Věra Lukášová

„Odborová organizace zorganizovala odpoledne po druhé hodině nějakou ateistickou besedu. Přišel na ni přednášející, který byl totálně nepřipravený a nevzdělaný. Nevěděl vůbec nic – o bibli, o náboženství, o církvi, jenom takové ty floskule a laciné fráze. Účast byla povinná, takže jsme tam všichni seděli. Řada těch lidí, kteří tam pracovali, byli katolíci, ale nevyhlašovali to nikde. Ale že můj muž je farář, to věděli všichni. A když už to přesahovalo všechnu míru, tak já jsem se do té debaty zapojila, tu debatu jsem vyhrála a posléze i rozpustila, protože jsem musela jít pro děti, pro syna do školky. Následek byl ten, že pan ředitel už mě tam nechtěl a velmi rychle mě propustil. A jak se příběhy dějí, já jsem v životě neměla angínu, ale tenkrát v té ochranné lhůtě jsem dostala hnisavou angínu, takže mě pan ředitel musel platit ještě déle, než byla ta domluvená doba brigády. Výsledek byl ale ten, že jsem už absolutně nemohla najít místo.“

„Tam byly Bohoslužby v devět hodin ráno. Jenda měl tmavý oblek a kufřík s talárem a já šla dva kroky za ním, protože on chodil rychle a já se za ním vždycky táhla. A teď jsme šli, a ulice byly liduprázdné, jen ty šipky a žádné názvy. Vešli jsme do té pusté krajiny a najednou to bylo jako v řecké báji. Najednou z té půdy začaly vyskakovat postavy – to ruská armáda tam měla jakési ležení a jak jsme postupovali v cestě, tak se před námi objevovali. Já jsem strnula hrůzou, ale můj muž šel dál, krok za krokem, až jsme došli ke kostelíku a tam stály tři nebo čtyři paní. Jenda jim říkal: ‚Jemináčku sestry, abyste se nebály,‘ a ony na to ‚Jemináčku, proč, vždyť jdeme do kostela!‘ Naproti byla ta kaplička a před ní stál ruský voják s puškou. A my jsme šli tedy do kostela a nechali otevřené dveře. Byly to možná první protestantské bohoslužby, které ‚viděl‘ ušima.“

“The world started anew once again because they invited my husband to accept the post of parson here in Jarov. And he said yes. So we moved. Everything is complicated for me. What I say is: ‘Stories happen and I bump into them.’ I married three weeks after the currency reform. We had no money. When we moved, it was 21 August 1968. Our moving van drove to Prague along with the Soviet tanks. With two children, with everything we had, which were mostly books, we moved to Prague.’”

“One day Mr Novotný [the director Jaroslav Novotný - ed.] told me: ‘Věrka, come with me, we have to go to the labs [in the Zlín film studios - ed.]. They phoned to say they have something there they don’t know what to do about.’ So we went there and saw the travelogue. Then we came back and Mr Novotný dictated a letter for me to write. It was addressed to Jiří Hanzelka and Miroslav Zikmund. What we saw were the very first travelogues they had shot. They were completely untrained, they could just about take pictures, but they hadn’t a clue about film cameras. They’d gotten the camera because they had an agreement with the Ministry of Education that if they’d be travelling the world, the might as well shoot films that could be used for lessons at school. Let me note that Hanzelka and Zikmund prepared for their journey in autumn 1947, so they left while Czechoslovakia was still a free country. But the whole of their journey took place after the Communist coup. So we sat there, and Mr Novotný dictated that letter, which I’ll never forget. He wrote: ‘You have an amazing opportunity. But please, you really can’t do things like that. You have to choose one topic, you can’t just shoot everything you come across. You have to start slowly and then perhaps capture some motion. You have to record the overall scene and then go into detail. You can’t keep flashing the camera here and there, you also have to stop for a bit and let the viewers see what you’re showing them.’ We sent the letter and were very curious as to the answer. If they had been snobbish and proud, they’d have said: ‘Don’t tell us how to do things!’ But they were very wise, and they wrote: ‘Thank you, and please write to us and spare us not.’”

“But then one afternoon [at the bank - ed.] they announced an atheistic propaganda [workshop]. It was mandatory, we all had to go there. And the person who came to lecture - nothing against him being an atheist - but he should have been educated and prepared. But all he knew were some shallow phrases, nothing else. We got into a debate. Everyone knew I was a parson’s wifem I couldn’t stay silent. Kroměříž is a Catholic city, the summer residence of the archbishop, a Catholic power house. So I spoke up in the debate, and of course I won the debate. Then I ended [the workshop - ed.], I said: ‘I can’t discuss any longer, I have to pick the children up from nursery school.’ [After this - ed.] they didn’t extend my temporary contract, of course, they fired me. And I couldn’t find any job at all. But I really needed work because pastors earned six hundred crowns a month back then. Every cleaning lady earned more than that. But low wages, that was a tactic of the Communist party, to dissuade people from studying theology. You won’t go study theology when it’ll earn you six hundred crowns. That was borderline poverty.”