Feel-good job at the Vrijthof: One evening as a piccolo (usher) at Rieu's De Limburger, July 17, 2025, by Ronald Colée Photos: Julia Penninga Translated by Ineke, edited by Diana D. Le What would it be like to be a piccolo at André Rieu's Vrijthof concerts? Reporter Ronald Colée (58) put it to the test and spent an evening with them. "I'd like to date you." "I'd like to date you too, ma'am." I soon discovered that you can have as much to do as you like. Ronald Colée, reporter and piccolo for one evening at André Rieu's. Would they even have a suit for a 1.95-meter-tall piccolo, with trousers measuring 36 cm in length, 7 cm in sleeves, and a head circumference of 61 centimeters? That's the big question when I report to dressmaker Gosia Tarnowski of the Johann Strauss Orchestra at 10 am. It doesn't seem likely at first, because with the first jackets, I'm 10 centimeters short of buttoning them up, and the first trousers have to be made bigger in four places. But it's not without reason that the members of the Johann Strauss Orchestra credit the 49-year-old Polish woman with textile magic. She actually finds a jacket that fits perfectly, that even needs to be taken in at three places (!), but only the sleeves are a good 10 centimeters too short. "I can fix that." She also finds a pair of trousers from somewhere in the attic that don't need alteration, even though they look more like Bermuda shorts. But at 5 pm, my suit is ready, including a hat with the chin strap secured at maximum length. Seventy Euros I'm not the only one showing up that afternoon in the upstairs room of the Theater aan het Vrijthof. Fifty-seven piccolos are also gathering there. The vast majority are half—or even a third—my age. Scouts, musicians, and students. They're using this to boost their club's coffers or earn seventy Euros themselves. Apparently, I'm more impressed by the task ahead of me than I anticipated, as I neatly change in the restroom and a whole lot of women come to take a look. Wrong door. I should have taken the other one. A little later, piccolo-coordinator Britty van der Leeuw (25) announces the assignments and it turns out I'll be standing with seven others at Gate 6. Right in front of the stage. In the corner near the restrooms, the bar, and the wheelchair and walker parking area. Huh? A wheelchair and walker parking area? Do they have those at the Vrijthof concerts too? MAX Memory Trainer (name of a tv-show for seniors) Tracked with information, this old-school journalist without a notepad, feels like a contestant on MAX Memory Trainer. My last ballroom dance lesson dates back to 1985, the Macarena turns out to have four more moves than I've ever done, and when I'm told the route that the Sainte Cécile Marching Band from Eijsden will take at 8:15 pm, it feels like my first trigonometry lesson in high school. Yet, it's not all doom and gloom for me, because when the boys and girls around me discover that I speak German fluently, they collectively breathe a sigh of relief. "Oh, how nice. We'll send those fans to you." I think for the first time tonight: Fine, I can still be of value. When the gates of the Vrijthof square open at 6:30 pm, it turns out – compared to the sheer volume of information – that the workload isn't so bad. I soon discover that you can have as much to do as you like. If you obediently stay put, you'll be asked for a series of selfies at most, but if you actively approach visitors and ask them if they can find their section, row, and seat, you're doing a great job. Stickered walkers The piccolos from the other five gates soon arrive to hand in the first stickered walkers and folding wheelchairs, which are sorted by even and odd numbers by two Gate 6 colleagues, Wietse and Julia. As it approaches nine o'clock and the concert is about to begin, the parking lot, with around two hundred assistive devices, is quite full. At that time, together with Mirthe and Eva, I've already experienced the first highlight of the evening: clapping kindly in time to clear the way for the Marching Band from Eijsden, making our way along and across the Vrijthof square. Along the way, I spot few friends and acquaintances, but I do see Emma Wortelboer sitting on the terrace, and actor Buddy Vedder is also catching a Rieu evening. Red suit Sorry Emma and Buddy, but for once you really pale in comparison to that middle-aged woman on the terrace at In den ouden Vogelstruys (Vrijthof café) who, on our first visit, says she'd like to date me. What a difference a red suit makes. I politely reply: "I'd like to date you too, ma'am." To her husband's amusement. I didn't realize that the band's route passes this terrace twice more. And sure enough, on the second and third visits, she was already eagerly awaiting at my arrival and waving enthusiastically. A flirt at 58. Things can happen. Pee Guard/Pee Chain During the concert itself, I learn two words from my fellow piccolos that, in my opinion, immediately deserve a place in the Dikke Van Dale (Dutch language dictionary) and are in contention for Word of the Year. "From now on, we just need a few more people, and later, during the intermission, we'll all form a: Pee Guard? Pee Chain?" What happens? Rieu finds it very disruptive when visitors walk back and forth across the square during the concert. So, after their restroom visit, they are only allowed to return to their seats during the applause—between two pieces of music. The pee guard is responsible for ensuring that they comply with this. The pee chain is the second highlight of the evening. When the intermission begins, the entrances to the two restrooms are separated by a line of piccolos. This living chain creates a route to and from the restroom. This prevents congestion. To make the wait more pleasant, several piccolos start singing songs ranging from “Dikkertje Dap”, “Take Me Home, Country Roads”, and from “The Wheels on the Bus”, to “The Owl Sat in the Elms”. The visitors appreciate it and happily join in. Ambulance A sad, yet beautifully concealing moment presents itself after the intermission when, for the second time this evening, an ambulance has to come to assist. The piccolos form a hedge, behind which a clear passage is created for the stretcher bearers to the first aid station. This also ensures that 95 percent of the audience is unaware of what's happening. A Little Dance When the encores begin around 11:30 pm, the piccolos are allowed onto the field and mingle with the audience. The idea is to also try a little dance with the spectators, but it turns out my "step, side, close, step" lessons are really too long ago for that. So it remains something somewhere between a hip sway and a turn. No, the “Macarena” is a bit fresher in my memory, although even there I mess up a few movements, and my fellow piccolos and I jump in different directions during the turn. But who else turns left at the “Macarena”? And then the inevitable end of my piccolo adventure has arrived, after first creating a little tunnel for the visitors on the square and, with all the volunteers and dancing couples, forming a guard of honor for Rieu and his orchestra. My job for one evening is over. What a great, feel-good job. Now I only hope for one thing: that my admirer at the Struys café is safely in her bed by now. Although, without that red outfit, she probably won't recognize me.

Part of the piccolo group poses on the steps of the stage, before the start of André Rieu's 147th Vrijthof concert. Reporter Ronald Colée, front right.