Magdalena Reichmannová

“On Easter, my mom, well actually every mom, used to say: ‘you’ve got to go and see in the garden, what the bunny brought to you’. And what the bunny brought was always hidden in the grass in a basket and it was a piece of soap. It was a joy when you found it. And here’s the soap, they would go on a ilgrimage. To the Three oaks, to Mariazell ... They used to wander, and when they returned, they came to Lučice. As long as we were little, we went on our own, but the older girls went as bridesmaids. We’d take Sulice from the church, such banners, they’d also take the Virgin Marry to Lučice. They knew when they’ll come and you maybe had a goddaughter or an aunt there, and when they came back from the pilgrimage, they were all given presents. The bigger ones maybe got a rosary or holy pictures, the smaller ones felling soap. It was a joy. Then they took a bath in the river, dressed, and went to church. But a lot of people used to go, really. Yeah, that’s how it used to be. And then, what was also a nice custom, on Easter, Good Friday, before the sun came out, we used to go to the river to wash off all the dirt. I don’t know if it was in the Thaya or in Jevišovka. And those who had somebody sick at home would bring him some water from the river and washed him with it. And then he went to kiss the cross. These were such altars of the Resurrection. Those who had an altar were significant citizens. These altars bore a picture and were made of spruce and they stood in front of the house. I don’t know what it was but it was mostly by the Pauri in the main street. On the Resurrection. Normally, women would dress in so-called tibetky, a cashmere skirt, but on the resurrection, they were all dressed in white. All in white, each and every woman. The girls wore sleeves and kuolarini, it was fabulous. Women had white scarves and starched skirts, the whole village was shining. I remember it. After the war, it carried on for some time, but then not anymore. In 1948, a lot of the Croats already had to move and then this tradition faded.”

“Well, you know, when we moved there, my dad got a new cart. There was a Tischlar, also a Slunský, someone from the family, and my dad had that cart made by him. And then we had to leave. And he said, ‘I will not let the cart there, I’ll take it with me’. So he told me how he got here to Mackovice. The name of that director was Kutchan and he had vineyards in Miroslav. He was the director at the Hrusovany estate. The Croats were in Jevišovka and I don’t know how my father came to do that, but he found a couple of guys and they got to his vineyards and harvested the grapes. And then there was the deportation and my dad said that he’d not go there. Because our people had to move all the way to the north to take the houses left behind by the Germans. But my dad said: ‘I won’t go. I’m being expelled from my own house, driven to the north to occupy someone else’s house? I’ll rather go to the estate’. But nobody wanted to go to work on the estate because you didn’t get a replacement if you did. We left, but we didn’t get any replacement. My dad had to buy that house for himself. Well, Kuthan said to my dad: ‘Tomša, would you like to work on my estate?’ And my dad said: ‘Why not, I was never afraid of work. I served in Austria’. ‘Well, in Mackovice, there is one house, it’s wrecked but one room might be fixed, but otherwise, there’s not many other places to live there’. Because the houses there had already been taken, since 1945. There it was all German, too. And so my dad said that if there is one good room where we can live, he’d go there. So he went to see the house and stayed there in May, we moved in with my mom in August and I went to school in September. It was in 1950. We had one room and nothing more. But my dad begged the director if he couldn’t find him something better. So he took the cart, plows, harrows, he took it all. But otherwise, we didn’t get anything for the house, cows, furniture, nothing. All of this remained there. We just had a rather old table and that he allowed us to take with us. And two chairs. My mom also took some sacred images. The policeman looked on, but didn’t say anything. We were supposed to go to Huzová. However, the director arranged for my father to be allowed to stay in Mackovice. Well, so we were here in Mackovice and gradually everybody else was leaving. Uncle Matěj had to go to Skřipov, uncle Ferbár to Skřipov too, aunt Honimonova, my mother’s sister, had to go to Huzová, my dad’s sister was in Jívová. And gradually, as they were all leaving and leaving behind empty houses, my dad tried to get his family over. Well, that was it. So then we had uncle Ferbár coming over, aunt Solomon was here as well, there was aunt Sičová too, uncle Antonín was there, everyone here in Mackovice, but it was all my dad’s family. Aunt Růža was here as well...”

“Well, it was not a nice time, not even a little bit. It was terrible, nobody can imagine it. Those people, it was really desperate, when they had to leave everything behind there. When they left to Huzová they didn’t even know where they were going. Usually they moved them in the autumn and in the north, where they were going, there was already snow. It was terrible, really terrible, I hate to remember it. There was always so much crying and wailing, these people had lived there for so long and now they had to leave. Those who used to live in the north are now living around Břeclav, they moved there a lot. Nowadays their kids live there. Well, we’d have problems. Our mother had all her papers stacked and she would go back even without a house. She kept hoping to go back one day, believing it would happen. Eventually she died in 1985, my grandpa stayed alone. But if she was still alive, we’d really have problems with them, they wouldn’t have stayed here. Our mom never felt at home here. Although then there was the family here, but we also didn’t have an easy life here. They called us Germans. But we were not Germans, we were Croats.”