Celebrating 80 years of liberation – originally written by me in Dutch for a Dutch writing competition and translated by me into English
Lieke walked down the corridor with a heavy heart, the sound of her heels muffled against the sea-green linoleum. The warm air was thick with the scent of old people and soup. Gently, she opened the door to room 5-25.
‘Gran?’ she whispered.
No response.
Afraid that she was too late, Lieke hurried into the room and over to the bed. Her grandmother lay calmly, her face turned towards the window. The sun cast a cruel light across her wrinkles. The corners of her mouth were etched downwards, her lips slightly parted. Her eyes were closed, sunk deep into their sockets. The once-striking cheekbones—that had made men weak at the knees—now jutted sharply from beneath the sagging folds of grey skin. Her skin looked as thin and fragile as paper.
Lieke sat down beside the bed and gently stroked the fine grey hair. The old woman turned her head, opened her eyes, and looked straight at Lieke.
‘Lieke, darling,’ her voice was hoarse. Lieke reached over to the bedside table for the glass of water, and carefully held it to her grandmother’s lips. Gratefully, she took two small sips.
‘How was Canada?’ she asked. Her nan never ceased to surprise Lieke. Her sharp mind, how engaged she still was. Lieke was so glad she was able to talk with her and share her news.
‘It was amazing.’
‘You’re glowing, sweetheart. Have you found yourself a beau?’
Lieke chuckled, partly at the old-fashioned word, and partly because her nan was right. ‘Yes, he’s called Brian. And you know, Gran, I even met Brian’s grandfather. He told me he’d been to the Netherlands during the war.’
Her grandmother nodded. ‘Ah, in 1945, I expect?’
‘That’s right,’ Lieke replied. ‘Do you still have many memories from back then, Gran?’
‘Oh yes, I remember a lot from that time. Not all of it pleasant…’ She paused. ‘But Liberation Day—yes.’
She made a move to sit up. Lieke got up to get a pillow from the cupboard and slipped her arm under her gran’s shoulders to gently lift her. It barely took any effort—she was as light and delicate as a bird. Lieke placed the pillow behind her and eased her back down.
Her gran smiled in thanks and
continued,
‘We still lived in Apeldoorn then, you know. I can still picture it so
clearly—those Canadian troops driving into the streets.’ Her eyes drifted,
focused on distant memories.
‘There was barely room for them to pass. We were overjoyed. So happy to finally be free… And weren’t those Canadians a handsome bunch.’ A smile spread across her face.
‘I was still young, just fifteen, but I was quite a sight…’ With a slight tremor, she raised her arm and made to fix her hair. In her mind, she was that girl again—with thick blond locks she used to run her hands through. Her mother would scold her: Stop fiddling with your hair, it’ll get greasy.
‘Gran! Did you have a fling with a Canadian?’ Lieke asked in mock outrage.
Her gran chuckled quietly. ‘No, nothing like that.’ She gazed into the distance, her dull eyes brightening at the memories. ‘But it was my first kiss.’
Lieke beamed.
‘I only remember his first name — Jack. Dark hair, good-looking, the picture of health…’
Lieke giggled at the thought of her elderly gran kissing a stranger.
‘What happened afterwards? Did you stay in touch?’
‘No, my dear, they all moved on. It was just a special moment.’ Her voice was hoarse—whether from emotion or from talking so much, Lieke wasn’t sure.
Her gran closed her eyes for a moment. Concerned she might be tiring her out, Lieke began to gather her things to leave.
‘I gave him my embroidered handkerchief as a keepsake,’ her gran said softly, eyes still closed, sunk deep into the pillow.
Lieke looked up. ‘Not by any chance one with a little blue bird embroidered on it?’ she asked, half-joking.
Her gran opened her eyes and looked directly at her. ‘How do you know that?’
Lieke stared back. Without saying a word, she reached into her bag and pulled out an envelope. She handed it to her gran.
‘Brian’s grandfather gave me this just before he passed away. He said I reminded him of someone he’d once known.’
Three days later, the nurse found the old woman just passed away. The ghost of a smile still on her face, she was clutching a handkerchief yellowed with age showing a blue bird perched on a green branch, carefully stitched by the same loving hands.
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