For the Love of Freedom: The Beginning of Marika's Journey

By A.K. Parragh

For the Love of Freedom is a 2-volume set based on the life of Maria Parragh (née Ambrus), a lady born in 1935 in Redics, Hungary. After losing her mother when she was only 18 months old, Maria learned to grow up quickly. Her journey takes you through the Nazi years and Hungary's occupation by the Soviet Union in 1956.

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Rushmore Press LLC
• Release date: Jun 28, 2022
• ISBN: 9781957943688

Book preview

ISBN 978-1-957943-66-4 (paperback)

ISBN 978-1-957943-67-1 (hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-957943-68-8 (digital)

Copyright © 2022 by A.K. Parragh

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Rushmore Press LLC

1 800 460 9188

www.rushmorepress.com

Printed in the United States of America

Dedication

To My Dear Mother

Maria Parragh (née Ambrus)

with all my love

To My Son, Micheal

and

To My One and Only Grandson, Jaxon

May the two of you grow together

with a bond that will never break

Table of Contents

Foreword

Chapter One: Who is Marika . . .?

Photographs

FOREWORD

To my readers,

I thought I’d open my story by introducing myself. I am the Author of this true story. I am the daughter in this tale of a woman who wanted one thing – that was to be free. Free to live a life in freedom and peace. She wanted her children to have all the opportunities that a democratic world could offer them. So, I wanted to share most of my secrets about a life of my dearest mother, Maria Parragh (née Ambrus).

I chose to write her story as if you have invited me into your home for coffee, one sunny afternoon. My story is unedited, in hopes that my words will touch your heart, and make you feel the things I felt. The things I saw that I will never forget. I wrote this book as I lived each page. I want you to know me as the daughter of a most amazing woman I have ever known. I wanted to share her story so my Mom would be honored for all eternity. He story is a special tale of a woman’s love to be FREE. Her story began only to have a life of freedom. She did everything imaginable to obtain her goal. I titled my book for that love of freedom. "For the Love of Freedom" is inspiring, tragic, abusive and shattered.

A woman who found her freedom was not as great to her as she thought. I hope her strength and courage inspire others to follow your dreams no matter what the outcome. I hope you find strength and love in your own lives, as this story will touch the core of you.

I dedicate this book to my dear Mother: Maria Parragh (née Ambrus). May you know that I have fulfilled my promise to you, of writing your story. May you be able to finally find Peace, at God’s side for all eternity.

I love you forever. I am the daughter who held you, as you took your last breath. Your story, dear Mother, will be a story that will live forever.

Your loving and grateful daughter, Anita

CHAPTER ONE

Who is Marika . . .?

I am my mother’s daughter. I was born on April 1, 1960. Great start right? Born on April Fool’s Day? I was born in a town called Drayton Valley, Alberta, in Canada. My parents were both immigrants who escaped Hungary in 1956 during the Soviet Occupation. So this is Mom’s story, told to me and witnessed by me. All of my words are truth as I remembered it to be.

My father was born on April 11, 1931, in a city called Györ, in Hungary. I know that his parents were farmers, and they had 11 children. I’m not sure where father fit in, but there was a lot of mouths to feed. My grandfather, on Dad’s side, was named, Istvan Parragh Sr. [1, 2] He was a very tall man standing 7’2" inches tall. My paternal grandpa was blind since the age of six years old. He had an accident one Sunday summer’s day, when he accidentally snagged the tablecloth to the dinner table and a pot of boiling hot chicken soup fell on his head and burned out his eyes and face. I knew that, in spite of his blindness, he was a positive influence to draw upon. Grandpa played the violin. Dad used to speak of how people would be drawn to tears when he played.

My paternal grandma was a small lady, standing only 4’9" tall. Mom referred to her as appearing like a small little doll. Her name I do not know, my memories are but tales and stories of those grandparents. I never met them, never spoke to them. And father spoke rarely of them. It was not allowed. Only conversation of them was when a letter would come from them. But even those letters were edited with blacked out sentences of statements he wasn’t allowed to make. So even communication was limited and strange to understand.

My father’s stories included drinking at the age of eight years old, smoking at 12 years old. He hated school and was somewhat of a problem child. He seldom worked in Hungary, so he was kind of a loafer, just living a hang-around life. I know at 17 years (1948) he joined the Army in Hungary, as each citizen of age was required to serve two years in the Hungarian Army. Germany, in 1948, was one of Hungary’s allies in order to try to prevent the Soviet occupation. [3] Sadly, history shows that their efforts failed, and the occupation took place anyhow. At the time the Soviets were invading all the countries across Eastern Europe. Father never spoke much of the Army, other than father had shot a Lieutenant in the Soviet Army, at 17 years old. It always puzzled me that he never spoke of this time. I can say that after 50 years of my life, I got to understand my Dad, and why he did what he did to us. I never knew of anyone else of his family, my paternal aunts and uncles. I do know as fact that father was married at 17 and fathered a daughter. And he had a previous relationship that did result in a son. In 1956, my father left his wife and daughter behind as he escaped the country to the freedom he was offered, to make his way to Canada. I’ll tell you all about that later.

My dear mother, on the other hand, was raised in a family that was a world of difference from father’s life. Even my grandparents were different. They were people of respect, honor and the upper class of society.

My maternal grandmother was named Maria Katalin Tuśke. She was said to have been from a well-to-do family of the time. To my knowledge, all I know of my Great-Grandmother is that she came from Argentina.

My grandparents married in 1932 – he was 22 and she was 20. My grandpa really loved his wife. He cherished her and the two of them awaited their first child. [4, 5, 6, 7] On February 14, 1935, my mother was born, and Marika Ambrus was her name. They were so happy they had a child, although later I found out Grandpa wanted a son. But he loved his daughter. All was happy. The two of them worked hard and were raising my Mom. Then, 18 months later, my Grandma became ill. She passed from pneumonia brought on by tuberculosis (TB). My Mom was just 18 months old and had lost her mother. Mom remembered that time, she never forgot it. She explained to me how a room was prepared in the house to lay her body in. This was so that those who mourned her could say Good-bye. Mom told me that the room was cold. It had a table in the middle of the room. The table was covered in lace. On the table they placed my grandma. She was washed and cleaned, and she was dressed in her wedding gown and laid on to the table. Candles were lit and as her friends and the rest of the family came over, each was given time alone with Mom. Mom recalled that Grandpa used to cry a lot for her.

After the period of mourning, my grandma was placed in an adorned casket and she was put on a horse-drawn cart. Her loved ones surrounded the casket with flowers. Then Grandpa and Mom began to follow the cart through the streets, followed by a procession of people. Once they reached the cemetery, the services began, and she was taken from the cart and placed into the ground. After the service, they covered her grave. [8]

Grandpa and Mom headed back to the vineyard to face a world without a wife, mother or lover. Grandpa was very sad.

A few years passed and Grandpa would remarry. [9] Mom had a step-mom and soon after she had a half-sister. Those two girls would be the only children they ever had. [10]. Mom loved her half-sister. Her name was Margete Ambrus. [11]

Soon the two girls grew. They attended school together. Mom was the tomboy type, who hung around with the boys. On the other hand, her sister was the exact opposite. She was the girly girl – pretty dresses, perfect hair, good in school. They were sisters in every sense. They had their good days and their bad days. Mom told me tales of pulling her sister’s hair across the yard. Or tales, as a teenager, when she would skip school and attend any funeral that was happening at the time. She told me she would cry and cry in the service. Afterwards it was customary to feed those people who attended the service (much like now), but with the whole community supplying the food and wine.

Mom got away with so many bad things she did or tricks that she played. She fear no one. How could it be so, you might ask. Well, my paternal uncles and aunts were the Principal of the school, one uncle was the Mayor and of the other uncles one was a butcher and the other an architect. [12, 13, 14] I understand that I have a Great-Great Aunt who became a Mother Superior of the convent (see little girl on the Wedding photograph, #4).

All of my aunts and uncles were married. Sadly, not one child was ever born to any of them. Seems Mom was the only child they adored. [15, 16, 17, 18] She was their only heir. That’s when grandfather arranged a marriage for my Mom. This is the same marriage where she left her husband-to-be at the altar and took off. Now, she had to go home to face her Dad, my grandfather.

I knew Grandfather as being a very strict man. He stood 5’8", had jet black hair and brown eyes. Everyone knew him by the Hitler moustache that he wore, and by the great wine he made.

As soon as Mom opened the door to the brick house they lived in, the anger and yelling began. Mom stood in silence and let Grandpa chew her out. She was grounded. Could not leave the yard but for school. Her schoolwork had to be straight A’s so to speak. There was no more freedoms. Mom took her punishment. But it was not quite over with. A week after Mom fled the wedding, they received an order to appear in court, as the almost-husband was now suing Mom and Grandpa for all the expenses due to the wedding, including the dress and veil. Grandpa wanted nothing to do with it at all and told my mother to take care of it and fix what she had messed up.

So she did. She went to the court to tell her side of the story. The end result was that Mom had to take the veil back and receive the refund for it. Mom handed her veil to her Intended and told him to take it back himself. Funny thing was, the store that sold Mom the veil was also a relative of some sort, so Mom asked her to Never take back the veil. And so it ended that the Intended went to my Grandpa to get the money for this veil. He told Grandpa that the store would not accept it back and what is he to do with it? Mom piped up and told him to put it on and wear it on windy days. He stormed out of the house, got in his cart and raced away, leaving a dust cloud to engulf my Mom and Grandpa. That man never, ever returned to their house again. Mom was happy that it was over, and she didn’t have to marry that guy.

As the months passed Mom (Marika) was now nearing legal age, 18. She continued to help Grandpa with the vineyard each day. She maintained the house with her step-mother and half-sister, who was more interested in fashion and make-up.

One dreadful day my Aunt Margete (Mom’s half-sister) was sitting at the dinner table waiting for the rest of the family to arrive when, suddenly, she snagged the lace tablecloth and the kerosene lamp fell over and splashed h er with the kerosene. In an instant, Margete was on fire. Grandma grabbed her and pushed her to the floor and jumped on her with a coat she had grabbed off the hook by the door and smothered out the flames. The house was filled with smoke and screams. Mom said it was the worst sound she had ever heard in her life.

Grandma slowly removed the coat and she near fainted at what she saw of her daughter. Her beautiful baby girl. She slowly moved closer. Margete was unconscious. The damage was devastating. Margete had burned off three-quarters of her