The Hiding Place – Corrie Ten Boom

The Hiding Place – Corrie Ten Boom

I recently re-read this amazing story. I read it in my teens at least twice, so this would prehaps be my third or fourth reading. I wanted to revisit it after all this time, as I have never forgotten the impact it had on me. When I read it as a teenager, it was probably my first exposure to material dealing with the devastation of Nazism in Europe and the extent of horror that occurred in concentration camps in Germany.

This is the story of a Dutch woman who with her family helped to hide Jews in their home during WWII. They were eventually arrested and sent to prison. Her father died after only 9 days, but Corrie survived two federal prisons in occupied Holland and was eventually transported in train cattle compartments to the infamous Ravensbruk extermination camp in Germany. Her sister died there along with approximately 96000 other women during the war, but amazingly Corrie survived and lived to tell their story.

This is not just a survival story but one of faith and forgivenss. Corrie and Betsie’s love for God and their faith in Him sustained them through almost hell itself, and they found ways to share love and kindness with fellow prisoners in spite of the horrific conditions they lived in. After the war Corrie set up centres to rehabilitate victims and eventually opened a centre in a former camp in Germany for the help and healing of German officers and guards themselves.

I highly recommend this book to anyone. It’s detailed but not too explicit in it’s description of cruelty to preclude it from young readers. And old book, but a good one. Highly recommended.

Armistice Day

18,050 Kiwi’s and 61,928 Aussies lost their lives in WWI. Staggering numbers but they don’t compare really to the massive losses experienced in some other nations especially when the numbers are expressed as a percentage of the population. For example The Ottoman empire (now known as Turkey) lost 13% of it’s population, a staggering 2.9 million people. (2.1 million of those were civilians.) And the Serbs suffered the loss of 16% of their population.

These numbers blow my mind and it’s scary to consider a world gone mad, and not so very long ago.  Today marks the signing of the Armistice to bring an end to the hostilities at the Western Front.

My great great Uncle, James Alfred Heading served in the AIF 45th and 47th Battalions. See here for history of the 45th Batallion and the 47th Batallion. He received a DCM (Distinguished Conduct Medal) while serving with the 47th Btn. The following is his recommendation:

“At Passchendaele Ridge (NE of Zonnebeke) on 12th October 1917. Especially good work in leading his platoon and setting a splendid example in courage and determination. All Officers of three Companies became casualties and Sgt. Heading took charge, reorganised, placed outposts out and endeavoured to connect flanks and generally displayed initiative and ability in appreciating all situations. His work was of great value to the Battalion. He carried out his duty in a praisworthy manner. “

Stretcher Bearers Passchendaele August 1917

He was also awarded a Military Medal with the 47th Btn:

“At Dernancourt 5th April 1918, when his Officer was killed he took charge of the Platoon and showed exceptional ability in the handling of same. When his flank was in danger he immediately made dispositions to meet the occasion and showed utter disregard for danger in placing  his men. When all the platoon Lewis Gunners were casualtied, he manned the gun and crawling forward to dangerous position he continued to inflict heavy casualties on the enemy until the gun was blown out. By his scouting and patrolling he gained valuable information and established complete control of “No Man’s Land”. His work during the whole operations was of an exceptionally high order.”

Australian infantry wearing Small Box Respirators (SBR). The soldiers are from the 45th Battalion, Australian 4th Division at Garter Point near Zonnebeke, Ypres sector,

My brother shared this quote with me today:

‘An Australian soldier wandered about near the German lines after the battle of Fromelles. He had been hit in the forehead and skin hung over his eyes. He was blinded and out of his mind. He would blunder around in circles, hands outstretched, then fall down. Then he would get up and stumble around again. This went on for days. The Germans eventually killed him. It is unclear whether they did this out of cussedness or kindness. This was the Great War and men did terrible things and did not always understand why they did them.’

~Les Carlyon, ‘The Great War’

War. Awful beyond words.

Lest we forget.

WWI casualties per nation

Armistice Day in New Zealand

What is Armistice Day/Rememberence Day?

We Will Remember Them

ANZAC Day 2008

Auckland War Memorial

Lest We Forget

The Adventures of Pioneer Women in NZ

The Adventures of Pioneer Women in NZ: From their letters, diaries and reminiscences

This book is a collection of letters, diary entires and extracts from other publications. It tells us about what life was like for pioneer women in NZ from about the 1840’s until around 1900. It is broken into 7 main sections covering, First Encounters, The Longest Journey, Pioneering Life, Explorations, Conflict with the Maori, Natural Disasters and Different Paths.

The most fascinating story by far for me was that of Caroline Ngoungou, a pakeha girl who was kidnapped at the age of 8 and was raised as a Maori and lived among them for the rest of her life. It was only when she was 60 years old did she learn her real name and was reunited with some surviving siblings and their children. Her parents had died shortly after her disappearance.

The other thing that struck me was the hardship and very real chance of death on their long sea voyages to New Zealand. Sarah Harris wrote a letter from Taranaki in 1841 to her Father, in which she tells of her experiences. She had two young children and gave birth to another during the voyage after a 1 hour labour. (Interestingly she had been feeling ill for days previously and had wanted Castor Oil. It was scarce apparently so she was given another strong aperient which brought on strong diarrhoea for 8 days. The surgeon believed only bringing on the labour would save her life and an hour later a little girl was born.) The letter goes on to tell despite the care of a wet nurse (Sarah was too ill to nurse) the baby died just 5 days old ‘for want of nourishment’. There is just one sentence concerning their baby’s death and she then writes on about how they are settling in the new country. I found it striking that the death was dealt with in such a matter of fact manner. Such different and hard times.

I thought that this would be a great book to revisit with older children. The personal accounts make it very readable.

Have we got it too good?

In anticipation of reading aloud various books to E4, I have been reading them myself first to see if they will be suitable for her. I am so enjoying reading these ‘childrens’ books. Some I remember from my own childhood, and some I’m reading for the first time.

I’ve recently read Matilda by Roald Dahl, Charlotte’s Web by E B White and The Little House on the Prairie by Laura Ingalls Wilder.

I LOVED The Little House on the Prairie. I found myself reading bits of it aloud to D, and for me that’s always a good indicator of a book that I love or which has impacted me. D tolerates my cries ‘Oh, listen to this …’ and patiently waits while I read. Sometimes he quite enjoys it too, and other times he’s clearly bored. Poor thing.

What I loved about this book was the way it made me think about how we live. I so enjoyed learning a little about pioneer life (American) and it made me long for the simplicity of that life too. Strange really, those longings it brought out of me…I honestly can’t see myself ever dashing off to the outback with a horse and a wagon and an axe and gun and fending for myself like they did. Why was I so attracted to that lifestyle?

The heroine Laura’s family lived very simple lives, with few material possessions. They set off into unknown territory to make a new life for themselves. This required them to have the skills to source their own food and water, build shelter and protect themselves from dangers. The didn’t have much, and so it meant that when they had luxuries it really was a special treat.

Sometimes I think that we have so much in our lives, nothing is special anymore. We eat well, a varied diet with plenty of luxury foods. We have entertainment aplenty, easy transport, running water. We don’t have to struggle for the necessities of life. What our parents or grandparents would have considered luxuries are now considered commonplace or ‘must haves’. But are we really better off?

I often wonder why we are so busy when we have washing machines to wash our clothes, dishwashers to wash our dishes, cars to get us to places quickly, computers to communicate faster and supposedly more effectively etc. Surely all our conveniences should create more leisure time. And yet, we often don’t spend time together as a family just talking. I have heaps of ‘friends’ and people I email from time to time, and even virtual friends who I keep in ‘relationship’ by reading and writing in the most public forum…the internet. (Am I the only one who thinks there is something strangely artificial about that?) And yet few really close friends with whom I can spend a long time in easy company.

And how can you compare the delight of receiving a long hand written letter from far away, with a quickly typed electronic message on your screen? This is probably another post altogether, but don’t you miss the days of writing and receiving letters? It’s a dying art and I’m feeling inspired to keep it alive.

Anyway, I know others have written on this subject. I think I might just give it some thought and try to recapture some of the simplicity of life; the essence of truly living, and living well.

Made in the Image of God.

I grew up thinking I was not creative. I didn’t have a particular talent…I couldn’t draw, paint, sing or play an instrument well. I wasn’t good at sports or dance or anything that seemed to matter to me as a child. I struggled to draw a tuna tin in my first year of art at school, and it was horrible to feel incompetent. My confidence was low, and so I put in little effort and didn’t continue art the following year when we had the choice.

I think back to my Year 8 art class, and consider the teaching methods. Why would I want to draw a tin of food!!!! It was a death blow to any inspiration in art. It was like: “Draw something, create something and then we’ll mark you on how well or badly you did it.” Crikey! No wonder I gave up!

I’m not a professional teacher, and yet intuitively I know that if you want children to be inspired in art…expose them to great art! All genres and from all era’s. Something different will appeal to each one, and maybe they’ll be motivated to try something. Then teach the skills required to create the piece. Then teach them about the paints and brushes, the techniques, the mediums. The theory…the techniques meant nothing to me, were completely boring and I wasn’t motivated to try because I didn’t understand the point. Now that I am inspired to be creative, I would be much more attentive to a lesson on perspective or some other art thing. I still may never have been particularly good at drawing or painting, but you know what….I think I would have enjoyed art classes.

All my life, I have always salivated (well not literally, but it really does come close to that!) when looking at art supplies… paints, brushes, pencils, and all kinds of paper. A blank canvas excites me at the possibilities to fill it with something beautiful. I never bought anything before because I always said “I can’t draw”, which in my mind really meant “I’m not artistic”.

Now that I am older, I have gradually realised that I do love to create. I have discovered that when inspired, I can create. A little inspiration from Sarah and I wrote a little piece below which while may not be brilliant, is an expression of me. I  like to sew and write, and take photographs and sing and create gifts. I’m less narrow in my definition of creativity. I no longer think of creativity only in terms of painting a masterpiece or sketching a portrait or playing an instrument.

Nevertheless, recently I spent a little bit of money on some paints and brushes and canvas paper, and I’m going to give it a go. I have no idea if anything will come of it. I still don’t think I can draw, but I’m not going to let that stop me create something beautiful with paint. Well…I’ll try at least. And this time it’s going to be fun!

I firmly believe that every person has creativity in them. We are made in the image of God…a creative God whose creation is diverse and beautiful and intricate and intelligent and amazing and perfect.

I Am From

I am from TV towers,
from Kitchener buns and fluorescent zinc cream.
I am from the north wind and cracked footpaths.
(Pebbly, dusty and hard under bare summer-toughened feet.)
I am from the fig tree,
leafy, complicated, secret, cool;
the kikuyu grass, spongy and prickly and never quite green.

 

I am from Tea at five and Works hard but drinks too much,
from Ann and Ernest and Sybil.
I am from job lists and Christmas baking
and pretending everything is OK.
From Do what I say and not what I do
and Careful of the popcorn husks.
I am from church on Sunday.
Jesus loves me this I know, and singing comfort to myself.

 

I’m from Wallaroo and Wondai, Pasties and Neopolitan ice cream.
From the lottery number uncle to Vietnam and the father who volunteered
the loved daughter who travelled the world.

I am from the top bedroom, the piano room and a box of old black and white’s in a wooden box. From letters and frames and an album on my bookshelf with too few photographs and which sometimes makes me cry.

 

I wrote this after reading Sarah’s post. The original poem in this format can be found here.

Past Present Puture.*

Did you know that no one I know in my real life reads this blog? So theoretically it could all be a load of bollocks and none of you would know any better! Well, OK one reader that I know of has had email contact with me, but none of my real life friends of family even knows I blog.

I like it most of the time because I can be myself without thinking too much about who might be reading.

But today I gave the link to a good friend of mine. We live in separate countries now, and I miss that we can’t just pop over for a coffee. I’ve never met her husband or her two children and she last saw me on my wedding day. But, she’s a loyal friend, and whenever we connect it’s alway easy conversation and frequent laughs.

We first became friends at primary school. We lived nearby and used to catch the same bus to and from school. (It was bus number 640 when I first started catching the bus aged about 7 I think and later changed to bus number 246. Strange that I still remember that.) Towards the end of primary school we spent more time together and I would visit her house to play. I remember how we used to build cubby houses. I remember her swing set, her lovely room and one rather embarrassing incident when I hit her father over the head with a doll. (I’m cringing now just thinking about it. )

We attended different high schools and had little contact until we’d both left school and found ourselves both studying nursing at the same university. That renewed a long lasting friendship.

Oh how we could talk. We laughed until our faces were red and tears ran down. We used to meet and walk along the beach together. (That remains one of my favourite places in the whole world to this day.) As nurses, we shared a peculiar and somewhat graphic sense of humour. A favourite running joke came from the pages of the Mosby’s Medical and Nursing dictionary. (*The P pages if you must know.)

Once we went on a road trip for a weekend to the Flinders Ranges. We made ridiculous jokes and took photos and saw beautiful parts of our great country. I think we both knew that we were making special memories on that trip. I laugh now when I remember that after so much exercise that weekend traipsing all over the ranges, we both decided to buy bikes to get fit. So that very week I think it was we both bought bikes and used to meet to ride along the esplanade. We did in fact get quite fit.

I think we suspected that we would go separate ways in life. Both of us were keen travellers and although we never travelled abroad together, we talked of our adventures and places we’d been or wanted to go. Once I’d met D and foresaw a future together it was a given that I’d be leaving Australia and the poor girl had to endure my ramblings about him, and what he’d said and what I’d said and blah blah….you know all that romantic stuff. (After all, it was a long distance romance… I had to talk to someone about it!)

Since we have gone separate ways, (she has also left home town and married a foreigner and is now living in another place) life has taken on a much more serious tone. We’ve both had children while away from family support. She has faced health issues. We’ve both had to learn to carve out a new life in a new place.

Life has been harder than I expected since those days. We talked of our futures with sparkles in our eyes and the naivete of youth. Idealists, we dreamed of fairy tale weddings, and babies and love. We’ve each been blessed with these things, but I don’t think either of us expected the real world to be so hard at times. In our dreams we forgot the realities of washing piles, sleepless nights, loneliness and the hard work and worry of look after sick children.

But you know what? We’ve grown. We’ve grown in maturity, wisdom and character. I wouldn’t go back to those girlish days. Yes, it was fun. Yes we were blissfully happy, but life is good. We have beautiful children and good husbands, and are living the life of adventure we dreamed about.

These days are precious my friend. We’ll too soon look back and remember them with fondness.

Things I wish I’d asked my Nanna #4

Another question I wish I’d asked my dear old Nan.

• What books did you read as a child?
• What are your fondest memories of childhood?

Things I wish I’d asked my Nanna #3

• How did you treat ear infections without antibiotics?