Stanislav Husa

“Queen Elisabeth arrived, and so did George W. Bush. Emperor Putin was also present there and the Czech president Klaus sat in the second row. The veterans were marching, me among them. I had a folding cane. In front of me was Mr. Uruba who served as a flying instructor in Prostějov. He scuttled nicely, not following the rhythm at all! The tempo was somewhat slow, French veteran, based on drums… And he just scuttled like a hen. My cane was getting in his way so I folded it and spread my legs to get round and not to trip him. We marched on as the drums were getting louder and louder. Then, there was the touching march of the French veterans – the most beautiful thing of all. Me among them. I was at the edge of the ten-people-row and the cameras were all upon me. When I later received the recording and watched it, I could see my beautiful pointy hooter – my gob covering the whole screen. Then, there was the ceremony. They sat there and Elisabeth was saying something. She was looking at us, me also. I thought: ‘Dear God, Betty, don’t get up, don’t come to me and don’t ask me where I had been fighting.’ My legs were shaking of the thought that the old woman comes to me and asks me: ‘Standa, where had you been fighting?’”

“I had worked in heavy machinery and chemical industry. I got to Hamburg and my mum asked me to go search for my dad’s grave. I worked on large pumps which were being tested only at night due to their large electricity consumption. These were ethylene cooling pumps intended for the Záluží factory. During midnight snack break the head of the inspection asked me what was I about to do, that they had someone to accompany me to the Reeperbahn. I replied: ‘Sir, I have a completely different goal. I will go looking for my dad’s grave.’ He told me: ‘Mr. Husa, I should first introduce myself.’ He took off his shirt – and there was the SS! He said: ‘My dad was a social democrat. He was imprisoned for six years and died of cancer three weeks after his release. In nine months I was called up to the army and assigned to the SS. My mum wanted to hang herself. I received a training, they were bringing me to Schleswig-Holstein but I managed to jump off the train. I knew a farmer nearby with whom I took refuge. But then the war ended and I feared being put into an SS-lager where the inmates would have killed me for desertion. And now, Mr. Husa, my best neighbor-friend is the director of Hamburg cemetery.’ I arrived home and just laid down after my night shift. At half past seven the chambermaid woke me up saying that there was a phone call for me. The director of the Hamburg cemetery was calling me, saying that he expected me at 9 a.m. in front of the gate. This is where the search for my father’s grave began. For two days we couldn’t find it. I went everywhere. Each inmate regardless of their nationality has a gravestone there with date of birth and date of death engraved. A fancy cemetery that we can’t even imagine. On the third day the director got an idea and searched the card index for stateless people. That’s where he found Josef Husa.”