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This story was added to the People's war website by Marie on behalf of Wiktor Ottembrajt. Wiktor has given his permission and understands the site's terms and conditions.

I was born in Poland in 1934 and born in Wolyn Krzemienec.

Russia and Germany made a treaty and split Poland and because I was nearest to the Russian border I was taken to Russia.

In February 1940, 3am a Russian soldier and civilian came and knocked on the door. Father opened the door and we knew what was going on. He told them to come in because they had a gun and they came in and told us straight away that we had three hours to pack — not too much — and get ready to leave. We asked where they were taking us and they said they didn’t know.

By 7am we left the house on two sledges — Father, Mother and us six children — me and two brothers, three sisters. So we went to the station and they loaded us onto a metal goods wagon with a tiny window on one side. They’d arranged it so they could fit six families inside with a fire in the middle and a bucket (for a toilet) We were on that train for nearly three weeks because they were taking us to North Russia and in Poland we have wider railway tracks and in Russia they had narrower tracks and single lines so we’d have to wait for Army trains to go through etc. There wasn’t much food, sometime we got it, sometimes we didn’t. There was no water, we had to use snow. To me, looking back, it was like how quickly could they get rid of us so we weren’t their enemy anymore as the majority of the Poles on that train were soldiers in the First World War , still young men and reservists, a possible threat. So the more of us died on the way, the better. But we survived. All the families were like well you’ve got a little bit of this, we’ve got a little of that so we’ll share it.

When the train stopped because it was the end of the line, we had to go to the private house of people in the village overnight and then in the morning on the sledges again to a village in the forest. There there was a barracks built for us. For me as a child, I was then six and a half, it was very good. They looked after me in Russia — Uktym Wioska. I went 7 o’clock in the morning to the nursery, and I finished at 7 o’clock at night. My parents worked the same hours and they collected me after work. For me and my brother because we were young, to go to school was very good.

The Christmas of 1940 we were there and they gathered all the children and gave us food and asked if we believed in God. As a child, what do you say? Yes because that’s what your mother and father teach you, you went to church. So they said, hmm, if you believe in God ask God to give you sweets. So we did and nothing happened. And then they made us ask Batyushka (Grandad) Stalin’s portrait on the wall — so we had to do that and suddenly the ceiling opened and sweets fall down on us. They asked us who is better your God or Stalin. Of course we say Batyushka Stalin because he gave us sweets. And that’s how they got us to say God is no good. And we couldn’t say that our parents prayed — they’d have to do it at night when the children were all sleeping and we couldn’t see them because if we were asked, as a child you don’t lie — mostly anyway. My brother was asked if my mother prayed at home and he said yes, thought nothing of it and she was punished.

Then in 1941 amnesty came as Germany turned on Russia. We had General Sikorski made a treaty to take Polish people out of Russia, but the journey wasn’t Russia back to home. We went from North Russia up to the Caspian Sea and it wasn’t pleasant. We left in January as far as I can remember — again sledge to station and then onto wagons. Better wagons this time, passenger ones, third class but still not good and off we went for nearly three months. Again no real food because the army needed food, and civilians, especially Poles they didn’t worry about too much. So what we did eat — often on the stations there were heaps of food for horses and cows. They called it makuch it was very hard and frozen and we would take a piece but you had to be careful because you were stealing from the Government and they could beat you or kill you and nothing would be said about it. So you would pinch a little bit and get back onto the wagon and chew it. If the cows could eat it and the horses could it, no poisons so surely no poisons for us. That’s the attitude of us youngsters.

If you got ill though they didn’t look after you at all. If they stopped the train at a station and asked if people were sick in this wagon and you said yes, they would say to put them on the other side and then open the door in the back and get them out, throw them onto the snow and that was it. The train would move out. One mother said she couldn’t leave her son — I think it was her only child — so she jumped with him. Afterwards she did catch up with us though. But that was their attitude to us though, if you’re sick, goodbye.

We were being taken to Uzbekistan. The journey was very bad and people were dropping likes flies as you say here in England. But we survived and we ended up in a small station — Karasu. There they dispersed families to different villages. Our parents had to work. Hard work. No work, no food. Unless you had a high temperature you had to work. Bad headache you worked, if you fainted you got a bucket of water over you to revive you. We just had to try and survive, it wasn’t easy. The food was very scarce, even for me as a child it was very little. I still got to go to school but completely different to what it was like in Russia. In Russia I could eat almost as much as I liked, but over there, completely different story, no food. We got 20g of bread a day — if you weigh out your sliced bread you’ll see how much that is — one slice of bread. It wasn’t baked properly — it was like glue. I’d take it, roll it in my little hand and think what am I going to do with it? Eat it now or leave it for later? Once I saved it, put it under the pillow at someone’s house and it was taken. So next time, no I ate it straight away so at least I got that bit.

My parents decided that three of us — the youngest ones — should go to the orphanage. In Karasu there was a Polish army forming and a lot of the children coming on the trains, their parents died so they took them over there. And they thought we can’t feed them here in the village, no chance and so my mother took us to the Polish orphanage. She didn’t want to leave us, but what can you do? That was on a Sunday, the one day you didn’t work. She left us crying but what can you do? The lady in the orphanage so don’t worry, they will look after them, they can’t leave them out on the road. But it was hard. You had to be careful, there wasn’t much to eat and we became like skin and bones. If you’ve seen the camps in Yugoslavia and they looked like shadows, same with us. Two things I remember, there was a beautiful girl — she must be about six years old, maybe not even that old, lying under the hedge. And she’s dying and there was nothing we could do. She had bad diarrhoea and there was no medicine and she died there under the hedge, not even in the tent. Another boy tried to steal something from the Uzbek people and they beat him so hard he went crazy and was running around and he died as well.

A lot of people were in the same situation. We would eat anything and I mean anything. I was walking behind the locals and if they eat apple and drop the core I would grab it. Maybe waiting two hours for it. Cats and dogs, anything moving, been eaten. We didn’t see any of them. They built a ten foot fence of mud and glass on top and kept us out. It was very bad times. Then they moved us closer to the Caspian Sea and from Karasu we went on a train to Tashkent and had to wait for a ship to come and take us to Persia as it was then. 2 or 3 days just sitting in the open air, people everywhere, trying to find some shade. We were back with our parents then until we got to the boat and they said children first so all the children from all the orphanages nearby we went first on the ship to Persia, Gachlevi Port and there was a very long tent there. And they separated us — men in this tent, women and children other tent and you stripped naked. And it was hair off, and then a wash, seen by the doctors and you came out the other side and they gave you some clothes. One or two shirts and a pair of trousers. That’s what you got.

The danger was we’d become skin and bone. And we’d see the Arabs selling boiled eggs and onions, which seemed funny, and they’d say this in Russian so we’d understand — because it’s not far over the Caspian Sea and they knew the language. But we had no money as they confiscated it before we got on the boat. No money at all, we wouldn’t get it back, we wouldn’t need it. So there we were, seeing apples, all the other fruits but we couldn’t buy them as we had no money. But maybe on one hand it was right, because if we could buy what would we do? Eat them, get dysentery and goodbye. So they feed us lots of bread, jam and a little bit of cheese, something that we could gain weight and get our stomach to build up again. Otherwise, you eat too much and die more or less. So we stayed there for about two, three weeks and then we moved on. And as we moved on, my parents arrived. But we were on the lorries to Tehran, from there to Ahvaz then to India, near Bombay. Another camp was built and we were there waiting for a boat. We were there for three months and my parents arrived so we were all back together again, waiting to go to Africa. We went to Tanganika, today it’s Tanzania — the camp was Tengeru between Arusha and Moshi. I arrived in September 1942, I can’t remember the exact date and we stayed there for 8 years.

Over there was very good. I went to Polish school — we didn’t learn much English at all. We learned the local language because we were with them. Not at school, but we learned Swahili because we mingled with them , at the market, every day so we learned the language. We didn’t learn English because we never thought we’d be in your country after the war. We thought that when the war stopped in 1945, we’d go back to Poland but it wasn’t like that. The English Government were very good, looked after us, clothing, feeding — we even got our own farms to work on, earning a little bit of money - 30 shillings a month and then after that in 1946 they said that mothers with children could go to England if they had any parents, brothers in the Polish Army to join families together again. But we didn’t have anyone so we couldn’t go and everyone started to worry that we were going to have to stay in Africa and we didn’t want to. But then in 1950, the English Government said they would take the rest of the Polish people to England. Some of them had gone to Australia because the Australian Home Office came to Africa and did interviews but they wanted young people who could work, not still at school. Canada government came too, but again wanted those old enough to work and I was still at school. My sisters went though, they said we will try and get you to Canada. They went as nuns, looking after children and they asked the farmers if they could get our parents into Canada and they started looking into it, but we left for England in July and the papers came sometime in December so things had changed. We arrived in England in August, and me and my brother went to Polish school in Northamptonshire, between Kettering and Peterborough and we went there for three years.

After I finished at school, my certificate wasn’t valid as the stamp was Scottish education and wasn’t valid in England which was a surprise. I was in a Polish camp near Trowbridge then until 1956 and then they closed the camp and told us we could have a council house or buy a house and my mother said we would have to buy a house so we saved and managed to do it. I worked in engineering and some of the people I worked with were a bit funny with me because we’d bought our house but we saved and went without going out, didn’t have a holiday for almost ten years. Almost all my money went on the house.

I liked dancing though and met my wife at a Polish dance in Southampton and six months later we were married. This was 1966, so soon be 40 years. We have two sons and grandchildren and I’m happy here. I’ve been to Poland but haven’t been able to see the place where I lived because it’s in the Ukraine in a part they said wasn’t safe.

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