"OUR JOURNEY TO GAKOWA AND BEZDAN IN THE FORMER YUGOSLAVIA"

Author: Katharine Flotz

YES, YOU CAN GO HOME AGAIN!

It was June 1945 when I left my home in Gakowa, after my mother died of typhoid fever a month before. I also had the fever, but miraculously improved the day my mother died. We were in a concentration camp in Gakowa, guarded by Tito's partisans. Many other people had been brought to Gakowa from the neighboring German towns in the Voyvodina, Yugoslavia. Because the commandant and his partisans wanted to live in our house, located across the street from the train station, my grandparents, sister Erna and I were ordered to leave our home. I was taken in by my mother's sister Barbara, and my sister stayed with the grandparents at the home of their daughter. 

The town of Gakowa had a population of about 2,500 people in 1944. In the Spring of 1945, an influx of other ethnic Donauschwaben (Germans) were brought into Gakowa and the population swelled to 17,000. Hunger and disease soon took the lives of many camp inhabitants. Those who were able, tried to escape and cross the border into Hungary and then on to Austria and Germany. 

I was able to escape the camp with my aunt and uncle. From the time I left my home in 1945 until we escaped in August, 1947 I never saw my home again. We were discouraged to walk the streets. I was afraid to go by myself and my aunt and uncle had to work all day. 

I came to America in 1949 with my aunt and uncle, married in 1957 and had three children. My husband George arrived in America in 1951 after having left his home in Bezdan, Yugoslavia in 1944. We raised the children, worked hard and after 46 years of marriage decided that we would like to see our homes again. 

All through the years we often talked about our desire to go back one day. I also wanted to see my mother's grave again. There was always a slight homesickness in my heart for the place of my birth. I wanted to walk the streets, see the room where I was born, and where my mother died; the grapevines in the garden, the cherry trees in front of the house, and the chestnut trees towering along the sidewalk. 

My dream came true on August 31st, when we boarded the bus in Vienna and arrived in Sombor on September 1, 2003. We checked into the hotel "Sloboda". While having lunch, I greeted my former school friends, Katharina Jaeckl Gutenkunst, Anna Weigand Lemmler, Eva Nuspl Elmer, Franz Ripp, Michael Tittl and Sebastian Landherr.
We enjoyed the afternoon catching up on everyone's news.

The next day, we drove to Gakowa. First stop was the cemetery at the newly erected memorial plaque. We brought flowers and a short service followed. In looking around the cemetery, huge thorn-bushes prevented any search for my mother's grave. We tried to push the bushes aside but were rewarded with severe scratches. We gave up and put flowers on top of the bushes in the direction of my mother's grave. That was my first disappointment. We then drove down the Eisenbahngasse and I saw our house for the first time. The bus did not stop so I only saw the tall grass, the broken door, the overgrown garden, and the missing trees. I was promised we would be back later. 

The officials now in charge of Gakowa invited us to the new school for coffee and a tour of the school. We passed the old school building, which is in disrepair, but several families live there. The stucco finish had crumbled, revealing the raw bricks. The windows, however, were washed. 

It was a rainy day and matched the mood of our visit. With umbrella in hand, we walked the Main Street north toward my grandparents and uncles houses. There are three rows of trees, their branches overlapping, along the houses. It is hard to see the houses and to identify them. We had a map of the town indicating each family's house by name. We tried to count the houses starting from the corner and find what we are looking for. Many houses had been demolished and replaced with new ones. 

We finally found my aunt and uncles' house, the Brandt Family, who took me in and brought me to America. Because of the denseness of the trees in front, we could only take a picture from the side. A little boy came out the door and looked at us curiously. He reminded me of my cousin Tobias as a little boy. How many times did I stand at that door and call out to my aunt to open it because I could not reach the handle?? 

We walked further north towards the place where St. Anthony's Chapel stood. It had been totally demolished. I remember the many times we had to assemble in the empty fields around the chapel during the camp. I hear the voices of the commandant screaming his orders to the people. I remember the long lines of hungry and cold people waiting for the time to be released or taken away to labor camps or for the pleasure of the partisans. Now the vacant land is used for grazing sheep. 

We turned and made our way back toward the middle of town. The church, of course, has long been gone. It was wrecked in the early 1970's. A new structure is in the process of going up - the new church of the people of Gakowa - their faith is Muslim. However, it is being built on the site of our old church, right next to the old school.

We left Gakowa later that day and returned to Sombor. We were served a nice dinner at the hotel each day; soup, a meat dish, delicious crusty bread and dessert. We then were entertained by gypsy music.

On Wednesday, a bus trip took us south through many small towns such as Kernei, Brestowatz, Apatin, Sentiwan, Cervenka, Kula, Vrbas and Doroslo. We ended up in Novi Sad, a city bustling with traffic and business. We visited Peterwardein, a fort high above Novi Sad which overlooks the Danube and the City. 

We had lunch at a beautiful hotel and then returned another route back to Sombor. The towns we passed looked almost all the same. The houses are built in the style that was familiar 60 years ago. Some houses looked better than others, but the area is in better shape than our Gakowa. Because of all the people in our town during the camp, it suffered much damage. 

On the way back, we drove into Doroslo and visited the pilgrim church there in honor of our Lady of Doroslo. The inside of the church is very small and simply decorated. We sat on rough-hewn benches covered with pieces of carpeting, each bench a different color. We prayed and sang some songs. Mr. George Potz read a beautiful poem to our Lady in our dialect. I have enclosed the poem. Around the back of the building are beautiful works of art. In the garden is a statue of Our Lady next to the well which is said to have healing water. I filled two bottles to bring home for my family and friends. My mother and other family members came here many years ago on a pilgrimage, as did George's family. He remembers walking all the way from Bezdan and then sleeping outdoors in the horse-drawn wagon of friends, and walking back the next day. This was to be a penance. 

Thursday, we had free time to visit the marketplace in Sombor, have some coffee and good conversation with our friends and just relax. In the afternoon, we visited a cemetery in Sombor, near our hotel, where some people from Gakowa are buried. My grandfather, Sebastian Hoeger is buried there but I could not find his grave either. It is a big cemetery.

We were also invited to visit the "Deutsche Haus" - a place where German is being taught to children of German ancestry. It is the home of Herr Beck, the gentleman who is trying to further the German culture in Yugoslavia. He and one of the teachers told us about their ambition, served us coffee and Bugetschl.. I was surprised to see they had some computers that were donated to teach the children.

That evening, we left by bus for Apatin by the Danube. This place is famous for "fishgulash" which is an ethnic dish loved by our people. It is prepared in kettles over an open fire and served over homemade noodles. The restaurant is located on the banks of the Danube River and a beautiful sunset was a perfect ending to our day. A metaphor came to mind - this is the place where our ancestors arrived in wooden boats and landed on the banks of the Danube-our beginning! And then there is the setting of the sun - an ending!

After dinner, the gypsy music filled the restaurant. We sang and danced and tried to forget the sad memories of our past. The close bond we felt with our townspeople and especially with my school friends will always be a special memory for me. 

On Friday morning George and I arranged for a ride to Bezdan. He wanted to see his hometown too. We had passed through Bezdan on our way to Sombor on the first day, but could not stop to see George's house. The town is in good shape, although some things have changed. The house where George was born is still standing and the outside in good condition. His father's blacksmith shop located right next to the house has been bricked up. We did not go inside. The school building lacked upkeep, its walls crumbling and windows broken. We walked around it but could not see anyone inside, so we presumed it was closed. The church on Main Street, the doctor's house, the town hall and several of George's friends' houses were familiar and seemed occupied. 
Our guide, Eddie Grollinger, then drove us to the Danube - the place where the ferry used to take people across to Batina (now Croatia). There is no more ferry; bridges now transport vehicles across the Danube. But, we did see the exact spot where George and his family boarded the ferry and then saw the exit on the other side of the river. It brought back very sad memories for George because when they arrived on the other side, the woman who gave them a ride on her wagon abandoned them there. It's a long story!

When we returned to Sombor at noon, everyone decided that we should go back to Gakowa after lunch. Once there, we were dropped off in front of our house and approached the front door. We had someone with us that spoke Serbian and hoped that the occupants would let us in. A young child rode her bicycle near the house and then went inside to call her mother. We were invited inside through the door that looked weathered and was missing some boards. The tiled gangway in the house had a parked car sitting in front of the door to the living area. The lady motioned us inside and my heart sank when I saw the filth and the terrible condition of the rooms. She apologized in Serbian that had she known we were coming, she would have cleaned up. There was no way in the world anything could be done to a home mistreated and wrecked in the last 55 years. I guess we should not blame this lady for the total wreckage because we don't know how long she has been living there. From all indications, it seems that this house stood empty for some years. 

I asked the lady to open the door of the bedroom where my sister Erna and I were born and where our mother died. She reluctantly did so and we could tell from the missing plaster on the ceiling and walls, the filthy floor, clothes and boxes strewn all over the place that she was embarrassed to show us in. I tried to remember how it was when our family lived there. I could see my father working at his desk with my mother at his side to help, my little sister playing on the floor. I could see the bed I slept in with the warm down blanket and the tile oven in the corner keeping us warm in the winter. Was this once my home?

When we walked to the back of house, a literal pigsty greeted us. Among the overgrown weeds and discarded tools and wood, we saw chickens pecking the ground for food. A caged piglet squealed at us from the open slats of his corral. The doors to the kitchen, the pantry and my mother's sewing room hung from their hinges, the boards broken and weathered. There has not been anyone in there for many years. Our well was still standing, but some of the bricks were missing and it was surrounded by grass and weeds. I wonder if it's still in use. I could still see my mother dipping a cup into the bucket for fresh water. This was almost too much for me to bear. I was numb from the heartache of seeing this once beautiful place now turned into total destruction.

We turned around and thanked the lady. She smiled and motioned to George to take a picture of her and me. I took a small pebble from the garden and picked a chestnut from the only tree left. These will be my treasurers to keep. This short visit convinced me that this was no longer my home, it was just a memory. 

That evening, thoughts of my visit to my home gave birth to this poem. It flowed out of me like healing water. It says it all: 

EIN STUECK DER HEIMATERDE

Mit Wehmut, traenenreich und herzenschwer
Standen wir vor unserem Elternhaus.
Die Mauern verbroekelt, die Fenstern verwittert
Alles zerbrochen, zerstoert, verwuestet und kahl.
Mein Herz bricht fast entzwei.

Von Fern und Nah
Ueber Felder und See trug uns das Heimweh 
Zum Heimatort
Die Zeit hat uns die Erinnerung bewahrt
Es ist aber nicht mehr wie es einst war.

Andere Menschen sitzen vor der Haustuer
Kinder spielen auf den Gassen
Waren wir hier einst daheim?
Nur unser Herz kann es bezeugen.

This poem could only be written in German because my thoughts and words
Could only be expressed in this way. 

Saturday morning the bus took us back to Gakowa for the ceremony at the memorial plaque and the Mass graves. Some of the officials in Gakowa and our people still living in the surrounding areas came to the service. Flowers and candles were brought by many to decorate the graves and speeches in German and Serbian expressed the desire to "never forget those that died here during the concentration camp". Then the procession started for the mass graves. The area is fenced in and locked with an iron gate. We were able to go in and walk over the graves of the many innocent victims. I felt like I was on hallowed ground. For the 8,000 people buried there, only one gravestone sits in the middle. It was put up by the people of Filipowa and bears the name of "Eichinger" on the stone. We also put flowers on the grave, added our prayers and sang a song. Then we were left to wander the old cemetery looking for graves of our ancestors. 

Since most of the cemetery is overgrown with thorn bushes, our search was futile. But just to be there and know that we were close to our loved ones lying among this field of thorns, helped to relieve our need to "do something". 

We were invited to lunch in the new school gym by the officials of Gakowa. It was a friendly atmosphere and we enjoyed the beef gulash and crusty bread. Following the lunch, gifts were presented for the school children and memorial gifts of the old Gakowa were given to the Mayor. Then we had a surprise entertainment. It seems that the youth of the new Gakowa is famous for its folk dancing. Dressed in elaborately embroidered costumes and leather slippers with pointed tips, in typical Serbian tradition, the girls looked fresh and eager to perform. The boys wore traditional Serbian garb and hats, and wore the same pointed slippers. They performed with precision to the fast moving music. We were grateful and pleased with this show of unity between the old and the new Gakowarer. 

We then left to walk again in the streets of Gakowa. We took a different route and looked for houses of our relatives. We ended up in the Eisenbahngasse and across the street from my home. We stood and took a last look so that we can take the memory of it back to America. It is no longer ours, but the time I spent there with my family for only 9 years is enough to bury in my heart forever. After all, it is not the brick and mortar that made up this "home", it was the people in it.

On Sunday we spent a leisurely day shopping in the market place of Sombor. I bought some lamb's wool socks from a little old Serbian lady to keep my feet warm in the winter. After lunch we looked for a Café where they served "Krembitten". We found it and enjoyed a relaxing afternoon with the school friends. Later in the afternoon, a German Mass was held in the church nearby. . 

Our last dinner at the hotel was a bittersweet ending to our journey. We came to see our town, our homes, our cemetery but also to rekindle that eternal bond we have together as Gakowarer. We are living all over the world, yet we found out that once we shook hands, hugged and kissed, it was as if we were once again back in our childhood. 

The next morning, a farewell song in the parking lot before boarding the bus, was the final goodby to our new found friends, the officials of the new Gakowa. The bus pulled out and we knew this would be the last time in this part of the world. We had come to see, to feel and to touch - we finished our mission. 



Katherine and George Flotz
Gakowa and Bezdan
September, 2003 


BACK