Gus Porteners Pylon Story Completed
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Portener's Pylon. 1 Introduction. By John Leyland. 2015. Much of what I learned at school has been forgotten – but not what Mr Porteners taught me. I've never wanted to blow up high-voltage power pylons, but, if I needed to, even after these 62 years, I'd approach the task with some skill. Gus Porteners gave our class the 'know-how' during a lesson at Palmerston North Boy's High School in the early 1950s. Perhaps he was explaining some principal about energy or forces - who knows? All I clearly remember is the example he used. I recently mentioned that example to my children ('blow the corner pylon, where the lines change direction'). Later I wondered, 'Is there more to this story?' I tracked Gus, now aged 93, to a phone number near Wellington. During a delighful conversation, and from several email exchanges, I got the following information. I compiled it into a single document with a minimum of editing. I added pictures and maps. Gus checked, corrected, expanded and re-formatted it into the story that follows. Above, Gus at PNBHS 1950s. Right. Gus at 93. 2 WW2 by Gus Porteners. Our family lived in the city of Heerlen, in the very south of the Netherlands and about 5 Km to the West of the German border. Ever since the start of the war in August 1939, the Netherlands, not yet involved, were half-heartedly preparing for a possible invasion. Barricades were erected near the German border, and a few days later removed again. The Germans kept on building the Siegfried Line. At dawn of the brilliant morning of the 10th of May 1940 I was awakened by the noise of low-flying German airplanes, all heading West. On he street a few Dutch soldiers were furiously pedaling their bicycles, also heading West, soon followed by two running German scouts, one on each side of the road. The scouts were followed by a large number of horse-drawn carts loaded with armaments and accompanied by soldiers on foot. The invasion, signaling the start of the BlitZkrieg ('Lightning War'), had begun. On the tenth of May 1940. Assault infantry gather before the attack 3 At the time I was doing my practical year required as part of my engineering studies and lucky to be able to do that at the workshops of the large coalmine in Heerlen. This coalmine (ON-1) was the main mine of four owned by the same consortium. People working in ‘kriegswichtig’ – war important – occupations were issued with a license that excused them for being taken to camps in Germany to work in their factories. Anyone working in or for the coalmines was considered kriegswichtig and that included me. My involvement in the resistance started in the later years of the war. I was part of a local group that was involved with sabotage, protecting and assisting the repatriation of escaped war prisoners and survived air-crew from shot-down allied planes. Looking after hidden Jews was another task. The local group was part of a broader group called the KP. I never knew how many members there were and often not their real names. This ‘no need to know’ policy was to protect members in case one or more of them were captured. Bep van Kooten was a leading figure in the resistance movement who had an educational position at the ON-1 coalmine. My immediate 'boss' was Piet (Pete) Driessen, known as 'Kees' (Keith), again an employee of the same mine. Jacques Crasborn, employed as surveyer at the mine, was provincial commander of the KP Limburg. 4 I have forgotten the aliases for other members with whom I was in contact. Two of our members were caught near Valkenburg, tortured and shot by SS, shortly before the Americans reached us. The mine had it's own police force, located at the main entrance and controlled the in- and outgoing traffic among other things. Giel Bensen, another resistance member, was Chief of Police at the mine. We (the resistance group) had been given the order to sabotage the power supply lines stretching into Germany to help run their war industry. We had chosen two adjacent pylons to be blown up with dynamite. One of the pylons, in a paddock near a small village called Simpelveld, a place close to the German border, was situated at a point where the power lines changed direction. Blowing it up would guarantee that the lines on either side would pull the pylon over, once its foundations had been blown. 5 To make completely sure that it would topple, we chose an adjacent pylon to be blown up as well. The dynamite and detonators were secretly obtained from chief of mine police Giel Bensen via sympathetic coal miners. The mine also had its own lab from which I got phosphorus and carbon disulphate to make home-made phosphor 'bombs'. The dynamite sausages had been given to me in a cigar box the day before we needed it. As my parents and siblings were unaware of my activities I had to hide the box. My sisters slept in an old- fashioned double bed the base of which was on spiral coils fastened to laths. There was enough room on the laths to accommodate a cigar box and who would crawl under the bed anyway? The triggering device was an alarm clock of which the short hand had been removed. A small bolt was screwed into its clock face, and the big hand touching it would cause an electric circuit to close which then set off the detonators, which set off the dynamite. Simpelveld, the place where we blew up the pylon, was about half an hour ride on a bicycle from where I lived on the outskirts of the city of Heerlen. We arrived at dusk, two groups of four, all on push bikes. I only met the required team members one by one on the day, some of them I had not met before. Attaching the dynamite and wiring the detonators did take some time. When finished, we set the clock for 20 minutes. This gave us time to get 6 far enough away and to appear unconnected with the explosion. I was with the group working on the corner pylon; the other group one pylon away. As we moved away and met up with the other group, they told us that the farmer, the owner of the paddock, had come out, asking them what they were doing. They had told him that they were workers from the Electricity Department, making a check of all pylons. It was then we saw a blue flash and an almighty bang. The corner pylon had blown up and toppled over. We waited for the other bang, which never came. We later learned that the farmer had been suspicious and had warned the local police which arrived fairly quickly, noticed the clock and dynamite and cut the wiring. They then moved on to check the corner pylon, but they arrived too late! Bingo. The local police were generally sympathetic to the resistance movement and when possible non-cooperative to the Germans. The chief of police at a neighbouring village was particularly helpful to us with providing information. I got wounded at an abortive raid just three days before Heerlen was liberated. Fortunately the Germans were in retreat, which made it possible for me to be smuggled into the local hospital run by nuns. I was hidden in the bathroom of the women's ward. I was sorry for the nuns; the bath in the bathroom was filled with water in case of emergency and during the night, being concussed, I vomited right in to it! In case the SS mounted a search I was transferred the next morning in an ambulance as a 'patient for dental operation' to a friend, a dentist, who hid me in the cellar of his home. The ambulance returned to the hospital with the stretcher made up as if it still contained me, just to flummox any nosy onlookers. 7 Meeting shortly after our liberation, held at the staff quarters of Command Limburg at the hotel Oranjehof in Valkenburg. From left to right: Piet Driessen, Jaques Crasborn, Dick Meulenberg and Bep van Kooten. Thinking about Giel Bensen triggered another much earlier memory. My father was a member of a men's choir. Each year, around St Nicolas' feast (6 December) the choir hosted an evening for members and their families - particularly their children - at which St Nicolas would appear accompanied by 'Zwarte Piet' (black Peter), St Nicolas with presents and black Peter with his sack to put naughty children in. At one of those evenings my father was St Nicolas and Giel Bensen his black Peter, both suitably dressed and made up. My father had asked me, a ten-year old, to be named a naughty boy to be chased by black Peter. It went down well and I was properly rewarded for my role afterwards with a box of 'Trix', the German equivalent of Meccano. .............................. Gus Porteners. 8 .