On August 21 in 1907, my mother, Auguste Weidmann, was born in Bottrop in Westphalen. She was the youngest of five sisters: Anna, Ciska, Paula, Agnes and my mom Auguste. The name suited her well. There were also at least five brothers that I know of. I have known only Wilhelm and Paul. The other three died at ages 26, 18 and 2.

I always loved my mom’s birthday. There were flowers. In those days it was gladioli and dahlias. No hothouse flowers. The morning sun shone in our living room. As a little one I used to climb on the table to be able to admire the flowers up close. Then there were the sweet cakes for with the coffee (mainly milk for the little ones). There was always a box of chocolates.

One expected company on a birthday, so for visitors there was ‘jenever’ (Dutch gin) and lemon or berry-flavored gin with more hearty snacks. My sister Corrie used to write ‘Gefeliciteerd met Uw verjaardag’ (Happy birthday to you) on the mirror that was part of the buffet. All to celebrate the lady who is now gone, but whose legacy of love continues.