Helena Glancová

“I took my ten-year-old son to Olšany [Cemetary - trans.] for All Souls Day, and we all knew which grave was the one that referred to Palach, although the name there was Marie Jedličková. Most people knew where it was, and so there were always dozens of candles burning there. It was a paradox in that there was Marie Jedličková there. I stopped there for a bit with my ten-year-old Tomáš, and he did what children do, that he lit the candles that had gone out from the other ones that were still burning. Perhaps he didn’t even really know where we were standing. A spook [undercover agent - trans.] came up and said: ‘Come here, come here...’ And he started dragging him off somewhere. I said: ‘What do you want with him?’ - ‘Is he yours?’ I said yes, that he was my son. ‘Show me your ID.’ There was a population census going on at the time. I told him I had just been filling out the census forms and had left my ID card on the table. ‘Well, then come with me.’ They took us to the closest station, wrote down our statement, and yet all that had happened was that he had been lighting candles that had gone out, more from a kind of childish... so they would burn nicely, seeing that they still had some wick left. I thought, goodness gracious, they won’t expel him from primary school for that, will they?”

“You had to wear the star, and I was awfully excited that when I turned six, I would also be allowed to wear it, like the other children did. Mum had a handbag, she unstitched it and wore the handbag like this, so it wouldn’t be visible, because the spot was a lighter colour. Jews were not allowed to sit in the tram, they had to stand on the platform. And one man, a complete stranger, said: ‘What’re you sitting for, off to the platform with you!’ Well, Czechs can be like that sometimes, too.”