I was born in the Netherlands on a farm that fringed the German border, an area dangerous with discarded Second World War ordinance - live ammunition, rifles, machine guns, grenades, mines and mortar bombs.
I was taught at an early age not to touch anything that I found in old bunkers that were hidden in the pine forests and woodlands on both sides of the border, but of course I did. I even learnt from an invalided German soldier how to toss hand grenades into ponds to stun trout, always a welcome addition to game meat I brought into the house.
As a youngster, I was an accomplished poacher and smuggler, able to ‘steal’ royal game and traffick tobacco and coffee to needy Germans who were doing it hard, even into the early 1950s. I spoke German, Dutch and the local dialect fluently.
The soldier also showed me how to make and set snares for rabbits, roe deer and wild boars that raided dad’s crops, and horse tail hair snares for pheasants. I was proficient setting rabbit traps on dung hills. What was not eaten at home
