Chapter 14.




Confronting the
Iron Curtain.


The meeting with Vitka’s family became more emotional each year and this occasion was no exception.
First to respond to the door was Vitka’s mother, a most saintly person, whose prime consideration was the comfort of others; with no thought for her own wellbeing. Nevertheless, what little joy she did openly relish was that of the return to the family home of her only and very loved daughter. In time I had the great honor and delight to be afforded a similar affection.
Before the death of Vitka's father, Joseph, four years earlier, I was privileged to witness the total devotion, the absolute blending of two souls. The couple had been together since she, Maria was 16 and he, Joseph, was 20 years old.
Annually, in anticipation of our visit, Joseph would begin his vigil after lunch. Firstly maintaining unwavering observation of the street in front of the house from an upstairs window. Then, a couple of hours later, switching his guard to the front door, of the family house in Medlanky - a small village on the outskirts of Brno, (the second city of the now Czech Republic).
The hours passed slowly for Joseph on the day of our arrival. Most years it was about five in the evening, on the second day, that we completed the 1,800mile journey. By 3pm he became tired and despondent, convinced we would not arrive that day. In desperation, and rather frustrated, he would join his friends at the Hospoda, (the local pub), for a couple of beers - just for an hour. It was invariably during that hour that we reached our destination.
When he returned home Joseph was overjoyed to see us but openly disappointed at not having been the first to greet us.
Still obvious in the rooms Maria occupied, on the upper floor of the house, were memorabilia of the Golden Wedding, celebrated one year before Joseph died. She burdens no one with her sadness, but somehow seems an incomplete person, patiently waiting to join the man she loved so much.
Maria spent her whole life caring for others. Firstly her son, Milan, then Vitka, then her youngest son Olin.
Milan’s two daughters had come along by the time Olin was self-sufficient. Vitka’s two sons were next, then Ivetka, Olin’s daughter, and most recently Maria’s great grandson.
She was a mother by vocation, by desire and by the dictation of fate.

During the occupation of Czechoslovakia, by the Germans in the Second World War, the family house was commandeered for use as a radio station; the family being ordered to move to the cold, damp and dark basement area.
Maria, then weaning her youngest child, protested that the conditions in the basement were not conducive to the nurturing of a six-month old baby boy. A German officer drew a pistol and offered her a choice. They moved to the basement.
Later Vitka witnessed close combat between German and Russian troops, being obliged to avoid crossfire on her way home from school, whilst starving Czechs cut flesh from dead horses along the way.
The arrival of the Russians changed little for the Ferdus family. Yet again the house attracted the attention of the occupying force - to provide accommodation for Russian conscripts, who were obliged to sleep even on the stone stairs that provide access to the three floors of the house.
Maria could imagine a situation where it might be one of her sons confronted with such a situation, in a far off country, and in pity provided blankets for as many of the young troops as possible.
One soldier took joy in holding the then ten year old Vitka on his knee, whilst running his fingers through her hair. Maria resisted the attention until hearing, from the heartbroken soldier, how the Germans had murdered his daughter, of similar age to Vitka.

During 1982 we were in Czechoslovakia on the first of May and had invited our Italian friends, Primo and Linda, to join us on the journey. It was their first visit to an eastern block country and they were openly shocked to find all the churches locked on that particular day; a fact highlighted when their habitual visit to mass was prevented for the first time in their lives
Kaja, Vitka’s son by her first marriage, drove Primo and Linda to the church while Vitka and I thought it might be interesting to witness the May Day parade in Brno. Well before the city centre our passage was blocked by police, who informed us that it was not permitted for west Europeans to observe the parade.

Kaja is very handsome, tall and dark with a thick moustache. His wife, Dagmar, is slim, blonde, highly-strung and methodically efficient. Their son Robert is mischievous though obedient.
I recall the day of Kaja and Dagmar’s wedding, which took place in April 1976. With me I had an early, portable, video-camera systems, on which to film the ceremony.
The wedding breakfast was held in an Hotel dinning room, located inside other function rooms; consequently there was no immediate access to the outside. The resultant effect was that we felt entrapped, compelled to eat and drink. Each successive course, I thought, must be the last, but it wasn't.
Before the ceremony, held in a registry office in Brno, everyone converged on the family home of the bride, where drinks and delicious cakes were served. Traditionally the village women, of the participating families, undertake to bake biscuits and cakes for the occasion.
Following the informal ceremony came the orgy of food and drink, which began about 1.30pm and continued until about 5p.m. Kaja and his brother then entertained those gathered by telling typical Czech jokes - a sample:
On a sharp bend, at the top of a steep hill, an old, Czech man stands aghast as a Rolls Royce veers off the road, hitting a massive, old, oak tree. The impact completely destroys the car but the Englishman walks away uninjured and, stabilizing himself with his umbrella, comments to the old man, "good gracious that's a months salary gone". Shortly a cigar smoking Texan in a huge white Cadillac falls victim to the same misfortune. As he ambles away from the wreck he laments, in a southern drawl, "gee that's 6 months salary gone". Finally one of the locals, driving his prized Skoda, smashes into the wrecks of the other two cars. He brushes the remains of the car from his suit and, turning to the others, declares in desperation "that's a life times savings gone". The Englishman and the American, puzzled and in unison query, "Why did you buy such an expensive car?"
Following the jokes a small cassette recorder was produced and the squeaky sound of traditional, dance melodies had unlikely couples spinning and laughing. In particular I remember the spectacle of Kaja, who is over 6 feet tall, dancing with his niece, Ivetka, who at the time was only 6 years old and about 4 feet tall.
From the Hotel we returned to Dagmar’s parent’s house where, once more to our dismay, a further meal awaited us, fearing to offend our hosts we did that which seemed impossible and ate once more.
The whole occasion was very joyous and represented one of the last occasions that the entire family met together. Even Vitka's brother, Milan, traveled, with his two daughters, from Olomouc, a drab coal-mining town near the Polish boarder. For him the tedious train and tram journey constituted an enormous sacrifice, suffering as he did from pneumoconiosis, following many years in the mines.
Our visit coincided with the beginning of one of the major divisions of the family. Kaja’s hatred, his utter despising of the political system, and it’s perpetrators, made it essential that we endeavor to get him out of Czechoslovakia with all haste. We were very concerned for him and his family. He was near breaking point, almost unable to control his feelings and we feared that one day an outburst would potentially mean the loss of everything he had achieved by very, hard work.
Not being a member of the communist party meant that in order to provide any form of comfort for his family he was obliged to undertake work that no one undertook by choice. He became a stoker in an iron foundry, a ridiculous situation for one so highly skilled, his profession being that of a model maker.
Following protracted discussions I felt obliged to give my promise that I would, somehow, get him and his family to the West. We talked in subdued tones, while walking in a field just over a hill from the house, a location where there was no possibility of being overheard. We were all well aware of the risk to a family with contacts in the West.
Participating in such a matter seemed unreal to me. I just could not imagine how I would be able to fulfill my solemn undertaking. I just knew that excuses were not an option.
During the first year of our marriage we had twice applied to the Czechoslovak authorities to permit Kaja and Jiri to join us in England. On each occasion the request was denied, a terrible blow to Vitka. She had not defected; in fact she held dual nationality and from the beginning had been assured that her sons would be permitted to join us. Then came the change in power in Prague and the inhumane decision to keep a mother from her children.
When they reached 18 years of age, both Kaja and Jiri went through their army service and, whilst doing, were forbidden to even write to their mother. Fortunately the authorities of such a regime are stupid and we were able to communicate via indirect channels.
The application we made for the boys to leave Czechoslovakia, and join us in England, only compounded the problem because they were then subjected to even greater scrutiny; it was felt they would be more likely to attempt defection.
This then was my dilemma.

Considering the geographical location of Czechoslovakia, there were two common boarders with capitalist states, Austria in the south and Germany to the west. My promise to Kaja placed me in a very invidious position. We were well aware of the attempts of others, who had been captured or even shot attempting to escape.
There was just one, ironic, possibility.

In recognition of his particularly hard work, in an effort to earn extra money and not to assist the progress of the party, Kaja was awarded a holiday for himself and his family on the Island of Ugljan, which is situated off the coast of Yugoslavia. They were to spend two weeks there in July of 1983. Kaja even had a brochure illustrating the holiday centre where they would be staying. Amongst the photographs, of the transparent, blue Adriatic and the small chalets was one of the camp restaurant, named 'Jadran'. It was in front of the restaurant that we agreed to meet at midday on the 20th July. I had a little over two months to devise some plan to extricate the young family and transport them to freedom.
The return to Italy provided the opportunity to search for a potential crossing point from Yugoslavia into Italy.

We entered Yugoslavia at the most northerly point of the boarder with Italy and drove slowly south, remaining as close to the boarder as possible, while carefully studying the terrain around each crossing point. As the journey progressed our morale began to drop.
In desperation I decided to ‘test’ one crossing, where an open gate appeared unmanned, by simply making a dash in the car.
As we reached the gate two guards suddenly appeared from nowhere, offering their Kalashnikov rifles as encouragement for me to stop. I did stop and then apologized, claiming not to have seen the stop sign. Fortunately they permitted us to resume our journey.
During the day I became aware that many cars, with Yugoslav numberplates, were able to cross, utilising very simple documentation. We stopped at a small bar and got into conversation with the bartender, who very willingly showed us her white identity book. She went on to explain that Yugoslavs, who worked on the Italian side of the boarder, were issued with the books to permit them to cross temporarily to Italy.
I soon dismissed any further exploration of that idea considering that presumably the boarder guards, at any one point, would be acquainted with those who crossed regularly.
Farther south we reached a field where a group of students sat having a discussion in the tall grass. I stopped and managed to get into conversation with the young people, who seemed pleased to have the opportunity to speak English. I asked if they thought it possible to simply drive through the woods to Italy, so as to avoid the delay of going on to the official boarder crossing. They warned against attempting such a venture, pointing out that there was a 10km no-mans-land between Yugoslavia and Italy, which was constantly under the scrutiny of boarder guards.
We continued our journey almost desperate and I began to feel quite sick as I recalled my promise to Kaja, who was now impatiently awaiting the planned exit in July.
We finally entered Italy near to Trieste, with one remaining hope. Primo and Linda had spoken of a contact they had near to Trieste, who, although then retired, had had some sort of job associated with the frontier. We met the man and explained our predicament. To our great disappointment he was unable to offer any advice and went so far as to warn us against attempting to cross illegally.
The remainder of the journey, from Trieste, took about 6 hours and we arrived home tired and dejected.
The whole project seemed impossible and all we could do was hope that in July a further search, during the journey, would provide an answer. Whatever obstacles we were faced with it would be necessary to set our wits against the authorities.

On the 19th July 1983 we set off for Ugljan. I had desperate, irrational thoughts of stealing a light aircraft, and to that end had my pilots licence with me. I calculated a flying time of approximately 20 minutes above the Adriatic to clear Yugoslav air space. It would be necessary to maintain a very, low altitude, in the hope of avoiding radar detection. Once inside Italian airspace I would climb, make contact with Air Traffic Control and surrender myself, and my passengers, to the Italian authorities.
I had experience of flying low level above the sea when once, while heading south from Barcelona, the radio beacon at Malaga was struck by lightening, leaving me without a navigational aid. The cloud base was seventy-five feet above sea level and it was essential to find the shoreline to provide a contour to follow.
From our inland position I maintained a heading to a point, where I was confident we were above the sea, then descended until I had visual contact; thereafter maintaining an altitude of 50 feet above the choppy, grey waves until we reached Malaga.

Trieste, I prayed, might be the weakness in frontier security. There the boarder had been redrawn more than once. Both nations have citizens who cross the frontier each day to their places of work, which, together with the movement of many holiday makers, who provide a vital source of hard currency to Yugoslavia, would create a certain confusion; a condition of which we could take advantage.
We reached Trieste in oppressive heat, and amongst many tourists. Uncomfortable conditions, but ideal I thought. The guards would be tired from the heat and more interested in the bikinis than looking for potential defectors.
The beaches, either side of the boarder, were teaming with bathers and one could imagine that, in the confusion, a child could wander off and arrive on the Yugoslav beach. The parents would claim they had crossed from the Italian side looking for him and that they had left their passports in the hotel. Such a sequence of events was feasible, could be accepted and possibly the family would be allowed to return to Italy – possibly.
I didn't like the idea at all, if such a possibility had ever existed it would probably have been taken advantage of already. However, in the absence of an alternative, perhaps all three could swim across. The moon’s phase favored the attempt. Darkness and shadows could mask the passage of the three as they slipped into the warm waters of the Mediterranean.
I would be very concerned if that were the only possibility and decided to investigate the many small roads on a hill near to the coast; a residential hill, with houses reaching right to the frontier on both sides. Yugoslavs one side Italians the other.
As we approached the crossing point, of each of the small roads, it was clear they were under strict surveillance. Climbing fences and running through back gardens, I decided, was not an option.
We had spent more than one hour playing snakes and ladders with the roads, and time was beginning to limit us. We must be at the Jadran restaurant by 1pm the next day and there were many miles ahead of us, together with a ferry crossing to the Island.
We reached the final road and began to ascend the steep hill. Between the neat houses the gardens were full of summer flowers, and sparrows were in splendid voice. Suddenly across the road ahead, as we turned a corner, there was a bar and nothing else. There was no one around. No building, not even a sentry box. The road was over-grown with grass and weeds, from the obvious lack of either vehicle or pedestrian traffic. We could hardly believe our eyes, after so many carefully scrutinized crossings here was one left completely unattended. We had found what we were looking for.
It was essential not to attract attention. So I slowed the car and began a turn, while Vitka mimicked studying a map in an endeavor to create the impression of being lost.
Both of us felt our hearts begin to beat fast and it was all we could do to remain calm. I continued at a slow speed until we reached the T-junction at the bottom of the hill, turned left and accelerated to the maximum, legal limit until we arrived at the frontier. We were both very excited. There was no question of testing the crossing, that would attract attention to ourselves and the apparently, unattended crossing. There would be only one chance.
The next step was to identify the same road on the Yugoslav side so that I would know where to drop our family off, if we were successful in arriving there.
Once on the Yugoslav side, I took the first left turn then continued to a point where I presumed we were on the same road. I was mistaken and it took two or three attempts on other roads before the bar came into view. Once we were quite sure, I turned the car some way away and we continued on our journey.
I could visualize no potential danger to the family, which was vitally important, considering that Bobby was just a child. We would drop them at a distance from the gate calculated to allow us to reach the Italian side, by the time they walked there. The plan was simple and seemed perfect.

Late evening we reached one of those holiday villages by the sea that gives one the impression of being in Germany, by virtue of the sheer number of German people and German cars in prevalence.
I had a severe headache, from the nervous tension of the day, even so I forced myself to eat dinner and we retired to bed in the comfortable, small hotel by the sea.
Our sleep was light, due to the excitement and tension, and early next morning we began the final leg of the journey.
Once again the day began without as much as a breeze. A couple of long, thin, cirrus clouds, resembling aircraft, vapor trails, had been lightly brushed onto the expanse of deep, blue sky.
Air conditioning should be compulsory for cars in that locality. As the miles and hours passed, under the burning sun, the car fan provided for cooling purposes, did not! We just baked while gazing out to the motionless sea, longing to be soothing ourselves therein.
The road to Zadar follows the coast of the Adriatic, clinging to the sides of mountains for many miles then weaving through rough, desert like terrain, completely lacking in vegetation. I maintained as high a speed as possible until petrol began to run low, at which point I realized I had not purchased the regulation petrol coupons.
I had no option other than to drive onto the forecourt of a petrol station and instruct that the tank be filled. That having been achieved I apologized for not having coupons and the poor little Yugoslav went into a fit, cursing me in local tongue and threatening all sorts of horrible things. There is a certain similarity between Czech and the Yugoslav dialect in that part of the country, consequently Vitka was able to glean the general idea and relate his outpourings to me.
My response was that I was prepared to pay in western currency or he could siphon off what he had pumped. The petrol pump attendant was not at all happy, but there was a certain fate accompli about the situation and he finally agreed that I would pay with sterling.
It was about 11am when we reached Zadar. Having had a very early breakfast we were desperately hungry, as well as being uncomfortably hot, nevertheless, we were very anxious to complete our journey and continued to the port.
At the dockside hundreds of cars, trucks, and coaches were lined up, awaiting space on the small ferries that would convey them and us to Ugljan.
I double parked, alongside the queue of cars, and ran to the ticket office. Fortunately being near to lunchtime most had their tickets already and soon I was returning to the car with our ticket for the crossing. As I entered the car the queue began to move forward onto a waiting ferry. I’m ashamed to admit that I joined directly into the line boarding the ship. Fortunately no one appeared to realize what I had done. The small ferry seemed to me to be overloaded; however, I was not going to complain the sea was calm and the journey relatively short.
From the harbor of Ugljan to the holiday camp on the island was just a few kilometers and, following a very long journey, we arrived just before 1pm, the predetermined time of our agreed meeting. Having located the Jadran restaurant, without any difficulty, I parked the car and we went inside. Being extremely hungry we decided to order immediately.
As we began eating I looked up from my plate and saw Kaja, Dagmar and Bobby walking toward us. Each of us was overcome with joy and relief. Bobby had spotted our car in front of the restaurant, a fact that calmed their nerves.
Having consumed lunch we began our plans for the escape based on what we had discovered at Trieste. It was agreed we would employ that method to attempt the crossing and having reached a conclusion we decided it wise to separate and not acknowledge one another again until we met outside the gate the following morning.
The camp consisted of individual bungalows, several of which were occupied by the Czech group, including our family. Much to our delight we were able to rent a vacant bungalow, only five away from theirs, and about 11pm, under darkness and with just the chatter of the crickets resembling an orchestra of modern telephones, we knocked softly on their door.
They had packed just a few belongings before leaving Brno. Only items normally associated with such a trip could be included. Winter clothes, family photographs and valuables would create suspicion. The group leader was there to observe and report any irregularities and he also held the passports of the group members. We would need their passports once inside Italy and I suggested Kaja use the excuse that his mother was arriving from Italy and wished to spend the day with them. They would need identification should the police stop them for any reason.
Once we had completed our arrangements, we transferred their luggage to our bungalow, an operation carried out very carefully and quietly.

The following morning Vitka and I loaded the luggage into the small Mazda coupe in front of our bungalow.
The dinning hall was almost empty, at the early hour we had chosen for breakfast. We selected a table some distance from the family, who were already trying to eat as nonchalantly as possible. Bobby watched us from the corner of his eye but, as he had been instructed, did not acknowledge us.
Kaja, Dagmar and Bobby left the dinning hall first, walked out of the camp gate, where we picked them up and soon we were heading for the harbour. Fortunately the group leader had handed over the small green books containing their personal details and we began to feel confident.
Once back on the mainland one could be justified in thinking we were participating in some sort of rally as I impatiently drove at very high speed toward our destination. Everyone remained silent and tense; each one mentally fixed on the ever-nearing boarder.
On arrival at the boarder we drove directly to the road, which we found without difficulty. There Kaja, Dagmar and Bobby left the car looking very exposed as they began their walk to the crossing point, following the instructions we gave them.
We had a picture of the road, on the Italian side, etched into our minds. They had just to maintain a steady pace, without hurrying, and by the time they arrived at the bar we would be on the other side waiting for them.
I turned the car, drove to the frontier, where we crossed without delay, and we headed toward the road on the Italian side.
Much to my horror, I found myself following each of the roads we had checked the previous day. That with the ‘gate of freedom’ proved totally illusive. Up and down the hill we drove searching and searching, visualizing the three, frightened souls waiting for us. That would be a very dangerous situation.
Vitka began to panic and I was becoming desperate. My hands were wet with perspiration and both of us were imagining the family having arrived at the crossing, in the exposed location; maybe the police or boarder guards had become aware of the attempt.
Finally I found the road. We drove up the hill, the bar came into sight and at that moment we saw the three figures approaching, hand in hand, with Bobby in the middle. Apparently I had dropped them much farther from the frontier than I had intended and the timing was perfect.
As we met I made a rapid, 180-degree turn, they jumped in the car and we drove away at great speed. In the mirror, I could see many people running toward the bar on the Yugoslav side, whoever they were or what they wanted I do not know. We had succeeded. We were all in Italy.
For some obscure reason we all began to laugh, long and hard; presumably a reaction of nervous relief.
The complete journey took 15 hours, during which Bobby, who was just 6 years old, remained completely quiet and calm, a very difficult situation for one so young.

Word count 4651


Chapter 15.


Clandestine meeting


Thursday 21st July 1983.

Following a momentous trip we finally reached our villa, high on a hill between Rome and Florence.

The Group Leader back in Ugljan, an island off the coast of Yugoslavia, must have begun to be quite concerned. The Dvorak family had not returned from the day out with their mother.
We tried to imagine how he would react.
He would surely hesitate to report them missing in the hope that they would ultimately return. He had handed over their passports and would have to face many questions. It was he who would be held responsible for their defection.
I should explain.

By virtue of the fact he had been appointed Group Leader, he had confirmed his allegiance to the party. He would not hesitate to expose anyone.
It was possible to live in Czechoslovakia without joining the party; maybe if all had refused to join circumstances would have been different, however, there were those who, in the interest of money and position, were disposed to sacrifice their fellow countrymen; even family.
Friday morning, we agreed, he would be obliged to report them missing. We had no idea as to the procedures. In such a case the Yugoslav authorities would cooperate and eventually maybe even the Italian Immigration Police would be advised of the possible illegal entry of a young Czechoslovak family into their territory. Under the circumstances we decided it wise to declare their presence. One thing about which we were confident was that they would not be returned to either Yugoslavia or Czechoslovakia.
The five of us went to visit Primo and his family in Castel Rigone, a village 5km from the villa. They were very complimentary and amazed that we had succeeded. I did not feel compliments were warranted. My feeling was that there had been two important factors to our advantage. One, good luck in finding the unguarded road. Two, and most important, it must have been the will of God.
We expressed our concern to Primo, who immediately took it upon himself to advise the Carabinieri, in Passignano, that the family were currently in our house and wished to do whatever was correct. We agreed it best to say that they had crossed the boarder by foot and that we had picked them up on the Italian side; which in essence was of course true.
Kaja and family were elated at being free of the oppressive regime, though both he and, his wife, Dagmar were very apprehensive as to what the future might hold for them.

Back in Brno, the capital of Moravia, they had had a comfortable apartment and did not lack so much, in terms of material goods. They had made the decision to leave their country of birth purely on political grounds and once they had confidence as to the possibility that it might happen they had discussed where they would wish to go. Kaja favored Australia or New Zealand, Dagmar, too nervous to think warned, Kaja that, “if they were unsuccessful, for any reason, it would be his fault”. Bobby, then 5 years old, was too young to really understand. He saw the whole thing as an adventure. Young he might be but he had been told by his father of the danger should anyone discover their plan. We were confident he would tell no one.
Dagmar, partly by nature and partly because of her training as a nurse, delighted in cleanliness and for her the shortage of water, we experienced within a couple of days of their arrival, presented the first difficulty. When the water stopped or was not hot enough she instantly turned on Kaja snapping that he must do something about it. I was aware of the problem and did what I could by driving with Kaja to the village each day where we filled three large containers with water. Back at the villa we climbed onto the roof and emptied the contents into the water storage tank, from where it circulated the house.
Sunday and still we had no instructions from the Carabinieri. It was a beautiful day so we decided to take advantage of the conditions and have supper on the large balcony. Beyond were the hills and the five thousand foot mountains that created the horizon with the azure blue sky.
Villa Vittoria had most impressive wrought iron gates, hung on massive stone and brick pillars. From the gates to the house was almost 100 yards and I had installed a 'citofono', (a gate bell with intercom). It was approximately 8pm when the gate bell rang. I left my place at the dining table, hurried inside and pushed the gate, release button, with a certain amount of trepidation. It was just possible to make out the silhouette of a car at the gate and in the headlights a figure could be seen opening the gates. I presumed we were to be visited by Primo, as we expected no one else.
Having hurried outside I began to run toward the gate to greet him. However, the closer I drew to the gate the more I became sure that it was not the figure of Primo, who was by then closing the gate from the inside. Also the car was too small.
Soon I was able to satisfy myself that the car was a Fiat 124. Now I knew who our visitors were. Instantly I knew it to be Iky, Kaja's brother. The thought, that he had perhaps decided to join Kaja, flashed through my mind. This would be his last opportunity because, once the Czech authorities knew of the defection of Kaja and family, his brother would be even more carefully controlled. The fact that he was here, unannounced to us beforehand, signaled that he had obtained his visa before news of his brothers defection had reached the authorities in Brno.
I hugged both Iky and Miluska, (Iky's wife), and waved them on to the house, whilst I locked the gates; as I did so I had a confident sensation that they were all now on our property and that no one could separate us again. I had a strange impression of them being under my protection.
Walking back to the house I could imagine the excitement of the family uniting. Presumably Iky had decided not to notify us in advance, of their intended arrival, so as to avoid drawing attention to himself; telephone links and mail to the west were subjected to monitoring.
As I joined the group there was great excitement, all were chattering and the confused noise resembled a gaggle of geese. I immersed myself in their joy, picking up one word here, one word there, it did not matter.
Through Vitka I posed the question, which had not yet arisen, did Iky and Miluska intend to join Kaja and remain here? "No" the response.
This was an extraordinary situation, so much intrigue and planing had gone into extricating Kaja and family from the Communist net. Now his brother and sister-in-law arrive, bearing official visas and driving Kaja's car, which Kaja had given to Iky before leaving. Days before their trip to Yugoslavia, small cars and vans had been calling at Kaja's flat to remove as much as possible; all their possessions would be confiscated by the authorities - including the flat, this being the usual and expected result of a defection.
Well after midnight I retired to bed, The others, too excited to sleep, remained chatting and drinking the fine Italian wine we had stocked up on in anticipation of Kaja's arrival. When finally Vitka joined me she was still bubbling and wanting to talk, I suppressed my desire to sleep and listened as she recounted to me all the gossip.
Iky is quite different to his brother, particularly with regard to temperament. He is very peaceful; nothing seems to irritate him, in fact I have never seen him angry or even excited, he smiles with pleasure and talks with enthusiasm, like me he is very interested in matters of science, particularly electronics. Following high school he went on to study to be an electronics engineer, his first appointment was that of representative for a components manufacturer; the practical circumstances of such employment were very different to a similar post in the west. His day involved calling on component consumers, showing new products and taking orders, his transport consisted of riding buses or trams and walking. His salary was very modest, consequently he was only able to afford a flat because of help from us and because Miluska worked as an assistant accountant for a supermarket. Their combined incomes made it just possible to eat and pay normal living costs. As in the case of his brother he was not a member of the communist party and there were no extras for him or his wife. There was also no real future. There would be no possibility of promotion to an executive post, regardless of merit. Despite all that he felt Czech and was prepared to tolerate the situation. On this occasion they would stay just 12 days, thereafter returning to Czechoslovakia.
Kaja's character is fiery; he has a nervous disposition and a quick tongue. His job in Brno, in the iron foundry, had been particularly hard for him because he had suffered with blockage of his nasal passage from a small boy. The dramatic temperature difference in winter, from the outside air, meant he had constantly to use a spray to keep his breathing under control. In addition to his endeavor to improve the situation for himself and Dagmar, of prime importance was that their son Robert should have the opportunity denied him because of politics.

The following day Primo came to see us. He was very pleased to meet Iky and Miluska again, having met them during a visit to Czechoslovakia. Primo is solid Italian, with no knowledge of any other language and yet he derives great pleasure from getting a piece of paper and pen and discussing with Kaja and Iky the cost of living differences in the two countries. With sign language and small sketches he seems to manage very well. This time he brought news of his visit to the Carabinieri. They had been in contact with a refugee camp in Latina, south of Rome. The officials, at the camp, had given us the responsibility of contacting them direct, following which we would be obliged to take Kaja and family there. Primo, like us, felt there was no reason to hurry. This could be the last opportunity for the brothers to meet for a very long time.
The weather was kind to us and we took full advantage, showing both families the beauty of the surrounding countryside and the places of interest. The situation provided the only occasion for more than ten years that Vitka was able to spend a real holiday with her two sons, their wives, whom she loves like daughters, and her grandson.

The lack of water became more critical with a full house and I determined that once the small house in La Cima was sold, we had been trying to sell it for more than one year and finances were becoming very difficult, we would sink a new well. Most difficulties can be overcome one way or another but the lack of water presents an impossible situation.
The final day of the whole family being together was a mixture of joy and sadness. Each of us knew the potential probability that it could be many years before such a grand gathering would be repeated. We accepted the importance for Kaja and his family to try to make their dream come true.
Early the following morning Vitka was busy in the kitchen preparing sandwiches, sausages, coffee and cake; far too much food for the journey of two days - a mother acts so.
To reach the E7 road, that would take them back to Brno is quite complicated and we decided to drive the first 20 miles or so with them to ensure that they had no problems. Bobby traveled with Iky and Milly, the rest of us leading in our car.
We stopped on a bridge above the E7 and there we said our goodbyes. There were tears and good wishes and then they were gone, not forgetting to transfer Bobby to our car first. We watched and waved as the little Fiat diminished to a small point far in the distance, then quietly returned home.

I made the telephone call to Latina and agreed to go there as soon as possible. Being together was fine but the family was anxious to know what the future held for them.
Where they would go and when?

Upon entering the gates of the refugee camp our hearts sank, it was immediately obvious that cleanliness was lacking. So many people: from Czechoslovakia, Poland, Rumania, Bulgaria, all free to come and go at will but resembling prisoners in a concentration camp. On the streets around the camp were several old, east, European cars: Trabants, Skodas etc. Families who had been able to obtain visas for holidays in Italy, had remained and now could not afford insurance or even the petrol, with the result that the cars they had slaved for, back in their own countries: cars they polished and fitted with any western decorations they could lay their hands on, cars used for just a few miles on Sunday, now stood just rusting in the street.
In the office we met a lady who had spent many years in England and spoke good English. She was very kind and helpful and advised us that to obtain political asylum in Australia or New Zealand was very difficult and would involve a very long waiting period, the USA offered the best possibility and it was that great continent selected as the goal for the young family.
Once the formalities were completed we were directed to the camp stores, where the family was given mattresses, blankets, sheets and articles of personal hygiene.
Between us we carried everything to the building housing the room allocated to them. The camp roads were littered with rubbish and there was a general feeling of dissorder. There were many stairs to climbed and many corridors to traverse. Passing, as we drew close to their room, the communal washing facilities with long lines of metal sinks where there were dripping taps, water and toilet paper all over the floor and no door for privacy.
When we opened the door of the vacant room, I felt so sorry for the young family, in particular Dagmar, the filth, the rubbish, the peeling paint, broken window panes, badly fitting door and the noise of screaming children, with nothing to do other than rush all over the buildings and cause disturbance. Here they would be obliged to attempt to make themselves comfortable, the only consolation of the high ceilings and stone floors was that the intense heat of the beginning of August was made just tolerable. I noticed Dagmar's expression, she was depressed and desperate, I could also imagine what was going through Kaja's mind, what had he brought his family to?
I gained their attention and, with the help of Vitka, impressed upon them, what they already knew, that this was a stepping stone to a new life and would soon be over and forgotten. Bobby had noticed how many young children there were in the camp, there would be plenty to interest him. Kaja had started English lessons while still in Czechoslovakia, it was there that he met Dagmar, she was studying a different subject, though soon neither was studying at all. While Dagmar's mother thought she was at evening classes she was in fact out dancing or walking with Kaja. Now all three would have the opportunity to learn English, in fact the lessons were compulsory for refugees, preparing them for their new country.
Before leaving them we went with them to the canteen so that we might know how they would be fed, on that evening spaghetti was being served. During Kaja's army service he had been obliged to eat spaghetti almost every day for two years, that constituted enough spaghetti for life as far as he was concerned. We left some money with them to enable them to purchase some extras, to supplement their meals, then with heavy hearts we left.
It was virtually impossible to communicate with Kaja by telephone because of the vast area over which the camp sprawled, the lack of regular news added to our concern for their well being and I began to become quite concerned for Vitka, she was so depressed, she knew how hard it must be for them in that hell hole, she could think of nothing else. I decided to convey our concern to the kind lady in Latina, who, much to my surprise and delight, suggested that it would be in order for them to live with us at Colle Campana and, when a sponsor was found she would call us.
Vitka's nervous tension melted away at the news, we drove down the following day and brought them home with us. Camp gossip continued for days, one shocking matter concerned the Italian 'Capo' he was given the task of allocating refugees work outside the camp, in certain situations, there they were able to earn a little money a fact that placed the 'Capo' in a position of considerable power, a position he took full advantage of. When each new job became available, he would select the female refugee he found most attractive, then in exchange for her favours offer the job to her husband; no favours, no job, Kaja did not once work during the month that they were in the camp, the price was too high.

For the first few days they remained with us, then we found several jobs for Kaja with some of the acquaintances we had made in La Cima, we had still not sold our house there and decided that it would be more convenient for them if they moved into the house and looked after themselves, they would have enough income to feed themselves and have the choice of what they ate and that must include bananas, the only occasions that Bobby had tasted bananas, during his first 6 years, was when we took them during our visits to Czechoslovakia.
Robert remained with us and attended the local nursery school in Castel Rigone, we could not imagine how he would manage with the language and called at the school several times to speak to the teachers who were so kind, they all loved Robert , skinny and blonde resembling an inverted broom, amongst the more stocky, dark-haired, Italian children. After a very short period he was chatting in simple Italian to the delightful children who also quickly made friends with this happy energetic boy from a far off country. A small bus called at the gate each morning to take Robert to school and in the evening returned him to us.
During the month of November Kaja and Dagmar were picking grapes, we visited them a couple of times in the fields of vines where they worked; the weather was colder than normal, for the time of year, and during the course of the day they were obliged to work with their arms above their heads, snipping the bunches of grapes so that they fell into the baskets they carried, a labour that was very demanding on the arms added to which, because there was no rapid movement involved, they grew colder and colder. The evening journey back to La Cima, on the old Vespa they had borrowed, compounded the situation, after a couple of weeks they were glad to change to other tasks, Kaja sanding and painting shutters and Dagmar house cleaning.
They called one evening at the end of November, both looked very sad and we led them inside and sat them down anxious to hear what was troubling them. There had been a telephone call from Czechoslovakia, Vlasta, the wife of Vitka's younger brother, had called the house in La Cima because we still had no telephone in Colle Campana. Kaja broke down as he told us of the death of Maria, the whole family had tremendous respect and love for Vitka's mother. Now she could join Josef who had left us 6 years previously, then we had been prevented from attending the funeral by one of the worst snow storms in history, in Southern England, we walked across the fields to the village thinking that if the main road were clear we would ask the local farmer to tow our car out with a tractor. The fields were almost clear of snow, what snow had fallen had been collected by the strong winds and deposited between the hedge rows covering the road to a depth of 4 to 5 feet. Vitka was very anxious to attend the funeral, in addition to which the tradition was very strong that a daughter should be present, there was nothing we could do, even if we were able to reach the Salisbury to London A30 we had heard that that road was also blocked, then we would need Visas and tickets for the flight, whatever we were prepared to do to try to arrive in Czechoslovakia, there was no way that we could be there in time for the funeral.
Now, with the death of Vitka's mother, we were faced with a different obstacle, certainly Kaja could not return to Brno, Vitka had a British passport, but had retained her Czech nationality with the consequent effect that once she entered Czechoslovakia she lost the protection of the British Government, because of our
involvement in the defection, that was a risk we could not take. We could only try to support each other in this hour of tragedy.
The pain seemed not to diminish and we began to wonder if time would heal. Josef called for Vitka in his last hour. Kaja, Dagmar and Bobby and the rest of the family were at his bedside, and yet still she feels guilty, despite the impossibility. Maria's eyes closed on a room that lacked some of those she loved most of all, it is hard to understand why such a good woman should end her life denied that simple pleasure.
The months passed; Kaja heard from Latina of more and more refugees, they had met during their stay, who had moved to America or Canada, some who had entered the camp after them, we began to realize that whilst they were outside the camp they were being overlooked. It was decided that Kaja and Dagmar must return to the camp and in February once again we made the journey to Latina. Bobby would remain with us and continue to attend the school.
Finally at the end of March negotiations with a sponsor in New Jersey U.S.A. were completed and on the evening of 12th April we took Bobby to the village to say goodbye to all the friends he had made.
The 13th April 1984 was perhaps the most important day in the lives of the young family. The morning was bright and sunny for our journey to the airport, there we met Kaja and Dagmar, who had been taken to a small guest house in Rome for their last night in Italy, apparently they spent most of the night in the shower, a great luxury after three months in the camp. They were very excited and with the two hours wait before the flight, we took photographs by the magnificent palm trees near the airport. The time dragged, we wanted them to stay as long as possible but we felt with them the urgent desire to begin the journey. After they passed through the departure gates we went out to the front of the building and positioned ourselves between two buildings to try to catch a glimpse of the aircraft as it lifted off, We were able to see the occasional piece of fuselage or wing but were unable to distinguish between the many giants as they became little toys in the sky and after 10 minutes or so we began our journey back to Colle Campana, we felt like a very small part of a family, somehow incomplete.
It was amazing the help and encouragement given by the American people, upon the arrival of Kaja and family, quickly a small apartment was found and furnished, even to the extent of washing machine, colour TV and refrigerator, within two weeks Kaja was working full time as a house painter, Dagmar found work in a nursing home and Bobby began school, it must have been very strange for him to begin school once more where he had no knowledge of the language.
We could now concentrate on our own lives, shortly after their departure we found a buyer for the house in La Cima, none too soon, our financial situation was just becoming desperate, with the little extra money we immediately arranged to have the well sunk. Work was completed at a time of drought and to clean out the bore hole, after drilling, the pump was left running for 5 days and nights, 24 hours a day, not once did the pressure drop and gradually the milky white liquid became crystal clear, sweet, fresh water, for the first time in my life I enjoyed the taste of water, how I miss that taste now, Gods most precious gift.
The land around the house at Colle Campana was rocky and sandy, poor it may be but now with a good source of water we were able to produce fine fruit and vegetables, sufficient tomatoes for the whole year, picked and bottled as a sauce, we planted many fruit trees and coloured the garden with beautiful flowers, many spring bulbs, then petunias and geraniums for the summer and the autumn with its vivid colours of the evening setting sun above the lake.

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