Hello. My name is Katherine
Flotz, and this is my website.
Here I have posted my memories
from Gakowa.
Anyone who wishes to continue
the discussion with me or has any questions/answers can e-mail me at:
kflotz@att.net
of
you have experienced my past.
PREFACE
This autobiography was written in 1954, when I was 18 years old
and had just graduated from High School. I had been in the USA only
five years. During that time, I learned English and wanted to write
down my experiences during the 1944-1949 years in Europe.
The text is not perfect and could be improved upon now.
However, I wanted to leave it as I wrote it at that time.
It is meant to be a factual accounting of my life during that
period of time. It is meant for my children, my grandchildren, family
and friends. Anyone else who finds it interesting is welcome to read
it.
I am married now and have three children and five grandchildren. It is for them that this story is preserved.
TRADITION AND BACKGROUND OF THE SCHWABEN
Gakowa, a small farming town on the Hungarian border, brings
back terrifying experiences of a concentration camp where almost twenty
thousand people were thrown together like herds of animals for reasons
nobody knew.
Nearly two hundred years ago, people from the Black Forest region of
Germany settled in the northern part of what is now called Yugoslavia.
These people's ingenuity found an outlet and they cleared the land, which
then was mostly wilderness, and created a soil that was to be the pride
of the "Batschka". Most everyone was a farmer, except for a few carpenters,
shoemakers, tailors, doctors, etc. who took care of the other needs of
the people. Of course, there was no use for electricians, plumbers,
repair men, etc., since luxuries of a modern world did not exist in this
area.
The "Donauschwaben" were a people who had customs and music, traditions
and adages, that set them apart from others. In the twentieth century,
some modern trends crept in and commodities like electricity, and later
telephones were used; although there are approximately only five telephones
in the whole town.
The building of a new house was like the gathering of a family clan.
The few professionals were multiplied with helping hands of relatives,
neighbors and friends. Snake-like forms wound from the brick pile
to the spot where the brick was needed. In such a line were produced
and retold funny sayings, legends and gossip, and the folk songs rang out
to the delight of all. When the scent of hot bread and "goulash"
reached the nostrils of those happy helpers, however, the half-built walls
were soon left behind and Grandmother's round table resembled a wreath
of eager, hungry heads. The food, of course, whet a thirst for that
red Danube wine, which was the harvest of Grandfather's vineyard.
Everyone is proud of their birthplace. If one isn't, one ought
to be. No matter how much better another country is, the natural
instinct demands love for your homeland. The place where your crib
once stood, and your ancestors left marks of prosperity; where the eye
sees only beauty in the fields and farms that are yours. You see
the fruitful labor in the tall, proud corn acres as well as security at
the sight of a waltzing wheat field. You experience the tragedy of
a poor harvest, only because it belongs to you. The fruitful years
that follow give you more courage and ambition, pride and love for your
land, your town and your country.
My pride and home was Gakowa. It was, in my opinion, the nicest
little town in the Batschka. It could, of course, not compare with
big cities like Chicago or New York, but was like a pearl in a chest of
treasure - a perfect haven of happiness.
A beautiful church graced the main street in honor of St. Martin, helper
of the poor. At the north end of the town stood a chapel to St. Anthony.
I can still remember as we knelt at numerous devotions in the twilight
of a summer day. In back of the chapel widened a prairie, which the
soccerball players used to play our national sport.
The beautifully decorated cemetery rested at the south edge of town.
On main street, huge homes followed one another. Trees of all sorts
towered like watchdogs over the sidewalks. Another factor that added
to the beauty of the landscape was the cleanliness. On Saturday afternoons,
everyone was out to sweep the sidewalks. The yards, sizeable enough
to build a second house, presented a picture of restfulness as everything
was put in its proper place.
The places where "Gemuetlichkeit" - (jolly atmosphere) reigned, were
found in the nearest "Gasthaus" (tavern). Food was usually not served
since most of the customers were natives. Red-checkered tablecloths
covered the huge tables, where the art of playing cards was perfected.
As a matter of fact, it resembled a restaurant in America, -- large, friendly
rooms with colorful decorations - but only liquor was on the menu.
Dance music, which to me is the most delightful, charmed young and old
on Sunday nights. Hot chestnuts and homemade pretzels fed the onlookers,
who watched the dancers. Of course, there is nothing anywhere like
our Danube wine, which flowed in quantity and inspired many a stunt that
enriched our legends.
Weddings were the most elaborate of ceremonies. A week
before the matrimonial event, the relatives gathered to make preparations.
That, in itself, could be called a feast. Of course, the many kinds
of pastry, cake and other goodies were sampled in advance. The wedding
wine could not be put on the table without the consent of the samplers,
who tested the alcohol beverage beforehand. Gaity and laughter reigned
in the house of the bride, when late into the night friends came helping.
On the wedding day, things got under way early. The couple, joined
by the flower girls and ringbearer, followed the brass band leading to
church. All the guests were close behind. After Mass and the
exchange of vows, the celebration started. The dinner was preceded
with the recitation of an appropriate verse, the drinking of a toast, and
the breaking of the glasses.
In the early afternoon, the dance band started to play and the first
dance honored the couple and immediate family. From then on the fun
began and joyful singing and dancing filled the enormous hall.
By evening, another dinner was prepared and once again we indulged
in luscious food. The festivities continued all night into the next
day. About midnight, some of the boys and girls disguised themselves
in old clothes and painted their faces. It was anybody's guess as
to who their dancing partner was.
The next day, the guests came to the house of the bride and celebrated
more. A favorite custom among the boys was "bride stealing".
If the groom failed to hold on to his bride, she was stolen by one of the
guests and had to be "bought back". Sometimes, the couple's way was
blocked with barriers. For each amount of money the groom threw out,
one barrier would be removed. Thus, the new husband had quite a few
expenses, even before his married life had actually begun.
Each town had its own customs, which made it interesting to listen
to the old people, who had been invited to many out of town weddings.
In Gakowa, birthdays were remembered only by coincidence. The
main celebration of individuals was their Namesday. Saints like St.
Katherine, St. Barbara, St. Nickolaus, St. Michael etc. were honored duly
because many people were so named. On some occasions the brass band
even came to serenade.
The dish, which was considered best of all on feasts, was fish soup.
It might sound dull and unappetizing, but believe me, it is one of superb
flavor and is among our national dishes. Fish is cut into cubes and
cooked among lots of diced onions, colored with papricka, spiced
with vinegar and wine. Afterwards, homemade noodles and hot bread
added solidity to the liquid preparation and was ready to be a sure delight
of all.
During the winter months, another opportunity for pleasant expectation
was the "Schlachtfest" (slaughtering of a pig). Again neighbors came
helping to put the animal permanently to sleep and draw from it the year's
supply of food. Sides of bacon cut up and fried resulted in a vast
amount of fat. Hams and sausages hung temptingly in the pantry, and
dinner that day was one of the best of the whole year, for fresh meat in
itself was a delicacy to us.
I believe, because of the love and helpfulness with which everything
was done, the Batschka and Gakowa reaped the harvest of harmony.
An annual religious, as well as recreational custom, was "Kirchweih"
(the anniversary of the dedication of our church). Solemn High Mass
and Devotions marked the religious activities, and for amusement, the carnival
was a yearly attraction. The dance hall was usually filled at night
and the brassy tunes of the band lured young and old until the early
dawn.
The carnival was something unusual for us, since only once a year at
"Kirchweih" we could try out the different rides and eat candy and popcorn.
Relatives from neighboring villages often came to visit at that time to
share in the celebration. A thorough cleaning of the house, stables
and yard, as well as the front site of the house, which usually was
painted white, took place in anticipation of the event. Foods
were prepared and many cakes and pastry awaited any visitors that happened
to drop in to sample the Kirchweih wine.
Underground cellars served as the refrigerators and also as a storage
for the wine. Almost everyone kept a barrel in stock; some, who had
vineyards, made the wine themselves; others, bought it from "Batina", a
village craddled close to the Danube.
In the Fall, we eagerly awaited "Weinlese" (harvesting of the grapes),
which was also an annual affair. My Grandfather, Nikolaus Brandt,
had a sizeable vineyard not far from Gakova. When the time for "Weinlese"
came, he called all of us to help. For us kids it only meant fun
and play. The only work we did was eat - grapes and more grapes.
The older folks each had a container and a knife and proceeded to cut off
the clusters of pearls from their beds on the grapevine. As soon
as the container was filled to the brim, it was emptied into large barrels
and delivered to the house on a horse-drawn wagon. There, Grandmother,
Julianna, cooked a big meal, and we all sat around the large table and
received our reward for the help.
A truly rewarding picture to see is the sunny slopes striped with tall
vines jeweled by clusters of bursting grapes - ripe with sweetness.
The care and attention a vineyard needs, keeps one quite busy during most
of the year. The rain and wind tear down vines, which have to be
bound up again. About three times a year, the vines had to be sprayed
to prevent destruction from harmful insects.
In small towns, the second Commandment, love of God and neighbor, is
practiced to a fuller extend because nature brings a closeness to God,
and common tragedies and mishaps tie a bond of friendship between neighbors.
Our dependence on God and our neighbors knit us closely together and provided
immediate help when tragedies of nature occurred. Wherever fate will
take us, the warmest feeling will always welcome a friend from "home".
In fires or storms, ready neighbors stood by in strength and advice
and occasions occurred when one could pay the other back. Not only
tragedy but also joy was shared when good fortune crossed the door step
of a neighbor.
We celebrated feasts like Corpus Christi, Epiphany, numerous feasts
of Mary and the Saints, which people here don't even remember, with a fitting
and honorable reverence. Processions graced the main street and wound
along to the place of honor. Then after harvest time, thanks and
petitions rose from the farmers into the heavens above.
A nation and its people, no matter how acute in space or small in population,
are in itself worthy of a place in God's world This is true because
we were designated by our Creator to live our lives in the best way and
return to Him for our eternal reward. When, however, men of sound
reason, sign away the lives of that nation, they are overstepping not only
a moral principal, but a law which God, Himself, gave us in His Commandments
-- "Thou shalt not kill".
The fate of our country, as well as our lives, lay totally in the hands
of a few men, who first of all couldn't know the value of the Batschka,
in its soil and its people who tilled it. The fact that we
were part of an unknown country, and thus had little to do with world affairs,
cannot prove our inadaptability as Human Beings. Maybe our methods
of farming were not as up to date as in some countries where agricultural
schools aided the new farmer, but our people used the teachings and experience
of their fore-fathers, which bore fruit as a whole and famed the Batschka
for the richest soil far and wide.
Then the Batschka was to be extinguished, just plain erased from the
map. Well, they have succeeded. Gakowa consists only of a few
houses and walls of broken down homes -- in other words, total destruction.
The only things worthy of seeing there now is our little cemetery in which
lie our loves ones, who died in the arms of helpless people. They
will guard the ruins and be a lasting landmark of an existing town and
it's people.
