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.

One day Mrs. Grzeszkowa, with her two children, returned and occupied her previous room. The house became crowded. She was a natural blonde with plenty of curves. She had one main and two minor problems and she loved talking about them. Her main problem was her husband who, one grey morning, deserted the German Army and arrived in civilian clothes back home to his wife telling her that he had had the war and intended staying home. It was fine to have a husband back home but to shelter a deserter was quite another matter. She was in a panic. A month passed and the war still continued. The deserter got fed up with hiding in the barn behind some hay and began coming to the house. She became so scared that she was shaking and just kept looking through the window. When he started to even go outside, her nerves could not stand it any longer and, taking her two children, she left. One of her minor problems was a 'political' one. "What will the Soviets do with us? Will they kill us all? Or deport us to Siberia?" Her second minor problem was a rather delicate matter of conscience. At a certain stage of the war she weakened and enrolled as 'Volksdeutsche'.
"What could I have done?" she explained. "My husband was taken into the German Army, the children were told to go to a German school and here, in Kosewo, is a hospital where I worked as a midwife, you know, and I was threatened with deportation to a labour camp into Germany. Should I refuse to become a 'Volksdeutsche'.
Sylvester interrupted - "Don't forget to mention your ration card and coupons."
"What are coupons, Selek. I could earn enough to live being a midwife you know. I just wanted peace that is all.鈥�
"And didn't you take coupons not only for food but also for clothing, shoes - don't forget the butter and sugar."
"We did not receive even a fraction of those,鈥� explained Sylvester.
"You, Selek, don't you pretend to be any better. Look who is speaking. Didn't you go to Lodz, didn't you try there to be accepted into the 'race', only they would not have you, you fart."
Sylvester became indignant, threw a tomato on the table and, choosing his words carefully, turned towards her. "Whether I went to Lodz for the 'race' or not is not your bloody business. The fact is I am not a Volksdeutsche, neither a first class, nor second, nor third. But you, Mrs. Grzeczkowa, I beg your pardon you shit higher than your arse! You don't speak German but you were showing off your being Volksdeutsche in the whole township." Pouting his lips, Sylvester was mimicking in a high voice "Heil Hitler: A kilo of Polish sausage please." "Didn't you speak like this at the butcher's in Nowy Dwor? Didn't you?"
"You are a dumb fart, you shit you ..." she jumped up from the table and rushed out, slamming the door.
We felt embarrassed, but not Sylvester. After a few seconds of quiet, he continued;
"I am a true Pole and suffered for it. I was caught in a round-up in Modlin and taken to forced labour into East Prussia. Just in the clothes I was standing. I did not even have a change of shirt. I caught lice which were biting me. You know? I am a person of strict hygiene. I couldn't stand it and ran away but was caught by the military police and put in a labour camp in Dzialdowo. Oh, heavens, you should have seen this terrible place. We were beaten and tortured and had no normal lives. We all looked like skeletons. After one month I was sent to a sawmill in Ostorode. There were many French prisoners of war. The Germans put a letter 'P' on my back." (Polish forced labour had the letter 'P' on their clothes). "I had to clean the sawdust from the saw and the dust made breathing so hard. I worked there one and a half years. I could have choked there but I am not such a stupid bastard as some might think. I used to loosen a screw in the saw frame and when the screw fell out the saw stopped. While others were repairing it, I could not only catch up with my work but rest as well. Later on, friends taught me to water the belt. That was really a beaut thing for all concerned you know? It took so long to repair that we could even go and have a smoke in hiding. Yes, my God, one and a half years. If it were not for the parcels from home I would have perished there on their food. And now this stupid woman starts pushing the 'race' into my face - me, a Polish patriot, when one could say that I suffered for my Polish beliefs."
Next morning we left at dawn for work as usual. The morning was pleasant although rather cold and the sun was just clearing the morning mist. Some planes were noisily revving up, others stood quietly covered in droplets from the night mist. The wind blew cold from the airfield. We started walking faster as I had no overcoat. In the kitchen we got some hot tea. Marushka went to work in her 'cage'. One could not call it anything else. Behind the kitchen was a square metre of door space with a table, a chair and a field bed for the chef. This was the office where Marushka was typing lists and lists for the paymaster while I went with my gang to work. The ginger corporal told me to shift the toilet to another spot. Ten people were assigned to this job and the boss left. We threw the toilet on its side and, sitting on, it, started to roll our smokes. Suddenly one of the men pointed towards the western horizon. In the sky we could see many shiny dots flying in a large key formation.
"Probably German ones." The rest of the working gang did not pay any attention to them - we were all used to planes. So many were here on the airport. We always recognised the Soviet planes quickly. Firstly they never came in large groups but mostly only in threes - occasionally there were six. Usually they came from the direction of Warsaw, diving low when flying above the fortress. This time it was quite different. After a very short while other formations appeared in the sky. By now the whole sky aid air were trembling from these strong monotonous vibrations. It was certainly some thing unusual.
"I don't think they are German planes."
"Just look, masses of them." To have a better look we even climbed on top of the embankment.
"Oh, heavens, there will be at least three hundred of them,鈥� commented the shopkeeper from Rembertow, trying to count them. "Jesus Christ! Look there, just to your left." We all tried to count. Someone made it three hundred and fifty. Suddenly our airfield came alive. An alert was sounded. Some German aeroplanes started to leave the field in a great hurry. Pilots rushed to their planes. In the meantime the first squadron was near the airfield. They were flying majestically - they looked so large. Their large aluminium wings were shining in the sun. They looked like flying tanks. They were four-engine American fortresses. The German anti-air raid artillery opened fire. The air was vibrating even more with this added noise of heavy guns. A hail of small shrapnel fell in the sand near the bunker as if someone had thrown a handful of pebbles in the sand. Those who could started running away from the airfield. We barely had time to jump into the unfinished trench where we hugged the walls tightly. "That will be the end of us,鈥� said someone to cheer us up. "The Americans don't joke." We were waiting, full of tension, for the first bombs to come. But the first squadron flew over us. Wave after wave they were passing us, flying to the east. Although the flak was still falling, we had to raise our heads and look. The whole sky was covered with tiny white clouds of exploding shells. Above them and through them were planes flying majestically in their prescribed spacings. They were flying unconcerned, evenly and, it seemed, slowly, like cranes leaving in the autumn.
"Oh, Jesus Christ! Just look what is happening,鈥� someone called out, rising out of the trench. Our emotions were running very high when we saw what was happening. The planes, which had already crossed Vistula, started to toss out small white dots which opened up like big umbrellas.
"Parachutes!" people were shouting, laughing and pounding on the grass. "The Americans have come to help us" The joy was indescribable. At this stage we were. unaware that Churchill wanted to send help, that planes and crew were made available, but that Stalin would not permit the allied planes to land and refuel on Russian soil. Therefore many planes with all their crew, mainly Poles, were lost. Later on Churchill forbade these flights.
On the airfield the Germans called an alert against parachutists. The soldiers put on their helmets, ammunition belts and took their repeater guns. Over the field passed armoured cars full of armed soldiers. Motor bikes hurried along. Full alert continued. Minutes passed and the planes disappeared beyond the horizon. Shooting ceased and the parachutes were lost from sight behind the Vistula. The 'All Clear' sounded and we were told to go back to work. As the chef was not around, we were sitting or lying around, the spades in the grass. I was lying on some planks, smoking. Suddenly, like lightning from a clear sky, appeared the ginger corporal. We all jumped up but it was already too late to pretend that we were working very hard. Bad luck, we were caught.
Full of rage, he turned towards me. I hoped he would have a stroke. He was red and choking with rage. The last straw was when he saw the toilet lying on its side. In the meantime everyone sneaked out to their shovels. I thought he was going to kill me on the spot. I was left alone with a raving maniac. Nothing happened - I was only degraded in my duties which suited me admirably. At last I was free from the unpleasant duty of a leading hand, actually an overseer.
Next morning the chef advised me that I was to start work as an ordinary labourer. I had to join the worst labour gang - transporting of bombs. Under the supervision of the soldiers we had to unload half-ton and quarter-ton bombs from the train, take them to the embankment and then load them into trucks. It was heavy, primitive work - there were no forklifts. Everything had to be done by hand and muscle power. These rounded, smooth and hellishly heavy things sometimes slipped, crushing fingers and feet. When the truck was loaded, we travelled to the airfield where, if there were no air raids, it was a time to rest.
On the airfield we had to deliver the bombs to planes which were ready to take off. The soldiers hooked these large eggs to the undercarriage of the planes. The pilots put on their helmets and earpieces and climbed into the cockpits. Three planes, revving furiously, began to move to the runway, leaving dusty clouds in their wake. Taxiing awkwardly and moving along the bumpy surface like ducks, they started to rise, taking their place in the formation, circling over the airfield and going to the east.
"You f. . . . bloody bds, you are going to Warsaw,鈥� some of the gang were swearing.
"Screw you,鈥� added another one standing on the steps of the truck. "And just to think that with my two hands,鈥� he stretched his hands out, "I had to help load bombs which will be dropped over my own town." He spat on the ground, sat down and let his head drop.
"Hurry up, quicker, get a move on,鈥� the driver yelled.
We were on our way back again for a new load of bombs.
Next day I was lucky to be assigned to another group. I was one in a group of ten who had to bring back a broken-down truck with building material. The truck broke down coming back from Warsaw. When we were leaving in a military car with a trailer, others looked at us enviously. 鈥淪ee you later, we are going to Warsaw,鈥� we shouted, waving our hats.
After many checkpoints around the fortress we passed the bridge over the River Bug and, after a few minutes, crossed the iron bridge over the Vistula and turned into the highway to Warsaw, leaving Puszcza Kempinska behind.
The nearer we came to Warsaw, the more army traffic. Each village, each house along the road was full of army men. On the highway were transport and supply columns. In the fields, from the direction of Legjonowo, were long columns of evacuees crossing the highway. They continued in a westerly direction. Everyone was bent, carrying a load on his back. Men, women, children, old and young. The sounds of shooting and fighting intensified. In Lzodowo we saw a large evacuee camp. On a large sports ground near the street heavy loaded carts, hand carts, pushbikes and prams were standing. Tired people were sitting next to their belongings or leaning against the fence. S.S. men were prowling the fields, lanes and shrubs, herding everyone to the camp.
We travelled another ten kilometres and were now close to the city. Near Bielany the houses stood empty. There were no civilians left and most of the houses were in ruins. The army was in position in nearby fields. On both sides of the highway were trenches from which protruded the dark barrels of guns. All soldiers were wearing helmets. From a little hill near the woods German artillery was firing. One could even hear the whistling of the flying bullets and the heavier sounds of the cannon shells. At last our car stopped alongside a broken-down truck loaded with building material. The back of the truck was smashed by bullets.
We started the unloading. This time we really worked quickly, speeded up by the thought that the Soviets could start shooting at any minute and air raids could come unannounced. We worked on the open highway. In the field near us was a burnt-out Russian plane, part of the red star still visible. On our return journey a group of Russian war prisoners was told to board our car. They were guarded by two young S.S. men. We started talking with them. They had been taken prisoner only the day before behind the Vistula. They told us that Warsaw's suburb, Praga, was in Soviet hands and that our Red Polish Army was also fighting there.

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'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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