My Friend, Frank Stam

It was the summer of 69

Oh, when I look back now
That summer seemed to last forever
And if I had the choice
Yeah, I'd always wanna be there
Those were the best days of my life

I met Frank Stam at the Duinrandschool in Bakkum. I had started halfway through 5th class in February of 1969, having arrived from New Zealand, to live with my grandparents for a time.

I understood Dutch and was reasonably fluent, but my writing and vocabulary were limited. In New Zealand, the school year matches the calendar year, but in Holland school starts in the middle of the year, after the summer holiday.

Revisiting the Duinrandschool in the 0’s where we would kick our footballs before school and during breaks in 1969 and 1970

Frank and his family had been living in the US and had returned to live in Bakkum around the same time. We were drawn together because we both spoke English like natives. We enjoyed each other’s company.

We often visited each other after school or on the weekends. We played football on the same team. The summer of 69 has many happy memories for me. There were some great Dutch bands, like Shocking Blue.

A much younger Fleetwood Mac, released Albatross.

Frank’s father managed a factory that made sweets and he would frequently give me merchandising boxes full of packets of peppermints and rock candy, the like of which I had never seen before. I hadn’t been allowed ‘lollies’ as a kid in NZ. The whole Cappel family would enjoy these treats. Oma had a sweet jar, which these would help fill, and I also had boxes in my room, that would last for months.

One day after school, Frank invited me over to check out his new BB pistol. I rode home on my bike and asked Oma if that was ok. Of course, the answer was as long as I did my homework. I promised I would do it when I got home.

Homework for me consisted of my local homework as well as the A3 books of correspondence school that I had to do from New Zealand, to make sure that on my eventual return, I would be current with my NZ education. Believe it or not, I enjoyed it and looked forward to the next pack to arrive from the Education Department in Wellington.

I rode the 5-minute trip to his place, on my new blue single-speed bike. Nowhere was far away in Bakkum. We climbed the stairs to his bedroom after his mother fed us the mandatory cookies and glass of milk.

He had a shiny new pistol, which could fire little darts with cool coloured flights into a target, similar to a dart board, mounted on the wall in front of a fibreboard backing, to protect the wallpaper.

We had some fun with that and then decided to shoot some BBs, but we had to do that through the window because it was too dangerous to shoot them inside the house.

His bedroom windows were about even with the top of a tree in his backyard. I don’t recall what sort of tree it was, but it was lush with leaves and had birds doing what birds do on trees. We started shooting in their general direction. The birds would get a fright and fly off.

Don’t judge me, we were 12-year-old boys, doing what boys do.

It was good fun until I hit one. As an adult, I have been pig hunting. I don’t mind killing an animal for food, but this was an accident, albeit one that could have been avoided.

My heart sank as we rushed from Frank’s room, raced down the carpeted stairs, and doglegged it out the back door into the garden, expecting to find a dead bird somewhere under the tree.

All sorts of thoughts were going through my mind. I felt terrible for the bird, I was worried that his mother wouldn’t allow me back, that she would tell my grandparents, what a terrible boy I was, and that I would be in big trouble.

We looked everywhere. Under the tree. We climbed up the tree in case it was stuck on a branch, but there was no dead bird. Maybe I winged it, or maybe it just got such a fright that it fell instead of flying away. That was a huge relief.

From then on we stuck to the target in his bedroom.

I lost contact with Frank after coming back to New Zealand. When I tried to search for his name as an adult, I discovered that it was a common name in the Netherlands and in other countries. For all I know, his family may have gone back to the US. Something they had been considering.

I wonder if he remembers me…