Dear Editor:
On May 5, 1945 in Zwijndrecht, Holland, I was three months old, and my father knew that this would be a special day. He was in the underground, and had heard from his illegal radio that Holland would be liberated. He had prepared for this day by having his large Dutch flagpole ready to ride down the street on his bike early in the morning to celebrate. He told my Mom, “If anything should happen to me, make sure to hide my revolver,” which was in the bedside table.
You see, my father was the youngest of two brothers. My uncle was enlisted in the Dutch Army, while my dad managed the family lumber business, and joined the underground. Holland had been occupied by the German Army for five years. The German officer in our village of Zwijndrecht liked my dad, and permitted him to keep his car, which was a rare opportunity. Business during the war was actually quite good and thus enabled the German Army to collect 95 per cent tax on the profits.
During this time, dad met many wonderful Canadian soldiers. They all encouraged him to one day come to B.C., where the lumber was more plentiful.
So back to the early morning of May 5. As he rode his bike down the street, his buddies who had been rounded up during the night started cheering as dad rode past them. The Dutch traitors did not like this and shot at my dad, but missed, and as one of his friends came out of his front door, he was hit and killed. They arrested my dad, and he walked by our house with his hands above his head.
While mom was breastfeeding me, she saw this from the bedroom window, and remembered what dad had said, and instinctively hid the revolver under the roof tile through the window. Dad told the Dutch traitors the war was over, and the Canadians would be liberating Holland. The traitors put him and his buddies in jail, where he saw many more friends who had been arrested during the round-up. Dad did not talk to me about this very much, but I suspect their demise was imminent.
Six years later, mom, dad, five children and another couple travelled aboard the New Amsterdam to New York, where they purchased a car and trailer. Nine of us crossed into Canada June 17, 1951 at Lake Ontario, and we drove across the continent during the summer. Some provinces and states did not allow passengers in the trailer and I can remember all nine of us in the car. We arrived in North Van, just in time for me to start Grade 1 at North Star Elementary, without a word of English.
Dad wanted to purchase a sawmill in Vancouver, but with the money he had left, he ended up buying one in the Interior at Lone Bute, and started Netherlands Overseas Mills Ltd., a very successful lumber company that expanded all through the Cariboo.
My brother, three sisters and I sincerely thank the Canadian war vets for all the sacrifice and suffering they endured in liberating the Dutch people. I can’t thank Canada enough for the privilege of living in this wonderful and compassionate country.
God Bless.
Peter van Drimmelen
North Vancouver
