From left to right: Johan Hendrik Jacobsz , Victor Emanuel de la Croix, Lodewijk Napoleon de la Croix, Elius Frederikus Jacobsz, François Alexander de la Croix, and Pierre Laurent Louis de la Croix. Seated at the front are Wouter de la Croix and Eugène Leopold de la Croix (c. 1895). Source: Silvia Magdalena Jacobsz (Meiske), donated by her son Martin Boon.

Grandma's whispering

My grandmother, Angeline Amaly Jacobsz (Ans), passed away a year before I was born. Her past was rarely spoken of. When I later asked about the family history, my aunt told me that my grandmother had a cryptic phrase she would occasionally let slip: "We are descended from princesses and pirates." It was an intriguing remark that she never elaborated upon. As I grew older and began digging through the archives of our family history myself, I discovered that this saying contained more truth than I could ever have suspected.

This story of the Jacobsz family is not merely a genealogical overview. It is a journey through time, a chronicle of a family that for generations navigated between different worlds: between colonial Holland and the indigenous peoples of the Dutch East Indies, between prosperity and war, between hope and displacement. From the first VOC sailor to settle on Java, to the officials and soldiers who built lives in the Dutch East Indies, and ultimately the forced migration to the Netherlands — the Jacobsz family experienced the shocks of history at first hand.

One of the last generations of Jacobsz in the Dutch East Indies was my grandmother Ans. Her own story is one of silence and memories that were in danger of being lost. But before we get there, we must first return to the beginning. To the origins of the family. This is their story.

Petrus Jacobsz: The Last Sailor of the VOC

It all began with Petrus Jacobsz, een matroos in dienst van de Verenigde Oost-Indische Compagnie (VOC). Geboren in 1748 in Tegal, een comptoir van de VOC aan Java’s noordoostkust, groeide hij op in de schaduw van de machtige schepen die de kusten aandeden. Tegal was een belangrijk handelscentrum waar peper, rijst en hout werden verhandeld. Hij was een man van de zee, opgegroeid met de ruwe stemmen van matrozen die bij schemering hun avonturen vertelden, en handelaren die met opgewekte toon hun koopwaar aanprezen. De geur van pek en zoutwater hing altijd in de lucht, terwijl de kreten van dokwerkers en het gerammel van ladingen een achtergrondkoor vormden voor het dagelijks leven in de haven. Hier, tussen de dobberende schepen en de bedrijvigheid van de kades, groeide zijn lot samen met dat van de schepen die hij zag vertrekken en terugkeren.

Petrus the Caulker

As a young man, Petrus bound his future to the water. He chose a life in the shipyards and began his career as a caulker. He was a craftsman who sealed ships' hulls with hemp and pitch to make them watertight. It was hard work. The smell of burning pitch permeated his clothes and hands, and the tropical sun made the shipyards unbearably hot. Yet this was an indispensable task: without caulkers, no ship would have survived the long voyage back to Europe.

At the shipyard in Ambon, his hands determined the fate of the ships that dominated the spice trade. The wooden hulls were battered by the merciless elements: the salty sea air ate away at the timber, tropical storms worked the joints loose, and the warm water was a breeding ground for shipworms — small molluscs that bored through the wood and threatened to make ships leak. Moreover, ships in these turbulent waters constantly risked damage in battle. Enemy cannons could punch holes in the hull, whilst boarding actions and deck fights often ended with damaged sides and shattered railings. Even a single shot at the waterline could prove fatal.

The VOC fought not only against European rivals such as the Portuguese and the English, but also against local sultanates and pirates who made the trade routes unsafe. Battered ships regularly returned to the yards with timber splintered by musket balls and cannon shot. Petrus and his colleagues then had to urgently seal cracks, insert new timber, and reinforce damaged sections of the hull to ensure the ship was once again seaworthy.

As he worked, Petrus became a silent witness to the iron fist of the VOC. He did not need to be a soldier to see the war — the ships told the stories. At the yard, he saw how the Company's colonial rule depended on the fleet that he and his colleagues maintained. With every seam he sealed and every damaged plank he replaced, he helped to sustain a system that ruled the archipelago through violence and oppression.

A New Life as a Free Citizen

After years of service under the flag of the VOC, a new chapter began in 1789. As a corporal, he laid down his uniform and left military life for good. With his discharge came the freedom to choose his own path — a rare privilege for many who had served the Company. He first settled in Soerabaja and lived for a time on the other side of the Strait of Madura in Bangkalan, where the VOC had a strategic fort. Eventually, as a civilian, he found a new home in Pasoeroean, a small harbour town fifty kilometres south of Soerabaja, known for its lively markets.

There he began a different life, together with the free native woman Salima, a native woman, presumed to be a Javanese or Madurese Muslim. Their paths likely crossed at the markets of Soerabaja, where trade flows and cultures merged, and where life as a free citizen offered a world so different from that of the regiment.

In colonial society, relationships between European men and native women were not uncommon, though the formal recognition process was often fraught. For Salima, her status as a free woman meant she possessed a degree of autonomy, although her position in society remained dependent on the colonial structures and her partner's protection. The term 'free native woman' signified that she was not the property of a European or another elite group, as was often the case in colonial society. She had a measure of independence, though her social position was more limited than that of Indo-European women. This gave her children with Petrus a unique status within the colonial structure, balancing between native and European worlds. Together they had three children: Andreas Albert Jacobsz, Johanna Jacoba Jacobsz and Johan Frederik Jacobsz, born in 1792, 1795, and 1798 respectively.

The years passed, and as Pasoeroean grew, Petrus watched the world around him change. The once mighty VOC sank ever deeper into corruption and mismanagement, until it was finally nationalised and gave way to a new colonial administration. He witnessed the rise of the Batavian Republic, the wars with Great Britain, and even the brief British interregnum under Raffles. The colony he had known as a network of trading posts and companies slowly became a directly governed province of the Netherlands.

When he spent his final days in Pasoeroean in the early spring of 1828 at the age of eighty, he had been a silent witness to the fall of the VOC and the birth of the Dutch East Indies. His life had played out on the dividing line between two eras — from a soldier in the service of the Company to a citizen in a changing colony.

Petrus and his son Johan Frederik Jacobsz in the "Register der Mannelijke Europeanen, en derzelver Afstammelingen, boven de zestien jaren." Source: National Archives The Hague (NL-HaNA_2.10.01_3136_0068).

An Origin Shrouded in Mystery

Yet one question remains unanswered: where does the name Jacobsz come from? Who his parents were is unknown. In an era when the VOC brought scarcely any European women to the colonies, it seems likely that Petrus was among the first Indo-Europeans — a child of two worlds, born of a union between a European father and a native mother. His origins remain shrouded in mystery, but one thing is certain: his life was shaped by the maritime society in which he grew up, a world where ancestry was fluid and identity was constantly being rewritten.

The Legacy of Petrus Jacobsz

What began with one man would grow into a family that would put down deep roots in the archipelago. With Petrus began the legacy of the Jacobsz family in the Dutch East Indies. His children and grandchildren moved between two worlds, just as he had done. Some entered the service of the Royal Netherlands East Indies Army (KNIL), others found their way in the colonial bureaucracy or trade. In a society that was constantly changing, they repeatedly had to find their place between native and European structures. What once began at the shipyards of Ambon would live on for generations in the archipelago.

Frederik Jacobsz: Echoes of Africa

Sometimes the course of a family history reveals unexpected clues about the past. Andreas Albert Jacobsz, the eldest son of Petrus Jacobsz, together with the free Javanese woman Dorsinie had a son: Frederik Jacobsz. Born on Thursday, 19 February 1818 in Pasoeroean, he chose a military career — a choice that brought him to a regiment of remarkable composition: the Sixth Company of Africans of the KNIL. Was this coincidence, or did his posting reflect a deeper ancestry, a hidden line in the family history? His service with this regiment casts an intriguing light on the origins of the Jacobsz dynasty and its connections to a lesser-known dimension of the colonial army.

A fragment from the death certificate of Frederik Jacobsz showing that at the time of his death he was a "fourier" "at the Sixth Company of Africans of the third battalion of infantry at Soerabaija." Source: Catatan sipil, Pasuruan, 1828–1990. Film 1357958. Image 1068

African Influences in the Colony

The KNIL was the military arm of the Dutch colonial administration in the East, established to protect the colonies and suppress uprisings. A remarkable regiment within this army was the Sixth Company of Africans, a unit in which Frederik Jacobsz served.

Nederland rekruteerde vanaf 1831 Afrikaanse soldaten uit de Nederlandse slavenkolonie Elmina (nu Ghana) om te dienen in Nederlands-Indië. Deze soldaten, bekend als de 'Belanda Hitam' (Zwarte Hollanders) of 'Londo Ireng' in het Javaans, werden met name ingezet in de hardste en meest ondankbare militaire campagnes. Ze waren beter bestand tegen het warme klimaat en tropische ziekten dan hun Europese metgezellen en werden vaak als eerste de frontlinie ingestuurd. De Zesde Compagnie Afrikanen was een van de regimenten waar deze soldaten dienden, vaak onder leiding van Indo- en Europese officieren. 

Alongside the direct recruitment from Elmina, the Cape Colony in South Africa also played a role in supplying soldiers and labourers to the East. The Cape, originally founded as a VOC supply post, grew into an important hub for migration and trade between Africa and Asia. Via this route, not only soldiers but also free migrants, slaves, and contract labourers found their way to the colony. This constant traffic between Africa and the East contributed to the diverse composition of the colonial army and the broader colonial society in the Indies.

For Frederik, his service in the KNIL meant not only a military career but also a life at the front line of colonial rule. His duties within the regiment reflected the harsh reality of war in the East.

A Soldier in Service of the Colony

As a soldier in the KNIL, Frederik fulfilled a dual role: he was registered as both a flanker and a fourier, meaning he not only fought at the edges of the battle but was also responsible for supplying his regiment. As a flanker, during combat operations he had to guard the flanks of the formation, watching for enemy movements in the dense jungle or open fields. Every step had to be calculated; every rustle in the undergrowth could mean an ambush.

Als foerier was zijn rol minder direct in de vuurlinie, maar even cruciaal. Hij moest zorgen dat er voldoende proviand, wapens en munitie beschikbaar waren voor zijn eenheid. Lange nachten bracht hij door in magazijnen, waar hij kisten met rijst en buskruit telde, terwijl de geur van vochtige aarde en zweet hem omringde. Soms moesten bevoorradingstochten door gevaarlijk gebied plaatsvinden, waarbij hij afhankelijk was van inheemse dragers en het risico liep op vijandelijke aanvallen. Het was een zware, maar onmisbare taak in een koloniaal leger dat steunde op logistiek en precisie.

His years of service in the KNIL were demanding, but also brought him recognition. For his efforts he received the bronze medal, a decoration awarded to soldiers who demonstrated long and faithful service within the KNIL. This medal, often presented after at least six years of military service, represented not only recognition of discipline and loyalty but could also indicate participation in active combat operations. Within the KNIL it was tangible proof of commitment to the colonial army, though it seldom came with significant privileges.

Frederik Jacobsz in "het Stamboek van onder-officieren en verdere manschappen van mindere Graden van het Bataillon Infanterie No.3." Source: National Archives The Hague (NL-HaNA_2.10.50_335_0062).

A Life Shrouded in Mist

After a life marked by service in the colonial army and a young family still being established, Frederik's life came to a sudden end on Sunday, 11 June 1843. At only twenty-five years of age, he died in Pasoeroean, in the home of his uncle Johan Frederik Jacobsz. His death left a deep scar on the family, particularly for his two daughters — a toddler of three and a newborn baby, whose fate now lay in the hands of their native mother Sariena.

Frederik's short but enigmatic life casts a shadow over the family history. His service with the KNIL and the Sixth Company of Africans raises questions about ancestry and identity, a mystery that only grew larger after his early death. He left behind not only a young family, but also unanswered questions about his roots.

What is certain is that the Jacobsz family became ever more deeply entangled with the colonial structures of the Dutch East Indies. Military life and administrative functions within the colony would remain a thread running through the generations. Frederik's story forms an intriguing chapter in this, full of open questions and unresolved riddles.

Johan Frederik Jacobsz: Bridge Between Two Worlds

Johan Frederik Jacobsz was born in 1798 on Madura, the son of Petrus Jacobsz, the former VOC sailor who had settled in Pasoeroean. Whilst his father lived to the rough rhythms of sea and shipyard, Johan Frederik found his way in the administration of the colony. On 1 September 1818, at the age of twenty, he began as a clerk at the resident's office in Pasoeroean. It was a modest start — ƒ12 per month, rising to ƒ64 — but it marked the family's social shift: from maritime labour to administrative backbone.

A Career in Administration

Zijn talent en betrouwbaarheid werden gezien. Op 30 oktober 1830 volgde de benoeming tot derde kommies tweede klasse met ƒ 150 per maand, later ƒ 200. In die jaren was hij meer dan een radertje: hij vertaalde het Javaans (1826–1845, vaak onbetaald), beheerde het pakhuis van de residentie (1822–1833) en nam geregeld waar als algemeen ontvanger bij afwezigheid of ziekte van collega’s. Zo stond hij telkens op de kruising van taal, logistiek en financiën—precies daar waar de kolonie ademde.

Marriage and Family: Rooted in the Colony

In 1822 he married Johanna Adriana Vlijsman, who came from Saparua in the Moluccas. Their marriage was typical of the Indo-European community: rooted in mixing, sustained by a sense of duty and opportunities within the colonial order. Their children grew up with both access to privileges and the limitations of ancestry.

Yet that world had a harsh undercurrent. Frederika Charlotta Marianne Jacobsz died at twenty-one after an illness of ten months, leaving two young children behind. Willem Frederik Jacobsz died within a month of his birth. Jeannette Jacobsz reached only eighteen; Carel Alexander Nicolaas Jacobsz likewise eighteen; a second Willem Frederik Jacobsz reached thirty-three. Only Susanna Ambrosina and Johannes Albertus Jacobsz reached a great age — though Johannes Albertus in turn lost all his sons. The family learned early that names in registers are not merely administrative facts, but traces of hope and loss.

Notice of the death of Jeannette Jacobsz from the Javasche courant of 28 May 1845.

Death notice of Frederika Charlotta Marianne Jacobsz from the Javasche courant of 6 January 1847.

De bescheiden macht van inkt en papier

Zijn dagen begonnen vroeg, in het residentiekantoor waar de muffe geur van vochtig papier en inkt de lucht vulden, vermengd met kruidnagel en koffie uit nabije waroengs. Door houten luiken viel tropisch licht in strepen over de schrijftafel. Als eerste gezworen klerk en later kommies waakte hij over de burgerlijke stand: geboortes, huwelijken, overlijdens. Aan zijn loket verschenen mensen met verschillende achtergronden—een Javaanse vrouw die haar huwelijk wilde laten erkennen; een vader die de naam van zijn kind wilde vastleggen. Elke handtekening maakte een leven zichtbaar, elke fout kon iemand doen verdwijnen. In die preciesheid lag zijn macht—bescheiden, maar beslissend.

Brugfunctie in praktijk: taal, recht en handel

Zijn rol als translateur Javaans (1826–1845) vergde meer dan woorden; het vereiste diepgaande kennis van de Javaanse omgangsvormen en rangorde, van eerbetoon en stilte. Daarnaast trad hij veelvuldig op als agent van de Soerabaijasche weeskamer (1824–1839) voor een divers cliëntenbestand: Schotse, Engelse, Arabische, Javaanse, Chinese en Nederlandse betrokkenen. Daar, aan de tafel van boedels en voogdijen, liep de grens tussen Europese normen en lokale realiteit. Hij noteerde, legde vast, bemiddelde—steeds als brug.

Curriculum vitae of Johan Frederik Jacobsz (1846). Source: CBG (VIBDNI009505).

Civic Defence

From August 1826 he served in the schutterij, the civil militia for order and local defence. After reorganisation in 1838 he became captain of the second company, a multi-ethnic unit that included Moors, Malays, Mandanese, and Bugis. In that same year he was appointed a delegated registrar of civil status, authorised to register marriages, births, and deaths. Thus notarial duty and urban security literally ran alongside each other in his diary.

Faith as Anchor and Care

In 1833 the Rijksalmanak listed him as deacon of the Reformed congregation in Pasoeroean. He managed diaconal funds and supported those in need within the Christian community. Amid registers and reports, the church remained a place where he experienced responsibility as a calling — perhaps also an answer to the grief at home.

A Time of Transition: Discharge, Education, and Enterprise

In the spring of 1845 his administrative career came to an end (honourable discharge as a commies on 7 May 1845). Around that period he formalised his file towards Batavia, after which he made the move to the private sector. He established a commission house, a trading office that handled transactions and services for third parties. From 8 August 1849 he received a pension (ƒ405 per year), but meanwhile remained captain and acting quartermaster with the schutterij. In November 1856 he requested honourable discharge as a member of the sub-committee for education (from 1839) — a sign that his focus was shifting.

A High Point in Trade: The Passoeroeansche Prauwenveer

In 1860 his entrepreneurial career reached its peak: he became a shareholder and board member of the "Passoeroeansche Prauwenveer" with 7 shares at ƒ1,000 each — nearly 5% of the capital, a considerable fortune for the time. The enterprise had a family character: his brother Andreas Albert Jacobsz werkte er als bootmeester, terwijl de grootste aandeelhouder Johannes Fredrik Mentel via zijn schoonfamilie aan de Jacobsz’en was verbonden. In hetzelfde jaar ontving Johan Frederik eervol ontslag bij de schutterij, met de uitzonderlijke toestemming zijn uniform te blijven dragen—een zichtbaar eerbetoon aan jaren dienst en een stille erkenning van zijn rol als verbindingsfiguur in de stad.

Final Years and Legacy

Johan Frederik Jacobsz died on 8 December 1866 in Soerabaija, aged sixty-eight. His life spans nearly half a century in which administration, trade, defence, pastoral care, and intercultural exchange came together. In death notices — such as those of Jeannette (Javasche Courant, 28 May 1845) and Frederika Charlotta Marianne (6 January 1847) — one sees how his sense of duty and personal losses continued to touch each other: registers as a mirror of a house with empty chairs.

His son Johannes Albertus followed in his footsteps as a clerk in Bondowoso and later Bezoeki; Willem Frederik chose the military path. Thus the family continued the double line: paper and parade, administration and order. In that field of tension, Johan Frederik was no impassive official but a bridge: between European and Javanese, town and hinterland, church pew and barracks — a man of ink and uniform alike. Even when he took his leave, that uniform remained his — as a tangible symbol of a life that carefully connected the lines between worlds.

Willem Frederik Jacobsz: From Soldier to Toll Keeper

Whilst Johan Frederik Jacobsz dedicated his life to colonial administration, his children chose divergent paths. Some followed his administrative route, others found their calling in the army. One of them, Willem Frederik Jacobsz, joined the KNIL and led a life in sharp contrast to that of his father. Whilst Johan Frederik sought stability and structure in archives and registers, Willem Frederik entered a world of discipline, conflict, and uncertainty.

A Soldier in the KNIL

6 March 1853. Willem Frederik Jacobsz enlisted in Soerabaja as a soldier with the KNIL. He was assigned to the 14th battalion of infantry, a unit constantly deployed in the colonial wars and uprisings that beset the archipelago. For many Indo-Europeans, the army offered a form of security in a society in which they were perpetually required to prove themselves. Perhaps the stories of his grandfather, the sailor Petrus Jacobsz, also played a part — the sea and the soldier's life had, after all, always been woven into the family.

Yet conditions in the army were harsh. Tropical diseases, exhausting campaigns, and the brutal climate made a soldier's life pitiless. Uprisings, guerrilla wars, and military punitive expeditions were the order of the day. As a soldier, Willem Frederik fought not only against the enemies of colonial rule but also against the tropical elements that could be every bit as deadly as bayonets. For his lengthy service he was awarded the bronze medal — a tangible recognition of his commitment.

Willem Frederik Jacobsz "in het Stamboek bij den Generalen Staf." Source: National Archives The Hague (NL-HaNA_2.10.50_350_0174).

A New Life as a Civilian

After six years of service, Willem Frederik was honourably discharged on 30 April 1859. By disposition of the military authority he received a passport, with which a month later in Pasoeroean he bid a definitive farewell to the soldier's life. The transition to civilian life was nothing short of a culture shock: from marching through jungle to waiting in dusty offices, from the whizz of bullets to the scratch of a quill, from the stench of gunpowder and blood to the smell of ink and paper.

He found work as a clerk and barrier keeper at the toll office in Pasoeroean — a modest but stable post. No more sabre at his side, no more orders to carry out. Instead he now stood at the wooden barrier of the toll office, where merchants with heavily laden carts waited for permission to pass through. The smell of spices, timber, and damp rice sacks hung in the air, whilst oxen slowly drew their loads towards the town. His days consisted of checking travel documents, registering goods, and collecting toll fees. Some merchants paid without complaint; others tried to bribe him with a quick grin and a few coppers. How he responded? That perhaps depended on the day, the mood, or the subtle dance between rules and reality that kept the colonial administration in motion.

At dusk, as the heat of the day subsided, he closed the toll post and walked through the streets of Pasoeroean. The echo of hoofbeats on the cobblestones and the murmur of the market sounded different from the commands and marching songs of old. The soldier's life had shaped him, but now he had to be something else: a man of paper, of levies and registrations, of pen strokes rather than bayonet thrusts.

From Soldier to Father

Yet his future as a civilian did not stand alone. Before his discharge from the army, Willem Frederik had already become a father. In 1857 his eldest son, Willem Frederik Jacobsz, was born, and three years later followed George Albertus Jacobsz. These children, born outside a formal marriage, placed him in a complex position — both socially and practically. Perhaps it was precisely that fatherhood which played a role in his decision to leave the army: a soldier could be sent far from home for long periods, but a father needed to be there.

Two years after leaving the army, in 1861, he formally married Hendrica Wilhelmina Crabbé, daughter of a Belgian KNIL soldier and presumably a Javanese Christian woman. Whether the marriage was a matter of love, obligation, or pragmatism remains unclear, but it at least gave their children a legitimate status and a more solid foundation for the future.

The young family settled in Pasoeroean, where the early years of their marriage were marked by the birth of two more children: Elvira Audorata Jacobsz and Johan Hendrik Jacobsz. Their eldest son appeared set to continue the family tradition, whilst George Albertus would take a different path. Elvira grew up in a world in which women had to fight for their place, and Johan Hendrik would influence the family history in his own way.

But with the arrival of children, not only joy and hope grew, but also worry. Life in the colony was uncertain, and stability was never guaranteed.

His Final March

The toll of life in the tropics soon made itself felt. In 1866 Willem Frederik Jacobsz died at the age of only thirty-three. The precise cause of his premature death is unknown, but tropical diseases, harsh living conditions, and the after-effects of his military service all took their toll.

For his widow, Hendrica Wilhelmina Crabbé, an uncertain time began. Being left alone with four young children — aged only nine, six, four, and two — in a society without social safety nets meant she had to make difficult choices. She tried to keep the family together, but the reality of her situation forced her to a heartbreaking decision. Her eldest son, Willem Frederik, still a boy, was sent to the Korps Pupillen in Gombong — a boarding school for orphans of deceased KNIL soldiers. There he received a strict upbringing, focused on discipline and military training, a route that for many in his position offered the only certainty.

Meanwhile, his brothers and sister tried to find their own way. George Albertus would establish a family and have three daughters, whilst Elvira Audorata reached the respectable age of seventy-one.

With the death of Willem Frederik, his journey came to an abrupt end, but his family continued to hold their ground in a world where their position was becoming ever less self-evident. The generations that followed would have to find their way again — balancing between administration, military service, and a colonial system that was on the verge of collapse.

Johan Hendrik Jacobsz: A Life on the Rails

Johan Hendrik Jacobsz was born on Friday, 25 November 1864 in Pasoeroean, the son of Willem Frederik Jacobsz and Hendrica Wilhelmina Crabbé. His father had served as a sergeant in the KNIL and later filled a modest administrative post. But Johan Hendrik would take a different path — one that would carry him across Java, through villages, towns, and endless railway lines. His life was shaped, both literally and figuratively, by the rails of the Dutch East Indies State Railways (SS).

The construction of the railways transformed Java profoundly. What had once taken days of travel on horseback or by prau could now be covered in a few hours by train. For the colonial administration, the railways were an instrument of control and efficiency; for merchants, a gateway to new markets. But for people like Johan Hendrik, an Indo-European man seeking a stable career, it was a chance at a secure future.

Station Clerk in a Changing World

Johan Hendrik begon zijn carrière als assistent-klerk bij de SS, een functie die hem vanaf jonge leeftijd blootstelde aan de ritmische cadans van de locomotieven, het geschreeuw van stationsmedewerkers en de geur van hete stoommachines. Zijn dagen bestonden uit het afstempelen van tickets, het opstellen van treinschema’s en het bijhouden van goederenlijsten. De stations waren knooppunten van bedrijvigheid—handelaars uit het binnenland brachten hun waren naar de markt, Europese ingenieurs bespraken uitbreidingen van het netwerk, en inheemse arbeiders laadden zakken suiker en balen tabak op de wagons, terwijl stoom en kolendampen zich vermengden met de geur van vers gemalen koffie.

With diligence and discipline, Johan Hendrik worked his way up to station clerk. His work took him from Bondowoso to Sidoardjo, from Bandoeng to Batavia. Wherever he went, he had to adapt repeatedly to new surroundings, new communities, and new working conditions. For his children this meant a childhood of constant moves, forever adjusting to new homes, new schools, and new people. The SS offered stability in work, but not in dwelling place.

A Family on the Move

In 1891 Johan Hendrik married in Malang at the age of twenty-seven, wedding the seventeen-year-old Wilhelmina Cornelia Cécilia de la Croix. She came from a family with roots stretching back to the VOC era. Together they had twelve children, born in various places scattered across Java, from Buitenzorg and Bandoeng in the Preanger Regencies to Djombang and Pasoeroean in East Java.

As he travelled by rail from town to town, Johan Hendrik watched the landscape of Java change. Small villages became towns, new stations rose from the ground, and with each new railway line the balance of power in the colony shifted. He saw trains requisitioned by the army during armed conflicts, saw how native labourers did the work for low wages, and how Europeans maintained control over the ever-growing railway network.

Johan Hendrik Jacobsz with his wife Wilhelmina Cornelia Cécilia de la Croix (c. 1920–1930). Source: Silvia Magdalena Jacobsz (Meiske), donated by her son Martin Boon.

A Trail of Memories

Johan Hendrik died on Thursday, 17 October 1935 in Soerabaja, after a life marked by movement — not only literally along the railway lines, but also by the historical changes he had witnessed. He had seen the rise of the railways and the modernisation of Java, but also the growing tensions between the colonial rulers and the native population. He had raised his children in a colony that he took for granted, not knowing that it was on the verge of collapse.

His sons and daughters carried his legacy forward. Some continued to work within the administrative and technical services of the SS, others sought their fortune in trade and industry. But whilst they built their lives in the colony, their generation was unknowingly heading towards a storm that would change everything: the Japanese occupation, Indonesian independence, and the forced migration to the Netherlands.

The rails on which Johan Hendrik had worked all his life once brought progress and connection. But for his sons, those same railway lines were assigned a different fate — not a route to work and prosperity, but a road to internment camps and forced labour under the Japanese occupation. And when the war was over, the trains did not bring them home, but to ships that carried them away to a cold and alien land. What had once been a family deeply rooted in the colony was, within a single generation, torn from the ground on which they had always stood.

A Storm Approaching

When Johan Hendrik Jacobsz died in 1935, he left behind a family firmly rooted in the colony. His children and grandchildren grew up in a world in which colonial society, despite its tensions, felt like a fixed certainty. The Dutch ruled, Indo-Europeans held key positions, and the native population was largely subordinate. But beneath the surface, a change was brewing that was inevitable.

In 1942, seven years after the death of Johan Hendrik, the entire world in which his family felt safe fell apart. The Japanese armies, which had already brought large parts of Asia under their control, invaded the Dutch East Indies. Within a few months the colony had fallen. The Netherlands could do little; what followed was an occupation that overturned the colonial structures and struck the Indo-European community without mercy.

Camps, Hunger, and Fear

For many Indo-Europeans, the Japanese occupation meant captivity. Tens of thousands of men, women, and children were locked up in internment camps, where they suffered from food shortages, forced labour, and disease. Families were separated, fathers and sons were taken away as prisoners of war, and women and children had to try to survive in camps that were barely habitable.

Within the Jacobsz family, the impact of the war was devastating. Various family members were interned, whilst others tried to survive outside the camps. The Japanese occupation made no distinction: Indo-Europeans, who had previously been a privileged group in the colony, were now oppressed just as harshly as the Dutch themselves. The dividing line between coloniser and colonised blurred — but not in any way that anyone had hoped.

One name would forever be linked to this period in the family history: Francis Duncan Jacobsz.

Japanese internment card of Francis Duncan Jacobsz. Source: National Archives The Hague (NL-HaNA_2.10.50.03_434_0473s).

Francis Duncan Jacobsz: A Name Never Forgotten

Francis Duncan Jacobsz (Doh), was a son of Johan Hendrik Jacobsz and had before the war built a modest life as a factory worker in Garoet and Soerabaja. But when the war broke out, his life changed for ever.

Like many other men, Grandpa Doh was called up for service in the Landstorm, a military reserve unit. He was stationed with the 2nd company of Landstorm troops. But against the overwhelming Japanese forces there was little to be done. Within a short time, most Dutch and Indo-European troops were captured and transported to labour camps scattered across South-East Asia.

One of them was our Grandpa Doh. He was deported to Thailand and forced to work under inhumane conditions on the infamous Burma Railway, a death line where prisoners of war were compelled to build a railway through the jungle for the Japanese war effort. The prisoners were exposed to tropical diseases, starvation, and mistreatment by their guards. Those who did not work were beaten. Those who were not strong enough were left to die.

Grandpa Doh did not survive. In a strange, hostile land, weakened by hunger and disease, he succumbed — far from home, without the warmth of his family around him. His name did not disappear into history, but remained as an echo in our family, a pain that never fully goes away. He died on a railway built on the blood and tears of thousands of fellow sufferers, a road he would never have wished to walk himself. His life was taken from him, but his memory lives on in us. Every time his name is spoken, every time his story is told, he is briefly brought back — not as a prisoner of war, but as the man he was: a son, a father, a husband, and above all, our grandfather.

Francis Duncan Jacobsz with his sister Hermien Elizabeth Jacobsz (c. 1920–1930). Source: Silvia Magdalena Jacobsz (Meiske), donated by her son Martin Boon.

The Chaos of Liberation

In 1945 the war ended with the Japanese capitulation. But what for many represented liberation was for Indo-Europeans in the Dutch East Indies merely the beginning of a new nightmare.

Whilst the Dutch government tried to reclaim its colony, an independence struggle broke out. Indonesian nationalists, who saw their opportunity after the Japanese occupation, declared independence. What followed was a bloody period of violence and uncertainty: the Bersiap.

In these chaotic months, Indo-Europeans became the target of revenge and ethnic violence. Their position in the colony was already precarious — they were too Dutch for Indonesia, and too Indies for the Netherlands. Many were attacked, driven out, or murdered. The Dutch government, still recovering from the war in Europe, offered little protection.

For Silvia Magdalena Jacobsz (Meiske) and her brothers and sisters, this meant a dangerous flight in the dead of night. Their mother, Juliana Everine Rommers, widow of Francis Duncan Jacobsz, dragged them forward on a suitcase through the sodden rice paddies. The smell of wet earth and rice plants hung heavy in the air, mingled with the piercing, metallic smell of fear.

In the distance came shouting, interspersed with dull thuds — gunshots or insurgent voices, they dared not know. Crickets and frogs fell silent at every movement in the undergrowth, as though even nature held its breath. Every step through the mud sounded too loud in their ears; every creak of a reed felt like a possible death sentence. The damp night air clung to their skin, whilst their mother with weary arms kept pulling, her breathing uneven and laboured.

Before them lay only darkness; behind them the life they had known — and that would never be the same again.

In 1949 the sovereignty of Indonesia was formally transferred to the Republic of Indonesia. The colony that had been the home of the Jacobsz family for generations ceased to exist. Many faced a choice that was as simple as it was cruel: remain and become Indonesian, or depart for the Netherlands — a country they knew only from postage stamps and schoolbooks.

For the Jacobsz family this meant the definitive end of their life in the Indies. Where they had lived, worked, and founded families for generations, they were now strangers in their own native land. The world of their ancestors — Petrus Jacobsz, Johan Frederik Jacobsz, Willem Frederik Jacobsz — was no more.

The Circle Closed

The ancestors of Petrus Jacobsz once came from overseas to the Dutch East Indies. They settled, adapted, and called the archipelago their home. For generations the family grew in the tropical warmth, in the shadow of majestic mountains and swaying palms, until history reversed itself. Now it was their descendants who crossed an ocean once more. Not as explorers, but as displaced people. Forced to face a new world, without knowing what awaited them there.

What began as a forced migration ended in a dispersal across the entire world. Where their roots had been firmly in the Indies, the Jacobsz family now spread out to new destinations. From the Veluwe, through the polders and dunes of Noord-Holland, via the ports of Rotterdam to the sea winds of Den Helder. Some went further, along the broad rivers of Dutch New Guinea, to the skyscrapers of Kuala Lumpur and the highlands of Scotland. Others found a home in the vast landscapes of Texas and Florida, on the sun-drenched coasts of Hawaii and California, or amongst the green hills of Vermont and the icy winters of Ohio and Minnesota. Thus their legacy was scattered — a family divided across continents but united by a shared past.

They adapted, just as their ancestors had once done. They learned to brave the winter cold and found their way in an unknown land. But much remained unspoken. About the camps, the humiliations, the fear that never quite went away. The past weighed on their shoulders, in stories too painful to tell — silenced but never forgotten.

Perhaps that is the fate of the Jacobsz family: always on the move, always searching for a home, with a heart that quietly beats in two worlds. My grandmother Ans once summed it up in a cryptic sentence: "We are descended from princesses and pirates." What once sounded like a playful remark contains more truth than it appears. We are indeed descendants of VOC sailors — the pirates of their time — and native ancestresses from numerous kingdoms.