Memoir
Eight years after I successfully self-published The Madonna in the Suitcase I was extremely fortunate to have another book launch. Nearly three months ago Makaro Press published my memoir Astride a Fierce Wind.
I'd like to share Paddy Richardson's words at that amazing launch on 17 May 2017, attended by more than 120 people. It was an enriching feeling to be surrounded by so many well-wishers, people who have meant a lot to Bart and me during our life in Dunedin for the past 57 years. It was special that Mary McCallum from Makaro Press in Wellington could be with us, and special too that Lesley Marshall from Editline in Whangarei was part of the celebration in Dunedin. Lesley became my mentor when I was awarded an NZSA mentorship. I am grateful to both Paddy and Lesley for stirring me along on the writing track.
A
while ago after reading a memoir I’d very much enjoyed about a New
Zealand immigrant, I asked Huberta, why don’t you write your own
memoir?
There was horror in her voice.
Who would want to read it? I haven’t done anything. I’m not
important.
The answer to her first
comment is very obvious in the number of people who have come to
support Huberta in the launch of this memoir and, also, in those who
were entranced as Huberta read from it in the Atheneum.
But – I haven’t done
anything?
Years ago I taught a
communications paper at the University of Otago and a woman, quite a
lot older than the 20-year olds mainly in the class, and most
definitely quieter, stood to give her oral presentation which was one
of the assessments. She spoke of her daughter, Miriam, of her
uniqueness and creativity, and of Miriam’s Down syndrome condition
which Huberta and Bart had made sure would not prevent her from
having a rich and fulfilling life. I thought, this woman has a story.
Later, after she told me she
wanted to write but could never go to a creative writing class - I
could never read out my work to other people - Huberta became my
one and only private writing student. I discovered she had other
stories; wonderful stories which, as she began to write, came almost
in a torrent. Stories from a childhood in Holland: decorating the
bread swan with fluffy chickens for the Palm Sunday parade, the
honour of the responsibility of becoming her Oma’s bonnet bearer –
which meant biking through the village carrying a cleaned, pressed
and starched bonnet to her Oma for her to wear for church every
Sunday.
And then there were the
stories of the child who lived through a war, sheltering in the
darkness of a cellar while bombs fell on the village with their
neighbour, a young husband and father, going outside to ensure his
sisters were safe. Stories, also, of fleeing the village with her
family, her baby sister in a pram, amongst the long line of
neighbours and friends who were now refugees and the fear, the hunger
and the uncertainty which remained, even after the war ended. In all
of the stories there was a wonderful humour and the sense of an
unquenchable personality.
I understood that I wasn’t
the only girl to begin a normal life again when the war ended.
Following the liberation of Holland the three real Dutch princesses
returned to their home country after having lived in Canada during
the war years and they spoke a few words on Dutch radio: ‘We’re
so glad to be back in Holland again. We missed you all and have
looked forward to our return.’ Ans and I sat on the floor in her
house, glued to the old-fashioned radio, listening with awe to the
young royals.
We went up to the attic,
took an old blanket and made holes in it. We tucked the blanket over
the seat and armrests of an upside-down chair. Wrapped in an orange
flag, Ans whispered, ‘I’ll be Princess Beatrix and you can be
Princess Irene.’
‘Children of the
Netherlands, we are so happy to be back in our country.’ Ans's
voice wavered with importance. ‘We enjoyed living in Canada –
it’s such a beautiful country with its mountains and lakes. We had
our own swimming pool. There’s so much snow in winter. And we rode
with the Mounties. But it’s good to be back in Holland. Flying to
Holland from Canada I asked a hundred times: Are we over Holland
yet?’
Princess Huub chipped in:
‘It’s so nice to be back. Our grandmother will soon open
Parliament and we will wear crowns and sit in our golden coach.’
After a while we forgot
that we were speaking to the nation. ‘I’ll wear the golden crown
and you can have the silver one,’ said Princess Beatrix.
‘No, I want the gold,’
Irene replied. ‘You’ll be queen one day and then you’ll have
plenty of time to wear gold crowns.’
‘Just wait until I’m
queen! I’ll do everything I like and marry the best-looking
prince. And then you’ll have to do everything I tell you to.’
Later, in her adolescence, she
took music lessons with a rather attractive young man – I don’t
think Huberta’s mind was entirely on the hymns her father wanted
her to learn to play in his church. She had found out about ‘types’-
but, is he my type? she wondered to her friends. And then she
found her ‘type’ and married Bart and they made together the
courageous decision to change their life path, to leave behind all
that was familiar and to make a home on the other side of the world.
Then came the loneliness and
losses of immigration, the waiting for letters from home but also the
excitement and challenge of this new place of bush and harbour and
hills. While they found support within the Dutch community here
Huberta was also looking beyond that community for new friends, new
ways of living; Huberta did not want to be bound by the strictures of
routine- her washing out on the line, her baking completed at the
same time each day.
And, after those early days of
immigration, come the stories of becoming a mother – first to her
own unique and special Miriam and then – well, she had twins – of
course Huberta had twins! - this woman never does things by halves.
Nurturing and loving the children alongside Bart and, as a family,
they explored this new world they had come to – the beaches, the
hills, packing up a picnic hamper on a winter morning and driving to
Naseby to ice skate. Then, in her middle years, Huberta returned to
education, juggling completing a degree with a job. And then,
as if all that was not enough, she became a writer – a published
writer.
With all of these challenges
and triumphs and joys, Huberta has combated the kind of health issues
both for herself and her family that would annihilate a less vigorous
spirit. This is what makes this book – beautifully, lyrically
written in Huberta’s distinctive voice – a book which not only
portrays the story of one woman but tells also a universal story of
the resoluteness of human life-force.
Huberta’s story cuts away
the superfluous – the dross – to gently remind the reader of what
really is most important in our short lives; love, friends and
family. This wonderful memoir celebrates the ability of the
fundamental spirit to stand steadfast during the winds of adversity
and change and to seek and embrace the joy and the goodness of the
every day.
Paddy
Richardson
Dunedin
17
May 2017
Mary McCallum speaking at the launch.
Christopher Moore writes in the Listener (8 July 2017)
'In Astride a Fierce Wind Huberta Hellendoorn gathers together the threads of a life that has taken her from the reassuring familiarity of a small Dutch town to the challenges of a new beginning in Dunedin. It's a richly Proustian voyage in which, to quote Proust himself, memory suddenly reveals itself. There have been similar books but rarely ones written with such a vivid sense of time, place and people. Hellendoorn's solid Dutch pragmatism and lack of cloying sentiment are tempered by a deep awareness of the human experience. ... But it's the fierce sense of belonging to a place, to a family and to an individual and collective past that makes her book so memorable.'
Lesley Marshall, Huberta Hellendoorn, Paddy Richardson, Mary McCallum
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