Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Ivan Margolius was born in Prague, where he began studying architecture at the Czech Institute of Technology. In 1966 he arrived in the United Kingdom and completed his training, before practising at Foster and Partners, Skidmore Owings & Merrill, and Yorke Rosenberg Mardall. He is the author and co-author of many award winning historical, architectural and design publications, including Prague – a guide to twentieth-century architecture, Tatra – The Legacy of Hans Ledwinka, Art + Architecture, Architects + Engineers = Structures and Czech Inspiration. He is the son of JUDr Rudolf Margolius, who was murdered as a result of the infamous Slánský Trial in Prague.

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When Ivan Margolius was fourteen he learned the truth about his father, Rudolf. He had not died on a trip abroad as Ivan had been told as a young child, but had been executed following a staged show trial. Rudolf, a minister in the Czechoslovak Government and a survivor of Hitler’s concentration camps, had sought to create a better world under Communism, but became a victim of the tyranny of Stalin.

The story of the Margolius family reflects the history of the city of Prague in the centre of Europe – surviving the First World War to enjoy a brief spell of inter-war democracy, before suffering again under Nazi occupation, the Second World War and the Third Reich extermination of the Jews. After Allied victory came the Communist takeover, Stalinist purges and Soviet occupation before democracy and freedom at the end of the 1980s. The Margolius family lived through the upheaval, suffering and triumphs of the last century’s tumultuous times. These were events that Ivan’s mother, Heda, was the only one of her family to survive – the rest of her own and her parents’ generations were brutally murdered. This family’s history is an inspirational and moving account of Europe at a time of turmoil. Yet, despite the anguish, there is hope to be found: acts of human kindness in the midst of suffering and a belief in the sanctity of human spirit, dignity and freedom.

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Reflections of Prague is the story of how a Czech Jewish family become embroiled in the most tragic and tumultuous episodes of the twentieth century. Through their eyes we see the history of their beloved Prague, a unique European city, and the wider, political forces that tear their lives apart. Their moving story traces the major events, turmoil, oppression and triumphs of Europe through the last hundred years – from the Austro-Hungarian Empire to the First World War; from the vibrant artistic and intellectual life of Prague in the times of Kafka, the Capek Brothers and Masanyk to years of hunger in a Polish ghetto and the concentration camps of Hitler, from the tyrannous rule of Stalin to the rekindled hopes of Dubcek and the subsequent Soviet occupation to liberation under Havel. Told from Ivan’s perspective, it is a poignant, but uplifting tale that tells of life lived with purpose and conviction, in the face of personal suffering and sacrifice.

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Reflections of Prague

John Wiley & Sons

Chapter One

We wave a handkerchief on parting, every day something is ending, something beautiful is ending.

Jaroslav Seifert, Psen/ A Song, 1929, translated by Ewald Osers

On returning to Prague I imagined I had seen my father. His slim figure, elegantly dressed in a dark single-breasted suit, white shirt and blue tie, appeared in the distance. He paused at Knihy bookshop in Na Prkope Street to look inside and check his reflection in the shop window. His hair was swept back, the receding hairline exposing his high forehead. Rimless spectacles framed his grey eyes, glinting in the bright morning light. The permanent smile on his lips, which I so loved, was still there. He checked the time on his Omega watch, lit a cigarette and walked on. Pushing through the crowd, I hurried to catch him but he disappeared into the darkness of Prague's many passageways that criss-cross the inner city. l delved into the labyrinth of shadows to search for him.

At the far opening of one of the long tunnel-like arcades, I spotted our car parked at the kerb. Behind the wheel sat tta, my father Rudolf. Terrified I would not reach him before he drove away I started to run. I had to get there before it was too late. I ran desperately, my heart pounding, my long steps getting steadily shorter as I continued, my struggle becoming harder the further I went. I shouted as I ran, my adult voice turning into a child's shriek: 'Wait for me, wait for meee.'

There was no need to worry. Rudolf waited patiently, finishing his cigarette. He appeared gloomy and preoccupied, but as soon as he saw me, he cheered up. 'Ahoj, Ivane! Where is your Mum?' he asked through the open window and, after I finally opened the passenger door using the handle I could hardly reach and climbed into the car seat next to him, Rudolf added, remembering: 'Oh yes, she said she'd follow us on a train, we'll have to pick her up from Beroun; she has to finish a dust jacket design for publication.'

Enormously relieved that I had found him I sat there, admiringly looking up to him. I was out of breath, unable to speak.

I was nearly five years old.

His jacket was draped over a battered violin case on the rear seat; the brightly enamelled Communist Party badge decorated the peak of the jacket's lapel. He was reading densely typed documents pulled out from his packed leather briefcase and propped up on the steering wheel, making notes in the margins with a gold fountain pen.

When I was older I learned that the papers must have been from the Ministry of Foreign Trade. Two years earlier, in 1949, he had been promoted to Deputy Minister and since then I had seen him only occasionally. He had to travel abroad, attend trade negotiations, Ministry and Party meetings, consult with other departments and write extensive analytical reports and economic statistics long into the night. Rudolf was putting all his knowledge and skill into trying to improve the difficult problem of the country's ailing centralized economy. His time at home was limited to precious moments, which had to be savoured and appreciated. Even there I saw him sitting in his armchair or at his writing desk constantly leafing through books and documents; regretfully, he did not seem to have that much time to play with me.

I recalled how Heda, my mother, and he had argued the night before. They thought that I was asleep, but fragments of their sentences, whose meaning I hardly understood but found fascinating, penetrated the apartment walls into my bedroom.

'Rudlo, you have to leave your job immediately ... I've talked to lots of our old friends and they all say you have to go, whatever happens ... Your position, high up in the Ministry, puts you next in line as the scapegoat when things go wrong,' she pleaded, sounding very worried. 'Haven't our families suffered enough during the war? It's a miracle that we both survived ... And now this. I can't face any more difficulties ...' They must have been sitting in the living room on the red L-shaped sofa, facing each other. Rudolf got up and started pacing the floor. I heard the parquet blocks squeaking under his steps. Often, seeing other children being looked after by elderly family members, I wondered where my other relatives and grandparents were. Heda explained gently that they had all died during the war but never went into any details.

'Kitten, the Party needs me ... You know I tried to resign once but they ordered me to carry on.' Apparently there could not be any respite, the five year plan had to be fulfilled and the Soviets were putting the Czechs under constant pressure. There was no one else there to take his place.

'But, Rudlo, you've heard about the arrests, the disappearances, all the people at the top are vulnerable ... When did you see your friends Eda, Artur and Evzen last? Where have they gone suddenly? Don't you know they've been arrested? Haven't you noticed most of the ones who are disappearing are Jews?'

'That's preposterous, Heda, you worry too much. The Party would not sink to the same level as the Nazis. There must be a totally rational explanation for this ... I haven't gone through the camps for nothing ... To give up on what honestly I believe is right ... If all the decent people leave now, things will get even worse.'

'Micula Bradov, your cousin, phoned this morning.'

'What about? How's she? We should go and see them, I suppose,' said Rudolf, and I heard him stop and strike a match to light his and Heda's cigarettes.

'It's too late,' said Heda. I heard her blow out smoke.

'Why? Kitten, what's happened?' Rudolf was shocked.

Heda carried on, saying that there had been a party in the town of st nad Labem to celebrate the anniversary of the construction company where Micula's husband Rudolf Brada was a director, and that Micula was as worried about Brada's steep rise in the Party ranks as she was about Rudolf. Micula had decided that it was the right moment to end it, and blurted out loudly in front of everyone how the Party had replaced all the important people in st with incompetent ones and now nothing worked and there was a lot of corruption. On account of her 'little' public complaint Brada had been dismissed; it looked as if he was out of danger. 'I should do the same with you,' added Heda. 'Rudlo, please think of your family and Ivan. It's not just us; we're responsible for him and his secure future now. What if they arrest you?'

Rudolf started pacing again. He was silent for some time. Then he begged Heda to believe him, he thought of both of us all the time, all he did was done for our better life. What reason could they have to arrest him? It could not happen to him, only those who made mistakes could possibly be in danger. His affairs were completely watertight. Comrades at the top including Gregor, his superior, knew that he was doing his best, they endorsed and supported him, he got every decision he made approved from above. He worked day and night, what he did was for the good of us, the country and the Party. He reminded Heda of how President Klement Gottwald thanked him when he had returned from London.

The living room went quiet. Rudolf sat down. I assumed that Heda went over, put her arm round his shoulders and had drawn him to her as I heard her tender offer in reconciliation: 'Look Rudlo, let's go...