Pieter and Romkje Bogert

The picture below is of Pieter Theunis and Romkje Bogert, our maternal grandparents. On the back it says that this is for Fenna, on her 13^th birthday, 24(sic!)/4 1928. British made post card, Gale’s Studios. 

Tree Certificate

The letter and certificate indicate that Mr. and Mrs. B. and L. Boas of the Hague planted a tree in honour of our parents in the land of Israel.
The Jewish National Fund, established in 1901, has been planting trees in Israel as part of the effort to make the desert bloom.
Google their website, joods nationaal fonds.

Maarschalk letter, translation below.

Maarschalk letter, translated by Allan Groen.

This letter speaks for itself.
Please note that what this letter says about Karel does not agree with what he told us. He said that he was the only one in his family who survived the war.
The radio was made out of Bakelite, a fragile material. Not long after we got it, I dropped it, breaking the box; thankfully it still played.

Jewish Refugees

"Jewish refugees: Onderduikers."
The place my parents bought in Heeg served as our home, but it also served as the bakery. At the front was the store were the baked goods were sold. Upstairs were some bedrooms, and here is where dad stored flour and other supplies. However, because it was a fairly large place, this place also served as home for a few Jewish refugees, and as a transition house for others who would stay with my parents until another suitable place could be found.
To shelter Jewish people was very dangerous. If my parents had been discovered doing this, they would very likely have been shot in their own house. There were a number of close calls, but they were never found out.
In the house there were several hiding places. There were a few loose boards in the floor upstairs where you could hide. These made good places for hide and seek for us kids later.

Letter translated.

This is my translation of the Dutch letter from my previous post.
I have tried to find out who these people were, but so far no success.
I do remember a few of the names vaguely, but there are other names that I remember but that are not on this letter.

Letter to my parents from Jewish refugees.

This is a letter from Jewish "onderduikers" who either stayed at our house in Heeg, or passed through when other safe houses were found.
At that time the address was Hoofdstraat 99. The streetnames and numbers have since been changed.

Heeg: the Place of My Birth

Heeg, Friesland, the Netherlands, is the village where I, and most of my siblings, were born. Heeg is an old village; there have been people living there for close to a millennium. At the time when we lived there, it would have had a population of roughly 2 000 people. Our parents bought a property that would be both their home and their bakeshop. They bought this perhaps 1938, and dad lived and worked there for a year or so before mom and dad were married. When my parents bought this place, it was probably the largest building on the main street of Heeg, and also the newest. The original bakeshop burned to the ground in the early 1920's, and was subsequently totally rebuilt, and would have been an impressive new structure on a street with exclusively old properties, many of them well over a century old. My parents were the last to operate a bakery there. As part of getting ready to move to Canada they sold it, and it became more like a household goods store. What a great adventure it must have been for a young couple to buy such a place in an out of the way village, and perhaps a greater adventure to sell it for their move to Canada. Our parents made these decisions with trust that God would provide for their needs.

Organ in the IchthusKerk, Heeg

In our home in Friesland, we had a pump organ. To me as a kid it didn't seem all that different from the organ at our church.When I began to take lessons, I wanted badly to go to see the organist play during a Sunday service. Finally, I got up enough courage to ask him, so one Sunday afternoon he took me along. I was surprised to see two people upstairs. The second person was up there to pump the air for the organ. The church was built in the early 1890s, and the organ, built by Bakker and Timmenga, was installed about 1895. It has not had any major repairs, but now has some air leaks due to central heating. But wow, what an experience to watch the organist play. And what a surprise when during the sermon, the two gentlemen sat behind the organ for a smoke. Here is a two-minute video that shows and organist noodling on the organ, and also shows the interior of the church.https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-J8ZXOfTeIA

My Baptism

I was born on Monday, April 29, 1940, and was baptized on Sunday, May 5. I believe it was customary in those days for children to be baptized at the earliest opportunity, so that would have been May 5. But it was also customary for women to stay in bed for quite a while at that time after giving birth. So my mom was not present at my baptism. What was so urgent about baptism that they could not wait until the mothers could also be present? Was it their notion of covenant? Or was it because the mortality rate of babies was still high. I do think my mom would have loved to have been present!

That Miserable Guy in Germany

Our parents were well-aware of the goings-on in Germany and further east. Mom mentioned to me being concerned about what that miserable guy in Germany was up to. They may have believed that the Netherlands could remain neutral, as they had in World War I. However, it was not to be. On May 10, 1940, the Germans invaded the Netherlands. Soon the Dutch army capitulated. So by the time I was less than a month old, mom put everything she needed to take care of me in a bassinet with me, in case she would have to take cover in a hurry for safety. What a terrible way for a new mom to have to live during what should be a wonderful event in a young couple's life. And how many young mothers go through the same thing now?

Lights On

Some sixty years ago, two Groen families lived in Pontypool,Ontario, one was the Jelle Groen family, the other our family. Pontypool was then a small village on the rail line between Peterborough and Toronto. For some reason, an orthodox Jewish community from Toronto had chosen this as the place their members should spend their summers. So there were quite a few cottages in Pontypool (hovels is what they were). That's where quite a few of them lived for a while each summer. One summer a rabbi asked me to turn on the lights in his cottage each Saturday morning. If I did, there would be a dime on a ledge by the front door, and that was for me for turning on the lights. The rabbi could not turn on the lights, nor reach in his pocket for the dime. If it was wrong for the rabbi to do this, why was it alright for a christian, dutch immigrant kid to do it?

Car Breakdown, N. Dakota, November 1971

In November of 1971, Barbara and I moved to Prince George, B.C.. On our way there, about 60 miles south of Minot ND., our car’s engine suddenly started to pound away like it was beaten with a sledge hammer. I quick turned it off, hoping to stop further damage, and coasted to the side of the road. In the distance I saw a car approaching. I quick got out of my car, hoping this other driver would stop. Good new! He did. When I told him what was going on, he told me that there was a small hardware store just down the country road, and he would go and buy a sturdy piece of rope and tow us to Minot. I told him: “you are going to tow us to Minot with your car?” “Sure, he said, it’s a rental, a bit more wear or tear is no skin of my nose. He got to the hardware store just before closing time to get the rope. Good news. He towed us all the way to Minot, to his own home, and told us to come in, three kids and all. Good news. Then he said to his wife: “We have a family here that could use a bite to eat.” She fed us. Then he said: “there’s a simply but clean motel close by. I will tow you there.” Good news. Then he said: “there is a Volvo dealer in town. But it’s a long weekend, and he won’t be able to fix your car until Tuesday.” Bad news. Late that evening there was a knock on our motel door. Here he is again. “There’s a mechanic shop down the street. He will take a look at your car tomorrow morning.” Good news. Next morning, Barbara and the kids went for breakfast, and I went to see the mechanic. He took a look at the motor, and said: “It’s an easy fix, except I don’t have the metric parts I need to fix it.” Well, he discovered old Volvos don’t have metric, and lo and behold he had the parts needed to fix the car right on his work bench. When he said that, he told me: “you must be a preacher or something.” In about half an hour, the car was fixed. “That’s $6,” he said. Before Barb and the kids finished breakfast, I had loaded all our stuff back in the car, and was ready to roll. Good news. This was a large weight off our shoulders. We heaved a sigh of relief. It felt fantastic to get off so easily. We believe God provided for us through this man.

This is a true story. Barbara remembers it like it was yesterday, and Allan John remembers it also.

Canadians soldiers in Sneek, 1945

I lived the first five years of my life in the Netherlands, Friesland to be precise. Germany invaded the Netherlands about a week after I was born, and the war was over about a week after I turned five. I had a sleep-over at Grandpa Groen’s place just before my fifth birthday. In the morning I heard strange noises in the street. I looked out of the window, and saw a platoon of soldiers right in front of the house. I woke Grandpa and told him about those soldiers. So he looked out of the window and I will never forget what he said. “It’s OK, these are good soldiers. They are Canadians come to set out country free.”