“Marijke, get back here. What’s the matter with you?” Papa demanded.
I put my head around the door. “If you don’t know, then I won’t tell you!” I yelled. I grabbed my coat and ran downstairs. I slammed the front door, and ran down the street.
It was already dark, and it was cold, but I didn’t feel the cold. I was mad. I can’t go back, I will run away. I can’t watch Papa tickle this Mama. He probably never loved Mama at all, or he would not have forgotten her so quickly.
I stopped running, and walked around a couple of blocks, trying to get rid of my anger. I started to feel the cold wind, and realised I was out in the dark by myself. Where can I go? Maybe one of my friends’ homes? But my friends were either living in Amsterdam North, or at the orphanage. I certainly didn’t plan to go to the orphanage, and Amsterdam North was too far. Besides, I was getting spooked out there, in the dark by myself.
I walked back home, and had to ring the bell for someone to let me in. I waited a minute or so, before John opened the door for me.
“You’re in big trouble now!” he said meaningfully. “Papa is really mad at you for going out like that.” He had a smug look on his face, like he enjoyed me getting into trouble.
When I got back upstairs Mama had left, and Papa asked me to come into his sewing room. He looked really angry, but I was angry too.
“What do you have to say for yourself, young lady? That was very bad behaviour, and if you don’t tell me what led to your outburst, I’ll punish you.”
“I don’t want to tell you, because you’ll get mad at me,” I said defiantly.
“I’m already mad at you, so tell me, what was that all about?”
“I don’t want to tell you. I just want to forget about it!” I was getting angry again.
“Mama thought she had upset you, but didn’t know why. She was very hurt when she left. I think you owe her an apology.”
“I owe HER an apology?! I don’t owe HER anything! She is NOT my mother!”
He leaned down, and gave me a hefty slap across my backside. “Ouch! I hate you! I hate being here. She is NOT my Mama, she’s NOT!”
Another smack. “You are drawing the blood from under my nails!” Papa shouted. “Mama has done so much for you, and you treat her like that.”
“I wasn’t angry with her, Papa, I’m angry with you!” Tears were now pouring down my face. “You haven’t been the same since Mama died!” Another smack.
Papa was shaking now, and he also had tears in his eyes. “Go to your room, go to bed. I will deal with you tomorrow. Don’t dare say another word!” He stomped out of the room, and I followed him out, not looking at the enquiring eyes of my siblings as I walked through the lounge-room.
Sobbing, I ran up the stairs, and once again, threw myself on the bed. I cradled my dolly, still shaking, and still feeling the sting of Papa’s smacks.
Mama, please help me. I hate Papa, I hate this Mama. Life’s not fair. Why did God take you away, and change our lives like this? God, how can you do this to our family? How can you do this to me? A good God wouldn’t make me hurt this much!
I continued to sob, and eventually fell asleep with my clothes still on. When Margaret came to bed, she woke me up. I got changed into my nightdress, washed, and walked downstairs to go to the toilet.
As I came out of the toilet, Papa walked past me in the hall. He didn’t say anything, he just glared at me, and I glared back at him. I think that was the first time, when I had been home, that I didn’t say good-night to Papa, or anyone for that matter. No good-night kisses and hugs. I went back upstairs, and got into bed. Margaret was asleep on the far side of the bed, with her back to me. I crawled in beside her and lay awake for a long time. When Trudy came to bed I pretended to be asleep. But sleep did not come for a long time.
When are these changes in my life going to stop? I want my old life back. Back in Amsterdam North, back with my friends and especially back with Mama.
But I knew this could never happen. In the end I felt sad, my anger had dissipated. I just felt very sad and alone once again. Nobody understands how I feel. Why is life so difficult?
On the morning of twenty-four April, Papa and Mama were married for the State. In Holland, ministers and priests don’t have legal powers to marry for the state, only for the church. The church wedding is not seen as a legal marriage. Couples wishing to have a church wedding, first have a State Wedding which, in those days, generally took place in a registry office. Some couples undertook both on the same day, others chose to separate the two events, first having a simple state wedding, with only a few witnesses and family members in attendance, and a more elaborate wedding at a later date.
Papa and Mama decided on having two separate days. They were both extremely religious and the state wedding did not have any sentimentality attached to it.
The twenty-fourth was also Willie’s sixteenth birthday. It was this that was celebrated on the day, not the wedding. I don’t believe any of us attended the ceremony, I know I didn’t. We went to school as normal, and after arriving home, had cake and our usual birthday party of song and dance.
On the morning of the church wedding I awoke early. It was the Queen’s birthday, a public holiday, which meant all family members could attend the big wedding. The Queen’s birthday in Holland has always been a big celebration, with parades, floats, and people hanging out flags of red, white and blue, with an orange sash; representing the Royal House of Orange.
But this year the day was about Papa and Mama’s wedding. We all got dressed into our new outfits. I loved my new dress, especially as I had helped Mama with some of the work. I had hemmed it twice, as my first effort wasn’t good enough for Mama. But this time, I didn’t mind, as she was a beautiful seamstress, and was teaching me how to do it properly.
“Marijke, with big steps you get home quickly. But by taking your time and doing it properly, you can take great pride in your workmanship,” Mama said when I had finished the hem.
I must admit, it was obvious that you could see the hem clearly on the outside of the dress, with the long stitches I had used. I was always an impatient person, in that I liked to see things finished within a reasonably quick time frame.
Mama unpicked the hem carefully, so as not to damage the material. She then showed me how to make small stitches, and only pick up one thread of material at a time, not pulling the thread too tight. As the skirt part of the dress was quite full, it took me longer than I liked. But when I finished it, with Mama’s support and encouragement, I was very proud of myself. I thought it looked professional, just like Papa and Mama’s stitching.
Wearing this dress for the first time made me feel really pretty. With brand new white socks and my blue shoes, I felt like a princess. Papa had cut all our hair, to save money, and although I wasn’t overly pleased with the result, I combed it so it looked soft and shiny.
The day was bright and sunny, and quite warm for that time of year. I’d love to say how wonderful the wedding was, but I can’t. I have no memory of that day except getting ready and feeling pretty. I have studied the photos, and know I was there. But even after all these years I still can’t recall it; it is locked away with Mama’s funeral. My sisters and brothers have told me it was a lovely wedding, and the food was delicious, and that we were all allowed to stay up until the end of the long festivities.
After the wedding, Mama moved into the apartment, and into Papa’s bedroom. Although I didn’t like this idea, at least it wasn’t into my Mama’s bedroom, as we had moved.
Things continued as before, with the odd conflict between brothers and sisters. I occasionally overheard my older siblings discuss their frustrations with Mama. Sometimes one of us would say something cruel when we