Diary Of An Archaeologist - Wattys 2019 Non-fiction Winner

That Time I Told The Tragedy Of A Colleague

Halloween is coming up, and besides holding an Archaeological Halloween Contest (check the previous chapter if you want to join), I wanted to tell you guys a spooky story this week.

But besides my experience in Oslo, I don't have any paranormal experiences. And the more I thought about it, the more I realised that I never really heard any ghost stories of other archaeologists either. After my experiences in Akershus, I relayed the story to my boss at the time who warned me that I should really keep those kinds of things to myself if I want to remain my credibility. Back then, I didn't think much of it. And although that experience opened me up to the possibility, I am still quite a sceptical person when it comes to the supernatural.

I don't think that every house in which someone has died is haunted. While writing this, I actually looked up the history of my current residency, and I could already find a dozen deaths in the last century within these walls. I'm still waiting for that ghost party, Disney's haunted mansion style, to live it up in my living room.

But all jokes aside, scepticism is what I want to talk about today. That, and how it can affect someone's career.

As I told in the chapter 'We All Have An Archaeologist In Us' during the building of a new metro line in Amsterdam I worked mostly with the public and helped to explain and educate people about the history of the city and archaeology in general. But the project itself involved way more people, from many fields working together to build this new line without disrupting the historical city. To say it was a massive operation would be an understatement. My job was exclusively outside of the excavation/construction site, but one of my old classmates Kimberly worked on-site and kept me up to date. She is okay with me telling this story but doesn't want her function to be made public for privacy reasons.

So, let's just cut to the chase and let me tell you about the night she came to my apartment and asked me to retell her my experience in Akershus. She was one of the few people I ever told that story to, and the way she asked me was so dead serious that it made me suspicious. So, I asked her why she wanted to hear it again.

Reluctantly she started to tell me that one of the civil engineers on her team had been acting strangely ever since they started working on the east part of the foundation of the Rijksmuseum.

The museum itself was built in 1885 by renowned architect P.J.H. Cuypers. Still, the underground depot is partially mixed with the remains of older sewer tunnels, and this mixture had to be thoroughly checked to make sure the building wouldn't subside during the construction of the metro which passed fairly close.

This is where the engineer in question came in the picture. A large, no-nonsense man who worked like a dog in stoic silence, with seemingly no sense of humour nor fear. I had heard Kimberly complain about him before, mostly about how the man should lighten up a bit since the place was already dark enough, but this time it was different.

She told me how that afternoon the man had gone down with her to the depot, and he was adamant about surveying the east section of the tunnels and decide where repairs were most pressing. Kimberly was hesitant since the rest of the team was still finishing up on the Southside, and their two-way radios used for communication had been playing up due to interference, probably produced by nearby metallic deposits in the ground. She wanted to focus on the section they were working on now, but he pressed her that time was of the essence and that he would go down himself attached to a rope if she guided him with the map via radio.

Peer pressure got to her, and she agreed to a plan that was way too dangerous, all for the sake of time.

So, with a hard hat, headlamp and the assessment map, he descended into the abandoned sewers. A dank and isolated place in which one can quickly lose their way or their mind.

Kimberly continued her story only after I promised to listen until the end before I judged. Which I did, and I would like to ask you, my reader, to do the same. You shouldn't go into an isolated place like that alone, you shouldn't give in to peer pressure, but we are people, and people make mistakes.

After the man entered the tunnel, Kimberly communicated with him about where he was, and he told her what kind of damage he observed, and what they had to do about it. She noted it down on the map, and they managed to cover quite a bit of ground this way. The radio would have some static interference now and again, but overall Kimberly was actually pleased with how quickly they worked like this.

All that changed when she started to hear the man mumble in German but interference on the radio began to play up to the point where she couldn't make out what he was saying. The static changed to a quiet buzz, but still no response from the engineer. Until the buzz was cut by two gunshots, followed by a blood-curdling scream.

Kimberly ran to the rope, pulling at it, shouting to the man to leave the passageway immediately, but there was no answer, and the cable didn't budge. Completely in panic mode, she got all the security and emergency services she could find to the tunnel.

A team of policemen went down, returning only a little while later with a shaking man. The engineer was found lying in a fetal position, unharmed, shaking all over and crying hysterically. When asked what happened down there, he would not talk of it. Only repeating one word over and over frantically: "Nazi".

Paramedics took him to the hospital, and he had been heavily medicated ever since. Kimberly went with the paramedics to the hospital refusing to leave the man's side until a psychologist told her that the man was probably suffering from PTSD, all the symptoms were there. Kimberly explained that she heard a gunshot over the radio and that there was weird mumbling before that.

But the psychologist brushed it off, saying that could have been a thousand other things, besides the man had a history of abuse which landed him in a foster home as a teenager. So, whatever had caused such trepidation and shock, was undoubtedly a simple case of idle superstition, and the quite understandable psychological toll of working in a dark, cramped and forgotten part of the world.

Still, Kimberly wasn't content with that explanation. Sure, it made perfect sense, but something seemed to be missing. Which is why she wanted to talk with me about it, knowing I would listen to her story without judgment.

We both know much of World War II, and it was something that hit close to home for Kimberly as is part Jewish and her great Grandfather had died during the holocaust. Many of the Jewish community had fled from Germany to Amsterdam for sanctuary from the Nazi regime in the early 1930s. Hoping to The Netherlands would remain neutral, like in World War I.
But sadly, Hitler's horrific 'final solution' eventually reached the Netherlands, and many thousands were sent away to those horrifying and barbaric concentration camps.

There are stories that some Jews went in hiding in the old sewer system of Amsterdam, hoping to be spared from the genocide. Nothing was ever confirmed, and still, Kimberly couldn't shake the feeling that something horrific must have happened to bring such a stoic man to tears.

For more than a year, she lived with the guilt of what happened that day, knowing her rash decision had put a man in a psychiatric hospital for six months. He eventually got back to work, from what we know, but will probably never be the same again.

A/N: I'm sorry that this is such a depressing story about many dark subjects, but I wanted to share it anyway. I hope you all have a lovely Halloween and share your story with me in the contest chapter. I can use something a little bit lighter after writing this.