By Maja S. Mortensen Nanning

Life Changing Moments in America

Keeshonden (The national dog of the Netherlands) are part of our family. A  Korean veterinarian who completed his internship in the Netherlands opened a practice in town. His experience and medical knowledge made us loyal clients. During the 14-year span of knowing this man, he always maintained a certain distance.

More accurately, it was a disdainful reserve. My American husband had no trouble communicating with him. It hurt me deeply that Dr. Hahn was buddy-buddy with my American husband and literally ignored me. When I did work up the nerve to ask him a direct question, he answered in an emphatic and autocratic manner.

Eventually, I let my husband take our Keeshonden to the vet without me.  Yes, I could have easily changed veterinarians and put the awkward situation to rest. Yet, something I couldn’t articulate held me back.

My husband was out of town when our 15-year-old Keeshond, Katjie lost her battle with congestive heart failure. I asked Dr. Hahn to euthanize her in our home, her home. The thought of that day still brings tears to my eyes.

My poor Katjie was indignant about seeing the ‘dreaded’ vet in her living room. As a means of calming her, he asked me to give him a tour of the house. As we walked into the hallway, he held his hands behind his back and viewed my family photos. At the end of the hall, he spotted a large photo of my mother.

This self-contained man ran to the photo and exclaimed, “Who is this?”  I sighed, “That’s my mother.” In disbelief, he placed his hands on his temples and staggered backward. Dr. Hahn pointed at another photo– and in mild irritation I answered, “That’s my aunt.”

In speechless shock, he turned on his heel and looked at me. Finally, the words tumbled out in broken English, “Maja, you’re an Indo! Why didn’t you tell me you were an Indo? I thought you were Dutch.”  In confusion I whispered, “It never came up in conversation.”

The man stepped back and took a long intrusive look at me. The blood drained from his face and he blurted, “Maja, Oh Maja what HAPPENED to you?”  I pointed at a picture of my blonde Frisian father, “That’s my Father.”

A forlorn expression crossed his face and he murmured, “Do you like the way I look?” An odd question, but I knew what he meant– do you accept me as an Asian. I didn’t bother to answer I kissed his cheek and smiled.

Over the years, we shared countless family stories over Korean-Indonesian potluck dinners. Ja-Hoon Hahn lost his grandparents to the Asian Holocaust of WWII and many relatives to the Korean War.  In the Netherlands, he had some ‘negative experiences’ with the Dutch prejudice.  The Indo community embraced him as a native son.

Our dear friend passed away several years ago. His last words to me were, “You have a very big heart.” Ja-Hoon was a North Korean, a South Korean, an American and an Indo at heart.

By Jan Krancher

Book:  Ambushed under the Southern Cross

Author:  Capt. George W. Duffy

Highly decorated Capt. George W. Duffy has authored the book “Ambushed under the Southern Cross . . . The Making of an American Merchant Marine Officer and His Ensuing Saga of Courage and Survival”.  Among several of his experiences, he also recounts his three years of imprisonment in ten Japanese labor camps scattered throughout South East Asia on the islands of Java, Singapore and Sumatra.  The following is an account of an incident in his life on Sumatra, used by permission.

Life and Death on the Death Railway Through the  Jungle of  Sumatra

Whenever an American Fire Department or Police Department is struck by tragedy, the out-pouring of public grief and sympathy is overwhelming.  Thousands of their fellow officers from all over the United States, including bagpipe bands and color guards, travel to pay their last respects and take part in the funerals, memorial services, and burials.

On such occasions my thoughts always revert to the last twelve months before the Japanese surrender in World War II.  In those days, I and about 5,000 Allied military personnel – mainly Dutch and English, with a little over 200 Australians and 15 Americans – were held as prisoners of war by the Japanese.  We were engaged in the building of a narrow-gauge railway across the central portion of the island of Sumatra (in the Dutch East Indies, ed.), now known as Indonesia.

The northern terminal was the city of Pekanbaru (new Indonesian spelling).  Thereafter the project became known as the Pekanbaru Rail Line.  In more recent years, a Dutch author dubbed it “The Death Railway Through the Jungle.”  Indeed death was no stranger here.  We were overworked, underfed, provided with little medicine, and subjected to constant physical and mental abuse by our Japanese overseers. A “hospital” for prisoners with malaria, dysentery, pellagra and beri-beri  where they languished,  was simply a dilapidated bamboo-framed, thatched roof barrack.  The sick were “housed” here, awaiting their eventual death.  Once in a while, a man recovered his health and returned to the daily camp routine, but that was an exception.

In April 1945, I was living and working in the Base Camp where this “hospital” was located. Deaths that month totaled 106 and an additional 14 died out in the construction camps along the line, as recorded in my journal.  My job, together with other officers, was to cut down rubber trees and carry them into camp.  There, another group sawed and split them for the cookhouse, and the locomotives running on wood burning boilers. Rarely did the full complement of 30 report to work.  Everyone was afflicted with malaria which reduced our number to about 20 on a given day.

We worked in teams of three – an axe man and two carriers.  Rubber trees grow tall and straight. The wood is fairly soft – and wet.  Each of us became quite adept at felling a tree and we even had contests to see who could most accurately predict the line of fall.  One man chopped while the other two went in and out of camp.  Burlap bags were used to protect the log carrier’s shoulders and also hide an occasional smuggled dried fish, or fruit, or vegetables, purchased from a passing native vendor.

The “wood party” therefore offered an invaluable, though risky opportunity for its members to create a “black market” inside the camp.  We always had a single Japanese guard with us.  Due to the nature of the work, we were spread throughout the plantation.  So most of them simply spent the day sitting by our camp fire reading the pornographic books they all carried, or  simply snoozed.

The railway workers carried their mid-day meal with them when they left in the morning.  We, on the “wood party” came into camp at noon for our meager cup of steamed rice and a watery soup made of tree leaves. Before we went to work in the afternoon, someone from the “hospital” would tell us how many deaths had occurred in the previous 24 hours. For each deceased, four of us would be detailed to carry the straw-matting wrapped body to the cemetery, adjacent to the plantation. Out of respect for the dead, we covered our nakedness with a shirt or jacket as the sole item of daily apparel was a Japanese-style loincloth.

Several prisoners labored at the unending task of digging graves and burying the remains.  Most of the time, we never knew the identities of the lost souls whom we carried over the creek and up the hill.  Only if a prisoner had five friends was he accorded a proper burial, generally at the end of our work day. Such was the case on May 29, 1945, less than three months before V-J Day.  Sidney M. Albert, one of the cooks on our ship, the American Leader, had died.  In the evening, Stan Gorski (our ship’s bosun) a U.S. Marine, an English soldier and I, were pallbearers.  Another shipmate, Carl Kalloch, carried the shovels and the cross.

All clergy had been left behind on Java when we came to Sumatra.  The committal service for anyone off my ship became my responsibility.  It was brief:  The Lord’s Prayer, the 23rd Psalm read from a borrowed Bible.  Lower the body.  Fill the hole. Erect the wooden cross and, under the watchful eyes of the Jap sentry, trudge back to the gate and inside the barbed wire camp before dark.

The cause of Albert’s death was malnutrition, or as it was called out there, “beri-beri”.  Lack of protein and vitamins caused kidney malfunction which resulted in fluid retention.  A victim would first notice a soft swelling of his hands and feet, which eventually progressed to the torso.  He ballooned in size to as much as 250 pounds, losing mobility and putting a severe strain on his heart.

My exertion in carrying him to his burial site so sapped me that the next day I suffered “the worse attack of malaria that I’ve had yet.  I worked for 31 days without a break, most of the time axe work, and when the “old bug” hit, I “went down for the count”.  It was the whole package: fever, chills and sweats.  I never imagined it could be so bad. (Notes from my journal.)

Albert was 49 years old.  Out of the 700 who perished, the average age was 37 years and 3 months.  Five were 57, one was 58, another 66.  They probably had wives and children. Yet when most of them died they did not have five friends to mourn for them.  On Sumatra there were no columns of fellow soldiers, sailors, or airmen.  No color guards, no pipers nor drummers.  No flowers.  No eulogies.  Death on Sumatra rarely arrived as a thunderclap.  It moved slowly and inexorably through the ranks at the “hospital”. The men who died knew it was coming and there was nothing to prevent it.

It is a great mystery, isn’t it ?  The 700 unfortunates of Sumatra are just as dead as those American firefighters and police officers. By contrast, how fortunate were those 7 US men to have their lives celebrated with such pomp and ceremony.  How fortunate indeed are we all to be living in a civilization that prides itself on such responses.  How fortunate that we won the war!

This is a remarkable web site called Pacific War Animated.  How did the war end up in the Dutch East Indies ?  With dramatic music in the background, you can follow the progression of invading Japanese forces (link below).  At the bottom is a red arrow pointing to each red-framed window which you click.  Before Pearl Harbor was attacked, Japan occupied Manchuria, Korea and major parts of China.  They had arrangements with French Indochina where planes and troops were positioned.  This animation shows you the strategic route.

Click here to see animated map of Dutch East Indies.

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By Bianca Dias-Halpert

Official U.S. Navy Photograph, National Archives Collection

USS Wichita (CA-45)  Ship’s Chief Petty Officers listen to the radio broadcast of President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s address to the Congress requesting a declaration of War against the Axis powers, circa 8 December 1941.  Note phograph of President Roosevelt on the bulkhead.

The Good and the Bad

They’re in the same month.  You can’t talk about Christmas without remembering Pearl Harbor.   Hard to imagine what it was like to prepare for the holidays when your nation has been attacked.  Such it was for our parents, grandparents and greatgrandparents – only a couple generations ago.  Some of them are still with us to share their thoughts of that historical event.

Remembering the Attack

On the day of the attack on Pearl Harbor I was in Soekaboemi (West Java) walking home from school. I was 10 years old at that time and heard the news from an older friend who had a radio at home. Our family  didn’t have a radio at that time and I shrugged my shoulders at the news as I didn’t know what it meant.  It was much later that I realized the seriousness of the attack. I was at school at that time in a dugout with the teacher and all other classmates when a Japanese plane hit the town. Three bombs fell close to the school, about 200 yards away and exploded with a devastating noise.  The target was a radio tower nearby but it missed the target.  Herman Leembruggen, USA

I was 2 years old.  I was on a sugar/tobacco “onderneming” close to Yogya.  P. Volkert, USA

I was 1 year and about 8 months old (born 24 April 1940 in Surabaya) and we were living in Malang – East Java.  For me Pearl Harbor means that finally the Americans were involved in WWII and because they declared war on Japan it meant that Japan would ultimately attack the Dutch East Indies. This would leave a lifelong scar on my family.  We were first interned into Camp Malang and after that into the horrible prison Banyu-Biru or Camp 10 !   Some of my indirect family members were killed by the Japs including a 24 year old cousin Kees van Benthem. Gerard Willem Charles Lemmens, UK

I was 1-1/2 years old living in Batavia.  I was probably sleeping. Edward E. E. Frietman, USA

I was in Surabaya.  I was 10 years old and in the fifth grade.  According to grandpa we will be at war pretty soon.  He was right.  March 1942 the Japanese planes attacked Surabaya.  They had to come from aircraft carriers because the Japanese was already in the Java sea on their way to Java.  About one month later we were occupied by the Japansese.   Frans Krajenbrink, USA

I was 10 years old.  We lived in Bandoeng.  I was sleeping.  BDJ, USA

I was just 6 years old on Dec. 7, 1941 and living in Bandung with my parents and two younger sisters.  I have no memory of what I was doing at that time, probably just attending school.  Joyce (Hoeke) Kater, USA

I was 2 years old, living in Bandung with my parents and two older sisters. I do not know what I was doing that day or time.  Amani Fliers-Hoeke, USA

I was 14 years old and went to school in Malang. I remember that many people were worried about what could happen to us in the former Dutch East Indies. Others were telling that the Japanese could never win from America. I was intern at an RC boarding school so the nuns and we girls did a lot of praying. Yet it was still a happy time for we didn’t know what was coming later on.  Elizabeth van Kampen, The Netherlands

I was 2 years old.  We were living in Buitenzorg on Java.  I was sleeping as the time zone was different.  A.B.

We were crowded around our little Philco radio in an apartment in White Plains, New York, and I was about 7 years old.  All I understood was the consternation in my parents’ eyes.  And this was the first time I saw my parents cry.  That’s what sticks in my mind 70 years later. Anonymous

I was 1-1/2 years old living in Sukabumi, Indonesia.  I do not recall what I was doing at the time.  Pamela D.

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By Sylvia Boon Couto, daughter

Name:  William Boon
Born:    December 17, 1917, Java, Dutch East Indies
Died:    June 10, 2011, California, USA
POW:   Camp Tjimahi, West Java, Nov 20 , 1942 camp 4e Bataljon

Dad wearing one of his favorite caps

The Early Years

Dad was born on December 17, 1917 on the island of Java, Indonesia to a Dutch father Cornelius Boon and mother Fela Robinson of Chinese-English heritage. He was one of six children with brothers Jan Boon (AKA Tjalie Robinson), Alex Boon, Kees Boon, Henk Boon and sister Elisabeth Boon.

The War Years

My parents met during the war through the prison camp experience. My mother’s brothers were his fellow prisoners. After Liberation, during the Bersiap period (Indonesian Revolution) he was eventually chosen to guard the women’s camp where my mother was captive. This is how they became acquainted.

Both left as single parents, they married shortly after Liberation. He lost his first wife to tuberculosis and was left with an infant son Billie (born May 29, 1940). He married my mother Sylvia Van Ommen (born June 21, 1921) in Sawahloento, West Sumatra on December 12, 1945. Sylvia was a war widow left with an infant daughter Linda (born November 29, 1942). Together they had a son Arthur (born September 7, 1946) in Indonesia and a daughter Sylvia (born October 30, 1950) in the Netherlands. Arthur passed away in May of 1990.

The Netherlands

After the war they started a new life in the Netherlands living in a one-room pension in Gelderland. I was told many times how tough it was starting out again. When he became a civilian, he became a cartoonist for Maarten Toonder in Hilversum and held a supervisory job. Dad had provided well for the family and life was on the upswing. We had a television when no one else owned one, a car (a true luxury then). My parents traveled throughout Europe and made sure my oma (Sylvia’s mother) was well taken care of and eventually she came to live with us.

America

The USA started to beckon and on January 18, 1962 we emigrated after living in the Netherlands 11 years.

Sponsored by his brother Kees, our first place of residence was Pasadena. His first job was in a plastic factory making less than minimum wage. He got laid off within a few months of arrival. With a few bumps in the road, perseverance and Indo connections he went from White Collar to Blue Collar back to White Collar. His artistic talent won out and he landed a job with the Automobile Club of Southern California around 1964. He became a top Cartographer. His specialty was “mountain relief” work. He retired after 17 years with the Automobile Club at age 62.

He became restless again. In the early1980’s he purchased an empty lot on the big island of Hawaii in a little town 28 miles south of Hilo called Pahoa where it rained most of the year. My feeling was always that this move was Dad trying to get as close to his roots as possible without returning to Indonesia. I don’t know how else to explain his restlessness. He uprooted, left his kids and grandkids and convinced Mom that this was where they should live and grow old. They built a brand new, 1300 sq ft house on this lot and of course became immersed in the little Indo community that had already formed there.

However, after the first year, they started traveling back to California for 2 months during the holidays and did so for the remaining 6 years in Pahoa. As their friends started having health issues and were unable to get the medical help locally Dad realized that maybe staying there was not so wise. They sold the house in a timely manner and returned to California in 1987. Upon their return they eventually purchased a mobile home in Dominguez Hills, California where they lived for another 24 years.

While the grandkids were growing up their favorite thing to do with their Opa was to sit at the table with him. They would draw a line or squiggle on a piece of paper and their Opa would create something out of nothing. Over the years he also became famous for taking faces out of pictures or paintings. His grandchildren would bring home numerous boyfriends and girlfriends who became part of our family photos. These photos would remain in our family history but with the ever changing of partners with the grandkids, he was asked once to remove someone which he of course did with ease. Kind of became a joke because over the years he continued to remove other faces and at one point he requested that the “newby” not stand in the middle but at the end so the removal process became easier.

Wall Hanging from Prison Dish

The most treasured of his work was gifted to me. It was a wall hanging of great significance. Dad created a work of art from an object representing greatest despair. This was his eating dish in the camps during his time as a prisoner of war. One of his hobbies was engraving. He used an ink pencil to draw the design on one side. He outlined the design using an engraving tool and pounded the design out with a “stomp nail”. This is how he described it in an accompanying letter he left. It’s entitled “De Roep der Vrijheid” (A Call for Freedom) Tjimahi (Indonesia) 20/11/1942. Japanese P.O.W. camp 4eBataljon. It’s a beautiful picture of a Buck standing among flowers looking toward the mountains. It is engraved with his name and those of his brothers, Jan, Lex, & Kees who were also held in a camp. Once he was freed he presented this to his mother who took care of his son Billie for the duration of his captivity while she was in a civilian camp. Once his mom passed away it was returned to him. Apparently it was decided then that since I carry the same name as his mom (Fela) he wanted it passed on to me.

Our family grew to 15 grandchildren, 31 great grandchildren and 2 great-great-grandchildren. He left us before Father’s Day. One of my daughters brought me the Father’s Day card she had chosen for him. I could not stop crying. It was a card with a bunch of shoes on the front and inside it simply stated “no one can fill your shoes”. That says it all.

December 24, 2010 Christmas Eve.  The same day we buried Mom.  Dad is flanked by two daughters, 10 of his grandchildren, a handful of great-grandchildren, 1 great-great-granchild, and a smattering of spouses and girlfriends.

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By Jan Krancher, California, USA

By Andrew A. van Dyk

Overview of the Japanese Imprisonment Experience

The Japanese High Command on Java attempted to coerce the Indo-European members of the former Royal Netherlands-Indies Army, Navy and Air Force to enlist in the Japanese army.  A goodly number of Indos who refused were summarily executed and many ended up in camps.  Additionally, the Japanese tried to force the Indo-Europeans to renounce their allegiance to the Dutch queen and to become Indonesian citizens.  Those who refused were thrown into enslavement camps.  By early April 1942, there were a variety of enslavement centers in operation throughout the Dutch East Indies, and they could be classified in eight types:

1.   Prisoner for war (POW) camps.  These camps held members of armed forces of Allied nations, including Dutch, British and other commonwealth forces, Australians and Americans in addition to other nationalities such as Africans, Canadians, South Africans, Chinese, Arabs and Malays.  These men were billeted by nation of origin and service.  Later on, many civilians were imported to maintain the numbers for organized work parties after the majority of POWs were sent overseas to work on the infamous Burma-Thailand railroad, to Formosa (now Taiwan), to Hainan and to Japan itself to perform labor on docks and in the coal mines.

Every POW had to perform manual labor, either inside camp or on the outside.  It did not take long for clothing to deteriorate, and the majority of the prisoners soon wore only the military green shorts, Indonesian style clogs, and some kind of hat, often one formerly used by the military service. They made their own eating utensils.

2.  VIP camps.  Several camps housed inmates who were holders of high office in the former colony’s government, such as governor-general, members of parliament, commissioners, residents, administrators, lawyers, doctors, professors, clergymen, industrialists, officers of the rank of general and other dignitaries.  However, it was not long before they too were dispersed to other islands, such as Formosa, Hainan and Japan.

3.  Boys’ camps.  These held boys between the age of nine and thirteen.  After they turned fourteen, they were usually moved to civilian internment camps.  In Cimahi, there was Camp 6 for this purpose in which the author of the original article by the same title (Andrew (Andre) A. van Dyk) in “The Defining Years…..”, spent one year.

4.  Civilian internment camps.  Here males age fourteen and upwards were held. These inmates were continually transferred between camps throughout the three and one half years of captivity. Working parties were assembled each and every day, every month of every year.  Such working parties labored on construction projects at various distances away from camps.  When the job was in close proximity, the group marched on foot to reach it, escorted by one or two Japanese soldiers for every 40 to 50 inmates.  However, when the job was far away, the working group was transported by army truck, some 70 men packed standing up on the flat bed, escorted by two to three guards.

5.  Jahat camps. These camps were for the “bad” enemy.  They held captured guerrilla fighters, many of whom had been betrayed by the Indonesian for cash awards; escaped and recaptured POWs; members of certain Allied units which caused Japanese invasion forces much grief, such as demolition and special forces units; and captured civilians who were allegedly discovered as being spies.  Eventually all of these people were eliminated, usually by means of decapitation, after interrogation by the infamous Japanese military police, the Kempetai.

6.  Prisons and jails.  These institutions held criminals already held by the Dutch before the surrender as well as persons suspected of running black market operations as go-between trafficking in medicines, food and cigaretts between Indonesians and inmates.  Also incarcerated here were members of clandestine newspapers, resistance group members, and persons who hid or otherwise aided escapted Allied servicemen.  These unfortunates would be tortured by the Kempeitai and later disposed of. Examples of these facilities were Struiswijk, Glodok and Sukamiskin.

7.  Protection camps.  In these camps, billeted for their own safety and protection, were members of Axis countries-German, Italians, Hungarians, Rumanians, and others-as well as some citizens of neutral countries such as Switzerland and Sweden.  These camps are not to be confused with camps by the same designation after the war, during the Bersiap period, which housed persons who were in need of protection from marauding Indonesian youth.

8.  Concentration camps.  Here, all females except those held for interrogation in other institutions, boys under age 12 and, in some early cases, very old men were interned.  These camps held inmate population between 100 and 18,000 and were found on nearly every island all over the Indies, primarily Java and Sulawesi.

The most frequently discussed camps were the so-called Cihapit camps in Bandung, West Java, which took up most of the city and held nearly 18,000 persons.  The other infamous camp was Cideng camp in Jakarta, capital of the Indies, located on the north coast of West Java.  In this camp a brutal Japanese camp commander, Capt. Kenichi Sonei, held sway during the last years of the war.  After the war, he was executed as a war criminal for his action while in charge of this camp.

All concentration camp inmates had to be part of working parties.  Even women up to age 60 had to perform manual labor.  Inmates were used as garbage and junk collectors, sewer and drain cleaners, kitchen workers, furniture removers, clerical workers, grass cutters, and laborers to perform other chores outside camp jobs.

(Excerpts from Chapter 1 – The Defining Years of the Dutch East Indies, 1942-1949:  Survivors’ Accounts of Japanese Invasion and Enslavement of Europeans and the Revolution That Created Free Indonesia – 2003 [1996], Edited by Jan A. Krancher, used by permission of McFarland&Co, Inc., Box 611, Jefferson NC 28640 – www.mcfarlandpub.com)

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By Bianca Dias-Halpert, Washington, USA

An article appeared in the magazine NOW! Bali August 2010 about a Dutch lady who has lived in Indonesia her entire life.  They were kind enough to let me share their findings with you readers.

Milly

On the outside she looks Dutch but on the inside she is Indonesian.  Milly is one of the few survivors of the Dutch colonial era living in Indonesia.

Her real name is Emily Langlois van den Bergh.  Her nickname is “Milly”.  She was born on 28 August 1923 in Batavia.  Her father, Frans Langlois van der Bergh is a full-blooded Dutchman born in East Java in the village of Kertosari.  Her mother, Emma Johanna van Geelen, passed on Indonesian genes to Milly.  Emma’s father is of mixed Dutch-Sumatranese born in Padang in 1851.  Emma’s mother is a full-blooded Dutch woman, Emma Van Vrijberge van der Does.  The name Langlois van den Bergh was actually acquired for socioeconomic reasons.  The original parternal name was Langlois de la Montagne, as her father’s grandfather was a Frenchman.  In the 1930′s her [ Sumatran ] grandfather aspired to be promoted in the banking business but was required to be a Dutch citizen.  Hence, he changed the family name to Langlois van den Bergh.

It appears that family surnames changed all the time in that era to fit the prevailing socioeconomic and political conditions.  Whoever was in power and controlled the purse strings influenced the family name.

Milly’s lineage goes back to the VOC (Dutch East India Company) era and is proposed to have one-eighth Sumatra Malay blood within her.   The article states her “forefathers were many generations of Dutch living in Indonesia” so it may be safe to say she is at least 10th generation.  This gives one a sense of Milly’s place in the world.

Holland

At the age of 16 her family went to Holland for a year and stayed at her grandfather’s house.  She cried every single day and said she did not like it there and asked to go back home to the Indies.  Her brother was handicapped and her mother chose to stay with him in Holland to care for him.  Milly returned to join her father in Jakarta – her mother never returned to the Indies.  Later, her mother  frequently traveled back and forth between Holland and Jakarta.  In 1990 her mother died at the age of 109 years.

War

Milly graduated from high school in 1942.  The independence movement of Indonesia was starting to pick up momentum.  During the Japanese Occupation she worked for a while at the radio station BRV (Bataviasche Radio Vereniging).  She had to stop because a warning went out through the Nederland-Indische Radio that all working at the station would be picked up and put into internment camps.  Through the difficult times she made a living smuggling all kinds of goods and products; nails, cement, textiles, soaps, perfumes.  She and some friends went around on bicycles selling wares in utmost secrecy.

After the war and independence in 1947, she landed jobs at several Dutch companies still in existence.  What type of work she did was unclear.   Her work took her traveling extensively throughout the archipelago and she had a wide network of friends and associates.

Love

In 1957 Milly the tall Dutch woman married the love of her life Karel Gouw, a short stocky Chinese man of Dutch citizenship. They clicked with each other right away.  Karel was known for his sense of humor and huge smile.  In 1958 they decided to become Indonesian citizens.  They changed their surname to Gandanegara (two countries).  Here’s that name changing again.  Often Chinese had to change their names to an Indonesian name for survival.  Karel worked for Coca Cola and they traveled often to India, home of Coca Cola headquarters.

Life Journey

In 1963 she opened an art shop called the Banowati Art Shop in Jakarta which was beside their house on Jalan Semarang 18.  She received President Soekarno’s  blessing to open this shop and it’s hailed as one of the first of its kind.  Milly developed an interest in arts and crafts.  The Gandanegaras couple were hosts to many guests from all over and became so popular that they entered the hotel business.  Karel decided to rent the failing Hotel Narmada in Sanur (Bali) with ten bungalows.  Milly managed the hotel herself.  In the early 1960′s Sanur became a popular resort for tourists and hotels were starting to develop along the beaches.   After 10 years she made an important move and obtained the license of the hotel in her own name.   After a decade she then acquired Baruna Hotel at the Sindhu Road.  Later she expanded Baruna Hotel to another side of Sanur at the Segara Ayu Road.  It is the Hotel Baruna that still exists today with six bungalows available to rent.

Milly outlived her husband and had traveled extensively over the years.  On her travels she explored new handicraft and art for her shops.  Now in her eighties, she lives on the Hotel Baruna premises surrounded by beautiful plants and all kinds of birds.  No longer able to walk due to a bad fall, she still oversees the daily operation of the Baruna Hotel which is managed by the daughter of her long time cook.  She enjoys visits from relatives in Holland and friends from all over the world.

What a remarkable story of this Last Nyonya.

The term “Nyonya” is said to be a colonial era expression which means a foreign woman who lives as a local native Indonesian.  Terminology changes with time and the winds of change.  If you have another interpretation of the term Nyonya, please share by leaving a reply comment below.  Do you know of a “Nyonya” too ?

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By Bianca Dias-Halpert, USA

Doc Hekking Reunion with former POW's 1957 Texas Courtesy of Lost Battalion Association

Heroes are lost in the annals of history.   Doc Hekking and the incredible bond with his fellow POW’s  is an inspirational story that awaits rediscovery in the Indo community and beyond.

The boys from America

Overshadowed by America’s presence in the Phillipines and Japan, the role of Americans in the Dutch East Indies and the greater Pacific is often overlooked. Doc Hekking’s story is testimony to the fact that Americans were Japanese POW’s. How did they get there ?

The Battle of the Java Sea

In the Sunda Strait, which connects the Java Sea to the Indian Ocean, the Japanese torpedoed the USS Houston (CA-30), an American heavy cruiser.  It was 28 February 1942.  She was part of the (ABDA) American-British-Dutch-Australian naval force.  As their ship went down, the surviving men swam ashore only to be captured by the Japanese on the island of Java.  This 7-hour battle became known at the Battle of the Java Sea. The men from Texas later came under Doc Hekking’s care in a Japanese labor camp.  Together they were transferred from the Bicycle Camp (base of 10th Battalion Bicycle Force of the Netherlands East Indies Army) in Batavia, then shipped to Changi (Singapore) and in October of 1942 on to the Burma-Siam Railway.  The USS Houston (CA-30) was later termed as the “Galloping Ghost of the Java Coast”.

The Jungle Doctor

I was drawn to the American prisoners because they joked a lot in spite of their situation – spoken by Doc Hekking at a reunion with former American POW’s to whom he was assigned.  He was often referred to as the Jungle Doctor because of his knowledge of medicinal plants and their application.  His unit had zero loss of limbs and also had the lowest death rate.

The men suffered from tropical ulcers, malaria, dysentery and beriberi.  Festering tropical ulcers often ended up in amputation of the limb.  To remove dead skin and stimulate new skin growth he lanced ulcers with a sharpened teaspoon or sometimes used maggots.  He created remedies using herbs, fat and sometimes arsenic to treat painful diseases.

Early Life

A product of the former Dutch East Indies, Henri H. Hekking was born on February 13, 1903 in Soerabaja on Java.  At the tender age of 4, young Hekking was sent to his grandmother’s house when he contracted malaria.  This grandmother came to the Indies from Zeeland, a province of the Netherlands, where her interest in healing plants originated.  She lived in Lawang near the edge of the woods and had a large nursery of plants, vegetables and herbs.  She was a master herbalist.  Twice a week she would tend to the sick in the native kampongs.  Under her guidance , the young Hekking learned about medicinal plants and their application for all kinds of diseases.  In this environment, he decided early on that he wanted to be a doctor.

Later in life, he obtained his medical degree from the University of Leiden on a government grant in exchange for 10 years of service in the medical corps with the KNIL – the Royal Dutch Army.  The first 6 months of service on Java was an intensive course of tropical diseases.  With this combined knowledge, he later was able to save  the lives and limbs of his fellow prisoners of war.

Typical POW camp on Thailand-Burma Railway. Courtesy of Lost Battalion Association

A Beacon of Hope

Besides his skills as a physician under the worst conditions,  Doc Hekking had a great sense of humility and humanitarianism.  He knew that his patients needed hope, something to live for, otherwise they simply gave up.  In the depths of hell, he kept their spirits up and  recognized the significance of psychology in the healing process.  When the men praised and thanked him, he turned it around and praised them.  Doc Hekking stated that it was” their”  friendship that kept him going and made him feel worthy.  Anyone who has been in the trenches of war together understands the depth of this kind of brotherhood.  This bond lasted a lifetime.

A Hero

In the Congressional Record, November 18, 1983 a tribute was made to Dr. Han Hekking for his heroic efforts in saving the lives of Americans prisoners of the Burma-Thai Railway.  He is hailed by Americans as a hero, yet little is known of him in the Netherlands.  His name is in the official U.S. Congressional Record, Proceedings and Debates of the 98th Congress, First Session, Vol. 129.   In this record one of his patients, Otto Schwarz is quoted, “…..he is not a mere physician.  His practice of medicine, under the worst conditions was not restricted to the attempt to heal the physical body; it also brought out his ability as a psychologist, to somehow treat the mind, spirit, soul of those prisoners of war who had little or no reason to be confident about the future.”

Since 1956, the “boys” from Texas have held reunions with fellow ex POW’s.  Each time, they passed the hat around to make it possible for Doc Hekking to come from Holland with his wife.  Each time, they embraced wholeheartedly at the airport as they saw “Doc”.

On January 28, 1994 Dr. Henri H. Hekking passed away in Holland after a long battle with cancer.  His “boys” were at a loss for words of how much he meant to them.  He was an expert jungle doctor who saved their lives and became an endearing father figure and great friend.

We salute you Doc Hekking and we honor your memory.

Editor’s Note:   Because the original POW survivors are dwindling in numbers, their adult children (the next generation) are carrying on their legacy.  They have formed an association based out of Texas called the Lost Battalion Association and the USS Houston CA-30 Survivors Association & Next Generations.

Special thanks to Fred Hekking, Doc Hekking’s surviving son, for providing photos and insights.

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By Joyce Kater, New Mexico, USA

LITTLE MOMENTS OF HUMANITY AT WARTIME

Although this incident happened a lifetime ago in the Second World War in South East Asia, it still lingers in my memory.  It took place in the months before our family was torn apart and put in different Japanese concentration camps on Java Island, Indonesia.

My father was moving his own family and two other families with young children around in the city of Bandoeng in order to evade capture by the occupying Japanese troops which had invaded these former Dutch colonies since March 1942.

I vaguely remember the three or maybe four houses we lived in for short periods of time. They all had primitive underground shelters in the backyards where we took refuge when the bombing raids started.

Until this  very day I still get an uncomfortable feeling when I hear airplanes flying overhead.

It was late at night when my parents heard a loud banging on the front door of one of these homes. When they opened the door they saw a lone young Japanese soldier who apparently had somehow been injured. Blood covered his face and hands. He was let in and treated for his injuries.

The only possible communication was by gestures and the  guttural sounds coming from the soldier. It became apparent that he  had an accident and had fallen off his bicycle in front of our house. He appeared drunk and  probably had one bottle of sake too many.

He then started to ask for something, putting his two hands in front of his face while  repeatedly uttering the same Japanese word.

After some guess work it turned out that he wanted to have a mirror to look at his face.

On his way out, he walked by the room where all six of us children were fast asleep on the floor. He paused to look at this peaceful scene. He seemed moved by this sight, then turned around abruptly and left.

The next day he returned to the house, this time driving a car, most likely recently confiscated from another Dutch family. He was carrying a large cake  inside and gestured  with a smile  that it was for the children of the house where he had received some kindness the night before.

Editor’s Note:   For all you readers out there, have you heard a similar story of humanity during wartime between the enemy and those in captivity ?  Have you yourself witnessed this in war ?  Do you think it’s possible for opposing sides to connect on a human level ?

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Indo Profile

By Bianca Dias-Halpert, USA

Case and Martha van der Linden

Case was born in Surabaya, Indonesia in 1939.   After one year in Holland in 1948 the family returned to Indonesia in 1949 and then left for good in 1954.  In 1960 he came to the USA by himself by plane.  In 1961 he married Martha and they had three kids Jennifer, Johnny and Jessica.  He obtained his U.S. citizenship in 1970.

Case embodies the legendary American melting pot.  His beautiful wife is Puerto Rican whom he met shortly after immigrating to the USA.  Their children have a wonderful blend of European-Asian-Latin influences.

His mother was a math teacher and his father was a civil attorney and legal advisor to the mayor of the city of Surabaya.  His mother was a great communicator and maintained contact with all her former students throughout her lifetime.  The students were from all different ethnic groups and races.  Another example of what a small world we live in is that one of his mother’s former pupils is Rene Creutzberg, Editor of De Indo magazine (Walnut, CA).

Case returned to his old neighborhood in Surabaya in 1976 while his parents were there visiting.  They went to one of the oldest cemeteries called “Peneleh” where his great-grandparents and young aunt were buried.  He has wonderful memories of his childhood growing up in the former Dutch East Indies – one of them was how his father painted numbers on the backs of turtles in order to identify them later on.

Successful assimilation into the American lifestyle is reflected in his daughter and grandson.  His daughter Jessica is an accomplished softball player having played pitcher/outfielder for the Florida State University Seminoles and later pitched for the Puerto Rican National Team.  His grandson Tyler Wilson is a midfielder playing soccer for the Puerto Rican Islanders.  At the tender age of 22, he is featured in Wikipedia.

Jessica van der Linden, Florida State

Tyler Wilson, Puerto Rican Islanders

By Bianca Dias-Halpert

Jeannette and her loving grandmother Mukidah

It was with great pleasure to interview Jeannette Lambert from Montreal, Quebec, Canada.  Our Skype connection but for one tiny glitch went smoothly and we had a nice chat about our mutual heritage.

Jeannette is a jazz singer, artist, mother, wife from Canada who was born in Leiden, NL.  Her father, Walter Schwager, is an Indo of German descent born in Cimahi in 1940 and raised in Bandung.  Her late mother Agatha Schwager was Dutch with an Indo soul.   By the time she was 3 years old, Jeannette had already traveled to three different continents.   The family moved from Holland to New Zealand by boat and to their final destination, Canada by plane.

1969 Bali with Prince Cokorde Agung - enroute to Canada from New Zealand

The photo on the right depicts the family en route to Canada from New Zealand as they made a stop in Bali.  In 1969, there were no hotels in Ubud and the only available accommodation was the palace.  In the picture with them is the palace prince Cokorde Agung.

Married to Canadian Michel Lambert, Jeannette has dual citizenship between Canada and The Netherlands.  They have two sons, Théo age 7 and Jérôme age10.

When asked how her Indo/ethnic background has influenced her life decisions she said it has “colored all of it”.  She has managed to intertwine life and art and has lived life as an artist having performed professionally since age 12.  There is a family bond to music reciting stories of her oma singing Javanese folk songs on her way to the market.  Also, her husband Michel Lambert (drummer/composer) and her brother Reg Schwager (guitarist) are in her band.  The house was always open to people with plentiful food involved.  Jazz musicians with their long hair and beards and tye-dye clothes would come in waves to hang out and her grandmother made a comment one time how nice it was of them to “feed the poor”.  We shared a good chuckle at that one.

Her Dutch mother embraced the Indo culture and taught Indonesian cooking classes during their stay in New Zealand.  She was pleasantly surprised when a picture showed up on a web site called Artwork Life featuring her mother teaching this cooking class.  It is an article in the Woman’s Weekly 1968 New Zealand paper The Way to a Kiwi’s Heart.  The purpose of the cooking class was to counteract racism and promote understanding.

She knew her Javanese oma (grandmother) who was quite a role model for her having been an astute businesswoman in her own right.  Because Jeannette was not taught the Dutch language she has a fragmented grasp of its understanding and has found that she could communicate better with this Javanese oma, as they both spoke a hybrid of sorts of the Dutch language.  Kind of a lingua franca.  She said the loss of the Dutch language had seemed to create a sort of detachment from her heritage, particularly when visiting relatives in Holland.

Her poem “Jalan Jalan” is featured in this video with gamelan type music and haunting images of family home movies. Her oma is the lady in the white headress. It’s a simple composition of the new juxtaposed with the old artistically portrayed.

When asked how she maintains connection to her Indo heritage the first thing she said was going on hikes with her cousin Marianne Van Toor in California.  Coming from cold Canada and being in the warm California sun and hiking amidst palm trees and climbing back down to drink and eat chips puts all the elements together for her in a reminiscent way.  Through her singing career she has also had the opportunity to perform in Jakarta several times so her connection is ongoing.  She also has friends in Montreal who are Indonesians and they get together because of the food and their mutual children, creating a sort of expat family.  In 2011 she is taking her children, husband and her father to Indonesia on a family trip so they can experience it all together.

Her favorite Indo food is everything.  It was hard for her pinpoint exactly.  She was making Soto Ayam for her kids’ lunch that day, one their favorites.  Basically, anything salty and deep fried.  Now, that’s my kind of gal.

The three most important things in her life is family, creativity and joy.

Jeannette and sons Jerome and Theo

You can find Jeannette anywhere in the world performing and creating and she’ll be the first to tell you that she has a real travel streak in her soul.  We decided it must be from our maritime sea voyager Dutch ancestry….

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By Helen Buiskool, North Carolina, USA

I’m so excited to now be able to learn more about my heritage, thanks to The Indo project. It is long overdue for many of us of my generation who have hungered for more information now that our parents have either passed on or are no longer able to tell their stories.  I am now uncovering photos from my parents’ house.

1952 Family Buiskool on ship journey

This was taken on board the Johan Van Oldenbarneveld. It shows my father, Gerard Buiskool, my mother, Louise Buiskool holding me as a baby, and my grandmother, Frances Buiskool-Verboom holding my brother, Roy. Since I’ve always been told that I was only 3 months old when we left Indonesia, it would date this photo as March 1952. It’s hard to believe my dad had only just turned 28 and my mom was 26 at that time. Such a young age to have one’s life uprooted! We came to Holland and had lived in Scheveningen for a brief period of time before settling in Moerwijk, Den Haag where we lived until 1962 and where most of my childhood memories are based. In 1962 we emigrated to the US and settled in southern California, like so many other Indos. I can now see how the trauma of moving from one’s homeland at such a young age, than packing up and moving again to the States (without my grandmother) affected my parents’ life. It wasn’t easy for them and it left plenty of sad repercussions.

It would be so wonderful if someone looking at The Indo Project web site recognized my family and perhaps be able to tell me more stories about those earlier years. Both my grandmother and mother have passed away and my father is now 86 (and with dementia), so unfortunately the early family stories I now crave are no longer accessible to me.

March 1952 Family Buiskool on board Johan Van Oldenbrneveld

I also have this photo of my family at the dining table with another family on board the SS Maasdam.  I hesitated to send it because of the funny expression on my mom’s face. (I think her hat slipped off just as the photo was taken!) It was taken during the Captain’s Dinner, one of the festivities on our trip to the US. If I recall correctly, I learned my first English words (“thank you”, “please” during this trip since our stewart spoke English.) I considered it a big adventure to be on board such a ship for 2 weeks and can only imagine how emotional it must have been for my parents to, yet again, start a whole new life as a young family.

I can’t recall the name of the family (seated on the right next to my brother Roy in the foreground) who shared our table with us each day. I know their little boy’s name was Ferdie (as in Ferdinand, I guess) who befriended my younger brother Robby during the trip. They were going to settle in Houston, Texas while we were headed to California. I know my parents stayed in touch with them for a while after we settled in. Don’t know what became of them…

Boarding Pass 5-11-1962

Editors Note:  Helen is part of the 2nd generation Indos born after the war in Indonesia who hopes to piece together her family’s history.  If anyone knew the Buiskool family, please contact us at info@theindoproject.org and we will connect you with Helen.

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Indo Profile

By Bianca Dias-Halpert

It was with great pleasure to finally talk with Kimo Huybrechts, a diverse musician from Hawaii of Indo heritage.   His music group Ranga Pae was formed in 1995.   Ranga Pae means “encircling the earth” in the Maori language.  The name came about when Kimo and a team from Hawaii had a rich exchange with the Maori people of New Zealand about their faith, music, and culture which inspired him to adopt the name. He received a blessing from a Maori elder and was given permission to use this name for his new band.

Kimo and his wife Jody have carved out a harmonious living together producing this wonderful eclectic music which is likened to Hawaiian-Pacific fusion.  They hold degrees in cultural anthropology/ethnomusicology and make it their mission to promote appreciation of cultural music through various projects. His music is a fusion of Pacific Rim elements incorporating instruments such as the Javanese gamelan, the Japanese koto, the Indian sitar, or the bamboo tingklit of Bali.

Kimo was born in El Paso, Texas, USA at Fort Bliss.  His father, Robby Huybrechts, took the family around the world through his work as a mechanical engineer specializing in electrical circuit boards for computers – one of the pioneers in the field.  Robby was born in Bandung, repatriated to Holland and came to the USA in the early 1960’s.

Kimo’s lineage is a wonderful blend of Dutch-French-Chinese and recently learned some Jewish also.  He has come full circle in a genealogical sense.  Family legend tells of his father’s maternal great-grandmother  coming originally from Hawaii.  She came from Lahaina (Maui) and married a Dutch judge who was passing through on his way to the East Indies.  Talk about coming full circle.

Along his life journey he has met touchstones that tie into his heritage and sense of identity.  One time he met a ship captain on the Norwegian cruise lines.  This captain told him that the name Huybrechts was very common name in Belgium.  It is factoids like this that piece the puzzle together of such an eclectic background.

His Indo background has influenced Kimo in various ways, the first being food.  His wife Jody loves to cook Indo food and so they enjoy it together.  His multicultural heritage, as they say in Hawaii “poi-dog” (mutt) is reflected in the choices he’s made in his life having traveled all over the world and incorporating elements in his value system as well as expression in his musical career.  Their mission statement sums it up in Reconciliation, Heart of Land, A Touch from Heaven, A Taste of Heaven on Earth

Kimo maintains connection to his Indo heritage through the food and some of the language.  He knows Dutch which was emphasized growing up, but also knows some Indonesian phrases because of the tourists that pass through his home territory (Maui).

His favorite Indo food after growing up on satay is gravitating towards the vegetarian dishes in all their splendor of spices and flavor.   He is fortunate to live in a climate where  fruits and vegetables can grow that are also found in Indonesia; Kukui nut, Kemiri nut, Nungka, Jackfruit and on the Big Island is durian and rambutan.

The three most important things in Kimo’s life is God, family, and the land.  We talked about our shared value of being responsible stewards of this earth and share a passion for picking up garbage on beaches.

You can find Ranga Pae performing at the Merriman’s Kapalua restaurant nightly.  Stop by and say “dag” or “aloha” or “apa kabar” to Kimo.

Merriman's

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