Ing. Miroslav Jandásek

My father told me that when during the First Czechoslovak Republic period they invited Frenchs or any strangers to se the Sokol festival all of them asked: “Pardon me, who pays all the people?” When they heard no only they´re not payed but also they join the festival by themselves and they give their money to build the Sokol gymnasiums without getting any subsidy from the city or government. They had patrons, of course. Sokol was that kind of organisation. The farmers in the country – whose counted 80% of inhabitants in that time – knew that when they build the Sokol gymnasium, the playground or other attachments, the children won´t wander outside but they´ll go to do excersises twice a week.

It was interesting they they established the so called action committees in every university. The committees checked all students i f they are enough morally prepaired to finish the university and join the intellectuals. They called me also. In the committee there were boys with whose I was arguing through the whole time of our studies. They were communists yet from the year 1945. They proclaimed themselves to be the action committee and determined who´s going to finish the studies and who´s not. They asked me: "Comrade Jandásek, who was Jughashvili?" I did not know: "It was Vietnamese patriot." They didn´t tell who he was and I didn´t know it was Stalin. He made a weird face and asked me: "You were in the Sokol festival, right?" It was eleventh festival in 1948. I told him: "I was." "Did you join the march?" I told him: "Of course." "And did you shout – long live Beneš?" I told him: "But he was alive in that time." And they said: "Comrade Jandásek, look, we know you´re a good student. But how do you want to be an engineer in socialistic state with opinions like that? Go home and in next two weeks we´ll send you a message if you´re allowed to study or not."

We watched him from windows of the apartment building, like the widows. My mum and other prisoner´s wives were coming there. My uncle Kudela was arrested already in March. He didn´t write a little message. He died after two weeks because they poured a cold water on him. Our father sent us two postcards, written with a little writings in German. And there was one note which we didn´t understand. He didn´t ask to send him a food, that was prohibited. He wrote "Flöte". But we didn´t know why he wanted the flute. Why he asks it. It may not be allowed anyway. But then we found out that in front of the gas chambers there was music playing all the time to drown out people screaming who came and went right in.