大象传媒

It was 1940. We had been 're-settled' from our home in Poland to Kazakhstan. My mother and I had a small room in Martuk, and but for our bundles it was empty. It was very basic, no mod-cons. I remember it so well because next morning I was up early and exploring outside, when I saw a Mongol man going to the outside toilet carrying what looked like a small teapot. I was so curious I had to ask. Not only did I learn about the ways of different religions, but also the importance of hygiene in such primitive conditions, which was normal to the people living there at the time. There was no need as yet to heat the house, but we still needed fuel for cooking and washing, especially our clothes. Fuel was a problem. There were a number of wells in the locality, so at least water was not. There were houses in certain parts of the town with piped water, and internal WC鈥檚, but I would reckon that none of the 鈥榬e-settlers鈥� were in them. As I lived in Kazakhstan with my mother and others, I learned to cope. But without any doubt, but for my mothers ability and will to survive, events would have been different.

Looking at the life we led in retrospect, the society was constantly afraid and profoundly corrupt. One of the proverbs my mother used quite a lot at that time was the equivalent of the English 鈥榮cratch my back and I鈥檒l scratch yours鈥�. One had to bargain, using material goods unknown to the USSR, In order to obtain a better position at work, or concessions from those in authority. Although we were at the lowest end of society, it would surprise me indeed if the higher echelons were any different.

My mother was always seeing the authorities about allocations or questions regarding what was allowed. If not on her own behalf, then representing others. It was on one of these visits that she got me a job, because the next thing I remember was working in the grain silo. Lorries with grain from the 鈥楰olkhoz鈥� were discharging grain into the elevator pit, and it went through processes of separation, drying and then either storage or discharge for immediate wagon loading. The USSR was desperate for food. The people I met were mostly old men who knew the job, young boys and many middle aged women (some from amongst the 鈥榬e-settlers鈥�). This was a good period for me for food, because I could always take some grain with me. There were guards and we were searched, but providing my pockets were not bulging the guards always ignored it.

Another thing I remember is the public address system. Next to uniforms, what fills me even now with dread, is public address systems, as they evoke memories of the way they I experienced their use in a totalitarian system. It started in my birthplace of Maloryta, but realisation of its pervasive effects did not fully enter my consciousness until I was out from under its spell, and I had left the Soviet Union. It was blaring from early morning until late at night. News, propaganda, encouragement to work harder for the glorious Soviet proletarian classes, and all this interspersed with martial music. And then more exaltation of the system in all its aspects, warnings to beware of enemies and the infiltration of spies etc. It was piped in, and although you could switch it off, you dared not. Some people had them in their houses, free. I know from experience that it crept up on one. One started using the phraseology. There was no need to think. Many a time I was checked by my mother. She used to say something like, 鈥渘ext you will be reporting me for incorrect speaking鈥�. There were cases when children did report their parents.

During the stay in the USSR I saw very few shops. The ones I did see were state owned and mostly empty. As soon as an allocation of a commodity came, a queue formed and within a short time the shop was empty again. Life revolved around being aware of the possibilities. The how and where and when of being able to get food or other necessities of life. Our lot was bad enough for mother to sell our prized possession, a Persian rug which she had prudently thought to bring. It was very popular, especially with the Mongol people at the market. Mother did haggle, and thought that she had got a good price for it. On her return, the people who were staying with us in the house at that time thought that she could have held out for more. Mother got payment for the carpet half in money and half in kind. I remember it well, it was the first time we had mutton. It was also the first time I tasted roasted sunflower seed.

I went back to school. I do not know how it came about, but suspect that my mother had a hand in it. My input into our income was comparatively small, but not insignificant. I am assuming that mother must have calculated that we would manage on what she was getting. And so started another instalment in my rather staggered pursuit of knowledge. It couldn鈥檛 have been very fruitful, as the only thing I remember is that the Kazak written language has a roman alphabet. Experience from Maloryta had taught me how to get propaganda in one ear and expel it right out the other. I remember that it was a new school with facilities better than in Maloryta. Especially anything to do with sport.

Martuk was a cosmopolitan place; there were Kazaks, Ukrainians, Russians, Tartars, Czechnians, Karmuks and others I do not remember. There was a feeling of xenophobia around, and for a short time I was exposed to it. The Kazaks were the only ones who were not there because of Stalin鈥檚 鈥榬e-settlement鈥� policy. Whilst in Martuk my mother had a number of jobs. She worked in the hospital and in an institution looking after children. Many a time she would bring home leftovers which were gratefully received. During the day I can remember going to the 鈥楽tolovnaya鈥�, what I would describe now as a soup kitchen. For a small sum I would get a plate of beetroot or cabbage soup and a hundred grams of bread. By the time mother came home and we would make a meal, I was famished.

We were transferred to the village of Ribakovka, Kolkhoz 鈥楰razni Zvesda鈥�, the Collective Farm 鈥楻ed Star鈥�. I have no recollection why, whether it was a decree or some other reason. Our lot was not improved by the move. I remember the house we were dumped into, the flat roofed type that one sees in pictures of the far east. We then had a very cold winter. There was no natural shelter, no trees, no hills, nothing; and the wind was what I remember and dreaded most. If I remember right it was called 鈥楶ozyonka鈥�, literally a strong wind which ends up on the ground. Such a wind picks up small particles of ice and drives them against the frozen ground, making a tinkling noise, almost a song. When it hits ones face or any other exposed part of the body it is painful and unbearable after a while.

I went to see those in charge in order to get work. There was an expression and if I heard it once I heard it a thousand times, 鈥榯hose who do not work do not eat鈥�. The philosophy of the Soviet Union; there was no social security, there was no help for the needy. On one occasion when I was already working, well on into our stay in Ribakovka, I was stacking hay for winter fodder with the son of the manager who always wandered around and hardly ever stayed at his post. But this particular time his father, the manager, arrived unexpectedly and caught his son asleep. He gave him a dressing down in front of us, and he gave me as an example, 鈥� look at that capitalist boy etc.鈥� It did not help my lot at all. The boy thought I should have wakened him, as if I knew where he was and what he was doing. It made my life even more miserable.

Amongst the brigade there were Mongols, who were more sympathetic to 鈥榬e-settlers鈥�, and during one of the breaks which used to be called Pirikurka (meaning smoke break), It was explained to me that I was working too hard. It apparently did not matter how hard I worked, my 鈥榯rudodni鈥� would be small anyway. The 鈥榯rudodni鈥� means 鈥榳ork day鈥�. In effect it was a system of payment which assessed each job and the worker on his worth to the kolkhoz. I was getting half a 鈥榯rudodni鈥�, in other words half a days pay for a days work. I was told by the Mongols that the 'sleepy boy ' was getting one whole 鈥榯rudodni鈥�, a whole days worth of pay. My mother was getting one workday, a tractor driver would get two and a half, and so on. When one had accumulated enough workdays one could get payment. Since we were continuously on the bottom scale we were more often than not asking for a payment in advance of having accumulated enough workdays. Effectively this made one continually in debt to the kolkhoz (not very different from the abuses of 'token' payments which could only be spent in company shops, in capitalist settings).

I remember going on sledges pulled by a pair of oxen to get some hay. What stuck in my mind was the size of the stacks. One hundred to one hundred and fifty metres long. The stacks were covered in snow, and snow at that time in Kazakhstan was up to five metres high. On one occasion I had to stay behind because of the heavy snowfall, but there was no problem. Lying between oxen in a trench of hay was probably the warmest nights sleep I had in Kazakhstan. The oxen were directed by voice alone, mostly by ex Ukrainian鈥檚. If you wanted the oxen to go left you said 鈥榮eb鈥�, and if you wanted them to go right you said 鈥榮ebey鈥�.
To supplement what little fuel we had, and we never had enough, I remember making what to all Mongol nations was and probably still is, what peat was to Scotland. One collected animal dung and mixed it with dry straw or similar, made it into pats and then let them dry, all by hand. Then it was stacked in a similar manner to peat and stored somewhere easy to get at in the winter. The winters in Kazakhstan can be very severe, I remember the inside of the window being as thick with ice as the ledge itself. Mothers eiderdown saved us from a lot of suffering. We slept huddled together under the eiderdown and fully clothed.

After the Winter, I found myself in a group hunting steppe hare. A very long hind legged animal with an ability to jump sideways. Their downfall was that they liked to have their burrows in the sides of river beds, which were dry for most of the year, but had some deep pools. Blocking some of the side entrances, and pouring water in from the top, usually brought the hare out. It was roasted over a fire made from the dung pats, and eaten with relish. When one of a group picking water melons, It experienced the only time in the Soviet Union that I was told, along with the others, that I could eat my fill, but how many water melons can you eat? I also recall trying to sell, home made 鈥榤ahorka鈥�, a type of cut tobacco. We were trying to sell it to the passing troops for food and clothing. To this day I know how to cut and dry tobacco. I learned to ride horses without a saddle. Horses were being brought in to the area to get fixed up for the Red Army. I spent some time in the 鈥楽olkhoz鈥� (state farm) several miles away. In the 鈥楽olkhoz鈥� one was paid wages, rather than the 鈥榳ork days鈥� of the kolkhoz.

But we were getting poorer. Our possessions which had any bartering value were going fast, and the remainder were already patched and in need of renewal. My mother seemed unable to find extra work. I talked to her years later, and she told me 鈥淚 wish I had not been so stubborn in sticking to my principles and had joined the party.鈥� When I asked her when she had been asked to join the Communist party, she replied, 鈥渢hey started in Martuk鈥�.

Many rumours were circulating. We were desperate for any news which may improve our lot. There were even those who, not knowing the true nature of the Germans, hoped that they would overrun the Soviets. There were also great expectations of the Americans and British interceding on our behalf. But any the news that gave us hope was welcome. Our lot was desperate (things were even worse for my aunt Halina, and my half brothers Zigmund and Tadeusz, who had also been 're-settled' to Kazakhstan).

I found myself sitting on top of a fully laden lorry with my mother. There was nothing to hold on to but our few possessions, and each other. The road was full of pot holes and the driver was in a hurry. We were leaving Ribakovka, and the Kolkhoz Red Star, headed back to Martuk where we stayed for a period. My mother had decided that 'we' must leave the Soviet Union. Strong rumours were circulating that Stalin had approved the formation of a Polish army to be armed and supplied by the allies, and to be stationed in the Middle East. In the Soviet Union absolutely no one could travel farther than the boundaries of the local authorities without a pass. I have a very nebulous recollection of trying to obtain a pass, and the difficulties we had as I was not of 鈥榗all up鈥� age. They were allowing people to join the Polish army providing they were of 鈥榗all up鈥� age.

I remember being at the railway station with my mother and seeing trains with many Poles crammed in the wagons passing through towards Yangiy么l (a border town housing a transit camp for Poles to the South West of Toshkent). I do not remember getting a pass. We went to the station and I have a vague recollection that we were intending to board the train 鈥榦n spec鈥�. There wasn鈥檛 room for both of us and I was pushed in to a carriage by my mother when one of the trains stopped for a short period. I do not remember how I felt. Probably the excitement of it all was overwhelming. Thus the next chapter of my wartime experiences began. When I asked my mother about it much later in Prudnik, all she did was to shrug her shoulders.

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