From Port Moresby they sailed to Thursday Island and then on to Java, a large island of Indonesia. Opa developed a deep love for this country that has been described as “a string of pearls strung across the equator.” At the time, Indonesia was a Dutch colony, so grandpa learned both Dutch and Indonesian. The literature he offered in his preaching activity, however, was in five languages: Dutch, Indonesian, Chinese, English, and Arabic.

Opa was very successful in placing Bible literature. Once Clem Deschamp, who was in charge of the Watch Tower depot in Batavia (now Djakarta), was called before a Dutch officer who had been closely monitoring our preaching work. “How many people do you have working down there in East Java?” the officer inquired.

“Only one,” replied Brother Deschamp.

“Do you expect me to believe that?” barked the officer. “You must have quite an army of workers down there, judging by the amount of your literature being distributed everywhere!”

Opa feels that was one of the most satisfying compliments of his life. But he surely deserved it, since it was not unusual for him to place between 1,500 and 3,000 pieces of literature each month.

Marriage, a Ban, and War

In December 1938, Opa married a young Indonesian woman named Wilhelmina, who became my grandmother. Oma, or grandma, was kind, gentle, industrious, and soft-spoken. I know, for during my childhood she was my closest friend.

After their marriage Opa and Oma continued their pioneer service together. By then the other crew members of the Lightbearer had either dispersed to other parts of the world or returned home. But Opa had made Indonesia his home, and he was determined to stay.

As World War II approached, the Dutch government ruling Indonesia, and acting under pressure from the clergy, began to place restrictions on the activity of Jehovah’s Witnesses, eventually banning our work. So the preaching was done with difficulty, using only the Bible. In almost every town Opa and Oma visited, they were hauled before officials and interrogated. They were treated like criminals. Not long after the ban came, Oma’s brother-in-law was jailed for his stand of Christian neutrality. He died in a Dutch prison.

Opa and Oma lived in a truck with a caravan body built onto it. Using this mobile home, they preached all over Java. In 1940, as the threat of Japanese military invasion loomed, they were blessed with a daughter, who became my mother. They named the baby Victory, after the title of the lecture given two years earlier by the then president of the Watch Tower Bible and Tract Society, J. F. Rutherford. They continued pioneering right through the time of the baby’s birth.

Early in 1942, Opa, Oma, and Victory were on a Dutch freighter returning from Borneo when a loud gun blast from a Japanese destroyer was heard. All the lights went out, and people screamed. In this way the war came into my family’s lives. Although they made it back to port safely, the Japanese invaded Java only a few days later, and a Dutch officer disclosed the whereabouts of Opa and Oma to Japanese soldiers.

When the Japanese found them, they were stripped of their possessions, right down to little Victory’s toys, and were taken to two different concentration camps. Victory was allowed to stay with Oma, and Opa did not see them for the next three and a half years.

Life in Concentration Camps

During his internment, Opa was transferred from town to town​—from Surabaja to Ngawi, to Bandung, and finally to Tjimahi. These constant moves were to thwart any attempt of an organized escape plan. The prisoners were mainly Dutch, with a few British and some Australians. While in the camps, Opa learned the barbering trade, a skill he occasionally still employs. The only religious book he was allowed to keep was the Bible​—his King James Version.

Meanwhile, Oma and Victory were also being moved from camp to camp. In these camps women were called upon by the camp commandant to serve outside for “social services.” For some reason, however, Oma was never chosen. Later she learned that the women were taken out to serve as prostitutes for Japanese soldiers.

Since Japanese soldiers did not favor female children, Oma always kept Victory dressed as a boy and kept her hair cut short. The name Victory caused big trouble when the camp commandant wanted to know what the name signified​—Victory for the Imperial Japanese Army or Victory for the Americans?

“Victory for God’s Kingdom over all earthly governments!” my grandmother replied proudly.

As punishment for refusing to say, “Victory for the Imperial Japanese Army,” Oma and her five-year-old daughter were forced to stand straight and at attention for eight hours under the blazing tropical sun. No shade, no water, no sitting, no slouching forward. But with Jehovah’s help they survived this dreadful ordeal.

A year after Oma’s internment, the camp commandant said to her that her husband had died! She sadly placed Opa’s picture in the bottom of her battered suitcase and continued on, despite her grief.

Prison-camp life was hard. Daily rations for each person consisted of one cup [250 cc] of tapioca for breakfast, seven ounces [190 gm] of bread made from sago for lunch, and for the evening meal, one cup [250 cc] of cooked rice in a watery vegetable soup. Because of such meager rations, malnutrition was common, and victims of dysentery died daily.

During Opa’s internment, he suffered from pellagra and nutritional edema (starvation sickness). Oma also nearly died, since she often gave her food to Victory to prevent the little girl from starving to death. Cruelty and starvation became constant companions. They were able to survive only by keeping close to their God, Jehovah.

I remember well one of Opa’s favorite sayings: “Freedom is being in harmony with the Divine One, Jehovah.” Thus, Opa considered himself to be free in a real sense even while enduring harsh imprisonment. The love that he and Oma had for Jehovah certainly helped them to ‘endure all things.’ (1 Corinthians 13:7) That close relationship with God is what Gayle and I now seek to maintain.

Freedom and a Remarkable Reunion

Finally, World War II ended in 1945. Not long after Japan’s surrender, Opa was being transported by train. En route from Djakarta to Bandung, the train was stopped by Indonesian soldiers. Although hostilities with the Japanese had ceased, the Indonesians were fighting to obtain independence from the Dutch. Opa was so surprised to be suddenly taken off the train that he forgot to speak English and instead started speaking in Dutch. To the Indonesians, Dutch was the language of the enemy, and the enemy was to be killed.

Fortunately, while the soldiers were searching Opa, they found his Australian driver’s license, which he had forgotten all about. Happily, the Indonesians were not at war with Australia. To this day, Opa regards the discovery of the license that proved his Australian citizenship as divine intervention, for at that very stop only hours later, those same troops killed 12 Dutchmen who were passing through on the train.

Shortly after this incident, Oma and Victory were waiting for transport from the war-torn regions. As they sat by the roadside, an endless line of trucks carrying soldiers and civilians went by. Suddenly, for no apparent reason, the line came to a halt. Oma happened to glance into the open back of the closest truck, and there, to her astonishment, sat an emaciated man whom she recognized immediately. It was her husband! No words could convey the emotion of their reunion.

LET me tell you especially about my grandparents. We have always affectionately called them Opa and Oma, the Dutch equivalent of grandpa and grandma. My grandpa, Charles Harris, is still serving zealously in Melbourne, where he has lived for nearly 50 years.