“That's true, that there were bonds being made, which could seldom be made under normal circumstances. As you would sacrifice your life for others – in all honesty, and those were not just the girls but also the boys, that's something indescribable, that's just how it was. And the meeting after the war was so moving, as most of us were actively participating on the building of Socialism, and those bonds prevailed until we parted in the end, as they all died one by one. After the war – as one colleague of ours made it happen, that we would meet every year in Prague on a given date. So we could talk, to know what was happening, so we would stay in touch, which wasn't a common thing to do I would say, as everyone was happy that he managed to get home, but we would hold together all the time, the whole group. And as a proof there is the Palace of Culture where we met, as I have some photos of this.”
“Then there was the coup of February 1948. We didn't know much about what was happening, as we were in the forest, in that remote part, but after some time we found out, and there were screenings and some officers got fired, and we all agreed, as we indeed hated some of them. But not because of politics, there was not much of that going on back then. So they transferred us, as the frontier between the West and the East was closing and many people tried to cross from Bohemia to Western Germany or Austria, so our platoon was transferred to Želnava area, a place of today's Lipno Reservoir, where we were helping the police and the customs at the border, providing protection. As soldiers we couldn't go to the frontier, as there was some Geneva agreement that soldiers couldn't be stationed at the border, that only the Public Security and customs could operate there, police at that time. So I spent the whole spring there as a commander of that group. The first thing we had to do was to search all houses for weapons, and to our surprise we found some among the German residents in the area, even a heavy machine-gun, there were various sidearms and sub-machine guns. And the second thing was – to help to apprehend people who were trying to escape, students in most cases. Of course we would get them before they would reach the border, as they had to cross those three barriers – a railway, a road and the Vltava river, which was quite difficult. But some of them were so determined that they tried to cross the river even in February or March. And the Vltava river was quite wide so we had to pull them out of the water like some water goblins, but we didn't do anything with them, we would just hand them over to the Public Security and they would send them to České Budějovice where they would be picked up by their parents who were informed that their son or daughter was being held there. I spent maybe two months there and then we went back to Boletice.”
“The turning point was the air raid on our factory – factory halls were hit directly at the end of April 1944. I survived the air raid in a bomb shelter under a hall which got hit and that bomb ended up at our floor and in the roof of that bunker. Such events are beyond explanation, it is still difficult to talk about something like that. Lights would go off, fans would stop moving and buzzing, and the shelter would start to move in a way and you would be awaiting what would happen next. And then women and children would start to scream and cry, well, the mood was just terrible. But after few moments Luftschutz men, that meant workers who were in charge of air raid precautions, got the emergency ventilation system going, we had to turn handles for it to work, and there was even light, so everything settled down, but we still didn't know what would happen to us. There were desperate attempts – some people were trying to get out but every way was blocked by debris. It took rescue workers maybe half an hour to dig this makeshift passage to one of those small windows by which, one by one, we got out. Outside, it was just horrible – it was during the daytime and the sun was shining, yet it was all dark, there was smoke everywhere, and smell and ruins. We were happy that we survived. We thought that we wouldn't have to work for some time after that, but the Germans built power lines, they cleared concrete and tarmac sidewalks, put the most necessary machines out and we just carried on working.”
“There was this interesting thing, as this man came to me, a Czech, and he told me: 'If you have a loaf of bread left or a cigarette, leave it over there and it would get to Soviet prisoners of war who were working in the factory hall next to us.' Otherwise we didn't see them, no one could enter that hall, so we were helping the prisoners this way. And even I didn't have much myself, I would save a loaf of bread or some food my mother sent me in a parcel, and above all I left cigarettes for them, as I was issued them as a citizen, everyone was, and I didn't smoke, I was a non-smoker, so I gave away whole packages of cigarettes. I never found out who had been organizing this thing, there was a hiding place where I put these things and I would find greeting cards from the Soviets (Russians) in it. It was kept secret, like those dead drops, so I couldn't know others who were involved, there was this secret plot going on. And as a proof that the Soviets were getting the stuff, those prisoners, I found this cross made of Plexiglas one day, in the dead drop, apparently made by a skillful toolmaker, as it was a fashion back then to wear such a cross on your neck, both boys and girls wore it, it was quite a hit. And the second proof that this Soviet man – the prisoner – got the things was a ring I found there, made of some kind of stainless steel and it was made very well, quite well worked out, and that was the proof that this Soviet prisoner was getting all the goodies I had been leaving for him.”
“There were Czech soldiers staying in our elementary school, Czechoslovak soldiers who were to defend the area if necessary, so we were seeing them. I spent more time with the soldiers then with my friends. And after it had ended with secession of Sudetenland and they were forced to demobilize, they didn't leave lightly. As to leave – it wasn't a front line yet, but everything was prepared – so to leave a place like this without even firing a gun, as you would say, it was bad for the soldiers, some of them were even crying, yet there were surely happy that they were going home, but there was this honest love for the Republic, it wasn't just a show, so even the soldiers would display such feelings.”
“In the beginning I couldn't stand it, as I was used to Merklín, to all that social life, and there was nothing. I was alone. And after dinner, when we were done, I went to my room and – there was no light, so I had to lie down and I was just traumatized by all that. As the conditions were quite... It was like in the 18th century or something like that. And my mother came to visit me in 1939 and she saw how I was living she threw her hands up and said: 'Pack your things, you are going home with me, I won't leave you here. If I can feed four kids, I can feed you as well.' As my father kept saying that he just couldn't feed all of us. So it really got to her. And I stayed, of course, and I endured it all, as the first two years were the worst. And the best thing for me was to visit this higher school in Písek, as there were mandatory lessons, one day a week, that all the apprentices had to attend.”
“In the beginning I couldn't stand it, as I was used to Merklín, to all that social life, and there was nothing. I was alone. And after dinner, when we were done, I went to my room and – there was no light, so I had to lie down and I was just traumatized by all that. As the conditions were quite... It was like in the 18th century or something like that. And my mother came to visit me in 1939 and she saw how I was living she threw her hands up and said: 'Pack your things, you are going home with me, I won't leave you here. If I can feed four kids, I can feed you as well.' As my father kept saying that he just couldn't feed all of us. So it really got to her. And I stayed, of course, and I endured it all, as the first two years were the worst. And the best thing for me was to visit this higher school in Písek, as there were mandatory lessons, one day a week, that all the apprentices had to attend.”
Václav Rauch was born on January 2nd, 1924 in Merklín as the second of five children of Václav Rauch, a miner, and his wife Anna née Radová. His childhood was affected by a mining accident in the town of Zbůch in 1929. His father had sustained a serious leg injury and couldn’t return to his previous work position. Due to that, the witness and his sibling had to work since an early age to support the family during the hard times. Václav studied at a primary school with excellent results, but due to his family financial situation he couldn’t study further. Instead he was sent to the village of Ohař near Písek in 1939 to train as a blacksmith. He spent four miserable years there until he had been ´totally deployed’ and sent by the authorities to the German city of Kassel. After the war he joined the Communist party, married Marie Benešová and started a family. From 1946 to 1948 he did his compulsory military service. As a soldier, he served as a frontier guard in the Šumava region during the Communist coup of February 1948. He was a railway employee, he was working at SVA Holýšov National Enterprise and held several offices both in the labour unions and in the Party. His career peaked in 1972, as he became the director of Tesla Nýřany manufacturing plant. He held this office till his retirement thirteen years later. Since 1949, Václav Rauch lived in Holýšov (as of 2019). He died on December 17, 2022.
