Journey Of Hope

By peter christopher

A True Story about walking to freedom, join Jeno and William as they take on escaping from Hungary in 1956 as the Russians invade, travel with them through europe until they reach england 

• Language: English
• Publisher: peter christopher
• Release date: May 10, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224134762

Book preview

Chapter 1 The Escape.

The chill of late October 1956  wind clawed at Jeno's exposed neck, a stark contrast to the heat that still simmered in his blood. Budapest, once a city vibrant with defiance, was now a bruised and whimpering beast. The echoes of the revolution, crushed by Soviet tanks a month prior, lingered in the air, heavy with the scent of gunpowder and despair.

Jeno wasn't built for despair. A wiry young man with eyes the color of the Danube in summer, he'd been a firebrand amongst the student protestors. Now, with a hastily packed knapsack slung over his shoulder and a price on his head, he was a fugitive. The border with Austria, a mere fifty kilometers away, beckoned like a shimmering mirage.

He navigated the city by back alleys and deserted squares, the weight of his stolen university ID a constant reminder of the life he'd left behind. Every rustle of leaves, every distant shout, sent a jolt of adrenaline through him. He wasn't alone in his flight. Hungary was hemorrhaging its youth, a desperate exodus towards a future uncertain but free.

Reaching the outskirts, Jeno found a ramshackle farmhouse shrouded in pre-dawn mist. A gruff old farmer, his face etched with worry lines deeper than any furrow, listened to Jeno's plea with a wary silence. Finally, with a curt nod and a muttered curse about the damn Commies, the farmer ushered him into a hidden cellar, the musty air thick with the smell of potatoes and fear.

As the sun bled crimson over the horizon, Jeno huddled in the darkness, the echo of his frantic heartbeat a drum against his ribs.  He was a lone pebble on the shore, dislodged by a storm, about to be cast into the unknown. But even a pebble, tossed with enough force, can create a ripple.  This was Jeno's only comfort, a flicker of defiance in the suffocating dark.

The rumble started low, a tremor in the earth Jeno felt more than heard. It grew steadily, a monstrous growl that sent shivers down his spine. He didn't need to look out his window to know what it was. The unmistakable silhouette of Soviet tanks lumbered down the broad avenue, their turrets glinting ominously in the dying light. Budapest, his Budapest, was being choked by a metal serpent.

Jeno slammed his fist on the rickety table, a surge of anger warring with a cold knot of fear in his gut. Just that morning, whispers had flitted through the university like nervous sparrows – the Russians were coming. Now, seeing it with his own eyes, the enormity of it all threatened to drown him.

He was 21, barely a man, but the world felt like it was crumbling around him. Dreams of becoming a writer, of weaving stories with his words, seemed ludicrous amidst the clatter of tank treads.  This wasn't the future he'd envisioned. This was a future painted in shades of grey, one where freedom was a luxury he couldn't afford.

A pang of guilt lanced through him. His parents, their faces etched with worry lines deeper than his own, would be heartbroken. But staying meant risking their safety too. This brutal truth hammered a decision into his chest – he had to leave. Alone. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but the thought of a life where his voice could be silenced was unbearable.

He glanced at the worn knapsack lying by his bed, already half-packed with essentials and a few dog-eared notebooks filled with his stories. They were a symbol of the life he was leaving behind, but also a spark of hope for the one he was about to build. He stuffed a crumpled photograph of his parents on top – a silent promise to carry their love with him wherever he went.

Tonight, under the cloak of darkness, Jeno would become a ghost, slipping away from his beloved Hungary. The journey stretched before him, an uncertain path towards a new beginning. But one thing was clear – he wouldn't let the weight of his loneliness break him. He would write his own future, a story of resilience etched not in words on paper, but in the very act of defying his circumstances.

The rumble of the tanks was a constant lullaby now, a grim reminder of the iron fist that had clamped down on Hungary. Jeno, his youthful defiance hardening into a steely resolve, knew escape was his only option. He couldn't be another brick in the wall the Soviets were building. He had to become the pebble that slipped through the cracks, a small act of rebellion with the potential to cause a ripple effect.

News of the exodus had spread like wildfire. Tens of thousands of Hungarians, their faces etched with a mixture of fear and hope, were streaming towards the Austrian border. Jeno, alone in his decision but far from alone in his yearning for freedom, packed his meager belongings. He wasn't naive. He knew the journey wouldn't be a walk in the park.

Under the cloak of a starless night, he joined the silent throng. They moved like a herd of sheep under the cover of darkness, a human stampede driven by a desperate need for a better life. The path they followed wasn't marked on any map, a secret trail whispered from one refugee to another. It snaked through deserted fields, skirted watchful guard towers, and crossed icy streams that glinted faintly under the sliver moon.

Jeno felt a strange sense of camaraderie with his fellow countrymen, even though they walked in hushed silence, their gazes fixed on the distant horizon. They were strangers united by a shared dream – a dream of a life without oppression, a life where their voices could rise above the rumble of tanks.

He clutched the worn knapsack closer, the weight of his stolen ID and his precious notebooks a physical manifestation of the life he was leaving behind. Yet, with each step he took towards Austria, a flicker of hope ignited within him. He was a lone ember escaping the dying embers of his homeland, carrying the faint spark of his dreams to ignite a new fire elsewhere. The road ahead was fraught with danger, but Jeno, the once passionate student, was now a resolute fugitive, determined to write a new chapter in his life, a chapter titled freedom.

The hushed murmur ahead turned into a panicked scramble. A spotlight, sharp and accusatory, sliced through the darkness, illuminating a group of refugees huddled by a crumbling barn. Jeno's stomach lurched. The game was up. The whispers he'd overheard about increased border patrols were true. Panic, a cold serpent, coiled around his heart.

He watched, his breath catching in his throat, as the spotlight danced across fearful faces. Shouts, barked in broken Hungarian by Russian soldiers, ripped through the night. The line of refugees began to waver, some turning back towards the safety of the shadows, others pushing forward with a desperate surge. Jeno knew turning back wasn't an option. He'd come too far, sacrificed too much. But with stolen papers in his pocket, the soldiers' scrutiny would be a death sentence.  Fear threatened to paralyze him, but a surge of defiance, the same fire that had ignited the revolution, pulsed through him. He wouldn't be another statistic, another name on a list of failed escapees. He darted his eyes around, searching for an escape route. The darkness offered scant comfort. The field behind them stretched out, seemingly endless, under the watchful gaze of the unforgiving moon.  Then, he saw it – a dip in the landscape, a shadowy crease that might offer a sliver of concealment.

A split-second decision.  Jeno unbuckled his knapsack, shoving it into a nearby thicket. It held his past, his stories, but right now, survival was paramount.  With a silent prayer whispered to the indifferent sky, he took a deep breath and sprinted towards the dip, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs.  He reached the shallow trench, diving in just as a harsh shout pierced the night.  He pressed himself flat against the cold earth, adrenaline turning his blood to ice. He could hear the crunch of boots on dry leaves, the excited chatter of the soldiers as they rounded up the refugees.  Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig sounded like a thunderclap to Jeno's ears.  Would they see him? Would they find him?  The weight of the stolen papers pressed against his chest, a constant reminder of the precariousness of his situation.  This was it. This was his moment of truth.  He had to hold his breath, blend into the darkness, and pray that freedom, for just a little while longer, wouldn't abandon him. Relief, a sweet and unfamiliar sensation, flooded Jeno as the sounds of the soldiers faded away. He lay there, shivering despite the damp earth beneath him, until the frantic pounding of his heart subsided to a dull thrum. He had cheated fate, for now.

Slowly, he pushed himself out of the shallow trench, his muscles screaming in protest from the cramped position. He scanned the field, his eyes adjusting to the faint moonlight. The refugees were gone, herded like sheep towards an unknown fate.  A pang of guilt stabbed at him, but it was quickly replaced by a fierce determination to reach Austria.

Then, a movement in the distance caught his eye. A figure, hunched low, emerged from the same shadowy crease he had used.  Jeno's breath caught in his throat.  Was it another soldier?  He tensed, ready to bolt, when a familiar voice, barely a whisper, shattered the silence.

Jeno? Is that you?

The voice, laced with fear and relief, sent a jolt through him. It was William! His childhood friend, the one who had always been by his side during their schoolyard adventures.  Jeno let out a shaky breath of relief.

William! Thank God it's you.  He scrambled towards his friend, both of them diving into a crouch at the base of a crumbling stone wall.

What are you doing here? Jeno hissed, his voice barely above a whisper.  I thought you were leaving with your family.

William shook his head, his face pale in the moonlight. They wouldn't take me. Said I was too young. I snuck out after they left.  He glanced nervously towards the direction the soldiers had gone. Did they... did they catch everyone?

Jeno didn't answer. He simply squeezed William's shoulder in a silent display of empathy.  The fading light was their only solace now. The approaching darkness offered a cloak of invisibility, a temporary reprieve from the relentless search.

They huddled together in the dilapidated shack, the silence broken only by the rasp of their ragged breaths and the distant barking of a guard dog. Fear hung heavy in the air, but a spark of hope flickered between them. They were no longer alone. Together, they might just have a fighting chance of reaching the border and escaping the clutches of their oppressors. The weight of the stolen papers seemed a little lighter now, shared with a friend.  As the last vestiges of light bled from the sky, Jeno knew their ordeal was far from over. But with William by his side, he was ready to face whatever came next. They would navigate this darkness together, two friends clinging to a single, desperate dream - the dream of freedom.

Jeno strained his ears, the silence outside heavy with tension.  A muffled exchange of voices, punctuated by the rhythmic crunch of boots on gravel, finally gave way to the fading rumble of a truck engine. Relief washed over him, a wave so powerful it almost knocked him off balance. The soldiers were gone.

He nudged William, his eyes gleaming with a desperate kind of hope. They're leaving. Now's our chance.

William's face, pale and drawn in the dim light, crumpled in worry. Austria? Jeno, that's 260 miles away. It's a long walk, even for the strongest men. What about food and water?

Jeno knew the fear gnawing at his friend. It mirrored the cold knot in his own gut.  We'll have to find some along the way, he said, his voice firmer than he felt. Maybe at farms or abandoned houses.  What other choice do we have?

He rose to his feet, a newfound resolve stiffening his spine.  The rickety shack, their temporary haven, now felt like a cage.  They couldn't stay here, not with the taste of freedom so tantalizingly close.

Come on, he said, extending a hand to William.  The Russians are gone. Let's go.

Stepping out of the shack, they were greeted by a sky ablaze with stars, a stark contrast to the oppressive darkness they'd endured. The air, crisp and cool, carried the faint scent of pine and damp earth.  Jeno took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the sweet promise of liberty.

Ahead of them stretched a path veiled in uncertainty, a path that snaked for 260 miles towards the distant border. They had no provisions, no map, and only the slimmest hope of finding sustenance along the way.  But for the first time in weeks, Jeno didn't feel alone. He had William by his side, and a flicker of defiance, a spark as bright as the stars above, burning in his heart.  Together, they would walk towards a new dawn, one step at a time.

William's voice, a thread of worry laced with a sliver of hope, cut through the starlit silence. Tatabánya, he murmured, the name of the city a distant beacon in the vast unknown. If we can make it there by tomorrow night, that's 50 miles. We'll have to find some food and water. We can't go on empty stomachs.

Jeno nodded, the enormity of their task settling heavily on him. Fifty miles. It wasn't an insurmountable distance, not yet. But it was a significant first hurdle, a test of their endurance and resourcefulness.  His gaze swept across the deserted field before them, searching for any sign of a farmhouse, a barn, anything that might offer a glimmer of hope.

We'll find something, he said, his voice more for his own benefit than William's.  "There has to