The life of Lídia Ösztreicher
The memoirs of a great-granddaughter1 – excerpts
Introduction
With great excitement and interest, I set about writing my family history essay, as I had always wanted to find out more about my great-grandmother’s life, although she had, until now, been reluctant to tell me much about it. Due to the large age gap, our relationship is not as close as, for example, the one I have with my grandmother; we share far fewer memories, but I have always known that she had led a long and eventful life. During our informal conversations, I was able to get to know her life better, to put myself in her shoes, and at the same time I heard details about the lives of family members whom I had never met in person.
Others had already told me a great deal about my great-grandmother’s life, but hearing it from herself brought the era in which she lived back much more vividly. My knowledge of history was also a great help; I was able to roughly situate the things she spoke about in space and time, and as a result, the ‘dry facts’ I had in my head took on more meaning and became more interesting. I spoke mostly with my Great-Grandma Lili herself, but my grandmother and my dad also helped a great deal; they shared their childhood memories with me.
Incidentally, I’ve long been interested in the fate of persecuted Jews during the Second World War; I’ve seen many films and read many books on the subject, and I know that it’s often not easy for those affected to talk about these things. My great-grandmother felt the same way; it used to be very difficult to persuade her to talk about it – she thought it was better not to dwell on the past, as she had always been a strong, tough woman, but I think it did her good, too, to be able to relieve herself of those terrible memories after so many years. …
I think it’s very important to write an essay like this; these are perhaps the last few years when we can still talk to our older relatives, so it’s worth making the most of this opportunity and, if possible, learning as much as we can from the older generations.
I. Childhood, schools, habits
My great-grandmother, Lídia Ösztreicher (Great-Grandma Lili, under her married name Albertné A.) was born on 25 December 1917 in Celldömölk. Her mother’s family were from Győr, whilst her father’s ancestors were from Moson. Her father, Gusztáv Ösztreicher, was born in 1885 into a middle-class family of seven children in Moson. He graduated from the College of Economics in Moson, became an agricultural official, and later worked as chief accountant at the Rum and Spirits Factory in Győr. His mother, Terézia Lőwinger, was born in 1888 to Adolf Lőwinger and Terézia Kohn.
The family lived with their grandparents in a tenement house in the centre of Győr. The flat was quite spacious (dining room, children’s room, bedrooms, grandmother’s room). Emil (Emil Östreicher, who later became a renowned football manager – ed.), Lili’s elder brother, was three years older than her. … They belonged to the middle class … Wealthy families had servants, foreign governesses, maids and cooks; their family had only one village servant girl, who washed up and helped with the cooking. The laundress came once a month; the house had a laundry room with a large cauldron; the bed linen was starched and mangled, whilst everything else was ironed in the flat. After ironing, her mother would go through the clean clothes, sew on any missing buttons, place pink tissue paper inside the bed linen, and fold it up. The middle class had little contact with other sections of society, such as the children of wealthy landowners, military officers and aristocrats, or the poor workers who lived in poor neighbourhoods. … the children played together in the courtyard. …
Great-Grandma Lili was a very thin, weak child… she caught almost every childhood illness; once, for example, she had to miss half a term at school because of scarlet fever. … She couldn’t recall any major epidemics; for instance, no one in the family died of the Spanish flu. Incidentally, her uncle, with whom they lived in the same house, was a paediatrician — according to Great-Grandma Lili, the best in the whole of Győr, the ‘doctor for the poor’ — and their flat and his medical practice were both upstairs. Thanks to this, they had a telephone earlier than most other families, as it meant patients could call the doctor to their homes. Initially, this was only a local line, operating within the town; the numbers they wished to call were put through from the exchange. Horse-drawn carriages stood in the street, which he used to visit his private patients.
My great-grandma began her education at the elementary school of the Jewish Community of Győr in September 1923, before she turned six. Each religious denomination had its own four-year primary school. The children carried their schoolbags on their backs; attached to them was a framed slate, a sponge and chalk, which they used to learn to write. From Year 2 onwards, they wrote in exercise books with pencils; later, there was an inkwell and a pen on the desk, which they used from Year 3 onwards. Even in Year 1, they had quite a number of subjects: Hebrew reading, Bible stories, Hungarian reading, writing, speech and comprehension exercises, arithmetic, drawing, handicrafts for girls, singing and physical education; in Year 2, grammar and spelling, German reading and calligraphy were added to these; by Year 3, prayer translation, composition, discussion of the content of reading materials, German grammar and economics were introduced; in Year 4, geography was added. In addition, they were assessed on diligence and behaviour. A ‘one’ was the highest mark; Great-Grandma Lili achieved ‘excellent’ in almost every subject, whilst her brother preferred sports exclusively and performed rather poorly at school.
After completing primary school, my great-grandma was admitted to Győr’s only girls’ grammar school, the Győr Royal Hungarian State Girls’ Grammar School (now the Kazinczy Ferenc Grammar School – ed.). Whilst primary school still had co-educational classes organised by denomination, at secondary school the girls were taught separately, with religious education lessons organised according to faith. There were three Jewish girls in the class. The boys could go on to a science-stream grammar school (where, for example, they had to study descriptive geometry and physics) or the Benedictine grammar school. In addition, there were … public schools; these were attended by those whose school reports were not so good or who wanted to start working early, as these were only four-year schools. Afterwards, they could find employment in a factory or become apprentices and learn a trade on the job.
Great-Grandma Lili was exempt from school fees from the third year of secondary school onwards, as her father had sadly died of pneumonia — a condition that is easily cured today — and, moreover, their financial situation was not very good. She was barely more than ten years old at the time. To qualify for the exemption, she had to study very hard; apart from the optional subjects (singing, physical education and handicrafts), she achieved only ‘excellent’ and ‘good’ marks. … Her younger brother, Emil, did not do well at school, so it was suggested that he learn a trade – to become a barber or a tailor – but their mother insisted that her son must sit his school-leaving exams.
At secondary school, girls had to wear a uniform: a sailor’s outfit, consisting, until the onset of winter, of a linen sailor’s blouse – a dark blue top with white stripes and a dark blue collar – and a blue pleated skirt, worn with knee-length socks. In winter, the blouse was thicker, and instead of socks, they wore knitted tights with garters. When they got older — and the better-off girls even earlier — they were given silk stockings. In spring and autumn, they wore sailor jackets; in winter, everyone wore their own coat. For school celebrations (the start of term, end of term, 15 March) they wore coats with gold buttons. At these celebrations, the teachers gave speeches and read out poems.
In the family, it was mainly birthdays that were celebrated; from the age of 14, parties were held, attended by classmates and friends. Boys were also allowed to come – Emil’s friends and the children who lived in the house – but they weren’t yet suitors. When they were younger, they had hot chocolate with whipped cream and kuglóf cake; when they were older, they had sandwiches, tea and cake. Everyone brought a present (a book, some chocolate), and they received bicycles and ice skates from their parents. They also exchanged presents at Christmas, although there was no tree; nor did the family observe Jewish festivals, as they were not particularly religious. Of the Jewish festivals, they only observed the New Year and the Long Fast; the women went to synagogue, and there was a special service for schoolchildren on Saturday afternoons. They learnt Hebrew at school, which Great-Grandma Lili has now completely forgotten. Her grandparents were not religious either; her grandfather and uncle were explicitly atheists.
Politics wasn’t really discussed at home; her father was a staunch socialist, whilst the son of a family friend was a communist who had fled to Russia, but that was the extent of their knowledge of politics until the war (World War I – ed.) … Later on, the anti-Jewish laws and the numerus clausus became topics of discussion, as these affected them too. They’d had a radio since around the early 1930s, but they mainly listened to music and other programmes, not the political news. After lunch, the men would go to the Royal Café for coffee; all the newspapers and daily papers were available there, so they’d read them, discuss them, and then go back to work.
Children were very active in their free time; in the summer they went to the swimming pool every day and played tennis, whilst in the winter they went ice-skating in groups.
From Year 5 onwards, there was also a dance school; a dance teacher came to teach the girls twice a week, and they learnt the French quadrille, the palotás (a traditional Hungarian dance – ed.), the tango and the foxtrot. At the end-of-year ball, they danced with the boys until midnight, dressed in their finest.
Of course, the mums sat in a circle, keeping an eye on the girls everywhere; even when they went for a walk with the boys, they followed right behind them. They could only go to the cinema with the school’s permission and when accompanied by a parent. My great-grandma also loved reading – works by Jókai, Mikszáth, and Cilike’s books. There were compulsory reads back then too: “Stars of Eger”, “The Golden Man”, “Black Diamonds”, and so on (all popular Hungarian authors and novels of the time for children – ed.). What one wore depended largely on one’s means; in Győr there were large shops along the Baross Street promenade, and that’s where they shopped.
Her mother always knew when it was time to buy something new; even if they didn’t follow the very latest fashions, they had smart clothes. By the time she was at secondary school, Great-Grandma Lili was already earning her own income; she had two or three pupils whom she tutored, and she gave the money to her mother, who took care of the household budget.
There was a significant difference between the rich and those who were not so well-off. The very rich had their clothes made in Vienna. Although they all attended the same grammar school and sat their school-leaving exams together, those with a substantial dowry got married straight afterwards; they didn’t need to be particularly beautiful – these girls were snapped up quickly. Some married even earlier; very wealthy girls would drop out as early as the fifth or sixth year of secondary school… There were balls to which only the very well-off were admitted, and the Jewish middle class became completely segregated from Christian military officers, landowners and municipal officials. Great-Grandma Lili, for example, went to school with the county governor’s granddaughter, the child of a spice wholesaler, and the daughter of the owner of the Győr biscuit factory (it was at their house that she first saw a flat where you had to climb an internal staircase to get to the bedroom). They all got married and went to balls; the only ones left were those who knew they wanted to go to university. She doesn’t really remember the children of working-class parents; they tended to send their children to public schools.
After secondary school, Lili wanted to study applied mathematics … but she was also considering a career in medicine. Then the decision was made for her. Although … from the end of her seventh year onwards she had nothing but top marks on her school reports and achieved the highest marks in the school-leaving exams, her background was taken into account during the admission process; and despite the fact that the numerus clausus had been relaxed somewhat since 1920 and the first anti-Jewish law was not introduced until three years later, in 1938, she was not admitted to university. Her two cousins, Zsuzsi and Laci (Zsuzsa Lóránd and László Lóránd – ed.) were also excellent students, but they too failed to gain entry to medical school. Zsuzsi then learnt to sew for a year, whilst Laci went to Szeged to study to become a teacher until the outbreak of the war, when he was taken away for forced labour.
Emil, his younger brother, failed his A-levels; he wasn’t interested in studying, only in sports (football, tennis, rowing), so he joined the army; however, as he had completed eight years of schooling, he was not conscripted as a common soldier but as a cadet, like those who were preparing to go to university afterwards. He subsequently qualified as a textile technician in Győr and later worked in Budapest.
II. The beginning of life in Pest
As she hadn’t been accepted into university, Great-Grandma Lili decided to attend the Academy of Commerce in Budapest. She went there because she didn’t want to lose the scholarship she’d received from the city as the top student in her school-leaving exams. Those forty Pengő (Hungarian currency at the time – ed.) were just enough to cover the cost of her student dormitory in Budapest. She first visited the capital when she was 9 or 10 years old; she and her mother travelled by boat to visit a relative, and she remembers being utterly amazed when she saw the lights and the vast city. In the summer, after her A-levels, they came back to stay with their relatives for a couple of weeks; one evening she went out to the Római (a fashionable entertainment and residential district of the time – ed.) and danced there. There were huge differences between the countryside and the big city: the girls in Budapest smoked, wore make-up, and addressed everyone as ‘young lady’, and Great-Grandma Lili, as a simple country girl in a sailor’s uniform, was very surprised by this.
The dormitory where she lived was a ground-floor flat on the corner of Dózsa György út and Szondi utca, with seven or eight rooms. There was a lady taking care of her tenants – perhaps the flat belonged to her – and the girls had to follow the house rules; they had to be back by 10 pm, but they were given good food and went swimming and out to have fun; to theatre, to five o’clock tea with dancing at the Pannónia Hotel, and later to house parties to dance, though even from there their mothers would escort them home. Several girls already had serious suitors, with whom they could go for a stroll along the promenade. They led a lively life, quite different from that in the countryside. Girls who lived here were those who didn’t want to rent a room; some were studying at medical school, whilst others, like Lili’s dear friend Kati Sós—the daughter of a sugar manufacturer from Szolnok—were sent to learn a trade because they weren’t doing well at school.
My Great-Grandma didn’t like the academy at all; they learnt to convert dollars and keep accounts in huge ledgers, as well as economics, German and French correspondence, and, as optional subjects, shorthand and typing. … Graduating from the Academy qualified her to work in an office as a bookkeeper or invoicing clerk, but the effects of the economic crisis were still being felt; unemployment was high, and Jews were not particularly welcome in offices anyway.
In 1936, her grandfather and mother also moved to Pest, where Emil was already working. Great-Grandma Lili could not stay in Pest without a job; she needed the money. Her grandfather knew the owner of the Elzett lock factory, and she managed to get a job there on rotating shifts. On her application, they wrote in her employment record book that she had completed four years of primary school; otherwise, she would have been considered overqualified. She had to press lock keys on a machine, which was rather hard work. Meanwhile, the war broke out in 1939, although its effects were not yet felt here. He remained at the factory until 1944. His mother also worked there for two years, after his grandfather had retired, because they needed the income to make ends meet.
III. War years, flight
From 1941 onwards, the effects of the war began to be felt more and more in Budapest too. Anti-Jewish laws were introduced; Jews had fewer and fewer opportunities; most were sacked from their jobs, though some were still allowed to work in factories. They had heard what was happening in Poland, although they knew nothing yet of deportations or gas chambers. They had heard that, despite the Molotov–Ribbentrop Pact, the Germans had turned against the Russians and launched an attack on the Soviet Union. Hungary began to foster ever closer ties with the Germans. By the time Kassa was bombed, fear was widespread. Admittedly, it was claimed at the time that the Russians were the attackers, but this has still not been proven to this day. Lili’s grandmother was convinced it was the Germans. From 1942–43, men were sent to penal battalions and forced labour; Emil was sent three times, though this labour service was not yet particularly harsh. The factory was gradually converted into a war production facility, and Great-Grandma Lili resigned because she was afraid of the management. Her mother also left the factory a few months later.
It was during the war that she met her future husband, Albert A. Albert’s family were of Spanish origin, but his parents had moved to Bulgaria, where they ran several large businesses and lived comfortably. In 1943, Albert spent an extended period in Budapest on business. He and Emil – both football fans – met through a common friend, and it was Emil who introduced him to Great-Grandma Lili. At that time, many persecuted Polish and Slovak Jews had fled to Hungary; they were taken in here, but were sent to internment camps. Although Albert was staying here on a valid passport, he too was taken to the Garany camp (near Sátoraljaújhely) and from there to Kistarcsa. He later managed to escape from there in 1944, by which time the Soviets had already occupied the eastern part of the country.
On 19 March 1944, Hungary was occupied by the Germans. Great-Grandma Lili’s family was still living in their own flat when one of their neighbours reported them for harbouring a foreign Jew (Great-Grandma Lili’s future husband, Albert). Just a few days after the occupation, she received a summons to the Hotel Majestic in Hűvösvölgy, where the German headquarters had been set up. She went – as she put it, ‘I hadn’t bought a return ticket’. She was called into the office where the commander was sitting. There was a revolver on the table. They questioned her about Albert’s whereabouts, to which she replied that he was in an internment camp. Great-Grandma Lili was allowed to leave unharmed.
… Deportations had also begun in the countryside. There, in Győr too, they were held in the ghettos for a short time, then they were loaded onto trains … … Once, they even sent a parcel from Pest to their relatives, because rumours were circulating that they were here or there; addresses were given, and everyone had heard from a reliable source … but these parcels never actually reached their destination.
In Pest, too, they began rounding people up; for a month they only searched for the more prominent figures …, but by May everyone had to move into the ghetto. There was a larger area around Király Street and Dob Street; they were sent to Újlipótváros (an elegant district populated by numerous Jewish families – ed.), which they mockingly called the ‘High-class Ghetto’, as the houses there had been built by wealthy Jews. A few Christian families remained in the centre of the ghetto, whilst others moved into the vacated Jewish flats. There was a curfew; they were allowed to spend just two hours a day outside the ghetto, at specific times, but they were not allowed to board trams. There was hardly any food; most of it was taken to the soldiers at the front.
It was at this time that Carl Lutz and Wallenberg began their work. Great-Grandma Lili was first granted a Swiss letter of safe conduct, and then a Swedish one, whilst living on Vadász Street. Everyone knew they weren’t genuine, but as long as the Arrow Cross didn’t come, the Germans left her in peace. Protected houses were also designated in the district; at least ten people had to live in each room, so forty people lived in a four-room flat. They tried to arrange things so that acquaintances could be housed together. By then, radios and valuables had already had to be handed in, but somehow one radio remained; they used it to listen to the news and follow the progress of the war. Horthy halted the deportation of Budapest’s Jewish population and forced the Sztójay government to resign. For a while, it seemed as though things were going well (at least in Budapest – ed.) …
At midday on 15 October 1944, the radio came on: Horthy announced that Hungary was requesting a ceasefire…. The whole house cheered, and everyone ran down into the courtyard. But the joy could not last long, for by the afternoon another announcement was ready; Ferenc Szálasi (Arrow Cross leader – ed.) had arrived in Budapest and … taken power. There was no longer peace; Arrow Cross soldiers were raiding everywhere in the streets, young boys were walking about with machine guns, and people were being taken away by the hundreds. One day they even came into the ghetto; the young people were taken to work at the Óbuda Brickworks, and from there marched on foot to Austria – many died along the way. Great-Grandma Lili had always been a bold, spirited woman; she broke ranks, scrambled onto the tram, covered her star and slipped back.
Once she even went down to get some food when they had nothing left. Another woman, who lived in the room with her fourteen-year-old son, tried the same thing, but she was caught and never came back; the boy was left there all alone. The Arrow Cross house was at 2 Szent-István körút; those captured during the day were locked in the cellar, and in the evening, they were taken to the Danube to be shot – they were only made to take off their shoes first, as those could still be put to use. A friend of theirs from Kecskemét was not hit by the shot; instead, he jumped into the Danube and swam out somewhere in the city; he was helped by German soldiers who already knew that the war would soon be over. According to Great-Grandma, no one could have been clever or resourceful at a time like that. It was all a matter of luck.
Life had become almost impossible; they had to go into hiding in countless places. By this time, Albert had managed to escape from the internment camp, and they even got married using forged documents, posing as Bulgarian gardeners (!!). Because of the false papers, Great-Grandma Lili also became a Bulgarian citizen, losing her Hungarian citizenship, and they had to report monthly in order to keep the papers. At the wedding, they were both wearing inappropriate clothes, and they called in witnesses from the street.
…
In December, the Arrow Cross raided their house. Everyone, young and old, was herded out into the courtyard. Albert and Lili ran up to the loft and hid under the beams. Another married couple also came up, but they were found and shot on the spot. When everyone had been taken away and the house had fallen silent, they slowly ventured down. The window panes were still intact in the servant’s room, so they moved in there. Other apartments were occupied by Hungarian soldiers (most of whom were deserters from the front, men who knew we had long since lost the war), who gave them food – a little horse meat and potatoes; in return, Great-Grandma Lili did the first lieutenant’s washing. They didn’t dare go down to the air-raid shelter, even though there were heavy bombings. On Christmas Eve, for example, they were particularly afraid.
Meanwhile, Emil was in a labour camp in Ukraine. He was lucky enough that, when the soldiers had to travel to Budapest by horse-drawn carriage to collect their boots, they took two labour camp inmates with them to help, and he was one of them. When they reached the capital, the soldiers broke ranks; nobody wanted to return to the front. At that time, the synagogue on Bethlen Square had been converted into a military emergency hospital, where Jews and soldiers could go. The benches from the synagogue had been carried out into the courtyard, where temporary beds were set up. Emil was told to go there; they were also taking in Jewish refugees. On New Year’s Eve, a group of Arrow Cross members aged between 18 and 20 came, drunk, looking for Jews to execute them on the spot. In the courtyard, benches had been piled up against a pillar; Emil rushed out there, hid amongst them, and stayed there until morning, wearing nothing but his pyjamas. The Arrow Cross members searched for people until midnight; the husband of one of their paternal cousins died here, but apart from him, dozens of men were dragged away or murdered. Emil slept on the floor until morning; later, a Hungarian soldier let him into his quarters and hid him …, … they were still searching for Jews the very next day.
…
On 18 January, Great-Grandma Lili heard that they wouldn’t have to hold out much longer: the Russians were already in the outer districts. … Then in the morning there was a knock at the window; a Russian officer was standing there … The Russians entered the ghetto and handed out chocolate and cigarettes. By the afternoon, Emil had also arrived from Bethlen Square, and their mother from the other part of the ghetto; at last, the family was together. It was a great stroke of luck that Albert spoke Russian (Bulgarian? – ed.), because one afternoon a Soviet officer came in announcing ‘malenkii robot’ – they were taking men away to work. In the end, Albert took off his stopwatch; in exchange, they were given a whole loaf of bread…
My great-grandmother insists that, no matter what anyone says about it not being a liberation, for her it was. If the Russians hadn’t come, the ghetto would have been blown up. …
IV. Post-war transition and the more peaceful years
The war was over; Budapest lay in ruins; as a parting gift, the Germans had even bombed the bridges, so there was no way across to Buda. The transition was difficult; there was almost nothing to eat; a rationing system was in place in 1945, and people had to queue for tinned jam, flour, lard and meat. … You couldn’t buy anything with money; shops rarely received fresh stock.
The ghetto was dismantled, and the stars were removed from the houses; everyone was allowed to return to their own homes, and Great-Grandma Lili’s family also moved back to the other side of Szent István Boulevard, to Zsitvay Leó Street. A Christian family had already moved into their flat by then, but they were ordered to move out immediately, so they left in a hurry. Great-Grandma Lili lived with her mother and her husband; their first daughter, Kati, was born here on 17 November 1946, followed by Juli in 1948. My great-grandmother didn’t work… Albert was still struggling quite a bit with the Hungarian language… He learnt it later, of course. He was a great music lover; he knew all the operas and was given a jukebox when he was just 10 years old… Whenever he heard something really beautiful, he’d always say, ‘Oh, how lovely, it gave me goosebumps.’ …
Emil opened his restaurant, called the Kisdongó, on Galamb Street, where Great-Grandma Lili and Albert also found work. It was a restaurant and nightclub; all the famous soccer players used to go there … but the Kisdongó went bust within a short time. … (see further details: Emil Östreicher – ed.)
The two children were born in quick succession. Great-Grandma Lili took great care to bring them up with the utmost dedication… They had an acquaintance who let out his house in Göd for the summer, and as Emil was earning a good living at the time, he was able to support the family financially. They loved living in Göd, and not long afterwards they managed to swap their flat in Budapest for a house in Göd. At the time, this was considered a well-equipped, lovely house; it had central heating, a boiler, a winter garden and three rooms. Great-Grandma Lili’s mother also lived with them. From Göd, Great-Grandma Lili commuted to work in the accounts department at Ferroglobus (metal trading company – ed.). … Grandma looked after the children, whilst the parents travelled up to Pest to do their jobs.
After a while, Great-Grandma Lili found lost her work. An acquaintance of hers ran a café; she went to visit him. They asked her if she’d like to work in catering, but she’d have to start straight away. As an accountant, she had to keep meticulous records of everything and draw up reports on all matters. This was the ‘Lokomotív’ confectionery workshop and shop, which employed 25 people. Great-Grandma Lili soon became its manager. … She would often man the till herself if everyone else was on holiday at the same time. She worked there until 1976, when she retired, and during that time she received several distinctions. Her staff loved her dearly because she ran the business strictly, yet accurately. After she retired, she continued to take on minor administrative tasks for a further twelve years.
Meanwhile, the girls grew up, took swimming lessons, played tennis, learnt to play the piano and studied German. Juli did gymnastics, whilst Kati had wanted to be a teacher ever since she was six. In 1963, a tragic family tragedy struck. Albert suffered a second heart attack and died, leaving Great-Grandma Lili a widow with her two secondary school-aged daughters and her mother (who then passed away in 1967). Emil had been living in Spain since 1956 and was able to support the family financially.
Great-Grandma Lili was not greatly affected by socialism; she went about her work as usual, was never a party member, and never came into conflict with anyone. In 1956, their main worry was Emil and the Hungarian football team that had remained abroad; the unrest in Budapest was scarcely felt in Göd, although they listened somewhat fearfully on the radio to the terrible news, the demonstrators’ demands and the government’s ever-changing stance. The children, of course, had to join the Pioneers (Soviet-type youth organisation of primary school children of the time – ed.); they were taught in this spirit at school, but this didn’t make much of a difference. …
Both girls studied in Budapest at the Eötvös Grammar School. It was there that Juli met her future husband, Péter D. And it was at a house party that Kati first met András Sz., my grandfather. Their marriage was blessed with two sons: Tamás and my father, Péter. They found work in Székesfehérvár (south-west from Budapest – ed.) and moved there in 1974. They later divorced, and my grandfather started a new family; Kati, my mum … taught at a primary school, ran summer camps in Zánka (at Lake Balaton – ed.), and maintained links with German schools. Now, even after retiring, she still takes on private pupils at her home and prepares them for language exams.
Juli had two children, Gábor and Judit. She worked as a secretary at HungarHotels and later at the Gundel Restaurant (prestigious hotel chain and well-known restaurant – ed.).
Great-Grandma Lili is now 93 years old and, thankfully, in perfect health. She has four grandchildren and five great-grandchildren; every day she goes for a short walk or has lunch at a nearby restaurant, and she manages her own affairs, though her daughters and grandchildren do help out from time to time. By the way, she’s completely up to speed with politics and football; she’s excellent at mental arithmetic, uses her mobile phone well, and is in daily contact with her friends and relatives by phone. She takes almost no medication, just the usual things for someone of her age. In the evenings, she watches television and reads in bed (mostly war novels). She lives entirely on her own in her flat in the city centre and accepts help with very few things. I hope she’ll be with us for a long time to come.
…
Conclusion
All in all, I’m really glad we had to do this essay; it was a brilliant opportunity to get to know Great-Grandma Lili better…
During my research, I came across a great deal of information that I hadn’t even suspected existed. … It’s very important for everyone to know their family history.
…
Through these personal experiences, I gained a clearer and more complete picture of twentieth-century history. This was a project I enjoyed working on, and I genuinely believe that what I have written has meaning and value.
I’m very glad that I didn’t have to live through the twentieth century, as it was by no means an easy period; perhaps one of the things I’ve learnt from this essay is to appreciate my current comfortable life a little more.
Epilogue
Juli, Lili’s younger daughter, wrote the following addition to the publication of Anna’s school essay:
“After the report was published (2011), my mother continued to live in her own flat near her younger daughter in Újlipótváros for a further three years, retaining her full mental alertness and leading an independent life.
By this time, two more great-grandchildren had been born, bringing the total number of great-grandchildren in the family to seven.
At the end of 2014, our mother decided of her own free will to move into a care home, so we bought her a lovely little flat at the Olajág Care Home. She settled in very well and continued to live her daily life with complete mental alertness and mobility; she was much loved by the staff and the other residents. Our family visited her almost every day. She read, watched television and took part in communal activities. She attended every family gathering. However, due to her deteriorating eyesight and hearing, these activities often became difficult for her. She always emphasised that she only wanted to live as long as she could look after herself independently.
We were planning to celebrate her 100th birthday, which would have been on 25 December 2017. However, over the course of two weeks in October, she suddenly became very weak and was admitted to hospital, where she passed away peacefully in the early hours of the following day, 26 October 2017.”
1 Anna (born 1994), the great-granddaughter of Lídia Ösztreicher, recorded her great-grandmother’s recollections in a school essay in 2011, at the age of 17. This post is an abridged and slightly edited version of the original essay.
We would like to thank Juli D. and the whole family for sharing Great-Grandma Lili’s life story with us.
Edited and translated into English by P. Krausz