Růžena Ničová

“I remember the Germans dragging the prisoners of war from the front-lines. They went on foot, without shoes, bags wrapped around their legs, in the winter, frost bitten, hungry. They were about 100. They put them in the barn, while the Germans took the best rooms for themselves. One prisoner was shot by the Germans when he wanted to take one of the potatoes a housekeeper threw to the pigs. Our people didn't leave him laying there, they buried him secretly behind the cemetery and marked his grave with a cross. Once, the cross got knocked off and my mother wanted to repair it but it was impossible to weld it back on. She longed for the cross to be back there in one piece. We used to walk around the place. We bought the forest and the mayor had arranged for the cross to be installed there again. Just last Saturday I was there with my son and now on Saturday with my granddaughter. It used to be overgrown with grass but my granddaughter surprised me because they put a bench there, cut the grass and arranged the place so that I can sit there. There were two prisoners staying at our place. One was American, the tall one, the other one, who was little, was an Englishman. The girl in the photo is me and next to me is my husband. The picture was taken after the war. When the Germans were leaving, they took them along again. They were leading them over the fields so that people wouldn't see it. Those who weren't able to walk on were left in the ditches. The prisoners had to walk for miles. They walked to the border with Germany. The border wasn't that far, almost behind Louny. That was on May the 9th.”