God's Smuggler, First Chapter Sounding *Awfully* Familiar

I’m reading “God’s Smuggler,” by Brother Andrew with John and Elizabeth Sherill.

It is, so far, a tale of The Netherlands during World War II. When I got to the passage below, all I could think of was the two Canadians on the motorcycle that came into Dad’s village in The Netherlands – not far from where this story takes place – to tell them the war, for them, was over.

The text, because the photo is a bit poor:

[His mother’s] only consolation was that Bas [his brother, who I believe was profoundly autistic] had not lived to see this time. He never could have understood the ache in his stomach, the dark fireplace, the treeless street.

At last the day came when mama could not get out of bed. If liberation did not come soon, we knew she would die.

And then in the spring of 1945, the Germans left and the Canadians took their place. People stood in the streets weeping for joy. But I was not with them. I was running every step of the five miles to the Canadian encampment, where I was able to beg a small sackful of breadcrusts.

Bread. Quite literally the bread of life.

I brought them home to my family with shouts of “Good! Food! Food!” As Mama gnawed the dry crusts, tears of gratefulness to God rolled down the deep liens in her cheeks.

The war was over.

The story thus far takes place in the village of Witte, which Brother Andrew describes as being on the polders, four miles from Alkmaar. I can’t find it on Google maps, which tells me it’s either a false name or so tiny it doesn’t merit a mention on maps. There is a Wittelte on the maps, but it’s further inland, between the Ijsselmeer and Germany, so that can’t be the place. He tells a lot of stories which echo in the stories Dad told of the same time in Santpoort, not too far away. Mischevious boys is certainly what stands out, as Dad and his brother weren’t little angels. Brother Andrew put rationed sugar in German gas tanks, set off fireworks to annoy the soldiers, among other things.

I’m looking forward to reading more of the story. Kind of adjacent to my won heritage.