Diana Chambers: Searching the Streets of Time

It gives me great pleasure to introduce Diana Chambers, a lovely friend and writer who as she says "was born with a book in one hand and a passport in the other.” She’s been in the Asian importing business, in Hollywood costume design, then scriptwriting—until her characters as Diana says “demanded their own novels." And so her character, Nick Daley shows up in Stinger, somewhere near the Khyber Pass, a romantic spy thriller which is a recent Audible release, with the sequel in production. 

Diana lives in a small Northern California town. Her bag is always packed. A few months ago I read about her summer travels - treat yourself and visit her blog - and found her moving post on Budapest. For Diana, this wasn’t a tourist trip but a journey back to find out about family. To see where her relatives had lived. And to find memories and traces of those who didn’t survive the death camps. They say to understand the macrocosm you must comprehend the microcosm. This is a time of being with family and thank you Diana for joining our ‘family’ today and sharing this poignant journey.  Cara  

Last summer, my brother’s big birthday bash launched our travels through Europe By Train. http://dianarchambers.blogspot.com/2014/09/revisiting-europe-by-train.html. Cara Black was struck by my post from Budapest and asked me to recount it now, a story of family, a lost home, and murder.

We often think of the road not taken in a symbolic sense, but sometimes there is a very specific road, one that can lead to death—or life. We came to Budapest to ask: Merre va Margit Hid? Where is Margaret Bridge? And Merre va Deak Ferencz utca 21? Where is the old home of my nieces’ grandmother?

We arrived from Prague after a six-hour train journey. On the Pest side of the Danube, Keleti Railway Terminal is vast and old, witness to the sweep of history, armies of many nations, peoples on the move.

Across the river, Buda is even older, dominated by Castle Hill, a citadel against the 13C Mongol hordes.

There have been other invaders over the years, but the Nazi regime evokes particular shivers of fear and hate. Past is present in Europe and every street, every bridge are landmarks of a life.

My nieces’ grandmother, Ann, and younger sister, Vali, had lived with their widowed mother, Rose Gabor, at Deak Ferencz utca 21 in the center of Pest. Then in 1944, the first Jewish deportees were sent to Auschwitz—in freight trains that may have left from Keleti Station. The family was torn apart, forced to hide in three Christian homes on the Buda hillsides. On the day of their road not taken, a bitter reunion took place when they were arrested by Hungarian Arrow Cross fascists and marched toward Margit Bridge.

Rose, seeing a work unit walking along the river, pulled her girls into that line—in the blink of an eye changing their fates, and that of my family itself. Without her quick thinking, my two wonderful nieces would have never been born.

We stood on that bridge corner imagining those horrific days, the soldiers, the fear. Unable to return to their home, Rose turned to a Christian friend, Lily, who sheltered them through the war. Despite heavy bombing, the old stone building at Deak Ferencz utca 21 endured. Here is its courtyard.

Rose ran her couture business below their apartment, its front balcony now overlooking a busy pedestrian mall. 

The apartment is not far from Parliament with Margit Bridge in the distance.

Just south of Parliament is the memorial to Jews shot into the Danube by Arrow Cross thugs, impatient as the Russians closed in.

It was like a punch in the gut to see these shoes lined up along the quay. Delicate button-ups and high-heels, work-boots, all facing the river.

The cold black water below...the silence...and then the bullets, and cries as family and friends fall into the river. Shot in the back.

The cruel scene evoked in mute simplicity, the shoes old and worn, a child’s beside her mother’s.

If not for Rose’s quick wits, this would have been their fate—or the trains.

It is impossible to walk the streets of Europe without the visceral experience of history. The passage of time, regimes, lives, deaths. The statue or plaque of a famous person now unknown. An ordinary street corner where a mother made a life-changing decision. 

In 1941, 725,000 Jews lived in Hungary. 600,000 of them died during WW2.

Diana, for Cara—Tuesday
dianarchambers.com, facebook.com/DianaChambersAuthor, twitter.com/DianaRChambers.

The Weather Outside Is Frightful …

Zoë Sharp

The greetings of the season to all of you! Well, the snow arrived yesterday to the UK with predictable chaotic results.

Normally I’d be absolutely delighted, because I’m a sucker for snow and like nothing better than to get out there and build weird snowmen. In past years I’ve done an Easter Island head, a giant teddy bear, a great white shark and something that was supposed to be a Chinese lion dog but went somewhere awry along the way. I also attempted an actual-size horse, but the snow turned powdery halfway through and I couldn’t get its legs to stay on.

However, this year I attempt to fly out of the country tomorrow (December 29^th) so I can’t help but wish the roads had remained dry and clear until after I go wheels-up from Stansted.

One place they don’t have trouble with the cold weather is Harbin, which is the capital of Heilongjiang province in northern China. The reason for this is that for the past thirty years they’ve been holding the annual International Ice and Snow Sculpture Festival, so they not only cope well with the freezing conditions, but they positively relish them. And one day I’ll go there to see these magnificent sculptures for myself.

Some are carved out of snow, others built from blocks of ice which allows coloured lighting to be place inside. Either way, it looks fascinating and an experience not to be missed.

Maybe I should add going to the 2016 festival - the 2015 one is almost upon us - to my bucket list. Instead this year I’m off to foreign climes to get my head down and concentrate on some serious scribbling. Can’t think of a better way to kick off the New Year.

So, every good wish for Health, Luck and Happiness to everyone in 2015.

This week’s Word of the Week, my last of 2014, is chionophobia, meaning an extreme dislike or fear of snow. The word originates from Greek chion meaning snow and phobos meaning fear, aversion or dread.

The End Is Near.

I can’t believe 2014 is over in four days.  Where did all the time go?  And why do I have only four days left in my self-imposed deadline to have Kaldis #7 finished by December 31?

The good news about this time of the year is that the Greek Parliament is busily giving me new material for Kaldis #8. I mean, how can one not be appreciative of a government body that gives we writers so much grist for our tales of societal intrigues, self-interest, and threatened revolutionary shakeups.  For example, in two days a vote requiring 180 of the 300 Members of Parliament to elect a new, but totally ceremonial, President of Greece, threatens to bring down the sitting government, force immediate new Parliamentary elections, and fracture Greece’s ties to the European Union. 

It’s a situation that has the world (and local) financial markets betting that the country is headed toward modern day economic oblivion.  Personally, I think short-term personal interests on the part of Greece’s MPs will keep things together for as long as possible; if only so the MPs don’t lose their 6000 euros a month paychecks (plus perqs) when many are booted out of Parliament in the next election and thrown back into the ranks of their 28% unemployed constituency—where 800 euros per month is considered a solid wage. 

As for the country’s long term prospects…

Well, I don’t want to talk about any of that. We’re into the festive Holiday Season. Let’s rejoice, dance, sing, and carry on.

I want to do all the things on New Years Eve that Yrsa will be doing in Reykjavik, Stan and Michael in South Africa, Annamaria in NYC (sorry, EvKa, maybe Portland for her next year), Cara in Paris, Caro in Glasgow, Lisa who knows where, and Zoe anywhere she wants.

I want to be thankful for all the very good things that happened in 2014—at the top of the list being that my children, grandchildren, Barbara and all our extended family are healthy and doing well (puh, puh, puh)—and pray that our world will somehow find its way back to sanity in 2015.

Yes, I’m in a prayerful mood. Perhaps because I’ve retreated to the refuge of my farm, a place for thinking, planning, rebooting, and writing. Here I’m surrounded by nature most basic, not man most basic—unless, of course, I turn on the television, read a newspaper, listen to the radio, or scan the Internet. So why do that?  Except if the Steelers are playing.

Normally the ground around here is covered with snow by now, but rains and a (relatively) warm stretch have chased every bit of white off the landscape.  The sky is wintry gray and plots of green persist of course, but much of the ground lay in naked shades of chocolate, beige and tan.

Not my barn, Or horses, A neighbor's.

My barn remains red, though, and its repairs are almost finished (after a year and a half). Fences around the pasture are falling down. I normally replace posts and rails as soon as they fail, but I’ve decided not to this year. I’m decided to open up the land.  Give it more of a park-like feel, one where the bears, deer, turkeys, coyotes, bobcats, and foxes can wander free…not that any of them respect the fences anyway. But it’s a change.  And change is good.

My barn.

Changes of seasons are good.  Changes of clothes are good.  Changes of governments are good…or so one can hope.

Happy New Year, one and all, and may each of you find true happiness and great joy in 2015 and far, far beyond.

Jeff—Saturday