The Hungarian Side

The stories that bring us into being are fascinating. A Hungarian soldier in the Second World War, a town in the grip of communism, a family of artists, a young Chemist from Northern Ireland traveling through Europe and returning to Hungary because of the Cold Cherry Soup and…BANG…me here, right now, sitting in a cafe in Budapest, created by these events.

I’m no expert on the family history (I hope somebody writes it down properly) but a very very short version is this. My Grandmother had four children. Her husband, my grandfather, was killed fighting the Russians (didn’t stand a chance). My Grandmother was left alone to raise the four children (and I imagine shunned by the state for having a husband on the ‘wrong side’). Luckily her brother, took on her and her family. He, like his father, and sister, was a local artist. My grandmother and the four children lived together in one room in the family house.

I returned with my family to the house in Baja this week. Its now a museum to my great-grandfather, great-uncle, and great-aunts works. My great-uncle also collected Hungarian folk art from the Baja region.

Well the children grew up, went to university, and my Mum was taken in by my Dad’s Irish charm, moved to Oxford, and that is where I enter the story.