Warsaw Uprising

  Warsaw's time had arrived. The army of insurgents came out from the underground. Gates were being locked, shutters let down, no trams were moving, passers-by disappeared from the streets. Houses became fortresses, streets and squares battlegrounds. The block in which we lived also had a gathering point. The block of houses where we stayed was built by a co-operative for treasury employees and was very well suitable for forays by the insurgents. It was a big block of solid brick buildings enclosing a large yard with exits to Rakowiecka Street and the fields of Mokotow. It was surrounded by four streets, two closed iron gates guarding the entrances. In the middle, a rectangular yard the forum for the co-op. members. The fronts of the houses faced the yard. The balconies, overgrown with vines, were facing towards the yard from where the entrances led to the separate flats, each marked with Roman numerals. Acacia trees provided shelter and, instead of asphalt, there were green lawns with shrubs. Fat rabbits were jumping around playing with children. This was our yard - the arena for future events for people who lived here. There were about one thousand inhabitants in these flats.

When the uprising started there were friends and acquaintances who had come for a visit in our block. Some came from nearby streets, some from further suburbs. All these people were now unable to return to their homes as the streets were covered by crossfire. They all had to stay with us and share our fate until the end. Those from our block who were out had to stay where they were. Most of them never returned, especially those who were caught by the uprising whilst in central Warsaw or the 'Old Town'.

UPRISING .... UPRISING ... the news flew around. The clatter of steps down the stairs and anxious faces peering through the windows. This exceptional news penetrated all floors, attics and basements and the yard. In the yard the insurgents were already gathering into their sections. The last one had just arrived. Where did they come from? Who knows - just out of the ground. There were about thirty of them. Hurriedly they were fastening their insurgent's armbands. Some had helmets, some only hats - there were railway and tram caps and also caps worn by high school students. They were all in civilian clothes. They were a part of the Warsaw crowd which only a short time ago was covering streets, busy with their everyday lives. To the foreground of the group came a solidly built young man with a sub-machine gun in his hand and binoculars hanging from his neck. Hand grenades were distributed and orders issued. He was the leader of this section and allocated each to his post. Some singly, some in pairs were leaving the group taking positions near the gates, in the attic and windows. The remaining few were left as reserves and posted near the entrance to the basement. Our block was closed off. The leader rushed towards the east gate as from this direction intensified shooting was coming. In the other corner of the yard women were organising a first-aid station. Into the basement where the laundry was they brought field beds and tables for operations, medicines, bandages and various containers were placed on the shelves. On the door appeared the sign: First Aid Station. Along the wall stood stretchers and three young nurses were ready to receive the victims.

Evening came. One could hear, somewhere far away, heavy artillery, its thunder reverberating between our walls. In the street the shooting continued without stopping. Rifle bullets were breaking the plaster, grazing the walls and some of the bullets broke the windows entering the rooms.

We were cut off from the rest of the world. Those who at the last minute found shelter here had to stay and those who were away were unable to return.

I went nearer to the group of insurgents who were standing near the basement entrance. The young nurses were just bringing them a hot drink in metal beakers. Some of them were leaving, going towards the south gate. Opening the wrought iron gate carefully, they left in a single file. The street was empty. They were walking close to the walls. Each one of them was holding a hand grenade, or rather a petard, the shape and size of an egg. These were their only arms. Apart from the leader, I had not seen anyone of them with a rifle, revolver or any other firearm. Noticing this fact with astonishment, I went towards one of the youths. He was standing guard at the gate, holding his grenade. He was a young lad without a hat, with hair falling on his forehead, very clean with a well-ironed shirt and a dark jacket. He looked like a matriculation student. "Did you see something?" he asked, edging outside. "At present it is empty. Do you have some other arms?" I asked him.

"Unfortunately, no."

"Were you issued with grenades?"

"Only this one,” he told me, showing his egg.

"What? Just this one? And with this one you are to..."

He interrupted, "Our section in this suburb will try to capture a munition store. The preparations have already begun - if we succeed we will have arms."

We heard steps on the street. The young boy looked through the gate and immediately opened the gate wide. Two insurgents were holding a third one who was barely moving his feet. When he lifted his head I saw a large bleeding wound just above his eye. He was deathly pale and blood was dripping down his collar. He was the first victim. The young nurses took him under their care.

This was the first August night, full of stars. It was also the first night of the uprising. We did not sleep this night. Under cover of the night the young partisans were storming the arms depot. We could hear the fighting. German searchlights moved over the roofs and dull sounds of the Front came from the outskirts of Warsaw. Only at dawn were we able to get some sleep but were woken suddenly by the sound of anti air raid artillery coming very strongly from the fields of Mokotow. The shooting was so near that one could hear the jarring sound of cannon gunstocks during the recoil. It reminded me of the roar of a hoarse elephant. The nearest guns were about two hundred metres from our house. I rushed to the balcony. Most of the people were standing at the windows and pointing somewhere towards the sky. I looked up. Between the white clouds gleamed white dots in the sky. They were probably Soviet planes. We went down to the basement. The majority of people were already there. Some were sitting on suitcases, some on chairs that they had brought down. A long narrow corridor of red bricks connected all the separate basement rooms. In the corridor, every few steps were numbered doors to the basement cellars of their owners. Some families even brought down their beds and all their belongings. Crowded  together we all discussed the last events while waiting for the end of the air raid. I learned here that all partisans had left our block, supposedly to join other groups in our district. We were left to ourselves, a prey to the fancy of future events. Generally, feelings and rumours circulating between the people were quite optimistic. The general opinion was that the uprising would not last more than a few days. With great excitement it was repeated again and again that the Soviet Army was already in Praga (a suburb of Warsaw) and that Radzyn and Rembertow were already re-taken. These rumours were given as facts.

"Don't you hear the Soviet artillery shooting at the last German positions near the town? And these air raids overhead? The German situation is hopeless. This is quite obvious. Warsaw surrounded by the Soviet Army and in the city the uprising. You don't have to know strategy to evaluate the situation. It is critical for the Germans. It is only a matter of days." This was delivered in a booming voice by an evacuee from Lublin - a chemist who lived here with his relatives. Another voice, some­where among the suitcases, "I have heard that the insurgents already have full control in Stare Miasto (Old Town) and the main railway station. The Germans have lost liaison with other units and are surrendering en masse.” This was the 'vox populi' (voice of the people) in the catacombs of our housing block.

In the meantime our observers from the roofs announced that the planes had left. A bit distrustful, the people started to leave the basement. The shooting was less violent than before. Shooting in the streets did not scare us as much as in the first days. Slowly we started to adjust to the situation of the uprising. The high brick walls gave good protection from stray bullets. So far nobody was hammering at the gates. Slowly we began to get used to the atmosphere. The streets remained empty. The inhabitants started to come down to the yard and sit on benches, children played between shrubs with wooden sticks, the game was war .. and chasing rabbits which were trying to hide from the screeching warriors. The men were walking along the footpath, commenting on the scanty and infrequent news.

From the moment of the uprising we were quite cut off. The telephones did not work, nobody had a radio, the paper pub­lished on the morning of the uprising never reached the streets. As there was no communication between the suburbs, the London bulletin did not reach us either. The news travelling around our block came from some elusive sources. Someone had heard from someone in the next house who had a radio ... all our information centres were only of this kind. Standing on the balcony and just looking down I would know when news arrived. Someone would stop somebody and start to talk earnestly, others would join and listen, the group would grow and then disperse. Men would rush home and news would travel through the whole building. The same was happening just now. Amidst the increasing group I saw an unfamiliar face and came down the stairs. For the first time a woman from outside came to our block (from Kielecka Street). Sneaking through parks and backyards, she had reached our block. The situation in Kielecka Street was very similar to ours. The partisans had also left. There were also no Germans - they, like us, were in no man's land.

"What is happening in the city? Where are the Russians?" Questions came from all sides.

"The heart of the city is in the hands of the insurgents, our white/red banner is flying on the Town Hall."

"The Russians have already taken Praga and are near Grochow,” she continued, proud of her mission.

This news was accepted without criticism - one simply wanted to believe. Nobody even asked where this news came from. Why should one ask? Our banner was flying on the Town Hall .. and everyone knows that the German situation is quite hopeless .. one does not have to know strategy ...

The mood was happy, the August weather was good and the evening quiet. Even the pigeons which disappeared during the noisy first day of the uprising started to come back, circling the roofs and, with friendly cooing, settled on the trees of the yard.

The night of the second day of the uprising passed quietly. At dawn some planes circled over Warsaw. Making large circles, they were flying very high. Even with binoculars I was unable to read the markings. Many people were already in the basements, some standing near open doors scanning the sky with field glasses. Some were certain that the planes were Russian, others just as certain that they were German. Others were ready to take an oath that they were English. From inside the basement, an elderly lady intervened.

"It is unimportant to which side the planes belong - each of them can bomb Warsaw. The Germans will bomb and shoot the Poles. The British and American ones will shoot the Germans. The Soviet planes" - here she hesitated a second - "could shoot one or the others. It is important that the doors of the shelter are closed. I ask you, sirs, please come inside and kindly shut the door."

Shortly after the doors were shut, sounds of shots and hollow drumming came from the street. The vibrations were so strong that the walls of the basement were shaking as if in an earthquake. Our anxiety grew during this unknown trembling. There was no detonation. We started to get up when a man rushed into the basement screaming "Tanks are coming along Rakowiecka Street." Through the open door an ominous sound of grating metal and continuous drumming of cannons reached us. Through the small, dirty basement window I could see the pavement and metal caterpillar tracks of large tanks. They were grinding along the pavement. I could not see their tops but could hear their gunfire as they were firing in front of them. They passed us fairly quickly. The walls stopped trembling. All of us were excited. Could they have been Soviet tanks? Comments, guesses and surmises were coming from all sides.

"Of course they could be Soviet tanks. You heard yourself from the lady in Kielecka Street that already yesterday Praga was in Soviet hands."

"My God, could it really be the end of the uprising" sighed a young woman with a child in her hands. She looked exhausted and depressed, and no wonder. Three days before at half past four she went shopping with the baby, leaving her other girl at home, a few streets from us. The first shots caught her at our gate where she took shelter and here she was to remain. "It is already three days that I have been here with my baby" she was crying "and my little girl is quite alone. Three days and three nights uncared for, unfed. My husband had not returned from work,” she continued, sobbing.

The planes left. People gathered in the yard. Unfortunately all hopes concerning the tanks were crushed. There were eyewitnesses. They were German tanks.

Faces became solemn, there was little talk, depression hung heavily over us and we were still cut off from the rest of the world. They were very disappointed people who went home to prepare a meal. This task was not easy, as food supplies in homes were getting quite low. We particularly missed tomatoes and bread. We sat down to some thin soup, artificially flavoured. There was not much talk, the mood was gloomy. Three days of uprising, three sleepless nights. The German tanks did not promise a good future. In addition, Czeslaw's dilemma: Should he actively join the insurgents or shouldn't he? Should he just passively wait for future developments? For the last two days he could not make up his mind.

Czeslaw was rather an unusual Pole. He was a product of international conflicts. He came from Lithuania where there e many families having to solve the same kind of problem. It was the aftermath of Polish/Lithuanian Union in the XV century. From one and the same family nest, the offspring could be of different nationalities. This was the case in Czeslaw's family. Czeslaw considered himself a true Pole and belonged to Polish organisations in Lithuania. His brother was a Lithuanian who stayed home to fight for his Lithuanian country. Czeslaw came to Poland, his adopted, chosen country. He was given a Polish Christian name but had a Lithuanian surname. He matriculated at a Polish school but finished at a Lithuanian University. He worked for the Polish community whilst living in Lithuania and longing for Poland. One of his sisters felt the same way, another was indifferent, but he dearly loved all his family. Different national feelings between the members of one family was not unusual Lithuania.

Pushing away his empty plate, Czeslaw said

"I have to join the group of insurgents in our block I should have done it sooner - now I should be fighting instead sitting in this prison."

"Does fighting as such attract you or do you consider it your duty? Or maybe your chosen profession?" I asked, being in a pacifist mood.

"I consider that fighting makes sense and is justified if it is the only way to defend my ideals or to protect the public welfare."

"For which ideal would you be fighting now?"

"For the most important one - the independence of our country "

"How do you imagine this independence?"

"Quite simply - a free country where Poles are ruling."

"I don't think it is that simple,” I remarked.

"Why not?"

"You must realise that today we are unable to achieve our aim fighting alone."

"So what?"

"Fighting the Germans, we have to accept the help of the Soviets."

"Certainly."

"But it is also certain that, having accepted their help, it will be their armies pushing the Germans out of our country and that, being allies, we will have to co-operate with them. We will have to agree to their political programme. Yes or no?"

"Not necessarily."

"Not necessarily? I don't even know if they will be asking anyone. All Poland will be under their military control. Of course it will be very tempting for them to bring into our country their political ideas and the same administration as they have in their Soviet Union. It is self-evident from the principles of the Communist doctrines. In Lublin (a large city in east Poland) a complete administration organised by the Russians and headed by our Polish Communists is already waiting to take power. I think that the Russian radio station 'Tadeusz Kosciuszko', broadcasting in Polish, fully explained the political programme and aim of the Association of Polish Patriots - this means Polish Communists living in the Soviet Union."

"Yes, but don't forget there is still England and America. They will not allow it to happen."

"What will they not allow to happen?"

"Poland to become a Communist country.”

"There you are, now you are getting to the core of the matter. We are all speaking about independence, about free Poland, but in reality we are thinking about a system of government which suits us best. For you, independence means Christian bourgeois democracy; for other radicals - ­it is the People's Republic. To reach the desired aim some will welcome the help of England, others the help of Russia. Therefore we have a Mr. Bierut* - Polish Communist leader in Moscow, and Mr. Raczkiewisz* leader of Polish liberals in London. Therefore we have General Sosnkowski - Commander-in-Chief of the Polish exile army in London, and General Berling* - Commander-in-Chief of Polish Red troops in the Soviet Union. Therefore there is the A.K.* - white underground armed forces and A.L.* - red underground armed forces.

"Can we say with a clear conscience that we all aspire to the one goal? Do you think that General Bor-Komorowski*, Chief Commander of A.K. has co-ordinated his military strategy with General Berling, Chief Commander of A.L.? And that Prime Minister Mikolayjczk* his political ideas with Prime Minister Osobka-Morawski*? Already for three days Warsaw has been fighting and bleeding and at this time they are bartering in Moscow about Poland's future government. “Our history" - I continued - "gave us many sad examples in the so-called 'aspiration of common aim'. Just as well that this time our emigrant leaders found some support with foreign allies, otherwise Poles would now be fighting each other. Is there is just the one common cause? Independence? Democracy? Those are just words, not the real issue. Why should we deceive ourselves? In Poland before 1939 did the words independence and democracy have the same meaning for a landless peasant as for the wealthy mine owner? For whose independence are we fighting?"

Czeslaw interrupted - "You and your politics. There are historical moments when one has to fight and not talk. If everyone was just criticising and trying to predict, it would not even have come to an uprising!"

"Who knows? Maybe that would have been better than an abortive attempt. Our history has many such examples. Warsaw is burning, her people are dying and somehow our allies don't seem to be in a hurry. In the meantime the Germans are swarming over the streets with their soldiers and tanks and shooting as they like and we have not even enough ordinary rifles. This is the result of action taken without previous political discussions. First a slogan is given and later politics are made. Who knows the outcome of the Moscow conference?"

"Now we have a common cause which unites us all - to fight the Germans. They are our enemies and therefore we all have to mount the barricades with guns in our hands."

"And after that? Which of our allies will have the deciding voice, sitting in the ruins of free Warsaw? To whom of the powerful protectors will the 'independent' land belong? Who amongst the people will be the hero and who the traitor?"

Czeslaw interrupted, “Defeatism, it is ...”

"What you are saying is sheer…” he did not finish. On the staircase we suddenly heard loud noises of boots, yells, banging doors.

Opening the door a crack I heard voices in German. "Where are the men?" Closing the door silently, I called out in a hoarse whisper, "Germans!" We all jumped up from the table. What were we to do? Where were we to hide? It was certain that the Germans in our house were looking for partisans. How would they distinguish a partisan from an ordinary Warsaw inhabitant? There was no way at all. There were no documents and the same civilian 'uniform' for all. Searching for insurgents was a very simplified procedure. Czeslaw had the answer to his questions. We were two young men not living permanently in this house from which partisans were shooting and where a First Aid Station had been organised. We did not know whether the Germans would kill the men on the spot or treat them as prisoners of war. We could not flee from the third floor and the Germans were already moving up the stairs. There was only one way left - to hide in the flat and hope for the best, that the search would only be a superficial one. Marushka and Auntie would have to say that no men were living in this flat. We started looking for a hiding place, expecting the Germans any minute. Czeslaw hid inside a wardrobe, I on the entresol (a small, long shelf under the ceiling) of the kitchen. Marushka, taking away the ladder, covered me with empty suitcases. I asked Marushka to hide our hats and overcoats that were hanging in the hall and leave only two plates on the table. I also asked her to appear calm and not to show any nervousness, even during the search. Marushka performed all these instructions superbly and I was deeply impressed. Even her voice sounded un­-troubled during the last moments of preparation. I knew how this sensitive woman was feeling and admired her full control over her emotions in moments of extreme danger for her husband and her close friend. I will never forget the moment when, after adjusting her glasses nervously, she calmly and thoroughly inspected the hiding places. Seconds and probably minutes were hurrying by. For the first time in my life I could hear with my own ears the beating of my heart, could feel the hot blood rushing to my temples and thoughts, trivial and important, rushed through my head at the same time. Then, for a few seconds, jut an empty feeling... I could hear the ticking of the clock and thought perhaps I will live only fifteen minutes ... thirty seven years and fifteen minutes. Why those fifteen minutes? Maybe because they are so hard to take. The suitcase pushing into my back was not leather, only imitation ... if they shoot in the head would it be instantaneous or would death take a few minutes of terrible pain? I saw my mother's face, but why is she smiling? That is silly. A stomping of boots on the stairs ... they were coming. Suddenly I became calm - an odd senseless calm. Something had happened to me. I felt empty ... waiting for my destiny.

Marushka is waiting for the bell to ring. Again seconds pass, minutes. Some doors are banging on the floor below. Silence? I can't hear the stomping of boots .. minutes pass - nothing. Marushka is opening the door slightly ... silence ... she goes out to the stairway. From my hiding place I can hear voices on the staircase. Marushka returns and says only two words - words like soothing balm ... "They've left."

We left our hiding places and peered through the window. We could just hear the departing footsteps nearing the gates. People were coming down to our yard-forum. Soon the yard was filled with people, all relating the latest happenings. Several S.S. men, armed to the teeth, had forced our main gate. Going along the walls they entered by different staircases. Not meeting any opposition, they entered the flats and started a spot check, searching for insurgents. Most of the men were able to hide.

In some flats men were found. After, checking their documents, the permanent residents of our flats were left in peace. A few who came from outside were shot. Some of the S.S. men were looking for insurgents in chests of drawers and commodes and some valuables disappeared into the pockets of the S.S. men. Our housing block had paid its first tribute. When dusk came we could see from the northern part of the city the glow of fires and smoke clouds which dispersed as darkness was deepening. At night only the glow of burning fires remained over the fighting in Warsaw. At three o'clock in the morning I was awakened by sounds coming from the yard. The door of the balcony was open and I listened. Again the sound of boots and then some loud orders issued in German - a reply in broken German. Once again steps under our balcony. "Where is the entrance to the basement?" asked a German voice with a cock of the rifle and a door closing on the first floor.

We stayed in bed as there was no sense in constant hiding. Half an hour passed and the Germans were still in the block. We could hear the splintering of wood as doors were broken down. Again voices in the yard, some barking orders and, at last, silence.

We did not sleep much that night. In the early morning a German officer and a few soldiers came back again. They were fully armed. He gave his orders to the people who were in yard. People living in this housing block had to choose from amongst themselves a commander of the block who had to allocate duties. The commander would be responsible for order and discipline with his head. The guards must watch the gates constantly.

Gates had to be locked and opened only on German orders. If only one shot was fired from the block, all the inhabitants would brought to the yard and "Here" he yelled and waved his revolver, indicating the wall, "they will be immediately shot." He gave one more look at the scared pale faces and left, followed by his soldiers who were holding their machine guns, ready to riot. We all remained motionless until they left the gate and sounds of hobnailed boots quietened down and the S.S men disappeared from view. Those who did not understand German asked for details of his speech. Within minutes our whole forum was full of people, even those who were inside during the issuing of orders. One of the members of the co-operative was asked to become the commandant. Guards were chosen to be relieved every four hours.

Now our block and our entire suburb came under full control of the Germans.

Groups of partisans had left in the direction of Pulawska street. We were faced with a difficult problem. How to protect our block from the irresponsible actions of a few men who could invoke a bloody retaliation by the Germans. One ill-advised shot from a window or from behind the wall would have to be paid for very dearly - with the death of a hundred defenceless people. Could somebody come to help us? Most unlikely. Our suburb was now completely in the hands of the Germans. They were the masters of life and death. To keep alive, to keep over one hundred families living was the duty of the guards who watched the gates and controlled the roofs, attics and basements.

However, it did happen!

When most people were busy preparing a midday meal, some shots were fired into the street from a window of the staircase. Who fired? Nobody knew. Not many had heard the shots but a few seconds later we all heard a loud, rumbling crash and our whole block trembled. We all jumped to our feet. The crashing noise was repeated a few more times. Looking from our balcony I saw broken glass, bricks and plaster tumbling into our block. Over the front of our block facing Rakovicka Street dark reddish smoke was rising. In panic, people started to run to the basement.

This was the German revenge on our block. Cannons stood in the field of Mokotow and they opened fire, directed at our block. Two storeys of the front were smashed and a few large holes appeared in the walls and roof. Nobody was killed. Those who used to live in the flats facing the main street now lived permanently in the basement as this side of the building had previously been damaged by machine guns and windows were broken.

Would the Germans leave us alone now? Had they satisfied their revenge? This thought was uppermost in our minds. Remembering the words ... “if even one shot be fired ...,” this thought sent shivers down our spines. Frightened faces and feverish eyes were looking through the crowded basement windows. Maybe they were on the way with machine guns to kill us all, lined up against the wall? These were hard moments, grating on the nerves. The tightly-packed crowd was waiting for its destiny. We heard a grumbling noise further away, shots and a jarring sound of metal on the street. "Those are tanks" people whispered. They came nearer very quickly and the walls began to tremble. Heavy Tigers, shooting from their gun turrets, were tearing the asphalt with their caterpillar wheels. "My God, will they be shooting at us?" asked a woman, leaning against the shaking walls. The tanks with their beastly screech passed us quickly, entering the Mokotow field in a scattered battle order, and disappeared from our sight.

Evening came. Depressed and tired, we were settling down for sleep. In the long basement, passages were filled with deck chairs and plank beds. Tired children were crying and old people, lying under the walls in uncomfortable positions, were sighing heavily. Piled luggage made it hard to move. On suitcases were candles, giving some light. It was a sad picture. Mothers were feeding their children with bits of food - no milk. Grown-ups did not eat an evening meal. The ghost of starvation was hovering over our block. Many had finished their supplies. Our co-operative shop was sold out. More and more people went to sleep hungry.

Our family also got ready for the night. From our balcony I saw the empty yard. The fires over Warsaw were casting a pale glow over the roofs and from the field of Mokotow came volleys of shots. In the neighbouring street I could hear an occasional single shot echoing along the walls. Our guards were patrolling the yard. From the windows next door I could hear loud sobbing.

At two in the morning we were awakened by the ringing of the bell and insistent hammering at our door. Marushka rushed to open it.

"Who is there?"

"Aufmachne" (open the door). Marushka obeyed and two S.S. men entered with their automatic guns in their hands.

"Are there men in this flat?" was their first question.

"Yes,” answered Marushka in German after a second's hesitation.

"How many?"

"Two. My husband and our friend who is staying with us."

One of them opened the door of the first room where Czeslaw was sleeping and both entered.

"Documents,” yelled one, shining his torch in Czeslaw's face. Czeslaw gave him his passport. They started checking.

"He is a foreigner,” called one, reeling on his feet. They were drunk.

"Out with him into the yard,” he yelled, pushing his gun towards Czeslaw. We knew what that meant. The life of our friend was hanging just by a thread.

Enter Marushka. There are moments when strong words of a woman can achieve miracles. In her perfect German she flooded them with words interjected with "foreigner,” "travel orders,” "army follower". They were impressed. The less drunk one, pulling his companion by the sleeves, started to edge towards the door. They forgot about me and left. We could hear their receding footsteps. They whistled through their fingers calling others and at last left our yard.

We could not go to sleep that night. Who could sleep with this white glow of the fighting Warsaw. We sat on the balcony. The opposite walls were bathed in the glow of fires. A light wind carried some burnt paper and the smell of burning. In the yard were the measured steps of the guards. From the balcony next to ours came heavy sighing and whispered prayers and, on the ground floor, a woman was crying. We could hear her sobbing for a long time.

During this night drunken S.S. men raped four women in our block.

In the morning shooting intensified in the suburbs surrounding us. The rumours were that the insurgents were attacking from Puiawa Street. The heavy cannonade which we had heard during the first days of the uprising had stopped. Some planes were circling over the city. At about ten o'clock Germans appeared again. This time there were many army men in their camouflage uniforms holding their automatic guns at the ready. They covered all the exits and ordered all men to come down to the yard. There was no way out. Slowly and full of distrust we assembled in the yard. We were surrounded by the S.S. men. Behind them stood our women, weeping. Their sons, husbands and brothers were here. The Germans ordered us to line up against the walls with hands up. A thorough search did not reveal any arms. After the search was completed we were let go free. Thus ended the act of pacification of our block.

From this day onwards the Germans visited our block more often in a random fashion. They tried to converse with the inhabitants, they came and sat on benches in the yard, they tried to play with the children, they offered smokes to the men and smiled at the women. After the pacification of the block, they tried to win over its inhabitants.

They were getting bored sitting in the trenches on the fields of Mokotow - nobody was shooting at them. Here one could be with people, look at good-looking women and play with children. The children were just children; it did not matter that they were Polish children. There was the same childish prattle, the same tiny little hands touching them. Many of the soldiers had in their 'Heimat' similar toddlers who also tried to pull out the bayonets leaning against their daddies. What a pleasant feeling to remember. The soldiers would try to speak to the mothers in a mixture of German and Polish words. They would open their tunics and show their most treasured possessions - photos of their families and, pointing to the snaps, would say "I have two children. Here, look, my daughter two years, look here is my Frau.”

The German soldiers felt good. It was so much better to talk like this than to sit in the damp trenches. One could even forget the war for a little while. A queer thing is war and its psychology. Yesterday they were threatening to shoot us all and today they are playing with our children. Yesterday there was a brutal search and rape and today they come as visitors bringing brandy and cigarettes.

Slowly we began to get used to the new way of life. Many of us still shrank back instinctively when we sighted a German. We were all still very distrustful but, with time, we got used to them. The Germans brought us the news that the Russian Army was pushed far back from Warsaw. They were quite certain in their assertion received from the Fuehrer's headquarters that the Soviet Army under the German attack had retreated a hundred kilometres. We did not want to believe it. But still there must be some truth in it. People were saying, "Why didn't the Russians standing in the Praga suburb of Warsaw attack the city? Why had the Front become so silent?" Some were saying, "It can't be true. The Germans are saying those things on purpose to undermine our morale." But a nagging doubt remained.

About noon there were again planes over Warsaw. They were very high and seemed to circle very slowly. I was sitting on a bench, talking, when children began calling "Look, look, papers and more papers." Looking up, we saw leaflets fluttering down on the roofs. Some fell down behind our walls and were lost to us, others floating gently settled down between our walls. We started chasing them; some even tried to catch them from their balconies. Children and grown-ups alike were trying to grab these papers. There were not many of them which landed in our block; therefore everyone was vying for the privilege to be the first. These leaflets represented the first news from the outside world. Anyone able to catch a leaflet was immediately surrounded by a crowd. One had to read loudly. I was in luck and caught a leaflet and started reading:

 

SOLDIERS OF THE NATIONAL ARMY 

  Our Government from London announces that Prime Minister MIKALAYJCZK's position in Moscow is such that he is unable to reach free decision and to have freedom of speech.

 ONE HAS NO DOUBT WHAT INTENTIONS ARE HIDDEN BEHIND IT.

 I started to negotiate with representatives of German authorities, looking for common ground to co-ordinate actions against the Moscow traitors.

 I HEREBY ORDER a stop to all acts of hostility against occupational German authorities and an immediate return to initial meeting places of alert!

 Everyone disregarding this order is taking sides with those who made an attempt on the life of our Prime Minister and will be shot immediately.

 Further orders will be issued.

 Long live Poland!

 

Chief Commander of Polish National Armed Forces.

(-) BOR. Warsaw 2nd August, 1944.

 

I finished reading and all were still holding their breath and listening to the echo of such odd and quite incompressible words. "Has BOR really signed it?" asked someone.

It was read for a second time.

"It is quite impossible."

"You are quite right."

"This is just a plain in lie, a forgery."

"It certainly is," agreed the others.

"Just listen. You see what the main point is - stop fighting the Germans and return to the point of alert. This is their main aim."

"It certainly is the work of the Germans."

"Oh! These buggers, these bandits, the forgers, trying to pretend to be BOR."

"This way they have not a hope to win the war - they will surely come to grief."

This was the general reaction and opinion of our yard. I folded the leaflet carefully and put it in my wallet. It was certainly a unique document. The group dispersed, looking for other leaflets to compare whether they had the same contents.

In the afternoon the firing from the city became heavier. This was probably the partisans’ reply to the leaflets. A few hours later German bombers appeared over the city. They were flying quite low and one could easily see the black crosses of the Luftwaffe. The bombing of the city began. Again we sheltered in the basement. The walls were trembling from the heavy explosions. A cloud of dust rose above the roofs. Some were of the opinion that we would not be bombed and they were right, as we were in the part of the city where Germans had full control and, in addition, their heavy artillery was positioned next to our block. Some even went outside to watch the planes. They were flying low, making turns over the centre of the city and dropping their bombs. The erupting dust clouds pinpointed the places of explosion.

That night I was on guard duty. At two a.m. a gentle knock came at the door. I was ready. I, and the other guard, came down the stairs. The guards who had finished their watch gave us instructions and the key of the gate. My duty was to watch the east wing and the gate. Switching on my torch, I went to the basement and cellars. People were sleeping everywhere - on the naked floors, under the walls, in the boiler house. People of Warsaw were pushed down to the basements. From the moment when the uprising began the roles were reversed; the underground army came into the open and the civilian population went to the underground.

I continued my way up the stairs to the attic facing Rakowiecka Street. All over there were strings and drying laundry. On my left, holes in the walls and roof from cannon shells. In front of me was a large view of the city. Warsaw was covered by fires. A sea of red flames lit the sky. The stars looked pale and the roofs were covered with a reddish glow. The smoke over the city was like darkly gathering clouds before a storm. Somewhere behind our block were detonations, firing and screeching of machine guns. Warsaw was fighting on. In front of me - an empty street with some leaflets here and there. Quite near us, in the field of Mokotow, the dark silhouettes of cannon with their long barrels, and there were German patrols in the field. Coming back my torch shone in one of the corners where, to my astonishment, I saw a man sitting on a child's rocking chair. He was a man of about fifty, unshaven, with a heavily lined face, and clothed in a dirty and torn suit, torn shoes on feet without socks.

"What are you doing here?" I asked suspiciously.

"I sleep here as you can see," he answered without any embarrassment.

"Why here, in the attic?"

"I don't like the basement, it is too damp there. I have rheumatism and it is warmer here. The sun heats it nicely during the day. I have nothing to cover myself with."

"Are you from this block?"

"Oh, no. I am from prison. I was there over a year; near here in the Mokotow gaol. You know, the red brick building in Rakowiecka Street."

"Were you released?"

He laughed. "We released ourselves. When the uprising started the Germans opened a few doors and drove the prisoners into the yard, telling them they would be released. We who were still locked up shortly heard shooting in the yard. News spread immediately - Germans were shooting the prisoners in the yard. We started a riot in the gaol. Some were able to flee but the Germans started shooting at us from the yard and the street. We climbed on the roof and, although the building was burning, we were able to reach the roofs of other buildings. In this way about 380 of us got free. Now I am here and waiting for what will come next. I have nowhere to go. I have no house - my wife was killed in September 1939 in the ruins of our flat. One son died during the Polish/German war near Kutno and the Germans took my second son to Oswiecim (the extermination camp Auschwitz). Don't know if he is alive."

"Do you mind me asking why you were imprisoned?"

"You see I was put to work to repair the highways and I ran away and, coming to Warsaw I bought some goods from the farmers. As bad luck would have it, a Gestapo control caught me with the goods in the train. They took the goods away and put me in gaol," he finished.

I left him in the attic. The yard was silent. The guards were speaking quietly near the gate. We were relieved at six in the morning. I went to sleep but somehow I could never get enough sleep. At nine Marushka woke me, explaining that the Germans were shooting at the house next to ours and that our people were already in the basement. Explosions of hand grenades and shooting from machine guns were very close, coming from Akacia Street. We went down to the basement. Here we heard the latest news the Germans had broken into the Jesuit chapel that was about 200 steps away from us. What was happening there nobody knew. Maybe shots had been fired from that house and the Germans retaliated? After half an hour the shooting stopped. After leaving the basement we saw fires and smoke. Rushing up to the top floor we saw that the chapel was burning. Smoke was pouring through the windows covering the wall with soot and we could hear the glass breaking. In a very short while the whole chapel was on fire, cleaning the traces of the recent tragedy. We all worried about the fate that had befallen our nearest neighbours.

In the afternoon our nurses brought some wounded parti­sans to our block. These young girls were extremely brave. By unknown routes they were constantly sneaking outside and looking for wounded in our suburb. The armband of the Red Cross could not be relied on for protection. One of the nurses was killed whilst on duty. She fell, maybe hit by a stray bullet, in the potato field and her mates brought her home but she died on the way.

Again planes came from the west. "Maybe they are English?" people said. Somehow they shimmered differently in the sunshine. They were flying in a regular formation, just like cranes. Unfortunately they were German planes. Shortly the walls of Warsaw were once again shaking from detonations. It did not last long and anyhow, by now we were becoming indifferent to raids. There were many who never went to the basements, others continued walking in the yard during the bombing of the city.

It became quieter in the evening. The shooting in our suburb stopped but by now we were unresponsive to the sound of fighting further away. We considered it the normal way of life.

The chapel was still smouldering but the fire was localised and had not destroyed their total block.

People were spending more and more time in the yard as it was the only place where one could get some fresh air and stretch one's legs. High above the town some single planes were circling again but nobody took much notice. During the day so many of them were flying over our unhappy Warsaw. Some were bombers, some observers, and some were dropping leaflets. My God, one would go berserk if one rushed each time to the basements.

Some were watching the progress of the planes with field glasses. Someone from the balcony was calling for our attention. Some white objects were falling out of the planes. At first they fell quickly, then they just seemed to hang in the air. Our first thought was – parachutes. But soon those big umbrellas burst into thousands of white dots. "They are leaflets," voices called from everywhere. All of us were watching. It looked very impressive. All the sky seemed to be covered with white petals. They were swaying lazily, becoming bigger as they slowly des­cended. Prepared by the previous experience, we were waiting impatiently for news from the sky. What will they bring? What will they feed us with? We had to wait a long time until the leaflets reached our roofs. Those with a quick eye could dis­tinguish the different shape of the leaflets. Does it mean they will have different contents? The boys were rushing to the bal­conies hoping that, with luck, they would be the first. The leaf­lets were just, just above our heads. We began chasing them. The leaflets were dodging us, swaying playfully to the left and to the right, until at last they landed amongst us. The crowd wandered to different direction in groups and started to read.

 

CITIZEN!

The time of freedom is approaching. The Polish People's Army, with self-sacrificing battles, paved the way for victory. The Russian allies had broken the yoke of the fascists' occupa­tion. The Polish Government in London acknowledged that the Red Army and the Polish People's Army carried on their shoulders the weight of the battles for freedom. Marshal Stalin had guaranteed wide boundaries for Poland.

 C I T I Z E N: The reborn Poland is Poland of the people. Everyone must add their efforts to rebuild the country. All kinds of fascist elements will be crushed. Every Pole, every organis­ation has to co-operate with us. The Free People's Poland is calling you. The new vigorous state organisation will guarantee your freedom and prosperity. The Polish People's Army is defend­ing our Poland.

 This historical moment requires a joint effort under a united leadership of the Polish People's Army. Who is not sub­ordinate is sabotaging free Poland. The lordly, grand leaders of the National Army have to step aside.

  Watch them!

  Being in the pay of Hitlerism, their undermining work is finished.

 Death to the fascists:

Long live the Polish People's Republic:

 

General Berling, Commander of Polish Army in Russia.

Government Press  in Wilno.

 Another leaflet read like this:

 

STOP!

 THE UPRISING IS OUR DEATH!

 Now the Communists have achieved their aim. We ourselves are destroying Poland. The Polish underground is getting weaker in her fight with Hitlerism; later the Bolsheviks will come and crush her. It was like this in Wilno, the same will happen here.

 We are blind:

 We were led into this error.

 NEVER WILL WE GIVE OUR COUNTRY TO THE COMMUNISTS

 You must understand that Hitler has to fight the Soviets if he intends to stay in power. This fight will finish him, giving the English basis for victory and allowing the allies to help us.

 Guard against ill judged actions!

 Keep cool, remember our fallen heroes. They sacrificed their life for free Poland, never for the support of Communists.

 OUR STRENGTH: wait for the right moment.

THE RIGHT MOMENT: a victory by our allies in the west.

   

People were reading and listening, looking for new leaflets and building new groups. Nobody was sure how many leaflets there were. What was their real meaning? Did they have the same propaganda thoughts?

I heard the following.

"Which one did you read?"

"The one by General Berling."

"About the People's Army?"

"Yes."

"And you?" asked another one.

"The smaller one."

"Which was the smaller one?"

"You know, the one about the uprising being the death of us."

"What do you know? I have not read this one. What did they say?"

"That Communism has achieved its aim ..."

"Pardon me, but that was the one I just read - 'People's Army with their sacrifices had paved the way for victory - that means Russia achieved her aim."

"No, you are wrong, just the opposite. The one I saw stated quite plainly that the Soviets will crush Poland, Poland which we ourselves have destroyed."

"Simple - we are hitting Hitler and Stalin will crush us so why should we fight? Better to wait until Churchill and Roosevelt finish both. You see, that will be our victory."

"You know, there is truth in it. I even like it. Where is this leaflet?"

"There, you can see the group reading near the rubbish stack."

One person left and another joined the group, asking timidly.

"Excuse me, please, but would you have the leaflet, how can I say ... about Stalin, Hitler and Roosevelt?"

"What, is there one like it?"

"Yes there is - the most reasonable one."

"No, I am looking for it. I was told that you had read it."

"No. We caught only the one with grammatical errors."

"With grammatical errors? That means there is a third one. Could you show it to me?" ... scanning the leaflet, "Ah, that is from Berling. I have already read it."

"The one you mentioned before - who signed it?"

"Nobody."

"Nobody?" He was very disappointed. "An appeal without a signature? That is impossible - you probably missed it. Some­body had to sign it. Maybe a general, or did it come from a party or a committee?"

"I assure you, nobody signed it. Anyway is it important? If you like their politeal opinion, you can sign it."

"The position has already been decided, on the Warsaw's barricades. Opinion? The opinion during war is formed by bayonets."

"You are a cynic."

"And you are naive." Everyone started laughing. The fellow who had come looking for a leaflet gave up as at this moment someone new came towards us. He called out to the new­comer, an elderly gentleman living near our flat.

"Hello doctor, good to see you. Maybe you have the second leaflet?"

"My dear sir, firstly I don't know which one was the first. Were they numbered?" he asked, smiling.

"The smaller one, the one which was unsigned."

"But it is quite irrelevant. In my opinion they are all coming from one and the same source. There - from heaven," - he was pointing upwards. "In this heavenly matter are engaged Mr. Hitler's planes. First they throw bombs on us and then leaflets. Just for a change so we don't get bored whilst waiting for help from our allies which is coming at a snail's pace. They are all means to the one end and the gullibility of people is boundless."

It was late and already dark when the last inhabitants left the yard to return to their flats or basements; only the guards were keeping watch. That night I slept undisturbed.

Next morning when I was taking the rubbish bin outside I found a new, red leaflet. By which wind and at what time it was blown into our yard I didn't know. Nobody had seen it the day before - the night had brought it. This is what it said.

 

 

We demand a Soviet Poland!

 

Long live Stalin!

Long live Soviet Poland!

Central Committee of the Polish Communist Party.

 

I finished reading the leaflet and was emptying my rubbish bin when Adam joined me. He was called Adam by everyone. He was a student of classic philosophy.

"Have you been reading something new?"

"A new leaflet, this time a red one," I replied, greeting him. He began to read, supporting his chin on his fist. It was his typical gesture when concentrating. Sometimes he even bit his nails. From next door came Marjory, also bringing her rubbish out. She joined us. She was the maid of the doctor's family who lived opposite us. We all knew each other. She was a short, broadly built girl full of energy and covered with freckles. She wanted to know everything and tried to have her own opinion.

"What is new, Mister Adam?" she asked, emptying her bucket.

"Nothing good, Marjory. By now people don't know themselves what they are fighting for in our unhappy Warsaw. This is tragic nonsense,” he continued his thought. "You just think, the Polish Communists also mounted Warsaw's barricades, fighting for Soviet Poland. Right. We know that on the same barricades there are Poles fighting for Poland's independence. Fighting shoulder to shoulder for contradictory aims. Not enough, I beg you, just you read - "we declare solemnly that this battle on the barricades will wipe out the old Polish reactionaries, capitalists and the clergy.' You see? Our common enemy has not yet been destroyed but we already have promises that brothers from the barricades will fight each other."

"I will tell you something, sirs,” interrupted Majory. We Poles are really good at unsuccessful uprisings. So many people perish. Oh, Mother of God, what will there be left from our Warsaw which is burning without interruption day and night? And just think about the Jesuit brothers,” she continued, crossing herself. "Last night a woman came from Akacia Street. Oh Jesus, Holy Mother what has happened there. She was telling that they ordered all the Jesuits to get completely undressed and then .. and then .. they killed them all, all of them, without pity, and afterwards they killed all the women and children. Those who went to pray on the day of the uprising and were unable to leave. God have mercy on us - to murder clergymen, women and children, and where ... just you think where they were murdered in the house of God, in, a chapel! That is the most devilish and sacrilegious thing that has happened since the world saw the crucifixion of Jesus Christ. All that because of this uprising.  Yes, yes ... but I am just talking and talking and the work is waiting." She ran back home.

". . . . and all that because of the uprising! You have heard and her, haven't you?" asked Adam, biting his lips nervously. His hair, as if never combed, fell over his forehead, a long pale face with very regular features made beautiful by large, burning eyes. He was slightly bent and extremely thin. His suit was badly worn and crumpled, his badly knotted tie was always hanging astray like a much used string, as Adam often used to grab, hugging it to his chest. He loved to gesture. Only when gesturing was he in his element. Without gestures Adam could not talk, nor could he think. With his long white fingers he was constantly touching his face, his eyes were full of fire as he developed new ideas. His face twitched and he quite often talked to himself.

The yard called him a fool whereas his intellect was way over the others. He did not understand the others and they did not understand him so they just called him a fool. They were just ‘bread-eaters' and he was a thinker. Why should they try to climb intellectual heights? To understand Adam it was much easier to give him a place below and call him a fool.

Taking my bin and returning home I met some Germans. They were smiling and greeting people they met. At our door a neighbour, a doctor from Lublin, stopped me asking me to be his interpreter. He wanted to speak to the Germans. He was concerned about his relatives, an engineer with a wife and two daughters who, during the day of the uprising were making the best of a nice summer day and went to the fields about 500 steps from here and never came back. Five days have passed and he wanted the help of the Germans to be able to bring them back. "What could have happened to them?" he asked the Germans, with me as an interpreter. The Germans explained that about two hundred civilians who were caught during the beginning of the uprising in the fields of Mokotow were interned in the barracks near the artillery position. The doctor asked the Germans to intervene with their authorities and to release this family. He promised them vodka and cigars.

After breakfast a meeting was called in our forum, in the yard. Our rubbish heap had become a matter of public concern. It had grown out of all proportion and was stinking to high heaven. Being imprisoned in our yard, we were unable to remove the rubbish. A heated discussion developed between the organiser of the meeting who wanted the rubbish burnt and others who thought it should be buried. Many speeches were held. Two parties developed. The party which advocated burning was grouped about the more radical ones and consisted mainly of the younger people. The part of the conservative liberals wanted the rubbish to be buried. Only after a speech which was deeply thought through and delivered in an en­rapt manner was a decision reached. This orator delivered his speech in a very picturesque way with flowery words and convincing arguments. At least 40 per cent of the rubbish could not be consumed by fire as it consisted of tins, broken plates and other unburnable goods. The resolution was carried through and the organiser asked for volunteers who owned shovels. The appeal was so successful that we began digging trenches in relays. While one party was digging the other was resting, sitting on benches. The trench became deep. Children played with the wet sand, making fortresses and moats. During the day the wind had increased.

"Maybe the weather will change,” said someone digging near me.

"We could do with some rain,” said Adam. "It might help with some of the fires in Warsaw." Speaking about the weather made the people look up at the sky and immediately they shouted "Leaflets!" Now everyone was looking up. The strong wind was pushing a white cloud quickly above our roofs. We were very disappointed as none descended to our yard. The wind was chasing them to another suburb, the bulk landing in the fields of Mokotow. One of the leaflets brushed the roof and, reducing speed, started to come towards our yard. Being the tallest in our group, I was lucky to grab it first. Now I had quite a set of "sui generis" (the only one of its kind) documents. According to our yard custom, I had the honour to read it to our forum.

A large group was surrounding me so I stepped on the bench and, opening the rather large leaflet, began reading the words of the 'manifest':

Prime Minister Mikolajczyk held a conference with Stalin and pledged mutual co-operation with the Red Army. The same Red Army which had murdered the soldiers of the National Army in Wilno and brought the Ukrainian thugs into Lwow and Lublin where thousands of our countrymen perished for their unshakable belief in the final victory of a great and independent Poland. The German occupier was unable to break the proud Polish spirit. All his shrewd methods, trying to destroy the heroic Polish nation were for nothing. The Soviet brutality is also doomed to failure. The Russian Government has clearly shown its treacherous plans by setting up a Bolshevik government in Chelm. The hostile reaction by the Polish people taught Stalin a lesson that by force only he will be unable to break the Polish people. Now he has returned to the way of deceitful treachery. Prime Minister Mikolajczyk let himself be used for the ignoble plans, probably being afraid of losing his position. The Polish soldier never submitted to his enemy. Prime Minister Mikolajczyk, the Polish Quisling, stained the honour of the Polish soldier who fought for five years and never gave up. Poland's enemies, heavily armed, can occupy our soil but cannot conquer the Polish people. To pave the way, they are now using treachery. The unshakable belief and the self sacrifice of the heroic Polish soldier will never allow the Bolsheviks to destroy the Polish people through treacherous and cowardly politicians. The German occupier is fighting with his last breath. In the West the Americans and the English have broken through the Front and are streaking forward as quick as lightning.

Here, the German occupants are also hurriedly fleeing. But Russia is also at the end of her possibilities. Great and independent Poland will soon appear at the side of our allies, America and England, but never under the German yoke, nor the Soviet whip. Poles, the decisive moment of our heroic battle will require from all of you an unbreakable faith in victory, self-sacrifice for the nation and a strict discipline to the leadership.

I hereby announce the following Order of the Day. The Bolsheviks are near Warsaw and proclaim that they are friends of the Polish nation. This is a treacherous lie. Our borderlands, Wilno and Lublin, are calling to high heaven for revenge. Our Soviet enemy will meet with exactly the same ruthless fighting which is breaking our German invaders. To act for Russian advantage is treason to our country. The hour for a Polish uprising has not arrived as yet. Orders issued by Soviet servants are null and void.

The commanders of the National Army must stop all acts which are trying to help the Soviets. The Germans are fleeing. On with the battle with the Soviets. Long live free fighting Poland.

 

(signed) BOR

Chief Commander of the Armed Forces in Poland.

   

NOTE:     All the original leaflets are in the author's possession. The translation tried, where possible, to include spelling and grammatical errors.

I came down from the bench and gave the leaflet to others to read. They were still doubtful and wanted to see with their own eyes, to look at the black on white. "Could it be true that BOR ...? No, it is impossible - it must be a forgery. To start fighting the Soviets now is an absurdity!"

I went to talk with Adam who was leaning on his shovel.

"What do you think about it?" I asked him.

"I can't understand one thing. If one falsifies something, one should do it properly. But all these errors in the leaflet, they jar on one's ears terribly. It is hideous."

We continued digging our trenches for our rubbish.

"You know," Adam started talking, picking at a brick absentmindedly, "this incident with the Jesuits was a great shock to me. I knew these people. Between them were many very valuable individuals, deep minds and insatiable scholars. For instance, the old father professor. I used to visit him often. We would sit on a bench and become immersed in deep conversations. These were such good hours for me. My mind was free to fly to idealistic heights. He was directing my way. At this stage I was deep in the Kantian dialectics, looking for the categorical imperative as the starting point for man's moral position. You would be mistaken in assuring that he was showing the truth only pointing to heaven. He directed me along human tracks, the best method, the method of historical materialism. He showed me to what people were coming and what they were longing for. He achieved something which seemed impossible to achieve. He set himself free, liberating himself. His body was not necessary to him any more - it was just like the shell of a chick. His soul was fully ripe.” He stopped talking, his lips were twitching, his eyes burning. He started digging but then continued:

"... and then comes such a beast, a senseless tom from the Hitler studs who carries a machine gun - and S.S. man - and starts shooting into human skulls like a soulless robot. This bit of lead tears the brain away and all the deep thoughts are extinguished just like a candle flame. You know, one can get mad. It is beyond my comprehension. And, at that, it was only just a small fragment of the horrible tragedy that is surrounding us -WAR. The biggest human cataclysm brought forth by humans. Not one natural catastrophe has claimed as many victims as a war. If we think about earthquakes, floods, erupting volcanoes, tempests - the victims were counted in thousands and maybe tens of thousands ­but the war claims tens of MILLIONS. When Vesuvius erupted and destroyed Pompeii claiming a few hundred human lives all the world was in mourning. Monuments were erected in memory of this human tragedy. Now a fleet of planes, directed by human hands, can drop bombs on a big city and bury a hundred thousand inhabitants. Natural disasters are like children's toys compared with deathly human inventions. People are killing people. Homo sapient. The primate of their species.

"I often wondered what caused people to fight. Is it something biological, like breeding, or is it sociological, having its roots in co-existence. The materialistic dialectic is pointing to economical conditions but this does not cover wars for non-economical reasons such as religious wars. What economical reason could unite the Christians from Western Europe to fight fanatically the Arabs in their desert steppe of the Middle East? During human history, how many different slogans were written on the war banners? Would a war psychosis be possible if people possess some instinct which, during the thought of war, triggers off some repulsive feelings?

"Could such a Hitler exist with his gospel 'Mein Kampf' if the German nation was a society of conscientious pacifists? All this social doctrine is based on an apotheosis of wars. His first evangelist and high priest, Alfred Rosenberg, squeezed out everything he could from Hegel, Nietsche and Fichte about the godly fighting spirit and incorporated it in his ideology of National Socialism. All the propaganda was directed to unleash a primitive fighting spirit. To drug the people with a mania of grandeur of the Master race. To tickle his vanity, to excite his imagination with assured victories. To indoctrinate him with a hatred against other races, other ideals, other nations. The 'Volk' (in the German nation, “people”) frenzied by the red rag of the Hitler toreadors, came out to fight. To fight with the West, to fight the East, to fight the capitalists and the communists, to fight the democracies and plutocracies, to fight the Jews, relig­ion, philosophies and literature.

"And the people, you know - just people who are organising, supported by science, this horrible machine of destruction. Engineers are giving their most to create a better bomb which will kill more people simultaneously and destroy more relics which were wor­shipped with piety for generations. The best brains are competing to create better means to wipe out PEOPLE and their accumulated treasures. In research laboratories, in construction offices, in factories ... they are producing better and better bombs ... two .. four .. six .. toners, air mines, flying fortresses, phosphor­escent bombs, V-1, V-2, V-3 …

"What are the millions of forced labourers and war prisoners in Germany doing if not producing the destructive tools of war?

"Oh, my God, that is a machinery of the devil. I lack the words. Do you think that all this, all the organisation for total war, will be satisfied with this only? Certainly not" - now he was speaking full of irony  "there will still be some living people behind the Front and some who survived in the bombed cities, some who survived concentration camps and those who survived the 'liberation' of their country from independence, and some Jews - a nation of the doomed. Today's war is a total war – bellum omnium contra omnes (war of all against all). Those who are not killing others or are not helping in killing others - oh, what irony - are enemies of the country. Those who dared to be born Jews are criminals. Those are the laws of total war. The organ­ised system is for total destruction of defenceless people, those people which the Front missed. The concentration camps are growing to the size of cities. Organised armies of dog-catchers are per­forming round-ups. They are chasing the people in the streets, squares and yards - these dog-catchers of the total war system are chasing these hunted people. They are thrown like dogs into trucks and afterwards behind the barbed wire of camps. To hang or to shoot simultaneously tens of people would be simple but hundreds of thousands is a costly problem. Therefore a cheaper and 'more p