It is May 1940 in Holland. As the Baumann family realizes that Hitler’s war has suddenly become their war, sirens begin blaring as a squadron of airplanes flies over Oosterbeek. Antje, Gerrit, and Cornelis Baumann are too young to understand what is happening around them. All they know is that they feel powerless as they watch their father cry.
In spring and early summer of 1945 I was a pupil in a rural school in Tipperary. Our curate arrived in one day with collection boxes to put to use. Teaching ceased to allow the priest to say what he had to say. He told us how lucky we in Ireland were because we had enough food to feed all of us, while in Holland children were starving and eating tulip bulbs and whatever else to stay alive.
Two generations earlier Ireland had lived through The Great Famine, the tragedy that took one million lives; another million emigrated. Everyone was aware of it. I took a collection box and walked into farmer's houses for the "starving children of Holland." Most of us took boxes and we were proud to do so.
Over a generation later I was in Holland buying pedigree MRI cattle for a Dutch oral surgeon living in Ireland when I met up with farmers he knew with cattle to sell. To make conversation one evening I raised the Nazi occupation of their country. At first it seemed that they didn't want to go there. But ever so slowly they began to talk.
Over a generation later I was in Holland buying pedigree MRI cattle for a Dutch oral surgeon living in Ireland when I met up with farmers he knew with cattle to sell. To make conversation one evening I raised the Nazi occupation of their country. At first it seemed that they didn't want to go there. But ever so slowly they began to talk.
To me it seemed a taboo topic until then. Finally, they opened up. There was sadness, anger and most of all there was emotion. It was extraordinary. They couldn't be stopped; a torrent of words without let-up. One of those people told me that in the first days of May 1945 he saw his mother leave the house early. She carried an axe in her hand. Soon she was in the company of other house wives; they too carried axes. Scores to be settled.
From Chapter 17 in my book and on I deal with the airborne landings, near Arnhem. I visited the landing places, the scenes of battle, the blunders, the courage of British tommies and the Dutch resistance. Epic stuff. After the Arnhem tragedy we were, once again, into famine; the Great Irish Famine and now the Hunger Winter.
From Chapter 17 in my book and on I deal with the airborne landings, near Arnhem. I visited the landing places, the scenes of battle, the blunders, the courage of British tommies and the Dutch resistance. Epic stuff. After the Arnhem tragedy we were, once again, into famine; the Great Irish Famine and now the Hunger Winter.
How one individual could orchestrate and create such devastation and suffering? Never again. I cycled around the landing areas and Arnhem, I visited museums and the Imperial War Museum in London for background information on Marker Garden. I'm not young now but hope to return there in September, if the Lord is willing. It was the book I had to write.
Laurence Power
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