Věra Dvořáková

“When I came to see my father at the railway station for the first time, he was just picking up the phone. Tears got into my eyes because I saw him lecturing in a crammed lecture hall at Bochum University and saw him travelling throughout Germany to help students. Suddenly, he was lifting the train barriers and answered as ‘Number two’. And he told me: ‘What’s up? What is going on?’ I replied: ‘Dad, this is horrible, so many students had listened to you, holding their breaths and now you lift the barriers!’ He gave me that look and said: ‘You know, as long as life is not at stake, it doesn’t really matter.’ He lifted the barriers and went on. I remained standing there in shock and even today tears creep into my eyes just remembering it.”

“At the time of the trial of Milada Horáková, he was working in Odeon. All of the employees were gathered at the courtyard and had to hold one hand up high in support of Milada Horáková’s execution. They were under a lot of stress. All of them were under surveillance and therefore lifted their hands. My father was there with a colleague and when they got to the yard they spat in each other’s faces to somehow come to terms with being counted among the people who raised their hand for Milada Horáková’s death.”

“My mum wanted to sign Charter 77. At that time she was friends with the historian Karel Bartošek and they were a bit secretive about it even though she used to go to the same pub, to Medvídeks’. There was a bit of elitism in it which I don’t like to admit because I respect the Charters’ authors. My mum would say: ‘Karel, come on, I want to sign it, bring me the text.’ They never did. Although she was interrogated in Bartolomějská street and despite me transcribing various materials on the typewriter, it was not easy to get to signing the Charter. My mum really wanted to but she was not allowed to.”