Three ordinary girls, p.1
Three Ordinary Girls, page 1
TIM BRADY
is also the author of—
HIS FATHER’S SON
The Life of General Ted Roosevelt, Jr.
A DEATH IN SAN PIETRO
The Untold Story of Ernie Pyle, John Huston,
and the Fight for Purple Heart Valley
TWELVE DESPERATE MILES
The Epic World War II Voyage of the SS Contessa
THREE ORDINARY GIRLS
THE REMARKABLE STORY of THREE DUTCH
TEENAGERS WHO BECAME SPIES, SABOTEURS
NAZI ASSASSINS-AND WWII HEROES
TIM BRADY
CITADEL PRESS
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Notes
CITADEL PRESS BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2021 Tim Brady
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
CITADEL PRESS and the Citadel logo are Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-0-8065-4038-2
Library of Congress Control Number: 2020945350
Electronic edition:
ISBN-13: 978-0-8065-4040-5 (e-book)
ISBN-10: 0-8065-4040-0 (e-book)
To Susan,
Ti amo.
Chapter 1
YEARS AFTER THE GREAT DEPRESSION, Truus Oversteegen recalled the miseries and struggles of those times as if they were still happening outside her window in Haarlem. She remembered standing in long lines with her mother and neighbors, waiting for the government dole to be parsed out. There were more lines outside the factory gates at Hoogovens, the blast furnace manufacturers, where laborers waited to find out who might or might not be given work within the plant on any given day.1
Her parents knew precisely who was to blame for the worldwide woes: it was the capitalists, as they had informed her time and again. The owners of the factories who profited off the sweat of labor.
Truus remembered taking her father’s hand, as a five-year-old, as they marched in demonstrations and protests. She remembered the drums pounding, the red flags fluttering in the breeze. She remembered what it felt like to be surrounded by a sea of grown-up legs and chanting voices.
On one indelible occasion she and her father, Jacob Oversteegen, marched with a wave of protesters through Haarlem, until they crashed into a second wave of counter-protesters. These newcomers to the throng were angry men, shouting at the group in which she and her father were encircled. “String up the socialists!” they called out. “Hang them from the street lamps!”
Then the mounted police arrived, and suddenly Truus was lifted out of the crowd and onto the back of a horse, between a police officer and the saddle horn. As the police officer carried her away, her father disappeared from view, swallowed by the circling fury of protesters and counter-protesters. Disappearing was a thing he did quite often during those days when the family was living on a houseboat in the canal, as many families did in Holland.
At the police station, she was given a bowl of porridge, which she was too upset to eat. Finally her mother, Trijntje van der Molen, arrived, and Truus began to feel a bit better. As she and her mother walked home, she looked up at the streetlights, the angry voices from the demonstration—“Hang them from the street lamps!”—still ringing in her head. She asked her mother if they were socialists. Trijntje replied, “Yes, we are socialists,” and Truus could hear the fierce pride in her mother’s voice.2
Truus Oversteegen was born in 1923. Her younger sister, Freddy Nanda, or Freddie, as she was called by everyone, arrived two years later. The girls were thick as thieves growing up, even after their father left the houseboat. In truth he had never provided much to the family in terms of stability anyway. He was a drinker and a womanizer who contributed little to the family’s financial needs, and in fact was likely more of a drain.3
The breakup of their parents’ marriage and subsequent divorce was not something either of the girls remembered as traumatic. In fact, when her father left, Freddie remembered him singing a French farewell song to the family from the bow of the canal boat. The girls would continue to see their father around Haarlem for years to come.
Trijntje took the girls to live in a flat, where they shared a bedroom furnished with straw mattresses that Trijntje made herself. It was an impoverished existence, but they were a loving family and this pulled them through. They loved, in particular, to make music together. They had a whole string section in the family—Trijntje played the mandolin, Truus played the guitar, Freddie played both the ukulele and the zither, and they sang to their own accompaniment.
The Oversteegen family was a large one, with a tradition of being active in leftist circles in Haarlem. One uncle, George Oversteegen, an anarchist, had even earned a seat on the Haarlem City Council in the late 1920s.4 Trijntje was also raised with leftist values, and the economic uncertainties of the Great Depression sharpened her critique of the miseries that capitalism visited on the working class. For Trijntje, Truus, and Freddie, their political, social, and cultural lives revolved around the family association with leftist causes. The girls were members of the AJC (Arbeiders Jeugd Central) a socialist youth movement that emphasized education, physical conditioning, folk dance, music, and camping, all pursued in the context of a working-class atmosphere and socialist structure.
When the girls were still young, Trijntje gave birth to a brother named Robbie,5 and the flat they shared became even more crowded. Neither did his addition help in parsing out the government dole—the Dutch welfare stipend—on which the family lived. It amounted to precisely 13 guilders and 75 cents a week and the rent alone took 3½ guilders. Inspectors from a state organization called Social Help in Practice would periodically come by to check in the family cupboards and underneath beds just to make sure the Oversteegen girls and their mother and Robbie were not trying to hide a hoard of riches. Fat chance of that!6
They also wanted to make sure Trijntje wasn’t entertaining any men in her home. There was none of that, but what she was doing was holding leftist meetings in the apartment, which included men. When the fact that she was hosting gatherings was discovered, it was enough to get the family cut off from the dole. Afterward, they were forced to go to friends and neighbors begging for soup.
In desperation, Trijntje went down to the welfare office with the girls in tow to demand that the officials rescind their decision and give her and the family back their food stamps and stipend for rent. She yelled, she remonstrated, she refused to leave. Finally, the police were called. When an officer grabbed Trijntje to force her out of the office, Truus jumped in and bit him at the same time as Freddie kicked him in the shins. These little girls were not wallflowers!
Unfortunately, when they left the government office, they still had no food stamps and no stipend for rent. For the next six weeks they ate brown beans.
When she was fourteen, Truus began working as a domestic for wealthy families in the Haarlem area. It was not work that suited her; her sense of independence usually overtook her willingness to follow orders. Later she would recall “children who were often little tyrants” and “lord[s] of the manor [who] wanted to pinch my buttocks.”
She took a position with one family who had a villa in the well-to-do Haarlem suburb of Bloemendaal, “the bastion of the rich in Holland,” Truus called it. Bloemendaal was near the sandy dunes of South Kennemerland, which was the area that ran along the coast of northwestern Netherlands. Truus was to be a live-in servant, but things didn’t work out as planned. She spent her very first night there homesick in an attic room thinking of Freddie and Robbie at home. Trijntje had packed peppermints and peanut brittle to ease the transition, but they only made Truus feel more homesick.
She was awakened the next morning by an unsympathetic German maid named Kathe, who greeted her at breakfast with a bowl of watered-down porridge. Truus had no stomach for the gruel to which Kathe said, “Zen you will eat nothing,” and sent the girl off to wash windows, make beds, and vacuum the house.
At one point, Truus took her shoes off to have a cup of coffee. When she was ready to put her shoes back on, she discovered that one of the children of the house had put a thumbtack in the heel. Nice kids! She was then ordered by Kathe to empty a chamber pot filled to the brim with the family’s evacuations from the previous night. To top off her morning, she had an encounter on the stairs with the
Truus wound up kicking the chamber pot down the staircase in front of the whole family, retrieving her suitcase, and racing out of the house back toward home in Haarlem. Her mother told her it was too bad about the money she would have received for the job, but to make sure Truus understood whose side she was on, Trijntje quickly added, “I would have done exactly the same!”7
* * *
The family was far from sheltered from the political upheavals of Europe in the 1930s. Aside from Trijntje’s meetings and the girls’ participation in socialist youth groups, the girls did things like make dolls for the refugee children of the Spanish Civil War. They were also fully aware of who the Nazis were and who were their sympathizers. In the Netherlands there was a party known as the NSB, the National Socialist Movement (Nationaal Social-istische Beweging). It was headed by a moon-faced, civil engineer named Anton Mussert, who had earned the contempt of Dutch progressives even before his political career began, when he married his mother’s sister—his own aunt.
While Mussert and the NSB remained a relatively minor force within the Netherlands’ political structure during the 1930s, there were other factions in the government who were more than willing to reach out to Nazi Germany to reassure them that Dutch allegiances leaned more right than left. It was even rumored in leftist circles that the queen’s son-in-law, Bernhard, a German prince by birth, and newly wed to Princess Juliana, had secret ties to the Nazi Party.
Truus and Freddie learned early that it was not enough just to sneer at Mussert. In fact, Trijntje’s communist leanings placed her and her daughters in the thick of the struggle. She not only kept the girls well-informed of what was happening in Germany and elsewhere, but she also brought anti-fascist refugees into the house through her membership in a communist relief organization called Red Aid. As early as 1934, Trijntje welcomed German leftists fleeing from Hitler’s oppressions into their home. There would be a late-night knock on the door, and a Dutch neighbor from Party meetings would be there with one or two shivering souls on their way to asylum in England. Trijntje would let them in for an overnight, and the next day the Dutch neighbor would be back to take them on their next leg toward freedom.
Early on, the girls learned to keep quiet about the visitors and to keep quiet about the activities their mother was involved in. Even before the Germans came to occupy their country, Truus and Freddie knew that talking was dangerous. They knew what the Nazis were and what they were capable of. They knew the meaning of betrayal.8
As Hitler and the Germans flexed their muscles through Europe from the mid- to the late 1930s, remilitarizing the Rhineland, establishing the Anschluss in Austria, annexing the Sudetenland, grabbing Bohemia and Moravia from Czechoslovakia, with no signs of stopping and appeased all the while by Western Europe, it became more and more apparent that a second World War was imminent. But the Dutch people, who had been spared the horrors of the first World War by the simple expediency of staying neutral during the bloodbath, remained largely convinced, or deluded, into thinking that the same thing would hold true during the next conflict. The country even served as the exile home of Kaiser Wilhem II, who was spending his final days in relative harmlessness, chopping wood on an estate outside the town of Doorn in Utrecht. Maybe that was all these fierce tyrants from Germany wanted from the Kingdom of the Netherlands: a place to contemplate fate and furiously work up an old man sweat.
On September 1, 1939, two days past Truus’s sixteenth birthday, Germany invaded Poland. For Great Britain and France, there were no more cards to play, no more attempts to appease Hitler. The newsreels down at the theater off the Grote Markt in Haarlem showed footage of the German people triumphantly heil-ing Hitler, while the newspapers told of Wehrmacht tanks sweeping across the Polish landscape as the Polish cavalry charged on horseback into the deadly fire.
The Dutch government had ordered a mobilization of its armed forces just a few days before the German blitzkrieg swept through Poland, but it hedged its bets by declaring the intention to stay neutral in the coming conflict, after the British and French declared war. Despite the government’s best intentions for the country, the war had an immediate and harsh economic impact on the Netherlands. A British blockade of Dutch ports effectively ended trade between Germany and the Netherlands. It also underscored the value of the Dutch coastline to Hitler and the Third Reich, further reducing the likelihood that the Kingdom of the Netherlands would be able to remain neutral throughout the coming war as they had during the first World War.
To say that the Dutch military was unprepared to defend itself against the German war machine would be a gross understatement. While nations across Europe had been building military forces over the past few years to try to keep some pace against the money being poured into the Wehrmacht by Germany, the Dutch still didn’t possess a single tank in its entire arsenal until 1940. Military spending, which was actually doubled in 1938, still represented just 4 percent of federal spending in the Netherlands, compared to 25 percent in Germany.9 The only expansion of its army between the wars was the creation of two regiments of bicyclists, one of which included a military band with specially designed handlebars that could be steered while playing an instrument. The regimental motto was “Swift and Nimble—Composed and Dignified.”10
The nation’s chief defense strategy was one that had been in existence since the seventeenth century. It involved conceding territory to the northeast and south in the Netherlands, while at the same time flooding the lowest lying areas of the country—those already beneath sea level and including many of Holland’s major cities, including Dordrecht, Utrecht, Haarlem, and Amsterdam—along a line running from the northwest near Lake IJssel, southeast to the Amstel and Rhine Rivers. The Germans could enter the country but would immediately be stymied by sluggish water, too shallow for boats and too muckish for foot or vehicle travel. The cities inside the line were fortified by newly built bunkers and fortresses, financed by the slight increase in the country’s defenses spending.
Life for the Oversteegen family in Haarlem went on as usual, with the added intensity of war drums looming on the horizon. One day Trijntje asked Truus and Freddie to pick up a boy and girl from another safe house in Haarlem and bring them back to their apartment for an overnight stay. The girls, who had been squabbling with each other just before the request, felt put upon and rebelled at the idea of taking more visitors into their cramped quarters. Trijntje was having none of it. These children had escaped from Germany without their parents, she told them. They were lonely, frightened, had no idea what their future held. How could Truus and Freddie be so selfish, petty, and self-pitying?
The girls, hardly more than children themselves, were abashed and did as their mother asked.
Truus took a housecleaning job with a family of Jewish immigrants from Germany, who owned a furniture store in town. They had left everything behind to escape the Nazis. One day, she overheard a visitor to the family from Germany urging them to continue on to America, sure that Hitler would soon come to the Netherlands as he had Poland.
Truus wondered if her own family should go to America too. That night she asked her mother about this. War was coming, couldn’t they find a way?
“You need money for that,” Trijntje reminded her daughter. “And what would we do there anyway?”11
Truus had no answer for that.
* * *
On May 10, 1940, the Oversteegen family, along with everyone else in the neighborhood, awoke to the ominous droning of planes overhead. Everyone rushed out into the street in their pajamas to look up at the planes passing over Haarlem. The day was gorgeous and clear, the skies a crystal blue. It seemed impossible, unreal, that those planes were actually carrying bombs, and that Dutch antiaircraft weapons were now shooting at the German bombers. Then one of the gray-green bombers started to smoke. Moments later, it was falling out of the sky, the green cross near its tail twirling as it dropped. There was nothing unreal about the shudder of the earth following the crash and the explosion of the plane as it burst into flames.
