Slovakia, Autumn 1944 - p.16: Images

Attribution
These pictures are from various sources on the web. They were found and downloaded with the help of Google.

The page numbers in my captions (under the pictures) refer to the pages in the narrative.















Area Map.
The events described in pages 1 through 15
took place between Banska Bystrica (bottom right)
and Martin (top).





p.1 & p.10: WW II era 8mm rifle CZ vz.24





p.1 & p.14: "Potatomasher" handgrenades




p.1: PTRD = Protivotankovoye Ruzh'yo Degtyarova
WWII Russian 14.5mm Anti Tank Rifle




p.2 & p.9: Velká Fatra (1590m high Ostredok) in good weather





p.3 & p.10: CZ light machine gun





p.4: Pistolet-Pulimyot Shpagina-41
Soviet submachine gun nicknamed "Pepesha"





p.5: The village of Jaseno (near the town of Martin).
The church steeple and the slope behind it figured in my first firefight.




p.9: Packkasten für Handgranate ( WWII Grenade Case)




p.10: Maschinenpistole MP 40, nicknamed "Schmeisser"




p.1 & p.11: Dextro-Energen wafers in postwar packing




p.13: Donovaly




p. 14: Kalištie


p.14: Kalistie


















p.15: Ján Bakoss, protestant minister

Slovakia, Autumn 1944 - p.15: Homeward Bound

November 7, 1944

It was a sunny morning in Kalištie as we started on our climb south toward Banská Bystrica. I do not remember my companion's name. We did not talk much but watched our surroundings and avoided the nearby villages. For me it was just another routine day without food and water. Early afternoon we passed our highest point west of the mountain called Panský Diel. From there it was all downhill, with Bystrica in view. We skirted the village of Sásova and reached the familiar brickworks (tehelňa) on the outskirts of the city. There we parted.

I crossed the railroad tracks on the ridge of a hill (Jasenský Vršok) where years earlier I used to ride my sled and to ski. At the bottom of the hill I hesitated. It was getting dark and I did not want get caught in a curfew. I climbed over a fence and dropped into a garden which led to the local Protestant church. A dark area under the staircase of the presbytery building was a good hiding place to spend the night. My plan for the next day was to get help from Mr. Ján Bakoss, the senior minister of the church, or his two sons.
It did not work out that way. I was just settling down for the night on the hard cement floor when in walked Mr. Holčik, the other pastor of the congregation. He found for me a better place in the laundry room. The next day the older Bakoss son, disregarding the risks, escorted me to the house where I lived before I joined the partisans in mid-September. That is how I wound up back at the address Mestsky Park 12. --- More about the events in that house during the winter of 1944-45 is in the narrative "Staring Down The Barrel".

Jan Bakoss, a known supporter of the SNP Uprising, was forced to go into hiding in the town of Martin. There he was found and shot by the Germans in February 1945.

Slovakia, Autumn 1944 - p.14: Kalištie

November 3, 1944 Friday

In the morning I stepped out of the barn at the south end of Donovaly. Overnight the season's first snowfall turned everything white. To avoid leaving footprints near the Kolár property I walked on bare patches near other buildings, then ran through a snow covered meadow, crossed a road and moved into a forested area. The place was filled with the debris of the Slovak SNP army. It must have been their last camp before the soldiers withdrew into the mountains or dispersed to their homes. There were tents, field kitchens, small artillery canons, ammunition boxes, rifles, helmets and garbage. As my search for food or a working radio produced nothing, I walked out of the small forest and headed south-west, in the direction of Banská Bystrica.

The sun was high, melting the snow, as I moved toward a narrow valley where I saw a small cluster of houses. Just before the valley, under a curving rock overhang, was a small group of civilians. I recall three women, three children and four men. They were just one of the many groups of Jews hiding in the area. They eyed me distrustfully. I was in uniform, had a bayonet and the handle of a German "potatomasher" handgrenade was sticking out of my knapsack. The tension eased after I told them something about myself. One of the men told me that I might get food and shelter in the last house at the other end of the tiny village. The place was called Kalištie (also spelled Kalište). Before the evening I went to the suggested house where I was treated to a huge meal, mostly leftovers from a recent pig slaughter.

During my stay in Kalištie I was unaware that German troops were in the village a few days earlier. More about that and other events involving Kalištie are among the images on page 16.

For the next four nights I slept on the floor in the warm kitchen of a small peasant house whose other occupant was an old widow. It was my first warm overnight shelter since the end of September. During the daylight hours of the next three days (November 4, 5 & 6) I stayed with the Jewish group. Several hours each day I and one of the men roamed the surroundings looking for food or anything else that could be useful during the coming winter but had no luck. On November 6th I resolved to continue my walk toward Bystrica and my companion decided to come with me. In Kalištie I obtained an old civilian jacket, trading for it my military tunic, cap, long coat, bayonet and handgrenade. --- We started out the next morning.

Slovakia, Autumn 1944 - p.13: Donovaly

October 31 - November 3, 1944

The Kolár family fed and sheltered me for three days. Most of the time I stayed in the upper part of their barn which served as a hayloft. There did not seem to be any animals, I did not hear or smell any in the barn. After dark I spent a few hours with the middle-aged couple in their kitchen eating and talking. The second evening Ján Kolár brought in a large washbasin, filled it with hot water and left the kitchen. By the light of the kerosene lamp I had a much needed hip bath (Sitzbad). My last shower was a month earlier, it was therefore not surprising that the water in the basin turned brown.
On the third day, November 2nd, a young woman walked into the barn. She told me she was the couple's daughter and a schoolteacher. In the evening, after the meal, the Kolar couple voiced their worry about the German soldiers in the village and what would happen if I am found in their house or barn. We agreed that I will leave the next morning.

Decades later I have read somewhere this quotation:
"You will meet the sweetest people where the pavement ends and the country road begins." --- That is how I remember the Kolár couple from Donovaly.

Slovakia, Autumn 1944 - p.12: Windfall

October 31, 1944

I started the day by eating two Dextro-Energen wafers which gave me a slight boost. I knew or sensed that I will not be able to hold out much longer without proper food and warm shelter. The soldiers, who fed me their macaroni and good, chicory-based black coffee the day before, mentioned that the mountain was above the village of Donovaly. I knew the place from pre-war weekend outings and decided to find my way there. I walked on the summit all morning. Some noises from below continued to reach me but I could not orient myself in the thick fog. A few familiar looking bushes warned me that I was walking in circles. Early afternoon a wind started to blow over the mountaintop and the fog cleared. Then it happened.
Suddenly there was in front of me an army rucksack. I lifted it and hurried into the shelter of almost leafless bushes and stunted trees. On the way I found a bayonet in its metal scabbard.

The rucksack was an unbelievable find, especially as its contents were dry:
- Two cylindrical boxes of tinned food.
- One small carton of dark-brown, crumbly cubes. These turned out to be a compressed mixture of chicory-coffee and sugar.
- Two pairs of long, warm underpants. New, unused.
- One small towel and four grey footcloths. All unused.
- A large scale topographic map of the region
- A ribbon with a bulbous sword ornament and cardboard strips with rank insignia. They identified the former owner of the rucksack as a non-commissioned officer ( poddôstojnik) in the Slovak army.

I was not in the habit of praying and did not know whether to laugh or cry. With the newly found bayonet I opened one of the tins. Inside was shredded meat which I scraped out with my spoon. I ate one of the ersatz coffee cubes. With my stomach stilled, I stripped, swung my unspeakable shorts into the bushes and pulled on both long underpants. My rotten socks were replaced by nice, dry footcloths. --- I sat on the rucksack and temporarily forgot my thirst as I studied the map. It showed Banska Bystrica at the aproximate centre . At the top of the sheet, about 25 kilometers distant, I found Donovaly and the nearby mountains. I could see that during the past days I have climbed up and down mountains whose height (elevation above sea level) ranged from 1000 to over 1500 meters. I stuffed the remaining meat tin, coffee cubes, footcloths and the map into my knapsack. My new bayonet in its scabbard dangled from the wide belt on the outside of my long coat. The rucksack and other useless items were left behind. Now that I had a better feel for my surroundings I hurried to get down to Donovaly before nightfall.

Again I heard shouting, engine noises and this time also the clanging of tank threads. Hours later, after descending through a wooded area, I reached a group of houses near a winding road. It was dark, quiet and nobody seemed to be outside. I walked to a small peasant cottage that stood separately at the end of the hamlet and knocked. The door opened and a man looked at me in the light of a kerosene lamp. There I stood, 17 years old, skinny, bedraggled in an ill-fitting army coat. After a few words I was motioned in. Thus started my first sheltered night in Donovaly.