It was the sixth year of the German occupation of Prague—on a Sunday afternoon in June of 1944. On most Sundays, my mother, Zdenka, and I and my mother’s sister, Olga, and her two children, Gerti, age 12, and Robert, age eight, would visit my Catholic grandparents’ apartment in downtown Prague. The two fathers were missing—both were on “business trips.” That family lie was meant to protect the kids from the truth that Leo Perutz, my uncle, was a prisoner in Auschwitz and my father, Victor, was a prisoner in Theresienstadt.
It was nearly six o’clock in Prague and five o’clock in London—time for the Sunday afternoon BBC broadcast. As soon as we finished Grandma’s blueberry pie, Grandfather Robert and I moved into his study, where he turned on his Blaupunkt shortwave radio.
He spread a large map of Europe on his desk. He carefully used black checkers to show German-controlled territory and red checkers to show territory being liberated by the Allies. The BBC News broadcast started with London’s Big Ben striking five times to indicate the hour. It was followed by the opening bars of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony, the distinctive “Ta-da-da-da, ta-da-da-da.” The announcer’s deep voice and British accent felt like plush velvet: “Good evening. This is the BBC News coming to you from London.” After the “Bulletin of Main News,” a different announcer came on speaking Czech. He reported on the progress of the fighting and provided a few details. During the broadcast, Grandfather showed us the areas with heavy fighting and the eastern front where the Russians were pushing the Nazis back to Germany.
Grandfather also told us that interspersed in the broadcast were secret messages for Czech resistance groups about supply drops, sabotage actions against the Germans, and other important code words. Despite my mother’s concern, the volume on Grandfather’s radio was turned up. He was hard of hearing, and the Germans jammed the broadcast—making it hard for us to understand. There was more and more crackling followed by an annoying buzz. It was almost impossible to hear the announcer.
When my mother entered the room, she was very upset. “Turn down the volume, please,” she muttered. “If the police hear us, we’ll all be arrested.” Grandpa told her to relax, because their neighbors were also listening. With more and more static, he finally turned off the radio. He spoke about the courage of Czech soldiers who had joined the British Army to fight for democracy. He told me that my father’s cousin Dr. Zdeněk Steiner was a medic with the British Air Force. I was so proud that a brave relative was helping to defeat the Germans.
After the BBC broadcast, Grandfather warned Robert and me not to tell anyone what we had just heard. “Be careful, please be careful,” was his message. Of course, that didn’t stop me from telling my friends on the next school day. I believe that I experienced what psychologists call cognitive dissonance. What I had heard from Grandfather and the BBC contradicted what I had been told in school, had heard on the Nazi-controlled radio, and had seen in newsreels at the local movie house. As to the question of which side was really winning, I decided that Grandfather must have been telling the truth, not the Germans.
I remember another powerful visit in June of 1944, when Grandfather ushered everyone into his study. Our fathers were still not back from their “business trips.” Uncharacteristically, my grandfather was very excited. He again spread out a map of Europe and stacked his red and black checkers on the table. This time, he told us that he had heard a BBC report about the landing of Allied forces on the beaches of French Normandy. He placed black checkers on areas held by the German Army. Leaning over the table, he placed red checkers on beach areas where the Allied troops had probably landed.
Years later, I learned about D-Day and Omaha Beach, the bloodiest landing surrounded by very steep cliffs and heavily defended German positions. Many American infantrymen were gunned down by German machine gunfire before the rest finally made it across the beach to the foot of the bluffs, where they started their attack.
Back in 1944, Robert and I were fascinated with the details of the battle and impressed by the bravery of the Allied soldiers. More than 150,000 troops stormed the beaches. There were many casualties, but finally, at the end of the day, the Allies secured the beaches. Robert and I were swept up in the excitement of the news and our renewed hope in an Allied victory.
It was a day with my grandfather I’ll never forget. As we were leaving, he shook my hand again and told me to keep working hard in school and to listen to my teachers. Then he whispered, “Don’t worry, your father will be alright.”
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