Most of the European capitals declared themselves as "Open City", meaning, they surrendered to the advancing army, thus causing less destruction to the city and its inhabitants. The Hungarians and the Germans did not do it in Budapest. Consequently, very bitter fighting took place.

The Red Army had a very difficult task; they had to fight for every street. Every building was a menace. The building, where I was hiding, was eight stories high, located on the corner of Kiraly St. My window faced a small side street. I was able to see the defending Nazis one day and the Red Army next day. This sea-saw battle went on for three days, until January 14 1945, when the Red Army broke through and advanced to the center of the city.

We greeted the first small Red Army unit with tears in our eyes. The commanding officer understood a little Hungarian; I told him about the German and Hungarian soldiers hiding in the building in civil clothing. He captured some of them by searching the building. He gave orders to bring plenty of food to the hungry people.

Early morning a new unit came, tall, heavy built, tired Ukrainian soldiers. The first soldier took away my official documents, the second took my flashlight, and the third told me to follow him. Myself and some other men followed him from our basement to another building's basement to a large room, where we met about 60-70 people. The soldiers searched us and took away knives, every document, and even family pictures. Then came a Hungarian translator who told us about the newly established Hungarian Government in Debrecen city. They have representatives not far from Budapest and all of us will go there to receive new documents.

We were very eager to follow the leading army officer, not noticing, that we were surrounded with armed soldiers. Late evening we arrived in a small house, this was our "motel" for the night. No food, or drink all day. The young Jewish boy, who lived with me in the same apartment, was here this time also.

Early morning a big husky Ukrainian soldier came in, and with a cruel face said: "Yid? Yevret?" He was asking who is Jewish. My young friend wanted to stand up, but I forced him to sit and be quiet. I saw the face of this soldier, and I did not find him friendly. One man stood up in the back. The soldier signaled to follow him. A few minutes later he was dead, killed by this soldier. The Ukrainians hated the Jews as much as the Nazis.

With foot and mounted soldiers around us, we "walked" to Gšdšllš city (cc. 30 km. from Budapest). Some men tried to escape. They were shot on the spot. Here, we received a slice of heavy, black bread and a cup of liquid, called coffee. The place was the Hungarian Agricultural University, with two large and many smaller buildings; barbed wires all around, armed guards, some with dogs to keep more than 10.000 people inside the P.O.W. camp. The security was strong and nobody could escape. Only one person was released.

The camp had many open latrines. It was a large square hole in the ground, with a few wood planks across. We stepped on planks, which were apart. Then we did our business, balancing ourselves.

This man lost his balance and fell into the latrine, but was able to hold on to the planks. He was really full of shit. One of the camp officers was there, and he gave orders to release him. He was lucky to go free. I did not even think of escaping. I gave up on my future and complete lethargy came over me. I didn't care for anything, even if it would have ended my life.

Going around the camp, I found my future brother-In-law, Andrew. He was very happy to see me and from then on, he was beside me all the time. He asked me to look after him. I didn't tell him that I couldn't even look after myself. Twice a day, we received a bowl of soup, a slice of black bread. There was no available facility to take a shower. Our only occupation was: getting rid of the lice and kill them, finding a small place, where we can lie down, stretch out and be able to have a few hours of sleep. Every day we heard, there is the new Hungarian Government in Debrecen, which will issue new I.D. card. With it, we will be free to go home. This was a very big lie, just to keep everybody under control.

Weeks later a Russian delegation came to the camp. The delegation included several KGB officers (then they called it NKVD), mostly women 'felchers' (medically trained doctor's helpers). We had to line up, 23-30 at a time completely naked. They checked our eyes for trachoma, pinched our buttocks, whether we had enough muscle and strength. Also, they grabbed our testicles to see if we had any venereal diseases. They were looking into our mouth. This was a very humiliating experience, like they were buying horses.

A few prisoners were rejected; they left the camp in the next hour. I was in good enough shape and I received the happy "Harasho". It meant I was OK, free of any sickness. With the rest of them I went to a separate barrack, received plain Russian clothing, a dish, spoon, a cup and a slice of bread. The security was very tight.

The next morning we started to march to the city of Cegled. The total number in this unit was 5.000 P.O.W's, including my Andrew. The guards were telling us all the way: "Popjat-Popjat", meaning, we have to march five people in a row. They counted us this way all the time. Sometimes they counted more than 5.000 and they let go free the extra people, sometimes the guards took some local civilians to replace the missing person(s).

They were hitting us often with a two meter stick and told us, we are fascist pigs, killers and if it was up to them, they would kill everybody now. In a way I was happy, hearing the German and Hungarian Nazis receive the right treatment, but I was among them, too. --- Such a fine way to freedom!

Very late evening we were assigned to four different large barns, with heavy security around us. The supper was only two slices of bread. After a short, difficult sleep, the guards started to yell orders; to go outside, wait for the head-count, and get ready to go. In one barn, some people were too sick, or to tired to move fast, or move at all. The guards started to shoot from the main floor up to the ceiling, not minding whether there were people in the upper section of the barn. They killed one man instantly and injured more slightly. The order of the day was marching again without food or drink. The head counting and the beating was the same.

The next night there were not enough barns to accommodate 5.000 people. Some people slept inside a school, like Andrew and me, but most of them just outside on the ground.

The daily five-abreast march was not the main problem. Thirst was. We didn't have anything to drink since we left Godollo. On the side of the road, there were ditches and some melted snow was running in them. I told everybody not to drink it. It was very tempting, but those who did drink, ended up with dysentery. I learned, some of them died in the camp a few days later.

Late afternoon, we arrived at our new camp in the city of Cegled. This was a real P.O.W. camp; well organized and fenced in with three rows of barbwire. Everybody received a tin for food, an old army spoon and a broken cup. How happy we were to receive our first ration, drinking the black water (called chicory coffee). Next day we were able to replace some missing clothing. One unit consisted of about 60 people. In our new barrack, three layers of bunk beds, straw and a worn out blanket were waiting for us

One of the problems was, the latrines (toilets) were far from the barracks. Daytime was OK, but at night, it caused some problems. It was winter and cold. Shortly after a little sleep, we had to go again. Many of us didn't have the time to reach his destination!

Lots of people, like me, received used Russian army coats. It was very difficult to differentiate between captors and captives. One early morning a young man in the army uniform decided to escape. Everybody told him it was hopeless. He did not give up and started to climb over the fence. It was very dark. With a piece of rag on his hands, he did the first two fences, but when he was climbing the third fence, the guard spotted him and yelled: Stoj! (Stop). He didn't understand the order, or he didn't care to stop. The guard shot him dead.

My mother was looking for me in Budapest, before she left Hungary for Germany. Then she went to Cegled, and questioned many people, if they saw me. Somebody told her that it was me, who was shot by the guard and died. The alleged loss of my father and the misleading news about my death gave her the final reason to leave Hungary. The Red Cross put them into a refugee camp in Germany.

Ten days later, after we arrived at the camp, they asked for volunteers to bring some empty wood barrels into the camp. I volunteered and went with the group to the Marmalade Factory of Cegled. The factory was empty, except a lot of used barrels in the stockroom without the top cover. We started rolling them to the camp. On the bottom of the barrels, we found a thin layer of left-over marmalade. On the way, we were able to scoop up some marmalade and ate it. It was old, tasted stale, but it was some kind of food.

There was a small guy with a big hat, he was not able to roll and eat at the same time. He was leaning too much into the barrel. One of the guards wanted to make a good joke and pushed him inside. We saw only his legs. It was tragically funny. The guard rolled the barrel with him inside into the camp.

At this time the Red Cross representatives came into the camp. They collected all the underage people (16 and under) and transported them to Debrecen. This guy with the big hat in the barrel was among the lucky few.

The empty barrels were taken to a shop; there cut in half and put wire handles on the half, which had the bottom. Why? I will explain it soon.

March 2, 1945. This was the day, when a large group of people was taken to the railroad siding, where a train was ready to go. Sixty people were assigned to one cattle car, equipped with bunk beds, straw, blankets, an empty pail as a toilet and one of those half-barrels with handles. It served as a container to pick up our food twice a day. High up was a little window with bars. We lived in this "hotel" for the next ten days. Compared to the Hungarians, who put about 100 Jews into a cattle car, this was relatively spacious accommodation.

No washing, tooth brushing or shaving. The food came when the train stopped in the morning and evening: Soup, a slice of bread and a spoonful of sugar. The train stopped many times during the day, because the railroad lines were very busy transporting supplies and manpower to the front. This was the time to empty our "washroom". Existence in this one "room" compartment was very difficult. A lot of quarreling, even some fighting was a daily occurrence.

At every stop, we questioned people about our whereabouts, using our little window. On such occasion, somebody answered and told us that we were in Romania. The guard didn't let anybody close to the train. At one stop the local people called some names, hoping, some of their missing people were on the train with us.

After ten days of traveling, the train stopped, the guards opened the door and we could leave our "hotel". It was difficult to walk again. Everybody looked miserable, unshaven, unwashed and very smelly.

On the way to our new camp, we saw many oil wells, big refinery constructions and numerous large gasoline, or crude oil tanks. One sign said: "Ploesti". The P.O.W. camp was in one of the outskirts of the city. This was an army camp before and during the war. When the Romanian Government cut relations with the Germany, it had to empty all military camps.

Ploesti was the largest refinery in Romania, and a big supplier for the German and Italian army. The Germans did not occupy Romania, but used all the material and manpower of the country.

The camp was well organized. The barracks were waiting for us with blanket on every bed, even a small, but clean towel and some eating utensils, too. Within a short time, we were in the shower; our clothes went through the hot disinfecting process. Before we received our hot and lice free clothing, a group of P.O.W. people came and shaved everybody and everywhere. Their razors were neither the latest model, nor the sharpest ones. Yet, it was OK - a little blood here or there didn't count - we were clean.

You have to experience a "journey" like this to appreciate a shower and a bloody shaving, the first real meal of potato soup, a plate with thick, cooked barley with some traces of meat, a piece of black Russian bread, black water, called coffee and a spoonful of white sugar. - These proved to be all luxury items.

We took our place in the assigned bunker, about 50 in one section, upper and lower bunks. One more added luxury; we were able to stretch out and sleep like (almost) a king. The camp's population included different nationalities: French, Belgian, Romanian, Yugoslavian and Greek. I did not understand, why those "friendly nationals" were here. Maybe they were fighting with the Nazis.

During the next ten days, the Russian officers organized us into a unit of 50 people. Each unit was sent out of the main camp. The main camp was a collecting camp only, to select people for further transportation.

I don't know how did this happen, but I found myself with Andrew and 30 other Jews in my unit. This was a great surprise for me. Among them were: David, a Captain in the Polish Army, who took part in the Warsaw uprising, Jani, a lieutenant of the Yugoslavian Army, fighting with Tito in the resistance group. He was still in uniform. When the Red Army "liberated" them, like me, they showed their papers, they even spoke the Slavic language, but the Red Army's order was not to trust anybody, or believe in any document.

One of the men was Kohn Jozsi (Joe), who came back from a concentration camp with an official release paper. He was three blocks away from his home in Budapest, when a Russian soldier ordered him to join a small group of people just for a few hours of work. Then the Russians told them the same story: they will go to an office to receive new Hungarian documents, before they go home. - This story was repeated thousands of times.

I remember one more man amongst us: Leslie Frankel. He was a few years older than me; a tall and a very handsome guy. Our train on its way to Romania was taking up water and coal in Debrecen. There was Leslie Frankel waiting on the platform for his new girlfriend to arrive on a passenger train. He loved women and women loved him! His love for women caused him and us lots of problems later on in the camp. By the way, he had three sisters in Debrecen.

Our Officers did the head counting again and came out one man short. He grabbed Frankel, and put him in one of the cattle cars. He tried to explain, that he was with the Partisans, he had the new document from the new Hungarian Government, and was working in the Special Police Force to capture hiding Nazis. He even spoke Russian quite well. The Red Army Officer said many times: "Harasho" (i.e. OK) just the same, he became the additional number in the transport and came with us.

I was very sad to see, how after surviving the fascist labour camps, the liberation forces took us back into another camp. ---We were in the wrong place at the very wrong time.

March 20th, 1945 we took our places in the "new motel", in one of the cattle cars of a very long train. We had more space with only 50 people in one boxcar. The "comfort" was better; blankets and better food. I did not smoke and exchanged my mahorka with a half spoon of sugar. We had bigger windows with metal rods across.

Ten days later, and lots of heart breaking stories of fellow travelers, we arrived in the village of Kadievka, in the South part of the Ukraine, the heart of the coal quarry district, called Donyec. On the way to the camp, we did not see a single undamaged house or barn. The German Army destroyed them all, taking every movable furniture, livestock and food. Only a few trees were standing, the rest cut down for firewood, or to repair some transportation equipment.

April 1st is fools' day. Looking around and seeing 32 Jews in one separate group did not give reason for much fun. I felt very sorry to see my brief past and my very dark future again. The rest of the new arrivals were hardcore German Nazis. They were fighting behind the Russian army even after the Red Army overtook the terrain. They were the best people in Hitler's war machine!

David, our "Spokesperson" asked a Russian officer for an interview with the camp's commanding officer. He wanted to inform the Officer, that we are the victims of the Nazi era and treating us, as P.O.W. must be a grave mistake. He agreed to see us, but first we had to go through a certain procedure, called "disinfections".

In the front room we took off all our clothes, removed every piece of paper, comb and other flammable material. After we hung up our clothes on the metal hooks, they pushed the rollers in the next room. This was a kind of oven, heating up the room from the outside at high temperature to kill all the lice and any other bugs. This was good, but many times the clothes caught fire.

Then we went to the third room, where little pieces of soap, three liters of hot water and a small towel was given to us. Again, we received a complete shaving from top to bottom. Our hot and bug-free clothes arrived and we were ready for the camp.

The camp commanding officer was ready for us in a separate building. He was a Major Lieutenant in the Red Army with many decorations on his uniform. He greeted us very friendly, and asked who is David and who will translate our discussion. There were a few Jews from Slovakia, speaking Hungarian and German, too.

David introduced himself as the Captain of the Polish Army. The Camp Officer told him that he is Jewish too and he wanted to hear everybody's life story. First, the Slavic-speaking people told their short story, then the Hungarians with a translator. The Officer was very touched, sad and tears were running down on his face. He raised his voice and said:

"I will take care of you, like nobody else! You were working for the Germans; you were helping the Germans to fight the war. Now, here you are liberated, no more fear for your life, you will have a future. Now it is time to do some work for the Soviet Union to help her to recover from her terrible losses."

We left to pick up our meal full of hope that we will go home very soon. Our new living quarter was again a large barn with lower and upper bunk beds, straw-filled mattresses, a straw-filled pillow, one large blanket, a large towel with a piece of soap.

A German P.O.W. came in and introduced himself as the commanding officer in this barrack. I think his name was Fritz. He will keep the personnel list and will assign our working station. It was a long list of what to do and what not to do in the camp. The highest ranking German Wehrmacht Officer was the Commandant for the whole camp. He was responsible to assign barracks' commanding officers, all the kitchen, maintenance and medical staff. He reported to the Russian Camp Commander. Here we were once again under German command, German rules and regulations, German talks and German hatred.

According to International Law concerning Prisoners Of War, they must have 21 days of quarantine, supplied with food, clothing and health care. The P.O.W. can volunteer for work, but not the officers. Everybody can refuse to work. - Fine ideas for sure.

We had 21 days of quarantine, but for other reason. They were checking if we were free of bugs, any sickness, which could be contagious. During the quarantine we should gain strength, recover any illness we might have had. At the same time, we had to fill out a four-page questionnaire. This constituted a documentation of our life before, but mostly during the war.

The Red Cross handed out three cards per person to write home to different addresses. I wrote to my Mother to Klauzal square, to Ibolya's parents, and one to my uncle, Erno Weinberger (after the war he changed his name to Vamos). We couldn't write about places, names, work, so I wrote: "I have my brother-in-law with me." Andrew did the same. From all of the cards only one arrived, the one addressed to my mother. Even that one was picked up by my father, as my mother left for Germany already.

One day before the quarantine was over; our Fritz came and told to the 32 Jews to assemble outside the barrack. We were delighted, jumping for joy and ignored the dirty anti Semitic remarks made by the other German P.O.W.s. We thought surely enough, that we are going home right away, thanks to the Commanding Officer.

Four armed guards escorted us over the more than one hour march to an open pit, a limestone quarry. There we met some local people. They gave us hammers, metal wedges, pixels, shovels and a primitive stone carrier, which looked like a short stretcher. They gave us a brief instruction what to do and they left.

This was our job! We had to cut, hammer, slice the lime stone from the bedrock and carry it up to the open field and pile them in a cubic meter shape. From the limestone, another group of local people made a chimney like tall tower and slowly burnt it. From the white ash, they made white paint for the newly built houses.

We had a minimum norm, a quota to be produced every day. If we did not produce enough cubic meters of stone, then the next day the camp kitchen withheld one slice of bread from everybody in the group. We did not have enough experience. Half the time we didn't produce the quota.

The strip quarry became deeper and deeper. It was harder to bring up the heavy load of stones. First, only one "stretcher" was enough, but later two stretchers were needed because of the greater distance from the bottom of the pit. Consequently, less people were able to chisel, hammer, pixel, shovel out the stone from the bedrock. Other men were building heaps of cubic-meter-units from the stones. Our "norm" was 12 cubic meters a day. At 4pm the "Nachalnik", supervisor came, measured the production and gave a written report to the guard for forwarding it to the German Camp Officer.

One of our work-mates was a first year student in the Architectural University. He had a good idea how to make the cubic meter with less stones; we could build the pile of stones in a way that it will have lots of empty space inside and so, requiring less stones. This way we did our norm and received our bread every time. Yet, we were not smart enough for making our norm every single day.

One day the Nachalnik became suspicious, gave a big kick to the "construction", which collapsed into a little bit more than half of a cubic meter. He was very mad, and used his whole vocabulary of cursing (he had a rich one!). It caused a problem for the next group as they received less material and they were unable to produce their norm of paint.

For four weeks, we had to do extra work every Saturday until 1pm to compensate him for the missing production. I was working down the pit, hammering wedges into the vein of the rocks. When a slab was loose enough, we plied the piece out with a crowbar.

One day I started singing. I do not have a good singing voice, my father and my sister had. In the ten minute resting period one of the guards came over and asked me, how come I am singing, and why am I so happy. With an interpreter, I told him: "I am alive, not very hungry, fairly healthy and I hope my bad luck will change for the better." The guard gave me an order to have half hour break every time the group had ten minutes, but I will have to sing any song during this half hour. He reported to the Nachalnik, that he has one man short and the norm should be less. - This was my singing career!

The hard work and the reduced food took its toll. We became thinner, lost weight. We were full of bruises, injuries. Andrew became very weak. At home, he was growing up under his mother's wing, never doing any hard work. He was full of complaints, but one morning he was really unable to get out of bed. We took him to the infirmary before we left to work. When we came back, he had high fever, severe pain, but the German on duty said, he is just faking sickness. They kept him in for days receiving no medication beside aspirin. I visited him twice. Next day, they transported Andrew to the nearest small hospital, where he died a few hours later. He had kidney infection and without treatment, both kidneys stopped working. I became very sad and angry. What will I tell to his parents? How can I explain to them that I was unable to take better care of him? ---- He was twenty years old.

The German prisoners were taken to a construction site only after the full length of quarantine, doing light work: making door and window frames from the cut logs, and making bricks and shingles for the little houses.

Why were we assigned to this hard and dangerous work a day before our quarantine lapsed, and the Germans assigned to a lighter work?

Our "saviour", the Jewish Camp Officer did this to us, to show to the Communist Party representative and to the rest of the Russian comrades, that he is a good Russian citizen and he is not giving the Jews an easy job, or discriminate against other P.O.W.s. He said, he will take good care of us; our life is not in danger anymore. -- How wrong he was!

The security was very strong around the camp and around every working site. The armed guards were mostly from the East part of the country. They hated the Ukrainians; they hated the local people, too, but mostly the prisoners. The system was good: the guards did not become friendly with the local people, or with the prisoners.

During my year's stay, only three people were able to escape: one was frozen to death in the open field, and the local people killed the other one. The third escaped in the summer, but was captured 150 kilometers away by the Mounted Army units. They brought him back to the camp, but he died the next day. The officer said he died of heart attack.

This camp supplied the labour force for a construction company, run by the local Soviet Government branch. Their duty was to build housing for the local people. They had a multiple task: installation of water, sewage and electrical system. The bricks, shingles, and all the woodwork they had to coordinate. They were building streets with about 200 houses at a time. The final goal was circa 5.000 one-bedroom units.

The prisoners were assigned to different workstations with armed guards around them and side by side with Ukrainian local people. Although they were Soviet citizens, they were not trustworthy enough, because they were working under the German occupation. They had to do from 6 to 12 month "rehabilitation" work. Their pay was reduced and they could not leave the district without permission. Once their time served, they became free and received the Internal Passport, enabling them to travel, or stay on the job with full pay. Later they received a house from the local government.

The company received from time to time a large shipment of logs. From it, they made all the lumber needed for the houses. The tree trunks were large and heavy. No timetable governed the arrival of the trains. Sometimes the freight arrived in the morning, or afternoon, even late evening. The assigned people had to go to the train and unload it within the shortest time possible. Trains were needed for the rebuilding of the country and were in very short supply. The work was dangerous. People died when a log was not carefully handled. Every day some injuries occurred.

They produced wooden floors, doors and window frames from the logs. The frame of the houses was made also out of wood. The lumber was treated in the steam house and dried afterwards. Often there was not enough time to dry it completely and they just rushed it to the construction site. Consequently, the window did not open, or the door stuck to its frame.

The people went for breakfast at 6 am and started to work at 7 am with ten-minute breaks at 10 am and 3 pm. The working time was over at 5pm. Everybody received lunch after returning to the camp: a thin soup, some "main dish" cabbage, beets or barley, a cup of black "coffee" and a slice of black bread. At 7 pm every single day, the prisoners assembled for head counting. We had to stay put until they got the right number. Sometimes it took more than one hour. After that, we received the working order for the next day. This was the time when each barrack got the permission to go to the Hothouse. That was heaven, a hot shower and a bloody shaving.

Supper was given from 8 pm. It was the same type of food, as for lunch. If some groups didn't make their "norm", they did not receive a slice of bread. With this meal, we received also a spoonful of white sugar and a spoonful of "Mahorka" (raw tobacco) and a piece of newspaper for cigarette paper.

In the Soviet Union, every office, factory, or armed forces unit had a Secretary of the Party and an officer from the KGB. That time it was called NKVD. His job was to overlook everything, mostly personnel. The KGB officer saw every production report, asked and listened to everybody about everybody. It was a web of information, sometimes misinformation.

In our camp, the KGB Officer was Captain Shoemacher, a fellow Jew. He was a tall, slim, fast moving and thinking man, with a smile on his face all the time. His smile was the best mask to get closer to people's confidence. During our quarantine, as I referred to it once, everybody received a four page questionnaire, written in Russian. With the help of a translator, we answered every single question regarding education, parents and working places, positions. A full page of questions related to the war times. The questions were very tricky; if you lied in one, the next answer easily contradicted the previous one.

One of the questions was: What did I do in the year of 1943 month-by-month. I answered that I was working in the Tatra Shoe Factory. I did not say that we were the owners. The KGB Officer studied every line very carefully. He knew if somebody was guilty, would lie when answering the questions. He had a system to find out the truth: every evening, mostly in the night he called into his office somebody and asked only a few questions. A few days later, he asked the same question. He never made any comment. This way he was able to catch many guilty Germans with a bloody past. I saw a few people with big bags taken away from the camp. I learned many were taken to Moscow, to the KGB Headquarter for further interrogation.

One night around 2 am, somebody woke me up and told me to report to the KGB Officer. He greeted me with a smile and with the help of a translator asked only one question: What did I do in June 1943? I answered him: I was with the Volunteer Fire Department. He said thanks and let me return to sleep. A few days later, he called me again about 3 in the morning and asked the same question. I gave him the same answer. There was 5 minutes silence. I started to worry! He asked me if I am a real Jew. I said yes.

"Why did you lie in the questionnaire? Were you a worker in a factory, or a fireman?" he asked me. That moment I realized the problem I had. Slowly I explained to him why I volunteered into the Fire Department and worked at the same time, but in different shifts. He asked a few more questions and told me that he was happy to find out, that I am an innocent survivor of the war and an unlucky person to be in the P.O.W. camp among the SS Germans. He knew that in the camp, there were more than 100 war criminals and it was only a matter of time to find them. He asked me to open my ears and report to him anything I think will help him to reprimand these people.

To show how this system was working: One of the SS soldiers, who was a Sergeant in the SS unit, stole one single piece of potato. Another German, who was a Wehrmacht soldier in the regular German Army, reported this to the KGB Officer. Next day the man found himself out of the camp in an army jail and received 10 years of hard labour. This was not only for the potato, but also for the pleasure of putting an SS Officer into jail.

I slept very well after my interview with Captain Shoemacher.

David, the Polish Captain, went to see the KGB Officer many times since we began to work in the stone quarry. David told him about the Jewish/Russian Commanding Officer and the way he treated us. His cowardly action with the Jewish prisoners resulted in giving them the worst possible jobs, while the SS Germans having the easy work.

After spending one and a half months in this job, David brought us the good news: the KGB Officer made a compelling report and recommended replacing this Camp Officer with a different one, who will treat the Germans the way they deserve it.

A few weeks later, after the evening head count, we received our new assignment in the wood processing section of the construction unit. I was working in the shingle-making site, supplying raw wood for the door/window frame-making unit. My last job was with the log-cutting group. One of us collected the saw dust and carried it away from underneath the big blade. We stored it in large containers to be used as heating material in the small kitchen, or in wintertime to heat the barracks with it.

The log-cutting machine had five, sometime seven; roughly, three meter long saw blades. A 150 horsepower electric motor turned these blades vertically, slicing the large logs into 2-5 cm, or thicker wood planks. The motor drove a cc. 30 cm wide and more than 10 meters long leather belt, attached to the log machine's big flywheel.

The sawdust fell under the machine and had to be cleared away constantly. The job was noisy, not hard and it was a smooth operation unless the log had some hard knots. The knots developed by growing an extra branch on the tree. Sometimes the knot was very large and hard to cut. When the blade could not cut it and got stuck, the belt fell off the flywheel. At the same time, the belt slipped away from the motor's pulley, too. It took a few minutes until the motor pulley stopped, and we were able to put it back and work could continue.

Everybody was working on the norm/quota system. The 2-3 minute waiting time - until the motor pulley stopped completely - reduced the production. The locals, who operated the cutting machine, were in a hurry, and rushing us to put back the leather belt as fast as we could.

On one of the very unlucky days, the logs had so many knots, that we lost one hour already. Then the machine got stuck again and the belt fell off. They were yelling down to us to put the belt back faster. I was supposed to wait until the motor pulley stopped completely, but the yelling just went on. I was afraid that they would send me to another job. The motor was turning slower and slower, when I tried to put the loop of the belt around the pulley. It caught the loop, and rolled it around the pulley, like a roll of paper towel.

The end of the belt hit the left side of my face. My eyeglasses shattered, my left ear was hurting and ringing. The left side of my face was full with bloody bruises. For a few second I was unconscious. In a way, I was lucky, because nothing was broken. The machine operator was scared and told me to sit down and quit working the rest of the day. They put wet towels on my face to reduce the swelling. Without glasses and being a little "soft footed" I needed some help to walk to the camp. In the Infirmary, they cleaned my face, put on some iodine. That was all the medical supply they had.

My friend Jozsi Kohn went to the office and found a pair of used eyeglasses. A German soldier died a few days before and I inherited his glasses. It did not fit my prescription; one lens was stronger than the other, but I was able to see. When I came back from the camp and had an overall check-up in the Jewish General Hospital in Budapest, they were very surprised that I didn't have a permanent damage of one eye.

My left ear is a different story. Even a light draft, wind, or cold causes sharp pain. I have reduced hearing in my left ear and partial loss of hearing of high-pitched sounds, or some telephone voices.

August, 1945 the Japanese Government put up the white flag after the USA dropped atomic bombs. It was a tremendous relief for the Soviet Union, too. The Second Word War was over! Millions of people died. The Soviet Union alone lost 20 millions of her citizens, mostly young men. Also, six million innocent Jews perished in the Holocaust.

The heavy and light industry stopped producing war related equipment and began planning for the conversion to domestic production. It was a very difficult process with lots of wasted time and material.

When the Red Army captured a district in Europe, the Corps Of Engineers and a special Unit started to dismantle the equipment, and acquire the material of its industry. The agricultural equipment wound up in the Ukraine, car making and heavy industry in the Stalingrad area, in Moscow and in Siberia. All the coal mining machinery found places in the Donyec region. Our camp was here in the outskirts of the village of Kadievka, with a population of 6-7 thousand before the war, but after the war no more than a thousand.

Anyway, the camp celebrated the event in a big way, with double portions of food. The Germans were not very happy, as their only hope was gone. They were hoping that Japan will win the war in the Far East and Germany will be in a better position against the Soviets. It would enable Germany to make a favourable peace treaty with the Reds.

Next day life returned to the old routine. The working hours became longer, the norms became higher and higher. More and more logs arrived, fortunately mostly after work. It was a very long day for the people, who were assigned to unload the shipment without having lunch. I had this pleasure a few times.

The food did not improve, the cabbage harvest came and until the supply lasted, we had cabbage three times a day. They did not throw away any leaves and with a little spraying of water on the outside of the cabbage, everything went into the soup.

Then the beets shipment came. Same sanitation, no peeling at all. Our urine became red and we started worrying about kidney bleeding. Our Medic said it

is the natural colour of the beets, which causes it. When I came home from the P.O.W. camp, for more than ten years I had not eaten any beets! Oh yes, hungry we were.

Every Sunday we "volunteered" for a 1/2 day work in the field and harvest something for our kitchen. This gave us a good chance to steal something: raw onion bulbs, a piece of carrot. We had to eat it very carefully, because the guards were watching us.

Since fall of 1944, I have not eaten any fresh fruit, egg, and the last year any meat. I became sick from lack of vitamins, mostly vitamin C, causing SCURVY. My gums and tongue were swollen. When I ate, the gums started bleeding, and my teeth became loose. Small circles developed all over my body like blisters. A few days later, these blisters became larger and looked like an infection. Yellow puss was oozing under the scars. My feet below the knees were swollen so much, that pushing it with my finger created a deep dimple, visible even after half an hour.

One-by-one my teeth fell out. I had a metal bridge, made in the summer of 1943. One tooth under the bridge became infected, causing lots of pain.

In the Infirmary, one of the German health workers had an old shoemaker file. Without any anesthetic, he started to cut my bridge with it in order to extract the inflamed tooth. It was a hard job for him; you can imagine how I felt! After more than an hour the bridge was cut! With regular pliers, he pulled my tooth out; blood was all over. My swollen gum and now a bleeding cavity, I was ready to die. The remaining bridge was sharp, raw, and interfered with moving my tongue. One day the bridge fell out; losing a bothersome piece of raw metal was a real relief.

Unfortunately, I was losing weight, too, quite rapidly. More and more "blisters" appeared all over my body. My temperature rose higher and higher. There was no medication anywhere; so I had to take care of myself. Going to the kitchen to pick up some food, mostly soup, or to the latrine became more and more of a struggle. Later I had to use pieces of wood as a crutch. Sometimes my friends came to help me, but during the day, I rather gave up the food and used my remaining energy to go to the latrine. My hair started thinning out and lost its colour, later became completely white.--- I see myself in this condition today, 58 years later .

It was midnight, middle of January 1946, when I just crawled back from the latrine. "Radio Moscow" just signed out, saying: "Good night and wish you a

healthy tomorrow." Then they played the Soviet Anthem to go off the air until five in the morning.

I saw my future that lay ahead of me, tired of living and too sick to survive. Thousands of dances I wanted to dance, thousands of kisses I wished to kiss, and thousands of flowers I hoped to smell and to give, -- but at this point of my life I was ready for the deadly wind to blow me off the earth, to end my misery.

Probably I was unconscious, or being in semi coma, when I woke up on top of a stretcher, carried by the people from the infirmary into a so-called hospital. I didn't know, that a few days ago the camp received a real medical doctor. She was a young, petit woman, just out of medical school. She made her two years internship in the camp.

They undressed me. Then the young doctor (I think her name was Tatjana) took my blood pressure. It was very low. Took my temperature, it was sky high, as I remember, it was over 43¡ C. My vision was blurry, couldn't see her face and was unable to answer any of her questions. One of the orderlies went outside to bring in some ice to cool down my burning body. The doctor using her tweezers removed the top part of every oozing blister one by one. It was painful! I had more than one hundred of them.

Then came the real thing! She soaked a Q-tip in iodine and cleaned the puss out of every open blister. Although it was burning, I was not able to scream. After the first few I didn't feel anything, I was out, I fainted. One hour later, she drew some blood from my arm and injected it into my buttock. She said it was a treatment. I thought that was all. No way! With the Q-tip and iodine, she rubbed my gums, ignoring my bleeding. I cannot find words to express the pain I had. I wished that she would stop to do anything and let me fade away.

I was her very first patient. She kept on saying: "Nye bojse", don't worry; you will be OK some day. In the evening, my friend Jozsef Kohn came and told me, he reported my condition to the doctor a day before. They received an order to dig a grave for me. Because in the winter the ground was frozen solid, it took all day long for five men to finish it, because the ground was frozen solid. I said, I was sorry for the extra work they had to do and thanked them anyway. When I was out of the hospital, my first walk led me there to see the grave. Another person was buried in this grave, who suffered a heart attack three months later and died.

For the next week, every morning I received the same treatment. An orderly held my hand, forcing me to take the painful treatments. Days later, the doctor could not draw blood anymore. They were holding me head down until one vial was full of blood. I lost a lot of blood when she was rubbing my gums.

She was forcing me to eat liquid food only to start with, then soft food. With her own money and a piece of soap, she bought a small chicken for me. This was a very great thing, because the farmers' market had very little to offer. This angel made me a chicken soup and fed me spoon by spoon, which I enjoyed to swallow. The meat was cut to very small pieces. Take my word; swallowing it was a painful job the first week.

The doctor took some time out and went to the large city hospital to pick up some medical supplies, including some vitamin C pills. The vitamin really helped my recovery. Slowly I was able to walk without any help.

The fever went down, the blisters, only the smaller ones started to heal. About ten larger blisters had not healed until I came home to Debrecen in 1947. Even after more than 55 years, these white spots are still visible on my lower legs, and chest. The pigmentation died out and the spots remained white.

The hospital was full and the doctor was very busy, but I was her # 1 patient. Lots of people had frostbite, broken legs, or arms from the log clearing operation on the construction site. One month passed very slowly. It was still winter.

With loving care, the food and little medication my gums showed signs of healing, the bleeding stopped. I was still less than 100 pounds, but the young lady doctor saved my life. Every day I said: Thank you, thank you. We spent some time together, ate at the same time in the same room, and communicated with my broken Ukrainian. This was good for me, but later I found out, it was not so good for her.

She arranged for my transfer to the Maintenance Unit, where the work was lighter, the food was much better, I didn't have to go outside. I was one of the shoe repairmen in the night shift.

A month later, I was looking for the lady doctor, but she was not there. Somebody reported to the NKVD (KGB), that she became too friendly with me, she had special interest in me, and this was not an acceptable behaviour with a prisoner of war. She was transferred on a very short notice to another camp. I have never seen her again.

My work area was located in a special building. The work itself included: repairing clothing, footwear, working tools, shower and kitchen equipment.

My boss was a middle aged German shoemaker from a small village of Bavaria, called Gildehouse. I am surprised, that even today I remember his name: Ernst Bonke. He was a very good man with a plump wife and young children. He was working in his own small shop with one helper. One day he was drafted to serve as a shoe repairman for an SS unit.

I had to move from my old bunker, and sleep in a smaller one, reserved only for certain people: those working in the kitchen, in the hospital, or in the maintenance unit, driving trucks to pick up camp supplies.

My new neighbour was a young German sergeant; his name was Hans. He was driving a tank during the war and now he became a driver of one of the camp's trucks. We became good friends. From time to time, he gave me some extra food, soap, an apple or a piece of salted, frozen fish. Because he was outside all day long, I collected his lunch and this meant extra food for me. Some time I gave this to my friends, to Jozsi Kohn or others.

He 'acquired many special things', when he was working outside. The guard conducted searching raids a few times during the month, usually daytime, looking for knives, stolen articles, mostly Vodka. Hans hid his loot under his mattress.

I was sleeping during the day with the rest of the night shift people, but when I heard the search party coming, I moved over to his mattress and pretended to sleep. They never searched his bed.

The night shift of the Maintenance unit started to work after supper. Three, or four people from the unit went to the kitchen at midnight to pick up our lunch. It was better and almost double, than the regular portions.

My job was not hard; repair some footwear, or any other things in the shop. I was even helping the electricians to repair heating elements for the kitchen, or for the Garrison office.

One Sunday noon I went for my regular meal, and after a short while with Hans' pot to pick up his food. He was sleeping this time of the day. A German kitchen staff member approached me while waiting in line. He didn't ask any questions, just slapped me hard on my face and yelled at me: You are a cheater, a shit Jew and hollered many other insults. He snatched Hans' food container and kicked it away with his heavy boots. It broke.

Returning to the barrack, I told Hans what happened. He was furious. We went back to the kitchen, and he grabbed the guy, punched him to the ground, broke his nose and forced him to apologize to me. The German did it and said sorry to Hans, too, ran to the supply room and came back with a brand new food container. From then on, I never had to wait to pick up my food, even when this man was not on duty. News goes very fast!

In this shift, the only language spoken was German. I learned a little in the school in Kisvarda, but here I had a crash course! During the six months I was in the Unit, I became not fluent, but very good in German.

My transfer came in September 1946, to work in the transportation unit, connected to the construction company. The house builder group was working in an assembly line. First came the earth-digging unit and made the foundation of the house mostly by hand and a few little machines. Finishing one foundation, they moved to the next one. The order was to build a long street, both sides with small houses.

Next came the concrete work pouring cement into the foundation and the basement. Then the house frame was erected. Another unit was putting up the wood frames of the walls; install the windows and the door frames. Bricklayers and roofers worked simultaneously with the plumbers and the electrical crews.

About 25 people and myself transported the material for the next phase. My section delivered the window and the door frames. The problem was, the 'hot house' was unable to produce the dry wood frames on time, as they fell behind most of the time. I took the frames half dry and the workers installed them immediately. The norm was done!

The window panes were put in, except when the new and happy owner received the new house, many of them were unable to open the window. If they opened it, they couldn't close it. They had to do lots of "after repair" jobs, but nobody was complaining. They were happy, the Communist Party and the Government gave them a home.

Everybody was stealing. End of the working day the locals and us too walked home with a piece of firewood, a few nails, one brick, or a little white paint. The guards were watching us, but they did the same thing. All day long, I talked Ukrainian now. One of my partners was a local man, he was teaching me, and I was learning fast. I had no other choice. It was easy to learn and I become tri-lingual. Reading was difficult, as the Cyrillic alphabet is hard to learn, but I did some of it.

The winter was cold and windy and the work went on, but much slower.

One day, about 300 people - including the 31 Jews - received orders to report in a special barrack. More winter clothing was given and an extra ration of bread, sugar and mahorka tobacco. When we were ready, armed guards escorted us to the railroad station. Nobody knew where we will go, not even the guards.

What a surprise! In the cattle cars, there were drum-heaters, plenty of bunks for sleep and toilet-pails. What a luxurious way to travel!

The trip took six days with regular stops and food distribution. Our destination was the city of Kursk This is a very flat region within a fair distance from Kiev. During the W.W.II. history's biggest tank battles took place here.

Like in the Donyec region, here too, every house, building, school, and hospital was destroyed and more than 80% of the population killed, or moved away. All the industry was dismantled and shipped to the East, to different parts of Siberia, before the Germans captured the region.

Never in the history has anybody executed such a well-organized evacuation of millions of equipment and more than a million people, including their households. There were only a few railroad lines to go to Siberia and therefore the trains were moving 24 hours a day. When the equipment and the workers with their families arrived, all the foundations, walls, heating and water installations were in place, including the living quarters and schools. In a few months the production started. It was hard on the people, smaller living quarters, longer working hours, but nobody was complaining. They were safe, the children had a future and foremost they were willing to do everything for the Motherland: the Soviet Union.

Many thousands of Ukrainian soldiers did surrender to the German Army and volunteered into their fighting forces, or became KAPOs. (Guards in the concentration camps). They were crueler, than the German guards. When the Red Army recaptured these traitor units, they killed them on the spot. Instant punishment for instant enemy!

When we arrived in the city of Kursk we learned that they called it: Windy City. No wonder! Leaving the train, we had to hold to each other, not to be blown away. The temperature was minus 30¡ C. As a standing order before entering our barracks, we had to go through the debugging and sanitation process.

We hung everything on the top, or lower hooks, removed every piece of paper, comb, or wood utensils. The top to bottom shaving wasn't a picnic either. Old shavers rather scrape, than cut.

We were naked and ran to the third room, where it was warmer. We received a tiny piece of soap, a small towel, and a pot with about three liters of hot water. It wasn't much, but if I washed myself fast enough, the water did not freeze. In about 15 minutes, the "heat-room" door opened and we could have our hot and clean clothing, if everything went well. But this time nothing went well!

Somebody left some flammable material in a pocket, the clothes started to burn, then the whole "heat-room" was on fire, full of smoke. They opened the doors on both sides. The smoke was so thick, that we couldn't see a thing. All the clothes were destroyed. We had to choose between dying from the smoke, or the severe cold outside. Somebody broke the small window, and 60, or 70 naked bodies started to run to the nearby building. This was an unheated office building. Luckily, the door was open. The staff supplied us with blankets. Three of us stuck together and rolled the blankets around us. Miraculously, nobody became sick!

One hour later, or so, we received the replacement clothing in every shape, colour, size and condition. My pants were four sizes larger; the jacket two sizes smaller, the overcoat a foot longer. The boots were so big, that I had to put two pairs of socks into each one to be able to walk. I was very elegant!

Apart from my new outfit, I was still shaking and very hungry. We received a hot soup (with one repeat!) and a bowl of thick barley with a slice of black bread, which made me feel like being in heaven.

The new accommodation was in a very old and rebuilt barrack; 200 to 250 people in a room with 2-3 small windows on each wall, close to the ceiling. I would call it crowded! In the middle of this "room" was a big oven made with red bricks. The heating material was brown peat. (From the compost, the earth's pressure produces coal. Under insufficient pressure, or time, the compost becomes peat.) It burns slowly with low heat. This was the only source of heating in the oversized oven.

We took turns to stay close to the oven; front first, then our back and then run to the bunks to keep the warmth under the blankets. The bunks were close to the walls. The room temperature rose a little bit above the freezing point.

-How to stay warm? The solution is; three persons, close to each other, sleeping in the "spoon" position, using three blankets to keep relatively warm.

-Turning? No problem; all three of us turning at once in the opposite direction.

-To go to the latrine? That was our most difficult task.

The food was OK, by P.O.W. standards. The outside cold and the very strong wind made every movement much slower. The major problem was supplying water for the kitchen, drinking and body washing.

The only source of water was a well, about 1/4 kilometer away. Ten people were assigned to go there and push and pull a large sled. Four big barrels were tied to it and the people tied ropes around their waists and to each other. The icy field, the very cold temperature and the extremely strong wind caused a problem to reckon with. One man fell, the rope slipped away from his waist. He was blown away, and nobody was able to help him. The soldiers found him days later frozen to death.

The group carried axes to cut the covering ice and to fill the barrels with pails of water as fast as they could. They had to avoid water splashing on them, because it froze on their body in a few seconds. Making one round took more than an hour.

I did it a few times, but once I ran into a bad situation: while filling the big barrels I fell down into a thin ice-covered puddle and my gloves became wet. By the time we arrived at the kitchen all my fingers were frozen. With the help of the cook and some warm water, we peeled off the gloves. He put some warm oil on my fingers. I developed RAYNO.

Nowadays, when the weather is cold, all my fingers turn snow white because of insufficient blood circulation. Even though I wear double insulated warm gloves, my fingers are cold. When the blood circulation starts slowly, it is very painful. Cold water does the same thing for my fingers.

I will never forget that winter as long as I live. - I wonder: How did we survive?

Spring came early and ankle deep mud with it. Our water delivery time took much longer, because mud was all over the place and took plenty of time to clean up. April was mostly sunny, and we were able to sleep individually. The work was light; helping in the kitchen, repairing buildings, cleaning roads, collecting not only water, but firewood, too.

We felt, something was in the making, some talk about moving on to another camp. Of course, the morning "head count" was the same. It became a ritual so much, that when I came home to Budapest, I missed it for a few days.

An Officer called the name of Captain David, Lieutenant Jani and about a dozen other people around middle of May after the head count. That was the first time that they were called by their rank. The Officer broke the good news to them; by the order of Moscow, they are going home right away.

What a cheer, what a joy!

A truck was waiting for them and after lot of tearful hugging, kissing and well wishing; they were on their way. We, the remaining Jews felt a little empty. After a long time together with them, we became like brothers. David was our best hope in the past years, I am sure he was very instrumental to our well being, and in the final analysis to our freedom.

The same camp Officer told us, that soon some more names would be called. For the following three days there was not much of a sleep, just lots of dreaming. Then the calls came. My name and more than 50 other Hungarians, amongst them: Jozsi (Joe) Kohn, Leslie Frankel.

Why were tears running down on my face? Will I have a future after all, or am I dreaming only?

How can I describe my feeling at the railroad station? I can not, but I am sure you understand it.I expected to see cattle cars. Instead, old and rusty, but real passenger cars were waiting for us. No more pails! Private washroom! What a luxury! We will travel like human beings.

The train took us to KIEV City. Our new camp was in the outskirts of the city. This is the Capital City of the Ukraine, on the banks of the river DNEPER. Before the war, the population was about 3.5 million, but not more than one million inhabitants remained, when we arrived there. This was a busy city with aircraft, precision machinery, metalwork, and clothing industry, producing at maximum capacity in three shifts, seven days a week. The country had shortage of everything.

After a good shower and a fine shaving, we received a good supper. The well stocked magazine, full of men's clothing gave us a chance to dress like real civilians with the right size of everything, followed by a good night's sleep in a clean room.

It was June 1st, - if my memory serves me right- after four days of NOT WORKING and eating good food, trucks transferred us to the railroad station; imagine, by trucks and not by walking! By crossing the city we noticed the bombed out buildings and missing power lines. Repair brigades were everywhere. Water tanks supplied the drinking water to the population. New water and sewer lines were laid down.

Before we took our place in the old Pullman "luxury" train, we received a good meal and one extra slice of bread. Only Hungarians were on the train with full of hope: the train will travel towards West! It was late evening, when the steam engine started to pull the train. We slept all over on the benches, on the floor, even on the luggage nests. Every door had armed guards. They said it was for OUR own protection, preventing an attack by the local people. They hated foreigners. It happened a few times before.

At the end of the train, there was a big cattle car, carrying our food supply. The train stopped to take up water and coal, and at the same time, we received our daily three meals. I volunteered to distribute food and water to my unit.

The USA sent lots of canned food to help the starving Soviet population. They took everything, but didn't trust the canned food. For us, it was just the best! We cut open the big one-gallon sized cans containing cooked ham, corned beef, or other meat. We had dill pickles, bread, coffee, sugar and mahorka. It was a five star gourmet meal!

The distribution unit, including me, ate first and plenty. Then, when the train stopped, the rest of the people and the guards ate. At every stopover, there was a chance to take a good shower. If you ever knew luxury, it was that!

One day, during a stopover I saw a small house very close to the railroad. I took two pieces of soap, a small amount of mahorka and went to the house. I knocked on the door. A middle-aged woman came out and asked what I wanted. I told her I want one egg if she has one. She had, and she put on the kettle to boil the water. I gave her the soap and mahorka. She felt so happy, like I was paying for the single egg with gold. The water started to boil already with the egg, when the train began to roll. The guards and the boys yelled at me to come back. I had two choices: wait until the boiled egg is done and miss the train to go home, or forget about the egg. I jumped on the last coach, the egg had to wait a little longer.

We arrived in Zahony, the border station of Hungary, nine days after we left Kiev. We had to change train, because the Russian gauge of the tracks was a little wider.

The new Hungarian flag and Hungarian-speaking border guards were waiting for us. During the changeover, I met a man from Kisvarda, and I told him to contact my uncle Erno Weinberger. He did and Erno paid him well.

After a short "Welcome" speech our Red Army guards left, saying: "Dosvidonja", See you again! I said: Never!

We arrived at the main railroad station of Debrecen eleven days after we left Kiev. Armed Hungarian soldiers took over the security. And led us to an empty army camp and to its eating area. A very long time ago was I sitting on a CHAIR, in front of a TABLE, eating with FORK and KNIFE. An army doctor advised us not to jump on the food and over-eat. Our body has to adjust to the different food, he said. The Hungarian food contains lots of fat, mostly lard, pork fat.

Next came the "dressing room". We gave away our Russian clothing and picked up civilian outfits from a large depot. My outfit consisted of a pair gray pants, clean, with a little repair on the leg. I received a nice jacket, made out of a very expensive material. It was my size. On the left pocket, I noticed several little holes remaining after the removal of the David (Yellow) Star. --- A Jewish jacket for a Jewish survivor!

We were permitted to go outside the camp, but not to go into the city. My friend Kohn, three others and I went to a nearby street for a walk just to feel the long awaited freedom. It was a very strange feeling, walking without armed guards; a feeling beyond description.

Passing a clean nice little house, an elderly woman invited us into her house for a snack. Her husband, she told us later, didn't come home from the Eastern front and she felt pity for young people returning from the war.

She put on the table a big pot of real Hungarian stuffed cabbage with a big layer of sour cream. I didn't take any of this heavy food; neither did Jozsi Kohn. The three others ate a fairly large portion. I asked for a glass of milk, a piece of white bread and a hard-boiled egg. We ate, then hugged her and said many a heartfelt thanks.

Next day all three of them became sick, we took them to the city hospital. One of them died shortly after. I know I have a very sensitive stomach, and even now I am always watching my food intake; never eat too much or too fast.

It was June 13 1945 when I arrived at the camp in Ukraine. On June 13 two years later, I was released from the camp. I met Vera on this lucky day in 1951. It was June 13 1957 when we arrived to Canada.

We received a one-way train ticket to Budapest, or any other cities and a month's pass for any city transportation system. Somebody called my name after breakfast and led me to the office of a young lady, who was waiting for me. She told me to go with her to the city's teaching hospital. She was driving a Jeep. The research department brought it to my attention, that a medical report was following me from the Russian camp, explaining my condition. The attending physician told me that I had a very bad case of boils (Furunculous) beside the Scurvy.

After a good examination the doctor took blood and urine samples. Then he gave me an injection, some kind of antibiotic. Maybe it was penicillin, I am not sure.

When I returned to the camp, there were about 40 or 50 people ready to leave the camp. They were living in Debrecen, or in a nearby city. Among them was my old buddy, Leslie Frankel. He was living in Debrecen before the war with his three sisters, Sara Herman, Lily and Martha. He gave me their address, to visit them. We said a happy, at the same time a sad good-bye, and promised to keep in touch.

They called again 50 or 60 names right after lunch, including mine. Hungarian uniformed Officers and a civilian man greeted us and welcomed us back to the free and socialist Hungary. The civilian, I presumed also an Officer, delivered a big speech:

"You are free citizens, your life was saved by the great Soviet Union. You were well treated in the Soviet camps. The best thing would be for your safety, not to talk about the life in the camps. If you will talk about any bad treatment, or suffering in the Soviet Union, think again! It will be an anti-government propaganda! You don't want to become the enemy of the State!

The new Government knows how to deal with our enemies. Deportation, jail with, or without trial is the minimum anybody can receive. Enjoy your free state and work hard to make this Socialist Hungary a strong country."

I took this warning very seriously and I never mentioned a word of my past in the Ukraine. I have not talked about it, until I became a Canadian Citizen. Some of the not-so-smart people didn't listen and ended up in Kistarcsa city, in the Internment Camp. There was no judge, no trial.

After the speeches, trucks took us to the railroad station with our small duffle bag. In it was a set of spare underwear, a half loaf of bread and a piece of hard cheese and a shaving kit with NEW razor blades! The camp office supplied a new I.D.

After saying good-bye to Kohn and to others, the train took us to Budapest. - I am trying to find words to tell you how I felt: After three years of hiding and suffering, I was free of German soldiers, free of discrimination; I could walk freely, as a Jew!

It was a mistake to think this way.The train was full with farmers. They were going to Budapest to exchange farm produce for clothing, or other things. Bartering prevailed over the new Hungarian currency, the Forint.

While sitting quietly, they noticed my jacket with the little holes and knew, that it was the place of the removed Yellow Star. One of them told to the other: "I think more Jews came back, than we sent to the Germans and the Jews are talking about death-camps and killing." His friend replied: "Not only this, but they have the guts to claim back their stores, even houses."

I was shocked to hear these anti- Semitic remarks! Did I come home to be free, to be welcome and live without fear?

When I stood up, they became quiet. I said nothing just looked into their eyes; ready to punch them. There was not a sound until we arrived to the Western Station (Nyugati) of Budapest. Everybody left in a hurry to catch a crowded streetcar.

I was rushing to Klauzal Square, to our last home address to find my Mother and my sister, Barbara. I knew from the Notice of the Government, that my father died in the Eastern front in 1943.

I arrived after 10 pm when the entrance of the apartment building was already locked, a common practice in Budapest. I rang the bell and the Superintendent opened the door for a small tip. He was a new superintendent. I told him I was living here before the war and I just came home. He let me in to talk to the people, who were living in our apartment. They told me, that after the liberation, the Housing Department of the City gave the apartment to families. When my Mother and sister came home out of hiding, weeks later they received another half apartment somewhere else. The new tenants didn't know the full address.

This was bad and good news. At least I knew, that my Mother and sister were alive, but I still didn't have a home.

It was late. The only other address, which I knew, was the Rosners, on Baross Street. The Superintendent knew me and let me in. I rang the bell a few times. My heart was galloping: who will open the door, whom will I find alive?

Kate, Ibolya's mother opened the door. Right behind her was Klara, her sister, and Tibor's mother. For a long time we just hugged each other, tears running freely. I was thinking: How will I tell Kate about Andrew's death without breaking her heart. - We sat down and millions of questions followed. When finally I told them the truth; Andrew died of kidney failure in the camp.

His mother started hitting me, screaming at me, and yelling, why didn't I take good care of him? It was my responsibility and I let him down! Slowly she calmed down and my turn came to ask, what has happened to Ibolya? She was unable to answer me. Klara told me her tragic story: how she died in the hospital on the day of her 22nd Birthday; killed by the Mounted Hungarian Unit. I was silent for a long time.

Then they told me Tibor died on the way to Germany, shot by a Hungarian soldier in cold blood, because he was unable to walk anymore.

More bad news: The Rosners were hiding in a farm during the last months of the war. They returned to their home, but after four months Janos (John), Rosner died of liver infection.

I found out from them, that my mother came home after liberation, and was living at Klauzal tr 6, just next door to our old apartment. They left Hungary in the fall of 1945 with my sister's (Barbara) husband, Geza Fleischacker. Geza was involved in lots of black market business and the police were after him. They had to leave Hungary in a hurry. My father was also alive in spite of the erroneous Government report, but the Rosners didn't know his address and saw him only once.

The night was short, full of talk and full of heart breaking news. I was with two lonely women, who lost their husbands, their children and brother. They asked me to stay and live with them. I told them, I have to find my own peace and I need time to heal my own wounds. I will be in close contact with them, but first I have to decide my next step to freedom and to find my family. I have to restore my health physically and mentally.

After our quiet breakfast, I went to Klauzal Square 6 and inquired about my Mother from the Super. She directed me to apartment No. 9, where my mother, sister and her husband were living. A woman opened the door, and after I explained to her who I was, she invited me into the house. She didn't tell me much, but gave me my mother's address in Germany. My mother left the city in a hurry and left a few things in the room: an old pair of shoes, a woman's coat and a pair of man's pyjamas. I took only the pyjamas. This was mine before the war and now the only thing left for me after the wind blew away everybody and everything.

I left the house and sat down on a bench in the park across the building. I was watching the people going and coming from the close-by farmer's market.

They came from somewhere and they went somewhere.

They came from somebody and went to somebody.

They were working somewhere and rushed home to their family.

---And me? Nowhere to go, nothing to do, and nobody is waiting for me. I am home, without a home. I am alone