Four thousand people met Maria and her mother when they arrived at the Dutch airport.

They proceeded as soon as possible to the Hertogh home, 26 Emmaplein, on the outskirts of Bergen-op-Zoom. It was a four-bedroomed redbrick, terrace house, with a steeply-pitched roof of red tiles.

For Maria, it was a traumatic and sudden transition from one world to another, forced upon her in circumstances drenched with emotion, fanaticism and, in the end, blood.

At first Maria was aloof, suspicious and afraid, even with her own family. She could talk only to her mother, the only one who understood Malay. She ignored her father, now a £6 a week military pensioner. She hated the family food – potatoes, meat, bread, sausages, cheese – and demanded rice with every meal, which her mother, brought up in Java, gave her. “Where is the Mosque?” she asked, and went on saying her prayers five times a day.

There were fears for her safety. It was thought she might be kidnapped and taken back to Singapore. A policeman was assigned to escort her whenever she went out. The house was kept under surveillance. A telephone was installed there on police orders so that anything suspicious could be immediately reported. Strangers to the town were questioned.

Slowly, Maria began to adjust to her new environment. A nun came daily to teach her Dutch until she was able to go to the local convent school with girls of her own age. She did reasonably well at the primary stage and moved on to another school to learn professional dressmaking. Neighbours clubbed together and gave her a new bicycle. When she went riding, her father or her police escort went with her. She began to attend Mass with her family.

She shared a bedroom with her two older sisters. Gradually they learned to communicate. One thing she told them was: “I never really lived the life of a married woman. I just got married and went back to Aminah.”