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One day, Antun Pilepić was brought to Stara Gradiška. He wa; the Canon of Split famous for his social work and an excellent publicist. His activity and writing as the editor of the "Catholic Word" was not forgotten. Although he could hardly move, he was placed in our department. The authorities in the prison tried to stir up dissension among the prisoners by spreading rumours that some priests "had allegedly revised" their attitudes and offered their cooperation. Such news brought confusion and embarrassment between us because the suspected individuals were subjected to double punishment as they were boycotted by their brothers and co-sufferers.
Once, when I was in the solitary cell, the prison manager's assistant , Nikola Cimeš, who was the Head of the local UDBA (Yugoslav State Security Service), paid me a visit. He asked me why I had not sent a petition for amnesty (at that time I had another seven years to serve). "I have not sent it and I will not because I am not guilty" I answered. He left the cell furiously and I felt such complete peace of mind as probably never before in my life.
Christmas Celebration in Solitary Confinement
Following his trial in Šibenik after the war, the Franciscan monk Julije Ramljak, (62) was also sent to prison in Stara Gradiška. He was charged with allegedly assisting members of Crusader organisntions in his part of the country.
"Towards the end of October 1946 I was put into a cattle wagon together with Father Krešo Zorić and other convicted men and we were taken to Zagreb by train. From Zagreb, we were taken to Stara Gradiška. When we entered the prison yard, the police lieutenant already had a list with our names and knew that we were priests. He was shouting: "Come on Latin priests, damn you, you will remember this prison!". Zorić was afraid and I was smiling. I knew that the guards were savage and that they shouted as soon as they heard that you were a Croatian Catholic priest. We were brought in front of the management building of the Correctional Institution and searched as if we were expected to be armed. After fifteen day's quarantine with no washing water we were taken into the Tower, Department No. 9, where I met Father Krsto Kržanić. Several days later, I was sent to work. I was given a wheel-barrow and had to draw out earth from a deep pit. I was not alone. There were hundreds of us and the quota was 35 wheelbarrows full of earth a day. Large numbers of students, professors, townsfolk and peasants worked together with us. The very best part of the Croatian nation suffered here under the command of illiterate policemen and a few literate employees. In winter, we worked in two shifts and our task was to carry goods from the Sava port to the prison. In spring, we drew out earth again and in June I joined a group of approximately 50 people whose task was to dig potatoes and corn. The earth was as hard as stone. In the morning we were on the field near Novi Varoš and in the evening we went back to the Institution on foot, "tambura" players in front of us and the guards with machineguns behind us. Lunch was brought right to the field - mostly boiled barley or turnips in large cans. After several days of work in the fields, it. was decided that we could spend the night there. We were installed in Vojnića Desert near the village GrecJani. We slept in a large, but damp house and we did our washing by ourselves. In the morning, around six o'clock we already had to start digging and we had to work continually until twilight. We had lunch riaht on the field and not even in extremely hot weather were we allowed to take shelter in the shade of the surrounding trees.
One day it was raining hard while we were diggiug turnips but we were not allowed to stop. We only stopped in the evening and went to bed wet through without changing our clothes. And what could we possibly change? We had nothing. Our clothes dried on our bodies and we waited for the bell to indicate that we were allowed to lie down. One Sunday Zufić, the policeman, lined us up for work and ordered us to start going but nobody moved. The column was headed by Father Jerko Eterović and he was followed by Stjepan Cek, a priest from Istria. We told the guard that Sunday was a holiday and that we did not want to work. The police lieutenant, Stanić, came and he threatened that he would open fire on the column if we refused to go, but nobody moved after this threat either. The policemen jumped around and their commander was furious with anger, but everything was in vain.
This was the time when the new prison manager, Radić, from Knin was appointed. He asked to see me, because as he said, he knew me from the war. As a partisan he had watched me from a hiding place while I was on my way from Visovac to Drniš. He did not understand my sentence and he told me: "You acted in accordance with your rules, as far as I have heard". He was not the prison manager for long. He was good, so he could not stay. Ivan Kosak was re- appointed to this position.
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