First memory
"I can remember everything from the time I was three and on. That in itself is unremarkable, but it's 84 years ago nonetheless.
I have already told you that I used to live on West-Kruiskade in Rotterdam. It was a large two-storey house. My grandparents lived on the first floor and we lived upstairs: my parents, my five year old sister and I. My sister and I used to play on our grandparents' floor, but one day we were told not to go downstairs. "Your grandmother is ill." We weren't aware of it, but later it appeared she had died and had been buried. One morning - I can still picture it, I was playing at a table - I saw that my mother was crying. The tears fell into the pot, for she was slicing up a cabbage. I thought: "I hope she washes that cabbage, otherwise it will be very salty." I knew tears were salty, because I used to lick them away whenever I cried.
Ten cents
Ten cents used to be a fortune for a child. I would fantasize about it in bed. What if I, a four year old, had ten cents, imagine the things I would be able to buy. There was a shop on Kruiskade called "De Zoete Toko". I would look at its delicacies for a long time. For starters, 1 cent would get you five thin pieces of licorice. Four cent would get you an ounce of Maria biscuits, and two cents an ounce of 'borsthoning'. It looked like a chunk of chalk, but tasted wonderfully sweet. That would be 7 cents, so you could get a piece of chocolate for 2 cents. The word 'Santé' was printed on it, it tasted a little earthy, but good. A 1 cent sour lozenge would cover the 10 cents.
When I was six years old, I had to go to school. Next to me, on the other side of the aisle, sat a boy named Wim. His father was a sailor and he'd bring him wonderful things from his travels. One time Wim got walnuts the size of an egg, they were very special. I thought: it must be wonderful to be able to say 'my father brought it for me". I bought some shiny pieces of coloured paper in the book shop with my pocket money. I would cut them in two, bring them to school with me and I would hand them out to the kids I liked. And when they asked me how I got them, I would proudly say: "My father brought them.""
{ from “Memories of Old Rotterdam - and other stories” by my grandmother, J. de Boer - van Oosten. }