- Contributed by听
- amandaraby
- People in story:听
- Danusia
- Location of story:听
- Warsaw, Poland
- Background to story:听
- Civilian
- Article ID:听
- A2313938
- Contributed on:听
- 19 February 2004
My Grandmother, a heroine
She had just turned eleven when the German tanks rolled over the Polish boarder in 1939. She remembers vividly - and recounts eloquently - tales of everyday life in Warsaw under the Germans; for example, travelling on the trams that passed through the Jewish ghetto in the heart of the city - they used to board up the windows so you couldn't see how the Jews were being treated. She tells me that people travelling on the trams sometimes pushed food through cracks in the floor - if you were caught, you would be shot.
The brave messenger
Her tales of fighting for Warsaw stand out the most: she was just a young teenager when, whilst running messages from post to post, over the rubble and through the sewers, she shot her first German. She remembers it being a strange event: a bang, a small hole to the head, and the soldier just dropped to the floor.
She tells me that the streets of Warsaw are now one big graveyard - so many people were buried in makeshift graves in the street among the ruins... so many funerals for so many young people. The fighting went from street to street, house to house - a slow process that benefitted the Poles who knew their city so much better than the German divisions.
And, yet, she also fondly remembers some good times - the camaraderie, and parties that went on into the early hours of the morning. Clearly the spirit of these young fighters would not be crushed so easily.
Warsaw torn
Without the support they were promised, and waited so long for, the ammunition ran out, even though the resolve didn't. Warsaw was torn, razed to the ground, and the remains of Warsaw's army were shipped out to Prisoner of War camps, many of which have now been reclassified as Concentration Camps. No late night parties there. No resolve other than to stay alive.
Rebuilding the city
It is a testament to the resolve of the Polish people that Warsaw stands again today, as much as possible re-built as it was before the war, thanks to old photographs and memories. The people who died and are buried there could have no better a headstone.
Never forget
My Grandmother is a heroine, my heroine, and one of so many unsung war heroes. She fought for what was right, what was good. Her story, along with those of everyone who fought in the war, should be told time and again so we never forget, and so that we learn.
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