It's remembrance day in The Netherlands.
After my father died it got a special meaning to us, because he served in WW2.
My family was part of the resistance.
He worked a lot with radio's and wiring and such.
I never knew how he travelled to England.
He knew Paris reasonably well, so he might have used the pilot route, which was known to my family.
Recently I learned there was a resistance group of young people in a city nearby.
One of the names mentioned was a name I've heard before in the conversations in the family.
So maybe he went with a couple of young guys, using a more northern route.
He once mentioned an american training base and soldiers from that base landed more north in Europe. The boys might have been taken to america and from america to england.
He never said something about it, so I don't know and his files in the RAF are still closed. As are those of his army chaplain, who was decorated when he came back to our country after the war.
Remembrance day is always a day to remember them and those they knew.
So many stories, so many young lives.
The dilemmas of making war and not wanting to kill people. I know from them how heavy the burden was they carried with them all their lives.
And still, no recognition for my father or my family.
They kept secret about their resistance work, but now they aren't even mentioned in the history books.
My kids will keep on looking so they once can write about some great people.