Preparing To Flee

The whole nation was constantly tuned into the radio broadcasts, still under control of the Belgian Government. We were kept informed and up to date as far as that was possible. We learned there was fierce fighting to defend the Albert Canal, but it soon became evident which side had the upper hand. The Allied Armies had to retreat. The King of Belgium, Leopold, capitulated. Realizing the hopelessness of the situation, he chose to lay down arms, rather than to extend the misery and bloodshed of his people. Some thought him to be a coward and a traitor. Others admired his kind of courage: to be honest in admitting he had no way of resisting the onslaught of the Nazi might.

The British government ordered a complete retreat and organized the lifting of Dunkirk. The Dutch, Belgian and French governments were hurriedly shipped or flown to London. All men of military age, from eighteen years old upward were urged to head for Dunkirk, where a fleet of every conceivable vessel was ceaselessly sailing back and forth, taking civilians and soldiers alike to safety.

The exodus of refugees started. In our street everybody was outside, talking in little groups, discussing and debating whether to join the endless procession of fleeing citizens. Already some of the frightening tales of the horrors of war, some greatly exaggerated, were being relayed. Some stories were only too true. We could clearly hear the spasmodic rattle of machine guns of the swooping airplanes, strafing the column of refugees moving along the nearby highway.

Some people remained quite calm and philosophical, prepared to face whatever lay in store and chose the safety of their homes, rather than expose themselves to the obvious dangers that lay ahead if they too joined the long trek to the coast. A number of families decided to risk their luck and began packing some basic belongings.

To illustrate what often motivated some people to take such drastic action, to leave house and home and everything they owned behind, to venture into an escapade, not knowing what they might have to endure, needs some explaining.

Many had bitter memories of the First World War and they were scared for their families and themselves. As an example: my father's own experience, which we had often been told. His own father had been a blacksmith, employed by the City Council, when most transport was still horse- drawn and the town had its own smithies to shoe their horses. My father worked with him as an apprentice. He was seventeen. Under the German occupation of 1914-1918 at the time, the City administration was under German control and their foreman was a beastly type of German officer. One day he abused my grandfather so much that it provoked my father into striking the officer. As a result, the next day, two German military police came to the house to arrest him. My father had expected it and was prepared. He decided to make a run for it. He made for the attic and through a skylight, climbed onto the roof and ran precariously, the whole length of the row of houses along the rooftops and so temporarily escaped. He was caught and arrested in the end and sent to a labour camp in Germany for the remainder of the war, two long years. Although there were none of the atrocities that would take place in the coming war, his experiences were grim enough to fill him with dread and hatred for the Germans. By no means were we then fully aware of the extent of the evils of the Nazi regime, but my father, always a well informed and political man, had gleaned enough knowledge about the notorious SS troops and the Gestapo. He knew it would be far worse than it had been before and he wanted to get away. He persuaded a neighbour and friend with a large family of ten children to join forces as two families and take to the road.

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.

False Alarm

For us, the Belgians, the Second World War began in earnest on the 10th of May 1940. The Germans crossed our borders during the night and the population woke up that morning, stunned by the fast spreading news of the invasion.

There had been a previous alarm in 1938, before the signing of the famous Munich Pact, which had then lulled the country back in to a false sense of security. On that occasion there had been a general mobilization and a couple of tense weeks had followed. A pathetic army of soldiers was called up, among them my own father.

I was still at school, a fourteen-year-old girl; my two younger brothers were nine and seven.

The army unearthed all their left over stock from World War One. Rusty weaponry and helmets, mildewed old boots, crumpled moth eaten khaki greatcoats and assembled a ragged looking army of men. They were billeted in public buildings on bales of straw. Most schools were assigned to take in a certain number, but in order not to have to close the schools, they only occupied the assembly halls. My father landed in my brother’s school.

Needless to say, this arrangement caused disruption and distraction in the schools, particularly in the girls schools, where I, for one, just at an age when we first became conscious of the attraction to the opposite sex, tried to flirt with the glamour of the uniform.

In our innocence and excitement we overlooked the dismal spectacle they presented. I am sure the poor fellows got a boost to their morale from our youthful adoration. However our stern schoolmistresses soon put an end to all that nonsense and we were kept in our classrooms.

The crisis blew over. For us children there was almost a feeling of disappointment that there was not going to be a war after all. The adults heaved a sigh of relief and life resumed its normal pace - for a little while longer at least.