I DEDICATE THE FOLLOWING PAGES TO MY GRANDCHILDREN. MAY THE IMPORTANCE OF LOVING GOD AND THE LOVE FOR THEIR NEIGHBOURS BE FOREVER PRESENT IN THEIR LIVES AS IT WAS IN THE LIFE OF THEIR GREAT- GRANDFATHER,
HENDRIKUS JOHANNES HULSTEIN.
On
April 17th, 1966 the following article appeared in the Vancouver Sun:
A
mild-mannered and quiet man who braved the savagery of Hitler’s Gestapo to
help an oppressed people was honoured this Sunday by the Jewish Community. Sixty
year old Henry [Henk] Hulstein, who harboured many Jews during the war and was
sent to a concentration camp as a result, received the thanks of Jews everywhere
at the Jewish Community Centre. The 500 that attended the ceremony and heard the
story of Mr. Hulstein’s private war efforts, saluted him and his wife with a
thunderous applause as he stood before them. When asked what made him do this,
he simply said, “The Bible tells me to love my neighbour, and my neighbour is
anyone that needs help.”
On
November 28th, 1968, the following article appeared in the Vancouver Sun;
Funeral
Service for Mr. Henry Hulstein, 65,
who risked his life harbouring Jews during the Nazi occupation in Holland, was
held Friday at the First Christian Reformed Church in Vancouver. Mr. Hulstein
and his wife Grace, shielded many Jewish people in their home in Apeldoorn,
Holland, until Mr. Hulstein was detected and sent to a concentration camp.
My
name is Ray [Reijer] Hulstein, residing at #200-8600 Lansdown Road, Richmond BC.
Canada.
I am the oldest child of the ‘Quiet
Man’ and his wife Geesje Hulstein, nee Yzerman.
This
is the story of courage, endurance, sacrifice and a deep belief in the
commandment, ‘Love your neighbour as yourself’.
It
all started on May 10th, 1940, just 24 days after my 11th birthday. Standing in
front of our home, Dad and I looked up towards the sky, and to our amazement, we
saw many planes flying overhead. At a closer look we saw the German Swastika on
their wings and we immediately knew that the dreaded prospect of war had become
a reality. Normally a quiet man with gentle ways and seldom very angry, this man
started to cry, and shook his first upwards to the sky to the invaders. He
yelled not so gently and not so quietly into the sky. He then went quickly
inside and when I saw him again he had transformed himself by putting on his old
army uniform. Obviously, the uniform was a few sizes too small, the sleeves a
bit too short, and the buttons too tight, but he did look ready to defend his
country. Saying his goodbyes to us, he presented himself at the local Army Hall.
Later that same evening he returned home after the mighty German Army had
already entered our town. As history will tell you, the Dutch fought very well
with the resources that were available to them, but after a murderous
bombardment of the town of Rotterdam, where thousands of innocent citizens were
killed, this war was lost to the Dutch people within 5 days. And so 5 years of
oppression, 5 years of terror and 5 years of the most terrible atrocities began.
For
the first few months things were not too bad. Life seemed not too much
different, except for the many German soldiers and their awesome war equipment
that constantly roamed our streets.
But
then the first sign of what was to come, what Hitler had planned for our Jewish
population came slowly into being. The order was put forth that all people of
Jewish decent, young and old, were to be identified by wearing a yellow
‘David’ star with the word “Jood” written across it. It was then only
that I discovered that I had some Jewish playmates. They came to play with us in
the same clothes, the same blazers and the same jackets that they always did,
except that now the ‘David’ star and the word “Jood” was written on
their clothing! How degrading! How monstrous! Our friends were now separated
from us - they were shown to be different from us, they were JEWS! But it worked
very well for the Germans. They separated them effectively and the Jews were now
easy to recognize. And because of that, a new order came soon after this: Jews
can now only shop at certain hours of the day, Jews no longer could attend
movies, concerts or any other performance. We, the non-Jewish population, had
received ration cards in order to obtain food, but the Jews would only receive
half a ration card – therefore, half of the food. Within a year, the rounding
up of the Jewish population began.
I
remember my parents getting together with some members of our church and talking
about this situation. Soon after
this, the Committee of Jewish Rescue was formed. Several elders of our Church
become involved. A very good friend of my dad, Arent Jan Smit, headed this
committee as its leader. It did not take very long for them to become active.
Extra ration cards were needed in order to feed those that had gone into hiding.
The only way to obtain those ration cards was to go and get them. So Dad, the so
called ‘quiet man’ and his cohorts went to the Central Distribution Centre.
They simply held up the place and helped themselves to this, by now, very
precious commodity. This done, they went to the City Hall and the Bureau of
Vital Statistics. With guns
in hand, they ‘obtained’ a load of blank passports mostly used for those of
Jewish descent who then received a new identity as a non-Jewish person.
As
the round up continued, more and more homes that could be used as hiding places
had to be found. Our parents’ home was rather small, and by that time, already
housed 6 or 7 children. But a makeshift bedroom was made for my brother and I in
Dad’s upholstering workshop and whenever our bedroom was occupied by some
“visitors” we two would sleep in the workshop. The first “visitors”
we had were Mr. and Mrs. Brandon and their 13 year old daughter Lenie. As always,
nobody stayed too long and soon they were moved on again to a different location.
This family did survive the war, and lived in our town for a number of years.
Our families became very close friends and they became “Uncle Louis and
Aunty Jetty” to us. Later the Brandon’s immigrated to Canada and lived in
Ontario.
Another
couple that stayed somewhat longer were Mr. and Mrs. Van Engelen and their
daughter Jo, who was in her late twenties. Her parents were the most friendly
and most considerate couple you could find. However, Jo was somewhat spoiled and
became a bit of a problem. In order to survive the war as a Jewish person, one
must never, never, leave the house where you are hiding and certainly never
venture into the street. Only in the dark of the night would one stand outside
for some fresh air and then only on the back porch or at the back of the house.
But Jo, whose features were clearly that of a Jewish girl, took it upon herself
to walk on the street one day. She was sternly warned never to do that again. It
was to no avail as one afternoon she came running into the house extremely
frightened.
While
she had been on the street she had passed a German soldier who had looked at her
closely. Later that afternoon I heard a big commotion in our kitchen, and saw my
dad and his friend Arent Jan Smit facing this very frightened Jewish girl. She
was pushed up against the kitchen wall while Mr. Smit faced her with a gun in
his hand and yelled at her, “If you venture out on the street once more,
endangering Mr. Hulstein, his wife and their children and many other people that
are trying desperately to save your life, I will come back with this gun and I
will personally pull the trigger.” Well, that did the trick and Jo was not
seen on the street again.
All
three survived the war. Shortly after the war, Mr. Van Engelen died, and Jo and
her mother immigrated to Australia. No sooner had one party left than another
would take their place - and back to our bedroom in the workshop we went.
Despite
all the tension and the fear, there were sometimes funny and hilarious moments
as well. One day, our parents had gone out to visit some friends. When I came
home later that night, I found the whole house in total darkness. As I entered
the house, a voice came out of the darkness, “Would you be so kind to turn on
the lights?” My first thought that we were harbouring some really lazy people
here - but then I realized that it
was the Sabbath, and since they could not ‘work’ after sunset, they asked me
to ‘sin’ for them by turning on the lights. I got a hearty ‘thank you’
for my trouble.
Christians
usually worshiped relatively quietly in our churches, which was quite different
from the noisy worship in a Synagogue. One day, while sitting at dinner with our
large family and our Jewish ‘guests’, Dad had warned us several times to be
more quiet, but to no avail. Finally, getting somewhat exasperated, he said
sternly, “Kids, be quiet! Where do you think you are? In a synagogue or
something?” Mother looked horrified that he would say this in front of our
Jewish ‘guests’, and father just about choked when he realized what he had
done. However, the situation was
saved by our quests
who
burst out laughing. They thought this was priceless! Yet another reminder that
the Jewish people have a great sense of humour and are not easily offended even
by what today would be considered a racial slur.
During
the years of occupation it was forbidden to have a radio of any type in your
possession. All radios were to be handed over to the authorities. This was to
prevent anyone from listening to any broadcast from the BBC in London. Dad had
found a very old radio and dutifully handed this one over and even got a nice
receipt for it. But his own radio he kept hidden and many evenings he would
listen to the news from London and after the news he would wait for coded
messages such as, “The moon is blue” or
“It comes like mustard after a meal.” While Dad was away one evening,
he asked me to listen for such a coded message and it did come though that night.
So the following day Dad left town for a few days. Later, I found out that a
drop off was made of some weapons and blank passports somewhere in a field
outside town.
One
night there was a great commotion - yelling and screaming.
Peaking through the blackout curtains, we saw the Gestapo at the home of
our neighbour, Mr. Westhof. They had him arrested but as they escorted him to
the wagon he made a run for it and bolted into the dark night. One of the
Gestapo men took his gun and aimed, but the weapon misfired. Then another
Gestapo took aim and again that one misfired. Talk about the Lord’s
intervention! Mr. Westhof escaped, went into hiding for the rest of the war and
survived. But, unfortunately, the Gestapo then went to his brother’s home and
shot him instead. Mr. Theo Westhof became the first member of our church to give
his life to save others.
As
the war went on, food became a very short commodity. Thousands of people were
without food. Particularly in the larger cities along the coast, people were
very desperate. Thousands of people walked for hundreds of kilometers to the
rural areas and the farm lands carrying their personal belongings in a handcart
or baby carriages. They exchanged
their watches, their jewellery, their gold and silver and anything else that
could be used for bartering to get precious food. Some had nothing left to
barter with and could only beg for food. Some came to our door, and whenever
there was some food left they got something to eat. I don’t think that as a
family we can say that we were ever really hungry. Dad often was able to
exchange furniture, curtain material or flooring, taken from the furniture store
he owned, for food. Our neighbours next door, also a large family, had a bakery
and always had some scraps of food left.
So
Dad and this neighbour came up with a good idea for another food source.
Together, they would build a pig sty. It would be big enough to hold
two large pigs. Naturally, it was illegal to have animals of any kind, whether
it was chickens, goats or anything else that could supply food for you. We were
supposed to starve so that the German Army could eat and survive. But this pig
sty did get built and shortly thereafter, Dad took his bike, which had a double
saddlebag, and went to one of his farm friends who had just the right thing for
him - two nice, cute little piglets.
The
two chosen piglets were then put in the double saddlebag, one on each side, and
Dad headed home. Arriving at the
bridge that crossed the canal, two things happened. There were two German
soldiers at the bridge stopping all traffic and checking for illegal
transportation of food. At
the same time, the two piglets in the saddlebag picked that time to start
snorting and squealing. Dad had to make a quick U-turn back to the farmer and he
explained his dilemma. “No problem,” said the farmer’s wife, and with that
she went to the kitchen cupboard. She produced a large pancake syrup
bottle, and with a large wooden spoon, she smeared loads of syrup on the piglets
little snouts. “You are okay now,” she said, “they will be far too busy
licking their little snouts for a long time and will be very quiet!”
When
Dad returned to the bridge he was not challenged at all and even received a
little wave. He came home safely with the little pigs, still very busy licking
their little snouts. Months went by and the little piglets were not so small
anymore. They kept growing and growing, until one day the need for food become
such that one of them was chosen for the pot, slaughtered and divided up between
the two families. The other was left to grow bigger and turned into a great ugly
looking beast of nearly 400 pounds.
One
Sunday, while we were at church, three men arrived at our home with a wagon.
Someone in the neighbourhood had informed the authorities about the presence of
this one large pig. They came to claim it, as it was illegal to have any
food-producing animal. They managed to get this large beast out of the pen, and
got as far as the road when the pig decided not to co-operate. After a short
struggle, he got loose and proceeded to run along the sidewalk. At the same
time, two of the neighbourhood churches ended their worship service and the
sidewalk began to fill with worshippers on their way home, clad in their Sunday
best. The pig, who was by now very angry, stormed into the crowd of people and
started to knock them over like pins in a bowling alley. The pig was finally
cornered several blocks away and taken away. Much later, after the war, Dad went
to the local prison where one of these men who took the pig was imprisoned for
his wartime activities. He questioned this man about the pig episode and the man
admitted that the pig never arrived at the proper authorities. It was
slaughtered and divided between the three of them. This story about the piglets,
when reminiscing during family gatherings, still creates a lot of laughter.
As
time went on, Dad got more and more involved with the Jewish Rescue Committee,
along with many other members of our local community and church members. One day,
there was a phone call asking for some special help. A Jewish lady, hidden
somewhere in a large city, had given birth to a baby boy. The location where she
and her husband were hidden was such that it was impossible to hide this little
baby. Its crying alone would give away their hiding place. Right after this
phone call our mother went to the Central Railway Station with an empty baby
carriage. She was to meet with a lady dressed as a nurse and had been given a
certain password. All went as planned. The nurse was there, the password
accepted, the baby was put in the baby carriage and so our mother came home with
a new addition to our already large family of eight children
- and mother was expecting number nine.
The baby made ten. We all loved this little boy and my sisters drooled
over him!
Dad
had a good and trusted friend at the Bureau of Vital Statistics, where all
families are registered with the names of all of their children and their
birthdays. So this little boy was then entered into our family register as
Jacques Hulstein. This little boy stayed with us all during the war - nearly
three years. After the war, his parents managed to find him via the Red Cross.
He was left with us for a while. His
parents returned to their home and continued to visit us and their son for
weekends. In this way, he slowly
got to know his real parents.
But
then came the day that we all dreaded - the time they took our “Sjakie”
home. But we often went to visit the deGoede family, and they often came to us.
Our families became good friends until the year 1955, when my parents, my
brother, and 9 sisters immigrated to Vancouver, Canada. A year after arriving,
this, by now young man, now known to us as Ben de Goede, wrote a letter to our
parents in which he made known his desire to come to Vancouver and rejoin the
family. “I’d like to come home to Papa Henk and Mama Gees,” he wrote, and
he did come, and joined the family. Ben is considered part of the family. He
lives in Tappen, BC, is married, and is a father and grandfather. Today, I have
in my possession the Family Register where all the children are listed,
including the name of Jacques Hulstein, but now a line is drawn across his name.
This Family Register is my prized possession, as this simple line across
his name has such a wonderful story to tell.
In
October, 1944, a call was issued by the German Command that every available man
between the ages of 18 and 45 were to bring a shovel, and assemble at the market
place. They were required to start digging defenses to stop the advancing Allied
Forces. This order was, of course, against the rules of the Geneva Convention,
and only a few men turned up for that duty.
The
Germans then went to the local prison and selected a few men at random. Some of
the men in prison had been charged for minor local offences such as traffic
offences, others for smuggling food. There were also three Allied pilots in
prison whose plane had been shot down over our town. The Germans then shot these
men, a total of thirteen, and their bodies were loaded on a flat deck truck and
deposited in strategic places around our town. Via radio and loudspeakers, the
people were then informed of this deed, warned that anyone not turning up for
the required digging would be shot as well, and their bodies displayed with
those already laying in several intersections around our town.
This
scared a lot of people, particularly the women who urged their husbands and sons
to follow the order. And indeed, a large group of men passed our home on the way
to the market, led by several German soldiers. Dad looked out on to the street
and to his dismay he saw our Uncle Jan marching with the group, shovel over his
shoulder. Dad ran down to the tool shed, grabbed a spade, ran into the street
and fell in line with the marching group, making sure to be beside his
brother-in law. He gave Uncle Jan a piece of his mind and told him that “no
brother-in-law of mine is going to work for the Germans.” Dad told him of a
plan of escape. He was going to create a diversion by falling down and screaming
with pain at which point Uncle Jan was to dart away. As Dad fell and
screamed and a soldier came to see what the commotion was, Uncle Jan dashed
across the street into a neighbourhood garden.
He then jumped right into this stranger’s front door, which luckily
happened to be open, ran though the hallway and right out of the back door to
freedom. Dad got up and continued his march to the market, but found an
opportunity for escape as well. He found his brother-in law and together they
found a hiding place at one of our church elder’s home. The next morning, Mom
received a phone call from the lady of this house assuring her that all was well,
and that both men would stay there for a little while until things calmed down.
Mom kept this information to herself for everybody’s safety. All we were told
was that Dad was safe. The next day, Mom instructed me to take a parcel of food
to a needy family. “Just give this to the lady of the house,” were the
instructions. When I arrived at the house, the lady met me at the kitchen door.
I handed the parcel of food to her and was turning to leave, when
suddenly I heard a voice from somewhere below the kitchen floor. “Corrie”, I
heard, “can you bring us the potty? We both have to pee sooo bad!” The lady
then put her finger to her lip and gave me a wink. I knew then that my Dad and
my uncle were safe, somewhere under that kitchen floor. After a few more days,
things looked safer and Dad returned home to his wife, his 2 sons, 7 daughters
and his little house quest, our Jewish brother.
All
our other Jewish guests had been quietly moved to another location, at least for
a little while.
It
was about that time that our Pastor, the Rev. Nawijn, came to see my Dad and
warned him that this situation was becoming more and more dangerous and urged
Dad to be very careful in harbouring Jews. He himself could do with a message
like that since he, also, was deeply involved, particularly in his Sunday
preaching style and prayers for the Queen in exile and our country.
Our
visitors having moved on, brother Henk and I could sleep in our own bed again -
but not for very long. We only had a few days of respite when we were once again
ordered to our makeshift bedroom in the workshop. The reason this time was a
little different. Our own bed was being occupied by two Allied flyers shot down
somewhere over Holland. With the help of the Underground they were trying to
return to England. It seemed they
might be successful according to a coded message received via the BBC sometime
later. The night that we returned once again to our own bedroom we were shocked
to find a large stengun under the bed. We took it downstairs and pointed the gun
at Dad and yelled, “Hands up!” Dad quickly took this gun from us and in the
morning took it apart in smaller pieces. The parts went into our bike’s saddle
bag and he gave us an address in town to deliver this merchandise. Just as we
approached an intersection, we found ourselves surrounded by German soldiers who
were in the process of confiscating bikes. Since the mighty German army was
getting short on transportation, they simply took bikes from the people whenever
they needed them. Many bikes were already leaning against a fence and that’s
where our bikes landed up, with the gun parts in the bags. I thought about
disappearing fast before those bags were inspected more closely. But brother
Henk had a better idea. He walked up to one of the soldiers and said, “Is it
not true that any woman in Germany with more than 4 children receives a medal
from Hitler?” “Yes,” said the soldier, “That is true!” “Well”,
retorts brother Henk, “My mother
has 9 children, does not get a medal and you steal her children’s bike!”
“She has 9 children?” the soldier asked. With that, he turned around, handed
our bikes back to us, and we happily rode on to deliver the gun parts to the
address given us.
Soon
after this, new ‘guests’ arrived at our home. I have forgotten many of their
names but do remember all their faces. Faces portraying terrible anxiety, faces
full of fear. What a terrible and scary time this was for them. Not only for the
Jewish people but for all those that tried to help and shelter the Jews and
others being chased by the Gestapo. So many put themselves and their family at
risk. The risk of being imprisoned, the risk of being executed. One day, two
large buses passed our home and inside those buses were 121 men - some political
prisoners, some taken from the local police station, some simply taken from the
street and also 2 Allied pilots. The bus took these men just outside of town to
an open field and they were then all gunned down with machine guns. Only one
survived, although badly wounded. This was in retaliation for an attack by the
Underground on a German convoy. This mass murder was simply done to teach the
populace a lesson.
It
was much later when I started to understand the real danger my parents were in
and what scary moments they must be going through. But they never showed this to
us children. But they certainly knew what the Gestapo was capable of. It is no
wonder that the present generation find it hard to believe what really went on
during those terrible years. The things people went through in those 5 years!
How are you to explain to them what human beings are capable of
doing to one another? They will have a hard time in believing me when I tell
them that one night a house right across the street from ours was raided by the
Gestapo, where they discovered a young Jewish family that was hidden there. They
were dragged out of the house towards a paddy wagon, the young woman crying
loudly. One of the German Gestapo came out of the house, having found their
baby, and holding him upside down by one leg. He yelled to his comrade, “Look
what I found. Here, catch!” With this, he threw the baby towards the other
German standing by the paddy wagon, who missed the catch and the tiny baby fell
on the road. Even today I can still hear the terrible scream of the young mother.
Yet this was only one of the millions of victims of Hitler’s final solution.
The
night, something we had feared happened. Just before 8 o’clock one evening Dad
had taken his hidden radio into the living room and placed it behind the curtain
that was drawn across the garden door, a door which was normally locked. Dad was
ready to tune in on the BBC evening news after which he was expecting a coded
message. Just then we heard the
sound of tires squealing, shouting in German and the sound of heavy boots on the
gravel pathway leading to our door. Dad instantly knew that this was THE dreaded
moment. He asked me to quickly run upstairs and get rid of a briefcase under his
bed. As I ran up the stairway, I got a glimpse of the first Gestapo man running
towards the garden door. To my surprise and to the surprise of the family in the
living room, this door was not locked, as it was supposed to be. The Gestapo man
tripped over this illegal radio and landed very un-ceremoniously on the living
room floor. He had tripped over a
radio that was tuned in to the BBC! I managed to reach my parent’s bedroom,
retrieved the briefcase and dashed over to the girls’ bedroom.
I
opened the skylight window and threw the briefcase onto the roof, where it slid
and came to rest in the gutter. Just as I closed the window, I was grabbed from
behind and faced a big bulky Gestapo man who demanded to know what I was up to.
Today, I know that it was the Lord who gave me the words to answer him and I
calmly told him that I was closing the window so that my sisters would not feel
the cold air coming in. He accepted that, but then marched me to the bedroom
where brother Henk was sleeping. He
roughly shook him awake and started to ask this 13 year old boy, still half
asleep, all sorts of questions, such as, “Where are the Jews?” and “What
do you know about Mr. Smit?” Very sleepily Henk looked this giant straight in
his face and said, “I don’t know! Let me go to sleep!” But he also was
grabbed and both of us were dragged toward the stairway.
When we reached the top of the stairs, he kicked us in the behind and we
tumbled down the stairs and landed in the hallway. Maybe it was nerves, I
don’t really know, but both of us started to laugh like we were watching a
funny movie. But we stopped laughing when we entered the living room. There
stood our Dad with his hands up in the air and a gun pointed at him. The Gestapo
man that had tripped over the radio picked it up off the floor, and looking at
Dad he said, “Just for this you will be shot!”
Mother
sat in her chair holding our little Jewish brother on her lap. By this time it
was very obvious that mother was pregnant again with our sister Irene, soon to
be born on January 2nd, 1945. A baby on her lap with very dark hair,
a very dark complexion and not even a year old and this woman is very much
pregnant again? One of the Gestapo men was a Dutch collaborator, and in our own
language he turned to mother and asked, “How old is this child?”
Mother answered, “He is a year and a half but is very undeveloped
because he was born very premature.” This seemed to satisfy him, but he then
began to ask her all kinds of questions about the Jews we were hiding, and the
whereabouts of the Jews, and what did she know about Mr. Arent Jan Smit and
other people involved in “Actions against the German
Reich”. But mother kept telling him that she had absolutely no idea
what he was talking about, which made him very angry. He took a box of matches
out of his pocket, struck a match and told mother that if she persisted in
giving no satisfactory answers he would put a match to “this joint” and burn
it down. I will never forget my mother’s reaction to this and her courage and
faith when she replied, “I put absolutely no value in earthly things –
neither my house nor my furniture are of any value to me. If you want to burn
this “joint” down you go right ahead! Just let me pick up my children and I
will leave you to it!” But then he said, “Take your children out first? That
remains to be seen!” Well, that made my mother shut up in a hurry. Her
children were her most precious possessions. At that point, Dad was handcuffed
and they were ready to take him away.
At
this point, our sister Hanny, just 14 years old, became extremely upset and
pleaded with one of the men to bring her Dad home again. This man had been
acting somewhat different than the others.
He seemed calmer and had a very sad face during all this and therefore
looked to us to be somewhat human. He did tell Hanny that he would see what he
could do. He wore a beautiful watch on his wrist and our sister asked him for
that watch until Dad would come back home.
She would then return his watch to him. He looked rather sheepishly at
the other Gestapo men and told her that he could not do that.
They
let Dad kiss Mom goodbye, kissed each one of us, and said simply, “Look after
your Mother”. Then they led him out of the door and into the waiting wagon.
They took away a husband and father whose only wrong doing was that he firmly
believed what the Lord demanded of him - to love his neighbour as himself, to
help those in need, to shelter those that are homeless and to save those that
were doomed for prison or even death.
As
soon as Dad was taken away, mother sprang into action.
She bundled the little Jewish boy in the baby carriage and told my sister
and me to take him to her sister who lived close by. It was by now well passed
the curfew time and we had to walk through alley ways and private properties to
reach our aunt’s home. It was essential to get him there just in case the
Gestapo would get a brain wave and have second thoughts about that little boy
and that very pregnant woman. Also, the possibility of Dad being tortured came
to our minds, so it would certainly be wise to move baby Jacques. We managed to
make a safe delivery, and told the family about Dad’s arrest. They, in turn,
phoned others that were, like Dad, involved in the Jewish Rescue Committee.
The
following morning I retrieved the brief case from the roof’s gutter, and
passed it on to the wife of Dad’s partner, Mrs. Ina Smit, who would know what
to do with it.
So,
here we were - Mother Hulstein left behind with 9 children, ages 2 to 15, and
her husband somewhere in the custody of the Gestapo. How she managed to keep
sane, I don’t know. Within a week she was informed that Dad was taken to the
concentration camp in Amersfoort, a town about 45 km west of us. By this time
our food supply had dwindled, but with the help of some of Dad’s customers,
many of whom were farmers, we managed to barter for some food supplies. Our
situation was certainly not as bad as they were in the western provinces of
Holland. There, people were dying by the thousands. Many were so hungry so that
they packed up some of their personal belongings in baby carriages and hand
wagons and walked for hundred of kilometres through Holland to reach the farms
to barter their possessions for food. But in our situation we were at times even
able to share our food with those that came to our door begging for something to
eat.
The
closer the Allied Forces came to us the more brutal the Germans became. A
terrible form of reprisal came to the little village of Putten, which was just
west of us. Some of the Underground Forces had attacked a German Convoy. To
teach the populace a good lesson the Germans rounded up all the men in this
village, shot many of them and the rest were sent to the concentration camp from
which only a few returned. Then part of this village was set ablaze. Today, this
now much larger town, is often referred to as “The Town of the Widows”.
Mother’s
time for the delivery of yet another baby came very close and arrangements had
to be made for us children to stay with family members. Some of the girls were
lucky to stay in one home together, others had to be alone, but all of us found
a place with relatives. Brother Henk and I stayed with one of Dad’s brothers
and we were okay. Also our little Jewish brother was with us at our aunt and
uncle’s. The younger ones had a hard time being away from Mom and their own
home. On the first of January 1945 it was time for Mom to go the hospital, but
there was no transportation available to get her there. There were no taxis, no
buses and all we had were 2 old bikes with wooden wheels. Just at the right
time, one of our uncles turned up and took command. Looking out on the street he
saw a farmer with a horse drawn farm vehicle approaching and he asked him if he
would be so kind as to take this very pregnant woman to the hospital. He agreed
to do that, and with this my uncle picked up our mother and heaved her on the
wagon. We watched her slowly
disappear out of sight while still waving at us. I found this to be a very sad
scene and I remember that I felt so sorry for her and the circumstances she
found herself in. We returned to our relatives and the following morning we
heard that we had yet another addition to our family. It was another girl, who
was named “Irene”, a very appropriate name as it means, in the Dutch
language, ”Vrede”, or as in our
second language, “Peace”. She was born in the middle of a very cold winter,
in a war locked country, on January 2. Henk
and I went to visit mother in the hospital by walking 10 kilometres on this very
cold day in January. It was strange to see Mom in a hospital bed. All the other
children had been born at home. Irene was the only one born in a hospital.
There was no husband and father was around to welcome the new birth and
give mom emotional support.
Mother
returned home with the little one first, but within a week we were all home
together again. Just being home again made things look somewhat better, although
it was the worse time of all the 5 years of German occupation. Those were indeed
very dark days, when Dad was in the concentration camp and his future was
uncertain.
It
was somewhere around the middle of March when one of dad’s brothers came to
our home very excited with the unbelievable news that our father was released
from the concentration camp and was walking on his way home. A lady who was
biking along the road from Amersfoort to Apeldoorn had met with Dad and he had
asked her to inform his brother that he had been released and was walking
towards home.
I
will never forget the happiness and joy of that day! Our uncle and his son then
went on their bikes to meet up with Dad, but as the curfew time of 8 o’clock
approached Dad had wisely left the road and asked for night shelter in one of
the farms along the road. The curfew also made my uncle and cousin return home
without reaching Dad. It was very
disappointing for them as they had biked such a long distance. However, early
the next morning they were on their way once more and this time met up with Dad
somewhere on the road and had a great and joyful reunion.
Dad
arrived home at midday and what a home coming this was. What a Day! We thanked
the Lord for bringing him home to us! But we were all so shocked by the way Dad
looked. He was very thin and looked so sick and remember that he cried very
easily. Every time he would look at one of us, his tears started to flow. He
never talked about his experiences in the camp or what happened to him and the
others. All he would say was that
all the prayers for him were heard and that it was the Lord who set him free.
He did tell us that one day he was called into the office of the camp and
was told to get his belongings together. He was told he was not being sent to
Germany, as the others were, but that he was going home. After he gathered
up his belongings, he was escorted toward the gate and literally kicked in the
rear end and out of the gate.
After
the war we often speculated a lot as to why he was released and who was
instrumental in this? Was it the soldier that during Dad’s arrest showed some
humanity? Some three years ago, while meeting old friends in Holland, they told
us that our next door neighbour, while serving in the local police force, had
signed an agreement with the Germans to co-operate with the authorities. We
never knew this at that time. He was always a very good neighbour, knew very
well what Dad was doing during the war, and even knew that this little boy in
our home was not a child of one of our relatives, but a Jewish baby boy. Today
we think that this neighbour may very well been instrumental in Dad’s release.
The Lord indeed works in mysterious ways!
Now,
had this gentle and compassionate man learned anything from this terrible
experience in this concentration camp? After his release the whole camp was
transported to Germany and only a few survived. That knowledge did not deter him
and this became apparent as only a few weeks later my brother and I were sent
back to our make shift bedroom. Apparently, things were back to normal again and
our parents opened their home once more to feed and shelter those in need.
In
April of 1945 the Allied Forces [mainly Canadians] came very close to the edge
of our town. The southern part of town across the canal that divided our town
was already in their hands, but it would take another 10 days of fighting before
we would be liberated of the oppressor. Many months before this our family and
our neighbours had constructed a shelter for our mutual protection. It was a
very large hole in the ground, covered with several feet of soil. The inside was
big enough to hold our family of 10 and the neighbour’s family of 13 people.
During the days of fighting and bombardments we all sat together in this shelter
for many days and nights. I spend my birthday, April 16th in that shelter.
One
night, Dad had to leave the shelter. He was still very weak and needed a more
comfortable sleeping arrangement than the one that was available in this
underground shelter. I went with
him into our house and we both tried to get some sleep. Waking up early in the
morning, we noticed that it was unusually quiet outside - no guns blazing and no
bombs falling. There was only quietness. Dad went to the window and peaked
through the black out curtains and on this morning of April 17th,
1945, he saw the first Canadian soldiers walking behind the trees, guns at the
ready. What a sight! The long awaited moment has arrived. We were finally free!
Dad quickly dressed and ran across the street.
The first Canadian he accosted received a big bear hug! Then we started
to yell, “Wake up, everybody, we are free!!! We are finally free!!!” And
with that, a mass of people flooded the street. I am afraid we prevented those
soldiers from doing the job they were supposed to do. They were surrounded by a
huge crowd of people, all yelling, shouting, laughing, crying and hugging!!
The
very next day, we had a Thanksgiving Service in our church and in many other
churches in Holland - giving thanks to Whom all thanks belong!!! For freeing us
from the terror of the last 5 years, for giving us our freedom back and giving
thanks for saving Dad and Mom for us and keeping our family together.
For
the next several weeks there were many house parties and street parties. We were
free!!!
But
not all of Holland experienced this freedom at that moment. It would take
another 2 weeks before all of Holland could celebrate with us.
Several
weeks went by and we started to wonder what would happen with our little, by now
3 year old, Jewish brother. We had no idea where he had come from or who his
parents were. Were they still alive? Or had they died in a concentration camp
like millions of others? But about 3 months after regaining our freedom, we were
told that a couple were going through our town inquiring about a 3 year old
Jewish boy, possibly with the name of Sjakie who was living somewhere within a
very large family. During their search they came to one of our neighbours across
the street and our neighbours were able to tell this couple that there was such
a little boy with that name living across the street. This couple realized that
their search had probably ended and, as this neighbour had a flower shop, they
bought a huge bouquet of flowers and so arrived at our door. And here they met
their 3 year old son who had been taken away from them when he was only a few
days old. He was now their only child since their daughter, Esther, who would
have been 6 years old had been taken by the Germans while she was, like her
little brother “Sjakie” in hiding. But what a joyful reunion!! What a
blessing to see this father and mother, in hiding for so long, being reunited
with their only child. We all rejoiced with them, but at the same time we
realized that we would now have to part with this little boy who had become so
loved and had become so precious to us all. But he had very wise parents. They
understood very well that it would take some time for this boy to become
accustomed to the fact that we were not his family and not his brothers and
sisters. To him, the Hulstein’s were his parents, and we were his brothers and
sisters. So, his parents, after staying with us for a few days, returned to
their own place in the Hague and left Sjakie, whose real name we were told was
Benjamin de Goede or Bennie for short. After a week they returned to us again
and spent more time with their son. They
would go out for a day, just the three of them, to give Bennie time to get to
know them better. But again, they would leave our little brother with us. In
this way, we all became prepared for the day when we would have to let him go
with his parents. And that day came when Bennie left our home for good. But we
continued to have very close contact with the deGoede’s, who were by now known
to us as Uncle Flip and Aunt Borah and their Bennie. We made many visits to
their home and we were all treated very royally by them.
In
July, 1952 I, together with my fiancee, left Holland for New Zealand, settled
down there and were married the following year. After the war Holland offered
very little opportunity for my generation.
Dad
never recovered completely from the concentration camp experience and decided
for the sake of the children to leave Holland as well. In 1955, Dad, Mom, my
brother and 9 sisters immigrated to Canada and settled in Vancouver. He
did find work as a carpet layer but it became increasingly more difficult for
him to work as the years went by. The letters we received in New Zealand made us
aware that father Hulstein would not be living for many more years and for that
reason we packed up once again, said goodbye to many of our dear friends who had
became like a family to us and we once again joined our large family in
Vancouver, arriving there on Dec. 28th. 1959. Our two children Robert and Denise
were born here in Vancouver and we became Canadian citizens and today are blest
with 7 grandchildren and a great relationship with brother, sisters and all the
in-laws and their children. At this time of writing there are now more than 155
descendants of Henk and Grace Hulstein. As a family the Lord has greatly blessed
us all.
In
the early 1960’s, our Jewish brother Ben also rejoined the family. He wanted
to be with Papa Henk and Mama Grace. He fit right back in again and joins us
often at family gatherings, birthdays, weddings and anniversaries.
In
1966 we were approached by the Jewish Community Centre in Vancouver and they
asked us about Dad’s wartime experiences. The day of the remembrance of the
Warsaw uprising was approaching and on that day they wanted to honour someone
who had been involved in the work of saving the Jewish people in Europe, someone
who helped the Jewish people during those terrible years. Having given them the
information they requested, a great evening was organized. All this was kept
from our parents until the official event.
The
whole family, including ‘brother’ Ben, was invited to the Jewish Community
Centre in Vancouver. A large audience of about 350 people were gathered there,
including many prominent business men and Rabbi Hyer, now living in New York.
During a fantastic dinner, many speeches were given, all honouring our parents.
Mom and Dad were sitting at the head table surrounded by their children.
Dad was obviously and clearly uncomfortable!! This was not his cup of tea. After
one of the speeches Dad was handed large envelope and urged to open it.
He discovered that inside this envelope was the Deed and Mortgage papers
of his home. Right across the amount still owing was written, “PAID
IN FULL. WITH THANKS FROM ALL OF US!!” Dad stood up and in his halting
English he thanked them for this great and timely gift. He ended his little
speech by saying, “All I did was my duty to my fellow human being”. At this,
the great gathering rose and gave our parents a rousing ovation and a thunderous
applause. Being the oldest of the children, Dad had asked me to say a few words.
I did relate some of the terrible moments of the war, but I also shared with
them some of the funny and hilarious moments we experienced. I told the audience
about that Friday evening when I came home and found the house on total darkness
and our Jewish quests all sitting in that total darkness, and how they made me
sin for them by turning on the lights. And I told them about the day we all sat
around the dinner table and the children kept on talking and talking until Dad
blurted out, “Kids, keep your mouths shut!! Where do you think you are? In a
synagogue or something?” When I told this story I saw my mother flinch and she
shook her head but this story produced a roaring laughter from the audience.
Once again it proved that Jewish people love to laugh, even sometimes at their
own expense.
At
the end, I thanked them on behalf of my brother and sisters for so honouring our
parents. I also told them that we, as Christians, were a little bit ahead of
them by not only having the Old Testament but also the New Testament and that we
already have the long awaited Messiah while they still were waiting. This again
produced a roaring laughter. I told them that the disciples of Jesus found a man
begging at the City gate. The disciples told this man, “Gold nor silver do we
have but in the name of Jesus stand up and walk!” While I thanked them again
for all this done for our parents, I also stated that we also have no gold nor
silver to offer, no earthly possessions to give but that I would like to offer
something far more valuable than all the riches of the earth, which is a prayer
that Jehovah God may bless you and keep you and that His face may shine upon you
and give you His everlasting peace. As I returned to my seat I saw them all rise
and gave a thunderous applause. But my biggest moment was when I looked at my
parents as they gave me a big smile and Dad was crying.
The
very next day this story appeared in the Vancouver Sun, “Jewish Community
honours the quiet man and his wife”. As well, the Jewish Western Bulletin
carried a large story about our parents and their courage during those terrible
years of 1940 to 1945.
Dad’s
health was rapidly deteriorating and he had to stop working all together. But
with his mortgage paid and a small pension also offered by the Jewish Community,
he could stay at home. However, a little more than 2 years later Dad passed away
after suffering from emphysema and other camp related illnesses. Again, several
articles appeared in our local newspapers as well as the Jewish Western Bulletin
about the “Quiet Man” that had passed away. Many letters of condolences were
received. Many were from the Jewish community, the Dutch Consulate, from Holland
and some from NewYork.
All
praised this courageous man, his sacrifices and his love for his neighbour.
Mother Hulstein lived to the ripe old age of 91 and quietly slipped away to join
Dad again - to be together with the Lord whom they had served together.
Looking
back, I feel during all these happenings that Dad was more in the limelight than
Mom. Often forgotten is the amount of support she gave her husband in order that
he could do what he felt he should do. She stood by him all the time. Never will
I forget her courage when facing the Gestapo man in her home.
Yes, they were a team, and I am proud to have been their son. I am now
already many years older then when Dad died at age 65, and I hope that I also
have, and will show, some of that conviction in my life.
Let’s
all remember what Dad said when facing those that were honouring him in the
Jewish Community Hall, “I was only doing my duty. God tells me to love Him and my neighbour. My neighbour is
anyone in need and anyone who needs help”.
Het
gezin Hulstein in 1948.
If
all of us in this world of ours could say that and also live by it as this
“Quiet Man” did, then there would be no more room for wars, no more room for
hate, no more oppression. But we all realize that we can never do this on our
own. Let’s therefore always pray:
Our
neighbours are rich folk and poor,
Neighbours
are black, brown and white
Neighbours
are nearby and far.
These
are the ones we should serve,
these
are the ones we should love,
All
these are neighbours to us and you.
Jesu,
Jesu, fill us with Your love,
Show
us how to serve
The
neighbours we have from You.
R.
Hulstein.
November 2001.
Ray, bedankt voor je verhaal en foto`s, ik vond het ontzettend leuk, dat je van de zomer,
samen met Mies bij mij hier in Nederland was,
groetjes
Ineke