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A VISIT TO SZEKSZARD
After spending a few days in Budapest, I set off for Szekszard in a rented car.
On the way I stopped at the small village of Perkata, where my father was born. Having found out the address where his parents lived at the time, I was interested to see a brand new house in the place of the simple home I heard about. Only the entrance to the separate cellar was original and the potholes in the unsealed street filled with rainwater gave an indication of how the area must have looked 107 years ago.
Szekszard presented quite a different picture. The wide tree lined streets running through the town with well kept houses on both sides, gave the impression of a prosperous wine growing town, which happened to have the largest proportion of Svabian population in any Hungarian township.
After booking into the hotel I started to make enquiries as to the whereabouts of the Jewish cemetery. No one from the hotel seemed to know, although they knew that once there was a Jewish church in the center of the town. A young man overheard my enquiry and came to explain where the cemetery might be and realising that I have no idea about any of the streets he was speaking of, suggested that he will drive there and I should follow him. I was suitably impressed by his kind offer, so very different from the cold suspicious reception that greeted us 10 years ago on my last visit to Hungary.
I followed him and when he turned into the yard of a factory I was wondering if he knew where the cemetery is. But then he drove towards a lane, overgrown with weeds and suddenly stopped before a rusty gate. "This is it" he said "just go in, I’ll leave you here". I thanked him and opened the gate, which was off its hinge and was promptly attacked by two barking dogs. I quickly shut the gate and wondered what my next step will be, when a lady in her 80’s came from a shed, wearing no shoes and with both legs bandaged, supported by an aluminium rod in lieu of crutch or walking stick and asked what I wanted. I told her that I am looking for the grave of my grandparents. She locked up the dogs and I entered. She had no knowledge as to where the various graves were, thought that maybe somebody might have some details, but could not even tell me where I might find any member of the Jewish community. However, she lent me an umbrella, which turned inside out as I opened it and was in the same state of health as the poor old lady.
Getting in amongst the graves I realised that I will have a difficult task in finding the correct grave.
Almost without exception the gravestones and graves were overrun with wild ivy and it was almost impossible to see where one grave started and the other ended. Gravestones, which were not standing were hidden under the ivy and in the course of the next 2 hours of searching I fell several times until I learned to hold onto something before taking a step. The only way I could find what the inscription was by tearing away the ivy, but sometimes even then I could only find uncipherable or Hebrew inscriptions.
After a while I realised that I will never succeed and decided to analyse the situation. My grandfather was a man, who regarded himself of some substance. His wife was 31 and came from a well to do family. I came to the decision that she must have been buried near the main lane of the cemetery and close to the Memorial House. With this decision I renewed my search and within minutes read the name of Tauszig Adolfne on a partially cleaned grave stone.
It was raining heavily and I decided to postpone sticking the plaque until later when I obtained some rainproof gear from the hotel. I went back to the old lady (who was on her bed in the shed, which was her kitchen and only room!) and told her that I will return later today. She told me that I should do so before 3 p.m. as she was going to be picked up and taken to hospital. I promised to get back soon and drove away.
Soon I lost my way and realised that unless I retrace my steps I will not be able to get back in time to get into the cemetery. So I returned some 20 minutes later and we went through the same performance of her locking up the dogs, etc. I went back to the gravestone and realised that it was just my grandmother’s and nowhere did it mention my grandfather or my uncle, who were also buried in the Szekszard cemetery. On the other hand I found that there was some inscription which mentioned my mother’s sister, brother-in-law and their daughter, i.e. the Vadasz family, all of whom perished in the Holocaust and which I knew my mother arranged in their memory. Thus I was satisfied that if it was good enough for my mother to have her sister’s memory perpetuated on that stone, it will be OK for me to do the same.
And then the trouble started to become serious. Before I left Australia I made a number of tests to make sure that I am using the correct adhesive to affix the bronze plaque to the marble. For weeks there were pieces of metal being stuck to pieces of stone on our terrace and finally I found the answer, using an epoxy resin. I rang the manufacturer, with whom I was in constant contact during the tests and told the expert which adhesive I am going to use. He suggested that another epoxy adhesive would be even better and stronger, so that is the adhesive I purchased and carted to Hungary.
Little did I know that while the setting time for the adhesive I tested was 5 minutes, the adhesive I took with me was setting (in warm weather) only after about 1 ½ hours, but I soon found out. What with the rain and wind there was no way that I could hold the plaque in position for more than 1 ½ hours while the adhesive sets and even while I was holding it, I saw it running down the marble to which it was to adhere. I was getting desperate, - not only my hand was getting epoxy resin all over it, but my priceless Swiss Army knife was covered by the super adhesive.
Finally, I decided to prop the plaque against the stone and hope for the best and I left before the ambulance picked up the old lady.
Later that day the rain cleared and I went for a walk. Not far from the hotel I came across a nice well kept little park in front of a building I recognised as the Synagogue. I know from the Internet description of Szekszard that in the absence of a Jewish community the old Synagogue is now the House of Culture. I was interested to note that the area in front of the building was named Martyr’s Square and at the center of it the statue was "In Memory of the Heroes and Victims of World War II". Dotted around amongst the flowerbeds were large plaques with hundreds of names. When I found the name of one of my mother’s cousin I realised that the square and the statue was dedicated to the Jewish and non-Jewish dead of WWII.
Next day, the sun was shining and bright and early I was at the cemetery gate. The dogs were barking but the old lady did not come to see why. However, her daughter did let me in. It seems that she was kept in hospital and she contacted her daughter to make sure that I will be able to revisit the cemetery.
My trick worked and the plaque was firmly anchored to the stone. (By the time it is ready to fall off, it will be held in position by the ivy that is sure to grow up around the gravestone once again.)
I tried once again to find my uncle’s grave (he died in 1918) and my grandfather’s (who died in 1925) but to no avail. I did however find my grandfather’s sister’s stone in fairly good state of repair.
The door of the Memorial House was broken and wide open and I went inside. On one wall there were a number of bronze plaques with a lot of names on it. The bronze plaques showed the name of those deported from Szekszard, including the name of our relation and an inscription stated that more than 440 were killed during the Holocaust There were about 6 old chairs and on them the remnants of some flowers and candles. They must have been there for many a year. However there was one fairly fresh wreath on the floor with a ribbon on which the text (freely translated) said: "To the memory of the victims of the Holocaust from the German Minority in Hungary".
It was a sight, which I did not expect to find in the Jewish Cemetery of Szekszard, but which gave me hope for the future.
A VISIT TO SZOLOSGYOROK
It was in 1989 that my wife and I visited the small Hungarian village of Szolosgyorok. For me it was a pilgrimage, as it was the home of my aunt, uncle and cousin Eva with whom my brother and I grew up in Budapest and with whom we used to return to the village for our school holidays. This was the third time that I came to the village after the War, since the three members of the Vadasz family were deported to Auschwitz from where they did not return.
It was during this visit to Hungary that I wanted to show my wife from New Zealand, the Hungary which I left illegally in 1946 and where my memories of childhood followed by persecution and cruelty needed to be shown, so that she may understand what made me into the Australian husband and father I eventually became.
As we drove towards the village we stopped at the signpost showing that we arrived and there photographed each other. Then slowly driving into the village I pointed out the palace where Count Jankovits lived, then the village blacksmith where I was so happy to be allowed to assist with the foot operated blower to keep the forge going. Finally we arrived at the house from where my lovely relatives were deported. But the building having been rebuilt, did not even remind me, what were once a shop and a modest home.
I was devastated and my wife saw the effect it had on me. I explained to her that now nothing, not a thing remains of the Vadasz family, nothing to show that they ever existed. The realisation and the pain of their demise, the futility of any further interest in this village was obvious to us both and as we got into the car we resumed our journey without a further word being spoken. Soon we left Hungary with me vowing never to return.
Next year my mother died in England and not until 1999 did it occur to me that I should find my grandparents’ grave in Szekszard, another Hungarian township, to affix a small plaque in her memory. Then in May 1999 I finalised my plans to visit my brother and his family in England and whilst in Europe, go to Hungary and Szekszard. At the spur of a moment, I decided to write to the mayor of Szolosgyorok and suggest that I would like to erect a memorial plaque on the house in memory of the Vadasz family who were deported from there and who perished during the Holocaust.
I must confess that I was convinced that the delay to receive a reply was either because the good people of Szolosgyorok were to ignore my request or are trying to find a good excuse to deny it. I was sure that it will be refused and my friends thought also that no reply would be received.
It was some time later that a letter from Szolosgyorok arrived. Before I opened the envelope, I asked my wife to have a guess why my request was turned down. Then I read that the Village Council will be pleased for me to erect a suitable Memorial Plaque, subject only to their agreeing its exact position on the building. I was astounded, as were my friends.
After 3 days in Budapest I set off to Szekszard in a rented car where, with some difficulty I found the Jewish Cemetery. I do not intend here to speak about my visit there, nor my almost impossible quest trying to find my grandparents’ grave in an almost completely abandoned cemetery, in pelting rain amidst gravestones completely overgrown with wild ivy.
Next day, when arriving in Szolosgyorok I found the Mayoral Office and was ushered into the office of Dr Jeno Kovacs, the Clerk of the Village Council whose friendly reception put me at ease. (Only those who might have experienced the haughtiness of Hungarian officials in the 1940’s will understand my feeling.) After a while, he explained that the Mayor and Council decided that the occasion should not go without some ceremony and therefore he hopes that I will not mind if they take this opportunity to remember those who were taken from their village 55 years ago. I had no reason to refuse even though I was surprised that they should wish to remember what happened.
Soon we were joined by the Mayor, Jozsef Ekes and by a retired head teacher, Dr Peter Koltay, who turned out to be the village historian. They asked if I knew how my relatives perished and having prepared a small pamphlet on their assumed fate and some extract from literature dealing with the Hungarian Holocaust I was able to give them copies of these.
I was handed a copy of the invitation to the ceremony of the unveiling of the Memorial Plaque, inviting some citizens of the village at 1 o’clock to meet at the shop where the plaque was to be affixed together with the planned program for the ceremony.
We walked down to the shop where a council workman already prepared the wall and found some 50 people waiting for us. Most of them were youngish people but there were some old enough to remember that once upon time they had Jews living amidst themselves and while I had an opportunity to speak to some of them, the time came for the proceedings to start with a school child who recited a poem. She was followed by the Mayor, who expressed his thanks to me for having come and reminded those present of the debt they owe those who perished from their village, but who contributed to the village while they lived as part of the community.
Dr. Koltay, who spoke about 15 minutes about what happened, followed the Mayor. He emphasised that not only the Vadasz family but the other 4 Jewish families of Szolosgyorok contributed to the trade of the village, how they gave credit to the peasants who were exploited by the Count, the only landowner who paid his workers just once a year in kind and how the Jewish family businesses were necessary to the survival of the peasantry. He explained how after the German occupation in March 1944, the Hungarian Government of Sztojay handed over the Jews of Hungary to the Germans, but emphasised that it was the Hungarian Government, the Hungarian Gendarmes and police and officials who did the work even though it was Germans who did the gassings. He told us how the Jews were marched out of the village with their bags on their shoulders and pointed out how few of the villagers had the courage to help them. He tried to explain the horror of their being taken from one place to the other until put into wagons and transported to the gas chambers of Auschwitz, from where none of the 21 Jews of Szolosgyorok returned.
He introduced us to one who had some courage, Mrs Bozsi Balogh, who used to be the Vadasz’s maid and a friend to their daughter and who spoke in her simple manner in a moving way of the love she felt for this simple family and how she smuggled food into the room where 21 of them were kept for the days before their march out of the village The 87 years old widow told of some personal memories and shed a few tears while doing so.
It was my turn to speak and I told them of my thoughts during my last visit to the village, my resolve to have some memorial to the Vadasz Family and a thanked not only the officials of the village who have enabled me to erect this memorial to my relations but also thanked those who paid them the honour by being present. I congratulated them for caring and expressed my hope that never again will people be judged and persecuted on the basis of their race, religion, colour or political convictions.
After being invited to affix the plaque, I secured one of the screws and invited various officials to follow suit, after which some of those present chatted with me. A few elderly people remembered my relations and had some memories to pass on to me. Finally, I was invited to inspect the building and explain how the original house was before being converted into one big self service store. I made sure to point out where the chairs used to be, where the peasant women used to sit and gossip with each other and the Vadasz Family.
Afterwards we walked back to the Council Chambers where other members of the council were introduced and champagne and cakes were offered. Once again some speeches were made and two books were presented. One of them was a book from the library of Dr Koltay by a well known Hungarian writer (Gardonyi Geza) who lived in Szolosgyorok and who wrote a short story about the Jewish village doctor and the other was the 432 page History of Szolosgyorok.
(This book, published in 1991, turned out to be quite a gem. Not only was it a surprise to me that the village was an important one in the history of Hungary, but also that once upon the time it had a population of 76 Jews. I never knew that in 1944 there were 5 Jewish families, I only knew of 3. The deportation of the Jews is described in full as a shameful and cruel act and the name of the martyrs listed. In this book it was also emphasised that the deportations were carried out not by Germans but Hungarian Gendarmes. No punches were pulled. It is of interest to note that in one of the 1930 school photographs I can recognise my then 6 years old cousin.)
After visiting the old lady who used to work for my relations I said farewell to Szolosgyorok in much better mood and with a more balanced view of both the village and Hungary.
It remains to be said that we were told that the village would be interested in organising the reconditioning of a brick wall in the Jewish Cemetery and they would welcome some financial assistance to this end. My brother and I later decided not to contribute to the repair of the cemetery and instead offered to establish a foundation in the name of our deceased cousin. The Foundation will be assisting a deserving student during the next 20 years before its funds are exhausted.
Post Script. Unfortunately our good intentions faltered, when the school, whose students would have benefited from the Foundation did not wish the Foundation to be named "in memory of" our cousin and did not allow the recipients of the awards to know who the person was in whose name the Foundation would have handed out the awards. It was our opinion that the students, receiving a sum of money, would have thought that Miss Eva Vadasz was alive and well and generous. We wanted her to be remembered as a martyr who did not deserve the horrific experiences which were only relieved by her death so far away from her home. Under the circumstances we sent some money to the school to defray them for the cost of corresponding with us. As at today, 6 months later, no acknowledgement was received.
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