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 productive' system to exterminate people was organised, helped
by science. Phase one - choking people in gas chambers, phase two -
mass burning in crematoriums. The last product - fertiliser from human
bones - not damaging to the totalitarian system, even desirable for
growing cabbages,” he yelled, his face distorted with a painful
smile. He touched his brow, he was tired. His face was twitching
nervously and he was biting his lips. But then he continued, not as
loudly, stopping between words.
“The
totalitarian system is not only destroying the living person with its
creative mind, but also his previous thoughts contained in books and
his masterpieces in art and literature. The totalitarian system,
irrespective of whether they are red, white or brown, are
astonishingly united and exceptionally conceited. They will not
tolerate anything that is not proclaimed by them as truth. Take, for
instance, literature. Sometimes they prosecute the author and
sometimes the books. What will be left of literature if sometimes the
creators and sometimes the creation is being destroyed by the
totalitarian system? Take the German poet, Heine - his books are
suddenly removed from all shelves because he had a mother, or was it a
grandmother, who was a Jewess. Einstein's theory of relativity is
being expunged because its author is a Jew. But again, if a pure
Aryan, Zessing, wrote 'Nathan the Wise', only his book was burnt as it
is not acceptable for a Jew to be wise and to be a deep thinker. How
many such examples one could quote."
I
interrupted - "Adam, this reminds me of some incidents in a
library in Kaunas. Then, in 1940, Lithuania became a Soviet republic,
the Soviets ordered the removal from the library of all books written
by the so-called reactionaries, that is Poles, and also books written
by Russian emigrants. A year later came the Germans - they in turn
ordered the removal of all books by Soviet authors and the
translations of other Russian authors. In this way, during a year the
library became short of books as it was mainly stocked with books from
her neighbouring countries written in Polish, Russian and
German."
"There,
you are”. Adam was speaking again full of emotion, "this total
war destroys all and everything. It seems absurd but the enemy armies
are working together. The armies which are in the offensive are
destroying and bombing the hinterland - they are destroying the
railways, factories and towns. Armies on the defensive, when
retreating, destroy bridges and burn everything possible so that the
enemy is unable to use anything which they had not previously
destroyed. The same applies with people. The retreating army is
killing all its political enemies. The offensive one is killing all
the adherents of its enemy. I ask you, isn't it the perfect
co-operation for total destruction of life and goods?
"I
hate war, I hate it with all my nerves, with all feelings, right to my
marrow. But I do realise that I am helpless in hatred like a child who
is blowing into the wind to stop it blowing on the child's face. I
don't even know if it is an infectious illness or an inherent one in
all people. If I could find this 'baccillus belli' (war virus), I
would be the first to start fighting it."
I
interrupted, smiling - "There you are, now you have also caught
this infection. You are ready to start fighting."
We
were interrupted by the loud voice of the doctor from Lublin.
"Enough digging, the second shift is due now. The first shift
will now start emptying the rubbish heap as the trench is nearly
finished."
Adam
climbed on top of the heap but his work was not progressing as he was
trampling on a tin, muttering to himself and biting his lips.
That
afternoon when German soldiers again came to our yard our women
surrounded them, asking them to allow the gathering of some potatoes
which were growing in the field of Diokotow. The women explained that
bread had gone long ago and the food supplies were finished in most of
the families. After talking between themselves, the German soldiers
told our women to gather in the yard and, under the protection of the
soldiers, they would be allowed to go to the fields. It was only a
small group with Marushka amongst those ready to go. As we still
distrusted the Germans, we followed them to the gate. They were the
first to be permitted to go outside after six days imprisonment in our
yard.
They
returned triumphantly after an hour. Marushka brought her potatoes in
a scarf and apron tied around her waist. She was shot at while digging
and had to dive between the plants but we all enjoyed our meal very
much. Marushka told us that, during the digging, she had a good look
at the chapel of the Jesuits. The building was mostly ruined and smoke
was still coming from it. All around was empty and quiet and heaps of
bricks and glass covered the lawn. The reason for destruction as given
to her by the soldiers was that there was a search in the monastery of
the Jesuits and the Prior was asked if there were arms on the premises
which he denied. But after a thorough search, including a personal
search of the priests, arms were found and even Polish officers in
hiding. According to the soldiers, there was even a colonel with the
officers. Not only rifles but also a lot of ammunition was found.
Therefore the German officer in charge issued the order that everyone
should be shot, including all civilians who were there during the
church service. The house was burnt.
The
thought of the Jesuits was still very much on all our minds. They were
all well known here. Some were even from our block that went that day
to the church service, the day of the uprising. Nobody had heard from
them. There was now no hope left as three days had already passed
since the chapel was burnt. We had to believe the Germans that
everyone perished.
That
afternoon the Germans who came to our block announced that the
German Army authority had issued a truce period for our block from
noon to 2 p.m. to enable the women to leave the block and go into the
streets which were controlled by the Germans. Men were excluded from
this truce.
After
the Germans had left, unbelievable news spread through our yard. A few
Jesuits from the burnt chapel were hiding in our yard. During the
night two Jesuits and a little boy had arrived in our yard completely
exhausted, wounded, half-starved and utterly dejected. They were given
civilian clothing and were now sheltering in one of the flats.
In
the evening when the gates were locked for the night and our yard
illuminated by the fires of burning of Warsaw, most of us, as usual,
came down to the yard to share the latest news. The three survivors
from the chapel came down too. All our crowd surrounded them. We
wanted to know the truth of the tragedy in the chapel. The two young
men, very pale and emaciated, had short cropped hair and wore civilian
suits. One had a bandage around his head and one hand in a splint, the
other a dressing on a badly swollen face. The third, a teenage boy,
was very thin and pale. On the day of the uprising he was helping
during mass services.
When
I was near the group, I heard someone asking "Did the Germans
start shooting immediately they forced their entry?" The Jesuit
with the bandaged head, feeling uncomfortable in civilian clothes,
dropped his head and said; "No, they did not. After entering the
chapel, the Germans called the Prior and asked him about arms. We were
rounded up and pushed down to the basement. Two S.S. men were left
to guard the door. After a while we were ordered to go into the
doorkeeper's room. It was a small room next to the basement."
"Excuse
me," somebody interrupted, "were there also others besides
brothers and priests?"
"There
were over a dozen women with their children who had stayed with us
from the day of the uprising. In the doorkeeper's room there were
about twenty priests. In don't know where the rest were, nor where the
Prior was. We were crammed together in this room not knowing what they
wanted from us. Time passed. One of our guards Went outside the door
and spoke with someone and then closed our door. Suddenly the door
burst open, framed in the door stood a young S.S. man with a hand
grenade. He screamed some words in German at us and then, to our
horror, he pulled out the pin and hurled the grenade into our crowd.
"Jesus,”
prayed a woman next to me. In the crowd there was a deep sighing of
'Holy Mother', 'Oh, my Jesus Christ' . . ." The priest wiped his
sweating face with his arm and continued "It is hard for me to
tell in true order what happened next. We were all deafened by the
noise. Pushed by others, I fell on the bed near the wall. I only knew
that I was still alive and that nothing was hurting me. The same noise
came for the second time and then a third ... I felt a sharp pain in
my head. I opened by eyes and saw people trying to climb up the walls.
I saw many bodies and blood on the floor. For a second I also saw some
soldiers standing at the door, pointing their rifles into the room.
Sour-smelling smoke stung my eyes. Screams, again some shots. I felt
something heavy pressing on me. That was all. What happened afterwards
I don't know. When I was conscious again the room was deathly quiet.
Something was still pressing, me down. It was the dead body of one of
my brothers. When I moved my elbow hurt badly,” he pointed to the
splint, "and my head was hurting too. I sat up. It was already
dawn. My God Father, I am unable to describe the sight. Bodies covered
in blood, bodies of my brothers, of women and children. Opposite me
were sitting two human forms. One, his head hanging down, was the body
of Father Martin, the second one was Brother Joseph here with us. His
face was very swollen and his eyes and face covered with blood. He
looked dead and this saved him. The S.S. men did not finish him off,
assuming him dead." We all looked at father Joseph whose face was
distorted by swelling and covered with dressings.
The
Jesuit continued "Leaving the dead behind, we pushed our way
towards the door to the passage where we noticed a smell of singeing.
The chapel was burning. We reached the yard and hid behind a stack of
coal. Close to us German soldiers were patrolling the street.
Crawling, We reached the barn where coal is kept and there, hiding in
the darkest corner, we found our young companion,” he smiled
tenderly at the boy. "We were afraid of the Germans and kept
hiding in the coal. On the third night the hunger drove us to you, my
dear people. God Almighty only spared our three lives." He
finished speaking, bending his head.
Next
morning, in one of the flats, the priests celebrated Holy Mass for the
memory of all those who perished so tragically in the chapel. Most of
the inhabitants of our block attended this
Mass.
At
noon the time came for the promised truce. It was a very great event
in our imprisoned life. Women with white handkerchiefs in their
hands rushed out. Some went to dig potatoes, others to visit
neighbouring houses where they had friends and relatives. Our yard was
visited by women from other blocks. It was very lively in the yard
with greetings, kisses and hugging between friends and relatives.
People from further away also came. There were some hand-pushed carts,
fully loaded, there were women and children and also some men in torn
clothing and covered with soot and some were wounded. Of course we
started to ask questions. They were evacuees from the avenue of Niepodleglosc
(Independence). A few days before there had been very heavy fighting.
The Germans were attacking from Rakowiecka Street.
There
was bombing, including incendiary bombs. The fires were so fierce that
it was impossible to stay. Taking their meagre possessions they left
for neighbouring streets and, using yards only, had arrived here. The
insurgents were still fighting from some houses in Niepodleglosc
Avenue.
Opposite
the first aid station a young man was lying on the grass. His face
looked greyish-green and he was covered with sweat. Sometimes he was
grabbed by cramps. Next to him knelt a woman, crying silently and
bathing his face with a wet rag. Sometimes his eyes rolled up and he
seemed to be only semiconscious and in great pain. He did not seem
to be wounded and had only a small dressing on his hand. Two hours
later when I passed him again he was covered with a white sheet and
the young woman was sobbing. He was deed.
The
doctor standing nearby told me the cause of his death - it was
tetanus. The dead man's wife told him that a bullet had slightly
grazed her husband's hand but they had to crawl through the potato
fields because they were being shot at. His hand became dirty which
probably caused the tetanus. Alas, there were no injections against
tetanus available at this first aid station and he was condemned to
death. Death for him was inevitable. Now it had claimed him.
In
the evening we were alarmed by heaving shooting from the direction of
Okecie (Warsaw's suburb). We were alarmed as, until now, there had
never been fighting from this direction. Sore boys brought news of
houses burning in the fields of Mokotow. We felt even more uneasy. We
were expecting an attack by the partisans. Some rumour also reached us
that the Russians had broken through the Front in East Warsaw. When it
became dark we could see a few fires from the fields of Mokotow.
Single houses were burning. Germans in full battle dress rushed into
our yard and told us to go down to the basement as a battle was going
to start near us. They rushed through the yard and disappeared through
the opposite gate.
It
was once again a night full of anxiety. Shooting had intensified a
lot. The German machine guns were alongside our block. They were
shooting non-stop in the direction of the burning single houses. Some
soldiers were moving forwards, protected by the walls. Wounded
soldiers were brought to our first aid station. We were all gathered
in the basement as bullets were even whipping through the yard.
Everything
quietened down in the morning. After a few hours' sleep I came down to
the yard. It was a sunny morning, children were playing in the sand
pits and elderly gentlemen were sitting on benches getting, some sun
and warmth after a night in the cold and smelly basement. Even the
pigeons were flying trouble-free among us. In front of the First Aid
Post were field beds for the slightly wounded. What I saw was rather
unusual considering the circumstances we lived in. On the grass, lying
side by side, were Polish insurgents and uniformed German soldiers.
Polish nurses were helping them, full of concern and attention, giving
one and all their friendly smiles. This picture brought a pleasant
warm feeling. It was like an unexpected ray of sun breaking through
dark thunderous clouds, a ray of humanism, a human approach to humans.
Those who only a short while ago were ready to kill each other were
now lying close together, not enemies any more but suffering human
beings.
Unexpectedly
an armoured car stopped before the gate. A German officer with some
soldiers came towards the First Aid Post. In terse sentences he asked
for a surgeon who had to go with him immediately to operate on a
seriously wounded German officer of higher rank. Professor Loth, a
famous Polish surgeon, lived in our block. He was called down. We all
watched full of anxiety as our professor in his white coat followed
the German to the car. His wife was crying and begging the German to
let her husband return after the operation and to protect him against
German bullets. We were all worried and anxious to have him back.
Having the good fortune to have this surgeon in our block, we did not
want to lose him.
On
one of the benches an old woman was sitting and crying silently. Her
old face was deeply lined and her hands were kneading a wet
handkerchief.
"Why
are you so upset?" I asked her, thinking that she was upset
because the professor had to leave.
"My
poor little son is probably already dead,” she said and began to
sob.
"Where
is your little son?"
"He
worked for the Jesuits. You know, where this terrible thing happened,
where all were killed. Oh my God, he will never return to me. I came
here from Kielecka Street looking for him when I heard that the chapel
was burnt down. And here I was told that all were killed by the cursed
pagans. I wish to give him a Christian funeral but they do not allow
me to even look for his body."
"How
old was your little boy?" I asked her, thinking that maybe the
boy who had survived could be her son.
"I
think he would now be sixty-nine." Astonished, I looked at her.
She continued "He was not young any more, my son, but he was the
only one I had. He was the only solace in my old age. My husband died
fifty years ago. I brought him up alone. He was not married - he was
not of this world. He worked for the Jesuits as a cabinet maker. And
now this terrible misfortune. And now this divine scourge. Now I am
quite alone"
There
were no words which I could use to comfort this unhappy woman.
Coming
home, I met Czeslaw at the door. "Goodbye, Zygmunt, I am leaving.
I am going to join the insurgents. I should have done it a long time
ago." For the first time his voice was quite firm. He had
decided.
"Wait,
let us talk. How are you going to find them? Our suburb is completely
in the hands of the Germans. You might be caught even before you
..." He interrupted;
"All
last night I was thinking. I have decided. I will sneak through the
yards and I will avoid all streets. And anyway I am free and not
responsible to anyone."
I
understood. Nothing I could say would stop him - just the opposite. An
argument now would make him less cautious and impetuous. We were so
different in our outlooks. I took his hand and wished him all the luck
to achieve his aim. He rushed down the stairs and disappeared from
view.
Just
after Czeslaw left an insurgent group of medical and first aid staff
arrived in our yard. A young doctor and four nurses were carrying
stretchers. The doctor was carrying a white handkerchief in his hand
as it was the truce hour. We surrounded them immediately, asking for
news. They came from the suburb of Czerniakowo. Fighting still
continued there and their hospital was overcrowded and conditions of
work extremely hard due to lack of medical supplies. Wounded had to be
operated on without anaesthetics and without painkilling drugs.
Fighting in the streets made it very hard to find and bring in the
wounded. Quite often the wounded were lying for days in empty flats,
behind gateposts, in ruined basements or just among the ruins. As they
were left untreated for so long, their condition become so bad that
only amputation remained. The insurgents had no organised resistance
until the Place of Unia Lubelks where there were the first barricades.
We were also told about some news of the war in Europe. The German
front lines in France were broken and the allies were advancing
quickly. Nobody knew how the situation was developing on the Soviet
front. This was all the news we received.
As
Marushka was not in the yard, I went home to share the latest news
with her. I found her ill in bed. In the morning she had not been
feeling well but now she was worse. Her temperature was rising above
forty. I felt desperate. Marushka was showing signs of blood poisoning
in the leg which was injured. We were lucky as an injection of
prontozyl was brought for her during the night by a young schoolgirl
with long blonde plaits. As our First Aid Post had no injections, one
could get them only from somewhere near the centre of Warsaw from a
medical store. This schoolgirl was our liaison officer - the
connecting link. She was small, nimble and agile 'like a little field
mouse. By squeezing through holes in yard fences, through basements,
she was able to reach the medical store bringing the needed supplies
requested by our doctor. This time it was she again who brought to
Marushka the badly required medicine. After a while Marushka fell
asleep. She was very hot and was muttering something. I was sitting on
the bed and watching her. My old auntie who was partly infirm was
sleeping in her own room. The old clock was still ticking. I could not
sleep - sad thoughts kept invading. What will happen if I lose may
most faithful life companion? The extremely high temperature, the
swollen groin, spreading dark patches mean trouble. Will I see Czeslaw
ever again? Or his sister, Henia, with the baby living in the southern
suburbs of Warsaw? And my cousin Marysia who is now a nurse somewhere
in Warsaw? And all the other relatives and friends scattered somewhere
by the war? In my mind's eye I saw our departure from the house on the
hill and the small human form of Jurek whose white cap was only a
small dot. I saw Roman giving me his charming smile. I was also hungry
as for dinner today we had bread and finished the lot. This bread we
bought for 100 zloty from a railway employee living in our block. He
still had bread but we had no more zloty left. What will happen now?
What in a hundred years? Will there always be war? During wars the
research and technique for destruction develops very quickly. Maybe in
times to come people will develop a bomb loaded with some such super
dynamite that all the earth will blow up and the glorious victor will
not even have a place to dictate his terms. This is absurd. But the
basis of war is built on the absurd war logic and its pathological
justifications.
Marushka
was breathing heavily and covered in sweat. I tried to make her more
comfortable. Her body was fighting for the right to live. Maybe her
blood was sighting a deathly battle with invading bacteria?
Hours
dragged on, time stood still. What is time? I was never able to
understand the definition of absolute time.
In
the morning Czeslaw returned. He was tired and depressed. Crossing
various backyards, he was able to reach the Avenue of Niepodleglosc
where signs of fierce fighting were visible. In some empty houses
insurgents were hiding. They told him that their group, including
their leader, were crushed and only a small number were able to
retreat to inner suburbs. The avenue was under complete control of the
Germans who could shoot from different positions. It was quite
impossible to reach the other side of the street. The few left had no
ammunition and were in hiding between the labyrinth of the ruins. Very
disappointed, Czeslaw had returned.
This
day the family of the Lublin doctor also returned. The two soldiers
had kept their promise and escorted his family back to him. The young
engineer and his family looked tired, dirty, covered in torn rags. The
daughter had bleeding feet, torn by barbed wire. The first days of the
uprising were spent in one of the gazebos. They were eating fruit and
salads. It was cold at night, as they had nothing to cover themselves
with. In the first days, being afraid of ambush, the Germans would not
leave their reinforced positions. After a few days, having a large
range of covering fire, they started to dominate this area, pushing
the insurgents out. The engineer's wife told us that when the first
patrols reached the fields everyone was very astonished to see among
the S.S. men many Ukrainers, Kazbeks and Azerbaijans. They, more than
the S.S. men, became a terror to the people. Those primitive,
undisciplined Asiatic men in German service, morally dull beyond any
comprehension, let loose all their beastly instincts. When drunk they
started hunting people, raping women and grabbing valuables. The
frustrated engineer told us that when he was trying to rescue his
teenage daughter he was thrown to the ground and beaten unmercifully
and, of course, his watch and other valuables were taken. His daughter
was lucky to run away from a completely drunk soldier. All night she
hid in the potato field. All looted things such as watches, earrings,
rings, cigarette cases, the soldiers put into stockings. It became
impossible to keep hiding. Of their own free will, the people started
to go to the nearby German barracks which were close to the artillery.
There were about two hundred people. The women were employed to dig
potatoes, the men to polish the cannons until they were shining. This
way they lived for ten days without being able to wash or to undress.
This
night I was on guard duty. Nothing special had happened. As usual,
Warsaw's fires were lighting the sky. Shooting was only far away. We
walked around the quiet yard. Some people, as usual, were sleeping in
the basement.
I
was thinking about the story Marushka told me. A schoolgirl with the
long, blonde plats, accompanied by her mother, came to visit Marushka.
Marushka was thanking the girl and feeling very guilty towards the
mother, having endangered the girl's life. The mother, speaking with a
sad smile, told her the following tale. Her teenage girl, being of
small build and very agile, was going most nights into the city for
medical supplies needed by the First Aid Post. They both considered it
their duty to help people as best they could. Mother would gladly have
gone instead of letting the girl go but only a child was able to
squeeze through the only available narrow openings through damaged
brick walls and sewer grilles. Marushka was deeply touched by this
attitude of a loving mother, understanding how terribly hard it must
be to let the child face additional danger in bringing help to others.
To Marushka, this mother was the real heroine.
Next
morning I got up and was shaving when I heard some commotion in the
yard, some yelling, some running. I looked out through the bathroom
window. People were forming groups and then quickly running somewhere
else, women were wringing their hands and rushing back into the flats.
All these activities were so nervous that I wiped the soap from my
face and ran to the yard. On the stairs I met our neighbour.
"What
happened?"
"A
few minutes ago Germans came and ordered everyone, without exception,
to vacate the house. In fifteen minutes all the houses will be burnt
down."
His
wife was terribly distressed. "What shall we do? How can we save
our property? We can't take all our things with us." There was no
time to lose. I rushed back home. Marushka was still very weak and
lying in bed. Although the crisis had passed and the infection gone,
she was still very tired from the high temperature. Bad luck. I told
her to get dressed quickly. We decided to take to the basement the
more valuable things belonging to my auntie. If the house burned down,
maybe something in the basement would survive. We made big bundles
from sheets, emptying wardrobes and drawers, and hurried to the
basement. The stairs were crammed with people rushing up and down.
Taking only the most essential things, especially the remaining food,
we locked the door and, accompanied by auntie and Czeslaw, went down
to the yard.
Many
were already gathered in the yard. Some were still bringing down their
belongings, others were digging holes in the lawn to hide some of
their things. It was crowded and hectic beyond description. Trunks,
suitcases and bundles made walking very hard. The Germans were
speeding us along. Nobody knew where we were supposed to be going.
Hesitating,
waiting for others, people were stopping before the gates. Nobody
wanted to go outside as there was still shooting in the streets. From
the direction of the Union Square came the sound of heavy firing from
cannons. We could not stop here - the pressure from behind was too
strong and one by one people came into the street and into the yard of
the next building. Someone had started in that direction and the rest
just followed. It was a long chain of people, burdened with their
possessions. We went through other yards, through holes in fences,
through empty building blocks, passing different rubbish heaps. If we
had to cross a street we did it carefully, looking to all sides and
then rushing as quickly as possible to the other side. Sometimes the
well-trodden road led through empty basements, boiler rooms and
laundries - everywhere the doors were open. This was the line of
communication of fighting Warsaw. The track was well-trodden by the
insurgents, evacuees and liaison officers. We reached Kielecka Street.
My other cousin, a doctor, lived here. We thought we might stop there.
But here was the same picture. This block had also to be vacated and
burnt and my cousin had already left. The same chaos, the same
laments. Tired women, crying children and rushing men looking for some
way out of this trap. What to do? Where to flee? Did they intend to
burn all Warsaw down? Yards and streets were full of people and their
belongings. From a side street German soldiers rushed out waving their
guns at us and telling us to look for shelter as in ten minutes German
planes would bomb the neighbouring street where there was still
resistance from the partisans. The coming bombs should crush them.
Everyone rushed to the basement. Some left their things behind whilst
others were trying to take them to the shelter. The crush was
unbelievable. People were tripping over the bundles which were
obstructing the way on the narrow and dark stairs. Some were cursing,
others were praying and children, pushed from all sides, were crying.
Suddenly all became quiet as the first loud detonation shook the
walls. The doors were left open. As I could not make my way
downstairs, I stood on the stairs observing the sky. The air raid had
begun. More than ten bombers of the Luftwaffe were circling like
hungry vultures looking for their prey. For the first time I saw quite
clearly the falling bombs. Clouds of dust were rising above the
houses. Each plane was dropping its prescribed ration. The suburb was
all in flames. Heavy detonations were shaking the walls of our
basement. From the depths of the basement came the sound of collective
praying. From above the hungry bombers, flying very low after all the
bombs were gone, started shooting with machine guns into the streets.
This all took place in ten short minutes. That was all. The planes
turned back leaving behind the agony of a suburb smouldering and
covered in a mourning pall of black smoke.
After
leaving the basement, the S.S. men directed us to the other side of
Rakowiecka Street. Helping the old aunt, we tried to cross the street
as quickly as possible. A few German armoured vehicles were in the
street and further down were the remnants of barricades and barbed
wire entanglements. After a few short rests, we reached the park which
surrounded the officers' casino near Rakowiecka Street. Here we took a
deep breath. Big, old trees, many shrubs and lawns were like a 'tonic.
There were no houses nearby. We liked it here. Among the bushes I
found some old club chairs, deep and comfortable. We chose a cluster
of shrubs, brought the club chairs and, with our things near us, we
felt we were in a natural wild summerhouse surrounded on all sides by
shrubs and trees.
Night
was approaching. More and more evacuees were coming to the park
looking for a place to spend the night. Our block of flats was still
untouched. We decided to await new developments. Covered with coats
and a blanket for auntie, we slept in our chairs. The night passed.
The
cold morning woke us at dawn. In the park birds were singing and in
the Mokotow fields bullets were whistling. Leaving auntie with our
things, Czeslaw, Marushka and I went to look for some hot food.
Czeslaw, after his unsuccessful attempt to join the partisans, stayed
with us. Near a dried-out pond we saw a large wooden building which
was the officers' club. A few people were already around. Some were
washing themselves under the hydrant. The inside of the club was
packed with people and their suitcases, children were sleeping on
tables, others slept on chairs and benches, leaning against walls. We
met many people from our yard. In the large kitchen women were cooking
for their families. Various pots and pans were standing on the hot
stove. We brought our meagre supplies and Marushka started to cook. It
was good to have some warm food. Looking around we saw S.S. men among
the evacuees. Marushka went to ask if we could return home as our home
was still standing. Maybe the order to burn had been cancelled?
"No,
the order stays. It is only postponed for a short while. I don't
advise you to go home,” replied the soldier.
"We
would like to bring a few more things and it is so near to here. There
is even some vodka left,” Marushka said, looking him straight in the
eyes.
He
became interested. After a short hesitation, he told us that he would
escort us. We went, the soldier leading, behind him Marushka with a
white handkerchief in her hand and, behind her, Czeslaw and myself.
Only a few people were furtively walking about. We walked along our
block where the footpath was covered with bricks and broken glass. In
many places there were big holes made by artillery shells. We entered
our yard where we found a few people who were unable to leave their
belongings behind and had decided to stay in the block. Entering the
flat I immediately got the vodka and offered it to the soldier and
then we started to do some more packing. The soldier, drinking from
the bottle and in a happy and friendly mood, was trying to help us. He
admired Marushka's bracelet so much that she had to give it to him.
When the packing was done I went out to the balcony to have a last
look at our yard. How different it looked. Gone was our forum and I
did not see people, only rabbits that were left behind and were now
playing on the lawn. At this time of the day the yard had usually been
pulsating with life but now it seemed dead, the balconies and windows
empty. I looked at the flats that would shortly be consumed by flames.
Glancing around, my eyes stopped at the second floor opposite us.
Sitting on the windowsill was Adam. The window was open and he was
looking at the window reflection of himself. His face looked
distorted by an odd and tragic grimace. He was biting his lower lip
and it seemed that he was speaking to his mirror image. His hair was
falling over his brow and his long, thin fingers were drawing
something on the window pane. When we were in the yard going back to
the park I called out to him. He looked down at me, smiling sadly.
"Adam,
why haven't you left? Staying here might cost you your life."
"Life
is now very cheap at the stock exchange of war. There is no
possibility that I will overpay." After a few seconds of silence
he continued. "Then I was a kid and saw boys burning nests I
thought them wicked but now when people are burning people I simply
don't want to be a man. I would rather be a bird and fly to the world
of winged ghosts."
Adam
will stay in my memory for a long time. Were his shaking fingers
crossing out his own image? Did he look for the last time at his own
reflection? I don't know, but I never saw him again. I was told soon
after that he committed suicide by jumping out of a window.
We
returned to the park. From everywhere new refugees, thrown out of
their houses, were coming. The place in front of the casino was
swarming with people and hand-pushed carts. Families were camping on
the lawns. I also saw a group of people who looked a lot worse than
the rest. They were emaciated, their clothing dirty and torn. They
were the people who, on the day of the uprising, at about 5 p.m., were
passing through Niepodleglosci Avenue. When the uprising began with
shooting from all directions they hid in one block that was under
construction. They could neither go back nor forward. There they spent
eleven long days without food and long nights in the cold. In the
street I saw a group of insurgent prisoners who, under the guard of
some S.S. men, were laying mines across Niepodleglosci Avenue.
When
we were in the kitchen trying to prepare some warm food, we heard that
houses in Rakowiecka Street were being burnt. We all rushed out to
look at the street to see with our own eyes the new crime committed by
our occupiers. Until the last moment we did not want to believe that
the Germans would do it to a suburb which was completely under their
control. We assumed that the threat to burn all the houses down was
only meant as a threat which would bring all the people outside and
then they would be herded together, taken prisoner or to internment
and, in the meantime, the soldiers could do some looting.
Reality
proved us wrong. The vandalism committed by the 'bearers of culture'
was witnessed by thousands of people who were watching behind the
railings of the park.
In,
the middle of the street there came a group of fully armed S. S.
men, their guns at the ready. Behind them came the fire lighters with
their equipment - a hand-drawn cart with a barrel of petrol and bags
full of flock. First, hand grenades were thrown in, damaging windows
and doors, then tufts of flock soaked in petrol, lit and tossed into
the houses through the openings. And so they walked along from window
to window, from door to door, from house to house, covering the whole
street, leaving behind burning fires and clouds of smoke. First the
lighter furniture and drapes burned, then the fire licked along the
wallpapered walls, pictures fell down and bookcases collapsed, giving
the fires more strength. The flames became brighter and spread quickly
through the houses, creeping to beds where the smoke became more
acrid. Full of encouragement, the fires started licking the outside
walls and flames growing bigger reached the higher floors. Nothing
disturbed them as the S.S. men made sure that nobody could try to put
out the fires. All this was watched by a crowd of people from the
other side of the street. Although the street was very wide, the heat
of the fires reached us. Some people had tears in their eyes. We were
watching the destruction of our homes, our belongings and our relics
so dear to our hearts. Our capital city, Warsaw, was being destroyed.
When
the Germans were farther away and the flames were engulfing houses,
some people couldn't stand it any longer. Breaking fences, some people
ran to their homes. The crowd still waited but when the first people
started to return carrying on their backs their possessions the crowd
surged forward. People were throwing things out of the burning houses,
others carried their belongings over the road into the park. The
people were working frantically, carrying their burdens on their backs
just like ants rushing to and fro around their disturbed anthill.
The
German soldiers did not interfere. They only made sure that nobody put
the fires out. When one elderly man grabbed the hose and directed the
water towards the house, he was shot down on the spot without any
warning. The water continued to flow from the hose along the street
and the people fled. The body of the man who had dared to fight the
fires in his own home remained in the street.
The
fires were spreading higher and higher. The breaking windows were
falling to the street. The heat made it impossible to go near the
houses. Less and less people, at the risk of their own lives, tried to
reach the flats. Some people, crying, their skin and hair badly
singed, tumbled out of houses. Watching the fires, we did not notice
dark thundery clouds gathering over Warsaw. Only when the first drops
began fulling, a great rush started to find some shelter against the
rain. The casino was overcrowded, as were all the outbuildings,
including the hothouses. Completely soaked through, we found an
unfinished garden shed. It had neither windows nor doors nor floors
but it had a roof which was the most important thing. The room was
crowded and no floor space was available but the porch was still free.
I put the easy chair which I had brought over from our previous place
along the wall for my aunt. Late in the evening the rain stopped.
Marushka went to the kitchen to boil up some hot water while Czeslaw
and I started to prepare our shelter for the night. Under the roof we
found some straw mats which were used for the hothouse windows. We put
some on the floor and we used one to cover the door opening.
The
shed stood opposite the burning houses and not far from the street.
Although the rain, had damped down the fires, they were again burning
fiercely. In some houses the fires had reached the roofs. The
crumbling walls and ceilings were bursting into myriads of sparks. The
noise of the raging fires continued, the heat was reaching us and the
smoke completely covered the sky. We did not notice when the evening
became night. It was so light in the park that one could read without
trouble and it was hot. Exhausted people were trying to seek rest and
sleep on benches, under trees and on lawns. From the city the sound of
battle continued as usual but nobody took much notice. It was like
back ground music coming from our fighting Warsaw. The whole park
created an impression of a huge railway station where travellers with
luggage were waiting for a train - destination unknown.
After
midnight the air was torn by a thunderous roar. In seconds the dozing
people were up looking for shelter, not knowing what the new menace
was. Hanging on to their remaining property, they tried to hide behind
buildings, trees and shrubs. Frightened children screamed and mothers
clutched them tightly.
Adjacent
to the park was German heavy artillery, camouflaged by the shrubs. The
noise of the shooting was deafening, hurting the eardrums and
accompanied by a loud screeching sound and the jarring of gunshots.
The onslaught was directed against the centre of the city. The park
and the scared faces of the people were covered with a red glow.
Thousands of sparks were flying over the park. The houses were covered
by heavy smoke. It was a gloomy night. The twelfth night of the Warsaw
uprising.
In
the morning when the sun's rays, with great difficulty, penetrated the
smoke clouds everything looked dirty and cheerless. The tired people
of Warsaw were emerging from their dark and musty lairs where they had
spent another sleepless night. The people were exhausted and depressed
- some were apathetic.
How
dreary was this September morning. The lawns were covered with ashes.
The sooty, heavy leaves resembled artificial cemetery flowers, hanging
deathly quiet over the trodden down earth. The twitter of the bards
was missing. Even the doves, Warsaw's faithful friends, had left this
town of fires and smoke. Only people remained - grey people, homeless
people, herded into this park. The guns were quiet when I went
outside. It was a strange sight. Everything was covered with leaflets
- lawns, shrubs and even on tree branches hung leaflets. Some were
still falling down slowly.
ULTIMATUM
To
the people of Warsaw." This heading was looking at us from
everywhere. The leaflets were adorned with the German black eagle
resting, on the Hakenkreuz.
ULTIMATUM
To
the people of Warsaw:
The
German High Command wants to avoid unnecessary bloodshed which will
mainly affect innocent women and children and therefore has issued
the following appeal:
1.
The population should leave Warsaw in a western direction,
carrying white kerchiefs in their hands.
2.
The German High Command guarantees that no-one who leaves
Warsaw of their own free will, will come to harm.
3.
All men and women who are able to work will receive work and
bread.
4.
People unable to work will be accommodated in the western
district of Warsaw's province. Food will be supplied.
5.
All who are ill as well as old people, women and children
needing care, will receive accommodation and medical care.
6.
The
Polish people know that the German Army is fighting Bolshevism only.
Anyone who continues to be used by them as a Bolshevik's tool,
irrespective of which slogan he might follow, will be held responsible
and prosecuted without scruples. This ultimatum is for a limited time
only.
COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF
A few hours later we saw the first evacuees leaving Warsaw. They
walked in groups in the middle of the street. They were just as dirty
and haggard as we were. They walked with heavy, tired steps, wiping
their sweating faces. They walked bent under the load of their
bundles. Everyone was holding a white handkerchief. Leading the
group was a woman in a grey coat with a knapsack. In her hand was a
stick with a white handkerchief tied to it. Next to her was a young
boy leading a goat on a string.
"Where
are you going?"
"To
the west, we are leaving Warsaw,” came the replies.
"Where
are you from?"
"From
Polawska Street, from Kazimierzowska Street, from Czerniakow
suburb,” the evacuees replied.
"Were
you driven out by force?"
"Yes,
the ultimatum,” others answered. "What else could we do?
Everything, was burnt down."
They
passed us, but others followed - from Lakotow, Aleja Szuha, Polna,
Pulawy, etc., etc. From behind the fence we looked on, undecided.
"They
are right, what are we waiting for? Soon we will be forced to leave.
Isn't it better too now?" people were asking each other, looking
for advice. Some started packing their things onto handcarts whilst
others, still undecided, were seeking other opinions. We decided that
Marushka should go outside and try to get some information. She was
gone for over an hour. She went to the military offices near our park
and, from there, even to a nearby Gestapo office. The news she brought
was not good. In both places she was told that the groups of people
who did not willingly leave Warsaw would be forced to leave but first
the men would be separated from the group. Coming back, she saw near
our park a big group of people where men were being separated from
their families. Under no circumstances did we want to be separated and
so, taking my aunt, Czeslaw and all our things. We went into the
street. We saw that our block was still standing undamaged. The
brigades starting the fires had not reached our house yet. Only a few
people were in the yard. Our flat was undamaged. Auntie's eldest
daughter and grandson were alive and would look after her so she
decided to stay in her flat. She did not want to follow us into the
unknown. What would Marysia, her youngest, think when coming back from
the uprising she found the flat empty? She did not realise how
hopeless the situation was, or perhaps she did not want to face it?
She had raised her family here and she wanted to stay here with her
memories as each thing in the flat was familiar and connected with her
family. The future did not interest her any more. She would sit here,
near the window, in her favourite rocking chair and wait for her
children to come home. They had all gone to the war but would return
back home to mother. We were unable to shake her decision. In her
quiet way she was quite determined. We went to advise her daughter and
then we three started on our way to the west.
Marushka
was leading with a stick on which was a white serviette upon which
previously had stood a samovar. This white serviette was now a sign of
surrender. Czeslaw came next and I followed with a suitcase and a
rucksack.
We
entered Mokotow fields, going towards Wola. In the bushes were hidden
some tanks, their barrels showing above shrubs. The soldiers were
picking apples from the nearby trees. In the city the fighting
continued - here in the fields only occasional bullets whizzed past.
In the nearby trenches, German soldiers were standing at their machine
guns. We felt uneasy. When we passed the orchards we saw a river of
people flowing towards the west. They were coming from all directions
of Warsaw. Some went in a single file following some tracks, others in
groups cutting through the fields. Near Okecie all the groups joined
into one large river of humans. It was an odd procession, formed by
the evacuees who were leaving their town to total destruction.
There
were women and children, old and young men. Most were carrying or
dragging their possessions but some had carts which were dragged along
or pushed from behind. We saw exhausted single women who, unable to
carry their things, were towing them along attached to a length of
rope. We saw wounded and burnt people who carne away with only their
lives. We saw a dead Woman on the road to our right, lying on the
ground. A small girl and her little brother were trying to drag their
mother by the hands while the crying girl kept repeating “Mum, come
on .. Mum, come on" We also saw old folks who did not carry
anything. They had left in the clothes in which they stood - it was
burden enough to carry themselves along. They were walking slowly,
stopping and breathing deeply. In front of us were three such old
ones. Two thin old men were helping an old crippled woman to walk. As
she was partly paralysed she walked very slowly, stepping over the
uneven stones. People were passing them, just like a river current
passes moss covered stones along its banks.
After
one of the bends, the crowd divided. Some continued straight ahead,
the others turned towards the right, following a narrow track. We
stopped. Where were we going? It was time to think. To the west - the
meaning was too vague. To leave the town? Yes, but by which way? Would
the Germans let all go? This was the question that everyone was
asking. Why were some turning to the left? Where would we end up if we
continued straight ahead?
"Don't
go straight ahead, the people from neighbouring houses said.
"There the Germans are locking everyone up in camps. The narrow
lane to the right leads to EKD (a small electric railway line).
There is a chance to catch a train there but the Ukrainians are
guarding it,” the locals informed. The Ukrainians were a terror to
all of us - it was better to avoid them so the majority continued
straight ahead. We did the same.
The
locals were sitting, on benches in front of their houses, This part of
the city was not included in the uprising. They looked at us with
compassion. From the windows we were given apples - at the gates,
tomatoes. In the streets women were distributing milk. They also had
plenty of buckets of drinking water.
We
all tried to avoid large, through-roads, keeping to shall side
streets. Turning into one of these streets, we suddenly heard rifle
shots. The procession stopped and immediately dispersed being fences
and buildings. We were from Warsaw and accustomed to shooting in
streets. After a few moments we saw a crowd of people running back.
The first reached us.
"Run,
the Ukrainians are shooting and hitting people with rifle butts,
herding all to the highways,” the fleeing people yelled. We started
to run - towards the highway. Behind us the shooting continued -
screams and curses and yells in Ukrainian. Reaching the highway, we
had to stop. We could not run any further with our luggage. Many left
all their things and escaped with their lives. Those who did not run
were beaten mercilessly. Bleeding people were climbing the high
embankment. Many hands and faces were torn, their clothes were covered
with blood. Women were not spared either. Some were lying on the
embankment - they were massacred in a horrible way. These degenerate
Ukrainians stopped at the highway shouting obscenities and waving
their rifles. These servants of the 'master race' dressed in S.S.
uniforms, these hunting dogs of Himmler were now dividing between each
other the loot left behind by the fleeing evacuees which was there for
the taking.
We
continued on our way. Depressed and apathetic, we kept on the highway,
being afraid of the side streets. At the end of the town we were
stopped by a German patrol.
"Halt:
It is prohibited to go further."
We
were all directed into the yard of a sawmill. On the street corner
stood German S.S. men, ready to shoot. There was no way out. In the
large yard there was already a very big crowd. Nurses from the Red
Cross were dressing the wounded. In the yard were some German
officers.
Tired,
we sat down on some planks awaiting our fate. We were caught - we
could not even return. There were rumours that the Germans would
separate the men from the rest. It seemed very likely. There was a
large percentage of young, able-bodied men in the crowd. The Germans
could easily assume that these men were insurgents and, in the best
event, treat them as prisoners of war. After resting for a while, our
energy started to return and we decided to try something and not just
wait. During the five years we had been together, I could not now
imagine wandering alone separated from Marushka. Holding hands, we had
survived many critical moments together. We would not loosen our grip.
Holding Marushka's hand tightly, I had an idea. "What about our
travel order which we received in Lithuania? Couldn't we make some use
of it now? The destination was stated Modlin. You could say that you
were on your way to your formation through Warsaw, being the nearest
route, when the uprising stopped us in Warsaw."
Marushka
went to the two officers standing near a car. They talked for a few
minutes. Marushka showed them our documents. After a while they waved
to us to come nearer. The officer holding the documents asked
"Which one is Kruszewski?" Marushka pointed to me. The
officer, still holding the documents, ordered us to get into the car
without giving any explanation. This took us by surprise. We were
staggered. We started to explain that our relative, Czeslaw, was with
us, that he too was from Lithuania and that he had to stay with us.
The officer refused. We were ordered to get into the car immediately
as he was in a hurry. We hesitated, trying to think of something to
say. A soldier standing beside the officer took Marushka's suitcase
and put it in the car, telling her to hurry. We sat down in the car,
the soldier next to us, the officer at the steering wheel and next to
him another soldier with a short automatic gun. There was no time even
for a farewell from Czeslaw, nor time to take our remaining things
from him. The car passed the gate and turned towards Wolska Street. We
passed a cordon of soldiers who were guarding the evacuees. The
streets were empty. In the fields were Ukrainian patrols.
We
started to feel very uneasy. It was all so unexpected. Where were they
taking us? And in a car guarded by two soldiers. What could be behind
all this? We looked at each other, full of questions. We were afraid
to speak to each other. Maybe they thought us German? After a few
minutes we were in Wolska Street where the car was stopped by military
police. They were standing around a truck which was blocking the road.
The officer of our car got out, telling us to do the same. Taking our
things from the car, we intended to thank him very nicely and to
disappear. But he had other intentions. He gave our documents to some
noncom and told us to jump into the truck where some soldiers were
already sitting.
"You
will go to Modlin,” he informed us and returned to his car. Soon our
truck was also on its way. Now we were even more worried. Why were
they treating us like prisoners? Why didn't they return our documents?
What would happen if they started checking on us and our false
statements? We didn't know anything about Modlin. We had concocted a
string of lies and now we were caught in the net.
When
we came to the boundary of Great Warsaw, our car was stopped at a
military check point. An officer of the "Reichswehr"
checked our documents very thoroughly and asked Marushka about
particulars regarding the travel pass being issued for Modlin. She
replied with further, very plausible lies. We passed the check
successfully. The truck was on its way again. The highway was wide and
on both sides large chestnut trees gave deep shade. The wind was warm
- it smelled of fresh fields. Our eyes rested on ripening crops waving
in the light wind. On the horizon was dark smoke from burning Warsaw.