Column: Thoughts from Dr. Joe: Local woman recalls childhood in Holland during war

It’s said that time heals all, and you can always forget. I’ve never believed that.

I believe the memories that hang the heaviest are the easiest to remember. They hold the ultimate power over us and change our lives forever. Although we may close our eyes and run, they’ve left permanent wrinkles in the fabric of our souls.

On the weekends, early in the morning, Ella Selders drives to the Starbucks on Foothill at Gould in La Cañada. The streets are quiet and deserted. During such moments demons consume her thoughts, and any attempt to dispel them is futile.

Such memories take her back to the ghettos of war-torn Holland where, as a child, her world teetered between life and death.

The sound of a boot striking the pavement reminds her of German soldiers marching through town. Planes flying overhead are reminiscent of bombers, whose sole intent is to break the will of the Dutch people.

“I can still see the bombs falling, and the people would say, ‘pray, pray,’” she told me.

During the war, bombs destroyed the only home she’d known.

The disparity of Ella’s experiences as a child to that of life in America is unfathomable. Our only recollections of such realities are derived from books, films or as students; however, her experiences are sensory. Sights, sounds, smells, touch and taste bring back to her memories of events that took place all those years ago. They never die.

To many of us, thoughts of the Holocaust are cerebral. We lack sensory awareness of the disasters that have plagued humanity. Could that be the reason history repeats itself?

To Ella, the realities of a Holocaust are real. She vividly described Jewish citizens from the town standing in the street, a holding center for Hitler’s final solution. They would be dressed in overcoats and carrying suitcases. Each wore a yellow star identifying them as Jewish. She recalls German soldiers marching them in columns of twos toward the train station and then she’d watch them board the boxcars for their one-way trip to Auschwitz.

“No one knew. We didn’t know they were going to be gassed,” Ella said. “But farmers would hide [some of] them in the fields.”

Ella’s father, Johannes, was a member of the Dutch resistance. Their password “Scheveningen,” had usual punctuation that could only be said with the Dutch intonation.

“Everyone tried to do their share to maintain a semblance of life,” she said.

She recalls that as a child during the war, she was always fearful and hungry.

“My mother would say, ‘Tighten your belt, you won’t be hungry,’” Ella recalled with a smile. She added that if food fell to the ground, people would lick the floor.

Her family fed many people.

“Mother would always say, ‘God will provide,’ and the next day we’d find a sack of potatoes.”

She recalled the only illumination during hours of darkness was created by spinning the wheel of a bicycle until the handlebar light came on.

“When we woke in the morning, Father would ask, ‘Will we see the night?’”

Ella experienced the humanity of strangers. She recalls young German boys who were forced to fight.

“They were Hitler Jugend, (Hitler Youth), they wanted to be home with their families,” she said. “They would call out to me, ‘Komm doch mal’ (come here) and they would give me grape sugar.”

Ella smiled as she expressed her fondest memory: Later in the war, the Americans would deliver supplies via airdrops. She remembers the chewing gum they received. “The kids would take turns chewing the gum,” she said. “I kept my gum for months.”

In Margraten there are approximately 8,000 American graves, 1,700 of which are for unknown service members. Dutch families have adopted these graves and care for them.

“The Americans came and the Dutch will always be grateful,” Ella said.

JOE PUGLIA is a practicing counselor, a retired professor of education and a former officer in the Marines. Reach him at doctorjoe@ymail.com. Visit his website at doctorjoe.us.