Máma
Freedom
was her guiding light.
Though
she would not and could not fight, she bowed to no man, woman or
belief.
While
this was part curse to her alive,
Its
gift is pure to us, - the survivors
Waiting
our turn for transport to the camps,
She
risked her life, and ours,
One
child pramborne, one by the hand,
To
tour forbidden parks and riverbanks;
The
star marked Jude, covered by her bag.
When
the same gangsters, under a different name
Again
put out the light,
She
fled, far from our father and her Prague,
Trading
her family, and wealth, and friends.
For
three small boys and unbound hope,
Of
late the enemy was within.
Her
body was her prison,
But
courage and that indomitable will
Fought
back the pain, killed off self pity.
And
kept her bright, the mind stayed free.
One
dream recurring was of youth.
Soaring
and dancing among the steeples and the golden roofs,
Not
in the crippled, pain racked body, that's just died,
But
as the most beautiful woman of that long gone, pre-war Prague.
Think
her there now,
Sans
pain, no limitations.
Her
cherished freedom unblemished still,
And
also for the first time,
She
has peace.
JH,
Toronto, September 1, 1989
A more conventional obituary was provided by Bedřich Procházka, and probably appeared in a newsletter of the Czech and Slovak Association of Canada in the fall of 1989.
A more conventional obituary was provided by Bedřich Procházka, and probably appeared in a newsletter of the Czech and Slovak Association of Canada in the fall of 1989.
Rozloučení s Evou
Dne 1 zaří, 1989, zemřela v
Torontu po dlouhém trpělivě snášeném utrpení pani Eva Moudrá.
Před jenadvaceti letz, v září 1968, přistálo na toronském
letišti letadlo Air Canada s první skupinou československých
emigrantů kteří utíkali před bratrskou pomoci
sovětských tanků. Těch posrpnových
pak velem přibývalo, do konce roku už jich bylo mnoho tisíc.
Pani
Eva, která opustila svou rodnou Prahu už v roce 1948, věděla z
vlastní skušenosti co emigrace pro každého znamená, a proto se
ihned obětavě pustila do práce. Spolu s ostatnímy členkami
torontského Dámského oboru v čele tehdejší předsedkyní
zesnulou Ruth Petříčkovou, organizovala pro nové emigranty pomoc,
starala se o jejích ubytovaní, ošacení, styk z Manpowerem,
zapojení do zamněstnání, jazykové kurzy. Byla neúnavná, vždy
ochotná poradit, nakrmit, i pozvednout morálku, a všicni kdo jí
poznali v težkých chvílích prvních kroků v neznámé cizině,
na ní vzpomínají s vděčnosti a láskou.
Rád
bzch připojil pár osobních vzpomínek. Poznal jsem Evu, tehdy
ještě Pollertovou, jako půvabné děvčátko neobyčejně bystré
a inteligentní. Obdivoval jsem jejího strýce Emila Pollerta,
vynikajícího zpěváka, člena opery Národního divadla. Byl to
nezapomutelný Kecal,
Paloucký,
Mumla,ve
Smetanových operách, i fantastický vodník v Rusalce. Eva
prožívala své slunné, bezstarotné mládí v Praze. V období
První republiky jsme spívali písničky Voskovce a Wericha, četli
Karla Čapka,
Vančuru, Nezvala, a nedovedli si představit že doba, kterou
prožíváme, je jen kratičká přeztávka mezi dvěma světovými
katastofami. Do našeho mládí náhle zazněl drsný surový hlas
Adofa Hitlera a náš světse zhroutil. Se zanutými zuby a slzami v
očich jsme viděli německou armádu, jak se valí po Václavském
náměstí. Následovalo šest strašných let. Přežili jsme je a
dočkali se osvobození, jen aby se nám zakrátko rozplynuly iluze
návratu demokracie. Eva odchází se svou rodinou do Anglie, kde
zakouší trpkost a bídu emigrace, a konečně zakotví v Kanadě,
kde nalézá svého druhého manžela, zesnulého Vladimíra
Moudrého, když první manželství s ing. Háskem ztroskotalo.
Eva
byla neúnavný bojovník za lidská práva, oddaně a nadšeně
pracovala po mnoho let pro Amnesty International a do konce svého
života se ujímala všech chudáků, politických uprchlíků,
zejména z Jižní Ameriky. Její obětavé srdce neznalo rozdílu
barvy pleti, náboženství či kultury, každému se snažila
pomoci. Světové dění naší kruté doby sledovala do posledního
dechu s neutuchajícim zájmem. Ještě před několika týdny
volala, aby mi předala výstřižek z časopisu Observer,
kde bylo otištěno dlouhé interview s Václavem Havlem. Když jsme
jí tehdy navštívili, netušili jsme, že jí vidíme naposledy.
Eva Moudrá
zanechává své tři syny: Jana, Tomáše, a Michala, ale také
mnoho, mnoho veřejných přátel. Všichni, kdo jsme jí poznali,
nepřestáváme na ní vzpomínat jako vzácného člověka.
Bedřich
Procházka
A translation of the above obituary follows.
Farewell to Eva
On the 1st
of September, 1989, Mrs. Eva Moudry died after a long period of
patiently tolerated suffering. Twenty-one years ago, in September
1968, an Air Canada flight landed at Toronto Airport with the first
group of Czechoslovak emigrants who were fleeing the brotherly
help of Soviet tanks. Those post August folk then grew
rapidly in numbers, to become many thousand by the end of the year.
Mrs.
Eva, who abandoned her native Prague already in 1948, knew from her
own experience what emigration represents for everyone, and therefore she immediately went to work with dedication. Together with the other members of the Toronto Czechoslovak women's group, headed by then president, the late Ruth Petříčková, she organized help for the new immigrants, taking care of housing, clothing, relations with Canada Manpower, contact with employers, and language courses. She was tireless, always willing to advise, feed, and raise morale, and all who met her during the difficult times of the first steps in a foreign country remember her with gratitude and love.
I would like to include a few personal recollections. I met Eva, then still named Pollert, as an attractive little girl, unusually bright and intelligent. I admired her uncle Emil Pollert, an outstanding singer, member of the opera at the National Theatre. He was unforgettable as Kecal, Paloucky, Mumla, in Smetana's operas, and a fantastic water sprite in Rusalka. Eva spent her sunny, untroubled yourh in Prague. In the period of the First Republic we sang the songs of Voskovec and Werich, read Karel Čapek, Vančura, Nezval, and couldn't imagine that the period we were living through is just a short interlude between two global catastrophes. Into our youth suddenly sounded the harsh, crude voice of Adolf Hitler, and our world collapsed. With clenched teeth and tears in our eyes, we watched the German army roll into Wenceslas Plaza. Six terrible years followed. We survived, and lived to see liberation, only for a brief illusion of a return to democracy. Eva leaves with her family for England, where she experiences the bitterness and misery of emigration, and eventually lands in Canada, where she finds her second husband, the late Vladimir Moudry, after her first marriage to Ing. Hasek had failed.
Eva was a relentless fighter for human rights, working devotedly and enthusiastically for Amnesty International, and to the end of her life she took up the cause of all unfortunates, the politically persecuted, especially from South America. Her selfless heart did not distinguish colour of skin, religion, or culture in trying to help everyone. She observed the world affairs of our cruel times with undiminished interest to her last breath. Just a few weeks ago she called to pass on to me a clipping from the Observer newspaper, featuring a long interview with Vaclav Havel. At that time when we visited her, we had no idea we were seeing her for the last time.
Eva Moudry leaves behind her three sons: Jan, Thomas, and Michal, but also many, many
friends from the public at large. All of us who knew her will never stop remembering her as
a rare individual.
I would like to include a few personal recollections. I met Eva, then still named Pollert, as an attractive little girl, unusually bright and intelligent. I admired her uncle Emil Pollert, an outstanding singer, member of the opera at the National Theatre. He was unforgettable as Kecal, Paloucky, Mumla, in Smetana's operas, and a fantastic water sprite in Rusalka. Eva spent her sunny, untroubled yourh in Prague. In the period of the First Republic we sang the songs of Voskovec and Werich, read Karel Čapek, Vančura, Nezval, and couldn't imagine that the period we were living through is just a short interlude between two global catastrophes. Into our youth suddenly sounded the harsh, crude voice of Adolf Hitler, and our world collapsed. With clenched teeth and tears in our eyes, we watched the German army roll into Wenceslas Plaza. Six terrible years followed. We survived, and lived to see liberation, only for a brief illusion of a return to democracy. Eva leaves with her family for England, where she experiences the bitterness and misery of emigration, and eventually lands in Canada, where she finds her second husband, the late Vladimir Moudry, after her first marriage to Ing. Hasek had failed.
Eva was a relentless fighter for human rights, working devotedly and enthusiastically for Amnesty International, and to the end of her life she took up the cause of all unfortunates, the politically persecuted, especially from South America. Her selfless heart did not distinguish colour of skin, religion, or culture in trying to help everyone. She observed the world affairs of our cruel times with undiminished interest to her last breath. Just a few weeks ago she called to pass on to me a clipping from the Observer newspaper, featuring a long interview with Vaclav Havel. At that time when we visited her, we had no idea we were seeing her for the last time.
Eva Moudry leaves behind her three sons: Jan, Thomas, and Michal, but also many, many
friends from the public at large. All of us who knew her will never stop remembering her as
a rare individual.
