Part 2: Mother sings

MOTHER SINGS
Written by Bert Plomp

My mother was always very proud when she spotted me among the other churchgoers. Especially when, during Christmas or Easter, she sang a number of songs fitting for the occasion with the church choir. She would then point out my presence to the other members of the choir by indicating where I was sitting. After such a church service, I usually went for a cup of coffee with her and her good friends Henk and Alie somewhere in the centre of Utrecht. Henk was the choir conductor and Alie a fellow choir member. As former Salvation Army soldiers, they were both former colleagues of my parents.

Singing psalms, with or without the choir, was my mother’s passion. She had been doing it from a young age in various choirs and, as a Salvation Army soldier, when she was on evangelical missions somewhere in the country. In service of ’the army,’ she and my father visited every corner of the country as sort of missionaries. There, they sang and preached on street corners, in pubs, or in red-light districts. Mother accompanied the singing with her guitar. After such a religious performance, they tried to sell as many copies as possible of the periodical magazine of the Salvation Army.

The ‘Salvation Army quarter-hour’ of the NCRV, which used to be broadcast weekly on the radio, was her favourite radio program. Even after she left the army. As soon as the quarter-hour began, the radio was turned up to full volume in the apartment. As soon as the brass band struck up the first notes of a psalm, she sang along at the top of her lungs. She didn’t mind at all that the whole neighbourhood could hear. Whether I liked it or not, the quarter-hour also penetrated into my room every week. Unfortunately, at that time, I didn’t have a sound system of any size to counteract it. Besides, Led Zeppelin was still working on their first album. However, this radio program and my mother’s contribution eventually led me to appreciate brass music later in life.

When my father passed away, she solo sang the well-known song ‘Beautiful kingdom of Heaven not far from here’ at his funeral service in a crowded Mattheüs church. That was my father’s favourite song. She sang the song without any hesitation. That must have been quite a task for someone who had just become a widow. If I’m feeling silly and I’m in the shower, I sometimes imitate it. But I can’t imagine doing it in a packed church. Actually, not even in an empty church.

I have often wondered why my mother was so devout. Although she came from a family that was religious, it was mainly on paper. Her mother was Catholic, and her father was Protestant. I never experienced her parents attending a church service separately or together. Perhaps because the devil prevented it. After all, they say ‘Where two faiths share a pillow, the devil sleeps between them.’ By the way, it’s unlikely that her parents did much sleeping at all. Not because Satan might have shared their bed. Nor because they spent nights arguing about faith. I never heard them talk about it anyway. The lack of sleep was mainly due to family planning. My mother’s mother and her husband brought 16 children into the world. Such a production naturally requires a lot of effort and time. And once those children inhabit your house, you have to get out of bed regularly at night. So, little to no chance of sleep.

Often, after giving birth, a woman finds it difficult to regain her pre-pregnancy figure. It’s as if such a woman thinks her beautiful body has done its job. Or she just doesn’t care anymore. I have great admiration for women who manage to get back in shape after childbirth. Who make every effort to look attractive again. Maybe not entirely back to their old weight, but close enough. Like Maxima, our dear queen.

As mentioned, my grandmother gave birth to 16 children and also had a few miscarriages in between. Nevertheless, apart from the pregnancy periods, she remained as slim as a pole until a very old age. There was never an ounce of extra fat on her. She was a very skinny woman with a lot of dry humour. During family visits, which were daily practice with so many children and grandchildren, she often sat somewhat apart. She would sit quietly by the fireplace in the formal room, embroidering. Grandpa, on the other hand, was a stout man with a pronounced opinion. He was always very present and had a loud, clear voice. His loud voice served him well in his profession. He was the station master at Utrecht Central Station. Grandpa’s favourite spot in the house was his regular place at the table in the dining room. After all, all social interaction took place around this table. It was where fervent debates occurred, hearty laughter rang out, cards were played, drinks were consumed, and cigarettes were smoked. Grandpa usually had the last word, and rarely did anyone dare to contradict him. Except grandma, who, in the heat of the argument, would let it be known from the formal room with a squeaky voice that she thought very differently.