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Helen Rodak-Izso
The Last Chance to Remember
Chapter 3. OUR STOLEN & LOST YOUTH
It
sounds so unbelievable now - even to me - that there were times not
very long time ago, when we went to dances, to balls, made programs
and had a good time. It was so beautiful to be young, to prepare ourselves
for such an evening. There were excited plans with girl friends, beautiful
long dresses; they were maybe so nice just to my eyes, a little corsage
on the shoulder and happy, happy expectations, which only a young heart
can understand. In those times a "nice" girl didn't go unchaperoned
to such an occasion; at least a brother of a girl friend was a good
substitute. The opening used to be a light program; when this was over
all chairs were pushed to the walls around the ballroom, where the ladies
could take their seats. My dear, poor mother too was there among them
and they tried to entertain each other. Sometimes the early morning
hours found us still there, because I was never tired of dancing and
my mother was happy if I had a good time.
As
soon as the program was over, the band started to play and this was
the time for which we were waiting with great excitement. The boys came
for the chosen girl or partner to ask her for the dance. It was always
an exciting moment because it could happen that a poor girl (wallflower)
was left sitting and waiting. It must have been terribly embarrassing.
According
to the habits at the time it was customary that we changed partners.
It was real fun and just wonderful if always more and more boys came
to ask for you; but the most beautiful moment came when the "one"
whom you mostly expected showed up and then danced away carefree hours.
Unfortunately
this belongs to the past and sounds like a dream. Later we still tried
to get together on Sunday afternoons to talk over the happenings or
make some plans for the future, which was bleak already but none of
us made a move yet. There were some possibilities for young girls to
go to England as parlour maids. The decision was not easy, partly because
we would have to leave our parents behind and partly because of the
strange feeling to go somewhere not knowing the language or the whole
new atmosphere; even the thought was frightening. Maybe we were not
the adventurous type and one had to make decisions fast. We had to get
a little bit used to the idea of dramatic changes.
On
February 1, 1942 I married my long time best friend Ernie. Those few
months that we had to ourselves were just hiding and waiting for the
dreaded draft call. Ernie was 27 years old, dependable and a very nice
character. We had mutual friends, interests, loved music and books.
Since we both enjoyed outdoor activities, we often spent the weekends
on hikes in our beautiful countryside and mountains.
Soon
those joyful hours came to a halt, because the dreaded draft cards started
to arrive and this was already a serious warning.
I
have to talk about those years, before the gates closed down around
us, when we realized with bitterness that our future was doomed, hopeless.
We couldn't talk or think about anything else. Either we were still
hoping against hope or were trying to find a way out. We felt trapped
and frightened beyond words.
The waiting for good news went on through long, lingering years, but unfortunately my husband just vanished from this earth. His disappearance was a great loss.
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