France: Friday Sept 4

We decide to take on the Tower of Crest. I remember being spooked by it as a child with it's fake skeletons hanging from the side and torture instruments throughout the rooms. This time I didn't see either, but there were spooky sound effects and little by little, we made our way to the top of the tower. Not an easy feat for those unnerved by heights. Finally reaching the top, we surveyed the town fro

m our windy heights. Charles laughed nervously as he watched a young German woman put her legs over the side of the tower only holding on to the thin railing. Getting back down took some time. We went into town for a snack and to look around some more. We climbed the hundred steps of another church where we found another great view of the town. Mom also showed us the place where Grandma Neumann used to wash the family clothes near their house. We spoke to an old woman who lived in town. She invited us in since she thought she knew someone that Mom knew. As she was writing down some information for Mom, we looked around at the dark little home. Later we learned this was one of the many ancient prisons in town.

After dinner my uncle showed us the photos he had scanned from my grandmother's collection. We looked at close-ups of a group photo taken in Hungary in 1937 during a funeral for my great-grandfather. We know from letters that my grandfather (Ferenz) wanted to attend the funeral, but we don't know if he actually made it back there. So we can only guess at one man in the crowd that may or may not be him. There are many letters from my grandmother's collection that she, in fact, did keep from Ferenz. Surprising, since she did throw out most other things concerning him. The letters are in Hungarian and thanks to my uncle taking up the language after my grandmother's passing, he is slowly translating them bit by bit. I really relished sitting there with him and going through the old photos, having him show me first-hand his discoveries.

I forgot to mention that the night before, there was much discussion about family histories as well. This time talking about the war, my mother's and uncle's relationship with their parents, etc. I had known that my grandfather Ferenz had left Hungary in 1918, a pivotal year, and we knew that it was over some disagreement with his family. My uncle has since found out that Ferenz was in fact an anarchist. Fascinating.