Every time I go to a Remembrance Day service, and I hear the sound of the bugle, I get a lump in my throat, and I remember the stories that my parents told me about the Second World War.
For as long as I can remember, we dressed up and went to the Remembrance Day service as a family, as my parents were so grateful for their freedom.
My parents were born and raised in the Netherlands and when the war broke out, they were in their late teens.
My dad was 18 years old when the Germans invaded Holland, and he said the sound was something he would never forget. Mom was 15 years old, and she too shared some of her thoughts on the happenings during that time.
Dad ended up in a concentration camp for about one year. He said he was not in the worst one, as some were better than others. He was stripped of his clothing, beaten and given the bare minimum of food. They were given little to wear, as this kept them from trying to escape.
They had to work at these camps and dad’s job, along with the others, was to peel potatoes to feed the German Army. If they were caught eating a raw potato, they were beaten or the person beside them was shot.
We were told the so-called mild stories from those days, as dad said we would never sleep if we knew the horrible things that he witnessed.
Mom remembers evenings when the sirens went off, with the Nazis coming down their street to stop in front of homes, and she watched through a crack of light. The rule was for the lights to be off at 6 p.m. Often they huddled in the back room with a candle burning so they could read, maybe play a game, or do some mending.
It was during these times that my mom became an excellent seamstress, as clothing was scarce and getting a piece of material was unheard of, so she took old trench coats and made them into a suit jacket or a pair of pants without using a pattern, as that was considered a luxury.
The most horrifying story my mom told me was when her neighbours were expecting a child. The man hired a Jewish midwife to deliver his baby. When the baby was born, the sirens came flying down the street. Mom said they were terrified as the vehicle stopped in front of their house. The soldiers got out and took the Jewish woman from the neighbour’s house. After the war it was found that the man was a German spy.
Mom never knew who the Jewish woman was, but she remembered her.
Every time I go to a Remembrance Day service and the bugle sounds, I think of that Jewish woman, who was giving life to a child and lost hers because of it.
My parents immigrated to Canada in 1949, and they never skipped this important day to remember the people who lost their lives.
Today I still go to the services out of respect for my parents who are no longer here, and out of respect for the men and women who gave their lives so we can live the way we do today.
If we look around the world today, there are still so many countries that live in a battle zone, and many of those people have come to Canada so they can live a life of freedom, but many of them still have family back in the war zones.
We have no reason to complain about our country, as we live a life of freedom.
