"But my parents ran summer suburban camps, even though it wasn't called that back then. Tents were set up behind the rectory, and there were children from Machov and Broumov and the surrounding villages. We stayed there for a week. In the morning, there was a warm-up, then all kinds of competitions, lunch, which my mother cooked at the rectory, and then about half an hour of Bible study. Then again, competitions and sports and everything. We could do it in the garden and the park, and there was also a beautiful gazebo. We had a great time there, and the kids loved it. We're still close from those days when we meet, we've got white hair now, but that child's heart is still there somewhere from those good times. A child's heart that stays close."
"My dad returned from the military, and then my brother was born. But it's Christmas, Christmas night, and suddenly someone is banging on the door of the rectory in Tachov. And so Daddy went out, and behind him, my mother was peeking out anxiously because she was expecting my brother, who was then born in January. And some guys were standing there, hands behind their backs, looking kind of mysterious. And they were gypsies, and Mummy was terribly frightened about what had happened and what was going to happen and that she couldn't defend herself. But she shouldn't have because they were the boys from Daddy's military service. And they came to play the violin for him at Christmas, and then they pulled it out from behind their backs. They came to play to thank him for teaching them how to read and write in the army. So it was kind of interesting and special."
"Well, I was a parish kid, so in a way, I had it easier. I was labelled, I was tagged, but the children of the ordinary believers who went to that church had it much harder and were threatened in no uncertain terms that if they didn't stop, they wouldn't get into the school. And it wasn't just threats, it was facts. That's how it worked. So the kid–even if they were I don't know what kind of a kid–they could only get into an apprenticeship, which is not bad, but if somebody had a desire for education and was gifted, they ruined it for them."
"We grew up here in kind of a contrast. My brother and I were actually treated like outcasts at school, a bit of a weird sort, because we didn't fit into the picture that kids were supposed to fit into. It was kind of a series. Kids entered the school and became Jiskřičky, then they grew into Pionýr, and then it grew and developed in the Czechoslovak Youth Union. That was to happen to us at the age of fifteen. But we didn't fit in because we went to church, for which we were somewhat discriminated against. I remember a strange scene in first grade when the teacher asked the children who went to church. Those who raised their hand had to go up to the podium and stand there, and she told us that this was something we shouldn't do, that it was wrong, that it was obscurantism, and that the republic wouldn't tolerate it anymore. Our future is bright but very different."
"I sent him a tape of Deep Purple and all sorts of things, I didn't know much about it, and I didn't know what was on the tape. The tape had Kryl's songs on the other side, Rakovina, which was already released abroad, in Germany. And so this is what he received in the army in Lipník, where he worked as a military medic. And the guys listened to everything really, including Kryl, and by that time, he was strongly unwelcome because he had fled abroad. Well, but not only were they playing it, they were also borrowing it. And it so happened that in some block of flats, where the brass hats, i.e. military superiors, lived, some counter-intelligence-guy heard it through the wall. And they followed it back, and they got all the way to my brother. So my brother had a lawsuit over the songs. And not only him but also his friend, who lent it on without my brother's knowledge, but he had a working-class background, so he got away with it. He got probation, and my brother got a hard time, and he had to go to the Bory prison for a year."
She was bullied at school for her faith, beaten by her rascal neighbours
Jana Wienerová was born on 3 April 1953 in Tachov to František and Dagmar Kuchta, clergymen of the Czechoslovak Hussite Church. She grew up in the rectory in Broumov, where her father led the church community. She excelled in school and in 1968, she entered grammar school without difficulty. At the time of the emerging normalisation, the school headmaster did not like her religious attitude and tried to force her to change her mind. After graduation, she was choosing between the Academy of Arts, Architecture and Design and theology studies. Finally, she entered the Hussite Theological Faculty in Prague. Her brother was arrested in 1974 for listening to and distributing Karel Kryl’s songs. He was sentenced to eight months in prison, which he spent in Bory, Plzeň. Her parents were forced to leave Broumov under the threat of having their state approval revoked so that they could not continue working with young people. After graduating from university, the witness served as a parish priest for several years. From 1986 she worked part-time in Prague in the editorial office of the magazine Český zápas [Czech fight, an official Hussite Church magazine - trans.]. There she spent the year 1989, which she perceived rather vicariously due to her many and varied responsibilities, especially caring for her disabled son. Since childhood, she has liked art, but it was not until the 1990s that she was able to start exhibiting at home and abroad. She also illustrated books, wrote poems and continued to work as the managing editor of the magazine Český zápas. In 2000 she collapsed from exhaustion and suffered from depression. She spent the next seven years on a disability pension. She then moved to Broumov and asked the church to offer her parish ministry to the local congregation. In 2022, she lived with her son in Broumov, working as a parish priest and visiting her daughter and grandchildren in Prague.