Talking to veterans always leaves a huge impression, but none so huge as when I had the pleasure of meeting Richard Stoffels.
Richard Stoffels S.J. was the army chaplain of the Dutch forces in the RAF.
He was born in Amsterdam as Richard Marie Paul Stoffels in 1906, at april 1.
He became a Jesuit at september 7th of 1925, and was eager to study and to deal with people.
In 1938, at august 27 he became a priest. He became a retreatleader until 1954 and then worked at the Oostpriesterhulp.
In 1975 he was decorated as Ridder van Oranje Nassau for his work during 1945 until 1948 as army chaplain for the Air Forces.
He died in Nijmegen, at december 23 1999 and is burried at the cementry of Jonkerbos.
He was the first army chaplain for the Dutch Forces and he set the standard very, very high.
The connection with our family dated from the time my uncles visited Canisius College. Richard Stoffels worked and studied there from 1930 until 1935.
I don't know when he saw my father again, if my father was part of his "boys" or they saw each other again at the streets of Wolverhampton or Birmingham.
Fact is that Richard Stoffels took my father under his wings and never ever let him go out of his sight and prayers.
Later they could sit and smoke with a small glass and talk about the good old times and the lesser old times and the lessons they both learned about themselves and other human beings.
Richard Stoffels, Father Stoffels to me, was part of growing up.
We didn't see him often, because he visited all his others "boys" and families too, as far as possible driving his car, but when he was at home my mother gave him "her" chair and he always moved it a few centimeters aside with a small child's pleasure, knowing she hated his harmless way of dealing with her obsessive cleanliness and neatness. She could never get mad, because he valued every little token of welcome. A biscuit beside a cup of coffee was praised as if he got a whole expensive cake all for himself.
Later he would pop-in, unannounced and ask for the remote control. He would call me and ask me to watch TV with him, putting on a program I liked to bits pretending he came especially for that program, knowing my mom wouldn't have granted me to opportunity to watch it if he hadn't been there,
When I married he said he couldn't come because he was expected elsewhere, but soon after he visited us at our own home.
I seemed to have become one of his "boys".
In 1984 he came to live near my parents in Berchmanianum.
"Now they consider me old and I should go a bid mad", he often said, "They fuzz about my health, tell me I use too much paper and spend too much time devoted to "my boys". Guess they want me to pray all day and put up the perfect picture of an old priest waiting to go to heaven.
I can't and God will understand."
He was elated when my first son was born in 1986 and grieved with me when my little daughter died soon after birth. He sat with me, my hand in his, said nothing at all, but slowly his tears dropped on the floor.
Now I understood even more how important he had been for all those soldiers who were in his care during the war.
He became more of a granddad for my children than my father's army chaplain.
More boys were born, and finally two girls.
As long as he could drive his small car he would visit us unannounced, whenever he felt to it, and when the children were already asleep he silently visited their rooms and put three crosses on their foreheads. They couldn't have been more blessed.
When the oldest grew up he enjoyed playing with them.
Physically he couldn't do much anymore, and as he became deaf he had to find new means of communicating with them. That wasn't a problem.
because my father told father Stoffels used to sign his name in a drawing he showed it to my children too.
They were fascinated by it.
Richard Stoffels S.J. was the army chaplain of the Dutch forces in the RAF.
He was born in Amsterdam as Richard Marie Paul Stoffels in 1906, at april 1.
He became a Jesuit at september 7th of 1925, and was eager to study and to deal with people.
In 1938, at august 27 he became a priest. He became a retreatleader until 1954 and then worked at the Oostpriesterhulp.
In 1975 he was decorated as Ridder van Oranje Nassau for his work during 1945 until 1948 as army chaplain for the Air Forces.
He died in Nijmegen, at december 23 1999 and is burried at the cementry of Jonkerbos.
He was the first army chaplain for the Dutch Forces and he set the standard very, very high.
The connection with our family dated from the time my uncles visited Canisius College. Richard Stoffels worked and studied there from 1930 until 1935.
I don't know when he saw my father again, if my father was part of his "boys" or they saw each other again at the streets of Wolverhampton or Birmingham.
Fact is that Richard Stoffels took my father under his wings and never ever let him go out of his sight and prayers.
Later they could sit and smoke with a small glass and talk about the good old times and the lesser old times and the lessons they both learned about themselves and other human beings.
Richard Stoffels, Father Stoffels to me, was part of growing up.
We didn't see him often, because he visited all his others "boys" and families too, as far as possible driving his car, but when he was at home my mother gave him "her" chair and he always moved it a few centimeters aside with a small child's pleasure, knowing she hated his harmless way of dealing with her obsessive cleanliness and neatness. She could never get mad, because he valued every little token of welcome. A biscuit beside a cup of coffee was praised as if he got a whole expensive cake all for himself.
Later he would pop-in, unannounced and ask for the remote control. He would call me and ask me to watch TV with him, putting on a program I liked to bits pretending he came especially for that program, knowing my mom wouldn't have granted me to opportunity to watch it if he hadn't been there,
When I married he said he couldn't come because he was expected elsewhere, but soon after he visited us at our own home.
I seemed to have become one of his "boys".
In 1984 he came to live near my parents in Berchmanianum.
"Now they consider me old and I should go a bid mad", he often said, "They fuzz about my health, tell me I use too much paper and spend too much time devoted to "my boys". Guess they want me to pray all day and put up the perfect picture of an old priest waiting to go to heaven.
I can't and God will understand."
He was elated when my first son was born in 1986 and grieved with me when my little daughter died soon after birth. He sat with me, my hand in his, said nothing at all, but slowly his tears dropped on the floor.
Now I understood even more how important he had been for all those soldiers who were in his care during the war.
He became more of a granddad for my children than my father's army chaplain.
More boys were born, and finally two girls.
As long as he could drive his small car he would visit us unannounced, whenever he felt to it, and when the children were already asleep he silently visited their rooms and put three crosses on their foreheads. They couldn't have been more blessed.
When the oldest grew up he enjoyed playing with them.
Physically he couldn't do much anymore, and as he became deaf he had to find new means of communicating with them. That wasn't a problem.
because my father told father Stoffels used to sign his name in a drawing he showed it to my children too.
They were fascinated by it.
He told us a lot about he dealt with all the birthdays and anniversaries of "his boys". Each year he wrote all the data in his agenda, so he couldn't forget one, and he wrote them all cards.
Then at one evening he was very sad and a bit mad. We didn't know him like that. He was impatient with his tea. Finally he told why. Someone had told him to stop sending cards to his men because it was too expensive for the place where he lived.
One of the children gave him a hug and that made him a bit calmer.
Not too long after that he expressed more unhappiness.
He had been visiting us and when he came back he was told that they were about to report him missed.
He wanted to keep his independence, but at the same time he felt his life came to an end.
That was the time he started to share his own experiences.
Like when "his boys"came back from bombarding Dresden.
Most of them were very shocked and he decided to go with the first reconnaissance flight so he could see for himself. He was able to describe his own shock in such detail that I could see it all through his eyes. He made me understand how the soldiers and he were burdened by the knowledge of having killed so many people, but at the other hand they had to find ways to end the war.
He talked about lots of aspects of war my father never had been able to talk about and it enabled me later to talk with veterans about the most intense aspects of being at war.
His visits became more intense and personal, and also more louder as he wanted to bridge his deafness and keep "normal".
The strong man with the enormous presence became an old man who saw he should stop driving his car.
When we wanted to visit him he had the nurse tell us he wasn't at home.
I envisioned him sitting at his desk with his agenda in his hand, looking which one would be the next having a special day.
He died at the age of 93 in 1999, two days before Christmas.
Since then I draw three crosses on the forehead of the little baby Jesus each time I prepare our house for Christmas, to honor "our" Father Stoffels.
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