St. George Plains

We arrived one afternoon at a small farm known as Szent Gyorgy Pussta - St. George Plains, where we were accommodated in empty tobacco sheds. The armed Hungarian gendarmes who carefully watched our frightened moves let us walk outside a fixed distance from the sheds during the day. We saw how a heartless gendarme chased away a Jewish child who tried to pick up some food he spotted on the ground.

The weather was beautiful this June afternoon. Ordinarily, an early summer day such as this would elevate my soul and give joy to my body. Soft warmth full of promise. But now all I felt was immense sadness, no joy could penetrate me. At nightfall, we were all herded inside the sheds to lay down on the bare earth. We were cold and hungry, sleep did not come easily.

Another day of beautiful, joyous sunshine came Saturday morning, but not for us on June 25, 1944. By Sunday afternoon we packed our backpacks and prepared to board the nearby train trucks. When we entered the strongly chloroformed boxcars many people became dizzy or fainted. Ninety people crowded into each boxcar, and we were each given half a slice of tasty dark bread and little water, which we quickly consumed. Quite a few people died during this weeklong journey.

© David Muskal, 2001