Berkhey: a village swallowed by history

Berkheide is a reserve in the dunes between Scheveningen and Katwijk on the dutch coast, well known by many nature lovers. Few people though know that the name of the area can be traced back tot Berkhey, a fishing village that was an outcast in the late Middle Ages and eventually was swept away by the end of the sixteenth century.

In the fourteenth century the Lord of Voorschoten, Gillis van Cralingen, came to the area of Wassenaar, the Netherlands. In 1396 he established the village of Berkhey in the dunes. ‘Berk’ means birch, a tree that was common in that area. ‘Hey’ means moorland, suggesting the new born village was meant for cattle breeding.

But the truth was that the Lord had planned a fishing village. Fishery was very successful these days in the surrounding villages Scheveningen and Katwijk aan Zee. Van Cralingen wanted his share. He would give anyone willing to work as a fisherman land to build a house. In exchange he demanded some of the catch and four percent of the yield. The plan turned out to be fortunate, leading to serious rivalry between Berkhey and the surrounding towns.

Berkhey, berkheide, katwijk

According to the Society Old Katwijk, the people of Berkhey were mostly heretics and scum. But the competitive situation might have lead to that assumption. From 1412, it was prohibited for people from Katwijk to settle in Berkhey or even to communicate with inhabitants of the nearby village.

Little is know about what happened to Berkhey after that. Quite a few heavy floods, like the Elizabeth Flood of 1421 and the All Saints Day Flood of 1570, swallowed parts of Katwijk and Scheveningen. It is likely to assume that Berkhey was stricken as well. The register of Berkhey fishing boats in that period recorded nine so called pincks in 1475 and only two left in 1515, a down bound trend.

Berkhey is pictured one more time in a preserved 1598 drawing of a stranded sperm whale. The village is on a french map dated 1622, but after that, history erased the unfortunate fishing village. The fact that derivates from Berkhey still are quite common today as surnames in Katwijk, supposes that the last inhabitants of Berkhey fled to the nearby village.

Religious homicide at sea: the secret of KW 171

In 1915 the entire crew of a fishing boat gets insane at the middle of the North Sea. 3 men are killed by the others. What drove those men to this cruelty?

KW 171 Noordzee 5 Katwijk gekkenloggerOver a century ago, the crew of a dutch fishing boat gets insane on the middle of the North Sea. Three men are cruelly assasinated by their collegues, after which the rest spend the days waiting for the apocalypse, whilst praying and singing psalms. What took posession of the crew of the KW 171, the fishing boat that history would call the fool’s lugger?

 

Slowly and carefully the norwegian steam vessel Jonas Reis approaches the drifting fishing boat. From the port side, the captain scrutinises the vessel under him. It is sunday September 12th 1915 on the Doggersbank, in the middle of the North Sea, about 130 miles east of Scarborough. The Jonas Reid has left Tyne the day before. Half an hour ago, the fishing boat caught the captain’s eye. It draw his attention because all sails were down at mid sea. But when they got nearer, the captain saw the sails were not just lowered, but torn apart. He immediately ordered the machine room to stop the propellor and now they get closer, the captain gets a sinister premonition.

That turns out to be right. By the time the vessel with registration number KW 171 on the hull is about 50 feet away from the Jonas Reid, the skipper perceives to his dismay a complete chaos on deck. Not only are the sails torn apart, the ship’s rigging is completely dismantled and the hatches and katrols are gone. Five or six men are spreaded on deck, answering the skipper’s look with frightened eyes. On the rear deck, the captain observes dark red spots. Blood? It takes him a while to get himself back together and call all hands on deck.

The KW 171, also known as North Sea 5, was a sailing lugger built in 1906, based in Katwijk. This dutch fishing village with a very closed character did not have its own harbour. In former ages they used tot sail on flatboats that would be pulled on the beach. After these more traditional ships were replaced by faster and therefore more efficient luggers, the Katwijk fleet was forced to divert to neighbouring harbours.

On Tuesday August 3th 1915 the KW 171 set sail from IJmuiden, 15 miles north from it’s hometown Katwijk. It was the second voyage with this 13 men crew under the command of the 39 years old skipper Nicolaas de Haas. Also on board were navigator Pieter van Duijn (28), Jacob Jonker (33), Klaas Kuijt, seaman and cook Reijn Ros, his 13 years old son Arie Ros, brothers Arie (28) and Leen (17) Vlieland, P. v/d Plas (43), P. Heemskerk (29), J. Kuijt (16), W. Huwwaard and 13 years old D. de Mol. The team got along very well and the first voyage had been a very pleasant one, according tot he skippers wife in a newspaper after the cruel event that would soon occur.

Katwijk in these years was a very orthodox religious community. The First World War raged outside and although the Netherlands remained neutral, the war cruelty did not bypass the village. Mines made the North Sea, that was the primary source of income for the fishing village, extremely dangerous to sail on and the dead bodies from submarined allied vessels flushed ashore in high numbers. The pietistic character of the local religion turned these experiences into the most fantastic fantasies. Apocalypse was near, so it was believed by many.

We know little about the five weeks following the departure of the KW 171. The lugger sailed northwest, destination Doggersbank, an area full of fish half way England and Denmark. The days probably passed as many others on Katwijk fishing boats in these days. Long hard work and beans, bacon and rice for dinner. Six days a week, for the compulsory Sunday rest counted at sea as much as at home.

The next sign of life from the KW 171 reaches IJmuiden via the skipper of KW 151 De Hoop. He tells about a meeting that he had a few days earlier on mid sea with the KW 171. A few crew had been on his vessel for a while to hand over letters and ask him to, once back in IJmuiden, send them to Katwijk. The skipper had asked them why, since they were heading back to Katwijk themselves. The answer surprised the skipper even more. “God himself destroyed Katwijk and made it vanish. We will not return to Katwijk, we are heading to Jerusalem, where God came down from heaven.” When the men climbed back in their jolly, one of them, who so far had stayed aside, grabbed the skippers arm, begging him to stay aboard with him. The skipper did not see the urge to grant his wis hand send the man back in the jolly. While the crew menbers of the KW 171 rowed back to their boat, the skipper of the KW 171 shouted tot them: “If I were you, I would go back to Katwijk. You are saying crazy things, I think you are going out of your mind!” Some time later, one of the seaman of the 171, Arie Vlieland, shouted back tot he skipper of the 151: “Cut your nets, get rid of the crap! Believe in God’s justice, for you are all doomed!”

It is obvious that by that time, things were terribly wrong aboard of the KW 171. According to the Katwijk-born author Robert Haasnoot, who based his novel ‘Waanzee’ on this history, the crew had been practicing their religion for weeks. Religion, superstition and the side effects of long time isolation at sea were a perfect breeding ground fort he upcoming evil.

There are two testimonies about the days following the encounter with the KW 151. In some details they contradict, but the whole stories are more or less the same. One of the youngest aboard, 13 year old Arie Ros, is interviewed by a newspaper, two weeks after the happening. Seaman Arie Vlieland, the evil genius of the drama, later talks tot he captain of RMS Prof. Buys, the vessel that takes him back tot he Netherlands.

The skipper of the KW 151 later tells the owner of the KW 171, director N. Haasnoot from North Sea Fishing, that during the mysterious meeting at sea, he got the impression that it wasn’t skipper Nicolaas de Haas, but seaman Arie Vlieland that was in actual command of the 171. Vlieland is known to have been an extraordinary strong man, huge and charismatic. All that made him a dominant personality. He mastered the Tale Kanaäs, a traditional, biblish way of speaking, that allowed him to manipulate his god-fearing ship mates. Katwijk had a culture of chosen ones and concerneds. The chosen ones were believers who claimed to get signs of God, what made them superiour tho the concerneds, who lacked such relevations.

Probabely madness creeped into chosen Vlieland’s mind during the voyage. According to witness Arie Ros, Vlieland said on Sunday September 5th that he felt the Holy Spirit within him. Next came four days of praying and discussing the Bible, followed by the killings. Vlieland himself stated that he wake up shortly before the first murder to talk with God, who ordered him to purify the ship from Satan’s presence. He was busy throwing overboard anything that could possibly contain demons, when Leen Vlieland and Van der Pals woke up. They claimed to have seen a red star and took that for a confirmation of Arie’s assertions. Sails, masts and ropes were thrown overboard.

Next morning, most of the crew joined the exorcism. Only Pieter van Duijn, Jacob Jonker and Klaas Kuijt refused. Their disbelief was not appreciated by Arie Vlieland, who forced Kuijt to alternating dance and stand still on deck for hours. It must have been an insane scene. “He looked as if he was posessed by the devil,” Arie Ros stated afterwards. For the crew it was reason enough to throw Kuijt overboard the next morning. When he tried to hold on to a rope, one of his mates chopped off his hand. Screaming from pain Kuijt disappeared in the water.

Or at least, that is Arie Ros’ statement. Vlieland told the captain of the Prof. Buys that they beheaded Kuijt before throwing his body in the sea, while singing psalms.

According to Arie Ros, navigator Pieter van Duijn went lower deck to beat up his father, Reijn Ros. But Ros Sr. Turned out to be tougher than Van Duijn and he kicked the latter under a bench. The rest of the crew mixed in though and beat Van Duijn with spades to death. Jonker chopped off his head with an axe.

After the murder Jonker went back on deck, where he bumped into skipper De Haas. “You have all gone crazy, do you really belive this nonsense!”, De Haas shouted, while Jonker kicked him down the stairs. De Haas locked himself in a berth, but the remaining crew dragged him out again to beat him to death with poles, brought tot hem by the young boys Arie Ros and D. de Mol. Arie Rol however said that the last two victims were stabbed to death. In both versions the bodies were thrown overboard.

On Sunday September 12th, the KW 171 was found by the Norwegian steamer and towed to Tyne. It was obvious that the whole crew had gone insane and the men were precautionary chained up on board of their own vessel.

The story of the fool’s lugger has always been unmentionnable in the Katwijk community. Although no-one else than the crew itself could be held responsible for their crimes, it seemed that the closed, religious people felt ashamed for them. During the first period after the disaster the people felt a sort of fear. Had it not been normal Katwijkers out there? If this could happen tot hem, it could happen to anyone.

That most survivors were back in town only a year after the massacre made even more difficult fort he people to get over. Also, almost everyone was related to everyone. A niece of the killed navigator Pieter van Duijn said many years later that her mother told her father off when he greeted one of the surviving crew members on the street. “Gerrit, how can you say hello to a man that killed your brother?”

The two 13 year old boys went straight back to Katwijk, the other eight were brought to mental hospitals. Within a year they were all back home in Katwijk, except for Arie Vlieland. He moved with his wife and children to Wassenaar near The Hague, where he died in 1966 at the age of 79.

And the KW 171? The lugger was restored, but no Katwijk fisherman dared to sail on it. The vessel was sold to a shipowner from IJmuiden. Registered IJM 251, it struck a mine two years later, taking eight sailormen tot he bottom of the North Sea.

Dead Flight: the mystery of Neptune 212

In 1965, two aircraft mechanics without any flying experience stole a dutch Lockheed Neptune 212. They managed to get it airborne, but must have known that there was no way they could ever get it back on the ground safely. They crashed at sea, only a few hundred feet out of a sleeping fishing town. Katwijk threaded the eye of the needle. What drove these young men?

It is Friday night, January 22th 1965. It is the middle of the Cold War. Twelve Lockheed Neptunes SP-2H submarine hunters  are based on the dutch military airbase of Valkenburg, near The Hague. Five of them are parked on the platform, standby to take-off for emergencies. Aircraft mechanic Ad Meulenberg is on duty, together with his mate Tom Boel. More than half a century later he still remembers that night: “It was cold and rainy.” Just before midnight, Boel comes running towards him, asking him if he knows anything about an emergency: “I answered that I was not aware of that. Boel said that two mechanics, Frans Bolk and Huib van Oostende, had just arrived at the platform, saying that they were told to prepare one of the Neptunes for take-off to assist a perishing ship on the North Sea.”

No clue
Meulenberg calls his supervisor, who has no clue either but promises to inquire. Ad returns to the platform, finding Bolk and Van Oostende on the wings, removing the covers from the engines. He asks where the pilots are, Bolk answers that they are on their way.
That makes Boel and Meulenberg supersticious. Unlike regular emergencies, the runway lights are off. “I returned to my supervisor, only to learn that he had no answer yet,” Meuelberg says. Back at the platform, he sees Bolk sitting in the cockpit, starting engine 1. Now he knows something is definately wrong: “That was the pilot’s job.”
Once more, Meulenberg hurries to his superior, who knows more this time: there is no such thing as an emergency. Meulenberg rushes back to the platform, where the Neptune is rolling. Both surveillants run to their superior, who orders them to halt the plane whatever it takes. Meulenberg crosses the field towards the plane, that is heading for the runway.

Frans Bolk

Neptune running by
Once there, Meulenberg stares right into the headlights of the plane. Since he has no ammunition, he realises that all there is left to do is trying to pierce the tires of the plane, so he mounts the bayonet on his rifle. While doing so, he hears the engines revving and by the swinging of the lightbeams he knows the hijackers have released the brakes.
The accellerating plane runs towards Meulenberg, who jumps in the wet grass to save his life, gazing at the Neptune running by. His sits up, only to watch the plane taking off.

Mushroom cloud
Meulenberg notices that the plane is climbing far too steep, so it doesn’t take long before it stalls. For a moment it seems frozen in the air, next it faces downwards, commencing a fatal dive. Meulenberg realises that the Neptune might crash on the sleeping town of Katwijk within seconds. Next there is a flash on the horizon, followed by the sound of an explosion and a ghostly lit mushroom cloud.

That night, Katwijk threaded the eye of the needle. It was midnight, everyone was at home asleep and the Neptune, filled with 10,000 liters of fuel a flying molotov cocktail that just missed the village. Hitting it would have killed hundreds, but the plane crashed in the North Sea, less than half a mile out.

Rescue boats
The following days the beach of Katwijk is crowded. Rescue boats, helicopters and planes are searching for the wreck and the bodies, while the navy are wondering what got into these guys. Bolk and Van Oostende were reliable men. Being mechanics, they must have known that without any flying experience they had no chance whatsoever to land the plane safe and sound. Besides to fly a Neptune it takesthree men in the cockpit. And the starting procedure costs about 45 minutes for warming up the engines; this time it took only six minutes.

The answer is alcohol
Leader of the investigations is captain Jo Petschi, who believes the answer is obvious: alcohol. The aftermath, he states to a reporter that a witness declared that the hijackers had drunk about six glasses of beer in the airbase canteen before their deed. Also, he says that they might have drunk before arriving at the canteen. “I won’t say that they were completely drunk, but they had enough alcohol to eliminate a part of their common sense.”
Petschi also wonders why the men did not go home. It was Friday night and they were off duty that weekend. By 11 PM, they had left the canteen to go to the sleeping barrack instead, where they chatted with other guys. A witness later stated that one had said to the other something like ‘Well, let’s do it then?’. Next thing, both men left the place to be never seen again.

Report is questionable
Two young men, drunk, hijacking a plane for a nightly joyflight. Two lives and a fife million dollar plane lost: case closed.
Reading the official report, one might believe it all seems clear enough. But is it really? I talked with people who were there that fatal night and dicovered that the offical report is questionable, to say the least. Some of the witnesses claim they had noticed that Bolk and Van Oostende were acting weird during the day before they died. Gijs Eversen was Van Oostende’s sleeping neighbour, he says: “Something was going on that day. I still remember that after more than fifty years.” According to Eversen, Bolk was changing a cockpit windshield on the Neptune 212, the very plane that crashed: “His mate Van Oostende dropped by several times. After the job was done, the plane was towed to the platform.”

Huib van Oostende

Weird behaviour
Later that day, in the barrack where marines were getting ready to return home for the weekend, Evertsen noticed that Van Oostende was behaving in a rather unusual way. He gave away personal belongings or sold them for little. Evertsen himself paid 25 cents for a book titled Famous Combat Aircraft of the World, featuring a dutch Lockheed Neptune that crashed earlier. Van Oostende had marked the picture with a black cross. “When I asked him what that meant, he answered that the navy was about to lose yet another Neptune.”

Official statement
After half a century that is not much of a clue. But the official statement of the navy is, to say the least, as weak. The waiter in the canteen had strict instructions not to serve more than three bottles of beer per person per day. Even if Bolk and Van Oostende had drunk before arriving there, people would have noticed. All witnesses say that both men made a sober impression, which is also stated in the official report. Both knew that there was no way they could ever land a Neptune safely and unhurt. From the barrack it was a more than two miles a walk to the platform. The cold and rain would have sobered them up more than enough to realise their mission was impossible and doomed.

Hard to believe
Also, the investigation is doubtable. Captain Petschi was in charge of security at the airbase. The same man was commissioned with the inquiries and press communication. That is weird, but it does explain why Petschi was so sure about the innocense of the guards. They had acted precisely according to his protocol. Also, the fact that Petschi, even before the bodies were recovered, declared that drunkenness was the cause, makes his conclusion hard to believe.

No stunt
What if it was not a drunk man’s stunt, but Bolk and Van Oostende got on that plane completely sober and aware of their fate, what made them still do it? A double suicide is hard to believe, but that counts for any other explanation. Gijs Evertsen thinks that the men were paid by some foreign power to steal the plane, together with a skilled pilot that didn’t show up, forcing them to flee in panic. Others find that hard to believe. Why these two fine young men really died, is still a mystery after more than fifty years. Their death nightflight is long forgotten, but if their plane had stalled seconds earlier, the town of Katwijk would have been swallowed by an inferno with hundreds of fatalties.

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Recovery
Tuesday evening January 16th the wreckage of the plane is located at the bottom of the sea. The following days it is lifted in pieces. That same morning, Van Oostende’s body washes ashore at the beach between Katwijk and The Hague. Wednesday morrning, Bolk’s corpse drifts ashore in Scheveningen.

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Bad example
The weird stunt by Bolk en Van Oostende was even more embarassing for the dutch navy since it was not the first time that they saw an unqualified person fly off with one of their planes. Less than a year before, a 21 year mechanic named Theo van Eijck had hijacked a Grumman S-2 Tracker from their base on Malta, to fly it to Lybia. Van Eijck had failed the enttrance test to become a pilot and wanted to prove that he was capable of flying anyway. Likewise, Frans Bolk had the ambition to become a pilot. Perhaps he took a bad example from Van Eijk.

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This article was published in the dutch magazine Quest Historie, issue 3/2017

A Day at the Beach

strand katwijk zomerAt some 18 kilometers out, there’s a group of wind turbines. Visual pollution, according to some, mostly beachclub owners and hotelkeepers. But spending a summer’s day at the Katwijk beach will teach you that the real pollution is a lot closer by than those hardly visible turbines.

“Do you serve fresh orange juice?”
“Certainly, sir,” the waiter nods. He enters my order in his smartphone and walks to the bar. I lean backward and start observing the smoking and sweating crowd. Although it’s fairly AM, all seats of Beachclub 14 are taken. It’s Sunday and the weather report promised temeratures well beyond 30 degrees Celsius for this afternoon. Next to me, I notice a group of mid-aged men. Hard to tell what brought them together; I don’t believe they’re heart surgeons. But they do have something in common: they all, all ten, now I count them, a large collection of tattoos on their massive bodies. I try to read the pictures and words. Runic and gothic letters, chinese characters: cultural reconciliation starts on the bodies of simple minds. One of them has a massive stetson-wearing scull covering his back. Between his mates shoulder blades I perceive some creature even Tolkien and J.K. Rowling could not have invented after a night on booze and drugs.

“Fresh juice, sir.” The waiter puts a glass on my table. I say thanks, take out the straw and take a sup. Is this what they call fresh juice? If you would put this in a spectrometer, the screen would show a Minute Maid commercial. Or rather, some budget brand. I check the menu once more: it really says ‘fresh’ orange juice. Besides, at this price (4,75 euros) you’d expect the club’s owner to squeeze the oranges at your table, his wife rubbing your shoulders with coconut oil and the local bigband playing your favourite music live at your table.

But I don’t believe the boss is in today. He must be attending some kind of workshop, learning what music is appropriate at beachclubs. The boom-boom-crap from the outside speakers is hardly standable. Is this their way to empty tables for new customers as quickly as possible? One thing is for sure: it doesn’t help getting rid of the heart surgeons. They swing their sweaty bodies to the music, waving their beer bottles and cigarettes in the air. Only then I realise the music is not from the beachclub’s speakers, but from their gettoblaster. Beachclub 14 is tough enough to charge me 4.75 for a tiny glass of Minute Maid, but for a bunch of tattooed drunk, they switch off their own music.

I decide that I’ve seen enough. I pay for my Minute Maid and even tip the child that served it, since I know that from all beachclubs around, the wages here are by far the lowest. I down what’s left of my juice and head for the beach. Like at the beachclub, the people here are kind enough to share their tobacco and music with me. But at least, it’s not as loud as the gettoblaster of the cardiologists.

After a while, I hardly perceive it any more, because a massive speedboat starts running in circles just in front of me. The skipper, who looks like a perfect match with the cardiologists, misses some swimming kids only by meters. The life guard looks away, though. Only 75 years ago, brave men used this very beach as a starting point for their 150 km crossing to England in small canoes, risking being shot by german patrol boats. This guy takes himself for a hero revving around in a floating moped.

I grab my things and go home. Perhaps I’ll come back tonight for a walk on the beach, when only their empty beer cans, filled nappies and cigarette butts are left.
I can’t wait for autumn to come.