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.

Our train travelled to the east, not stopping at any stations. There were eight people in our compartment. An elderly lady, elegantly dressed, with well-manicured hands, looked tenderly at her son who was sitting next to her. Her son was a moderately handsome twenty year old man, partly bald, with extremely long fingernails and nonchalant manners. A signet ring with a coat of arms completed the fashionable style of a young dandy. What he did in the Ministry I didn't know. Probably a prot茅g茅 of a high dignitary. Further down were two gentlemen of medium age; one, with glasses and unruly hair, occasionally looking at the ceiling, was writing something in a notebook, with the other hand opened his suitcase containing nicely assorted sandwiches which he devoured whilst looking unseeing through the window. They were employees of M. S. Z. Next to us sat a young blonde with a snub-nose. She was a stenographer. On her lap she nursed a fluffy poodle with a red bow. Her five-year-old daughter was sitting on Granny's knee. Granny was dressed like most grannies in a dark frock, dark overcoat, dark shoes. Her face was pleasant and kind and all her thoughtfulness was concentrated on her grandchild, as usually happens with grandmothers. We were the last two. Not all of us were to arrive at our destination.
We still did not know what our destination was to be. There was a rumour that we were going to Lublin, a city in south-east Poland. In the hope of preventing air attacks, the name of the place for evacuated Head Offices was kept secret.
After a few hours, we were approaching Czeremcha station when there was a loud boom, rumbling and crashing. The air shock was so strong that windows in our compartment shattered into small pieces, covering the floor. We all looked out, but were at first unable to see anything. Someone yelled, "Germans are bombing the station!" The train stopped, reversed noisily, and started to travel backwards, leaving the station.
Thanks to the presence of mind of the engine driver, we were saved for the time being. Something was burning - the train was covered with dust clouds. Through the windows, we could see airplanes with their black crosses. They were circling the lines like bloodthirsty crows. Suddenly the planes circling low opened fire with the loud noise of their machine guns. Bullets showered the train like hail and we all fell to the floor, trying to protect our heads with our hands. The train stopped on a high embankment.
Passengers ran to doors, pushing and trampling each other. Suitcases were thrown through windows and some women fell from the high steps and rolled down the embankment. I was very astonished to see our typist with her poodle pressed tightly to her, running away from the train. She left her daughter and mother to fend for themselves. The balding man with the signet ring from our compartment jumped through the window and others, including us, pushed through the doors.
Running down the embankment, we looked for some shelter. In front of us was a meadow, behind it a cemetery, to the right the burning station building. Some were trying to hide in holes caused by previous bombing; others, panic-stricken, were simply running. We found a potato cellar dug in the ground. We could only stand in the porch as the cellar was locked. Not a very good shelter, but it had to do.
The planes disappeared behind the forest. We waited. We city-dwellers were not used to bombing without previous warning by sirens. We did not watch the sky; others were doing it for us. We were used to wailing sirens warning us of the approaching danger. A short, interrupted sound told us 'All Clear' and we could continue, carefree, doing our work. Here, for the first time, we had our baptism of fire. We were left by ourselves. Now we understood that here, beyond the Front, the sky could hold deadly peril. We had to watch it, this clear September sky, but no longer with a calm smile.
Probably ten minutes passed - the meadow looked empty, no-one was on the train. The glow of the burning buildings and their crumbling walls only emphasised the past dangerous moments. We had started thinking about returning to the train when someone pointed towards the western sky. On the horizon appeared three small dots, then another three. They were flying in formation. Of course they were planes - but whose? Perhaps ours? We were not certain, still being very naive. Already we could hear them. Marushka put on her glasses, as otherwise her horizon was not more than 100 metres, but it was impossible to distinguish the markings.
"You know, Marushka, I think we should run. We are certainly too close to the station."
We left our cellar and, hurriedly, went towards the cemetery and the forest behind it. Together with a group of others, we reached the cemetery. Abruptly a whizzing sound and, a second later, a terrible blast of an exploding bomb nearby. We fell to the ground between the tombs with buzzing in our ears. We were lying between two tombs, pressed into the ground. A few seconds of silence and then again the piercing and whizzing sound. Now we knew what to expect. This sound of falling bombs haunted us and brought to memory the unpleasant feeling of prickling between the shoulder-blades and in the pit of the stomach. It seemed that the bomb would drop right into the centre of the back. When we heard the first, second and then the fourth explosion, we gave a sigh of relief they were not hitting us. The earth was shaking and clouds of dark dust hid the sky. Next to us, a hatless woman with tousled hair was holding two small children. The children, holding tightly to their mother, were crying. The mother was praying loudly, looking at the cross on the nearest tomb. Other people were laying between tombs, pressing against tombstones as if looking here for shelter. The living were trying to be near the dead in the face of mortal fear. No more explosions a deathly silence, only the bending branches of old birches rustled slightly.
When the planes departed, people in the old cemetery came alive; from behind the moss-covered tombs 'resurrected' people began to emerge. The cemetery sheltered us, gave us rest but, luckily, not the eternal one. What to do now? We were not ready to go back to the train as we had no assurance that at this was the last bombing. We decided to look for shelter in the nearby forest. On the way, we met women without hats or handbags, and with lacerated hands and feet. In their blind panic, they had inured themselves on barbed wires, and some had even lost their shoes. In the forest, we came upon a machine gun company. The soldiers began to curse us, saying that by running through the meadow, we might have brought a new air raid upon them. They showed us how to take cover behind trees and under their shade so that the pilots would be unable to see us. Some of the passengers were frightened on seeing soldiers, thinking it might be the Front, and ran deeper into the forest. The planes did not return. Probably an hour passed, then people started to come out of their hiding places.
We returned to the train which had been shelled. The windows were gone, but it was otherwise undamaged. A loud whistle announced its departure and soon we were again under way. Passing the station, we saw many craters on both sides of the rails. Only one bomb damaged the side track. We passed Czeremcha (a small town near Warsaw) and our train rushed towards Kowel. Slowly the people quietened down. The blonde with the snub nose was combing her poodle who had used his freedom to roll in the grass. One of the employees again started to chew his sandwiches which he had left behind during the raid. The other one talked to the grandmother, cursing the Germans to high heaven, full of indignation towards bombing and shooting at a train full of civilians.
He started, full of resentment, "They were flying quite low, they saw that this transport consisted of civilians only. This is beastly, it is barbarous to shoot at defenceless, unarmed people. These raids are terrorist and there must be consequences. This train is part of the Corps Diplomatique; one must write a firm protest to the League....' He wanted to add .." of Nations," but stopped in time and continued "to the Head Office of the International Red Cross in Geneva."
"But will they listen?" asked grandmother, full of doubt. "It is war you know.鈥�
"Yes, I agree, but everything has its limits. We are living in the twentieth century and not in the time of Huns when children and women were murdered without mercy. Germany is considered to be a cultured nation. Armies fight armies; this I understand - this is war - but there must exist some humanitarian war." He probably liked this expression as he repeated once again "a humanitarian war with a moral code in respect of the civilian population which has no part in the war." He stopped and, with a shaky hand, lit a cigarette.
The passengers stopped talking. The train was travelling fairly fast. The elderly lady sitting at the window said she thought she could hear approaching planes. We all tried to look through the window at the sky. From other compartments, people were leaning out too. The previous experience had already taught us a lesson. Our watchfulness increased. At the same instant, we all spotted the planes coming from, the west.
"One, two, three," someone started counting. The whole train was already alert. A few seconds later there was a squeal of brakes and the train stopped in an open field. Without waiting for orders, we all filed quickly from the train. In front of us was a small, wet forest with some puny trees, further on a meadow, and only farther away was the outline of a real forest, but no buildings. Jumping over the signal wires, the travellers started to disperse amongst the scanty growth.
From somewhere, a man with a white armband bearing the letters O.P.L. (Defence against air raids) appeared and, in a loud voice, advised us all to go to the left side of the rails.
We noticed many people carrying their luggage, hurrying nervously away. We reached some shrubs and Marushka's foot got stuck in a swampy pool. We walked slower, looking for drier ground. Finding a track, we at last arrived at a dry clearing. We sat down and, lighting a cigarette, began scanning the sky. The planes were flying slightly to the side and fairly high. Every once in a while, singly and in groups, people slipped out of the scrub to hurry into deeper bush.
Half an hour passed. The planes had long since disappeared beyond the horizon. Travellers calmed down and were walking along the pass between the shrubs. We went to look for berries. Here, in the country, a raid seemed less menacing. After a further fifteen minutes, short whistles sounded from the train. It was our signal to return and also our local "All Clear" sound. We turned towards the rails.
We were astonished to see groups of people with luggage piled neatly beside them. They did not show any inclination to return to the train. Curiosity got the better of me and I started talking to a lady sitting on her suitcases.
"We have had enough of this travel under bombs. We will stay here. Sooner or later the train will get hit.鈥�
"Do you know someone here?"
"No-one at all. We will go to the first village and stay there. Perhaps, in the meantime, we might learn something about this war."
We returned to the train. Men with the white armbands asked us to hurry. A few additional short whistles and the train moved again, leaving a sizeable group behind. Luckily, we passed through some stations without incident. At some stations we saw transports from different government offices. This indicated the general direction of the government evacuation.
On one of the small stations (I have forgotten which), there was a funny incident. When the train stopped at the station, some people went onto the platform to stretch their legs. The station was surrounded by forests and near the rails were stacked wooden beams. A little further on there was a sawmill and stacks of wood. The scent of resin was quite strong. Suddenly a plane appeared above the forest, starting an indescribable panic. Elderly gentlemen in vests and soft slippers began climbing frantically over the stacked beams, as the entire platform was covered with wood. Although it was tragic, it was also extremely funny to watch this hurdle race. Feet were slipping on the smooth beams. They started to crawl on all fours, sticking out their fat behinds, and women lost their beautiful high heels between the beams. Those gentlemen, not long ago wearing black frock-coats and walking sedately through the Ministry, now really looked funny and quite without dignity. It was a tragic-comic situation as the single plane was not an enemy aircraft, but our own bi-plane with clear red/white markings on its wings. It was the only one we saw during all our travel. We had to wait a while for the gentlemen to return. Red-faced, they were greeted with friendly jokes by the passengers.
Late at night, our train arrived at Kiwerce Station where we stopped for the night. Marushka and I went straight to the first aid room - "two victims of war". Marushka had stomach-ache and looked like a blown-up balloon as we had not eaten anything hot, only sandwiches washed down with lemonade.
I had twisted my ankle when jumping from the train. My foot was badly swollen and, thanks to this, we were able to spend the night in comparative comfort on wooden benches in the waiting room.
In the morning, our travels continued. Ahead of us stretched the fertile fields of Wolyn (Eastern Poland, bordering on the U.S.S.R.) We were far from the Front. German bombers ceased worrying us. Everything looked peaceful and normal in the quiet hamlets. We could look freely at the scenery as it was unnecessary to peer at the sky. White farmhouses, surrounded by trees and bushes, nestled amongst the gently sloping hills of Wolyn. Here and there, lazy yoked oxen turned over furrows of dark earth and herds of mottled cows grazed among rusty rye stubbles. It seemed that conflict could not reach this land. It was quiet and tranquil.
The sun was setting behind a forest when we passed Rowno, a Polish town in East Poland. Only the last rays of the sunset were reflected in our windows.
Late at night we arrived in Krzemienice, the capital of Wolyn and an ancient Polish fortress.
This was our destination.

Continued.....
'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.