Veronika Veselovská, rod. Črepová

"There was a mobilization in 1944. Hey, huh? This means they called men of all ages, who could possibly enlist, to join the army, they called them to come to the military administration. My father was relatively young, so he belonged to the age of men, who were recruited. But he was already blind, he went blind when I was three years old. It was summer, my mother had cut the grass, it needed to be collected and carried to the barn on the back. So she sent me with my father and the men supposed to enlist. We came to Ružomberok for military administration, but my father was not accepted due to his blindness. They also gave us food, it was some strange porridge. They sent one soldier, I don't know who it was, they gave him money to take us on the train because Korytnička went to Osada. So the soldier went with us to the station, but he did not have the patience to wait so he bought us a ticket, gave it to my father and left. We stayed there, I could not read the clocks at that time. We were waiting, waiting.... "But what time is it?" Father asked. "I don't know" I replied. Someone passed by us, my father asked him "What time is it? The train was supposed to leave." And the man replied: "Sir, the train left already a long time ago." And we stayed at the train station, a blind man and an eight years old child, we stayed at the train station! But what to do now? We have no connection home! So we walked on foot. The father was of course nervous, he even lost me a few times, but I was a foolish child. Then we asked along the way if we are going in the right direction, whether we are not lost? And we somehow in the end got to Biely Potok, where we had some acquaintances, who respected my father. And those acquaintances, they somehow took care that we find the way home."

"So he came from Prašivá to prepare the wood so that they could bake the bread, which the old men then carried to Prašivá. He came home - he was in the yard, preparing the wood for the kiln. A Russian partisan was going down the road - my uncle knew him, they knew each other, so he called him by his name. I didn't know how exactly it happened. I don't know what his name was. He called him. He pulled out a revolver and shot at my uncle. He shot him in the stomach and two days later he died. In the chronicle of Lúžná, it is written, that my uncle died on Prašivá. They were no fights there [at Prasiva], the Germans did not get there, nor did they bomb the village. Which valley were they supposed to bomb? They didn't know it! But that the uncle came home, that he was shot in the yard by a friend - a Russian [partisan], because it was a shooting! There are two small children left. "