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The following story appears courtesy of and with thanks to Marushka (Maria) and Zygmunt Skarbek-Kruszewski and George (Jurek) Zygmunt Skarbek.

The future of my friends from the University mentioned in this letter varied greatly:
1. "Guga" (Druto) - wife of the future Ambassador in Paris and Rome.
2. "Muta" (Pziewicka) - became Chairman of the Polish Women's Society in the Polish People's Republic.
3. "Henryk" (Debinski) - previous leader of Catholic youth, afterwards leader of the left academic movement, a journalist and a brilliant orator. He was shot by the Germans as a communist.
4. "Robespierre" (Jedrychowski) - civic leader of the youth, editor of the academic Press. Became Minister of Shipping and Foreign Trade, chairman of the planning commission, Finance Minister, afterwards Minister of Foreign Affairs and also Deputy Prime Minister of the Polish People's Republic.
5. "Wladek" (Tilebowicz) - administrator of the editorial office for academic and left Press. Interrogated and tortured to death by the Gestapo.
Next morning, going to work, I mailed the letter to my friend. I was supervising the decoration of the large marble hall for a ball that evening which was to be included in the new Russian film called "Lithuanian Spring".
In the evening the ballroom looked splendid. The crystal candelabra were sparkling, colourful balloons and lampions hung everywhere. Multi-coloured streamers were floating from the balconies, confetti falling softly on gala-dressed dancers blond Lithuanians, ladies in national costumes, Russian women in berets and short skirts. Among this bright crowd Red Army men in uniform mingled with guests in black tails.
The filming team arrived from Moscow. Cameramen on large platforms covered with filming equipment came into the hall with blinding bright lights. The producer was organising people for the foreground nearer to the camera. Marushka, a bit shy, with a few other ladies in long evening gowns, was chosen. The instruction was that Marushka, dancing with me, had to move towards the camera. The producer gave a signal with his hand and the filming started. The orchestra played a Strauss waltz and we were dancing towards the receding camera, lit by bright reflectors and covered with a rain of confetti. Next we had to go laughing down the large marble stairs towards the eye of the camera. When all the required episodes were filmed, the ball came to an end. We were ready to leave when I was called to Comrade Colonel, Chief of the Red Army House, and ordered to organise, immediately, the cleaning of the ballroom as the room would be required again the same night. The maintenance staff, working during the night, would have the next day off.
Going home I saw many covered lorries driving about in different directions. Next morning we heard the alarming news: Deportation!!!
Arriving at work I met men in navy trousers and grey tunics, also some unknown civilians. The ballroom was full of stale tobacco smoke. The assembled desks were covered with many folders containing lists of names for deportation. Telephones were ringing everywhere. Guards were posted at all doors. Here was now the head office and on the railway station people were already being assembled for the first transport. Some of our employees did not return to work. Life in Lithuania became drab and people stopped sleeping peacefully. The "Lithuanian Spring" lost its smile.
Some time later two huge pictures arrived from Moscow. One showed manoeuvres of the Red Army under the command of Marshal Timoshenko, the other was of Stalin addressing the Supreme Soviet General Assembly. It was not an easy task to hang them in the main front salon. Later I had a much harder job as we received from Russia two monuments made of reinforced concrete. One represented a mariner, the other a border guard with a dog. They arrived in parts and had to be assembled. They were so heavy that I had trouble just lifting the mariner's forearm holding his binoculars. The director, Comrade Karmin, gave me orders to put both sculptures in front of the main entrance. I hired bricklayers and stonecutters, specialist monumental masons.
They built pedestals and started assembling. I had orders to have everything ready by the 23rd June. Only a few days were left and my mariner had still no body, the other one had no head. The next day it was raining and work could not continue. I was angry and in a bad mood knowing that an unpleasant reprimand was in store for me. Straight after tea I went to sleep in our bed behind the wardrobe.
It was the night of the 21st of June 1941...
We were woken up by rifle shots and explosives. We jumped to our feet. We were no longer accustomed to this kind of noise. We rushed to the windows, opening them slightly. A familiar sound from the German/Polish campaign - the deep drone of bombers. Nervously, Marushka adjusted her glasses. We were watching the bomber fighters which were flying very high and wondering where the shots were coming from. Again we heard a cannonade. Simultaneously there appeared in the sky many tiny white clouds. We looked at each other - we understood. The planes were being fired at, therefore they were enemy planes.
Who was the enemy? ... We knew - the same one which in 1939, also at dawn, also without declaring war, crossed our Polish frontiers.
The planes departed. Hurriedly I switched on the radio to hear news from Berlin. "Attention! Attention! An important announcement will be made soon." Military march music in the background and shortly we heard Mr. Ribbentrop, Foreign Minister of the Reich. He announced that, in defiance of the Fuehrer’s previous warning to the U.S.S.R., the Russians had amassed all their military power along the frontier lines. The order to attack had been given to protect Europe against communism. As from that day, the German Reich was at war with the U.S.S.R.
When I arrived at work I found many employees crowding the doors of the radio cabin listening to Molotov who spoke about the treacherous attack by the Germans, calling the Soviet people for intensified efforts to defend their country.
Later on the director called all employees together and advised us to stay at work, to work harder for the good of ... etcetera, etcetera ... but nobody worked much that day. People in larger or smaller groups were discussing the recent events.
Next day there came rumours that Germans had crossed the frontier and were advancing. Some high-ranking officers arrived at the Red Army House, many orderlies rushing around in dusty boots - many liaison officers.
When I entered the room of the duty officer I found a young woman lying on a bench. Her nightdress was torn and bloody and she was covered with a dressing gown. Her hair was dishevelled, her eyes were feverish and scared and she had no shoes.
Her slight wounds were dressed and we put her on a field bed in the ballroom. She was the first wounded evacuee to reach Kaunas. She told me that she was the wife of a Soviet officer and they had been living near the German border. The German attack was so unexpected that she had just managed to run away without dressing and hide in the forest. Afterwards she had found a road and continued running, with German tanks not very far behind. A car stopped and gave her a lift to Kaunas.
Now events moved quickly. Already by midday the order came to evacuate Kaunas. Private cars, packed to full capacity with people and luggage, were tooting along the streets passing dusty trucks. Cars started arriving in front of D.K.A. to pick up the families of officers and their belongings. Colonel Kadmin and some officers loaded the most important documents and the money from the strong box. The civilian employees were standing around and just watching the departing Soviets.
The building became empty. Comrade Colonel Kadmin entered the car and, giving the keys from the building, said, "Keep safe, Comrade Kruszewski. We will return to Lithuania." (At the time I did not realise how prophetic these words were). In seconds his car was lost from view. The people dispersed and I was left on the stairs. Beside me were the two unfinished sculptures; the border guard without a head and half the mariner. The cement in the trough began to set.
All that night the heavy traffic continued, only easing off in the morning. The permanent inhabitants watched and waited. Only here and there could we see tired Red Army soldiers and only occasionally a car with people and luggage - mainly Jewish evacuees.
In the afternoon some armed men appeared in the streets. They were rushing around singly or in groups. Across their chests hung belts with ammunition, they had rifles in their hands, and an armband in colours - gold/red/green. They were Lithuanian partisans. Later on we heard shots - sometimes single ones, sometimes a burst of a machine gun, also sounds of breaking glass. The time to plunder was getting ripe. On the other side of the street someone was smashing the window of a large wine shop. The windowpane broke and first a few men, and then more, entered through the hole, returning the same way laden with bottles.
At that time there was no authority in Kaunas. For marauders it was a golden opportunity to loot. I returned to D.K.A. The storeroom was already empty. The kitchen floor was covered with cream. There were also empty, broken vodka bottles, but no people. They had probably enjoyed the night here. The house was empty. Only in the boiler room did I find a man in a drunken sleep. I went up the white marble stairs. In the marble hall where such a short while ago the big ball had been in progress there was now only the echo of my steps. I looked at the furniture and pictures which I had so recently purchased, visited the hothouse where, amid the quiet of the palms and flowers, a tap was dripping. The goldfish were swimming erratically, opening and closing their little mouths. Everyone had forgotten them. I changed the water and attended to them. This was my last 'official function' in the House of the Red Army. I went down to the office, took my personal file out of the cabinet and, putting in into my pocket, left this house for the last time.
I had nothing to do here. No-one for whom to protect the property. I was an outsider in this country. I gave the keys to the drunken watchman before leaving the building.
In front of the building was a group of people watching some partisans who were smashing the unfinished sculptures. The mariner was already smashed to bits.
When going home, neighbours told me about the partisans who were entering houses and executing Red Army soldiers in hiding; also Jews and people who were on the Red Army payroll. While we were having tea and discussing what might happen, I saw through the window a group of partisans running towards our house. I thought they were the ones who had been in front of the Red Army House. Suddenly a thought struck me. They had found the address of the commandant — me, and were coming for me thinking me a Russian, especially as I could not speak Lithuanian. Explanations would do no good in these times. They were young Lithuanian chauvinists, angry and drunk. They would execute me on the spot and ask questions later. There was no time to lose. "I have to run," I called to my wife and in-laws and ran towards the kitchen where I jumped out through the window into the backyard. Going over the neighbour's fence, I saw Marushka, rather pale, shutting the window after me.
Going through a few more backyards, I came to Stalin's Boulevard. I stopped at the gate and looked around. The street was covered with smashed plaster busts of Stalin and tattered portraits of commissars and marshals of the Soviet Union. The shop which had been selling them had broken windows and an empty interior. Further away, near the corner, a group of partisans were arguing but they soon disappeared. I decided to go to our farm, Karmelowo. Crossing the street I passed the old cathedral and turned towards Parados Street. Here, at the foot of the hill, was an empty Soviet tank, spent cartridges all around it. From the hill came sounds of firing. In the park the Reds were still fighting. I came to the trees in the 'Green Hill' and was just ready to duck between the trees when a voice called out, "Stop." Looking around I saw, leaning from behind a tree, a partisan in the uniform of a railway employee. His rifle was pointing at me. I stopped. He ordered me to raise my hands, which I did. He came close and, providing my stomach with the barrel of his rifle, ordered me to show my identification papers.
I was lucky - he seemed a reasonable man. I gave him my documents and answered as well as I could in Lithuanian. He checked all documents, examined my passport and asked my address. He certainly was a better clerk than a partisan as, when examining my papers, he put his rifle against the tree before checking if I possessed arms. I could have silenced him with one blow of my fist. But why should I do it? He let me go anyway but would not allow me to continue in the previous direction. I had to return to town. I went back as far as the first turn and, when the partisan could not see me, turned to my intended direction but, being more cautious, I was now going through different backyards using, whenever possible, holes in the fences to squeeze through. At last I reached the highway. On the highway I spotted a group of partisans. They were searching someone. I dropped into the ditch and crawled slowly to the adjoining rye field. A few kilometres further on I could already see the forest which continued right to Karmelowo. I began to hurry when, unexpectedly, I heard rifle shots. The whine of the bullets was very close, just above my head. I realised that someone was shooting at me. I fell to the ground, hugging the earth. My heart was beating wildly. After a while the shooting stopped. Slowly I raised my head to have a look. About 400 metres away, leaning against a house, was a group of partisans. I could hear them laughing. They were not following me. They were drinking - probably moonshine - straight from the bottle. Crouching in the rye field, I continued towards the forest. I had only another 70 metres to go but this last part was quite devoid of any shelter. It was a freshly mowed meadow. I decided to risk it and sprinted as fast as I could towards the forest. Immediately the shooting started again but the bullets were whistling past and I reached the first trees. The partisans were probably too drunk to take good aim.
After a few hours walk through dense, bushy undergrowth, I reached our house on the hill. The white shutters were closed. I wondered if everyone had left. I went round the house and was joyously greeted by our dogs. The kitchen door was opened slowly by my cousin. In seconds I was in the kitchen. Everyone came to the kitchen, hugging me and asking for news.
"Are the Germans already in Kaunas? Why is it so quiet? Where is the Front?" I was asked. They told me that, during the last day and night, the highway was covered with the retreating Soviet Army, with masses of civilian evacuees and many Jews, who were going by trucks, by horse-drawn carriages, and even walking. Local residents of the nearby village fled into the forest. The little village was empty as all were in hiding.
There were also rumours about heavy fighting near Wilno as, coming from the south, the German Army had supposedly broken through the Front near Suwalki.
I thought about it during the night. In Wilno was my widowed mother with our son Jurek (George) and my three old aunts. They lived, unprotected, in a large house on the outskirts of Wilno, far away from other dwellings. There was nothing I could do here. To return to Kaunas seemed premature. I decided to go to Wilno as it was only 100 kilometres away.

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'This story was submitted to the People’s War site by ´óÏó´«Ã½ Radio Merseyside’s People’s 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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