War Memorial Emmen

The War Memorial, a torn-open archive box, symbolizes the fact that many pieces have been preserved in archives that recall the Second World War. The artist wanted to save these pieces from oblivion.

On the Monument is the text of Jan Campert's poem:

The Song of the Eighteen Dead

A cell is only two meters long
And narrow two meters wide,
The piece of land is smaller
That I don't know yet
But where I shall rest nameless,
My comrades, moreover,
We were eighteen in number,
None will see the evening.

O loveliness of sky and land
From Holland's free coast,
Overcome by the enemy
I couldn't find an hour of rest.
What can a man, sincere and faithful,
Still doing at such a time?
He kisses his wife, he kisses his child
And fight the vain battle.

I knew the task I started
A task of troubles heavy,
But the heart that could not resist
Never shy away from danger.
It knows how once in this country
Freedom was honored,
Before a curse'bre trespasser's hand
It has coveted otherwise.

Before, who breaks oaths and brays
The misshapen piece existed,
And invades Holland's lands
And burn his land;
Before, who claims honor
And such Germanic comforts,
Our people forced under his administration
And plunder like a thief.

The Pied Piper of Berlin
Now blows his melody;
As soon as I'm dead,
The dearest no more see.
And no more shall the bread break
Nor may sleep with her,
Rejects all that he offers or offered,
That crafty birdwatcher!

Remember who reads these words
My comrades in need,
And those closest to them most of all,
In their calamity great,
As we also thought,
To your own country and people,
There comes a day after every night,
Every cloud passes by.

I see how the first morning light
Drifting through the high window,
My God, make dying easy for me,
And if I've failed
As each one may fail,
Then grant me Your grace,
That I may go as a man
If I'm running.

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Source

• Text: Bert Deelman
• Photos: Chris Bonhof (1, 2, 3), Nico Nienhuis (4, 5)