STORY FIVE

FESTIVE OCCASIONS

OR

TOLLING THE BELLS AND PUMPING THE ORGAN

The whole village of Horny Dvoriste, except for a few people, whom you could count on the fingers of one hand were staunchly members of the prevailing religion of the region. That is why the village, though small in size, boasted a large church, with a tall steeple that had a big circular top with a large cross affixed to it. The church had a big stone wall surrounding it, and inside there were gardens and a sizable, two story rectory where the church officials lived. There were a number of important days throughout the year that were dominated and regulated by the church. Some, like All Saints Day, All Souls Day, Easter, Christmas and a number of other observed holy days for which I don't have an exact English translation, were strictly religious in nature, but others such as weddings, funerals, and various processions celebrating harvests or the completion of a project were more tuned in to the village goings-on. As a small village boy, I was naturally curious and fascinated with all these activities, as were most of the other boys, so that I would join them in attending church services on special holy days where the priest would be all dressed up with a long white robe and a sash decorated with gold braided crosses and he would wear a tall white hat that came to a point with a big cross on it. The services were in Latin and that, augmented by the booming, chanting voice of the priest was awe inspiring for me. Then when the priest and his aides stepped off the platform and proceeded down the aisles waving a silver wand and carrying a smoking pot all-the-while chanting and blessing his flock, while his aides would flick out holy water, I always made sure that I was in a spot to also be so blessed, for I thought that was a great idea and I needed all the help I could get. Because I was no stranger to the church, no one minded when I joined some of the older boys in tolling the big church bells sometimes, and when it came to midnight church services at Christmas time, I would always be allowed to climb up the balcony and behind the scenes so to speak, help pump the organ. Though the priest knew that I was not a true member of his flock, he was kind, and even asked me to visit him one afternoon in the rectory, which I did. We had a nice chat, geared to little boys, and he seemed to chuckle a few times while talking with me.

I liked the Christmas season the best of all. My parents made allowances for us kids and let us participate in some of the secular aspects of the holiday. That included being confronted on St., Nick's Eve by some villagers who were superbly dressed for their parts as either angels or devils, replete with wings and halos or horns and chains. When they visited our home, there was always a crowd of onlookers with them. We had to kneel in front of them and the angels and devils would take turns in asking us questions about our good and not so good deeds throughout the year. It was very real to us little shavers, and we were really frightened by the devils as they rattled their heavy chains and threatened us with dire consequences. All that was soon forgotten when in the following days we watched the decorating of the tree, and the hangings of home made cookies, fresh fruit, candies of all different kinds and little toys. Then came the time to light the tree, and of course real candles were used at that time. It was a sight to behold. The numerous colored twisted candles in their candle holders attached just so perfectly to the heavy pine branches, together with the tinsel and other decorations, and with a large silver star on top, permeated with the aroma of fresh cookies, fruit, and chocolate gave the room a glow and aroma that was not only irresistible, but was inedibly etched into our memory, and that not mentioning the presents underneath the tree. Like all kids around the world, we had a great time sampling everything and of course opening our presents.

Easter was another great holiday for we fully took part in preparing colored hard boiled eggs and then, after they were hidden trying to find them. Later we would play a game of seeing whose end of the egg would break first as we bumped them together with the looser having to give his egg to the winner. On the Friday prior to Easter the whole village square would be decorated with green branches and straw bundles together with pictures of religious significance. An outdoor service was held and then a procession took place; naturally we boys joined in.

Funerals were something else. As a small boy I remember one very sad occasion, that is other than the time, Maxie, our Dachshund died. That was the death of the young lady who was the smith's daughter and our neighbor. It was the same dear maiden that invited me along as mentioned earlier, when grazing her cattle. She died suddenly, within a matter of a week from some dreaded disease. I even had a chance to visit her on her deathbed and hold her hand briefly. She was as beautiful as ever. As was the custom there was a three day wake prior to burial when everyone could visit and pay their last respects to the departed. Her body was decked out in satin in the open coffin with tall candles burning on each corner. Naturally I cried when it was my turn to bid her a final farewell. The whole town turned out to join the funeral procession, which wound its way slowly up a hill outside the village where the only cemetery was located. While the final rites were being given, I thought about the cemetery, which for us boys, had a special haunting significance. There were several times in the past when some of us snuck up to the cemetery late evenings and climbed its wall. Once inside we imagined all kinds of supernatural events under the starlit sky until we were sure we saw what was really only in our imagination, an apparition of Mr. Death with his long scythe, his black robe, and his skeleton skull. So frightened did we make ourselves, that we ran screaming out of the cemetery, shouting, "Death is coming" over and over again.

Not all holidays were completely religious in nature.

Take May Day for example. The villagers erected a tall pole which had banners and ribbons on it. The girls of the village would hold the long ribbons and dance and sing around the pole. It was a very cheerful and happy day. Sometime a Gypsy caravan would stop close by for the day and they would join the festivities with all kinds of song, dance and magic and acrobatic activities. Although some Gypsies had a bad reputation, as kids we were not afraid to meet them and talk with them and even accompany them to their wagons. They often treated us to some strange, but well prepared and delicious foods.

Once we had the day off to take an outing with our entire school. Since there was no such thing as a school bus, we naturally used our feet. After a whole morning's walk we reached a larger town, Vssy Brod, where hundreds of other school children were also assembled, together with many adults. We were grouped neatly around the station platform and the railroad tracks for a mile or so in either direction and were told only moments before the arrival of a special train that we were going to have a chance to greet the President of Czechoslovakia, our country. This was heavy stuff for us kids. The train approached very slowly with the engineer blowing his whistle several times. It was a beautiful train with everything new and polished. The train slowed to a crawl as it entered the crowded area. Then it stopped and out stepped some dignitaries and mounted a small temporary platform. All sat down except, a kindly looking elderly gentleman with a goatee and a cap on his head. He was the President. We cheered and two dozen or so young ladies came up to him to bring him flowers. He was very gracious and complemented everyone and spoke briefly of our futures. Then we all sang the national anthem and the President and his party returned to their car and the train proceeded on. We had a picnic type lunch and went back to our village.

One other occasion was somewhat of a holiday for us, as kids, even though it really wasn't anything on the calendar. That was the time one fall, when an army division held maneuvers. I guess they selected the area since the Village was close to the border of its neighboring country Austria. As boys we were of course overjoyed with all the activities, uniforms and weapons. I'm sure it was pretty old World War I stuff, but it was very impressive to us. The army even flew over the Village square with some low flying biplanes of the same vintage, but most villagers hadn't even seen any planes that close before. They were nice to us kids and gave us some of their rations which made us feel like we were a part of their outfit. In the evenings some of the men came into town and sat around singing army songs and talking to the villagers. After about two weeks they all left and returned to their armories and camps.

Well, now that you are peacefully asleep I can close this STORY and let you slumber. WARNING!! Please do not turn to STORY SIX if you want to continue your respite for I am not at all sure that it will be a story to your liking.

©1990 Herbert Holzbauer

published @1996 edition S.p.N.LAUB

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