After the initial sense of victory and being flushed with a festive mood, it came as shock to discover the so desired liberation was still far off. The advance by the paratroopers (Red Devils) towards the Rhine Bridge was partially blocked by a German tank column, which unexpectedly turned up. Only a hundred or so Red Barets under Colonel Frost reached the bridge, after being cut off from the rest.

From the faces of the adults we could read that the situation was far from rosy, there was a lot of anxiety building up. We could smell smoke; we heard a lot of strange voices over the din of gunfire and bigger explosions, it became all a bit worrisome.We were told to stay in the passage, the best place away from the outside walls.
In the meantime our parents were busy shifting chairs and some mattresses into the cellar. The first night we spent down there, quite crowded but in our view, excitingly adventurous.
Jacqueline and Joke slept on top of the heap of potatoes underneath the staircase. We had to ask permission to go to the toilet and after some deliberation about safety aspects of the moment, we got the approving nod with the urge to speed up the proceedings, which was not that easy at times.
The fighting erupted all around us. You could identify the different weapons by the faster, higher sounds, those of the English Stenguns, while the Germans were shooting with the heavier but slower Mausers.
The Red Devils used the flat rooftops in Alexander Street, picking off the ‘Jerry’ stuck in the backyards and a maze of lanes between Zwarte Road and Oranje Street.
We had to let Ludwig our Bouvier dog out so he could find a tree and relieve himself. Uncle Frans peeped through the shop window to discover if it was safe enough to dash across the road to Hunnik the butcher and Hermsen the baker for some provisions.
He saw a German soldier lying on the footpath with a gaping hole in his chest, at the same moment a shell whistles past, and then another one with a much closer impact. It’s very stressful to hear these artillery firings, not knowing where they will land.
The nights were the worst as we dozed off, only to be awaked by loud explosions and so spooky, the flares, the cries of the wounded…’Hilfe’ ‘Hilfe’ or a soft voice calling’ ‘Mutti’ and than to top it off, the terrible stench of rotten corpses, who couldn’t be moved.