PASSENGERS IN A BLIND ALLEY – SUFFERERS FOREVER

PASSENGERS IN A BLIND ALLEY – SUFFERERS FOREVER

Most of the hundreds of “mothers” who left their homeland in Aegean (Greek occupied) Macedonia, in that great uncertainty in order to lead and care for the vast columns of refugee children wherever they were sent, remained with the children. Among them was “mother” Stoia Iankovska whose memories of her experience still live on and circulate and so do the footprints of the children she

led from the start of the long trek to the end. When she speaks about her ordeal she calls the road taken “the road soaked in children’s tears”; a trek stretching from Rudari, her native village, all the way to Bela Tsrkva. Every time she speaks about it she re-lives not only her personal ordeal but also those of the countless others who bear the same scars...

“In the dark of night, just before dawn on March 24, 1948, hundreds of mother emptied their nests; nests which will forever remain empty and cold. They cast off their chicks prematurely, untrained, unprepared… The children left their dear mothers... their homeland… their grandmotherly care… and became dirt and human bitterness, witnesses to a dirty conscience, travelers in a wasteland, suffering for generations…” That’s what Stoia Iankulovska from the village Rudari, one of these “mothers” who accompanied the children, said and continued: “The young children were gathered together in the Rudari village square, very early in the morning… then they were separated from their mothers... it was a day I regret witnessing… I wish I had never seen what I saw… children torn away from their mothers… mothers who could not say goodbye to their children… Oh! Is there anything wilder and more painful than that… than the maternal pain of her child being taken away from her...

Risto, Lena, Hrisula, Sandra, Goche, Kosta ... hundreds and hundreds of children, beautiful little children from Rudari, Zhelevo, German, Shtrkovo, L’k, D’mbeni, Medovo, Rabi… More than five hundred left their villages that early morning and took to the road… a road without a destination...

The reason given for evacuating over 500 children (in the first group) from several villages in Prespa was to remove them from daily shelling of the schools and other facilities in the area. Towards the end of April (February?) or perhaps the first days of March 1948, I can’t remember exactly when, the largest school and biggest building in the village German was leveled to the ground. Immediately after that several meetings were held during which the Secretariat of the Youth organization, as mandated by the interim national councils and DAG, began preparations for the evacuation…” said “mother” Stoia Iankovska.

“When the lists of children ages 1 to 10 were compiled and when, with every passing moment, there was looming danger from the Monarcho-Fascists re-occupying the free territories in Prespa, we had to act very quickly. The evacuation day, the black day chosen, was March 24, 1948. The drama of separation began in the evening. In Rudari, my village, we gathered about 100 children and divided them into four groups of 25. I was responsible for one of those groups. My two youngest brothers Vasil and Goche were among the children. We loaded them on an oxcart and we left...

While leaving many mothers ran behind us giving us their last messages... ‘Sandra, remember your mother...’ one of them kept yelling. ‘Hrisula, my dear daughter, don’t cry… you will be coming back soon…’ a mother cried out. ‘Kosta, be careful, son...’ yelled another.

How can I describe Lena to you? She was a tiny little child, barely three years old. She was terrified and cried a lot. How can I describe Tashko, Risto, Sotir, Vangelia... I was heart-broken and I weep thinking about them. The other “mothers’ tried to give me courage saying: ‘Stoia, you should not be crying, you are a soldier, a partisan, you must be brave...’ But still, no matter how hard I tried, I could not hold back my tears. I took my separation from my father very hard. I was ill for a long time. Later I found out he was wounded at the front. He suffered for several years and died in Poland in 1952. My mother and sister, who remained in Rudari, also suffered greatly from his suffering and passing.

We arrived in German in the morning of March 25th and left for Bela Tsrkva after crossing the Yugoslav-Greek border. Before crossing the border we met up with other groups of children from German, Medovo, Rabi, Strkovo... with whom we hid all day from the airplanes. Here too we caught up with our guides Stoio Gelin, Sondra Popova and Lazo Angelovski. They brought us bread and cheese and a final goodbye from the children’s mothers.

In the evening when there were no black birds (airplanes) in the sky, which searched for us all day long unsuccessfully, we left for the border on the path to freedom! We arrived on a large plain where we

took a long rest. We gathered the children together. Many fell asleep. We covered them with whatever we had; rags, leaves, branches... Then some of the adults leading the groups, including myself, went to look for the guards who were going to escort us over the border...

Our hearts were pounding. We were anxious and afraid of running into the wrong guards… Minutes seemed like hours… Then finally we ran into them. They wore uniforms with the five pointed red star symbol, which reminded me of fresh blood… But it was good to see them and we were happy had we run into them instead of the wrong guards. Then in a moment of tense anticipation and in complete silence one of them yelled out, ‘Hands in the air!’ in a stern voice.

We were surprised and startled… but when we saw the olive blue uniforms we were relieved… but disappointed. When we explained to the guards that we were here leading a large group of children who needed to cross the border into Yugoslavia, one of then said: ‘We have no orders to allow such a crossing.’ The situation soon became even more painful for us. We were completely confused and didn’t know how to react, what to do or what to say, especially in the name of those five hundred little souls and martyrs… Should we cry… pray… yell…?” asked Stoia Iankovska.

“The border guards, who minutes ago we had seen as our sole saviours, did not seem to be confused. They told us to go back to the children and explained to us what paths to take along the border that would lead us to the village Dolno Dupeni. They also told us to make sure no one saw us. Happy and full of courage we took their advice and returned to the children. On our way to freedom we first climbed over a hill, we then went through a grove and as we got closer to Dolno Dupeni we realized that we had crossed the border and were finally walking on free territory. We were finally rescued... Both we the adults and the childen were jumping with joy, kissing the ground, kissing the stones, the grass, the trees and everything around us...

Here we felt like we were at home, we were greeted by the entire village without exception, and among the people here we found some of our relatives. They cried as they greeted us all, one by one,

hugging and kissing us and the children. Each wanted to take as many children as they could to accommodate them in their homes; to warm them, feed them and give them a bed to sleep in. There were comrades from the National Liberation boards and from AFZH who organized our reception and accommodations.

The morning of March 26, 1948 was our first morning of freedom away from the ominous iron birds. That morning the column of over 500 children made its way to the nearby village Liuboino. Here too we were warmly welcomed by the people, among whom we found friends and relatives. Here too the National Liberation Board and the Antifascist Front for women provided us with a warm meal and accommodations in people’s homes.

This was probably the first warm and hearty meal we had had in months. It was impossible at home to stand still… even for a moment, without that terrible sound of planes hovering above, looking for signs of life to destroy. We were always on the run… we had no time to light a fire, never mind cook a meal. Most of the children were rested by now and from time to time we heard their little voices calling each other by name or singing a partisan song. We lovingly taught them these songs in our schools. But there was still this uncertainty, which drowned our feelings, hovering over us like a dark cloud before a storm. Our momentary joy was being sapped deep inside our souls. We didn’t know what was happening at home on the other side of the hill, over the border, if there were bombs still falling on the heads of our loved ones and if they were already dead... And yet, each in themselves secretly wished and believed that everything was going to be okay and everyone would be alive and healthy... and exactly at those moments we broke into tears. We acted very strange… a momentary joy followed by tears… we were an army of tiny sufferers…

Next we went to Bitola and from there to Prilep, to a village called Brailovo, where we remained for two days. Here new groups of children were established. I was given 54 children to look after. From here we were sent to Skopje. It was a long trip during which I had a lot of time to think about the uncertainty that lay before us. How will they treat us in Bela Tsrkva? This was one of my concerns. What kind of people were they? What kind of life and

conditions did they live in? This was my first time out of my home and I didn’t know what to expect. I had a very difficult task before me and a huge responsibility; practically being a “mother” to 54 children ages 3 to 11.

It was a nice and warm day when we arrived in Skopje. The children from Aegean (Greek occupied) Macedonia were welcomed with a heartfelt welcome on the railway platform. The children were allowed to get off the train for a short break before they boarded again. During this time they were welcomed by the ‘aunts’ in white uniforms from the Red Cross and AFZH. They gave the children sweets which they had never had before.

What a joy that was! My little children did not know what they were given. The candy was wrapped in paper, something they had never seen before...!

We again were packed on the train and, after many long hours, went through Nish to Belgrade. We were again welcomed warmly at the Belgrade railway station. Here the children stayed close to me, hanging onto each other all around me.

The people from the Red Cross bathed my children, fed them and gave them new outfits. We spent the night resting and sleeping and the next morning we were loaded onto trucks. They welcomed us in Bela Tsrkva with wide open arms. It was April 3, 1948. I will remember that day as long as I live. From that day on Bela Tsrkva became our second home.

Bela Tsrkva was a tame town on the river Nera near the Yugoslav-Romanian border. The people too were tame and good and did everything for the children to make them feel welcome and at home. They aways smiled. Here life was genuine and flowed comfortably for them. It was a carefree life, free from fear and suffering.

We were settled in the house of health. There were 100 children from Zhelevo, looked after by Tena Bundeva. There were 50 children from Trnaa and 50 from Oshchima. The pavilions were very clean. I worked in the first pavilion with 46 children.

The work we did was difficult but we enjoyed looking after and teaching our children because we loved them and cared for them a lot.

A typical day in Bela Tsrkva began with waking the children with a kiss, fixing their beds, doing compulsory gymnastics and then breakfast. We took them to school and brought them back. We then gave them lunch and took them for a walk. They rested in the afternoon and had their dinner at 19:00 hours. After dinner we did free activities including reading books in the Macedonian language.

Teaching was difficult. We had no experience. We had no professional teachers. I taught fourth grade.

The situation had forced us, the teachers from Bela Tsrkva, to take teaching courses in Tulgesh, Romania.

In August 1948 my colleagues and I were sent to take a teaching course taught by Macedonians. It was easier for us when we came back to Bela Tsrkva because we now had some basic training. Then during the academic year 1948-49 we got our first professional teachers. They came from Skopje. Our first director was Kosta Markovski. His wife Marika was also a teacher.

But despite the excellent living conditions, despite the outpouring of care they received, the children kept asking for their mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters… sometimes tearfully pleading with us to take them to see their families.

We looked for their parents all the time, through embassies and consular offices and through the Red Cross. We constantly asked people from their villages when we met up with them… we sent letters back home… and often we received positive responses. After making contact we then helped the children correspond with their relatives; mother, father, sister, brother. The children enthusiastically practiced writing warm and loving letters. After that, whenever possible, we arranged for the children to meet with their relatives. These were moments of joy and tears…” said “mother” Stoia Iankovska.

The children in Bela Tsrkva attended school up to grade 8. After that they were sent to Skopje, Bitola, or Kavadartsi to further their education. They were taught by volunteer teachers who were not paid for their work. Everything was done voluntarily. About this “mother” Stoia said:

“In the ten years of my stay in Bela Tsrkva, from 1948 to August 1958, when the home was closed down, we developed a rich, elegant, highly cultural, artistic and sporting life. We had a ballet, musical, literary and string orchestra section. We went to Skopje in 1950 and put on two performances, one in the Officer’s house and the other in the old theater. To this day I can not forget the spontaneous, long applause we received from the massive audience. The people applauded straight from their heart and soul.

I must admit, our children were good at what they were doing. They were good gymnasts and great football and handball players.

All separations were sad. This is how it was for us in August 1958, when the home in Bela Tsrkva was closed down. But for me those ten years were a dream. All those children who were at the home, I had them as my own. I constantly gave them motherly love and they returned the favour with so much more love and warmth. When the home was closed down I and some others moved to Kalugierstvo, 10 km from Bela Tsrkva. We stayed there for about 4 years. In 1962 I went to Skopje and stayed there,” concluded “mother” Stoia Iankovska.