It had been a big step for the family: moving from the certainty of living with most of our relatives in the same city in the North to go to the South. But my father knew it was the only way for him to get a proper job.
He certainly managed to do this on the railroads. He started as a platform cleaner and a porter, getting goods on and off the train. Soon he got a job shunting trains and after some studies climbed up to be a train manager. As a person who loved talking to and meeting new people he had a job he used to dream about.
With a population that grew rapidly the Dutch railroads needed to expand, a lot more trains were needed and a lot more staff. So a campaign was started to get more workers. The campaign was mainly in the newspapers. My father was asked if he was interested to show his happiness in his work and he agreed to take part. After this my mother was also convinced this was a good thing to do. They both would appear in the national advertisement campaign. Maybe nowadays people would expect a nice payment from this, but my parents were made happy with a bouquet of flowers and a bottle of cognac.
They were soon to regret what they had done. Under the supervision of my grandmother another campaign was started. This one was in my extended family. Grandma convinced the whole family that my parents had whored themselves for a TV. In the advertisement were two pictures: one of my father showing a big smile while giving the signal his train could leave the station and the other of mother, busy at the dining table. The photographer had been clever enough to get the new TV in his picture; to make it clear that you could get a nice salary that even allowed you to buy a TV set.
A few weeks followed of angry letters being sent and received and even some angry phone calls that had to take place at the neighbour's place, since we didn't had a phone. Soon it became clear to the rest of the family that Grandma had been on a warpath because of our family's move and that she made things up. She had been quite bitter that we moved from the house next door to a village that took a journey of almost three hours to reach by train for her and my grandfather and would cost them a lot.
My oldest sister and I soon agreed not to do our yearly planned visit to our grandparents. We solemnly had promised them to do such, but we felt it would almost be like betraying our parents to do this.
Later it became clear that that possible visit would have been a last possibility to see our grandfather. He passed away that Summer.
A year later my grandmother visited us in our new house in the south; after one week of hearing the adults arguing, I could hear her on the phone at the neighbour's house: "Please come and take me away from these horrible people. It's like hell over here." A day later an uncle came over by car to pick her up, much to our relief.
My father worked the rest of his working life on the railroads on all kinds of jobs. His last job was to manage stations with one worker: himself. He would sell tickets, give information and kept an eye on the platforms. Often my mother would keep him company, watering flowers and making coffee for him.
Sometimes she would say: "We do have the railroads to thank for this good life. Do you want another coffee?"
He was offered an early retirement, took it and enjoyed more than 30 years being a pensioner and living in a house rented from the Dutch Railroad Pension Fund.
