大象传媒

I was a 15 year old schoolboy when I woke up on 1st September 1939 to the news of the German invasion of Poland. A few days later, when the German advance was in full, "blitzkrieg" flow I left Warsaw and travelled East, away from the enemy. On 17th September 1939 the Russian army walked in and occupied the eastern part of Poland. At the first opportunity I crossed the demarcation line between Russian and German occupied lands and returned to Warsaw. The post-siege destruction of the city was quite unbelievable, with graves along the pavements and hardly anything left standing. Eveything was in short supply - food, fuel and power. One was forced to wear overcoats indoors. To avoid deportation to Germany for forced labour I started work in barracks holding a German garrison. Work consisted of glazing hundreds of windows in temperatures of several degrees below zero. After the heavy bombardment there were hardly any windows with glass still in them.
My Father has in the meantime managed to escape to France and joined the Polish Army as adjutant to its general HQ. He engineered a visa for my Mother and myself to travel to Italy. which - it must be remembered - was still a neutral country. Somehow the Gestapo agreed to let me leave the country, as long as I was below the age of 16. We left Warsaw on 18th January 1940, just one day before my 16th birthday !

WE travelled by train to Rome, where money was deposited for us with the still functioning Polish Embassy. After a few days in the eternal City we took the train to Paris and were, miraculously, reunited with my Father. Paris, even during the war, was a delight and it helped enormously that my French was, by then, quite fluent. With little money in my pocket I walked the Paris streets for hours each day and got to know it well.

By the end of April 1940 it became clear that The German war machine would be on the move very soon. Military families were therefore evacuated to the South of France, to a small, pretty village in the foothills of the Pyrenees, called Salies-du-Salat. When the inevitable happened and the enemy marched into France, Polish Army HQ released its personel and Father's chief told him to take a car,find his family and "good luck". The families in Salies-du-Salat gave a good imitation of headless chickens. When gen. Petain surrendered France on 18th June 1940 the panic was palpable. Where to go ? Mediterranean coast, Spain or the Atlantic coast ? Which would provide the best escape route ? Mother and I stayed put. Father knew where we were and once we moved he would never find us. Sure enough he came the very next day, with car and driver. We travelled West, through Pau to Bayonne and plunged into a maelstrom of confused humanity. Population in a panic is a frightful sight. People pushing prams full of useless belongings, families and singles wandering aimlessly, not knowing what to do and members of the fighting forces wearing every imaginable uniform, hoping for some superior officer to tell them where to go, what to do. A superior Polish officer spotted Father and told him quietly to go quickly to St. Jean de Luz, a small, fishing harbour, little more than a stone's throw from the Spanish border, where there were some ships ready to leave the French coast. And so it proved. There were even more would-be escapees milling about the little harbour with its single jetty. Incredibly, there were two Polish liners anchored half a mile out, MV Batory and MV Sobieski. A generous bribe to a couple of young lads ensured that they got us into one of the early departing small boats, ferrying people to and from shore and ship.

Once on board the "Sobieski" it became obvious that the ship would be heavily overloaded. She was designed to carry 1100 passengers but these were not normal times. She finally carried 3500 and we weighed anchor in late afternoon of 21st June 1940. Initially, the ship headed due West and everyone was convinced we would sail to America. After a time, however, the ship headed North and finally, East. Some people swore they saw periscopes quite near. This was quite possible, as the circumstances allowed enemy agents to masquerade as refugees and submarines would be prevented from interfering with such a simple plan. Food on the ship was scarce, even though bread was baked on board, but otherwise the choice was between mutton and mutton, well past its "use by" date. To this day even a nicely roasted leg of lamb turns me off. We slept in a corner under a companion way and made a few instant friends. Weather was cold and showers of rain came down frequently.

On the afternoon of 23rd June 1940 we anchored in Plymouth roads and were kept on board for another day, as preparations were made to deal with the mass of refugees. Finally, on 25th June 1940 I set foot in England. Ladies of the WVS were out in force, handing out cups of tea, buns and sympathy. Some Army MP's and police officers led a number of civilians down the gangway, obviously under arrest. The intelligence services were doing a sterling job.

Father was taken to an army camp set in the middle of Aintree racecourse, while Mother and I were ushered into a train under guard. In the morning the train arrived at Paddington. ( Someone said - I've never heard of a town called Paddington ). After a few days in an empty factory fitted with hundreds of bunks, we were interviewed, had identity cards issued as well as Aliens Certificates and billeted in Fulham. I remember the address - 14, Turnevile road, close to Lillie Road. The old lady looked after us well - on 拢 1 per week per person -and always put her dentures beside her plate at mealtimes. Soon we went to Scotland and stayed in a farmhouse with a lovely, kindly family. On the first Sunday there they insisted we came to church with them. To us brought up as RC, the Presbyterian church looked very austere. The minister started a sermon, which did not, somehow, sound in English. Then the realisation - he was addressing us in phonetic Polish, welcoming us to Scotland and expressing his sorrow and sympathy with our predicament. We were very touched by the man's compassion.

Soon another move. This time to Rothesay on the Isle of Bute. A large records office for the Polish forces was located there and officers past the age of active service were to work there. Father was a lieutenant of 46 with a wealth of administrative experience. And I went to school. Rothesay Academy was a grammar type school and I was taken in hand by a few boys, who taught me the language, and the mysteries of pounds, shillings and pence, yards, inches etc.

In June 1942 I passed final exams with equivalents of 4 A levels and 2 lower. Glasgow University followed, but after a time the Polish Army made a successful bid for my services and at a selection board I was sent to an officers's training unit in Kinross. This was in January 1945 and the war finished soon after. Regretfully, I never saw any action, but I did see much of Europe at an early age.

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