Like a Weed
A coming of age story of a Hungarian girl through WWII and the post war years as a Displaced Person
by
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A DECISION HAD TO BE MADE.
That fateful autumn day in 1944 I locked myself into the upstairs bathroom. The adults stood outside the door while my mother cajoled and begged me, and others took turns trying to convince me or reason with me to please unlock the door. I would not. I could not. I stood in the middle of the large bathroom with the key in my hand, contemplating throwing it out the window. In the end, my resolve worn down, I capitulated and turned the key to the bathroom door.
While all this was drama was going on a large black sedan was waiting, fully packed, in the backyard by the double gate. Nor our sleek little Adler but someone else's automobile who wanted it taken to a town near the Austrian border in the far western region of Hungary. We were going there temporarily, until things settled down. It was best to get out of town. Only a few kilometers to the east the Russians were pillaging and raping their way toward the liberation of Budapest.
The rest of that day blends into the November fog. I found out later that I was given a mild sedative, but I do remember standing in the yard saying almost perfunctory farewells to a small gathering of household members. My grandmother and my best friend Veti stood side by side. I don't know if my grandfather was there but then again he must have been.
George started the engine and drove out the gate. We went along the streetcar track to the next block, turned right and careened onto the main highway lined with the now leafless chestnut trees, pasr my elementary school, past my Great Aunt Emma's villa with the stone lions at the gate, amidst silent woods, out of the city and toward the west.
December 25th was less than a month away. I was eleven years and eight months old, and as we made our way through the countryside away from everything I had ever known, I knew in the depth of my soul that I would never walk with my grandfather to the pharmacy we just passed, or rake the golden leaves of autumn with my grandmother, that Veti and I would grow up without each other, and that I would never spend another Christmas here or see any of the people whom we left standing in the foggy garden of the old house. And so it was.
THE SPRING OF 1945-- THE END OF THE WAR
The pathos was heightened by the unrelenting beauty of the place. Fields carpeted with yellow daffodils, lush green hills sprinkled with crocuses, lilies of the field, and violets, brooks like rapids running wildly with the waters of freshly melted snow and playing peek-a-boo under the curved stone bridges throughout town, the lily ponds with their frogs, all performed their eternal spring ritual, unaware and uncaring of the ongoing human drama.
In a short while the traffic went away, as did the (Wermacht) officer, and the town returned to its usual tranquility. For a day or two the square stood mostly empty. Then one day.......we heard an unfamiliar sound of motors approaching from the south. The jeep with four American soldiers came into view.....it was the first time I saw such a sight.....but I stood mesmerized as the jeep followed by an entire convoy passed me by. They were alert and vigilant --these battle weary-men. This was not Italy where the population was jubilant, and where laughing girls threw flowers and kisses and jumped into jeeps. This was the heartland of an enemy country. Nevertheless some of them took note of the curious little girl standing on the dusty road and smiled and waved. After a while, I waved back.
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About the Book
The little girl standing in the field of tall grass and dandelions is four years old. She's in the garden of her grandparents' villa on the outskirts of Budapest, Hungary, the only home she's ever known, among loving people, her mother, her best friend, her nanny, her uncle. The first of September 1939 she enters first grade almost at the same instant the German Nazi Army invades the not too distant Poland. Unbeknownst to her life is altered for ever. World War II has begun. At first slowly, almost imperceptably, life begins to change; then come bombings, German occupation and another threat, that of the Soviet Army approaching the eastern border. In the Fall of 1944 her mother and step-father and the little girl leave the capitol for another city only to encounter more severe bombings, a reign of terror and human suffering while life in a surreal way still goes on and children manage to find fun in spite of it all.
The three flee the country to Austria. At last the war is over. Yet years of uncertainly await them. Not until March of 1950 when they arrive in the United States do they find what is considered a normal life.
But it isn't all gloom and doom. Amusing situations, pleasurable times happen even in harsh times. Time marches on and the little girl is growing up. Romance makes an appearance---well more like puppy-love.
About the Author
I like to write and I like to tell stories--moreover whenever I would reminisce about my adventures about the years I lived in Europe before, during and after WWII people told me I should write them down. It took me a long time. I was past seventy when I finally got around to actually doing so with a writers' group full of warm, encouraging, and talented writers. I promised myself when I was sixteen and living in an unheated attic in Austria that one day I'd write a book. So now I have fulfilled my long ago made promise and can relax and enjoy life here in Phoenix, Arizona.
The years I chronicled were not easy but as I wrote about all the people, places and adventures that came into my life in those years I began to be grateful for the experience and what it has taught me. I am a bridge player and accustomed to playing the hand that is dealt to me. Besides, life doesn't give you a re-deal. I am not of a sentimental nature, but I do believe in happy endings beause I am living one now.
"like a weed" is my story--the way I lived it and the time I lived it--many people had it a lot worse and I daresay some had it a lot better. I have no message--"if you want a message, go to Western Union" Samuel Goldwyn reportedly said. I just hope reading the Memoirs of a Hungarian girl will give you pleasure.