Hinne de Jong
A Chronicle

Translated/adapted from the Groninger dialect. The original, entitled “Pa proat weer!” was published on www.dideldom.com. The story appeared under the name of Jan Prak, whose real name is shown above

My dad (we always called him “Pa”) was a good father but he was very quiet. He was very smart, and had studied a lot. Already before WW II, when I was only five or six years old, he had completed his final exams at the Arnhem school associated with the “Nederlandse Heidemaatschappij” (NHM) - a Dutch crown corporation involved in land reclamation and reforestation. He was a registered supervisor and usually wore a green uniform.
My mother (whom we always called “Moe”) did amazing things with that very strong, green material the uniforms were made from. During the war years, the de Jong kids often ran around with pants and coats made from this stuff!

I first saw daylight in 1934 in Vlagtwedde, a village in the province of Groningen, exactly on the day Queen Wilhelmina was in town. Obviously that fact was more important than my arrival, because everyone hit the street outside!

During my first year, Pa was transferred to a place called Winschoten, not far away. The de Jong family moved to Acacialaan 15 and that’s where I grew up. Pa’s area of responsibility was now the districts of Oldambt and Westerwolde. This was a very large area, all of which was within biking-distance from Winschoten. Pa’s job was to supervise NHM projects which employed large numbers of laborers. Usually, Pa left around 6 a.m. on his bike together with his NHM assistant, a certain Mr. Kiewiet. One day, they biked to Meeden, another day to Finsterwolde, Oude Pekela, Sellingerbeetse or Wagenborgen.

Both of these experienced men were quiet by nature. Very few words were spoken during their long bike rides. Usually, they carried on the bikes the unwieldy equipment needed for land surveying (instrument, tripod, etc.) - a rather heavy load.

Kiewiet lived in Woldendorp, about 30 km. from Winschoten. One morning, in near total darkness, he left his home in order to arrive at Acacialaan 15. He and Pa would leave at 6 a.m. to go to the designated job that day. Smoking a cigaret he waited for Pa. When Pa came out of the house, he said: “So, de Jong, whereto today?” Pa said: “Woldendorp.” Kiewiet’s face turned red and said: “Man, oh man, I just came from there! Why didn’t you say anything yesterday?” Later he told Moe: “Your husband is a good man. He’s even a Christian. But that morning I should have thrown him in the canal!”

Pa was also a bit deaf and absent-minded. One day, the two were taking a shortcut along the Winschoter Canal towards the village of Scheemda. Kiewiet was carrying the tripod and a long measuring rod - conspicuously marked with graduations - was attached to Pa’s bike. Pa led the way, with Kiewiet following. All of a sudden, the rod on Pa’s bike hit Kiewiet’s front wheel. Kiewiet lost his balance and sailed into the canal. Pa didn’t hear or notice a thing, and just kept going. However, about 500 meters down the path he figured something was wrong. He looked back: no Kiewiet. He called out: “Kiewiet, where did you go to!” And then he saw the man climb out of the canal, soaking wet and seething mad. This is not the place to write down what words were exchanged between those two.

In the year 1938, the NHM supplied supervisors like my Pa with a motor bike. It was one of those heavy BMW bikes as I recall. No more long bike trips. But now he had to learn how to ride one of these monsters. He was used to horses - grew up with them - but motor bikes? Oh, did he screw up! Sometimes he braked when he should have given gas, and vice versa. One day, in Oostwolde, he approached a 90- degree corner much too fast. Next thing he knew he and the motor were in the bottom of a ditch!

But he eventually got the hang of it. All of a sudden his life became a lot easier. Boy, was I proud of him. Who had a Pa who knew how to ride a motor bike! Even such a heavy machine that came from the “Bayerische Motoren Werke” in Germany! In those days, around 5 p.m., I would walk towards the bridge he had to cross in order to go to our house. And then I saw him, dressed from top to bottom in leather, with large safety glasses on his head. He’d stop and with one fell swoop he would pick me up and sit me down on the gas tank in front of him. Oh, how I loved the speed. My friends on the Acacialaan were green with envy!

Even though he preferred to remain quiet, his job as a registered NHM supervisor made certain verbal demands on him. No kidding, he could be fluent when he was talking about his day-to-day-work, or subjects like plants and trees. But he didn’t say much at home, much to Moe’s chagrin. She would encourage him, like: “My goodness, isn’t it quiet here? Pa, say something!” Pa would reply: “Wadde, Wine, what did you say?” Ah, as quiet as he was, he was Pa, a man we respected. His qualities of honesty, faithfulness and goodness left a mark on all of us.

The trip to Arnhem

Here is a story about Pa that was told to me in various forms. I was too young to know anything about it. All I remember was that massive motor bike he used to get around with. One day Pa had to go to an important NHM meeting in Arnhem, which is easily something like 200 kilometres from Winschoten. Dressed in his leather suit, he left early in the morning in the direction of Heiligerlee. There he had to make a left turn towards Westerlee, Veendam, etc., and then go south. Close to Westerlee he had to cross an unguarded railroad crossing. Did Pa not see the train going from Nieuweschans to Groningen? Did the train hit him? I never did find out. Apparently, he just brushed past the oncoming train. The train went on. Pa went on. But his little red tail light was missing!

That experience left an indelible mark on Pa. But his family didn’t know it! Did the police perhaps stop him and ticket him for not having a tail light? If not, he must have had it repaired before going on. He did attend the Arnhem meeting, stayed overnight there, and returned to Winschoten the next day. Again he had to go through that railroad crossing....

When he came home, he was as quiet as the biblical Zechariah. Apparently, try as he might, his vocal chords didn’t work. Moe tried to talk to him, his NHM boss tried, Kiewiet tried and so did the neighbors. He went about his work in a normal way, but talk he did not. That lasted something like three weeks. Moe was desperate....

Rev. J.R. Hommes, our beloved "dominee." He was 36 years old when he was installed in Winschoten during 1941. He left for the City of Groningen during 1952.

Eventually, Moe contacted our “dominee,” Rev. J.R. Hommes, the beloved pastor of our church. After listening to Moe, he left immediately on his bike. Pa had rented some space in a “people’s vegetable garden” which was located on the Beertserweg, way out of town. When Pa saw Rev. Hommes he had the scare of his life. Was anything wrong at home? Never in his wildest dreams would he have believed that someone as dignified as Rev. Hommes would visit him on his little plot of land. “Broeder (Brother) de Jong,” Rev. Hommes said, “I believe you have something to tell me.” What happened then, no one knows. All I know is that Pa cried and cried. And he told “Domie” everything. And then he was fine. Pa had been blessed....

Later that day, Pa went home on his bike, enjoying the scenery. He carried with him a bag containing green beans, carrots and onions. When he came home, he just started talking again. It greatly startled Moe, of course. Unable to say anything, she flew to the W.C. (at the foot of the stairs in our house) and shouted to my sister, who was upstairs: “Truus, Truus, come down, come down. Pa talks again!”

Ah, it’s so long ago. I was then only a “schietkereltje,” a little insignificant toddler. All I remember is that I was allowed to sit in front of my Pa on his big motor bike. Now I know that the Lord saved his life that day. And he learned to talk more.

Also with me!