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Eight weeks after my father arrived home from Indonesia, my grandfather died.  It was like he’d been waiting, waiting, for his youngest son to return.  December 1948 was cold then; at the Tiboel Siegenbeekstraat in Leiden, the whole family came to greet the paratrooper home from the tropics.  That year, Theo Stijnman’s Christmas present to my Dad was particularly poignant. He’d transcribed every one of my father’s letters home, in long-hand, into notebooks. It got even colder

I’m reminded of my Tante Riet by a review of Charlotte Wood’s Stone Yard Devotional on Radio NZ. The Howick Library has a copy. It's a work of fiction. The book is set in a nunnery; it's blurb promises a woman who "holes up" almost by accident in a small religious community hidden away in the backblocks of Australia. Her personal disquiet is set against backdrops of the pandemic, a mice plague, invasions of personal space and bullying relationships.    What motivates women

When I was a child, the Dutch community in our parish held a family event for Sinterklaas in our church hall. I remember recognising Mr Van Dyk as Zwarte Piet in blackface, bent double and carrying two bulging sacks of presents in pillowcases on his back. The adults were laughing as he toured the hall behind Sinterklaas, in priestly red over Father's cassock with a broomstick painted in gold with a cross on top. I must have been about six years old. I remember the crowded

Why the four Rembrandt etchings on my wall are probably heritage of the least collectible kind.   The playground of my father’s childhood was footsteps away from the front door of his family home on the Burgsteeg in Leiden.  It I believe it was then a derelict keep on a motte, an artificial hill. De Burcht goes back to the 11th century – possibly even before Kupe’s famous voyage to Aotearoa.  My daughter compares it to the water tanks embedded in the volcanoes of Auckland.  U

What we leave behind   Mum sulked. She’d finally agreed that Dad could go into a room at the care centre.  She’d also agreed that we could move the sofa he slept on during the day with him so that something familiar would be in the room with him. She allowed him to take her framed embroidery of the Morspoort of Leiden.  She slumped into her armchair.  It was like we had dismissed her talents as a caregiver.   Dad was slightly younger than Mum.  He was the adventurer, she wasn

Boterkoek is a staple with coffee. A cross between a cake and a biscuit - so rich and dense with that buttery almond flavour so beloved by my Dutch friends. Serve in thin wedges. INGREDIENTS 200 g unsalted butter, room temperature 90g white sugar and 100g caster sugar 250g self-raising flour 1 pinch salt 1 tsp almond essence 1 egg Blanched or slivered almonds   METHOD 1.     Line a springform cake pan with greaseproof brown paper.   Grease the sides. Preheat your oven to

The original of this portrait is unknown, possibly an engagement photo.

Part 1: Making connections   Genealogy is a hobby for collectors digging into the archives of the past.  Tien Generaties Stijnman ( my...

Frans [was] among the 955 other migrants who disembarked in Wellington in July 1952.