Ode to dames Wendelaar | Who were these regents?

Dear ladies Wendelaar,

You make me curious and every time I cycle past your house, on Herengracht, or illegally along Leidsestraat, I think of you for a moment. That house used to be pointed out to me: ‘There, at number 434, that's where three unmarried sisters Wendelaar lived, you know, from that story of the carriage.’ That was my mother, who was a Wendelaar herself. Her grandfather Wendelaar had written a book about the family and sometimes she quoted from it. A house like that helps, then you remember for a moment that you really existed, three sisters. Was it cosy, having three sisters together in one house? You were the Amsterdam second cousins of my Amsterdam great-great-grandfather. You lived not far from my great-grandfather on the canal. Maybe he used to visit you for tea or something. To collect family stories.

According to my great-grandfather Wendelaar's book, you were ‘Amsterdammers of the highest order, high in faith, high in ancient civilisation; diamonds of the purest water’. You always gave generously, so generously that at one point you removed the nameplate from the door because there was a bit too much begging. That's the story my mother told me when we walked past your house, which now no longer has a front door with a high staircase; it was demolished at some point.

How you called each other I, unfortunately, don't know, I don't think you called each other by the full name: Johanna Benjamina (1843-1927), you may have been called ‘Jo’, Wilhelmina Laura (1845-1933), you may have been called ‘Willemien’ and who knows, you, Johanna Elisabeth (1846-1913) may have been called ‘Liesbeth’. But so we don't know that.

What we do know is the story of the carriage. You were in good standing because of your father's mercantile spirit. Wilhelmina Laura, you became regents of the Diaconie Oude Vrouwen- en Mannen- en Bestedingshuizen of the Dutch Reformed Church on the Amstel. Until the twentieth century, you met in eighteenth-century costumes. I picture one of those black dresses with a bulbous skirt, a white wagon wheel collar and a white lace cap, but I could be wrong. I would love to ask you again what it looked like, meanwhile I look at the paintings of regents and regentesses. I think it was a job of honour, granted, as it was granted to your aunt Alida Wendelaar before you.  

One cold day, so the story goes, you went to the meeting dressed in your costume. However, the Herengracht street was frozen and horse and carriage slipped and hit the water. Right? That's how it went, right? Of course, the alarm was immediately raised and bystanders came to the rescue. They were stunned when you were rescued from the carriage, in that silly suit. I imagine the black wide skirts floating on the water like air cushions and your head held up by the floating carriage wheel of a collar. You escaped with a scare, thankfully. How the horse ended up, the story does not tell. Do you remember? In any case, I can never cycle past that house without seeing that removed nameplate and those floating bulging skirts in the Moat. Forgotten benefactors. Was it really only because you were diamonds of the purest water? Was it because of faith that you were so generous? Or did you also want to buy something off with it? Shame because you had so much and others so little? Or was it mainly for fun, to have something to do. Because a woman was not allowed or not able to work and if you didn't have children, you had to do something. What did you do the rest of the day? Did you play games together, read books, make music? We don't know anything about it. That's why I like to think that every now and then you would invite your second cousin and his children to tea and that the little boy, my later great-grandfather, would ask: ‘Come on, auntie, tell that story again about the carriage that slid into the canal.