9 October 1946
I am still in the infirmary. Thank God I have felt a little better for two days — I can already get out of bed, as for two weeks I truly could not. I expect to be here a few more days. We have already received our winter clothes — quite poor — and leather boots. The weather is very cold. I still haven't received a letter since then. Well, another winter must be spent languishing in this fine region. But never mind — one must make peace with one's fate. I am writing sitting up in bed, looking through the photographs. In my dreams I am always at home; last night too I was there with Lajos loading hay, but such a wind was blowing that we could hardly manage it — in fact we couldn't manage at all.
20 October 1946. Today is Sunday; I feel quite well. I can walk almost normally again. Today I am being discharged from the infirmary. The weather is behaving nicely enough. The first snow fell on the 13th, but only a little. The warm clothes have been issued again. We are prepared for winter. It is sad enough that this winter too must be spent here — but God grant health and endurance, that we may bear the hardships of winter.
...
12 June 1947
I find myself in the mood to write again and I am hurrying to make use of it, for in a few minutes I may no longer feel like it or have the will to put down a few lines. A great deal of time has passed since my last entry, and a great deal has happened and unfolded around me. From the old stock, as far as I can recall. On the 10th of March this year, all the Hungarians in the forest camp — since the train has been unable to run for about 2 weeks due to the heavy snow and drifting, and no vehicle of any kind could get through — set off on foot for Chernihiv, which is 60 km away. We walked for two days. Halfway, in a village, we spent the night, though with great difficulty we barely managed to find a place. The people were so kind-hearted — they practically shoved us out the door. Eventually we did find a place, but it was so cold inside that you couldn't see out through the windows for the ice. Well, how could it be warm when they can't heat properly — they only light a fire enough to cook that little potato morning and evening, and even that only with salt. Not a trace of bread. And so little potato that it's a matter of days. I don't know what will become of these people by the time spring comes. Morning came, the people gathered and set off again on the hard road. Our legs could barely carry us by then, but the longing for home drove us on, the hope — for we had set off with the belief that we were going home. We were all weak, yet had the strength — the will — to have walked all the way home. On the 12th we arrived in Chernihiv; they had been awaiting us eagerly, for they said we would only go home once those from the forest had also come in. One day passed, one week, one month — nothing happened. In any case, we go out to work. Near the camp there is a wool factory where many men go to work, and to construction sites in the city. The log hauling and wood cutting is over for us — something I always longed to escape from. The end of May came. One day half the camp was lined up and they began selecting people. The sick, the weaker ones, and those over 40 were set aside. There still weren't enough, so some of the healthy were added — but I did not manage to get among them. At that point still nobody knew why or where they wanted to send these people, and I myself wouldn't have wanted to be among them. A few days passed and I could see them being equipped with clothing and shoes. Then it dawned on us that they were going home. The 28th came and in the afternoon 500 men were taken to the station, and the train set off for home that same evening. Those who remained were very glad that some of us had already gone home, but this only made the longing for home stronger, and our lives are nothing but yearning and longing, every single moment. I gave a few addresses to the closer acquaintances, asking them to let my dear Mother know that we had been together. Now they are encouraging us with the promise that we too will be leaving shortly. We are waiting patiently — or as patiently as one can manage. A few words about myself. I am currently on the sick list — this is the second day. I have two large boils, but otherwise I would feel fine if I weren't always hungry. I receive letters very rarely. The last one came on the 10th of April; on the same day I also received one from the Takács family in Pest. Neither wrote about what would at least interest me a little — what is happening at home, what has become of the count's estate, who has married, who has got married? That is what they should have written about. By now I hope they know more about me — they will have received letters from several of those who were with me and have gone home. I gave my home address to many of them to write, and one man from Halap even promised to go down to us in person. The vegetable season has arrived in the camp: beet leaves and cabbage. We have been eating that for weeks; day by day we grow weaker. Better to stop, as I am likely to sink into despair — and by that I only make it worst for myself. I will put it down and light a cigarette instead.
6 August 1947
Thank the dear Lord that I have reached this point together with 500 of my comrades. At this very moment we are still loaded into wagons at Chernihiv station, waiting every moment for departure to carry us back to my homeland, to my dear Mother, my brothers and sisters and relatives. For over two years I have waited for this happy moment. We were loaded into the wagons yesterday afternoon already, but our train has not yet been sent off. Word is that we are going via Gomel. This waiting is very hard. Now one wishes wings would sprout on the sides of the wagon and we would fly homeward like an aeroplane. It would be very good, I think, if we could manage to get home by around the 20th. We are outfitted with new clothes, a coat, and a cap. I feel quite well right now — breakfast was just a few minutes ago: 60 decagrams of bread — though that is the full day's ration, given all at once in the morning — 7 decagrams of small salted fish, 2 cucumbers, and 2 decilitres of sweet black coffee. At noon and in the evening we will receive half a litre of soup each time, which will presumably be quite thick. That will be the full day's food. Word is that perhaps the train will depart around midday.
21 August 1947
I am home now, and I am recording what I can still remember. Our train departed on the 6th at 12:45 in the afternoon. It troubled me greatly that we did not set off towards Kyiv, as that route would have been much shorter than the way we came. We came through Korosten and Berdychiv, and at both places more were added to us — 200 at Korosten and 700 at Berdychiv — and with that number we travelled to Máramarossziget. The journey was very long as our train moved slowly, so we arrived at Máramarossziget on the 12th. From there we set off on the 14th to Debrecen and arrived on the 15th. At both places the Communists inundated us with newspapers, booklets, lectures, and even showed us a film — titled "The Three-Year Plan." As prisoners of war we are all perfectly familiar enough with the Communist system. The only thing that matters to us is getting home as quickly as possible! On the 16th we set off from Debrecen towards Budapest's Western Station. On the 17th at 9 o'clock we arrived. Hundreds of people received us with the Hungarian national anthem and Hungarian flags. We passed through the dining room on the way out, where we were also given food and even a cigarette. Here I received a free tram ticket and ended up at the Takács family's place. A great surprise awaited me there. As the door opened, who should I see but Ilus. I was very glad — at least we would go home together.
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