A house for Irene

We have not only an apple this year, but also one plum.
I thought you might like to see it.

Since the decision has been made to bring Irene home, it has been a frantic time to get everything sorted. This is the story of a family united to do its utmost to help one of it's own. A lot of people have gone to Phoenix to help over there, while all efforts have been made here to sort all the beaurocracy and to make a home for Irene at 34 Hoogeweg, where she can be amongst her family and close to help while keeping her privacy and independence. The problems were enormous. A window of opportunity existed between the last chemo in the USA and hopefully the first in Holland. In the three months she needed to wrap things up in America, including selling her house and reduce her posessions down to a few suitcases. Then would come the problem of becoming a Dutch citizen again, and thus in the NHS equivalent before the next batch of treatment was needed. As it turned out, the usually bolshevik Local Council was surprisingly sympathetic and turned a blind eye to many of it's own fastidious rules (including the maximum height of pergolas). Owing to a failure in my computer, and being, like many in the family, totally absorbed into this project, I find myself writing this blog in the aftermath and peace of the completed task. As I write, Irene is in her house, which she calls her 'chalet', and is very happy with it. It was a great team effort. Another aspect of this story is the enormous courage, strength and dignity of Irene. I had expected that somebody so ill would be down and sad. I have not once heard her complain about the cards fate has dealt her. She is cheerful and positive, and despite the physical and financial onslaught of sickness, does everything she can for herself (and others), and insists on paying her own way. If miracles do happen in these situations, they may well depend on the attitude of the afflicted person to their misfortune. With all the heart-warming news from the tests, we may well be looking at a miracle in the making. In the same situation I would hope to show the same strength. I doubt that I could.

Anyhoo, the story of the Chalet. Having scoured Marktplaats we eventually came upon this sectional bulding. Unfortunately it would not be free until 3 weeks before Irene needed it.

This is the Chalet as we found it after the family living in it had moved off to the new house.


It is also a long way from the road, so something has to come into this backyard to pick it up and carry it away to Heiloo. First it has to be unbolted and split into 4 pieces.

A pretty hefty crane will come through here and get it. Kees has some tools with which he hopes to move the 4 sections apart so that the crane can get a rope round each of them in turn. Good luck Kees. It's only 16 tons.

And this is where it must go, about 15 miles away, in the carpark of Stal Sprenkeling.

Moment being Force times Distance about the Fulcrum or something, the bits are separated so that the crane can get a belt round.

The crane arrives, but that concrete looks like thin ice.

All goes well and the first section is lifted

..and goes on the flatbed of the crane. The crane is now about 4 tons heavier, and that concrete looks mighty thin indeed.

Bugger! The crane with its load starts to sink through the concrete. I have no later picture showing the crane really deep in the concrete sea, but it did sink up to the axles. Or oksels as we say over here. Up to the armpits it was.


We tried to pull it out with a 4wd Landrover type thingy, but that failed. We tried to break up the concrete into gravel by hitting it with scaffold poles.

At this point an apalling incident occurred. I struck the cement with my hollow steel pole and raised it for another strike when a hibernating toad fell out. I was too late to stop the following downswing. The toad looked up at me, and then at his severed left arm. "Why me?", it seemed to cry, "I'm just a 'armless toad, well I am now, you bastard!". He limped way on all threes and I carefully picked up his arm. I remember fom school that lizards grew new tails if you pulled them off. Maybe the arm would grow a new toad.

"What we need now", said Kees, "is the biggest fucking tractor you ever did see in all your born days". "I'll keep a look out for one then, shall I?"said Jan, scanning the road with invisible binoculars with a hint of sarcasm. In one of those moments that define history and move worlds, a mighty roar bellowed from around the corner down the road. "What the fuck is that, Jan" said Kees. "If my eyes are not deceiving me",said Jan, "I do believe it's the biggest fucking tractor I ever did see in all my born days" waving frantically at the monster to stop.

The Biggest Fucking Tractor That Anyone Had Ever Seen In All Their Born Days had no problem pulling the crane out of the concrete depths like a Dinky Toy. It was now obvious that the crane number one was not up to the job, and something was needed that did not have to muscle its way through the now crumpled concrete, but which had a long and high enough reach to pluck the sections and lift them over the houses and dump them on the flatbed part of the inadequate crane number one. The latter would be sent to Heiloo with a section and return to pick up another which crane number two would load onto its back.

This looks the right tool for the job. Crane number two in a state of erection as it were.


Don't worry, neighbours. It's as safe as houses.

Sections arrive in Heillo to be bolted together.

Now where does this bit go?

Er, this doesn't look quite right!

Ah! The missing piece!

And the job is done (apart from the rain-pipes!)

Time to relax and have a few beers at the end of the day.

Not forgetting one for the toad.

To be continued..........................