His younger years
Albert is my maternal grandfather. He is born in 1915 with a serious genetic foot defect that he would later pass on to his eldest daughter. Due to this physical disability, the army rejects him for active duty in WWII. Nevertheless the then enemy requisitions him to perform forced labor in the war industry in Germany. During that period, his mother-in-law dies and his family knows that this will not be a valid reason for being granted leave. To ensure that he can attend the funeral, the Germans are made to believe that it is his mother who has passed away. His joy is great when he sees her again, because he himself was of course also under that delusion.
Now that he is temporarily free, he decides not to return. The attic of his parents-in-law’s café, where before the war he regularly stood on the tables and sang, call it karaoke avant la lettre, of course after some drinks had already flowed and the café goers encouraged him, is now his hiding place. Because the attic is secretly connected to that of the adjacent houses, he manages to stay out of the hands of the enemy throughout the war.
... I've never done anything bad, neither to man nor to animal. Now my country has suddenly gone to war ...
— From a popular folk ballad that Albert regularly sang
The life-defining accident
After the war he get employed as truck driver at Vanfleteren. That company was founded as a distributor of colonial goods and they have a depot in his hometown. They recruit him for the so-called “big route”. This means that he makes long journeys through Belgium every day. Now he drives to Tienen to pick up sugar, then to Spa to stock up drinks. There is always a co-pilot to help with the manipulation of the heavy loads. During that era they believe that the truck’s engine must cool down regularly. A hot engine often appears to coincide with the drivers being thirsty.
When the engine is hot, the driver is thirsty
Albert is so small that he has to drive standing up. Seat belts doesn’t exist yet. One day he is involved in a traffic accident with another truck at an intersection. Someone ran a red light. His truck is destroyed, his co-pilot falls on top of him and they think he didn’t survive. He must have been at least unconscious, because he later says that he shouted for help, but no one heard him. By the time the ambulance arrives he feels sufficiently recovered and refuses to go. His employer comes to pick him up. The next day he appears to have healed sufficiently to continue his work. He doesn’t even think to consult a doctor. In the years that follow, he complains of pain getting worse in his hip until he is no longer able to work. He is now 49 years old and written off.
How I remember him
I have always known him as a person who limps, that was inseparably part of him, I never wondered about it. I didn’t know him for long, he left us too early, due to a cerebral embolism a few months after a so-called prostate drilling operation. He suddenly falls to the ground and his life is over, the big accident having happened barely 10 years before. I have exactly four vivid memories of him. That time I bounce a ball with him in his veranda. The idea is that every time the ball bounces up, I give it an extra push down with the palm of my hand so that it continues. We try to keep that up for as long as possible, pushing our record and our limits longer and longer, never giving up.
Another time is when I’m playing with my plastic soldiers under the dining room table at our house, and he and my grandmother are having coffee with my mum. He sits on the chair I usually sit on now. He leans under the table and asks if my soldiers might be surrendering. Indeed, their arms are not hanging at their sides, they are spread out horizontally because they are throwing a grenade. You can see the grenade nicely. When surrendering, their hands would have pointed vertically upwards. I remember yet another time looking from my room when they burned waste in the ditch which was a normal activity in those days. They start to fear that the fire will spread and I still see him limping, carrying buckets of water to the fire to put it out.
The last visit
The last event I remember is that we went to visit him, which was probably shortly after his operation, and as a little boy of 8 years old I notice that he doesn’t look well. Yet he smiles at me, as always. He believes in me, he makes me feel welcome in the big bad world of success and failure. This is the ultimate time I feel his protection. In the meanwhile I already live longer than he did.
