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CALARASI
BARAGAN, ROMANIA, LATE 1950’S
My father’s youngest brother, Costica, was a very tall (over two meters tall), handsome, distinguished looking man, with a military bearing. He used to be a navy commander on his own ship, before the WWII and earned his medals and distinctions in battles.
After the was and after the Communist Regime took hold in Romania, he was forced to leave his house in Turnu Severin, on the Danube River, and was forced to move to Baragan, overnight.
Now, Baragan was in Romania what Siberia was in Russia; a place of hardship, a place in the middle of swamps and open fields, isolated from the civilized world.
Costica was married at that time with Ileana, and they had a small girl about my age, Roxana. Ileana came from an aristocratic family (her maiden name was Coanda) and had inherited a small palace in Turnu Severin. Ileana was my uncle’s second wife. His first wife was from Focsani, a young, beautiful French woman, whom Costica loved very much. But the young wife could not live with a Navy husband, and during her husband prolonged absence, she run away with a local pharmacist, as I heard the story. Then, Costica married Ileana, who was maybe a few years older and not so pretty, but she had all the education, manners and rigorous upbringing of her social class. Ileana had never had to work on her life. Her parents always had plenty of servants to do everything for her.
Costica, Ileana and their daughter, Roxana, had to move overnight from their house in Turnu Severin with very few of their belongings.
My uncle used to say, afterwards, that if he had known where “they” would take them, then taking a shovel and an axel from their home would have been a wiser choice than some of the silver. (“They” being the Communist Regime and their Secret Service called “Securitate”).
On a summer vacation during the late 1950’s, I remember, I was invited to visit them in Baragan. Father put me into the train in Bucharest, along with our yellow bicycle, and my uncle waited for me at the train station in Calarasi. Looking back, I think I was the only one from the extended family to visit them in Baragan. When I got there, they made a house for themselves. It was not a great house, but one you could live in. I don’t remember precisely, but I think it was made of “kirpici”, clay straw walls and a grass roof for there was no forest in Baragan, and no wood supply. It has two rooms with dirt floors. My uncle built it with his own hands. First, I understand, they had to dig what was called a “bordey” into the ground, to have shelter, and then they built the above ground house. There were no other houses nearby, or other people, that I recall. Of course, I was a child at the time, but I don’t remember being impressed with it as being a place of total desolation. On the contrary, to me it was a rustic and picturesque place; the open fields were beautiful and the house itself was joyous, and they had the best bacon I ever ate. Ileana, who never had to do anything in her life, adjusted perfectly, or at least I never heard her complaining of anything. She loved my uncle and did whatever she could to help. She learned how to cook and do the laundry, and probably a lot more than I could imagine. She took care of all of them. Between the two of them, she was the backbone of their marriage, the unsinkable one. Their daughter, Roxana, my cousin, was studying home with her mother, and she spoke French much better than me who was studying in school in Bucharest.
Later, they were allowed to move out of Baragan, and they moved to Braila, on the Danube River again. I visited them again, on another summer vacation, when they were in Braila in a rented house. I remember going fishing with them on the Danube River. Both Ileana and Roxana loved ti fish and loved the water.
My uncle found employment as an engineer, and the family later on brought a flat in Galati. After the Communist Regime fall in Romania, in 1989, my cousin, Roxana, tried and succeeded to get her family possessions back. She succeeded to get back the house in Turnu Severin. The irony is that now days the Bucharest largest airport is named “Henry Coanda” , a famous air industry pioneer, and close relative of Ileana.
