"Around five o'clock in the afternoon, the Russians had already reached us. A shot could be heard. We were in the basement. Dad, as a miner, secured our cellar like a mining shaft. He propped up the ceiling with posts and said that we needn't worry about it collapsing. It was all very well done. A Russian soldier came into the cellar. I don't know if my mom was upstairs. The soldier was looking at us. There were over twenty of us there. Us, my aunt, a neighbour had also come, another aunt with her children, whose husband was also in the army, and another lady. He looked at us, I can still picture it clearly, and asked: 'Nicht fricek?' That's what they used to call the Germans. My mom said no. Then he knelt on the ground, put the machine gun between his legs and asked for water. Mom asked: 'Vodka?' He said no. We had buckets of water prepared in the basement, and there was a tin mug next to them. And the Russian says to my mother: 'You!' My mother had to drink first, probably to check if the water wasn’t poisoned. Then he drank too. Then he looked around the entire basement. When he saw that there was no one else there, he went upstairs, where there was already another Russian, and they inspected everything, including the attic.”
"It wasn't until after the war that the miners, who were often sick, began to have their x-rays done. They called it the Masaryk League. They would x-ray the miners. In 1947 or 1948, dad was diagnosed with third-degree miner’s lung (pneumoconiosis). He was immediately sent into retirement. Many miners were in a similar situation. He didn't enjoy his retirement. He died in January 1953. It was said that the winter of 1952-1953 was very harsh, kind of dry - and this was bad for miners. They couldn't breathe. I remember my dad lying upstairs in his room saying, 'I can't breathe.' And he would always open the window. When things got really bad, my mom would call the doctor. The doctor would say that it was miner’s lung and that there was nothing one could do. He claimed that the miner’s shafts in Petřkovice were the worst, because of the amount of stone and dust from the stone. In the past miners had no protection whatsoever, they would just put a sponge on their mouths. And the doctor said that the lungs then become so dusty that they become like concrete. In other shafts in the Ostrava region, it is said that the dust is more coal-like and can be coughed out, whereas the stone dust cannot. And so it was that our father passed away young.”
"They used to call us "prajzáci", but I have never been ashamed of being a "prajzula." Some teachers wondered why we didn't move, why we didn't leave before having to do the military service. They couldn't understand it, except the teachers Sprušánek and Košutek, who was elderly and very nice to us. He treated us well. He taught us maths and how to sing. We even sang on the radio. He was from South Moravia, but he understood our situation. The younger teachers who came to us straight after finishing their studies would say: 'And why didn't you leave? A proper Czech would have left, he would not have stayed in Germany.' We objected: 'And where were we supposed to go? Here was our livelihood, our cottages, fields, livestock... Where would we have fled to? And what would have happened if everybody had moved out? After all, it was our land, our ancestors had lived here. And everyone here was happy.' They couldn't understand it until after a while they got used to it. It really bothered them at the beginning. Later I wondered why the teachers weren't taught more about our situation. When someone calls me a "prajzula", I say: 'So what?' All the people here are mainly hardworking. After the war, their cottages were damaged, but they didn't ask anyone for anything. They helped eachother. So many houses were repaired and built! Today I will help you, tomorrow you will help me - that’s how it worked here. I had no problem with that."
Aloisie Foltýnková was born on August 20, 1935 in Ludgeřovice in Hlučínsko and grew up in neighboring Markvartovice. She was one of eight children. Her Father was a miner. After the annexation of Hlučínsko to Germany in 1938, she became a citizen of the Third Reich. Her older brother was forced enlist in the Wehrmacht at the age of sixteen. Eight of her uncles also fought in the German army. When crossing the front through Markvartovice in April 1945, a grenade damaged their house. Soviet soldiers camped in their yard for several days. After finishing school in 1950, she joined a one-year course for typists led by the Sisters of the Holy Cross in Ostrava. After a few weeks, the communist state abolished female convents. Before that, it had already eliminated all male convents. Aloisie Foltýnková taught herself to type and joined the Slezské Cihelny (Silesian Brickworks) company in Hlučín as a correspondent. She married Arnošt Foltýnek and had two children with him. She also worked as an accountant for the National Committee in Markvartovice. Later on she worked in the sales department of a worker Co-Operative for disabled people called Slezanka in Petřkovice. After the Velvet Revolution, she successfully ran for a position in the municipal council for the People‘s Party.
Aloisie Foltýnková (second from right in top row) with members of an amateur theater group (wearing original Hlučín folk costumes) Markvartovice / around 1955
Aloisie Foltýnková (second from right in top row) with members of an amateur theater group (wearing original Hlučín folk costumes) Markvartovice / around 1955
Hrdinové 20. století odcházejí. Nesmíme zapomenout. Dokumentujeme a vyprávíme jejich příběhy. Záleží vám na odkazu minulých generací, na občanských postojích, demokracii a vzdělávání? Pomozte nám!
