Richard
Final Approach
- Joined
- Feb 27, 2005
- Messages
- 9,076
- Location
- West Coast Resistance
- Display Name
Display name:
Ack...city life
Seven years later, I was invited to join a group of marketing executives on a European trip organized by the Departments of State and Commerce and the U.S. Sales Executive Association. I was one of eight executives traveling to ten European countries. We flew to Scandinavia, Holland, France, England, Scotland, and Ireland.
When we arrived in Amsterdam, I went for a walk with my wife, Gail. I was delighted to see so many Dutch living life to its fullest. During our first night in Amsterdam, the American businessmen and their spouses were guests at a black-tie dinner for fifty at the Grand Amstel Hotel. We were all seated at one large elliptical table, and the Ameican ambassador sat next to us.
In Holland, it is the custom that toasts follow dinner. The burgomaster of Amsterdam was the first to rise to his feet. A stout man with white hair and a ruddy complexion, he began the first toast of the evening. "This is a nightin my life I will cherish." He enjoyed holding the floor and continued, "By the spring of 1945, our cities were occupied by the Germans. My fellow citizens were faced with another foe--starvation. We had no food. German soldiers had confiscated our dairy and vegatable products. There was hardly a cow, horse, goat or chicken within hundreds of miles."
I quickly realized that someone in our group had leaked the story of our food drop. The burgomaster continued, "On May 3, 1945, I remember this day so well," and he paused with a deep breath. "My sister wrote to me, 'Unless a gift comes from Heaven, we will soon die. All we can do is hope and pray.' And then, as if to answer her prayers, I heard a noise outside that sounded like thunder. Looking out the window I could see, off in the distance, a line of bombers approaching Amsterdam. I saw the first plane flying just above the treetops with a fleet of ships behind. She dipped her wings in her approach. I knew the significance of that friendly gesture. The Germans didn't shoot. They leaned on their cannons and watched.
"A number of B-17s circled the city a few times in a broad sweep, searching for the drop zone. The roar of the engines was thunderous, almost deafening, as the stream of bombers approached the city. Everyone ran outside to see. Then my wife and I, and many others watched in total amazement, almost disbelief, as an armada of ships--these 'angels of mercy'--came across the horizon and flew into Amsterdam. The ground seemed to shake as they flew over us. We waived to the American pilots and their crews. And then I couldn't believe what I saw. Each plane dropped cartons of food onto a field just up the road. We were crying with joy. I put both arms around my wife and I hugged and kissed her. We hugged and squeezed our neighbors. We, and thousands of others, were dancing in the streets. Everyone was delirious with joy! We were euphoric! We were, and are, forever grateful."
I lloked around the table nervously. Once again, I saw white--white handkerchiefs, white linen napkins--all reminders of that memorable sight, seven years earlier, as we flew over Amsterdam. The dinner guests were listening intently, their eyes filled with tears. Even my American colleagues wiped their eyes with their white linen napkins. And then with all the emotion he could muster, the burgomaster continued, "And, my friends, Charles Alling, the young American who led the mighty armada, is with us tonight!"
As if by command, the dinner guests rose to their feet in applause. It was time for me to speak. I rose to my feet slowly, frantically thinking about what I would say. Clearing my throat, I took a very deep breath. "Thank you, Mr Burgomaster. I'm so glad to see you're eating better today." Everyone laughed, which helped, I pause, and this time took a more relaxed breath.
"Now I have a story to tell you." Again I paused, and read the anticipation in their faces, noticing the chefs with their tall, white hats, the waiters, waitresses, and the entire kitchen staff had entered the room to listen. "After the food drop, we flew over your beautiful country toward the sea. As we passed over fields of beautiful, yellow tulips, we saw the most extraordinary sight. You wonderful people had clipped the heads of the tulips to spell, 'MANY THANKS, YANKS."
When I think of the Dutch and what they endured during the war, I feel nothing but respect. They are a people with great spirit.
I still marvel at their task of clipping hundreds of tulips to create a message clearly visible to our planes hundreds of feet above the ground. This was not a small task for a nation of starving people, and it was a brave one for people fearing possible retribution. When I think about the mission over Amsterdam, I have a single, dramatic image in my mind of fields of yellow tulips, blossoming on the edge of devastation and war.
http://users.interstroom.nl/~heijink/welkom1.html
When we arrived in Amsterdam, I went for a walk with my wife, Gail. I was delighted to see so many Dutch living life to its fullest. During our first night in Amsterdam, the American businessmen and their spouses were guests at a black-tie dinner for fifty at the Grand Amstel Hotel. We were all seated at one large elliptical table, and the Ameican ambassador sat next to us.
In Holland, it is the custom that toasts follow dinner. The burgomaster of Amsterdam was the first to rise to his feet. A stout man with white hair and a ruddy complexion, he began the first toast of the evening. "This is a nightin my life I will cherish." He enjoyed holding the floor and continued, "By the spring of 1945, our cities were occupied by the Germans. My fellow citizens were faced with another foe--starvation. We had no food. German soldiers had confiscated our dairy and vegatable products. There was hardly a cow, horse, goat or chicken within hundreds of miles."
I quickly realized that someone in our group had leaked the story of our food drop. The burgomaster continued, "On May 3, 1945, I remember this day so well," and he paused with a deep breath. "My sister wrote to me, 'Unless a gift comes from Heaven, we will soon die. All we can do is hope and pray.' And then, as if to answer her prayers, I heard a noise outside that sounded like thunder. Looking out the window I could see, off in the distance, a line of bombers approaching Amsterdam. I saw the first plane flying just above the treetops with a fleet of ships behind. She dipped her wings in her approach. I knew the significance of that friendly gesture. The Germans didn't shoot. They leaned on their cannons and watched.
"A number of B-17s circled the city a few times in a broad sweep, searching for the drop zone. The roar of the engines was thunderous, almost deafening, as the stream of bombers approached the city. Everyone ran outside to see. Then my wife and I, and many others watched in total amazement, almost disbelief, as an armada of ships--these 'angels of mercy'--came across the horizon and flew into Amsterdam. The ground seemed to shake as they flew over us. We waived to the American pilots and their crews. And then I couldn't believe what I saw. Each plane dropped cartons of food onto a field just up the road. We were crying with joy. I put both arms around my wife and I hugged and kissed her. We hugged and squeezed our neighbors. We, and thousands of others, were dancing in the streets. Everyone was delirious with joy! We were euphoric! We were, and are, forever grateful."
I lloked around the table nervously. Once again, I saw white--white handkerchiefs, white linen napkins--all reminders of that memorable sight, seven years earlier, as we flew over Amsterdam. The dinner guests were listening intently, their eyes filled with tears. Even my American colleagues wiped their eyes with their white linen napkins. And then with all the emotion he could muster, the burgomaster continued, "And, my friends, Charles Alling, the young American who led the mighty armada, is with us tonight!"
As if by command, the dinner guests rose to their feet in applause. It was time for me to speak. I rose to my feet slowly, frantically thinking about what I would say. Clearing my throat, I took a very deep breath. "Thank you, Mr Burgomaster. I'm so glad to see you're eating better today." Everyone laughed, which helped, I pause, and this time took a more relaxed breath.
"Now I have a story to tell you." Again I paused, and read the anticipation in their faces, noticing the chefs with their tall, white hats, the waiters, waitresses, and the entire kitchen staff had entered the room to listen. "After the food drop, we flew over your beautiful country toward the sea. As we passed over fields of beautiful, yellow tulips, we saw the most extraordinary sight. You wonderful people had clipped the heads of the tulips to spell, 'MANY THANKS, YANKS."
***
When I think of the Dutch and what they endured during the war, I feel nothing but respect. They are a people with great spirit.
I still marvel at their task of clipping hundreds of tulips to create a message clearly visible to our planes hundreds of feet above the ground. This was not a small task for a nation of starving people, and it was a brave one for people fearing possible retribution. When I think about the mission over Amsterdam, I have a single, dramatic image in my mind of fields of yellow tulips, blossoming on the edge of devastation and war.
http://users.interstroom.nl/~heijink/welkom1.html
Last edited:
