Lage Zwaluwe: From Holland to Highett

Border-filled Baarle-Nassau behind us, we drove to Lage Zwaluwe to meet up with Peter and Ben and explore some family history. It was just Jude and I in the car this time, Robbie ditching us after taking a little tumble in Baarle-Nassau. As we followed the GPS to visit Lage Zwaluwe, Jude gave me a bit of a history lesson on the family, and why Lage Zwaluwe was on our map today. I don't know much about my distant Dutch family, but this trip has been a good family history field trip.

Jude explained that Oma was born in this village on the edge of the Hollands Diep – a wide river-like estuary – and we were off to see the house she was born in. The home had been in the family for a few hundred years before being relatively recently sold, and then even more recently sold again. When I was really young (kindergarten before primary school), my mum and I lived with Oma in her home in Highett, so I'd say in my early years I was very close to Oma, but was too young to really take in the family history and her and my own mum's immigration to Australia from the Netherlands.

Too young to have many real memories of my Opa from that time, I recall the vibe being off before he died, then lifting. I also have memories of when he died. I remember being in the house just after he died and having to play outside while the undertakers came, or maybe it was just after – but that's the memory I have. Then having to stay at a house on the corner near the Corcorans’ house when the funeral happened. Being separated from my mum – I recall being unimpressed with being treated like a child.

The vibe changed after Opa died – kinda lifted to something more positive – somewhat freer. The stories Jude shared on the drive of Oma's experience with Opa, how he treated others, kinda matches with the more negative vibe of a memory I hold – even though as someone that young I don't have any recollection of actual events. I guess it shows that what you see and hear as a kid, even if you don't understand it, leaves an imprint.

Jude explained Oma's experience during the war, the work she had to do in the Nazi-occupied Netherlands, the billeting of soldiers in the house and more. Really puts my life into perspective to hear these stories of adaptation and survival. Remarkable how people managed to keep going and survive – both physically and emotionally. We also joked about how Peter, the only non-Dutch-born son, was conceived on the voyage over – despite Oma and Opa having different cabins. Although, having met his cousins earlier in the week, there is definitely a van’s genetic link there too!

As we get closer, we pass through Hooge Zwaluwe and up onto one of the main dykes that the road tops. Jude says she knows the way from here, but I respectfully opt to follow the GPS instead. We enter Lage Zwaluwe and pass a cute little cafe on the left. I say that looks like a nice place for us to meet the others for lunch – only to seconds later spot Peter and Ben waving at us. They’d already found it – great minds think alike. The narrow streets don't allow space to turn around so I drive up a bit until a large driveway allows me to turn around and come back and park.

I'm loving these little restaurants and cafes in the Netherlands. Even in these small towns there are some really great places to eat. I guess there are some great little country pubs in Australia now too, but my memories of visiting tiny towns back home often include lacklustre cafes. I had a club sandwich kinda thing which was delicious in the cute and cosy little restaurant. It has a B&B attached to it, which I'd imagine would also be pretty swish and special.

Refuelled with lunch, we walk down the road to the house where Oma was born. Peter and Ben have already been past and ran into someone who recognised Peter from an earlier visit here years ago – what a small world – or what an impression does Peter leave behind (jokes). They say the house is empty so we won't be able to go inside. If I'm honest, my social anxiety is somewhat relieved by this – not having to interact with strangers.

We get to the house and everyone has a quick peer through the window. The Dutch aren't fans of window blinds. If you have your blinds closed and people can't see inside your home, it means you must be up to no good, so most homes are very much on display to the street. Also don't forget to keep your windows cleaned and garden (if you have one) in top condition – you will be judged. So next time someone says I'm being too judgey – I can say that it's just my genetics at play.

While outside, Jude's passion for family history comes out in full excitement. Jude explains where bullets missed a family member because she was lying down instead of sitting in her usual spot when fighting broke out during WWII. We pose for family photos outside the house, then a few of us wander to the other side of the road to take in the view from the dyke across the fields. Next thing we know it, we're being called – the homeowner is in, and so are we.

Inside, the new homeowner – clearly intrigued by the fact that eight Australians have travelled halfway across the world to see his house – is getting a full history lesson. Where walls used to be, how the staircase has changed, where the bullet fragments landed, where the family hid in the cellar during the bombings. The Dutch are incredibly hospitable, even if at times he looks a bit shell-shocked, like a deer in headlights. We thank him and are just about to leave when he stops us. “My wife is downstairs and she won’t believe me that you all came this far to see the house. Please come downstairs to see the garden so she can see you. Otherwise she’ll never believe me.”

It’s a beautiful home, but as we descend the tight, steep, curved staircase to the cellar and garden, all I can think is… how did Oma manage these stairs? We meet the equally bemused wife downstairs. These two are definitely going to have a story to tell their friends about the random Australian descendants of their house popping by for a visit. I’m feeling socially awkward now, so I linger at the back while the others chat and explain our connection. It’s funny how just two new people joining a conversation can be all it takes to set off my “am I doing the right thing?” anxiety spiral.

Looking at the house from the garden and hearing the stories, I start thinking about how many random events had to align for me to even exist. What if one of those bombs had hit the house while Oma was in the shelter? What if a stray bullet hadn’t missed? What if she never met Opa, or they never migrated to Australia? What if the timing of my trip hadn’t aligned with the Van’s visit, or we hadn’t talked about it? So many small events could’ve altered everything. While I haven’t felt particularly sentimental about places lately, I can see why this hits home for others. So much had to go right in the last century for us to be standing here today.

Leaving, I notice the styling of the home – these people have taste! It’s a gorgeous house. We walk back up to the car, and the smiles on Jude and Peter’s faces say it all. There’s a spark of joy, a little glassiness in their eyes. This moment meant something. It’s heartwarming to witness. We hop in the cars and in a three-car procession drive through the village to the harbour. Emma picks out her dream house overlooking the water – the one with the manicured lawn and blooming garden. It’s a cute harbour, mostly filled with leisure boats and the odd fishing vessel. Family history trip complete, we set off for Heusden, a fortified town about 40 minutes away.

I struggle to find a park in town, so I drop off Jude and the kids near the main square and head to the parking lot just outside the walls. Then I walk back in. It’s a really pretty town, surrounded by fortification walls laid out in a star-shaped defensive pattern. I’d love to explore more, but I’m also wrecked. I join the others at a pancake restaurant, grab some food and a drink, and then say goodbye to the family before starting the 1.5 hour drive up to Amsterdam’s Schiphol Airport. I’m so glad I gatecrashed a few days of the Van’s holiday. It was lovely to have company, meet distant relatives, play Uno, scream on rollercoasters, and dive into family history. To Peter, Jude, Ben, Emma, Rob, Harriet, and Robbie (who says I’m his new best friend) – thanks for letting me share this part of your trip with you all, snores and all!Read more