Leonardus Sonnemans

This memorial page is dedicated to Leonardus Sonnemans, one of more than 725 war victims connected to the municipality of Deurne documented by Stichting Oorlogsslachtoffers. The municipality of Deurne and the surrounding villages of Liessel, Vlierden, Helenaveen, Neerkant and Zeilberg were liberated in the autumn of 1944 during heavy fighting. Victims fell on all sides: Allied soldiers from countries such as the United Kingdom, the United States, Canada and New Zealand, and German soldiers.

But the archive covers more than just the combat victims on Deurne soil. Residents of Deurne who lost their lives elsewhere are also commemorated: civilians who were murdered in concentration camps, forced labourers who died in Germany, people who were executed or succumbed to the effects of persecution and oppression. In addition, residents of Deurne who entered German military service and were killed elsewhere are also included.

Stichting Oorlogsslachtoffers has been documenting the story of all these people since 1995, without distinction of nationality, side or background. The goal is to give every person a name and a face, and to keep their memory alive.

Additional information

Son of Mathijs Sonnemans and Elisabeth Hubertina Busschops, widow of Petronella Smets.

Eyewitness account by Riet van Oijen-Sonnemans, who lived through the war from the age of 10 to 14 with her parents in the hamlet of ‘de Sjans’, near Neerkant on the Scheper Jannebaan, a side street off the Vuurlinie. The farm was situated a stone’s throw from the boundary between Neerkant and Meijel and close to the Deurne canal, behind which the Germans were positioned during this period in 1944; in fact, they were right in the thick of the fighting! There were 18 of them – many of them children – crammed into a round silo, with their feet pointing towards the centre and their backs against the concrete wall.

“On the morning of 5 November, all hell broke loose; the noise was deafening. When the smell of burning drifted into the silo, Dad peered round the corner of the entrance and realised that our house was on fire. The Germans had promised him they would release the livestock if a fire broke out, but that didn’t happen… they must have had other things on their minds. The air-raid shelter is situated on a patch of undeveloped land,

a metre higher than the rest of the field, amongst the bushes. Germans have dug in all around the shelter; our silo isn’t being hit – perhaps the British know there are civilians inside it.

Early in the morning, three Germans fled into our shelter. We came under fire immediately and could hear the shrapnel striking the outer wall. Father tries to persuade the Germans to come out and surrender, but they won’t hear of it. Meanwhile, the straw on the roof catches fire, but it is put out. Despite the Germans’ protests, Father wants to go outside waving a white cloth in the hope that the shooting will then stop. At that moment, we take a direct hit. Half the roof collapses and Father and Uncle Graard are wounded. One of the Germans has a piece of shrapnel lodged in his throat and is dragged outside by the other two, where he dies; the other two are shot outside. Uncle Graard’s son Martien goes missing; he has been buried under the sand. He is dug out with bare hands and, after a while, regains consciousness.

Father turns out to be the most seriously injured of them all; both his upper arms, his right shoulder and his chest have been struck by shrapnel. Uncle Graard has been hit on his right wrist, his nose, a finger on his left hand and his head. An English medic enters the silo and examines the wounded; using gestures, he makes it clear to Nellie Verstegen that she must cut the sleeves off my father’s clothes with a knife he hands her, before disappearing again to tend to his own soldiers.

Later that day, a German soldier seeks shelter from the cold and rain with us. His uniform is soaked through with blood and he dies after a gruesome death throes. It starts to rain harder and harder, and because half the roof has collapsed, it is impossible for us all to stay dry. Fortunately,

our barn is still standing, and we crawl over there, with Uncle Graard leading the way, to take shelter. Father cannot come with us, so I stay with him, along with Mother and Aunt Antje. We have to lie down every time the shells and bullets strike nearby.

The next morning, we are picked up by British soldiers; a doctor comes to examine Father, who is in a serious condition due to blood loss. Soldiers led us through the minefield, where a path had been cleared, to the village of Neerkant and later on to the hospital in Helmond. The sadness of the journey through the deserted and devastated village is beyond description. And so ended 5 November 1944: the entire farm, with the exception of a detached barn, burnt to the ground. The livestock and the horse also perished in the flames. Naturally, all our household effects were lost as well. We had nothing but the clothes on our backs. Father lived for another month. He probably died because he had been lying in the filthy air-raid shelter for too long. Uncle Graard had to have an arm amputated, which meant he had to give up his job as a lorry driver.”

Memorial card

Joint memorial card

Death register

View all persons in the category: Residents of Deurne who died outside Deurne