„Sedmého března jí o půlnoci odvezli. Nikdo z nás nevěděl proč. Později nám řekli, že je umístěná ve vazbě v Ruzyni. Jeden náš známý měl modrý mercedes a rozhodnul se, že mě tam zaveze. Maminka mi později vyprávěla o tom, jak se její spoluvězeňkyně paní Hojerová dívala z okna cely a najednou vykřikla: Podívej! Támhle zastavila taková krásná kára a vystoupila z ní holka a nějaký nádherný frajer. Maminka neváhala, vyskočila na římsu a uviděla, že jsem to já. Vůbec však nemohla dát najevo, že mě poznala a že ví, o koho jde. Za nedlouho po tom jí převezli na Pankrác.“
„Moje maminka se zapojila do odboje pod vedením poručíka Voborského, který velel celé ilegální skupině. U nás doma díky tomu přespávali čas od času dva studenti. Říkali jsme jim chodci. Jejich úkolem bylo překračovat hranici a převádět lidi. V bytě, kde jsme bydleli, se proto skladovaly různé dokumenty. Když se pak začalo mezi odbojáři zatýkat, tak se to muselo všechno spálit. Dodnes si pamatuju ta roztopená kamna. Jeden z těch kluků měl na krku pověšeného stříbrného andělíčka a často mi říkal: Až to tady praskne, tak pojedeš studovat do Švýcarska a toho andělíčka ti dám s sebou. Byl to bezvadný kluk, jmenoval se Věrek Jarmara a byl z Moravy. Druhý z nich byl Zdeněk Lukavčík z Plzně.“
„V našem baráku se pro barikádníky vařilo také jídlo. V té době však nikdo neměl tolik zásob, aby s nimi mohl plýtvat. Sehnala se proto hladká mouka, ze které se nadělaly kynuté knedlíky. Výsledek byl naprosto strašný. Od té doby to jídlo nemůžu vidět. Později mě a Láďu Hefra poslali do obchodu pana Ptáčka, který sídlil na hlavní třídě. V krámě měl mimo jiné i telefon, a tak mu maminka zavolala a zeptala se, jestli by nám mohl dát nějaké potraviny pro barikádníky. Souhlasil, a když jsme k němu došli, tak nás pustil dovnitř. V tu chvíli se před obchodem objevili SSáci. Přímo naproti však bydlel fotbalista dejvického týmu, který po nich začal ze střechy pálit. Oni se začali bránit a nakonec jej sestřelili dolů. Dodnes na to nemůžu zapomenout a každoročně se zastavuji u jeho pomníčku. V podstatě nám tím zachránil život, protože ti SSáci se už díky tomu za námi nedostali.“
“Wednesdays were always visiting days at Pankrác, so once a fortnight we could bring a parcel of something with us, and we happened to have religious instructions at that time. I was baptised, not until I was six years old, but my father insisted on it. They teacher who had us for religious instructions always said: ‘Darn it, how come Horáčková keeps missing out on her religious instructions?’ One of our neighbour’s across the street was a shop owner, he had a daughter. We [went to school] together... And she said: ‘But she can’t come.’ ‘How come she can’t?’ ‘Well, she goes to Pankrác on Wednesdays, her mum and dad are there.’ Oh, that was something for him. I came there the following week, and he told me: ‘Don’t worry, we’ll be cutting belts out of them within a year.’ Meaning out of the Communists. Imagine the courage at that time, seeing that he didn’t know who all was sitting in the classroom there. Well, unfortunately, he ended up in trouble.”
“When the Forever Faithful group had its meetings in our flat - I didn’t know it was the Forever Faithful group at the time - they always showed each other something there and laughed, and Dad put it into his coat pocket. And now imagine, and I was nine at the time, when they arrested him, I remembered that he had something in his coat pocket, and when they were leading him down the stairs, I rushed up to him, began hugging him, and I groped with my hand, I swear to God, into his pocket and pulled the wallet out. It was what was called a waiter’s purse, because we had a shop. I can tell you, when Mum came home, she was out of Prague, and I gave it to her, she said: ‘Jesus, that would’ve meant the gallows!’ And although my parents split up later on, until her death she kept that waiter’s purse, that wallet, with her.”
“When Mum and I went to Bartolomějská Street, where they invited us for interrogation, and now there were coats hanging over there like this, and next to the coats there was a scarf, a beautiful scarf that belonged to my father; I recognised it straight off and I said: ‘Gosh, Mum, look, that’s Dad’s scarf.’ She said: ‘Be quiet!’ But all I want to say is that after the revolt we visited the policeman, Plachý he was called, and my mum said to him: ‘Please, give us back those beautiful books.’ Because my father was a great nimrod, so those were books like ‘Wildlife Through the Lens’ and so on. He had taken it all, and when we came to visit him in his flat in Holešovice, to get it back from him, he said without a pinch of shame in his face: ‘Count yourself lucky he didn’t cop it.’ You know, don’t think that this kind of thing was only done by the Gestapo, the Czech policemen were even worse sometimes.”
Jaroslava Křupalová, née Horáčková, was born in 1935. During World War II her father was part of the resistance group Věrni zůstaneme (Forever Faithful), which met at their home. Although Jaroslava was only nine years old, she noticed one time how her father hid a wallet with documents into his coat pocket after one such meeting. That day he was arrested by the Gestapo. His little daughter ran down the stairs after him, gave him a goodbye hug, and at the same time pulled the wallet from under his coat without the Gestapo noticing. In all likelihood this act saved his life. After her father was arrested the Gestapo sealed off their flat and the Czech policemen confiscated whatever they wanted to. During the Prague Revolt Jaroslava helped at the Dejvice barricades as a go-between for the barricades and the headquarters in Podbaba; she later also helped as a nurse. Just ten years old, Jaroslava was the youngest participant in the fighting of the Prague Revolt, and for her merits she was awarded a commemorative badge of the second national resistance. In 1949 her father and mother were arrested by the Communists, for a change. Jaroslava and her brother, both as yet children, were left to fend for themselves in their flat, alone and with no means of their own.
