Hammond WW2 Memoirs

The adventurous life of Peter Hammond, Part 1: 1923 - 1946
2. Auflage 2018
ISBN: 978-3-7528-5394-0
Verlag: BoD - Books on Demand
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, 368 Seiten

In Part 1 of his memoires Peter Hammond describes the growing pre-WW2 tension in day to day life in England, his time in London as a fire-watcher during the German bombing raids, his adventures as a "head-ache" operator listening to enemy communications in the Royal Navy and being stationed in post-war Germany as a naval intelligence officer interrogating Soviet spies. Peter Hammond, born 1923 in Rotterdam, moved to England at the age of 11 after his father died. At 16 he left home to start an apprenticeship in London and during the nights he was on fire-watch duty to extinguish the blazes caused by German bombs. He then joined the Royal Navy and was stationed on several ships as a "head-ache" operator. Speaking Dutch, he quickly learned German and decoded transmissions from enemy vessels attacking the Royal fleet. After the war he was posted to Cuxhaven and describes the desperation of the beaten German people and the search for Soviet spies in the occupied country.

Born 1923 in Rotterdam, Holland Died 2003 in Alzey, Germany

Autoren/Hrsg.

Hammond, Peter

Hammond, Bernard

Leseproben

Episode 2: The Hague
(Summer 1930 – Summer 1935) We moved from Rotterdam to The Hague in the summer of 1930, very much on my account. My parents felt I needed to get out into the fresh air and play with other children; and the proximity of the seaside and the sand dunes was thought likely to benefit my health. (Fortunately my little Brother Bobby had none of the unpleasant complaints with which I was afflicted: he merely had outbreaks of Nettlerash, which, while a bit itchy and unsightly, did not cause him any major discomfort). We took up residence at van Diepenburchstraat 72, which was the bottom half of a terraced house, situated in a long row of identical, 3 storey houses. Just behind the van Diepenburchstraat, across the Oostduinlaan, was the Waalsdorperweg, a broad thoroughfare dominated by a large, unconventionally shaped building. This was the "Vrije School", my first school. The school was surrounded by woods with tarred footpaths, where my Mother often used to take us for walks. This whole area was on the edge of the sand dunes that separated The Hague from Scheveningen and the North Sea. The "Vrije School" (headmaster Mijnheer Stibbe) belonged to the network of Rudolf Steiner schools that had sprung up in various countries in the early 1900s, with a view to providing an alternative system of education, based on the principles of Anthroposophy (which I confess I have never taken the trouble to try to understand!) My parents sent me there in the belief that I would be given more individual attention and help than could be expected at a State school. After all, at home I had only learned to communicate in English and, not having mixed with other children, I had not had the opportunity of becoming familiar with the Dutch language. I was placed in the Second Class, the appropriate class for my age. The class teacher was a Mevrouw Gerretsen, an unorthodox looking middle aged lady, who was ardently dedicated to spreading the Rudolf Steiner gospel. The day at the "Vrije School" began with prayers in the classroom, during which pupils were required to half-close their eyes, interlock their fingers and keep quiet while the class teacher mumbled words I seldom understood. I'm afraid I did not become spiritually involved in this mumbo-jumbo: I never managed to experience that feeling of being plugged in to God that I felt was expected of me. In fact, I used to feel rather silly, a bit of a sham, trying to half-close my eyes; and I was always relieved when prayers were over. A subjet that was given much prominence at the "Vrije School" was Eurythmie: a sort of combination of Yoga, ballet and semaphore, which was conducted in the School gymnasium. Pupils were taught to portray the letters of the alphabet by means of gracious movements, each letter being represented by a distinctive attitude and position of the arms and legs. Breathing exercises and spiritual awareness were other aspects of Eurythmie instruction. Foreign language lessons began at a very early stage in the School curriculum, when pupils were taught to sing songs and recite simple verses in English, French and German, without being made to bother about what the words meant. (I remember learning "Frère Jacques" and "Röslein auf der Heide"). The children used to make fun of the German teacher, a Herr Kwindt, who had a humourless, gushing manner. Mevrouw Gerretsen taught her class English and French. Another unconventional subject taught in the early classes at the "Vrije School" was knitting. We were required to produce such works of art as (almost) square knitted kitchen cloths - to the drill: "insteken, omslaan, doorhalen, aflatenglijden", which translates as "stick (the knitting needle) in (to the previous stitch), fetch (the thread) around, bring it through and let it slide off (its original needle). During school breaks, when the children swarmed out onto the playground, I used at first to assume a low profile and stay by myself near the School entrance door. For a long time I had no friends, probably because I was unable to converse freely in Dutch; and since I did not enjoy the robust physique of the other children, I was afraid of joining them in the rough and tumble of the playground. I was always relieved when the school bell signalled that the break was over. Gradually my problems seemed to resolve themselves. I became friendly with a little girl of roughly my age named Annerietje Hofstede, who lived just down our street. My parents had bought me a magnificent scooter (in Dutch, a "Step") with pneumatic tires. With either Annerietje in front steering and I holding on to her and "stepping", or sometimes vice versa, the two of us spent much of our free time exploring the neighbourhood. In the process my Dutch improved; and so did my physical stamina. Annerietje also attended the "Vrije School", where she was a year ahead of me. I believe it was in connection with one of our school projects that we set about becoming acquainted with the local cart horses! In those days it was customary for tradesmen to call regularly at private houses to sell their wares. Some, like the two bakers at either end of the van Diepenburchstraat, used handcarts or tricycles; but most other tradesmen came by with horse and cart. We made it our business to chat up the various tradesmen (the greengrocer, the milkman, the coal merchant, the ice merchant, etc.) about their horses and entered the following details in a small notebook we kept for the purpose: horse' name, its colouring, its nature (whether it was of friendly or nervous disposition); and, therefore, whether it was safe to feed or stroke it. We had learned at school that if a horse' ears were pointed forward it was nervous; if they were in line with its head it was happy; and if they were pressed back against its mane it was angry. We collected "statistics" on at least a dozen horses, towards which we then developed feelings of affection, respect or apprehension, depending on how approachable each horse was. For instance, Gerda, the ageing, grey, mottled horse belonging to the greengrocer was so good natured and gentle that we felt perfectly at ease leading it forward at the greengrocer's behest, as he moved from house to house. In contrast, Janus and Manus were two young and restless horses, which were made to move smartly at the crack of their master's whip; and we heeded warnings to keep a safe distance away from them. It was at a cinema on het Plein that I was taken to see my first "movies". On the programme were two comedies: a film starring Harald Lloyd; and one featuring "Wat en Half-Wat". I didn't find either of them terribly amusing, but I was proud of having reached the age at which I was considered eligible to visit the cinema. At this age little boys looked with utmost contempt upon grown-up young women who painted themselves with lipstick, eye liner, rouge and nail varnish and walked about on high heeled shoes smelling of perfume and powder. Such aberrations of normality were referred to as "Nuffen", the local breed, "Haagsche Nuffen", for some reason, meriting particular derision. However, a breed of grown up for whom little boys felt much deferential respect was the uniformed Policeman, who was referred to behind his back as a "Bink". The plain clothes policeman, on the other hand, known as the "Stille Bink", was regarded as a kind of deadly virus. I almost suffered heart failure one day when I was surprised by a "Stille Bink" while trespassing in an empty workmen's hut, which I had entered by an open window. He must have realised I'd learned the lesson of my life, for, after giving me a stern warning, he let me go. To go to work my Father used to leave the house at 0730 and catch bus route R to the Hollandsche Spoor Station, where he boarded the train for Rotterdam. He used to return home at 2030, after I had been put to bed. On some mornings I would accompany him on my scooter to the bus stop on the corner of Ruychrocklaan and Oostduinlaan. On one such occasion he lit a cigarette on leaving the house and threw the stub onto the pavement before boarding the bus. This stub, which was still glowing, somehow hypnotised me and, as the bus drove off, I picked it up to have my first ever puff of cigarette smoke - quite oblivious of my dumbfounded Father, who was looking in vain through the bus window for his son's customary farewell wave...... On Saturday evenings my Father used to return home from work early (I believe it was at 1800!) and would take my mother out "on the town". Our housemaid, Jo Pronk, would then stay on until about midnight to look after Bobby and me. Jo was the eldest of twelve brothers and sisters and on Saturday evenings her attractive sister Corrie often came to keep her company. Some tradesmen who regularly called at our house evidently felt they could take certain liberties with our earnest and respectable Jo. One day, when she was otherwise occupied, my Mother went to answer the door bell. As she prepared to open the door she heard the prolonged gurgitating sound of a man about to expel the superfluous sputum from his throat. Then, as the door swung open, he completed the ritual and, with a tremendous burst of pent up breath, projected the unwanted matter over the garden gate, into the street. With the hearty remark: "Eindelijk is het er uit!" (at last that's got rid of that!) he swung round to face, not Jo, but, to his horror, my mother in person! As I grew older my parents used periodically to pack me off on my own to spend Sundays with my Mother's closest friend, Florence Aldridge, whom I knew as "Auntie Florie". She lived with her adopted daughter Daphne (six years older than me) and their white cat Percy in an upstairs flat in the...