Magyar Hírek, 1986 (39. évfolyam, 1-26. szám)

1986-08-18 / 16. szám

Litt liifljgtlfeli fecäZ

THEY TOOK AWAY THE BELL FROM BÉKEVÁR

Do not look for Békevár on the map of Hungary, it is not there. The name now no longer appears on the map of Canada either, for the whole township, the people, and the homes, moved bit by bit to Kipling, a settlement some ten kilometers avay. Only a wonderful wooden church, and the cemetery mark the place on the prairie, where Békevár had once stood.

"This is a piece of Hungary”— says Lajos Oláh, a Baptist minister.

The closest city, Regina, capital of the Province of Saskatchewan, is about 200 kilometers from here, and Winnipeg, the capital of Manitoba is twice as far away. We met no more than three dozen cars all the way, coming here. Tombstones in the cemetery—all of them displaying Hungarian names. How many are there? One or two hundred, or even more? “I was also deeply moved, when I came here for the first time” admits the Reverend Oláh. Frank John Elek 16-17 May, 1937, is inscribed on a tombstone, John Elek 16-17 May, 1939, on another, then Anne Elek 16—18 May, 1940 on a third one. “Look at those birth dates ... Its almost incredible".

Lilac bloom in front of the church. The year of its building is carved in stone at the entrance: 1911. An army of people carted the earth in those days to create this reduced-size wooden image of the Nagytemplom of Debrecen on a hillock. Now the plaster is falling from the walls, and the ticking of wood borers is heard from the graceful, carved pews. The bell was taken to Kipling last year, its rope swings sadly from on high. The sign is bent on one of the towers, like the cross of the Holy Crown. The church is dieing.

Of course, the people did not come to Békevár to die there, not by any means. They wanted to make it rich ! János Szabó was the first to arrive in 1900. He was also the namegiver, who called the settlement Békevár.

He arrived with two companions from Bótrágy. a small village in County Bereg. He was a travelled, experienced man, who had lived in the United States earlier. It is believed that he was not driven overseas by poverty, but by some difference of opinion with his family. He saved up some money in the collieries of Pennsylvania, returned home, but could not get back into the old rut. He married the widow of a Bótrágy man, Gábor Szakács, and set out again—that time to Canada. The names are important. The names Szabó and Szakács are frequent in the cemetery as well as in the streets of Kipling.

Why did these Hungarians chose to come to Canada? Early this century, when they migrated, Canada was recruiting migrants in Europe. The Canadian government offered 160 hectares of land, free of charge, to settlers. The time was pressing and so was the objective of populating the prairie in order to build a railway line crossing the continentsized country between the Atlantic and the Pacific Ocean as soon as possible. The matter was urgent, for there was a real fear that the Americans would put their hand on the sparsely populated Middle West.

First the men set out from the Counties Bereg and Szabolcs, later from the Cumanian district, and then their families followed them.

Thanks to hard work Szabó succeeded in Canada. But what is really meant by success? Lajos Oláh recalled the story of Károly Juhász, who had been a farmhand on the estate of the Counts Lónyai. He began as a farm-hand in Canada, but finished up with a 1,200 acre property. And still, what was that he was proud of to the end of his life? “You know, Brother Olah” he used to say, “I was a full-share hired hand already when I was only sixteen!”

Vilmos Szakács recalls that some four hundred Hungarians lived there in the golden days of Békevár. Uncle Vilmos, who lives with his wife Emma, in an old folk’s home in Kipling, seems to bloom when he talks about the old times. “I knew as much about Hungary as my Father and my Mother told me, but that was very much. They left Hungary in 1898, and I can claim, that I also crossed the Atlantic with them.” (That is in the womb of his mother, for Uncle Vilmos was born in 1899.)

“My old folk had a great respect

for our forefathers, Petőfi as well as Rákóczi, but most of all Kossuth. March 15 has always been a day of festivities here, plays were also presented. Our first pastor, Kálmán Kovács, came in 1901, and stayed for ten years. He was a true “kuruc”.

I mentioned that we visited the Békevár church, and Uncle Vilmos brightens up again.

“We used to meet there every Sunday, protestants and Catholics alike. The men and women, and of the nubile girls set separately, while we, children stood in the choir, and were up to our tricks.”

“We celebrated the anniversary of the foundation of Békevár on the 20th of June each year. There was always a Hungarian dinner with stuffed cabbage, paprika chicken, and also roast beef. Jóska Balogh’s band used to play there, and we danced the csárdás.”

“Uncle Vilmos, did you ever visit Hungary?”

“Yes, in 1970. We stayed there for three weeks. The Great Plain is beautiful there, and the Nine-hole Bridge is really marvellous.”

“What did you like best of all?”

“Everything, the country, the life there. But I loathed some of the customs. Imagine, they asked me to show my papers in a number of places I visited.”

“Since the service is in Hungarian people somehow have became more Hungarian again” said Lajos Oláh. Otherwise he was invited from Hungary to serve here by Sándor Haraszti, the famous pastor, who lives in the United States and works with Billy Graham. The Rev. Oláh served the Kipling congregation from 1978 to 1985, then he returned to Hungary, and in 1986 then as a retired pastor—went back to Kipling. “I am doing missionary work here” he says, and that is exactly what he is doing. He is caring for fifty-five souls, but his services are attended by others as well, not only the Baptists. An English woman minister also works here besides him, the small congregation wants both of them, and pays them a stipend.

Aunt Juliska Tóth is 85 years old, and the longer you talk to her the livelier she gets. This elderly lady is incredibly active. We dropped in to see her one afternoon unexpectedly. The same morning she already dug up her garden, cleaned the house, shifted pots of cleaned weighing about 20 kg each. Seeing my surprise she proudly told me that she could still outwork her young neighbours shovelling snow in winter.

“Have you been to Hungary, Aunty Juliska?”

“Yes, in 1965.”

“Didn’t you feel funny to be somewhere where everybody spoke Hungarian?”

“Why? Everybody speaks Hungarian here too.”

Then she told me that her husband died of a stroke in Budapest during their short visit. “My husband was 12 years old, when his family took him to Canada. We were sitting on te bed in the hotel, and he asked me to jot down a song he heard back in his childhood. He began to hum the melody, and dropped dead. It was the greatest tragedy of my life.” She has three children: “My son is a true-blue Hungarian. The two girls also speak Hungarian, but the granchildren no longer do.”

Aunt Juliska also knew János Szabó, the pioneer. “He always gave lollies to his own children, but not to the others. When he died they laid him out in their house, and I went to see him, and thought, you see, you old dog, you did not give me candy.”

The reason for that can only be guessed. The parents of Aunt Juliska came from County Szabolcs and Szabó came from Bótrágy, and these things are still remembered in Kipling. In the old days sometimes almost a state of war prevailed between the two communities, and cross-marriage between them used to be almost impossible. Things calmed down as time passed. Or have they? Uncle Vilmos Szabó, for instance, has not gone to see his son for 19 years,—because he married an English girl. Eventually the Reverend Oláh took him to see his growing grandchildren. Since then all is well.

And in the meantime Békevár is dying a slow, peaceful death. “In fact, Békevár already ceased to exist” says Professor Márton Kovács. “It’s difficult to pinpoint the exact time when this happened for it is a slow process. Perhaps it happened in 1968, when the Reformed Church moved to Kipling, or last year, when the old bell was also moved?”

It is heartening, however, that only the objects passed away. Speaking Hungarian became a matter of feelings, and now it largely depends on the mothers, whether their children do or do not learn to speak it. Naturally, everybody must master English here, for practiced reasons. The mastery of Hungarian cannot be turned to practical profit here. But pride weighs heavily in the scales. Aunt Juliska Tóth says: “I am a proud Hungarian, and a proud Canadian.” People, who are proud of their origins, will always stick to their roots. The bell still rings in Kipling.

GYÖRGY HALÁSZ

30