Dagmar Vidímová

“After a week, on Saturday, a car pulled over, cops. They only loaded what fit in the car. The villagers were standing by the chapel here, they felt sorry, because if my father had stayed in the local JZD it would at least have a future. But here, the JZD was taken over by these sixty-year-old grannies who did go to work but didn’t understand farming. And so my mother and grandmother got into the car. I wasn’t relocated because I was married and my husband and his father followed the car on a motorcycle because we didn’t know where they were moving them. They moved them near Lanškroun into this village where only kulaks lived.”

“It came by mail, that on this and this date they would be relocated and it told them to prepare, that a truck would arrive. So they could only take stuff from the kitchen and the bedroom. And many things that used to be here. We still have it on paper, all those things they confiscated. Every rope, rake, pitchfork, all the machines, they took our washing machine, sewing machine, radio, we had to leave that here. We used to have such a beautiful dining room. That was a fantastic room, with wood floor and a fireplace we never used.”