La Licorne
POST
WAR THINGS
The
parochial church was on our way to school. In those days church attendance on
Sundays was still high, and one of us came with the splendid idea to skim the
floor for money on Mondays. As young lads we were of the ideal size and
sharpness of the eye to check the entire area in a matter of no time. The yield
would amount to ten cents or so for each lad, and that every Monday morning .
If
we felt like it, we would herald our fortune by sounding the bells. They were
of a huge size these church bells. We had seen them from nearby when one day
they were being installed in replacement of the bells removed by the Germans
for making bombs. As altar boy I was used to sound the bell. It was a matter of
pulling the thick rope hanging down from high up in the tower to bring it with
an ever-longer swing into a regular bang. Orders were to loosen the grip on the
rope when it started to go up high. In my capacity as a looter, however, I
could take the liberty of hanging onto the rope to be lifted up into heaven.
There was some risk attached to our trespass. The staggering sound of the bell
at an unusual hour of the day would attract the attention of the Pastor. But,
no harm, our sharp ears would hear him approach so we could make our way out.
The one hanging onto the cord however was at a disadvantage in that it would
take him some seconds for landing. Of course this wouldn't give the old man
enough time to catch the villain. Yet, one day I was caught red handed, and had
to admit our money trick as well. Blushing with shame I delivered the loot to
the offering box where it belonged.
This
event ended my devious source of income, but didn’t put me on the right track
forever. One day we discovered an unlocked door giving way to the interior of the
church’s vaults. During the many hours I had passed in the church, I had killed
time by wandering with my eyes up the arches, tracing ribs from one column to
the other. Mind you, it was a huge Roman
Catholic Church of the beginning of last century, with intricate masonry, four
towers and a central dome. Until my first visit to the vaults I hadn’t realized
that the shape of the interior canopy was different from that of the outside
roofing. After going up the stairs one enters into an unexpected labyrinth of
space between the ceiling of the church’s interior and the outside roofing. It
opens a new spatial world with wooden boards to bridge the gorges of the arch
work that bring you from one compartment to the other. The space was filled
with timber frames in support of the church roofing. Small doors led us to the
balconies high up inside the church. These expeditions gave a lot to ponder
when visiting the church next Sundays. My stares into its canopy must have made
me look rather devout. Well, that couldn't harm.
~~~~~~~
The first
years after the war, motorized traffic was limited to the military, public
transport and the health service. On farms the first tractor had yet to arrive.
All over, horses gave traction power. The milkman delivered the milk from cans
on a flat cart pulled by a tame gray horse. Bread came out of an elegant
carriage pulled by a muscled, black Friesian. Strong gray Belgian horses pulled
in pairs the carts loaded with barrels of beer from the breweries of which
there were five in town: Heineken, Beiten, Mares, Bosch and De Ridder. The same
breed would pull the clumsy wagons on very high wheels for garbage collection.
All carts had wooden wheels with spokes and iron rim. The steel of those wheels
and the horseshoes gave a formidable clatter on the cobbled streets.
The
droppings of all the horses meant work for the street sweepers, who were
equipped with twig brooms and a dirt cart. These vehicles were like a small
copy of the big garbage collecting carts. At a certain moment a lighter type
with pneumatic tires replaced these clumsy vehicles. At about the same time
two-stroke motors were introduced that were mounted on an ordinary bicycle to
make it a motorcycle. This coincidence inspired the composition of a carnival
song, reciting the strike of garbage men in support of their demand for a motor
driven cart: dun drekmaan, dee get stake,
umtot heer gène hulpmotor op zien keerke heet.
Just
a few house blocks away from our home, a huge terrain with ramparts and dry moats
spread out. In the wake of my elder brothers but in the company of friends of
my age, I found my way to this free state for the youth. This was an exciting
area with tall grass and short bush as far as one could see. Trees had no
chance because as soon as the grasses were yellow and ripe, fires were set all
over the place. Police were hardly to be seen, and if one would make an effort
to chase you, how could he succeed in catching the master of the terrain,
knowing all hiding places? In addition to all these assets, De Werken offered entrance to the Casemates.
The
authorities had those entrances blocked occasionally, but Maastricht brats
demolished such measure in a matter of no time. The entries opened the way to the
underground works. With candles stolen from the church -the Lord forgive- we
found our way in the extensive network, which at places had two levels.The
masonry arched passages were man sized with arched niches on their sides in
which we just fitted. Gradually we learned to find our way and discovered the
staircase which had given access to our street, and the bear’s pit in the
Aldenhof Park. It was said that from there Fort Sint Pieter could be reached.
When we tried, the passage became lower and lower on account of loamy deposits,
brought in with floodwater from the river Jeker. With the chin on the chest,
the back curved, and the knees bent, we duck walked as far as possible, but
never could reach nor see an end.
~~~~~~~
Around the
same time my father bought his first automobile. That was quite a change
because so far my parents had been cyclists making tours to places as far as
Switzerland. Now they felt like sharing these expeditions with their offspring.
How right they were in their judgment that it would have been a waste to leave
seats in the car vacant. And so it happened that they surprised three of their
boys with the offer to accompany them on their next trip. From that day we
started preparing for our camping tour. Orders were to restrain ourselves to
the utmost in taking things along, since the space in the car and on the
rooftop was limited, and there were already plenty indispensables such as
tents, bedding, cooking outfit, and Dutch cheese to be taken along.
In
order to make an early start, most things were packed the evening before the
day of departure. The result looked fine and the next morning all of us managed
to find a place among the goods. Thrilled we took off and glimpsed back at the
waiving crowd in front of our house: bigger and littler brothers and sisters
staying behind with the maid, and some of the neighbors. After having turned
around the corner of the street, we became aware that the car was bumping in a
nasty manner. So, we drove to the car dealer first. It didn't take the mechanics
long to find out that the springs of the second hand car had given up under the
heavy load. Proud barring a return to our house we spent that first morning of
our journey hanging around in a workshop in Maastricht.
The
following days presented no more such surprises. It suited the three of us
there in the back that my parents were looking forward to reach Austria and
didn't halt too often for sightseeing. For us the scenery passing by the window
satisfied. The weather was chilly and getting out of the car was like walking
from behind the kitchen stove into the cold. We felt snug between the woolen
blankets, which were draped all over the seats in order to save space in the
luggage compartment. Especially the youngest sitting in the middle was well
off. This comfortable situation came to a rude end once we reached the
mountains. Obviously the car we had bought was older than the salesman had
suggested, and so it occurred that the engine got on steam when it was making
its first serious climb. So the three of us were ordered to get out and do the
remainder of the mounting on foot. Being dressed in boys' shorts, the change to
the chill of the Alps hit us hard. This was the more painful when we saw our
parents waiving at us when they were passing by. Nevertheless the cold
disappeared while we were working our way up to the pass where our parents had
taken position on a pleasant terrace overlooking the road we had come up.
Behind a cup of soup they were obviously enjoying the view and smiling about
our duress. Alas for us time for relaxation was up and we had to move on.
The
way down we were allowed into the car again. My father had thoroughly prepared
himself for this and went out of his way in instructing us accordingly. A long
descent along sharp curves was not without danger as we might have thought. On
the contrary it was more risky than going up. Unrestrained use of the brakes
would overheat them and -rather sooner than later- lead to trouble. As to
emphasize this point my dad made a grim effort to avoid using the brakes and
double-clutched his way down. Unfortunately he didn't master this most
difficult technique, which was actually better adapted for professional motor
racing than for our poor car that endured the treatment with many screeching roars
from down under the gear box. Brake management, Dad called this.
The protests
of the car and the grave voice of Dad together with Mom's silence made us
shiver on our backbench. Blinking form left to right we took in that one side
of the road consisted of an uprising rock formation with cruel sharp edges,
while the other side gave way to a torrent down under in a deep ravine. Without
having to exchange one word we sensed our common fear and secretly calculated
our personal risk for in case the brake management would fail. Dad appeared to
have also solutions for this event. When forced by the circumstances he would
switch to emergency management. This implied that he would close in to
the mountainside and scrape the car's side against the rocks in an effort to
slow it down. Such a maneuver would bring his son sitting on that side at risk.
When that failed he could still go for a landing into the sparse bush on the
valley side. But then again the guy sitting on the other side was going to
catch the big blows, and to get his brothers rolling over him on top of that.
All
this gave us a lot to ponder, but finally the idea of having to walk all the
way down set our minds to peace. This gave the right push for the continuation
of a pleasant trip and a safe return home.