Cannons and Flowers: The Memoirs of Georges Cziffra by unknow

Author:unknow
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Music
ISBN: 9781870295055
Google: L0n4NwAACAAJ
Amazon: 1870295056
Goodreads: 6834755
Publisher: APR
Published: 1996-01-02T05:00:00+00:00

HUNGARIAN RHAPSODY: A FAILURE

Early one morning, a warm, caressing breeze swept away the cold which had been biting into us for so long. Spring sunshine! The morale of the whole unit was high. It warmed our hearts and bodies, which wanted nothing better than to forget the bitter cold winter.

Full instructions as to our new duties had been received some time before. Everyone did his best to respect them, following them blindly, and soon we were all working as one, with the reflexes of a professional army.

While waiting for the promised new tanks, I was put in charge of the physical training of a unit of young recruits. The Company was installed in a school which did not have a playground large enough for our frolics so to trot six miles, there and back, to a meadow large enough for a biggish herd of cattle, which had already been scythed by the old peasants from the nearby village. The terrain was just right for us and we went there daily, except on Sundays. I could have taken things easy but the young chaps were not any more enthusiastic about training than I had been, so that I had to give the lead throughout the sessions and, taking my duties to heart, returned to the garrison most evenings far wearier than those who knew exactly how to appear more exhausted than they really were. A lance corporal and a sergeant were in charge of disciplining the reluctant crew but they were relieved that I pretended not to see the skivers and did as much themselves. The daily return journey alone would have been sufficient to keep us physically fit, nor was there any risk of becoming overweight on army diet. To prepare youngsters for a war they had no wish to fight, I sometimes made them do endurance trials, explaining to the lazier among them that Adolf’s little party was not over yet and that it was better to have me on their backs than the Germans. We did obstacle courses in full battledress. We broke into a run then suddenly threw ourselves to the ground (still fully kitted out) and crossed imaginary rivers by crawling along a rope, after which we took a sort, well-earned break.

I always took part in manoeuvres, though there was nothing that obliged me to. I did it of my own accord – in other words, I was by now little more than a cog in the wheel of war, a product of the brain-washing process. In fact it was a mere game compared with the unbearable rhythm I had had to put up with as a soldier under the orders of that drill sergeant with his SS methods. It was a good life, made to measure, with days well-filled and about as varied as the revolving wheels of a steam engine.

The very sight of our encampment each evening was enough to make me feel sick, more out of anger than fatigue.

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