Someone Made a Mistake, So I am Here Now: The Dagmar Lieblová Story

By Marek Lauermann

The true story of Dagmar Lieblová, who survived the Holocaust, while the rest of her family perished. Some memories are about people seemingly unknown and obscure. You won’t find among them famous poets, musicians or politicians. These were ordinary people, of whom there are many. And yet, nobody can say that they were less imp

• Language: English
• Publisher: McLeod
• Release date: Mar 7, 2016
• ISBN: 9780995056312

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Someone Made A Mistake,

So I Am Here Now

The Dagmar Lieblová Story

As told to Marek Lauermann



Thank you to John McLeod, Phoebe Voigts

and Monte Keene Pishny-Floyd

for their assistance with the English translation.

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book

or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

© Marek Lauermann, 2013

© Dagmar Lieblová, 2013

English translation by Rita McLeod

Design and layout by JT Eklund

ISBN 978-0-9950563-1-2

Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, Canada

2016

Preface

Some memories are about people seemingly unknown and obscure. You won’t find among them famous poets, musicians or politicians. These were ordinary people, of whom there are many. And yet, nobody would say that they were not important, or that they suffered, hoped and fought for their lives, any less than their more famous fellow countrymen. My memories of Kutná Hora are memories of my childhood and early youth. I remember that time very well, because it was a happy time. I had parents, a sister, grandmothers, grandfathers, lots and lots of relatives whom we saw often. You can’t forget that, ever.

Mamce

Rita Fantlová (14.3.1932 – červenec 1944)

Mami, ty dobře víš, co v dnešním dni se tají,

Nu nedělej tak udivený obličej,

Vždyť všechny matky ten den znají

Těší se naň a slaví jej.

Mami, ty dobře víš, že máš dnes svátek

A chtěla jsi mě jenom splést.

Tys myslela, že zapomenu na Den matek,

Však nenechám se tebou svést.

Však, mami, také víš, že žijem letos v šeru,

Že kolem nás je z pevných drátů mříž,

Že dám ti jen svou lásku místo bonboniéru.

Viď, mami, že se nezlobíš.

(napsáno v květnu 1944 v Osvětimi – Birkenau)

To Mom

Rita Fantlová (March 14, 1932 – July 1944)

Mom, you know this day that honours mothers everywhere

And don’t look so surprised, you know it’s true!

All moms know this day, when children offer love and care

They cherish it and celebrate it too.

Mom, you know so very well it’s Mother’s Day today

and you just want to fool me with good cheer

You thought I would forget the date, and let it fade away

But I won’t let you sway me, mommy dear

You also know that now we live each day without the sun

Surrounded by a cage of wire and snow

I cannot bring you chocolates, but I give my heart as one

who hopes you’re not upset, I love you so.

(Written in Auschwitz-Birkenau in May 1944)

Contents

My Family

Our Jewish Family

The End of The Republic and Our Last Holidays

Terezín Ghetto

Our Arrival in Terezín

Our Life in Terezín

Brundibár and I

Extermination Camp Auschwitz-Birkenau

First the Tattoos, Then Saunas

Life in Birkenau

The End of Family and Departure from Birkenau

Hamburg – Work With Pickaxes

Life in the City Ruins

Return Home

New Life and Family Contacts with Kutná Hora

High School and German Studies

Marriage and Children

I Was a Teacher

Terezín Initiative

Conclusion

Dedication



My family

I was born on 19th of May, 1929 in Kutná Hora, a mining town full of gothic monuments and breathing a strange atmosphere of ancient times. For more than five centuries, the monumental Church of St. Barbara has towered over the town. From its galleries you can see the Italian Court with its mint, the tower of St. James church, the cigarette factory in Sedlec, and the park by the river Vrchlice.

Over the centuries, the beauty of Kutná Hora was enriched by the work of multitudes of craftsmen and merchants of many different nationalities and religions. It is a Czech town with a variety of cultural influences. It is at its most beautiful in spring. The park by the Italian Court is in bloom, the streets are suffused by the fragrant linden and horse chestnut trees, and the sky is unbelievably blue: the same as it was years ago, when I stood there as a small girl and looked at the town with my parents. Then, we also saw Teller’s sugar factory, Mr. Klein’s mill and the synagogue roof with its stone Tablets of Testimony.

The synagogue in Kutná Hora had been there since 1904, although it wasn’t frequented much. It was quite common for non-practising Jews not to bother with traditional Jewish traditions. Most Jews celebrated the Feast of St. Nicholas, Easter and other holidays. These Christian holiday traditions and the associated songs, customs, decorations and food had for them, just as for most Christians, more of a social than religious importance. Easter was not just about the Resurrection, but it was also the custom of celebrating spring. And Christmas trees were not just for Christians.

My father, Julius Fantl MD, was the second youngest of seven children. He was born in 1892 in Čimelice in Southern Bohemia, where his parents, Vilém and Jindřiška Fantl, had a small farmstead, including a pair of horses of which my grandfather was very proud. The farmstead included a small store, which is still there, even though now it sells imported furniture. Sometime in 1933 my grandparents sold the house and farmstead in Čimelice and moved to Beroun, where they built a small house with several rooms, a kitchen on the main floor and an attic. We always went to Beroun on May 1st and that is how I remember my grandparents. We used to stay for lunch. My grandmother’s bread dumplings were exceptional. My mom always asked her how she made them, and my grandmother always replied, Don’t you know yourself? Usually, we ate these with Polish sauce or a goose. After lunch, we would go to Hýskov, a village near Beroun. My dad’s brother Emil had a small shop on the village green, where he sold a variety of goods - food, household items, haberdashery and fabric. Uncle Emil and Aunt Jožka had two sons: Ludvík who was my aunt’s son from her first marriage, and then René. Both of them were much older