"I pretty much saw myself in him because he was like... we were waiting for him, we were waiting for him at home. And then I had like... I wasn't waiting for a particular person, those three visits couldn't fill it, those years. It was full of anticipation of what was going to be... And it wasn't that great, his coming back. He was nervous, scared, frightened... he had to report to the office for his ID within three days, he had to report to the military, he had to report to the employment office for employment. Mostly because of the job, he came upset. So, there were always some disappointments, slumps... For me, there was a legionary grandfather, who was wonderful, but he was also an old man, it was hard for him to bear, the conditions as they were, there was little money, and now the heart attacks in all this. And then this dad... he was no saviour who came back to that situation of ours or that family nor a definite joy..."
"And then someone else painted the picture for me too, but then I saw the picture from the gentleman, the painter, at the exhibition in Příbram after the revolution, he probably painted all kinds of pictures for more people there. So, I don't have it anymore, unfortunately, but it would be a nice keepsake... a poem and there are barbed wires around and a little girl, and she's there with her back and she has a teddy bear behind her back and she's holding a doll in her hand and there are some other toys hanging on the barbed wire, a book, a doll and so on, and the little girl is there with her back, and she's sort of reading the poem. And there is, I'd like to say it, if I could remember... 'I've rocked the doll, I've read the pictures close up, I've recited the whole rhyme, I miss my father...' I can't continue... 'Tell me, Mama... Tell me, Mama...' Now I don't know that one verse... 'Tell me, Mama, when will he be back, the day after tomorrow, tomorrow I guess, teach me to count the days, Mama, I know Daddy counts them too. ' Well, like that...And I had it, my mother had it glazed for me, I had it on the wall...And now I don't have it...Because I was so angry at that time, during the normalisation, at everything that happened and why it happened. And how futile it was, that it was useless...that I just threw the picture away."
"So, I finally told my friend and told her not to tell it, and my mom told the teacher at some parent-teacher meeting, so they’ll be informed. And I told my friend, not right away in that first or second grade, later, in fifth grade. And my mom came out of the parent-teacher meeting devastated, angry and yet like sad because one dad, my friend's dad, told her there that it was not good for his daughter to be friends with me because it made a bad impression on their family. So, she was upset about that and then, well, this, from the parents. But otherwise, we had Mrs. Štafenová, the headmistress, who they used to say in the house in Karlín... she used to organize such performances, cultural, with children, and when it was the 25th of February or some other anniversary, 1st May, we... I don't know, we selected children, but I don't remember how, whether we applied or whether she selected us, and I know that on such occasions we stood in a semicircle in the school on the platform and there was some school audience. And we would sing and recite and she would rehearse these lyrics with somebody there about how our dads were fighting for peace and what all they were doing in those factories and how those imperialists and that West was dangerous to us and I know I said at that time when I was about ten years old, not really: And what are they saying here, but my dad's over there... in that prison... and I have nothing to do here... and that kind of difference suddenly came to me compared to the other, like, unaffected kids. The other ones... compared to them... Because they were unaffected and I had already seen something..."
Jaroslava Matoušková, née Wünschová, was born on 4 April 1945 in Prague. When she was four years old, her father, Zdeněk Wünsch, was arrested for anti-communist activities and a year later sentenced to twelve years. He spent a year and a half in pre-trial detention in the State Security Prison in Pankrác, Prague, and then in prisons in Plzeň-Bory, Mírov and the forced labour camp in Jáchymov. Due to serious health problems, he was released from prison after seven years, in 1956, when his daughter was 12 years old. She had only vague memories of her father from her early childhood and saw him briefly only three times during the years he was in prison. Zdeněk Wünsch returned with his physical health compromised, but also psychologically depressed, a stranger to his daughter. They never managed to find a close relationship with each other again. Similarly, the marriage of Jaroslava Matoušková’s parents broke down. Her mother, Jaroslava Wünschová, refused to divorce her husband despite pressure from the State Security, yet they were unable to renew their relationship. The family lost their apartment, Jaroslava was not allowed to study, her mother was fired from her job, and Zdeněk Wünsch’s parents were also evicted from Prague to the borderlands. He himself could not find a job anywhere after he was released. He eventually got a job in the mines in Kladno, and the family lived in financial hardship for many years. Jaroslava trained as a waitress and only later was she able to graduate from hotel school. She remained in the industry throughout her working career. Over the following years, she experienced many other disappointments and disillusionments, which were related not only to the label of the daughter of a political prisoner, but also to the totalitarian era in which she lived a significant part of her life. She is a member of the Confederation of Political Prisoners (Konfederace politických vězňů) and also of the Daughters of Political Prisoners (Dcery 50. Let). She was married twice and raised three children. Currently (2023) she lives in Konstantinovy Lázně.
