aanspraak march 2019 english - svb · aanspraak - march 2019 - 3. page 15 diederik van vleuten,...

AanspraakAfdeling Verzetsdeelnemers en Oorlogsgetroffenen

Mar

ch 2

019

The war never leaves youFrieda Menco-Brommet recalls her life during the war and the liberation of Auschwitz

Contents

Page 4Speaking for your benefit.

Page 5-6Researchers look for evidence that validates the claim. The Pension and Benefit Board (PUR) bids farewell to dedicated Board member and NIOD researcher Hans de Vries.

Page 7-10When in danger, try to stay in the middle!Dolf Evers relives the Pemuda attack on the Ambarawa 8 prison camp.

Page 11-14The war never leaves you. Frieda Menco-Brommet recalls her life during the war and the liberation of Auschwitz.

Aanspraak - March 2019 - 2


Page 15Diederik van Vleuten, Femke Halsema and Rosanne Hertzberger will be speaking on 4 and 5 May.

Page 16Questions and answers.

No rights may be derived from this text.Translation: SVB, Amstelveen.

Speaking for your benefit

In 2019 it will be 75 years since the Allies began to liberate Europe. The freeing of Europe was accomplished in stages, starting with the D-Day landings in Normandy on 6 June 1944. The south of the Netherlands was liberated in the autumn of 1944. The rest of the country and the Dutch East Indies were liberated in May and August 1945.

Seventy-five years of freedom is worth celebrating. And agencies and organisations that deal with the Second World War have decided to commemorate the anniversary while consciously reflecting on the lessons learned.

The Second World War and the struggle for liberation were harrowing for the world as a whole. At the end of the war the international community said ‘Never again!’ and, in October 1945, formed the United Nations. Yet many parts of the world are still in the grip of war, the principles of justice and democracy are undermined and, as always, there are victims. All the more reason, therefore, to celebrate the achievement of 75 years of freedom by recalling the moral legacy of the Second World War: it showed us the importance of democracy and the rule of law in maintaining peace. It also taught us how important it is for all citizens to assume responsibility for their decisions and actions.

Studies show that while younger generations in particular are expressing a growing interest in the Second World War, actual knowledge about the war is decreasing. People know less about the history of the war, the different forms of resistance, the different groups of war victims, what happened

both inside and outside the camps and the situation after the war. The war generation implored us, and continues to implore us, to ‘Never forget!’ For as the Spanish-American philosopher George Santayana wisely said, ‘Those who do not remember the past are condemned to repeat it.’

As we celebrate 75 years of freedom this is our task. With many memorial centres, museums and educational institutions joining in the celebrations, the ultimate aim is to provide information and education that inspire new generations to uphold the fundamental values of freedom and the rule of law. It is important to ensure that they – especially the leaders and politicians – are better equipped to peacefully resolve power struggles and religious conflicts, and effectively challenge anti-Semitism and discrimination.

You and many others survived the war. The publicity surrounding the celebration of 75 years of freedom will revive many memories, not only of the horrors of the war, we hope, but also of the exhilaration of liberation. May it be some consolation that, as people throughout Europe recall the war and its consequences, they will be doing so mindful of the prayer of the war generation ‘That we may never forget!’

Dineke Mulock HouwerChair of the Pension and Benefit Board


Researchers look for evidence that validates the claim

The Pension and Benefit Board (PUR) bids farewell to dedicated Board member and NIOD researcher Hans de Vries

After 26 years of faithful service, historical researcher and political scientist Hans de Vries stepped down from the Pension and Benefit Board on 1 January 2019. His research for a thesis on political science led him to the National Institute for War Documentation (now the NIOD Institute for War, Holocaust and Genocide Studies), and ended up becoming a lifelong interest. De Vries explains how he became a member of the Pension and Benefit Board.

What made you such a dedicated Board member?‘I know what it is to be “second generation”. It gave me a healthy distrust of authority. I like to check several sources and feel an affinity with minority groups. The members of a minority are always more vulnerable during periods of political unrest. My father was Jewish and had to go into hiding. He and my mother were already seeing each other before the Germans invaded and her parents allowed him to hide in their home. After the war, my parents got married. Some of our relatives did not survive the war. My mother also helped other Dutch Jews who had to go into hiding and was involved in publishing Het Parool, which was originally an underground Resistance newspaper. She lost dear friends in the Resistance movement. My parents were always very interested in the history of the Second World War and I grew up with the same interest.’

How did you come to work at NIOD?‘I was studying political science and wanted to write a thesis on the similarities and differences between German National Socialism and Italian Fascism. My tutor referred me to what was then the National Institute for War Documentation (now the NIOD

Institute for War, Holocaust and Genocide Studies), where I found exactly what I was looking for. I became so interested in the institute that I inquired if I could work there. A few months later I was appointed as a junior research assistant. My duties included assisting former Resistance member and researcher Hans van der Leeuw, who at the time was known for his research on Pieter Menten and Willem Aantjes.’

How did you get involved with the work of the Pension and Benefit Board?‘When Hans van der Leeuw retired from the board in 1992, I took over his seat. Hans had asked me to assist with historical research for the Chamber responsible for administering the Netherlands Benefit Act for victims of persecution 1940 to 1945 (Wuv). The various Chambers always needed academic researchers at NIOD to assist with historical research. That was how I ended up conducting specialist research on the wartime experiences of pension and benefit claimants in different archives.’

Researching the wartime experiences of our claimants is almost a kind of historical detective work. Why did you find it so interesting?‘As I read the reports filed in the Council and NIOD archives, I was deeply struck by the stories of those who were members of the Resistance and victims of the war. I wanted to be able to do something for the claimants, by finding evidence that met the eligibility criteria for a civilian war victim benefit or pension. Researchers look for evidence that validates the claim. Early on, the Wuv Chamber would often ask me for additional information about the claimant in order to be able to make the right decision.


So sometimes I would visit claimants to obtain the information that was needed. These days the reports are more comprehensive. There is also more detailed policy on what actually occurred during the war. What made my work for the Board so interesting was that, in the historical files, or ‘social reports’ as they are referred to by the Board, there are explicit definitions of what constitutes resistance and persecution. Involvement in the Resistance often started with a small errand, such as delivering a letter or providing an address for someone who needed to go into hiding. One thing would lead to another and a short time later the person might be part of an underground publishing network or organising safe hiding places. To live in fear of persecution is to experience a constant sense of existential threat. There is no way of knowing what the next day will bring.’

What was your area of expertise as a historical researcher?‘I specialised mainly in those captured by German occupying forces and held in camps and prisons. From 1 January 2006, as a member of the Board, I was also involved in administering the Extraordinary Pension Act 1940-1945 (Wbp), and the Benefit Act for Civilian War Victims 1940-1945 (Wubo). Through my work at NIOD, I already had considerable knowledge

of the Resistance movement and persecution during the Second World War, but from 2006 onwards my area of interest also included the history of the Dutch East Indies and the fate of civilian war victims.’

Now that you have retired from the Board, how do you look back on the work you did?‘I was very happy to do the historical research, both for the Board and for the claimants. As I said, I was always deeply interested in the social reports. The claimants often have unique information about the war. As a research scientist, I don’t want this information to get lost. A great deal of knowledge has been gathered and much has been laid down in policy. Our perspectives on certain issues also change over time. This occasionally leads to a reassessment. Further research may cause earlier decisions to be reviewed. The Board and the SVB Department for Members of the Resistance and Victims of War (V&O) are determined to achieve the best outcome for the claimants. Having seen the level of commitment first hand, I have every faith in the future of the service. I am now conducting research on Dutch people who found themselves on the other side of the barbed-wire fence. For me, the war has become a lifelong interest.’

Interview by Ellen Lock


When in danger, try to stay in the middle!

Dolf Evers relives the Pemuda attack on the Ambarawa 8 prison camp

After British troops liberated the Japanese prisoner of war camp in the former 15th Battalion barracks in Bandung, Dolf Evers and his father made their way to the women’s camp in Ambarawa to find Dolf’s mother. The joy of their reunion was short-lived. Only days later, young Indonesian freedom fighters led a bloody attack on the camp. A hail of bullets and hand grenades left 19 dead and about 40 wounded. Dolf Evers tells us his story in the hope that the revolutionary violence of the Bersiap period just after the Second World War will not be forgotten.

Imprisoned by the Japanese‘My real name is Adolf Andreas Josef Evers, but I am generally known as Dolf. I was born to a Catholic family in Tilburg on 24 March 1927 and had two older brothers: Henk (1917) and Bob (1924). We moved to the Dutch East Indies where my father was elected as Police Commissioner in Solo. I was 15 when war broke out. At the time I was still in secondary school and dreamed of becoming a soldier. My oldest brother Henk was serving in the Navy in Surabaya. Shortly after the Royal Netherlands East Indies Army (KNIL) surrendered in March 1942, we and many other European families were transported to internment camps. The widespread plundering that followed the Japanese invasion left some 1,300 men, women and children homeless. Our family was taken to the Governor’s House in Solo, which was being used as an open internment camp. My father and my brother Bob were sent to and imprisoned in Ngawi. On 27 December 1942 my mother and I were transported to the women’s camp in Sumowono near Ambarawa. There I was made to do forced labour with another boy my own age. His name was Henk Schuyl. We got on well from the start and endured almost all of the war together.’

Separated from my mother‘A few days after arriving in the camp, the older boys were separated from their mothers. It was a moment of intense sadness that I will never forget. My mother waved me goodbye, putting her other hand over her mouth to hold back her tears. At the next camp, Djoen Eng, named after the former owner of the large Chinese house in Salatiga in Central Java, I was relieved to be reunited with Henk Schuyl and was able to reassure him that his mother was still in good health. From then on he always made sure I was all right.’

Forming a gang to survive‘At the beginning of 1944 Henk and I and a large number of men were transported to a male prisoner of war camp in Bandung. The stinking overcrowded train journey was appalling. A former KNIL barracks with large storage sheds had been converted into a Japanese prisoner of war camp that held 9,000 prisoners. We were housed in Block N and slept on a patch of ground just 60 centimetres wide.We younger boys quickly formed a gang, because we were picked on by the older boys, who stole our food and tried to abuse us. We had to learn to stand up for ourselves and grew up very quickly. We were so weakened by hunger and ill health that we would never have made it on our own. Henk Schuyl and I and two other boys always stayed together and did what we could to find scraps of food for each other. Henk and I volunteered to do kitchen duties so we could scavenge food from the bins. Looking back, I am not proud of some of the things I did. Sometimes we were so hungry we would pretend we hadn’t had food and line up again to get a second portion. And I often recall an older man, who must have been about 50. We would outsmart


him by sharing out the bread very quickly and always gave him the smallest piece. Now I am deeply ashamed of what we did, but, at the time, surviving was the only thing that mattered. The hunger was so relentless that I volunteered to work another shift in exchange for food. I was made to wash the clothes of those who were ill, but quickly developed dysentery and a very high fever. A priest who thought I was dying wanted to perform the last rites. I might have been at death’s door, but I wasn’t ready for that. I wanted to live!’

Caught and punished‘The Korean and Japanese prison guards tormented us daily. Once they tied a rope to a dog, swung it around and killed it by slamming it against a tree. Prisoners who had been whipped were shut in a small shack with a corrugated tin roof. It got unbearably hot in there in the blazing sun. You could be put in there for something as simple as forgetting to bow to one of the guards. Every day we witnessed and heard prisoners being subjected to corporal punishment as we came back from doing forced labour outside the camp.

In August 1944 I was involved in an incident that was severely punished by the Japanese. One day we were ordered to move some earth outside the camp. We were transported there in five army trucks with five prisoners in each cabin. The guards gave us pickaxes and told us to build sand ramparts as an anti-tank measure. While transporting the sand from one place to another we passed a group of Indonesian women by the side of the road who offered us food. The prison guard in the cabin with us was a Javanese auxiliary soldier recruited by the Japanese. His name was Ragimin and he was friendly towards us. He told the driver to slow down so we could accept the food from the women, even though it was strictly forbidden by the Japanese. Shortly after that we were stopped by a Japanese soldier who discovered that we had food. He stood in front of our army truck, with his legs wide apart and his hands are on his hips, and screamed that we would be punished for it. We had to hand over the food. He marched Ragimin off with him and whipped him with his wooden Samurai sword. Ragimin returned twenty minutes later with blood on his face. When

we got back to the camp, the Japanese guards punished fifty other prisoners for our crime. They had to line up opposite each other and strike each other. If they didn’t strike each other hard enough, the prison guards struck them a second time for ‘not showing respect for the Japanese emperor’.

A little while later we ourselves were punished for accepting food when it was forbidden. First a Japanese soldier beat us on our backs with a stick five times. Then another Japanese guard whipped us on our backs with his army belt, landing one blow for each year of our lives. I tried to stand in the middle to avoid the worst of the impact. After that we were forced to squat with a bamboo stick behind our knees. We had to stay in that position for a very long time. It was so painful that I could barely stay upright and fell on a fellow prisoner. When I stood up, a Korean prison guard hit me so hard it knocked me to the ground. Then I was punished again because I fell. That time he slapped my face so hard it broke my nose. My nose is still crooked to this day.’

Reunited‘One afternoon, we were sitting outside on the ground after completing our tasks when we saw a large group of prisoners entering the camp. Henk said, ‘Here’s another lot of prisoners!” I looked up and, suddenly, among the skeletal figures, I saw my father’s face. I uttered a cry of surprise, “That looks like my father!” Behind him was my brother Bob. They were both so emaciated that I barely recognised them. That was how we met up again four months before the Japanese surrendered. I put my arms around my father who was in tears. We were so happy to be reunited and immediately wondered if my mother and Henk might still be alive. Being together again gave us hope. In the second week of August 1945 the Japanese prison guards started behaving differently. They spent less time in the camp. It was clear that something was up. On 14 August all work outside the camp stopped. We were also served a double portion of rice for no apparent reason. Our Dutch Camp Leader told us to keep quiet about it, but said the Dutch East Indies had been liberated.The dropping of the two atom bombs forced Japan


to surrender. For us, this turned out to be a blessing. The Japanese guards were suddenly there to defend us. They worked together with the British liberators to protect us from the violence of the Indonesian freedom fighters. At that point the camp was the safest place to be.’

Bersiap‘Through the Dutch Red Cross we learnt that my mother was still at Ambarawa 8, where she had been held as a prisoner of war. There too, the former prisoners had to remain in the camp for their own protection from the freedom fighters. At the end of October 1945 my father and I boarded a train to Central Java to go and find my mother. As we were approaching the town of Purwokerto, the train was stopped by a group of freedom fighters wearing red headbands and armed with machetes. They climbed onto the train to find out if we were carrying weapons. The atmosphere was very tense. The Indonesian women on the train spoke to the rebels in their own language and asked them to leave us alone. To our great relief they did! We found my mother at Ambarawa 8 and there were tears of joy. My father was the first to embrace her, as was only right. We were so exhilarated to be reunited. Unfortunately, my father could only stay for a week before travelling on to Bandung to resume his police duties. My father insisted that I stay behind to protect my mother.’

The attack on Ambarawa 8‘On 21 November 1945 the Ambarawa 8 internment camp was attacked by freedom fighters. They stormed in through the back the camp and herded the women and children onto the lawn in the middle of the courtyard. I was forced to climb the stone steps to the lawn at gunpoint. Amidst the panic and screams of fear, I remembered what I learnt back in the camp: “When in danger, try to stay in the middle to avoid the worst of the impact.” The rebels suddenly began lobbing hand grenades into the crowd and started shooting at us. I caught sight of my mother as she disappeared behind a wall. People were dying around me. The woman standing next to me was shot down with her four-year-old daughter in her arms. I snatched the crying child from the dead woman’s arms and ran behind a wall in the

toilet block, hoping that it would shelter us from the bullets. Sadly it turned out that the little girl had been hit in the stomach by a bullet. She died in my arms.

A British patrol that happened to be passing put an end to the attack. My mother and I survived. Nineteen people had been killed and about 40 had been wounded. A day later we dug a pit that served as a mass grave. But we often came under fire from Indonesian snipers in the church tower. So it was three days until we could bury the victims with British protection. Having to bury the women and children was terribly distressing. The minister who presided over the funeral lost his four-year-old daughter in the attack.

The following day the Ambarawa 8 internment camp was evacuated by the British Gurkhas. We were taken to the Lampersari internment camp where we spent the next two months. My mother and I were lucky enough to get passage on an American ship to Batavia. There we boarded a Dakota and flew to Andir airport in Bandung, where I began serving as an orderly in the Netherlands East Indies Forces Intelligence Service (NEFIS). This meant that for a while I could live with my parents, who had been assigned living quarters in Bandung. It was a miracle that all five of us survived.

In August 1947 the whole family repatriated to the Netherlands, where I completed my abridged secondary education in The Hague. When I finished school, I wanted to fight for the KNIL in the Dutch East Indies to gain revenge. But the instructors decided that I was too fanatical and could not be involved in policing. So I joined the Netherlands Marine Corps and dedicated my working life to the National Security Agency.’

Putting pen to paper‘I often relive the last days at Ambarawa 8. Unfortunately, my mother and I were not spared the horrors of the cowardly attack on the women’s camp. I was saved by my personal motto, ‘When in danger, try to stay in the middle!’ Yet I am always surprised and saddened to see how uncivilised we become in times of war. All you can think about is food and finding ways to survive.



Back in the Netherlands, in 1947, my father would never talk about the war. And I barely spoke about it with my mother, because in those days people didn’t really talk about their feelings. Twenty years ago my daughter Angela asked me to write about my experience of the war, but for a long time I couldn’t bring myself to write about the attack on Ambarawa 8. Eventually I found words. Shortly after, my wife Els and I travelled to Indonesia with a group of war victims. It did me good to revisit places that reminded me so much of my youth during the war together with others. Hearing the members of the group tell their stories made it easier for me to talk about it. Now I am glad to be able to tell you my story, so the attack on innocent women and children will not be forgotten.’


The war never leaves you

Frieda Menco-Brommet recalls her life during the war and the liberation of Auschwitz

‘It is almost impossible to explain to those who didn’t experience it,’ she says. ‘Every day you are reminded of the war. The war never leaves you. There are scenes you can’t get out of your mind and those who died are always in your thoughts.’ Nevertheless, Frieda wants to tell her story to inspire others to create positive change in the world, by promoting values such as individual freedom for everyone and appreciation of the arts.

My father brought colour into my life‘My father, Joël Brommet, was an artistic man. In the last years we spent together, he taught me to see shape and colour. He literally brought colour into my life and every day I thank him for it. My father was a window dresser. First he arranged window displays for the Bijenkorf department store. Later he specialised in fabric window displays. He met and married my mother, Rebecca Ritmeester, in Amsterdam and they went to live with her parents. It was there that I was born on 11 August 1925. My parents were of Jewish descent, but neither of them were religious. My father conducted correspondence courses in window dressing and showed me the work submitted by his students. He hoped that I would go to college and had started to put money aside for my education. I wanted to study French. I fell in love with the language when I was first introduced to it in the fifth form at primary school. But first I had to go to a trade school. Around the corner from where we lived, at Zuider Amstellaan 74-I, on what is now Rooseveltlaan, there was a trade school with a three-year curriculum.’

I was suddenly perceived differently‘Friday 10 May 1940 was a bright sunny day. I woke up early and was surprised to find the house empty.

From the balcony I saw groups of people talking to each other excitedly in the street. My parents were among them. At the age of 14 I was told that Germany had invaded the Netherlands and we were at war.

That was the day I became Jewish. Before that I hadn’t really thought about it. I didn’t feel any different in myself. But because I had been born to Jewish parents I was suddenly perceived differently.My father felt a deep sense of foreboding about the German invasion. He wanted to flee to England through the port of IJmuiden. My parents started packing, intending for us to set off the next morning. But my father’s mother, my grandmother, came to see us shortly before we were due to leave. She sat in an armchair in front of the window. As the taxi pulled up, she said “What about us?” My father changed his mind about leaving.’

‘I entered the fourth form of the local state trade school in September 1940. At the beginning of July 1942, I was told that I had to go to the German Central Office for Jewish Emigration in Amsterdam for a medical examination. The next day my father came home with sandpaper, took me to the bathroom and said, “You need to rub your skin with this to make them think you have scarlet fever!” Then he went to the euphemistically named Office and told the staff I had scarlet fever. He also told them that they could examine me and see for themselves. But the Germans were terrified of contagious diseases, so the examination was postponed.

On the way back from the Office my father was captured during a roundup but somehow managed to get away. He quickly tore off the white raincoat


he was wearing and threw it away. Then he ran from the guards, zigzagging to avoid the bullets, and fled to his parents’ house.

When my father didn’t return that evening my mother and I started to feel very frightened. Someone came to the door and told us that my father had been captured. On hearing this, my mother became hysterical and began to scream and cry. Even though I was still young, I instinctively slapped her face, which calmed her down. A while later the doorbell rang. My father had sent a boy to tell us that he was all right and would stay with his parents until he could return.’

A treacherous hiding place‘The anti-Jewish measures became more aggressive. Jewish pupils were no longer allowed to go to state schools, so from 1 September 1941 I had to go to the Jewish secondary school. The following year my father arranged for us to go into hiding to avoid the mass roundups. Through his brother-in-law, Louis, he obtained an address in Warmond where we could stay hidden. At that point Jews were no longer allowed on public transport. Fortunately, because he had put some money aside, my father was able to buy a boat so we could sail to Warmond.We set off early in the morning on 16 July 1942, wearing several layers of clothing with the Star of David sewn loosely onto our coats. As the boat passed under the Berlage bridge, we tore the stars off our coats.

Two acquaintances, there to help with the boat, were sailing with us as far as Warmond. As we were about to depart, we heard two Germans on the quayside say, “What a nice boat! Can we come and have a look at it?” Our helmsman was very clever. “We’re in a bit of a hurry,” he said. “Why don’t you come back at 5 o’clock? Then we can drink some Schnapps and you can have a look at the boat.” To our great relief, we got away with it and quickly sailed to Warmond, where we were shown the way to a single room above a bike shop. Unfortunately, the people who were meant help us while we were in hiding did nothing of the sort. Rather than buying food for us, they spent the money my father gave them on alcohol for themselves. Since it

was impossible for us to leave the building, my father had no choice. He had to keep paying them far too much. When he could stand it no longer, he arranged for us to flee to Switzerland.’

Betrayed‘At the end of June 1944 my father was put in touch with a contact person, known as Gerritse, who would help us flee to Switzerland. On two occasions my father paid Gerritse large sums of money for our trip. We waited at the agreed time, but no one came to collect us. It was all just one big lie. Gerritse turned out to be a false name. Aided by his wife, the man in question had delivered dozens of Jews to the Germans. We too were betrayed. After his wife informed on us, we were taken prisoner, interrogated by the German Security Service in Euterpestraat in Amsterdam and sent to Weteringschans Prison. My mother and I were put in a large cell with 40 other women. A girl about my age asked if anyone wanted to help her write a poem that we could smuggle in to the men. I said I would. Her name was Ronnie van Cleef. From then on we stayed together as much as we could and became close friends.

We were sent to the Westerbork transit camp in the east of the Netherlands and travelled there on a Dutch train with German guards accompanying us. The NS railway company recently agreed to compensate individual Holocaust survivors for its role in the deportation of Jews during the Second World War. On hearing this, I immediately called Salo Muller, who had pushed for reparations for years, to congratulate him. I told him it was an important victory.When we arrived at the camp, we were given blue overalls and clogs and taken straight to the prison barracks because we had been in hiding. In protest, I recited in front of the Dutch prison guards E.J. Potgieter’s poem ‘Holland’, which ends with the words “The world’s freest and most blessed country.”At Westerbork the food was better than it had been while we were in hiding and we were also allowed out into the open air. So it was actually the most tolerable period of my captivity. We were set to work dismantling batteries, which made us pitch black.’


Deported to Auschwitz‘On 3 September 1944 we were put on the last train to Auschwitz. I sat in the same carriage as my parents, but we were separated by a mound of luggage in the middle of the carriage. In the corner there was a barrel that served as a makeshift toilet. One of the men on the train fell in love with me and spent the three days and nights of the journey with his arms around me. But he never sought to take advantage of the situation. When we arrived at Auschwitz, my parents kissed each other briefly. That was the last time they saw each other. What I remember most vividly about arriving at Auschwitz is the shouting. Men walked the length of the train asking for our jewellery since it was no longer any use to us.We were immediately ordered to line up and entered the camp as two lines of women and children and two lines of men. We had to hand over our cases and all of our possessions and had a number tattooed on our arm. Then, after being ordered to take off our clothes while the male prison guards looked on, we were taken to shower. Ronnie, my mother and I shared a plank bunk spread with straw in one of the women’s barracks.’

Hauling stones‘After the war Ronnie wrote a poem for me about the hard labour we had to do at Auschwitz. It describes how we spent our days in the camp or Konzentrationslager (KZ).

KZ

Interlacing our fingers and turning our palms to the sky, we took it in turns to pile stones, heavy stones, on each other.

With the stones heavy against our breasts, sometimes up to our chin, we walked in silent rows along a stony road until it was our turn to throw our stones on a mountain of stones.

There we stood, bewildered and confused, our arms limp with pain, until the supervisor shouted ‘Zurück mit deinen Steinen!’

So, interlacing our fingers and turning our palms to the sky, again we took it in turns to pile stones, heavy stones, on each other.

‘It was very heavy work. We had to haul stones on the Polish plains in the coldest winter of the century. Once, after a couple of prisoners tried to escape, the guards punished those of us still there. In the icy wind, they ordered us to hold stones above our heads and squat. If we fell over, a Polish female guard pulled us upright again. Shortly after that, Ronnie and I were hospitalised with scarlet fever. It was there that we met the sisters Anne and Margot Frank who both had scabies. Their mother, Edith Frank, and my mother, Rebecca Brommet, kept in touch with us through a hole that they dug beneath the wooden wall of the barracks.I was very weak and my back hurt so much that I could no longer walk. So Ronnie got the messages from my mother and passed them on to me.’

Heroines‘In the cold, I developed pleurisy. My mother did everything she could to stay with me. She pretended to be suffering from sciatica and was occasionally able to join me in the Auschwitz hospital. Anne and Margot Frank were transported to the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp, where they died shortly before the end of the war. Their mother Edith Frank remained behind and died three weeks before Auschwitz was liberated by the Russians.

In November 1944 I thought my mother was also gone and felt very alone. A group of French girls in the same ward took care of me. They said they wanted to adopt me and take me to France with them after the war. They were real heroines!I also experienced great kindness from a Belgian woman who gave me sips of water and put small pieces of bread into my mouth when I had typhus. How incredible that someone would do something like that for someone else! So my smattering of French came in handy more than once. Fortunately, nine days later, my mother returned. But then we both developed severe diarrhoea that claimed the lives of many in the camp.’

Liberated by the Russians‘On 21 January 1945 most of the German prison guards suddenly disappeared. Six days later Russian tanks arrived and liberated the camp. I was hovering between life and death. I was 19 years old and weighed just 35 kilos.


My back was so badly injured that I could no longer walk, so my mother and I remained in the barracks. Though I was really too ill to be moved, I was transported to the men’s camp four kilometres away. There I was treated by a Czechoslovakian doctor, David Grossman, who gave me the right glucose and insulin injections and saved my life. Eventually the Allies took us to Pilsen in Czechoslovakia. From there, my mother and I flew to Brussels on a cargo aircraft.

A few days later we travelled to the Netherlands by train and were taken to a reception centre in Tilburg. My mother’s sister, who lived in Tilburg, came to get us and treated me with tremendous kindness. My mother went to Amsterdam to find us somewhere to live. I remained behind in Tilburg. Two months later I heard that my mother had been admitted to the Portuguese Israeli Hospital, which had set up a reception centre for repatriated concentration camp survivors. It was there that she heard that my father was thought to have died during one of the death marches from Auschwitz in January 1945. For a long time my mother and I kept hoping he would return.’

A memorial plaque for my father‘In 1948 I visited the lodgings of the man who would later become my husband for the first time. His name was Herman Menco and he lived in Rotterdam. I arrived there before he did, so his landlady let me in. On the table in his room I saw a letter written in German. It was addressed affectionately to ‘My dear

Herman,’ and signed ‘Yours truly, David Grossman’. Herman and I were so happy to have both made the acquaintance of the Czechoslovakian doctor at Auschwitz. We tried to find him, only to discover that he had just died of a heart condition. Herman and I were legally married on 9 January 1951 and got married in a synagogue on 28 January. Unfortunately, my husband was never willing to talk about the war. And while my mother and I spoke about it, we did so with bitter irony. My husband and I had two sons, Harry in 1954 and Joël, named after my father, in 1956. Not long ago, my sons started to express an interest in the war, but I don’t want to burden them with my past. Through my work as a radio journalist and as the chair of the Liberal Jewish Community in Amsterdam, I want to inspire others to do good and help create a better world. What saddens me most is that my mother and I were never able to say goodbye to my father.

In November 2017 my sons and I laid a Stolperstein memorial plaque for my father in the pavement outside the house at Rooseveltlaan 74 in Amsterdam. My son Joël spoke for all of us when he said we would always feel a sense of sadness at not knowing where his grandfather, my father, died. The memorial plaque was placed by the German artist, Gunter Demnig, who initiated the Stolperstein project. So at least we were able to create a small monument to commemorate the life of my father, Joël Brommet.’




Diederik van Vleuten, Femke Halsema and Rosanne Hertzberger will be speaking on 4 and 5 May

The Netherlands’ National Committee for 4 and 5 May has announced the speakers for the national Remembrance ceremony on 4 May and the national Liberation Day celebration on 5 May. Theatre producer, writer and performer Diederik van Vleuten will give this year’s Remembrance Day lecture at the De Nieuwe Kerk church in Amsterdam. Femke Halsema, the Mayor of Amsterdam, will then speak during the national Remembrance ceremony on Dam Square.

This year, the national Liberation Day celebrations will start with a lecture by microbiologist and author Rosanne Hertzberger at the KAF theatre in Almere in the province of Flevoland. In the weeks leading up to the Liberation Day lecture, the province of Flevoland will be holding a range of activities in partnership with the Flevoland Liberation Festival and the municipality of Almere. The lectures by Diederik van Vleuten and Rosanne Hertzberger will appear in a joint publication available from bookshops from 6 April 2019.

Diederik van VleutenIn a series of four solo performances, Diederik van Vleuten reflected on his family history in light of world events. During the commemoration ceremony at the Indies Monument in The Hague on 15 August 2013, Diederik talked about his great-uncle Jan. In particular, he spoke of his great-uncle’s memoirs of his life and the Dutch East Indies, where he was born and spent the most dramatic years of his life.

‘Today I pay tribute to him, in loving memory and with great admiration. Because, in the winter of his life, he chose not to keep silent but to bear witness to the world he had known and experienced. He did this without pretension. “I did not write these memoirs because I believe myself to be important, but because I lived during an important period in history. The great changes that occurred in the world during my lifetime washed over me and my generation like a waterfall.” He concluded by saying, “These are not profound ideas. I have simply written about things that happened that were important to me.” It was in this spirit that he wrote his memoirs, for himself and for my parents. And thus also for me, and for my children and their children.’

Freedom to voteThe theme of this year’s Remembrance ceremony and Liberation Day celebration on 4 and 5 May is ‘Freedom to vote’. In choosing this theme, the National Committee wishes to tie in with the celebration of 100 years of universal suffrage in the Netherlands. An article on the subject by Khadija Arib, Speaker of the Netherlands’ House of Representatives, will set a context during the commemoration and celebration ceremonies on 4 and 5 May, which will emphasise the value of the Netherlands’ parliamentary democracy, the suspension of democracy during the years 1940 to 1945, and our responsibility as citizens to uphold our open and free constitutional democracy.

Photos: Diederik van Vleuten (by Sabrina Bongiovanni), Femke Halsema (by Gemeente Amsterdam) and Rosanne Hertzberger (by Merlijn Doomernik).

Questions and answers

I have a new bank account for my Wuv benefit. How should I inform you of this? You must report this change to us in writing. It is also important that you enclose documentary evidence of your new bank account number. This could be a copy of your bank card, a letter of confirmation from the bank showing that you have opened an account, or a copy of a bank statement from your new account.

I have applied to have my medical costs reimbursed. Why do I have to fill out another claim form and a medical authorisation form? I already did this for a claim I made a couple of years ago. Reimbursement for the costs of medical treatment can only be made if the treatment is for complaints that stem from, or are a consequence of, war experiences that we have already been able to establish. It is important for a proper assessment of your claim that we know what your current health problems are. The medical authorisation form would enable us to ask your GP or medical specialists for any additional information that we might need. Your GP or medical specialists would not be able to give us this information without your permission. The authorisation would remain valid for one year.

I am about to fill in my tax return. I receive a tax-free increment under Article 19 of the Wubo scheme and allowances for social activities and home help. Do you provide an annual statement for these? No, we only send annual statements for the amounts that you need for your income tax return. The increment under Article 19 of the Wubo scheme is a tax-free amount. Payments for reimbursements or allowances such as for social activities and home help are also tax-free and therefore do not count

as taxable income. That is why we do not issue an annual statement for these payments.

In the past, I was awarded the costs of a wheel-chair because of my war injuries. My wheelchair now needs replacing. When should I submit a new claim? That depends on which scheme you currently fall under. If you receive an extraordinary pension under the Wbp scheme, you must submit your claim before the end of the year following the year in which the costs were incurred. If you receive a benefit under the Benefit Act for Victims of Persecution 1940-1945 (Wuv scheme), Benefit Act for Civilian War Victims 1940-1945 (Wubo scheme), and General War Injuries Scheme for Indonesia (AOR scheme), you must submit your claim before you incur any costs. If you buy the wheelchair before it is awarded under the Wuv, Wubo or AOR scheme, any costs incurred before the award date cannot be reimbursed in principle. In general, therefore, we advise everyone to submit their claims before any costs have been made.

Payment dates for 2019Below is a list of the dates on which our payment orders are sent to the banks. The dates for extraordinary pensions paid via the 1940-1945 Foundation (Stichting 1940-1945) may differ from the dates shown below. The dates that payments are received in banks outside the Netherlands will also depend on the working days of the local banks concerned.

15 January 15 May 16 September14 February 13 June 15 October14 March 15 July 14 November15 April 15 August 16 December


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