“My name is Josef, they called me Pepa [a standard Czech nickname for Josefs - transl.]. My cousin was called Láďa. We had [two] friends, Zdeněk and Vašek. We called ourselves the PLZV [a meaningless acronym formed from the initials of their names - transl.]. One time my dad saw it and asked: ‘What is it? PLŽ?’ We put a caron over Zdeněk and that made us PLŽes [meaning ‘gastropods’; the caron is shaped like a miniature letter V - transl.]. That was our group during the war. We were schoolboys then. This group was replaced by a Scout [troop] after the war. I was actually the leader of the Všenice Scout troop. We published a monthly, Pozorovatel [The Watcher], which contained articles by our members about current affairs. It reported on the trips we had made, who had organised what, and so on. There were about fifteen of us. The village council provided us with a room, which we turned into a club room. We put up shelves there, which contained various collections. Before us, the place had been used by the WSU Scouts - the Workers’ Sports Union [DTJ in Czech - transl.] - they belonged under the Social Democrats. We took over their collections because their leader, Josef Krhounek, had died. The WSU Scouts had been dissolved. The Germans dissolved them. They sold their cottage to a private owner, and we inherited their club room. Even their coin collection, including what were probably gold coins. We had shells there, too.”
“It was in late April, the beginning of May. We were supervised by the Todt Organisation and the SA. Suddenly they came and said we’re free. The SA melted away. So did the Todt Organisation, and we cried: ‘Hooray, we’re going home!’ We carried a flag, I don’t even know where the boys got it from, all triumphant that we’re going home. We had to go get our suitcases. The dolts! They didn’t know we were being watched. Out of the blue, a plane flew by, but it didn’t shoot. It scared us. We scattered. I told myself I wouldn’t have any more to do with this party, that I’d go it alone. I gave up on my suitcase and set off on foot from Silesia to Moravia. I took a train from Olomouc to Prague. It was full of all kinds of people, even soldiers. We travelled to Prague, and we saw the battlefront on our right. The glow of bomb explosions and combat. We arrived in Kolín. Then it was, all out, Kolín’s the last stop, no going on to Prague. On the way I met a young man called Meruňka, and I banded with him. There were lots of war invalids setting out from Kolín. They had crutches and bandages. They were afraid of the Russians. They were injured German soldiers who had abandoned the hospital and were going on foot. We overtook them. We came to a village that was about five kilometres from Prague. It was getting towards evening. We asked the locals which was the shortest route to Prague. They said: ‘Don’t be crazy, those fields are full of dead people who also wanted to go to Prague.’ The Germans had shot them down. Prague was calling for help and people were heeding the call, so the Germans shot them.”
“Then came a time, in 1950, when there were officers fleeing Poland. They fled via our country to Germany. We were set up in lines and were supposed to catch them. It started at Podbořany, and kept moving further on towards the borders. When we were just two or three kilometres from the borders, it happened. We were facing inland because that’s the direction the officers were coming from. That evening, when it happened, there was a beautiful sunset. I was lying on my back with my sub-machine gun resting next to me. But with the safety off! Every hundredth of a second made a difference. As I was lying facing the setting sun, I suddenly saw two silhouettes with the shape of peaked caps. It was dark. I reckoned we were being checked on by our commanders. When they came up to about twenty meters away, I had to stop them. I said: ‘Halt!’ A gunshot rang out. I didn’t wait a moment, I grabbed my SMG and let rip without aiming. One of them started to run. I shot at him and threw a grenade. Because you’re suddenly gripped with such rage that someone is trying to kill you. But in the end he dropped his revolver and fled. When we checked the man on the ground, we saw he was a veteran who must have experienced the war. He had a Parabella in one hand and an anti-personnel grenade in the other. The bullet had hit him in the hand holding the grenade.”
Full recordings
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Dolní Rotava, Růžové údolí, domácnost pamětníka, 18.02.2016
Josef Kroc was born on 18 March 1928 in Všenice (Rokycany District), into the family of cobbler Václav Kroc and his wife Terezie Krocová, née Hirshe. He had one stepsister. Already as a child he took an interest in painting and sports. He studied wood carving and dedicated his whole life to this profession. During World War II he was assigned to forced labour to the digging of trenches. After the war he helped found the Všenice Scout troop. He underwent compulsory military service with the Border Guards. In 1950 he married Jarmila and had three children with her. In 1961 they moved to Rotava, where the witness obtained a place as a model maker at the local branch of the Škoda Works; he remained there until his retirement. He married his second wife, Marie, in 1977, and two years later she gave birth to their daughter Jitka. He was active in public life in Rotava. He did sports and painted. In 2015 he was awarded a Rotava Heart. Josef Kroc died on November 22, 2018.
