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.

We passed the long iron bridge over the Vistula, In front of us were the deep, red walls and dungeons of the Modlin fortress. At the crossroads were signboards, taking up at least two metres. The signs pointed in many directions showing many details of the interiors of the fortress. On the road was a military patrol stopping without exception all cars coming from Warsaw. After inspection of documents and a thorough search of the truck, it was directed to the road leading towards the fortress. We passed over another long, iron bridge, this time over the River Bug. Again there were guards at the gates and documents were checked. The dirty red fortress was sitting like a spider between the rivers Vistula and Bug, the roads protected with barbed wire and field mines. Mines were already attached to the bridge. The bunkers were covered with grass, spiked with barrels from the anti-aircraft guns. Soldiers in swim trunks were cleaning cannons. The wire entanglement surrounded the bridge, crept down into the water and up again over the opposite embankment. Notices were nailed to trees and posts:

Attention! Danger!
Entry forbidden!
Swimming forbidden!
Mines!
As well as the words, a skull and crossbones was pictured making the meaning quite clear. There were only a few civilians about and they were walking furtively like insects near cobwebs of preying spiders. Passing the bridge, our truck turned sharply to the left and I noisily entered the narrow-necked entrance of the fortress gate. Shivers ran down our spines. We felt swallowed by the fortress. What would they do to us? More controls, more checkpoints - the little streets were like a maze. We passed some stores, railway lines, offices, barracks, trenches, more gates. Soldiers were everywhere, also military cars. At last our truck stopped in front of some magazines. Our driver dismounted.
"Everyone out!" called the noncom. Throwing down their rucksacks, the soldiers jumped down from the high truck. We did the same and were standing amid the soldiers. The noncom gave some orders to the soldiers and turned towards us.
"What should I do with you?" he sounded worried. "Here, have your documents and go to the 'Zersprentgensammelstelle'. Here in the fortress is such an office which assembles all the lost souls and sends them on to their appropriate units." He was even smiling, handing us the travel orders. He seemed quite satisfied with himself being able to get rid of all his passengers. He quickly returned to the car and left. The soldiers, putting on their rucksacks, left too. Only we were standing on the road, undecided.
We never expected anything like this to happen. We expected to be handed over to some 'other hands' for further orders. Nobody could possibly know us here nor why we were here. We again had a little freedom; we could try to improvise and show some initiative. Our aim was quite simple - to leave this place as soon as possible but how to achieve it was not so simple. We were in a place unknown to us, in a fortress guarded at the gates by fully armed soldiers. As we had already seen, the entry and exits were thoroughly checked. How to justify that we had to leave when here were all the offices and administration buildings to which we, as the 'array followers', belonged. Our travel order which helped us to leave Warsaw expired right here. We were now in Modlin where our supposed formation was located. We remembered another document which we obtained in Kaunas from the employment office. We obtained this document without giving it much value at that time, simply to have an additional document just in case. It was an order to report to the employment office in Modlin. At that time we thought it might turn out to be advantageous to hove something official which may enable us to reach "Warsaw via Modlin which was close to Warsaw. Now it was just the opposite. We came from Warsaw looking for some place in Modlin which was now a stepping stone on our war wanderings.
We were informed that the employment office was just outside the fortress walls. When we reached one of the gates we saw the guard checking documents of a working gang leaving the fortress. Men and women had to open their parcels and empty their pockets. We felt a bit uneasy as we were burdened with a heavy rucksack and, in addition, I carried a suitcase. We had learned from previous experiences that it is always better to speak with the man in charge rather than with his underlings. Therefore we approached the soldier who was supervising the control. The private arrangements between Marushka and myself were quite clear. I, as a man of military age, was always the most suspect. I was to show him documents and, speaking in broken German, try to explain something. Marushka, catching the line of my thought, was to interrupt and continue in perfect, fluent German, which always had a very good effect. This happened on this occasion. After I had murmured just a few sentences, she interrupted, building up our fictitious story with precise sentences - that we were from far away Lithuania, coming to work in the 'Reich', that we were allocated to Modlin, that polite army men had given us a lift by car to the Modlin fortress, that we discovered only here that the employment office was located outside the fortress where we were told to report without delay. Could he, the man in charge of the guard, let us pass without the proper pass from the fortress authorities.
"Are you really from Lithuania?" he asked.
"Yes, we are" Marushka replied, putting her documents back into her handbag.
He went towards the other guard and called out, "Let these two pass."
In this simple way we left the fortress. We took a deep breath and went ahead along the narrow, old streets of Modlin.
The sun was already low and, on the fields, the mist was gathering. A pleasant smell reached us from chimneys of houses - people were cooking dinner. We were tired and hungry, the rucksacks seemed heavy, the straps cutting our shoulders. We were again homeless. Through some freak chance we had landed in this unknown corner. What to do now? Where to go? How to live and keep free? Those were the questions to be answered later - just now we wanted only to rest. Those days, in Warsaw with sleepless nights and empty stomachs had made us weak. We decided to look for a sleeping place in Modlin. We knocked at many well-to-do houses quite unsuccessfully until at last one of the poorest accepted us. The owner was a labourer living on the outskirts of Modlin next to the fields. These friendly people led us and let us rest on the floor of their warm kitchen which was so small that I was unable to stretch out my legs. Resting our heads on the rucksacks, we slept undisturbed and deeply. This was our first night outside Warsaw.
In the morning the house and all the township seemed to tremble from the noise of tanks. Through the narrow streets passed a whole division of them, hurrying towards the most threatened point of the Front - the fork between the Narwa and Bug rivers. The huge tanks were tearing the pavements, leaving big holes. The miserable, poor huts barely as high as the tanks, were trembling and windows were shattering. Even the houses seemed to be frightened. Behind the tanks followed armoured vehicles, huge trucks on caterpillar tracks, then again the tanks and so on.
The atmosphere was decidedly of the nearing Front. By now we really had had it all. We wanted some quiet, peaceful corner where we could not hear either tanks or cannonades, where machine guns were not shooting at anyone, neither from the land nor the sky. By now we hated this noise of war which tore at the brains and nerve centres.
Early in the morning we thanked our friendly host and left in the direction of Nowy Dwor. We wanted to gather some news and try to find a permanent place to stay. Again bridges, check-points, dusty roads. After a few kilometres we reached a little town. A large yellow board reminded us that we were in the Great German Reich. It read 'Bugmiulde, Kreis Cichenau' which was a translation into German from the Polish name. The true German character of the town was obvious only in the recently painted signs, like 'Polizei', ',Burgermeisteramt', 'Sparkasse' and 'Frontbuchhandlung' (bookshop). In the shop windows were old numbers of the Signal and Berliner Illustrated. Propaganda placards, official orders posted on the walls and German military police completed the German Bugmundel.
In the side street I saw a scribbled sign on the wall - 'Long Live Poland'. It was the only sign written in Polish. We wanted to meet some of the educated people, white collar workers, and ask them about the conditions and regulations which governed this odd Germany, now called South-west Prussia. A Wozian told us that in the nearby hospital a few Polish doctors were working. Going there we were stopped by military police. We probably looked suspicious. They checked the documents very carefully. Marushka had trouble in supporting her story as by now we were able to show only the travel order but at last they let us go. In the one-storey hospital building were also doctor's surgeries. On the door was a list of doctors. We picked a name which sounded safe. He was a general practitioner and, after paying 3 DM, we were allowed to enter. He was an elderly gentleman in a white coat. Taking his stethoscope he looked inquiringly at us.
"Are you both ill?"
"Not ill, doctor, but just tired. We arrived only last night from Warsaw,鈥� I told him honestly.
"From the uprising?" he asked quietly, looking around as though afraid that somebody might overhear.
I explained why we had come to see him.
"You should not stay here in Nowy Dwor,鈥� he advised. "Firstly, we are all under very strict supervision and, secondly, it is very hard to get any food. We are cut off from the country. To cross the Bug is hard as the river is heavily patrolled and there are constant checks. Food smugglers are caught and the food was confiscated. The road to Warsaw is closed. The boundaries of the General Government are watched by the army. All the villages in the direction of Puazeza Kempinkowska are in the hands of the partisans. A few kilometres from the bridge the Germans are building something like a second front, guarding against attacks on bridges and the fortress. Many people are leaving Nowy Dwor and going to the country. Only those who have to work here are left. I would advise you to try the country - the best chance would be the other side of the River Hug. It is still quiet down there."
He also examined Marushka who had lost 17 kilos which was probably the reason why she felt so tired.
The doctor continued - "Good food and peaceful, surroundings would be the best medicine for you."
"I am afraid this might be the hardest medicine to receive today,鈥� I answered, thanking him for his advice.
We left and went towards the River Bug. The road led beside the fortress bunkers, climbing up higher and then, again through a large valley. After the last hill we had a large open view to the far horizon of arable fields, ending at a dark line of forest. It had the true country smell of earth and growth. It was a hot day and the heat of the air was vibrating over the ripening fields. Cows were standing in the shade of bushes, switching their tails lazily.
Our backs were soaking wet from carrying the heavy rucksacks. At the crossroad we sat down, wiping our faces. There were three roads in front of us, each leading in a different direction. Which one should we take? There was no-one to ask. We were simply travelling to the country behind the River Bug. We were on the banks of the Bug and the roads cut a line through fields, going towards small villages. Each road was as good as the other. Each one seemed attractive with its rural scenery. I remembered that somebody had told us to go towards Janow, that it was far away from highways and that people there were still rich in food.
"Maybe we will go to Janow. What do you think Marushka?" "I don't care as long as it is not too far. I simply do not have much strength left and, in addition, it is so hot. Don't count on me walking for a long distance."
She spoke lying on the dusty grass, her head resting on the rucksack. Her eyes looked indifferently at the clouds moving high in the sky.
I remembered Sarny. There she was also near the end of her strength but then she was going home to her family. Her parents were awaiting her, her open house was waiting, our own rooms, friendly, smiling faces. Those thoughts at that time gave us encouragement and energy.
And now? My God, how much had changed since then. Five long years of war. Today we were going sway from our home to an unknown, homeless future. We left our families, we left our nest with our two little nestlings. The longing for them was so very strong now. To remember the house hurt more now than five years ago. Maybe at this very moment the grandmothers were hugging the children, speaking about their parents who were being tossed around by the war. But soon, very soon, they would return. They were probably saying that Daddy would bring some red trucks and Mother a big horse. Trying to make the children happy, they were probably wiping away tears from their own eyes. Both grandmothers assumed us to be in Warsaw. They knew that Warsaw was engulfed by fires and was bleeding.
The moving clouds cast a shadow over us. Marushka was crying silently. I knew that she was thinking about home. At this crossroad she must have vividly remembered our departure.
"Will we ever return to them?" she whispered. I could only shrug my shoulders.
The clouds passed. The hot sun again covered the fields. On one of the roads a man on a pushbike appeared.
He stopped beside us and, wiping the sweat from his face, he asked
"Where are you from? From far away?"
"We are from Warsaw,鈥� I replied.
"From Warsaw? Really? What is happening there? Oh my God, how good that I met you. My wife is in Warsaw. She had a haberdashery shop in Czerniakowo Street. I don't know what is happening there. Is she still alive? Some terrible rumours have reached us. Every night we see the fires over Warsaw. It is weeks since I had the last news. Are there still some people alive?"
We talked at length. His name was Sylvester Niewiadomski and he was a ladies' hairdresser in Nowy Dwor. After hearing that we were homeless, he immediately offered to take us to his place.
He was very talkative and explained "I don't live in Nowy Dwor. Life is very expensive there and also not safe - you know, just like in all towns. I live in a hamlet with Grandmother Wojciechowska in Kosewo which is not far from here. I have a room there and a kitchen because Mrs. Reszko, a midwife and a friend of my wife, has left to join her parents. There is plenty of room you know so don't look for anything else. You must be very tired aren't you?"
We were very grateful to Sylvester and, without hesitation, accepted his offer.
Marushka was unable to carry her rucksack any more so we put it on the bike with Sylvester. He looked very pleasant a young man with greying temples and a pink face with regular features, with a smile too sweet. All his movements were soft and he was very polite as his profession would require him to be.
The road went along an airfield. The large, even fields were used by the Germans for a military airfield. The arable fields were now covered with grass and long cement runways cut a white band across the green fields. Red lamps showed the boundaries of the airfield. We did not see hangars. The planes were either covered with sheeting or hidden behind shrubs. Some were standing between the uncut high wheat like large scarecrows. On the right side of the airfield was anti-aircraft artillery. Long barrels protruded from the turrets and machine guns pointed towards the sky. Alongside were bunkers dug in the potato field. Soldiers without shirts were sitting at tables playing cards. Some were sunbaking in the sweet-smelling clover field. An observer with binoculars was watching the sky. The sky was light blue and moving clouds were leaving dark patches on the airfield. At the end of the field we turned into a narrow track. Above the wheat we soon saw thatch-covered roofs nestling among green orchards. This was Kosewo.

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.'

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