When he was here among us, there was no need for much talking if you could sing instead. That’s the kind of friend he was. Few words, many deeds, and if we were in need: all the help, with anything, anytime. Even if we hadn’t seen each other for years.
What mattered to him was the deed, the work well done; that all we had let into our hearts, the preservation of peasant culture, should not disappear without a trace over the stormy decades we had been given. The countless adventures, struggles or joyful moments we’d had together.
And, whenever the opportunity arose: few words, but many-many beautiful songs from Țara Călatei, stretching into the dawn. They were his songs, too. He’d brought them with him, collecting them, as he had learnt from Uncle Kallós Zoli.
Not for himself. For us, too.
Now, his songs have departed him. And he, too, has departed us; but the melodies remain. They swell above us, like smoke on a nice day in autumn. They’ve taken residence in our mouths singing, our hands playing, and in our souls; indelibly. It is up to us whether they will be preserved, now that, after so many good people, he has also left us.
And while we still sing them, Lengyel László “Türei” will also remain among us. He strengthens and encourages us never to stop. So that we, too, as he did throughout his life and his songs, should keep alive what the ancients had bequeathed us. Until the end of time.
Kelemen László
(Speech at the Reformed Church of Turea, 1 April 2023)