My Box with Keepsakes

I came on the idea for this post after reading an article in my favorite weekly magazine. It brings me back in time because once I had a memory box.

It wasn't a luxury box but rather a very ordinary cardboard box.

Anyhow: The article that I mentioned above went about the film “*To kill a mockingbird”

This year this film became fifty years old and for me it's still one of the best films I have ever seen.

It's superb on all counts. It's a great adaptation of *this memorable novel written by (probably you will all know this) the American writer Harper Lee. She's an Alabama author, she only wrote one book – and it was a good one.

What has this to do with my memory box you shall say: well the opening scene of this film starts with a memory box, almost one like I had, although mine was a little larger.

This particular scene is still stuck to my memory. I love the sound of the tikking clock, the cheerful humming of Scout, and the rolling and bouncing of the marbles -- it's all so simple and oh so sensitive. The combination of the images and the music are so touching and so beautiful chosen, for me this scene is a real masterpiece. After so many years -- and seeing it severall times over again -- it still gives me goosebumps when I look at it.

Therefore I would like to show you this openings scene

Now back to the main topic

What was sitting in my box with keepsakes!

I was born in the middle of World War 2, so I had not much when I was a small child but I cherished the little things I had.

Unfortunately but not much that was sitting in that box has survived all those years, just some drawings that I made and one of my first books: The Story of Little Red Riding Hood (in Dutch: Roodkapje), my first Communion church book (I was raised catholic) with within it a little handkerchief edged with lace (it was a present for this celebration) and a few communion cards.

Once there was a little Jesus image glued on my prayer book but as you can see my little sister had torn it off, she had also scribbled with a pencil on my story book.

Here you see me with my prayer book, wrapped in the little lace handkerchief in my hands.

This picture is now 61 years old!

Then at least: the most important object, my doll. I called her: Hilda.

She's almost 60 years old now. My aunt made this doll for me after her little daughter Hilda (she was her only daughter) died of leukemia. She became only 8 years old. If you see pictures of Hilda she looks almost like the doll. She also had very blond short hair that curled outside, she seemed to be made of porcelain. She was such a pretty girl.

My doll is made entirely of cotton fabric and is stuffed with kapok inside, only the head was bought. One thing is regrettable but actually it didn't bother me: she can't bend her legs and arms so she can't sit. But despite this shortcomings for me she was perfect. My aunt also made her cloths.

Look how proud I was at my Hilda.

In this Christmas tree you can see the **Christmas balls and stars which we had made ourselves.:):)

Now you can see that the time has gnawed at the fabric, it starts to fall apart at some places.

You can also see that her cheeks are worn off because I cuddled her so much!

I will cherish her for the rest of my days.

I couldn't show you much, but these items have a great sentimental value for me.

When I look back on it, time has flown by, much much too fast!

One thing I know for sure: the time hasn't gnawed on

"To Kill a Mockingbird".

It will remain intact for always.

It's easy to enjoy and hard to forget.

PS: **On this post I discribed how and of what we made them.

Very special stuf!:):)

A Little Angel with Wings of Lead

This title will raise many question marks. So – I will make it clear to you immediately.

This little Angel was I.

In my post: "why it took so long", I've told you about my illness.

One of the first symptoms stands still imprinted in my memory and printed a stamp on the rest of my life.

It was not only this first experience of my illness which I do remember so well, but also the “hardness” of people on that particular day had a big impact on me.

I must have been almost 10 years old. I, and also four other girls, was chosen to act as an Angel in a ceremony of my school's proclamation.

Oh – I was so proud and eager to wear a beautiful angel gown and also large angel wings covered with white feathers.

A few days before the ceremony we had a few short repetitions and it seemed that it would become a beautiful spectacle.

Then came the day where I was so looking forward to. First we got dressed. Our angel gown was made of white shining satin. It was really marvelous. Thereafter they attached the angel wings on our shoulder. (The wings were attached to a sort of metal wire harness that rested on our shoulders.) They were large and although they were covered with white feathers, they seemed pretty heavy to me.

Meanwhile the ceremony had started, and while the music sounded heavenly, we – the angels, had to mount the stairs very dignified with folded hands.

Oh – I was so proud to stand there at the podium.

After a while, we had to sit on our knees in the praying position with our hands folded on a small platform at a podium which was situated more than three meters high.
After almost twenty minutes sitting there, on a hard wooden board floor, oh – my knees started to feel so painful.

I really got problems to stay in this position. I also could no longer hold my folded hands up. I started to get so much pain in my whole body that I was almost going to faint.

I couldn't understand that the other girls could sit on their knees so long – without having problems. Also my shoulders started to ache.

Those angel wings were so heavy for my little body. It became too much for me.

It seemed almost if I was wearing “*Jumbo” wings instead of “angel” wings!

Because I was afraid that I would faint and fall down from the platform I went to sit on my behind ... and oh oh ... that I better could not have done – that spoiled the total picture, the grand finale!

One of the five angels was sitting down on her bottom and leaning on her arms.

So now and then I tried to sit upon my knees again, I tried again to be a real angel, but I could endure the pain no longer. So, for the rest of the ceremony (almost thirty minutes) I sat there on my bottom, with painful shoulders and frightened that I would faint.

(Actually – now I still can't understand why there was no one wondering what was happening to me, why no one came to help me.)

Oh I was so glad that the ceremony was over. So, I came down the ladder off the podium together with the other girls, when suddenly I heard a very vicious voice. It was my teacher. She was yelling and shouting very furious, pointing her finger at me: “hey....you there” she yelled.

The rest you can guess. There followed a real flood of abuse.

It frightened me so much – how angry she was – without asking me “why” I went sitting down that the most shameful thing happened to me. Purely out of fear I peed in my pants and wet, my socks, my shoes, and also my beautiful angel gown.

Oh -- I was so embarrassed! I cried – not only because I had so much pain but also because she was so cruel to me. I had always been a very exemplary child, this was the first time she had a problem with me and it happened against my will. I had not planned this. I felt myself so guilty. I had ruined not only the total picture but also my beautiful angel gown!

What must have been a beautiful experience for me, and I was so looking forward to, ended for me in a “real nightmare”.

She gave me no chance to explain it. She was only very furious at me, she was so insensitive! Even being such a little child I could not understand that someone could be so heartless and “this” experience became the base of my sensitivity for the rest of my life! I became a very sensitive person especially towards everything that's defenseless, that's vulnerable or in need, because I experienced it: I was vulnerable and in need, and even on that moment I couldn't count on my teacher's apprehension.

On these two pictures taken one month after my angel experience, you see me as a lively happy and healthy child, but it's not all what it seems because: at this very moment I was ill again.

(Oh folks, I almost can't believe it. This is now already 57 years ago ... and I still run.)

This day my father came to visit me on my summer camp and he took these pictures. While all the other girls were playing outside, my father had to wait to see me because I was sleeping upstairs in the middle of the day because I felt myself so tired.

Also, the outside of my left ear shell was covered with large blisters and it was very painful. So they had to wake me up.

( Actually, I can't remember that they went to a doctor with me, but probably it was because I never complained.)

And now – that I became so much older more and more I must think back on my mother.

She had not an easy life. She had to raise three little children while she also had to run a garment store. She worked very hard in her life.

She also became ill at a young age, and then I (who was only 9 or 10 years old) had to take care for her. She must have been 38 years when there went something wrong with her blood (with me the same thing happened in 1998). As I already told you, my father kept me home from school several times (for almost a whole week) because my mother had to have blood transfusions or needed help because she was too ill to stay alone at home.

It must have been a hard time for her and now I understand “why” she was never present when there was a school play or a proclamation at my school!

It was not easy to understand this as a child, and on that area I always felt myself a little ignored and even a little neglected.

Nevertheless -- now I know that she did all she could!

I still can see my mom sitting, playing the piano in the Sunday afternoons when I was little!

These were very happy moments: while she played the piano we sang all together the refrain of the popular war song titled: “It's a long way to Tipperary”! (Actually we sang a funny slang version of it.:) In my mind I still can hear how funny that sounded.)

But after playing some time her hands started to tremble. She began to wring and rub them, but it didn't help. She couldn't play further because she had too much pain in her hands.

So after some time she started to play less and less, and after only a few years they moved the piano to an other room. From then on the piano stayed closed, it only went open so now and then for my little sister to playfully strum on it.

From then on my mother played no longer the piano!

Anyhow after so many years I still feel myself guilty because we all teased her, we all said “there was always something” with her. We couldn't understand that she had problems, because often you couldn't see that there was something wrong with her, that she was ill. We only saw her taking painkillers, the one after the other like it were candies!

Therefore as a tribute to my mother: here's a picture of her playing the piano in happier and better times, still healthy!

Born in 1915 -- died in 1976

I hope she forgives me … now I understand!

Now I also feel (a little) what she must have felt, but she was much worse than I.

I am the one who came better off, I'm already seven years older than she became!

PS: I promise you (before you get enough of it, and I could understand if you do), this will be the last time that I talk about my illness. There are more pleasant things to talk about.

Now I'm going to sift trough ideas for Pipke's life story and I have a very good one!

Have a guess?

Till soon

A Bad Experience

The main news topics of the last months here in Belgium!

Just after New Year a *young girl and her boy friend were murdered in a very atrocious manner.

After the Dutroux case the Belgian police research teams started to work together with Child Focus and so they resolved many sexual natured crimes.

Since 1998, Child Focus has treated 3000 cases a year, and closed 70% of them within the year.

The Belgian police research teams resolved these above-mentioned murders in no time and because of there assiduity they resolved also a murder of *three years ago.

From the start they suspected the *young couple's neighbour Ronald Janssen. Although this man was a very exemplary school teacher. His friends and coworkers said that the police was wrong. They wouldn't believe this.

It was such an amiable person!

A well known advocate even said that: he looks the kind of man who you would give the permission to accompany your own daughter to a party. He was always so friendly, every one could count on him.

Later that teacher confessed the two first murders. Thereafter he also confessed the murder of that young girl three years ago. Thereafter he confessed at least five brutal rapes, and during one of them he attacked and wounded a young girl very severe with a knife.

Now they even suspect him to have committed more murders.

As a young girl you have bad luck that you encounter such an amiable man at the wrong moment. They abuse the situating and your vulnerability.

This are things that happens all over the world, and – not only now in this time.

Once, also I encountered such an amiable person and also he abused the situation, but I had luck!

It happened almost 58 years ago!

Then an event toke place that could have ended bad.

This was my first acquaintance on the sexual level and it was not a good one.

I still remember every detail that happened that day.

I was only 9 years old!

In the street where I lived was a grocery shop only eight houses next to our house. My mother was a very good client there, and so now and then she sent us children to do some errands. The shop was ran by a man and his wife. It were two very friendly people. Especially the man was always very kind to me. Almost every time I did the errands he gave me a candy. Of course, I ... as a little child was very eager to do the errands.

One day I went to the grocery to do some errands for my mother, together with my little sister. She was then only four years old.

As always, he was very kind and he gave us both a candy. Then he asked us if we wanted to go with him to his depot to help him to clean his car. The depot was situated on a rather secluded place. Unsuspecting and of no angry aware, I took my little sister by the hand and so we went both with him to his depot.

Together with him we might wash the car with soap, and thereafter we hosed down the car, everything went very playfully!

After the washing came the drying, and with a cloth we dried the car. The result was a very clean and shining car.

He praised us abundantly, we had done the job so very well. In the mean time my little sister went to play somewhere else behind in the depot.

Then while he was walking around the car he said: “hey Fran, come and see ... there below ... under on the wheel there still sits some dirt!” While I was looking down, I squatted to see ... but ... I saw nothing. He came standing behind me and squatted very close, right behind me and then … it happened. He took my hands and drew them towards himself ... there ... to the place where he wanted them to be ... between his legs. Now -- I rather don't want to go in detail … that would not be appropriate, I assume you can imagine what followed!

You must know, I had never seen a naked adult man, but ... I knew that “this” was something wrong!

I tried to disentangle my hands but didn't succeed in it. Although, he was not really violent towards me but he held me so firmly, he had so much more power than I had. I pushed and pushed with my whole body, so it took some time before he lost his balance and he had to give up. So I could free myself.

Totally in a mess ... I called my sister, she was not aware of what had taken place! At first, she wanted to stay and she refused to go – but I took her by the hand and ran towards the exit.

I tried to open the gate but the man blocked it and a little struggle followed. My little sister couldn't comprehend what happened, she stood there looking very astonished at me. The man still tried to retain me but then I said: “I would shout if you don't let us go!”

After I had said that, he looked at me ... very angry ... as if he was doubting what he should do ... then after a while … he opened the gate! As fast as I could I ran with my sis on my hand ... back home!

When I came home I went immediately to my mom to tell her what happened.

She was really furious!!

After my father came home and was told what had happened he went full speed to the grocery and told the people what he thought about it. He warned them ... if he even suspected him from an other attempt he would go to the police.

(In fact, if this same thing would occur now in this time, then the parents would go immediately to the police.)

From then on, my mother was no longer their client!

We never again went to that grocery.

So now and then I encountered the woman or the man and that made me very ashamed. I was not at ease when I saw them. After a few years they closed the grocery and moved to an other place.


Now … when I think back on that event I praise myself very lucky!

Often you hear stories, that men in such similar situation do panic, because they are frightened that the act would come out, and then there happens terrible things.

In fact, he was after all … a good bad man … (if you can say such a thing) because he could have used much more violence and also an other manner to become satisfied, but he didn't!

Probably the presence of my little sister was here in my advantage.

In fact: I was so innocent at that age, not aware of any danger.

I knew nothing about “the birds and the bees” and also nothing at all about “sex”. You must know: in that time, they told us children that babies came out a cabbage, or – that the stork brought the babies!

Even at the age of 12, when I had my periods for the first time, I didn't know what happened. They felicitated me because I became a "mademoiselle" and that was it.

I didn't know that that meant: that I could get pregnant and even also not “how” I could get pregnant! (I had to find that out myself several years later!)

We were kept so stupid in those days … now, even a toddler knows more than we knew then!

Sometimes I doubt, if the result of that change is an improvement. Now they know maybe a little too much too early. There is nothing more to discover!
Their world is now engulfed with sex – there's no good balance – no golden mean!

In earlier times there was too less information – now there's maybe too much (in particular on the internet)!

(Oh oh, now I hear you thinking: she's a real old granny.)

Anyhow, then 12 years later after the event took place there happened something: it seemed almost like an incredible screenplay .

I was married and moved to a new apartment with my little son of three months old.

(My husband was at sea at that time for a journey to the USA for four months. He sailed off when my little son was only eleven days old. When he arrived back home he had to search for our new address. I had moved entirely on my own.)

I hadn't seen that grocer for almost ten years!

What was now the case: my new apartment was situated only two buildings next to this man's new residence!

I didn't know that he lived there since the last time that I had seen him!

That was not so pleasant for me, but luckily – I saw him not so often because he had become ill.

Finally: what happened during the carwash was not a pleasant but also not a dramatic event for me.

I really wasn't traumatized by it. I'm only still disgusted when I think back on it.

There happens so much worse things these days which ends very dramatic.

Every time I hear the stories of these unfortunate young girls or women, I must think back on that event and then I think by my self: I had luck that day!

There's a proverb that says: “what you see is what you get”.

Well, I have experienced (my apology to the really good men!): that you never can be sure of this when it concerns men. If you are a girl or a woman, you better can be suspicious and careful, especially when they are extremely amiable.

Now the co villagers of that Ronald Janssen are all in a kind of shock. The whole village is in a sort of mourn, now the streets are deserted. The people no longer want to talk with journalists who overflowed their village since there were only suspicions.

They still can't believe that their best friend is a serial killer.

That murderer was a master in building a beautiful facade in front of him, he misled every one.

He's the devil in disguise!

Photography: a New Challenge for me

In fact I had not planned this but I had so much pleasure when I took pictures* (see link below) during my running circuit that I have decided to do this more often!

The day after I took those first pictures, I went back to take some more!

This time from the part that is already history and that I run no more! (Until a few years ago I ran 3 km. more).

Now I have my complete running circuit of 9 km. on image!

I like to show you a few images of that last part! (Click on picture to enlarge.)

You must know that photography is something “new” for me although I am the daughter of two generations of professional photographers. My grandfather learned his profession during W.W 1 in Blackpool, England around 1915 and my father (who was born in Blackpool) learned it from his father. After the war they came back to Belgium.

Of course I know something about making and developing photographs, but... that was the photography from more then fifty years ago.

I can remember, my father used a camera like this (see picture) when I was a toddler.

I even have known that they used “glass platelets” instead of film. They also had to use a separate flash light, (they had to install it on the camera) and light bulbs to use the flash! For every flash which they had to make they had to change the light bulb!

Those used bulbs were very special and useful for us (it was just after the war).

We prepared them to decorate our Christmas tree! (On the link you can see the tree.)

We plunged them into glue and covered them with very tiny silver flakes (almost a powder) and so it became a very original and sparkling Christmas tree!

I think it must have been until around 1948, I'm not sure about that date because I was still too little.

Not so long thereafter came a flashlight with light bulbs they could use several times again (approx. 10 times max. I think).

They also had to use a separate hand light meter. They had to take into account that a moving object needs a shorter opening time than a stationary object and therefore they had to adjust the closure time of the lens manually every time the situation of the object changed.

In fact nothing went automatically!

I saw my father working in the dark room. That was a room with special red light, white light would have ruined the blank photograph paper. (We kids have sometimes ruined it, because we had put on the white light when the blank paper wasn't covered and so it could be used no more)!

First he developed the film and put it in a projector. Thereafter he projected the film on the blank photograph paper. It was fascinating to see “how” after been exposed to light and going in a development fluid the picture appeared on the photograph paper. The exposure to light and the development bath, they both needed an “exact” timing or, the picture became too light or too dark.

As a teenager I was sometimes his help and then I had to dry press the wet photograph sheets in a special machine, a hot press! (you can compare it with a big iron** machine in a laundry but smaller and not turning around).

In fact those days were the “middle ages”of photography!

And yes, I know “a little” about photography but now I must bring it into practice and I must learn to work with the new technology! I must enter the digital era! Once...I wanted to become a professional photographer but my father's opinion was that: it was not a profession for a woman!

So now: I am going to do it just for pleasure and.. practice...practice..practice !

*See my post: Will you be my running mate?

**Iron machine: I don't know if it's the good translation in this context but it's not easy to describe it.

P.S: Excuse me, although I left out many handling's and details, the explanation about developing and producing photographs became a little longer than I expected it would be.

It gave me the feeling that I stood again in the darkroom, beside my father!

I hope that you had a little bit the feeling that you stood there too!