"Then they loaded an orange tree like a flower, just plain nonsense, but what we really need, like a duvet, a bed, they didn't make it, because I don't know if it was any ultimatum that we have to be gone within a certain hour. I just know that we were terribly cold in that car and sometime at night, say two, three o´clock at night, it ran out of gas and we ended up in Kyšperk at an overpass. Because again we were carrying a wardrobe and he wouldn't have passed through the underpass and he ran out of gas, so we ended up there, we stayed there and we were crying that we wanted to go home. Dad jumped out and went looking, as we didn't know where we were and where to go. Then he obviously found out, where the gendarmerie is, so let's say in two hours, in the dark, at night, in October, it was raining, it was cold, he came back and we went to the gym where we were taken care of by the Sokol members, who gave us hot tea. That was our first stop and we still insisted... they didn't understand that I wanted to go home.”
"These transports of the Jews were just terrible. I remember that they were hauling a transport full of Hungarian Jews; there were families with kids, and now the railroad officers wanted to help them somehow. Well, what they could do... ´Come to the dining room, we'll give you our two dinner tickets,' and it was two at night, and they gave the escort, those Germans, those SS men, somehow - say it vulgarly - let them eat up and get away from the transport.' And you will go from behind and find something somewhere!' Well, somewhere you can find what there was? Well, there were cans of cucumbers from Znojmo. I climbed into the kitchen in the back and there were 50-liter boilers with melt sweetened sugar. And the children so begged that they wanted more. But it was poor, there was no cup, no glass, so they spilled a lot of it.”
"We arrived at the Polish border, and there were indeed fighting equipment stacked from our border two kilometres inland. And we came back on August 20 and they arrived a day later. And the Poles told us: 'Don't come back, we'll invade you!' The husband laughed as he said, 'We have to go home, we have no more money.' And now they saw that we had - we went camping - tents, inflatable mattresses, sleeping bags. 'We buy everything! We buy everything!' The Poles, would they do everything, and my husband said, 'No, I'm not doing business here, I'm going home.' And there we saw it all, the cars were standing there, the tanks ready. As I tell you, it was two kilometres from the border. Even the triangles anti-tank, all ready."
“While [the Germans] were winning and pushing forward on the eastern front, they had platforms with cannons hidden under netting. Twenty-year-old boys, dandies, pretty boys, healthy, playing the harmonica. And when they had to stop at the station - it was a single track - they dashed into the canteen looking for something to drink at least. There were huge cauldrons full of saccharin-sweetened melta [a coffee substitute - transl.] which could be sold to them for a few pfennigs. They would come to the window - they couldn’t let the transport from their sight, so that was great. But then, when the fighting was on, these beautiful boys came back in express trains converted into sleeper cars - armless, legless, bloody and bandaged. In a general sense, pretty boys went one way and cripples came back.”
“Those weren’t partisans yet, they were still holed up in their zemlyankas. No fighting, nothing of the sort. They were hiding there. So then [Dad] went with the stamps to a Mr Vondra at the mill at the end of the village, and he gave them flour so that another Vondra at Orlice, a baker, could bake them bread overnight. How to keep those men alive there? It was a struggle. And then they were ill. To get them a doctor - and I must pay my respects, because no one gave them the honour they deserved, they have no plaque. There was doctor Kovalski, he went in the night by foot, Father behind him, to the forests at Dolní Dobrouč to tend to [the partisans]. That would have been certain death. Then there was a Dr Holubář opposite the station in Kyšperk, a dentist. The men’s teeth hurt, he had two small children - he went and fixed their teeth for them.”
“They loaded up this piano, that was a struggle, they lost an hour doing it; they loaded up the orange tree, the table and chairs and goodness knows what else, all sorts of nonsense, and off we went. Because we couldn’t stay no more. The brats came along, the boys who I’d gone to school with, they had stones in their hands and they threw it at us. [The driver] said: ‘They’ll break my cabin window or what...’ That was an expensive matter in those days, so he said: ‘...I’m off. You do what you want. If you want to come with me, I’m leaving.’ So we got on the truck and drove to Kyšperk.”
“After training he was transferred to Pilsen-Bory, where the ‘raffers’ [former Czech RAF members] served. That was his military service. It was wonderful, a wonderful relationship, because the boys adored the raffers, and him especially seeing as he was imprisoned. They saw that those men had fought. Those were the elite - he’d flown with Kostrohryz, with Haering. Haering was from Kutná Hora and he used to fly to Zbraslavice - he would always say: ‘Court navigator Kallista will be mine for the Sunday.’ He took a plane in Bory and off they went.”
“One Evvie Steinová or Steinerová, she was a classmate; black hair, a pretty girl, a friend. We cried so badly then. They had her on the list for that Englishman’s [Winton’s] transport at first. But they took her off it and they all ended up gassed. So in memory of this Evvie I had my daughter baptised Eva, because that was an unforgettable friendship. Of the other Jews from Kyšperk none survived. They were all gassed. Except the Fischls, and then I think someone from the Rus family came back, but they went to Israel.”
Miluška Kallistová, roz. Coufalová was born on December 18, 1925 in Police nad Metují. His father was a Russian legionnaire from the First World War and after his return to Czechoslovakia he became a gendarme. In 1938 he was mobilized, after the occupation of the borderland he had to leave his home with his family and move to Kyšperk (today Letohrad). Miluška had to start working at the Kyšperk train station at the age of 14 years, where she spent the whole war. While on duty, she saw trains with soldiers going to fight to the front, who were returning as cripples. Transports to the extermination camps also passed through the station, and the witness secretly stole food for them from the melting brewing station. After the war, the family moved to Meziměstí and subsequently to Police nad Metují. In 1946 she married Leo Kallista, a future army pilot. In order not to jeopardize her husband‘s career, she had to renounce her father, a former Russian legionnaire. Since then she kept meeting her father secretly. The couple had two children, Eva and Leoš.
Photographs of pupils of the second year of the secondary school in Dolní Čermná, year 1938. The witness stands in the middle of the photograph. Her sister engraved a comma over her to recognize her
Photographs of pupils of the second year of the secondary school in Dolní Čermná, year 1938. The witness stands in the middle of the photograph. Her sister engraved a comma over her to recognize her
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!
