The ship on which I'm about to 'sail' was named after a governor and state lawyer (1547-1619) in Rotterdam during the eighty years war between Spain and The Netherlands. Johan was executed during a period of religious and political discord.
September 15, 1954 was a cold and wet day. My close relations saw me off at Amsterdam dock.
Understandable, it was an emotion charged scene.
At the railing on the ship, high above the quay my arms were moving like a pair of windscreen wipers, left to right and back. My cheeks were wet from the constant drizzle as I held back the tears. The ropes were loosened under a loud booming hoot, slowly we were towed to the entrance of the North Sea canal.
The familiar figures on the drenched dock, dark grey, diminished by the minute and were then blotted out by the twilight of a painful day.
I found my sleeping quarters downstairs at the back of the ship, above the noisy screws and met my cabin mates, Jan van Breen, Jaap Groenewoud, Pieter Paardekoper and Bill Droge.
Soon we reached IJmuiden, the gateway to the North Sea. I gave a last glance to the locks that opens the floodgates, then turned my eyes to the wide choppy seas ahead.
It was dark by now, the twinkeling lights are left behind, turned off by the ever increasing distance from shore.
Farewell my land of birth and of my ancestors.
We're on the way to a new life - a new beginning.