All four came from simple families. They were used to work, order and honesty. Nothing special, one might say, but still - there was something in them. They stuck together whatever the situation.
There were years when it was not easy in Konjice. People were losing their jobs, salaries were being paid late and the future was unclear. So they decided to go abroad - not for good, but for a while - to work in Holland. »At least there you get paid for the work you do,« they said at the time.
They gathered their courage, packed a few things in their suitcases and set off. They were not after wealth, but dignity. They worked where they could - on building sites, in warehouses and among the flowers in greenhouses. Sometimes they worked for twelve hours, slept in small rooms, ate quickly and kept silent. But every Sunday they gathered together, made homemade coffee and talked about home.
Slavko was always the one who knew how to keep the balance. »Boys, don't forget where we belong,« he said when others were thinking of staying permanently. Tone smiled: »Where should we go? Because where you are born, there is always something of you.« And everyone knew he was telling the truth.
What they missed most were the familiar things they were used to, like mountains, language and peace. They missed the familiar sounds; a dog barking across the road, church bells and the voice of a neighbour saying hello. When they shared dinner in the evening, they always said, »When we return, we will appreciate all this even more.«
After a few years, they returned home one after the other. Slavko was among the last. He said he had to finish his contract and earn a little more money to make it easier to start at home. When he finally returned, he found work again - in Konus, a company that at that time provided bread for many people in Konji. He was proud to work at home; to have his own place, his own land, his own air. He always said, »One must walk to see, but one must return to understand.«
For a few more years, they regularly met up with friends. On Friday afternoons at Slavko's or at the firemen's home. There they reminisced about their memories from Holland. They talked about the old days, laughed at embarrassing stories and occasionally fell silent when they remembered the harder days. They never grumbled, they never said it was hard. They accepted everything as part of the journey. Even as they began to leave one by one, they remained present in the words they had spoken.
Today, none of them are still alive, but their memory is still alive in Konjice. When someone remembers Slavko, they say, »He was a man who stayed true to himself and knew how to work.« »He always said that home is not a place, but a feeling.« And they remember Jože and Milan as two people who always came to the rescue when needed.
And if you walk past the Konjice Fire House in the evening, you sometimes think you can hear them. Four voices intertwined with the wind and the smell of the surrounding lawn. As if they were still sitting where they once were.
As the passing is inevitable and their bodies have already passed into eternity, what remains is the belonging they carried within them. It remained in the city they loved. In those they knew. And in every person who can still stop, look around and say, »This is home.«
Zala Krupljan, 21 Oct 2025
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