Pojkart Oskar 【FRESH × 2026】

During the First World War, the Austro-Hungarian army confiscated most metal goods from villages. Soldiers came to Oskar’s workshop and demanded his tin sheets. Oskar, then 27, handed over his stock but hid his tools and a secret cache of thin brass under the floorboards of his chicken coop. For the next four years, he made lanterns at night—not for soldiers, but for the village’s elderly, who feared falling on icy paths to the well.

Oskar Pojkart died in 1965, at age 78, in the same house where he was born. His workshop closed, but not because of disinterest. His last apprentice, a young Roma man named Štefan, continued the trade in a nearby town until the 1990s. And every year, on the winter solstice, a small group of hikers in the White Carpathians carries a single Oskar lantern up the peak of Velká Javořina—lit, faithful, and returning the light. Pojkart Oskar represents the unsung craftsmen of 20th-century rural Europe—people whose technical skill, moral clarity, and quiet courage shaped community survival far more than grand historical events. His lanterns are functional artifacts of resilience, and his motto, “I faithfully return the light,” serves as a metaphor for care, repair, and solidarity in dark times. Pojkart Oskar

In the small, windswept village of Strání, nestled in the foothills of the White Carpathian Mountains, there lived a man named Pojkart Oskar. Born in 1887, Oskar was neither a soldier nor a politician. He was a tinsmith—a craftsman of sheet metal, tin, and patience. But his story is not one of war or wealth; it is a story of light in darkness. During the First World War, the Austro-Hungarian army