(The following story by Daniel Michaels appeared on the Wall Street Journal website on August 7.)
BUDAPEST, Hungary — Orsi Morzsik punches tickets of passengers boarding the suburban train at Szepjuhaszne station here with poise rare among 10-year-olds.
On the platform, other children in blue uniforms monitor signal lights and whistle for the train to depart. More kids staff ticket windows, plan schedules and manage track switches, following official Hungarian national railway rules.
They all work on the Children’s Railway, a full-size train line serving the outskirts of the city and operated year-round almost exclusively by youngsters ages 10 to 14.
“It’s like a job, but fun,” says Orsi, who joined in February.
Fun wasn’t the goal in 1948, when the line was created by Stalinist apparatchiks to train future rail workers and instill political obedience in youths. Today, however, the line is a mix of apprenticeship and day camp. Children learn leadership and teamwork while playing. Though unpaid, the children are graded on their on-the-job skills. From age 14, they can oversee younger children and organize games and sports activities. Lili Abraham, 14, says she has learned a lot about customer service and event organization during her four years on the line.
The renewed popularity of the railway, which shut down briefly after Communism collapsed in 1989, is one of the more playful examples of how Hungarians and other Central Europeans are burying the worst of Communist legacies.
Almost two decades after the end of Soviet domination, many East Europeans feel comfortable embracing Communist-era institutions that have adapted to today’s world. Germans have coined the word ostalgia, to refer to nostalgia for life in the former communist East Germany. In Poland, a cult following has developed around spartan “milk bar” canteens, where bland food is served anonymously through a hatch, prison-style.
For many parents in Hungary, the Children’s Railway is much more than a ride down memory lane. “It’s one of the very rare bits of valuable heritage of the Communist regime,” says Peter Gulyas, an airline executive who sends his 14-year-old son.
At a recent celebration of the train’s 60th anniversary, a marching band of old-timers played the railway’s anthem and children performed a rock song they had written for the event. Adults wore “Nostalgia Day” shirts from the Saturday each September when they are allowed to run the line again.
Political Showpiece
Children’s trains were once common across the Soviet bloc, and Hungarians were proud to have the longest, at seven miles. The line winds through leafy parks, past a zoo and along ravines in the Hungarian capital’s verdant Buda Hills. Some stations are still adorned with Socialist realist murals idealizing children sporting their signature red scarves and state railway uniforms. As in 1948, the only adult involved directly on each train is the engineer, hidden away driving the diesel locomotive.
Originally named the Pioneer Railway, after the Communist youth league that ran it, the operation was as much a political showpiece as training ground. Schoolchildren needed top grades and permission from their principal. Any missed schoolwork had to be made up.
After four months of training at Hungarian State Railway headquarters, Pioneers would work one 12-hour shift every two weeks. Days began around 8 a.m. with the salute: “Reporting for duty, Comrade Station Master.”
Pioneer Privileges
Railway Pioneers had privileges like bottles of Coca-Cola, which other children weren’t allowed to have because the drink came from America, says Albert Lugosi, who worked on the railway in the mid-1980s and now manages its Web site.
The operation was a reward for children who were “more equal than others,” says Ivan Banki, 71, who worked on the train from 1950 to 1952. After Stalin’s death in 1953 and Hungary’s 1956 uprising against Soviet oppression, the Pioneer Railway lost most of its political baggage. About 550 children worked on the line when its traffic peaked at 795,000 passengers in 1961.
For years, the line offered a place for children to mingle in a society that didn’t offer much entertainment. Gizella Oravec, a 40-year-old software manager, says her mother sent her in the mid-1980s because she was so shy. On the railway, Ms. Oravec met her future husband. Their oldest son, now 17 and a seven-year veteran of the train, met his girlfriend there, too, a few years ago. His girlfriend’s parents also met there.
But when the East bloc collapsed, the train quickly lost popularity. It stopped completely for a month in 1990 and repeatedly faced the threat of permanent closure as Hungary’s state railway slashed funding. Traffic hit a low point of around 190,000 passengers in 1994. With barely 200 children staffing the line, each sometimes had to perform the work of five.
Railway Renovations
Even though organizers dropped “Pioneer” from the railway’s name, many parents still considered it an undesirable vestige of Communism. Children preferred Western distractions such as MTV and videogames. When Hungarian State Railway veteran Lajos Nagy took over the children’s train in 1996, stations were crumbling, he recalls. Mr. Nagy, 56, persuaded the government to give him money for renovations and he beefed up marketing.
He led efforts to recondition coal-fired steam engines and began running vintage trains on weekends. He created special soundproofed cars that can be rented for birthday parties or business meetings, complete with audio equipment and catering. Another car is a working science classroom that schools use for field trips; students can collect rocks and leaves at stops along the line.
Mr. Nagy, who has spent 38 years on Hungarian railways, says he lacked the grades to join the Pioneer Railway in the 1960s. Today, he keeps its original high admissions requirements and makes sure that children maintain some old-style discipline.
His grandson, a participant, “doesn’t behave himself at home,” Mr. Nagy says. But on the railway, “he greets me properly.”