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Before the war, my mother’s relatives, whose siblings were here [living in Bratislava] for years, had come once a week, in the afternoon, to the café, to the Carlton. I heard that you could get some kind of coffee-like drink, which had nothing to do with coffee. It was some kind of black drink, but you could get really good bread with it.
Well, I thought, I’m going in there. I went in, sat down, the head waiter who was called Mr. Kiss, came over and says, ‘Well now, young lady, how glad I am to see you! Your sweet mother and aunts, how are they?’ I told him none of them were living, just me alone.
He left – meanwhile I had already ordered the coffee-stuff from another waiter – fifteen or twenty minutes later, he brought out a big tray of the best food possible. ‘I’m very, very sorry that I can only serve this to you, and not to your mother and aunts as well.’ Those kind of things happened to me. During that period, however I think about it, there’s nothing bad I can say.
Meanwhile, my father’s youngest brother came back. Bela Vidor was his name. He was only in Terezin/Theresienstadt [32]. He was married and had a co-op apartment. He got the apartment back immediately without a hitch.
It was a three-bedroom apartment, but so many people came that it didn’t matter if it was a co-op or not, they would have put a family with three children in there. There as an office, on the corner of what is Obchodna Street today, it was called the ‘Repatriacny urad’ [Slovak – Repatriation office]. Those who came home had to register, and everyone got 500 or 1000 crowns, which was quite a lot of money. The office was on a hall on the second floor.
As you went up the steps, there were names and addresses written everywhere. Everybody read all of them. When I signed in, that I had returned, I put down my name there, too. I had to erase my address two times, because it was always changing.
By the time this uncle of mine arrived, he immediately went there too, and found out where to find me from there. He found me, and that’s how I wound up living with him. This was a very satisfactory solution, on his part as well as for me. I knew exactly what hour my parents had been executed, and how it happened. Not too long after, I also found out that my husband at the time also died there. They gassed him too.
My former husband [Oskar Klopstock], who didn’t return, had a good friend, a notary. Once, still during the war, we packed up a coffer together. He took it away to keep it safe, to this Pezinok friend. I didn’t know him. When I came home, and I had nothing, well, this trunk would have been really good for me. I didn’t remember if there was something in it other than my clothes.
Well, but how can I get it here, I can’t carry it. I had the address, and my uncle says, ‘Look here, find a forwarding agency, go in, if they’re going that way, they’ll bring it for you.’ On Hviezdoslavovo Namesti I discovered a small office, with the sign ‘forwarders.’ I entered and asked. I remembered that it wasn’t really even a suitcase, but a trunk.
They answered affirmatively, but only couldn’t tell me the exact date. Apparently if they had to go there empty, it would be very expensive, but that when they would be in the area, they would bring it to me. That I should ask in two weeks. Despite this I gave them the address, and they really did tell me that the shipment was already here.
I didn’t have a telephone, they rang the bell, and a handsome young man stood in the door, and said, ‘I’ve just come from Pezinok, so and so forwarding agency. You’re the owner of this – it was small, there were four of us there, we had a truck, and we brought the trunk from Pezinok.’
There were two men with him, they’d bring it up. I was completely happy. They brought it up and I told them to put it down. They put it in my room. The workers leave, and he looks at me and says, ‘Who’s going to be able to open it?’ I said, I didn’t know but I’d try later. He said, ‘Oh no, bring me some kind of axe.’ I went to my uncle’s kitchen, brought back some kind of crowbar, and he opened it for me. I said, thank you very much.
I looked terrible, I have to say. I’m very thin now, but I was even skinnier then, and didn’t have hair. He started to unpack it: there was very little clothing in it, but there were sheets in it, which meant a lot to me then. He said, ‘How rich you are, I’ve counted seven sheets so far! Who’s got seven sheets after the war!’ So, he was a really funny guy. I thanked him kindly.
I knew his name by then. He came back and brought the receipt, I don’t know anymore what it came to, and he said, ‘I brought something else.’ You couldn’t get coffee at that time. He said, ‘I got some coffee, make one cup for the two of us.’ That’s how we got to know each other. That was Ladislav Loffler, my future husband.
Well, I thought, I’m going in there. I went in, sat down, the head waiter who was called Mr. Kiss, came over and says, ‘Well now, young lady, how glad I am to see you! Your sweet mother and aunts, how are they?’ I told him none of them were living, just me alone.
He left – meanwhile I had already ordered the coffee-stuff from another waiter – fifteen or twenty minutes later, he brought out a big tray of the best food possible. ‘I’m very, very sorry that I can only serve this to you, and not to your mother and aunts as well.’ Those kind of things happened to me. During that period, however I think about it, there’s nothing bad I can say.
Meanwhile, my father’s youngest brother came back. Bela Vidor was his name. He was only in Terezin/Theresienstadt [32]. He was married and had a co-op apartment. He got the apartment back immediately without a hitch.
It was a three-bedroom apartment, but so many people came that it didn’t matter if it was a co-op or not, they would have put a family with three children in there. There as an office, on the corner of what is Obchodna Street today, it was called the ‘Repatriacny urad’ [Slovak – Repatriation office]. Those who came home had to register, and everyone got 500 or 1000 crowns, which was quite a lot of money. The office was on a hall on the second floor.
As you went up the steps, there were names and addresses written everywhere. Everybody read all of them. When I signed in, that I had returned, I put down my name there, too. I had to erase my address two times, because it was always changing.
By the time this uncle of mine arrived, he immediately went there too, and found out where to find me from there. He found me, and that’s how I wound up living with him. This was a very satisfactory solution, on his part as well as for me. I knew exactly what hour my parents had been executed, and how it happened. Not too long after, I also found out that my husband at the time also died there. They gassed him too.
My former husband [Oskar Klopstock], who didn’t return, had a good friend, a notary. Once, still during the war, we packed up a coffer together. He took it away to keep it safe, to this Pezinok friend. I didn’t know him. When I came home, and I had nothing, well, this trunk would have been really good for me. I didn’t remember if there was something in it other than my clothes.
Well, but how can I get it here, I can’t carry it. I had the address, and my uncle says, ‘Look here, find a forwarding agency, go in, if they’re going that way, they’ll bring it for you.’ On Hviezdoslavovo Namesti I discovered a small office, with the sign ‘forwarders.’ I entered and asked. I remembered that it wasn’t really even a suitcase, but a trunk.
They answered affirmatively, but only couldn’t tell me the exact date. Apparently if they had to go there empty, it would be very expensive, but that when they would be in the area, they would bring it to me. That I should ask in two weeks. Despite this I gave them the address, and they really did tell me that the shipment was already here.
I didn’t have a telephone, they rang the bell, and a handsome young man stood in the door, and said, ‘I’ve just come from Pezinok, so and so forwarding agency. You’re the owner of this – it was small, there were four of us there, we had a truck, and we brought the trunk from Pezinok.’
There were two men with him, they’d bring it up. I was completely happy. They brought it up and I told them to put it down. They put it in my room. The workers leave, and he looks at me and says, ‘Who’s going to be able to open it?’ I said, I didn’t know but I’d try later. He said, ‘Oh no, bring me some kind of axe.’ I went to my uncle’s kitchen, brought back some kind of crowbar, and he opened it for me. I said, thank you very much.
I looked terrible, I have to say. I’m very thin now, but I was even skinnier then, and didn’t have hair. He started to unpack it: there was very little clothing in it, but there were sheets in it, which meant a lot to me then. He said, ‘How rich you are, I’ve counted seven sheets so far! Who’s got seven sheets after the war!’ So, he was a really funny guy. I thanked him kindly.
I knew his name by then. He came back and brought the receipt, I don’t know anymore what it came to, and he said, ‘I brought something else.’ You couldn’t get coffee at that time. He said, ‘I got some coffee, make one cup for the two of us.’ That’s how we got to know each other. That was Ladislav Loffler, my future husband.
Location
Slovakia
Interview
Katarina Löfflerova