The War Begins

When war was declared on the 3rd of September 1939, on Germany by France and England, it did not immediately affect us. The grown ups were uneasy and worried. We picked up bits of conversation: “Only twenty years ago and they are back again”-“Germany has been preparing for this war for years”. People were remembering their experiences from the Great War. The men’s card games at the corner pub became heated discussions, speculating on Hitler’s strength. They feared the mighty army of the Third Reich, which had proved itself invincible with swift victories in Austria, Poland and Czechoslovakia

Some people were fatalistic and convinced the tide could not be stemmed. We would be overrun, Britain and France could not hold up to it.

That was the opinion of the pessimists. The other camp argued fiercely that we had a strong defense. “What about the fortified Albert Canal?” “They will never get across that”. “And the Maginot Line in France is very strong”. They were the optimists, the hopefuls. One thing however they were all unanimously agreed on: The deep hatred they felt for the Fuhrer.

The mothers were more concerned with the basic needs in life, namely food. They discussed the shortages there had been in the previous war, fearing their families would go hungry. We children just listened to our elders. To us, war was something out of the history books, all glorified, a great adventure. Stories of heroism told at first hand by our fathers, heard from men who had been through it. Many were now invalids and victims of the awful gassing. There were stirring memories of solemn marches by these same men, brass bands playing, taking the salute at the monument of the “Unknown Soldier” on Armistice Day. Schoolchildren took part in these processions to pay tribute and honour to the men who had died “In Glory” for our country. Laying down our poppy wreaths at each soldier’s grave at the City’s War Cemetery.

An electrifying, expectant atmosphere developed. People were on edge, fearful, uncertain. You could feel something would happen, and then the blow struck. It was a tense, chaotic scene, almost bordering on panic. I remember my first shock of fright on that fateful day. I had never in my life seen my father to be scared, but, when the first wave of German fighter planes roared overhead, very low, swooping over the rooftops, he turned very white and shouted at us to dive under the kitchen table. That same afternoon, the whole family set about building a shelter in the garden. So did all the neighbours. Work was at a standstill, everybody was out on the streets, talking and wondering what was going to happen. But through all the fear and commotion the Belgians are a practical people and began to turn their minds to the immediate problem of survival, to secure a provision of food. The mad rush to the shops started, to buy sugar, flour, coffee, fats, in fact anything available. It was only a matter of a few hours before everything was sold out. Or so it would seem. There are always the opportunists; they could see the profits that could be made out of the situation. So they hoarded their stock and so the “Black Market” was born.