大象传媒

The following story appears courtesy of and with thanks to Marushka (Maria) and Zygmunt Skarbek-Kruszewski and George (Jurek) Zygmunt Skarbek.

At dawn I packed some food, took my old pushbike and, saying goodbye to everyone, was on my way. In the beginning I used country lanes for shortcuts. When the sun rose I went through the forest. There were no people and it was very quiet. Suddenly, after rounding a bend, I saw a man in the bushes. It was a Soviet Army soldier - part of his hand was torn away. The clotting blood looked black, his hair and face were covered with dirt and blood, his eyes looked frightened and feverish. Upon seeing me, he shrank back into the bush like a wounded animal. He had ceased trusting people and probably preferred to die among the animals in the forest.
I passed a few deserted villages, an empty railway station and bullet-ridden carriages with no engine. My way was now uphill. When near another village I heard shots from the forest. I wanted to get some information but the huts I entered were all deserted. There were not even dogs left behind. Soon I reached the River Niemen. Along it went the highway, Kaunas Wilno. The same road was used by Napoleon on his way to Moscow, nearly 130 years ago.

After a last sharp bend, I was on the highway and right in front of me was a Russian tank. In the open turret stood a soldier with binoculars and, around the tank, were soldiers with maps. I was stopped, my identity papers checked, a few questions asked and I was left free. They had bigger trouble on their hands.
A few kilometres further on Russian cavalry was crossing Niemen - swimming. The river was covered with horses. The soldiers were lying on the horses or swimming behind them, hanging on to the tails. Some were swimming without horses. Their clothing, tied with a belt, was hanging from their necks. They were in a frantic hurry. From the other side of the river could be heard calls, yells and neighing of horses.
After passing another empty little town (Rumshyshki), I had to climb a steep hill towards Zyzmory. I did not meet anyone. Only later near another forest I heard some shooting. In a trench were sitting Red Army men, their rifles pointing into the woods. Behind the wall of a hut was standing an officer with a revolver at the ready.
"Stop him!" he called to the soldier, pointing at me. Without delay I got off the bike. The officer approached with a hostile look on his face.
"Who are you?" he asked, in Russian.
"I am a local man. I am going to Wilno where my mother and son are," I replied in Russian.
鈥淚 love these 'local' ones,鈥� he drawled, with biting irony. "Look how they are shooting at us, the bds."
"I am not a Lithuanian. I am a Pole,鈥� I replied, showing my passport.
The lieutenant did not look at it. He was more interested in my parcel hanging from the bike. He ordered me to take it off and show him the contents. A few sandwiches, a piece of bacon and a spare shirt. He gave me a dirty look, shaking the revolver at me and ... let me go.
Near Zyzmory I lost my way and turned into the forest. This mistake could have easily cost me my life. Here was a concentration of the Soviet artillery, tank formation and supply columns. All sides were guarded. It was a larger formation that had probably lost contact with the main force. I must state here that I had no idea where the Front was at that time, nor from which directions the Germans were attacking. One could not go by ear as there were no detonations, no sound of a heavy bombardment. Only from time to time some single shots came from different directions. Here, in these woods, I was in a tight corner. I asked a soldier if he could tell me the way to Wilno. An officer standing near probably thought me a suspicious character and he ordered me to raise my hands and searched me for firearms. Not finding any, he asked for my identity papers. Very carefully he checked all documents, including my birth certificate. He asked me to sign my name in Russian in his notebook and to compare this signature with the one of the Russian passport. He was still very suspicious. I did not know what he concluded.
I was expecting anything, but not what happened next. Destiny is certainly unpredictable. Within the next few minutes the Russian was dead. Quite unexpectedly, German bombers attacked the forest from very low altitude. The raid was so sudden that before the soldiers could grasp what was happening, bombs were exploding and trees were crashing noisily. Clouds of dust were rising above the trees. I was lying in a trench and was covered with earth. I was shivering, covered in a cold sweat, my ears ringing and, in my temples, the pulse was beating strongly. Again a hellish blast, the earth trembled, a whistling noise and something hit me on the head.
When I opened my eyes there was a tragic stillness around me. I was covered by a broken branch but was able to get up. Next to me lay the officer - a piece of wood had pinned him. In his dead hand he was still holding my passport. Branches and uprooted trees covered the ground, everywhere were stumps. Dust and fir needles were settling to the ground. My pushbike was undamaged. I took my passport from the hand of the dead lieutenant and left the forest as fast as I could. Using lanes, I bypassed Zyzmory and at last found my way back to the main road that led me once more into a forest. Among the trees were supply carts, abandoned by the Soviets. The carts were unharnessed, the harnesses still hanging on the shafts. There were blankets on the ground and bags filled with oats. There were no soldiers. Some local peasants were cautiously looking around, hoping to find something of value.
After coming out of the forest I saw two saddled horses tethered to a tree. I started to look around. Further up the hill, lying in a ditch beside the road, were two Soviet soldiers looking intently towards the field. I asked them if one could safely go ahead. One of them looked at me indifferently and, after spitting on the ground, said "If you want to, go ahead, but there,鈥� pointing to a nearby hill, "are the Germans."
"Does it mean that the Front is already here?"
"Yes."
"And nobody is shooting?"
"Why the hell should we fire if they don't fire at us?" he laughed and lit a cigarette.
I was undecided. Should I wait? Or should I continue on my way? In front of me was an empty valley. If shooting should start, what should I do? There was nowhere to hide. Maybe on the other hill the Germans were also lying in ditches and only waiting for an order to start shooting? I looked at the Russian soldier distrustfully. When they saw me going towards the Germans might they not shoot me in the back? Who would prevent it? To kill people at the Front is not punishable. It is a soldier's privilege, and even their 'sacred duty'. These thoughts were rushing through my mind and I could not decide what to do. I sat down near the trench, lit a cigarette and waited. Anyway I was tired. I had already covered half the distance to Wilno.
Some time later the soldiers got up, mounted their horses and rode away towards Zyzmory. I was left alone. In the valley the wheat was waving with the wind, the clouds left dark moving shadows on the field, skylarks were merrily darting. Not far away a chained dog was howling terribly. His owner had probably deserted him.
Half an hour passed. Everything was quiet and I could not see anyone. I decided to risk it. I mounted the bike and quickly cycled down the steep hill. The highway in this place was unfinished and the detour led through a very sandy road that was impossible to pass by bike so I started walking. I passed a broken-down army kitchen where the ground was covered with white noodles which two grubby little girls were gathering into their baskets. Seeing me, they darted into the shrubs. Down the hill, before me came a cart drawn by two horses. A peasant, looking terrified, was driving them on with a whip. Passing me, he yelled, "Germans are coming!" I stopped behind some trees, looked around and seeing nothing suspicious, moved on.
Arriving on the top of the hill, I saw the charred ruins of a farmhouse. It was still smouldering. On the sooty stove stood a deserted machine gun. Some blackened soldiers' helmets lay in the ashes. On the stone bench beside the house sat a grey cat. The road now led through birch woods, sloping downhill. After passing the woods I again had a full view. Quite unexpectedly I saw tarpaulin-covered lorries packed full of soldiers dressed in greyish uniforms. These lorries were entering the highway from a side road. In the middle of the road stood a military policeman with a green metal helmet. He controlled the traffic. On an old birch tree was hammered a piece of board with the words "Mach Wilno" in German. I was now on the German side.
I passed the soldier controlling the traffic he did not even glance at me. Big lorries and trucks passed me continually. The air was filled with clouds of dust and the highway seemed to tremble and buckle under the weight of the unending traffic. After I passed Jewje (a small town), there was a Soviet air raid. The column stopped, soldiers jumped out of the trucks, over the ditches, and hid in the forest. The ditch at my side was very deep. Holding my bike, I started to go slowly down when suddenly the shadow of a diving plane passed over me. I was in a panic. The bombs were much too close. I dropped the bike and sprinted as fast as I could into the forest, accompanied by loud noises of explosions and two rising columns of dust.
After an hour I came to Ponary, quite close to Wilno. A military policeman stopped me, forbidding me to continue as Wilno was being taken over by the German Army and all civilians were forbidden to travel. I slept a few hours in the woods, finished my sandwiches and, when the sun was setting, I was on way again going cross country through woods and valleys, avoiding roads and highways. Within an hour I had reached the outskirts of Wilno. The streets were full of German soldiers.
At crossroads they were putting up road signs showing the direction of advancement. Near 'Ostra Brama' (an archway across the street with a small chapel and a famous picture of the Holy Madonna), soldiers were still in fighting formation but at the next intersection there were already signs with 'To Minsk 208 km.' I continued to Kolonia Wilenska (the suburb where my mother lived), along lanes well known to me, trying again to avoid main streets. It was dark when I opened our front gate and was greeted joyously our old dog, Jack. My mother, with my son in her arms, came to meet me. At last I was at home.
A week later Marushka arrived. As travel at this stage was strictly forbidden for civilians, she got a lift - first in a German armoured car and, later, in a small tank. She was very tired as all night she had been sitting on a box of ammunition with only two thoughts in her mind? Had I reached home alive and would the ammunition box explode with the jumping and shaking over the pot-holed road.
Marushka told me that her father was very anxious for me to return to Karmelowo and take charge of the farm during these uncertain times. After a few weeks in Wilno, taking Jurek and mother, we returned to Kaunas, this time going by train.
In Kaunas the organisation of the new regime was already quite obvious. The Fuehrer's victorious army was now at Smolenks. It was now the fourth occupation of Wilno's country and the second of Lithuanian Kaunas. This time banners with the black swastika were flying over the city. Once again the hopes of the Lithuanians were not realised. The Lithuanian partisans with their gold/green/red bands were fighting futilely as 'Lietuva' (Lithuanian native tongue) was wiped from the map of Europe. The Fuehrer's victorious army rushed forward on its Blitzkrieg. Following the army came the civilian administration. The employees of the newly appointed Minister for the Eastern Occupational Zones, Mr. Rosenberg, were organising the administrative machinery. There appeared 'Gebiets' - General and Reichs Kommisariats. Lithuania was only a part of the captured 'Ostland' (Eastland). Lithuania, with our old Wilno, was called General Kommisariat fur Ostland, with Kaunas as the capital. Her ruler was Party Member Freiherr von Renteln.
History as always was patient and, once again, ready to oblige her interpreters. The old capital, Kaunas, had to change its name. Traditions of old Hansa were again brought to light.
Once upon a time Kaunas was a Hansa town; therefore she must have been German and had to be called Kauen. Traditions from the middle ages were recalled and new orders issued.
Mr. Rosenberg ordered all Jews to the ghetto. After a bloody pogrom (organised massacre), 45,000 Jews were driven into the suburb, Sloboda, which was then surrounded by barbed wire. In smaller towns the majority of Jews were murdered outright and only the few remaining brought to Kauen. The direct control over them was given to - what irony - Mr. Jordan! These people with the yellow star were down-trodden and miserable but clung to the illusions that they were still human beings. Mr. Jordan was Chief of the Department for Jewish Affairs at the General Kommisariat for the Ostland (Eastern Countries - east of Germany). Mr. Jordan attacked his work energetically. The Jewish masses began to diminish behind the barbed wires. Mount Ponary, near Wilno, achieved a grim glory. Transports from Kaunas and Wilno were halted in the nearby forest. Then followed a bloody track between crushed bushes. Here the condemned were driven on their way to cemented ditches. When the deathly terror chocked their cries and their brains were numbed, they had to pass in a single file their drunken tormentors who were shooting into the human mass. As the trenches were filled with mutilated bodies, lime was poured over them.
On the Avenue of Independence, in the offices of the General Commissariat, Mr. Jordan was probably marking off some figures in his progress reports.
Thus died the people of the Star of David. They perished because they dared to be born Jews.

颁辞苍迟颈苍耻别诲鈥︹赌�
'This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by 大象传媒 Radio Merseyside鈥檚 People鈥檚 War team on behalf of the author and has been added to the site with his / her permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.'

漏 Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.