Ludmila Levá

“I remember an air raid during my first year at Grammar School, it was at the end of the war. I attended a single-sex Grammar School for girls in Veleslavínova Street. My parents always used to say: 'You mustn't let anyone chase you to the station.' They knew that air raids were aimed at railway stations. And I, as an eleven-year-old girl, thought about what was worse, an air raid or a storm; there was always a rumble of thunder during both. When the alarm went off and we were let out of school we flew home. We had a tag around our neck, a piece of cardboard with our name and address on it, just in case anything happened and so that they could find us. We always ran home with it. My friend Vlasta and I ran by the station. My parents told me that we were not allowed to go to the station so we never went. We could see silver planes above our heads and we ran. My Mum had to suffer in an incredible way knowing that her children were God knows where during an air raid. It was at noon and we were just on our way home from school.”

“ (The Americans) drove around in Jeeps and we, children, were always given a treat, some chewing gum or something like that. They drove us around our quarter and we were given something every now and then, maybe even some tins, I can't remember any more.”

“It became obvious in 1948 that it wasn't going to be good – with the Communists. They sent my uncle to prison in 1951. They came for him at school (where he taught). Then we were told he fled abroad. The State Security men were searching my aunts' flat (not ours). They kept saying he fled abroad and were trying to pick their brains, however, there was no point.”

“One evening they had a dance party on a street leading into the fields. They parked four cars there and laid out electric cables for the lighting. In this way we had a lighted dance floor close to our house. There was a party in the evening. I had a friend, Vlasta Barcelů - she was called Kotěšová at the time. We were eleven-year-old girls. We climbed up on a car and watched the (American) soldiers dance with the young ladies. That was quite something for us. And my poor parents looked for me. I don’t know what happened to Vlasta, but I received the one big beating of my life from my dad.”

“A lot of important things for our family came about in 1953. It was on June 1st , the currency, you know, when the disorder began. My Dad was on strike with some other fellows from the Škoda factory. Luckily he wasn't imprisoned right away. But he was fired.”