Ne ostavljaj me - “Dont leave me”
Josip Broz sighed as he sat at his office in Belgrade. The relatively spartan furnishings contrasted with his grandiose desk and chair, decadent in their French style. Piled on either side of him were dossiers on the various demands of state. Now he could see why they called it “serving” as Prime Minister. In his tiredness, he drifted off in daydreams of his childhood in Kumrovec, on the Croatian-Slovenian border. He remembered as a youth playing in the Sutla river, laughing with the other children. The veteran revolutionary leader continued to cast his mind back, before the wars, to those weeks where he’d stay with his mother’s parents in the Styrian village of Podsreda. There he would explore the hills, exploring and loitering about the Romanesque castle to the south. His grandmother would scold him for his long absences, but he’d always make it up to her by completing chores whilst she attended the market on a Sunday.
He didn’t notice as a child, but as he had grown, the young Josip Broz realised why he was so often sent to see his grandparents. His father Franjo struggled to grow much on his ten acres. As a child, Tito hadn’t seemed all that talented either. Whilst his grandmother had taught him to play the piano, he did poorly at school and didn’t progress beyond primary school. Tito then thought back to slightly more bitter memories. He remembered the tears welling up in his father’s eyes as the ageing Franjo lamented that he couldn’t afford to send his son to America. It is always a more terrible thing than it seems for a boy of fifteen to see his father cry. Tito had instead to make ends meet by himself, working in various parts of Croatia, Slovenia and the Czech lands. In May 1913 he had been conscripted into the army of Austria-Hungary. In the Great War he had ended up in a POW camp. In Russia he participated in the revolution and had afterwards returned home and become a professional revolutionary. Resisting the fascist invasions, he had then led the Partisans to victory over the Germans, with the aid of the British and the Russians.
Tito was relieved that the fascists were done with, but resented the total victory that was seemingly snatched from his grasp by the British invasion. His beloved Kumrovec, and idyllic Podsreda, should be part of the Yugoslav nation. His people were weak divided, but strongest when operating as one. Tito had long thought about this, and had come to only one course of action. The British response, whilst sufficient, had been reluctant in Greece. Now the Americans were withdrawing troops from Europe en masse. Tito still enjoyed a positive relationship with his Soviet comrades. Josip Broz turned and looked up at the portrait of Stalin that looked over his desk. It was soon time to carry the revolution to the Julian Alps, the veteran revolutionary determined. It would soon be time to complete the process of liberation.
Josip Broz sighed as he sat at his office in Belgrade. The relatively spartan furnishings contrasted with his grandiose desk and chair, decadent in their French style. Piled on either side of him were dossiers on the various demands of state. Now he could see why they called it “serving” as Prime Minister. In his tiredness, he drifted off in daydreams of his childhood in Kumrovec, on the Croatian-Slovenian border. He remembered as a youth playing in the Sutla river, laughing with the other children. The veteran revolutionary leader continued to cast his mind back, before the wars, to those weeks where he’d stay with his mother’s parents in the Styrian village of Podsreda. There he would explore the hills, exploring and loitering about the Romanesque castle to the south. His grandmother would scold him for his long absences, but he’d always make it up to her by completing chores whilst she attended the market on a Sunday.
He didn’t notice as a child, but as he had grown, the young Josip Broz realised why he was so often sent to see his grandparents. His father Franjo struggled to grow much on his ten acres. As a child, Tito hadn’t seemed all that talented either. Whilst his grandmother had taught him to play the piano, he did poorly at school and didn’t progress beyond primary school. Tito then thought back to slightly more bitter memories. He remembered the tears welling up in his father’s eyes as the ageing Franjo lamented that he couldn’t afford to send his son to America. It is always a more terrible thing than it seems for a boy of fifteen to see his father cry. Tito had instead to make ends meet by himself, working in various parts of Croatia, Slovenia and the Czech lands. In May 1913 he had been conscripted into the army of Austria-Hungary. In the Great War he had ended up in a POW camp. In Russia he participated in the revolution and had afterwards returned home and become a professional revolutionary. Resisting the fascist invasions, he had then led the Partisans to victory over the Germans, with the aid of the British and the Russians.
Tito was relieved that the fascists were done with, but resented the total victory that was seemingly snatched from his grasp by the British invasion. His beloved Kumrovec, and idyllic Podsreda, should be part of the Yugoslav nation. His people were weak divided, but strongest when operating as one. Tito had long thought about this, and had come to only one course of action. The British response, whilst sufficient, had been reluctant in Greece. Now the Americans were withdrawing troops from Europe en masse. Tito still enjoyed a positive relationship with his Soviet comrades. Josip Broz turned and looked up at the portrait of Stalin that looked over his desk. It was soon time to carry the revolution to the Julian Alps, the veteran revolutionary determined. It would soon be time to complete the process of liberation.