Nobody in the little (pop. 6,000) Netherlands town of Borculo knows anyone in Warren, Ark. personally. Nevertheless, last month the farmers, laborers, and shopkeepers of Borculo felt a sudden close kinship with the citizens of Warren. Fat, jolly Burgomaster Paul Drost had just told them what he had heard from his friend Cnoop Koopmans, the Dutch consul general in New York. Warren, Koopmans wrote, had just been struck low by a tornado (TIME, Jan. 17). In Borculo there was scarcely an adult who did not remember vividly the time his town had met the same fate.
Lingerie on the Hedge. That twister (one of the worst in Holland's history) tore the roof off every house in Borculo on Aug. 10, 1925. The people of Borculo never forgot how their town's church bells turned up in somebody's bedroom, and how a housewife's lingerie, just unpacked, was found draped on hedges and window frames all over town.
Borculo's villagers remembered, too, that after the wind died down, they had needed help badly, and help had come from many quarters. Now, they thought, it was their turn to help. Around a big potbellied stove in Harry Tijdink's tavern, an "Aid Warren Committee" promptly met to talk it over. "At least," said Drost, "we can show our sympathy in something more than words." "Right," agreed Farmer Jan Dave, as the campaign got under way. "Our help won't amount to much. But the nice thing is that it brings us all together and we forget our differences."
Doughnuts in the Kitchen. Soon all Borculo was working side by side at the project. At the committee table, the white-haired Protestant dominee rubbed shoulders with the boyish Catholic priest, the leader of the socialist youth movement, and the bald-headed director of the bank. In Borculo kitchens, sweating huisvrouwen labored tirelessly, preparing thousands of doughnutlike oliebollen to sell for a quarter apiece. Every evening in the grammar-school gymnasium, lights burned far into the night while amateur Borculo acrobats sought in vain to match Butcher Bertus van Puffelen's marvelous tumbling feats. A crowd of giggling farm girls rehearsed a tableau vivant, and the village band started practicing The Stars and Stripes Forever. Under the leadership of hefty Grocer Albert Siebers, the rusty Achterhoekse Volksdansers (square dancing) society reconvened, to try out their old steps to the accompaniment of an accordion.
Last fortnight Borculo's efforts in aid of Warren reached a grand climax in four separate variety shows. With admission fees and the oliebollen sale at intermissions, they grossed 2,200 gulden ($830), more than twice what the committee hoped for. Even that, Borculo admitted, would not help much financially, but already the villagers had a scheme in mind to spend it so that all the citizens of resurrected Warren might benefit. They would turn it to furniture for a public building. Cabinetmaker Groot Landeweer thought a sturdy oak chair carved with Borculo's coat of arms would make a good item. Parchmentmaker Nathan Elzas put aside a particularly fine calfskin. That, he was certain, could be turned into several lampshades that would be just right for Warren.