The other day I ran across a dirty crumpled diary. Under its cover I read : "1944 - dr. K. Gy. ksm. 706/1". As I browsed through the scattered entries and jottings, the memories of those days came back to me. It was almost thirty years since our "unit" was in retreat. We were transported by cattle car at Gödemesterháza in Transylvania. A small German detachment following us blew up the railroad tracks blocking the Red Army's advance.
We were full of hope, home-ward bound at last with the Soviet forces to our rescue. Home...? What will we find "at home"...? The older ones from the unit came from East of the Tisza River - the younger ones were from Pest. During our time at labor camp, our families were resettled and forced into ghettos. By June the Hungarian Gendarmerie had them in locked cattle cars on their way to "camps". We knew none of this.
Our trip in the cattle cars was interrupted by air raids. Under the watchful eyes of the guards we would be forced out of the cars and away from the railway tracks in search of shelter in the farmers' fields. As we approached the interior, our numbers reduced and the commander ordered the guards to shoot at escapees and the train moved on...
We pass freight cars with nailed down windows, doors padlocked and chained, on the parallel tracks. Through the windows and doors we see weeping mothers as they try to get air for their little ones. We could not talk to them as we were surrounded by the Gendarmerie, bedecked in their plumed headgear. From the sounds of pleading and moaning, it was obvious that they were suffering and begging for water...This was our introduction to Nazi brutality. The shock diminished our hopes and yet we still had expectations of being reunited with our families.
It was 1944, the fifteenth of October, when Horthy' s proclamation was announced to our regiment, but this optimism was not to be long lasting. The following day, Ferenc Szálasi1.1 took over and it was back to the "prisoner of war" status. Our company commander turned his hostility toward us. His aid, ensign Zoltán Tóth who ordered the torturing and made old boys climb trees and crow like roosters fortunately did not stay with the regiment.
At the time our physician was Dr. István Sipos1.2 dentist from Békéscsaba. He was attending one of our sick comrades and insisted that the chap be transferred to a hospital - his only hope for survival. The commanding officer anxious to be rid of the problem filled out the forms for immediate hospitalization. Dr. Sipos together with his brother Endre Sipos, a chemical engineer transported the sick man on a makeshift stretcher. Some days later it was evident that neither would return...they were reported. Again there was no medical doctor. There was a doctor with a law degree1.3 and a professor of law from the university. As I had been in the same cattle car as Dr. Sipos, where the medical supplies were kept, the commanding officer assigned me to the position. I became the division's doctor and I was given an armband with a Red Cross, a military cap, a leather coat with a belt and jodhpurs, as in my cadet days. The outfit created quite a new look, which some time later proved to be useful. There was a delightful young first year medical student from Debrecen who was in the health service - Pubi Blum as well as a dental technician from Bihar. The latter was very popular because of his "weli-greased palms". He was nicknamed "the Bull".
At the end of October and in the first days of November, we lived on the open tracks at the outskirts of Bodrogolaszi awaiting orders. These were beautiful autumn days. I was trying to convince a colleague from days gone-by, that we too should "get lost". My "bag" was all packed with its bare essentials. The grapes at Bodrogolaszi and the religious peasant grape-pickers would be very useful. However, my friend Bandi always pulled out at the last minute. The thought of making the escape alone seemed too risky. Risky? My wonderful twenty-two-year old wife and her parents had been taken away - deported. Surely, after the arrival of the victorious Red Army we would be reunited.
"Bull" placed the dentist's drill on the cattle car door. First he did the fillings for the men and then some locals began to appear. Soon patients came for dental and medical care, as there was no longer a doctor in the village. He escaped to Pest some weeks before. Pista Sipos had a well-equipped pharmacy. Somewhere in Transylvania the pharmacist had fled to Pest and we took baskets of "specialities" menthol and other supplies from the drugstore. Among Sipos' "assets" were two Muller type prescription manuals with diagnostic information and applicable drug dosages. Women came from the village saying: "This hurts, that hurts. Please doctor, bless our home with your visit" Then the health service procession would set out - me, "Buli" and the dental technician - with the laundry basket of assorted bottles and jars of medical supplies. The high quality medication yielded positive results. The ladies disclosed painful areas in their respective bodies in total undress and the "doctor" tapped where indicated or listened, glancing into the Muller manual he would dispense the required remedy. The fee was of the utmost importance and was not forgotten. They brought eggs, bread, "szalona" (bacon) in bread baskets and sometimes a great surprise. Of course we shared all this with our buddies. Because of this health service, we were well regarded. On one occasion, before "office hours" there was an emergency in the village. Horses while pulling a wagon had gone wild. The driver was crushed against the wall. I concluded that his leg was broken. Being the "surgeon", I had "Bull" initiate the procedure. The three of us placed the slats on the farmer's leg. A few days later our troop moved on and of course we could not remove his cast. This was written up in the journal on November 14.