Antonín Bartoš

“We were always in a huge building. It was probably what the Nazis confiscated from the Jews under Hitler; then Germans held it; then the US counter-intelligence offered it to [Czechoslovak intelligence officers] Moravec and Ingr. Dad was assigned there. There were many young men around; my mum explained to me they were my uncles – I had a lot of uncles. Some would play with me; one played trumpet with me. I called one of them ‘Uncle Chocolate’. They were all couriers who used to cross the borders, and the big houses and huge gardens were there for them to practice. There were obstacles to tackle, and a shooting range at the other end where dad taught the couriers to shoot in case they need it. They would cross the border to obtain intelligence and traffic people who were in danger. Jan Kratochvíl, the head of the exile museum in Brno, explained to me later that my Uncle Chocolate’s actual name was Karel Ševčík. He always had chocolate with him when trafficking families with little children. He would give the children chocolate so they would keep quiet. Sometimes, Uncle Chocolate would give me whatever chocolate he had left.”

“But they [communists] caught dad in Hodonín and put him under arrest. It was not a prison; it was a town hall, so he jumped out of the window and fled. He went to Lanžhot and started organising the escape from Czechoslovakia.” – “He must’ve done it really quickly, right?” – “Yes, there are several versions of what happened. One account is – as recently published in Lanžhot, though I suspect dad didn’t say everything to everyone – that the family somehow made it possible for mother and me to be taken to Břeclav and then make the impression that we took a train to Slovakia. But that’s not the way it was. Father organised several families to flee to Austria. I know we walked; they carried me – I was a year and a half old. It was a group of people, with some children and a pregnant woman. My father told them: ‘Don’t take any luggage with you – none at all. I have money; I will buy you clothes, skirts, diapers – every day if necessary. We should look like hikers, like we’re just walking. Don’t panic – that would show we’re fleeing.’ Then we crossed the border to Austria somehow, he managed to get a truck from a farmer, we all got on, and that drove us all the way to Vienna.”

“The gestapo encircled the house where dad was hiding, and the lady woke him; I don’t remember her name. She told him to jump out of the window; he got dressed and jumped out. The gestapo was there and he started firing, and they fired a machine gun at him. Dad slipped on ice; he thought he’d been hit. He allegedly killed three gestapo men. Their main concern was for people not to see it, so they dragged the bodies away. Dad said: ‘I just lay there not knowing whether or not I had been hit. First, I moved my butt, then my legs, then my shoulders – and I was fine, so I got up and ran like hell.”

“They were in Scotland; I don’t know if he was with Jura Štokman and Čestmír Šikola or on his own. It was in Scotland and his team were told: ‘There is this home guard, older gentlemen – they guard the post office. Your task is to take the post office, but they have rifles and can shoot live rounds. You have to make sure they’re safe after your attack, and you’ll be dressed like German navy men who just got off a submarine. You must be very careful and make sure the Scotsmen emerge safe and sound.’ So, there were three guardsmen making rounds. They caught two of them in the back yard and tied them up so they couldn’t scream and warn the third one. The third one was a big bearded guy in a kilt; dad said his hands were as big as my feet. Three jumped him from the roof and he shook the two men who held his hands like they were rags. Dad was stumped – he could kill them. He said: ‘I found a rock and knocked him on the head.’ He dropped down and was tied up too; he growled like a mad dog. They just barely made it – luckily, the bearded guy was fine, but for a bump on his head.”