“They came for me at the same time in one year, on December 17th, 1952. And they came at my parents' and took my sister too. They took us in the evening. I think they didn't want to experience such an arrest ever again because my dad showed them an old cross in front of which he used to pray when he came home from the First World War. And our whole family prayed whenever we went anywhere. So we knelt down and we prayed. They were standing restless in the corner of the room; they wanted to get outside in their fur coats. Then they were supposed to take us to Hradec with them and we would be released again. Our dad went outside to give them a good talking to, about their being good with us, that their third daughter was already in the cemetery and that the two of us were their treasures, so that they wouldn't do us any harm, etc... But first, when they were knocking at our door, our dad went to open it and (there was some kind of a peephole in the door) we understood they were State Security officers. And we had printed worker catechism a lot, it's title was Kvas v těstě (Leaven in the Dough). So we stuffed it all in the stove; we burnt it all. And we let them in only when it was burnt. And they said: 'Where is the print?' So we showed them that it had just been burnt.”
“There came a woman comrade and she said that she was complaining. She had a young husband who was seriously ill and there came a priest to visit him. So she wanted to know who called the priest. There came even two State Security men to investigate it. They went to an employee about whom they knew to be his comrade. And he said: ' Well, you see, Tonička does it in the way that when a patient feels bad she sits next to him or her and prays and the person feels the pain ease.' In fact I tried to have absolute compassion with them... 'And once what happened, someone was howling with pain, Tonička was not here and I wanted to help him. However, I had no idea how. So I called the rectory and the priest came.' So they saw there that it was not from my source. And I think that those whom I helped to depart to God interceded on behalf of me that I slipped out of the trouble so easily. There was no other investigation then.”
“I remembered two things. That I must not be afraid because if you are afraid, as Karel who used to come among us used to say to us, that fear will paint things blacker than they are. And if you stop being afraid they can't do anything. So I tried to experience that all the time: not to be worried. And then I found out that it would be great to joke, to make up a joke. And because I watched the film U nás v Kocourkově (At Our Place in Kocourkov) before and there escaped some prisoners and they were going round on a merry-go-round, I said to myself: Well, there is such a merry-go-round there so I... I simply have to come up with a joke. So he asked me if I was single so I said no, I was married – no, divorced – no, so if I lived in a concubinage – no. 'Damn it, harridan, what are you then?' - 'Well, I'll be free when I'm out, if there is freedom out there.' And I saw the corner of his mouth twitching a bit, that he found it quite funny. So I said to myself: That will work. So I'll be making up jokes here and now...”
“In the end I was told that they would allow me to teach religion. It was a great joy. It was towards the end of the war and life was very hard then because there was nothing left anywhere. And I didn't even want to say at home that catechists were paid just once in half a year according to the mileage to particular schools and such. So I was basically penniless. And I said to myself that I wanted to try if I could live totally without money in that world. So I was looking for somewhere to live. Somebody gave me a piece of advice that there was a woman at the end of Bydžov; she was said to put up teachers. She had a little room, it was frozy though, but one could sleep in there. So I went to her and I said I had no money but needed to live somewhere. And she told me: 'I like you. You can speak in a nice way and I can't sleep at night. If you come and pay me company at night, then you can live at my place for free.' So I was very happy. I went to entertain her and I didn't have to pay the rent. However, it was worse with food then. I didn't know that I could contact the bishopric. I thought that bishops had no authority to interfere in this when the state decided who was going to teach religion or who was going to be paid. There was an advantage though, that it was such a rich region. Children had a very good time there. They had great snacks at school, different kinds of meat, sausages and I don't know what else and they didn't finish it. So when the children left I picked it all up and I ate it. I did it like that for at least a half a year. I drank water at home so I somehow survived those times.”
“Well, they simply said that I was a fanatic and that the priests made me grow idiotic. And they mentioned it at the trial and I don't know if it was the judge or who actually asked me: 'Where does your faith come from? Ordinary people usually do not have such faith.' He said: 'Say the truth, which priest made you grow idiotic!' And I said: 'Well, my parents did. They used to read to us about the lives of the saints in the evening and we just loved it. Our dad didn't weave any more. I also loved stories about faith martyrs and I used to say to myself: 'Lord Jesus, I would like to suffer because of faith too. But I've got bad luck, our nation will not descend in order to imprison people because of that and I will not be able to experience that.' Then the judge knew where my faith came from.”
“There came a new examining officer and he told me: 'It's going to be a year and a while since we have examined you and your protocol is not yet ready. You can't still undergo the trial because you are not able to cooperate with us so I have to take over. But first and foremost I am telling you that there is no God, that priests made it all up.' I intensively prayed to the Holy Spirit at that moment so that he gave me the sentence that the man just needed to hear. So I calmed down a lot and he waited to see if I would say something. And then I said calmly: 'Sir Commander, there is a God. You wouldn't be able to open your mouth, move your tongue nor scold Him without His help.' There was dead silence and he did such a circle around me. He went away and didn't return ever again.”
“I have been arrested twice. For the first time it was when I was teaching in Hostinné at school. Somebody knocked at the door. Well, I went to answer the door and there were six men there. Three of them wore uniforms, three wore civilian dress. They said that I was under arrest, and should take my stuff and follow them. I couldn't move from my spot after they had said that sentence. When I came to the teacher's desk, I found out there was nothing but a bigger picture of Our Lady of Fatima. Well, I took my stuff and I stood in front of the class and knew I had to say good-bye to them. There was dead silence in the classroom. And because we had also learned about the guardian angels before, I didn't tell them that there were some different guards behind the door. But I told them about the angels, to love them always and pray to them for help. If they do so, they would have an easy journey of life; the angels would help them. And I left. We went through the long corridor when all of a sudden the door of the classroom opened and all children ran out and shouted: 'Don't take her away from us, return her to us, give her back!' And the State Security men were taken aback, they probably did not expect anything like that. And they turned towards the children and said: 'We promise that we are only going to ask her something and then return her to you.' So the children calmed down and they really fulfilled that because they wanted to be on friendly terms with the children. I was interrogated at night and they released me in the morning.”
“I felt very sorry for a woman, one of those who collaborated with the Germans. She was so tiny and so decrepit. And I had such a feeling when I looked at her that nobody liked her. So I went to stroke her head and I kissed her. She was all het up about it. Well, then I got to know that she had something to do with cats and she went to say that to the Germans. And they set someone in prison then. So, she caused this... She couldn't come to terms with her neighbours, it was something that their cat and her cat... So it was such a tip off, it was not so morally bad... So I think that the last days of her imprisonment, that she was pleased that I acted in the way I did.”
Antonie Hofmanová was born into the family of a weaver and a small farmer in the sub-Krkonoše village Horní Branná on June 13th, 1923. She studied at the Secondary School of Economics in Prague during WWII where she came into contact with Catholic youth clubs. Under this influence, she decided to become a catechist. She taught religion in the post-war border area and kept deepening her spiritual activities in terms of Jocism clubs. She contacted members of the Catholic Family, especially Silvestr Krčméry. She was arrested in December 1952 and, about a year later, she was sentenced in the trial ‚Hofmanová and comp.‘ She was sentenced a six-year imprisonment. After two and a half years she was released for health reasons. She returned to the sub-Krkonoše region. After a strenuous job hunt she eventually became a nurse in Janské Lázně. She continued to organize illegal Christian meetings. Antonie wrote multiple books including one about her life: Žijeme jen jednou (We Live Only Once). She died on June 16th, 2009.
