Stories and diaries

Mr. C.M. van Emmerik (1), called Kees by family and friends, a student at the time, was hiding in Zuid-Limburg during the last years of World War-II, in order to avoid forced labor for the Germans. He volunteered for the recently founded Regiment Limburg Stoottroepen (2) -, almost immediately, after the liberation of his hiding-place by the American troops. After an eventful tour of duty through Germany, Belgium and Holland Kees decided as early as the beginning of June 1945 to take an active part in the armed conflict in the Far East, where the former Dutch East Indies still were occupied by Japan.

As a private, Kees had been assigned to the III^rd battalion Reg. Stoottroepen and departed at the beginning of September 1945 via Oostende to England. After a short stay in Wokingham they went aboard the (infamous) MV Alcantara, with which they arrived in Malacca (Port Dickson). Subsequently the battalion went into action on Banka, West-Java and South-Sumatra, (Palembang, Praboemoelih, Pagergoenoeg) to return to Holland at the end of April 1948 on MV Zuiderkruis.

Kees resumed his interrupted studies and became a jurist. During the fifties and sixties, several of his publications were published in national weekly magazines. These publications showed he was not only a good lawyer, but also an excellent journalist/storyteller.

After he went into retirement he intended to, with the aid of the diary he kept during his military service, to write selected subjects as little stories.

It is a thousand pities he was not able to write more than ten of these stories, for he died after a serious illness- too early - on 25 July 1994, when he was 75 years old.

Thanks to the dedicated cooperation of his wife, Edith van Emmerik-Bloem, and the enthusiastic help of his son Jeroen it was possible to compile the stories that were already finished and to put these at the disposal of his former pals of III(7) RS.

We are of the opinion that this compilation will highly appeal to many of the former Stoottroepers and we thank Kees van Emmerik posthumously for his efforts, during the last months before he died.


Leo de Pagter    271217000  5-III (7) RS
Kees de Groot   251203000  5-III (7) RS

Moeven, Moving.

December 1945.

Half of our battalion departed tonight. The first battalion and II-14-R.I., that earlier followed us to Easthampstead, will also follow us now. It was a tough job this morning! A march of an hour to the station of Wokingham in full marching kit. It did cost a lot of blood, sweat and tears, just like when we departed from Vught a year ago. By the way, the Limeys did arrange the transport very well, nice third-class wagons with soft cushions and plenty of seats. Leaning back relaxed on the cushions, like a bourgeois, my thoughts went back to the recent past when we, on a crumbling continent, did move in quite a different way: Our fleet of vehicles had been a colorful collection from all races, tribes and languages:
German vehicles, expertly taken from every nook and cranny of "das grosse Vaterland" (the great fatherland),
Bedfords and Austins, given by our English friend in a generous mood (things that seem impossible sometimes turn out to be possible),
and a single huge omnibus without glass in the windows, out of Uncle Sam's war booty, courtesy of some sympathizing American.
But the deepest impression made on me; a vehicle, on which the mechanics of our Staff company had made a cabin, according to their own design. It made me think of the Sukkoth, the tents made of leafs, like the Hebrews build on their flat roofs.

Even more colorful - if possible - was the luggage, bulging out of these vehicles from the new Dutch army. Consisting of many beds and mattresses, numerous tables and chairs, pots and pans and a lot more of useful things. Such as wall clocks, broken mirrors, stoves decorated with floral ceramic tiles, mobs, brooms and so on. Anything, by which some nut thought to make his new quarters comfortable, was good enough. And not to forget: a chaotic mountain of paperwork, called his "administration" by the S.M.A. (our sergeant-major).
Above all, surely to overawe the conquered, we had a large number of brooms on top, sticking up above the luggage. Undoubtedly, we took up a good Dutch tradition from the late Admiral Michiel de Ruyter. He used to decorate the masts with brooms. As usual, the loading of the vehicles was carried out under a lot of cursing and swearing.

Finally came the moment the men could climb aboard. The privileged few entered Noah's Ark, with whatever room at their disposal. Gloatingly, they watched us pariahs and outcasts through windows without glass, the rest had to make do on top of the luggage. So our main concern during the journey was holding things together with hands and feet, without falling from the vehicle! Finally, all aboard, we had to wait for the green light to depart, which - in accordance with the Stoottroepen custom - was inexplicably long in coming. But when at long last the moment came the procession moved off We all were silent and deeply impressed.

After a while this mood wore off. We didn't have much time to be bored for there was always somewhere a telephone cable or something of the kind, strung across the road, so you had to duck in time (if you valued your life). Then there was always the possibility of a blown tire or breakdown. Or worse still an obstacle or hurdle to be negotiated. But like sheep, if the first one goes (under cheers from onlookers) through the gate the rest soon follows.
Yet, somehow we always managed to cover at least six miles without accidents. What's more, we had the greatest confidence in the skill of our drivers who could change a tire in less than no time. That's just routine, Sir.
To see this motorized army on the move defied all description. The applied strategy was totally new and would never be found in any modern instruction-manual of military strategy.
If, for example a company had to be moved from any place far away in Belgium - let's say Mons (Bergen in Henegouwen) - to any point in our beloved fatherland, somewhere north of Arnhem - let's say the Veluwe (the Harskamp) - it was quite likely for one truck to be found in Charleroi, yet another one would 'lose' his way in Brussels and stayed there driving around. While in the mean time others were seen in Maastricht and a last truck - the last shall be the first- crossed the Maas near Maaseik. We had our own term for this exciting and freebooting performance (copyright K.S.!): an unknown Anglicism (or better Americanism) M O V E N (and for the Dutch: pronunciation: moeven). A word that meant for us a profusion of varied eventualities.

That is the way the Stoottroepen crossed thousand of miles through Belgium, France, Germany and national pastures; here welcomed jubilant, sometimes even strewn with flowers or (better still) kissed by the flower of the nation, always hailed with cheers; over there in enemy territory stared at by quiet, silent people along the destroyed streets.

At that moment, a totally new stage in our life as a soldier was about to start. It is not unpleasant thinking back about all these things.

Vol. K. van Emmerik
Private first class
5^th company
III(7) Battalion Regiment Stoottroepen