It’s September 17th, a radiant Sunday morning, a day that will be engraved in our memories for a long time to come. We’re getting ready to attend a High Mass at 11.00am, with our missals full of bidprentjes (devotional pictures). Suddenly, the air-raid warning sounded from the roof of the baker across the road. The siren made a hell of a noise- on and off, on and off. Shortly after, the autumn sky was full of fighter planes weaving in and out the scattered clouds. Small black puffs could be seen around the aircraft.
We never made it to church; instead we hurried several times down the steps into the cellar for protection.
Citizens near the railway station were hit by strafing gunfire; the war had touched Arnhem once again.
Out of our sight for us, some time later the sky northwest of us was full of heavier planes with gliders in tow and many parachutes rained down near Wolfheze.
About 2 o’clock in the afternoon more than 350 gliders begin landing near Wolfheze on zones, which have been marked by a special company of the ‘Pathfinders’ shortly beforehand.
Operation Market Garden was in full swing.
Towards late afternoon the first English red bareted paratroopers appeared at the lower end of our street, fifty metres from our place. We were all very exited, some residents offered the soldiers drinks. There was a feeling of jubilation in the air, after the initial fear. We soon will be free. Hooray!
Bottles of gin, saved for this occasion were opened and cigars were lit. This was it! Free at last.
However, nobody had foreseen the days and weeks that were to follow.