The missing Ancestor

14/10/24

Right now I’m on a train again, at the Romanian border travelling towards Transylvania to visit the place where my Hungarian grandfather was born. Until 2 days ago, I only knew the name of the town began with a “P” as I remember my father visiting and telling me that it was a very poor little town.

 My brother had managed to find my grandfather’s birth certificate which names his place of birth as Curtici (Kurtös in Hungarian) but I knew this was just the administrative town of the region. This part of Transylvania belonged to Hungary before the treaty of Trianon in 1920, after which the Austro-Hungarian empire was carved up and Hungary became a lot smaller. Before this, my father told me, his father’s brother drowned in a nearby lake as a young teen.

I’d hoped to find some information, maybe find the grave of this brother in one of the Jewish cemeteries, and my Romanian friend Oana had sent me a document with lots of information about the restoration of the Jewish Romanian cemeteries.

A few days ago I was cursing having been too busy to do more research, but in the end the information landed in my lap without me having to do anything. I can feel my father supporting me on this journey, I do not yet know why, but it feels very important that I do this, that I remember these ancestors and these places, that I re-include them, that I do not leave them to be forgotten.

 On Saturday I met up with György, an old friend of my family in Budapest – his mother was my Grandmother’s doctor. He just happens to be something of a transport geek, and when I told him I was heading to my Nagypapa’s birthplace, he was excited.

“Oh you’re going to Pânkota!” he said.  It turns out that Pânkota is of some significance in the transport world. In his subsequent email, György  told me that these old Hungarian vehicles which sat for years in the main street of Pânkota were manufactured in 1906 and 1912 respectively and were in operation till 1995 without any significant renovation. Pânkota is also the town where my great grandfather was the innkeeper. My brother had dug out the documents but none of them said Pânkota.

My Great Uncle’s grave in Pânkota

Altmann Sandor

Here rests our dear Sanyink whom we cannot forget. We keep his beloved memory in our hearts for all eternity. He died on the 1st of April 1913. He was 14 years old.

Sandor Altmann drowned aged 14. That poor family (my poor family…)

Imagine if one of my children had died at 14? Imagine if I’d died at that age. My nephew is 14. How does a family overcome that kind of grief and guilt? It’s so amazing that it came into the field of the constellation that I facilitated in Slovenia at Grad Castle last week. A client whose grandmother’s mother had died when she was 14, and this grandmother’s little sister then drowned aged 2 under her supervision.

I wonder what happened to Sanyink, how he drowned, how they coped, how long after his death did they have to leave. It felt like they left him behind. He was so alone in that cemetery, no other Altmanns to be seen.

The old inn in Pâncota, owned by my great-grandfather.

My friend Oana and I drove to Pânkota and went to the town hall – Google said this used to be the inn and it certainly looked like an inn.

Oana stopped a lady on a bicycle and asked about it and told her about my family. This lady told us how to find the Jewish cemetery (a section of the Christian cemetery) which we did.

We opened the gate and started to look around, trying to read the gravestones. I still cannot believe that we found his grave. It was there, hidden in pain sight in front of the gate. But we didn’t see it and we walked around the graves, pulling at the overgrown ivy, I could not believe that I found his grave – and how – even though that was my reason for going there. Sheltered under the loving arms of a beautiful walnut tree. All these missing parts are carried by future generations. What we exclude will be reincluded by subsequent generations. I felt the will and the intention of my ancestors carrying me to this place.

My Grandfather’s military record card

I do not know if Sandor was the first son, only that he was born 3 years before my Grandfather and so he probably was.

Constellations often show that the place we are born holds a significant place in our soul, not only for us but for subsequent generations, as these places are so often forgotten, excluded or rejected.

I do not know how or when my grandfather’s mother died– did she survive the war? My father said his grandfather was in hiding with them, but he didn’t mention his grandmother. So many questions are raised as we sift through the silt at the ocean floor of our ancestry. How long did she endure after Sanyink died, I wonder if she marked his memory every 1st April, I wonder if she longed to return to his grave, I wonder if I have managed to reinclude her grief into our family system by going there.

The small gauge electic trains that ran on the rail from Arad to Pânkota from 1906-1995, still there in the streets of Pânkota!

How did they travel from Pânkota to Budapest? Did they take that little electric railway to Arad then take the train to Budapest? It seems likely. What was it like to load all their possessions onto a tiny train? How do you decide what to bring or leave?

Did they sell the inn? What about the horses, what about their pets, what about their beloved Sanyink in the grave, the only family member I could find there.

Did they bring their grief or leave it behind? Either way, it followed them, because the next trauma was there to meet them, and the next and the next. All in the same lifetime. No wonder my father’s parents discouraged him from trying to escape from Hungary again when he was released from prison in 1951 aged 19. The system could not bear to lose another son.

18/10/24

And now here I am, at another train station, waiting for another train to another country. My heart carries their grief so I guess they did try to leave it behind. I’m still with it, I carry it for them.

We keep his beloved memory in our hearts for all eternity…

I am doing the work of becoming a good ancestor and I feel the strength of my good ancestors as I do it.

Postscript

Last night I participated in an online constellation where I represented a man whose great-grandmother had drowned. I felt the depth of the grief he carried for his ancestors and felt huge relief for being acknowledged in the arms of the river that held me. I had no idea that so many people die from drowning.

Today my heart feels a little less broken.

If you are interested in the re-inclusion in your DNA of those excluded parts and what you carry for them, you could join me on 2nd November in Milos House, Aliki in Paros for a one-day workshop, or on 23rd-24th November at my Footprints of the Ancestors workshop in Kingston-upon-Thames, or at my next retreat, Borders of Belonging  at Trealy Farm in Wales on 31st January – 2nd February.

Do you have a story of an ancestor who died in tragic circumstances? Let me know in the comments.

You or a family member maybe unconsiously struggling in some area of your life out of loyalty to them. Family Constellations can help to re-include them and free you from the guilt, the grief or the bonds of loyalty that keep you stuck or small.

“…his grandmother used to warn him not to get too close to the river’s edge or to approach a lakeside at night, because the fairies passed along these waters in long shallow boats in search of human souls to take to their realm. If you got too close, they would grab you and pull you in…” Manchán Magan, Listen to the Land Speak, Gill Books 2022