大象传媒

This is a short story of my father鈥檚 鈥� Karol Jastrzebski long journey home during
the World War Two.
The story has its beginning in a small town of Chodel in the eastern part of Poland
where my family consisting of my parents, my brother and me lived.

On the 15th of August 1939 when the threat of imminent war became apparent my father
was called to join the Polish Army in Lublin, 50 km away from home.
When the Germans crossed the Polish borders on the 1st of September 1939 his division
was getting ready to be send to the front lines of the conflict but he was allowed to come back home just for one day on the 3rd of September to say goodbye to us.

Although I was 6 years old at that time, I vividly remember holding my fathers hand very
tight on the way to the bus stop. I didn鈥檛 want to let it go.
My father kept re-assuring me that the war will soon be over and we will be together again. He has asked me to help my mother and to look after my two years old brother.
I loved my father dearly and when the bus arrived there was no end to kissing and saying goodbye. We kept waving until we could see the bus no more.

The days and the months went by and we haven鈥檛 heard a word from my father.
Months became years and there was still no sign from him, but we haven鈥檛 lost hope
that he was still alive somewhere.

The first note came in spring 1942. It said 鈥�..鈥� I am healthy and well like鈥︹��
and he has mentioned the name of our local beggar. We got the message.
Then it went quiet again. He was afraid of exposing us to danger of deportation.

His long journey began on the 17th of September 1939 when the Russian Army crossed
the Polish eastern boarders and took over the territories.
All Polish soldiers retreating to the East from German鈥檚 attacks suddenly fund themselves under Russian鈥檚 occupation. Their train was surrounded by Russians, they were told to disembark, to disarm, leave all their personal belongings and to walk to the city centre of Dubno. They marched the whole day and night without food or water escorted and verbally abused by Russian soldiers.

My father said that Russian soldiers had orders not disclose any information.
The Poles were very confused and very worried.

After a few hours rest, they were marched again towards military outbuilding which
used to belong to the Polish Army before Russians takeover.
My father remembered that while staying there they were constantly asked to disclose
identity of Polish officers. Having met no co-operation from Polish soldiers the officers
were 鈥渋dentified鈥� by smoother looking hands.
The Communist Russians hated Polish intelligence and wanted to get rid of them quickly.

On the 26th of September 1939 the soldiers were told to board the cattle train.
Nothing was said where they were going. When it became obvious that the train was
traveling further East their hope for seeing their homes again was gashed.
The journey seemed never ending until one day the train stopped in Novogrod.
Around fifteen thousand of Polish soldiers found themselves in the middle of nowhere.

They stayed in Novogrod鈥檚 transit camp for a while and worked as a forced labour
building and maintaining local roads. My father met his friend Mr Flisinski there.
The living conditions were appalling.
The barracks were cold, no pillows, no heating, soldiers used their coats as blankets.
On a 鈥渄aily menu鈥� was the same hot broth with a small slice of bread.
The apathy was taking over their 鈥渓ife of unknown.鈥�
But 鈥�.Russians had a new plan for them.

From Novogrod, they were transported by train to Zaporoze - big industrial town
in central Russia, well known for the steel industry with much needed workforce.

Each soldier was given the round metal disk with the identity number on it as well
as the small identity book for recording daily work performance.
Although they were told to have those Identities on them at all times the soldiers didn鈥檛 obey the orders, instead the disks were threaded on a wire and hanged on the wall in each barrack and the paper from the books was used to roll in the tobacco.
From now no their official status was of the P.O.W鈥檚

Their living quarters were again barracks, but this time for 350 people in each barrack
with double storey beds sleeping four upstairs and five downstairs.
The food of hot broth and small slice of bread was re-distributed according to a daily performance at work. The camp was fenced and guarded by Russian soldiers.
There was no point of trying to escape because no Russian would help and those who tried were quickly found and placed in very overcrowded 鈥淧unishment Barracks鈥�.

When one day Russian guards were replaced by secret service guards the whole camp
went on strike. They didn鈥檛 want to be treated like political prisoners.
They were soldiers and would rather have the prisoners of war status.
Those who didn鈥檛 go to work were moved to the 鈥淧unishment Barracks鈥� with 600 people
per barrack with three- and four-storey beds. In some places soldiers slept on the floors
under the beds. Those who were forced to work, sabotaged their duties by swapping
working places. The situation continued until the secret service guards were removed.
However in time slowly one by one they came back.

In May 1940 the prisoners were on the move again. The steelwork accountants came
to the camp to pay off the last wages and except for 鈥︹�漼ou are going to hunt the white
bears鈥濃�� and 鈥︹�� you can live there, but that鈥檚 all鈥濃�� nothing else was said to the Poles.

Within days they were on a train again.

After another few days journey my father and his fellow prisoners arrived in a transit
camp in Kotlas. Two days later they boarded the barges.

My father never forgot this journey. Soldiers were packed like the sardines, 1600
of them per boat, there was hardly any place left to stand up.
There was no light and they were not allowed to go on a deck.
On the first day they were given salted hearings and bread no water. On the following
days boiled water or very watery soup and a slice of bread.

Four days later they arrived in the P.O.W鈥檚 camp in Nianda in Komi in the middle of
deep arctic forest in the Western Siberia, four hundreds kilometers away from Kotlas.
The main objective for their presence there was to build 1200km of railway from
Kotlas to Vorkuta.

My father鈥檚 camp wasn鈥檛 the only one in the area. There were others full of Polish
soldiers, German prisoners of war, Gypsies, Polish and Jewish civilians, sometimes
entire families.

Although it was summer the nights were cold. They slept under the tents or in the
dwellings dug up deep into the earth and covered with wood from the forest.
In the winter temperature dropped to minus 50 C, the snow was so deep that they could
hardly walk. Many prisoners had frost bites and many died from pneumonia.
The life was a daily struggle to survive.

The Russians wanted to finish the railway by October 1940 but with many prisoners
too week and too ill to work this mission was impossible to accomplish.

When Germany declared war against Russia in June 1941 the Polish Government
in London signed a non- aggression treaty with the Communist Government of Russia
on the condition of the amnesty and release of all Polish soldiers and their families from
the labour camps in Russia.

In August 1941 all soldiers from my father鈥檚 camp were released and transported by train on the railway they built towards Talica and from there to Tatiszczewo which was the base for new formed 5th Infantry Division of Polish Army.
The most memorable moment for my father from that time was gen. Anders speech .
He address them once again as 鈥渟oldiers鈥� and told them 鈥︹�� that the time has come that the Polish Army will be formed again鈥� and鈥︹�漷hat for a time being they have to forget about injustice and suffering they endured so far because they main goal from now on was to fight for free Poland however long it takes鈥濃��

My father said that the hope of returning home one day kept him and others alive.
Gen. Anders gave orders to wait in Tatiszczewo until all Poles from different labour
camps in Siberia arrive.

As the winter was approaching, they build brick fire places in the middle of each tent to keep warm, however the nearest forest was 8 km away therefore they were stealing
wood from any outbuildings and fences when Russians were not looking.
In the harder times everybody even the officers walked to the forest to gather wood.
With the temperatures reaching minus 40 C in December 1941 the weakest and ill
were sent to the hospital in Taszkient.

The food ration improved a bit. The bread portions were bigger than in Russians camps and the bean soup contained bits of meat. On the top of that each person received a few cubes of sugar 鈥� absolute luxury.

In January 1942, cold winds and temperatures as low as minus 50C forced them to move
again. This time the trains were taking them closer to freedom through Kazahstan
south to the Uzbekistan. They stopped on the way on many stations to pick up Polish civilians who were making their own way from Siberia towards Iran and Irak.

My father was very moved by the visual state of all them. They were in very poor
condition. Many of them died on the train. The bodies were left on the next station
to be buried by Russians in the unknown places.
Some parents had to leave the body of their child or children left the body of their
only parent knowing that they will never come back to that place again.
My father said that the tragedy he has witnessed was overwhelming especially that having survive the labor camp in Siberia they died on a way back home.

In February 1942 they arrived at Dzalal 鈥� Abad station in Uzbekistan.
All civilians and sick soldiers were left there to recuperate and the rest
of soldiers traveled to Surak. The warmer air was like a balsam to their bodies.

They rested there until August 1942 and waited for further instructions from the Polish chief of the army. The long wait made them restless, they wanted to fight anywhere
just to be closer to home. When the evacuation orders came they were more than ready.

All soldiers under command of gen. Boruta-Spielowicz and their immediate families traveled for a week first on a train and by boat to the small town Pahlevi in Iran.
My father鈥檚 first memories from Pahlevi were lots of food and no queues.
Due to changes of climate many Poles suffered from diarrhoea, yellow fever and there were even cases of typhus. It was necessary to quarantine everybody.
Old clothes were burned and the British Army supplied them with new summer uniforms
My father remembered that he also suffered from high fever and could only eat ice creams.

In September 1942 the on orders from British Chief of staff, the Polish Army was sent
to Khanaguin in Irak to secure the oil plants as well as to start routine military exercises.
However that wasn鈥檛 an easy task in the temperatures reaching plus 50 deg. C during
the day. They started very early in the morning and the rest of the day was for rest.

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