In 1944-45 my father lived on the eastern side of the river in Maastricht, not far from the railway station and the Bailey bridge that the US Army slung across the Maas for heavy artillery and troops on their way to Germany. He and all the other kids in the neighborhood had a lot to watch, and plenty of time to do it before the schools reopened.

Not surprisingly, that bridge had its own anti-aircraft battery stationed right there in my father’s neighborhood. The unit cooked for itself. Sometimes they made doughnuts. These were the kind that are called cake donuts, fry cakes or sometimes cider donuts. They’re plain rings of a cake like dough of flour, baking powder, cinnamon, sugar, eggs and milk fried in oil until they’re crispy on the outside and cake-y on the inside. Every American has had them. They’re good for dunking in coffee or cider.

The Pied Piper himself could not have put out a more compelling call to the neighborhood children than the smell of frying doughnuts. Every time my father and every other kid downwind of the anti-aircraft guns came running toward the smell of doughnuts, the GI who was frying them up passed them out.

I can’t ask my grandmother, but there’s a good chance that she and the other mothers appreciated the gift of doughnuts given to their children even more than the kids who ate them did.

Happy Holidays to that American GI who shared the donuts with the local kids, and all his family, from a Dutch boy who still remembers the kindness, and all his family.