Marie Ryšavá

* 1949

  • On Saint Wenceslas day The convict’s clothes are in crowds near the wires striding around. Day of Wenceslas, the saint. From a watchtower, the guard is staring, an autumn day, grey, silent, desires of the soul it drains. A lust for freedom it sucks. The convict’s view got stuck, saw the bird further fly. To the wires below, eyes are slipping. Having bare hands, else nothing. Above his head, a piece of sky Desire turns into madness. Flees from the cycle to the fences, running towards death’s lap. Firing from two machine guns! He’s knocked down to the rampart grounds, the light in his eyes turns black. Fell for a lust for freedom, wrecked in rapids like a bloom, Day of Wenceslas, the saint. Of a friend whose eyebrows, the red regime dyed with blood, only a memory remains. In Leopoldov on 28 September 1958, in the walking yard of the solitary cells, political prisoner Josef Vaníček ran into the wires. He was viciously shot by a guard from the two nearest towers. Alois Hlavatý

  • "Petrovský, my father, and Nýčkalo were driving a Tatra 111 towards the main gate. The car was supposedly loaded with sand. The inner bars opened outwards, and they passed through them, but the fourth ones opened inwards. They dragged the iron in front of them and were left hanging there, so they caught them there. I know it was on the 15 of August 1958, and they claimed that there was an officer with a motorcycle in the main driveway, so they claimed they wanted to kill him. But they just wanted to get away, but they couldn't. Then I know, but I know this from his cellmates, that they put him in solitary confinement, and I know exactly where. They beat him there every day, Petrovský and Nýčkal too. And then, on the 28 of September, they sent him to go outside to clean his blanket on the pavement. There were these concrete sidewalks, and he stepped with his foot off the sidewalk, and from the first tower, he shot him with a burst from a machine gun and blew his head off. I know that from his fellow prisoners. They left him lying there on the scene for two hours as a warning, and they touched him twice because he had a pulse. And as long as he had a pulse, they left him lying there."

  • "My mother said they arrested him and even ordered her to milk the cows. They loaded the milk cans in one car, loaded the pigs in the other car, sealed the house, and told her to go wherever she wanted. And she walked ten kilometers through the woods with me and my sister to her parents."

  • "When the Pich family moved to Rtyně, right, Pich-Tůma, then his daughter Jana was friends with me. Only when I was an adult, I found out why she was friends with me. Because this Pich-Tůma used to go and beat up prisoners at Tmavý důl, and he was in Hradec at the investigations, and he used to beat them up there. It's proven that he tortured political prisoners."

  • "Mom then asked to visit again, like the next year during the holidays. The visit was allowed, and then it was suddenly refused. Nobody knew why. 'Visitation denied,' and we didn't go again. Later, I learned that on 15 August, my father was to try to escape from Leopoldov with two other prisoners, driving a Tatra against the main gate. That was on 15 August, but we didn't learn all this until after '90."

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    Hradec Králové, 28.04.2023

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State Security was looking for evidence against her father in her diapers. He died in Leopoldov

Marie Ryšavá (Vaníčková) at the end of the 1950s
Marie Ryšavá (Vaníčková) at the end of the 1950s
zdroj: witness archive

Marie Ryšavá was born on 12 May 1949. Her father, Josef Vaníček, worked after February 1948 as chairman of the national committee in the village of Chlívce in the Broumov region. It did not take long, however, for Josef Vaníček to start cooperating with a resistance group, and in the early 1950s, he became an agent of the American secret service. Although he tried several times to hide from State Security, he ended up before a tribunal that sentenced him to life imprisonment. In Leopoldov, where he was serving part of his sentence, Marie Ryšavá visited him together with her mother and sister. It was the first and last visit to her father that she remembers. In 1958, on St. Wenceslas Day, one of the guards shot Josef Vaníček. In the small village of Rtyně v Podkrkonoší, where she lived with her mother at her grandparents‘ house, she encountered bullying and prejudice during her childhood and adolescence. After primary school, she took an agricultural apprenticeship and later worked in the unified agricultural cooperative (JZD) in Rtyně. In the second half of the 1960s, Marie Ryšavá married for the first time, and she and her husband had two sons. November 1989, and the change of regime, was a fateful change for her. At the beginning of the 1990s, she helped found the Trutnov branch of the Confederation of Political Prisoners, thanks to which she learned the whole truth about her father‘s fate. She then liquidated the branch herself in 2020. In 2023 she was living in Dvůr Králové nad Labem. We were able to record her story thanks to support from the ŠKODA AUTO Foundation.