Věra Pavlovcová

"Death marches of Russian prisoners of war came through Nová Paka in February, in the slush on the roads and bad weather. People went to the roadside and threw them whatever bread or rolls they could. They gave their own - everything was rationed. A motorcade went by in the evening and my parents went with food. Suddenly, a man left the column, my parents saw him and took him in. My mum hugged him like they were lovers to avoid it looking suspicious, and took him to our house. I remember him sitting by the stove on a stool. Terrible condition, I tell you, I wouldn't wish it on anyone. We hate the Russians now, but we liked them then. Their legs were wrapped in rags and they had clogs. That was before the revolution, and Dad was in touch with those people. Dad gave him a coat. We put clothes on him; even though we didn't have our own, the neighbors brought theirs. Dad took him to Kumburk."

"When he was working in the garden, he could get an apple and was better off, especially mentally. Once he got out, he felt better and didn't want to kill himself anymore. He would put an onion or an apple in his pocket, whichever he could pick up, and bring it to those who were bed-ridden. He said there was one who they tortured so badly he just lay down. He didn't feel a thing when they stuck him - like a living corpse. One day, dad was caught. The guard reproached him and my father spat in front of him. The guard threw himself at him. Luckily, there was a 'chief' prisoner, a multiple murderer, who snatched dad and saved him. I didn't find out until just before he died. He stopped being afraid and we learned some things from him."