The Mess Tin

Willem peeked around the edge of the burnt-out building. Since the German’s attack on Holland, there was a lot of damage everywhere. Piles of brick, splintered wood and twisted metal lay in the streets. Many structures were so battered they were unstable. The dust in the air made Willem sneeze. He rubbed his nose and wiped his hand on his sooty britches.

From his hiding place, he could see the wire mesh fence that surrounded the Canadian army base. A solitary soldier had come out of a building carrying a mess tin. The soldier walked over to sit by the fence. Willem could smell the warmth of potatoes and some kind of meat coming from the tin. Willem’s stomach growled angrily He crept closer. Intent on the aroma of the food, he stumbled over a rock. Alerted to the sound of an intruder, the soldier spun around. Willem froze. He was terrified. He knew that the soldier was here to protect his people, but he didn’t speak his language. What if he thought he was a German? What if he just shot him.

The soldier spoke, “You about scared the pants clean off me.” Then he smiled. It was a nice smile. Even though Willem didn’t understand what he’d just said, the smile said everything. The soldier continued, “You look like you’d blow away in big wind. What are you, bout’ eight or so? Bet you haven’t eaten a good meal in a day or two. Capt’n says you folks are hurtin’ pretty bad for food. You don’t have to say so, I can see it in your face.”

Willem could hear the kindness in the young soldier’s words. The soldier waved his hand for Willem to come closer, and then he passed his mess kit under a gap in the fence. Willem took it carefully. Looking up at the soldier, he hoped that the man could see his gratitude. “Bedankt,” he said with a grin.

Hurrying home, Willem could hardly wait to share this treasure with his mother and his little sister.

The following day, Willem was back at the fence. The mess tin was clean and shiny.

When he saw the young soldier, he waved the tin in the air.

“You came back,” the soldier said. “Thanks for bringing back my tin.”

Willem nodded, staring at the soldier with hopeful eyes.

“You didn’t eat that meal yourself did you?” the soldier asked, a thoughtful expression on his face.

Willem shuffled his feet. Not understanding what the soldier said, he waited to see what the man would do.

“Wait here,” the soldier said, and pointed to the fence.

As he waited for the soldier to come back, Willem couldn’t help but remember bringing home the food the night before.

“Mother, I’ve brought some food,” Willem said, handing her the tin with satisfaction.

“Oh, Willem,” his mother cried and hugged him hard.

Klara clapped her tiny hands and jumped up and down.

“Where did you get this?” she asked.

“A Canadian soldier gave it to me,” he said, his mouth watering as he watched her divide the food onto three plates.

“Oh, Willem, you know we aren’t supposed to bother the soldiers. They’re here to protect us, not feed us,” his mother said, with her hands on her hips.

Willem glanced at his mother. She didn’t seem angry. She seemed happier than she’d been in a long time.

“Would you say grace please, Willem?” his mother asked, as they took their places at the table.

Bowing his head, Willem thanked the Lord for the good food they were about to eat and for the kind soldier who had shared it with them.

Willem ate his food slowly, enjoying every bite and trying to make it last.

Klara began to cry.

“What’s wrong Klary?” Willem asked. Then he noticed her empty plate.

“I’m still hungry,” she said, tears running down her little face.

“There is more,” mother said, dishing some of her food onto Klara’s plate. “Tomorrow, Willem will return the tin to the soldier. Perhaps he may share again,” his mother said with a hopeful smile.

“Here ya go,” the soldier said.

Willem looked up. The mess tin was twice as full.

“Thought you might be feedin’ a few more than just you,” the soldier said with a grin.

“Dank u zeer,” Willem said, overwhelmed with the soldiers generosity. A tear trickled down his cheek.

“See you tomorrow,” the soldier said and turned to go.

Willem returned to the Canadian army base often. Each time the young soldier filled the tin with food and Willem thanked him with all his heart. Eventually, Willem’s family was able to get food from another source and they no longer needed to turn to the soldier.

One last time, Willem returned to the camp and slid the empty tin under the fence for the soldier to find.

Fifty years later the Dutch government held a special parade for Canadian war veterans.

Willem watched from the crowd as elderly men in uniform, many decorated with medals, moved slowly down the street. Holland, once war torn and devastated, now thrived.

Flowers and ribbons were everywhere to mark the return of the honored delegation. The old soldiers looked so happy to be there. They just couldn’t stop grinning as they shuffled along. Klara and some of her grandchildren handed out tulips and hugs to the Grandpa Gang as they came past.

Thoughts of the young soldier who had shared his rations were foremost in Willem’s mind. He had no idea if the man was even here, but these men represented him. He cheered the

servicemen and shook hands with as many as possible, tears shining in his eyes. They couldn’t know how one of them had touched his family, but it was a kindness that he and his children would never forget.

P. S. My father-in-law was the young soldier in this story. He did serve in Holland and he did share his mess tin with a little dutch boy. Later he returned to a hero’s welcome from the Dutch people as a retired serviceman.