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Strunkovice nad Blanici

The largest crowds yet waited in the square of Strunkovice nad Blanici for the bus to arrive. The mayor introduced himself first to Al Mangione, who organized the trip, and when Al introduced the mayor to Grandpa, the man seemed almost unable to speak. He took Grandpa's hand. "Amazing. Amazing."

Peter, the editor of Yankee Doings, gave a speech. "I'm very happy to be here and to bring our friends to meet with you. And we have with us here today one of our veterans, who was here in 1945 with the American Army, John Coath." The crowd applauds. Grandpa clasps his hands, lifts his arms, his elbows at right angle.

Then we walk down to the World War I memorial. We pass the house where the Division Commander stayed with a beautiful mosaic beneath the second story window.

Grandpa talks about what he remembers, not about Strunkovice nad Blanici -- he insists he recognizes nothing -- but about the end of the war. He tells the crowd about meeting the Russians unexpectedly at a crossroads, how the soldiers in the Red Army hugged them like long lost brothers. Then he talks about the Russian soldier pushing the Czech woman off her bike and riding away with it, and how the Czech people would tell the American soldiers, "Please don't leave us."

When we walk back up the hill to the town hall for more refreshments, a woman with dark hair, wearing a pink suit, tells Grandpa that he looks familiar and that she thinks he might have stayed with her family when he was in Strunkovice. He says he doesn't remember.

We go inside the town hall, and a man takes Grandpa's hand, tears welling. "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."

Inside there are donuts. Grandpa and I decide to split one. (He subsequently eats another, and most of my half.) But we didn't have a knife. "Oh, wait a second!" he says, and pulls out a Swiss Army knife. Always prepared, that one.

After the reception, we get back on the bus and drive a few kilometers to a crossroads -- the crossroads, where the Allies met the Russians. On one corner there is a gas station. "I remember that well," Grandpa says.

On the opposite corner is the monument. The first monument was built sometime between 1945 and 1948. This is a photo from the first dedication:

After the Soviets took over, their ideology demanded that the American role in Czech liberation be struck from the history books. They built another monument, which honors all the soldiers from World War II.

It still stands. Everyone calls it the Monument to the Hitchhiker, because the woman almost looks as if she's trying to bum a ride.

But people kept coming to the old monument. American ambassadors would come as well, and Czech people would meet them, under the surveillance of the secret police. (The mayor says all of this through our translator, so I'm not sure if I got this story entirely right.)

After the Velvet Revolution the monument was redone, with the original plaque:

And here it stands.

After the mayor finishes his speech, Peter says a few words, and then gives a command to Grandpa. Grandpa, either for want of hearing, or want of remembering what the command meant, does nothing. Peter gives up, takes his elbow, and leads him to the stand, where he places the wreath.

Grandpa and I take a picture together. He had tea with his donut, and his shakes are so bad that I can feel his hand shaking against my shoulder.

#strunkovice #memorial #laying wreath

From the Strunkovice archives

Ned S. Della-Rose from Chicago

Eating dinner with a G.I. - July 1945

A postcard from Jack W. Robinson of Ludlow, Kentucky to "his friend, Antonia" from Strunkovice [n.d.]

A great photo from nearby Tvrzice

Another great one from Trvzice

What jokesters!

The countryside near Vitejovice

#strunkovice #old photos

Walking to the World War I memorial in Strunkovice nad Blanici, Grandpa summarizes his role in the war.

#strunkovice #humility