Péterfi Miklós: Recollections of an insurgent

23 October to 12 November 1956

I was moonlighting as a tool mechanic and working on 23 October 1956. After lunch, I heard there was a protest march, a demonstration in Pest. I remember I was furious and frustrated–here I was while all the other engineering students are out there in the streets. Get washed, change clothes! I was going into town. You could find your way by the noise, like ants find their way by the smell... That's how I found myself in front of Parliament. I was thrown back at first by the huge crowd, but I plunged in and drifted and pushed and elbowed myself to the centre. Slogans were floating round, and what slogans they were! On one side, you heard 'Long live Soviet-Hungarian friendship!' and on the other 'Ruskies go home!' But one man in the crowd was warning people: 'Be disciplined!' As far as I remember, we were singing the Kossuth songs. There was an atmosphere of elation. We were all excited by the prospect of this spontaneous demonstration as a collective body; hoping to keep order and discipline and achieve what we wanted. We called for Imre Nagy. There was just one lousy loudspeaker–you could hardly hear what they were saying up there. I just know one man went up after another and spoke to the crowd. We were cheering or booing. We demanded to see Imre Nagy, and then he appeared–at first we didn't agree with what he said, but then we agreed and he had to hush us up.

We marched with the crowd from Kossuth tér to the building of Hungarian Radio buildings in Bródy Sándor utca. A larger crowd headed there from Parliament at seven and I was carried along by them. I'm not saying I was drifting along with events. I mean I was carried by the crowd as drops of water are carried by the current of the Danube. I was carried by someone next to me and I was carrying others as well. The crowd was swirling as it moved along. 'To the Radio!' Some Hungarian tanks turned up, but they were already on our side, bearing red, white and green banners. We weren't afraid at all... A tramcar had already been turned over in Múzeum körút... We stopped in the Museum Gardens, and sang songs and chanted slogans there, too... I went round the Museum Gardens and saw a squadron of young soldiers there. I think they were from the ÁVH I knew one of the officers, who was from Újpest like me. We got talking: 'What the fuck are you up to here?' said he. 'You fuck off, what the hell are you doing?', said I, as we talk in Újpest. 'You fucking idiots!' 'You're the idiots, not us!' They were afraid; they were terrified. Just think of it! Twenty young soldiers facing tens of thousands of people! What a terrifying feeling it must have been for them! Then the crowd carried me away as it moved in waves. Bits of news floated round, saying soldiers were changing sides and hoisting the tricolour over the garrison, which was a watershed. Elsewhere, there was a squadron of tanks flying the national banners... Then there were shots and the crowd shrank away... Some said a demonstrator had been shot dead, but others said it wasn't true, on the contrary, it was an ÁVH member who'd been killed... I went home about 10, as I was still bound to do what my parents told me...

Next day, 24 October, my mum caught me and almost locked me in the house. She wasn't going to let me go. But on the 25th, I went to the university. The atmosphere I found there was almost impossible to describe. Everybody discussing everything with everyone, people were singing songs, everybody with an idea about something. There'd be little discussions forming and dissolving by the minute to assess and interpret events. It didn't matter whether a person was a party member or not. What mattered was whether a person was honest or not. Dishonest people didn't even come. To some extent, it was a watershed: whoever cared and dared to come was accepted, even if they took a different view of the events.

This movement wasn't out to restore capitalism. I couldn't conceive of having any other social system than socialism–and that applied to everyone else there. The basic idea was to renew the communist party, renew the People's Republic. We knew it had been smeared with shit and muck, but we didn't think of restoring capitalism. We couldn't imagine collective social property being replaced by something else. Our imaginations could only carry us as far as having small private shops employing five at most–much less than today. Among the main slogans were 'Ruskies go home' and 'Let what's Hungarian be Hungarian!' Let socialism be genuine socialism, let what's seen as collective social enterprise be collective social enterprise. And let what's said to be free, really be free. This was a hell of a reaction to the series of dreadful oppressive regimes in Hungary since the 1930s or earlier. It wasn't only about the '50s. I don't want to acquit the regime in the '50s of its crimes, but this was kind of a chain reaction–the first true, genuine uprising against social injustice! The end of the whip cracked and hit in '56. I was liberated twice: the first time in 1945, because '45 was a genuine liberation for me and my people. Precisely because of the bitter disillusionment I felt after that genuine feeling of liberation, I took charge of my second liberation by taking up arms.

Then I was told by some people still alive and active today, whose names I don't want to mention, that I ought to go back to Újpest. My comrade, for example, an assistant lecturer, told me the same: 'You're from Újpest. Why don't you go and do something in Újpest?'

Forgive me if I'm confused about the sequence of events from this point. I don't think anyone taking an active part in the revolution and still claiming he can piece together his recollections of it is telling the truth, unless he kept a diary. Staying up for 20 hours a day... or having 12 hours' sleep in three days; it could've been four hours a night, or 12 hours' sleep and the rest of the time awake–and what intensity!

So the order was that we should all go and be active in our own districts. The people here were mostly party members; we discussed these matters in the local party branch. The students in the dorms stayed in the university. That's how I got back to Újpest.

I went to the district town hall. I looked here and there. I didn't know the leader of the Revolutionary Committee was Márton Rajki, so I reported for work to Pali Kósa, saying: 'Hello Pali, I'm a university student. I've come to help.' From that moment, I became inseparable from the work of the Újpest Revolutionary Committee. I found myself in a semi-chaotic state of affairs. Pali Kósa was in charge in practice, but Dr Márton Rajki had been rightfully elected head of the committee. Pali Kósa was a 35-year-old carpenter with a very strong will and determination. As far as I know, he worked in a factory.

It wasn't fashionable to have your own little business in those days, although there were a few private carpenters and other small businesses in Újpest. Anyway, Pali Kósa wasn't a capitalist or anything like that. He was a worker by origin and in his manners and speech. And in the way he moved. Just as a good farmer's movements reflect his occupation, so you can tell a craftsman by his sparing movements. Anyone could tell Pali Kósa was a genuine working man. He controlled the work of the Revolutionary Committee in Újpest. There were others, too, but I didn't know them: Laci Gábor, Sándor Lichtenstein, Pali Győri, Rácz–not the one from the workers' council, Karcsi Cseh, Gyuszi Koszterna, Kollár, Vanyek. I got to know them later. None of them were workers: Rácz or Uncle Marci Rajki... Dr Márton Rajki was a lawyer, a former Jew who'd converted and become an active Catholic. As far as I know, first he was persecuted as a Jew and only later converted to Catholicism.

The offices of the council in Újpest reminded me of the atmosphere in the Winter Palace. Pali Kósa tried to keep some order, but down below, if ever you could distinguish 'up' and 'down', everything was sort of jelly–like, moving and swirling. It was like bean soup that's boiling and the beans keep bobbing up to the surface. It was all like that, like lava or bean soup. Of course, 'the beans' were bullets in guns; you had to be very careful with them.

The building was guarded. The council building had front and rear entrances, both guarded by armed men who asked everybody's business. The committee members were given a kind of an ID. I ceremoniously ate mine later at the Russian military command in Komárom. There were armed men downstairs–the national guard hadn't been set up yet–and some people upstairs taking charge of various matters and issues. Functions became clearly defined very soon. Marci Rajki took the chair at official meetings, but when enthusiasm and direction were called for, the theme had to be clearly identified and the direction pointed out, Pali Kósa would dominate the meeting and take the decisions. Of course, the conflict was obvious and Marci Rajki had to step down. A day or two after I got there, Pali Kósa was elected leader instead. That was when my position on the committee was formally defined as being the delegate of the university students. I was co-opted onto the Revolutionary Committee of Újpest. There was no meeting of delegates; whoever turned up there elected themselves. I don't mean the 15 of us, but there were about 200 people involved and they elected fifteen. Going there was selection in itself. I later heard that Pali Kósa took care to gather information about the members after the election. Someone was sent to our house to find out who I was and suchlike. Pali was extremely committed.

I called myself a communist at that time. It's a lie that whoever called himself a communist was shot in the arse. I never denied I was a communist. But Pali Kósa was apparently anti-Soviet. That's also evident from what he said at our trial. He was against the existing social order altogether–so much so that he even wanted to turn against Imre Nagy. There was talk of organizing a strike against Imre Nagy's policy and the composition and objectives of his government between 1 and 4 November. Pali even wrote a memorandum and asked me and a chauffeur to drive him to Parliament. There he went into the Secretariat alone, leaving us outside.

I never denied I was a communist. Maybe, I was looked upon by others as a kind of an operetta communist, a signboard or political tool in the hands of others, someone only tolerated for political reasons. But they may have considered me their true comrade. I can't tell you, you should ask the others about that. As for me, I never experienced any discrimination. I was among them in the midst of things. I was terribly afraid of my mother, because I was never at home on time.

The communist party in Újpest stayed active during the revolution. Andrásfi and Mrs József Nagy, who later became minister of light industry, turned up among us and were never insulted. Why should they be? We all knew that Andrásfi had once been secretary of the Újpest party committee. He was an old local communist.

So I got onto the Újpest Revolutionary Committee on 25 or 26 October. At first, Pali Kósa gave me errands like 'Please, go and do this' or 'Would you please do that?' or 'Go there and see so-and-so' or 'Can you help me compose this?'. But then Újpest was overrun by a tank and a police unit. A squadron of tank crew was also stationed there–all of them on the side of the old government.

By then, I was cooperating with Pali on military matters as well, although I wasn't a commander of the national guard and I didn't have any rank. But we were organizing patrols and called these a 'national guard', regardless of whether there was or wasn't a national guard in Budapest. Újpest had a life of its own. This police unit turned up and sent an ultimatum to the Revolutionary Committee. We started to talk seriously. There were weapons on both sides. If there are weapons on both sides, victory was a matter of which spoke louder. There were about 30 police, a real force. We were between ten and 300. You can't imagine a situation like this. There's this bloody big shooting match going on and then someone says, 'Ugh, I've got to go home now. God, what'll I get from my mum for this?' And with that, he'd put down his pistol and dash home, so as not to be late for lunch. Let nobody believe Maléter was our commander here. Not at all; there were 500,000 mothers in Budapest ordering their lads to be home for lunch.

I was appointed by Pali Kósa to take an active part in these talks about a compromise. The policemen said bluntly they didn't want to shoot, but we should lay down our arms immediately. To which we replied that we didn't want to shoot either, but they should lay down their arms at once. At this point, I walked over to the policemen, as the situation was getting very tense. They started to refine their positions: people could go on organizing political demonstrations, but it was their responsibility to maintain order. Suddenly, a hell of a gunfight broke out. It became clear there were far more than ten of us–there were 300. What a bloody lot of shooting! You should've seen what those wretched policemen received! Without hesitating a moment, they pushed me behind and between two safes, because they were afraid of what might happen to them if I were shot dead by accident. For 'the' student–me!–went in. It was certain that everything would be razed to the ground if anything happened to me. The policemen wanted to talk. Their confidence evaporated in a second. It was dark and there was shooting outside, let alone the fact that I was among them, too.

Thank God nobody was killed–I'm living evidence of that. Because wherever there were victims on either side, the accused in the trials after the revolution would be charged with 'complicity in the murder of an indefinite number of people'. I mean the fact that I'm still alive is the evidence. There's no law in the world nastier and dirtier than one about 'complicity in the murder of an indefinite number of people'! So there were no victims, and as a result, we were patrolling the streets together next day, like a sandwich: one soldier, one civilian and one policeman.

Then we heard news about preparations to elect a kind of a revolutionary–or military–committee being made by officers and soldiers of the river flotilla on the Danube. I was delegated to go there with a kid called Laci Szabó, to convert them to the side of the revolution. I still have vivid memories of that: hundreds of officers and soldiers in a culture hall and views rather divided. Some officers didn't approve of taking part in the revolution for political reasons, and most of the rank and file were ready to obey orders. This was an elite unit; they'd just returned from defending the main party headquarters in Akadémia utca. Some of the rank and file were more on the officers' side, saying 'Let's wait for orders. We have to keep discipline'. I wouldn't call it political loyalty, more like the attitude of professional soldiers.

I daren't use grand metaphors. The siege of the Winter Palace...the frigate Aurora...these pictures were still vivid in my memory–and then here I was, entering a stuffy, smoke-filled room with hundreds of guys looking like the sailors of the Aurora crowding under the low ceiling wearing flat service caps, navy officers... and then they introduced me: 'Miklós Péterfi, delegate of the Revolutionary Committee of Újpest, student representative on the committee.' 'Hurrah!' And then I'm called to address the meeting. I think all the other speeches I ever gave in my life were nothing compared to the few words I said there: 'Boys, are you with us or against us?' I swear they all jumped to their feet, shouting 'With you!' The whole military unit! I was hugely impressed. They elected a Military Committee right there and sent a delegate to represent the Military Revolutionary Committee on the Újpest Revolutionary Committee... Later he became a witness for the prosecution at my trial... They all stood on our side without exception. Their commander was a lieutenant-colonel, a bag of horseshit... that's what he was... another witness for the prosecution.

Then I was sent to the Little Bay at Újpest, by the island known as Szunyog-sziget, where was a repair yard for the River Guard, once called the Horthy Miklós Barracks. So I was sent there too, to agitate and convert the unit to our views. I got a rather cool reception. First they said they'd see and then they formed a military committee under the influence of the other unit, but they weren't enthusiastic at all. It soon fell apart. The other unit kept together as a regular military unit, but this one wasn't enthusiastic about doing anything. Not because they were loyal to anything, but because they all wanted to go home and farm their land. Not much success there, I don't mean me, but the revolutionary committee, the idea I represented. Not that other ideas would have fired them with enthusiasm, either. They took themselves out of service.

Liaison with the River Guard continued to be my responsibility, but Pali Kósa also asked me to help in organizing public supplies. I became the Zoli Vas of Újpest. It may sound ludicrous, but my main concern was to do something about the pigs that were starving to death. There were 500 pigs at the Újpest slaughterhouse and no fodder. Well, everybody knows that pigs lose weight if they don't eat and nobody in charge could be found. So I suddenly appeared from 'Putylovgrad', had the pigs slaughtered and loaded onto trucks, got the men from the slaughterhouse and a couple of other men armed with Kalashnikovs to board the trucks too, and then off. I ordered them to drive to town and drop the pigmeat at the butchers they happened to find open in Budapest. That was quite legal; they got receipts for the meat. I wasn't charged with this at my trial.

Meanwhile the tank crew vanished from Újpest. Then the policemen vanished too–into thin air; I don't know how, but suddenly they weren't there any more. We kept order. I really don't know whether there was any need for it at all. Everybody knows that for a time in '56, even watches and jewels were left untouched in the shops and shop windows. 'If we catch you, we'll shoot you.' I arrested a kid who was stealing something and locked him up myself. I didn't shoot him, of course.

The activity of our committee was influenced by the fact that we acquired a few radio transmitters in Kecskemét and brought them to Újpest. Sanyi Lichtenstein went to collect them; while they were picking them up they also arrested an ÁVH major in Kecskemét. They collected him, too. I don't mean that in a cynical way. It was characteristic of the situation. On the one hand, we held talks with Andrásfi, who often turned up among us but was never harmed. We knew he'd been secretary of the Újpest party committee at one time, an old communist in the town. On the other hand, we'd arrest an ÁVH officer on the way. I talked to an ÁVH sergeant called Valter myself. He confessed categorically that he was a communist and refused to be released if that meant shooting at his own comrades. Although he didn't share the same beliefs, he said, he was wearing the same uniform. I didn't let him out. Although I was sentimental, I wasn't stupid.

We printed plenty of leaflets. Unfortunately, they all found their way to the authorities that arrested us later, as someone in our committee collected them up systematically and saved them for the archives. He saved everything, from Mindszenty's letter of blessing to the last document. He even stole some from the committee. He didn't mean to be bad. He just wanted to save the documents for future historians. It was a perfect collection and caused the deaths of several people.

Fate and accident! On 30 October, a jeep breaks down in Váci út. The men from the national guard go there to help-mere routine. They ask, 'Hey, what's up? Can we help?' Then the people from the jeep jump up and run off. 'Aha', say the national guards, 'then we'd better catch them.' So they caught them and brought them in. They turned out to be ÁVH men. 'Where were you going?' 'For Mindszenty.' They wanted to bring him up to Pest and present him to their superiors. 'So that's what!' That was how we learnt that Mindszenty was still in prison. That's how I became involved in the Mindszenty case. Hitherto, we hadn't known anything of Mindszenty's whereabouts; we knew he'd been arrested, but we'd never demanded his release. I'd know if we had. It started as a natural process: Mindszenty was a political prisoner and so he had to be freed, too. It wasn't about the Primate or anything; it was about this man Mindszenty. Ok, so let me get back to the point. An officer called Szobácsi, and a petty officer called Walde were caught. They were ÁVH men in police uniform or civilian clothes, I can't remember. As for me, I never even saw Szobácsi, although he later testified at my trial that I'd beaten him to pulp. But I did see Walde, although the evidence he gave wasn't even recorded. I talked to Walde. We learnt from these two that they were going to Hosszupetény for Mindszenty. A unit was formed from committee members and a few national guards to go and free Mindszenty. Pali Kósa wanted me to go with them, but I said I wasn't going, I was tired and sleepy, and I'd collapse if I didn't have a sleep. So I didn't go. Mindszenty never made an impact on me; I could imagine life without him quite well. I was neutral. That's probably why I didn't go. There were enough of them. Why would they need one more? I had a very interesting conversation with Walde instead, although I didn't initiate it. The boys went to Hosszúpetény–five or six committee members together with armed men, but by the time they arrived Mindszenty had already been freed from house arrest by the tank crew of Rétság. Not that his release did anybody any good!

It's interesting to note that Mindszenty's liberation was organized by Laci Gábor, who was a Jewish boy. His parents had returned from the gates of hell. His father was an old communist. Laci was a student of medicine, who'd just suspended his university studies to earn some money. I still remember vividly the two of us coming out of the cell and Laci asking me: 'Mikike, give me some salt'... He was executed... I remember telling him, 'Don't kid about it, you certainly won't be hanged. I can't give you any salt till the end of your life.' But I filled up his salt cellar. He lived for three more months before he was hanged. All the time he was in the condemned cell he was worrying about his mother, whether she was alive or dead. He asked for a new photo so as to have fresh news of her. When the photo arrived, Laci was happy for two or three days and then he died.

Laci Gábor was the one on the committee closest to me and he went to Felsőpetény. I didn't pay any attention to the whole Mindszenty case. I know he was taken to the Castle, where he was protected by a guard of the Újpest Revolutionary Committee. They say Mindszenty didn't trust anybody else in the first few days. But I only know that from hearsay.

But there was something in the whole matter that disturbed me and I started to think. On the one hand, they were declaring that all the political prisoners had been freed. Then you had a figure like Mindszenty and ÁVH men going off to get him. There was a contradiction there. It proved the ÁVH was still active and important and political prisoners were still in jail. Our faith in Imre Nagy's policies was shaken a bit. I started to think further. Prisoners released from Vác were coming through Újpest and saying there were more political prisoners still in the Transit Prison. 'Why weren't they out?' I asked myself. They must still have been there. So in the small hours of 30 October, I decided to free the political prisoners from the Transit in Kőbánya.

Some of the tank troops were still stationed in Újpest, and so I got together a squadron of three tanks and their crew, on a strictly volunteer basis. I cooperated with the artillery units in Rákospalota, too, who found the range of the Transit. I also went to the River Guard, and organized one or two volunteer platoons and another one or two from the national guard. This added up to five trucks of armed men. I had five hours at my disposal. We hurried to Kőbánya. As we circled the prison, I realized there wasn't a soul to be seen in the watchtowers. The inmates were inside and we were outside. I went to the national guard headquarters in Kőbánya and presented my ID papers. I already had a certificate by then. I told them our intentions. They didn't know what was going on inside the prison, either. I was outraged. Here they were, a stone's throw away, not knowing what was happening in there. I suggested a coordinated attack. I even called the emergency ambulance service and told them there could be quite a few dead and wounded at the Transit at one that night. As it happened, there weren't any, but not a single ambulance turned up in any case. I did what I'd learnt in my defence studies, which I'd got an A for in the exam: plan of deployment, safeguarding route–everything was taken care of except air cover. Reconnaissance missions, first by a patrol, then by the commander, which was me. The man from the River Guard who came with me on the reconnaissance mission was János Cseh.

The convoy was ready to move. 'Off we go! To the Transit!' We checked times and speeds, for the trucks didn't move in a single unit and they didn't start at the same time–just as I'd learnt. I said I'd got an A for defence studies. The real problem was that the ones we were going to liberate were alive, but they'd only be safe if there wasn't any shooting. I tried to solve this problem by sending a platoon ahead to take a firing position at the gate of the cemetery near the inn at an agreed time. As I went into the prison, the tanks were circling round the Transit with gun towers aimed at the governor's block and the watchtowers. They could come right through the gates, if need be. I based my entry on a bluff, which worked. It was one o'clock in the morning when we stopped our Pobeda or Volga car outside the prison – I don't remember which it was. The door was flung open and a lieutenant stood there to attention. The searchlights were turned on me. 'Halt! Who goes there?' 'Péterfi. Take me to the governor.' Who'd have thought that the man they were saluting at attention wasn't an official person. They took us to the governor. I mean they took me and my anxiety, which took on a separate identity... We went in. It's unbelievable what young men can do. We went up a spiral staircase to the governor's room. He was asleep in his own little room. He was a lieutenant-colonel. A guy went in first and woke him up. I told him we'd heard news that there were ÁVH officers in the building making preparations to liquidate the political prisoners. I also told him the prison was surrounded and there was an order to fire in thirty minutes after I entered the compound. Only I personally could reverse it. The governor told me there were no ÁVH men in the prison. But there were: most of them were ordinary soldiers enlisted into the ÁVH, but there were real operative officers, too. He said there were both political and criminal offenders there. They were going to review the cases of the political prisoners. The prisoners wouldn't be hurt. I told him I didn't believe it and asked him to show me: open the gates and show me.

A few more of our unit commanders came in as well and we went from cell to cell. Dante's arrival at the gates of the Inferno was a picnic compared with what we saw there. It was the middle of the night; 15-watt bulb, toilet in the corner–there was even a toilet in the corner!–slop-pail in the corner, men in the cell. They reported to me and I was horribly embarrassed. It was because the commander always gave way and let me enter first. A guy jumped up and reported in a confused way: name, sentenced for this and that many years, number of people in cell, etc. I was terribly scared, or no, I wasn't scared, I was stunned. The 15-watt bulb, the smell of men, the stinking, stifling smell of prison, the desolation... Then I asked whether there were many political prisoners in there. And then this kid–still just a child–said he didn't know. 'How's that?' I asked. Because he hadn't been here that long, only two-and-a-half years. That may sound remarkable, but two-and-a-half years in a closed system isn't that long. He didn't know how many there were or who they were. You have to be an old, experienced inmate for that, and there has to be a refined system of communication to know in the right block of the prison who's in the left block, or even to know in section one of the left block who's in section two. I think that was absolutely impossible under the system created by the ÁVH.

I was confronted with astonishing facts. There were political prisoners who'd committed war crimes and prisoners who'd broken eggs and been condemned for sabotage. I told them that they'd soon be discharged. I had no idea what was going to happen there. Suddenly, all the doors of the cells were flung open: a warden had rounded all the inmates into the middle of the star using dogs. I still don't know if it was provocation or not. Everybody in the centre: political and common prisoners alike, war criminals, patricides, ex-fascists, high, medium or low-ranking members of the Arrow-Cross party, kulaks, men who'd possessed illegal weapons like shotguns–all these were the produce of the 50s. Well, I was scared, I can tell you. I felt a heavy weight of historical responsibility on me. I knew these men couldn't be released just like that. That was how and when the shooting in the Transit took place–I fired a shot in the air. People were pressed back into their cells systematically and in regular order. We relieved the guards and gave the keys of the cells to the politicals.

But that wasn't the end of it. One of the inmates told me on the side that there was an operative group of security men in the prison, too, and the 'opera staff' as they called them, were the meanest of all. But they didn't know where they were. The wardens didn't know either, but the governor did. He led me there–a loyal member of his class, wasn't he? Poor things, they were sleeping in perfect safety and confidence, without a clue about what was going on in the prison. They didn't even hear the tanks. They were ÁVH operative officers. They were sleeping in an office in the governor's block. When I was told they were there, I couldn't think of anything but running at the door and kicking it open. There was a writing desk right in front of me and I jumped on the top of it–there was nothing theatrical about that, just necessity, and I said immediately, 'Hands up!' To my surprise, four men stood up and instead of holding up their hands, they turned against the wall with their hands up. They automatically did what they were used to making other people do. Well, of course, we arrested those men. We took their guns and I told my armed men to take them to Újpest.

Here comes a lyrical bit... When they were arrested, they were shackled with US patent shackles. These shackles consist of ratchets and they have to be kept apart by force when they're applied, because once the cogs lock into each other, there's no getting them open. I saw the hand of one of the ÁVH officers was already bleeding and I got very angry and told my men to take him to a doctor or a locksmith immediately, as I couldn't find the key. I was running round like a mad chicken behind them as they were walked off in line. To be honest, I should add that these people were quite honest at my trial. They told the court what happened just as it had happened. That wasn't typical. Witnesses seldom gave their evidence honestly. The judge–or chairman of the council as he was called–remarked: 'You, Péterfi, what a touching story you're telling us!' Then he asked how I knew. I stood up and said: 'You know, sir, I've often read in the Szabad Nép that the proof of the fact that Tito's an imperialist is that he introduced American shackles. For American shackles are the symbols of fascism and imperialism–and I couldn't bear to see them. That reminds me, could you, please, take these off my wrists, as well?” For I was wearing US patent shackles at my trial. It was embarrassing. They took them off, and replaced them with a chain.

I didn't have time to deal with the people arrested. I was upset because I realized I wouldn't be able to find a perfect solution. Only half the job had been done. I don't want to blame myself. I was right to think what was happening to the prisoners at the Transit, and at that particular moment, I was the person appointed by history to think of them–and I had the means to act. There was only one thing I could do: take the keys and weapons from the representatives of the establishment and hand them over to the inmates. In a matter of seconds, armbands had been found and the new regime introduced. They chose the leaders for each star, and hell knows what else – so order was restored in seconds.

During my investigation a witness was found who gave evidence of the fact that I'd had Sgt Karácsony tied on the front of a tank on our way back to Újpest – but Sgt Karácsony remembered no such thing. Another witness said that I had Kovács, the executioner, tied on the front of a tank–but he wasn't even there. Even if he had been, why would I have chosen him to tie on the front of the tank?

It was dawn; we left the prisoners and disarmed warders at the opened prison and returned. We even left the governor there. Why bother? To my mind, the prison, the governor and the ÁVH men had been split up. In fact, the'd been split since October 1956, although a month earlier, he might have been all those rolled into one uniform.

What I've told you now is how it all happened, and whatever you find in the files on me opening the gates of the Transit and releasing the prisoners is a lie. Proof of this is the fact that I wasn't even charged with it or anything of the kind. I wasn't charged with anything in connection with the Transit–except by writers of books on '56 later. But I was responsible for it all. The idea was mine and I organized the whole operation, which took place under my command–a young man caught up the tide of history... I was a tool in history's hands. History sent me there to see whether political prisoners were being liquidated or not, whether they were safe or not. I was even a bit embarrassed, as I didn't expect to find ordinary prison conditions there. I expected an emergency situation for the political prisoners and that's what spurred my improvised liberation of the prisoners. And once I was there, I arrested the ÁVH officers as well. In fact I carried an order from the military commander of Budapest to arrest all counter-intelligence officers, and all of those operative officers were counter-intelligence officers, too. And that wasn't unique in 1956: I think I behaved appropriately in that specific historical situation.

Interviewer: Gyula Kozák, Imre Mécs. Date: 1982.
Editor: Gyula Kozák.