Fighting Hitler with the Dutch Resistance

A memoir of life and death in a country under Nazi occupation

Adventures In War

John Botterman was born in Rotterdam, Holland, in 1924. He grew up during the Great Depression before his apprenticeship in metal work was interrupted when the Second World War broke out. His innocence ended when the Germans shot his friend Theo in the street. John joined the Dutch Land Forces and later, the Dutch Resistance. He hid between the floorboards of his aunt's house for two days, before going to France where he helped gather intelligence about the German V-1 Rocket, assisted a British pilot who had been shot down, and helped take hungry children to safety when the Germans cut off food supplies. The Germans caught John and sent him to Brendonk concentration camp. While being transferred to another camp, his fellow inmates helped John escape from a moving train. As he fled, he was shot in the leg, but he fortunately reached a farm where he stayed until the war was over. In 1955 John met Shirley from Chelsea. The couple married a year later. They live in Tonbridge, Kent and have three children and five grandchildren.

Extract

Holland was in the grip of what came to be known as the hongerwinter (hunger winter). The Germans had cut off food and shipments to punish those who hadn’t helped the Nazi war effort and 30,000 people died. Food ran out and people were surviving on less than 1,000 calories by the end of November and 580 calories by the end of February 1945. Butter disappeared, meat coupons became worthless, bread allowance dropped from 2,200 grams per week to 400 grams per week. This 400 grams of bread, together with one kilo of potatoes became an entire weekly ration. The black market ran out of food, and then gas and electricity went off. People were freezing cold and starving, literally. They resorted to walking miles for food, eventually eating tulip bulbs. Furniture and even houses were taken apart to provide fuel for heating.
Things were pretty grim, so when I was asked to help these children that were starving, of course I said yes. I had got my driving license in France. It might not have been legitimate, but that was the way things were. Nico and I borrowed a Berliet diesel lorry with a canvas covering and we set off.
We had no fuel so we had to make our own. There was a large cylinder behind the cab. We filled it with peat then using wood, made a fire underneath it. The gas from the peat was funnelled through a specially made carburettor and would power the engine of the vehicle. It took about half an hour to get the lorry going, then once we’d started driving we had to continuously fuel the cylinder.
We arrived in Rotterdam where a Red Cross nurse, who happened to be the daughter of Mr Heineken (the brewer), was waiting with 40 children. She did a lot of work for the resistance. The children were thin and looked terrified.
“I thought you’d be here earlier,” said the nurse. “The children are tired. We’ve been waiting.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “But we’ve been ordered only to drive at night so that we are not seen.”
“What about the lights of the lorry?”
“We can’t use lights, we have to rely on the moon,” I told her.
“Is it safe?”

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