Warlovechildren in the Netherlands

The story of Conny Latoel, Warlovechild

When I was thirteen, I heard a conversation between my grandfather and grandmother with an uncle. My father had just deceased, and I stayed with my grandparents, who lived in a barrack in the Moluccan camp in the Netherlands. And while I was sleeping behind the curtain, I caught that conversation. My uncle said in a slightly derogatory way: well, she’s not his anyway. Until that moment I knew no better than that Latoel was my real father. He was always very loving to me, and I'm sure he considered me as his daughter. But I was not.

I discovered that my father was not my biological father when I needed a birth certificate for my graduation: only the familyname of my mother was written on it, Van Hensbeek, and not my father’s familyname, Meyer. From that moment my quest began. Up to this day no one in the family wants to tell me the truth.

The story of Warlovechild Roy Meyer

My mother was an Indo-European woman. Her father was a Dutchman, her mother Indonesian, a real Javanese. They lived in Klaten, near Solo. My mother married an Indo-European man. Together they had three children: two daughters and a son. Suddenly, her husband disappeared. It was wartime, and at first my mother lived in great uncertainty. She was left alone with the children. Only later it turned out that her husband had gone to Holland. His story was that he had become ill and was transported to Holland. She received the divorce papers by mail.

My mother is of Indonesian descent, a wealthy family. I believe my grandfather was a doctor or something, and my mother completed high school in the Dutch East Indies. At young age she married a man of Persian-Armenian descent. They led a comfortable life in Surabaya, a big house, almost a palace, and a livery stable full of horses, so I'm told. After the invasion of the Japanese her husband was murdered by the Japanese and Pelopor. My mother was left with three young children, they all four ended up in a Japanese camp. My mother had to witness many atrocities. Her cousin was ripped open by the Pelopor in her presence. After the war, she vowed to herself that she would never marry any black man. She only wanted to deal with white men!

I was born in 1950 in Central Java, Semarang. My mother worked as a kitchen help in the military barrack. She was given board and lodging there, so I guess she was there day and night. And my father was a serviceman and worked as a cook. In that kitchen, they came into contact with each other. Did they spend long evenings together, or was their contact just like an afternoon snack? Was it a longer relationship? I do not know. However, I do know that I was the result.

Jan’s father was encamped as a Dutch soldier in the area of Semarang. Jan’s mother worked in the kitchen barracks and as a washing woman. She fell immediately for the tall Dutchman; he was attractive and charming. After a year Jan’s mother got pregnant, but because of a sense of shame for her environment, she left her village to go to Jakarta. There she completed her pregnancy, and gave birth to Jan.
After the childbirth she returned to Semarang. But Jan’s father had already left, to an unknown destination, without having seen his own child. Jan’s mother went to the barracks. From someone in the barracks she received the full name and the home address in Holland of her soldier lover.

The story of Warlovechild Dien Faessen

Dien grew up in Semarang with her mother until her 4th and spent the rest of her childhood in the orphanage of the Franciscan Sisters. She worked as a nurse at the Elizabeth hospital, until she left for the Netherlands on her thirtieth. There the search for her Dutch daddy soldier started. Instead of one, she found two fathers, and also an unknown half-brother who did not know of her existence either.