Danny picks up his family.
At last the great day arrived: my family was coming out. They flew Newcastle - Düsseldorf. The trip must have been under RAF auspices, for I don't recall paying anybody anything, and I don't know who the (civil) Carrier was.
I met them on time at Düsseldorf: we had a joyous reunion, Mary had grown a lot (or so it seemed to me). The new car was greatly admired and we set off for the 50 miles back to Heerlen (Akenstrasse ?) and our new home-to-be for the next two-three months. I hope I'd had the nous to arrange with the Verheydens (they were a kindly couple) to rustle up some grub for us, but neither Mrs D. nor I can remember. From then on, we were on our own, for we didn't come into contact with them much.
The pram had survived my efforts, and been bulled-up well, now Mary would have more room than in the carricot which had been her lot since leaving Hayling. But the washing machine had to remain in storage at GK for the time being. And now we had to come to terms with life in Holland. Heerlen was a mining town, but you would never guess it but for the pithead sticking up in the middle. The big Brunssum (Hendrik) Mine was one of the largest in Europe, it extended under RAF GK well into Germany - indeed some UHF frequencies were barred to us as they set off alarm systems in the mine below.
But Heerlen had wide, tree-lined avenues (with cycle tracks, of course); it was as far from the gaunt mining villages of Durham as could be imagined. And most of the shopkeepers had a smattering of English, for almost all the RAF people had started in circumstances similar to ours, had got used to the Dutch shops and markets, and even after getting into MQs at GK preferred to go over the border (five miles), rather than to GK town (only two), for what the NAAFI shop on camp could not provide.
One day, not long after arriving, I'd gone on watch at GK; Mrs D. sallied out with Mary to get some meat for dinner. The butcher she chose was the exception to the rule: he knew very little English. And of course, with a baby to look after, she'd certainly had no time (as I had), before she left England, to mug-up any German. The handful of customers in the shop were no help - they had no English, either. It was heavy going.
A small voice by her side piped up: "Can I help you, Ma'am ?" She breathed a deep sigh of relief. It was an American boy of 10-12. Mary had caught his eye, he immediately appointed himself interpreter, fluently and accurately conveyed her wishes to the butcher, and negotiated the sale. She fulsomely thanked her White Knight, saying, "I'm so glad you were there to help me."
In the years since, she has often retold the story. I assume that he would be the son of a member of the US Forces who were serving with us at GK. Today he would be about 65 (if he yet lives, as I hope), and (who knows) may possibly read this.
We settled down fairly comfortably in our first-floor "flat". We were never quite sure what old Mr Verheyden did for a living. Ostensibly he was a semi-retired wholesale produce merchant. But all his work seemed to be done from home; trucks (often unmarked) used to turn up at the door at all hours of the day and night; he would go out and have a short conversation with the driver, and off they would go. We suspected he was a smuggler (probably the "Mr Big"), but what he was smuggling, and in which direction, we couldn't guess. And in any case it was none of our business.
The little "flat" suited our needs well enough. It had some quirks: the bathroom (and kitchen) water was heated by gas wall "geysers" (this idea was common at home before and for a few years after the war). It was economical, as you only used gas as and when hot water was required; (central heating would always by coke boiler in the cellar). But the pilot jets got a bit furred up after a time, you might get light-up with a gentle "plop" - or a more or less violent explosion !
But the one in our bathroom was particularly erratic in this way: I grimly noted the name of the manufacturer - Junkers ! In war they had bombed us with their "Stuka", and shot us down with their "Ju88", and moved their paratroops around in the "Tante-Ju". And now they were trying to blow us up !
Yet I can't complain. Our daughter has run two Mitsubishi "Lancers"; both have been efficient and reliable cars. So I suppose I should forgive the firm for bombing me with their Type 97 ("Betty") in Burma (and losing us a valuable elephant), after having played (as torpedo bombers) the major part in sinking our "Repulse" and "P.O.W." two years before.
And they caused the Allied Navies in the Pacific much grief with the famous "Zero" ("Zeke") shipboard fighter (although I never saw one: it was exclusively a seabird). In the Arakan we had the very similar "Oscar", to contend with. This was the almost as good - but much less well known - Nakajima "01" (therefore a year newer than the Mitsubishi "00" - "Zero"),
Good evening, folks,
Danny42C
Together at last !