Behind Heath Walls
Behind the heather walls
On a sunny day, I was handed a piece of paper at Athena Ossendrecht. It wasn't a bill or a shopping list, but something much more fragile: a yellowed newspaper clipping... (read here)
The donor was a man about my age. As a child, he had spent many summers on the grounds. He found the clipping while cleaning out his parents' house. His father, an Athena member avant la lettre, had recently passed away. He had camped at Ossendrecht for years with his family and caravan.
“My father always kept this. It was lying there among papers, photos, and old bills." A full page from the newspaper De Stem from Saturday, July 6, 1968, with the headline in large letters: "NUDISTS in Ossendrecht." Above it, in small, more poetic letters: "It takes no more courage than for the first waltz on the big dance floor."
The awkward journalist
The journalist opens ironically: "Ossendrecht—they call themselves naturists." You immediately sense where he's coming from: curiosity in one hand, discomfort in the other. The article reads like a curious cocktail of reportage, anthropological fieldwork, and a desperate attempt to act normal.
Here and there are small boxes and subheadings that today seem more touching than shocking:
- Ideology: "The naked body is the symbol of purity."
- Camp manager: "We strictly adhere to the rules."
- Mayor: "We continue to find it abnormal."
- Athena: "Outing for the air force and army."
Henriëtte, 24, shows the journalist around the site. You can sense that he is struggling to comprehend it all: he observes, judges, admires, partially understands, and is simultaneously impressed. He is in a journalistic quandary.
What is this place? A well-organized site with a swimming pool, playgrounds, and volunteers who know each other by name. He seems to frown subtly. You can sense the spirit of the times, the taboo, the confusion of someone who finds themselves behind a mysterious wall. In a place where the strangest rumors circulated: left-wing revolutionary groups, sectarian rituals, and even Nazi reunions. In 1968, people were particularly flexible with their nightmares... In that climate, a naturist site must have been pure science fiction.
In 1968, Athena Ossendrecht was already a phenomenon.
The journalist estimates that there were around 2,000 people on the site. He is impressed by what he calls 'the camp': built by naturists, with their own resources and incredible dedication. Pioneering work by Lambrechts and countless enthusiasts. At the time, Athena was larger than all the naturist associations in the Netherlands and Belgium combined. The journalist's disbelief gradually gives way to respect.
He learns that the nearby military base attracts a steady stream of curious recruits. They are invariably intercepted by the military police in the no man's land between two fences. You can just picture it: binoculars, helmets on, nervous laughter. "You go take a closer look... I don't dare."
Against the all-pervasive taboo
What is particularly striking is how pervasive the taboo still was at that time. Athena Ossendrecht existed for almost fifteen years without a camping permit. Not because the site was not up to standard, but because the Provincial Executive felt that 'nudist camping is contrary to the philosophical beliefs of the vast majority and the moral standards that apply locally'.
In other words: people didn't know what to make of it, so it was blocked.
Only after years of insistence, argumentation, pleading, and undoubtedly a considerable amount of diplomacy did permission finally come. The time had come. So had the minds.
Perhaps the funniest part of the article is this: the journalist predicted that naturism had no future in the Netherlands. Oh well. People also predicted that cassette tapes would last forever.
2025, almost sixty years later
Today, the swimming pool still lies behind the same trees. The sun still shines down on young and mature skin, pale or tanned, firm and soft.
And I feel enormously grateful for the clipping I received. It is a historical document that takes us back to the early years of Athena—to what the site looked like, how it was experienced, and how the outside world looked at it with wide eyes.
So beautiful that it was preserved. Someone thought it was worth keeping. That someone was the father of the man who gave me the clipping. An Athena member, camper, pioneer without calling himself that. His son found it and brought it to the place it refers to. Ossendrecht.
I hope to bump into that kind man again here on the grounds, so that I can thank him properly, ask his name, and reminisce about some cherished memories with him. Until then, he will remain the man who did something small—passing on a found clipping—that has led to a great story being cherished.
The demolition of the wall
I also feel grateful for the quiet interplay of time, memory, and human courage that is necessary for a place like Athena to exist. For the people who swam against the tide in 1968. For the journalist who—hesitantly but bravely—put the history of Ossendrecht down on paper.
And for everyone who, consciously or unconsciously, has since broken down a piece of that wall of prejudice. For every volunteer who ever contributed, for every visitor who overcame their hesitation at the gate, for every camper who thought: let me just be myself here.
It is thanks to all those people—visible and invisible—that Athena still breathes freedom today.
Read the full article from 1968 here