If something is ‘zdařilý’ (feminine: zdařilá), it’s successful, well done or just plain good. The adjective derives from the reflexive verb ‘zdařit se’, which means to succeed or to turn out well.
And, in 1938, whoever was in charge of names of streets decreed that the building job done over the last ten years or so, including the creation of multiple new dwellings, was, indeed, a job well done.
‘Zdar’ translates as ‘success’ or ‘luck’. If you were to say ‘Mnoho zdaru!’ to someone, you’d be wishing them good luck.
It derives from ‘dar’, which means ‘gift’ or ‘present’. It’s also where we get ‘nazdar’, which takes third place to ‘ahoj’ and ‘čau’ in the ‘how to greet your friends’ rankings.
And the street was named to commemorate the success of those who had built it and its houses.
It’ll be (extremely) clear to anyone following these recent posts that there was a lot of construction of residential buildings around here in the 1930s and 1940s. A lot.
By 1947, this street didn’t have a name yet. Not feeling terribly creative, the Central National Committee of the City of Prague declared that, as the street was the result of the hard work done by the builders, the street should be called what literally translates as ‘on the result’.
‘Družnost’ would typically be translated as ‘sociability’ or ‘gregariousness’. Both of which are fine qualities.
However, the street name comes from that which has been discussed a lot in recent posts: this area, formerly part of the Jezerka farmstead (https://whatsinapraguestreetname.com/2025/03/19/prague-4-day-51-na-jezerce/), was sold to construction cooperatives (družstva) so that they could build residential buildings.
The Rašíns were quite high-profile in the early days of Czechoslovakia: Viktor’s brother, Aloiš, eleven years younger, had been the country’s first Minister of Finance from 1918 to 1919.
The insurance company was taken over by Viktor’s son, Jaromír; by 1928, it was the second-biggest insurance company in Czechslovakia.
Jaromír, a man of many interests (including book collecting and beekeeping), also tried to establish himself as a writer, without major success.
Despite its name, 80% of the company’s shares were owned by a German insurance company; in the 1930s, this stake would be taken over by a Nazi insurance company.
Soon after the Munich Agreement – giving the Nazis the green light to annex the Sudetenland – was signed in 1938, Rašín emigrated to Yugoslavia, dying at his home on the island of Hvar in 1951.
The street name gives the impression that this is street is next to Slovanská pojišťovna’s office, which it quite clearly isn’t. It does, however, consist of homes built by the company for its employees.
Another day, another case where a construction cooperative built the homes in the street: its name, ‘Život’, translates as ‘life’.
Which makes it pretty damn unsearchable, but at least we can compensate today with some phrases.
‘Posmrtný život’ is ‘life after death’, or the afterlife; a ‘příběh ze života’ is a ‘real-life story’ (Czech leaves out the ‘real’, correctly realising this should be implicit); something that has a ‘jepičí život’ is short-lived – literally, it has a ‘mayfly life’.
Meanwhile, ‘život nadoraz’ is ‘life in the fast lane’, and, if you’re ‘životem protřelý’, you’re worldly-wise.
‘Životaschopný’ means ‘viable’, and ‘životopis’ has created no end of confusion for me at work before, as it’s not only a CV, but also the brief biography you might find for people on their company’s website. Meaning that the question ‘Can you provide me your CV?’ is never quite as straightforward as I’d once imagined.
The houses in this street were built by a construction cooperative called Ideál, and you try putting a word like that into Google and getting the results you want.
In this case of this street, all the homes were built by a construction cooperative called Repo.
The word ‘repo’ relates to a lending rate, but it seems there’s nothing about this cooperative on the internet at all, although a housing cooperative called REPO 97, founded in, yes, 1997, is registered in the street.
Družstevní ochoz was built in 1941, and has an excellent shape.
‘Družstevní’ is the adjective deriving from ‘družstvo’, which means ‘cooperative’.
Everything within that circle of sorts consists of residential homes built by cooperatives.
‘Ochoz’, meanwhile, would translate as ‘gallery’, but not in the art sense: it’s a ‘a space allowing longitudinal passage through walls’.
So, for example, a ‘hradební ochoz’ would be a chemin de ronde, or a ‘wall-walk’, a raised walkway behind a castle battlement.
Meanwhile, a ‘chórový ochoz’ would be an ambulatory – a covered passage around a cloister, or the processional way on the eastern side of a cathedral, going behind the altar.
‘Ochoz’ can also refer to the stands or terrace in a stadium. And we’ll be spending quite a lot of time inside this ‘stadium’ of residential buildings in the next week or two.
A ‘sdružení’ is an association, a group, or a club. And the name of the street commemorates the cooperative association that was involved in its construction.
This will be something of a running theme for the next couple of weeks, or more; to avoid repetition (or deflect from it), I’ll be adding some vocabulary to each post.
On that note: a ‘zájmové sdružení’ is an interest association, and an ‘občanské sdružení’ is a citizens’ association.
‘Soudní’ would typically be translated as ‘judicial’, from ‘soud’ (‘court’, but also ‘trial’).
In 1850, the High Provincial Court in Prague (Vrchní zemský soud v Praze) was established, replacing the General Court of Appeal. It was responsible for dealing with appeals in Bohemia (not Moravia), as well as checking up on judges, lawyers and notaries.
In 1918, a Supreme Court was formed with jurisdiction over the whole of the newly-founded Czechoslovakia; in the following year, it was moved to Brno.
On 1 January 1950, the Supreme Court – now replete with ‘people’s judges’ – was moved to náměstí Hrdinů. We’ll get to that square soon, so, for now, here’s how the building looks from Soudní (not its best side).
In 1960, it was renamed as the Supreme Court of the Czechoslovak Socialist Republic.
However, when Czechoslovakia was federalised in 1969, two more Supreme Courts were established: one for the Czech Republic, and one for Slovakia. The Czechoslovak court’s jurisdiction was limited to matters concerning the entire country.
In 1991, the Czechoslovak Supreme Court moved to Brno (again). It wouldn’t be called that for much longer, because, on 1 January 1993, the Czech Republic and Slovakia split into two separate countries.
The Czechoslovak Supreme Court in Brno became the Czech Supreme Court; the Czech Supreme Court became the High Court in Prague (Vrchní soud v Praze).
Nowadays, it has jurisdiction over affairs in Bohemia (Moravian and Silesian matters are seen to by a court in Olomouc). It mainly deals with appeals against decisions made by regional courts.
As for the building: it’s called the Palace of Justice (Justiční palác, although this is also translated by the more mundane ‘courthouse’). When Pankrác Prison was opened in 1889, part of its buildings was used the provincial criminal court.
During World War II, the building was used by the Nazi occupiers as an extraordinary court (over 1,000 people would be executed in Pankrác Prison in the final two years of the war).
Things didn’t get much better in terms of justice and basic human decency afterwards; the building was the location of the show trials that led to the execution of Milada Horáková and Rudolf Slánský.
More stories about Pankrác Prison when we get to streets with Pankrác in their name; better photos of the court when we get to the square on which its front entrance is located.
‘Zalomit’ is a verb translating as ‘to break’, ‘to bend’. It can also be used to mean ‘to wrap’, in the sense of ‘wrap text’.
A ‘zálom’ would be a curve or a bend, but it doesn’t seem to be a very common word these days (Polish ‘załom’ gets more hits, but most of these are literary).
In any case, the shape of the street in the map above gives a pretty idea of how it got its name.
As far back as 1361, the Vyšehrad Chapter had walls put round the spring, and replaced the wooden pipes with stone ones.
Much later – in the 1920s, which, you may have noticed, is when all these streets, and therefore a huge number of houses, were built – the spring was filled in.
The internet politely informs me that any water flowing around here is ‘not safe to drink, due to the increased content of nitrates, sulphates and the presence of bacteria’. Well noted.
There are a couple of legends about the spring, but I’ll bring those up again in a few days.
‘Svažovat se’ is a verb translating as ‘slope (down)’, ‘descend’ or ‘dip’.
And that’s exactly what this street does, towards central Nusle.
The associated noun – ‘svah’ – translates as ‘slope’, as in ‘lyžařský svah’, which is a ski slope or a ski run. It can also be translated as ‘hillside’.
I didn’t want to start taking pics of people’s homes, but (you can maybe see in the street sign pic that) this street has rather nice houses.