Peace
PEACE!
... How oddly strange and false does this word sound, like a forged
medal thrown on the conference table?
For
nearly six long years we had been waiting for this big word. We were
longing for it like a blessing from Providence. "Pax Vobiscum"
- these words willed our imagination. Bells would be pealing from all
church towers of the world. The sound, touched by a magic wand, would
bring radiating happiness to all the earth. Multitudes of homeless
wanderers would by returning to their homelands like a procession. We
hoped that these words would heal the wounds of the earth and human
hearts, covered in mourning. Freedom would blaze pure and humane. .
The
word was uttered. The sound touched our ears like a bell trying to
proclaim happiness ... with broken ropes .....
Somewhere
in far San Francisco sixty-four nations were discussing the act of
peace on earth.
In
the meantime dark, odd clouds were gathering in Eastern Europe. So far
no thunder was approaching nor heard but the political atmosphere was
unfriendly, heavy and sultry. Nobody was breathing freely but rather
like in a stuffy room.
Those
who would like to spread their wings and fly home were held back by
others pointing to the sky - the weather is unsuitable, a storm is
hanging in the air, wait a bit ... there is still time before winter.
The Cold Front was approaching ...
In
the streets were posters in French, English and German. Walls and shop
windows were covered with colourful announcements. People were
crowding, craning their necks, reading about the victorious
processions of the army, about the erection of the banner over the
ruins of Berlin, about the duty of men to be registered, about the
time allowed to be in the streets - until six p.m. Also about giving
rights is to the foreigners as members of the allied nations and their
rights to move freely outside the radius of three kilometres, about
the confiscation of cars and motor bikes, about the death penalty for
possession of firearms, about the new allied money, about the order to
bare one's head in front of a French banner, of the order forbidding
fraternising with soldiers
and the local German population, about bowing to a general of the
Allied Forces.
The
Germans looked in horror at the photographs taken in Auschwitz, Dachau,
Buchenwald, Majdanek and many, many more extermination camps which had
been hidden secretly by the fallen regime. They simply did not want to
believe in the existence of these huge factories of death (or
pretended not to believe?) where millions of people were transformed
into ashes or skeletons - for the good of the Future Happy Europe. We
saw pictures of chimneys of the dreadful crematoriums, of the
skeletons dug out from the pits and others, dried out skeletons barely
covered with rotting skin. Under the photos was written - "These
shameful acts are on your conscience!"
These
placards were a plain public act of accusation of the Germans or at
least an accusation of complicity. It hurt. No wonder that one night
'unknown hands' tore down these placards. It cost the town a lot. Ten
thousand marks and three days home arrest for all its people. After
three days when they were allowed out there were the placards back
again ... these shameful acts ... are on your conscience:
More
and more people came to Isny. Many of the deported had been assigned
as slaves to the German farmers where they had been the 'glebae
adscripti' (attached to the land) for many years, torn away from the
world and other people. At last they were able to throw down their
shackles and leave to look for their own people. Many came by accident
of war, just being blown in by chance. They were walking around the
streets just looking for their own kind. It was not hard; if they did
not hear their native tongue they could spot their national colours
attached proudly to someone's chest. After the Allied Forces entered
Isny, all the foreigners wore their country colours to distinguish
them from the locals.
One
day quite different people were seen in the streets of Isny. They wore
odd striped uniforms. There were quite a few of them. They were all
speaking Polish. We surrounded them immediately, asking who they were.
They were inmates from the Auschwitz concentration camp. They had fled
from a 'Bauzug' (a train carrying labourers to building sites) and had
waited for some time until able to come to our French zone.
"This
is the truth" said one, pointing to the placards "a factory
of death."
"My
God: How many people went through these chimneys as smoke. Oh heaven:
I am telling you!!! Millions!!! They were carted in wagons to the
ovens. I was taken there in 1943 but just look at my number" - he
rolled up his sleeve to show the tattoo marks - the number was
125,375. "Later on they even stopped numbering. It was terrible
to become a 'Mussulman' (a name given to very emaciated people, thin
as skeletons, near death from starvation). If a doctor saw such a
'Mussulman' he would send him immediately to the ovens. Many also died
during work. When such a chap was already unable to work with a
shovel, the S.S. man would hit him with a stick on his neck, hit him
some more and when the fellow was on the ground unable to move much
then the S.S. man, rotten bloody bastard, would put the handle of the
shovel under his face and, putting his feet astride the shovel on both
sides, he would swing a few times up and down and the Mussulman was
finished. No gas chambers - he got his free ticket to heaven. When we
came from Auschwitz to the 'bauzug' we thought we were grabbing God
Almighty by his beard."
"'Why
were you taken to Auschwitz?"
"I,
personally, was there for political reasons. There were also some
criminals but not many. During my tine the majority were Jews. There
were even hutelders (in charge of barracks). When they went up in
smoke the hutelders were allocated between us. Yes, my countrymen, it
sure was a mangle. It is better to rot in the earth than to live in
Auschwitz, I am telling you!! But now life is beautiful, like a fairy
tale, and the Germans are now under our heel." Smiling and
rubbing his hands he asked: "Look, folks, maybe someone has a
smoke?" Many hands stretched out offering cigarettes. We Poles
took care of our 'striped ones' as the people from the concentration
camps were called.
In
the small, crowded room of the Mitynski family stood a beautiful
wireless. One of his five children got it from one of the 'Blacks' in
exchange for a nickel watch and wristband. The 'Black' one already had
three radios but no wristwatch and a business deal was easily
performed. Thanks to this transaction I was often able to listen to
the radio with my countrymen. There was usually a biggish group
listening to news from London. One day there were many people. Among
them was Mr. Goch who was arguing at length about the question of the
'Veto' which the Russian brought up once again. "I don't know
much about politics,” interrupted Mr. Mitynski. "You had better
tell us what is going to happen to us. The war has already been
finished quite a while. When will we be able to go home? It is still
impossible. Have they forgotten us back home?"
"Who
is going back home, sir, when a new war is already hanging in the
air,” replied Goch, a bit angry about the interruption.
"What?
War with the Russki? My God, that would be the last straw. One war has
just finished - people even have had no time to put their bodies and
souls together. People must be getting quite mad:" Mrs Mitynska
was moaning.
"You
can't help it. As long as the Bolsheviks are alive there can't be
peace" said Goch, full of conviction.
Maybe
the Russki will give us our land back without a fight. He has that
much of his own lands."
"Who
is going to give back anything without a fight?"
"I
am certainly not going back while the Russek is still there,” said
Mrs. Cybulska. "I have heard that their GePeWu have already
deported seven million Poles to their Siberia. Have you listened to
this morning's news?"
"No."
I became interested.
"They
spoke so nicely from London about the sixteen Polish generals still
being imprisoned in the Soviet camps. The news was saying that the
imprisoned ones had been fighting for our and your freedom."
"My
God, what is going to happen? When will it all be over?" Mrs.
Eitynska was very upset.
At
six o'clock ... "Here speaks the Polish radio Warsaw, Poznan,
Lwow, Katowice, Wilno and Baranowicze on the London waves. Good
evening. We are starting our third news broadcast from the London
station ..." It became quiet in the room; people were listening
with serious attention. Perhaps at last we would hear something about
our country, about the possibility of returning home. There were so
many rumours spreading anxiety ... the voice continued: "During
the battles in the far east an important part is the relation between
different castes in China ... now we are finishing our broadcast.
You
can hear us again on the meter band…."
I
switched the radio off.
"Now
my old one, have you learned something of interest?" Mr. Mitynski
asked his wife.
"No-one
is telling the truth,” moaned Mrs. Mitynski. "The radio does
not say anything of importance to us and the people are saying too
much. What should one do? To whom should one listen? I even don't know
if I should start these bags of flour now or if I should keep them
until winter. Maybe we will have to stay here during winter. How will
I feed seven?"
Days
and then weeks of waiting. Spring had passed and with the Spring
passed the hope of a quick return home. Summer came, with the corns
and their ringing bells. It was a hot summer. Our Frenchmen, the
previous war prisoners, had left long ago, going back home, and the
next ones to go were the Dutchmen. The Germans, who were bombed out,
started to return to their ruined cities to start rebuilding a new
life. We were still here. We people from the East: Poles, Russians,
Ukrainians, Jugoslavs, Lithuanians and Estonians. The East was still
closed to us. We were eating the well-deserved German cheese and
butter, and waiting. We were free not to work. The days were ours to
do as we pleased. People were walking up and down the streets, playing
cards and drinking home-made vodka made from sugar. The girls were
flirting with the 'Blacks' and the older men were organising
associations, clubs, administrations and so on, thus giving their
democratic temperament a wide field of action.
The
Russians conformed to a less democratic system, obeying a
self-appointed commandant. Their democratic feelings were satisfied by
accumulating private property. Heim's factory they considered their
own property. The red banner was raised on the roof and inside barter
was flourishing. Machinery, tools, factory equipment were changing
hands mainly going to the farmers. The most popular currency was
Schnapps. With Schnapps came the wish to have a girlfriend, to take
her for a walk. But why walking? Very soon pushbikes, motorbikes and
even cars found their way into the camp. The boys, once mobile, were
travelling over the roads, footpaths, squares, everywhere, going into
ecstasies. They were taking sharp bends at sixty, gathering experience
by chaffed skin, broken bones and broken vehicles. But who cares? Skin
and bones will heal and there are still plenty of vehicles around. The
young Ukrainian girls were dressed colourfully, the old berets
discarded. In their permanent frizzy hair they wore red flowers.
Couples were joining tenderly together. The young boys, Wasia, Ivan,
Jaszem, Zonia, were allowed to take their girls on their bikes or even
in cars. In the evening many cars were leaving the factory with boys
and girls, all with happy, smiling faces. The driver, revving loudly
and travelling fast, was very proud and happy - at last life was
smiling on him.
The
slow Lithuanians began speculating. They had to think about their
future as none of them intended to return to Lithuania which had
become one of the Soviet republics. They walked along streets with
cases of goods such as cigarettes, cigarette papers, tobacco, razor
blades, combs and other small goods which were hard to get in Isny.
The
Yugoslavs, family minded, lived mostly quietly at home. They received
better living accommodation and were happy with their families. The
Estonians disappeared somewhere and started to build their permanent
lives here in Germany. Only one Rumanian was left as he was a great
friend of the Poles. He was playing sentimental songs on his violin,
looking full of love at the Polish girls. He greeted everyone with the
words 'Dobranoc, kochana' (goodnight, my love) as they were the only
words he could speak in Polish.
Out
of sheer boredom, people started to get married, making great festive
weddings. They were mainly young people who worked before as slaves on
tree farms. Now they arrived at the church in a farm cart covered with
flowers. We were often at these weddings where I usually had to make
speeches and give the bride away as only a few had their parents.
There was always plenty of food - roast veal, and cakes made by the
farmers daughters. There was a lot of dancing including true quick
'polka' and the last dance was always a mazurka.
In
the meantime the Polish group and some other groups were creating and
disbanding governing bodies, administrations and committees. There
were many people who would like to be appointed as managers,
directors, secretaries, etc. Meetings were called where one could hear
monologues on topics such as who has the right to call himself a Pole
or who are the 'Volksdeutsche', the 'Race People'. The arguments
became heated and quite often ended with black eyes. Neither was the
Press forgotten. For the 'sake of strengthening the Polish Spirit in
foreign land:' appeared 'Gazeta Polska' (Polish newspaper). The editor
was a retired major. He told me he was creating a new idea of the New
Reason of State during conditions of emigration. His aim was to bring
awareness to the masses and lead them to understanding of the New
Reason of State in the way of .... then he would drink half a cup of
'moonshine', eat a piece of bread, sniff a lemon rind and finish his
confusing argument saying: "I will show those f .... bastards
from the committee who I am. Sir, before the war I was the local
chairman of the Nation's Defendants Federation. Those smelly, rotten
stinkers from the committee know only how to milk cows and scatter
manure."
Already
in the sixth issue of his paper he gave the general outline of how the
new Polish constitution should be during the exile government.
In
the meantime, the outside world started to take notice of Poland. On
the 15th June, 1945, a conference of leading Polish politicians was
held in Moscow. After a festive dinner in the banquet hall, they were
invited by the Soviet Government to attend a Court session which was
being held in the large hall of the Tribunal of the Red Army where
sixteen Polish accused were to be tried. Many were invited, such as
representatives of the Corps Diplomatique, representatives of the army
and foreign journalists.
It
was decided during this conference, supported by a few liberals from
the London exiles, to change the name of the Communist Government in
Lublin to the Government of Warsaw.
This
way the Government of the National Unity was created.
New
events occurred. Our London Government did not recognise the Warsaw
Government and the Warsaw one did not acknowledge the London
Government. Now, thanks to the thoughtful intervention of our allies,
we had two presidents, two governments, two councils of state, two
prime ministers and two marshals. But there was only one Poland,
smaller and scaled down, shifted from East to West and uncertain of
its own tomorrow.
This
odd political concept simplified solving the conflicts of our
countrymen in foreign countries. Each could now choose between two
complete governments including two armies of which one had the white
eagle with a crown and the other without a crown.
In
this dualistic atmosphere the concept of Poland began to form and
ripen between the emigrant Poles. Amid the ruins of Germany, groups
started to develop, advocating the London Government. Very soon it
started to take roots in Isny.
Two
representatives from the London Government arrived during one of our
general assemblies when choosing once again another chairman Mr. Goch
was delivering a speech between catcalls from the slightly drunken
audience. The cheering was enormous and went on and on. During the
first short rest period from the discussion of the advantages and
disadvantages of the new chairman, one of the visitors took the floor.
He was a non-commissioned officer of the highest rank. He wore an
armband on which POLAND was written. He started with a polite allusion
that his countrymen were not playing nicely and continued that he
would not speak about politics. He mentioned that we all had to get
adjusted to the new way of life and that we should start to take roots
in the foreign country. He spoke about being united as only in unity
is strength. Who knows what might still happen? We should start
organising cadet corps. He finished his talk with a fervent promise of
material help.
On
our way home I was stopped by the ex-chairman who went under three
different names: Bialy, Rely, vel Bielinski. He told me that he had
spoken privately with the men from the Polish mission, who had
entrusted him with the work to build a battalion for the Polish Army
as he was a retired captain of the Polish Army. "Mr. Kruszewski,
I will do it,” he told me. "I am already fed up with all the
civilian gangs. Today they have overthrown me as their chairman. I
will show them what the army can do. I am not one for talking - I love
action. Look at the Town Hall and the French banner. I am telling you,
the Polish banner will fly there. When I'll organise my battalion the
French will transfer the power to me. I've had those stupid civilians.
I will tell the German police to take off their uniforms and I will
build a Polish police force with our strong boys. I will change all
the German street names, giving them names of our big men. You know,
in 1919 my battalion took the town of Bujazno. I, as the commandant,
immediately gave the order that… " the ex-chairman was already
infected by the old slogan: "Where we are, there is our
country."
In
the afternoon I went to listen to radio news. Mrs. Mitynska was
peeling potatoes and her 'old man' was cutting tobacco. I switched on
the radio. Odd how the voices came over the air. London was speaking
in German, Luxemburg in English, Warsaw in Russian. At last I heard a
Polish speech. I stopped tuning. Moscow was transmitting from the
Festive Academy of the Society of Polish Patriots. Just at that moment
the chairman of the honorary presidium was giving the chair to Citizen
Aniol (Angel, a member of the academy). It became his honour to read
aloud the telegrams addressed to Citizen Stalin.
In
a few moments the clear, emotional voice of Aniol was giving thanks to
the Big Leader of the Nations for the recovery of a free, democratic
and independent Poland. Feeling lifted in spirit because even angels
intervene for Poland, I shifted to the London station. The sound of
music was just fading and the voice of the announcer began. "This
is again the Polish Radio Warsaw, Poznan, Lwow, Katowice, Wilno and
Baranowicze on the waves of London. Good evening ladies and gentlemen.
We are starting now on our third radio news .... and now: finishing
the programme, not in connection with political situation, just for
remembering, just for sentimental reasons you will hear a Polish girl
singing some old folk songs." A rich alto voice full of deep
feeling, to the accompaniment of a guitar, began singing with sad
emotion: "After many, many years you will find peace among
flowers as if nothing has ever happened." "When we will be
again together ..." and many more songs, all full of longing.
Memories of previous old times started flowing. The lilacs in blossom,
the walks in the large botanical gardens, the small cosy cafes in
Warsaw, the gay crowds, the stuffy, nights in the basements of the
well-known dancing hall, Adria.
It
was like a swan song of Warsaw from before the war, coming on the air
from London. When I switched off, still remembering, Mr. Mitynski
asked as usual: "Mr. Kruszewski, what now? Will there be war
again or not?"
"No."
"Why
not?"
"Today
the angel himself was speaking to Stalin."
A
few days later I left Isny, going with my theatre group to give
performances in neighbouring Polish communities. I had organised an
amateur revue called "Poland Pictured in Songs and Dances."
Our
first performance was in the capital city of our country as there was
located the Central Society of Poles which included other counties as
well. This committee was working very poorly. When the war ended in
Germany all the majors, captains and lieutenants started to increase
in rank as they thought they deserved. Who was there to prove
otherwise? On their epaulets new stars were added as in their opinion
it was their due. They could not get adjusted to the co-operative
civilian way of life. They started to fight between themselves. First
they were fighting for influence, then for chairmanships, lastly
either for London or for Lublin. The heated debates and arguments
usually took place in the large local pub. Their large official
working place, decorated with big printed words such as: 'Chairman',
'Vice Chairman', 'Vice - Chairman II', 'Editor', 'Secretary', was
empty. After walking through the empty rooms, I at last found a member
of the committee - Mr. Nowik. Mr. Nowik was called bitingly the boy
from the cows as during the war he was working for a farmer. He was
sitting at his desk, surrounded by files and letters.
"I
have had it by now,” he greeted me, throwing some papers back on the
desk.
"What
happened?"
"The
major had quarrelled with the chairman and the chairman with the
captain. Nobody is coming to the office. The French Governor had
suspended our paper. I have to cope alone with this. I travelled to
Baden-Baden where our Polish mission is located at present, asking
them to intervene with the French. I could not find our mission for a
long time. At last I found them. They had a lovely villa, probably
'inherited' from some influential German. I had to wait one and a half
hours to be heard as they were all sleeping, according to their
servants. At last, at eleven a lieutenant came still dressed in his
pyjamas, yawning - probably sleepy from last might's party. He told
me:
"I
don't think we can do anything about your problems.
"Here
I am back again. All is in a mess. The men from Lublin arrived in the
meantime and ordered something to be stuck over the crown of the
eagles. They also hung portraits of their men on walls. But that is
not the end. Later on a few arrived from the London mission. They told
us to immediately take down the portraits and to remove the sticking
paper from the crowns. What should I do, I am asking you? It can drive
one truly mad. Some are coming and saying hide the crown, the others -
show the crown. To whom should I listen? And anyway what are they
fighting about? I have really had it by now. I don't care. Let them
paint me in any colour - white, red or even in dots or stripes ... I
am now resigning from the committee." He finished, crumpling more
papers between his hands.
In
Biberach we were greeted enthusiastically. We had to repeat our
performance twice, both times to a full house. The people were happy.
Some were even crying with happiness on seeing after all these years
Polish national dresses, old Polish folk dances and hearing their
favourite songs. Flowers were thrown all over us. We were as touched
by the people as they were by our performances. We were all invited to
a sumptuous dinner for the opening of a new camp (for displaced
people) to be called "Warsaw's Uprising". Biberach had many
poles - over 1,200. It had three camps for the civilians and a
military company consisting mainly of Polish prisoners of war. Their
chief was Lieutenant Bojar-Tulipanski who was also the commandant of
the camps. One could call it an autocratic government; Lieutenant
Bojar could be called the Knight of Biberach. He had his army, his
military police, his magazines of arms, his food stores. He even had a
prison where he shut up all those who would not comply or who tried to
take the power away from him.
We
heard a rumour that not so long ago a unit from the nearby town made a
raid on Bojar's country trying to rescue one of their mates whom Bojar
had jailed. The raid was not successful. Bojar's armed forces repelled
the raiders from Schussenried, taking a prisoner. Bojar, feeling
lenient, just allowed the prisoner to be beaten up before being
released. Bojar must have felt really lenient at that time as he had
empowered himself to deal out death sentences. This document I saw
with my own eyes on the announcement desk, signed with his own
signature.
The
power and strong position of Lieutenant Bojar-Tulipanski was not so
hard to explain. The French had only a small garrison but they had a
very large camp of German prisoners, the so-called 'criminals of war',
who needed to be kept under a strong hand. The French authorised the
Lieutenant to take charge of this camp, giving him a good position
supported by arms. They needed him and he needed them.
It
was quite different in Leutenkirchen. The Polish camp was much
smaller. It fitted into two buildings of the local school. In each
hall slept thirty people. They were fed in one mess organised by the
French. The leader of the Poles was a farmer captain of the Polish
army who, during the war, was a prisoner in the camp of Buchenwald. He
was a well-built man with dark eyebrows and gentle eyes. He usually
walked with a revolver. He kept good watch so that his people behaved
themselves. He told me he would personally beat up those who behaved
'like pigs'. The captain was against all prisons - maybe because he
had spent a long time in one. His punishment ended with hitting
someone in the face. He explained - "With this mob you can't do
anything else." He did not believe in any democratic rules such
as electing a chairman. But he was not a persistent autocrat. His
power was just finished when we came with our group. I was astonished
to see how he had changed. Instead of the military uniform, he was
dressed as a civilian, including a soft felt hat. Instead of the
revolver, he carried in his hand an ivory-handled cane.
"I
am finished with this mob, Mr Kruszewski" he greeted me.
"All day long they either eat, sleep or simply spoil the air
around them. Their behinds will get rooted to the beds, the useless
mob. One day I called same of the boys to do some duty and some women
to go and help in the kitchen. Nobody care to work. I stopped dinner
that day. They came to me telling me I should make a list, a roster of
duties. To hell with them. Now I have to start making lists as well
when quite often I have not even time to sit down and have a proper
meal. Enough talking. I threw everything to hell. Let U.N.R.R.A.
Cope."
It
was raining and the attendance for our show eras not good. We returned
to Isny wet to the skin. We had finished our first 'artistic tour'.
Weeks
passed. July was ending. Fields were mown for the second time.
The
Russians, Ukrainers and White Russians left Isny. Yugoslavs were also
returned home ... only we Poles were still here in this country with
the cheeses full of holes. We tried to cheer ourselves up by saying at
last Poland was nearer to us by at least a few hundred kilometres.
We
were still surrounded by a nightmare of uncertainty. Some gloomy
frightening rumours were always circulating. The news from our
homeland was always interspersed with anti-Soviet propaganda.
We
began to organise a list of people who definitely wanted to go back to
Poland. The others were jeering "Ha-ha, are you in a hurry to go
to Siberia?"
Again
some people started to doubt, became frightened.
"Is
it true, Mr. Kruszewski, that the Russek takes everything away when
one comes to the Polish border?" Mrs. Mitynska asked.
"People are saying that they leave you only two shirts, marked
with their stamps. People are saying that if someone comes in the
street without the stamped shirt he is immediately taken to camps
behind barbed wires. What should we do?"
"Best
go without a shirt."
"You
are only joking!"
Mr.
Goch had not given up hope. He was trying to be active. He was trying
to become a chairman. On a nicely printed letterhead he started to ask
for donations to build a school for Polish children. His name even
appeared twice - once as a general donor, the second time as the
leader and inspector of the future school. All the activities and his
flowery language were meant to make you forget that once he was
co-working with the Germans, that he once fitted nicely into the place
given him by the Germans. After a lengthy speech justifying why he
should be the future chairman of the Polish organisation, he was
beaten up and helped by the French military police to return home.
He
was the last of tine 'democratic' reigns in Allgau. U.N.R.R.A. took
over and it became quiet in Isny.
Churchill,
speaking as the opposition leader during the opening of Parliament,
said the words which will be remembered by Poles for a long time:
"There are only a few virtues which the Poles do not possess but
there are also only a few errors which they have not committed."
Near
us lived a Mr. Toofil Pietrzak. A little man, by profession a
boilermaker. He loved his drink and preferred to drink in company, as
drinking alone made him very sad. Now he discovered a new hobby -
black marketeering. He was dealing with everything but his passion was
musical instruments although the profits were not as good as with
other goods. He could play a few instruments - not well, but very
lovingly.
To
his dark room came one day a young Russian boy from Lublin - Rysiek
Glowacki, who loved to write poetry.
"Mr.
Pietrzak, I would like to buy a violin. I can't play it - it is to be
a present to my sister who is engaged. I heard you have many."
Pietrzak,
taking a good swig straight from the bottle, pointed to three violins
lying on his trunk.
Rysiek
fondled one, which was shining and looked new.
"You
will not buy that one."
"Why
not?"
"It
will be to dear. Look how she looks, straight from the factory. It
would cost you a thousand."
"And
this one?" asked Rysiek, pointing to an old box, partly broken
and patched up by an old piece of plywood.
"That
is also a violin. A bit old maybe but one can still play on her quite
well."
In
the box lay a violin, shining on the clean green lining. Taking it
out, Rysiek came close to the window to see if, in addition to the two
broken string, it was not cracked. Something was inside it. He tried
to read.
"What
are you doing?" asked Pietrzak.
"I
am looking to see that it is not bent."
Holding
it in the light he could just maze out the writing: 'Antonius
Stradivarius Cremonensis. Paciebat anno 1727.'
He
did not know about violins but, being a bright lad, he thought it
might be an old Italian instrument. Nothing seemed to be broken. He
remembered that, as a child, one of the neighbours told him that a
violin had to be old, like old wine. He decided to buy it.
"How
much, Mr. Pietrzak?"
"I
am not selling for money, only goods in exchange."
"What
goods would you like?"
"I
would need three kilos of sugar, one kilo of butter and a cigarette
lighter."
"I
can give you the butter and the lighter but I have no sugar."
"No
business Mr. Glowacki, I need the sugar."
"Mr.
Pietrzak, you just look at this old box, two strings missing. Look how
worn down the wood is and the box is broken. You are asking too much
for this old thing."
"Just
for you I will let you off with one kilo of sugar."
"Agreed."
"Shake
hands". They shook hands.
"Aus?”
"Aus!"
He
took the violin and left. Next morning Miss Isa was astonished when
Rysiek stopped her, asking if she knew the name of a good violin.
"I
know,” she told him proudly - "Stradivarius!'
Rysiek
grabbed his head in both hands: "My God, as true as I live, I
have one!"
"You?
Here in Isny? You must be joking."
"No,
I am serious. I have it here at my room in Isny." They hurried to
his room, grabbed the violin and came to me.
"We
have a Stradivarius!!" Isa shouted as she came rushing to me.
Behind her came Rysiek with an old box under his arm. I took the
violin in my hands. It was not very big, extremely light, of noble
lines, a light hazelnut colour shining in a peculiar soft light. The
narrow neck was worn down by many loving hands. On a card, yellow with
age, were the words - Antonius Stradivarius Cremonen Faciebat anno
1727. Beside it, in a circle, were the letters A S and above them a
small cross. The letters were printed; only the last two - 27 - were
written by hand. When I touched a chord, there came a full beautiful
sound, hanging long in the air. I looked a long time at his violin,
full of respect and admiration, still not quite believing. What could
I, who did not know violins say about it?
I
turned to the happy owner - "Ryszard, if this is a forgery I
think it is a good forgery. If it is the original, you
are a millionaire. I would advise that you keep it and look
after it carefully until you return to Poland. There go to a
specialist, to proper Authorities."
They
left. I remained for a long time under the spell of the violin and its
sound. What became of it? If somebody reads this or hears about it,
try to find Ryszard Glowacki, a baker from Lodz, and learn the fate of
this violin.
It
was already two years since we had left our home. We never received
any news about our family. The Front did not exist any more. It was
over three months since the war had ended for us but an impenetrable
wall divided us from our homeland. Letters to Poland were not
accepted.
Lying
on our bed, we would return in our mind's eye back home, back to our
children and parents. To the last moments of departure. I was dreaming
about little Jurek standing on the highway and, behind him, the
policeman. Jurek's form became smaller and smaller the distance was
growing, becoming unending ... and I would wake up looking at the
ceiling in our room in Isny. Where are they now? Are they still alive?
Do Jurek and Roman still remember us? Are they in Poland or Lithuania?
Or were they deported?
Sometimes
during the silence of the night we would spread out on the table our
most valued possessions - photographs. In one Roman was just trying to
walk, holding a finger of Grandmother Julia, in the other Jurek was
playing with little pups in the kennel of old Ralph. We went to sleep
with their faces close to us. At night Marushka would whisper:
"Are
they alive? Will we find them? I am so-frightened." She used to
cry during the dark nights.
On
the 6th of August, 1945, the world was informed about the first atomic
bomb over tire city of Hiroshima, The white people produced an until
now unknown energy, harnessing it behind armoured plates and dropped
it quickly on the yellow people.
The
military news announced proudly the power of this new weapon. One
small bomb killed 50,000 people and wounded an additional 30,000. The
city ceased being, going up in flames and ruins.
The
resulting turmoil caused destruction for ten kilometres. The
unbelievable heat near the explosion charred buildings, trees and
human beings and, further down, the radioactive dust condemned
thousands to a lasting agony.
One
of the American papers wrote: "The genius of the human brain gave
the world a method to release the unknown, until now, nature's
energies for the benefit of mankind. It marks a new phase in human
history."
If
it is true that the human mind is able not only to discover this
energy but also able to harness this natural energy, we are standing
at the threshold either of total annihilation or before fantastic
blossoming. Now it would depend not so much on the genius of this
human brain but on his humane conscience.
Emotions
were running high. In the Far Fast the last epilogue of total war and
immense human tragedy took place.
The
loudspeakers from the world were announcing in short clipped
sentences:
“The
Japanese received their knock-out"
"Reached
by the penetrating atomic bomb, the bleeding and frightened Japanese
consider further fighting senseless."
"The
new weapon is causing them to face unaccountable losses."
"The
Japanese Government agreed to accept the unconditional surrender if
the sovereignty of the King will be acknowledged."
On
the arena of the Far East appeared the young Caesar. The news hurried
on:
"The
Caesar of Japan, Hirochita, called the Son of the Sun, is of small
posture. He has two daughters and four sons and wears glasses. No-one
is allowed to touch his body with naked hands. If a doctor has to
examine him, he has to do so while wearing silk gloves."
New
developments continued. The Japanese Government was still sitting. The
Russian armies continued to advance hurriedly to Mandzuria, Sachalia
and Korea. Great concentration of the Anglo-American bombers with
their deadly loads were ready and waiting.
At
one and the same time the radio stations from Washington, London,
Moscow and Chanking were announcing the news:
"The
Japanese Minister for Foreign Affairs, Tojo, is herewith announcing in
the name of his Caesar to the United States of America, Great Britain,
Russia and China - the acceptance of the last conditions of
capitulation.
The
Son of the Sun issued orders to all the armed forces on land, sea and
air to lay down their arms,
[][][][][]
On
the 14th of September, 1945 at 23 hours, after 2175 long days and
nights ended the second and last great war….. the last one as,
during this war, were released the two most horrible powers in human
history: atomic energy and the energy of evil.
If
people realise and acknowledge these powers, then peace on earth will
come for all, times, and, if they do not fight these powers, then it
will be no longer war but suicide of humanity.
During
these long, bloody years, through great pain a dazzling truth was born
,..., war is absurd.
Let
those who come after us understand this truth born in the blood of our
generation, let them on the anniversary of this day ring the bells of
happiness, as it should be the holiest day for mankind … the day
when Peace was resurrected!!!
PAX
VOBISCUM
Isny,
14th September 1945