大象传媒

"Nothing but rain, fog and bagpipes", that is how my late father, Wladyslaw Bubez, described Scotland, where here was stationed in 1943. ( I think it was near Kelso but can not be sure) Now though, I must go back to the beginning.

My father was born on September 19th, 1920 in Malechow (Malechiv) which is situated some 2km north-east of Lwow (Lviv). From 1795 until November 11th, 1918, Poland ceased to exist on the map of Europe. During this period of partition, the part of the world into which my father was born was a part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Following the collapse of Tsarist Russia, Germany and Austria-Hungary at the end of World War I, Poland regained her independence. However, this would not last as on September 1st, 1939, the Germans invaded Poland from the west and the Russians crossed into Poland on September 17th, supposedly to restore order. Following the defeat of Poland, the Germans occupied the west while the Russians occupied the east. By the autumn of 1939, Lwow was thus under Soviet control.

In February of 1940, the Soviets began a programme of mass deportations of Polish civilians. No great care was taken over who was to be removed. Intelligentsia, figures of authority and civil servants were an obvious target but you just needed to look at someone in the wrong way to qualify for deportation. Thus it was that my father, a nineteen year old market gardener found himself on a train bound for Siberia!

In the latter half of June, 1941, the Germans launched their invasion of the Soviet Union. This would prove to be a salvation for my father and others like him. In a short while, Great Britain and the USA decided to support Stalin's war effort, inspite of the obvious ideological differences. Following negotiations with the British and Americans, Stalin declared a so called amnesty whereby the Poles were to be granted their freedom. The first plan was for the Poles to assist Stalin in the struggle against the Germans. This, however, did not suit Stalin's way of thinking so the Poles left the USSR and were drafted into various Polish army units grouping in the Middle East under British command. I recall that my father was somewhat disappointed as the Brits had too many chits while the Yanks seemed to be able to help themselves! Anyway, my father was drafted into the 1st Polish Tank Regiment under General Maczek. I think I am right in saying that the late General spent his years after the army as a barman in Edinburgh and lived to the age of 102!

From the Middle East, my father was taken by ship, around the tip of South Africa, practically to the east coast of Canada, so as to avoid U-boats, and found himself in Scotland in 1943. Because of a hernia caused by lifting a sack of gherkins back home, my father was not fit for front-line service and served in the Catering Corps. As he put it," I fought the Hun with a ladle and a Sten which I kept in the back of the food van".

A short time after D-Day, the 1st Polish Tank Regiment was sent to France. My father personally saw the fighting at Falaise. Then, the regiment moved on to Belgium and Holland and the Poles liberated the city of Breda on October 29th, 1944. Quite often, my father would tell me about how their tanks, mostly American Shermans were no match for the German Tiger. Even at extreme range, a Tiger with its 88mm gun could knock out a Sherman without difficulty. However, the Sherman with its inferior 75mm gun could not penetrate the frontal armour of a Tiger even at close range. Modification of the Sherman's gun still produced no improvement, a fact that is said to have greatly infuriated General Eisenhower, the Supreme Allied Commander. More than this, when hit, a Sherman would burst into flame in about 10 seconds, a fact that earned it the name of "Tommy Cooker" from the Germans.

At the end of the war, the 1st Polish Tank Regiment was set the task of guarding the town of Wilhelmshaven in the north of Germany. In 1947, my father was demobbed and came to England as his homeland was now in the Soviet Union, Stalin having been given virtual autonomy over Eastern Europe by the Allies. The story does not end here. My father was still occasionally suffering from the malaria which he had acquired in the Middle East. Fortunately, this got left in a military hospital in Colchester.

In August 1949, my mother and father met, married and settled in Haywards Heath, Sussex. On June 21st of the following year I arrived. As well as being the longest day of the year, it must have been a long day for my poor mother. God rest her soul and my father's!

Until we meet again!

Jozio

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