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.

We slept dead-to-the-world and, feeling rested, the next morning left Rowno at dawn. The morning was cold and misty. The streets were lined with black, smouldering cinders from the previous bombing. On some fences were placards and, although dirty with smoke, they still colourfully displayed scenes of thousands of planes flying to the West and huge tanks smashing German fortifications. I remembered the first days in Warsaw. Propaganda and Reality. What a deceptive picture they represented now. Where are our planes, our powerful tanks? Alas, only on posters.
After leaving Rowno, the highway led north. We had 400 km before us. Our destination, although very far, was quite definite. As it was not hot yet, we could walk fast. Upon reaching the main highway we started to see more evacuees, the majority of them also walking - some choosing small side tracks and some peasant carts drawn by tired, scraggy horses, laden to the top. It was not possible to get a lift. The evacuees flowed down the highway, some singly, some in groups and even in columns. Some were fleeing the Front, others were returning home. Most were looking for a way out of this snare which the zig-zagging broken Front line had created.
It was impossible to get any kind of food. The villages and hamlets were stripped clean of food and their inhabitants irritated and tired by constant demands for food. Some even refused a drink of water.
In the afternoon, already fairly tired, we arrived in Aleksandria. We rested on the steps of a beer hall. We were covered with sweat and dirt and our eyes were sore. We felt rather pessimistic. We had made 20 km with another 380 to go.
I still had a few hundred zloty. Maybe we could hire a cart? Marushka went to look around. In the meantime I took out all my maps which I had acquired in Warsaw and began to study our route. I found Aleksandria and noted with astonishment that it was situated on the River Horyn. I glanced around, looking for the river. Only now did I notice the landscape. This partly burned, poor, eastern type little town lay on a gentle rise surrounded by meadows. Through the meadows wound a wavy line of trees and bushes, almost hiding with their green canopy the silvery waters of the Horyn River.
Near the town, along the river, was a very large park. Behind old oaks and chestnut trees I could see white walls of an old manor. I looked back to the map which I was holding between my legs. In the beginning the Horyn made a turn to the west but, after a few bends, flowed straight north and joined the Pripet River in the same direction as our route to Wilno. Maybe we could float down the Horyn? This possibility seemed very attractive; therefore I was not disappointed with the news Marushka brought. Nobody would give us a horse as the army was taking horses from the roads. Also nobody would leave their home as one did not know if once one departed, one would be able to return.
Somebody had been able to get a horse and cart the day before to go to Kostopol, 30 km away, and it had cost 1,000 zloty! In reply I showed Marushka the map and told her about the intended project, pointing out the advantages. Firstly, we would have our own cheap transport and, secondly, we would not use the overcrowded ways and therefore not be depleted of food by evacuees. Besides, going by boat is a very pleasant sport.
"Just think," I was saying, full of enthusiasm, "no dust, no highway, no bombs. Instead of bombers, cranes will be soaring above our heads - instead of submarines, trout will whisk past and a violet moon will shine on the flood. In our hollowed out trunk we, hugging each other, will float on like lovers in a cheap romance."
Marushka accepted my project. I don't know if she was influenced by the vision of the cranes or the absence of submarines but she accepted it happily.
With the decision made, we felt a return of energy. I put my maps away and, holding hands, we went in search of a boat as without it our plans would fail. Near the park stood a hovel thrown together from charred boards, the roof made with old, rusted iron sheets. Through the wall stuck a metal pipe from which smoke was coming. We came nearer. A thin woman in a dirty blouse was cooking something in oil and the smell of fish was very strong. With her sleeves she constantly cleaned her eyes as they, were weeping from the smoke coming from the stove straight into her face. In the; corner of this room was a plank bed covered with straw and pillows. A small fir table completed the furnishing of this shanty. In front of the hut, small children were playing. Before the shanty stood a crate, turned upside down, and on it sat an old fisherman with a pipe in his mouth.
I turned to him and, without any preliminaries, asked "Mister, I was told that you have a boat for sale and would like to buy it."
He did not reply immediately but looked at his wife, then at me, gave a few puffs on his pipe, spat over his left shoulder, wiped his moustache with his sleeve, and asked me in a heavy Ukrainian dialect "Where would you be from?"
"From Warsaw.鈥�
"Why do you need a boat?"
I told him about our plans, explaining how hard it would be to continue our travels by foot.
"It will be hard-going with a canoe on the Horyn. She is a lazy river - there is hardly any current."
"Is she deep?"
"Deep she is, very deep. One can't reach the bottom."
Offering him a cigarette, I came to business.
"So what about this canoe?"
"She is not a real canoe but she can go on the Horyn. Yes, I do have one."
"Would you sell her?"
"First you should look at her. Maybe you won't like her."
"Where is she? Far?"
"There, under the bushes near the river."
"Could we have a look?"
"If you want to, we can go."
He got up heavily, filled his pipe, took a piece of coal from the fire which he put into the pipe, again gave a few puffs, spat, and turned towards the river. He pointed out to us the dugout canoe that was lying upside down in the bushes. I had a look. Her bottom looked old and showed damage, here and there patched with iron sheets. I turned her over. It was a hollowed-out log from some big tree, dark with age. Very primitive. She reminded one more of a trough, than a boat.
"Is she leaking?" I asked, looking with distrust at some rotten boards.
"Maybe she will let a few drops through. She dried out in the sun but, after some time in the water, she should hold."
"How much do you want?" I asked, kicking the bottom with my shoe. Instead of replying, he first gave a few more puffs, spat again and asked cautiously, "How much will you give?"
"I don't know鈥� I replied honestly. "I have never bought a boat in my life."
He thought for a while, scratching his head.
"Say thirty zloty. Will that be too much?"
鈥淎ll right," I agreed immediately, " but you should add oars.鈥�
He seemed quite happy. He was expecting to have to haggle about the price. Now he replied immediately.
"An oar is lying behind me but and I will even add a punting pole for pushing." The business was completed. Our project now became a reality. Going back to the house, I asked the fisherman to whom the park and manor belonged.
"Here lives the great lord, Prince Lubomirski. This is Aleksandria."
"Is it a great property?"
"He owns thousands of acres, many farms, spread through three counties. He is a great man. Even the senior constable greets him with a deep bow."
"You are neighbours?" I asked, smiling, as his shanty stood right behind the park fence.
He replied with bitterness, "It is not an easy life with such a neighbour. He is not much of a man - he is a bloody aristocrat."
"Was it your hut which burned down?" I asked, pointing to the charred remains of a nearby hut.
"Yes, all my homestead burnt down."
"Surely not now, during the war?"
Sitting down on the upturned wooden box, he started to tell his story. "It would be nearly a year ago when there was a great fire in Aleksandria. Most of the houses and huts were burned down. Only the palace of the Prince remained. It was a great disaster for us. I, my wife and seven children were left with only the clothes on our bodies and without a roof. We went to the Mayor for help. In the shire they gave all of us some money and people started to rebuild their homes. I also wanted to build a hut but the council would not give me a permit."
"Why not? I asked, astonished.
"The Prince had forbidden it. He wanted to extend his park and our hut was in the way. Then, when the hut burned down he used this opportunity and told the council not to give a permit for building."
I could not believe it. "How can he? It is your land, isn't it?"
"Mine and not mine. My grandfather lived here but they say that, according to the law, it is serf's land - it is ours but belongs to the Prince."'
"But you have to live somewhere. They must give you land somewhere else."
He gave an ironic smile. "I went to many offices, even to the Voivode (title of the head of an administrative division). I wanted to fall on my knees before the Prince. And what? Nothing. The Voivode sent me to the council and, from there, they sent me to the Prince. The Prince did not speak to me.
鈥淲ho am I? Just a peasant the Prince does not speak with such.
鈥淚n the kitchen of the palace they told me to go to the administrator. I went there. The administrator was polite - I can't say otherwise. He asked me to sit down, looked in the books and explained;
"How much land have you got?"
"Seven and a half acres," I told him.
"Then you will get ten, but not here," he told me. "You will leave this land, man, because the Prince needs it. We will give you another piece of land across the river near the rectory."
"I don't care,鈥� I said, 鈥渁s long as the land is not worse than this one."
"This you will have to settle with the priest. He is a good man you know, the priest. I will give you a paper and the priest will allot the land. His land also belongs to the Prince, like yours. Everything will be alright."
I thanked him many times and went home to share the good news with my wife.

颁辞苍迟颈苍耻别诲鈥︹赌�
'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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