Born 1911 in Bratislava (then called Pozsony, the country itself was called Hungary, part of Austro-Hungarian Empire), died in Prague January 1996, grave in Humpolec (the grave was desecrated and demolished in about 2016).
My father. A slim, about 185cm tall man, with prominent nose, dark brown receding hair, short-sighted and always wearing glasses. Like his sisters he had no facial or physical similarity to his parents. A quiet and mild-mannered man.
Before the second world war he translated a few cheap paperback novels (called Ro-Do-Kaps) from Hungarian to Slovakian or Czech languages. Able to play violin a little, but because of the caustic opposition from his wife he seldom touched it.
An ardent watcher of soccer matches he spent many a Saturday supporting the local club, š. K. Bratislava. Took me along a few times but to his disappointment I have never been interested in being a fan. He supported my mild interest in track and field, enrolled me in a couple of local clubs and was disappointed when I did not show much enthusiasm for these organised activities; likewise with the Scouts and Sokol movements. On a few occasions we travelled together to various places: on a steamboat on the river Danube to Hrušov, some 10km downstream; to Prague to inspect some old buildings he was writing about for some newspaper; to Devin castle near Bratislava. For my 11th birthday he brought me a present, a German army bicycle Wanderer! That was my most precious present to date, and I had it for some 10 years. I sold it to an old Austrian man who (probably) liked its German wartime provenance.
I cannot explain why but we did not get along very well. He was a good man, he meant well for me, I liked him, and we even had many things in common, such as book reading - similar authors even -, love of Czech culture, interest in history... We were just unable to communicate he always called me boy (hochu), or student; I don't remember calling him father, or something similar, except in my early childhood. It probably did not help that since I was about 7, I lived with my paternal grandparents. And, to my eternal shame, I remember clearly not looking forward to my parents' occasional visits...
He helped me on quite a few occasions when I was in distress, be it at school, or at work, never working openly but manipulating in the background. I hardly knew about it at the time and learned only years later. I don’t think I ever thanked him for it, and it causes me distress even now, decades later…
His relationship with my sister, Hanka, was a bit warmer, but I do not know to what extent.
He loved his wife very much (called her Máňa, or Mánička; I do not remember what she used to call him, maybe Karel) and behaved towards her with a great deal of respect, almost diffidence, which did not always endear him to the rest of the family because of her somewhat prickly and forever critical nature. She, in return, complained loudly to anybody who cared to listen about his dirty socks and underwear, smelly toilet visits, his strange friends (in her eyes), his clumsiness in "her" kitchen, his "crazy" love of books, etc.; she seemed to revel in his and the listeners' embarrassment. This last paragraph was possibly the reason for the distance I was trying to keep between myself and him - his apparent inability to rein his wife's embarrassing behaviour in.
Socially he was a shy man. He had a few friends (his wife hated them all), mainly from his work, who on occasions would come and visit us, or come to a winery with us... He was a fond follower of the old Bratislava custom of visiting wine cellars on weekends - another habit, along with soccer watching, that we disagreed on. I saw him drunk on perhaps a dozen of occasions. Once he rolled down a steep flight of stairs at home and suffered a few bruises about his head. He did not like talking to neighbours to the extent of trying to walk on the opposite side of the road from them. When it could not be avoided, well, he would say his hellos, make some small talk and escape with some hasty excuses.
He liked his parents and sisters, and they liked him. He was on very good terms with his in-laws. He did not like noisy people, or busybodies, and probably shied away from them because, being polite, he did not know how to deal with them in a polite manner.
He lived the last few years of his life with my sister Hanka in Praha-Michle. I had the pleasure of spending one week with him in their flat in January 1995, where we talked about everything (mostly about places and things, but he avoided talking about relatives) and shook hands for the last time on very good terms. I regret not kissing him on both cheeks and not thanking him for life, love and for all the help. I asked him to use a tape recorder to record whatever he remembered of our relatives but, as Hanka reported after he died, it did not happen.
Next is my last picture of him taken by myself in December 1994 in his daughter's flat at Praha-Michle. The watch on his wrist was Swiss-made Movado, which I envied him a lot as a child:
He died in January 1996, after developing some stomach pain during an episode of 'flu; taken to a nearby hospital in the evening he said to (his daughter) Hanka and her husband 'all right, go home, it's getting late', and died an hour later, aged 84 years and seven months (his father died aged 84 years and nine months).
My father. A slim, about 185cm tall man, with prominent nose, dark brown receding hair, short-sighted and always wearing glasses. Like his sisters he had no facial or physical similarity to his parents. A quiet and mild-mannered man.
Wife Marie née Havelková, children Karol and Hana.
In this picture he is about 20 years old:
On the next picture is him in his heyday as Taxation Office clerk in about 1940, walking in Bratislava on Americké Námestie:
Next picture is taken in his office at Bratislava, štefánikova 4, Taxation Department. He is third from left, in white shirt. Note: picture taken on September 16, 1936. I was born 16 days earlier:
In the picture below, taken in about 1950, he is with (l-r) his mother Julia, his wife Marie, sister Ruženka, and the child is my sister Hanka, with the air gun he bought for me (and himself). The hill in the background is called Chlmec:
After finishing secondary education, he was conscripted into the army for two years (mostly in Turnov). Afterwards unemployed for a few years. On my birth certificate (1936) his employment was registered as 'taxation auxiliary clerk'. After the communists in 1948 declared that the clerks were 'anti-social elements' he was forced to work as a labourer in a nearby chemical factory, after a year or two he was banished from the capital of Bratislava, where we lived, to Komárno where he worked at a railway station as a clerk. In the early 19-fifties, through some friends, he managed to get a job back in Bratislava as a proof-reader in the trade union publishing house. Remained with the same House (called Práca) in various capacities, ending as an editor of trade union publications. After I with my family escaped from the "socialism" into the capitalist Austria he lost his permanent job, but he was allowed to work for the House on a contract basis for many years even long after his official retirement.
Before the second world war he translated a few cheap paperback novels (called Ro-Do-Kaps) from Hungarian to Slovakian or Czech languages. Able to play violin a little, but because of the caustic opposition from his wife he seldom touched it.
An ardent watcher of soccer matches he spent many a Saturday supporting the local club, š. K. Bratislava. Took me along a few times but to his disappointment I have never been interested in being a fan. He supported my mild interest in track and field, enrolled me in a couple of local clubs and was disappointed when I did not show much enthusiasm for these organised activities; likewise with the Scouts and Sokol movements. On a few occasions we travelled together to various places: on a steamboat on the river Danube to Hrušov, some 10km downstream; to Prague to inspect some old buildings he was writing about for some newspaper; to Devin castle near Bratislava. For my 11th birthday he brought me a present, a German army bicycle Wanderer! That was my most precious present to date, and I had it for some 10 years. I sold it to an old Austrian man who (probably) liked its German wartime provenance.
I am not sure whether he claimed to be a Slovakian or a Hungarian. His parents were ethnic Hungarians, they spoke the language with their children whenever they felt like it. He had plenty of hungarian books in his bookshelf, encyclopedias (Tolnai and Révai), various books, he used to bring home newspaper and magazines (Ujszo, Elet es tudomány); as well, he used to subscribe to the Czech publications of word books (PEN Klub, ELK = European Literary Club). His wife was regarding these "foibles" rather dimly, she did not like books of any kind. I guess he was expecting me to become interested...
I cannot explain why but we did not get along very well. He was a good man, he meant well for me, I liked him, and we even had many things in common, such as book reading - similar authors even -, love of Czech culture, interest in history... We were just unable to communicate he always called me boy (hochu), or student; I don't remember calling him father, or something similar, except in my early childhood. It probably did not help that since I was about 7, I lived with my paternal grandparents. And, to my eternal shame, I remember clearly not looking forward to my parents' occasional visits...
He helped me on quite a few occasions when I was in distress, be it at school, or at work, never working openly but manipulating in the background. I hardly knew about it at the time and learned only years later. I don’t think I ever thanked him for it, and it causes me distress even now, decades later…
His relationship with my sister, Hanka, was a bit warmer, but I do not know to what extent.
He loved his wife very much (called her Máňa, or Mánička; I do not remember what she used to call him, maybe Karel) and behaved towards her with a great deal of respect, almost diffidence, which did not always endear him to the rest of the family because of her somewhat prickly and forever critical nature. She, in return, complained loudly to anybody who cared to listen about his dirty socks and underwear, smelly toilet visits, his strange friends (in her eyes), his clumsiness in "her" kitchen, his "crazy" love of books, etc.; she seemed to revel in his and the listeners' embarrassment. This last paragraph was possibly the reason for the distance I was trying to keep between myself and him - his apparent inability to rein his wife's embarrassing behaviour in.
Socially he was a shy man. He had a few friends (his wife hated them all), mainly from his work, who on occasions would come and visit us, or come to a winery with us... He was a fond follower of the old Bratislava custom of visiting wine cellars on weekends - another habit, along with soccer watching, that we disagreed on. I saw him drunk on perhaps a dozen of occasions. Once he rolled down a steep flight of stairs at home and suffered a few bruises about his head. He did not like talking to neighbours to the extent of trying to walk on the opposite side of the road from them. When it could not be avoided, well, he would say his hellos, make some small talk and escape with some hasty excuses.
He liked his parents and sisters, and they liked him. He was on very good terms with his in-laws. He did not like noisy people, or busybodies, and probably shied away from them because, being polite, he did not know how to deal with them in a polite manner.
He lived the last few years of his life with my sister Hanka in Praha-Michle. I had the pleasure of spending one week with him in their flat in January 1995, where we talked about everything (mostly about places and things, but he avoided talking about relatives) and shook hands for the last time on very good terms. I regret not kissing him on both cheeks and not thanking him for life, love and for all the help. I asked him to use a tape recorder to record whatever he remembered of our relatives but, as Hanka reported after he died, it did not happen.
In this picture, taken in 1935, he is standing on the left next to his wife Marie. Standing on the right is Robert Nedvĕd with his wife Otylie (Marie's sister). In the middle are their friends Kálmán Ligacs (a cousin, once removed) and Juci (Marie's school friend).
A sample of his handwriting is shown below. In it he is mentioning our children - his grandchildren: he is enquiring about George's poor performance at school, asking him and John to write a few words to him, and also asking Mireille to write a little about our food.
Next is my last picture of him taken by myself in December 1994 in his daughter's flat at Praha-Michle. The watch on his wrist was Swiss-made Movado, which I envied him a lot as a child:
'Odišiel do modrých diaľav', as he was fond of saying ("he walked away into the blue yonder.").
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