street inhaling deep breaths of the crisp, spring-like air.

  In their new-found freedom, the Dutch could once again tune in their radios to hear the news they’d missed for years.

  Of course, the news wasn’t all good.

  Through the BBC they learned that an American B-17 participating in Operation Chowhound back on May 7 was fired upon by German ground troops and crashed into the North Sea on its way home. Of its thirteen crew members—including two ground personnel on their first ever flight—only two survived.

  Radio reports also told of the tragedy in Amsterdam which occurred just two days after the Germans surrendered. Excited crowds of Dutch citizens had gathered in Dam Square near the Royal Castle to celebrate their freedom. Then, in the midst of their dancing and cheering as their flag was once again raised above the castle, shots rang out across the wide open plaza. A band of drunken German soldiers standing on the balcony of the Grote Club began firing machine guns into the crowd. The heartbreaking irony—twenty-two people killed and one hundred nineteen men, women, and children injured as they celebrated their long-awaited freedom—was now mourned throughout The Netherlands.