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.

Next morning the evacuation of the German civilians and the 'Volksdeutsche' from Modlin and its surrounding areas started. The first to leave was the German schoolteacher, leaving her un-Germanised children behind. German peasant, imported here before as future master-race, were hurriedly packing their carts harnessed to two strong horses. The rest of their meat which they did not take with them was quickly sold. They were cursing the order to evacuate, they were cursing the war in general and Hitler in particular. The noise of butchered pigs and frightened sheep was everywhere whilst scared geese, holding their necks high and snapping at everyone, added to the confusion. The rich butchers were loading their goods and departing. There was nothing to be bought with coupons. The locals looked on in dismay. In the afternoon the occupants of the offices started to move out. The Modlin employment offices were packing their files on trucks. The locals were happy to see them go. We were all full of hope. The Poles were smiling, looking at the hasty packing and departure of the Germans. We were not quite free as yet. The army and military police were still there. The old peasants in Kosewo were shaking their heads doubtfully.
"It has already happened once,鈥� an old peasant leaning against the fence told us. "It was when the 'Russek' was coming near Warsaw. The Germans were running like hares. Everyone fled, not only the employment offices but also the military police and even part of the army. The fortress was quite empty, like a barn before the new season. We were certain that it was the end of the war. It lasted two days. The 'Russek' did not come and Germans started to return. Firs the army, then the military police and, after them, all their offices. Who knows, it might happen once again. I'll wait and see,鈥� said the old peasant.
The work at the airfield continued. The digging of bunkers and trenches had to be finished, this time in earnest. The Germans brought some Soviet war prisoners to speed up digging. When I was giving out shovels, I was astonished to hear them speak polish between themselves. They explained that they were taken into the army just at the beginning of the war when the Soviets had occupied east Poland. After only a few hours of training they were pushed to fight at the front and later on they were taken prisoners by the Germans. They showed me the new Polish currency which I had not seen as yet.
The roar along the Front continued. In the sky we saw more often Russian planes diving into the German hinterland. None of the German planes were taking off from our field. They were sitting around just like stuffed birds. They had no petrol, but the Front was definitely coming nearer. Sometimes the firing seemed to come from quite close by. Our labourers were climbing up the bank for a better look but the forests along the River Bug obstructed the view. During lunchtime the rumour was that the Soviets had taken Warsaw and were now advancing towards Nowy Dwor. We were all very happy as we were fed up with this hopeless situation. At last we could expect a change - at last the Front seemed to move.
In the evening, going home through the airfield, we saw many hurried movements on the airfield. The soldiers were leaving their bunkers, donning their helmets and taking up positions. Some were already sitting beside their guns, moving the barrels towards the sky. All observers were at their posts. We knew what to expect. We were still half a kilometre from the end of the airfield. We started running as fast as we could. In a very short while planes were above the airfield, turning and diving. We fell to the ground, crawling towards the nearest trench. The German artillery opened fire. The diving planes were shooting non-stop from their machine guns. I have only one memory from this raid-scared cows with their tails high up running around the field and the cowherd chasing them, trying to push them towards some shrubs, or home.
After the air raid Marushka came out of the trench irritable and angry. "I've had it. I can't stand it any longer. All this damned war, the planes, the bombs. I don't want to sit here any longer. It is beyond my strength. Zyg I can't - let us go away:" I started to explain that we had both decided to wait here until the Front passed us, that only then would we be able to go home, that coming to Poland had been hard enough but, if we left now, all we had been through would be for nothing.
"But I simply can't take it any more. We have been here nearly two months now. Every day is horrible and I can't see any end to it. My nerves can't take any more. I know I am going to pieces, being hysterical, but please understand - I can't take it any more" I tried to explain that the end was now quite near, that today I had been able to listen to the radio while in the locksmith's workshop. The Soviets had brought four new divisions to our part of the Front and they were trying to force the front along the Harew River. "Be patient, my darling, you have to face up to it just once more."
In the village we were met with more news. From some wounded Vikings we learned that the front was barely 25 kilometre away. Not only tank men arrived in our village, but also the infantry. Many tanks were smashed and the new ones had not arrived as yet. Now we were really full of hope. At last the end seemed near.
Unfortunately Marushka became ill. Maybe it was yesterday's raid when she, after running and being hot, was lying in the wet trenches. Her temperature was rising. By evening I could tell that she was seriously ill and in pain. Her temperature reached 40 degrees and was climbing. Worried, I went to the next village to ask for the doctor. The field hospital was already partly evacuated. I asked and begged the doctor to come but he refused as he had wounded soldiers who needed his immediate attention. I rushed back home and found Marushka worse. In desperation, I got her dressed and half-dragging, half-carrying, took her to the field hospital which was over 1 1/2 km away. The doctor agreed to see her. He thought it could be rheumatic fever and gave us a handful of quinine. It was the best he could do.
Marushka was reeling and swaying as we returned and I carried her most of the way. There was more room in the kitchen as the three women had left.
It was one of the gloomiest nights of my life. A cold autumn rain was falling outside. Marushka was lying on the straw-covered bed, the room was full of cooking steam, children played noisily beside her bed and she was moaning in pain. At the table sat some drunken soldiers waiting their turn for a haircut by Sylvester. Every time the door was opened the cold air filled the kitchen. I covered Marushka as best I could but damp cold air was even coming from the floor. It was late at night when at last we were left alone. Giving Marushka another dose of quinine, I sat at her feet. The firing from the front was nearer and louder.
At two in the morning even the earth started to tremble. The heavy concentration of the artillery fire seemed to tear the air apart. The wet windows were shaking and the door banged loudly with each new ear-shattering blast.
Marushka was breathing heavily, her eyes were shut, she was in pain and she did not reply to my questions.
I was seized by a hopeless despair. Gloomy thoughts entirely filled my mind. It was dark outside, the kitchen was dark, my thought were dark. The clock was ticking evenly. Odd how in times of dreary thoughts, in times of distress, I usually heard the measuring of time. I tried to push the thought away, the thought which was insistent, which was haunting me like a phantom in a dark night ... maybe Marushka ... no, I didn't want to think this word.
It sent cold shivers down my spine. I fell into a half-sleep, I started to drowse and my mind became numb, deadening my thoughts. I opened my eyes once again, looking through the window with unseeing eyes into the darkness, into the gloomy, hopeless night ... a dream ... a nightmare ... She is lying on the straw with a red rose between her white lips. A black Viking is twisting his skull in a dance full of frenzy, roaring a drunken song, flying bombs are changing into colourful fireworks, all heaven is ringing with the song of peace - a happy day is now to begin ... firework are bursting, standing between the dancing Vikings is their chaplain, also in black ... he is lifting a black cross and, instead of Christ, there is a large red star. Pending over the deathly pale Marushka, the chaplain is blessing ... PAX VOBISCUM ... PAX VOBISCUM ... REST IN PEACE ... REQUIESCAT IN PACE ... the choir joined in ... pacifist ... pacifist ... pacifist ... the Vikings were dancing around the black chaplain.
I woke up leaning against the bed - the grey morning mist was visible through the window. I bent over Marushka. Her face was covered in sweat, her damp hair covered part of her face, she was breathing more evenly and her sleep seemed very deep. The rain had stopped and the first golden sunrays were reaching the window, drying the droplets. The sounds from the Front were not so loud. Life was once again smiling at me.
A few more days passed and there was still no breakthrough at the Front. More and more army men arrived in the village. On the other side of Kosewo, near the airfield, the artillery was digging itself in. Every building was occupied by the army. We were now just behind the front lines.
Quinine was helping Marushka. She was still in pain, still very pale and weak but her eyes were shining again. If the weather was warm when I returned from work, I made her go outside and we would sit under the trees and make plans for the future. Marushka felt very strongly against waiting here for the Front to break. She had no faith in her strength. After the unsuccessful effort by the Soviet Army to break through on our front lines, we now had reasonably quiet days. The artillery was silent.
One day Soviet airplanes came. "They were flying slowly and very low. We wanted to run, but where to? There were no shelters. The airfield, full of planes, was very close, behind the orchard was the German artillery, tanks were standing in all the yards and the village was full of soldiers. We were leaning against the barn, its roof covered with straw. The first bombs started falling - clouds of dust rose. Marushka, frightened, grabbed my hand and we rushed back into the house. Everyone was leaning against the stove, the children were lying on the ground and Grandmother Wojciechowska was praying loudly. When the noise of the angry motors was straight overhead we hid our faces on each other's shoulders, a creepy feeling in the back. Maybe now? Marushka was holding my arm tightly, her fingers twitched nervously, her legs began to shake, her teeth rattled as in a fever. At last I understood that she would be unable to sit here and wait as she was heading for a breakdown. When from the flight-deck the machine guns started cutting down the leaves and branches of our cherry tree, we all fell to the ground. Seconds and minutes passed, the detonations receded, the raid was over. In our village many were killed and wounded.
Next morning many new evacuees arrived in our village. Among them were relatives of Grandmother. They arrived from the other side of the Bug River - the peasants from that village had decided to flee with all their possessions without waiting for any orders. The Front once again became so active that there was no hope of crossing the front lines. We were now very crowded. In the small kitchen there now lived eighteen people. There was no seating space left. As Marushka wanted to talk with me, we went into the barn which was empty. While I was at work she had spoken with one of the soldiers, Mr. Oswald Goch. He was German but brought up in Poland, in Poznan. His parents became Volksdeutsche and were now living in a small town in Wurtenberg, Germany near the Swiss border. He told Marushka how beautiful and quiet this place of his parents was the beauty of the hilly scenery near the Swiss Alps, far away from all war activities.
He tried to talk Marushka into going there. He was prepared to write a letter to his parents recommending us - to his father who had influential connections. Other Poles, were already working there.
When Marushka had finished, we both fell quiet. I stretched out on the hay, looking at the roof.
鈥淶测驳鈥�
"What?"
"Are we going?鈥�
"Where?"
鈥淭丑别谤别.鈥�
"Why, what is waiting for us there?"
"Peace, hills, the Bodensee."
"And hard work too."
"Don't we work here, even worse, under bombing and shelling."
"Do you really want to go very much?" "Very much! I can't stay here, I'll go really mad." "OK. Maybe you are right, if we go it might be better to go as far as possible away from this hell. Alright, we will go" "Truly? We will really go away?" Marushka jumped to her feet, her eyes shining as she hugged me, hanging on my neck. The decision was taken.
To realise her wish was not so easy. Free travel was long ago suspended in Germany. There was only one way left - to again get some fictitious documents, some travel orders directing IDs to that particular part of Germany. The only person who would be able to do this was Captain Bueller. He was a soft-hearted man and easily influenced by females. Marushka could achieve it and, in addition, her fluent German language would be of considerable help. We decided to tell him the truth.

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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