Excerpt from Memories of Franz Bardon
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By Dr. Lumir Bardon
Memories of my Father
A popular German song about a clown starts with the following words, “Oh, my Papa.” My father was quite fond of this song and he played it frequently on his record player.
My father Franz was born on December 1, 1909 in Troppau/Opava, Czechoslovakia. He was the first son of Viktor Bardon and his wife Hedwika, nee Herodkova. My grandfather worked in a textile factory in Troppau/Opava preparing weaving looms for a company called Juta. Although I have no memory of him at all, I do know that he spent his free time on the study of Hermetics. When I was six years old, he fell from a tree while picking linden flowers and died; however, I do remember his funeral, which took place during WWII, because I was there.
My father was the first-born and as such he had to oversee the care of his siblings. His parents had twelve children altogether, most of whom died during childhood. Only four of his sisters, Stefanie, Anna, Marie, and Beatrix reached adulthood.
After my father graduated from public school he entered into an apprenticeship as a sewing machine mechanic at a company called Minerva. It was during this apprenticeship that a great change took place in him, as described in his autobiography Frabato the Magician. All his teachers were quite surprised when they noticed the tremendous changes in his character and also in his handwriting. However, my grandfather Viktor recognized my father as his Guru, who was sent to him by Divine Providence.
It did not take long before my father displayed clairvoyant abilities; he became well-known in our region and before long news of his abilities began to spread, which resulted in my father having a large circle of friends and acquaintances. He gave public lectures on supernatural powers under the stage name “Frabato.” The name Frabato is an abbreviation composed of Franz (FRA), Bardon (BA), Troppau (in German), Opava (in Czechoslovakian) (TO).
I would like to add the following to the reminiscences of my father’s student, Dr. M.K., as to how my father and mother became acquainted: My mother had heard of my father’s abilities. At that time two men were courting her, and she went to see my father to ask him which one of the two would become her husband. And then matters took the course as Dr. M.K. describes later in this book.
My father did not want children because of the very difficult spiritual tasks that lay ahead of him. But my mother did not want to be without children, so he agreed to have children with the condition that she alone would have to care for the children, to which my mother agreed. I was to have been born on February 4, 1937, which was calculated by a well-known German astrologer, but instead I was born prematurely on January 4, 1937. The wife of an acquaintance of my father became pregnant at the same time as my mother and their son was born on February 4, 1937. He later had a special talent for languages. When my father arrived at the maternity ward of the hospital in Troppau, the midwife tried to tease him by telling him that he was the father of a new-born daughter. However, because of his abilities, my father knew that he had fathered a son. The doctor in charge of the maternity ward informed my father that I would probably not survive, and that I had been born with one foot that was completely twisted at the ankle. However, in this respect my premature birth proved to be an advantage, because the muscles, tendons, and ankle were very pliable.
When I was brought home, my father massaged my foot with healing herbs that were cooked in water and he exercised my foot intensively. After only one month, my foot was in the proper position and no one could tell which one had been deformed.
I spent my childhood years and my youth with my mother and my grandmother in Gillschwitz. In Czechoslovakian it is called Kylesovice and it is a suburb of Troppau/Opava. I do not remember much about the war, however, I do remember more about the end of the war, when my father came home from the concentration camp. At the onset of the allied occupation, we took refuge for about two weeks in the basement of the house in Gillschwitz, with only beets and potatoes for company. Like any boy in those days I collected a large amount of ammunition and gunpowder. I remember quite well when the detonator of an artillery grenade exploded in my hands as I attempted to take it apart with a stone. My father attended to my injuries and removed fragments with a pair of tweezers from various parts of my body. Four months after these injuries had healed, I suffered another accident. My friends and I wanted to make a fire in a ditch with gunpowder, and I suffered second degree burns on my face, my neck, and my extremities when the gunpowder exploded. My father helped me again by bandaging my burns, although at first he did not want to help me because I had not learned anything from my first accident…