Karel Sikora

‘The Poles were not nice, they gave out strict orders. The customs officers and office staff had twenty-four hours to exit the occupied area. These Polish guerrilla groups were on the loose. When they found out somebody was Czech they smashed their windows. We identified as Silesians so they left us alone. They left the old residents alone, but with the Czechs… We considered ourselves to be Silesians. We were all born in Český Těšín, it never occurred to us to leave despite being occupied twice. By Poland in thirty-eight, by Germany in thirty-nine. Those poor Poles had to run away from the Germans after eleven months of occupation. I remember a Polish soldier looking out of a church tower with binoculars and my father said: “You poor thing, you won’t be able to escape anymore.” Because the German soldiers had already made it to Frýdecká street. The first soldiers approached using trenches, then they simply marched through the streets. What was strange and unbelievable was that the citizens were welcoming the Germans as they were marching through the main street! The people were so naïve that they thought the Germans were liberating us from the Poles. They welcomed them with flowers and fruit. One of the reasons may have been that some of the citizens were of German nationality. Those who went to German schools during the First Republic considered themselves to be Germans.’

‘They locked up about eleven or twelve of us boys because of the military service. We soon became friends. We were all non-smokers, that was the first tell-tale sign, there was also a man who was over fifty years old. He was not imprisoned because of military service, it was because of some religious activity. His name was Karel Carbl. We, the young ones, would spend time around him after work. Carbl had Gospels written on cigarette papers, one with Matthew, a second one with Mark, a third one with Lucas, a fourth one with John. He hid them in matchboxes. For us it was encouraging, he would read us the gospels. It all went well for a while until one of the criminals informed on us. They put Carbl into a “correction unit”, and the rest of us were taken into various other labour camps. But Carbl was the worst off. The correction unit was this hole where you lay down on the ground. He was only allowed to get half the daily food rations every other day. He lost thirty kilograms in those thirty days. He was all skin and bones, barely survived it. Prison is about psychology in many ways. When you’re locked up, bad food and hard work aren’t the worst, the lack of freedom is. That you can’t leave. You can’t move at all. Carbl helped me a lot, he would console us. Once I was free, and he was too, I visited him, we both rejoiced. We were immensely grateful to him.’