Johannes Petrus Rugers

Table of Contents

Biography of Johannes Petrus Rugers
    1. Biographical Sketch
    2. Artifacts from Johannes Petrus Rugers
        a. Photos
        b. Documents
        c. Other Artifacts
    3. Order the Book

The Face Of A Nameless Captive:

Johannes Petrus Rugers

Among the haggard faces that watched from beyond the sunlit fringes of my childhood and my life, are faces to which no names belonged. They were simply "the Dutch prisoners".

At Camp 2B, the Dutch and American prisoners, as well as the Norwegians and others who from time to time were assigned to the camp, had little time and even less linguistic ability to become more than superficially acquainted. And upon liberation they returned to their own organizations and countries, with no means—never mind inclination—to recall a tortured past. Among the liberated American prisoners, any effort to identify men in the photographs focused on fellow Americans. Similarly, the focus of memoirs perpetuates the relative isolation of the groups who shared the misery of the camp. And for those of us who grew up in the shadow of Kawasaki, the photographs were crowded with nameless faces just as rosters are filled with faceless names.

During the year in which the final version of the manuscript for this book was started, I uploaded to our web site all the photographs—containing unknown people—associated with this story, inviting anyone, with information about the photographs, to contact us. It wasn't long before an email arrived from the Netherlands, in which Sandra van de Mortel said that she had found, among the photographs, pictures of her grandfather. As part of the correspondence that followed, she generously provided the material for this appendix. It is presented here not only with gratitude, but as an example of the great truth that no face is truly nameless, and that no one's life is less a treasure in any way than any other life.

A Place In My Life For My Grandfather

By Sandra van de Mortel

My grandfather was born October 28, 1905 at Alstaden Germany; nevertheless, he was Dutch. While he was a small boy, the family went from Arnhem to the south of Holland to work in the mines. My grandfather was the oldest son in a family of five children, and, in 1925, he enlisted in the army, as all able-bodied young men were required to do.

After the army, he, too, worked in the mines, but the story is that he disliked the work and decided that the army would give him more satisfaction and better pay. Consequently, he re-enlisted in 1928 and later achieved the rank of First Soldier, specializing in field artillery. Then, in 1930 he volunteered for duty in Batavia, or the koninklijk nederlands indisch leger (KNIL) – the Dutch East Indies.

Some time before embarking for Batavia, he met a young lady named Maria Magdelena (Lena) Lustberg, born February 24, 1906. She was so much in love with him that she could not wait for his return to Holland so that they could be married. At that time, it was customary in such circumstances to marry by "the glove". Accordingly, my grandfather Peter sent home a letter declaring his desire to marry her, and my grandmother, Maria, married Peter at the city hall with Peter's brother as witness on December 3, 1932. She immediately sailed for Batavia.

Grandfather was still assigned to field artillery.

Their first child, my Aunt Annie, was born on March 22, 1934. However, her official birthday is still March 23rd because Grandfather was so proud of his new child that on his way to the city hall to register the birth he not only stopped to celebrate with some of his friends, but hadn't thought to find out whether the newborn was a girl or a boy. He had to come back the following day to register the birth.

In 1936, Peter took his young wife and infant daughter home to Holland for a six month vacation.

On August 14, 1938, my mother, Elly, was born in Salatiga, Java.

After returning to Java with his young family, Grandfather became a cook in the army in 1941.

On the March 8, 1942, he was captured by the Japanese. My grandmother, aunt and mother where taken to camps on Java along with others who were Dutch. They were released in August 1945.

They never said much about their time in prison camps. "You never talk about it," was their answer to questions. I wanted to know about my grandfather, but it was difficult to find out anything. "Why do you want to know? What happened, happened. Forget the past," was my mother's answer.

When I was young, my grandmother lived in our family's home. Every morning I took her a cup of coffee upstairs to her bedroom. For 12 years, she was my soul mate. Every morning we would talk and talk, about everything. She was kind and loving and joyful. Sometimes, while she did her hair in front of the mirror, I liked to watch how lady-like she was. And I would wonder why she didn't have a husband. When she told me a little bit about my grandfather—just enough to answer my questions—I had but one great desire, and that was to know more about him. Was he just like her? If I had such a wonderful grandmother, surely I had a wonderful grandfather, too! I ached to know him better, and felt it very unfair that I had never even been able to meet him.

The years went by, and I never felt at peace not knowing more about my grandfather. Mother was not one to talk about her past, and, of a truth, she had little recollection of him.

Grandmother died in 1979.

I grew up and married and we had three precious children. Then, in 2003, our youngest son was born. I named him after Grandmother and Grandfather. Still my mother would not talk about her father, but last year I asked her once again. I wanted to give Grandfather a life in my life—just a place to remember him.

Mother agreed to tell me what she could, and since then the stream of knowing has begun to breach the dam. She gave me a photograph of how Grandfather looked when he returned home in 1946. He was skinny, and was probably even skinnier during the war. I started my journey on the Internet, and have also enjoyed nice talks with my mother and my aunt. I've read the diaries and stories. People who were there have been so kind to help me learn more about him.

I can say that he was a kind, beloved person; a pleasant, joyful person full of patience, and a man of few words. He had beautiful sea blue eyes, black hair, and strong dark eyebrows. He never spoke in front of his children about his life as a prisoner of war. Aunt Annie didn't even know that he was held in Japan until I talked to her about the pictures of him from Kawasaki.

Mother showed me the diary he kept while he was there. She had Grandfather's diary because Grandmother had lived with in our home. My effort to know him better continues.

Where Grandfather went or stayed before he was transported to Japan, we do not know. After he was captured, he was probably taken to the camp at Malang, and then was taken to Singapore. There, he was made to wear a red bow tie, signifying that he was to be transported to Japan aboard the Matue Maru on October 22, 1943, arriving in Moji, Japan on November 15, 1943. After a two-day journey he arrived in Kawasaki at Camp 2B, where his camp journal begins.

He was probably taken, with other Dutch prisoners on March 30, 1945, to work in the copper mines at Kosaka. He was held at Sendai 8, and was liberated there on September 11, 1945. After they arrived in Tokyo, they where taken to Manila. Grandfather was in good enough condition that he was sent to Balikpapan, Borneo, to serve in the Dutch army.

We think he met his family again in early 1946 on Java. He served there in the military police for a while as cook. After that, we know relatively little. My mother remembers that they had lived for a while at Balikpapan and on Sumatra; nevertheless, in his official records with the KNIL, we cannot find any information about him after he joined in military police in 1946.

My grandmother traveled with him, and with my aunt and mother, while he continued to serve in the army. In 1947, however, my grandmother became ill and returned to the Netherlands, with her children. There they awaited Grandfather's return from the political unrest in Indonesia. Then, in 1949, Grandmother received a message that her husband was seriously ill, and that she should come to Batavia. They sailed for Batavia in February 1949.

Grandfather died on September 11, 1949, exactly four years following his liberation. He was almost 44 years old. He had a kidney disease for which the doctors overseas had no treatment. He is buried in the military cemetery at Menteng Pulo, Java. After he died, the family returned to Holland. When they arrived, none of their personal belongings could be found on board the ship. Everything had been lost except their handbags and the photographs they carried with them.

When I talked to my aunt about my grandfather and the war, she showed me his recipe book that he used as an army cook. In Indonesia, the troops ate Dutch cooking of sausage, carrots, asparagus, cauliflower, apple compote and chocolate pudding. My aunt never told anyone about the book (which is dated 1937). She kept it because it was something to cherish from her father.

When Grandfather fell ill and was in the hospital, my aunt visited the army kitchen, saw the little book, and put it in her dress. Mother did not know of the book's existence until we started talking with each other about the past.

Mother told me that her visit to Indonesia, when she and her mother and sister returned because of Grandfather's illness, was almost the only time she truly remembers being near her father. She does recall that when she and several other children took their first communion, her father cooked for all the people who were there. They ate on the army post and he made her day an unforgettably happy time.

My aunt, however, remembers that Grandfather took her to dancing lessons, and that besides his army job he had a small farm with riksjas for rent. She also says that he had planned to one day immigrate to the United States. He had met a friend overseas and they had talked about going to America to start a farm where they could raise pigs.

When my aunt and mother were captives of the Japanese, Mother was made to work by carrying rocks in a basket every day for more than three years.

My grandmother also told me about the women in their prison camp who went at night to the gate of the compound to deal in food with the local people. Paying for the food eventually took everything she possessed. She even sold her gold teeth for something to eat. Many women risked their lives for food.

My aunt has told me: "We were very hungry. We didn't get much to eat. In the evening the Japanese came and took me with them. I and other women had to walk around a table with more food on it than we had seen in a very long time. Our hunger was great. When we wanted to take some of the food, the Japanese would strike us with sticks and ropes, but even when we knew that they would beat us we always tried to snatch at least a little of the food. I had to do this during whole the time I was in the prison camp.

When Grandmother and my aunt and mother were liberated, Grandmother weighed only 36 kilo. My aunt weighed 16 kilo, and Mother weighed 11 kilo.

The little I have learned about the experiences of my grandfather and his family have helped me better understand some of the things that seemed peculiar to me as a child.

Grandmother always had caches of food, such as cookies and fruit, in her wardrobe. My aunt kept a store of food and drink in her cellar that would have lasted for three years. And I remember that when she cooked meatballs, they were big enough that three people could have made a meal on one of them. And my mother could not tolerate even a childish attempt to snitch food from her plate at meal times: The food on her plate was her food and no one else's.

Photos

Inside Kawasaki Camp 2B Barracks, no. 1

Johannes Petrus Rugers

Johannes Petrus Rugers and Maria Magdelena (Lena) Lustberg

Documents

Johannes Petrus Rugers, Daybook

Other Artifacts

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Order the Book

My Father’s Captivity

$21.95 USD

Haunted by darkness surrounding his childhood in the aftermath of his father's captivity as a Japanese POW during World War II, a young boy embarks upon the journey of a lifetime. My Father's Captivity is the story of what the boy discovered about captivity, endurance, and healing. The book's 320 pages feature a captivating narrative, 140 illustrations, and the text of 60 original documents that tell the story in the words of those who lived it on the home front as well as the battlefront. The volume's notes, bibliography, and index summarize more than 30 years of research and writing. Categories: Al Young, Book, My Fathers Captivity
Product No.: 0.09.0050.010

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- Item can ship by Friday, 19 March, 2010