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 stopped at a small hut with stone steps. Ripe cherries hung above the roofs and vines covered small curtained windows. In the garden grew fruit trees, beans climbed up a broken fence and there were also some flowers which looked lost between the high weeds. Next to the cottage was a little old barn and, added to it, was a tiny pigsty. The last of the buildings was an outside toilet covered with rotting planks. This was the property of Grandmother Wojciechowska where we had the great fortune to find shelter thanks to the friendly Sylvester. Grandmother Wojciechowska accepted us very hospitably. This lonely old woman had a golden heart. She made us immediately feel welcome.
"My dear God, how much road you have covered. What is the war doing? Oh Holy Mother, our Protectress. I also was once in Warsaw with my late husband, Stanislaw, during the time of the Tsar. Such a beautiful town and now all the beauty is burning." She was chatting animatedly as she asked us into the kitchen. In the small kitchen was an iron bed, some stools under the window and a shelf for pots. The stove, which was not in use, was covered with old newspaper. Grandmother brought from her dower chest a large pillow embroidered with red sweet peas and put it on the bed for our use.
When we were in bed we could hear mooing of cows returning for milking from the pasture and crickets playing outside the window in the bushes, a soothing, peaceful feeling came over us - only in our dreams were we pursued by memories of fighting Warsaw.
During the next few days we had one wish only - to have a few days of peace and food in this charming, hospitable hamlet. Let the Front stay for a week where it was at present.
With half of our remaining money we bought a goose. What a feast that was. We finished the lot in one sitting, adding plenty of new potatoes. Happy and replete, we went to sleep on the grass in the shade of the ripening cherry tree.
In the evening, when the sun was setting behind the river, we climbed up the cherry tree and stuffed ourselves full with the sweet fruit. Grandmother Wojciechowska used to come and sit on the stone steps and murmur her evening prayers. Hens and chickens came into the kitchen to look for crumbs. A peaceful dusk covered the village. At this time of the evening one could already see the big red glow of burning Warsaw. The day ended, Grandmother, leaning on a cane, closed her little barn and pigsty. Coming back she looked at the red glow in the sky and, crossing herself, sighed deeply and murmured "I was there at the time of the Tsar. Such a beautiful city. Oh my God, Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven."
The days passed quickly. The wheat was already reaped, the cherries gone. The first days of September 1944 came. Five years of a long war.
Next morning, the army arrived in the village. Near the draw-well a kitchen was assembled, surrounded by trucks of provisions. Tired soldiers were billeted in the local houses. Two German noncoms were billeted in our house in Sylvester's room.
They talked little and avoided speaking about the Front. We only learned from them that a larger strength of the Soviet Army was forcing its way through north of Warsaw. They had no detailed news - the German papers did not reach that far, polish newspapers did not exist and no-one had a radio in the village. Everything was based on rumours. But something must have been happening. At night we could hear louder than usual detonations from the direction of Warsaw. (from the highway the sound of tanks was continuous. Next day the village elders announced that all adults had to go digging trenches four kilometres away near Szczypiozna village.
In the evening Sylvester brought news that all the people in Nowy Dwor had also received orders to dig trenches near the fortress. It was rumoured that the Russians had forced the Front and were advancing towards Modlin. There was no end to all the rumours, mostly full of panic. Some people ran away to the forests but days passed and the Front did not come nearer. The military police became more persistent - they were making round-ups, checking houses. Every morning at dawn men were herded together and sent to dig trenches. Each day I found it harder to stay in hiding but we did not want to leave this village. It was good to be there - we already knew most of the inhabitants, we had a roof over our heads and enough food. Our intention was to stay until the Front passed us and then return back home. We were certain that it could not last long - perhaps a few weeks at the most. We even decided what we would do. When the Front came to Modlin we would hide in the forests until the German Army retreated and then start on the way back home. Again a few days passed. The heavy cannonade had stopped. The airplanes were again covered and the soldiers left the village. It became quiet again. People were disappointed - it seemed that the war would never finish. Only the military police were as busy as before and the digging of trenches continued. Through pressure from above, the police became more active, hunting people more and more. I could not keep on hiding much longer. We had to think of something. If there was no way out of work, at least I must find work which paid something. Digging trenches was not paid, not even food was provided.
Our nearest neighbour was Marysia who worked as a cook in the kitchen near the airport. She told us about the conditions of work and advised us "Put your names down for work at the airport. You will be paid and the food provided as well and those who work at the airfield are exempt from digging trenches."
The next day we went to the barracks at the airfield. Marysia was just preparing dinner for the working force. The rich cooking smell was very pleasing. Thanks to her we were introduced to the chef. As it happened he was a Pole which made it a lot easier. Mr. Cwiczkowicz, called the chef, was strictly speaking an overseer of the working force and, at the same time, looking after the provisions. As I learned later, he was a Polish officer who became a P.O.W. where he enrolled on lists of the 'Volksdeutsch' (Poles who could claim that any of their ancestors were of German origin) and was discharged as a P.O.W. thanks to a long dead German grandmother.
Our ambitions were very modest. My wife asked to be employed in the kitchen, helping peel potatoes. I said that my general knowledge qualified me for the work of an 'unqualified' labourer. But thanks to the friendly Mr. Cwiczkowicz we got very good positions. Marushka was to be employed in the office as an interpreter and clerk/typiste and I became a leading hand.
The firm for which we were now going to work was called grandly Strasseribau-Ovander-Fliegerhorst Modlin. In reality it was a sub-contractor attached to works at the airfield but thoroughly supervised by the army. Our main boss was a fat, redheaded corporal. We had already met him the first day. He talked without ever removing his cigar. His gloomy face was covered with freckles, he had small piercing eyes and looked unpleasant. Our second boss was the quartermaster. When his name was mentioned the female staff usually had grins on their faces as he was known as the Don Juan, as in old movies. He was young, clean-shaven, smelled of shaving lotion and always followed by his faithful dog, a large full-bred Alsatian. For a German, he was very polite and well mannered, ready to smile at everyone.
The commandant of the fortress was a major. We never saw him close up. The moment somebody spotted his cart, drawn by two Arab horses, they would yell 鈥淎ttention: The major is coming.鈥� The labourers pretended to work extremely hard, the soldiers jumped to the position of full attention, saluting smartly. The cart drawn by full-breds passed us quickly, giving just a glimpse of the major. Only the two rumps of the white arab horses were visible for a long time on the outskirts of the airfield. This was our major.
The labourers were assembled near the kitchen barracks on the opposite side of the airfield near Modlin fortress. We had to work twelve hours on week days but only seven on Sundays and public holidays. Each day we had to cover three kilometres, going by the road through the airfield. Marushka and I had to leave home before dawn to be on time. We assembled before the kitchen. There were one hundred and twenty labourers. Unshaven, in torn clothing with holes in shoes, or barefoot, people lined up in two rows. It was an odd gathering. We looked like scarecrows or vagabonds from an operetta. Some had on their heads very crumpled hats which they probably used instead of pillows, a sad reminder of good times gone by. Some had their jackets pulled over their bare chests as their shirts were gone. A few youths had long Austrian army coats reaching to their bare feet, their legs covered in old drill slacks. Behind them stood a draughtsman from Warsaw clad in a long rubber overcoat and high boots of a Reichwehr officer. Behind him, a shopkeeper from Rembertow wore dirty canvas runners and had hairy white legs. Another one had huge, torn rubber boots on his feet but compensated for these with a beautiful Tyrol hat, complete with a feather. Everyone had a haversack over their shoulder and from the waist hung a mess tin which was usually an old tin from canned goods. We were a herd of people driven together by the war, mostly from nearby villages and small townships near the approaching Front: Tluszcz, Rembertow, Wawer, Wlochy, Wyszkow were their home places.
The chief divided us into separate working gangs.
"Cabinet makers, carpenters - come forward. Go to the railway ramp - you will unload bombs.
"You there, you will be digging trenches near the old town beside the airfield.
"You five will be laying mines. Ready, go.
"You four from the major gang, you will go to Warsaw for a grand piano for the major. What is wrong with you lot? You are sick? You think you are not feeling well? You need an enema. You were gorging yourselves last night I bet. My God, I will assign you to the bomb gangs. I bet your sickness will be cured immediately.
"Who is there still left? Oh, yes, the fire brigade - how many are there - thirty? Good - out, hurry to your work."
My group and I were assigned to building a shed for the fire brigade on the airfield. It was about 1 km. away. We were all well trained and managed to cover this distance in an hour. To say that we walked at a snail's pace would be an understatement. The work was also conducted in the slowest possible way. Being the leading hand of this gang, I kept reminding them that our twelve hours would not run away. While digging, our shovels held no more earth than a spoonful. My main function was to keep watch for approaching bosses. My work was made easier as, sitting on the high embankment, I had an uninterrupted view to three sides. Only one side was covered by shrubs growing in the fortress park and the cemetery and here it would be easy to sneak up on us unexpectedly. Part of the gang played cards in the shade of the trees and listened carefully - they were our guards.
During this time the airfield was quiet. There were no more than a few observation planes taking off daily, the rest of the planes stood hidden behind the shrubs. The pilots were playing cards all day long. The maintenance men were resting in the shade of the wings. The shortage of petrol was very noticeable. If the Soviet planes did not show a greater activity in this part of the Front, the German Stukas would rest undisturbed on the field like large stuffed birds.
By the end of September, the S.S. men brought many new people to the fortress - evacuees from Warsaw and her neighbouring areas. The villages around Modlin received orders to feed the evacuees and to give them some place to sleep. Village elders had to organise the feeding and accommodation. The eager and friendly hospitality of the local inhabitants was beyond description. In Kosewo, in the middle of the village, large barrels full of cabbages were brought and the peasant women also provided soup, milk, bread and tomatoes. Every day another village supplied "the food. Fully loaded carts went daily to the fortress.
Germans developed a frenzy for digging trenches and manholes. Everyone had to dig, the local peasants, evacuees, 'O.T.', 'R.A.D.' (para-military working units), even the army. The poor earth was dug sideways and lengthwise for tens of kilometres. Trenches were dug for riflemen, anti-air raid-trenches, bunkers, sheltering hillocks for tanks, for mines and I don't know what else. The peasant was quite often unable to bring his wheat from the fields.
One day all the sky was covered with leaflets. German aeroplanes tossed masses of them over the town, villages and fields.
It was an appeal by the German Chief Command to the "conscience of the Polish people,鈥� "they should check their ill-advised actions,鈥� ... "they should guard against becoming pawns in the hands of foreign interests" ... "they should report to the nearest German offices should they notice anyone ready to 'act ill advisedly' because piles of innocent women, children and men covering the streets of Warsaw are an example of what incautious acts like riots might lead to. The German Chief Command expects from the Polish people a firm stand, supported by commonsense and reason, against starting ill-advised actions."
The children of the village were very happy. They were making birds and kites, happy to receive a present which fell down from heaven.

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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