Hunger hung over most of the occupied country, especially in the West where most of the big cities are. It became quite desperate, people started to eat flower bulbs and stinging netles, doors and window frames were demolished to burn for heating.
Months passed, the bitter cold winter months kept us mostly inside our room, where the potbelly stove was still purring, thanks to a real family effort.
On one of our forays into the snow-covered forest behind the villa, we made a startling discovery, an opportunity not to be missed.
Stacks of cut and neatly piled fir-trees waiting to be transported by the military were begging to be taken, but how?
They were heavy and over a meter long. One of us, was it you Frank (?), got the idea to use the toboggan, turned up side down, so the trunks will fit between the iron sliding parts. Under the mantle of darkness we made several trips up the hill into the woods, hearts in our throats, we piled our illicit gain onto the sledge. Then constantly looking back we steered the firewood down the treacherous slopes, coming home with our booty and benumbed hands, but glowing with pride in our part towards the war effort.
That stove kept us not only warm, but a lot of cooking had to be done as well, because the kitchen ‘belonged’ to the other families in ‘De Hut’.
Despite all the firewood and Mum’s cooking efforts, there was often not enough to satisfy our rumbling stomachs. We often woke up to a breakfast that consisted of rye-flour porridge made with water and no sugar. It was not the best of tastes but it stopped the noises in the belly.
At times Mum had to send her offspring on the road to do the round of farmhouses, begging for a king-sized sandwich.
It happened sometimes that we got more than we bargained for. Fences don’t necessarily stop one who is bold and hungry enough, so it happened that Kees (Keith) and Frans (Frank) came home not only with some earthy spuds, but pockets filled with fresh eggs. Not to be sneezed at, not one was cracked at delivery.