Marie Švirgová, roz. Svačinová

* 1936  †︎ 2022

  • “We flew for the first time last year, that was before Easter, to Washington and from Washington to Atlanta. And we’re supposed to go again this year. Well, I didn’t want to, I said I didn’t know if I could even take it, that I’d give up. But when they said we wouldn’t go to Atlanta this time but to New York, where there’s the Statue of Liberty, the former ‘Twins’ and all that, I reckoned: ‘I’ll risk it.’ And I’m so terribly glad I went. It’s just amazing. A boat took us around the Statue of Liberty and those ‘Twins’, that’s so moving - whenever I remember it, tears come to my eyes. May such things never happen again in the world, because there’s a metal plaque there engraved with the names of all those who died there, who found their end there. And people bring them flowers, one at a time, you can’t fit more into the gaps... Well, and then, in my old age, I also found myself at the UN. They sent me all the way up to the lectern where the presidents speak. Well, I was like in a trance. Was this even possible. Well, it was, it happened. So I said I thanked them for the invitation from all my heart and that it was all so emotional for me, and then I had tears well up in my eyes, so I thanked them for everything once more and then had to finish.”

  • “We’re a hospitable nation, and you can imagine, my uncle gave them [the Russian soldiers - ed.] a drink of wine as welcome, and they were tipsy and started picking out women for potatoes. There were about five of us families there. And my brother and I screamed so much that we saved just our mother from them. The other women had to go. The worst was... [Q: What did ‘for potatoes’ mean?] It meant rape. [Q: They took them away somewhere?] Yes; those were farmers, so in the stables, in the houses and boathouses... Well, and our neighbour Pyskatý, whose cellar we were in first, he reckoned: ‘Things are quiet, there’s no shooting, so I’ll go feed the hens to look to see if the house isn’t collapsed.’ When he came back, he thought to himself: ‘What’s this bloke doing here?’ Meaning the guard by the cellar. And when he entered the cellar he said: ‘Where are the women? Where’s my Frantie?’ And we just bawled, and the blokes said: ‘Well, they took them to peel potatoes.’ He knew, the neighbour, what was going on, so he said: ‘I’m not having that, I’m going to look for her.’ And so he went. He [the Russian soldier] warned him: ‘Stop!’ But he didn’t listen, so he shot him, and he rolled down the stairs almost to where we were, where we sat. So that was horror upon horrors, and now what... The women soon came running up, and she saw that it was her Michal there, so she tried... well, she couldn’t revive him. So she bawled over him, and all the rest of us with her. But then about half an hour later the Ruskies came back again. And the women had to go again, and they even dragged her away from the dead man, the neighbour’s missis, Francka, and they pulled her from the man and she had to go again. It was something dreadful. Then when they returned, they suffered, those women, they were all ill because of some dirt or something... had gotten into them. Well, I tell you, it was horrifying. Then they had to carry him out of there, and all in uniforms, with guns. They told my dad, seeing that we’d saved our mummy then he had to be a bit with his conscience because he nudged him in the chest, my daddy, and said: ‘You’ll go work on the bridges for that.’ And Daddy nodded that he would. And then I tell you they took that neighbour out, and they had to bury him in their back yard, but only in a shallow hole, just provisional. Well, and then after the front passed, they buried him proper.”

  • “When the Germans stayed with someone, they behaved well. They didn’t hurt you. Our neighbours across the road had the headquarters based there, and we’d go there for a chat, and they were so kind, they made us custard, they always said: ‘Marjenka...’ or somesuch they called me, garbled, and they always brought custard and they liked us. And the cook, I’ll tell you, when they pulled off with the front from Lanžhot... the bridges had to repaired with pontoons, just temporarily-like, because the Germans blew the bridges into smithereens and then chased the German captives through Lanžhot. And we stood on the corner by the road, and we even felt sorry for them because our people stood with whips, they didn’t want to... there was a water pump there. They wanted to have a drink, refresh themselves at least, and our people struck them with the whips and they weren’t even allowed to have a drink. And then as we stood there, one of the Germans turned round and waved to us and called: ‘Marjenka, Marjenka...’ And it was the one who used to bring us custard, to the neighbours, that is. We started bawling the both of us, Mummy and I, and we waved to him and the Germans called to us: ‘We’ll be back, we’ll repay you for it.’ They’d behaved well to us, so we were sorry for them, and we were angry that it was unfair, that they wouldn’t even let them have a drink of water.”

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    Lanžhot, 16.04.2018

    (audio)
    duration: 02:02:25
    media recorded in project Stories of 20th Century
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Everything gets forgotten and so has to be repeated

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Marie Švirgová was born on 2 July 1936 in Lanžhot to Mr and Mrs Svačina. She started attending school in 1942, during the war. At the end of World War II, during the Bratislava-Brno operation, Lanžhot was the centre of bitter fighting. The witness and her family hid in the cellar for several days; she saved her mother from attacks by Russian soldiers and witnessed various incidents of the passing battlefront. After the war she continued her education in Lanžhot. In 1949 her uncle fled the country and Marie got into trouble at school because of it. After completing town (upper primary) school, she was employed in Břeclav. In 1957 she married Pavel Švirga, and in 1962 and 1967 she gave birth to their sons Petr and Pavel. The witness is a well-known artist in her region. She paints folk decorations on parts of national costumes, ceramics, gingerbread, clothes, and houses. In 2017 and 2018 she flew to the US to teach folk traditions to the children of Czech expatriates. Marie Švigrová passed away on Decebmer, the 15th, 2022.