by then I had withdrawn from the university to devote myself to rescue work full-time. I wasn’t able to concentrate on my studies, anyway.
At first I did what Hetty and Gisela were doing—delivering children, distributing ration coupons—but such work was moredangerous when done by a young man, and I’m not sure I possessed the requisite sangfroid. For instance, once when I was on my way to an address in South Amsterdam to bring food to some families that were hiding Jewish children, I was stopped by an officer who was interested in what I had in my suitcase. When he found it was full of cheese and sausage, I was arrested on the minor charge of being a black market profiteer. I might have tried to talk my way out of it, but I hadn’t prepared a story in advance. Then I panicked at the thought that when they found the identification cards in the suitcase, they would turn me over to the SS. To prevent this, I jumped out the window.
That landed me in the hospital with a concussion, and an armed guard outside my door. A Resistance friend arrived, and with his help we were able to persuade the police to drop the charges against me. But I still had to spend another five weeks recovering in the hospital.
I found a more valuable direction for my energies when I teamed up with another group member to do falsification work, which led—surprisingly—to a source of income for the children in hiding. You see, the foster families were, of course, taking on a big responsibility, but besides the danger of it, many of them had very limited resources. We realized we needed to assist them with the children’s upkeep, but we were all students, and none of us had much money. We gave what we could—for instance, my stamp collection brought in 300 guilders—but it wasn’t enough. So that was an ongoing problem.
We got a big boost when the Archbishop Johannes de Jong of Utrecht gave us 10,000 guilders from his “special needs” fund. So by the fall of ’42 we could say to the prospective foster parents, “If you take a child, yes, there will be risks, but we can provide support: fifty guilders a month if necessary.” That was about how much university students would pay to rent a room in a nice house, so it certainly helped to make it more feasible. However, considering the number of children we were trying to support, our coffers were soon empty again.
One evening, Geert Lubberhuizen and I got together to try our hand at forging some identification cards. Geert was an older chemistry student who had also been the editor of Vox Studiosorum , the Utrecht student newsweekly. He stuck his neck out in ’41 by writing a scathing critique of an anti-Semitic movie the Nazis were showing. The SD immediately came after him and shut down the paper for good measure. When he joined us in the Kindercomité, he was keeping a low profile, but he thought he could work with me on forgery and falsification.
IDs were a big problem in those days. Beginning in November 1941,everyone had to go to the municipal building with two photos. One photo went into a central card file in the Hague, along with your fingerprint and signature. The other was attached to a preprinted card, and your fingerprint and signature were put on that as well. If you were Jewish, they would stamp your card with a big black “J.” An officer would then sign it, and finally he would stamp it again with a special stamp. The fingerprint was covered by a transparent seal, and that also was stamped.
Wartime photo of Geert Lubberhuizen driving a motorboat. Courtesy of the Netherlands Institute for War Documentation.
Once the photo was attached, it was very difficult to remove without tearing the paper. So you had to scrape off the front while leaving the backing, and then attach the new photo. Sometimes there would be a photo that was built up in layers. Then it could simply be peeled off. But often it was all in one piece, and then you had to scratch it very patiently—it
At first I did what Hetty and Gisela were doing—delivering children, distributing ration coupons—but such work was moredangerous when done by a young man, and I’m not sure I possessed the requisite sangfroid. For instance, once when I was on my way to an address in South Amsterdam to bring food to some families that were hiding Jewish children, I was stopped by an officer who was interested in what I had in my suitcase. When he found it was full of cheese and sausage, I was arrested on the minor charge of being a black market profiteer. I might have tried to talk my way out of it, but I hadn’t prepared a story in advance. Then I panicked at the thought that when they found the identification cards in the suitcase, they would turn me over to the SS. To prevent this, I jumped out the window.
That landed me in the hospital with a concussion, and an armed guard outside my door. A Resistance friend arrived, and with his help we were able to persuade the police to drop the charges against me. But I still had to spend another five weeks recovering in the hospital.
I found a more valuable direction for my energies when I teamed up with another group member to do falsification work, which led—surprisingly—to a source of income for the children in hiding. You see, the foster families were, of course, taking on a big responsibility, but besides the danger of it, many of them had very limited resources. We realized we needed to assist them with the children’s upkeep, but we were all students, and none of us had much money. We gave what we could—for instance, my stamp collection brought in 300 guilders—but it wasn’t enough. So that was an ongoing problem.
We got a big boost when the Archbishop Johannes de Jong of Utrecht gave us 10,000 guilders from his “special needs” fund. So by the fall of ’42 we could say to the prospective foster parents, “If you take a child, yes, there will be risks, but we can provide support: fifty guilders a month if necessary.” That was about how much university students would pay to rent a room in a nice house, so it certainly helped to make it more feasible. However, considering the number of children we were trying to support, our coffers were soon empty again.
One evening, Geert Lubberhuizen and I got together to try our hand at forging some identification cards. Geert was an older chemistry student who had also been the editor of Vox Studiosorum , the Utrecht student newsweekly. He stuck his neck out in ’41 by writing a scathing critique of an anti-Semitic movie the Nazis were showing. The SD immediately came after him and shut down the paper for good measure. When he joined us in the Kindercomité, he was keeping a low profile, but he thought he could work with me on forgery and falsification.
IDs were a big problem in those days. Beginning in November 1941,everyone had to go to the municipal building with two photos. One photo went into a central card file in the Hague, along with your fingerprint and signature. The other was attached to a preprinted card, and your fingerprint and signature were put on that as well. If you were Jewish, they would stamp your card with a big black “J.” An officer would then sign it, and finally he would stamp it again with a special stamp. The fingerprint was covered by a transparent seal, and that also was stamped.
Wartime photo of Geert Lubberhuizen driving a motorboat. Courtesy of the Netherlands Institute for War Documentation.
Once the photo was attached, it was very difficult to remove without tearing the paper. So you had to scrape off the front while leaving the backing, and then attach the new photo. Sometimes there would be a photo that was built up in layers. Then it could simply be peeled off. But often it was all in one piece, and then you had to scratch it very patiently—it
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