Rudy Thümann with his handmade family coat of arms on 24 January 2026.

My father Rudy stands at the workbench. Before him lies a piece of wood. In his hand, a small chisel. Slowly he carves the outlines of a coat of arms that until then had existed only on paper. Now it becomes something you can hold.

Last year, family members at our reunion received cheese boards and keyrings bearing the coat of arms. Small, tangible mementoes of who we are and where we come from.

This coat of arms is the work of three generations. I began with a sketch. Rob gave it digital form and surrounded it with clean lines. My father carved it from wood. None of the three of us did it alone. And that is exactly as it should be for a symbol intended to capture something shared.

Sketch and concept by Jeffrey Thümann. Digital vector file by Rob Otterspeer.

Photographs of Rudy Thümann show the carving process.

Origins

The Alsatian Thumann family never had a European coat of arms. Our forebears led a modest existence as farmers and brewers. We had no heraldic shield or family tradition in heraldry. But a family history we had in abundance. And that history deserved a face.

This coat of arms is not for the entire Thumann family. It is for our branch. The Indies branch. The branch that began when Antoine Thumann left Alsace behind and made the crossing to the East. His only child, Anton Herman Gerard Hendrik Thümann, was born there. From him we all descend. Every one of us.

That split is even reflected in the name. The Alsatian Thumanns write their name without an umlaut. We, the oriental branch, write Thümann. With the two dots above the u that silently tell a story.

What the shield tells

The shield is divided by a T-shape — a quiet reference to our name, and at the same time the foundation upon which everything rests.

The anchor stands for Antoine, the man who left Alsace behind and made the crossing to the East. For his resolve, and for a life that would henceforth unfold between two worlds. The keris stands for the other side of that world: the spiritual and cultural inheritance of our Javanese ancestress Sariena.

Then the pickaxe. My grandfather Charles drew it himself. It is the rawest symbol on the coat of arms, and that is entirely deliberate. It stands for the generations who were forced into labour under Japanese rule during the Second World War. For the pain and grief passed down to the post-war generations. Whether you wished it or not. This coat of arms sweetens nothing.

Above the shield sits the KNIL helmet as a crest: a reference to the military tradition known to every generation of Thümanns in the Indies. And for those who look closely: the pana flower, as a quiet greeting to Josina, to the Akolos, to the Ruspanas of Nusa Ina.

Closing words

This coat of arms lays no claim to nobility. It lays claim to remembrance.

Indies families must often create their own symbols. Official archives are fragmented, lines have faded, stories risk being lost. This coat of arms is our answer to that. It is an anchor point. For our children, our grandchildren, for everyone who one day wishes to know who the Thümanns were.