Arnhem

They tried again. ‘We are a party of fourteen fugitives, and I walk in front carrying a long stick with a white handkerchief tied at the end. One of the women with us has a wounded foot and is still in her pyjamas. I wonder how she will manage. We creep to the wood, climbing across destroyed trees and branches and all sorts of rubbish. The shelling stops for a moment, then starts again and I fall flat on my face into a heap of manure. We set off again and follow a small path and soon we have left the Tafelberg behind.’

They walked through a destroyed landscape. ‘The houses we come to are smouldering and those of people we know are deserted. Everything is in such a mess that I hardly recognize the farm where I went five days ago to collect bread. In the street, there are the remains of tanks and cars, and we have to climb and struggle our way through the rubble. The Germans we pass laugh at us. The dead and injured lie everywhere, and we realize our own lives are on the line too, that we could be killed at any point. The only sound that we hear is the thunder of artillery and machine guns targeting the Tafelberg.’

Then, to make matters even worse for Anje, Finn disappeared. He ran off and didn’t come back. She searched desperately for him. He had been her source of comfort in the dark hours. ‘I call and call for him.’ He had to be somewhere in the rubble of battered streets and buildings. ‘But no Finn appears, and we have to move on.’ She never saw her beloved dog again and was devastated. His loss seemed to encapsulate everything she, her friends, her family and the British she so admired had endured in the debacle of the failed Arnhem mission.

And so the van Maanens – minus their father – trooped dejectedly away from Oosterbeek and their home. Anje’s brother found two prams in an empty house and they bundled their belongings on top. It began to rain, hard, as if the misery in their hearts and the anguish of being refugees were not punishment enough. They made a forlorn sight. ‘Aunt Anke wears a soaked dinner jacket on top of a summer dress. She has torn stockings and her hair falls around her head like bits of string. Paul is unshaven and unwashed. I had a new perm just the other day and now I look like a sheep. I wear Aunt Anke’s raincoat, old shoes, socks with holes and a dress with a tear down from the middle to the hem, but I couldn’t care less. There is more firing and we dive into some trenches but it is only the Germans firing at the Tafelberg. No danger for us now.’

A Dutch SS man they came across directed them to the town of Apeldoorn, 20 miles away to the north, a long haul on foot. The route took them into the remains of Arnhem. It was another journey through hell. ‘There are corpses everywhere. I think I see someone hiding behind a tree, but when I go and look I discover it is a dead farmer with black socks and clogs. At the viaduct we see another corpse sitting against a stone wall with an entirely black face. We see destroyed British guns and burnt-out trams and cars. The place is crowded with Germans, who scream abuse and laugh. We feel lost and scared. I meet two schoolfriends of mine and they tell us the town is empty. Everyone has been evacuated. On we go. I see a couple of Germans accompanying captured Tommies in their red berets. I smile at the Tommies but I don’t say hello. The Germans won’t allow it. Meanwhile, the German artillery is still firing at Oosterbeek and at the Tafelberg. “Daddy” groans a voice within me. When I look back I see aeroplanes over Oosterbeek, see them dive and fire, and then black smoke rises. That was our home …’

The family made its slow and sad way into the unknown, like tens of millions of other refugees turned out of their homes all over Europe in the terrible years of the war. ‘We come to a farm where we find water, which we drink furiously for we are so thirsty. People are sorry for us and help us wherever they can. I begin to notice the silence. It is quiet again after all the thunder of bombardments in the past days. We are allowed to put our luggage on top of a cart with a very old horse in front of it. We trudge on, either walking or riding on top of the cart, our blankets pulled tightly round us against the rain and the cold. Aunt Anke worries about Daddy and so do I. She cries but I can’t. I am too confused and upset to cry.’