We were encouraged to join the boys choir of St. Eusebius, conducted by Kapelaan Pierik, the assistant curate with that ruddy complexion, silvergrey crew cut hair and jolly spirit.
High above the pews at the back of the gothic church, we practised and prepared for the solemn Midnight Mass at Christmas.
Our voices reverberated through the majestic space of God’s house. Rinus Rats, the eldest son of architect Rats, and I were chosen to sing solo, the ‘Gloria in Excelsius Deo’, in our angelic soprano voices.
Once a month the choir changed its venue. No glass in lead windows here, instead windows were barred, we gathered in front of the big gate of the local jail on Wilhelmina Street, less then 5 minutes from our place. Except for the enormous dome, the prison was at other times hidden from us, by a three-metre-high brick wall laced with broken glass and barbed wire. Flanked by two imposing ‘middle aged’ fortress towers, we entered through the smallest door into a forecourt, then passing more guards and through another gate, till we came to the prison chapel.
No pews to be seen, instead there were two rows of one-man cages on different levels. One by one, the prisoners in brown jail garb were led to their cage, standing room only. A sliding door of chicken wire opened, the jailbird went in, and the door shut.
Two guards on either side kept an eye on those locked up, while the priest at the small altar began the Mass. While voicing the ‘Kyrie eleison’ Lord, have pity on us, our eyes wandered from one grim face to another hard exterior, wondering which one was a murderer. None the less we had some backing from behind the wire, a humming sound reached our ears. The priest holding the chalice with the hosts, walked behind a guard down the steps towards the cages, one by one the chicken wire slid open, the prisoner bent forward stiking out his tongue where upon the host was laid. Head in, click, the door was once again shut.
‘Deo gratias’ and we were outside letting off steam with some typical boys banter: ‘Hè, did you see the man with that crooked nose and the scar on his face?’