Our interbellum

I once had a dad. Like most people, of course. And yet, my dad was different. Unique. This kind dad was a man who cared intensely about time. Because time, he knew, would continue without him, it has continued without him. He was therefore what you might call a natural at recording time. The first thing he did when you pointed a camera at him was mentioning the date. But often he was wrong, and had to be corrected by my mother. Mom fulfilled the task of supervisor of time, until she herself forgot it too.

That is why I now say, in their very spirit: today is Thursday the 21st of November in the year of 2024.

Today I am documenting the Croeselaan that was constructed in 1931. Where there is now a road, there used to be a stinking canal. The canal was later filled to modernize the infrastructure of the city of Utrecht. To create more space for cars, so to say. Cars were the future, the Utrecht of then believed. There must also have been traffic because of the cattle market that took place here, which has since disappeared. Now I live there, in one of its houses. As you can see – well, not entirely, this wide street now has not only two car lanes, but also two bike paths. During the day there is a lot of traffic. Line 1 also runs through it. Most bus drivers drive very fast, causing our house to vibrate. At night, with less traffic around, you can hear drunk cyclists singing right from the living room. I find that quite gezellig.

I generally enjoy living in this interbellum house. And, uh... now that I mention it, I also find the word interbellum fascinating. Especially because I think that the people who lived during the interbellum did not wake up in the morning with the idea of... Hey, another day in the interbellum, guys! It’s not good here, but it could be much worse. The worst is yet to come. No, the worst is still to come!

I especially wonder when they realized that they no longer lived in the inter, but in the intra of the bellum. When they knew that things were really wrong. I have that at least twice a week now. Every time I panic about this, my sisters say: “No, this is not a real war. The war is not coming. And if it comes, we will survive it. After all, we are narrators of wars.”

But just in case I am right and they are not, I am going to record it. The quiet and also the noisy years of our interbellum. Starting today, November 21, 2024, I will begin recording it. Our interbellum.