Irena Králová

“[Q: Did your parents formally disown you?] Yes. I later had the chance to look in the archives. I didn’t understand why they had convicted me and so on, so I could look into the folders. Because it all took place without me, in my absence. Reading the proceedings I found that my parents - to save their careers - had disowned me. My mum was the chairlady of the cadre resources department and a judge at the regional court. My father was a judge and a lawyer at the Ministry of General Engineering, and I think he was whetting his appetite for some higher post. They had to do something so as not to lose their posts. Especially as two of their daughters had fled. So the simplest thing was for them to disown us. It was pretty cruel reading that paper. [Q: Have you got it somewhere?] I didn’t even get to keep a copy, it’s in the archives somewhere. It was cruel. I asked Mum about it afterwards, and she told me they had been forced to do it. I don’t know where the truth is.”

“I feel that because he couldn’t get to me any more, he vented his frustration by beating us with his belt. We were often beaten sore, which doesn’t help calm you down, either. Mentally. When you come home with a three [a C, ‘good’ mark at school - trans.], that was considered a bad mark. And yet Dad, being a worker, although he had completed VUML [Evening University of Marxism-Leninism - trans.], but then one time by pure chance I happened upon his school report when clearin up some papers. He berated us for getting threes, while he himself had fours and fives [Ds and Fs - trans.]. He only barely scraped through, so the Communists could tick their box that they’d appointed another judge from the people. I vaguely remember how things went in those days, but I know that they put a lot of stake in that, when they shoved some young talent up into the top. So he scraped through with such ugly grades, but he beat us for ours. He mainly beat my brother a lot, which I was felt was unfair. So I often took the blows instead of my brother, so we wouldn’t quite so black and blue.”

“[Q: You escaped in August 1988, and then November 1989 came just a few months later. How did you feel about that? Did you consider returning?] No, I wasn’t too bothered. I wished the Czech to finally see through [the charade] and be free, but that was about it. The Dutch kept showing me what was going on in Czechoslovakia, but I had enough of my own problems because I had to learn the language, I didn’t want to be on welfare, so I went to wash dishes, I cleaned houses, ironed shirts, not to mention my studies and voleyball. So more than enough to worry about. I tried to keep myself busy to avoid getting one of those stupid ideas of going back. But after my mum’s visit I knew I’d never go back. I knew that if I came back there and they found me, I’d spend the next five years in prison. That puts you off. But on the other hand, I could visit other countries. I considered that better. Although I did miss some things.”

“My parents started sending me to volleyball training at primary school, and I hated it at first. Because they kept wanting something from you there, they kept yelling at you, you got bruised from the falls, knees grazed, I really didn’t like it. I changed my opinion in time, I saw that volleyball could free me, that I could achieve something, and that it can be adventurous and fun. Something always went wrong in each phase of my life, something happened and I liked it, and so I pursued it. [Q: Why did your parents choose voleyball?] My parents reckoned that basketball and handball were very brutal sports with too much body checking, and they didn’t want me to walk around covered in bruises, but I was all black and blue anyway. They wanted to keep a net between me and my opponents. So they chose volleyball. But we still had to throw ourselves on the floor, and even though there were mats on the floor, they were so hard - those kind of leather boards - that I was all bumps and bruises anyway.”

“[Q: When did you first get in touch with your parents?] They let Mum come here on a persuasion visit, and when she came to visit with papers, saying if I signed them and returned home with her, I’d only get two years and it would be okay - so I asked her: ‘Mum, are you seriously suggesting that I go back with you and you’ll put me in prison?’ And she said: ‘Well, it’s only for two years, you’ll be out in a flash...’ Well that really stirred the remnants of my decency. I thought that Mum was still just about okay, but this really got to me, and I was boiling inside. I told her: ‘Mum, don’t come here again, I’m not going back to Bohemia.’

“Every time we went abroad, there were twelve of us players. We were a full bus. Now, if you count it, there were forty-six seats there, of that: twelve players, two coaches, one doctor, and the rest of the seats were for police employees, who were tasked with... They were kind of on holiday there, and they were tasked with guarding us, too. And we always had to write a report, whom we had spoken to, what we had spoken about, whom we had approached, where we had gone to, and so on. Every time we came back. So we were forbidden to speak with foreigners.”

“Dad didn’t communicate with me at all, he wanted to take an axe to me because I had ruined his career plan to reach the post of supreme court judge. Mum also lost some of her powers, so she didn’t like me either... but a year later they let her visit me to try and persuade me to come back. Except if I had returned, I’d have had to spend five years in prison. And thus, at least as Mum explained it to me, if I returned and served my sentence, just because I had decided to live in another country... All would be forgotten for [my parents] and Dad would be able to build his career again. It’s very hard to talk about it. So my parents did something different, Mum visited me, she had a wonderful one-week holiday in the Netherlands, and then she went back and what they did was that they disowned me. The officially disowned me, that they had no daughter, and thus they saved their careers.”

“I had already selected the route I’d take. I left a letter on an empty packet of pads, in a book, because I knew they would search through all of my things. So I wrote: ‘Don’t look for me, a friend has taken me in, I’m not coming home, to Czechoslovakia. Thanks. Bye, Irča.’ I have a picture of the letter that was then published in the Dutch newspaper, somewhere here among the photos and the documents. [Q: Where did you go - did you go to a hotel, a B&B?] No, I got out in Amsterdam, and I always... the whole time I kept looking at my watch - it’s not four yet, I can still go back, I can still go back. Five minutes to four, I can still remember that, five minutes to four I said to myself: ‘I can still go back.’ By that time I was already getting out in Amsterdam, I couldn’t have gone back any more. Then it was four o’clock, and I told myself I’d never go back, so I must only look forward.”