Program and speeches

Freedom is alive and kicking!

As director of Montessori College Arnhem, I warmly welcome you to this commemoration at Nassauplein, near our school. It’s wonderful to see that so many of you have gathered again this year to reflect together on what happened at this location eighty-one years ago.

A warm welcome also to our international guests. For many years, we have gathered here to pay tribute to all those who, eighty-one years ago, bravely fought for our freedom in this legendary neighborhood, in our city of Arnhem, and throughout the Netherlands. The large turnout this afternoon demonstrates our continued gratitude for this.

We are grateful to have lived in freedom for over 80 years, and we know we must work hard together to continue to do so. When I see images of countries currently at war, I sometimes wonder: What would our lives have been like if world leaders hadn’t decided to intervene back then?

How would we live today if, in the 1940s, no one had had the courage to stop the occupiers? What if world leaders and allied forces had turned a blind eye to what was happening here in Europe? What would freedom mean today?

The situation in many places around the world can leave me feeling powerless: what can we do? What can I do? You can’t just solve major global problems. That’s why I prefer to look closer to home. Living in peace means to me that everyone should feel safe. How can we ensure that together?

Living in peace isn’t something you just do; you must work hard for it. For me, it means taking care of one another, showing respect for each other, regardless of religion, background, skin colour, gender, or sexual orientation. It requires curiosity about others instead of judging them, listening instead of trying to convince them.

Living together in peace is a skill that must be learned, and at Montessori College Arnhem, we want to provide a safe environment for our students to practice this. We teach them to follow their hearts and take responsibility. I’m incredibly proud to see how enthusiastic our students are again this year to contribute to this commemoration.

Our students’ contribution to this commemoration demonstrates their appreciation for freedom; a freedom which so many people have fought for and even gave their lives. This commemoration needs to be continued, and I am very proud that a group of alumni of our school officially supports the Arnhem Airborne Commemoration Committee.

In this way, we continue to pass the baton, sharing memories to learn from. The youth committee wants to contribute in its own way, including through projects on peace and freedom at our school. I’d love to discuss this with you.

The enthusiasm with which our students are committed here today gives me every confidence that we will continue to share memories of what happened here and never forget that our freedom is alive and well.

A while ago, someone told me about her visit to the Airborne museum, near here, about a man she found with tears in his eyes at one of the museum’s exhibits. After asking why the man was so emotional, she got an answer she hadn’t seen coming.
The World War II veteran recounted his sense of guilt in the failure of his part of Operation Market Garden. The old man felt guilty about the “failure” of the first attempt at the Arnhem liberation.

But my question is, can it be called failure? And that feeling of guilt, was it in the right place with this man? Both answers are no, if you ask me.
That all those soldiers had the courage to take up the challenge of the liberation of Arnhem is already an absolutely miraculous achievement; but how they fought back then is another story. The courage, strength, and perseverance that the soldiers who fought here, in Arnhem, showed during those 9 days of Hell is really indescribable. Yes, we are talking about 9 days and nights, fighting; fighting to keep their place while already surrounded by the enemy.

and you imagine, you are dropped in a totally unknown city, with houses of people you have never seen before, of people who don’t even speak the same language, but still you have to fight. Everything that should have gone right goes wrong, you don’t even know why in God’s name you would still do this. You don’t want to do this anymore and yet the absolute utmost is asked of you.

In spite of everything, that is exactly what the soldiers gave then, through all the pain and through all the fear, without any knowledge of what was waiting for them around the next corner of that infinite, dark tunnel.

So is that failure? I would not even dare to call it failure.
It was an attempt at winning. An attempt that was required for the achievement.
So let’s never forget those soldiers and those moments, and continue these commemorations, as a sign of gratitude, awareness, compassion and respect. Our liberators fought for the lives of the of many generations after them, willing to give their own lives for it. They fought side by side as brothers until the last moment.
And when they were completely surrounded by the Germans, all ammunition was gone, all hope was gone and the end of Market Garden seemed to be getting closer and closer, they sent out their last radio signal: “Out of ammunition. God save the King.”

Good afternoon, everyone,

I’m Emmy Menko and I’m here to tell you a little bit about my life and the evacuation.

I come from a sweet Jewish family, my father had a shop and my mother did the housework. I had a sister, Truusje, and a brother, Sieg. Aunt Annie, a sister of my mother, lived with us.

Everything was fine and then suddenly it was war. Jews were no longer allowed to do anything. No more taking the train, no more going to school, no longer going to the park and everyone from the age of 6 had to wear a star. That was all terrible, but later the letters came. All young people from the age of 16 had to pack a backpack with warm clothes and good shoes and were sent to work in the munitions factories in Germany. That was of course a huge shock. But when all the Jewish young people were gone, new letters came, also for the old people and for babies.

That must have been the moment that my parents decided to go into hiding. But where did you find people who were brave enough to hide you? It was life-threatening because if they were betrayed, it could mean death.

One night I had to pee and called mom, she said: you have to be quiet because there is a gentleman in the house, and tomorrow you will have a sleepover.

The next morning my suitcase was ready and there was a complete stranger who took me by the hand and said: ‘Come on, let’s go’. Outside, I turned to wave. They were all standing in front of the window. That was the last I saw of them, they were all killed.

I then had several hiding places, and after a few months, aunt Annie came. She was such a brave woman. She said: ‘I won’t put on a star; I’ll join the resistance’. She was a so-called maid of Dr. Tukkerman in the Huygenslaan, who was also in the resistance. When I saw her, I naturally thought; ‘I’m going to mom and dad’. But she took me to the next hiding place. I think I felt so betrayed; I never spoke about my family again until I was 54.

I was lucky, I came to Bep and Jan Jansen on the Rozendaalseweg. They had already had a few miscarriages and their family doctor, Dr. Broeker, said: ‘I have a little girl for you’. And so I got a new mom and dad.

Everything went well until aunt Annie was betrayed. There was a risk that she would be tortured and reveal where I was staying. I was then picked up by my foster grandfather the same night and taken to Vlaardingen the next day, away from my dear foster parents.

After about six weeks the coast was clear and I could return. But then it was September 1944. All Arnhemmers had to leave and try to find somewhere to stay. They walked with their children in their arms and their belongings in the pram. We rode on bicycles with wooden tires to Doetinchem, where my foster grandfather had found a hiding place, but when we got there, the farmer pointed at me and said: ‘I don’t want her.’ I had to leave my dear new mother again. I ended up in a house in Gaanderen where there were already 15 Arnhemmers. I had to sleep at the bottom of the closet, but that was not a problem. That I had to leave my dear foster mother again, that was bad. That lasted 9 months, then we were liberated. Fortunately, our house was still there and I had my foster mom and dad back. Unfortunately, after about 1 year, the papers came stating that my family had been murdered.

My aunt Wiesje, who survived after a *** in hiding, wanted to take care of her brother’s child. I longed so terribly for my dear foster mother in Arnhem. I lived with aunt Wiesje for 4 years. Then I had to go to high school and had to live with my father’s brother. In short, 10 lonely years in total, until I had the courage to take my pocket money and get on the train to Arnhem where I cried and asked my foster mom if I could please come back. “Of course sweetheart,” she said. On December 17, 1955, so 10 years after the war, I returned to the Rozendaalseweg and from then on a very happy life began for me.

People from Lombok, Arnhem residents, thanks to the efforts of your Arnhem West Remembrance Committee, the story of those historic days in 1944 is still retold here every year. Among the residents of this beautiful neighborhood, in the classrooms of the Heijenoord School, in those of the Montessori College, or passed on by grandparents and parents to their children and grandchildren. Remember September! Arnhem residents will not forget that historic month of September. Neither will you in this beloved Arnhem neighborhood. Too much has happened here. Those two words—remember September—have been etched in my memory since my early childhood. With the exciting boys’ books about the Battle of Arnhem from the late 1940s, later with the famous film “A Bridge Too Far,” and right up to my time here in Arnhem in the 1990s. Still close to my heart: Arnhem: never again a bridge too far, but a bridge to the future. I never forget.
On the way to the bridge, Lombok lay at the center of the perilous route. Its tranquility was suddenly and cruelly shattered on that memorable Sunday morning, September 17, 1944. English paratroopers ran across this small square, shattering windows and hitting houses here and there. Paratroopers sought cover from German bullets and grenades in these streets, even entering the adjacent houses of residents offering shelter. Wounded soldiers and civilians were carried to the Elisabeth Hospital by Lombok soldiers. People were dying. What a desperate struggle, what a terrible fight there, a bit further uphill towards the museum. There, things went wrong; the advance towards the isolated John Frost and his brave men at the bridge stalled. The Germans were too strong; the British couldn’t get through, and many of them were killed. From that moment on, indeed, the bridge was too far.
Ladies and gentlemen, for 12 years—from 1989 to 2001—I had the privilege of serving this most beautiful city in the country. I’ve since retired, but a number of Arnhem events from the time I was your leader are still vivid in my mind. I’d like to share a few with you this afternoon. By far the clearest memory I have is of the 50th anniversary commemoration in 1994. Nine out of ten of the then-living veterans, more than 2,000 of them, traveled to Arnhem. Along with their wives or children, 6,000 in total. Most of them, of course, came from the United Kingdom, but also from Australia, America, Japan, Indonesia—from everywhere. Five days in our city, staying in hospitable houses throughout the city, including here in Lombok. Arnhem at its very best. Throughout the city, even in the back streets of the old center where no Englishman or Pole would ever venture, many houses displayed a specially made commemorative flag, the “1944-1994” sign, a welcome sign. It was available for a tenner at the then-still-existing Bijenkorf or Ven D, now a staple. Major international newspapers like the New York Times and the French Le Monde reported on it, and the BBC and AVRO broadcast live on TV the hour-and-a-half-long solemn commemoration ceremony in the Eusebius. High up in the then-restored tower, Prince Charles and I chimed together on the keyboard of the carillon with its four newly cast, large bronze bells. They were certainly heard here in Lombok as well. Tonight, they will undoubtedly ring out again, now much more harmoniously and beautifully than the two of us did then.
Over there on Onderlangs, I can still picture that glorious parade of all those proud, ageing men. They wanted to be there one last time; after 50 years, they were getting their first (!) parade, which started not far from here. And what a parade it was! Tens of thousands of people lined the banks, from here all the way to the bridge. And not far from the Rijnhotel, almost all of Lombok stood there, along with Heijenoorders from the other side. Six, seven deep, as if in unison, clapping and cheering loudly as they marched past. Just like in the old days: the red berets of the paratroopers, the light blue caps of the RAF, ramrod straight backs, in groups of four, their faces taut with emotion, company after company, thumping in time to the music, some laughing, others with tears streaming down their cheeks. Along the banks, all those older Arnhemmers, who had witnessed it firsthand, full of memories. The youngsters, some with signs above their heads saying “thank you” or “we love you.” I admit honestly: it was my finest hour. I’ll never forget it. The TV broadcast of that memorable, soaking wet afternoon 31 years ago was expertly and excellently commentated by a then somewhat younger man, Ben Kolster. A huge and well-deserved compliment to him for that. You can watch it again on YouTube.
One final memory: in 1989, the bridge was repainted, the railings being painted paratrooper red for the first time, and it’s still there. The painting was completed at the 45th anniversary of the bridge’s remembrance. Rijkswaterstaat, the owner and manager, at our kind but urgent request, installed spotlights aimed at the famous bridge arches at their own expense. John Frost, the commander, was still alive at the time; he was there to illuminate them for the first time, bathing the bridge in floodlights, in honor of all the men who had fought for it, often wounded or killed.
And so it was, that he and his wife in front, my wife and I behind them, walked up the slope from the Berenkuil to the bridge—quite a distance, the sun had already set. Lo and behold, suddenly there were at least a hundred tudents who had heard about it. They formed two long lines to the highest point, the four of us walking up between them. The only sound then was… Johnny, Johnny, Johnny… the whole host of students behind us, a resounding sound fading ever away over the still waters of the river: Johnny, Johnny… There, on the highest part of the bridge, the famous, brave hero could no longer bear it. When the lights came on, you could see him standing against the darkening sky, the stalwart old hero, his head slightly bowed, tears welling in his eyes. When he passed away in May 1993, Mrs. Frost asked me to say a few words to his family, friends, and many high-ranking military officers and leaders in the small church in Aldershot, the garrison of the Parachute Regiment in England. I then told this story, ending with “Johnny, Johnny, Johnny…” Afterward, it was deathly quiet in that church, deathly quiet for a long time.
Let me conclude with the words I always used to address the veterans when they arrived in Arnhem in their hundreds every September. They were first given a seat on the steps inside the main hall of the town hall. With a glass of beer in hand, it was always a convivial gathering. Then, of course, they had to drink to the good relationship between them, celebrating our city. As soon as that happened, silence fell almost automatically; they knew what was coming. On behalf of the city council, I warmly welcomed them, happy to see them again, year after a year. Speaking of our sincere gratitude for what they had done for us in 1944, I pictured all those aging men, thinking of their fallen comrades. It was almost tangible what they had seen and experienced around them during those September days.
People of Arnhem, you here undoubtedly still have the utmost respect for those British, American, Canadian, and Polish soldiers who, risking their lives, sought to liberate oppressed people in another unknown country from the dominance of a horrific, cruel leader with his reprehensible ideas. Should it happen again sooner or later in Europe, we Arnhemmers will be guided by the example of the British and Polish soldiers of that time. That’s what I said to them then, and that’s what I say to you now. Then they, sooner or later we? We all have a greater responsibility than just for our families. Talk to each other about it, convince each other that we must once again stand shoulder to shoulder for the freedom and democracy of all free people throughout Europe, as we can count on them.
I always ended that annual speech, as I do now, this very last one of mine here among you strong, loyal Lombok residents, with the following words: in your life you had a very hard period, when you were fighting for our freedom, when you were young. Now you are getting old. And when, at last, your final moment to go has come, and God asks you: who are you, my man (who are you, really)? You can proudly answer: Sir, I am an Arnhem veteran. God bless you all.