Ingeburg Prochásková

Well, after the war, first people would come in. Our house had to be open at all times. They took away whatever they could. My piano, my father´s writing desk. They looted father´s wardrobe, they took whatever they wanted, only because we were Germans. When there was nothing more to take, the lotting stopped and very slowly things returned to normal. They were not ordinary people that did this, it was a mob. I then walked about the fileds. Worked at our friends´ places until I was told that in Jilemnice, there is a Mr Nejedlý looking for an assistent to his surgery, I applied and got the job. At first, I wanted to workat the pharmacy, but that was not possible. Not because..but maybe because I was German, but I didn t have any practice and I stayed at this job for 3 years.

My mother said that in the evening she and my father had been sitting in the garden talking, and their life together had passed in front of their eyes. They thought of their life before and what was coming now. At 4 in the morning they were still sleeping when there was terrible beating on the door. My grandmother, who would otherwise never have done so, when she heard the noise, got up and opened. She didn t want them to break the door. At this instant a gang of men with their faces blackened, pushed themselves into the door shouting horribly. My parents came out of the bedroom not knowing what was happening. The men did not allow my father to put on his shoes; he could only manage to pull trousers over his pyjamas when they pushed him outdoors. On the street there were already gathered all the men from the lower end of the village, including 15 and 16 year-olds. This was the time when all the able men were serving at war. Only the old and ill ones were at home. My mother came out of the bedroom and was hit by a gun so that her pyjamas were full of blood. The last words of my father´s she heard were Juli, you are bleeding! He had to walk all the way to the crossing barefoot. There were already men gathered from the upper end of the village. A small daughter of a Schrom then told me that the men had already been causing havoc at their place. They had beaten her father terribly and made her, the little girl, wipe off his blood. They shot down her father as they shot down mine. The men told the Germans to run towards the sportsground, and as they turned their backs, they started shooting until everybody was down; they did not stop until not one of them moved.

The transfer was taking place and they said: Old Pošepná can stay at home she can hardly walk. My mother had to go with them. On the wa to Libered she kept thinking what would happen with me. Already at the pub where they gathered, she asked: And what will happen to Inge? They anwered: This isn´t your business. My mother went all the way to Liberec and there she could not bear it any more. My old mother is at home and I have no news. She escaped. Whn nobody was looking, she grabbed her little suitcase and walked, partly got a lift, all the way home. It took her two days from Liberec. She cycled to where I was then and said: All right, we can join the transfer together. Then we cycled through the villages and in Vrchalbi we were met by my grandmother.You should not go back home as they are waiting for you because you ran away from the transfer. They want to arrest you. My mother stayed in Vrchlabi then and I brought her some clothing. When my grandfather still had a bakery, he employed one man from Vrchlabí as an apprentice. He offered my mother to wait when the worst times are over at his friend´s small farm. She could cook there and help with household chores. It was in Podůlší near Jičí. My mother went there and stayed for a year. At home we said we didn´t know where mother was. I , if it was possible, cycled on Saturday early in the morning so that nobody could see me, to see her. After a year, when the turmoil died down, and when there were no transfers, I learned that in Jilemnice there was a chairman named Zeman, who was a reasonable man who was willing to help, if he could. He then gave me a document that my mother could stay and help with housework in Jilemnice. That was the way my mother could legallly (come back).

Before it happened with my father, the Mayor of Zálesní Lhota came to our house. He had a Russian farm labourer who had warned him not to be at home right after the end of the war if he wanted to stay alive: he knew the situation from Russia. The Mayor wanted my father to leave with him but my father refused resolutely saying he wouldn´ t leave the family alone. That he didn´t harm anybody and had no reason to be afraid. Both my mother nad myself persuded him to go to his parents´place at Lánov, at least. In the end he obeyed but returned in the evening. Everywhere you could hear about rapes, so I was sent to Vrchlabí to stay with old friends of ours where nobody would look for me. The Mayor crossed the mountains to Silesia and never came back. But his wife, who was such a hard working, good hearted, old woman and her niece who stayed with her in the house so that she wouldn´t be alone, they were murdered in a terrible way. A few days after it happened at our place, they came to look for the Mayor. As he was not at home, they shot through and raped them both in a terrible way. They were left lying across the beds with bullet holes in their bodies. So our father sacrificed his life for us but the Mayor never returned home. He could not see what had happened because of him.

I could say that the Germans and he Czechs would understand each other on the whole, if they were not made to hate each other on purpose. At Zálesní Lhota there were lots of children. The local school had four classrooms and eight classes in them. Generally, the first class was always small, the second and third with lots of children and the fourth had always about 60 children in one classroom. Hardly anyone can imagine today, how the children were crowded there and how tiring the teaching there must have been. Yet, at the same time, a brand new school was being built for a handful of Czech children. There were no more than ten of them. Their school had large classrooms, a large flat for a teacher upstairs and an etra cabinet. And facilities. This certainly did not lead to the Germans being happy with their overcrowded school when at the same time Czechs are allowed a large school and the Germans not even one more classroom. At one time it even happened that one classroom had to be made outside the school, in a private house near the sportground.

I was born on 7th March 1925. My father was Gustav Schwanda, a teacher at Zálesní Lhota and my mother Julie Schwanda, née Pošepná, who was a housewife. My childhood was wonderful; I was an only child and much loved by my parents. We lived together with my grandfather and grandmother, but my grandfather, unfortunately, died when I was four. My grandmother from my mother´s side ran a small grocer´s shop. The first five years I attended the school here at Lhota. My father wanted me to attend his class to see how well I was prepared for the gymnasium so I attended the 6th year here as well. This is how I saw my father also in the role of a teacher, and I have to say that I often thought about this: my father not only taught but also brought children up; he instilled the love of nature in them, and all in all it was special to be with my father in one class.

We had friends in Vrchlabi who often used to come for a visit. I was friends with their daughter, the parents often went for trips and visited each other. The man, I called him uncle, he used to say to my mother: If ever you need anything, come to me, I will help you. He was a bank manager. Two days later we heard he received an order to dig a grave at the cemetary. He understood the message andthe whole family committed a suicide. At the turn of the last century, Mr Müller founded a factory here. They produced handkerchiefs, damscus and light material to make dresses there. He gave work to the Germans as well the Czechs from the neighbouring village. It was a small but well prospering factory. My mother met him in the village, his face was blue all over from being beaten and he said to her: Juli, let Gustl have his peace, who knows what is awaiting us.A few days later, the remaining men were ordered to walk to Jičín to work there. Mr Müller, well over 60 and with strong diabetis, was among them. He needed insulin and when they were walking through Studenec, he collapsed from exhaustion, he could not walk further so they beat him up to death and also one old man with hunch and one more. Altogether three men.