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an adventurous 10-12 years behind him though. He was a
stevedore, and his friends and colleagues teased him all the
time. But he could not quite get into civil life, he spent most of
his time reading in a bad armchair back in the garden after
coming home from work. On such occasions he spoke about
many interesting things to me. The Vlach (Romanian), Irene,
who also sought shelter in our house had a different opinion
about him, but since she was a flirtatious woman, she had other
things on mind, and when I was a little boy, this too was one of
those other sides which brought insight into a lot of secrets for
me.
By this time, my leg had straightened, because it was
crooked during the siege due to bad provision. My father went
to Pécs (a provincial town some 130 mile from Budapest) after
the war, bought a cow and drove it to Budapest. This is how
milk became available in the vicinity, and many parents could
give milk to their children, which they brought from 5
Százszorszép utca / street. My father named it Százszorszép
(Bellis perennis) Street before the war, namely because it was
an ugly dirt road. The street started to get into shape before the
war it was still a scarcely built up area at the time. There was a
market garden behind us, as far as it reached Thököly út /
Street, (a main road nearby) and had a draw well in the centre of
it.
We had pigs and hens in the backyard, a small farm
really, until life had somewhat changed. Since many were given
shelter in the house, there were many to help around, so life
could go on in its own pace.
Despite the Smallholders Party’s (a democratic party
from before the war) victory in the 1945 general elections,
changes strayed towards the Soviets’ will eventually. My father
received a phone call from the Ministry of Culture in 1948 that
he should not come in to work ever again, as there were
changes going on, and even though he was respected, he would
not be tolerated. He became a teacher once again. He taught in

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