Freedom Pursued: Memoirs of a Hungarian Engineer

By Peter Stephan Barna

In his book "FREEDOM PURSUED" the author presents a memoir of a Hungarian Engineer rather than of a Hungarian Immigrant. In this he emphasizes that he is both: a person born and raised in Hungary and one who graduated as a Mechanical Design Engineer, and begins to work as a designer. Consequetly, he first writes about his life as a Hungarian student and later as a practising engineer up to 1941. Then he migrates to Australia for survival

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Nov 15, 2018
• ISBN: 9781546266891

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FREEDOM

PURSUED

MEMOIRS OF A HUNGARIAN ENGINEER

PETER STEPHAN BARNA

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© 2015 Peter Barna, Stephanie Barna Burr. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 11/06/2018

ISBN: 978-1-5462-6690-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-6689-1 (e)

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Preface

Foreword

Part 1.  The Engineer’s Building Blocks

Book 1 Hungarian Experiences

Chapter I The Early Years

Chapter II The High School Days

Chapter III Life At The University

Chapter IV Work In A Gathering Storm

The Book 2 Migration To Australia

Chapter V A Journey Into The Unknown

Chapter VI A Hazardous Crossing

The Book 3 Australian Experiences

Chapter VII The Beginning

Chapter VIII Getting Married

Chapter IX Married Life And Consequences

Chapter X The Disaster Years

Chapter XI Professional And Cultural Developments

The Book 4 Sabbatical Leaves

Chapter XII The First Sabbatical Leave: England

Chapter XIII The Post-England Pangs

Chapter XIV The Second Sabbatical Leave: Usa

Chapter XV Return To Australia

The Book 4 Migration To The United States

Chapter XVI The Effects Of Re-Adjustments

Chapter XVII Work Begins At Nasa

Chapter XVIII The Story Of My Forced Retirement

Part 2.  Recollections

The Book 6 – 7 On Disk Recollections

Chapter XIX Recollections

Chapter XX Breaking Through The Poverty Barrier

Chapter XXI Pursuing My Master Degree

Chapter XXII My Days In Court

The Book 7 – 8 On Disk

Chapter XXIII Thoughts On Success And Happiness

Part 3.  Reflections (In Memoriam) Communion With The Spirits Of My Deceased Parents

The Book 8 – 6 On Disk

Chapter XXIV With The Spirits Of My Dead Father

Chapter XXV With The Spirits Of My Dead Mother

Chapter XXVI Life Without My Parents

Chapter XXVII My Parents–Without Life

Chapter XXVIII Past The Holocaust

Epilogue

IN MEMORY OF MY PARENTS AND RELATIVES WHO PERISHED IN THE HOLOCAUST

Preface

P.Stephen Barna (also known as Peter Stephen) was born in Hungary to Desmond Barna and his wife, nee Irene Vajda, on April 4, 1912 early in the morning, (perhaps, because he always liked to get up early). During his life he first lived in Hungary where he enjoyed growing up in a small family circle. On his mother’s side there was only a sister and a brother while on his father’s side there were many more who were dwelling in another city and who were actually helping to run grandfather’s furniture factory

Stephen always wanted to become an engineer, a constructeur, one who designed machinery. It seemed to him a fascinating occupation where one draws on paper all sorts of mysterious lines and watches later how the workshop brings the lines of a blueprint to life, making it a sheer joy to see the ultimate product.

After he graduated in engineering from the Royal Technical University in Budapest, his job led him to studies of heat-transfer, which proved an exciting field to pursue. Although he loved his work, he couldn’t help noticing the political changes in Europe which affected Hungary. Ultra-nationalism had already raised its head after WWI ended. He also noticed how Hungary was moving to the right under the influence of Germany, which was accompanied by an unwarranted rise in religious intolerance. Stephen began to realize WWII was in the making, and made plans to emigrate. Eventually, the war became a reality, and while it still raged only in the west, he took his leave and traveled east. After an exhausting trip across Siberia, Japan, and the Pacific, and with a measure of good luck, he landed in Australia on March 15, 1941and started a new life.

A new life demanded new efforts: first in perfecting his English which was greatly helped by his wife, Margaret whom he married in 1944. Life down-under was a pioneering existence that required a lot of adjustment. However Stephen managed to survive and establish an existence which wasn’t entirely to his liking. Some years later, when opportunity offered him a change he accepted it as a new challenge. As a result, he eventually moved to the United States where he felt his talents in engineering would be more appreciated. Eventually he accepted a job offer and so managed to take up legal residence and became a citizen in due course.

It is true that for some reason, Stephen always wanted to go to America, and thinks that the stork lost its bearings when he landed him in Hungary. No regrets, because he found the Hungarian language a fascinating one, and still loves reading literature and poetry in his native tongue.

When the political iron curtain was slightly lifted he returned in 1970 for a brief visit to his homeland where he managed to find his way to their former apartment. He found it empty and in a process of conversion to a museum. He returned to his new homeland with a sad heart.

Looking back on all those wandering years he feels a consolation: time proved that he made wise choices.

It is Stephen’s contention that all people (even the inhumane ones) are born owning a gold mine. While all have some measure of this talent-treasure, only a few work their respective mines to dig out the gold. Most people just sit on it and whine.

When the political iron curtain was slightly lifted, Stephen returned for a brief visit to his homeland in

Foreword

In his book HAPPINESS PURSUED the author presents a memoir of a Hungarian Engineer rather than of a Hungarian Immigrant. In this he emphasizes that he is both: a person born and raised in Hungary and one who graduated as a Mechanical Design Engineer, and begins to work as a designer. Consequetly, he first writes about his life as a Hungarian student and later as a practising engineer up to 1941. Then he migrates to Australia for survival

In Australia, in spite of some initial difficulties, he manages to conntinue practicing his profession. Many years pass before he first visits the United States in 1963 where he learns that one must keep abreast in order to avoid from falling behind,—and is impressed by this philosphy. Ultimately, he ends up practicing his profession in the United States, where life proves generally more stimulating in order to keep abreast.

In the United States the author continues his dual life partly as a private citizen and partly as an engineer. These he considers interwoven. As a citizen he gets involved in civic affairs and looks after his family as best as he can. It takes him some time to realize that his professional activities have changed and that the days of his being a pure design engineer have gone and were replaced by engineering science. This means that in addition of practicing some design, [a creative activity usually producing a variety of hardware], he becomes more involved in teaching and research, which is associated with Engineering Science. As a DESIGNER he used to draft blueprints which eventually comes to life in the workshop, while Engineering Science engages in something entirely different. First of all, it demands going into a greater depth of things by first employing analytical methods. Many times it also becomes necessary to set up small scale models for testing in the laboratory, where performance could be more comfortably studied. Hence, from now on he observes the nature of things to better understand the functioning of complete products which, at times, were designed by others.

To illustrate the benefits obtained with small scale testing, consider the well-known historic airplane flight successfully completed by the Wright Brothers, who in 1903, almost a century ago, lifted their plane off the grounds at Kitty Hawk, North Carolina. Their flight may be considered as the beginning of the aviation industry, which expanded and dramatically changed travel over the whole world.

The question arises: what was the secret to their success? They simply demonstrated the benefits gained with small scale testing. Perhaps less known is the fact that prior to designing and constructing their airplane the Wright Brothers built and operated a very simple and rather small wind-tunnel. Using the wind created by a fan, they performed tests on a series of model wings of various shapes in order to find their optimal lift and drag characteristics. Then employing their carefully obtained data, they shaped the wings of their full scale plane in accordance with data gained with the models.

Today, model testing of airplanes continues and demands large tunnels which are costly to construct and operate. Moreover, wind tunnels are also used to test other products as well. For instance wind tunnels are also employed to test motorcars to improve their stability and efficiency and test model buildings to study their resistance to high winds, and so forth.

The author feels that he must briefly discuss some technical matters without which his story would be incomplete.

PART 1

THE ENGINEER’S BUILDING BLOCKS

BOOK 1 HUNGARIAN EXPERIENCES

Chapter I

THE EARLY YEARS

The secret is out. One writes MEMOIRS at a ripe age (usually) because one can remember quite well what happened some 50 years ago, wheres one cannot remember where one placed one’s pencil, or any object for that matter, five minutes ago. Also, looking back seems easier than looking forward because of the uncertainty of the future. At least, one can disseminate, analyze, sort out events that actually happened, maybe just periodically and not continuously, according to their significance. I can remember vividly some events of the RED TERROR in Hungary when there was a revolution following the tragic end of World War I. A Bolshevik regime took over the country under Bela Kun and I was then of the age of six, During that period, my father, who was then the town chief engineer, was awakened one day at 4 a.m. by two uniformed characters who arrested him. He was a burgeois and was taken hostage. This was a common practice for raising money and a large ransom was demanded in cash for his release. Fortunately, the boyfriend of our maid was one of the friendly Commos who helped with the release of my father who returned the next day dirty and flea-ridden from this nightmare of incarceration.

The TERROR was short lived, but while it lasted it proved brutal. I remember vividly the day when two men were hung right across from our apartment overlooking the main square. I was sent away to some friends whose abode was at some distance from this ominous event that had never happened before in this quaint little baroque town at the foot of the Matra mountains. Late in the afternoon, when the executions were over, Uncle Mishka came to take me home. We had to walk up to our house and I disobeyed uncle’s order to only look to the right and not to the left. I was a little boy, curious as all little boys would be, and I looked to left and saw Uncle Welt hanging from the telephone pole. The square was full of people but a deathly silence reigned. Uncle Mishka pulled me away and presently took me upstairs where my parents, sitting in a darkened room, were quietly sobbing. Uncle Welt was a friend who used to own the glass business. I didn’t know the other victim of the revolution.

And so I cried too. Not because of the executions but because my mother dismissed my Austrian governess of whom I grew fond during the brief period I was her charge. I was missing her and was upset. So my sobbing blended in well with the general wailing. Mother used to do this firing at rather frequent intervals. She did it with the maid and the cook too. I didn’t care so much about them, but I was concerned only with my own governess. As soon as I got attached to one of them, and so became friends, mother fired them. This practice upset me emotionally making me feel insecure. Of course they weren’t perfect and perhaps weren’t even trained, but their sweet German twaddle and free spirits were comforting. They were my companions and my playmates at times, and firing without my advice was - I felt - rather dictatorial. I was at odds with my mother right from the beginning anyway because she dressed me rather girlishly for reasons that she wanted a daughter and not a son. I had to put up with this nonsense for the years while I was very small, but later on, at the age of six, I revolted. I was a boy, after all, and wanted to be dressed accordingly. I wanted to play fotzi (soccer) with the other boys hanging around our elaborate backyard and surely didn’t want curly hairs down to my shoulders. I think I won out at the end after all.

History relating to those times tells us about the end of the revolution when the red terror changed to white terror. Some of the revolutionaries were imprisoned or even executed, I believe, while some were just beaten up. Luckier were the pinkies who were allowed to find shelter abroad. The white terror came about by the arrival of Admiral Horthy, riding on an imposing white stallion followed by the white army, defeated during World War I. Roumanian, Slovakian and Czech forces contributed to an occupation of which I have only one faint episode in memory. I remember, though, the day when the counter- revolution began. Having an apartment on the Main Square was rather risky so my parents accepted an invitation from the town chief electrical engineer whose home was in a less exposed location. One of his workers came by towards sunset and told stories about the fights between the red and white elements. A day or two later, when things simmered down a bit, town-life started up again. So I ventured out and was playing with other boys in a mound of sand piled up on the street with other building material, when suddenly a soldier in a strange uniform rode by on a horse heading in the direction of the City Hall. It turned out that he was a Roumanian officer bringing a message that the town was now under Roumanian occupation. Sure enough, a few weeks later, a Roumanian officer was. billeted in our apartment. He turned out to be of Hungarian descent and spoke Hungarian fluently. Distribution of essentials, like food, groceries, fuel and salt was controlled by the Roumanians and if there was any shortage one could complain to the SALT OFFICE. The occupation didn’t seem to last long. However, years later, if someone came up with ANY complaint, he or she was advised to report it to the long forgotten, salt office.

Fragments of another episode come to my mind when thinking of the war. Uncle Armin was a first lieutenant enrolled in the infantry and at one stage, he was dug in with his batallion in a remote county near the Russian border. He was there for months on end and became very homesick. He was engaged to Aunty Piri, who also happened to be the daughter of my father’s sister, Irma. So, in May 1917, the family decided on a visit to surprise him, including me. Grandma Giselle, Irma, my Mother and Piri complete with my governess rode a train for some 12 hours to this outpost, called Polena, located near the Russian border. The party was planning to stay for a couple of weeks and it began as a great family reunion. (I believe that Russia was crumbling by then and there was little fear of a breakthrough). I had a wonderful time playing with the local kids, who at first were pretty reticent to befriend this long-haired and funny dressed boy.

However, our merry-making didn’t last long. A week after our arrival, we received a cable from my father, asking us to return at once, because our town was burned to the ground. Practically all houses burned especially those which had thatched roofs. The heat must have been terrible, even the steeple of the Grand Church went. Surprisingly, our house remained because it had three foot thick walls and the windows were provided with steel shutters from the inside. Weren’t we lucky? The calamity started first by an uncleaned chimney of the hospital laundry. It was set on fire spewing sparks which were then carried by strong winds in all directions to the neighboring houses covered with thatched roofs setting these on fire. Unfortunately, the fire brigade was unable to contain the fire for lack of water. The town didn’t have water mains at that time nor did it have sewerage. Most homes or apartment buildings, for that matter, had only wells for water and septic tanks for sewage.

The news of fire had a wider circulation than anticipated and this tragedy touched the whole nation. Eventually, the heir to the throne of Franz-Josef, that is King Carl the IVth, together with Queen Zita, came to visit; this Royal visit made a lasting impression. I saw a contemporary photo showing the royal couple waving to the bystanders from their elaborate open carriage drawn by four horses. The entourage was elegant and the procession moved slowly, with the town dignitaries walking behind, while my father was leading ahead.

It took years to rebuild the town and of course, in the meantime, the war ended. For Hungary it ended in the biggest disaster. The Treaty of Versailles and that of Trianon forced the country to relinquish some 70 percent of her territory, which had been hers for several centuries. These treaties forced thousands of the Hungarian population to seek a new life, a new accommodation inside the diminished territory, while those who remained and stayed behind became outcasts in their own land. They were compelled to learn a new language and obey new rules under new rulers who proved rather unsympathetic toward the Hungarians. Fortunately, our family was not affected.

The shot that was fired in 1775 at Concord sounded around the world and started a new nation: the USA. The bullet that was fired from the gun of Princip in Sarajevo, killing Archduke Ferdinand and his wife, started a war that changed the whole world one way or another. The Austro-Hungarian Monarchy was over and the last King of the Hapsburg Dynasty, Carl, had to abandon his throne. The economic stability, which was safe and sound for almost 50 years was mortally wounded. Neighboring countries, formerly friendly, became enemies. Animosity replaced conviviality and the frontiers between nations became harder to cross. It was at time that I entered High School.

Chapter II

THE HIGH SCHOOL DAYS

Entering High School was one thing, coping was another. There was a definite change from elementary to high school. In elementary school, I attended four years between ages 7 and 10 (inclusive), I had only one teacher, Mr. Imrefy, who taught all the subjects, simply listed as the three R-s: reading, riting and rithmetic. He was kind and efficient, and somehow I managed to get through with good grades.As a teacher in charge of some 30 kids, he created a positive atmosphere. He took no nonsense and proved it with his cane which he also used as a walking stick. By positive, I mean a teacher who recognized merit when merit was due. In short: I was happy in my elementary school days and I look back upon them with fondness.

High school was something different. It proved a step higher upon the education ladder, with the height of the first step being beyond my expectations and ability. The transition proved brutal. The different subjects were taught by different teachers, with different looks, different personalities, different likes and dislikes, and different teaching ability. Having been a teacher myself I reckon that one of the greatest difficulty one experiences is to keep favoritism on ice, remain neutral and without prejudice. And that in a feudal society was out of question. This, I found, was hard to swallow, but there was no alternative. Feudalism in Hungary was firmly rooted over ten centuries and only a major disaster would be capable to change it. It did change, as a matter fact, after the second world war ended.

Briefly, under the feudal system the aristocracy had a major influence on economics, government, warfare and so forth, and in general, on everyday life. The ranks from the highest archduke, down to the lowest peasants had numerous layers of class, each carrying a distinction: nobility for the upper class and when a nobleman’s offspring went to school, it made a difference. The estates of some noble person were enormous and employed hundreds of laborers who were more than employed: they were owned as well. While the landlords owned everything these laborers, the serfs, owned nothing. It would be quite elaborate trying to explain what it meant to be a Count as compared to a Baron or to elaborate on the distinction between a baron and person with the VON title. But I would like to mention two effects that disturbed me more than others did. One was voting at elections. The voting in those days was open and the gendarmes were there to tell whom to favor when casting the ballot. It was verbal and it also carried a threat, Vote for the Government … or else. The other was oral examinations which was wide open for abuse.

To enter high school also meant to step down from the celebrated fourth class of the elementary school and start fresh at the bottom rung of an eight years long schooling entitled high school education which ended with the much dreaded certificate of final examination in secondary school also known as the leaving certificate. This certificate was also called in Europe by a Latin name Matura, which was meant to signify that having passed this exams, one was ripe to enter life and look for a job or apply for entrance to a University.

How mature were we at this stage? What results will the fruits of our eight years study bring with our knowledge in Math, Physics, Literature, History and Latin? Did matura actually mean: preparedness for life with all its intricacies, demands, tricks, twists and turns and all the responsibilities for our actions? Maybe we thought so. But real life proved otherwise.

I wasn’t coping well with the amount of subject material at the beginning and needed to have a tutor. That wasn’t the only thing I needed; a room of my own was vital. That, however, I didn’t have. What I had was a shared room where breakfast, lunch and dinner were served every day on a table in the center of the room, leaving a little study desk and a bed for my use in a corner.It beats me, how this arrangement was applied for a family of three (I was the only kid), when there was ample room around otherwise? There was an unused guest room for sure, it was seldom used! To make matters worse, there were three entrances to my room: a door to the adjoining bath room, one to the kitchen and one to the main bedroom. My room was a passage way allowing for little privacy.

My parents must have looked upon me as an amusing little toy to play with. But did they play with that toy. In my early years play was delegated to my Austrian frauleins who stayed with me all day, went with me for walks, fed and cleaned me. Bit by bit I learned to speak German, which later in my life proved invaluable. I think that the native language came later. Relieved from parental duty, my parents saw me at meals and our conversations remained limited. After dinner, they played cards which they carried on downstairs in a cafeteria conveniently located precisely under our apartment. They met friends there and sometimes listened to live music usually performed by a gypsy band with reasonably well experienced players.