We are so hamyd,
For-taxed and ramyd,
By these gentlery-men!
― The Wakefield Second Shepherds’ Play, c.1425–1450 [1]
We are men the same as they are:
Our members are as straight as theirs are,
Our bodies stand as high from the ground,
The pain we suffer’s as profound.
Our only need is courage now,
To pledge ourselves by solemn vow,
Our goods and persons to defend,
And stay together to this end…
Robert Wace, Le roman de la Rou et des ducs deNormandie, 1160–70s [2]
On my return to Prague, last year, after tramping in Hungary and Transylvania, my friend Filip Marek took a day off for some more explorations of the Bohemian countryside. This turned out to be the most emotionally charged day in my travels, and I’ve delayed describing it because of its personal importance to me.
The landscape around Prague is not much different, at first glance, from that of Southern Ontario. It’s rich farmland, gently rolling hills, and patches of mixed forest similar to those around Toronto. Most of it was so pleasant that I couldn’t help replaying snatches of Dvořák, Smetana and Janáček in my head as the car rolled under the dappled sunlit trees, past fields and villages that seem to be both ancient and brand new at the same time. However, our quest was to extract something incongruously disturbing and tragic from Bohemia’s woods and streams.[3] We were going to see two places that do not loom large in the history books, but loom large in the kind of history that I am concerned with. The first was the Vojna Hard Labour Camp, in the forest near the village of Příbram, and the second was the site of Lidice, a village that no longer exists. Read more »
