Magyar News, 1995. szeptember-1996. augusztus (6. évfolyam, 1-12. szám)

1995-11-01 / 3. szám

There is chaos at the Radio. Also Stalin’s 24 feet bronze statue has been knocked down in the park. The trucks of Csepel are dragging it through the city.”

It must be around 11 PM. We, the junior class decides to break up. The majority, starving and tired goes home. I decide to go to the Radio. It is approaching mid-night when I get there. I am several blocks from Brody Street, where the Radio building is, when the rattle of gunfire becomes audible. As I get closer, I can also smell the gunpowder. I am frightened, my heart is pounding, but I can not turn back. As I reach the comer of Museum Boulevard and Brody Street, I see three Hungarian tanks. People are surrounding them, they are talking to the officers. It is obvious that these soldiers are not going to shoot at other Hungarians.

As I turn into Brody Street, it seems empty. There is smoke in the air, people nestle in the doorways. My corduroy jacket is robbing against the wall as I run toward the Radio Building. I pass some abandoned Red Cross ambulances in the middle of the street. I stop at the next doorway.”What are these ambulances doing here?” -1 ask. “The AVH, wearing doctor’s white coats over their uniforms, used them. They were bringing more amunition to the AVH thugs inside. The demonstartors overpowered them and took their arms.”....

Now I see a group of demonstrators marching toward the Radio Building. They are not running, clutching against the wall, as I did, but are marching in the middle of the street, behind a giant of a man, who carries a Hungarian flag. The man must be a blacksmith or something like that, because he is able to hold the immense flag in one hand. They must be a hundred yards from the building when the AVH starts firing. The echo of the explosions is amplified by the narrow street, the racket is almost unbearable, but I see no bulletts hitting the pavement. They must be shooting in the air. The demonstrators froze to a standstill, but do not run, and now that the shooting is over, they start again. Suddenly an other round of firing starts. This time the bulletts strike the pavement like lumps of ice in an icestorm. The sound is a high pitched “phing”, when the bulled hits the pavement and a deeper “thud” when it hits flesh. The wounded are screaming, the rest of the demonstrators are running away, but the blacksmith just stands, then takes an other step forward, and then slowly like a giant oak tree starts to fall, sinks to the ground, while still holding, lifting the flag.

.....Again I run close to the wall, the way I

came, but now in the opposit direction. As I get closer to the Museum Boulevard, I see a big crowd around a truck. “What’s

happening?”-I ask. The man next to me is well informed: ’’They are from the Soroksár Street arms factory. You know the one named the United ’Lamp’ Factory. They brought rifles and ammunitioa” I push my way to the track to get a rifle and some bullets. They are slippery, must have been stored in grease. My first reaction is:”Oh God, they will mess up my beautiful corduroy jacket.” So I move over to a garbage can and start robbing off the grease with some old newspapers.

A truck stops where we are. They are going to the Karolyi Barracks in Budaörs to get more arms. I join them, but on our way a boy on the truck accidently wounds himself. I way wearing the arm-band so everybody expected me to solve the situation. The arm-band delegated me to action later on again. This was at the Ruggyanta, rubber factory, where I had to announce through the loudspeaker that the factory should be on strike. It way around 2 AM, Wednesday, the 24th of October.

As I reach the comer of Rákóczi Street and the Main Boulevard, I hear intense gunfire at the building of the Communist Party’s paper: The Free People. The massive bulk of Stalin’s bronze statue is resting in the middle of the road. As the firing intensifies, I decide to seek protection behind the metal casting. As I hit the pavement, I hear a voice say:”This is the first time that our beloved leader did something for me.” The bold little guy, with a blue beret and a massive hammer in his hand, continues:’! was trying to take home a piece of Stalin as a souvenir when the fighting broke out. There is a large AVH contingent inside, but the Hungarians already occupied the ground floor.” It was the first time I hear somebody suggest the the AVH are not Hungarians, I always thought of them as traitors, as tugs, but never as homeless outcasts.

On my way back to the Radio, I see Russian tanks coming on Museum Boulevard. They are not firing. In the first one, an officer is standing in the open hatchway. The people on the Boulevard are hiding in the doorways. “Don’t show your gun!” - I hear from one of the doorways and I jump into the semi-darkness. The tanks roar by and I continue on my way, back to the university. It must be about 5 AM when I cross the bridge back to Buda and reach Saint Gellert Square. The scene is unreal.

The squre is full of people, some fully dressed, others in their nightgowns and pijamas. They are in the process of building barricades. Some are carrying old bedsprings, others bring chairs or bricks. A group is digging up cobblestones of the pavement, using crowbars and less likely

tools. They want to block the bridge, so that the Russian tanks can not come over from the Pest side. When they see my rifle, the arm-band and the blood on my jacket, they respectfully give way. A policeman, twice my age, asks:”What do we do know?” Without thinking and without hesitation I answer:”We push them out of the city!”

At that point, three trucks arrive from the direction of Móricz Square. “Let us help the people on the Pest side!” - shouts a young man from the first track. Unarmed people start climbing onto the tracks. I see two elderly ladies in their dressing gowns, they are probably sisters, carrying a heavy cobblestone. As they struggle to lift it onto the truck, I give them a hand. “Just in case - one says - just in case, you know.” I also jump onto the track, the second one.

As we turn onto the bridge, I look back. The people on the square have come to a standstill. They are watching our trucks. Some are ciying, some took off their hats, a nun is praying. We are about halfway across, when the Russian tanks at the Pest bridgehead start firing. They hit the first truck. It is in flames. Now our driver tries to make a U-turn and crashes into a pole. The cobblestone flies forward, while people are falling and jumping off. We are all running backwards, nobody made it to the Pest side.

I get back to the university at around 9 AM. It is hard to believe that 24 hours ago I was checking identity cards at these gates. Ages have passed during those hours. Now, eveiything is empty, not a soul is to be seen. As I walk through the main Aula, I can hear the echo of my footsteps. Now the door of the DISZ (Communist Youth Organization) opens. It is Jancsi Danner with a submashine-gun on his shoulder. He is just as dirty and tired as I am. “We must be the first ones back. This place is abbandoned.” - he says.

“Let us check the Military Department.”- I suggest.

*****************

This is just the begining of the heroic weeks that followed. Unfortunately our limited space does not give us the benefit to print the rememberence in its full lenght. As we all know the story brings back vivid memories for those who survived the 1956 Hungarian Revolution. The whole world learned that a small nation could stand up and fight oppression and struggle for her freedom. The Hungarians are proud of what they did and the heroes who gave their life will be always in the nations heart. We thank Bela Liptak for sharing his experience with us.

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