…..the Artist a few years ago received such a lovely reaction, that I’d like to explain a little further.
A week or two ago, I was sitting with a fellow DACC Board Member, in the D.A.C.C., explaining, how I saw the Dutch-Australian perspective that we’d brought to this country.
Her route to the D.A.C.C., has been: being born of Dutch parentage, but growing up (As I understand it) in Indonesia.
So I explained (again) how my parents met, age (about) 13, in the youth movement , called the A.J.C.,in Gouda.
Arbeiders Jeugd Centrale (A.J.C.) was a youth movement, started by school teachers, which had grown out of the far left wing of Dutch politics, which hoped to make young Dutch people appreciate a humanistic approach to life.
And so, my father, the son of a small businessman (Pub owner – café houder), attended A.J.C. meetings to sing, and do folk dancing and particularly, play the drums, and go for walks, and rest in the grass, back-to-back with my mother, even though, at first he was more keen on her younger sister, Julia (after whom they named their third baby).
Frankly, his step-mother and his father were not altogether too pleased with this friendship, with the daughter of a public servant, a bridge keeper. But, according to my father, they were soon impressed with her energy and for want of a better word: house-keeping skills.
Marrying in April, 1941, one-and-a-half-years into the occupation of the Netherlands was not the best timing.
And then, having me, in October, 1943, just before the infamous Hunger Winter compounded that disadvantage.
My mother passed away, in May, 2004, (I was with her.), in the nursing home, after a few years sinking into Alzheimers.
As my father and I were regularly visiting, he would say over and over, to the staff…..because she loved children you know!
My own son and daughter would attest to that!
For a number of years she thoroughly enjoyed minding the son and daughter of a couple who were both doctors.
And then…when they were growing up and my daughter and my son came along, and she was in her late sixties, she would so happily climb up the hill here, with them to the playground, or sit on the floor with them and play with them.
I know that they appreciate that memory (now).
There are too many IFs. If the other two had lived. Would we have migrated? Would my son and daughter have had two (more) uncles? How different would they have been from me?
But then…..IF I had not met their mother……..
I guess it was all meant to be.
Details found, via the internet, re still-born brother:
Burgerlijke stand – overlijden Gouda 1947
naam NN Mul (geb. te G) (No name)
overlijdensdatum doodgeboren (m) 22-4-1947
vader Johannes Marie Mul (glasbewerker)
moeder Jacoba Postma
(Which shows that I was three years and almost six months, when my aunt pointed out the window, of the hospital where she told me, my mother was.)
© 2008 Streekarchief Midden-Holland
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1997 and 1941.
P.S.. Thanks to Juergen, who lives in the Netherlands, for providing an excuse to indulge in these memories.
P.P.S. Good to see this featured "*here*:http://www.redbubble.com/groups/babyfaces-of-re...