Family histories are complicated, I have said it before.
The thing is: until recently I never gave it a second thought. From my maternal side I am not that interested, it's kind of boring and the people are largely uninteresting, also because most of them have been around for the largest part of my life. It would be like craving for something that is readily available – it takes away the appetite.
Paternal side is an entirely different matter. From the 4 direct family members, Grandfather, Grandmother, Father and Aunt, 3 of them passed away in the seventies. In order: grandmother in '72, grandfather in '76, father in '77.
My aunt died 8 years ago, in 2017. I was in contact, but not often anymore. At the time I thought nothing of it, I mean she loved me, as I did her but there was always a certain barrier that I couldn't really put my finger on. I really enjoyed being there as a child, I have older cousins that seemed infinitely more interesting in just about everything than anyone I knew. I was allowed to smoke, had my own library card and there was a fantastic record shop around the corner. I went there each year during summer holidays at least a week, sometimes even longer. I stayed up late, watched the BBC (which was not available where I lived) and drank tea from a glass. Life was good, I felt comfortable. I can still recall the Sunday morning feeling, classical music on the radio, the sound of breakfast, and all that done by a single mother with very limited means.
I digress, maybe purposely because I really should start with what this is about: the complications. Writing this, it is now March 2025 and when I will publish this, I do not know yet. Writing this is just another way of getting to terms with the past, a past I have no influence on. That's kind of the thing with past events: they happened, rearview mirrors aside there's nothing to see there. Let's move on. But it is not as simple as you think. At least not for me.
I am certain of who I am, what I am capable of, strengths, weaknesses and how I will react to things in which situation: I am 54 (55 now) so I have had some training. There is very little that can push me out of balance, let alone shake my foundation. Still, it has. And that is exactly why I am reluctant in expressing any of it. Not for the outside world, I couldn't care less about what other people think, have zero control over how anyone will respond and frankly, it's not my responsibility. No, it is simply because I do not know how to feel about the whole situation.
So, a simple way to start would be this:
My mother told me years ago that my grandfather was on the wrong side of right during WW2. It didn't register and it certainly did not sink in what that could mean. And I never thought anything of it because there was simply no other info than that statement. It is so vague I would need specs to read something into it. And never in my lifetime would I have thought I would get more clarity. But I did. And here's how.
It is January 2, 2025. The year has just started, no one can imagine what is about to happen in just 4 days when America will inaugurate the Clown in Chief for his second term. I am on the couch, watching the news, my wife next to me. One item strikes me more than others: the National Archives have published today a list of names with people that were under investigation on charges of collaboration with the Germans in WW2. I reach for my phone and without thinking about it I click the link and enter the name of my grandfather. Just out of curiosity, nothing else. With zero expectations.
My breath stops, right there I see not just his, but my fathers' name as well. The man I had no chance to say goodbye to nearly 48 years ago when I was picked up from a friends' house by a friend of my mother, urging me to come home right away. My grandfather (the other one) with his nonexistent tact put me on his knee (I was 7), looked me in the eye and said: "something bad has happened, your father died". None of which I could even begin to comprehend at that time. He was there when I left for school in the morning, what do you mean he is dead?
That man, yes.
I am dumbstruck, call my mother and ask: "did you watch the news?", and then proceed to tell her what I found. The only thing she can utter at that moment is: "are you shocked?"
Well, yes, no, maybe, I don't know. I need time, think and digest all of this. I click the link again, type in the name again, with the same result. And I think: 'now what?'
The next morning actually began right there and then because I could not sleep. I managed to sit through the night and the next morning I decide to fire up the computer to do some more digging. Local archives, to see if I can find some more personal information, are very helpful. I find exact names and dates for all 4 of my family members and revisit the National Archives website. I should not have been surprised, but I am when I see all 4 names are there. The entire family.
I call my mother again, I don't want to burden her, she is 79, turning 80 in a few months. She deserves some peace. But she is interested and shows support. In fact: she wants to accompany me.
Thing is: these archives, although public, are not digital. A court ruling has stopped this. It's a privacy thing for the descendants (like myself I immediately ask?), while descendants of victims want to see all of this. Now. We are talking about old (OLD) people. They want to know who gave up their brother, mother, father and are hopeful they might find lifelong sought after answers. Alas, the only way is to make an appointment and visit the Archives physically.
So I try, and find out quickly the extremely limited availability. 30 persons (it started as 20) a day, and they are open 3 days a week. There are 425.000 names in those archives. I am no mathmagician, but the odds aren't very good.
I start e-mailing the Archives, explaining who I am, what I have found. To my surprise they are quite quick to respond. They explain that you can only book an appointment with an account (that I made already) and once every month they add 12 dates to book. 3 months ahead, no more. I can't help but think it is because of a lot of elderly people that might not live through those 3 months. Truth is, most people start losing interest if it is a long-term commitment. So that's it, I am stuck, I need to wait until interest wanes. Unless I get lucky and by chance I get to make an appointment. So I ask: what is the procedure? How do I beat the maze?
When I was younger and wanted to see shows, I went to the ticket exchange, not during the day – no sir – the night preceding the pre-sale I would be there. In line. For big events there would usually be some etiquette, first come – first serve type of thing. And everyone respected that. Nowadays with the Interweb you are lucky if the algo rhythm picks you. That was my expectation now as well.
Silly me, this is the National Archives (spoiler: I got in), it is run by librarians. The etiquette is still there.
It is explained to me they simply open the appointment calendar 3 days in a row and you can book if you are quick enough – first come – first serve. Now the trick is this: it starts at 12 / midnight. Ha! So all I have to do is stay up passed my bedtime? I can do that.
3 weeks go by and that Friday night I sit up, wait and at the strike of the clock I log in, and start looking for the documents I want to see. This is part of the process I am told. 2 of them turn out to be not available. A letdown, but I decide to push on and – can you believe it? – I am in. End of February already! I am e-mailed the next day they had some issues and double bookings so would I mind picking a later date, just a week later. Of course not. So the 5th of March it is.
MARCH 5
I set out to pick up my mother, she lives some 20 kms away and the weather is actually nice for the time of year. I have reserved a spot in a nearby parking garage to make sure I can get in and not have to walk too far. I am fine, again mum is 79. It's sunny, traffic is quiet, I made sure not to leave too early. And we arrive, around 10.15 in The Hague.
The Hague, a city I have a relationship with – my aunt lived there. My father was born there, as was my aunt. As I already mentioned before I went there for summer holidays, did fun stuff. I played in the Hague with the band several times. I have seen concerts there. The Hague is city nr. 3 in our country, and the seat of the parliament.
The barrier gives way and we enter. I love parking garages, I know it sounds silly but we all have our little quirks. Liking parking garages is one of mine. There is limited space, turns are awkward, you really need to have some form of control over your vehicle. There are plenty of scrapes on the guardrails in the garages always. But I enjoy this confined space. The best ones are either very small, like a secret hideaway for cars no one knows about (or so I like to think), or obscenely large with many levels to choose from and impossible maze-like driving directions that somehow always lead you out before you find a spot. The look of despair on people's faces – priceless.
I digress – I am postponing the inevitable.
We find the National Archive building, it's not hard to miss, and we enter. Yes, we have an appointment.
Something like this:
"your coat and bags in the lockers over there please"
We comply.
"through the corridor and report at the counter"
We comply.
Counter clerk:
"you have an appointment? I see, we will need you to move to the other line".
Wait, there are two lines?
"Hi, welcome to line 2, we are now going to process you and get you an access card"
Ok.
"This is your access card, keep it with you at all times, you need to show it to get into the reading room"
Ok.
"Hello, this security. I see you have a binder, and a phone. And a pen."
Ehm, yes, well I'd like to make some notes.
"So the phone and the pen go into the locker. The other locker over here (points towards an until then hidden area)"
Ok, so how about my pen? Surely I need to write something down.
"There are pencils in the reading room you can use, oh and please hand me your binder (shakes it vigorously to see if I am hiding something in there). You are now good to go through the gate".
I will spare you the details on how I got my hands on the actual file (1 at a time, done? Bring it back and you'll get another).
You get the idea, this took a while, it was very controlled and no one seemed to have any sense of humour. But I get it, they cannot have this damaged or getting stolen.
Ready?
I thought I was..
Binder one: Grandma
Binder two: Grandpa
Binder three: Father
No binder 4, my aunt's was in scanning. But I don't think I need it to get a picture. To see what happened.
Not that I comprehended it. Yes, maybe I understood what the words said. What those letters on paper, some typed, some handwritten, meant.
A few observations:
The sheer scope of the material kept, the records, all originals. Police reports, court documents, but also original membership papers and cards. Handwritten testimonies, handwritten letters, affidavits. Every shred of paper that was available has been kept. Every Shred. It is unreal, I have never seen files kept like this before, Nothing has been scrapped. Posterity really exists, and it lives in our National Archives.
A tiny bit of history then, to put things in perspective. The Netherlands had a political faction, or party, called the NSB. (National Socialist Movement, freely translated). To understand what I am about to divulge, you might need to have a quick look here, it won't take long before you see what organisation this is:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/National_Socialist_Movement_(Netherlands) (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/National_Socialist_Movement_(Netherlands))
On with it then, procrastination is a real thing.
I find it difficult to put this to paper, or even type it out. The imagery it calls up in me is disturbing, the questions arising endless. It truly feels like betrayal, a lie. But it has been so long, is it really worth feeling this? I realise fully I have control over what I feel and think only to certain extent. But still...
Binder number 1 – Grandmother
Before we get to the cold facts, this: she was born in 1898 in Germany, from Dutch parents that moved there some years earlier looking for a future. It didn't last long, the Spanish flue struck and killed her parents, she was moved back to The Netherlands (Friesland, a province in the north). Her heritage turned out to be somewhat of a redeem for her as I learned, oddly enough.
What she was charged with:
- Membership of the NSB. And not dormant either, she was a member of a special division (NVSO), the worker's core for active members that were willing to devote their time and energy to the party. She denied after captivity though. I have seen her member card it is in the file.
Like I stated earlier she was not prosecuted, but she was stripped from voting rights for 10 years. She could not hold a government occupation, be an advocate for anyone and could not serve in any military force.
In my eyes she got off easy, in my mind's eye I picture her as the (master)mind behind the family's convictions because of her descent. Anyway, she fled the country in September 1944, a date when nearly all NSB members fled when they thought the war was nearly lost. Before she fled however, she became a member of the German Waffen SS.
Binder number 2 – (I figured would be the big one) – Father
Caveat: my father was born in 1928, so he was 11 going on 12 when the war broke out over here (May 1940). In other words: he was a child. However, and this is what I struggle with immensely – none of what I disclose here was even spoken of, referred to and instigated. As of a code of silence, a family Omerta, had been called upon. I don't personally blame him, how could I? I never really knew the man; my mother told me he 'was not like that' and no form of fact checking can even take place. Other than the records I have seen that is.
Ultimately, he got off with no punishment (because his status as a minor) but what struck me mostly is the timeline of events, and a huge gap that is unaccounted for. My mind keeps going to places I don't want it too. Again, I am not looking to put blame anywhere, I am just trying to put a puzzle together that has too many pieces missing. I can see the outline, some details perhaps, but the complete picture is simply not there. And it will never be there. And that is frustrating.
So he was not prosecuted but the following was documented:
- Member of de Jeugdstorm (youth division on the NSB) – neighbours reported he walked around in uniform (as did my aunt). He was taken out of school by his mother and placed at the German school, known for its propaganda.
- He left the country in 1943 to work in Germany (at age 15, my heart breaks)
- He became a member of the Hitlerjugend in January 1944 en stayed until August 1944 when he became a member of the Waffen SS
- He fled to Austria and only returned to the Netherlands in February 1947, he was picked up the Belgian border
- He was placed in a rehabilitation center because his mother (and sister) were living up north in the Netherlands and apparently he needed the rehabilitation
I still have difficulty – and will have for some time to come – with getting my head around this. Where was he between late '44 and early '47? The story I have been told is that he worked for the Americans in Austria, but there is no evidence to support that. The mind is a strange thing, and I'd like to think he was doing that. But I also think bad things.
Even though he died when I was 7, and I did not rally get to know him, some traits I knew: he was an excellent marksman even though he was never in active military duty (that I know of). Heavy smoker, his 3rd heart attack did him in, worked half days. I have always known so little, and to suddenly know so much more but covered in a cloud of mist, I am not sure what to think of that.
Binder number 3 – Grandfather
Now, what I knew of the man who died across from our house in 1976, on a hot July day when he was hit by a heatstroke, was that he was an orderly. And a good one at that. He had worked in the hospital for people with psychiatric ailments and that is what come forward in the paperwork as well.
However, the contrast with the bad things in there could not be bigger. In fact, he was sentenced by Tribunal to three (3!) years imprisonment at Kamp Vught, a former concentration camp. Three years, you don't get that for nothing. But from statements and reports it is clear why.
Charges:
- Member of the NSB – and on that a member of the SA – an armed security force
- Member of the Waffen SS – he swore allegiance to AH and had the tattoo on this arm that identified him as such
- He was a member of the German ambulance services to serve the troops in medical need, this is somewhat of a mystery to me. How are you an armed forces man, and a medic at the same time? I guess war is a confusing time for everyone.
- Reported to have worn a uniform with the infamous Wolfsangel sign and 'The Netherlands' on the sleeve. Look it up, the Wolfsangel symbolic especially makes me shudder.
He was incarcerated like said before, stripped from his right to vote for 10 years and his monetary belongings were also stripped. He was left with nothing.
I was / am shocked. This is a family secret for sure, and I understand form reading about these histories I am not the only one. And that it runs deep and traumatizes people. I can imagine that, but the 3 key players have been dead for around 50 years. And that's what bother me the most: not one single word. Did no one think of me, my cousins (who I have not spoken to on this at all, and have no intention of doing so)? Surely they must have known this was to come out at some point?
I know that even nowadays coming out with a story like mine on my country can alienate people. In fact, it is quite common to be excluded, ostracized even for something you had no part of. So in some way I need to careful as well. Not that I care – I have said it before, other people's opinions, especially those I do not know, I care not for, but still.
Now what? Well, I don't know to be honest. I struggle with it that's for sure. Some days more than others, I push it away and pull it toward me. It is part of me, it is somewhere.
I don't recognize it, at all.
What eats away at me is what I am learning more and more. The NSB party members for instance ate from the spoils that were taken from the others, they never went hungry. There were sports events, they could go the theatre when no one could. And they placed themselves on a pedestal, put out their party flag and recruited others. Above all they were avid anti-semites. My heart cries when I think of this. How can anyone drift so far from any value that makes us human beings, with empathy and compassion? And how am I to rhyme this my grandfathers need to nurse apparently while having one hand on his holster?
I am sure in time I will find a place for all of this, compartmentalize and all of that. And when I am old (well older than I already am) maybe I will not think of it so much.
For now, I can only think of a King Crimson quote:
Confusion will be my epitaph
(and the rest of the lyrics might apply as well)
Nop, Bravo for sharing all this, it's a fascinating read. I hope it doesn't seem insensitive to couch it in those terms, I understand it must be difficult for you.
I don't want to say anything that will come across as glib or state the obvious but - none of this reflects badly on you. Quite the opposite; I think you've expressed all this with care and restraint and great grace.
Quote from: Slim on June 21, 2025, 08:03:01 PMNop, Bravo for sharing all this, it's a fascinating read. I hope it doesn't seem insensitive to couch it in those terms, I understand it must be difficult for you.
I don't want to say anything that will come across as glib or state the obvious but - none of this reflects badly on you. Quite the opposite; I think you've expressed all this with care and restraint and great grace.
Thank you. I don't get offended easily so I am just happy you appreciate the effort.
Incredible piece, Nop. Like James, I find it difficult to express in a few words the salve you deserve in all of this. You come out in a very good light.
Quote from: The Picnic Wasp on June 21, 2025, 08:42:15 PMIncredible piece, Nop. Like James, I find it difficult to express in a few words the salve you deserve in all of this. You come out in a very good light.
Thank you, I appreciate that. I do think it helps me to do this. Keeping things inside has never made me better.
Crikey!
That's all very interesting. We're all free to decide what we do and some people at some times make the wrong choice. No idea where I'm going with this so I'll stop.
Thankfully at no point was my Irish Grandfather an Unrepentant Fenian Bastard.
I read this through another couple of times and tried to put myself in the same position. The fact of my forebears' affiliation to the Nazis - I may be a bit naive to think this - but I believe that it wouldn't trouble me so much. I think that after a while taken to process it, I would come to see them as victims of a certain place and time. More importantly, I'd see myself as innocent. I would not inherit that guilt. Not my fault.
But what I'd struggle with is the long silence; the going without knowing something important - in a sense about myself - for a huge part of my life that I was entitled to know.
Also - you've really told this beautifully well. The little details like the scrape marks in the car park put the reader right in the moment.
Nop, total respect for putting this out there. But this doesn't define you at all. Live for now and look to the future.
I hope writing this down and sharing helps to resolve any negative feelings about your discovery. Best wishes.
Writing down this aspect of your family history and the thoughts and feelings that result can be a powerful way of coming to terms with it all, helping to process this information that you were completely blind sided by.
Sharing it even more so. I hope you can make sense of it all in time.