THE SCARRED OAK. William Walraven
tell the Germans because that would be sinning and a nun could not sin. They had to work fast. This pilot must have been from that bomber that had crashed on the other side of the border. The poor man must have been lying there all night long. They decided that Eric would take the sled and go back to the village to get his friend Willem and together they would tie the big wooden feedbox, which stood in the cow stall, to the sled. Nico would keep Prince and watch the pilot from a distance so that if someone would see him, he wouldn’t give away the location of their American hero.
Arriving at the farm, Eric came to the shocking conclusion that Willem had left for the city. Eric’s father had also left already for his afternoon shift. There was no one else he could trust. Somehow, they had to do it by themselves. With some rope, he tied the box to the sled and went on his way back to the fields. Perspiring heavily, he began to realize the grave danger this mission could develop into if they were caught. He knew the rudeness of the German Gestapo. Torturing, concentration camp, being shot—these were words he heard daily during that time and not at all strange to Eric. Not only himself and Nico but his parents, the sisters, all of them—he was putting them in danger.
He stopped for a moment. The scared, squeezing feeling in his chest made breathing difficult. It was so easy to tell the Germans of their discovery, and it would be all over with. No one would find out, and even if they did, no one would blame them because they were only children. For a moment, he was panic-stricken, but then the peaceful face of the American made his decision final. Everywhere the rumors went that soon the Americans would come and once again free Holland from these unwelcome invaders. He really didn’t know what freedom meant. For half of his young life, there had been war. How would it be—no more bombings, no more shouting commands on the streets? And how would a big bell in the church tower sound through the village if they would ever get one again?
For Eric, this American was the first real person with a message that peace once again would come. He calmed down a little bit and went on. No, he would not give up that easily. If he could help it, he would save this hero, maybe even save his life. Arriving at the scene, he found Nico practically frozen. Standing in this cold wind, his face and lips had turned purple. Prince barked a couple of times, happy to see his master, but he got awarded with a quick slap on his head, which stopped him in his tracks. This stupid dog could give them away.
Hastily they went to work now. It took them quite some time to get all these belts and small cables connected to the parachute off the wounded man. Neither one was afraid of a wounded person. By now, they had witnessed many wounded soldiers and civilians during the bombing periods. The wind caught hold of the parachute and bulged it out. The two had a hard time bundling it up and burying it in a close-by ditch and covering it with snow. Pulling the sled and box over to its side, they now carefully pushed and rolled the pilot into the box.
Pulling and pushing the box and sled up was another matter. It took all their power and energy to finally get it up straight. The wounded man moaned a little bit when the box and sled fell into position. He lay in an awkward position, and the wound on his leg opened up again. Eric took the front, and Nico pushed. Prince was jumping and running in all directions, happy of his freedom and knowing that the direction was home. Once in a while, they stopped, gasping for air, and gave their exhausted bodies a rest. The wound, still bleeding, was dripping into the white snow. While pushing the sled, Nico watched faithfully and ground each drop into the snow with his foot.
Coming closer to the villages, they noticed that the street where the nun’s convent was located had filled up with German SS trucks and soldiers. Panic-stricken they knew this was the end. They would never be able to pass these soldiers without being detected. To protect themselves, the only thing to do was deliver their hero to the Germans. All their efforts had been for nothing. Now feeling exhausted by this unexpected let-down, they carried on, pulling and pushing the sled, now heavy as if it were filled with lead.
Suddenly, while passing a sugar beet pile, Eric stopped. A brilliant idea had flashed into his mind. In the late fall, the farmers would pile up sugar beets in the fields and cover them with straw and then dirt to make a natural protection for the winter feed for their cattle. The dirt would freeze, but the beets protected with this heavy layer of straw stayed fresh. In the winter, the farmer would open one end, and after he loaded his farm wagon, he would close off the opening with straw.
“Why don’t we cover the pilot with beets and leaves? And if a German stops us, we tell him that we’re bringing beets to the poor nuns?” Eric said to Nico while out of breath.
For a moment, they thought it over. Reserve energy, which young people were rich of, streamed through their bodies, and in no time, the box was partly filled with beets and leaves, covering the wounded man perfectly. The bleeding had luckily stopped by now, and with their last energy, they pulled this extra-heavy load past the soldiers. They did not dare to look up, scared that their eyes would give them away.
Stopping at the open wrought-iron gate of the convent, they discovered another unforeseen obstacle. The lane to the convent was way too steep for the boys. After a couple of minutes of indecision, Eric, who had become the leader of their expedition, made possibly the bravest steps in his life. He went straight up to a German SS officer and asked very politely if some of his soldiers could give them a hand, because they were bringing beets to the sisters. The officer smiled and, with a couple of commands, had some of the soldiers push the load to the back door of the convent. With a kind of weak smile, the boys watched as the soldiers left. When they were sure that no one was in sight, they rang the backdoor bell.
A sister opened the door. Seeing the two exhausted youngsters with a box full of beets made her smile. She thanked the two for their goodness but mentioned that these beets were not good for eating. Her rosy color and smile changed quickly when the two told her that they needed Sister Theresa because they had a wounded pilot underneath these beets. She mentioned something like “Oh my god!” and rushed off to get Sister Theresa. Within a minute, Sister Theresa and three or four other sisters came rushing in. In no time at all, the sisters moved the heavy sled and box into the hallway and closed the door behind them. While the other sisters were taking the beets out, Sister Theresa guided the two dead-tired youngsters into a small room and asked one of the sisters to bring some hot chocolate milk for them.
Inside the room, Sister Theresa very nervously told the boys of the danger they had put the convent in and if they would mention only one word of this to anyone, the Germans would find out and all the sisters would be sent to concentration camps. After making sure that the sisters would contact the resistance movement and not hand their hero over to the Germans, they both promised the sister never to mention anything to anybody, not even their parents.
Awfully tired but with a beautiful feeling, they left the convent. The hot chocolate milk felt good and had relieved their sore throats from the heavy breathing. The sled and empty box glided now, feather light, behind them like a silent witness. The sisters had removed the blood from the box and had covered the bottom with some straw. After disconnecting the box from the sled and putting the box back in the cow stall, the two sat down for a while, discussing proudly their deed now that the danger had passed.
A few weeks later, they found out from Sister Theresa that she had cleaned the wound and set the leg bone and that same evening, the resistance movement had picked him up and, within a couple of days, had gotten him over to safety in England. That was the last the two boys ever heard about their hero, but that was not important.
News broke through from the resistance movement that the Allied forces had landed in France. Even before this news finally broke through to the villagers, everyone knew that something had happened. The normal, peaceful village had changed into a nervous commotion of movement of German forces. Shouting officers, heavily roaring tanks and trucks, and marching soldiers made everyone aware that the end of the war was near. These were exciting days for Eric and Nico. Their schoolmaster had closed the school, and both could observe, sitting at the corner stoop at the end of the street, the tremendous mass movement of the German forces. It seemed that they were moving in all direction. This went on for days. Finally, their movement changed to one direction—the German border. The Germans were pulling back, and with it came the sounds of the still-faraway front line.
Months later, Radio Orange reported that