My Dear Readers, I must confess that when I started writing about the 1944 happenings, I was actually reliving these events, returning to the places and seeing the people who had been of such help to me in those appalling times. I went back to Putnok thirty years later to bring back those chaotic times, the stifling atmosphere that surrounded the hospital and the six days when Károly Varga's life was so close to death.
The Budapest East Station Express to Miskolc and Ózd left fifteen minutes late to arrive at Putnok for ll.l5am. The station was so familiar, when I stepped off the train. There was a bus ready to leave. The driver tells me that he stops at the town hall and that there are no hotels in Putnok! I go back to the station looking for the baggage room to check my knapsack and walk to town - but there wasn't one. The young attendant offers to look after my pack and gave me useful information. I set out in the direction of the Agricultural College on Bajczy Zsilinszky Road. As I approach the town, I am impressed by several imposing buildings on the campus. I approach the janitor and ask to see the gym. He cannot find the key. If I could only get accommodations to make this trip meaningful!
I'm sent to the entrance of the administration buildings to the caretaker's office, where a very kind lady speaks to me. She is in change of supplies. They were in the midst of renovations and would not be able to accommodate me. But she had some suggestions. I told her the reason for this visit. She showed great interest. This is where she spent those "bitter cold days". Back then after we left, on December 17, Putnok was liberated from the German occupation. She drew a little map for me, to help me find the places I had been with Károly Varga. She showed me the best way on foot, where to catch the train and which bus to take. Of course I realized that I would not be able to do it as I did in '44. So back again to the station. I just took the bare necessities and checked the rest with the attendant. He gives me some useful directions.
I walk along the railroad tracks and take the first fork to the road. Now I can see the church steeple - just like back then. There is a little noise behind me - lady riding her bike. She has a loaf of bread on her rack and is probably going home from work. When she is close I ask her "Does this road go to Hét?" "Yes, yes.
As I approach the village, I see two men on a horse-drawn wagon hauling manure. There is a sign on the wagon "Agricultural Co-operative". They ask me the time. "It's exactly three o'clock". The horse gets the whip. Apparently they have finished their shift...Gradually, I begin to reach the houses. They are amazingly clean. I see some villagers. We don't speak but we tip our hats. They probably wonder who this stranger is with his canvas bag. I reach the town hall and spot the man who was doing the renovations at the college - as well as the chap from the railroad station.
When I was right in the village, I noticed that I had just passed Mrs. György Lökös' house. I go back a bit and open the gate. A little boy is sitting on the front porch. "Is this the Lökös' house?" "Yes." Then the grandfather appears - a broken old man. He approaches me with suspicion.
"What can I do for you?" he asks as I greet him with much emotion. I tell him that thirty years ago, he was so kind and welcomed me with my friend into his home...
"During the war, so many stopped by. No, I don't remember you. There must be some mistake. Perhaps the neighbour, but not here..."
This little discussion takes place on the porch.
"I'm not wrong, and I'll prove it to you. From the porch the door leads to a little room, there is a bed and above it hangs a life-sized picture of your son in uniform. He died a hero."
That rang a bell. "Yes, you were such a gentleman. Now I remember. You wrote a letter to me when you got back. You even sent a message from Dubicsány with a man from here to thank me. I forgot all about it."
That happened a good twenty years ago. I had been sent to Dubicsány. I was walking along the road when I noticed a horse drawn wagon with a sign bearing "Hét".
"Thats when you came by and visited me."
"Well, this time I came from Pest and walked here from Putnok as I had with Károly. I came to thank you for all you did for us".
"Yes, I knew you were retreating from the battle front and your were roaming about. I helped many soldiers then. My, that was a long time ago. I am eighty-four now!"
As we were chatting a plump, rosy-cheeked woman appeared, the little boy's mother. "Are you Etelka? I brought you a little present." I handed her a box of chocolates. No, she is Piroska, the older daughter. She has four children and is a grandmother
"Where is you mother?"
"She gets up at dawn and works in the garden until late at night. Sometimes she only comes in at 11 o'clock. I cooked some kohlrabi. Please stay for supper. My husband, son and daughter work in Putnok. They should be here very soon."
I tell them that I left my things at the station in Putnok and that I was very tired. "I would love to spend the night here again." I realized that she was rather surprised at the turn of events, but she was very kind and offered a bed in her daughter's room. We chatted and I learned about the family.
The old man used to have a farm of 18 hectares. Back then he was treasurer of the Pasturers' Association. In the fifties he was jailed as he was labeled a kulak and then sent to Kazincbarcika to do farm labour.
Little Etel was an excellent student. She had a special bent for poetry. Unfortunately, after high school she was not accepted at the university. She had hoped to be a physician. Instead, she became a pharmacist. They live in Pest. Her husband is a mining engineer. They are at their summer cottage at Zebegény. There was one more little sister - Ika. She works at the central post office in Miskolc. They had just moved into their newly furnished apartment, when her husband had a fatal motorcycle accident. Their child never had a chance to see his father.
Old Mr. Lökös and Piroska leave me in my room when in pops an attractive elegant young lady, very self assured - brimming with confidence. "I'm Zsuzsa Tóth, Piroska's twenty-two year-old daughter". She is manager at the garment factory in Putnok. First she worked on the assembly line, then seamstress. She is full of ambition, but not happy. Supposedly there is equal pay for equal work - but it is not the reality. She has a very responsible position. They export to the Soviet.
The older son arrives with his father. They came by motorbike. They work together in construction at one of the co-ops in Putnok. Zoltán Tóth, the father is a sheet metal worker. The son works as a mechanic.
Instead of kohlrabi, we have chicken paprikás for supper, served with an excellent wine. Piroska does not appear. Zsuzsa is our hostess. Dear Lökös neni comes in from the garden when the sixth installment of the Reymont Peasants comes on their TV.
I'm up early next morning. My train leaves at 7 o'clock from the deserted Pogonyi Prairie station. While we are having breakfast, I give my business card to Zsuzsa's husband. Perhaps my colleague in Miskolc could be of some help to Ika with the problems she must be having. Zsuzsa accompanies me through the cabbage fields to the station. I buy my ticket to Center - just in time.
Its a short ride from Pogonyi Puszta station to Bánréve, which has now become a border town. We head toward Sajólénártfalva, which is now called Lenartovce (CSSR). There is a bus to take passengers to Fülek, Losonc and other Slovak towns. We make Center in fifteen minutes. I get off and check with the stationmaster for directions to Királd. He seems surprised that I took the train. This way I will have to do a bit of mountain climbing - a good hour hike.
I set out past the big lumberyard and cut through the meadow in the valley, then along the cemetery. There is a quarry and I can't find the path to the mountain. No more trails - at best deer tracks and uphill. Down below far away, I see a man raking up the hay. I try yelling to him and finally he hears me and points upwards. So I keep climbing, though I had doubts about his suggestion. Finally I reach a clearing. I even hear a train whistle. I'm alright. But it was not easy to find my way through the thick shrubs. After all it's been thirty years since I made my last "excursion" to Királd. After about an hour and a half of wandering about, I end up in the yard of someone's house. I see a little old lady and ask about Czakó bácsi. I was told that he died very soon after the liberation. Mrs. Czakó had to move from the Hatház community to a smaller house and she passed away a few years ago. I saw their daughter with her husband not too long ago."
I went to Hatház and found that the new neighbours in the community had never heard of the Czakós. I went by their old place and see the tiny name plate. It was so sad that I could not clasp Mrs. Czako's weary hands...Then a little boy joined me. He had just come from the bakery and was tying a large loaf of bread to his bicycle. He showed me the renovated nursing home with its emergency clinic and waiting room. Even he had to make inquiries to be able to direct me to the building, which used to be the Gendarmerie. As we go along, the little boy speaks up and says, "If you need more information there is an old gendarme who used to work there in 1944 and even a German Nazi!"
The occupants of the house were most hospitable and showed me around their newly renovated home. The little room, which had been so jam-packed, became a nicely equipped kitchen. They were just preparing to have lunch. The lady of the house was standing over the hot stove. We had a look at the backyard where the outhouse had been converted into the pigsty, and was all fenced in.
I learned that there would be no point in my attempting the hike further through the mountains from Hangony to Feled as it would be cutting through the borders between the two countries. They would never understand what I was attempting to do after thirty years. Should I take the bus to the Bánréve border? But then I would be heading toward Sajólénártfalva and not Feled. Decisions. Decisions. The train from Királd to Putnok took only minutes. When I get off, I see a familiar face. It was Zsuzsa. We had said goodbye a few hours back at the abandoned Pogonyi station platform. She thought I would continue according to my original plan heading toward Feled. I was trying to dig into my store of memories. What did happen when I was making my way from Ózd to Feled?...