Jarmila Chovancová

* 1928

  • "There were some really nice pieces played there, only after the communists came in and that was the end of it. We were still playing Grandfather, Matchmaker or something like that. And like in the village, people liked to hear operetta and merrymaking. They laughed. And the Communists wanted all the progressives about work and stuff. We told them that people would come in from the field tired, that their arms were stretched slow to the ground, and that they liked to laugh or have a good time. No, they said we had to remake people. Somebody's gonna put on a play for ten people? They say it's for the ten. So that's the end of it."

  • "The Pole would often come and call out, 'Fraulich - madam, the lights are over Fulnek again.' They were setting off flares. There was a small plane flying around, the Germans called it a 'kaffeemühle'. It had a strange sound. So he shouted, 'Fraulich,' and 'Come and have a look!' And she always said to me that I should stay with the children. And I said I wanted to know what a 'licht' was, too. And when he called 'Fraulich,' I was out quicker. Well, the two of us oxen, so to speak, stood in a place where everything was clear, no trees or anything anywhere. Over Fulnek the planes were dropping flares and suddenly this 'kaffeemühle', which we hadn't thought of at all, started coming back towards us. Suddenly it dropped the flare and saw that we were standing there, so it started shooting. The Pole just shouted: 'Get down!' So we crawled under the house and luckily it was an old house and we hid under the roof. Nowadays, the roof is done differently. There we were stuck to the wall and it was pouring off the roof above us. I didn't care about the 'licht' anymore because of the terror. And I'll tell you, in 50 years, my son - they do it every year on New Year's Eve, they go up to the Branec hill, this Babinec hill here, and they watch the Castle being lit up, the shooting - once or twice they asked me to go with them. And suddenly somebody at the cemetery let off a flare. In those 50 years, the horror I experienced when they shot at us echoed in me. That we both crawled and stuck to the wall. We were nothing."

  • "They went to get my father. The road to Hradec, or rather to Opava, was being repaired, and he was breaking stones there. They were doing whatever was needed on the road. They took him to Skřipov to the gendarmerie station, interrogated him and brought him home in the evening, saying that the investigation would continue the next afternoon in Opava. But the next morning they came for him and took him to Opava. He was in Opava for some time. Then they moved him to Litoměřice, where the court was. They convicted him there for an unproven case. He didn't confess. They didn't get anything out of him. Even the women didn't tell him he was there. So he got four years for an unproven case. And then they took them to Germany." - "Where did he go in Germany?" - "Kribo?. That's between Berlin and Halle." - "And what did he do there?" - "Well, what he was doing there. I think he was in solitary confinement in Litomerice for six weeks. They had to be locked up alone in a room. You know, he didn't even tell us what it was like. He just said he had counted the nails, how many were in the floor, how many were in the furniture. He thought he was going crazy. In Kribo? They were taking them to the airport, and somewhere there they picked up oil - lubrication for the planes, and they used that oil to put on the food they got. That's how they put it on."

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    Hradec nad Moravicí, 03.09.2024

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    Hradec nad Moravicí, 11.09.2024

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My father got four years for listening to the radio

Jarmila Chovancová, 1950s
Jarmila Chovancová, 1950s
photo: Archive of the witness

On 8 August 1928, in the village of Skřipov in the Opava region, the daughter of Anna and Adolf Kořený, Jarmila, was born. Her father told her about the battles in the Italian mountains, where he was a soldier during the First World War. She herself understood the word “war” in October 1938, when she watched the occupation of the village by the German army. Since then, life in Skřipov has changed significantly. The Czech parish priest was replaced by Josef Slanina, in whose children’s choir she sang until the end of the war. She bore the worst when in June 1943 her father was arrested by the German police for listening to foreign radio and taken to Germany after a trial in Litoměřice. He and his mother and other siblings had to move out in January 1945 to make room for the German family. She herself ended up working as a maid for a German woman named Davidová in Horní Dvory, where she almost lost her life in an aerial bombardment. She survived the end of the war and the crossing of the war front in her home village, hidden in the cellar. After the war she worked her way up to a qualified seamstress in a clothing factory, but in 1950 she had to move to heavy industry in Branka near Opava. She refused to join Vítkovice Ironworks. Similarly, she refused to play in the amateur association of “progressive” plays preferred by the communists. At the time of filming in 2024, she lived in Hradec nad Moravicí.