The NSB wanted to deceive us

However the NSB’ers did not sit still and were busy trying to put a spoke in our wheels. On a certain day we had a visitor from Oude Pekela who came with a very smooth and sly presentation. “So you are emigrating?” he asked. “It’s too bad that you can’t take your money with you.

Without money you can’t begin anything—also not in Canada—but I have a solution for you. I have a family member in Ontario, and he is in a very good position. I’ll give you a cheque for so much, you can fill in the number yourself and gather the same amount from your family members. Then you cash the cheque and authorize your brother-in-law or cousin to pay out those monies to me directly.” “But that is money laundering,” we said. But he said, “No that is allowed—I have done this more often.” However we didn’t trust the man, especially Mom did not, at all (Woman are quite often more astute than men). So we asked for some time to think about it. He gave us two days, but not longer, and left.

We decided the next day to check with with the Middenstand Bank and the Rotterdam Bank. So I told those people, in all earnestness, our situation and they advised us not to do so, since it was a pure form of money laundering. When I left for home, there at the Hogebrug he was already waiting and came up to me. He had been at our home already and Mom told him I was not home. He right away came to the point and I told him that we had no interest in taking this any further. He became every angry and asked if we did not trust him. I told him it had nothing to do with trust, but that it simply was money laundering. I cut him short and left.

Two days later, we had another visitor from Groningen with an even a more attractive story. He had, by chance, overheard a telephone discussion that involved our name and address and our history. “I just came here to alert you,” he said. Now that is very generous, we said, and you suggest we don’t take any further action. “I mean,” he said, “that I want to warn you that those characters won’t hesitate to go over dead bodies.” So I said, “You suggest we do as they say, but you are part of the plot aren’t you. Get out of my house right now.” He didn’t know how fast he should leave. We knew then, right away, that this was all an NSB plot. In the meantime, it moved quickly to the month of May. The furniture was picked up with a moving truck by the company Zigterman from Groningen and we spread ourselves around the various family members. Mom and I went with our youngest children to Oma Beekhuis in Vlagtwedde. From there we could visit all of our family members.

Departure set for May 27, 1953

I was gone most days finalizing all that had to be closed out and so the month flew by and the 27th came into view. We planned to take a special bus to Rotterdam that left the village of Vlagtwedde at 4 a.m. in the morning. My brother-in-law, Gerrit Verwey, came along for support and to see us off. Then came the most dreadful part, saying goodbye. The previous day, we had already said farewell to my sister Jantine, and now to our mother. Our aged Mom was so brave but could not hold back her tears. She stood on the road till we turned the corner—such moments you never forget. When Gerrit Verwey returned that evening from Rotterdam, which was about 3 a.m. in the morning, she was still up waiting for him to come home and pick up his bike. All that time she had been waiting there alone in her grief.

On the way to Rotterdam, the bus broke down and had to be repaired. But that turned out to be impossible on such short notice and so the driver chartered another bus that took us the rest of the way. When we arrived at the harbour, Ekke and Trijn (brother-in-law and sister to mom), as well as Meindert and Lies (brother and sister-in-law of mom) had already arrived with our car (a 1947 Oldsmobile which would be shipped to Canada later as deck load). They told us that our crates were still standing on the docks while all the others had already been loaded. We still spent a little time together, talking, but then they left, as they did not wish to watch the departure. Only Gerrit Verwey remained.

Customs don’t Trust Us

In the meantime, we had to clear customs, with all those who were emigrating, and come to the customs offices. The names were called off in alphabetical order, but when they came to our name they skipped us and left

us sitting to the very last. When everyone had been cleared, the chief inspector came and asked if we were the van der Laan family. “Please come along.” I followed him to a small cubicle where he asked me to empty my pockets, and I of course followed his orders. Next, they went through my wallet, as well as another larger leather container, but found nothing of interest. They then asked me to undress, and made what I would call a “visitation”—again nothing. “Nothing special, so dress again.” While I was doing so, he stood in front of me with a handful of dollars and said, “these were found in your crates.” “Impossible,” I told him, “they are not from me.” “The sooner you admit, the better it will be for your family,” he said. I told him I had nothing to admit. “You can go to your family now,” he said, and so I went.

In the meantime, Mom had also been searched, and as well, Stiny, Harry and Henk had been taken away. We said how strange that we are subject to such an intense inspection while everyone else just passes through with an occasional opening of a suitcase here and there. But then, all of a sudden I remembered the NSB people, just as the chief inspector came once again for me. Again, he had a handful of dollars and said to “just admit, otherwise you won’t be able to leave the country.” I said, “Sir, that you can do—we are under your control. But just remember that I have burned all my bridges behind me and have have no roof over my head and my family’s.  But allow me to tell you a story.” “Oh yes,” he said, “tell me as much as you like.” I assumed he had been a solid citizen during the war—how else could he have such a responsible position now—so I went ahead with my story.

I told him of the period immediately after the war, of the NSB farms and my appointments to oversee the operations of those farms, and of the subsequent hate of these NSB farmers for my family. I said, “I think you have been warned, but I don’t know by whom.” I told him about the money launderers and how they tried to manipulate us into illegal business, but without success, and suggested they were now trying to play a game of revenge. And that he had told me that I would not leave our country without being punished.

Then the inspector asked for his name and home place. I told him the name and the place of Oude Pekela. He now took a letter out of his pocket and showed me the initials, the first letters of his name, and Oude Pekela. It all started to come together. The inspector now changed, like a leaf on a tree, and said you can go. The doors were opened for us and our suitcases were handed to us, without even opening one of them, and we proceeded to board. The Lord had provided for us. Immediately, the ship was unmoored for departure and started to move. We still tried to look for Uncle Gerrit on shore, among the sea of faces, but our names were called go to our cabins. After that, we quickly went up to our deck, because we wished to see our fatherland disappear over the horizon.