Aloisie Gardavská

* 1940

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  • "I started school, and those 1950s really affected me deeply — maybe for life. I used to attend religious classes. We were taught by a nun. I only found out years later that she was twenty-six at the time, but to a small child… she seemed so impressive. I really liked her, the nun, and she taught us religion. And one day, during class, they came in — it was just like the Gestapo — men in leather coats, and they took her out of the classroom. I really loved her, she was so… I even used to visit her at the convent here at Na Lindovce. When they took her away, I went to the convent to ask what had happened to her. And this little peephole opened, and another nun appeared and told me I should never ask about her again. As if to say, ‘That’s it… no more.’ And imagine this — to this day, I know who reported her. The nun had told us, when the trials with the priests were happening, that we should pray for them, that they were innocent. And I still remember which classmate it was, because her father was the second-highest-ranking Communist in the district."

  • "We went back and we went to Silistra, where we had these friends, Bulgarians. And they all told us, don't come back... they gave us flour and everything. And we sat there... Pavel went to the first class, he was six years old. And we sat by the Danube. My husband knew languages, he knew English, he knew German. And we were sitting there wondering if we were going back or not. That was a very difficult decision. That's why I say that, without the kid, not a shot. And then we were wondering - we went through Romania - and then we were wondering if we were going to come back. In Bucharest, it was already divided. The Czechs went to Vienna and some went to Hungary. And we did - because my husband's mother - the brother stayed in Switzerland and my husband's mother loved this Paul, our son, very much. And he went to first grade. And we were like, well, if we took that Paul away from her too, our grandmother, she wouldn't survive."

  • "Around us in that house, it was all soldiers. They were all committed communists. So that's where I recognized it. And then I learned, after too many years, that actually the nearest neighbor was informing on us. And another one. That I didn't know that he was the one who had us in his sights, that he was informing on us. That's what I found out - it freaked me out. And one more, but I wasn't so surprised about that one."

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    Zlín, 16.02.2025

    (audio)
    duration: 01:53:07
    media recorded in project Stories of the region - Central Moravia
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I didn’t find out that my neighbor was informing on us until long after the revolution

Witness in 1958
Witness in 1958
photo: archive of a witness

Aloisie Gardavská was born on June 28, 1940 into a family of tradesmen, her father, Antonín Urválek, was a butcher in Kroměříž. In 1942, he was imprisoned in Kounice’s dormitories because of his brother, who had gone to fight in England. After the communist takeover, the family’s butcher shop was taken away and the father ended up in the mines. During her school years, the witness grew fond of her religion teacher, a nun who was later imprisoned for expressing sympathy toward victims of repression against the Catholic Church. She showed great courage by being the only one to write the nun a letter while she was in prison. Later, due to her family’s reputation among members of the Communist Party, the narrator struggled to find employment. Her husband, an economist in the army, lost his job after his brother emigrated to Switzerland. It wasn’t until many years after the Velvet Revolution that they discovered their neighbors had been informing on them. The narrator lived through the 1989 revolution and the subsequent split of Czechoslovakia while in Slovakia. She returned to Kroměříž in 1996, where she was still living in 2025 at the time of filming for Memory of Nations.