Pál Fecsó's memorial plaque

Curriculum Vitae ; ; I was born on January 2, 1933 in Košice, but I consider myself born in Tornio, since I lived most of my life here from the age of a few days. My parents were teachers. My father was the director of the then State Elementary School, my mother was a school teacher. My childhood can be said to be cloudless. I received a lot of love, but I was not spoiled, in the summer I ran around barefoot just like the other children, and like them I was constantly covered in bruises and bruises. I did not notice anything about the changes in life, the turmoil of the world. In 1938 we also came to Hungary, life changed a lot, but mine was as cheerful and carefree as before. I could also say that I went to school from the age of two, and even then I fell in love with the community, which still characterizes me today. Discipline, if I was already there, had to be maintained, because there were 50-60 children in a class at the time. Thanks to this – although they deliberately did not encourage it at home – I was able to write and read by the age of four. I really loved and knew the elderly villagers, from whom I heard many fairy tales. My father also told me a lot of stories, but he did not tell me about fairies and witches, but amazed me with interesting facts from history. So at a very young age I got to know Zrínyi, Botondo, Lehel, the Kuruckor, I knew the heroes of the War of Independence, so history became my blood, and it still nourishes my Hungarianness to this day. ; After completing the fifth grade, I went to Košice to the first grade of the Premontrei Gymnasium. We had barely started the second year when Horthy's inglorious attempt to jump out ended the school year, and my carefree childhood was finally over. ; It was 1944. On the afternoon of December 12, a few Russian soldiers entered the village without firing a shot, and the Romanian army, which was not very organized, poured in after them. They occupied the houses, yards, streets, pitched tents, and felt at home. The fires had barely been lit to heat their canned food when tiles fell from the roofs, and the German guns rang out from the empty Jewish houses, public buildings, and attics. The attacked fired indiscriminately, causing more damage to each other than to the enemy. Our kitchen was filled with wailing wounded. That was the first time in my life I encountered death, and I learned what war was. The fighting went on for days, the Germans were well entrenched, and the Romanians were in a vulnerable position. Before Christmas, the German tanks appeared, wreaking terrible havoc, forcing the Romanians and the few Russians to retreat. ; Our cellar was flooded, so we took refuge in the parish cellar. There were about a hundred and fifty of us. We nestled ourselves on carrots and potatoes. Our parish priest was with us, he hid in a separate little booth with his brothers and brother-in-law. We also held the Christmas midnight mass here. I can't remember a more intimate, intimate midnight mass. The "Stalin organ" sounded above us. It's true, we were very close to God then. On New Year's Eve, the Germans evacuated the village: let's go to a safer place. I was running through the yard when a phosphorus rifle grenade hit. I was seriously wounded from the waist down. There were twenty-eight wounds, four fractures and three cracks in my legs alone. They took me across the front line to Jászó in a German tank, where the nearest Hungarian military hospital was. I was transported from hospital to hospital, and they operated on me every day, removing the splinters, and stitching up the wounds. I was between life and death for months. I spent the longest time in Trenčín, where they wanted to amputate my right leg, but my parents, who were with me the whole time, wouldn't let me. Then we went to the shores of Lake Balaton via Bratislava and Vienna. Here we were treated in a civilian hospital. Here we experienced the second liberation, but it wasn't as bloody as the first. ; In July I could walk with crutches. In August we set off home. I won't describe the hardships of the journey. Two weeks later we arrived home, now back in Czechoslovakia. Our house was in ruins, our furniture had been stolen, but life slowly began. My father did not re-Slovakize, so we were put on the list of those to be deported. We lived in constant uncertainty. Many families were deported to the Czech Republic. I was not accepted into high school because of my Hungarian nationality, so I went to Slovak elementary school. My parents organized my escape, and in the summer of 1946, with the help of smugglers, I escaped to Hungary, to my grandmother and two aunts in Budapest. Here I first went to elementary school, then to high school – Kossuth Lajos High School in Pestszenterzsébet. Until the postal service started, I had little contact with my parents. We were able to smuggle two or three letters a year. I came home for the first time on Christmas 1949. The bells were just ringing for midnight mass when I arrived. ; In 1950, the first Hungarian high school opened in Komárom, where I was able to continue my studies, and in 1953 I graduated. I owe a lot to that school, its teachers, and its students. ; After graduating, I was accepted to the Pedagogical College in Bratislava for an independent Hungarian major. By then I was already working as a clerk. In 1953, my first poem was published in Új Szó. In the meantime, I was an external contributor to Új Ifjúság. My poems appeared one after another in Új Szó, Új Ifjúság, Szabad Földműves, Fáklya, then in Hét, Irodalmi Szemle, and on the Hungarian broadcast of Szlovák Rádió. In Hungary, my poems were published by Kossuth Rádió and the literary newspaper Miskolci Napjaink. In the fall of 1954, I interrupted my studies for family reasons and came home. I passed the exam in pedagogy with distinction. First I was a substitute teacher in various schools in the district, then I was sent to Tornagörgő to the then Eight-Year Elementary School, where I taught Hungarian language and history. In 1958 I got married and came home to Torna, where my wife also taught. In that year, the Anthology of Young Slovak Hungarian Poets was published, which caused a great literary controversy and was only referred to as the Anthology of Eight. ; My poems from 1956 were not published in the anthology for understandable reasons, but they were not forgotten or forgiven. My poems continued to be published in the newspapers, but my volumes were rejected one by one by the publisher. I had to wait a long time. Finally, after 1968, when the way of thinking became more open, the volume was accepted, and in 1969 it was published under the title Nyugtalanság - it could not have been published in 1970. My poems from 56 and 68 were also accepted. Not all of them, but this was enough to make me fall out of favor for good. After that, the newspapers also took a closer look at what they published from me. In the end, I got tired of it. I did write, although less, and I sent less to the newspapers, and in the end I gave up the fight. ; In 1978, Új Szó was looking for an editor, I applied, and they hired me. I left school and became the editor for eastern Slovakia. I loved journalism, even though you had to think a lot about what you were writing. But that also came to an end. In the summer of 1989, they cut the percentage, I couldn't travel, so I had to leave Új Szó on October 1, 1989, right before the "velvet" one. I have been retired since then. However, I continued writing even though I didn't dare hope that they would ever be published. At the urging of a friend, I compiled a small volume at my own expense with the help of Dr. Árpád Szénássy, the head of the KT publishing house in Komárom, which I published under the title Countdown – Margarét in 1998 (Margarét contains children's poems). I have no hope of publishing any more books, but I cannot and do not want to stop writing.