DURING THE WAR
I WAS AN UNHAPPY SCHOOLBOY.
A few days before my exams the war broke out. I listened to the radio with my Father and one of my teachers as Hitler screamed his threats to the World. My Father suggested that he was afraid that his son will get involved in the forthcoming war. Mr Árpád Bölcsházi thought that he is a pessimist, after all the war will be over before the English will want to call up foreigners into the army. He thought Father was talking about 18 year old John in England, but Father explained that he was worried about his 13 year old. He was not a pessimist, but a realist in some respects. Not so in other respects.
In spite of all my teachers being on the payroll, the exams were conducted by strange examiners and it seems that my teachers were not sharing the fees they received with these people. I failed three subjects, which happened to be two more than I could fail if I was not to repeat the whole year.
Father thought that the discipline of a college would do me good and I was sent to a Catholic College. It was ironic, that whereas before I had to travel some 65 minutes from our house on the Hill to my school, the college I was sent to live in, was only about 5 minutes from my home. Not that it mattered, because we were only allowed to leave the college once a week and than only if we deserved it.
The college was very glamorous. We had a smart military cadet looking uniform and on special occasions we even had sabres. This was the limit of the glamour. The rest was sheer agony. I was beaten by teachers, pupils, priests, punished by these people and the nuns, at times it must have seemed that I was the star attraction at the Sadists Convention.
My first beating came about three days after school commenced. My "house" was under a priest, with a German sounding name and who during study hour asked me to come and see him after dinner. I did so, was asked to sit down in his study and he asked me a lot of questions about Switzerland, about my Parents, wanted to discuss with me matters concerning politics, matters concerning my racial origins, asked me to volunteer being an altar boy, gave me a book to learn all about it, then asked me to take my pants off, bend over and with his cane gave me 12 of his best. He then suggested that I sleep on my stomach and bid me good night.
To this day I do not know why I was beaten by him, nor could any of my class mates and fellow inmates explain to me what has happened. Surprisingly, I never had any more problems with him, but then I often served him at the altar and always made sure that he had two refills as regards the altar wine.
About a fortnight afterwards, we were studying in the study room, when someone came in to ask for a boy to go to the recreation room. He came back crying. Another boy was asked to go out. He also came back somewhat worse for wear. Eventually my turn came. In the recreation room it was pitch darkness. I was grabbed, something was tied around my eyes, the light was switched on and my face was slapped and I was beaten by at least half a dozen 17-18 year olds wielding canes, brooms and wet towels. Being blindfolded added to the terror. When they decided that I have had enough I was admonished to keep my mouth shut and was told to respect my elders and obey them without any questioning their authority. Then it was time for me to go back to the study room where the supervising priest continued to ignore what was going on.
During the next two years the number of organised beatings that I would have enjoyed had I been a masochist could not be counted on hands and feet. The amazing thing in retrospect is that these beatings were known and could not go unnoticed by the priests and the Reverend Head Master, yet they never said anything about it nor did they try and stop it, in spite of the fact that some kids were beaten so badly that they had to be nursed in the college hospital by the nuns. It was quite obvious that our priests approved of these sadistic and cruel beatings which were premeditated and had been arranged for no reason other than to satisfy the sadistic tendencies of some of the older pupils.
Additionally, there were the unorganised beatings. There was one 18 year old who could kick your behind with such force and artistry, that the pain made you sick and another one specialised in slapping faces. They did it in pairs, one kicked you and the other slapped you and their attention could come at any place any time, on the corridor of the school, on the way to chapel or in the bathroom. One of these fellows joined the army soon after and within a week or two died a hero's death, having been run over by a tank or truck. His memorial service in the church of the school was a happy occasion, all my fellow pupils having been his victims.
Interestingly, I never complained about the beatings to my parents. I must have been going through a heroic part of my life or else I realised that they would not believe me. It was a time, when you heard of the great sufferings which our soldiers endured while subjugating the Czechs, Slovaks, Serbs and Rumanians and it would have been completely unpatriotic to complain about such minor matters. Some of my own class mates, while discussing the nastiness of our elder schoolmates, did not think of revenging it on our torturers, but were looking forward to beating the next generation of victims.
Being beaten was not the only unpleasant part of the college, although it certainly made other discomforts pale in comparison. Our day started with having to attend mass. Some of us even had to get up earlier so that we can serve as altar boys. It seemed to us as if most of the priests would have received their daily alcoholic fix from the wine they used while celebrating mass, but that was unfair. After all it was before breakfast and they were looking forward to more wine and even stronger alcoholic fortification during the day.
We were not religious. Neither were most of the priests. They were chosen by their parents to become priests and thus have a life without the problems which peasants, clerks, labourers etc may have. Most of them were sent to become junior brothers at the age of 12, most of them became fat, overeating, drinking and who knows what else they were indulging in. They were supposed to be celibate, but we knew of some of our teachers who were seen in strip joints, - I myself saw one of the younger ones in a cabaret, wearing a bright tie, over which he was putting his dog collar. I must say that the nuns were religious, kind and helpful.
We also had to attend litany in the evening. Once the bell sounded for evensong we had to observe absolute silence until after breakfast next morning and this silence had to be observed even if being kicked by older pupils. If not, the noisy one was punished, not the kicker.
Once a year the whole school went into "retreat". Four days were spent in absolute silence, without any school work or study, other than studying religious matters. Usually we were allowed onto the playground of the school to kick a ball around on the asphalt grounds, but not during retreat, when physical exercise was sacrificed to aid our religious fervour. We spent the whole morning and afternoon in church listening to the ravings of our priestly elders, without any change in our daily attendance of the morning mass or the evenings litany. Why these people imagined that we need that much religion I cannot say, - their example was certainly no help in our becoming religious.
However, we enjoyed our retreats for the amusement these priests gave us. One of them, the Bishop Tihamér Tóth stands out in memory as having a loud booming voice which he used at full blast to paint for us the dangers of masturbation. Quite apart from the loud noise he made from the pulpit, which made sleeping almost impossible, most of us were too interested in the subject to miss a single word of his. He went on and on, which we did not enjoy, but described not only the extreme dangers, but also the action in great detail, which we enjoyed hearing. His lectures were full of worthwhile subjects and it is from the Bishop Tóth that I received my first sex education.
The good bishop also wrote several books on the subject, which were compulsory reading for us. Unfortunately, they were not illustrated, but they were, just the same, the best porn available to us in college and if those books made the Bishop a wealthy man, his success was deserved.
The other priests, who came to talk to us were not into masturbation as much and specialised in other subjects, such as heaven and hell. Mostly hell and the fire and the terrifying eternal suffering and pain and more hell and fire. The question occurred to us, as to how these people could know about these terrible happenings which will befall us, when they have never been on the other side themselves and must have been obvious to the most primitive of priests that the "retreats" were successful in sowing the seeds of disbelief in little boys like us. I can say without exaggerating that not one of my class mates emerged after the days of brain washing believing more or becoming more religious.
We slept in dormitories. There must have been 60 beds in each. In the middle there was a horse trough type of concrete tub with some 10 taps and shower rose above and on each side, for 20 kids simultaneously. This was all highly inconvenient as the taps were so high that some of the smaller could not even reach it and to wet one's toothbrush without being soaked was absolutely impossible. There was no other way to have a was, no way to use warm water, except in the showers, to which we had access in rotation, once a week. I must confess, that I went through my two years without once having a shower, - I was petrified of somebody discovering that I was circumcised.
Luckily for me I was suffering a great deal from dermatitis (I wonder why?) and the doctor prescribed salt bath's. The only bath was in the sick bay or hospital, where the nuns were ruling the roost and here I was quite safe even in the nude.
In our dormitories we were inspected by the priests throughout the night who came and walked through shining their torches and checking on us. Beside our beds we each had a cabinet which contained our slippers and all of our personal belongings we were allowed to keep close to us. This excluded our underwear and clothing, which were kept in a different building by the nuns. We were allowed to have two uniforms, one to wear during the week and the other to parade in on Sundays and while out of the college.
The method of changing over from one uniform to the other was as antiquated and designed to cause the most inconvenience as all other portions of our regimented life. The night before our having to wear our best uniform, we had to go to the building where the nuns lived and where our clothing was kept. Long queues formed to pick up the uniforms, collarless shirts and the hard celluloid military collar together with our hat and white pigskin gloves. In winter our overcoat was handed to us also.
Having picked up our dress uniforms, we had to store them in predetermined order on the foot of our beds and next morning we had to dress and deliver the school uniform and our dirty washing to the nuns. This took up to 45 minutes again and sometimes we got soaking wet while running across to the building where we had to queue to be dealt with by the nuns.
We were not allowed out of the building unless we were picked up by a parent on a Sunday morning. If we were not deserving this privilege, we found out that we cannot go at the time when our parents were ready to sign us out. There was no reason why we could not have been told days earlier, except that this method was more cruel and allowed us all to be terrorised right up to the time when we got out of the building.
When my cousin died, my Father rung the College Principal, the Reverend Gáspár and the saintly gentleman immediately agreed that I should be allowed to attend the funeral. I was called into his office, but it was his secretary who advised me that a cousin of mine died and that I should get dressed in my uniform and be ready to go to the funeral. I was not told which cousin died and I was neither consolled nor counselled. I could have been advised to go to a party with the same tact as I was told to go to my cousin’s funeral.
By the time our chauffeur arrived to pick me up I was ready, except that I was not allowed to go with the chauffeur, it was only parents who could pick up their sons. I could not contact my Father because I wasn't allowed to make a telephone call and I was not allowed an audience with the Reverend Principal, because he was resting. Finally, after telling me that George died, our chauffeur had the good sense of driving back for my Father, who had to drop everything a few hours before the funeral, get to the school and sign me out. During this period I sat on a chair on my own at the gate mourning my third cousin and friend, George Graf. Not until we were at the cemetery did I find out that it was my cousin George László who passed away.
My Mother went through my two years without once visiting the school or the college. She absolutely refused to have anything to do with it. On the other hand my Father came to collect me every Sunday morning and sat in the Chapel on the balcony through Mass. On more than one occasion he signalled to me what the war situation really was and I well remember the Sunday in June 1941 when the Germans invaded Russia. Looking down at the congregation and his uniformed son, Father went through the motions of wringing the neck of a chicken and I knew that something unpleasant is happening to the Germans. I did not realise that it is the Russians who were at the receiving end, whereas my father immediately saw that the involvement of the USSR means the hastening of Germany's defeat. The entry of USA into the war, following Pearl Harbour was signalled by Father in the same fashion some months later.
Even though the Germans and Japanese were attacking and winning and the Russians and Americans were retreating, for Father everything including all territories being occupied by the Germans and Japanese meant just a step towards the inevitable victory of the Allies, or us. At no time during the war was there any question where our total loyalties were, the Allies certainly included us.
It was quite interesting for me to be in both camps every week. On Sunday I was in the camp of the Allied and very secretly listening to the BBC. The rest of the week I was bombarded by the news from the Hungarian Radio, which was more pro-German at that time than Radio Berlin. The priests and almost all the pupils were intoxicated with the German and thus Hungarian victories and since quite a lot of the kids were either relations or even children of Generals and Ministers and MP's it was advisable not to barrack for an allied victory while at the college.
Due to the fact that not all the priests teaching me were being paid to look after my marks, I did poorly and thus it was no surprise that I was going to fail a few subjects at the end of my second year in that institution. I was called in to see the priest who was responsible for my class and told that I will fail that year. I said that I was planning to leave school that year, an offer which my teacher could not refuse.
When later that year I received my results and found that I had not failed, I had to stand by my agreement and thus called a taxi, got some mates to help me carry out my mattress and linen and arrived home. Mother knew that this will cause drama and indeed it did. Father was having a nervous breakdown when he realised that once again I arranged things without consultation with him. There was no way in which he could make the school take me back, especially as I have even disposed of my school uniforms, having sold them to the small tailor opposite the school, who made a living buying up the uniforms of the outgoing students and recycling them.
That summer holiday I was to spend working in the factory, where Father's Medicago hammer mills were being manufactured. The factory was two and a half hours away from our luxurious home on the hill, I had to get up at 4 a.m. to get there. I got home around 7 p.m. After a while even Father saw that his 15 years old son deserved better and allowed me to quit.
The rest of the holiday I had to spend with an escaped French Prisoner of War, who was spending the days with me and was supposed to return to the internment camp in the evening. The idea was that I should practice my French, but he found the maids in the neighbourhood to be better pupils, so they saw more of him, day or night.
Father had no difficulty in finding the right contacts to get me back into the same school where I spent 3 years before I went to Switzerland. In fact the living standard of the teachers must have dropped considerably during the years I was not there and Father did not pay for their assistance in getting me through exams without giving me an education.
The method of education was shocking, even for those who were interested. At the end of class the teachers advised us which portion of the book has to be learned and then next time they called up one of the pupils, who had to recite what he learned, his marks were noted and when the class was nearly over, our teacher again advised us what we need to learn for next class and that was education in most of the subjects. It was surprising therefore, when a good teacher, could get a bad pupil to do well. I had one teacher who taught mathematics and algebra and he was interested in getting me to understand things. Thus I became quite interested in mathematics, - probably in the top 3 in our class. In latin, history, even German, which I spoke almost perfectly, I was an utter failure and refused to learn my poems or dates or vocabulary.
In all fairness, the method of teaching could not be entirely at fault as regards I am concerned. Sitting with me in the same class listening to the same teachers were pupils who have done better than I did and became scientists, doctors, musicians, etc. One person in particular should be mentioned here as having benefited from the education I regarded and still regard as being wrong for someone like me.
John Kemény was a classmate of mine and I clearly remember him as being outstanding in all the subjects we were supposed to learn. He left for the United States in 1939 and after the war we heard that he was involved in the development of the atom bomb as a mathematician, - at the age of 17. Later he became Albert Einstein's assistant and in 1962 as Professor of Mathematics at Dartmouth, he and another Professor devised the BASIC language for computers. Because of this he is regarded as the father of micro computing as the development of the BASIC language enabled microcomputers to become a popular reality.
Thus he and I shared the same basic education, - we just used it in differing fashion.