One day in March the mill wheels stopped and courtyard, sometimes full of chariots and horses, was empty. The year was 1939. There was a large seal with a svastika on the gate to the mill. Czech policemen would go to check whether it remains intact. "It is not our fault Francis“ they apologized to grandfather who was standing on the porch with his hands in his pockets and watched them walk around the mill and test whether all the windows are closed. Winter seemed endless at that time. There was snow in Radhost for a long time in April and floating flakes in the valley were like buckwheat husk. Frantisek watched them melt on the stones of the deserted courtyard. Perhaps he remembered his father Joseph as he poured the buckwheat into the meadow on a white sail so that the wind could clear it. Maybe he thought my father would not praise me. He would ask for sure: „
Why don't you grind Francis?“ Once in the night Francis's wife, Marie, was woken up by some noise. She sat on the bed, listened and suddenly noticed that her husband's side was empty. She tossed over her old coat and ran out. She saw the flickering light in the mill window. "Oh, my God," she whispered frightenedly. At other times sealed doors were open and when she found the courage to look inside she saw Francis putting a bag of freshly peeled buckwheat to the wall. "You're crazy ....!" She cried. He lifted his head up and she saw him smiling. "Go to bed, Mary, I'm done with my work today," he said. Grandfather Francis did not tell anyone how he managed to remove the seal without anyone knowing it. The mill wheels have been turning since then almost every night until the end of the war. He was hiding the grains under the floor. When the policemen came to check if everything was fine and they apologized to him again that it's not their fault Francis was reassuring them: "I know, guys, I know." One day in 1940 grandfather Francis was secretly carving pig in the attic. In the courtyard, the steps of the policemen were heard.