Fighting the Unknown: Part 1 - Horrifying Betrayal

Title

Fighting the Unknown

Part 1

Horrifying Betrayal

by

Hans Smedema

2011

Colophon

Smashwords Edition

Version for publication & book trade – January 2019

Owner all rights:

Hans Smedema Amnesia Foundation

Website: https://hanssmedema.info/foundation

Author: Hans Smedema, Spain

EBook, English language, over 158.000 words

Title: Fighting the Unknown

Part I - Horrifying Betrayal

Blog: https://hanssmedema.info

Cover design: Daniel Bies, Drachten, Netherlands

Copyrights

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © Hans Smedema 2011

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without permission in writing from the author, except  for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Accountability

In Part 1, I describe what I remember about my life up to March of 2000. It is written in retrospect, of course, but I very truthfully indicate how I was thinking at the time. I particularly describe the strange events that are most memorable. Many regular, every-day occurrences I have left out, because they would slow down the story too much. I do mention a number of seemingly insignificant events, because they later turn out to be very significant after all and because they show that the whole story is indeed plausible and prove certain facts later on.  Occasionally I make a comment to the reader to point out something that could easily be missed. Many things happened to me that were immediately suppressed. It was difficult to choose what to mention in Part I and what to save for Part II. The events that actually took place are in Part I; Part II shows the reader more about how much of my life passed me by unconsciously, due to the serious suppression of memories of  so many abuses.

Disclaimer

The reader must explicitly assume that all the people mentioned in my book have denied what I have described. In parts II, III and IV this will also be described in detail. But in order to prevent any legal confrontations, I am explicitly making mention of this here. The reader will have to decide for him- or herself whom and what to believe. In any case, this is my written declaration regarding everything I know and remember about this horrific, long-term betrayal of an unsuspecting couple. In my not-so-humble opinion, this story is destined to become part of the historical legacy of the Netherlands.

Preface

A thousand times worse than an enemy, is a friend that turns out to be an enemy.

This book is dedicated to Wies, my beautiful, warm and very charming wife and loving mother of our three amazing kids, Ilse, Arne and Jorrit.

After being intensely in love and sharing a beautiful period of fiery passion in 1972, when I was taking an extra study year, spending more time in her room in Utrecht than in my own in Dordrecht, we got married in Leeuwarden. Then we moved to ‘t Harde and some time later to our beautiful home in Drachten. We had a wonderful time, though it was sometimes very challenging, as you will see later. But at that time it only made us stronger, because we were suffering together and together we were fighting against the enormous wrong that was done to us over and over, much to our astonishment.

Here, in Drachten, I am now writing this journal, or rather, this history of events, thirty years later. In later years I will turn this into a real book, in the form of an autobiography, which will also be written as a research book for future researchers. The social interest is too important to justify allowing this series of crimes to remain swept under the rug, as many a guilty party would prefer.

All the facts up to March of 2000 have been reconstructed and put into words as accurately as possible while looking back. Conversations have been recounted as with as much truth as possible, but are no longer literal. Their meaning, however, is correctly portrayed.

Sadly, I have had to conclude that everything that seemed so beautiful in the beginning was not beautiful at all. On the contrary; we have been treated wrongly, in fact, outrageously. Relatives as well as others have made decisions for and about us, as though they were God, without informing us adequately or asking us enough questions or warning us. This has had horrific negative consequences for us. Even urgently needed medical help was denied us.

In reading part I of the book, it is important to know that when there is repression and amnesia after intensely traumatic events, there is no ongoing learning process. Each traumatic event that follows another appears as normal again, because what happened before has been suppressed! This can then become a grotesque drama without anyone realizing what is going on or even really stopping to think about it.

Even when I began to retrieve my memories, in bits and pieces, after twenty-eight years, which was very emotionally taxing and confusing, there was no one who made the effort to help me, and therefore us, by simply telling me what happened. If that had been done, the harm could still have been minimized. We could not blame them for the fact that we suffered from suppression and amnesia, but they were certainly responsible for keeping silent about crimes and withholding medical attention from us. What to speak of the children, who, very likely, are not even mine. We could have had our own children, with a bit of help, but they decided not to allow this.

This book is partly an attempt for me to work through everything that happened by writing it down, getting it off my chest, but it is also intended to ensure that nothing like this can ever happen again. The greatest importance, however, is the social significance. Much can be learned from this story. It is also a complaint against the medical profession, lawyers, the judicial system and others.

In addition, it is also an ode to Wiesje, who, despite everything she has had to endure as a result of other people’s criminal actions, in particular actions by the family, still remains the sweet, charming and warm person that she has always been. Only in the last few years has it all become too much for her and she, unfortunately, does not want to help me in the writing of this book, which is so important to me in terms of processing the experiences and keeping intact the last remnants of self-respect as well as blowing the lid off this cover-up and to publicly confront the culprits.

This book is also a complaint against psychiatry, which, in my eyes, is definitely a century behind the times in its development. Psychiatrists seem to be incredibly stupid and unbelievably impertinent and arrogant in these matters.

Any profit that may come from this book I will spend on Wies and other victims of this drama, so that they may receive at least some small compensation for what was done to them.

By finally bringing the truth out into the open, those people whose behavior has been so cruel and criminal will hopefully be forced to deal with the truth and the public’s opinion. Maybe this will make the world a little better. It is only a small compensation for what was done to us, but can at least be a clear warning for others.

Never again should people play God and make decisions for others; especially not without any built-in guarantees. Sick people, but also people who suffer from some psychological trauma or amnesia should be helped; not kept in the dark

The book has been written very candidly. I believe that this is the only way to present this true story if I want to give the public the opportunity to learn from all the horror that has been played out here, under the auspices of the evidently ruthless parties involved. Only a factual report of the events will be able to penetrate deeply and touch people’s hearts. Girls and young women, as well as their loved ones, can be warned by this book and therefore be sufficiently alert to notice and pay attention to strange things that may be happening to the people in their lives. I gladly sacrifice myself for this and I am sure that Wies would completely support me in this if she was sure that all of it really happened. She is a very strong woman and ready to stand up and fight for justice. But betrayed by all who profess to love her, she is now fighting against the only person who is not lying to her: me.

At the time of this writing we are still together. Whether we will be able to continue to be remains to be seen. Sometimes I have a crying Wiesje on the other end of the phone, begging me to come back to Holland and continue our life together; grow old together, with our children and now two grandchildren.

I hope that despite everything I will be able to cherish the most precious and beautiful gifts in my life, but I fear the worst.

Never in world history …, has any loving couple…, been betrayed so severely…, for so long…, by so many…!

Hans Smedema

Jalon, Alicante, Spain

January 2011

Remark: Later in 2017 at last I find out that also my girlfriend and later wife terribly betrayed me! Unbelievable. So I had nobody who was honest to me except three young girls and a few others.

Part 1 – Horrifying betrayal

Chapter 1 - Landlord Jan van Beek

Flashback March 2000

It is very early in the morning one day in March of 2000. It is just starting to get light in our bedroom. I am lying on our king-size bed in our large bedroom and have just woken up from a restless sleep with strange memories of a dramatic and almost unbelievable event. It concerned the following:

One evening, Wiesje calls me at the Bildtsestraat in Leeuwarden.

Hans, please come and get me; they are making me do terrible things. Please, come quick, she says, sounding afraid and sad.

This call out of the blue greatly upset me; especially the fear I heard in her voice. Something was wrong and Wiesje was in trouble! I ran to the door and asked my brother Ruud, who was just coming down the stairs, to call the police. I drove to Utrecht like maniac, passing people on the left and right, driving on the shoulder where necessary and barely lifted my foot off the gas pedal, despite the wet conditions of the roads, due to rain. Cars were honking furiously, but I didn’t care: this was about my poor Wiesje. The adrenaline was pumping through my veins. I felt heavy with emotions and there was a dull feeling in my head that made it hard for me to think. I parked in the middle of the street in front of the house where she lived in a rented room, completely blocking traffic, and left the car lights on and the doors of the car open, to warn anyone passing by. I took the keys out of the ignition and called out to a pedestrian that he should call the police because my girlfriend was being held hostage upstairs. I wanted to save Wiesje. They refused to answer the door, but I threatened to call the police, after which they opened it. I saw bright lights in Jan’s bedroom; I knew those were lights for filming. Were they filming Wiesje? I caught a glimpse of her; she was being carried on a man’s shoulders and put down in her room, while two large men were trying to obstruct my vision. I felt the fear that something was terribly wrong here, but I stood alone against superior forces. Why hadn’t I gone to the police first? In her room I was under a death threat; I felt a fear I never experienced before. They forced me to drink something. Jan van Beek said it was all right and that he would take good care of me. If I don’t drink this, they will murder me. I fell asleep, but I heard sirens.

There are flashing blue lights outside, someone in the room said. I fell asleep again and then suddenly heard Jan calling out my name loudly. It took a lot of effort to turn around and then I saw a police officer standing in our room, while I was lying on the bed, next to Wiesje, feeling very sleepy. The policeman left. I fell asleep again and then, suddenly I saw the pedestrian I had seen in the street, standing there in the doorway, next to the police officer. The young man was surprised that we were lying there, pretty much asleep.

Just a few minutes ago he was on the street and in a frenzy; urging me to call the police, he said.

The next morning I had apparently forgotten everything and Jan van Beek told me I had to go to the police station to pick up my car keys. I had parked my car in the wrong place! They asked me a few questions at the station, but oddly enough, they didn’t mention anything about what exactly had taken place. I wonder how differently my life would have turned out if at that crucial moment they had simply done their duty…

The whole thing was so absurd and bizarre, it couldn’t possibly be true. But it caused great turmoil in my life up to then. Wiesje would have never allowed that; why didn’t she just leave? Was she being drugged? But not later, when she was with us in Leeuwarden? And during the day she was at work. But I also didn’t remember anything afterwards. I only remember now. What had happened in that apartment? It simply couldn’t be true.

I look around me and wonder if maybe I was asleep or if it had just been a dream or a nightmare. But no, I’m awake and I see Wiesje lying beside me, sleeping peacefully, sweet and beautiful as always and everything in our big bedroom looks normal. I’m 51 years old and I never dream; at least I never remember any dreams. Nothing weird has ever happened in my life, but this seems like hallucinations. And besides, these events are serious crimes with strong emotional content. The images seem very real. They are about Wiesje, who is living in a rented room in Utrecht, with her landlord living downstairs. But that can’t be true, because then I should have known about this a long time ago. Impossible, and so bizarre. It must be a delusion; I’ve suddenly gone crazy! I repress the thought and the memories, but the next morning, other memories begin the surface, which are also very emotional and about crimes being committed against Wiesje and myself. It can’t possibly be true, can it...?

July 1971 – Love at first sight

I saw my beautiful, sweet Wiesje for the first time during a vacation on Vlieland, a beautiful island, where she and two of her girlfriends were working. She was standing near the ferry dock and I noticed her almost right away. Unfortunately, she was standing with the people who were leaving the island, so my interest was not that great; I was more interested in seeing what pretty girls were arriving on the island! Still, I couldn’t quite keep my eyes away from her and she also looked at me a few times, because I was standing on the dike, looking down at the people who were waiting for the ferry, obviously observing them all and not being very discreet about it.

See you tomorrow at the Beach Hotel, okay? I suddenly heard her saying quite loudly to her two friends who were standing right next to her. It was almost like she wanted me to hear it, because she glanced up at me for a moment as she said it. But I must have misunderstood.  Why would she be leaving Vlieland and then going to the Beach Hotel on the same island the next evening? I didn’t get it, but she had clearly said it and it seemed as though I was supposed to have heard it. Was it a hint directed at me?

So, she’s leaving and coming back tomorrow, I thought. Our eyes met a few times, but we both kept quickly looking away. Sadly, she left, and I watched her disappear. She was standing on the ferry, waving goodbye to her friends. Was it my imagination, or did she look at me too? It was hard to see from that distance. After I had taken a look at the people who were arriving, especially the girls, I went back to meet my two friends at the campground, Stortemelk. We hung around the campground canteen for a while, had a bite to eat and usually went to De Stoep in the evenings, which was a popular and somewhat notorious pub nearby. I couldn’t get my mind off her and kept thinking about what she had said about being at the Beach Hotel the next night. My friends didn’t really feel like going there, but I managed to convince them and we went over there to have a look. But it was full and they didn’t even let us in. I couldn’t see anything, so we went to De Stoep as usual. A few days later, I saw her there. She was in the large room behind the bar, talking to the same two friends that I had seen her with at the ferry terminal. She was out of my reach; I couldn’t very well just go up to her and interrupt their conversation? She’d probably tell me to get lost. I didn’t have a great deal of self-confidence back then. That’s something you get later in life, when you don’t need it as much. Later that evening, one of my friends told me he’d seen her outside, making out with the doorman in the back alley. Someone else later confirmed this, so I put her out of my mind. It was not my style to interfere with anyone’s personal life. There was another girl that was showing an interest in me and was trying to get my attention. But, of course, I was not particularly attracted to her, though I thought about it a few times. Finally, one evening, she asked one of my friends to tell me to come to her tent that night, because she was leaving the next day. I thought that was pretty weird and was not inclined to take her up on her invitation, but my friend decided he would go and take a look himself. That was the most fun he’d ever had, he told me later. Whether or not that was really true remains to be seen, but whatever. I had my principles, and I only wanted to spend the night with someone I was in love with and whom I had planned that with. We left on the same ferry as that girl, who was really not at all unattractive. I took a good look at her, and she seemed pretty nice, but now it was too late.

It was still summer vacation and I was washing my dad’s car in the Bildtsestraat in Leeuwarden, where my family lived. When I washed the car, I was sometimes allowed to drive it. It was a hot sunny day.

Hey, Vlieland! I suddenly heard a voice calling out cheerfully. I looked around, surprised and I saw the girl from Vlieland, on the other side of the street, riding her bicycle with someone, probably her mother. She called out something about washing cars for such a long time, I gave some kind of inane answer and she was gone. She had turned left, towards the Heliconweg. I went back to washing the car.

I wonder who she is and where she lives? I thought to myself.

I grabbed my bike and raced after her. Just when I had caught up to her enough to see her, she disappeared around the next corner and into the Potgieterstraat. But by the time I got there they had vanished.

Too late, as per usual, I thought regretfully. I wish I knew where she lived; then it would be a lot easier to approach her. She seemed like she was just my type; spontaneous and outgoing.

Some time late, on a Saturday, I was walking along the Nieuwstad in Leeuwarden, looking for a nice girl and I happened to run into a Roland classmate from the HTS, the trade school I had attended, and his girlfriend Tea, on the corner of the Doelesteeg. We stopped to chat and serendipitously, the same girl walked by! It turned out that she knew Tea and therefore also Roland. Standing next to Roland, I turned in such a way that I had a good view of her. She saw me too, recognized me and looked right into my eyes for a long moment. We stared at each other like this for a while. Later, I asked Roland who she was and he told me her name was Wiesje, from the Potgieterstraat, a friend of Tea’s. They had both taken a secretarial course in Groningen. She had clearly looked at me for quite a while, so I could tell there was some interest from her side as well. I felt I had a chance! However, I seemed to be pretty slow on the uptake, and also let this chance pass me by. I had simply looked at this beautiful girl in surprise, without uttering a word and I never ran into her at Vat 69, a pub where I often went, to see if I could finally find a girl I could fall in love with. I was pretty picky about this. Later I found out that she always went to different pubs and I therefore kept missing her.

1948 - 1971 – Personal history

I was born in Leeuwarden, in a family with five children. I have three older brothers, Johan, Marinus and Ruud and a sister named Rinske, Rin for short. Johan and I never got along. Years later, just before they died, my parents told me they never understood what Johan’s gripe against me was all about. I was just an innocent, playful child who simply took life as it came. I never could have done him any harm. Johan was the one who was always pointing out everything I did wrong. Not eating properly with a fork and knife was one of them. I often ended up running from the dinner table in tears, furious about his harsh, ruthless behavior. I didn’t think he should have the power to discipline me; I thought my parents should just calmly explain things to me when I made mistakes. But my parents just gave him free rein, which made me ever angrier. Later on, Johan had to help my father with his business and he apparently was jealous of my freedom, which was much greater than what he had had at my age. Every chance he got, he tried to embarrass or humiliate me. I didn’t do enough, I didn’t go to bed early enough (because he had an earlier bedtime at my age!), I didn’t eat properly with a fork and knife and all these kinds of normal developmental things.

My parents used to be in charge of Sporthuis de Jong at the Kelders in Leeuwarden. That was an exciting and busy time. Unfortunately, I was too young to really learn much about it, but it was very energizing. My mother had become kind of weak and sickly from working so hard and such long hours. My father got her to work for him without a salary, while other family members were paid. Pretty stupid of him, I thought. After a number of fights about this, my father took over the company by himself, and after that things improved. Still, it was a lot of hard work, and things often got stolen. My father thought it would be better for us to just carry on with engraving the sports trophies; that would net more profit and much less hassle. This was how the family engraving business, Graveerbedrijf de Jong, was born, which was later taken over by my brother Marinus. My father needed someone and asked Marinus to go into the business with him. Marinus was not academically inclined, so working was very good for him. He more or less got the business presented to him on a silver platter, because payments were made through bonuses, on top of his salary, and he didn’t really notice it. Marinus was well-suited for the work and he did a good job. He expanded the company much more than would have been possible under my father’s leadership.

While I was in high school, we moved to the Bildtsestraat in Leeuwarden. Johan was still constantly at my throat. When we had to take an intelligence test, I was the one with the highest score. We all laughed, thinking it was so funny that the youngest one turned out to be the smartest and teased Johan about it. But because his girlfriend was there, he took offense and a few minutes later, in the hallway, he accused me of humiliating him in front of her and told me he would get back at me. I just shrugged. What was I supposed to say to such a threat? Some time later, my parents, who spent a lot of time in Diever, gave me a motorcycle, to make it easy for me to visit them and go out when I wanted to. Johan was furious when he heard about this. Marinus had picked out the motorcycle with me and was happy for me, but for Johan it was too much. After all, when he was younger, he had had to shrimp and save just to buy a bicycle and now that spoiled brat was just handed a motorcycle, worth several hundred guilders. I didn’t know what to say to that, and asked him if I should return the motorcycle. I had no problems with any of my other brothers or my sisters. We were a happy family and had an interesting life together.

Just before the summer of 1971, I graduated from the Technical College in Leeuwarden, but, because I was from a family of entrepreneurs, I thought this diploma was far too technical. I wanted to develop myself in a broader way and learn about commerce as well. I had done some research already and picked out the Technical College in Dordrecht for this. I didn’t really want to go to university, because that would take so long, although my father tried to convince me that I should. In Dordrecht they offered a concise one-year course, called Economic Operations Engineering. My friend Roland Wester also thought it looked like a good course and decided to take it as well. Of course, it was nicer to do it together than alone. I had my own car by then, a  Renault R8, which I had earned by installing signposts in buildings for my brother Marinus’ company. My father and brother still ran that company, Graveerbedrijf de Jong and later Euro-Routing, together at that time and always needed people to properly mount the signposts. He didn’t really want to use his own personnel for this, so I took on the work, for a fixed amount, and then asked a few friends to help me, at that time at 5 guilders an hour. This way, I was taking the risk, but I was a hard worker and good organizer. Because we were able to plan our activities at school, to make the work as easy and time-efficient as possible, we were always well-prepared. It all ran very smoothly, because we all enjoyed doing the work well and doing it fast. I usually ended up paying my friends a bit more than what we had agreed on. It was more to keep busy than to make a pile of money; the money was a nice side effect. The boys also really enjoyed getting to know the architects and hospital administrators. It was a nice diversion from school, where not much of any interest every happened. The result of our work was happy clients and less cost than expected, so I almost always had quite a bit of money left over. Only a few times I had to spend more than I made, because the work took more time than we had anticipated. After I had bought my own car, first an old  Renault Dauphin en later a somewhat better Renault R8, I still had 10,000 guilders left when I moved to Dordrecht half-way through 1971.

I had a lot of energy, people said I was good-looking and resembled my mother quite a bit with my even features, a nose that was a bit long and pointy and light-brown hair. I came across as positive and daring. I didn’t like submissiveness, was always busy with all kinds of activities and was not afraid to try out new things. But only in small groups. In large groups I immediately lost my self-confidence and became almost shy, though I tried to hide this. I think I succeeded in this for the most part. I enjoyed going out and looking for adventure; I was always ready for some excitement. School was very boring for me and I had no trouble keeping up with the work there. I just studied hard a couple of evening a week and that was it. I enjoyed the many social contacts, which you automatically find at school. My friend Roland Wester, of the lumber yard Wester in Franeker, and Paul Schuh, son of the manager of V&D in Leeuwarden, and I became an inseparable group of friends at the Technical College. I had gone to the Costa Brava on a vacation with Paul during the second year, and to Greece, via Yugoslavia, with Roland, during the third year. We had traveled ten thousand kilometers in four weeks; we had a fantastic time. We would have animated discussions for hours. The special thing about me is my extreme openness. Why hide anything and be mysterious if by being open you can learn so much more and get to the core of things so much faster. It prevents a lot of problems caused by misunderstandings and the sense that someone is hiding something from you. In short, to me, honesty is always the best policy. Later I called this being able to distinguish real from unreal. Being unreal often only caused problems. I suspect that this attitude was probably the main reason for my success later in life. People always knew exactly what they could expect of me; I was an open book. And, as you will see later, it was also this very character trait that saw me through the most grotesque and most impossible situations that a person can ever get caught up in. My brother-in-law used to say I was just like a ferret. Once he gets a hold of something, he never lets go. And, sure enough, I was always good at standing up for myself and never let anyone bully me, but I only applied this to things that really mattered to me. But when it came to things that seemed insignificant to me, I was really easy-going. This sometimes confused people. They would think I was a push-over, but when something crucial came up, they would feel betrayed by my strong stance. I hated dishonesty and when I caught people lying I wanted nothing more to do with them and kept them at an arm’s length from then on. My brother Johan began to work more and more. He became a real estate agent in Gennep, which gave me more freedom to be myself. I received a huge emotional shock during an unexpected conversation with my brother-in-law Tjitte de Jong. He had been our next-door neighbor in the Bildtsestraat in Leeuwarden and my sister Rinneke had fallen in love with him and married him. He invited me over for a visit and out of the clear blue sky informed me that my dad had been part of the NSB, the Dutch National Socialist Movement, during the Second World War.  Those traitors that I hated so much! I had read a lot about the war and I was furious with those spineless people. And then I found out that my own family had known about this for years and never thought to tell me about it. Now I understood why they never talked about the war. My world crumbled. I was never even able to discuss it with my dad. Tjitte told me they did it out of self-preservation. They had no work or income and had to survive. Dad never really did anything wrong and even helped people. They did really suffer after the war. Because I was born in 1948, I had not experienced any of this, of course. Much later, I also heard the same thing from a Rotary friend who knew all about that time. Your father never hurt a fly, he assured me, which made a feel a bit better about it. But it was then that I began to see my family with different eyes; they apparently had no qualms about keeping very important matters from me. I thought that was pretty cowardly.

September 1971 - Wiesje

Roland and I both moved to Dordrecht to take the course in Economic Operations Engineering. We had found rooms to rent, right next to each other in the same house. At first we were not that motivated. We soon decided to go to Rotterdam or some other place to look for things to do. We haven’t spent much time there yet; it will probably be more interesting. Having my own car made this very easy. As it turned out, not much was happening in Rotterdam, so we tried other cities, like Utrecht and Amsterdam and found some great places to hang out there!

One beautiful late summer’s day, we were walking across Rembrandt Square in Amsterdam. Hey, that looks like Wiesje over there! Roland said, suddenly. Where? I asked, looking around at the crowded terraces, full of busily talking people. Right there, wearing a beige dress with a four-leaf clover on the front. It was true; there she was, sitting at one of the terraces, leaning her back against a wall, looking beautiful in the sunshine. She was talking to an older man and Roland walked up to her. We sat down with them for a few minutes and it turned out that her colleague Peter, from the Raiffaisen bank in Utrecht, was showing her around Amsterdam. She had just started a job at the head office, as the secretary of  Ben van Tol, Training Manager and was renting a room somewhere in Utrecht. I could see why Peter would be eager to show her around Amsterdam. Who wouldn’t want to spend time with such a pretty, innocent young thing? I actually felt a little jealous and suggested to her that in the future she could catch a ride with me from Utrecht to Leeuwarden, because she lived close-by anyway. I’ll give you a ride for ten bucks, I said, that’s a lot cheaper and less complicated than the train; we can pick you up right from your work. She thought it was a great idea. She and Peter got up and left. I can imagine Peter was happy to be rid of us. Her beautiful blue eyes stayed in my memory as though they were engraved there. She had looked me in the eyes very intensely and I got this feeling like we merging into one. I’d never felt that way with any other girl. There was a definite spark there and I could feel myself getting possessive already. I wanted to get to know her better and felt a strong urge to be near her. But, unfortunately, I had to wait.

Driving off, a bit later, we happened to pass her again. Again, I felt a pang of jealousy to see her walking with that much older colleague. I couldn’t get her out of my mind and I was very glad when it was Friday and we could go and pick her up. She was a bit late, coming out the bank building, but, of course, I didn’t mind at all. While we were driving, we finally got a chance to talk and I found myself falling more in love with her by the minute. Her energy was so beautiful and natural, she was totally sweet and the way she talked was beautiful, innocent and very clear. I hung on to her every word. Her eyes exuded some mysterious longing. Much later I realized that it was this expression in her eyes that made her irresistible to many other men. She had gorgeous long, light-brown hair and it was all I could do not to reach out and stroke it, but after all, I was behind the wheel, so I controlled myself. It was easier for Roland to talk to her, because he was the other passenger. I knew I absolutely had to see her again and asked her if she wanted to go out to the Vat that evening. That’s what we always called Vat 69 in Leeuwarden. I was happy when she agreed. I picked her up from her parents’ home in the Potgieterstraat and met her parents and two sisters. Her father’s name was Jolle Jansma and he was the Head of Accounting of the Raiffaisen bank (which later became the Rabo Bank) in Friesland. Her mother’s name was Els; her sisters were Klazien and Betty. Wies was 19 years young and her sisters were 13 and 16. They looked completely different from Wiesje, and so did her parents. I was surprised that she was part of this family; she didn’t look like any of her family members. Her father had an old injury from when he was shot down by the Germans during the war and couldn’t bend one of his legs. The Germans had been looking for people hiding at his parents’

café Jansma in Nieuwehorne, near Heerenveen. The café had belonged to her grandfather Albert, who was always willing to give shelter to people to had to go into hiding in those days. Grandpa was beat up by the Germans and Wiesje’s father had an angry reaction to this, which caused him to be shot in the upper leg with a machine gun, and he had spent most of the war in the Academic Hospital in Groningen, because they wound was not healing properly. That was all I heard about it at that time. But it had been a traumatic event, that much was obvious. When I asked about it much later, I found out that Grandpa Albert had been tortured. The Germans had pulled out all his fingernails. A horrific story, but that’s another book.

Wies looked beautiful that night, as always. Her make-up was simple and natural. I was proud to accompany her to the Vat. I suddenly had a lot of energy and felt invincible. When we arrived at the Vat it turned out to be full and we had to get in line. But because I had often given the doormen tips (after all, I was already making my own money), they had given me a VIP card, which allowed me to get in even if there was a line-up outside. Wiesje didn’t like this because she felt sorry for the people who had to wait, but after a bit of persuasion on my part, she finally agreed to go in with me. Inside, we happened to see the two friends that I had been with when I was on Vlieland,  Hielke and Tjalling. They recognized Wies and at one point, Hielke, the son of a baker, whispered in my ear that this was the girl he had seen making out with the doorman in the alley outside the De Stoep. He was even rude enough to mention that to Wies too; apparently it was something that bothered him. Wies was not impressed and told me she wanted to leave, so we did and went to a different place. I sure didn’t mind having her all to myself. She was drinking black current gin and I had a beer. We had lots to talk about and gave each other long, curious looks. Roland and Tea also joined us after a while. Much later that evening we took them back to Franeker, where Roland lived. But we were all feeling so jolly, we decided to first go to Harlingen to watch the sunrise! Seeing all that water made Wies have to go to the bathroom, which she did under a bridge. We had a lot of fun and were really too tipsy to drive, but well, what can I say, we were young and foolish. So we brought Roland and Tea to Franeker and when we finally got home we stood and talked for a while outside her house. I kissed her for the first time there and she was very responsive and seemed to think it was the most natural thing in the world. This was nicer than anything else I had experienced with a girl up to then. She was so warm, so sweet and so sensitive. I didn’t want to stop, didn’t want to let go of her and my hands started to wander; under her sweater, down her pants. I was feeling so much passion and she seemed to be feeling the same way. Suddenly I was startled when I felt something strange against my leg. It turned out to be Mopsie, the family cat. Now we had to stop, because Wiesje’s mom was calling out impatiently if she was coming in. She got into trouble with her parents for coming home so late. I didn’t care; she was all I could think about now. I wanted to be with her and asked her out again. We kept going out on dates like this for a long time, until she said she was getting exhausted and needed to catch up on her sleep. She always needed a lot of sleep. I was totally enamored with her and wanted to be close to her, talk to her, look at her. Everything she did was beautiful. She was always charming and graceful, very spontaneous, sweet and innocent. Everybody liked her and always wanted to talk to her. Wherever she went she was the center of attention. I didn’t really understand her attraction to me, but accepted it gratefully and hoped it wouldn’t change. All we did was make out, talk and meet people. We didn’t really feel the need for sex yet. It didn’t even occur to me to do it in the beginning. She was too beautiful to me and I had far too much respect for her to just jump into the sack with her. What we had was different; much more beautiful, almost sacred. Oddly enough, it didn’t bother me at all to not be having sex. My need was gradually growing, but not when I was with her. Very strange, almost as if just being in her presence completely satisfied me.

I didn’t ask for it, though we did kiss passionately and sometimes went a little further. I had actually never done it with a girl yet, even though I had had a few opportunities. But I wasn’t ready for it yet, didn’t feel all that attracted to the girl, or just let the chance pass me by because I was too naïve to understand the offer at the crucial moment. Wies was a pretty prudish kind of girl. She enjoyed kissing, but never initiates anything more than that. I sometimes let my hands wander and she allowed this.

By now she had moved into a room in a house owned by the old tarts in Utrecht. That’s what Wies called them, because they were two older ladies who didn’t allow anything. She was not allowed to have boys over and had a strict curfew. She was not even allowed to have pantyhose draped over a chair in her own room. The ladies checked on this and when things were not to their satisfaction, they would chastise her. Once, she took me up to her room and we had something to eat and drink. We were talking and one thing led to another. It was just natural and we couldn’t have stopped it if we’d wanted to. Before my eyes, she took off her work clothes, only keeping her panties on and changed into a long, tight-fitting dress with an eastern, dark-colored and red print on it. The dress showed off her beautiful shape; her pretty little breasts and proud mount of Venus. Soon we were lying on her bed together. She took off her panties and now was completely naked under the long dress, which was no longer covering her legs. We fell into a trance and kept getting wilder. We forgot all about the time, until there was a knock on the door, which totally startled us. Wies looked at me and put her finger on her lips to indicate that she wanted me to be quiet.

We know you’re in there together. You know better than that. That boy better be gone in five minutes. We’re very disappointed in you, one of the old tarts said in a heavy voice.

Yes, he’s leaving in a minute, Wies said, looking at me disappointedly. She quickly pulled her dress down again and I got dressed. She stood up and opened the door.

I’ll walk down with you, she said as she looked down at her body, which was still naked under that thin, tight dress. She smiled at me conspiratorially and walked down the stairs behind me. One of the old tarts was waiting for us at the bottom of the stairs and gave us an angry look. A cry escaped her lips when she saw Wies’ dress and noticed that she was wearing nothing underneath. But Wies just ignored her and walked right past her to the door. There she gave me one last intimate kiss and then went back upstairs. Angry and disappointed, I drove home to Dordrecht. Just a few more minutes and I could have given her an orgasm and probably would have been able to have sex with her for the first time. But now the opportunity had been lost because of those two frigid old tarts, who thought they knew everything with their religious wisdom. I found out later that they