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[p48]
I may return to my [first] days in Liepaja, since we found a hotel, looked at the city and the shops, went into the taverns,
and somewhere I have part of my letter which was published in an American workers' newspaper. Now I have to go on so I can
stay with this 25-year period of my life [I assume that this refers to 1919-1944] .
News of my return had raced ahead of me from Aizpute, and my brother Martins met us somewhere at Suveni or Kikuri, having
come out to meet us. Amazing how this 'wireless' speech travels! There are no words to describe the happy feeling of seeing
each other after thirteen years and the horrors of the war; the tears of joy at our meeting expressed it best.
We didn't stay at Kalnieki very long. We heard everything people knew in the pagasts [parish] about those who had fled
and where they might be now. It wasn't much-- even less than what I knew from earlier letters sent to the United States. We
heard Martins' story of how people had fled from the terror of war [when the Germans occupied western Latvia in 1915] , with
all their clothes and farm animals, on the road to Riga. He had also gone out in that direction to join them, but on the way
he ran up against the battle-front somewhere near Tukums or Kalnciems; he was arrested and taken to Jelgava. There he was
held prisoner and interrogated about spying. He was ordered to show on a map the route he had taken; he looked the map over
and ran his finger along the Latvian-Lithuanian boundary to show that he was an ignorant peasant.
When he returned home after three months, there was not a single living creature except for a lame horse-- not even a
cat or dog. He had to start up with absolutely nothing, with the help of the remaining neighbors.
Having talked things out for a few days, we got ready to travel. I think that Martins brought us through Kuldiga with
horses, or even as far as Aizupe to ceplinieks [? is this a surname?], who [or which] may have still been there. We continued
on foot to Jaunpils, where Cipus Andersons came from. He was born, grew up, and took part in the 1905 revolution in Dobele,
where his parents had a small house. During the rebellion, the most active in the area were Kristaps Beika (Cipus [I assume
both Andersons and Beika were called that]) and his brother Davids (the third brother must have been too young). When the
reaction set in and the punitive expeditions began, they went into the forest and became "forest brothers" [partisans].
On our way we had time to describe the events, and for me to see Dobele, the Beika house, the streets and paths. In Abgulde
we looked up an innkeeper or trader who had sympathized with the revolutionaries and later "forest brothers" .We
went to the Cakse house; I don't remember the name of the pagasts, but it was nearby, where they had hidden the partisans
and supplied them with food; the old farmer [Cakse] was still there. The house was at the edge of the forest, and 'through
the window' the forest could be reached in a few bounds.
We went to Abaviesi [farmstead], where a former 'revolutionary', Cipus' friend, was farming. In his pasture we found a
tiny stream, the source of the river Abava. We also looked at the Krimuna station; Biksti [village? farm? people?]; and several
paths through the birch stands and forests, where the linden trees had almost all their leaves noskinusi [ gone? pulled off?]
from chewing them [?] .My traveling companion had to linger a bit in his old memories, and walk over the old roads and trails.
As I listened to his stories, the old events in the Dobele people's battles seemed to come alive for me and become understandable.
Perhaps I should mention that by this time Davids had become a schoolteacher, but I don't remember where.
Soon we reached Jelgava, seeking a way to get to Riga. That may have been in mid-August, 1919, when Jelgava had become
von der Goltz's citadel. We knew nothing about the battle of Cesis, or the machinations of the Allies' mission.
It was a pleasant, sunny day, and in the marketplace we bought some smoked herring or eel, eating right there at the rather
empty marketplace. After that we went to the "harbor". On the river, near the market, was a little ship which provided
transportation to Riga along the Lielupe [river]; perhaps it belonged to the old "Augsburg" firm. We went down to
ask about travel possibilities.
We hadn't gotten anywhere when a well-dressed German man, wearing a baron's broad-brimmed hat with a feather on the side
(a bit wilted, though) came up and drove us away rather rudely. Not knowing who I was dealing with, I replied "Geh du
selbst" [Go yourself-- with the informal "du"]. At that, the 'baron' went over between some buildings in the
direction of the market, waved to a patrol of soldiers, and pointed toward us. I told my friend that the man must be "somebody"
because the soldiers obeyed him. We tried to leave, but didn't get anywhere before we were apprehended.
We were taken to the "Kriminalabteilung" [criminal unit or department], a high, walled building on the edge
of the marketplace, where they registered our names and took our few possessions, documents, and money, and put us in the
cell. That turned out to be a fairly large room, with one or two small windows too high to reach, without any benches or cots,
and fairly full of other prisoners. We were immediately queried-- who we were, from where, why, etc. They advised us that
there was no hope of being released; one man said that he had been' sitting' for three months with no explanation of when
it would end. We answered that we wouldn't be there very long, but they smiled at that-- the new arrivals' delusion!
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