"We lived at 18 Měšťanský pivovar Street, which is the second gate to the brewery. There was the main gate and then the second one. And we lived across the street. Whenever air strikes were announced, we ran to the brewery because there were huge and deep cellars. We could hide there. And we always knew. People, who had a radio, got a paper ring to put around it. There was written: 'Death for listening to a foreign radio.' We had one too. And every time they announced from England that there would be an air strike, we knew exactly who was listening, because they ran in the brewery to hide."
"My parents had a buffet at Prof. Skupa's puppet theatre. My mother sold lemonades, sweets and biscuits during performance breaks. I was little girl then. Whenever there was a break and my mother had a job selling children snacks, Professor Skupa and his wife came for me, took me to backstage and I looked at the puppets. I could touch them all. Princesses, kings, watermen and fairies. When I was little, I begged my parents for an animal. And Prof. Skupa asked me 'What kind of an animal would you like? A big one?' I said 'I'd like some cat or some little animal.' We forgot about if for a while. And then – it was last Christmas in war times – Prof. Skupa gave me a little teddy bear."
"The worst part of the road, when we were coming home to Příbram from our holiday cottage, was in Brdy, because there was a large crew of Russians. And as we drove down the road, those standing in the woods aimed their guns and rifles at us, even though my husband was in uniform. It was difficult moment. I was frightened."
"The Germans who lived in our building fired from the windows at American soldiers. The Americans rushed into the house and took control over the ground floor and later the whole house. They sent us into the cellar and only men had to stay in flats. So my father was in the flat. Only women and children had to go to the cellar. The Americans pulled the Germans out of the building. And we didn't know what would happen to us. The Americans thought that the Germans were all over the house, but then someone explained to them it was not true. They came to our apartment. And I know my mother had a cup of milk at the window, and my dad had tobacco and cigarettes on the table under it. And as the American soldier stormed in, he pushed the cup and spilt the milk on the cigarettes. And my father wasn't afraid to tell him off and he said, 'Well, what shall I smoke now? I won't get them anywhere. These cigarettes were rationed!' The soldier just looked at him and then, when the house was cleared of Germans, he brought him a whole pack of cigarettes."
Růžena Vavřichová, née Nekolná, was born on 16 October 1929 in Pilsen. Her father was a confectioner. He owned a confectionery workshop and a shop in Pilsen. Her uncle was deported to Terezín in 1943 and then to Buchenwald, from where he returned after the war. Růžena Vavřichová experienced Allied air strikes on Pilsen and remembers well the liberation of the city by American soldiers in May 1945. For two years she corresponded with an American soldier who wanted to marry her. She did figure skating. She trained as a confectioner. After February 1948, the Communists took the family’s workshop and shop. Her father later worked as a doorman in Škoda. In June 1948 she trained at the XI. All-Sokol Rally in Prague. After riots over the currency reform of 1953, she was dismissed from a bank clerk position. Then she stomped cabbage in Křimice for two years. She later worked at Medica. She married a professional soldier Stanislav Vavřík. They had twins. In August 1968, she experienced the arrival of the Warsaw Pact troops near Karlovy Vary. In 2020 she lived in Pilsen. Růžena Vavřichová died on July 21st, 2023.
