My memories of Verőce


Everyone should hear at least once in a lifetime, as the train whistles at Verőce train station in the quiet,smoke-smelling,brilliant winter morning. The first, melancholic, frozen-through toll of the church bells should be heard, as they swim across the sky above the village which is just starting to wake up. It should be heard how Mr Szabó pulls up the shutters of the shop amid the fresh flower scents of spring.The  gleamingly fresh sound of the horses? hooves,the thin cracking sound of the whip?The cool ageless flow of the Danube, the ringing sound of its waves as they reach the shore. Early autumn evening get togethers when the old ladies gathered in the former ?Imre?-Park to talk about the worry-filled present, the very short future, and the endless past. It can be seen how Mr Imre Pallmann plays cards with Mr. Boross in that very same place ? I can still hear the slamming sounds of the cards from the distance of thirty years onwards.