Crossing to Freedom

Hours passed and the group kept walking and praying that they would not be discovered. Daylight started to subside and evening was upon them when they heard the rumble of military tanks approaching. Without a moment of hesitation, my father and his companions all jumped underneath dense bushes that were lining the road and held their breath. Within minutes three Soviet tanks drove past them, less than 200 yards from where they lay hidden. After about half an hour, when the coast looked clear, they climbed back out of their hiding places and continued their trek.

Before long, night was upon them and they only had the light of the moon to illuminate their path. My father and the others made their way through cornfields, pastures, forests, ploughed up fields and over frozen creeks. Everyone was exhausted but knew that they could not afford to stop and rest. On they went, throughout the night until dawn began to break. Knowing that once again they would have to walk in the daylight, more exposed to the danger of being caught, everyone became desperate. They knew that even if they got to the border, crossing it by the light of day would be unsafe.

Just as everyone was starting to feel as if they could not go on, a lone woodsman (who I cannot help but think was another angel watching over my father and his companions) walked up to them and advised that they not walk any further. He led them to his remote cabin. It was 8 o'clock in the morning at this point, and everyone knew that this would be their only chance to rest in relative safety. The woodsman's wife made a hearty breakfast and after eating, everyone fell asleep on the floor. In the late afternoon, they woke up to a nice dinner and pooled together all of their money to give to the woodsman and his wife. They knew that their Hungarian currency would get them nowhere once they reached the West, so better to leave it with someone who had shown them so much kindness. Once it became dark enough they set off again with the woodsman who generously offered to guide them to the border. A short distance away from the Austrian border, the woodsman told my father and his group to walk straight ahead with caution, wished them luck, and made his way back home.

The group carefully made its way across an empty field zone that had been clear cut and before they had a chance to get to the other side of the field, the Soviets shot up flares....less that 300 yards behind them. The dark of night that was keeping them hidden was now as bright as day and the group was exposed. Terrorized, they ran towards the Austrian border which was just over 200 yards in front of them. Eva's feet were bleeding yet she managed to keep up with everyone. As they were crossing the final stretch towards freedom, they heard the Soviet soldiers start shooting. Would they lose their lives only inches away from freedom? Suddenly, a pair of Austrian border guards ran up to my father and his family and shouted for them to hurry and run towards them. They sprinted and made it across to Austria where the guards made it clear that they were safe and under their protection.

My father, his family and a few others hugged each other with tears of joy and relief. They were finally free after eleven years of oppression, yet their elation would be short lived for as they were celebrating this moment of victory they heard more gunshots and the other refugees that had been walking behind them, tragically, were robbed of their chance to gain their freedom.

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.