His whole life Henk V. has been wandering. Now he is 73 and wandering is becoming difficult for him; especially when the weather is cold. But he cannot think of living in a retirement home. "Last fall they hospitalized me in Helmond (Dutch town). According to the physician my kidneys weren't so well. He wanted me to stay in the hospital, but I said: 'I rather go'. The physician told me that he couldn't stop me, so I went away."

Henk V. looks like a vagabond with his long grey hair, his beard and several layers of clothes, and he is. He doesn't mind to be called: 'that vagabond over there'... With a remarkable soft voice he talks easily about all sorts of things, except about himself. He's surprised about the interest in him.

Wandering is in his blood. He was born in a caravan in Kerkdriel (a Dutch village). With his parents he traveled with horse and cart from village to village. They made a living with trade in old rags and metals. "We didn't have much, but always enough to stay alive and happy."
For Henk these years had been very happy. He didn't see much of a school at the inside, but he learned to play the violin from his father. Sad enough the happiness didn't endure very long.
"My father died when he wasn't even in his 40's. I traveled along with my mother; I was still a child, but I could handle the horse."
Henk was barely 17 years old when he lost his mother also. This happened in the years of the big economical crisis in the '30s. There wasn't much hope for work then. When the caravan also had been taken away from him, he went to the Balkan in Europe, the area where his father - a real gypsy - came from. From there he went to France, where he stayed during the war.

Already more than 50 years Henk V. is wandering through Holland, most of the time in the south of the country. "In the north people are a bit more careful. There it is more difficult to find shelter. But people here are changed too in the last 10-15 years. They have become afraid by messages on TV and in the papers. In the evening, when it is dark, they don't dare to come out of their houses and don't open their doors any more. In towns you actually can only go to the homes for havenots."
Henk knows them from his monthly rounds.
"But luckily in the bigger villages are still many farmers who let me sleep in their barns. To thank them, I then clean the stables or do some other work for them."

A caravan of his own, Henk never had. He went on foot from place to place and earned something by playing the violin.
"The violin was not heavy to carry. I played mostly Hungarian music. But one day my violin broke down."
Now he is carrying his entire possession in a plastic bag. He depends on what people give him. He doesn't receive any welfare, because he has no residence to stay. His clothes come from the Salvation Army, a cup of soup he gets in a convent, a bit of tobacco from an acquintance. If he gets a couple of guilders, then he buys some razor blades or a can of cola. On a regular basis he can go to the other gypsy's, sometimes he rides with them.
"In Gerwen I am always welcomed as a special guest. There they have always a bed for me in a separate van."

Sometimes he is hungry.
"If I have nothing, then I do without it", he says, shrugging his shoulders. "That's all in the game of my life. Everybody has sorrows sometimes, even ministers of State..."
Now he is older, he suffers more from the cold.
"In winter you have to see that you are inside somewhere for the night. But if the wind is going down, then I can sleep in a park or at a busstation."
Sometimes he is bothered by youngsters, when they come from a disco during the night.
"You must not show them you are afraid", he says, "they can see that I have nothing anyway."
The police leave him alone. They know him and know that he's not causing any trouble. He doesn't interfere with other vagabonds.
"Most of them are alcoholics and that's nothing for me, they only think of themselves."

It once happened, that an older vagabond didn't wake up in the morning any more.
"He had so much alcohol that he didn't dress himself warm enough."
Henk continues:
"I like to travel on my own. If you are on your own, you have more of a chance to get a roof over your head somewhere. That's my expirience. Farmers are often hospitable."
But he can also count on several nights in a convent in Oudenbosch and in a home in Eindhoven.
"There is also somebody who has an old van behind his house where I may sleep. Then his wife brings a mattress and a couple of old blankets."
According to Henk most of the times the help comes from common people who have not much themselves.
"The richer people don't even open their doors."
Henk says it without rancour.

In November he was sleeping for several nights under a bridge in Den Bosch.
"I was bothered a lot by my kidneys then. Passersby noticed me there and brought me with the car to the hospital, but they didn't let me in. Luckily, I then got shelter on a boat of the sisters, a night-home near the station, which was run by the convent."

After a cold night, in which there doesn't come much of sleeping, Henk goes looking for a church with an early mass. He's doing that to warm up his old bones, "but also to thank the good Lord, Who's always taking care of me."
Through his confidence in God, Henk is not worried about his future. He hopes that he can continue his wandering, for he can't imagine live in a retirement home.
"Last time a nurse told me: 'You know that everything is coming to an end'. Well, I hope the good Lord will help me wandering until the end."

February 2 1997