HENNY JULIARD TELLS HER STORY, Part Two

HENNY JULIARD: From August 1942 until May 1945, we lived under the care of the Bochoves, both in hope and despair. We were thankful for the shelter, but depressed knowing that our presence was putting our best friends in deadly danger. And then too, we were always thinking about our family, wondering what had happened to them. Of course we didn't know any of the things we know now, but we recognized that we were all in danger. We were very lucky to have had the Bochoves, that in spite of everything, they somehow managed to help us live a rather normal life.

We weren't always in their home. From time to time the police warned us that the house was under suspicion, and then we went to another address for awhile.

The Bochoves were exceptional. Bert was an even-tempered man, always kind, liked by everyone. Annie was introverted, but easy to talk with; she was kind, and soft-spoken. Photograph of Annie Bochove, c.1940> She never said very much, but she always did what she thought was right. They didn't congratulate themselves for being good; it was just natural for them. Bert, as nice as he was, seemed to always have everything under control; he arranged everything. You knew he was the boss; he ran the shop and Annie ran the house. <p> I did a lot of the housework and cooking. I wanted to do as much as I could to help out, of course, and in a large household there's always plenty of work. Pam gave a hand to Bert in the drugstore. In the evenings everyone sat around the warm stove while Flippy, their little white dog, jumped from lap to lap. There was a good feeling among all of us together; we weren't always crying. <p> My first child, Marion, was born in those black days. Born seven months after Annie gave birth to Erik, we called her the black baby. It was Bochove's friend, Dr. van den Berg, who made the secret arrangements for me to have the baby in a hospital, under false papers. No one ever asked me for money or for food cards; even after the war, neither the doctor nor the hospital would accept payment. Pam came to visit me every evening. When he was late, I became afraid. Most of the doctors hated the Germans, and were reliable, but still, it was dangerous for me to be there. <p> In December '44, during the Hunger Winter, food was scarce; you had to go to distant farms to find it. The men couldn't go--it was much too dangerous: they were picking up all the boys and men for forced labor in Germany. <img src= One time Annie and I went out on our bicycles to a farmer the Bochoves knew. It was snowing, and the tires on the bicycles were bad; we had to stop every few kilometers to fix them. Usually we traded whatever we had for food--even my husband's shirts--but this particular farmer was not like most of them; he wouldn't take anything. We tied the bags he gave us to a cart pulled by Annie's bicycle, and pushed the bicycles home. We were gone for three days, but we got a lot of food: potatoes, grain, all kinds of things.

Annie always did what she thought was right, but she made a bad mistake that year, going on another trip like that one. In September or October, she had seen her doctor for a lung examination. She explained to him what her home life was like--having all the people there. She could talk to him about these things because the doctors were very good about being against the Nazis. This was after Arnhem , and everyone thought the war would end soon. The doctor said to her, "If the war is over in a few weeks, what you are doing is all right. But if it lasts much longer, you must send the people away. It's too much for you. You can't take it." But she didn't follow his advice. The winter was long and there was very little to eat. She made a second journey to a distant farm, this time with another woman friend. By then she was pregnant with her second child, but she didn't tell anybody; she wanted to make the trip.

She didn't listen to anyone's advice, and she never complained about anything. Not long after the war ended she became ill again with her lungs and was sent to Switzerland. She came back in 1947, and died two years later.

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