Living History

A ride on a tanker

The time is 1943 and the second world war is already three years old. In Holland where I was born all food is strictly rationed and the ration is really not enough to survive on. So there is a so-called black-market, where people can for high prices buy extra food like potatoes, vegetables, bread, grain etc. I was 23 years old and had already worked for a few years in dairy factories in different parts of Holland, so I decided to go past these factories and see if I could get dairy products. Since petrol was needed for Mr. Hitler’s war it was not available for other persons. But I still had a push-bike. Even the bikes were valuable for the German soldiers especially the rubber tyres and if you wanted to keep your bike you replaced the tyres with thick rope.

Anyway I pedalled from my home-town of Haarlem a good 100 km to Friesland (a Dutch dairying district) At one of my old factories I got a large cheese (more than 10 kg) and also 10 kg of butter. On the way back I stopped at another factory and got more supplies. Also, when I was talking with the driver of a milk tanker truck he asked me if I would like to get a lift with the truck and, by sitting on top of the tanker, I could be useful by spotting planes, that were always shooting the tankers, because the pilots had no way of knowing if the tanker carried milk or petrol, which is of course essential for the war machine. It was a beautiful clear day and after an hour the tanker suddenly stopped and the driver jumped out of his cabin and ran away. I saw two Lockheed Lightning planes some 5 km away parallel to our road and did not think it very scary. There in the distance the planes banked and went in our direction. So I jumped from the tanker and when they came closer hid in a 'foxhole'. These are holes dug along all the highways big enough to hold a man and they are there to save lives when the planes are shooting.

Well, the planes did shoot alright. The tanker had hundreds of holes and the milk was running out. The people in the nearby village were so used to these shootings, that they came running to the tanker with buckets to collect the milk. My bike on top of the tanker had a bullet through the front and was useless. A few more bullets had gone through the butter, but it was of course still edible.

Peter, Green Point, New South Wales

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