Warsaw
- Last Days Before The Uprising
Five
years of war had branded Warsaw's face, or rather her two faces. Today
Warsaw had certainly two faces and this was her Signum Temporis. We
saw busy streets, undamaged houses, shops full of attractive goods,
old firms, old advertisements. In the corner newsstand was the same
old invalid selling 'Kurier Warszawski'.
We
were walking along, remembering old times. Marushka was pointing to
the house where she used to live whilst studying in Warsaw. Quite
suddenly the view changed - we entered a field of ruins. A whole
street block was gone. A desert of bricks and rubble, overgrown with
grass. Here and there dark, empty holes; remnants from old basements
looked like eye sockets of a rotting skull. Between the rubble goats
were grazing, climbing nimbly over heaps of bricks. Next was a street
full of people, trams and cars. Then again, on Marshalkowska Street,
children were sunbaking and swimming in a tank which had been built
between the ruins to fight the fires. Children were jumping into the
water from the gatepost of a house which long ago lay in ruins. On the
opposite side of the street once again an undamaged fragment of old
Warsaw. It was like this everywhere - a city between ruins, and ruins
between the city.
We
also saw other, more strange faces of Warsaw. We saw barbed wire
entanglements sometimes surrounding a single house, sometimes squares
and also whole suburbs. We saw sandbags piled high along walls and,
poking through small holes, were the ugly ends of rifles protecting
the entry. A town existing between fortresses. Where was the enemy
hiding in a town long ago captured? The people going through streets
seemed to disregard the barbed wire. They talked animatedly and walked
energetically.
On
the streets of Warsaw were rickshaws drawn by push-bikes. The cabmen
of the fiacre looked down on the Japanese way of commuting. Where was
the enemy? One could not see him.
The
next side street was blocked by barbed wire with only enough space
left for a tram to pass. Soldiers were on guard - soldiers in steel
helmets, their rifles at the ready, were looking full of distrust at
the tram covered with people hanging on to it. They watched that none
of the transit passengers could leave. People on the tram were going
by 'transit' through this German 'ghetto'. It was like a dead town.
Only rarely some German female with a shopping basket ventured out.
The tram continued through the famous Aleja Szucha - the head offices
of the infamous Gestapo. Belveder, Botanical Gardens, Aleja Ujazdowska
were torn out of Warsaw. We, the Poles, were only allowed to look
through a moving tram at the trees and lawns in the beautiful parks of
Warsaw. On the other side of the street lived the 'Herrenvolk' (master
race) in charming little palaces and villas.
At
last the barbed wire finished and, at the next stop, most of the
passengers left the tram, joining the busy traffic. Even the pigeons
cooed happily on the place of 'Trzech Kryzy', fluttering down from the
roofs of the surrounding buildings onto the steps of the church. This
face of Warsaw seemed pleasant and friendly. We went to a cafe which
was very crowded. Artists from the theatre were employed as waitresses
and former waitresses were sitting at the tables, escorted by men in
very well-tailored suits. Some men with bulging briefcases were
discussing something leaning close to each other. Some women in long
ago outdated hats and shabby coats were looking around carefully. They
were the people of Warsaw's war years who fought for her during the
September days of 1939. Today the city was being crushed by the
occupants.
Soon
we learned how to recognise these people who were careful and
distrustful.
Those
two gentlemen with bulging briefcases were certainly in possession of
documents stating that they were working for the army and were
indispensable but their briefcases were packed with goods like
saccharine, tobacco, ladies' underwear. Black marketing was blooming
in Warsaw. Everyone was trading with anything and anywhere. Employees,
judges, postmen, railwaymen, doctors, solicitors, janitors and paper
boys. In a cafe one could buy ladies stockings, combs, silken
lingerie; in the gates of houses one could buy shoes and clothing.
Food was brought to houses. For money one could purchase anything -
tropical fruit, Russian caviar, a hundredweight of butter or machine
guns, whole trainloads of coal from Selosia which were intended for
the east. During our stay in Warsaw there appeared on the black market
rice of American origin. U.N.R.R.A. had sent it from America to East
Poland which was occupied by the Soviet Army, for distribution amongst
the Poles. This rice in some mysterious way crossed the Front and
appeared on the Warsaw black market. Ration tickets, by which the
Germans tried to curb Warsaw's consumption, played only a small part.
The
vigorous speculation opened the doors wide for trading. All German
orders, round-ups, executions were to no avail. Trade continued to
blossom. German price control offices were drowned under all their
orders, announcements and records. To us, arriving from the East where
we were used to ration tickets which covered everything beginning with
baby nappies and finishing with a coffin, these conditions seemed
exotic. Shop windows displayed tempting foods; oranges, halwas, pure
cream ice-cream. We were unable to resist. Part of our financial
reserves, given to us by Granny, such as golden earrings and a brooch
with semiprecious stones, ended up on the very sensitive scales of a
jeweller. We received a few thousand zloty and, feeling very rich,
invited our friend for dinner to the restaurant 'Pod Bulkietem'. Some
herring, a pork steak and a few glasses of vodka. For dessert, on a
silver salver, the bill of 1,000 zloty. This shook us. (It was the
equivalent of the golden earrings). Granny's earrings disappeared into
the pocket of the waiter. We decided to live more frugally. Warsaw
asked a high price for goods which, by some detours and lanes, carried
on backs of hucksters, by railwaymen, army tourists, hidden amongst
the wood in the carts of peasants, arrived in Warsaw to be sold by
many middlemen. These middlemen made a fortune as they were selling
the most valued goods - food. They were buying the cheapest goods:
furniture, good pictures and villas. Those were the principles of war
economy and her upside-down theory of prices. For a few kilos of bacon
fat one could buy a valuable picture. Again the two faces of Warsaw.
Nightlife with cabarets, elegant restaurants, secret gambling houses
and a multitude of people always hungry looking for new queues in food
stores with ration cards in their hands. People whose main diet was a
watery soup supplied by cheap eating places. Their houses were bare,
their furniture sold. To them war was a curse and disaster. They were
waiting for the war to end but others wished war to continue.
During
our first days in Warsaw the paper boys were selling sensational news.
Hitler was assassinated! People were grabbing the newspapers. The
price for 'Kurier Warszawski' reached 30 zloty (a price never reached
before even on the black market) and the price was gladly paid for
such news. Hope surged up for a short while. Hitler was war, and war
was Hitler.
The
Kurier wrote: "A group of stupid and ambitious officers tried to
kill Adolf Hitler ... miraculously the Fuehrer was spared ... under
the providence ... the nation ... The Reich is peaceful."
The
people of Warsaw were reading, shaking their heads and rushing home to
read the secret London bulletin that was passed from hand to hand. The
newsletter came from the underground and was brought to houses in
shopping baskets covered by foodstuffs. The delivery was usually made
by old ladies, children and old men. In these bulletins Warsaw was
seeking the truth and sometimes an elusive hope. This time the hope
was delusive. The bulletin was writing about riots in Germany, about
Prussian regiments marching towards Berlin, about the new government
organised by the authors of the attempt. Everyone tried to read the
newsletter and listen to the prohibited London radio. After a few days
the disillusioned Warsawers decided that the 'New Kurier' was right -
it really was a group of stupid officers! They did not dispose of
Hitler but they themselves were marched against a wall and shot.
Not
only the town and people had their special expression, but also the
daily Press. The official papers were the 'New Kurier Warszawski', 'Warschauer
Zeitung', 'Signal' and 'Krakauer Zeitung'. They were displayed in
cafes, at hairdressers and in waiting rooms of doctors. They were
gladly used by shopkeepers for wrapping. These papers were hanging
quite legally in public toilets as proper toilet paper was not
available.
The
Press was flowing by the underground of the fighting Warsaw, a Press
much alive and full of passion, formulating new political thoughts.
London was sending its bulletins and Moscow its red armies. The front
lines came slowly nearer, the time started to get ripe. More signs
appeared on the walls. Written by unseen hands - "Poland will
win,” "Out with Invaders,” "Long Live the Polish
National Army" (Armies Krajowa - A.K.)
Between all these were large dark shapes on the walls of a
bent, listening man with a hat, crossed through by a yellow question
mark - a sign of suspicion, distrust and anxiety. "The enemy is
listening". It stood as a watchword for the enemy as well as for
us.
The
time of the bloody terror seemed to have passed. We did arrive in
Warsaw when the regime became milder. Herr Frank (General Governor for
Occupied Poland) was trying to draw the Poles on his side against the
approaching Red Army coming from the east. The announcements of shot
hostages disappeared from the walls. The transports to extermination
camps of Auschwitz, Treblanka and Maidanek were not as numerous as
before and even the round-ups in the streets were less frequent. Herr
Frank was even speaking sweetly to the Polish peasant. But time was
running out. Siedlce, Malkinie, Garwolin were re-taken. Refugees from
the Front started arriving. Food stores were besieged and rising
prices did not matter. Warsaw was buying 'just in case'. Under Zelazna
Brama crowds of people buying, discussing and joking, full of good
hopes. Around the stalls of the previous large market place stood
German soldiers looking distrustful and gloomy at the masses of
people, separated from them by barbed wire. The market halls were now
being used as army garages. Next to them were the ruins of the ghetto
with its narrow, empty streets. Empty and quiet, a cemetery of three
hundred thousand slaughtered Jews. We looked with futile horror at
this dead panorama of one of the most tragic events of war-torn
Europe. I had to think back to five years ago when it was full of life
here, lives of people connected by blood ties, temperaments and
demands. Life was pulsating in the yards covered with playing
children, in the shops, gates and stalls, bustling life was flowing
into streets and halls ... and now this silence, this gloomy, eerie
and majestic stillness - 300,000 dead.
"Ausrotten"
(exterminate) were the words in the gospel of 'Mein Kampf'. "Ausrotten,”
his disciples were calling.
The
drunken followers of the Fuehrer started their war of annihilation.
They battered the brains of women and old men, they crushed the
children with their boots, they guzzled their vodka and continued
crushing Jewish skulls. This is what the Fuehrer ordered for the good
of mankind, for the good of the New Europe.
The
order was obeyed. Reeking of blood and vodka, his servants left the
smouldering ruins. Smoke from the dying ghetto covered with legends
this bit of damned soil, rumours that there, under the ruins of the
houses, were somewhere still living ghosts. The Warsaw ghetto was
slowly dying away. The soil, nourished with blood, was showing signs
of sprouting weed.
I
tore my eyes away from the empty streets. A few steps further on
streets were seething with life. The square near Zelazna Brama was
crowded. The traders were Aryans - they had inherited the empty stalls
from the dead.
On
the way home we were stopped by an air raid. People disappeared from
the streets, sheltering in basements - only empty trams were left. Far
away one could hear the noise of flight squadrons and anti-air raid
guns. Soviet planes circled over the city, diving towards singled-out
targets like bloodthirsty hawks. Today bombs were falling on Bielany.
A few small bombs ruined the library in Nowy Swiat.
Soviet
air raids became more frequent. One of them bombed out many holiday
houses near Otwock.
Although
July was still very hot, people started to return from their holidays.
They brought news from the approaching Front. They told us that on the
far outskirts of Warsaw one could even hear the Soviet cannons. The
places near Warsaw mentioned were Lachew, Zukow, Minsk Mazowiecki.
Excitement ran high. It was remarkable that no-one was leaving Warsaw.
Just the opposite - those who could were coming back under her wings.
Warsaw
- she will defend us, the enemy is scheming, the unknown is coming,
Warsaw will protect us.
Trains
coming into Warsaw were disgorging refugees. Warsaw was swelling. The
streets were ruled by crowds - crowds were more united, more talkative
than ever, more sure of themselves. Crowds were proudly passing the
barbed entanglements, in trams people disregarded the notices
"for Germans Only". The few Germans who ventured out had to
walk or stand on steps as their compartments were taken by Warsaw
people. The angry Gestapo wanted to retaliate. We witnessed one of
these scenes. A few Nazis with sticks in their hands boarded the first
compartment on a tram (for Germans only) and started hitting to the
right and left with their sticks, aiming at the heads of the Polish
travellers. People started to jump out through doors and windows and
the driver was ordered to go faster. The Nazis were swearing, the
people were yelling, crying and moaning. The compartment became empty.
On the street were lying the beaten people. In the empty tram only the
Nazis were standing, wiping their brows. Behind came the Polish tram
dozens of angry eyes were watching this incident. The driver continued
travelling, ringing the foot-bell.
The
hot July days were nearing an end when Warsaw was electrified with
news: Germans are fleeing!
From
the direction of the Vistula came the retreating German Army. Along
Aleja Jeruzalimska came armoured cars, large trucks and private cars
with suitcases. It was a continuous stream. All Warsaw turned out to
have a look at this unusual parade. On crossroads military policemen
with their white/red disks were now showing the direction to the west
as once before they showed the way to the east. This flood was
increased by cars coming from side streets as employees from German
offices were joining the procession. In the cars Germans in Party
uniforms were sitting on furniture, crates and suitcases. Also in cars
were their friends and 'Volksdeutsche'. Most of the females hugged
their fur coats. They were leaving with a rich booty taken from Jews.
The rich heirs of the slain were reluctantly returning to their
Fatherland. Here they had spent their fat years. Rows of onlookers
were jeering and calling scathing remarks. Some girls sitting on a
balcony were waving their handkerchiefs and calling sarcastically,
"... bye ... bye! Never see you again!"
It
was the last 'parade' in Warsaw by the German Army. The Front
continued pushing: Rembertow, Radzymin. More people were looking for
shelter in Warsaw. The refugees were bringing news straight from the
Front. German evacuation became feverish. Buildings occupied by the
Germans became empty. We saw soldiers throwing out from the windows of
a fourth floor saddles, harnesses, ammunition belts, leather goods,
into the trucks standing below the windows. They were all in a frantic
hurry.
We
were returning home for dinner. People in the streets were chatting
animatedly like a crowd during holidays. Many walls had tar writings:
"Kaput! Kaput!" (finished). Unexpectedly, from the corner of
Wilcza and Marszalkowska came a shot, followed
by a second and a third. In seconds the crowd dispersed in all
directions, trams stopped and passengers rushed towards side streets
or gates. Warsaw knew what might follow is round-up and Gestapo, and
many innocent people could pay with their lives behind the walls of
Pawiak gaol, therefore the street emptied quickly. Again a series of
shots, followed by an echo along the brick walls of the street, a cry,
a muted moan ... a sound of single steps. I grabbed Marushka's hand
and rushed to a cafe door which was immediately closed and locked. A
group of people were standing along the walls and peering through the
windows. We heard a low voice saying "Someone is squaring his
accounts,” “A.K. is lifting its head,” "Shortly it will get
really hot" added another voice. The waitress, sighing heavily
"Oh, my God, don't let them start too soon. The Germans can cut
us all down. There are still plenty of soldiers in town". The
waiter was trying to calm her "They are all running away. The
Soviets are chasing them." Fifteen minutes passed and the Gestapo
did not appear. Slowly the people started to sneak out. We rushed out
and stopped in a gate of the side street. People were speaking
anxiously about the event. Two Gestapo men were killed, it was
repeated in whispers. We took a long detour going home, leaving this
suburb behind.
We
were late for dinner. My cousin, Marysia, was just ready to leave.
Under her coat was a nurse's bag and in her hand a suitcase full of
medicine, cotton wool and bandages. She informed us immediately that
today she was again on duty. "I have barely an hour to reach my
meeting point" and, turning towards me, she gave me a piece of
paper. "Just in case, here is my address, but be discreet .. you
understand?" She was happy and excited. Her eyes were shining
proudly. She was sure of herself in her exuberant youth. "Keep
well. Maybe in five days we will see each other. Bye, bye, mother,”
and the door closed behind her. Standing in the hall we could hear the
sound of her steps running down the stairs. She went to do her duty
just like many other young girls in Warsaw, a nurse in the underground
army. Downstairs the door banged and then silence. She never returned
home. She was killed during the uprising.
The
old grandfather clock was ticking away the hours of Warsaw.
My
old aunt sat down in her old rocking chair near the window. She was
the only one left at home - a mother of a family. Once it was quite a
noisy nest. The last one left just now, the youngest one. The others?
The others were chucked out by the war. The son, a prisoner-of-war,
who knows where he might be? There was no news - her son-in-law was
deported to somewhere in the far east of the Soviet Union and her
daughter left the house to look after her family. Her own husband was
killed by the war. She was left alone like mothers who bore children
for the requirements of wars. Is it worthwhile, is there any sense in
bearing children when the world still has wars? Cynical powers look on
motherhood as production for cannon fodder just like the necessary
production of tanks, airplanes and tinned foods.
The
day seemed to drag on - nothing was happening in the home. The clock
continued ticking loudly. The faded calendar in Uncle's room gave the
day in large letters as the first of August, 1944. Marushka was curled
up in bed reading a book. I decided to go into the city, just out of
boredom.
"Please
don't go. You heard the shooting - it is dangerous. Please stay"
- Marushka had eyes full of tears and was nearly hysterical. I
hesitated. The clock was still ticking. I grabbed my hat and slammed
the door behind me. Soon I was at the tram stop of Rakowiecka. No tram
was coming. Others were waiting impatiently, looking at their watches.
"Maybe the trams stopped coming" someone asked,
"why?"
"I
heard in the city that something is going to happen at four
o'clock."
"What
is going to happen?"
"How
should I know what; I just heard."
Minutes
passed and still no tram. I started thinking about Marushka's tears.
She was alone at home. I went back home and a few minutes later our
friend Czeslaw arrived.
We
were chatting about old times, especially about our families back
there in Lithuania. Through the open window came the noise of playing
children. The clock was chiming the hour as FIVE p.m. Suddenly the
noise of shots. Marushka jumped to her feet. We all listened. After a
second of silence the sound of machine-guns firing. First just a short
blast, then a long one. "What now?" Full of anxiety,
Marushka looked at us for an answer. We moved nearer the window. The
nearest shots were answered by some farther ones. Somewhere a machine
gun was firing without stopping, answered by an echo from a side
street. Somewhere a Tommy gun was barking. The shooting intensified.
Our side street was empty - the children fled home. From the opposite
side of our house a door was opening slowly. Looking carefully up and
down the street, three young girls entered the street. Two were
carrying a stretcher. The one walking in front had a first-aid bag
over her shoulder. They had Red Cross armbands on their sleeves.
Turning towards Marushka, I pressed her hands and whispered, "The
uprising has begun."