×

A joyful sound

It was 1945; April 9 to be exact. It was morning.

We wondered: Would this be the day? The day that we finally would be freed from the yoke of wartime slavery? Free from soldiers with guns patrolling our streets? Free from sirens announcing another air raid? Free to walk the streets without fear?

Free from the nightly buzzing of V-1 Buzz Bombs as they made their way into the night sky on their way to England and Belgium? Free to return to normal classroom activities in school, uninterrupted by air raid sirens warning us of “enemy” planes approaching? Free from “razias” (raids)?

German soldiers would cordon off city blocks, enter homes, and arrest all males between 17 and 40 years of age. The arrested would be transported to Germany to work in armament factories. They worked under brutal conditions, and many did not survive. Those who protested were shot on the spot; young men in the prime of their lives; husbands, fathers.

In the big cities like Amsterdam and Rotterdam, especially in the last two years of the war, hunger claimed thousands of lives. We, who lived in the rural areas, did our best to send food parcels, never knowing if they ever reached their intended destination.

My dad was instrumental in arranging for rescuing children from the big cities and bringing them to our town where they would remain until after the war. He had negotiated with the Germans for permission to bring three semi-trucks from our town to Rotterdam to transport the children to our home town.

Of the three trucks, only one made the return trip. The other two were commandeered (stolen) by the Germans. All the children were crammed into one truck. They survived the ordeal. The people of Rijssen, my home town, opened their doors and their hearts and the children survived the war.

One such survivor was my grade school buddy, Jan Bakker. He lived with us in the parsonage. Over the years, we have kept in touch. Bette and I had opportunities to visit with him and his wife, Gerri.

We saw them a couple of years ago, on our last trip to Holland, when I played the organ in the famous Oude Kerk in Gouda for my niece’s installation into the Ministry, Reverend Barbara Lamain. We had a wonderful, long lunch at the Schiphol VanderValk Hotel. Jan presented me with a number of pictures taken after the 1940 bombing in Rotterdam. I have used the pictures in my yearly Memorial Day Organ Concert, “Rest in Peace.” Because of the virus epidemic the 2020 concert had to be canceled.

When you see pictures of children in war zones, have you ever wondered why they look so different; why they look so mature, way beyond their ages? Living under enemy occupation for five years ages a person. The sounds of war constantly remind you that life and death surround you 24 hours a day.

It was the morning of April 9, 1945, five years after the war had begun. For the past few days it had been strangely quiet in Rijssen. During the past week the intensity of the nightly cannon fire in the distance had become louder and more frequent. Rumors were whispered. Was freedom near? After five years of occupation did we dare to even hope?

Early in the morning there was someone knocking on our front door. Dad went to see who it was. It was one of the elders of the church.

He brought us the good news that we had been waiting for, for so long, “They’re gone!”

Our nightmare was over.

We wanted to run out in the street and shout and yell and scream.

“Let’s first thank God for the gift of freedom,” our dad said.

It was so difficult to sit still, to be reverent, to be silently thankful, but we did. Then we ran outside and yelled and screamed; we joined our neighbors. Together we began our freedom celebration.

There is a lesson in all of this for us in 2020. We, too, live under war conditions, a viral war. We have no assurance as to when it will be over. But it will end, and the time will come when we, too, will hear the long awaited words, “It’s gone!” the virus is gone.

We can’t change the past, but, hopefully the present will have taught us lessons for the future. If we will heed the lessons that we have learned, then we will truly be able to say: “Free at last. Free at last. Thank God Almighty, we are free at last.”

EDITOR’S NOTE: Gerrit Lamain is a former Copper Country resident who served as a music professor at Suomi College. He was also the organist for the Michigan Tech hockey team before moving on to the Minnesota North Stars.

Newsletter

Today's breaking news and more in your inbox

I'm interested in (please check all that apply)
Are you a paying subscriber to the newspaper? *
   

Starting at $4.62/week.

Subscribe Today