大象传媒

This story is submitted by Anna's niece, Rochelle Wilson, a volunteer story gatherer for the 大象传媒 in Nottingham.

Foreword from Rochelle:
The following story is a translation from Polish of an account I asked my aunt to write in 1979. I wanted to record the story of my father's family, most of whom perished in the holocaust. Although my aunt spoke English, it was not easy for her and I thought that getting her to write in her native tongue was the best solution. When I finally got her story and then had it translated, I was shocked by the matter-of-fact tone and by how much was left out. I never felt able to ask her more at that time, and she died before we could talk about it again. My own father, Moryc, who appears at the end of the story, died when I was only 9 years old.

Here is Anna's story:

The town of Czestochowa in Poland, our birthplace, is not a very large town but an attractive one. It if full of cultural heritage. We attended the local Jewish Grammar school. The school had high standards of education.

The exact date of my mother's death is 2nd August 1943. I learned about the death in a letter sent to me by a Polish acquaintance with whom I had kept in contact. The letter was addressed to a German woman with whom I was working at a textile factory. Up to August 1943 we were allowed to write and receive letters once a month. After that date and after the general dispersal/resettlement we received no letters and we were not allowed to write either.

Regarding the premature death of our father in 1918 - he died of typhus. There was an epidemic of typhus there and since there was no proper medicine in those days many people, including my father, died.

Our brother David escaped with his life during a general clear out of the ghetto at Sosnowce. Unfortunately, after a short while he was captured again, this time with his wife Jadzia (Jadwiga). They were both sent to Auschwitz. Jadwiga died there of typhus. David died later during a compulsory march into the depth of Germany at the time when the Germans started emptying Auschwitz and made the prisoners march barefoot. Anyone of the prisoners who could not walk fast was shot dead by the Germans. I am sorry but I do not know the exact date of his death.

My own concentration camp, Grunberg, was also 'transported' into the depths of Germany. That was the so-called Fussmarsch' where everybody was made o march barefoot through forests, minor side roads, through snow and mud. It was winter, the latter part of January. After 11 days, together with two of my friends, I managed to escape. It was the 11th of February 1945, the day I shall never forget for as long as I live. In every one's life there are some moments which are difficult to describe or name them. It may be fate, miracle or and act of a superior power. Well, on that day, 11th of February 1945, a Sunday, our 'transport' set out on its destined journey. We had rested for 2-3 days at a German village, having slept in a stable on hay. We continued the march barefoot. On this day, before the departure, the Germans decided to share some soup amongst the prisoners. There were 1000 women and since everybody was very hungry, a riot took place. The Germans tried to restore some order, even the guard on duty at the gate, left his post and joined the others trying to restore some order. He left the gate unattended. We saw it and acted upon it. We were lucky that the guard did not return to his post and he did not look out towards the road. We ran away and were not noticed by our captors. Eventually, we reached a village and there, pretending to be Germans, we went from house to house asking to be allowed to spend the night. Nobody suspected anything as that was the time when many Germans were fleeing West into the depth of their country to escape the incoming Russians. There were many vacant places but nobody wanted to take us in as we had no official papers.

Looking for a place to stay and not finding one, we had returned to the place at which we had entered the village, the main road which we had left and along which our prisoners were being marched. We were in great despair. But, at that moment, we saw an old man approaching us on his bicycle. He appeared before us as if sent from heaven. He greeted us saying something like this: 'Hallo young ladies, what's new? Are you looking for something?' We told him were from Grunberg and we were looking for a place to stay and since it was a Sunday, we could not find anything. Without a moment' s hesitation, he said: 'come with me, I have a room which has just been vacated by some people. You can stay with me.'

It is difficult to describe this moment, we were very happy and felt that a miracle had just happened. I am sure it was a miracle, I am convinced of it to this day and will believe so until I die. When we got to his house, we were shown a small room full of hay on which the previous occupants had slept. In the house, we met his wife, an old lady, who raised no objections to our staying with them. It was dinner time by then and were invited to share their meal with them. They were having 'ordinary food' not 'war time' food. The dinner was just as good.

The next day, Monday, we asked them if we could spend another day at their house and they agreed. The old lady advised us to go to Lubeck, a town situated nearby, where would find a textile factory, and since we had some experience in working at a textile factory, we would find some work there.

Her advice was very good. When we arrived in Lubeck we found the factory, we introduced ourselves as Polish women and were given a job. We stayed there until half way through April, until the day the Russian army arrived.

After a few days of bombing, the Russians gained the town. We left it and started on our journey back to Poland. After two weeks, with the help of Russian lorries and transport trains, we reached our town, Sosnowiec, the town we had lived in prior to our deportation into Germany.

It was a very tragic moment this return to Sosnowiec. There were hardly any Jews. The place which used belong to my family before the war was no occupied by a Polish family. I did not even try to see what was happening there. I was lucky though to come across somebody who informed me that a family I knew well was still in Sosnowiec, living in their own house. These people accepted me warmly and I stayed with them for the next few months. Soon after, I found a cousin in Katowice. This was a great relief to me; at last I found a member of my own family.

After a few months, my sister Ala (Alicija) returned from Germany. I had not seen her for three years and had had no news from her. I had no idea about her existence. Ala had also been a prisoner in two German camps. After a short time, she met her future husband, Karol.

Later on in June, I found an office job with a petrochemical products company. I worked there until November 1945. I married my husband in December 1945. We went to live at Jelenia Gora, a town in Lower Silesia. On 25th March 1947, our son Yair, was born there.

We left Poland in January 1949. We first went to Paris where we stayed only three months. We then left for Israel. We arrived there on 21st March 1949 and we have lived here ever since.

While in Paris, my brother, Moryc, from London, came to visit us. It was a very moving reunion, we had not seen each other for such a long time.

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