J. D. Vervoorn and the Dutch Resistance
I was very privileged to have met and
personally thank Professor J.D Vervoorn (Hans) and he has read; in most part what I have written here. I was told that he was surprised that I remembered or
knew about him, and was amused that he had four pages to himself. I hope to soon
go to Oosterbeek and pay my deepest respects to all.
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Sitting in the summer sun eating Mr
Springs peas while reading, I was aware that I could get caught. Although I knew
his daily routine, through the summer months they were a little unpredictable.
I knew, he knew I ate his peas and have no idea why he tolerated me so, but he
did. Hidden well beneath an old man’s grumpiness, was a whole spectrum of
humour and understanding, I am sure he planted more peas near my side of the
hedge.
I was suddenly was aware of his presence;
it was too late to make a dash for it. On the back of his house was a big rain
butt on a brick and slab plinth, perched upon it was the man himself. I felt a
little guilty watching him, studying his face as I did but I knew that if I
moved it would break the trance he was in and this would be a bad thing. So I
sat there and in those moments I witnessed the legacy that war bestows on the
ones that survive.
On his taught cheek bones his muscles
flexed and his unseeing eyes of the here and now were in the memories of the
past. I have no idea why I thought this as a child, but somehow, deep down
I know this to be true. For each year I saw the same expression and I recall it
was in those summer months of reflection that his stories flowed at their best.
This face has stayed with me not haunting exactly but ever present in my
consciousness. In my time
of need and strength I pull this face to my mind’s eye to strengthen and to
remember his teaching.
Shortly after the pea-pod moment I had
walked over to say hello as I often did, I remember I was in my teens and
wanted to get away quickly but didn’t want to appear rude so entered into a
conversation.
That taught face took over the normal
congenial face that I was used to seeing. I knew that I couldn’t ask questions
as this would break that trance state, and he would abruptly finish the
conversation. I had asked him once to write down his accounts of the war but he
told me that it was quite enough to have lived and survived it. I had no right
to ask more from a man that had seen and felt what he had. So I would intently
cling on to every word to keep, while searching his face for meaning.
He started by telling me how astonished he
was over the resilience of the Dutch people. How their country had been
bombarded. I held in my mind that he was talking about operation ‘Market
Garden’ the drop over Arnhem of
the allied troops. I had seen the pictures. He recounted how men were shot from
the skies as they parachuted down and inadequate gliders stumbled and stalled
to the ground. Men burning while trying to save others, each had imprinted how
futile war was on him.
I knew Mr Spring was dropped off
un-ceremonially at Arnhem. Caught by some hot shrapnel his glider had caught
fire. The pilot hit an over head cable to slow down the glider. This man was on fire and knew he was dying. Having made sure all his men jumped as safely as he could, he then went to the
cockpit where the American pilots were trying to control the aircraft while
burning. He was ordered to jump out and join his men.
After bailing out and before he rounded
his men up he searched for one of his comrades, he had noticed that his
parachute had caught alight. Having dropped 200 ft with no parachute to speak
of, he found this man in a very bad way and so he gave him morphine to ease the
man’s passing. His name was Alfred Penwill and was a Norfolk lad
who was expecting his first child.
It would have taken Mr Spring very little
time to assess the situation on the ground, he, by now had enough experience to
know that - weather, communication difficulties, and the amount of Germans on
the ground meant he would be lucky if he or any of his men would survive that
day.
Rounding up his men they found the glider
and recovered both pilot’s; the co pilot had broken both legs and wrists but was still alive. by this time the Dutch resistance were already on the scene, Mr Spring was ready to shoot not knowing whether they were friend or foe and this is where he met Hans for the first time as Hans whistled the national Anthem to indicate that they were freinds. Hans he said
was very important boy to his men, as he spoke very good English. He showed me
a paper telling me a few of these facts. In those days we had no photo copiers
so I could not keep a copy, it is with my memory checking what I know with what
others have written on the internet that I’m able substantiate events. After he
folded the paper and put it away he continued, with one of the greatest escapes I have ever heard.
He set the scene of five or six men made
up from the Dutch resistance and his regiment going for a bike ride in the
Dutch countryside. He was dressed in civi clothes of that region and played the
part of a deaf dumb Dutchman. As he couldn’t speak the language nor understand
it, the part suited him he would tell me, with that humours twinkle. When they came across ‘a few Germans
out on patrol’ he would say. It was the way he said this that always got me
hooked, and on less stressed days we would always laugh at that throw away
comment. But this day as I looked into those globes of that other world, I saw
an intensity that gave away the true tension of the situation. He would tell
how little details made all the difference like; remembering that you had to
get on and off the bike the opposite way to what you were used to. These small
details would arouse curiosity and suspicion of the soldiers who were on high
alert.
At some point Mr. Spring felt that things
were getting tricky so he pulled the pin out of a hand grenade that he held it
in his pocket; I’m not sure how much he had thought this through. He would say
it was ‘fool hardy’ with a glint in his eye that would forever perplex me.
Hans and Harri Tomason of the Dutch
resistance had worked their magic and talked the soldiers into letting them
pass. A way down the road and out of earshot Mr. Spring asked for some advice
on what to do. He would say to me ‘It takes fifteen pounds of pressure to hold
the leaver down, you know’ and I would think and only seconds for it to
explode. His hand was getting tired and cramp had set in. Hans commented that
the soldiers didn’t know how close they were to being killed and suggested that
Mr Spring lob it in the dyke.
Now this is where my version of the events
take a slightly different path. As I am under the impression that they caught
some fish that day but as no one else reports this in their telling I may have
got it wrong. You see Mr Spring liked to throw a humorous twist to things. Now
many years have passed and I’m not sure if this particular twist is in my
imagination. Perhaps, what he meant was that they should have caught some fish.
A spot of poaching under the noses of the Germans and to have made good use of
the limited amount of hand grenades they had, would have made it worthwhile in
his opinion. But it was how he told me how they ate the fish and the family who were looking after the co-pilot were grateful and the fact so many of my remembered stories have been proven facts, that I think this could be true and highly likely.
One thing that has puzzled me through the
years was why did they take the risk in the first place? Even more so when I
found out later that the Germans were bombarding anything that moved or that
the allied forces could hide behind, leaving Oosterbeek resembling a pile of
matchsticks. All Mr Spring and his comrades had, were their bren machine guns
and grenades, no room in their backpack for a tank or two. It was for a funeral
or funerals under the watchful eyes of the German soldiers. There you have it,
humanity in adversity with humour showing us the light. Thanks to Hans and the Dutch
resistance Albert was able to attend the funeral of Alfred Penwill; the father to be, radio
operator Hollis and pilot Spurrier who had gallantly fought to save his
passengers and land as safely as possible.
He tried to re-join his platoon and was in
some skirmishes around Opheasden, Kesteren and Dodeward but on this point I
could never get him to open up and talk.
Now after a little banter about the fish
there came another story that he only ever told me once. It was short and
simply told. The Germans were hot on their tail and a few of the men could not
swim or not that well at any rate. Good men that would rather have been drowned
than be caught by the Gestapo. His concentrated face held a meaning behind this
story that I can only guess at. With five or more men clinging to him he lost
one. This man had saved his life and his regret in the telling of this made me
numb and still does.
Piecing together accounts off Wikipedia,
my dad (Mike Alderman) and Phillip (Mr Springs youngest son) version,
gives some background to these events. They were only days apart. Mr Spring was
dropped on 18th September 1944 and due to bad weather a lot of the backup and
equipment never made it. The 10th Battalion were fragmented and communication
was poor. They were ordered to get to Oosterbeek and were to hold their
positions and wait for reinforcements. The Germans unleashed a self-propelled
gun up and down the battalions, shooting high explosives shells into any
building, followed by infantry fighting at close quarters forcing the allies
out of their defensive positions. Small isolated units managed to hold until
the 22nd September for the Pathfinders 21st independent Parachute Company and
the 1st Polish Parachute Brigade to drop down. Although they drew off some of
the Germans attention, they still had 100 or so artillery guns firing onto
their positions. They were then ordered to with draw. The last few men were
evacuated over the nights of the 25th and 26th of September 1944. Out of 582
men that were dropped from this regiment 404 were taken as prisoners, many of
which were injured, some critical, 92 were killed and 96 were evacuated. Due to
this the 10th Battalion was disbanded.
Without the Dutch resistance the numbers
would have been much worse and Mr Spring became reliant on that one young
Dutchman who was resourceful, determined and probably most importantly of all had a
good sound sense of humanity and humour. This young man took that swim with Mr
Spring and it was the last time they saw each other for many years, although
they did keep in touch from time to time. It was across the River Waal that was
as big as the river Rhine.
Searchlights were looking for anything that moved and after a cup of tea Hans
swam back….. Hold that thought, Yep, he swam back over the river, where
agitated Germans were shooting anything that moved in the dark!
When he reached the other side he laid low
until the morning and when the Germans caught him he explained that he was a
farmer’s boy who had lost his COWS! And that the farmer would be very cross
with him. So there they were, German SAS soldiers’, one young medical student who
had just helped the allied forces to escape, looking for non-existing cows
together.
Whenever Hans name cropped up Mr Spring
would marvel at the warmth that the Dutch people showed him. Looking at the few
pictures I found on the internet I have begun to understand his reasoning
behind this more. In his opinion whenever he turned up it was bad news but for
the civilians of this area in particular, it was
catastrophic.
It was Hans’s humanity and humour that
touched Mr Spring and through the years and the telling of his stories, Hans
and the Dutch people have dwelt through my thoughts, shining a light on my
path. I would like to convey my deepest and heartfelt thanks.
Having learnt that his brother Albert had
made it back from Arnham and not seeing him at all from 1941 John paid Mr Spring a
visit just outside Grantham. John Wrote “In Albert’s corner hanging up behind a
blanket were numerous rabbits, pheasants, and bundles of snares. On top of the
black coke-fired stove was a Dixie full
of rabbit stew. I only had to close my eyes and I was back in the humble
cottage at Winwick hill. I thought, good God, he will never change. Talking to
his comrades I gathered that my brother was held in very high esteem because
with the help of the wartime Dutch Resistance he had been mainly responsible
for their escape from the enemy-occupied Holland, but one of his fellow men
told me, ‘It’s terrible being back; I never know when I am going to get into
one of his bloody snares.’ I can just see the amusement on Mr Springs face as
he read his brothers words.
Albert wrote to Penwills family to let
them know what had happened to him and made a point of going to his grave
whenever he could and laid flowers there, Phil and Danny now carries on that tradition.
In Oosterbeek it was estimated 10,000
people attended 65th commemorative
service of the battle. The Dutch children are told of how it was and flowers
have always been laid for the men who fought courageously and yet were defeated.
The Dutch suffered many hardships after the Allied Forces left. So yet again I
can see Mr Spring reluctance to say too much about it all. But like the Dutch
people I think this event in History should be noted. Because of these men
women and children, who at great personal cost both physically and mentally,
with so many paying the ultimate price, we can without tyrant or oppressors
stamp our feet in indignation and oust the government!
Tina Rodwell © All rights reserved.
