Resistance

Not until the liberation did it become known to the majority of people how many of their neighbours and acquaintances were involved with the resistance and other underground movements. For obvious reasons it had to be kept a closely guarded secret. Lives depended on it and there was a lot of suspicion among the different Flemish groups that had been political rivals.

The hunting down of Jews was intensifying. Many found temporary refuge in “Safe Houses” but had to keep moving on for fear of capture. There was a network of people who helped the Jews in great secrecy. One night in 1942 we had a visit from a woman we had not seen for a long time. By this time my mother was a widow, my brothers were in a boarding school and my mother and I were alone. This woman friend trusted us and asked if we would give shelter for one night to a seventeen year old Jewish boy who was on the run from the Germans. He had fled from his home in Holland to Antwerp. His family had been captured and deported to concentration camps. He was being moved along a route to what was hoped would be eventual freedom. My mother agreed to help but was fearful as she knew that detection could bring dire consequences. We were assured that there was very little risk involved if we adhered strictly to instructions. It was mid-winter and bitterly cold, but we were not to provide any heating in a curtain drawn room, so as not to arouse the neighbour’s curiosity.

The lady would bring the boy the next evening, just before the curfew time of ten PM. It would be pitch dark and he would go directly up to the bedroom and stay there until the following evening, when he would be collected and moved to the next “Safe House”. He would be instructed to keep very quiet and not show himself at the window or do anything to arouse suspicion. When the appointed time passed by the next day and no one showed up, we wondered what happened. We waited up well into the night, even though we knew no one would come after curfew. We waited the next evening and nothing happened. No one came. Almost two years later when we saw the woman friend again, she told us she never made contact with the boy and never knew what had become of him. On this occasion she had come to ask us to hide a revolver. There were no bullets. My mother said she was afraid and would not allow the gun in the house. However when the woman suggested she could bury it in the garden my mother agreed. We wrapped the gun in a waterproof cover and sealed it in a tin box. We dug a deep hole in the garden and buried it.

Later, when all was heady excitement at the liberation of our city, many neighbours revealed themselves to be members of the resistance and joined forces with the Allies to drive out the Germans. My father’s buddy, who had been his companion on the fateful flight to France, proved to have been an active underground agent. My mother dug up the revolver and gave it to him among much emotion at the memory of my father. I doubt that the weapon was much use without ammunition, but he was very proud to posses it. I cannot remember if the lady returned to collect the gun or what my mother would have said in explanation.