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spread anyway. People came and went and they told the events
            to each other. I heard the next morning that we were not to go to
            school that day. What a delight, I thought, and then we made a
            Kossuth Coat of Arms (a revolutionary symbol of 1848 fight),
            but eventually, my sister’s version was put in the window.
            In response to the demonstration and the bloody shootout at the
            demonstrators, Tuesday night turned into a revolution in arms.
            This event led to the fall of the government, the retreat of Soviet
            troops, and it was announced that Hungary introduces political
            pluralism,  exits  the  Warsaw  Pact  (soviet  counterweight  to
            NATO) and goes independent. Everyone hoped for success, in
            spite of the 25 October massacre on Kossuth Square, committed
            by members of the ÁVH, which resulted in the bloody fights on
            Republic Square, still provoked by the same people, which two
            events  were  ultimately  bad  omens  for  the  declared-to-be-
            victorious revolution and the future of the newly formed official
            government.  Those  few  living  nearby  hid  themselves  in  our
            neighbour’s bunker when there was shooting outside. All of a
            sudden, everything went silent, and it was only years later when
            I realized why. Despite the many shootouts in the country the
            revolution was victorious for two weeks. We, boys, roamed the
            city in small groups. I saw the remains of the giant Stalin Statue
            by the National Theatre, and I wanted to break off a piece of it
            to keep it as a memorial, but alas, I could not lift the crowbar. I
            saw all those broken windows, the untouched display cases, the
            money gathered on the ground, the young soldiers getting off
            the van to mingle in the crowd. I saw the workers, who deeply
            believed in the nation, and I saw the laconic subscription “We
            went home” on the Thököly Street police station. I saw killed,
            burnt  Russian  soldiers,  busted  tanks  and  armoured  cars.  I
            gathered  newspapers  and  leaflets,  which  were  full  of
            enthusiasm, but someone later – probably after the revolution –
            might have found them and made them disappear, as they never
            turned up again, along with the gun I hid too.





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