Early Years.
I was born back in the middle of 1937 near the centre of Budapest, to a working class couple.
Obviously I do not know too much of the first three years of my life, except what I’ve seen in old photographs; like getting fed brown ale in a baby’s bottle when I was about 4 weeks old, or seating on the potty a few months later.
My first real recollection is of when I was about three and living with some relatives (I do not know to this day who they really were) with whom I stayed between the ages of two and four, so that my mum could go to work to help out. I used to go home some weekends, when mum was off duty (she was a conductress on the Trams) to look after me.
I better give here a little description of the relatives I’ve stayed with.
They were relatively well off, with their own house on the outskirts of the city. He was a retired person but I do not know what he retired from. His Christian name was K�roy b�csi (b�csi being an endearing name for a man) but I always called him "nagy b�csi" which roughly translates as Grandpa. I have never found out just who he was. As for "nagy n�ni" his wife would translate to grandma I’ve never known her name. What I remember most, that he never seemed to do anything around the house apart from seating in one chair or an other, while she worked from morning till night, six days a week and a little on Sundays.
They had a large garden with the toilet at the bottom of it with the cesspit behind it. There was something always growing in the garden from springtime to winter. She has done all the work except the heavy digging, that was done by the men who came to empty the contents of the cesspit onto the garden and dig it in (while we all went on holiday for obvious reasons). There was a chicken run with a brick built coop next to it, which backed onto the wash room with the boiler. Between the house and the washroom was a built on flat on single level, rented by a couple with a boy about my age.
As I’ve said they were my world for about two years. He saved me many a time from the wooden spoon, she used to chase me with when I’ve done something wrong. Her working week was long and hard, with washing (by hand) cooking, cleaning and onethousand and one things to do like make the; soap, jam, see to the hens and gees fill the paraffin lamps (there was no electricity) and so on, and so on.
Now back to the story. This particular Saturday we were going to the zoo, so when my mum turned up to take me home I was not pleased at all and to make sure I ran into the garden to run away from her.
She ran after me with a cane that she had picked up on the way. To cut a long story short she hit me with the cane a lot harder than she meant to and left a large weal on my side. She went back home alone and even know I have stayed, we have never made it to the zoo because of the weather.
My next recollection was of Christmas 1940, but before I tell the story I feel I’ve got to explain the difference of Christmas as it was in Hungary. First of all, everything supposed to be brought by angels at midnight on the 24th of December. Secondly young children could not see it coming as there were no decorations or anything relating to Christmas on display, either in the shops or in the home.
Thirdly the parents make sure that all the children are very tired on Christmas Eve. Fourthly, if by any chance the children notice something they’ll go to any lengths to explain it away. I give you an example of this, which happened a couple years later when accidentally I saw some tree decorations in the wardrobe, a few days before Christmas and my mum explained that Jesus was very poor that year and so they helping Jesus out by buying some of the decorations and the angels will take it away later to be able to bring it back with the tree and the presents. Christmas Eve as I was put to bed, they dully
put the decorations outside the front door for the angels.
Now back to the story. I had two presents that year, underneath the Christmas tree. One a rocking horse with real horsehair mains and tail, the other a small wind up tank, just like the ones on the streets. It had real sparks coming out of its gun as it went along. For a while it was my favourite toy, as I wanted a real horse and not a wooden one. Everything seemed to carry on, as normal and I was oblivious of the war, except for two things; there were a lot more men around in uniforms and the shop didn’t have any chocolate. Sometimes in 1942 my dad was called up, I know because when he came home for Christmas, he was in uniform. There were four presents under the tree for me, one was a very large MECANO set with lots and lots parts (but I was told not to touch any of it until I grow up) and the other was a violin. The other two presents were sensible ones therefore I ignored them.
I have never learned to play the violin, but it had a very good use, if any of the neighbours stayed too long for my liking I would play it. It was the best neighbour repellent.
In 1943 I have started school and learned about rulers (on your fingers and knuckles). I did not like school from then on.
I can not remember the date, but I know I was home alone in bed with chicken pox, when the first bombing of Budapest occurred. Mum had to go and visit dad, before they moved them out.
We was living in one room of a two roomed building, just across the road from an army barrack.
As I was alone, I took the MECANO set off the top of the wardrobe and played with it in bed.
The air raid siren went off, but it wasn’t unusual so I ignored it. This time how ever the bombs started to fall, the anti aircraft guns were firing and I was truly scared.
In the turmoil every body rushed to the air raid shelter forgetting that I was still in bed on my own. Eventually somebody remembered and the ARP came running and found me kneeling in bed praying that if it all stops I will never play with the MECANO set again. I was introduced to the war.
Soon after the bombing it has been decided that I should be sent to live with some distant relatives in the country. I can’t remember how we got there or even the name of the village but I have spent the next three years there. I’ve learned and seen a lot there (not all good). I learned to plough with a horse, help the blacksmith (mainly with the bellows), smoke a cigarette and explode a hand grenade, among other things.
The village was about three miles from the river Danube and about ten miles from a town called Esztergomb and quite small, with one main street and three or four little turnings all near the church. The church was at the centre built in the middle of the Village Square with the mayor’s house opposite to it surrounded by a high brick wall. To the right of the church (as you faced it) was the village store, where you could buy anything. Next came the turning where we lived. There were only two houses in the lane on our side of the brook and three to four on the opposite side, with a concrete bridge where the main street crossed the brook. By the side of the brook was the fire station and behind it the local blacksmith. The house we lived in was at the foot of a hill, which had a lot of caves dug out in it’s side to use as wine cellars. It was a long single storey building with the kitchen in the middle, used by both families who lived either side of it, each in a large room. At the end of the building was the stable, also part of the building. The kitchen was a large one as it also doubled as the living/dining room. Hard earth floor ran all the way through with just a few rugs in strategic places. Thatched roof completed the building. On the other side of the relatively small yard fenced in were the pigsty chicken huts shared by some ducks and geese, while at the farthest corner of the yard was the toilet with the cesspit behind it.
For a few months everything was quite, while I made new friends who couldn’t understand why I did not know how to hunt, climb trees, get bids eggs and many other things they have been doing for years.
Without a doubt life was entirely different from anything I’ve known before, for a start a slice of bread was big enough to break your arm and tasted nothing like the shop bought one. I’ve learned to enjoy a slice of bread and dripping in the summer time sitting in the sun, but not eating it until the sun has melted the dripping and it soaked right into the bread. I did go to school but even that was different as in the middle of the day we had to go to sleep, right there in the class room on mattresses and if you went to sleep there was a sugar cube by your head when you awoke. Life was very good at this time, there was news of the war on the radio, but it went right over my head. I wasn’t upset at living away from home as it was nothing unusual and did not realise how much suffering my parents went through.
Autumn came and with it the pig killing, which was a major event where the neighbours were involved by necessity. In our case five families worked together, killing one pig a fortnight, moving from house to house to do the work. They used the local butcher to do the actual killing, but the families wasting nothing did all the other work. Ham some of the bacon and the sausages were smoke cured in a special cupboard built into the chimney in the loft. The fatty bacon was chopped up and melted down for dripping while the remainder crackling used for baking and elevenses for the workers out in the fields. They made their own black pudding and liver sausage. Obviously a lot of the produce had a limited shelf life and this is where the working together had it’s second advantage called TASTERS. The family whose pig was killed would share out equally all the parts and products that would not last long (there were no fridges than) and send one portion to all the others involved in the group. This stretched the fresh meat season to ten weeks instead of just two.
All the farmers grew a lot of maze mainly for feeding the animals but the maze pudding they made sometimes was very nice as well. When the maze was gathered in, it was put up in the loft for drying out. In the winter when the day’s normal work was done, different families came together to remove the maze from the cob. Everybody sat in a circle with a paraffin lamp giving a dim light and working at a comfortable speed and listening to stories told by the elders. The children dropped off one by one still dreaming of the stories just heard. Those were some of the happiest days of my life.
We were under German occupation but we didn’t see many of them, except when they travelled through the village. Life was very peaceful. One night we woke up to a very loud bang which the grown ups thought was bombing, so they grabbed the children and every body ran for shelter in the caves. In the morning they found out that what they thought was bombing was nothing more than the chimney falling down in the wind. It was frightening just the same.
This idealic life came to a sudden halt when we woke one morning to find that the Germans have left and the Russians were in. As opposed to the Germans there were lots and lots of them with tanks, cars, horses and on foot. The first thing they have done is billeted the soldiers into all the houses. Communication was almost impossible as they didn’t speak Hungarian and none of the villagers spoke Russian. We were lucky however as the soldier billeted with us was an elderly man, cobbler by trade. He told us in a round about way, that for him God was up in heaven but for the young ones Stalin was God. There were a lot of young ones, boys and girls. It wasn’t unusual to see a fourteen year old in charge of a tank or having stars on his shoulders and giving orders to soldiers two or three times their age. One of the first things they have done is to bring in a midnight curfew and the second to mine the bridge. It seemed a waste of time as the banks of the creek next to the bridge was easy slope on both sides. The locals if they wanted the blacksmith used to drive through the stream instead of using the bridge. Unfortunately the curfew was only for the civilians, the soldiers could move about any time. One late evening the door burst open and two soldiers came in looking for something and they were definitely drunk. Non of us knew what they wanted and the one billeted with us wasn’t at home. One of them pulled out a hand grenade and pretended to throw it under the bed where the owner, an old man was laying. The old man just laughed at him and said "you stupid bastard if you do it you’ll go up with me". It was the first time I’ve heard him use such language. The woman, who was holding me, gently eased herself towards the open window and said very quietly "go and get your friend from the kitchen".
At this point I must explain that she didn’t mean our kitchen but the army kitchen where I made friends with one of the cooks, who used to give me bits and pieces or play football and such.
Through the window I went in my white nightshirt and ran as fast as I could ignoring the shouts of the guard on the bridge to halt. Luckily he didn’t shoot. I have banged on the window where he slept hard enough to wake the dead and even know he didn’t know what was wrong, he grabbed a big knife and came running. I don’t know what he said to those soldiers but they went off like scolded puppies never to return. Unfortunately the local miller wasn’t so lucky. He lived at one end of the village while the mill was at the other end. One night after working late instead going home, he got drunk. By the time he decided to go home it was past midnight. He was blind drunk and singing when the guard challenged him and as he wouldn’t stop the guard shot him dead. This was one of the two unnatural deaths in the village while I was there. The second was when one of the locals stabbed his wife because he thought she went with one of the soldiers. As there was nowhere to lock him up waiting for the police, they have locked him in one of the wine cellars. Before the police has arrived he opened most of the barrels, drank as much as he could and let the rest flow free.
One day while the blacksmith was away doing some work a soldier came with his horse for a new shoe.
The elder lads had no problem to do the work as they nearly finished their apprenticeship and I as usual was working the bellows. The soldier paid not with money but a load of cigarettes of which we young ones got some under promise not to say anything to the blacksmith. We went outside the village into the fields and that is where I smoked my first cigarette. One of the lads who have smoked before pulled a strong raw onion from his packet which we all had a share of so that the grown ups would not smell the tobacco.
One sunny afternoon while playing with three of my mates, we have found a hand grenade. After looking at it for a while we decided it was safe to pick it up, the pin was still in it. Next we have decided that we would like to explode it if possible but didn’t want to get hurt. Not being certain that any of us could throw the thing far enough for safety, we have hid it and went home to think about it. Next day we met again and one of the lads had a bright idea and a ball of string. We went down near the river where there was a ditch about fifty feet from a tree. We’ve tied the string to the pull ring on the grenade, unrolled the string to the ditch, gently placed the grenade in the fork of a branch and hid in the ditch before pulling on the string. The pin came out, the grenade fell a short wait followed by a mighty explosion. When we looked the tree was laying on the floor. Nobody was close enough to hear the explosion so we got away with it.
It was soon after we got to school and the lesson started when suddenly the door flew open. In came the head master, followed by two screaming children followed by a teacher. One child’s face was a black mass, while the other had burnt off hair and the top half of his face speckled with black dots. They were brought in as an example of what happens if you play with explosives or anything to do with the war.
They were brought in, in agony before being taken to the hospital, miles away. The rest of the time went by without any real news until it was time to go back home to Budapest.
I remember the last part of the journey back to Budapest. I know we went by horse and cart but what stayed really vivid in my mind was when we arrived to the city and had to cross the Danube. The bridges were all blown up, so we had to cross on a pontoon bridge, which seemed very narrow. This would have been bad enough but as I looked over to where the old bridge used to be, where against the pillars I have seen the bodies of a variety of horses and humans. All were dead. As we went through the city, there weren’t many buildings without major damage. Lots of people were scurrying around, looking very solemn. There were no laughter or even smiles. Even these bad times came to pass, as you’ll see in the next episode.