A Solemn Farewell...

A few miles prior to reaching Budapest, the milk truck that my father was traveling in was stopped at a Soviet checkpoint. The soldiers were looking for contraband weapons and my father sat struck with fear that they would find out who he was. The truck driver insisted that everyone on his vehicle were his assistants and, once more but with the grace of God, they were able to pass through the checkpoint and on to Budapest.

My father got off of the truck at the railway station and walked 21 kilometers to his sister's apartment. At the time, Eva was already 5 months pregnant and his niece, Judit, was 8 years old. He found that they were all ready to leave and early the next morning (November 22nd) they were on their way. They took the long walk back to Kelenfold Railway Station arriving at approximately 9:30 a.m. They found an enormous crowd of people already waiting in the station. At 10:15 a.m. the train approached and everyone anxiously got to their feet. To their dismay, the crowd realized that the approaching train was already overpacked with passengers.

My father and his family were struck with the fear and realization that they may not be able to get on this train. People starting running towards the train cars and forcing themselves in however they could. All around was panic and chaos. My father and his family remained as calm as they could and walked alongside the train cars observing and calculating how they could manage to get inside. They found that one train car towards the middle had a little room left in it. Some of the passengers inside started motioning to him to climb in through the windows...they starting offering their hands for help. Pali and my dad lifted up Eva and then Judit into the train via the windows after which they followed in the same manner. They were packed tightly, unable to move, but grateful to have found a place inside the train car. As my father looked out the window he realized that the steam locomotive was being disconnected from the rest of the train. Would they end up stuck, like sardines in a can, at a station soon to be overtaken by the Soviets? He could not help but imagine the worst.

As panic was once again mounting inside the train, my father noticed that a new, electric engine, was being connected to the train and by 11 a.m. the train was on its way moving faster and ever faster. They were headed West and my father stayed at his spot by the window watching his homeland go by in a blur. He was leaving his country. The country where he had lived for 27 years, 15 of which had been happy and normal, 1 year of German occupation, and the other 11 of insufferable Soviet rule. His emotions at that moment were mixed, and painful. The train continued on gaining momentum and everyone in the train car prayed as they knew they were still in danger.

The train didn't make many stops, but it did halt at a few larger towns like Gyor where some people disembarked to catch another train to Sopron. My father and his family stayed in their train car until they got to Horvatkimle. That is where all of the remaining passengers got out as they were warned by the conductor that at the very next stop, Mosonmaggarovar, there would be a Soviet checkpoint. Everyone walked out of the station and headed West by foot. It was 3 p.m. at that point.

After a few miles the passengers started to separate and my dad and family found themselves walking with a group of thirteen other people. Among them were three little children ages 3,4, and 5. They walked 45 miles towards Austria always with the hankering fear that at any point Soviet soldiers could show up and they would fall into captivity or worse. My father remembers how quietly his niece and the other three children walked alongside their parents for hours on end without complaint. Somehow they understood that they must remain quiet and that they were in great danger. Everyone was vigilant and kept their ears and eyes wide open lest they hear or see soldiers coming their way. It was a solemn farewell to their Motherland.

The Journey Towards Freedom Begins...

When the fighting ended, on November 10th, my grandfather, Istvan, was forced to return to Dunaharaszti where he and my grandmother were living. He was under Communist police surveillance and expected to return from Budapest immediately. On November 13th, my father and grandmother headed to Dunaharaszti to join him and wait on further developments.

Six days later, a young boy arrived at the small house with a message for my dad. The boy was one of Eva's neighbors and had made the trip from Budapest by bicycle. The note that he delivered was for my dad and it simply said that he must return to work. My father knew immediately what the message really meant as it was written in his brother-in-law's hand....it meant that he and Eva had decided that it was time to leave Hungary and head to the free West. Now my father would have to make the decision to go with them or stay behind with his parents.

The decision proved to be extremely difficult. My father asked his parents to join him, Pali and Eva and leave together, but they declined. My grandfather was already very ill as he had been administered poison while in the forced labor camp. The poison was slowly thickening his blood and would eventually kill him. He knew he would not be able to make the journey and that he and his wife would only slow things down for the others. He told my dad to go, as he was still young and would have no future if he stayed in Hungary. The threat of being taken back to a forced labor camp or worse was also plausible. My father had to face the fact that he would have to leave his parents behind and possibly never see them again. He also knew that he would be thrust into a foreign land not being able to hear or understand the new language which only added to his anxiety, but he knew he had to do what was best and made his decision to go. His father's words, "Be brave, and you will overcome. God bless you and help you. Go ahead in whichever direction life points you.", would stay in his heart and mind forever.

Tearfully, my grandmother started to put items on the kitchen table...toothpaste, a toothbrush, a towel, underwear, some shirts, socks and a shaving kit....all of the things my father would be able to carry in a small case. My father got dressed and together they walked to the nearest roadway. In about 10 minutes a milk truck stopped to let some people on. My father hugged and kissed his parents good-by with an aching heart, then climbed into the back of the truck and sat down watching as they waved farewell until they became nothing more than specks in the horizon.

Hearing this from my father and writing it down is more than I can bear at the moment. As a mother, I cannot imagine how painful it must be to watch your child leave not knowing if you would ever see them again or if they would actually make it alive to their destination. As a child, I cannot imagine the converse. To leave behind aging and ill parents in a country overrun by a nefarious government. It kills me that such a kind and lovely soul as he is should've ever had to endure so much heartbreak. Ever.

Troops that Never Arrived...

After a while, the sound of gunfire and tanks started to be commonplace in Budapest. Life before the ravages of war was becoming nothing more than a distant memory and my father, along with the rest of his countrymen, were starting to wonder if peace would ever prevail in Hungary.

On October 29th, 1956 Hungarians were given the possibility of hope. My father and his family sat around the radio listening to a broadcast on "The Voice of America" via London's BBC Free Europe Radio. The news sounded promising as they were told that Cardinal Mindszenty had been freed and was returning to Budapest. The days that followed were quiet...there was a hiatus from the constant din of gunfire...and the people were starting to feel somewhat optimistic. All of the prisons were opened and prisoners were set free. The Soviet High Command promised that they would soon retreat from Budapest. It truly seemed as though everything was headed in the right direction. Sadly, this "light at the end of the tunnel" would soon be extinguished. Before long, the people of Hungary got news that instead of retreating, the Soviets were moving in even more....new Soviet reinforcements had started to enter Hungary from Romania and the Soviet Union.

On November 2nd, Day of the Dead, the scene in the city was grim and heartwrenching. My father remembers with emotion, seeing thousands of women lining the streets holding candles in memory of their husbands, sons, fathers, uncles, brothers...all fallen heroes. Thousands of Freedom Fighters had lost their lives trying to regain hold of their country and yet more and more Soviet troops continued to pour into Hungary.

On November 3rd, my grandparents left their home in Dunaharaszti to visit my father and his sister in Budapest. Having the family all together felt like a blessing. That evening, they gathered once again around the radio to hear the speech Cardinal Mindszenty was to deliver to the nation. Would they be able to hold onto any glimmer of hope? After the speech, they sat and tried to analyze what they had just heard. It was with heavy hearts that they had taken in the fact that the Hungarian Uprising had taken place at what would turn out to be an "inconvenient" time....as across the ocean the American Presidential election and on yet another continent the Suez Canal crisis were taking place simultaneously. It seemed that the situation with the Suez Canal was more important and therefore British and French troops were sent to Egypt while Hungary was left flailing. No one dared asked what would happen next.

On Sunday, November 4th at 4 o'clock in the morning everyone was literally shaken out of bed by a barrage of explosions emanating from the Soviet artillery. My father and his family ran into the sitting room to check on each other and turn on the radio in order to find out what had just happened. At 4:30 a.m., the Prime Minister, Imre Nagy, announced in a worldwide address that the Soviet Empire had officially attacked Budapest to obliterate any last vestiges of freedom. This message was repeated in English, French, Spanish, Italian, and German. The Freedom Fighters were sending their desperate appeal for help....my father remembers hearing the words "HELP! HELP! HELP!" coming from the radio as he sat next to it with his ear upon its side.

The news reported that the Peace Delegation which had been invited to the Soviet Headquarters in Tokol for discussion had been interrupted, disbanded and all members of the Peace Delegation arrested. Kruschev had decided that there would be no way he would let Hungary regain its freedom. Soviet helicopters began shooting all over the city and everyone was forced to stay in underground shelters. The heavy fighting continued for six days and the Freedom Fighters did all they could while waiting for the UN to send in peace keeping troops....troops that never arrived.

Saved by God's Grace....

On October 25th, during the first opportunity that presented itself, my father left Oroszlanbanya to try to make his way back to Budapest. He easily found transportation to the town of Bicske where he planned to transfer onto another train to Budapest.

When the train to Budapest finally arrived and everyone had boarded, my father recalls that all of his fellow passengers were discussing the uprising. No one knew what exactly had happened or what was going on in their city. Everyone was attempting to analyze the situation and interpret the events as best as they could. The anticipation to get to their destination and witness in person what was really happening was palpable in those train cars.

About 13 kilometers from the Budapest-Kelenfold Station, the train came to an abrupt halt. The passengers were told that the train would not be allowed to continue on to the city. My father took it upon himself to find the conductor and asked what had just happened and what they were supposed to do. The conductor responded that he was planning to disconnect the postal car from the rest of the train and continue on that way in order to make it home to his family. He told my father that if he acted quickly he could join him and complete the journey to Budapest. Hearing this, my father and a few other passengers jumped onto the postal car and they sped away with the conductor to Kelenfold Station. Once there, they discovered the station packed with people. The city was now in curfew and no one dared leave in order to go to their homes as the Soviets were threatening to shoot anyone they saw on the street after curfew.

My father walked to the station exit and looked out at the empty street ahead. Three young men let my father know that that particular area around the station was controlled by the freedom fighters and urged him to leave the station with them. He did. They walked out into the desolate streets keeping close to the walls and shadows in order to remain unseen. My dad remembers the city gave the impression of being haunted in its solitude and silence. All of a sudden, the small group's progress was halted as a car drove up to them. They stood petrified not knowing who was inside. Thankfully, the men in the car were supporters of the freedom fighters and offered my father a ride to his sister's home. Just as my dad thought he was finally on the last leg of his trip, the car was stopped by a band of freedom fighters warning them that Soviet tanks were coming and that they must immediately turn around.

My father did not want to retrace his steps so he got out of the car, and hunkered down in the shadows. The last thing that he wanted was to come face to face with the Soviets. He stood in the gateway of a darkened building and looked around for safe sidestreets down which he could escape. Finally he realized that just a few buildings away was the apartment where his mother's former doctor's widow lived. He knocked on her door and was let in. As he stepped through the threshold a resounding blast of gunfire was heard that rattled the entire building. No one dared look to see what had happened. My father finally fell into a restless sleep on the widow's sofa. He awoke the next morning at 7am but could not leave her home as curfew would not lift until 8:30am. He sat and had breakfast with the widow's nephew, and as soon as he could, he left in order to find his own family.

Once on the street he walked back towards the building where he had gotten out of the car. The same building where he stood surveying the neighborhood to find his best way out the night before. My father remembers his blood running cold as he saw that a huge gaping hole had appeared in the front of that building overnight. He knew in that instant that only minutes after he had left that building's gate, and just as he was walking into the widow's apartment, a Soviet tank had shot at the edifice. It was but by the grace of God that my father had acted as quickly as he had. A moment or two of hesitation would have seen him blown away along with the front of the building that he was standing next to. Hearing him recall this story gives me chills and a feeling I cannot describe in the pit of my stomach. Once again, he had angels watching over him. I have no doubt of this.