My Twentieth Century

Halina Donimirska Szyrmer

Launch Tomorrow Publishing
Warsaw 2025

Copyright © 2003 by Halina Donimirska-Szyrmer

Original Title (Polish): Był Taki Świat… Mój wiek dwudziesty.
Copyright © for the Polish editions 2003, 2004 and 2007, by Halina Donimirska-Szyrmerowa
Copyright © for the new Polish edition 2023, by Jacek Henryk Schirmer
Copyright © for the first English edition 2025, Lukasz Szyrmer
Translated from Polish by: Janusz M Szyrmer, Łukasz Henryk Szyrmer

All rights reserved.

The World That Once Was…My Twentieth Century
Published by LAUNCH TOMORROW
Warsaw, Poland

Copyright 2025 by LUKASZ SZYRMER. All rights reserved by LUKASZ SZYRMER and LAUNCH TOMORROW.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher/author, except by a reviewer who may quote passages in a review. All images, logos, quotes, and trademarks included in this book are subject to use according to trademark and copyright laws of the Poland.

DONIMIRSKA SZYRMER, HALINA, Author
THE WORLD THAT ONCE WAS
HALINA DONIMIRSKA SZYRMER

ISBN:
BIOGRAPHY & AUTOBIOGRAPHY / Historical
HISTORY / Modern / 20th Century / Holocaust
HISTORY / Europe / Eastern

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In the halls of the WWII museum in Gdansk hangs a chilling document - a pamphlet published by the Gestapo, Hitler’s secret police, just four weeks before the outbreak of World War II. Few copies of this document survived, and its existence tells a story of calculated persecution that began with a book.

In the 1930s, Polish journalist Melchior Wańkowicz published Na Tropach Smętka [On the Trail of Sorrow], a vivid chronicle of his travels through East Prussia. The book, which became a bestseller in Poland, painted an intimate portrait of Polish community life in the region, a part of Germany. Wańkowicz’s detailed accounts, including stories of his own family, unknowingly provided the Nazi regime with what they would later use as a roadmap.

As Hitler’s forces secretly prepared for their invasion of Poland, they began identifying potential resistance before their surprise attack. The SS carefully studied Wańkowicz’s work, extracting names of community organizers and influential figures from its pages. These individuals, though German citizens, were mostly of Polish descent and, despite their representation in the German parliament, had become “politically uncomfortable” to the regime.

The result was this pamphlet - essentially a blacklist - distributed quietly among senior SS officials. Those named within its pages would need to be “managed.” Later, an analogous pamphlet was released targeting politically active Poles in Poland - with the same intention.

This memoir, written by Halina Donimirska-Szyrmer, tells the backstory of the people behind those names, as they include her parents and other family members.

Meticulously fact-checked, with the intent of conveying both the facts behind what happened as well as the spirit of that time, this memoir brings the tumultuous history of Central Europe in the early 20th century to life. As the daughter of Polish landed gentry in East Prussia, Halina Donimirska-Szyrmer witnessed firsthand the rise of aggressive nationalism in Germany under the Nazis. At first glance, her account gives an intimate perspective on how Hitler’s policies impacted Poles living under German occupation, and the dangerous struggle to preserve her culture and resist Germanization. At second glance, this book delves into the after-effects of German realpolitik’s territorial ambitions.

Although East Prussia disappeared after WWII, in the early 1900s it was a German province on the Baltic Sea. Its Polish population faced intense pressure to assimilate. Prussian authorities banned the Polish language in schools and public life. Halina Donimirska-Szyrmer’s parents and the wider Donimirski clan volunteered as political activists, serving as part of the “organic work” movement. This was a form of resistance that peacefully protested Germanization. They helped establish Polish language schools, banks, cooperatives and reading rooms to strengthen and uphold the Polish community.

This activism brought the Donimirski family increased scrutiny. Hitler rose to power in the 1930s and enforced Gleichschaltung, forcing all of German society to adhere to Nazi ideology. Halina studied German in Berlin as the Nazis prepared for the 1936 Olympics, noticing how state propaganda glorified Hitler, who promoted revisionist claims that Germany was robbed of territory after World War I.

Back home, Halina’s father and wider family endured baseless character assasinations via the press. They had land seized by the Nazis and given to Polish workers who renounced their heritage and joined the party. Violence against Poles surged, seen in the destruction of a Polish school and assaults on the teacher. Halina Donimirska-Szyrmer’s account of these events provides a valuable record of the human impact of Nazification policies.

As war loomed, Halina’s parents met with the Polish ambassador in Berlin to plead for more vigorous defense of persecuted Poles in East Prussia. They warned “we personally know what we are deciding to do, and we are prepared for the worst, but our conscience does not allow us to involve in our activities so many poor people, people to whom we cannot provide assistance.” This sense of moral obligation reflects their ethos of “organic work” and non-violent cultural resistance.

Indeed, Halina’s parents were arrested in 1939 and her father murdered in the Sachsenhausen-Orianienburg concentration camp. Her mother was one of Ravensbruck’s earliest prisoners, and survived the entire war there—leaving a deep mark on her.

During the Warsaw Uprising, Halina tended to everyone as a Red Cross nurse, including wounded German soldiers. Her criticism of anti-Semitism within Polish society leads to confrontations as university student. Many times, she demonstrates how a love for one’s country and culture can coexist with respect for other cultures.

After the war, the family lost their estate and continued serving the Polish community in East Prussia, by then incorporated into Poland.

Halina Donimirska-Szyrmer’s memoir puts a human face on the rise of nationalism and struggle for cultural survival in Central Europe in the 20th century. Seen through her eyes, the diplomatic machinations that redrew borders after World Wars I and II had profound personal consequences for Polish families like hers. Her account helps readers understand the painful experiences behind the ideological battles and geopolitical forces that shaped this tumultuous period.

Łukasz Szyrmer
Warsaw 2025

The following serves as a quick refresher of the relevant context, particularly for those readers who aren’t that familiar with European history.

Realpolitik, an approach to politics that emerged in late 19th century Europe, prioritized pragmatic balances of power over other concerns, including cultural identity, in a multi-ethnic Europe. It is a political philosophy focused on making the most of a given situation and operating within the context. It prioritizes cold pragmatism over any other ideology or ethical concerns, aiming to be as realistic as possible.

Otto von Bismarck was the most famous German advocate of realpolitik. He applied this philosophy to achieve Prussian dominance in Germany. Bismarck was willing to do anything to achieve his goals, including antagonizing other countries and causing wars if necessary. This philosophy allowed him to achieve his objectives, including unifying Germany, but ultimately led to conflicts with other countries, culminating in World War I.

The Treaty of Versailles, which ended WWI, was a peace treaty signed on 28 June 1919. It ended the state of war between Germany and most of the Allied Powers. It was signed in the Palace of Versailles exactly five years after the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand (the inciting incident that sparked WWI). Germany was not allowed to participate in the negotiations before signing the treaty.

The treaty required Germany to:

• disarm
• make territorial concessions
• extradite alleged war criminals
• agree to Kaiser Wilhelm being put on trial
• recognize the independence of states whose territory had previously been part of the German Empire
• and pay reparations to the Entente powers.

The most controversial provision in the treaty was: “The Allied and Associated Governments affirm and Germany accepts the responsibility of Germany and her allies for causing all the loss and damage to which the Allied and Associated Governments and their nationals have been subjected as a consequence of the war imposed upon them by the aggression of Germany and her allies.” Competing and sometimes conflicting goals among the victors led to a compromise that left no one satisfied. In particular, Germany was neither pacified nor conciliated, nor was it permanently weakened. Bitter resentment of the treaty among Germans later powered the rise of the Nazi Party.

The treaty included clauses that rearranged land and redrew borders. It parcelled out Germany’s land, given its role as the biggest player among those who lost the war. For many ethnicities including the Polish, ones that were fighting for autonomy, the treaty reversed course.

At the time, Poland hadn’t existed as a country for the previous 127 years. In practice, each region within former Germany was given the possibility of holding a plebiscite, a type of referendum, to decide their fate. This allowed a popular vote to determine whether a given area should continue being Germany or not. In particular, it gave the local population a voice in whether or not they wanted to continue living under German rule as part of the German state, or to seperate into a different country. Such a plebiscite was meant to democratically decide exactly where Germany’s borders should be redrawn. It was fair in principle. Ideally, this solution was also meant to be sustainable over a longer period. However, this approach disproportionately affected the fate of minorities.

The 1920 plebiscite in East Prussia, a pivotal event in the region’s history, was idealistically designed to determine the fate of regions with substantial Polish populations. It profoundly shaped Halina Donimirska-Szyrmer’s understanding of Polish identity and the challenges faced by her community. The sources describe the fervent activism during the plebiscite campaign, the bitter disappointment following its manipulation by the German authorities, and the lasting impact of this event on the lives of Polish families. It led to the detachment of Polish communities from the newly independent Poland. These geopolitical maneuverings had a profound impact on the lives of ordinary people, often leading to displacement, disenfranchisement, and even the suppression of minority rights. The plebiscite experience served as a stark reminder of the precariousness of minority life in German-controlled territories. It reinforced the importance of preserving Polish culture and national consciousness. This book portrays the Polish community’s unwavering determination to maintain their identity, despite facing mounting pressure to conform and assimilate.

While the book focuses on a specific historical context, its themes resonate today with concerns like identity politics, extremism, and the treatment of minority groups. As identity politics becomes increasingly prominent in various societies, it’s crucial to understand the historical context of extremist movements and the potential dangers they pose. The book’s exploration of Polish-German relations potentially serves as a cautionary tale. It underscores the importance of fostering inclusive societies that value diversity and respect the rights of all individuals, regardless of their cultural background.

The key question is: What happens when extremism flares up? And what does it mean? And what can be done, to prevent this from happening again?

My mother, Wanda Sikorska of the Sikorski family, and my father Witold Donimirski of the Donimirski family, belonged to the Pomeranian landed gentry, descended from old Kaszubian nobility.

The Donimirski family used the Brochwicz coat of arms. Its original nest was Donimierz, located between Wejherowo and Kartuzy in the Kaszuby area of Northern Poland. In the middle of the 18th century, one of my family members, Wojciech, moved from Kaszuby to Powiśle (then the province of Malbork), where he received a lease on the Straszewo estate and took the post of a Malbork land magistrate. There he acquired the Górki estate (1768) and then the Cygusy estate (1774), effectively becoming the progenitor of the rapidly growing Donimirski family in Powiśle. In time, the family tree divided into four lines (Cygusy, Buchwald, Czernin, and Zajezierze), which survived until World War II. 

As far as I know, Czernin (Hohendorf) was bought in the 1820s by my Great-Great-Grandfather Antoni. After the heirless death of his son Francis (1857), Czernin, along with the neighboring estate of Wielkie Ramzy, was taken over by the second of Antoni’s sons and my Great-Grandfather Piotr Alkantary. I was born in Czernin and spent my childhood there.

My mother’s family, the Sikorski of the Cietrzew coat of arms, hailing from Sikorzyn (North of Kościerzyna), settled in the estates of Wielkie Chełmy and Leśno in the mid-19th century. It was inherited from the Lewald-Jezierski family, located in the southern borderlands of Kaszuby, north of Chojnice. From 1887, Wielkie Chełmy belonged to my grandfather, Stanisław Sikorski, who married Anna, daughter of Ignacy Łyskowski, heir to Mileszew and a prominent defender of the Polish cause in Germany.

My parents’ wedding took place in 1910 in Brusy, as my grandfather’s estate belonged to this parish. The wedding was held in Wielkie Chełmy. As one of the participants, Roman Janta-Połczyński, recalled to me, it was very lavish and sumptuous. The party lasted for three evenings. He and the bride’s brothers constantly went to a room adjacent to the kitchen, called the “sideboard,” to fetch bottles of champagne, whole batteries of which were submerged under bales of ice. He admitted that he was among my mother’s admirers at the time.

At the time of her marriage, my mother was in her twenties. She perceived the world through the eyes of an inexperienced idealist. She was a slim, tall blonde with lush light hair pinned up in a big bun. She had a lot of charm and romantic appeal. She received a careful upbringing. She graduated with honors from the Sisters of the Sacred Heart (Sacré-Coeur) boarding school in faraway Lviv (. Her grandparents placed her there, as East Prussia had no Polish schools. In Lviv, not only was Polish the language of instruction, but also Polish history and literature were taught. When she graduated from boarding school, she was sent to complete her education in Paris, where she took piano, singing and painting lessons, and learned French. Two oil still-lifes, painted by her during this period, adorned the dining room wall in Czernin.

My grandparents decided to entrust the fate of their eldest daughter to a serious, upright man with a reputation as a good farmer. My father was 35 years old at the time, and was considered an old bachelor. He was born in December 1874 in Wielkie Ramzy. His parents, and my grandparents, Zygmunt and Waleria Donimirski, née Pruska, lived there in a modest manor house. Czernin, on the other hand, was the residence of my great-grandparents, Piotr Alkantary Donimirski and Bogumiła née Wolska. After my great-grandfather’s death (1887), my great-grandmother took over management of the estate, causing Czernin to fall into significant disrepair over the next following years.

Meanwhile, my grandfather, Zygmunt Donimirski, moved with his family to the Congress Kingdom, where he bought the Kożuszki estate near Sochaczew. He probably did so due to the influence of his wife, Waleria née Pruska. She wanted to live in Mazovia, closer to her relatives. Her father, and later her brother, owned the family nest there - Prusy. While still in his prime, my grandfather lost his eyesight. He died in 1903. His wife passed away soon after, in 1906, many years before I was born.

At the turn of the century, the Wielkie Ramzy estate was parceled out. Its remnants were incorporated into a manor estate in Czernin. The manor house was demolished, and only some farm buildings (including a stable) were left. 

As a child, when I learned that my father was born there, I imagined that, like Jesus, he was born in a stable on hay. Some time passed before I understood what had actually happened.

My father spent his childhood bouncing between Wielkie Ramzy and Czernin. He attended junior high school in Chojnice, as did my Grandfather Stanisław Sikorski years earlier. Many boys from Polish families from Pomerania attended school there. As a group, they had a strong national consciousness, attached to their native language and culture. They secretly read Polish books and met outside the school. Most of the students were Germans. The gymnasium management severely suppressed any manifestation of being Polish. However, successive generations of young people avidly defended their national identity.

In an atmosphere of quiet stubbornness, my father graduated from gymnasium. He began college, first studying law in Berlin and then agriculture at the University of Halle. Many young fellow Poles from the Prussian partition were also studying there, with whom he became fast friends. 

From my father’s stories from that era, it was clear that there was camaraderie between Polish and German students. Outside the former Polish territories, there was no hostility to Poles, compared to what the Prussian authorities had stirred up in Pomerania and Wielkopolska. Thus, there was a positive atmosphere at the University of Halle. My father retained many fond memories of this period.

After graduating, he served an agricultural apprenticeship with his Uncle Jan Donimirski in Buchwałd, and also with another uncle, Edward, in Łysomice near Toruń. In 1900, my great-grandmother, who was 84 years old at the time, entrusted him with the management of the family estate. She moved to Sztum. Despite her advanced age, she rented a spacious apartment, and maintained a lively social life. My parents often visited her. She ultimately lived to be almost a hundred years old (born in 1816 and died in 1914).

After taking over Czernin, my father set to work with great energy and enthusiasm. He rapidly produced results. Thanks to his effective management and organization skills, the estate began to generate income. It became possible to repair farm buildings, laborers’ houses, and also make some investments. 

The most important of these turned out to be the establishment of a brickyard. The soil in Czernin is clay, fertile in wet years, but hard to cultivate. In times of drought, it turns into rock. This property of the soil made it appropriate as a raw material for durable and high quality bricks and tiles. Thus, the brickyard became a vital part of Czernin’s financial health. During the Great Depression in the late 1920s and early 1930s, the brickyard saved us when agricultural production became unprofitable.

After the farm recovered, my father renovated the neglected manor house in Czernin. Central heating was established, the interiors were remodeled, and hot water was brought into the bathroom from a boiler located in the kitchen above the hearth, where a fire burned all day. Comparing photos from the late 19th century and 1910, it’s hard to recognize that it’s the same mansion.

After their marriage, my parents settled in Czernin. The servants and my father’s employees gave the young couple a festive welcome. The house was decorated with wreaths, flowers, and inscriptions. 

However, not everyone among the household servants was genuine, in their rush to express their joy and congratulations. Up to that point, some had taken advantage of the absence of a mistress of the house, which, of course, my father was not aware of. At first, they made it difficult for his new bride to take over the household duties. During this time, she secretly shed more than one tear. However, she managed to carry out the necessary personnel changes gently. These changes astonished my father, who had trusted and was attached to his long-serving employees. But he had even more confidence in his young wife, and remained confident throughout his life. 

They were indeed a good couple. I don’t remember any disputes between them. They aligned between themselves on all important decisions. Father generally relied on mother’s opinion in such matters as our education and upbringing. In financial matters, mother relied on father. They worked on various projects together.

Both of my parents grew up in a progressive atmosphere of “organic work” ¹. This was the only effective method of resisting the Germanization efforts of the Prussian government. It was practiced most in Wielkopolska, but many prominent activists also came from Pomerania. In addition to such distinguished figures as my Great-Grandfather Ignacy Łyskowski and my Grandfather Stanisław Sikorski, they included members of the Donimirski family. 

My parents considered it obvious, that they should uphold this tradition. In the years of their youth, echoes of the tragic January Uprising (1864) were still strong, from which lessons were tried to be learned. The following motto guided them: “Today, our only relationship with the world - a difficult but important word: duty!” 

An important part of my father’s organic work was his co-founding the People’s Bank, a savings and loan institution that supported the economic activities of Poles. My father was one of the founders of the People’s Bank in Sztum (1910) and remained one of its authorities until 1939. I remember that the bank’s affairs were a constant subject of his concern. When I was older, snippets of conversations about the bank reached my ears. The People’s Bank faced great difficulties for a long time, primarily due to a lack of liabilities. The organizers sought to strengthen them, by cooperating closely with all its branches. However, they managed to survive only by obtaining external funds, that is, from Polish banks.

Before the First World War, my father became actively involved in Towarzystwo Czytelni Ludowych (the Society of People’s Reading Rooms). He believed that the dissemination of Polish culture was an appropriate response to German propaganda about the superiority of German culture. At that time, he also served as chairman or vice-chairman of the Polish election committees for Sztum. The county put forward candidates for representatives to the Prussian parliament. He ran for such an office in the election of 1909, but the Polish list received too few votes to be elected. Upon arriving in Czernin, my mother quickly became active in social work, even though she struggled to combine it with difficult domestic and maternal duties: She gave birth to seven children in the first twelve years of her marriage.

The First World War awakened real hope for the restoration of Poland’s independence within its former borders. In 1918, a secret organization called Centralny Komitet Obywatelski (Central Civic Committee) was formed in Poznań, formed of representatives from the various provinces under the Prussian occupation. It established the Naczelna Rada Ludowa (Supreme People’s Council) soon afterwards, which officially represented the Polish minority residing in the German state. Under its leadership, regional District People’s Councils were elected by the residents. It then announced elections to the Polish Provincial Sejm (Parliament), with its seat in Poznań.

My father immediately joined these activities. He was a co-organizer of the Sztum District People’s Council. Elected chairman of the District Election Committee for the Sejm, he constantly contacted Poznań. Together with his Uncle August Donimirski of Zajezierze, he organized pre-election rallies in Sztum and nearby towns. Count Stanisław Sierakowski did so in villages in the Waplewo area. My father’s cousin Kazimierz Donimirski did the same, in the vicinity of Ramzy and Prabuty. As a result, in the deliberations of the Sejm in Poznań, which took place for three days starting December 3rd in 1918, the delegation of former Royal Prussia (Prusy Królewskie) included seven delegates from the district of Sztum. Other delegates represented the province of Poznań, the former Prusy Książęce (Ducal Prussia), Sląsk (Silesia), and the “foreign countries”, i.e. Poles from Berlin, Westphalia, and other German provinces and cities.

Meanwhile, the Sztum District People’s Council undertook numerous activities, especially cultural and educational, financed mainly by the landed gentry who belonged to it. It organized Polish schools and Polish language courses for adults. Polish kindergartens, so-called “ochronki”, were established.

A plan for armed action was developed in consultation with an underground military organization existing in Pomerania and Wielkopolska. Preparations for an uprising began. The Supreme People’s Council appointed district commissars. The hope was that Gen. Haller’s army, which was to arrive in Gdańsk from France, would support the uprising and help liberate Gdańsk, Pomerania, Warmia, and Powiśle. However, when this army was diverted immediately upon its arrival to the eastern front, the uprising plan collapsed. The People’s Council refocused on preparing for the plebiscite, a referendum vote on whether the area should be under German or Polish rule.

German censuses estimated that East Prussia had a Polish population of about half a million, concentrated in three regions: Warmia, Mazury (Mazuria), and Powiśle. These were the regions that The Treaty of Versailles (1919) decided to include in the plebiscite.

The announcement of the plebiscite, set for July 11, 1920, shifted all previous local activity to a new track. The plebiscite was a great event, experience, and caesura in the region’s history. In my childhood, I often heard this word. Before I understood its meaning, it seemed to be a magic word, a mysterious symbol. For many years, my memories of this period were vivid, with vibrant stories about the people and events during just a few months of preparation. The hope of being reunited with the country suddenly awoke a desire for freedom and the right to express one’s feelings openly, with joy and enthusiasm.

Father traveled to rallies and meetings. Mother, although pregnant, took part in organizing various social events. Packets of colorful paper napkins with Polish inscriptions remained at home from these times. I remembered one of the designs: colorful cockerels along the edges, roosters on the corners, and poetic inscriptions all around: “One rooster is crowing loudly that better things will come, while another rooster sounds a despairing note in its crowing”. The napkins were attached to the propaganda that mother and the other ladies distributed during pre-plebiscite meetings.

At the time, father became the representative of the Polish population of the district to the landrat (starostwo) of Sztum. I remember a business card with his name and surname and the inscription: “Adjoint polonais au Landrat de Sztum“, found by my older brother among some old papers. Unfortunately, after my parents were deported in 1939, the Germans destroyed all our documents, letters, books, and memorabilia.

During the preparations for the plebiscite, my uncle colonel August Donimirski of Zajezierze won a lot of popular sympathy. Earlier, some of the family had taken his serving in the German army badly. After graduating from a military college, he became an officer. He maintained social relations with his colleagues and the German aristocracy. There were rumors of a great romantic love between him and a German princess. However, he chose not to marry for patriotic reasons. He realized that raising the children of such a union as Poles would be difficult. His feelings for her, however, proved lasting. My uncle remained faithful to her until his death, remaining an old bachelor.

In the beginning of 1919, he joined the nascent Polish Army in Wielkopolska. His military experience helped him form the 18th Lancer Regiment in Grudziądz. In May 1920, he was sent back to his hometown for the plebiscite campaign. He organized a Polish Plebiscite Guard in Powiśle and took command of it. After the plebiscite, as a colonel in the Polish Army, he took part in the work of the Border Commission.

Other family members also served in various public positions during this period. For example, Kazimierz Donimirski of Małe Ramzy was, for some time, a member of the Warmia Plebiscite Committee based in Kwidzyn. The Sztum branch of this Committee was located in the home of Franciszek Belau, who paid for it with his life in 1939, even though he was already living in Poland at the time.

Enthusiasts from various parts of Poland visited us on the news of the plebiscite. Some came on their own initiative, others were led by Polish organizations or authorities. Czernin hosted many such people. The most famous - Stefan Żeromski and Jan Kasprowicz - were hosted in Zajezierze by my Uncle August Donimirski during his visit to Sztum. My uncle’s small but very well-kept mansion was located on a lake that separated it from Sztum. Stefan Żeromski, Jan Kasprowicz, and Władysław Kozicki (a writer, art historian and literary critic, later - like Kasprowicz - a professor at the University of Lviv) toured the plebiscite area in May 1920, attending meetings and speaking at rallies. Polish activists and representatives of the Allied Commission received them. 

In addition to August Donimirski, they also visited Jan Donimirski in Buchwald, and the Sierakowski estate in Waplewo. They stayed longer with the Kowalski family in Górka near Kwidzyn, as evidenced by entries in the guest book kept there, which was made available to my brother Stanisław, by the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Kowalski. Many warm memories remain of this stay of famous guests, mainly of Kasprowicz. Żeromski was said to have been somewhat reticent. For this, he touchingly described his impressions in a reportage about his visit of Iława-Kwidzyn-Malbork in the pages of Rzeczpospolita [The Republic, a national newspaper]. He also drafted a joint manifesto of the three participants of this trip, calling for the defense of Polishness in East Prussia. It was handed to the Speaker of the Sejm and announced in the press.

The Plebiscite Theater of Warmia, led by Tomasz Działosz, also arrived from Poland. In Biskupiec, a German militia attacked the group and beat its members, preventing the performance. There were many such assaults.

In the memory of the residents of Sztum and the surrounding area, the most memorable was the manifestation on the Third of May national holiday, which celebrates the original signing of the Constitution. A large parade passed through the streets of the town. On horseback and in historical costumes, The Plebiscite Guard, headed by Uncle August, formed a colorful band. The crowd carried Polish flags and sang “Hello May Daybreak” and other patriotic songs.

A few days later, on May 9, the Feliks Nowowiejski concert in Sztum turned out to be an important event. It occurred in the hall of the so-called shooting range. The program of the concert included works by Nowowiejski: The oratorio Quo Vadis, the Kaszubian Anthem (to words by Derdowski), the Anthem to the Baltic Sea, and the Rota to words by Maria Konopnicka. (The Rota was sung for the first time in Cracow during the celebration of the 500th anniversary of the Battle of Grunwald.) The choir of the Sztum Singing Circle also took part in the concert.

At the end of May, a convention of agricultural circles was held in Sztum under the patronage of my maternal grandfather, Jan Donimirski of Buchwald. Again, the townspeople admired a horse-drawn procession of young people under a banner with the national colors and a flag of agricultural casters. Behind them trailed a long string of vehicles. Their appearance testified to the wealth of organized Polish farmers.

The crowded participation in these events worried and activated the German authorities. Since everyone born in the plebiscite area had the right to vote, even when they no longer lived there, trains with real and fake emigrants arrived from the depths of Germany, mainly from Westphalia. Many East Prussian residents came there, seeking work in factories and mines. It later turned out that thousands of unauthorized participated in the vote, but the Polish side could not control this. This was to be done by members of the Inter-Alliance Commission, composed of representatives of France, England, Italy, and Japan. Only the French were involved in defending the Poles from German militias, and only where there were French outposts. Kwidzyn was the headquarters of the Italians, whose chief, General Angelo Pavia, had no grasp of the situation and acted passively in the face of unlawful actions and terror on the part of the Germans. An Englishman who clearly supported the Germans was in office in Olsztyn. Anyway, nothing was surprising in this; representatives of the German authorities acted as hosts, together with the local aristocracy organized lavish parties in honor of foreign delegations. They were an opportunity for biased exposure of the region’s problems.

In the 1970s, I met Prince Alexander zu Dohna in Olsztyn, whose family owned estates in East Prussia until 1945, mainly in the Mohrungen (now Morąg) district. As a 20-year-old, he was secretary to some dignitaries involved in the plebiscite campaign. In the prince’s opinion, the plebiscite was conducted fairly. He was a man of integrity, high culture, convinced of his impartiality. Like him, many Germans, influenced by prepared information, did not realize the true state of affairs. They were later surprised by the facts and data revealed by Polish historians after the war on the basis of German documents.

In line with expectations, the German side was perfectly organized. It used the entire old administrative apparatus. According to international agreements, both the police and the army were to leave the plebiscite areas. Theoretically, this was done. However, the German authorities organized the civic guard set up for security. Its ranks included the most fanatical nationalists and many existing police officers. This guard not only tolerated the terror of nationalist militias, it even favored them. The spontaneously organized few Polish plebiscite guard units could not oppose them.

The German government allocated large sums of money to the propaganda campaign. The population was inundated with appeals and information speaking in favor of the German side. The regional patriotism of Mazurians and Warmians was very skillfully aroused. Some sort of autonomy for East Prussia was suggested vaguely. In the end, voters had a choice of two cards: Polska (Poland) - Polen and Ostpreussen - Prusy Wschodnie (East Prussia)–not “Germany”!.

However, the greatest threat to the results of the plebiscite was the Polish-Soviet war, which was currently underway. Due to the proximity of the front, German propaganda proclaimed that Poland would once again disappear from the map of Europe, and whoever voted for Poland would choose the Soviet Union. Indeed, the Polish state was in mortal danger. The Polish government was unable to assist in the plebiscite campaign. The entire burden fell on the shoulders of local activists, supported by volunteers from Poland.

Sztum County was among the most Polish in the plebiscite area. Thus, in many of its municipalities, the majority voted in favor of Poland. In the administrative district of Czernin, all but one vote was cast in favor of Poland. It was suspected that this was the vote of a teacher from the local school, a cultural enforcer specifically installed by the authorities to promote German assimilation. Unfortunately, districts with a preponderance of German votes often separated Polish municipalities from the Land. Therefore, in the end, only a few Vistula River municipalities ended up in Poland.

Poles questioned the results of the plebiscite. Many people did not dare to vote according to their convictions. They were intimidated by the German authorities and the terror-sowing militias. It was said in our country, that the Polish Sejm passed a resolution demanding the invalidation of the plebiscite results. However, Poland’s position in the international arena was too weak for its voice to be heard.

Residents of the areas incorporated into Germany after the plebiscite could “opt” for Poland, that is, demand transfer to Poland. In an atmosphere of general despondency, many of the more informed Poles declared such an intention, often out of fear of reprisals. After a while, some wanted to withdraw their application, but the German authorities consistently enforced their departure.

Of my family, Uncle August had to remain in Poland because he was accused of desertion and treason as a former German army officer. Zajezierze was still his property, but he could not return there. However, he did not sell the estate, as this would have resulted in transferring the land into German hands. This was because a law granted the right of first refusal to the Colonization Commission, whose task was to strengthen the German element in East Prussia. It was not until 1938 that my uncle carried out an exchange of Zajezierze for the estate of Nowe (near the Pomeranian town of Nowe-on-Vistula, on the German border), which a German owned. The Polish authorities supported and facilitated this transaction; in this case, they were keen to weaken German land ownership within Poland’s border. My uncle was happy, thinking that he had finally found a peaceful haven for his old age there.

Soon, however, the war drove him out to wander under the constant threat of arrest by the occupation authorities. In 1939, almost all Polish plebiscite activists were captured by the Gestapo, regardless of whether they continued to live in East Prussia or moved to Poland. The Gestapo had detailed lists of Poles connected with the plebiscite campaign and their addresses. Most were murdered in concentration camps, as my father was, or shortly after being arrested. As I learned from Andrzej Bukowski’s book Waplewo, Stanisław Sierakowski was bestially tortured in an “execution house” in Rypin, where his wife was also shot, and his pregnant daughter was killed with a shot to the back of the head. Uncle August, fortunately, was not found by the occupiers, and thus was among the few who escaped vengeance.

People involved in the Polish cause during the plebiscite deserved a worthy place in the national memory. The better-known names figure in the works of historians. A great effort was made by Professor Tadeusz Oracki, who recorded in Słownik Biograficzny Warmii, Mazur i Powiśla [the Biographical Dictionary of Warmia, Mazury, and Powiśle] the characters of many dedicated, uncelebrated, humble people, based on the few remaining documents, materials and memories.

From an early age, my parents grew up in an atmosphere of faith in the rebirth of an independent Poland, within whose borders both Pomerania and Powiśle would be included. Thus, it was very difficult for them to come to terms with the loss. They began to think about moving to Poland. At that time, many Germans, owners of estates in the areas returning to Poland, mainly in the Poznań province, were willing to swap for estates in Germany. Fearing that they would find themselves in a position similar to the earlier situation of the Poles, they were willing to give up double the acreage of land they had received. Thus, there was the possibility of even a favorable transaction. On the other hand, however, it was not easy to leave the family home and simultaneously abandon the outpost of the struggle for Polishness that had been waged here for generations.

An exodus of more conscious Poles from our region was looming. There was a danger that only less educated and less well-off people, susceptible to rapid Germanization, would remain. The Polish authorities did not want to allow this to happen. They believed the landowners should remain to provide moral and material support for the local population. “You are at the post, persevere!” - the Ministry of Foreign Affairs representatives repeated. So, my parents agreed to stay and continue their activities from the time of partition. It seemed that in the changed conditions, thanks to the existence of the Polish state, it would be easier and more effective.

As it turned out, the German authorities pursued a similar policy concerning the territories that fell to Poland. They urged Germans to stay, hoping to reoccupy these lands. Throughout the twentieth century, a stream of financial aid flowed from the Reich to German schools and organizations. Agents were arriving and instructions were coming. There were few opportunities for the Polish side to act in Germany, which turned totalitarian in the 1930s. The Poles who engaged in these activities paid a high price. Meanwhile, nationality criteria did not play a significant role in establishing borders after World War II. However, no one could have foreseen this.

After deciding to stay put, my parents wanted to secure some point of support in Poland. Therefore, they bought the Marusza estate in the Grudziądz district, i.e., on the Polish side of the border. This did not affect the status of my family. We were citizens of the German Reich, with permanent residence in Czernin. If we wanted to go to Poland, we had to have a German passport and a Polish visa. Fortunately, the regulations did not pose major obstacles to obtaining a passport. It was generally issued for five years. It was not until the Nazi authorities began to restrict the right to a passport or even deny it. The Polish visa was, of course, issued to us without difficulty by the consulate in Kwidzyń.

For centuries, the Malbork region has been closely connected with Gdańsk Pomerania. At one time, together with Warmia and Pomerania, it constituted Royal Prussia. During the partitions, it was the Prussian province of West Prussia (Westpreussen). This was in contrast to the former Ducal Prussia - the province of East Prussia (Ostpreussen), to which Warmia was incorporated. The border established after the plebiscite often divided families and split organizations operating on either sides of it.

Initially, despondency prevailed. However, it did not last long. Just four months after the plebiscite, the leaders of the Polish community of Powiśle and Warmia, along with one representative of Mazury, met in Olsztyn and formed the Union of Poles in East Prussia, to which Powiśle was annexed after the plebiscite. A year later, the Polish Catholic School Society of Warmia was established in Olsztyn, followed by the Polish Catholic School Society of Powiśle in Sztum shortly after. Economic, cultural, and youth organizations were revived. The Olsztyn-based Gazeta Olsztyńska [Olsztyn Gazette], which had been published since the end of the 19th century, continued to come out in Olsztyn.

My family’s local initiatives and experiences contributed significantly to the forming of the Union of Poles in Germany in 1922.

It covered the Polish population in the entire German Reich, divided into five districts:

1. Śląsk (Silesia)
2. Berlin
3. Westfalia and Nadrenia (Westphalia and the Rhineland)
4. Prusy Wschodnie (East Prussia)
5. Pogranicze (Borderlands) consisting of Ziemia Złotowska, Babimojszczyzna and a slice of Kaszuby.

From then on, the union took on a leadership role, developed political messaging, and represented Poles officially before the German authorities. The individual organizations generally developed independently, depending on local conditions and the personalities of the organizers, but united under the Union of Poles to increase their strength and capacity for action.

When my Great-Great-Grandfather Antoni Donimirski purchased Czernin in the first half of the 19th century, the estate bore the official name: Hohendorf. As customary then, the family generally used the Polonized version: Hondorf. In old documents, my father once came across the name: Cerninen. It is not known whether it was derived from a Polish name that existed years ago, which presumably sounded “Czernin,” or whether the Polish name was created by interpreting an Old Prussian name. Regardless of these inquiries, we liked “Czernin” better than “Hohendorf” and began to call our hometown by this name, of course, only in our circle. This custom proved especially useful when, during the war, in view of the threat of the Gestapo, we could use this name in letters and conversations to avoid betraying our place of origin. After the war, we were pleased to hear that this name was officially approved.

My parents had eight children. The eldest son was born in 1911 and was named Zygmunt in honor of his grandfather. However, he died when he was six months old. A year later, another son Olgierd was born, and in 1915, Czeslaw was born. My parents also lost him when he was less than three years old (the doctor failed to diagnose appendicitis). My birthday on January 18, 1918 gave birth to a series of girls. The names Halina Antonina were chosen for me. The second name was supposed to provide me with a peaceful patron saint. In 1919, Bogumiła was born, so named in honor of a long-lived great-grandmother. In 1920 Irena was born, and in 1922 Ewa was born. The youngest brother, Stanisław, taking this name after the second grandfather, appeared after a gap of several years, in l928.

Olgierd, who was five years older than me, grew up separately, while my sisters and I were inseparable. As small children, we diminished our names in various ways, and eventually, these diminutives took hold among adults as well. My older brother we called “Olo”, I was “Tina”, Bogumila - “Lili”, Irena - “Renia”.

I was supposedly a calm and obedient child, the opposite of Lili, a year younger than me, who caused a lot of trouble. It was joked that in order to get her to do something, you had to instruct her not to do it. When she reached the age when children begin to speak, attempts were made to teach her words: “mom”, “dad”, and “baba”. She, however, remained stubbornly silent. One day she unexpectedly called out: “mama-tata-baba-ciu!”, and seeing that the exclamation was impressive, she began to use it daily as a universal slogan for expressing any feelings, wishes, or protests. Of course, this didn’t last long, and soon she began to express herself in normal childish language. There were still a lot of problems with her for a long time, which caused some concern for her future. However, it turned out that after going through a period of youthful “storm and stress”, when she married and had children herself, she became a model of diligence, kindness, and benevolence without losing any of her fiery temperament.

Our father was brown-haired, our mother a blonde. Our bunch inherited these traits in turns. My older brother was a brunette with hazel-colored eyes and beautiful dark curls. When he grew up, he struggled with those unruly locks, applying a net at night to smooth them down. Many people used to say: What’s the use of such hair to a boy? It would have been better if nature had bestowed it on his sisters! Unfortunately, of the four of us, only Lili had dark wiry hair, harmonizing with her bohemian beauty. Renia and I were blondes with blue eyes, and Ewa, for a change, had dark hair and blue eyes. The youngest Staś, on the other hand, had hazel eyes, even though he was blond. And his hair was also arranged in beautiful waves!

When we were still small, when guests visited we were allowed to go to bed a little later, which we always fought for. We would then sit with everyone at the table, and Renia would open her big blue eyes wide to stay awake. She had a round face and, according to the unanimous opinion of the whole family at the time, resembled a young owl. Soon some dear aunts supplemented these bird comparisons, calling Lila a “swallow” and me a “lark.”

Ewa was probably not even two years old then and had not yet participated in our games. However, she watched them with interest. It often happened that she would stare for a moment at some toy in our hands and then suddenly throw herself at it, snatching it up by surprise. Then she would quickly shelter under the protective wings of adults, who invariably told us: “Let her play. She is so tiny after all!”. We felt wronged and ruled that Ewa should be called a “hawk”.

From an early age, we loved our home very much. It was always warm, cozy, and caring to us. We believed that its appearance gave us a sense of security, and we identified it with beauty. In front of the house, an oval lawn stretched with flower beds, separated by a low wall. The wall was overgrown with ivy, and was decorated with stone cannonballs placed at certain intervals, the kind that can be seen at Malbork Castle. Two large balls also rested on pillars on either side of the porch.

A coat-of-arms leaping deer with three stars adorned both gables of the mansion, topped by a distinctive broken roof. It was covered with a dark tile, shining with a greenish-brown glaze. Father would bring in these tiles on special individual orders for repairs. The roof was essential to the house, contributing to its historic, stately appearance. When, in the late 1970s, a major renovation was carried out (for which great credit should be given to both the decision-makers and the contractors) of the building, which had been badly damaged during the post-war years, the roof was covered with ordinary red tiles. The house’s appearance lost a great deal in this, taking on a more common character.

On the other side of the detour, around the lawn, stood a row of tall spruce trees, which, along with a string of shrubs, obscured the courtyard behind them. My childish imagination attached various notions to them. I saw them as mighty bearded warriors standing guard over the house. As the whirlwind battered their branches and bent their tops, it seemed to me that they were fighting a desperate battle against some evil force. In winter, covered with snow, they reminded me of stately old men with gray beards.

From the porch, one entered through double doors into a large hall furnished with black oak Gdańsk furniture. Beneath a large chandelier, which was a weave of deer antlers, stood a polygonal carved table resting on four legs shaped like massive Baroque columns. On the table lay albums devoted to art. Unfortunately, some of the reproductions bore the not-so-glorious traces of our painting interests from our early years. Large leather-covered armchairs with carved backs surrounded the table. The backrests were topped with five-pronged crowns supported on the sides by lions and a shield with the coat of arms of Gdańsk in the center. Against the wall stood an old-fashioned clock with a pendulum and weights, showing not only the hours but also the days of the week, month, and dates and phases of the moon. A coat rack with a mirror in the middle was at the main entrance. Across from the entrance, a glass-enclosed library cabinet drew attention on the right, and a richly carved chest on the left, both in the same style. In the hallway, Father received visitors - strangers who were not invited into private rooms.

To the right of the entrance, a wide, dark brown wooden staircase with a massive handrail supported by fancy carvings led to the first floor. Beneath this staircase was a small storage room at my father’s disposal, locked with a padlock. A low door next to the door to his study led there. According to a conservator from Gdańsk, this staircase contains characteristic elements of rustic baroque and is older than the entire building. They were probably moved from the manor house that stood here earlier.

Opposite the front door was the door to the living room. It was a large room with access to the veranda, lit by four windows, two on each side, punctuated by narrow, tall mirrors in gold frames resting on gilded consoles. The room was divided as if into two parts. Each contained a table, with a sofa beside it, armchairs, and padded chairs - in the Art Nouveau style typical of the turn of the 19th and 20th centuries. I believe they were purchased on the occasion of my parents’ wedding. A black grand piano stood against one of the narrower walls of the room, and in the corner against the opposite wall was a disused fireplace flanked by an undersized screen, the wings of which bore my parents’ coats of arms: the stag in a leap, which was the Donimirski’s coat of arms - Brochwicz, and the wood grouse, which was the coat of arms of my mother’s family.

The living room was part of an amphilade. Adjacent to it, on one side, was the dining room; on the other - the so-called lounge, and further on - the “boudoir”. The latter was filled with white, stylish furniture protected by covers and a large mirror in gold, with richly carved frames. It was not shared but was used by my mother to store things that were temporarily unnecessary but which she wanted to have on hand. In the boudoir, the radiators were turned off and the windows were covered. It was therefore cool, so my mother often stored candy and fruit there, especially during the holidays. On the other hand, the adjacent lounge was where family life was concentrated. This is where the radio was located and where we met to chat.

Adjacent to the living room on the other side was a spacious dining room, whose furnishings were in style with the furniture in the hall: a large chandelier composed of carved pieces, a large table, extending as needed. Around the table and along the walls were 24 leather-covered chairs with carved backs like those in the hall. The carving patterns were also the same, the same coat of arms of Gdańsk with lions, topped with a crown. The backrests were very heavy. When, as children, we sometimes jumped violently from our seats, it happened that the chair would topple over, and one of the five spherical crown sticks would fall off. They were glued on with carpenter’s glue. In addition to this damage, you could also see the claw marks of our beloved cats on the leather seats. 

We owned some cats that consistently did all sorts of damage to the house, primarily by sharpening their claws on the upholstery of the Gdańsk furniture. Our parents were angry about this, but our housekeeper would come to our rescue. In time, this destruction began to worry us, too. When we grew up a little, we were already trying to protect this beautiful furniture ourselves. In addition, in the dining room stood a large Gdańsk cabinet and similarly carved two black sideboards, which we called buffets. One of them was very large. Both held china, glassware, and crystal, while the cupboard held tablecloths, napkins, and other table linen.

Behind the dining room was a room called the kredens, a walk-in cupboard room, which led to the kitchen. In the cupboard room, meals were prepared and dishes were washed. The laundry was done here. In addition to the door to the living room and the sideboard, a door led from the dining room to a small corridor connecting the hall and the kitchen corridor. A similar hallway was located on the opposite side of the hall. A swinging door glazed with colorful stained glass led to both from the hall. This second hallway connected my parents’ sleeping quarters with a bathroom, a boudoir, and a sitting room. A narrow, steep staircase led upstairs to the children’s rooms.

In my earliest memories, those stairs weren’t there yet, and upstairs there was a huge hallway leading to only five rooms. The girls on duty with us occupied the largest room, by the kitchen staircase. The other rooms were for guests. In the 1920s, during our stay in Marusza, my father did extensive renovation and remodeling of the house. On the first floor, several rooms with mansard windows built into the mansard roof were created above the parents’ bedrooms, living room, and boudoir. These were designated for our bunch, with two of them initially occupied by our teachers. Later, four of us got our own separate rooms, with only the two younger sisters sharing a large room - previously the sleeping quarters of all four of us. Its window looked out to the west. 

We could see the overseer’s house through the bushes and branches of the trees, and further on the gardener’s house. We liked watching the sunset through the open window, especially on summer evenings. Years later, when we returned from school on vacation, we were bursting with overwhelming joy that here we were again in our beloved home. We would then soak up this familiar view and often sing. We were especially fond of a song by Moniuszko, which we felt reflected our mood well: 

On a quiet evening, a May night,  a song vibrated in the distance after the dew.  The heart hears every word,  Every note it knows well!  Always to us anew  Soothes our soul this silence….

In the depths of the garden in Czernin, there was a round family chapel. My great-grandmother built this chapel as a tomb for her beloved son Wacław. She plunged into despair after his tragic death. He died as a young boy in front of her eyes as he was riding a horse that threw him to the ground and hit him on the head with a hoof. Next to the chapel, rose a mound with a square stone on top, probably representing the top of a stone prism that had sunk deep into the ground. The corpse of the horse that became the cause of young Wacław’ death was reportedly buried under this mound. An inscription was said to have been placed on the stone, informing of the entire event. Such a message remained in my memory from my childhood years.

My great-grandfather and two prematurely deceased brothers were later buried in the crypt of this chapel, in which family religious ceremonies were held - our baptisms and first communions. In addition, from time to time, my parents would invite the local priest to say Mass, for the intention of the deceased and living family members. All the household members attended the services. Miss Ola Morawska came from Sztum. The families of our employees, more closely related to us, also participated. It could have been assumed that our weddings would also occur there, but the war and related events drove us out of our family nest. 

The chapel survived the war, but as early as 1945, it fell victim to vandals who wrecked it and desecrated the coffins. Visiting Czernin from time to time after the war, we watched with pain as it gradually turned into a ruin. Unfortunately, we no longer had any rights to our family seat.

Our life in Czernin went on according to traditions established years earlier. At eight o’clock, the maid would put breakfast in the dining room. The family did not eat this meal together, but everyone came individually. Arriving at the dining room in the morning, we found our father, who usually showed up first. We kissed his hand for a “good morning”, and while eating, we talked about various current affairs. We met with my father mostly at the table. He left our health care and studies to our mother, although he was very interested in our performance in every field. 

Before noon, father mostly took care of the farm. He did not rely on the administrative staff, as some of our neighbors confirmed. He would ride a light carriage into the field to assess the condition of the crops or to see to the crops or harvest the crops. He often went out into the yard and talked with the people working there. He was not one of the approachable people. Everyone respected him, but they knew he was fair and would not harm anyone.

Around half past one, the gong called for lunch. The whole family would meet then, including the groundskeeper, who always sat next to my father and discussed farm matters with him during the meal. We had to behave quietly and politely. However, sometimes, one of us would start grimacing or arguing with a neighbor. My father would interrupt the conversation and say briefly, “Lili, out the door!” I just mentioned this name because this sister of mine was most often met with such a punishment. But I also remember myself, deeply embittered, sitting on the threshold behind the closed door to the dining room. Sometimes Lili did not respond to her father’s command, and then my brother had to enforce it. Years later, he admitted to me that this made him very uncomfortable. After a while, my father would say to my brother: “Bring her back”. Olo opened the door, and a small person appeared, drenched in tears, with a long napkin tied around her neck. After a whispering “Excuse me”, she would return to her seat. However, the mood quickly improved.

At some point, our parents would let us get up from the table, and the adults would drink a cup of black coffee each. Meanwhile, we would line up in front of the door of our father’s office, and when he came, we would flag him down, shouting: “Ciu-ciu! ciu-ciu!”. Father laughed, playfully covered his ears, opened his stash in the hall under the stairs, and poured a few candies for everyone. We would kiss Father, thank him, and then siphon off the candy we received, and a fair distribution of quantity and quality would follow. Usually, the dividing was my responsibility. Mother often protested with laughter, saying that candy was not healthy, but this tradition survived for many years.

There were also fun games with my father. Sometimes he would play “hide and seek” with us, finding us in various hiding places; then again, he would chase us around the rooms. We, of course, were happy, and our father also laughed like never before. Generally serious, he smiled often, but laughed rarely. We loved father dearly, although he was strict and demanding. He attached great importance to punctuality. When we left for church on Sunday, he required us to be ready at the appointed hour and get into the carriage with our parents. Those who did not show up had to walk to the next service, joining someone from the service. However, I don’t recall my father hitting any of us. A stern rebuke was sufficient. On the other hand, Mother, who stayed with us a lot more, sometimes knocked us out by the hands. I remember being so punished when I stuck my younger sister’s fingers through the door while playing. 

For most of the day, my father worked in his office. Entry to this room was basically forbidden to children. From time to time, however, we were allowed to stay there, which gave us great pleasure, and we were then happy to use the “rocking” chair located there. We ran to our father to kiss him goodnight in the evening, already in our nightgowns. We always found him at his desk, illuminated by a standing lamp with a green shade, bent over papers. 

Father’s study was cluttered with furniture. On one wall stood a large library cabinet filled with books. In addition to a multi-volume German encyclopedia, there were various other encyclopedic publications, dictionaries, and professional handbooks, in Polish and German. Along the other wall stood a leather-covered couch and two armchairs, with a large table in the center and stacks of various papers lying on it. It gave the impression of a terrible mess, but there was some sort of thematic arrangement to it, and father always found what he was looking for quickly. The wall above the couch was decorated with antlers of game hunted by father. Opposite were two windows. In a corner by one of them stood an old-fashioned desk, also perpetually set up with magazines and correspondence. In the cabinet rising above it were a multitude of drawers and shelves, also tightly filled. Under the other window was a woven rocking chair. When father was devising some writing or any matter at all, he would sit in this chair and swing slightly.

Father was immensely interested in new inventions. He followed the appearance of modern agricultural machinery and usually bought it after analyzing its usefulness. I recall him explaining to me the workings of a reaper adapted for mowing outgrown grain. In the past, this had to be done by the reapers, and the girls followed them and tied the sheaves by hand, which was very labor-intensive. The modernized reaper had a device that lifted the lodged grain and its work was much cheaper.

But innovations interested my father not only on the farm. When the radio became widespread in the mid-1920s, he was among the first in the area to acquire the equipment. It was a massive apparatus with five large and several small dials. The dials had to be set to the right combination of digits to enable one to hear a station. The essential camera still needed a large and heavy battery and a separate speaker. For a long time, our favorite activity was discovering new stations. We would write in a special notebook the digits to which each dial had to be set.

Every day, the radio was set to Warsaw. At noon, my father would turn on the apparatus, and the bugle call from the Mariacka Tower in Cracow would sound throughout the house, followed by the news. I was very attached to the bugle call. When I stayed in my Warsaw apartment, I set the radio at noon, and the trumpet’s voice took me back to my childhood.

I can no longer remember in what year my father bought his first car, arousing great enthusiasm in our bunch. It was a Ford convertible, a spacious, multi-passenger vehicle. We liked to drive the car uncovered, but the periods when the weather allowed it in our climate were relatively short. Mostly we had to use a “kennel”.

People who stayed with us said that the house was well organized. Mother received guests warmly, and everyone brought back fond memories. Running such a house involved a lot of money, despite my mother managing frugally and, above all, rationally. The father contributed certain sums to the house and supplied the kitchen with the estate’s own products, i.e., milk, meat, potatoes, or flour. As a passionate farmer, he dreamed of more and more improvements to the farm, and modernization in various areas, and tried to allocate the bulk of his income for this purpose. Mother never questioned this, but in order to have her own resources for the house and children, she organized large-scale poultry farming.

Every year from March to May, she would run electric incubators, obtaining several throws of hens, ducks, and geese. She also raised turkeys and guinea fowl on a smaller scale. The incubators required constant temperature and humidity control. Mother would even get up at night, as fluctuations in temperature could happen, and destroy many embryos. As children, we experienced all the activities involved in hatching chicks. Taking turns, one of us could take part in it. Each egg had to be marked with two longitudinal lines, blue on one side and red on the other. Several times a day, they were turned over once to the blue side and once to the red side. After a while, all the eggs were x-rayed to eliminate the unhatched ones before they spoiled and were destined for feed. We eagerly awaited the day when the chicks would begin to hatch. We were delighted with them and enjoyed participating in their feeding.

In autumn, on the other hand, among the great games was making noodles for the geese. Geese destined for fattening sat locked in one room of the hen house and were fed by slipping oblong noodles into their beaks. I did not witness their feeding, but I remember with what enthusiasm, standing on the kitchen bench, I would roll the oblong rolls from the prepared dough. Everyone bought geese for St. Martin’s Day in our neighborhood, probably all over Germany and the former Prussian partition (November 11). This was also the customary day for moving, a date probably chosen to be in time for the coming winter.

Mother also derived a small income from the garden. This name meant to us park, orchard, and extensive vegetable garden. It was generally in deficit, but the cost of labor, fertilizer, and some purchases charged the estate account. Mother managed the whole thing, having a gardener. He was often assigned larger jobs by the groundskeeper. Mother subscribed to various gardening magazines to run the garden as rationally as possible. Fruits and walnuts were not for sale. Two giant walnut trees grew in the park in front of the house. The image of potato sacks full of nuts, carried to the cellar in autumn, remained in my memory. They were intended for our needs and gift-giving to various people and for Christmas supplies to Polish orphanages and organizations. Also, winter apples were distributed by mother at Christmas. Some durable varieties remained for the house until late spring. 

In the vegetable garden, many bushes of raspberries, currants, and gooseberries grew along the flower beds, and every year we had an extensive plantation of strawberries. At that time, the health-giving properties of vegetables and fruits were already being promoted, so mother allowed us to play in them to our heart’s content. She often invited friends to come and pick their own fruit. Others carried full baskets on various occasions. The gardener traveled twice a week to the market in Sztum, where he sold vegetables. 

As far as I know, they were popular. In general, they were plump, and in our town, the supply was not among the best. A conversation between my mother and a lady who asked if the gardener received a commission on the vegetables he sold was stuck in my memory. My mother laughed and replied: “In theory, yes, but in practice, he pays me a commission. However, I’m looking at his activity from a bigger picture, because, after all, I’m not going to monitor these small sums”.

So there was no shortage of fruits and vegetables on our home menu. Mother tried to make it conform to the latest currents in the field of dietetics. During the day, mother was too busy to pick up a book or magazine. She devoted her evenings to this, often sitting up late into the night. She subscribed to magazines published by the Union of Poles in Germany, the women’s magazine Bluszcz [Ivy], Przewodnik Katolicki [The Catholic Guide], and others whose titles I don’t remember. In the evenings, she also prepared papers for meetings of women’s organizations. When I sometimes felt sick and woke up at night, I would run to her room and find her with her head bent over reading or writing, in the light of a night lamp standing on the table. The youngest child slept in her room, so she kept it semi-dark.

Mother devoted much of her time to social work, focusing mainly on two Polish women’s organizations - Towarzystwo Ziemianek (the Society of Landed Gentry Women) and Katolickim Towarzystwie Kobiet im. Świętej Kingi (St. Kinga Catholic Women’s Society). 

The former was an activist organization. Its name probably remained from earlier times. It included ladies Helena Sierakowska, Emilia Chełkowska, Izydora Osińska, Aleksandra Morawska, Aunt Marysia Donimirska, and the Gawroński sisters from Postolin. These ladies met regularly, very often in Czernin, and arranged work plans. Tasks were distributed, such as taking care of kindergartens, preparing various events, and handling meetings of the St. Kinga Society.

The latter organization included village women, who formed circles in individual villages. Circle meetings were generally held once a month. The first part was a lecture on current, religious, and national topics. It also included practical advice on health, cooking, and farming. Information was provided on local events and happenings. My mother was one of the most popular speakers. After Helena Sierakowska and Emilia Chelkowska left for Poland permanently, the main speakers left were Aunt Marysia Donimirska from Ramzy and my mother. As a child, I began to participate in this activity quite early. My mother used to take me to meetings to spice them up with even a modest “artistic part”. I used to recite childish rhymes by Maria Konopnicka, fairy tales by Ignacy Krasicki, and later more serious but easy-to-read poems with mostly historical, patriotic content. The participants received my performances very warmly, with great applause. 

The meetings ended via a shared “coffee”. We always carried the traditional large yeast crumble cakes to the meetings. Coffee was served with them. A social chat followed, usually in an enjoyable, cordial, and cheerful atmosphere. For most members, these meetings were the main, and sometimes even the only, entertainment in their lives. That’s why the attendance was good, although the small influx of young female participants was worrisome. Older people, accompanied somewhat less by daughters or granddaughters, predominated. It was feared that the society would die out in the future, but interest in it did not wane over the twenty-year period.

Our housekeeper Maria Olszewska, whom we treated as a family member, played a major role in the preparations for the “coffee”. She came from Czersk in Pomerania, where her family still lived and to which she went once a year on vacation. She was a few years older than my mother. She had completed housekeeping courses and served an apprenticeship in some aristocratic house, learning to cook under the guidance of the cook who worked there. 

As far as I know, her arrival in our house made it easier for my mother to overcome the initial difficulties. Thus, mother valued her immensely and surrounded her with respect and cordiality. On the other hand, the housekeeper became so attached to our family, especially to our mother, that she felt at home here and treated us as her nearest and dearest. She loved all the children as if they were her own, but especially spoiled the youngest of us. In mother’s absence, she substituted for her towards us, as well as towards the servants. For some time, mother wanted to introduce the custom of calling her “Mrs. Marynia”. However, the servants called her “Mrs. Housekeeper”. The children called her “Gosia”. And so it remained.

We visited her regularly in the afternoon when Gosia was sitting in her room. She always had a tin of candy or cookies for us. While eating the candy, we would jump on her couch and ask her about various things. She chatted with us eagerly and told us interesting stories, giving us great pleasure. Gosia always remembered when someone’s name day. (Name days are a Catholic tradition of celebrating one’s saint’s feast day, historically more significant than birthdays in many European cultures). Gosia made sure that the gardener decorated the name day child’s chair at the table with greenery and flowers. She arranged the decorations around the plate herself. The menu consisted exclusively of the favorite dishes of the person celebating, who, coming to breakfast, found gifts by his or her seat. There always was a small trinket from Gosia among them. Without her, we could not imagine our home in Czernin.

Gosia helped our mother manage the servants, who consisted of four young girls. The maid cleaned most rooms, set the table, and served meals. The rest of the rooms were cleaned by a girl who watched over the youngest children and went for walks with them. She also helped the maid with washing dishes and some other chores. In the kitchen, the housekeeper was assisted by an elewka, an understudy. Although the understudy’s main task was to learn cooking and housekeeping, she was also paid. She was never commissioned to do menial labor. The kitchen helper did these jobs. She lit the fire in the kitchen stove, washed the pots, and cleaned the kitchen along with the hallway and kitchen stairs. She was also employed to raise poultry. 

Mother was cautious that none of the girls was overloaded and that their daily work did not take too long. When they cleaned up after dinner, usually before two o’clock, the girls enjoyed time off until four o’clock. Some went for a nap, while others were sewing or knitting. After the break, they prepared afternoon tea, which was served around half past five. At seven o’clock, dinner was served, after which only the cleaning of the dining room, kitchen, and sideboard was mandatory. Mother always ensured that all work was completed by eight o’clock at the latest. In the summer, all four girls sometimes walked around the park in the evenings, often singing songs. Every other Sunday was free, rotating for two other people.

Once, while teasing during an evening wash, we spilled a pitcher of water on the floor. Not thinking much, one of us said: “I’ll call Martha right away to wipe it up”. Mother became angry and forbade us to call anyone. She sharply reminded us that the girls had worked all day and were now due to rest. She ordered us to wipe. However, we were still small, so she did the main part of the work herself. When our older brother learned about this the next day, he reproached us about how we could have allowed our mother to work so hard. He stated that we had shortened her life by at least a few days. This made a painful impression on me. I was reminded of his words in similar situations more than once later.

Women from our workers’ families came to do particularly hard work around the house. Marychna Dębińska came regularly to do the laundry. I liked her very much. As soon as I heard the sound of scrubbing laundry against the washboard, I immediately ran there to greet her and talk. Marychna knew us from infants to adulthood. She showed us a lot of interest and affection. As a teenager, Prakseda watched the grazing geese during the summer for several years. I liked to sit at her place in the meadow. I had long conversations with her, through which I learned about her family, lifestyle, sorrows, and joys. It interested me a lot. 

We were also eager to visit during our walks Antosia Kopczyńska, who grazed the cows owned by the laborers, as opposed to the “estate cows”. Antosia was interested in everything that was happening in the village and the surrounding area. She was bored in the pasture, so our visits greatly pleased her. We, in turn, were entertained by her stories and gossip. She had one leg shorter and limped severely, but she and her dog bravely herded her charges as they moved away from the herd.

The houses of our workers stretched along the access road, from the road to the alley leading to the manor. There were about ten of them. Each contained two apartments consisting of two rooms and a kitchen. One room was always kept in order. It was clean, and the window sills were decorated with flowers. Generally, two or three people slept there, while the rest of the family slept in the second room, where, like the kitchen, daily life went on. In front of the doors, which were located on either side of the house, each family had a small garden where they grew vegetables and flowers. In addition, it had a piece of field for potatoes across the road. Every year, my father carried out a major renovation and modernization of one house, gradually eliminating the straw thatch still remaining from the old days on several houses. I remember his satisfaction when most straw thatches were replaced with tile roofs. Some families, long-time incumbents there, had close ties with us. My father always tried to hire Poles, but over time it happened more and more often that candidates of Polish descent and speaking Polish shifted their identity after taking the job. It sometimes turned out that they even joined anti-Polish organizations under pressure exerted on them.

As permanent employees, the head of each family received a quarterly payment in kind in addition to a monthly wage. Other family members were paid daily. As an employer, my father maintained and supervised the employees’ cows as part of the in-kind payment. When the cows returned from pasture, they were housed in a separate barn, where the owners’ families took care of them, milking and cleaning them.

Among the workers, the Krajewski family played a particular role. Mr. Krajewski acted as the groundskeeper, also serving as the foreman, who distributed and supervised the activities of the workers. He, or someone he chose, signaled a break in work by beating with a hammer on a piece of sheet metal hanging on a tree at the edge of the yard. Always punctual, this far-reaching signal, allowed everyone around to orient themselves in time. The morning gong, calling for work, sounded at different times depending on the season, earlier in the summer, later in the winter: at 8:30, the signal was given that it was time for breakfast; at 9:00, it was time to return to work. From 12:00 to 14:00 was the lunch break, and from 16:30 to 17:00 was the afternoon tea break. In general, the end of work was announced at 18:00. However, during urgent field work, such as harvesting, one worked for extra pay until 20:00.

Father highly trusted Mr. Krajewski, appreciating his family’s dedication to the Polish cause. Therefore, when Mr. Krajewski retired, his place was taken by his son, young Janek Krajewski. Later, father sent him to a professional driver’s course and hired him as a chauffeur. It was difficult to find a Polish chauffeur, and the presence of a German while driving would have been embarrassing for us.

In the early 1930s, when the economy in Germany began to improve, the old Ford was replaced by an Opel. Every 2-3 years after that, one returned the car to the manufacturer and received a new model for a surcharge. In the spring of 1939, my father placed the order again, and six months later, the latest type of Opel, named “Captain”, was delivered to Czernin. However, my parents were already imprisoned by then….

The car facilitated trips to Malbork. In the past, we traveled by horse or rail. A carriage ride from home to the shopping area took nearly an hour and a half, by car we arrived in a dozen minutes. Trips by rail were inconvenient: we had to go by horse through the whole of Sztum to the train station located outside the city, the next half hour was by train, and in Malbork the train station was far from the destination of our expeditions, i.e. Unter den Lauben Street. This street was the commercial center of Malbork. Richly stocked stores of various specialties were located there: a relatively large department store under Conitzer & Soehne, grocery stores, so-called colonial stores, and a fruit and vegetable store, always filled to the brim with southern fruits and various delicacies. There was also our favorite Kastner’s Patisserie, which we traditionally visited when shopping. Of course, every time we went to Malbork, the car was full of “passengers”, and the highlight of our trip was a visit to Kastner’s. Each of us had our favorite pastries: great yeast with raisins, Viennese cheesecake, flat Schwein—Öhrchen, and crispy Lucka-Augen. To top it off, we drank Zitrone Naturell lemonade, water with sugar and lemon, through a straw from tall glasses.

My brother had already started driving his first Opel. Soon after obtaining his driver’s license, he proved to be an excellent driver. From then on, whenever he was home, we went with him on visits and trips. In general, however, we used the services of Janek Krajewski, who thus became a participant in our trips and various events. We treated him as a close and trusted person.

In my earliest memories, the image of a close relationship between the manor and our village remained. As a little girl, I would sometimes go with the maid to visit the sick, bringing them medicine, fruit, chicken for broth….

Later, the number of friendly families melted away, gradually reduced to a few genuinely Polish families who showed us sincere affection. In the 1930s, the closest to us were three families who sent their children to a Polish school in Postolin: The Borzych, the Nastarzyk, and the Marcinkowski. However, the parents treated everyone fairly and kindly.

When I recall our contacts with the workers, I can’t leave out the harvest festivities, known in our country as the “okrężno”. After the harvest, its date was set for some Saturday. In the afternoon, a large procession with a large wreath would approach the manor house, where our family was already waiting on the porch. A group of women sang a traditional song with the refrain: “We carry the harvest, the harvest, to our landlords at home!”. There were also cheerful chants about our family, generally positive, but sometimes malicious towards some other people. I remembered a few of them: “Near the manor hangs a scythe, the landlord angry as a wasp” or: “And Mister Writer pale face through the windows climbs to the girls…”. 

After singing the song, the forewoman presented a wreath, receiving some amount of money to share. After the “official” part, a dance party would begin in the carriage house. Beforehand, the coach and carriages were removed from the carriage house, wooden benches and tables were brought in, a place was arranged for an orchestra paid for from the estate’s coffers, as was a buffet, and a keg of beer was placed. We participated in the fun for about two hours when we were older. Olgierd danced with the girls, and we danced with the foragers and workers. Then we withdrew, and the party continued until morning. The host and other elders were charged with keeping order and peace. The ever-present representative of the fire department assisted them. 

The festivities of Christmas and Easter remained fixed in my memory. My earliest memories of Easter are associated with trips to visit family. The older we got, the less often we went away. After all, we were a large family, which made travel and visits difficult. Whether we spent Christmas at home or away from home, certain traditions had to be fulfilled.

During Lent, we fulfilled our mother’s recommendation that, in order to develop a strong will, we should use mortification, and in particular deny ourselves sweets. We were given them in the usual quantities, so it was up to us to give in to these rigors. Each of us had a large tin (usually of ovomaltine, which we often drank with milk) and deposited the sweets we received in it. Soon after Easter, we would hold a “feast.” We would cover the table with white napkins, set up our children’s services, and spread out our saved supplies. Dolls and teddy bears also took part in the “feast”. We served the household members.

Throughout Lent, a rather severe mood was maintained at home. We were told the course of the Passion of the Lord. We also sang Lenten songs with other household members. From my brother’s diary, which I managed to read shortly before the war, it seems that I experienced the sufferings of the Lord Jesus very much. Lenten songs made me cry. So for a while, they were avoided in my presence. Once I was older, I sang them with others.

Before Easter, the preparations already provided a lot of pleasure. As the oldest girl, I had the most responsibilities, mainly related to making mazurka pastries. I cut the nuts, peeled the nuts, and mixed the dough. I ensured that all the children enjoyed the privilege of scraping leftover dough or mixture out of pans and bowls. These had a much better taste for us than the finished dough.

We could not be deprived on Easter of a visit from the “bunny” who bestowed sweets on us every year. On the first day of Easter, or if we were leaving, the day before, we experienced the excitement of searching for our baskets: each of us had our own, different from the others. Usually, the day before, a card from the “hare” would appear in a prominent place, informing us where to put the baskets and where and when to look for them. We often found them in the garden, hidden under the bushes. They were filled with chocolate bunnies, marzipan chickens, and different colored eggs. Sometimes, however, when Easter fell early and the weather was unfavorable, the baskets were hidden in the house.

On Easter Saturday afternoon, the parish priest, the Rev. Dean Leon Neumann, usually accompanied by the two vicars, would come to our house and bless the food gathered in the dining hall. After this ceremony, we all sat with the priests and other invited guests at the table. On such occasions, priests wore black frock coats, not cassocks.

Despite being pressured, our parish priest did not eliminate Polish services. In the 1920s, the first “quiet” Mass was held on Sundays at seven o’clock. It was accompanied alternately by Polish or German singing. At the next service at nine o’clock, singing was in German, and the Gospel was read by the priest first in German and then in Polish; there was no sermon. Finally, at twelve o’clock, a summation was held, during which both the singing and prayers and the sermon were alternately in Polish or German. 

I remember the commotion caused by the behavior of the newly appointed mayor (landrat) of Sztum, who became a Catholic. Until then, as far as I know, this office had been held by Evangelicals. Shortly after arriving in Sztum, the new mayor and his wife went to the nine o’clock Sunday service. When the priest read the Gospel in German, they stood up like everyone else. However, they ostentatiously sat down when they heard the same Gospel in Polish. This prompted numerous comments throughout the neighborhood. By the 1930s, only one Polish Mass was being held.

An anecdote circulated about the Sztum parish at one time. The bishop of the Diocese of Warmia, Maximilian Kaller, was a German. He was reluctant to see the patriotic activities of some Polish priests and was not enthusiastic about them. He appointed as vicar of the Sztum parish a priest who bore the Polish surname Gliszczyński and came from the Polish nobility of Kashubia, though could not speak a word of Polish. The local dean, Father Neumann, who, despite his name, came from a Polish family, was admittedly not active like some other Polish priests, but tried to be fair. So he reminded the bishop that Polish services were held in Sztum, that priests had to give Polish sermons, and that Sztum’s old ladies had to have Polish confessors, since they did not speak German. The bishop reportedly became upset and cried out: “For thirty years I’ve been hearing about Sztum old ladies who don’t speak German. How old are they now?” Rev. Paweł Gliszczyński changed his name over time to “von Gliesen,” because he couldn’t pronounce it in the Polish version. At Polish services he read sermons in Polish, but it was difficult to understand anything. 

Easter was a solemn and joyous holiday for us, but we attached much more importance to Christmas, commonly called Boże Narodzenie, in our neighborhood. Preparations began a few weeks earlier when we set to work on Christmas tree decorations. In general, the initiative and designs came from my mother, and our caretaker assisted us in making them. We enthusiastically drew, cut and glued various colored papers, tissue paper and straws, creating our masterpieces. Our mother also bought some new shiny baubles every year, as some decorations were damaged. Closer to Christmas, work in the kitchen began. The housekeeper would bake huge sheets of aromatic gingerbread. We used tin molds to punch out tiny gingerbread men in various shapes. Whole baskets of these gingerbreads, apples, nuts, and candies were given to Polish security guards. Some of these delicacies were also brought to Christmas meetings in the Circles of the Society of St. Kinga. I participated in these preparations with enthusiasm and a pleasant thrill that Christmas was near. For Christmas, my mother also made marzipans. Our duties included peeling almonds from their shells. The finished marzipans were toasted with a red-hot iron rod, which gave them an unparalleled flavor.

There was a lot of excitement about pre-Christmas shopping. From the shape of the packages, we tried to guess what was also hidden in them. We peeked at the mysterious packages gathered in the boudoir. On Christmas Eve, the tension grew. A tall Christmas tree appeared in the living room, which we were busy decorating until the festive dinner, consisting of herring and jacket potatoes. In the past, decorating the Christmas tree was done by an adult, but later we did it ourselves, and Olo conducted us. Since the autumn of 1927, he had been a student at the Marian Fathers’ high school in Warsaw’s Bielany district. After returning for the Christmas holidays, he got to work with enthusiasm. The Christmas tree was lit by candles, even when electric lights were already shining in many homes.

We helped set rows of deep plates on the dining room table in the afternoon and filled them with prepared sweets, nuts, gingerbread, and candies. These were intended for the children of the workers. Before the first war and in the first years after it ended, my mother taught village children to read and write in Polish. On Christmas Eve, there was an exam, and the children received extra portions of candy and special prizes for the best results. As time passed, my mother could no longer continue this work. The custom remained that during the Christmas Eve meeting, the children volunteered their prepared performances: whether reading an excerpt from a Polish text, reciting a poem, or singing a song. For each such performance, its hero received a prize. With enthusiasm, we helped pour the contents of the plates and portions of apples into bags brought by the children. The children received extra rations of apples and candy for those who were absent (most often the youngest stayed at home). My mother talked to the little guests and encouraged us to interact with them as well, but I was too shy to do so. In the end, we sang a few Christmas carols together.

After the children left, the girls cleaned the dining room. A thin layer of hay was spread on the table, a white napkin was laid on top of this, and the Christmas Eve Supper was set. A sheaf of grain was dutifully placed in the corner of the room, which was supposed to favor the following year’s harvest. The supper was preceded by the breaking of the wafer and mutual wishes. I remember the traditional dishes of mushroom soup, carp in gray sauce with almonds and raisins, cabbage with mushrooms, and poppy seeds with nuts for dessert. My father would bring wine to emphasize the festive nature of the gathering. He also poured us symbolically at the bottom of the glasses. Even mother didn’t object, knowing that fulfilling a festive toast gave pleasure to both us and father.

Father was a connoisseur of spirits. He always had a well-stocked cellar, from which he would bring appropriate drinks when guests showed up. Still, for anyone to go overboard was simply unthinkable. It never happened that anyone in our house, much less anyone in our family, abused alcohol.

During Christmas Eve Supper, the door to the living room was closed. Toward the end, mother would leave the room and return, carrying fruit and sweets after some time, but we were no longer interested in eating. We listened to what was going on in the living room. At some point, the voice of the bell rang. Parents would open the door to the living room, and there the Christmas tree was shining in full splendor. Sometimes Santa Claus showed up in person (if we had a guest who took on this role). Often, however, he left gifts under the Christmas tree. Then each of us searched frantically for our gifts. In our house, we called him Santa Claus, although in the neighborhood he was called Gwiazdor, or “Man of the Stars”. Until then, we believed in the unearthly origin of the benefactor. The discovery that it was our parents caused disappointment years later.

On that evening, masqueraded boys, known locally as “gwizdy,” (whistlers) would appear at our house. They were our younger employees. They performed in masks and traditional costumes, which were repeated every year. Among the compulsory characters was a “horseman” in the style of a Cracovian lajkonik, who cracked his whip loudly, which annoyed me a lot. For this reason, I disliked them and often ran away from the dining hall when they showed off there. There was also usually someone dressed as a chimney sweep, and as death. There was a “grandfather and grandmother,” but most were Lancers, or Ułani. They generally performed in white costumes, decorated with colorful, pseudo-military signs. On their heads they wore high colorful headgear. Mostly they carried wooden sabers at their side. Conducting the whole bunch was a musician with an accordion. As he entered, he played some carols. Then there was dance music. “Lancers” asked our girls to dance, and years later, also me and my sisters. After a few dances, we sang carols together, after which our guests received prepared packages, and our parents handed the musicians some amount of money to share.

After the whistlers left, we returned to the gifts we had received under the Christmas tree. We all sang carols together, eating fruit and sweets during the breaks. It was always a beautiful and happy evening for us. On the holidays, between Christmas and New Year’s, there was an exchange of visits with the neighborhood.

On New Year’s Eve, my parents were sometimes invited to visit one of the neighbors, which happened more often in the 1920s. When it was getting dark in the afternoon, foragers and boys on horses would line up in front of our house. At a given signal, they would start cracking rhythmically from their whips. It was a powerful noise because it rang out in the open. It didn’t impress me as much as the crack of the “horseman’s” whip during a gwizdy visit. A lamp over the front door was lit and my father and I walked out onto the porch. After a few minutes, one of the workers would approach my father, give him New Year’s wishes, and receive money for the whole bunch. As a thank you, they would make another thunder-like series.

The evening of New Year’s Eve was time for fortune-telling (while “St. Andrew’s” customs were not known in our country). We had already prepared a set of cards on which we drew symbols of various possible events. So, a book meant intensive study, a train - a long journey, a ring - an engagement, two rings joined together - a wedding, a rosary - a monastery, an exclamation point - a great surprise, the outlines of coins reflected on paper - wealth, a cross - in our interpretation was supposed to mean the death of a person or someone close. Mother disagreed with such a sad divination and worried heavily when this card appeared

Every year we had new ideas and added new symbols. Towards evening, we would spread the cards on the dining table and cover them with plates after mixing them thoroughly, so that no one knew what was hidden. Then we invited all the household members in turn to pick up the plates of their choice. With great interest, we watched what fortune-telling for the coming year the uncovered cards contained, laughing at the sometimes improbable associations.

Another way of telling fortunes was pouring tin. In Germany, tin figurines were sold especially for this purpose. In a suitable vessel with a long handle, such a figurine was melted over a fire in the kitchen and poured into a pot of cold water. For us the housekeeper usually heated the tin, but we had already poured it into the water ourselves. The housekeeper was the master of ceremonies, and she read the fortune from the shadow that the melted metal cast on the wall. Of course, everyone participated and everyone added their interpretation. New Year’s Eve evening was sometimes spent with us by some guests. Sometimes they were family members from Poland who came to Czernin for the entire holiday season. We welcomed the New Year in a family atmosphere, to the sound of carols, in the glow of a lighted Christmas tree.

Such was the environment in which I spent my childhood. For me, it was a circle of close and friendly people, inspiring trust and affection, while all around was a foreign and hostile world.

Immediately after the defeat of the plebiscite, the belief prevailed among Poles in our region that they should “opt” to move to Poland. However, gradually, mainly under the influence of persuasion coming from the Country, these projects began to be withdrawn, and many people decided to stay. Among them were the landed gentry of Sztum County, most of whom were members of the Donimirski family.

In the county’s capital, Sztum, the percentage of the Polish population in the second half of the 1920s was small. After the plebiscite, all the well-known Polish merchants and craftsmen left the town. However, Sztum remained the center of Polish life in the entire region. For many years it was concentrated in the home of Dr. Feliks Morawski. His daughter Aleksandra played the de facto secretary of all Polish organizations for a long time.

Every few days, our father was in Sztum. As little girls, we liked immensely to go wherever there was an opportunity. As soon as the wagoner harnessed the horses to the chaise or carriage, at least two of us were already preparing to leave.

While in Sztum, father usually went to Dr. and Mrs. Morawski, among other places, because the People’s Bank had its headquarters in their house for many years. Father would sign documents and discuss current affairs, and during this time, we were warmly welcomed by Mrs. Morawski, who always found some cakes or candies for us. The Morawski family had seven children, five sons and two daughters. Only one of the sons and a daughter, Alexandra, stayed in Sztum. Therefore, I hardly knew the others. I only remember Stefania, who, working at the People’s Bank in Olsztyn and later at the Polish consulate in Ełk, visited her parents from time to time.

My parents had a close friendship with Dr. Morawski. He was our house doctor and a frequent visitor. Whenever someone in the house fell ill, a carriage was sent for “our doctor.” As children, we enjoyed his visits because he was always optimistic and humorous. One spring, when our bunch began to suffer from an agonizing cough, he concluded that it was whooping cough. I remember him comforting my parents that it was nothing dangerous, recommending a trip to Marusza for a change of climate: “Take a walk in the woods there, and you can cough along with the cuckoos”, he told us, arousing our merriment. 

Another occasion to meet with the doctor was the smallpox that attacked us in the spring of 1929. Olo was already studying in Bielany by then. Mother was staying in Krasnolesie at her sister’s home, Aunt Tola Gołębska, who had just given birth to her second daughter, Bożunia. It was not only us four sisters who were ill, but several-month-old Staś was also infected. I tried to nurse him and zealously powdered the rash-stricken infant. During this time, my father took care of us a lot. He often got up at night to give us something to drink or to powder our itchy backs.

We were all very much affected by the unexpected death of Dr. Morawski on December 27, 1929. The previous evening, he and his daughter had still been guests at our home in Czernin for a Christmas party. He was in a great mood, laughing and joking. No one in my family could come to terms with this sudden death. I remember exactly the funeral ceremony at the small cemetery at the entrance to Sztum, on a cloudy, gloomy winter day.

Another Polish house in Sztum belonged to the family of Teofil Potowski, owner of a mill in the so-called Przedzamcze (an area at the foot of the castle). And he too had a beautiful record from the time of the plebiscite. In l9l9 he traveled twice to the Versailles Conference to defend Polish interests. He had eleven children, two sons and nine daughters. Their presence greatly increased the attendance at our meetings and events. The girls were pretty and pleasant, and we liked them very much. They all sang well and were valuable voices in the Polish choir. Also, thanks to them, beautifully performed Polish songs always resounded during Polish services in the Sztum church.

My sisters and I were particularly fond of Michalina, known as Micha. In addition to her beauty, she was distinguished by her charm and great kindness. 

In the mid-1920s, young and handsome Maksymilian Golisz became the secretary of the Union of Poles in Germany and the Polish-Catholic School Society in Sztum. After some time, he began to “date” Micha, and later acted as her fiancé. For me, during their romance, they were the model of a beautiful, happy couple, soon to be united in marriage. What was my disappointment when, after a few years of working in Sztum, Mr. Golisz, who had too much offended the local German authorities with his activities, was transferred by the Board of the Polish Association to Szczecin and soon broke up with the lovely Micha! She experienced this separation painfully, and I, sympathizing warmly with her, could not come to terms with this fact either!

However, let’s return to our visits to Sztum. Sometimes my father would go to see attorney Jan Łangowski, who lived on Market Square. As a lawyer and notary, he handled my father’s various cases and was his advisor on legal and financial matters. Socially he did not contribute and did not participate in Polish life, but he was kind to Poles and often acted as their legal counsel. While my father stayed with the patron, we would run around the sidewalks and look at the store windows. However, we entered the stores rarely and reluctantly. We feared that our poor knowledge of the German language would provoke hostile reactions. Although the German population, in its vast majority, was friendly to Poles, certain groups reacted to every manifestation of Polishness with insults, threats. and shouts: Polacken nach Warschau! Such incidents increased significantly after Hitler took power but occurred as early as the 1920s.

Only to the large drugstore in Market Square, owned by August Samatin, did we sometimes dare to enter to buy something. Mr. Samatin was always polite. My mother often made larger purchases at his place. His helper would then carry the packages to the carriage, and the owner would escort my mother to the vehicle. My cousin Kazik from Ramzy, who inherited his father’s wit and sharp tongue, constantly showered us with jokes. He coined the turn of phrase: “Sama Tina went to Sama-tina”. Except for items from the drugstore, my mother bought very little in Sztum. She did most of her shopping in Malbork, l5 km away. 

We had close contacts with the local landed gentry, most of whom were our relatives. My ancestors in a straight line came from Bukowo, which under German rule bore the official name Buchenwalde, in the Polish version “Buchwałd.” Together with the Telkwice, Komorowo, Brzozówka, and Nowa Wieś Szlachecka estates, it constituted the so-called “Buchwałd key”. The key belonged to my cousin’s grandfather, Jan Donimirski, at the time already an elderly man. He was generally respected in his family and the entire Malbork region’s Polish community. Following in the footsteps of his father Teodor (brother of my Great-Grandfather, Piotr Alkantary), he made great contributions to the national cause, including outside our region. Throughout his life, he defended the rights of the Polish population. He took part in independence actions before and during the First World War. He was particularly active in the economic sphere, promoting the progress and development of agriculture by establishing cooperatives and agricultural circles. His estate became a model and example of a rational economy. Many young farmers were trained here. He appreciated the importance of science and culture. He was an active member of the Scientific Society in Toruń, and maintained personal contact with such people as Sienkiewicz, Kolberg, Andriolli, and others.

I remember his wife Zofia, née Mittelstaedt, as a gray-haired older woman, energetic and busy. She held the helm of home rule at the time. Grandfather submitted without protest to her commands, which, although always aimed at his welfare, were sometimes quite controversial. For example, the grandmother believed in the life-giving effects of the sun’s rays and made the old man sit in the glassed veranda when the sun was operating strongly. As a result, the poor man sweated unmercifully.

The grandparents had only one daughter Maria, who was called Maniuta in the family. A tall, stocky, fiery brunette of gypsy beauty, she was distinguished by her energy and great vitality. She married Józef Chełkowski and settled with him in his estate of Śmiełów in Wielkopolska. Sixteen children were born of this marriage, two of whom died in childhood. Of the remaining fourteen, four died in September 1939: two daughters in the rubble of besieged Warsaw, one of the sons on the battlefield (five of them fought), and finally, the eldest, Franek, in Poznań, in the torrents of the Warta River.

In the memorable days of the plebiscite, Aunt Maniuta stayed with her eldest sons in Buchwałd and participated in the plebiscite campaign. Before that, she was in charge of organizing the welcome and stay of Ignacy Paderewski in Poznań; she talked with Piłsudski about the liberation of our region. She knew many people and corresponded with famous writers, artists, and politicians. Before and after the First War, she hosted prominent Poles in Śmiełów: In addition to Ignacy Paderewski, Henryk Sienkiewicz, Ludomir Różycki and many others visited there.

Her eldest son, Franek Chełkowski, served an agricultural apprenticeship in Buchwałd under his grandfather’s tutelage, later graduated from agricultural studies, married, settled in Telkwice, and took over the administration of the family estate. Age had strained his grandfather’s strength, who could no longer take care of the estate himself. As expected, Franek immediately became involved in social work, following in the footsteps of his grandfather and great-grandfather. He was involved wherever something could be done for the Polish cause. His wife, Emilia née Mieczkowska (“Mita”), also joined the women’s organizations.

My parents regularly visited their relatives in Buchwałd. Most often, they went there alone, without us children. Only when Aunt Maniuta showed up with her younger children did we accompany our parents to meet our cousins. Of course, also present at that time were Mita and Franek with their little ones. So, four generations met, and the uncles played with nephews not much younger than themselves. Franek and Mita were our cousins, but we called them uncle and aunt because of the big age difference. I liked auntie very much. She was kind and gentle to us, while Uncle Franek intimidated me, especially since he liked to examine us on our school skills.

As a young farmer, he eagerly set about performing his duties. Fresh out of college, he had much knowledge but lacked experience, especially in our difficult circumstances. During family gatherings, I remember that my father tried to advise and sometimes issuing warnings. Unfortunately, he was also advised daily by his administrators, among whom were dishonest people. Risky bank loans were taken out to finance investments. During the great crisis of the late 1920s, German banks took the opportunity to seize Polish land and took over the entire Buchwałd key.

Our family felt very sad at the loss of Buchwałd and Telkwice. Fortunately, the grandparents did not live to see this disaster and stayed in their beloved Buchwałd until the end of their lives. Grandpa died first in 1929, and grandma’s funeral soon followed. Franek and his family moved to Poznań, where he began managing the experimental farm of the Wyższa Szkola Rolicza, i.e. the Higher School of Agriculture. In September 1939, he drowned in the waters of the Warta River when, after a bridge was demolished, he attempted to ferry horses from the managed estate across the river in an effort to save them from being seized by the Germans. He left behind a wife and ten children. Despite the harsh war and post-war conditions, Mita raised and educated the whole bunch into brave and valuable people. I will only mention here that one of them was August Chełkowski, a Solidarity [2] senator and Speaker of the Senate in 1991-93. We met individual representatives of these siblings in the postwar years, establishing cordial relations with them. However, in the 1930s, this family was missing from Powiśle, which my parents particularly painfully felt.

Not far from Czernin lay Cygusy, owned by the Donimirski family since the 18th century. By the time of my childhood, the fifth generation of the family was already farming there: two brothers, Bolesław and Józef. Uncle Bolesław was a passionate farmer, immensely attached to his paternal estate, where he ran an exemplary farm. He supported all Polish organizations, although he was less personally active. Uncle Józio, on the other hand, who had a reputation as a loner and rather oddball, spending his life in his room on the first floor of the Cygusy mansion, participated in some Polish events. Also, the housekeeper from Cygusy, Miss Klin-The local custom was to use the word “Miss” for unmarried women, regardless of age-along with other ladies, was in charge of supplying the buffet for these events.

In general, however, the two Cygusy uncles were not very sociable and remained bachelors. They rarely attended neighborhood and family parties. Hunting was an exception, as they were avid hunters. Uncle Boleś shared a cordial friendship with my father, and they met quite often. When my uncle came to Czernin, the two men locked themselves in my father’s study and chat for hours over coffee. Regardless of other topical issues, the main topic of conversation was farming problems. Apart from my father, my uncle did not, as far as I know, meet with other neighbors or family. We saw Uncle Józio in Czernin mainly on hunting occasions. However, he did not join the guests gathered in the living room at the end, but usually sought the company of children, which flattered us immensely. So, we tried to entertain him and laughed at his jokes.

My uncles also had a sister, Anna Oświecimska, whom I never met. She died quite young, leaving four children. In the days of my childhood, they did not visit Cygusy. In any case, I know nothing about it. Later, when we were older, three of them, Janina, Tadeusz, and Mieczysław, came here for vacations, and then we became very friendly with them.

Closest to Czernin was Zajezierze, the estate of Uncle Gucio, who has already been mentioned. I remembered the small but charming manor house with old-fashioned interiors and an always well-kept garden, especially the colorful flower beds outlined with evenly trimmed boxwood bushes. Its fragrance wafted all around and, to this day, evokes the image of Zajezierze. As I have already mentioned, Uncle Gucio was not allowed to return to his home because he faced the death penalty for treason against the German Reich. This was the qualification for his service in the Polish army. 

For many years, our relative Jadwiga Czarlińska, an elderly, lonely, and hardworking person, lived in the manor house. Aunt Jadwiga watched over her cousin’s paternal property, busying herself bravely around the house, garden, and farm. We visited her from time to time, and she always received us very warmly. She liked children immensely. When she came to Czernin, she always brought us toys and treats. It happened that she stayed for a longer time during our mother’s absence. We liked her but rebelled when she introduced customs different from those we were used to. She once stayed in Czernin in October and ordered the daily recitation of the rosary. Upon our mother’s return, we complained to her that it was such a long prayer, and my aunt, to make it even longer, added something else in the middle of each Hail Mary.

Among those who were very active between the wars were Maria and Kazimierz from Małe Ramzy. Kazimierz was my uncle through the Donimirski and my mother’s cousin by common grandfather, Ignacy Łyskowski. Both my Great-Grandfather Łyskowski and Aunt Marysia’s father, Dr. Teofil Rzepnikowski of Lubawa, were well-known social activists. So, my uncles continued the family traditions. Both were interested in cultural matters. 

Aunt Marysia wrote literary texts, mainly for amateur theatrical performances, which she organized. In some, the uncles performed personally, and sometimes my mother performed as well. I remember a comedy that was staged during an annual play in Sztum, which was very successful. Uncle Kazio, known for his sharp wit, supplemented the delivered texts with funny remarks, referring to people well-known in our country and current events. I recall his digression when the title of the opera Charles’s aunt was played on stage: Oh, I know, I know Mrs. Helena, she’s a wonderful woman! And Count Staś - all sweetness and light! - having in mind, of course, the Sierakowski from Waplewo. Also, he cracked jokes on other occasions, amusing the whole company. However, he was sometimes malicious, which made him some enemies.

When we dropped by Ramzy unexpectedly, we usually found him with a book in his hand. He read a lot of fiction, ancient and recent. I remember a conversation between my parents when my father was surprised that my uncle could devote so much time to reading fiction. My father, immensely involved in his work, loved his farm and was forever upgrading it, considering it his duty. Undoubtedly, this was a large-scale undertaking. So, he read professional literature and also took interest in politics and the economy. He was aware of the existing risks, which filled him with anxiety about the future. Meanwhile, Uncle Kazio was always an optimist.

The liveliest contacts were between us, the children from Czernin, with the Ramzy. The uncles had seven children, but the pair of the oldest, Zbyszek and Celinka, did not participate in our games due to the age difference. The next in line, Kazik, the age of my brother Olo, was constantly cracking jokes, the opposite of my peer Marian, who was called Lolo, serious and perpetually thoughtful. A year younger than him, Elżunia, called Zunia, was friends with my sisters Lila and Renia. Our Ewa’s peer was Mietek, or Metul. The youngest pair, our Staś and Ramzy’s Tuchna, or Teresa, were born a little later.

As we grew up, our games became more varied. At first, we mainly played enacting well-known songs, such as Old Bear, Father Wirgiliusz, I’ve Got a Handkerchief, Standing Rose, Walking Fox, Washerwomen, and others. Later we enjoyed various riddles, guessing games, word completions, when we collected forfeits from those who were unsuccessful. This was followed by the redemption of the forfeits, which caused the most laughter and general merriment. 

Over time, our favorite game became “live word games.” We would divide into two groups, and one would act out syllables along the lines of a word puzzle, while the other had to guess the correct words. In addition to these common games, there were also “bilateral relations”. For example, my peer Marian, like me, loved reading. So, we exchanged the books we owned and had lively discussions about them on this occasion.

Among our neighbors, the most distinguished for the Polish cause was Stanisław Count Sierakowski of Waplewo, owner of the largest area of land in Polish hands in East Prussia. For several generations, his family had been developing comprehensive national, social, and cultural activities. Stanisław Sierakowski was an expert in the Polish delegation to the Versailles peace conference in 1919. A year later, he was among the leading activists in the Polish plebiscite campaign for Powiśle and Warmia. After the plebiscite, he did not stop working, including as chairman of the Supreme Council of the Union of Poles in Germany - from its inception until 1927.

He also served as a representative to the Prussian parliament for a while. With Jan Baczewski, who held this position from 1922 to 1928, he stood up for the Polish population. The cooperation between them also went well later, when Count Sierakowski ceased to serve in the parliament. On his initiative, the Union of National Minorities in Germany was established, which he chaired. He also became a representative of the Polish minority in the League of Nations. I remembered some of the discussions, indicating that Mr. Stanisław and other activists did not agree with Baczewski’s views, but supported his actions in the name of national solidarity.

Countess Helena Sierakowska, née Lubomirska, also joined the Warmia Plebiscite Committee in Kwidzyn during the plebiscite. She founded fifteen Polish “ochronki” in the district of Sztum during this period. After the plebiscite, she continued her lively activities. She took care of the orphanages, where my mother and my Aunt Marysia from Ramzy collaborated with Emilia Chełkowska from Telkwice.

Count Sierkowski and his wife had seven children, with whom we met from time to time. The oldest, Renia and Adam, no longer participated in our games. Also, Andrzej, who was called Jędrek, my brother’s peer, rarely participated in them, as did my brother Olo. My brother appeared among us mainly as a photographer. After the war, we lost contact with all of the Sierakowski siblings. Only many years later, in Montreal, did I meet Andrzej - unfortunately, shortly before his death.

The three older siblings were followed by four girls: Lola, or Rose, Marysia, Wanda, and Jadzia. I remember them very fondly, especially Lola and Marysia, who were slightly older than me. In addition to playing games together, I remember our long conversations, for which the best place was a white bear skin spread out in the Waplewo living room in front of the fireplace. The palace in Waplewo always made a big impression on me. Although, at the time, I underestimated the value of the numerous works of art that were gathered there, I could sense the special historical atmosphere of the interiors.

In a completely different way, I was charmed by the pavilion built next to the palace for school purposes. An entire table in one of the rooms was occupied by an impressive large art map of Poland made by young people. The children had been home-schooled for a relatively long time, implementing the curriculum of a Polish junior high school. The rooms in this pavilion were arranged around individual subjects. Here lessons were held at different grade levels for each of the siblings. Only the eldest were already studying in Poland. I do not know how Count Sierakowski and his wife solved the problem of teaching staff. 

After 1932, the Sierakowski family left East Prussia and moved to Poland. They were forced to do so by the dire financial situation. Both of them were mainly engaged in social and patriotic work, leaving the management of the estate to the administrator and administrators. The crisis came, and it became apparent that the estate could not repay its loans on time. The authorities did not fail to take advantage of the situation, and the Sierakowski were threatened with bailiff auction. The Polish government, unwilling to allow the land to pass into German hands, rushed to help by providing a favorable loan through the State Agricultural Bank. After lengthy negotiations, the bank appointed its own administrator, who became Jan Kowalski of Górka (a German citizen). This was because the German authorities did not agree to entrust this function to a person with Polish citizenship.

I remember the widespread grief and depression caused by the departure of the Sierakowski family. Their absence was felt both in social work and in private life. I remember them as people of great personal culture. Mr. Stanisław was a confident man, extremely kind to everyone. Mrs. Helena also had the reputation of being a very approachable person and, at the same time, an energetic organizer, a tireless social activist. As a little girl, I felt intimidated in her presence. It seemed to me that she was very demanding and strict. Perhaps I got this impression by observing her firmness towards her own children.

Like all the ladies previously mentioned, Cecilia Kowalska also participated in social work. Her husband, Jan Kowalski, owner of the Górka estate near Kwidzyn, also belonged to the circle of people involved in the Polish cause already before the First World War. In 1920, he was a member of the Warmia Plebiscite Committee in Kwidzyn and a representative of the Polish population to the Kwidzyn district council, as was my father for the Sztum district. Stefan Żeromski, Jan Kasprowicz, and Władysław Kozicki stayed in Górka during their stay in Kwidzyn.

Mr. and Mrs. Kowalski had three children. I remember their eldest daughter, Julia, as an adolescent maiden, slightly older than my brother Olgierd. She, incidentally, became his first romantic love. I know that he painfully experienced her marriage sometime later. Their son Bohdan, called Bohun, liked to impress others with his maturity. He studied in Grudziądz for a while, but soon his parents, concerned about his middling academic performance, committed him to the cadet corps in Rawicz. The youngest, Kazimierz called Tutus, was the age of my youngest sister. All three of them took part in our children’s gatherings, but quite early on, they moved away from childish games and activities, preferring a more “adult” lifestyle. As for social gatherings, understandably, I remember best the children’s parties, jokingly called “kinderbal” in German. In addition to us, they were attended by young people from Ramzy, Waplewo, and Górka.

When I recall our parties from those years, I wonder about how children were raised in individual homes. In Czernin, Ramzy, and Waplewo, the landed gentry’s traditional approach to parenting maintained a relatively modest and strict style, high expectations, and discipline. My cousins in Ramzy were disciplined most severely. Their parents sometimes applied very harsh punishments for various offenses. This applied mainly to older children. Concerning the younger ones, their parents acted more leniently.

In Waplewo, the demands on children were high. They included concern for their health, upbringing, and learning. Whims and fancies were not tolerated. My parents acted similarly, but we enjoyed greater freedom. Our lives were also regulated, but probably in a less stringent way. The educational methods used in Górka were the mildest. They indulged the children, and tried to provide them with amusements and pleasures, using a model of upbringing similar to the one most common today.

Mr. and Mrs. Kowalski ran an open and welcoming home. I remembered the elegantly decorated interiors of the mansion and the sumptuous receptions during which the hosts, both of whom were of rather large, made themselves available with great cordiality to satisfy all the guests’ wishes. It believed that their lavish lifestyle eventually contributed to their bankruptcy, forcing them to leave Górka and move to Poland. They found themselves in a similar situation to that of the Sierakowski and Chełkowski families. The state authorities and banks, which provided far-reaching assistance to German landowners to enable them to survive the crisis, as far as the Poles were concerned - took ruthless advantage of even temporary financial difficulties.

In times of crisis, several ladies in the area organized the Savings League. The initiator was, I think, Aunt Marysia from Ramzy. Her initiatives were supported by other ladies. They decided that because of such a difficult financial situation, it was necessary to establish specific rules that would help reduce expenses. Without giving up social gatherings, one should limit oneself to modest parties and strictly defined dishes without fear of being accused of stinginess or lack of hospitality. My mother, always sensitive to poverty, appealed for some of the savings to be used to help the poorest. A charter and rules for the League’s members were drafted. Menus for various occasions were specified; it was recommended not to succumb to the whims of fashion, preferring classic and good-quality clothing that could be worn for many years. Another point in the charter warned against buying under the impression of “bargains” of unnecessary items at post-season sales. 

The league may have had a short life, but certain habits remained. Besides, Pomeranian housewives have thrived on frugality and rationality for many generations. We were also instilled with this principle from an early age. Mother said to us more than once: “If the Lord God has given us more than many others, it is not so that we can indulge ourselves and squander money wastefully, but so that we can help those in need. Think of those poor children who live in poverty and can’t even dream of what for you is ordinary everyday life”.

It is necessary to complete the list of our Polish neighbors here by adding the two southernmost estates of our distant relative, Anna Janta-Połczyńska, née Wałdowska, to the southernmost part of Sztum County: Michorowo and Montki. The owner lived in Michorowo until her death in 1924. As long as her health permitted, she took an active part in the Polish life of the district. Her son was Roman Janta-Połczyński, whom I have already mentioned. He lived in his estate, Żabiczyn, in Wielkopolska. As long as his mother was alive, he often resided in Michorowo. After the first war, he held serious government positions, showing great interest in the affairs of our region.

After his mother’s death, he leased both estates to Kazimierz Kowalski, brother of Jan of Górka. This handsome, amiable, still young man inspired widespread trust. It turned out, however, that he did not deserve it. He liked to party, squandered money, was unprincipled and irresponsible, and his management could have ended in the loss of the leased estate. Fortunately, Mr. Roman realized this in time and resigned from his services. 

The new tenant was a German named Poschmann, a solid and reliable man. He managed well, and as a German he also had good relations with the authorities. He was kindly disposed to Poles, especially since his wife was a Polish woman, née  Poot, who had previously participated in the life of Polish organizations. From then on, Mr. Roman disappeared from our sight, although he writes that he continued to visit Michorowo in his memoirs. I remember only his official first visit, which he made to Czernin with his wife, Maria née Kurnatowska, shortly after their marriage. Many years later, I became friends with both of them during the German occupation.

So, we had quite a sizeable Polish neighborhood in the 1920s, which fostered lively social relations. Despite the surrounding hostile atmosphere, people wanted a normal life. Several times a year, parties were held to celebrate holidays or name days, not infrequently with guests from Poland.

Hunting was an occasion for meetings. Once a year, usually in January, a hunt was held in Czernin. In the morning, men in hunting clothes would show up and, after a small snack prepared in the hall, they would get on horse-drawn carriages and head out into the field. If the winter was cold and snowy, they would go by sleigh, of course. In my childhood years, such winters must have happened often, because the sleigh rides to the sound of bells stuck in my memory. In later years it happened less often, or maybe it just seems that way to me. When I went away to school, I was not at home in January and February, during the real winter in our parts.

During the hunts, we children were brought briefly to where the action was taking place. Hares were hunted. Estate workers organized and ran the hunt. They willingly took part in it, because they received extra pay for it. They formed a large circle, covering some part of the fields, and, making noise with their varmint knockers, slowly advanced toward the center. The unfortunate hares, frightened of their hiding places, rushed in different directions, trying to escape this trap. That’s how they became a target for hunters, spread out among the men of the hunt. I remember how much I felt sorry for the poor animals and was relieved to see those that desperately ran, despite the clatter of the knockers, through the human chain, thus saving themselves from death. It was not easy to hit a scurrying, and at the same time dodging, rabbit. Shots were fired only towards the center of the “human cauldron” so as not to accidentally injure one of the people. 

We watched the spectacle for a while. Then we were taken home. I remember a hot meal, probably the traditional bigos (a stew of sauerkraut and various meats) was taken to the field. The hunters usually returned at dusk and went to the guest rooms to freshen up and change clothes. Soon, the ladies would also arrive, and everyone would gather for a snack and then dinner. The hunter who shot the most hares became the king of the hunt and, inevitably, the hero of the day. The most toasts at the table were made in his honor. In our neighborhood, the “king” very often became my father. When leaving for home, guests took some hunted pieces, but I don’t remember the division rules.

The Polish consul from Kwidzyn also took part in social gatherings in Czernin. The most cordial friendship and close cooperation united my parents with Consul Józef Gieburowski, who headed the post in Kwidzyn and then Olsztyn for several years. They did not stop corresponding when he took up the same post in Curitiba (Brazil) in the 1930s. I remember his letters describing life in South America. My parents held him in high esteem, not only for his friendship, but also for his wholehearted commitment to the problems of the Polish population in East Prussia. During his tenure in our region, he did much for the district.

Unfortunately, cooperation was not so successful with all officials. I remember many critical remarks against Zygmunt Merdinger, the Polish consul general in Königsberg. He was mainly absorbed by the national activity in Mazury and dealt with it personally without consulting the local leaders of the Polish movement. Against their opinion, Mr. Merdinger hired a man in a responsible position in Szczytno, who turned out to be a traitor in the service of the German authorities and led to the disaster of the Polish organizations in Mazury. Shreds of overheard discussions on this subject remain in my memory.

Of other consuls, I remembered the figure of Mr. Zawada, the Polish consul in Olsztyn, who was interested in our affairs. I enjoyed listening to his long conversations with my parents about the situation in East Prussia, Poland, and the world. I often understood little of it, but certain statements reached my consciousness. One statement he made that shocked me was memorable. When my mother stated that she believed in the ideology of some political leaders, the consul countered: “Even the most beautiful ideals must get dirty in contact with the mud that is politics”. 

Owners of larger farms were called “gburs” in Powiśle, referring to wealthy farmers by this word. Poles predominated among them and were also the most numerous group of active members of Polish organizations. I remembered those with whom my parents had the closest ties. These included Mr. and Mrs. Bolesław and Iza Osińska of Sztumskie Pole. Mr. Bolesław worked with my father as a fellow authority at the Bank he founded. Following in the footsteps of his grandfather, an insurgent during the 1830 rebellion, and his father, repressed during the Partition era for his activities, Mr. Bolesław  was one of the prominent representatives of the Polish movement in East Prussia, as was his brother, Rev. Wacław Osiński. Mrs. Iza, working in women’s organizations, kept in constant contact with my mother and often visited Czernin.

Also settled in Sztumskie Pole was Stefan Włodarczak, who was active in the Union of Poles, and whose son, Feliks, and I later met frequently in the Youth Society. The Gawroński siblings from Postolin stood out for their activity in Polish organizations. I knew and liked best the three sisters, Katarzyna, Stefania, and Irena, who were often my mother’s guests when it came to matters of women’s organizations. They also worked closely with Aunt Marysia from Ramzy. As for Postolin, the name of the Kochański family and Jan Lenga, who held many important positions during the twentieth century, are etched in my memory. Another large family, the Połomski, who could be found at all Polish events in the area, was active in Straszewo and Trzciano. The Schreiber family was active in Mikołajki and Stary Targ.

Among the active members of the Polish community, “ochroniarki”, or kindergarten mums, also played an important role. I remember well Mrs. Anna Radtke from Postolin and Mrs. Maria Rajska from Nowy Targ, whose activities extended far beyond her kindergarten, Miss Henryka Gwiazdówna, who was associated successively with “ochronki” in several localities, and Miss Maria Szufrażanka from Stary Targ. Later, Polish school teachers joined the ranks.

In the first interwar years, as during the Partition era, the activities of Polish organizations were based solely on volunteer community service. Around the mid-1920s, an independent Malbork Land District was separated from District IV of the Union of Poles in Germany, with its office organized in Sztum. A professional staff was hired: a secretary of the Union of Poles in Germany for the Malbork Land District and the secretary of the Polish Catholic School Society in Powiśle. In time, the secretary of the Union of Poles began to be called the Office Head. Practically, together they coordinated the work of Polish organizations, established schools, and supervised and represented them before the German authorities. Their participation in organizing Polish events also increased over time.

My parents’ cooperation with the Polish Union and the School Society staff went well. I don’t remember any disputes or misunderstandings. They showed much respect and appreciation to my parents, respected their work, and recognized their competence. My parents did not apply for leadership positions and did not try to impose their points of view. They recognized the leadership of the Polish Union Headquarters. Some local activists criticized the Polish Union’s activities, accusing it of arbitrarily introducing programs, not supporting local initiatives, or being too identified with Sanation, a political movement from the interwar Period. It took its name from Piłsudski’s aspirations for a moral “sanation” (healing) of the body politic in Poland. My parents agreed with these opinions to some extent, but national solidarity and movement cohesion were more important to them. They saw the need for unified leadership and coordination of organizational activities by professional workers. They also recognized the need for cooperation with the Polish government. Without imposing their opinion on others, they themselves tried to fulfill the responsibilities they had assumed as best they could.

In their memoirs published during the communist period, former activists such as Jan Baczewski and Jan Boenigk were silent about the activities of my parents and other landowners, limiting themselves to critical remarks about Kazimierz Donimirski. They accentuated their leftist views in accordance with the prevailing fashion of the time. Also, many historians, under the pressure of the prevailing ideology, in works published in that period omitted or belittled the role of the landed gentry in the consolidation of Polishness in Powiśle. A commendable exception was Professor Tadeusz Oracki. Moreover, my parents’ activity was often not formalized, and many source documents were lost. Numerous meeting minutes and other reports collected in home archives were destroyed.

In Germany, the Weimar Constitution passed in 1919, theoretically ensured equality and civil liberties for all citizens, including minorities. Polish organizations were reviving, especially before the elections. It was emphasized that the Polish population loyally performed its constitutional and civic duties, and had the right to demand the fulfillment of their rights. From 1922 to 1928 we had a representative in German parliament in the person of Jan Baczewski and, for a while, Count Stanisław Sierakowski. Later, however, it was not possible to get a Pole into either the Prussian Diet or the Reich Parliament. 

I remember the posters of the Polish People’s Party (Polska Partia Ludowa) prepared in our house related to the unsuccessful electoral action of 1928. During this action, anti-gentry leaflets appeared issued by German organizations, which were aimed at breaking up the national solidarity of Poles by introducing elements of class struggle. German communists in East Prussia had attitudes that were just as anti-Polish as the fiercest nationalists. Polish communists also appeared in our region. Discriminated by the authorities, especially after Hitler’s rule, they often could not find work. On several occasions, my father came to their aid by employing them in Czernin. In this way, he gave practical expression to his convictions about the need for cross-party solidarity among Poles.

Since I was no longer a small child, I participated more and more in the life of Polish organizations, and my contacts with people were no longer limited to neighborhood and family meetings.

 Soon the Sztum “soirées” became equally important to me. On Saturday evenings, our Polish community met at first in the apartment of Dr. Morawski, and, in 1933, a seat was built for the Bank in Sztum - thanks to the efforts of the board of directors and especially the head of the People’s Banks in Sztum and Kwidzyn, Mr. Jan Fiszer. This house became the center of Polish life in the entire region. Meetings, choir rehearsals, and soirees were held there from then on. An important element of these meetings was common singing. It gave us a sense of community, brotherhood, and friendship. The heart and soul of these gatherings was Mrs. Ola Morawska, very lively, very musical. When she came to Czernin, and she visited often, she played the piano, and we sang together. In fact, she ran the liaison point for a long time for all Polish actions in Powiśle.

Singing classes were conducted in our region by Mikołaj Dorsz, conductor of the Sztum choir. From time to time, Jan Lubomirski, a music instructor and activist of the Youth Society of Warmia, visited Powiśle. Always cheerful and devoted to the Polish cause without fail, he enjoyed general sympathy. Both were disciples of Feliks Nowowiejski, a composer native to Warmia, who, throughout his life, showed great interest in our region and, in 1920, gave concerts in the lands covered by the plebiscite. We sang his patriotic songs and, of course, the choir performed his Hymn of Warmia and other songs on various occasions. The hymn made a powerful impression on me: 

“Broken scepters, fallen thrones,  Slavery’s bonds already shattered to dust!  And all over Poland, the bells are ringing,  For God with our blood has washed away the old guilt….  Land and sea - [the] Polish [language] welcomes us,  Our dearest Republic!!!”

The carnival traditionally held a dance party in Sztum, preceded by an artistic part - usually an amateur theatrical performance and other performances. My premiere on the boards of the Sztum stage was participation in the staging of Mickiewicz’s Dziady [Forefathers’ Eve]. It was seared deeply into my memory. The staging was prepared by the Sierakowski siblings from Waplewo, when I was maybe five years old. At the last minute, Marysia fell ill. She was to perform with Lola in the role of one of the two souls who appear at the summons of a bearded shaman during traditional Lithuanian rituals. At Countess Sierakowska’s request, I replaced my absent friend. The text was read to me several times, I was dressed in a white robe with a gold band on my head and placed high on some boxes, obviously not visible from the audience. Lola was reciting, and I tried to repeat after her: “For listen and consider yourselves, that according to God’s command, whoever has not experienced bitterness once, will not experience sweetness in heaven either!”. It was a great experience for me when, from the height of my position, I saw a hall filled with guests, among them family and friends.

In the following years, I occasionally recited poems in front of the Sztum audience, but the most successful was my ballet performance, whose musical background was Schubert’s Scherzo. I owed this success to the kindly Mrs. Margot Ehlenberger, our gymnastics and rhythmics teacher, who was also among the guests that day. Of course, the praise, which was not spared, gave me great pleasure. I remembered the opinion of the members of the German orchestra hired for the ball, predicting a great future for me if I chose a career as a ballerina.

The parties were held for a long time in the so-called shooting gallery, but later a venue was rented in the Königlicher Hof hotel. In addition to the main hall with a stage, there were adjoining smaller rooms with a buffet, richly stocked by our ladies, and tables for consumers stood. A small room was called the Miliarden-Stübchen because it was wallpapered with German banknotes from the time of the great devaluation of the mark in the early 1920s. During the games, along with the hotel staff, representatives of the police and fire department watched over order and security.

I do not remember that there were any excesses. The hotel owner was kind to Polish customers and tried to accommodate them. He did not avoid annoyance for this reason after Hitler came to power. I was already educated in Poland then, and as a result, news of various Nazi repressions, of which there were more and more, reached me only indirectly.

Another event was organized in the summer. It would begin with a picnic in a forest called “ramziniak”, near the Wielkie Ramzy manor, which my parents owned. In the evening, the guests would move to nearby Postolin, where a dance party was held in a place owned by a Pole, Mr. Kaszubowski. Because of the difficulties associated with the world economic crisis, after three well-known and well-liked families, the Sierakowski, Chełkowski, and Kowalski, left Powiśle, and with the systematically intensifying acts of terror by the growing Nazi party, the atmosphere became increasingly tense. The number of members of Polish organizations gradually decreased. Despite this, the Polish movement persisted and even strengthened in some ways.

My mother was immensely attached to her immediate family and maintained lively contact with them. Not surprisingly, its members already appear in my earliest memories, mainly during gatherings at my grandparents’ home in Wielkie Chełmy. 

My grandparents, Stanisław Sikorski and Anna, née Łyskowska, were ardently involved in social activitism. My grandmother’s father was Ignacy Łyskowski (1820-1886), heir to Mileszewy near Brodnica, one of Pomerania’s main initiators of Postivist organic work. As a Polish delegate to the Frankfurt Parliament of 1848, then a long-time member of the Prussian parliament and later the German parliament, he defended the rights of the Polish population. Together with Theodor Donimirski, he established the Society for the Promotion of the Moral Interests of the Polish Population under Prussian Rule and organized annual agricultural sejms (assemblies) in Toruń. He was a member of the Board of Directors of the Scientific Society in Toruń, the Board of Directors of the Central Agricultural Societies, and the founder of many libraries. 

At the same time, he wrote and published a lot on both socio-political issues, popularizing the theory and practice of organic work and economic issues - compiling numerous farming guides. His book Gospodarz [The Farmer] lived to see more than a dozen editions. Finally, he published his poetic works, as well as the folk poetry of Pomerania. The Polish press published his articles promoting education and reading. His memory still lives on in Pomerania: the Municipal Library in Brodnica bears his name, and since 1996 the Agricultural School Complex in Grubno near Chełmno has also been named after him.

My great-grandfather had six daughters. The eldest of his daughters, Godzisława, was the wife of Ludwik Donimirski and mother of Kazimierz Donimirski of Małe Ramzy. Another married Skrzydlewski of Żegotek. Their daughter, Maria, known in the family as Minya or Myszka, shared a close friendship with my mother, which is probably why she became my godmother. In my childhood, I met another of the Łyskowski sisters, Kazimiera Mlicka of Obudno.

My grandmother Anna inherited her father’s activist vein and her love and literary skills. She was tireless in social, cultural, and educational activities from an early age. Her main field of activity was the Society of Polish Women Landowners, where she served as local organization president. Contrary to generally accepted customs, she also introduced local Kashubian housewives to it, arguing in jest that a landowner is any person who owns land, even if it’s only in a flower pot. She compiled and published a collection of Kashubian fairy tales. I remembered her as very energetic, full of life and personality. She enjoyed guests, dancing, and social gatherings. Interested in music, she highly esteemed our regional composer Feliks Nowowiejski and invited him to Wielkie Chełmy for extended stays. She took care of the house all the time and, after my grandfather’s death, the entire farm with the help of the administrator Marian Główczewski.

Grandfather Stanisław Sikorski was already a well-known social activist during the Prussian partition. His activities were highly valued, which in 1909 earned him the title of Papal Chamberlain. The title caught on, and Grandfather was from then on known in Pomerania as “Chamberlain Sikorski”. I remember he was often addressed as such. 

My grandfather directed the work of various Polish economic and cultural-educational organizations before the First War. He was a member of the Prussian parliament for several years. Immediately after the end of the war, he was the representative of the Polish residents of the Chojnice district to the Prussian authorities. He later became the first Polish official of the district. His activities were guided by the ideas of organic work to ensure Pomerania’s cultural and economic development. In the nearby town (then still a village) of Brusy, he created several Polish cooperative institutions before the First War: The People’s Bank, with a savings and loan profile, and the trade cooperatives Kupiec, Bazar, and Ceres. Małe Brusy thus became an important center of the Polish national movement. My grandfather’s biography was the subject of a doctoral thesis by Professor Józef Borzyszkowski, in the 1990s, a senator and deputy governor of Gdańsk and later president of the Kaszubian Institute. My grandfather’s manor house in Wielkie Chełmy now houses an elementary school named after him.

Of course, my grandfather did not act alone. He cooperated mainly with rev. Feliks Bolt, but also with others, such as some representatives of the Donimirski family. My grandfather’s brother, Kazimierz Sikorski supported the development of education. As we would say today, he sponsored the Scientific Aid Society in Chełmno. Dying, he donated his entire estate to a scholarship fund for Pomeranian youth in need. Today, the vocational school in Brusy bears his name.

My grandparents had seven children (not counting three who died in infancy). The eldest was Ignacy (1889-1977), and my mother was born a year later. The following children were born in succession: Włodzimierz (1892-1978), Antonina (1893-1983), Stefan (1895-1968), Jan (1898-2002), and the youngest, Zofia (1899-1948). Ignacy, Stefan, and Zofia, were all deaf-mute. All attempts at treatment were unsuccessful. They were reportedly born without an auditory nerve. Their parents did everything they could to prepare them for life with this disability through proper education. It was possible to communicate with them quite well by speaking very clearly and opening one’s mouth wide. They could lip read the words spoken. They themselves spoke fluently, each with a somewhat peculiar voice, which they could not hear. Among themselves, they communicated instantly by signaling. Uncle Stefan, who was very intelligent, capable, and energetic, did best. He also mastered the German language completely. He was the only one of the three to marry, marrying Aldona Wolszlegier, a sensitive, delicate person who was somewhat capricious. My uncle was happy to take care of his wife and indulge her wishes, and she also cared a great deal for him.

Father Bolt, my grandfather’s closest associate on the social activist front, was also his personal friend. They both attached great importance to keeping the land in Polish hands. Whenever any Polish property was in danger of being seized by the Germans, my grandfather was called to the rescue. He would look for a potential Polish buyer. When such a buyer could not be found, he would sometimes buy such a property himself, usually through proxies, sometimes with borrowed money, even risking serious financial trouble. For example, an action to save Rakowice (Chełmno district) brought him to the brink of bankruptcy. However, he generally managed to meet the increased burden until a Polish buyer arrived. As Uncle Włodek reported to me many years later, some of the estates, contrary to my grandfather’s intentions, remained his property. As a result, each of his sons received a landed estate from their father: the eldest, Ignacy, a small estate called Bawernica near Tuchola; the second son, Stefan, Gorzędziej near Tczew; Włodzimierz, Rakowice in the Nowe Miasto Lubawskie district; and the youngest, Jan, the Łyskowski family estate, Mileszewy near Brodnica.

In the days of my childhood, all of my mother’s siblings would come down to Wielkie Chełmy for Easter. Particularly memorable for me was our stay with my grandparents on Easter 1923. I was five years old at the time. My mother’s brothers and sisters were still young and cheerful and having found themselves on the family’s doorstep, they played like children. This was quite an attraction for us youngsters. Sometimes I was overwhelmed with amazement when I saw the merry games of the usually serious uncles and aunts. 

Especially Dyngus, or Wet Monday, on the second day of Easter was an occasion for pranks and mischief. Everyone ran around the house with some kind of dish in hand, and water was poured copiously. Only my father had stocked up on a large bottle of cologne beforehand, with which he sprinkled the people he met. I recall how - tired from the chase - he sat on a chair, rubbing his wet head and shaking the water off his clothes. Meanwhile, Aunt Zosia quietly came running up from behind and suddenly poured a carafe of water over his collar. Everyone laughed, including the victim of the attack.

On Easter Sunday, there was a big party with many guests, including high-ranking ones. The large dining room table couldn’t accommodate everyone, so an extra table, affectionately dubbed the Grange, was set in the corner of the room. Mostly young people sat there. On that memorable year for me, the seat next to me was occupied by Uncle Stefan. He was very cheerful, laughing and joking. On such occasions, properly trained beforehand, a gardener and his helper were additionally engaged to serve guests. The latter performed the duties of the host. He circulated around the tables with bottles of wine and topped them up as the glasses emptied.

Later, I visited Wielkie Chełmy many times, so I have retained many memories of these stays. I recall my grandparents’ mansion, surrounded by a nice park. From the front, one entered a spacious hall kept in white, with Kashubian-style decorations. My grandmother, whom we called Busia, was a devotee of Kashubian folklore. As I mentioned earlier, she compiled a collection of Kashubian fairy tales for printing. She was concerned that the rapid social changes after World War I might lead to their oblivion.

The main occupation of my mother’s youngest sister, deaf-mute Aunt Zosia, was embroidery. Serviettes, doodles, and pillows of her making, decorated with colorful Kashubian embroidery, were in the homes of all close family members. They, too, decorated the hallway in Wielkie Chełmy, arousing general admiration.

The original spiral staircase on a circular plan was climbed in the corner of the hall. Their outer railing rested on a floral decoration wrought in iron and painted white. When I was young, I was afraid to go down these stairs. Although I held on to the handrail, it made my head spin. So I preferred to use the “normal” ones, in a staircase between the dining room, kitchen, and sideboard.

Opposite the entrance was a large dining room, from which double glass doors led to the veranda and through it to the garden. To the left of the hall was my grandfather’s spacious study, and behind it was the living room, connected to the dining room by a wide door. To the right, on the other hand, one entered from the hall into the “living room,” where the daily life of the entire family was concentrated. In this room, daily meals were eaten. In winter, the large representative rooms were not heated. The guest rooms were on the first floor on either side of the wide hallway. The grandparents’ bedroom and their bathroom were adjacent to the living room.

Whenever we came to Wielkie Chełmy, grandma, despite her many responsibilities, took loving care of us. She was assisted by Aunt Zosia, who lived there until the outbreak of war in 1939. The grandparents were very hospitable. 

The manor house was a place for family gatherings and the center of the region’s national life during the Partitions. Numerous meetings and gatherings were held there. After independence was regained, the grandparents sympathized with National Democracy. Roman Dmowski and General Władysław Sikorski frequented them. General Sikorski insisted that he was a distant cousin of my grandfather. General Józef Haller, founder of the Polish Army in France during World War I, was enthusiastically welcomed at the Chełmy manor. Among the guests at Wielkie Chełmy, one can also mention former Polish President Stanisław Wojciechowski, Pomeranian voivode Józef Wachowiak (governor of the province), as well as Professor Kazimierz Nitsch, a linguist and researcher of the dialects of Pomerania, Warmia, and Mazury.

Father Feliks Bolt was one of the regulars. He was very fond of children. He’d take us on his lap, joke, and laugh with us. Besides, everyone—family members and guests alike—showed us a lot of kindness. Contributing to this was a great affection for our mother, whom they had known since she was a small child.

We saw our grandfather relatively rarely, as his many responsibilities consumed him. Concerning his grandchildren, he was gentle, kind, and understanding. He smoked homemade cigarettes: one box contained sliced tobacco leaves, the other a thimble with a long mouthpiece. He whisked tobacco into an open tube, and after closing it, he inserted it into the thimble. I enjoyed preparing cigarettes for my grandfather. Unfortunately, smoking may have contributed to his illness and hastened his death. He died of lung cancer in a Gdańsk clinic in June 1929. My brother and I walked directly behind the coffin at his funeral, carrying his chamberlain’s pawn and numerous medals on decorative pillows.

Unfortunately, the situation of Polish agriculture with the advent of the global economic crisis became difficult. Uncle Ignaś was the first to succumb to adversity. Uncle Stefan turned out to be a capable manager and a good farmer and was characterized by great diligence. His attempts to switch to specialized horticulture were generally praised. Being extremely righteous, he was overly trusting of others, which, combined with his disability, caused him to fall prey to dishonest business partners. After losing the property, the two brothers and Aunt Aldona went to live in uncle Włodek’s Rakowice estate. He was the only one to retain his property until the outbreak of war. However, after marrying Aunt Minya, he moved in with her at her estate, Żegotki, near Inowrocław (Kujawy).

Uncle Janek did not like farming but was interested in culture, literature, and journalism. Thus, he was only a guest in Mileszewy, living permanently in Warsaw, where he took his first steps in journalism. He dreamed of creating a Polish film; soon found himself on the board of directors of a company that was to produce Polish films. However, he was mainly expected to fund production. I remember a beautifully published folder of several pages advertising the film O czym się nie mówi The Unspeakable with Jadwiga Smosarska. In the pictures of the filmmakers, my uncle, himself looking like a film aficionado, reigned supreme. I was incredibly proud of him. He was happy to see his dreams come true, but he ended up having to sell Mileszewy to pay off his film-related debts. This fact caused great bitterness among relatives attached to this property, as it had remained in the hands of the family for many generations. Soon, however, this seems to have been forgotten, as my uncle was the youngest in his family and was distinguished by his exceptional personal charm. Very handsome, with an endearing manner, he won all hearts, especially women’s. He won my little heart outright when, on one of his visits to us, tossing me in the air, he exclaimed: “You know, all of Warsaw is singing about you,” and hummed a hit song from those years: “Titina, ah Titina, you are a miracle-girl, whoever sees you once, must love you…”

World War II found Uncle Ignaś and Uncle Stefan and his wife in Rakowice. After being displaced from Wielkie Chełmy, Aunt Zosia joined them, and all four survived the period of German occupation there. Only the agrarian reform drove them out to wander, which caused the mental breakdown of deaf-mute Aunt Zosia. Seeing that the whole family had lost everything they owned, she could not imagine her continued existence and decided to die by suicide. In the opinion of those closest to her, the same decision was made for the same reason at the time by my grand-aunt, Kazimiera Mlicka of Obudno. Recently, however, circumstantial evidence has come to light that she was the victim of Security Office, or Urząd Bezpieczeństwa (UB) the Polish equivalent of the KGB, functionaries and that it was they who spread rumors about her death as suicide. For it turns out that, she had obtained permission from the local authorities to stay in Obudno, and nothing justified such a dramatic decision.

Among my earliest memories are reminiscences of the diphtheria I suffered when I was about four years old. At the time, I went with my parents and Olo to Żegotki, the estate of my godmother, Maria Skrzydlewska, or Aunt Minya, later the wife of my Uncle Włodzimierz. Toward the end of our stay, I fell ill. A doctor was called in, who diagnosed diphtheria. My parents had to return home, so it was decided that I would stay with my aunt. I perfectly remember the night before my parents left. My mother was packing a suitcase by candlelight (there was no electricity there at the time), and I felt terrible. I had a high fever, my bedding was directly steaming, my cough was suffocating, and the thought of my parents leaving drove me to despair.

I also have fond memories from this stay. My aunt took cordial care of me. It seems that the illness quickly subsided, but I still spent quite a long recovery in Żegotki. Staying with Aunt Minya then was her aunt and my cousin’s grandmother, Godzisława Donimirska, widow of Ludwik Donimirski, mother of my Uncle Kazimierz of Małe Ramzy. Grandmother Godzia, as I called her, was extremely cordial to me. She had a cheerful disposition, and obediently complied with the instructions of her niece who cared for her. She spent most of her time in her chair, as she was already a senile lady by then. She enjoyed good health, although - from the perspective of current dietitians’ recommendations - she did not eat very rationally. Her favorite bread spread were cold meat sauces, especially fatty roast gravy. I recall her small salad bowl with brown gelatin covered with a white fat coating. My grandmother used to spread this on bread; looking at it, I greatly desired to try this delicacy. I don’t remember the contents of my plate at all.

My presence provided some variety in the old woman’s monotonous life, so she participated in my activities with interest. And my aunt took great care to ensure that I was not bored. Sitting at her desk, I enthusiastically drew, colored pictures, cut out various characters and objects from illustrated magazines. Every day, my aunt also read books to me and explained various phenomena. I know for sure that it was she who taught me to distinguish the right side from the left. For a few more years, when I needed to realize which side I was referring to, I imagined myself sitting at that desk, and it would immediately become clear.

Among the household members was also Reks, a huge friendly dog from the St. Bernard breed. Often, when I received a large newspaper, I would cut a strip from it a few centimeters wide and almost three meters long. Grandma Godzia would grab one end, I would grab the other, and we would encourage Reks to jump over this paper obstacle. Sometimes he didn’t want to make an effort and went through it, but when we managed to persuade him to jump, the paper would soon tear, and I would start cutting it out again. I was very amused by this, and my grandmother also laughed heartily.

The house in Żegotki was spacious, nicely decorated, surrounded by a beautifully maintained park, to which a large vegetable garden and an orchard adjoined, the object of my aunt’s special efforts. She reaped a fruitful harvest thanks to introducing the most prized varieties and applying all recommended cultivation procedures. I came to Żegotki many times for shorter or longer periods, so separating these earliest memories from later ones is difficult.

My godmother was brave and energetic. An administrator managed the estate, but my aunt controlled it daily, making all major decisions personally. In the 1930s, she married, having obtained a papal dispensation, my mother’s brother and her cousin, Włodzimierz Sikorski. As I learned at the time, he was her first youthful love, to which she remained faithful. On the other hand, uncle Włodek ¹, a travel and adventure enthusiast, was interested in various women in his life, one of whom, an Englishwoman, seemed to have played a more serious role. For reasons unknown to me, however, there was a breakup. My uncle, approaching forty, finally desired a home hearth and a quiet life at the side of someone close and secure.

My stays in Żegotki were always enjoyable, and as I grew up and time passed, major changes took place there. Electricity was brought to the estate, and various modern appliances appeared in the manor house. The beautiful road to Inowrocław was no longer driven by carriage or coach, but by car. An invariably same view stretched from the windows of these vehicles: large, slightly undulating, carefully cultivated fields; now and then, a broad avenue leading from the highway to the manor house, invisible behind a clump of trees of the old park. Only the roofs shone through here and there among the branches. There were also smaller farms adjacent to the road, whose appearance testified to the diligence and care of their owners. Everything breathed an atmosphere of peace, order, and prosperity. Such impressions of thrifty Kujawy became fixed in my memory….

When I found myself in Inowrocław in December 1939, I was informed of the latest events: The Germans had arrested and imprisoned in an Inowrocław prison most of the area’s landed gentry, and many other representatives of the local intelligentsia. One evening they decided to entertain themselves with a “hunt”: they opened the cells and declared the prisoners to be game, at which the tipsy “hunters” took aim, wounding or killing their victims. One hundred and several dozen people died there that night. I was shown their mass grave. I’ve gone too far into the future, but keeping silent about the associations that come to mind is hard.

In 1924 we spent Easter at the home of my father’s brother, Uncle Zygmunt, in Kożuszki near Sochaczew. My uncle inherited the estate from my grandfather, also Zygmunt, whom I mentioned earlier. It was the only estate of the Donimirski family in the former Russian partition. Like the rest of the family, my uncle had German citizenship before World War I, and as a result, he was interned by the tsarist authorities after the outbreak of the war. He was deported deep into Russia, and his wife, Halina, née Dąmbska, accompanied him into exile with their two small sons Janusz and Jerzy, at her request. We enjoyed listening to our uncle’s memories of this period. The beginnings were difficult, but the people of the village turned out to be kind to the newcomers.

So, after some time, my uncle, with the help of neighbors, managed to bring the shabby cottage in which he was settled to a bearable condition. Next to the cottage was a piece of land on which the uncle grew potatoes and vegetables. The garden, if only because the potato bushes, planted in a checkerboard pattern, formed even longitudinal and diagonal lines, aroused general admiration. Fish enriched their diet, the abundance of which in the river made it possible to catch them without limit. The family spent almost the entire war in this sunken village, far from the frontline areas. 

When they finally returned to their homeland, it turned out that Kożuszki had been badly damaged in the war, and the mansion was burned down. It took considerable effort to remove the traces of destruction and to rebuild the house. A spacious mansion was built, with a large number of guest rooms on the first floor, which later enabled them to receive and host innumerable summer visitors from Warsaw, and after the outbreak of the Second War - to take in many people from closer and further family, displaced by the Germans from Pomerania and Poznań.

Going to Kożuszki for Easter in 1924, my parents took my older brother and me. The three younger sisters remained at home. My uncle had four sons: the two “pre-war” ones I have already mentioned and two “post-war” ones: Zygmuś and Wojtek. Janusz and Jerzyk were not much older than Olo, so he was integrated into their lifestyle. He slept in their room and spent most of the day with them. The younger boys had a nanny whose duties included strict adherence to an established program. The uncle was a very systematic and thorough person, and there were strict rules and regulations in the house.

In this situation, I felt strongly intimidated and preferred to instead stick to my parents. On the first day of Easter, many invited people arrived, and the whole company sat up late into the night, which caused my parents to sleep longer the next day. I was put to bed at the usual time, so I woke up early. When I got tired of lying down, I decided to get up without waiting for my parents. I looked through my closet and chose the prettiest of the dresses that had been brought - a blue velvet one, buttoned up the front, with a white lace collar. I hoped to secure admiration and recognition in this outfit. Meanwhile, I had forgotten about the tradition of dyngus, or Wet Monday, which the boys, of course, did not fail to use for merriment. Thus, after a few minutes, I returned crying to my parents’ room, soaked to the skin. 

Later, when my sisters and I visited Kożuszki, I often felt insecure. The boys were skillful, and athletic; we mainly played various arcade games, which they knew very well, so we couldn’t compete with them. Lili was the best at the time. Very often, we played a game called “hole ball.” Participants would take on the names of different nationalities, and someone on the sidelines, after repeating the slogan “hole ball” several times, would call out, for example, “Frenchman!” Then the called person had to run up to the hole where the ball lay and throw it at one of the players. If he missed, a penalty point was recorded. If he hit - a penalty point was given to the person hit. The player dropped out after several failures (the number depended on the contract). Thus, in the end, only the winner remained on the battlefield. As a rule, Jerzyk won, so we all unanimously awarded him the title of “Pole”.

But, of course, our games were not limited to trials of skill. Other games also gave the girls a chance to succeed. We also discovered common interests. I remembered some later stay at my uncle’s house when Zygmunt, a year younger than me, showed me around the garden. We both tiptoed around, and he showed me birds’ nests in the bushes and trees. We watched with excitement the females sitting on the eggs, being fed by the males, and the chicks, who greeted their parents with a shriek. However, there were tragedies when the unfortunate birds fell prey to cats. So Zygmunt hated these animals and mercilessly drove them out of the garden, throwing stones at them. It was difficult for me to accept this, thinking of our beloved cats. Zygmunt loved the countryside and nature, and enjoyed the farm. In this, he resembled his father very much. 

In turn, the same passions united my uncle and my father. They were best friends to each other, not just brothers. Busy with their work, they didn’t meet very often, but they kept up a lively correspondence: My father regularly received long letters from his brother and wrote down in small letters, a few sheets at a time. He read us my uncle’s letters, in which the latter described life in Kożuszki, details about the boys, the state of the farm, and fieldwork. There was also no lack of reflection on the political and economic situation in Poland and the world. In response, the father often raised the same topics. If these letters had survived, they would have constituted fascinating material. Unfortunately, as I have already mentioned, our memorabilia and documents were destroyed after the confiscation of the estate by the Nazi authorities, and in Kożuszki a similar fate befell the family papers after the brutal displacement of my uncle’s family as a result of the land reform in 1945.

In addition to his brother, my father had three more sisters, Waleria, Janina, and Paulina. Waleria married Korwin-Kuczyński from Gawartowa Wola near Sochaczew. Later they owned Mirowice in Grójec county, where I met my aunt during the German occupation. After the death of her husband, she farmed there with her daughter Janina, called Niusia, who was incredibly brave and hardworking. I met my aunt’s younger son, Zbyszek, earlier during my studies at the Warsaw School of Economics (SGH). He was a student at the neighboring university, the Warsaw School of Life Sciences (SGGW). At that time, we often met at student balls and other occasions.

I never met Aunt Nina, who married Skarbek-Kruszewski. After the war, I met her son Tadeusz, who was an engineer, on the Coast. Her second son, Julian, left before the second war for Brazil and remained there.

My father’s third sister, Aunt Pola, married Bogoria-Skotnicki. They had a beautiful estate, Pawłowice (in Mazovia), which everyone admired. I met their only son, Witold, before the war in Kożuszki, and my aunt only after the war. However, I heard a lot about her from an early age. It was believed in the family that my sister Lili resembled her. Both brunettes, they had highly independent characters. They did not succumb to either pressures or arguments. Both loved horses and horseback riding. Uncle Skotnicki did not like the farm, his interests were rather intellectual, and he had a reputation for being an oddball.

Therefore, Pawłowice was managed by his aunt, with flair and temperament. When the estate found itself in a difficult situation, she hid the true state of affairs from the brothers and only asked for short-term loans. These were granted, of course, by my father, who was the best off in the family financially at the time. The Kożuszki was recovering from the destruction of the war, albeit with difficulty. Knowing the value of Pawłowice and its potential possibilities, my father lent my aunt large sums of money a few times. For further loans, he sold a villa in Sopot, where we sometimes went in the summer. Finally took out a high-interest loan on the Marusza mortgage. These matters were handled for him by his Uncle Janek, who, living in Warsaw and involved in various business dealings, had more leverage than my father. However, it turned out that the situation of Pawłowice was disastrous, and the estate was auctioned off for its debts. My uncle bought a brickyard and later sold it off to recover even a fraction of my father’s debts. Nor did we recover the villa by the sea, which would have remained our property after the introduction of land reform. Many Pomeranian landowners had such summer residences; some, like Mr. Roman Janta-Połczyński, lived there after 1945.

A small house in Pawłowice was left for my aunt’s use. My father paid her some monthly allowance, also bearing the cost of Witold’s education. The aunt never appreciated her brother’s generosity. On the contrary, she accused him and Uncle Janek of having lost everything through their fault. Even after the war, already after my aunt’s death, Witold tormented us in a morbid manner with demands for the return of the brickyard, which, after all, did not belong to us, and only through some oversight was it not transcribed in the mortgage books to a new owner. Besides, the brickyard itself no longer existed at that time, and the land included in the property belonged to the state seed center, even though, as a separate mortgage object, it should not have been subject to land reform.

The fact that we lived outside Poland made frequent contact with relatives there difficult. For this reason, in the pre-war years, I did not get to know many members of my immediate and extended family, who met on various occasions while residing permanently in the countryside.

When, after the defeat of the plebiscite, my parents decided to stay in Powiśle, they wanted to secure some sort of foothold in Poland. So the father decided to buy the Marusza estate near Grudziądz. 

It was a relatively small estate (335 hectares), with no prospects for more income, but very nicely located. Forests covered a large part of the acreage. The unfortunate location of the manor, with its front facing the adjacent yard, was compensated for by the beautiful park stretching behind it, established with great skill by the previous owners. The park was encompassed by two arms of the Maruszka River, meeting at its end. The birch bridges crossing the river added to its charm, and the picturesquely arranged trees and shrubs, often specimens rarely seen in our climate zone, provided beautiful views. Behind the courtyard was a pond formed by the damming up the river’s waters, driving the mill’s wheel (it also had a motor drive). With its constant flow of fresh water, the pond was suitable for swimming. It was also possible to sail on it in a boat. Every year, a fish fry was put into it, and in the summer, a net was cast every so often, and fish were caught, which was a great attraction for us children.

My father bought the property from a German named Ventzky, the owner of an agricultural machinery factory in Grudziądz, which continued to exist after the first war under the name “Unia.” Ventzky made a positive impression on my father, but the discussions surrounding the transaction took a dramatic course. While the two men were discussing its terms, the owner’s teenage children suddenly burst into the room, cursing him for getting rid of the family home they loved. However, their father did not deviate from the decision once made. His business interests were located in western Germany, where he owned factories with a profile similar to that of Grudziadz. So that’s where he and his family moved.

Marusza was our summer resort. Every year we spent the summer months there, undoubtedly to the benefit of our health. We would leave with my mother, while my father remained in Czernin to personally manage the estate.

My worst memories remain from the days when we still traveled by rail. The journey was arduous: First by carriage to the railroad station in Sztum, next by train to Kwidzyn. There was a longer or shorter wait to be connected with a rare train to the Gardeja border station. This was a small station already on the Polish side, while the town of Garnsee, to which it belonged, was on the German side. At the station, one had to get off the train. An inspection took place in a small barrack. All luggage had to be opened, which German customs officers thoroughly swept through on entry and exit. Sometimes my mother was subjected to a personal search. Then we boarded a local train from Łasin and traveled to Grudziądz. We traveled the last stretch again by carriage.

A great convenience for trips to Marusza turned out to be the purchase of a car. According to the odometer, the door-to-door distance between Czernin and Marusza was only 73 kilometers, but a border separated it. Customs and passport formalities went smoothly during periods of improving Polish-German relations, but when the political situation deteriorated, we sometimes felt them acutely. Polish customs officials were aware of our position and did not make difficulties. 

There was, however, an unpleasant incident that was deeply etched in my memory. Driving by car from Czernin to Marusza, we decided to take our beloved cat with us. We knew that it was forbidden to bring animals to Poland, but we counted on hiding it under our feet, covering it with a blanket. Children were usually allowed to remain in their seats during the inspection. Our cat did not like the hiding place and began to meow loudly at the least opportune moment. The result was that the customs officials took him and let him out on the highway toward town. We mourned him heartily. In the autumn, when we had already returned to Czernin, an emaciated and hairless cat quite similar to that one appeared there one day. I don’t know if it was possible, but we were convinced that it was our Morusek (we called him that because of the black spot on his nose). The stray died soon afterwards.

The mansion in Marusza was two-story construction. Formal rooms occupied the first floor. From the hallway to the right, one entered a large study, and to the left, a living room. Adjacent to the latter was the dining room, arranged in such a way that it could be divided into two smaller rooms by a transverse wall made up of two equal parts, with a sliding door in the middle. The two halves opened and closely adhered to the longer walls of the room. After closing the sliding wall on one side, a dining table (shortened) was left in the slightly larger room, and a small living room was formed on the other. It had an overhanging semicircular bay window glazed with stained glass and filled with greenery - palm trees, exotic shrubs, and other ornamental plants. Several times we raised green frogs there. They felt perfectly at home, and they would start a concert when the sun’s rays reached them in the early afternoon. 

From the dining room, a large veranda led out to the garden. The second floor was occupied by our bedrooms, a bathroom, and a guest room exclusively for the immediate family. The five “proper” guest rooms were on the second floor. 

We spent only the summer months in Marusza, as it lacked the kinds of comforts we were used to in Czernin. Our family home had previously been electrified and had central heating. In Marusza, on the other hand, tiled stoves were used for heating, and kerosene lamps as lighting. Although a device was installed there to connect carbide gas to the decorative chandeliers hanging in the rooms, it was only activated when we had guests. My parents were concerned about the dangers of producing carbide gas. The relevant equipment was housed in a special building in the park. On such rare occasions, a person was established to watch over the entire installation.

The house’s front wall was overgrown with dense vines of glycine, which bloomed twice a year, in spring and late summer, with fragrant clusters of purple flowers. The second floor on this side of the house was complemented by a balcony, always lushly flowered during our stay. I liked to stand there and watch the swallows. They darted around the balcony, above and below, with a distinctive whistling sound. From their flight, we could augur the weather. When most flew high, one could expect beautiful, sunny days. When they flew low, rain was to be expected. Never after that did I see so many swallows in flight in such a small space!

Behind the house stretched the park. In front of the veranda, a large circular flower bed was marked by permanent “stamen” roses, inscribed in a colorful pattern of various other flowers. To the left was a “grotto,” a semicircular accumulation of porous stones. Inside stood a white garden table, and a bench and armchairs were around it. Behind the flower bed, facing the veranda, grew a tall, spreading red beech tree, a favorite place for our games. On the bench standing underneath it, we climbed the most easily accessible branches and then bushwhacked in the extensive crown. I enjoyed trying my hand there and climbing trees in general.

One summer, we noticed a nest in which a gray crow sat at the forest’s edge on a tall pine tree. My father was an enemy of gray crows, which, unlike useful black rooks, destroyed birds’ nests, devouring eggs and chicks. Convinced that the crow was sitting on eggs from which new pests would hatch, we decided to dump the nest. We pulled a ladder from a nearby barn and leaned it against a pine tree. However, although Olo climbed to the top rung, it was still far from the branch. Because of this, I climbed the ladder as well, climbed onto my brother’s shoulders, and from there, I reached the crown of the tree after a few protruding knots. Then I easily reached the nest, which, incidentally, turned out to be empty. I dropped it and started my way back. When the branches ran out, I slid down the trunk, resting my feet on tiny knots. At one point, a dry stick broke, and I began to fall, to the horror of my siblings. I was still high, and the adventure could have ended badly for me. I flew probably two meters and caught my dress on a protruding knot. The dress tore all the way to the hem, which turned out to be so strong that I hung from it in the air. I managed to embrace the trunk again, but I was panting all over from the sensation. Fortunately, I was already within reach of my brother’s arms. He helped me down to the ground.

On summer mornings, as soon as I got up, I would run out into the garden, even before breakfast. I breathed in the fresh, fragrant air with delight. My favorite activity was running with a wheel. I would push the wooden wheel in front of me with a small wood and adjust its course. It gave me great pleasure. Nowadays, children as young as a few years old need stronger thrills to amuse themselves, and wheels have gone out of fashion. On the other hand, I enjoyed this game, even when I was already a big girl. After such a run, I would return to breakfast in a great mood.

We spent a couple of hours a day walking in the forest, which started just outside the yard and stretched far away. These were lovely woods: towering pines, a few oaks or a few white birches in here and there, fluffy moss under the trees, and in places, a thicket of raspberries or a clearing full of strawberries. To pick mushrooms, we went to a forest farther away, behind the road to Grudziądz, where we knew places abounding in oyster mushrooms and buttermilk, as well as those growing boletes. In another small forest, we collected green and gray gooseberries in autumn.

I was a relatively weak child. I was sick with “English disease,” as rickets was called at the time, I got tired quickly, and my legs hurt. I was often planted on a stump, on some hill, to be visible, while others picked mushrooms. A year younger than me, Lili was doing better. Usually, after a while, bored, I would go for a walk, disturbing the sitter, who would start calling me. Year after year, however, I became more and more confident in my movements, and over time, along with others, I eagerly filled my basket with mushrooms.

During our trips to the forest, the greatest pleasure was playing “houses.” We had a favorite spot where, after discarding the top layer of moss and dark earth, we would each dig ourselves a large hollow in the sand. We set up our “cottages” and farms with numerous livestock there. Pine cones played the role of pigs, sheep, cats, and dogs, and spruce cones played the role of horses and cows. Acorns, in turn, represented poultry: chickens, geese, and ducks. We were warmed by competition in our efforts: whose homestead would be richer. 

One year, I was so distressed by the development of my hole that I wandered in my sleep at night, and when my mother asked what I was doing, I answered:  “I’m looking for pinecones.”  It happened to me once that I suddenly woke up in the next room near my brother’s bed while wandering around at night. I quickly jumped into it, thinking it was my own.  We were both terrified: he was awakened by the sudden intrusion, and I was surprised to find the bed occupied.

Another unpleasant adventure was connected with the forest. My uncle’s brothers from Kożuszki visited us, and we went with them to the forest. This time, no adults accompanied us. The boys discovered a deep hole in the sand and a swarm of insects, which they identified as wasps. They decided that, unlike beneficial bees, these harmful insects should be destroyed. One of the boys had a lighter with him, so they threw dry leaves into the hole and set it on fire. Thick smoke billowed out, and the angry insects attacked. The boys rushed to escape. They were a few years older than me and Lili, who also took part in the expedition. She could not keep up with them. However, she ran faster than me. Thus, I found myself at the very end. I felt something stinging in my shoulder, but I could only think about running as fast as possible. When I finally ran home out of breath, I touched my arm with my hand and discovered that it was one of the insects that had stung my skin. Crying, I ran to my mother, who determined it was a hornet. Although the stinger was extracted, my arm swelled badly, and I had a fever. I felt like a hero when I learned that the sting of four hornets could cause the death of an adult.

We occasionally went with the whole family to the lake in Rudnik. For this purpose, there was a special spacious carriage, which accommodated many people - with blankets, towels, and baskets of victuals. A part of the shoreline was occupied by a public beach, where the residents of Grudziądz came by bus in good weather. We, however, had another favorite spot. The beach here was small but surrounded by forest, and the water at the shore was shallow, safe even for small children. Gradually, however, it became deeper and deeper, making swimming possible. We spent a couple of hours here, swimming, playing ball and other games, eating the delicacies we had brought, with pleasure.

On walks to the forest, we were often accompanied by Miss Marta. She was the daughter of our landlord Mr. Olszewski, who worked in Czernin before the plebiscite. He opted for Poland, so he had to leave. So his parents employed him in Marusza. The Olszewski family lived a few dozen steps from the manor house in the mill building. 

In addition to the industrial part, it housed two apartments: One, connected to the mill, was occupied by the miller and his family, and the other, with a separate entrance, was occupied by the Olszewski family with their two daughters, Marta and Klara. Marta was a seamstress, and during our stays in Marusza, she spent her days at our house, sewing and altering the closet. However, her role did not end there.  She was also my mother’s “right hand”, taking care of the children and helping in the household. 

The housekeeper there, Miss Franciszka Drążkówna, accustomed to independence, managed only the kitchen and the preparation of meals. For most of the year, she and her landlord, Bernard Otrębski, farmed in Marusza as if they were home, and my parents fully trusted them. Only during the war did it turn out that they both abused this trust.

On the other hand, the Olszewski family was sincerely devoted to us. While Marta was busy sewing or ironing, I liked to sit by her side and listen to her stories. She would tell tales and legends and, even more often, actual past and recent events. She also knew many jokes and anecdotes, which entertained me greatly.

Staying in Marusza was an opportunity to meet family and friends living in Poland. Their arrival in Czernin was difficult, and at certain times outright impossible, because of the formalities involved in obtaining a German visa. In the first half of the 1920s, we often saw my mother’s younger sister, Aunt Tola. She was married to Roman Gołębski, at the time a cavalry officer of the 18th Uhlan Regiment stationed in Grudziądz.

A “snapshot” of their wedding has remained in my memory: a beautifully looking young couple, he in an elegant uniform, she in an airy white dress, walking together through the church. I followed them with my brother, carrying the bride’s long train. The uncles kneeled in kneelers, with us on either side on the altar steps. Olo kneeled, focused and serious. I didn’t last long in this position, I spun around, sat with my back to the altar, and looked out for familiar faces among the guests filling the church. In vain, Olo admonishes me in a hissing whisper….

After the wedding, my uncles settled in Grudziądz, in a garden house where my aunt grew vegetables, berry bushes, and lots of flowers. She was always industrious and thrifty. When Uncle Roman left the army, they moved to eastern Malopolska, to the uncle’s estate called Krasnolesie (located between Brzeżany and Podhajce). Auntie did not have an easy life there. Everything was different from what she was used to: The people, their mentality and customs, and even the language most of the workers spoke. At the time, this population was called Ruthenians instead of Ukrainians. The aunt soon won general sympathy thanks to her kindness and gentleness. The uncle, on the other hand, had a rather difficult character. He was nervous, impulsive, and had spurts of bad humor, which his wife tried to alleviate patiently. These character traits made him enemies.

My mother kept up a lively correspondence with my aunt. The sisters loved each other very much and understood each other perfectly. In their letters, they wrote about their work, the children, and what was happening around them. They sent each other recipes and practical advice. Several times a year, the post office carried packages back and forth. My mother sent gifts for the whole family, and my aunt sent various products, rather unknown in our country. In parcels from Krasnolesie, we received buckwheat and corn groats, buckwheat honey, of which I was a great fan, and various sweet products, Aunt Tola’s specialties, including wonderful nougats. 

If the correspondence between the two sisters had survived, it would have been a fascinating description of life in Poland at that time and on its two frontiers. Unfortunately, forces hostile to Poland inflicted a similar fate on the eastern and western borderlands, especially persecuting the landed gentry and destroying documents and memorabilia.

My mother’s other sister, the deaf-mute Aunt Zosia, came to Marusza for longer stays, while my brothers - busy with work and business - dropped in for a day or two. Uncle Włodek was always cheerful, and jokes stuck to him. One evening we were sitting at dinner when someone rang the front doorbell. The maid opened it and announced that a foreigner was asking to stay the night because his car had broken down (Marusza is located on the highway from Grudziądz to Warsaw). And indeed, a man in an automobilist’s suit and big glasses on his face entered after a while. For us, it was a sensation! The visitor began to say something in French…. and the mother recognized her brother immediately. There was no end to the laughter and joy late into the night. 

Several of our cousins in different years were doing military service at the Cavalry Training Center in Grudziądz. So they used to drop by on leave. They all knew the location of our estate well, which they often called “m. Marusza” (in the military language, it means “the town of Marusza”). The surrounding forests were their training grounds. The establishment of the 18th Lancers Regiment and the CWK in Grudziądz was connected with colonel August Donimirski, or Uncle Gucio, who had organized both units immediately after the war.

Pilots were also trained in Grudziądz. From the early morning hours, small training biplanes were whirring over Marusza. It once happened that a plane had to make an emergency landing in our field during a training exercise. A woman brought this news to us, informing us that the pilot was injured. The day was hot, so we ran to the accident scene, carrying a cooling drink for the injured man. He was indeed lying on a spit of land, and his plane was standing nearby. It was a great experience for me: To talk to a Polish pilot and see an airplane with a red and white checkerboard up close!

We also participated in cultural and patriotic events organized in Grudziądz. I remember the re-enactment of the Battle of Grunwald, presented on the Vistula meadows by soldiers stationed there. Troops in historical costumes acted out the various stages of the battle, enthusiastically applauded by the crowded audience. There was an intermission, after which the scene at the battlefield was announced. “Wounded and killed,” picturesquely scattered on the grass, were visible despite the already falling dusk. Suddenly, an ink-colored cloud appeared in the sky and was over our heads immediately. Amid thunder and lightning, a downpour raged. The entire audience, and with it the “dead and wounded,” all rushed to flee. Darkness prevailed. We struggled to find our carriage and, drenched in torrents of rain, set off for home. Dressed in a light coat, I sat on the main seat, squeezed between two adults. Later it turned out that my coat had dyed one side green and the other blue. Such was the end of an eventful day.

Grudziądz was also particularly memorable for me during the celebrations connected with bringing Juliusz Słowacki’s ashes from Paris to Poland in 1927. The coffin sailed down the Vistula River from the Baltic Sea to Kraków, where it was deposited on Wawel next to Mickiewicz’s coffin. The ship called at all the cities along the route, and their residents paid tribute to the great Pole. I remember the magnificent decorations, the orchestra sounds, and the festively dressed crowds. The homeland solemnly welcomed - and bid farewell to - its bard.

Crowds of Grudziądz residents also gathered in the city streets when Ignacy Mościcki visited the city sometime after he became president of the Republic.

News of the May events in 1926 reached me from Marta, who was engaged to a lancer of the 18th Regiment. She excitedly told me that his unit was now declared to be on standby, and they were to set out “for Warsaw.” I did not know whose side they would be on - supposedly, they were ordered to defend the government and the president, but fortunately, it didn’t happen. Probably, the events happened so fast that they just didn’t make it. My mother was absent at the time. She had just left for Krasnolesie to care for Aunt Tola immediately after her first-born daughter, Elżunia, was born. Those May days caused much anxiety, but things soon returned to normal.

In the summer of 1927, President Mościcki went to Pomerania and visited the principal cities of the province. I believe this tour aimed to improve the mood and overcome hostility to Piłsudski and his team in the former Prussian partition. This region was a bastion of National Democracy. Its people regarded the Marshal as a Germanophile, interested only in the eastern parts of the Republic. 

The former Prussian partition was different from the other two. It was the best economically developed, mainly due to the implementation of the slogans of organic work. However, it lacked a clerical class, as all offices in the Prussian state were available only to Germans. In this respect, the situation was best in the former Austrian partition, so it was from there that cadres for offices were drawn, which caused bitterness among the local population. I remember, for example, Marta’s account: - I go to the post office, and there in the window such an “Antek from Galilee” is drinking tea and chatting with a colleague, although there are already two people waiting in line…. 

Shortly after the end of World War I, the Ministry of the former Prussian District was established to facilitate its integration into the country. In 1921, the head of this ministry was our relative Józef Wybicki, a well-known Pomeranian activist who came from the family of the author of the Dąbrowski Mazurka, a doctor by profession. After the abolition of the ministry in May 1922, he was elected by the Sejmik for 12 years as Pomeranian national official. He was widely revered for his patriotism and great integrity. He died in April 1929 in Toruń during a demonstration against Germany’s anti-Polish, revisionist policies. 

He had an only daughter, Maria. My mother liked her immensely and often invited her to Marusza. In my opinion, Aunt Marysia was a serious person at the time, straightforwardly austere, with a strong character and intellectual interests. At the age of 27, she married her native uncle, twice her age, Mr. Adrian Chełmicki of Okalewo. It was a successful marriage out of genuine great love. Mr. Chełmicki was a man of excellent knowledge and culture. I heard later that he was seriously ill, and she nursed him with dedication. Arrested by the Gestapo in 1940, she was taken to Ravensbrück concentration camp, where she met with my mother.

Upon hearing of the president’s arrival in Grudziądz, Olo and I decided to necessarily see him, not even knowing that Wybicki’s uncle would act as host. Our younger sisters supported our plans. Ewa, however, was still small, so she could not accompany us. Olo, Lili, Renia, and I received permission to go to Grudziądz. On the appointed day, we wore festive white dresses. Even Olo wore his white suit. The gardener decorated the carriage beautifully with greenery and white and red carnations. Joyfully excited, we set off from the house. Except for the wagon driver, none of the adults accompanied us.

When we reached the town, we joined the crowded residents. Our carriage advanced slowly, unable to get close to the car of the distinguished guest. We went around several neighborhoods following him, and finally, the cars stopped in front of the entrance to the “Union” agricultural machinery factory. This was the former factory of the Ventzky & Duday Company, which before the first war, belonged to the then owner of Marusza. The president and his entourage disappeared into the building. 

It was a summer sunny day. Noon had arrived, and the heat was nagging. The crowd gathered at the entrance began to disperse slowly. Only we insisted on waiting. The foreman drove up to a tree standing nearby. Finally, a whole group of accompanying people spilled out of the factory, the president also appeared with Wybicki’s uncle at his side, and both took their seats in the open car. The uncle noticed us, smiled, and tipped his hat. Then he leaned over to the president and said something to him. And lo and behold, the president looked at us and, with a pleasant smile, elegantly lifted his cylinder. Out of happiness and out of emotion, our throats were clenched. We sprang to our feet and stood upright in our carriage. The car quickly drove away, and we couldn’t forgive ourselves for not saying, “Long live the President!” Proud and happy, we returned home, and for a long time to come, we told everyone who wanted to listen how Mr. President bowed to us!

As for contacts with well-known personalities, I remember that we were sometimes visited by Wiktor Kulerski, editor of Gazeta Grudziądzka [Grudziądz Gazette], the well-known local newspaper, popular not only in Pomerania but also in Warmia and Powiśle. He started publishing it while area was still under Prussian rule, at the end of the 19th century, waging a battle in its pages against the Germanization onslaught. He was a member of the Prussian parliament and an active social activist. During the period of the plebiscite, he joined the action in the territories covered by it and took an interest in their affairs in the following years as well. He held leftist views. He was a senator of the Republic for two terms, which testifies to the recognition he enjoyed.

Józef Włodek, the mayor of Grudziądz, also visited us. My parents held him in high esteem. They believed that the city owed him a lot. In 1925, mainly thanks to his initiative, energy, and tremendous work, the Pomeranian Exhibition was held in Grudziądz, showing Pomerania’s impressive organizational, economic and cultural achievements during those few years of independence. It was the best response to German propaganda about the alleged Polnische Wirtschaft. I remembered voïvode (mayor) Włodek’s visit to Marusza a few years later, when - unfortunately - the global economic crisis severely affected Poland’s economy, including that of Pomerania and Grudziądz. The city was quite industrialized. In addition to various smaller factories, it had two significant factories: the already mentioned agricultural machinery factory “Unia” and the rubber products factory “Pe-Pe-Ge” (State Rubber Industry.) When we talk about the latter, I am reminded of a song (to the tune of the popular in those years hit Dulcyneo, come to the ball!), which at the time, we very much liked:

Where do you work? - At Pe-Pe-Ge!
What do you do there? - Wellingtons! (Kalosze)
Wellingtons, snow boots and tires.
All this for my fiancée!

During those difficult years, the two factories had to lay off workers en masse, and many smaller plants went bankrupt. At some point, a crowd of unemployed people who were unable to pay their apartment rent invaded the empty barracks building. No one removed them from there, so they took up permanent residence there. This happened at a time when Marshal Piłsudski went on vacation to the island of Madeira. Someone named the barracks after this Portuguese island. The name caught on, and the residents of “Madeira” became the terror of the area, committing thefts and burglaries.

On the subject of “Madeira” and unemployment, a conversation once descended over dinner involving Mr. Włodek. He spoke of his efforts to find a solution. I remembered his words that he could employ many people in public works, but there were no takers for this work. After all, the prevailing rate was 3 zloty per day, and the unemployed received an allowance of 2.50 zloty per day. At the same time, they had extra time at their disposal, which allowed some to earn extra with part-time labor, while for others, enabled theft and other crimes.

When I was 10-11 years old, two girls from a boarding school in Chełmno came to Marusza for vacation. This was one of the homes established after the war with public contributions and thanks to state aid for children from Kresy Wschodnie (Eastern Borderlands) whose parents had lost their lives as a result of the Russian Revolution or hostilities or had disappeared without news after being deported deep into Russia. These homes provided education and board. At one time, families were appealed to take in orphaned youngsters for vacations. The girls who were sent to us at our parents’ invitation were 2-3 years older than me. With the younger one, Irka Dubrawska, I soon became friends. We read and discussed books together, and we had plenty of interesting topics for long conversations.

The second girl, fourteen years old, tall and giving the impression of being even older, disappointed us a lot, unfortunately. She didn’t like anything, was dissatisfied with everything, and finally, after about three weeks of her stay, it turned out that she had been stealing various items and hiding them in her bed with the intention of taking them with her when she left. My mother demanded that she return to Chełmno. After her friend’s departure, Irka took a breather. She admitted that she knew about her thefts because they lived in the same room, but that one forced her to keep quiet with terror and blackmail.

The following year only Irka returned to Marusza and spent the vacations with us, participating in all our walks, games. and trips. This was her last stay. As far as I remember, she found a family member and left Chełmno. She kept in touch with us for a while, corresponding with my mother, and I added a few words to the letters sent to her. With time, we lost sight of her.

In the spring of 1928, my mother brought me and my sisters to Marusza earlier than usual. She engaged a teacher to educate us during the summer months. She returned to Czernin. Miss Maria - that’s what we called our new mistress - was probably a routine teacher, but she had probably never dealt with children on a daily basis before. We weren’t convinced we liked her, and outside of lessons, we sought Marta’s company.

At the time, we were fascinated by the news that we would soon have a little brother or sister. I remembered the heated discussions that Marta and I had about the expected baby boy. I ordered a little sister. I always had about a dozen dolls, all girls. This was mainly due to my poor sewing skills: I could manage, as it were, to sew a dress for a doll, but I couldn’t manage to sew any pants. Lili, on the other hand, wished for a little brother. She imagined that she would find a more exciting playmate in him, not realizing the age difference. She did not like to play with dolls. Instead, she always had a stable full of horses of different sizes and a couple of doggies. I don’t remember who Renia and Ewa voted for. In any case, we all looked with considerable excitement at the news from Czernin, and when we learned that we had a little brother, we couldn’t wait to see him. We were told that the names chosen for him were Stanisław Paweł. Lili excitedly told everyone that a little brother, Stanisław Paweł, was born, which caused general enthusiasm.

However, we did not see Staś quickly, and my parents did not appear in Marusza. Mother was kept busy with his baby suffering from a digestive disorder. Father, as usual, was reluctant to leave Czernin in the summer, wanting to oversee the fieldwork personally. Meanwhile, I acquired some kind of eye disease. At first, it didn’t look threatening, but after a few weeks, my eyes became so inflamed that I had to constantly hold a handkerchief to my face to stem the stream of pus. Miss Maria exempted me from written work but persistently read to me the texts I was supposed to study. 

The only person who stayed in touch with my parents, either in writing or by phone, was the administrator, Mr. Otrębski. Finally, in one of his letters, between information about the harvest and the state of the trenches, he also included the sentence, “Tina’s eyes are getting worse and worse.” My parents were horrified by this. I don’t know how my mother arranged for Staś to be cared for. In any case, she immediately showed up in Marusza. I remember her sharp conversation with Miss Maria, since it was to her that she entrusted our bunch, and from her she expected to take care of our health. After a telephone conversation with my Uncle Janek Sikorski, she took the night train with me to Warsaw that same evening. 

It was my first trip ever to the capital, and it was etched deeply in my memory. In the compartment, my mother sat in the corner by the window and put me to sleep by her side. Lulled by the movement of the wheels, I fell asleep hard and only woke up in the morning when the train stopped in Aleksandrów Kujawski. I looked out the window and, for the first time, saw many bearded men in chalats (gabardines) and distinctive caps on their heads boarding the train. At the sight of them, I immediately recalled: “Their beards long, their curly mustaches, their gaze wild, their dress splotchy…” (Mickiewicz, Return of the Father). I shouted in horror: “Mommy, are they thieves?”. My mother reassured me that they were peaceful people like everyone else, dressed in Jewish garb. I was surprised by this. 

My image of a Jew was completely different: a refined gentleman, a merchant, a store owner. I associated him with the large department store in Malbork, Conitzer & Soehne, which I knew was owned by a Jewish family. That’s where my mother usually made various purchases, and most of our dresses came from. Of course, I soon got used to the sight of men dressed like this, because in Warsaw, especially in some neighborhoods, one often encountered Jews.  

In Warsaw, we stayed with my uncle, who occupied an apartment on Nowogrodzka Street. Later that day, my mother and I went to the ophthalmologist for an appointment already ordered by my uncle. If I’m not mistaken, the doctor’s name was Sobeski and he lived in Ujazdowskie Avenue. After examining my eyes, he found conjunctivitis in a very advanced stage. He said that I had a lot of what looked like small boils on both eyes, which were already even on the irises. If they metastasized to the pupil, I could lose my sight. He recommended blue glasses to keep the light from glaring at me. We went to him twice a day for treatments throughout the week, and improvement quickly followed.

I count that week in Warsaw among the happiest of my life. I was delighted to spend my days with my mother, whom I had always adored. We took walks around the city, and I was amused that I would be left with a picture of Warsaw “out of the blue” because of my glasses. I was impressed by the numerous cars circling the streets and was fascinated by the sound of horns of different heights and colors. In the evening, it seemed to me that the cars were communicating in the dark with incomprehensible signals, creating some strange melody.

It was full summer. Taking advantage of the sunny weather, we spent a lot of time in the parks. I remember Łazienki Park, Saski Garden, Skaryszewski Park. We sat on a bench and my mother read books to me. I liked to feed the pigeons. It made me happy that everyone around me spoke Polish. It gave me a sense of security. Even when my mother went out to the theater with my uncle in the evening, leaving me lying to sleep, alone in the house, I felt no fear, because I knew Poles surrounded me. My image of Poland and Poles was idealized, and the hateful anti-Polish propaganda was the cause of my fear of the Germans. Each time we crossed the Polish border, we breathed lighter and felt freer.

After returning from Warsaw to Marusza, I was proud to have learned about the Polish capital, and the memories of this stay remained deeply in my mind.

Although we had various nannies during childhood, our mother watched over us personally, cooked meals for the little ones herself, and devoted much time to us. Once we were older, she started our education with singing lessons. She gathered us in the living room and, accompanied by the piano, taught us various songs, including many patriotic ones. We had an album of songs such as the national hymn, Jeszcze Polska Nie Zginęła, which contained the lyrics and sheet music. Mother sang very nicely. Repeating the melody and words after her, stanza by stanza, we learned many well-known hymns and songs at an early age. Their sound still evokes images of those moments in my memory. From an early age, I also remember my mother playing various more or less popular songs on the piano. Later, however, this happened less and less often, and finally, an excess of various duties caused her to abandon music altogether.

Mother was our first teacher. She taught us how to read, write and count, and lessons in Polish history and religion came with time. She was very demanding. For example, we learned the catechism from a book containing questions and answers that we had to learn by heart. I always answered with great trepidation because my mother reproved me sternly whenever I twisted something. We learned history from a small book with illustrations, briefly outlining our history. Some of its pages have remained in my memory, and the most important dates and events formed a kind of skeleton around which I built up the knowledge I later acquired. My mother also gave village children reading and writing lessons in Polish for many years. However, after a break due to the birth of one of us, she no longer continued this work, as other responsibilities consumed her time and exhausted her strength.

As for my learning to read, I found information on the subject shortly before the war in the diary of my older brother, who kept daily records under my mother’s supervision from 1923 to 1925. The diary was lost during the war, but I remember two remarks about me. On some date, my brother wrote: “Tina absolutely wants to learn to read, although she is only five years old. She pesters everyone to show her the letters.” Sometime later, a new reference: “Tina is already reading on her own.” It was clear from the dates that I was not yet six years old.

From then on, reading became my passion. I absorbed my first baby books with great excitement, then teenage literature with excited blushes on my face. The contents of my parents’ library were too difficult for me, so with all my savings, I bought books and read each one several times when I ran out of new ones. While reading, I would forget about the whole world and not hear what was being said to me. When I tore myself away from the book, I did all sorts of silly things, for which I sometimes got flunked. In my studies, I had good results because everything interested me. The only thing I didn’t like was learning by heart, except for poems, which I learned easily.

Our education posed a difficult problem for our parents. The German authorities absolutely refused to allow people with Polish citizenship to stay longer. Thus, it was impossible to bring a teacher or a female teacher from Poland who could prepare us for Polish secondary schools. Meanwhile, we were subject to compulsory education in Germany. This obligation was considered fulfilled when a teacher from the elementary school in Czernin gave us private lessons. So we began, after the age of seven, to learn German under the direction of Mr. Jaedtke. His surname was German, but, as was often the case, his mother apparently spoke only Polish, and most of her family had ended up in Poland after the first war. Mr. Jaedtke was fluent in both languages, making it easier for him to fulfill a mission that no one doubted. This was to provide detailed information about my parents’ every move. He received a compensation for this, which was all the more valuable to him because, being an alcoholic, he needed money for vodka. The services he provided strengthened his position with the educational authorities.

At the end of the 1920s, there was an affair that was reported in the Polish press. I was shocked to learn that our teacher had persuaded his nephew named Piątek, who was serving in the Polish Army in Toruń, to engage in espionage activities. I don’t recall the details, but it stuck in my memory that Piątek was sentenced to death, and the sentence was carried out. Rumor has it that his uncle paid him a fraction of the amounts he received for information. Of course, my parents had no choice, and our attitude toward him and the language he taught us was reluctant at best. He behaved rather good-naturedly during lessons. He often asked for a glass of water, which he sipped with some kind of powder, croaking mercilessly, which amused us immensely. He probably nursed his hangover this way. However, the effects of his teaching were meager, and so was our knowledge of German, which sometimes exposed us to the hostile shouts of nationalistically-minded juveniles or to spiteful treatment in government offices where we had to go, for example, to get passports for trips to Poland.

We made more significant progress in French. From France, as from Poland, no one was allowed to invite anyone for an extended stay. The revisionist authorities treated both countries as enemies of the German Reich. In contrast, citizens of neutral Switzerland were of no concern. So, quite early on, we began to learn French under the guidance of a Swiss governess. At first, it was mainly conversational, and only the oldest brother took lessons from her. Later, gradually, we began to learn the language regularly as well.

Over time, as we grew up, mother could no longer educate us herself. So one spring, we left quite early for Marusza, where we spent an extended period. A teacher engaged by mother, Mrs. Bólewska, prepared Olo for junior high school. She was already an elderly lady and loved dogs.  She herself had a small dog, and throughout her stay in Marusza, she also took care of a yard bitch named Herta, who spent life on a chain next to a doghouse. I was afraid of Herta, so Mrs. Bólewska decided to befriend me with her. She gave me a bowl with the dog’s daily meal, and we walked together to her lair. Herta jumped violently out of the kennel and sank her fangs into my calf. I remember wearing a bandage for a long time, and from then on, I was panic-stricken about dogs for many years.

However, not only this adventure cemented my brother’s teacher in my memory. Mrs. Bólewska taught me childish rhymes with great dedication. I later recited them at various meetings and gatherings. I didn’t like these lessons, especially since Mrs. Bólewska required me to illustrate the poems with appropriate facial expressions and gestures, which caused me to object, since I was very shy. Sometimes when I expected to be summoned to study, I would hide in the bushes deep in the garden.

In the autumn, we returned to Czernin. My brother began studying under a new teacher, Marcin Fiutak, who came from Gietrzwałd in Warmia, where his parents were well-known Polish activists. The young man had German citizenship but completed middle school and passed his high school diploma in Poland. It was, therefore, a fortunate arrangement. Marcin soon won the general public’s affection, and my brother adored him and spent most of the day with him, which was filled with lessons and walks. After some time, however, the young teacher was diagnosed with pulmonary tuberculosis, a dangerous disease at the time. It was with great regret that we had to part with him. There was talk later of his decision to enter the seminary. Later, I learned that he had completed his studies in philology, and was employed as a junior high school teacher. So he had managed to overcome his disease.

My parents were concerned about my brother’s health. He had not been diagnosed with an infection, but after losing two sons, they trembled for the one in the bunch of daughters. So, as a prophylactic measure, they sent Olo to Switzerland for some time. These were, it seems, two stays of several months. I remember some of the impressions he told us upon his return. He stayed quite high up in the mountains in a house that was named “La Clairière” after the owner and tutor in one person. Mr. Gaston Clair took in a few boys of his son’s age at a time and created ideal conditions for them. He provided them with education, without neglecting to raise them. There was general appreciation of my brother’s accounts of how the Swiss taught them to be kind to each other, and how he made them help people they met on walks, such as carrying heavy objects to relieve the old and weak. Spending a lot of time outdoors, they learned to respect and love nature. Staying in Switzerland brought my brother the added benefit of mastering French. Soon after his return, he left for the Marian Fathers’ Gymnasium in Warsaw’s Bielany district, where he began his studies on September 1, 1927.

During my childhood years, my brother was an authority to me. I turned to him when I had any doubts, and he gave me comprehensive and extensive answers. I felt much respect for him, although my ambition did not allow me to admit it. We even argued sometimes about how many years older he was than me: I argued that when I turn six in January 1924, for example, he is ten, so he is four years older than me, and he proved to me that when he turns eleven in October of that year, I am still six, so I am five years younger than him. In general, however, he impressed me with his knowledge, and I absorbed with great interest the crumbs of it he shared with me. It was he who explained to me the mysteries of the universe: the role of the Sun and other stars, the movements of the Earth and the Moon, the reasons for the appearance of day and night, as well as the four seasons. The news I obtained from him was the subject of my musings when I went to bed at my parents’ appointed hour and could not fall asleep.

Olo took an early interest in photography. He mostly ordered photographic equipment for name day and Christmas presents. While still a young boy, he organized a darkroom, developing films and making prints. I was happy when he allowed me to participate in this mystery and when I could admire the first outlines of an image appearing on the plates or paper by the light of a red lamp. With time, Olo enriched himself with a camera for enlargement and achieved better results. 

Thus, in my albums, there were almost exclusively photographs taken by him. At first, I mainly received unsuccessful ones, but later he already considered me worthy of better prints. He had an aptitude for the sciences. He was fond of mathematics, and at an early age, he was given a book called Śladami Pitagorasa [Footsteps of Pythagoras] as a gift, and he eagerly solved the puzzles in it. His interest was also aroused by the crosswords and puzzles he found in magazines. He sent the solutions to the editors and often won prizes, usually books.

We regularly read the supplements to Gazeta Olsztyńska: Gość Niedzielny [The Sunday Visitor] and Życie Młodzieży [Life of the Youth]. My primer, on which I learned to read, was the weekly supplement to Gazeta Olsztyńska - Przyjaciel Dziatek [Friend of Kiddies]. For many years our favorite reading was Płomyczek [Little Flame] published in Poland, and later Płomyk [Flame]. These magazines were characterized by interesting content and beautiful layout. Their footsteps were soon followed by Mały Polak w Niemczech [Little Pole in Germany] and, from 1930, Młody Polak w Niemczech [Young Pole in Germany], whose editorial offices were located in Berlin.

My sister Lili, who was a year younger than me, had great hearing and musical abilities that were observed very early. In contrast, I was rather averagely musically gifted, but - according to the custom of the time - when we reached the age of 7 or 8, we both started taking piano lessons from a teacher in Sztum. She was German, quite elderly, with a horse-like, heavily wrinkled face. Her appearance alone did not inspire confidence in us. In addition, it seemed to us that her remarks, spoken in German and therefore poorly understood by us, sounded aggressive and unkind.

Twice a week, we went to her for lessons. I remember feeling anxious when the carriage stopped in front of a neat little house in a well-maintained garden. I was generally the one to go first; my sister would sit down at the piano after me. I was an ambitious and solid student, so I carefully practiced the pre-set exercises and easy pieces at home. 

My sister, known from infancy for her horned and stubborn soul, could not accept the fingerings and charmless exercises imposed on her. After all, she could play any song and favorite melody by ear with great ease and pleasure. The teacher’s harsh excuses aroused additional opposition in her. After the first angry remark, she would stop playing. The image remained in my memory of the little person sitting at the piano, with her head lowered and her fists clenched in her lap, while the old lady would break off and develop all her ingenuity to get her to play. Sometimes she would take a cane in her hand and threaten to hit the wayward pupil across the fingers. However, she never fulfilled this threat. 

Finally, the parents gave up. For a short time, I still traveled alone for lessons. Then my parents managed to get a teacher from Poland for three months, who, in addition to other subjects, also taught me to play the piano.

Meanwhile, Lili spent many hours at the instrument, playing various melodies by ear, adding the appropriate accompaniment to them, primitive at first, with time becoming more and more sophisticated. When we were older and went to the movies, Lili would sit down at the piano upon her return and play the themes she had just heard in the film. Everyone liked her music very much. They praised her sonorous beat, the right interpretation, and emotional involvement for each piece. No one wanted to believe that she didn’t know the notes. These successes reassured her that she didn’t need music studies. Her musical abilities were inherited by her son, Andrzej. And he neglected his studies for the sake of playing the guitar. He later played in musical ensembles, including the popular Polish band “Dwa Plus Jeden” (“Two Plus One”).

In 1928, I found myself together with my sisters already in early spring in Marusza to study under a new teacher, Miss Maria, who was engaged for the summer. I remember that I worked intensively, more than my sisters, who, being younger, had few classes. However, I had to stop learning due to an eye disease and a trip to Warsaw for treatment, which I have already written about.

After returning from Warsaw, we went briefly to Czernin, where a double ceremony took place in the first days of August: the baptism of Staś and my First Holy Communion. As usual, the venue for the religious ceremony was the chapel in our park. Deaf Aunt Zosia, Uncle Stefan, and his wife Aldona, who became the infant’s godparents, came to Czernin for the occasion. The day was beautiful and sunny. The ceremony, although modest, was held in a solemn mood. It was also attended by Miss Ola Morawska, whom we treated as a family member.

In the autumn, our new teacher appeared in Czernin - Mrs. Falkowska, a single person in her sixties; she had a tiny bitch Fipcia, of whom she often said that this dog was her whole family. She never parted her mistress’ side. During lessons, she would hold her on her lap, giving her one finger lick at a time. She smoked cigarettes but tried to do so only in her room. 

Fipcia, who was generally calm, felt at home in her mistress’ room and aggressively welcomed people entering there. Therefore, I avoided, as much as I could, such visits. I remember such a moment: I knocked timidly on the door and, after answering: “Please enter!” I found Mrs. Falkowska in bed, with Fipcia lying under the quilt on her stomach. Only the tip of the dog’s nose was visible, and a harsh bark sounded. A cloud of cigarette smoke drifted around the bed. Such situations made an indelible impression on me, so I tried to complete the task as quickly as possible and leave the room.

A large sunny room on the first floor, called the “front” room, was designated for our study. Over time, we started to call it “the school”. After breakfast, at 8:30 a.m., I would begin my study, which lasted two hours. After a half-hour break, my two sisters sat down for lessons at eleven o’clock. They studied together since Lili, though a year older, never showed any desire to learn, while Renia, like me, though perhaps with a little less enthusiasm, showed interest in acquiring knowledge. If only our teachers had created a more favorable atmosphere for us!

Unfortunately, Mrs. Falkowska was a nervous person. During lessons, I was afraid of her loud scolding. Despite my efforts, I never heard words of encouragement or praise from her lips. On the other hand, loud shouts rang out frequently during my sisters’ lessons, spreading through the spacious upstairs corridor. My sisters somehow got used to it and didn’t care as much as I did. Starting in the morning, they had a French lesson with the aforementioned Swiss woman, while I, in turn, worked with her after eleven o’clock.

After lunch, there was a break in classes. Our teacher would go for a nap, and we would run out of the house most of the time. In fact, we were supposed to be accompanied by our Swiss teacher to carry on a French conversation. However, it was difficult for her to enforce this on us, so she was usually deathly bored while we were playing. Thus, often mother relieved her of this duty.

When the weather was favorable, we organized various games in the garden. When the frost took hold in winter, we skated on a small shallow pond behind the buildings surrounding the yard. When the layer of snow reached the right thickness, we would go crazy on toboggans, sliding down the hill, which was a field behind the garden stretching all the way to the road. It was a frequent place for our games. 

I liked to sneak out there alone through gaps in the hedge surrounding the park, especially in the spring. There was a beautiful view from there. In the distance, we could see Sztum drowning in greenery, from which emerged the walls remaining of the Teutonic castle and below - the tower of the Catholic church, located on Lake Zajezierski. Two ribbons of old trees were marking two highways from the town: “our” to Sztum and the road from Sztum to Postolin. As I soaked up this view, inhaling the scent of the Earth and reviving vegetation, I was always overwhelmed by a poetic mood, a sense of closeness to nature, and a warm attachment to this corner of our Earth.

But, alas, it was necessary to return to the mundane of daily life after afternoon tea, around five o’clock. This was when the music lesson followed. For both breakfast and afternoon tea, jugs of milk and boiling water were placed on the table, along with a kettle of tea essence.  Everyone prepared a beverage for themselves, depending on their tastes. My mother explained to me that Mrs. Falkowska drank strong tea, adding a minimal amount of water to the essence. She attributed this to our teacher’s excitement after the afternoon tea. 

The piano stood in the living room. It was a large room in the center of the first floor, so it was no wonder that not only the sound of music but also my teacher’s shouts rang throughout the house:

“Lift your fingers!”
“Hurry up!”
“Louder!”
“Don’t you see that piano is written here?”
“Don’t slow down!”

Certainly, no one paid the slightest attention to this, and it did not occur to anyone that these lessons were a veritable torture for me. Thus, when it was nearing snack time, I would look out the window every now and pray that God would send some guests. Indeed, it happened quite often that someone visited my parents at this time. 

The most frequent visitor was Miss Ola Morawska, who was involved in the affairs of various Polish organizations and closely associated with my mother in this work. But there were other visitors as well: Mrs. Iza Osińska, or the Gawronski sisters, on matters related to the activities of women’s organizations. Gentlemen from the Polish Union and the School Society came to confer, to plan meetings or events. Of course, the discussions continued over a cup of coffee in the living room, and my music lesson was canceled. I welcomed this with great relief.

After three months of our study, the authorities did not extend Mrs. Falkowska’s permit to stay in the Reich, and she had to, to my parents’ dismay and our ill-concealed joy, leave Czernin. It was agreed that she would go to Marusza, where the housekeeper and the servants would provide her with a heated room and “shelter” until warmer weather would allow us to stay in this house.

Thus began the winter vacation for us, and the summer promised to be busy. However, we were not thinking about this unhappy prospect when standing on the porch. We said goodbye to the departing teacher. With great relief, we watched as she located herself in the carriage with Fipcia on her lap. The maid covered her knees with a thick blanket, the wagoner arranged the suitcase beside her on the trestle - and the horses took off, carrying her to the station….

In the second half of the 1920s, we had another teacher for several years - a German woman, the daughter of a dentist from Sztum, the young and charming Margot Ehlenberger, who taught us gymnastics. Twice a week, a carriage was sent to Sztum to pick her up, and we looked forward with joy to these lessons. They took place in the living room, where an old-fashioned gramophone with a tuba was rarely played, but Mrs. Margot brought her suitcase apparatus and her records. To their accompaniment, we performed gymnastic exercises, learned rhythmics and dancing. 

We learned easy ballet routines in time, which we showed off on various occasions. I remember a great success we achieved, dancing the “waltz with balloons”, specially prepared for my father’s name day. The Slavic calendar was not known in our country at the time, and no one knew when to celebrate Witold (Vytautas) Day. Father celebrated it on his birthday, that is, December l. However, it was always said to be his name day, not his birthday, probably because, in general, Poles, as Catholics, celebrated their patron saint’s day, while Germans – in our region, mostly Evangelicals – celebrated their birthday. 

On that day, many guests always showed up for a celebratory dinner, which was swarming and bustling. “Waltz with balloons” was warmly applauded. We danced all four of us: I was given the role of “prima ballerina,” and Ewa, probably four years old at the time, aroused general amusement by running with small steps, not very similar to the waltz. Later I practiced a solo dance, whose musical background was Schubert’s Scherzo. I performed this showpiece several more times.

After Mrs. Falkowska left, we had a lot of time, so the most interested, namely Renia and I, sometimes practiced alone, outside of lessons. On the other hand, Lili had her own separate passions and loves from an early age. As I mentioned before, she liked to play various melodies on the piano by ear and did so very often. She was also very interested in animals. In the yard in front of the kitchen entrance were the kennels of three barnyard dogs. These dogs spent the day on a chain, and in the evening, at nine o’clock, they were leashed by the night watchman to accompany him until morning. The watchman walked around the house and yard at night and whistled loudly every full hour. The dogs accompanied him with loud barking. I was afraid of them and didn’t dare go near them. On the other hand, Lili liked to sit by their kennels, and playing with them never bored her.

Her main passion, however, was horses. When we, the other sisters, played enthusiastically with our dolls or organized games in the garden, Lili would sneak off to the stables. There she would forget about the whole world and often be late for meals and other activities. Only someone’s intervention would persuade her to return home. She would return with blades of straw in her hair and clothes, soaked in the stable smell. I, for one, have always had a sensitive sense of smell and naturally did not fail to express disapproval in such situations. In response, I invariably heard that the horse smell was more beautiful than the best perfume.

We were probably about ten years old when we began - we two older sisters - to learn horseback riding. We used our parents’ saddles, no longer in use, for this purpose; Lili rode her father’s men’s saddle, and I rode my mother’s women’s saddle. I found myself at a much greater disadvantage, not only because of the saddle, but also because of my weaker condition. While I towered over my sister in dancing and gymnastics because I was supple and flexible, she, rather stiff but muscular, had an advantage over me in all exercises requiring strength. 

On the horse, she sat upright, rising easily on two stirrups, while I bent over one knee with effort since the women’s saddle had only one stirrup. I was leaning with my hand against the protruding stirrup through which the other leg was thrown, but I did not feel very confident. As a result, I was soon discouraged from horseback riding. On the other hand, my sister made rapid progress and soon mastered the sport admirably. Later, when she was a bit older, she had a gray mount at her disposal and was known throughout the neighborhood for her horseback escapades. She adored her gray horse and always had bread and sugar cubes for him.

As soon as the spring of 1929 arrived, we left for Marusza to continue our education under Mrs. Falkowska, who was waiting for us there. One of the rooms on the second floor was our “school” at the time, while Mrs. Falkowska lived in another. That summer, our first French teacher returned to Switzerland. The daily schedule did not differ much from that previously described, but we always studied less intensively in the summer.

My mentality from that period can be evidenced by my dreams at the time. When I couldn’t fall asleep in the evening or when I woke up at night, I would let my imagination run wild. Well, I imagined that I was discovering a gold deposit in our garden. I had heard that Poland was facing serious economic difficulties, that there were a great number of poor people, that there was a lack of jobs and housing for them, that old houses needed costly repairs, and that money was needed to build schools and to provide aid to Poles living abroad. With the gold at my disposal from my mine, I could remedy everything. The difficulty was ensuring the German government would not prevent me from doing so. I spent hours devising ways to smuggle gold into Poland to anonymously finance the big initiatives there. As I heard of new problems, I planned the relevant effort, which I myself organized, remaining secretive so as not to betray the source of my funds. This was one dream of many. The second such series was Emilia Plater-style feats of war. I also dreamed of discovery and travel after reading Na Srebrnym Globie [On the Silver Globe] by Żuławski. However, the first two themes always topped the others. Certainly, it was - on the one hand - the influence of patriotic reading, insurrectionary poems, and songs, and on the other - the observation of the activities of my parents, seeing the ideals of organic work on a daily basis.

Meanwhile, significant changes were taking place in the situation of Poles in Germany. The memorials submitted by the Union of Polish School Societies to the German government, the activities of the Union of Poles in Germany not only at home but also internationally, Baczewski’s speeches in parliament finally forced the government to pass an ordinance on Polish education in the German Reich. Pressure from the Polish authorities also played an important role, threatening to restrict the freedoms enjoyed by German schools in Poland, which were financed by the Polish state.

Our activists considered these pressures as far too lenient, given the harassment and impediments they faced in their work. A convention for the protection of minorities under the control of the League of Nations was imposed on Poland and other Central European states as part of the Treaty of Versailles. Germany, however, was not bound by this convention. Only the Bytom region came under such protection after the Third Silesian Uprising and only for fifteen years: From 1922 to 1937. Throughout the entire two decades, the German minority in Poland flooded the League of Nations with complaints about alleged obstructions by the Polish authorities, generally unfounded. Polish authorities continued to try to avoid any irritation over this issue. 

In Germany, an ordinance issued in December 1928 allowed the establishment of private Polish schools financed by the Polish side. However, the implementation of these powers encountered great difficulties. The authorities took an ostensibly sympathetic stance. They used various ploys. First, pressure was exerted on parents, threatening them with the loss of their jobs, other reprisals, and even using physical terror. Later, after the schools had already been established, there were brutal assaults on schools, teachers, and residents who were in some way connected with the schools.

I particularly remember the events that took place in the fall of 1930 in Mikolajki, Powiśle. A group of dozens of drunken men trashed the building of a Polish school and beat up its Polish neighbors. It searched for the teacher, intending to kill him, fortunately without success, as he found refuge in the home of the Schreiber family. If there were even lawsuits after such incidents, prosecutors and judges put all the blame on the Polish victims, who were supposedly the attacking party.

At the time, the secretary of the Union of Poles in Sztum was Maksymilian Golisz, and the secretary of the School Society was Jan Boenigk. They busied themselves energetically organizing Polish schools in our district. Despite considerable difficulties and dangers, there was no shortage of candidates. In Germany, the school year began on April l. With a slight delay, the first Polish schools in Trzciana, Waplewo, and Stary Targ were successfully opened in 1929, and a few more later. 

Children from Czernin attended school in Postolin, as there were too few to open a separate one locally. They were taught in Polish, strictly according to the curriculum of German public schools, with textbooks translated from German. They often contained false information about the facts of Polish-German history. Some school districts had a map on which the territory of Poland was marked Zur Zeit Polen (temporarily Poland).

A teacher could be brought in from Poland after being approved by the German authorities. 

My parents came up with the idea of declaring a Polish school in Czernin, engaging a teacher from Poland, and providing us with an education under this banner. Since they intended to send us to schools in Poland in the future, they decided, contrary to regulations, that we would be educated according to the program in force in high schools in Poland, which at the time included three introductory grades and eight junior high schools. Therefore, our institution could not include Polish children from our village. After working with Mr. Golisz and Mr. Boenigk, my parents made the appropriate efforts, which were eventually successful. Thus, in the autumn of 1929, we began studying at our school.

Our new teacher was Mrs. Helena Kistowska, a person in her sixties with many years of teaching work behind her. Two classes were reported to the local school authorities: Two students in the lower one, and one in the higher one, myself. For me, textbooks designed for the second grade of junior high school were bought in Poland, for my sisters - used textbooks two grades lower. So we finally began to study in the normal way, taking advantage of the holidays according to the calendar in force in German schools. Mrs. Kistowska, although a single person, had relatives to whom she went on vacation. In addition to school subjects, I continued my piano lessons with her, which were interrupted after Mrs. Falkowska’s departure. Fortunately, I did not experience these lessons as tense as before. Unfortunately, I was still not free from stress, although this time was completely different.

Mrs. Kistowska considered herself a very religious person. She conveyed her views to us during religion lessons and at every opportunity. In her version, God was threatening and severely punishing every offense. Even after being forgiven, one could not escape the punishment. Quoting the Apocalypse of St. John, she predicted the imminent end of the world, for the antichrist in the person of Stalin had already appeared; and there were already “stinking devils and fire-breathing devils” flying around the Earth in the form of motorcyclists. These phenomena were supposed to herald the world’s end when purgatory would cease to exist. Only heaven for people without sin and hell for those stained by even the slightest blemish would remain. My sisters let these predictions go by the wayside, but I was concerned about them and prayed that I would die before the end of the world and have time to atone for my faults in purgatory.

In January 1930, I took the stage during an annual party in Sztum, dancing my Scherzo to Schubert’s music. For this dance, I wore a “buffo” style costume, a long black blouse made of shiny, flowing fabric, with big red buttons and red lining, visible from under the spread collar and long heavily flared sleeves, and short buffy black and red shorts. The legs were barefoot. Mrs. Kistowska later told me often during lessons that my dancing “with bare legs” was an offense to morality and a grave sin. 

Somehow I didn’t dare to talk to anyone about it. Finally, I confessed it in confession to our dean, who, by the way, as a guest, personally watched my performance. He reassured me that nothing was wrong with it, and a stone fell from my heart. Nevertheless, I was still concerned about the teacher’s various statements.

In the autumn of 1929, a second Swiss girl, nineteen-year-old Mathilde Castella, came to us. A native of Freiburg, she was an ardent patriot of her country. While my younger sisters were learning to speak, read and write French, I went through a lot of material with her: a detailed French grammar, history, and literature program. Today I believe that I owe her a lot, and I regret that I did not appreciate it at the time and show her due gratitude. She dedicated herself to me fully. Most of my knowledge of French remained in my memory thanks to those lessons. Now I realize that the poor girl experienced a painful distance from her country and family and was sometimes tormented by nostalgia. 

Unfortunately, Mrs. Kistowska developed a dislike for the young foreigner. She constantly pitted us against her, criticizing her at every turn. And we were so foolish that we succumbed to these suggestions. We often twisted the words of the Swiss songs she taught us, giving them a negative, ridiculing overtone, and we often proclaimed the “superiority of Poland over Switzerland”, which Mrs. Helena suggested to us. Under her influence, we believed that such behavior was proof of patriotism.

Nevertheless, Mrs. Kistowska could also be kind, winning some people’s sympathy. Among others, she befriended Mrs. Goliszowa, the mother of Mr. Maks, who lived with him in Sztum. Mrs. Helena visited her quite often, ordering a carriage at the time, with which a wagon man drove her and brought her back.

The German authorities were probably aware of the fictitious nature of our school and the various irregularities in its operation. For more than a year, however, they did not react. Finally, a committee arrived for an inspection: a Schulrat (school counselor), a Schulinspektor (school inspector), and a third man who spoke good Polish. They entered unexpectedly during the Polish language lesson of my “class”, when Reiter’s Wypisy [Selected Writings], the textbook obligatory for the third grade of Polish middle school, was lying in front of me. The Polish-speaking committee member wordlessly looked at the book, opened it to a random page and slid it over to me to read. It turned out that it was a reading of Polskie Drogi [Polish Roads]. I was numb from the impression but started reading: “The Polish bridge, the German fasting, the gypsy service, all this clownishness”. What followed was a critical description of the state of roads, bridges, and causeways in old Poland. While I was reading, the other two men walked around the room, looking at the books lying on the shelves, the paintings hanging on the walls. Behind the teacher’s desk above the teacher’s head, hung a white eagle, made by us of white glossy paper on a red background. One of the inspectors approached the eagle and demonstratively touched it with his finger. It was unacceptable for the emblem of a foreign country to be in a school in Germany.

I was then given excerpts in German and, again opening the book “at random”, was told to read. I suffered though the exam so much that I also remember this text to this day. It was a poem, beginning with the words: Es stand ein Sternlein am Himmel, ein Sternlein guter Art…. Then I was still examined in mathematics, and after a brief conversation with Mrs. Kistowska, the committee left the room. 

It was clear that the inspection had revealed all the irregularities. So no one was surprised that, after a few days, the mail brought the protocol and the decision to close the school. The basic charges included: inappropriate textbooks, a program that did not conform to the current one, and an emblem of a foreign country in the classroom. This was probably November 1930.

My parents were prepared for such an eventuality and gathered information about secondary schools for girls in Poland. They were particularly interested in boarding schools with sanatorium-type establishments because my health was not the best. As mentioned, I was physically weaker than my sisters, and had gastrointestinal ailments, recurrent conjunctivitis, and insomnia haunted me. 

Finally, when I was about 11 years old, the lymph glands on my neck grew enlarged. Gradually, one of them reached the size of a large plum. My mother visited doctors in Poland and Germany with me. They generally advised healthy eating and outdoor exercise, which I did not lack. Throughout the winter, we all drank cod liver oil, which was highly recommended at the time. After some time, a specialist thought irradiating the gland with X-rays was advisable. It was explained to me that lymph glands are like a prison in which the body keeps harmful bacteria under guard. They can take advantage of periods of reduced immunity, break out of this “prison” and attack. Therefore, they must be destroyed.

So I began radiation treatments at Malbork’s Diakonissen-Krankenhaus hospital, where Evangelical nuns cared for the patients. Every few days, I traveled with my mother to Malbork. These trips gave me great pleasure. The nuns in the hospital were always very kind and cordial to me. After treatment, we would go to Unter den Lauben Street, where my mother, taking the opportunity, would go shopping. There was also never a shortage of lemonade and cake at Kastner’s café. 

After some time, however, the gland, instead of shrinking, changed consistency. The radiation treatments were discontinued. They were replaced by punctures, which were performed under short-term anesthesia. These were unpleasant procedures, but I still enjoyed the trips, perhaps because I was then becoming an object of special concern. Everyone at home and in the hospital surrounded me with great cordiality. Eventually, a cut was made, but the wound did not heal for many months, so I had to wear a bandage constantly. In this situation, my parents decided that as early as January 1931, I would attend gymnasium at the sanatorium boarding school of the Sisters of the Nazareth in Rabka.

The decision was made: after the New Year (1931), I left for the Nazareth Sisters’ secondary school in Rabka. In Rabka, there was also another establishment for girls, the St. Theresa Gymnasium, under the direction of the Szczuka Sisters. It enjoyed an excellent reputation, was more well-known, and was somewhat snobbish. My parents hesitated for some time about which school to choose. However, after my experiences with my female teachers, I probably did not trust single women toiling in education; instead, I believed that nuns were kinder and more cordial. The nuns’ institution had more modest facilities, and the gymnasium did not have state privileges at the time. For that, the fees were lower.

The crisis was plaguing most of the world at the time. Poverty and unemployment were bringing crowds to the streets. In Germany, it seemed that the communist revolution was already at its doorstep. Crop prices were low, failing to cover production costs. After the recent bankruptcy of three neighbors, the parents farmed very carefully and frugally. The amount of fees probably had a decisive influence on their decision. 

So, after an all-night journey, my mother and I arrived in Chabówka on a sunny frosty day. As soon as the train stopped at the station, a baggage carrier appeared in our compartment called through the baggage car window. He efficiently collected the suitcases and led us past the station building toward a long line of sleighs where mountain people, dressed in their picturesque costumes, were waiting for guests. All around us stretched a wonderful landscape: the snow-capped peaks of the mountains and below rectangles of fields and meadows glistened in the sunlight. On the slopes, darkened spruce trees were covered with thick snow caps. 

For the first time in my life, I found myself in the mountains. Their majestic panorama made a great impression on me. Yet even stronger was the anxiety that permeated me to the core. When, with the cheerful sound of bells and the hooting of our coachman: “Wiśta! Wio! Heyta!” - we glided through the snowy streets. There was only one thought rattling around in my head: here I was being carried away by this sleigh somewhere far away from everything close to me…. 

The Sisters received us warmly in the welcome interview room. One of them discussed with my mother in detail the matters concerning my stay. Then dinner was served. The Sister informed us that the girls lounged on the veranda after lunch. When she learned that the mother had a return ticket for the afternoon train to Cracow, she suggested that a worker employed by the Nazareth nuns named Pietrek could drive her to Chabówka. Thus, with a safe return assured, I could accompany her to the station.  I still had enough strength to refrain from crying until the moment of saying goodbye. 

However, when I was left alone in the back seat of the sleigh, I sobbed for good. I literally felt physical pain. My tears moved Pietrek. At first, he spun around in his seat, finally turning to me and comforting me: “No trzo płokoć, miss, no trzo!” (Why cry, Miss, why cry?). And in his highlander dialect, he began to tell me how the girls at the Sisters’ house were playing merrily, how they were running and laughing, and all sorts of other things I couldn’t understand. The very fact that I had to concentrate my attention on his words, trying to guess their meaning, put my thoughts on a different track. As a result, by the time we pulled up again in front of the spacious wooden Nazareth building, I was already calm and composed.

It was afternoon tea time. All the boarders were seated at tables when the Sister educator ushered me into the refectory and introduced me as a new colleague. She gave my first and last name, suggesting that I be called as I was at home - “Tina” - for easier identification. The name Halina was very fashionable at the time, and there was no shortage of my namesakes among those present. The Sister said a few warm words about me and informed the girls that I had come from as far away as East Prussia, which was within the borders of the German state. Then she assigned me a place at the table, encouraging me to eat.

That evening was written very sadly in my memory. Some of my friends, busy with their own affairs, paid no attention to me. One of them, however, Krysia Skarbek-Borowska, was an advocate of the tradition, that newcomers be taunted if not hazed. I was wearing a pretty patterned dress, which was a colorful spot against the background of navy blue uniforms. Krysia walked behind me and introduced me: “This is Tina-pstryna.” She also asked me: “Are you German?” Throughout the evening, she made up various jokes about me. Later I became friends with her. She was a witty, intelligent, and friendly colleague. On that day, however, I suffered a lot. I decided to oppose these customs, and after some time, when I had gained recognition and authority among the girls, I took special care of newcomers and did not allow them to be bullied. That evening I shed no small number of tears into my pillow once a sister had turned off the light in our bedroom.

The next day made me feel better. Already dressed in a navy blue uniform with a white collar, like all the other girls, I found myself after breakfast in my classroom. It turned out that I was the third student of this class and that all three of us bore the same name. My classmates were Hala Perczyńska and Laluta Maksymowicz. On our classroom door, we put an inscription: “Third grade - Three girls - Three Halinki”. 

I became fast friends with both of the girls named Halina. Hala and I, in particular, had a lot in common: we both had numerous siblings, we both longed for a warm family atmosphere, we both experienced the separation from our baby siblings, I with baby Staś, she with little Sister Zosia, about the same age. Hala’s father was the director of the Polish Bank in Piotrków Trybunalski, Laluta’s father held the same position in Kowel, Wołyń. Laluta, an only child, aroused my sympathy with the peculiar charm of people from Kresy Wschodnie, the Eastern Borderlands. She had a literary bent and easily improvised witty rhymes about our life at school.

With great trepidation, I looked forward to the first lessons, during which I was to be examined. Fortunately, all the tests were successful, which won me the recognition of lecturers and colleagues. I remember how amused they were when one of the teachers, Mrs. Wittek, repeated: “Good acquisition! Good acquisition!”, which of course made me happy.

Thus began my stay in “Nazareth,” as this was the shortened nickname of our school. In those years, people were admitted to the gymnasium after four classes of elementary school or after three “preliminary” classes, which were preparation for high school. Further education lasted eight years and ended with a matura, or high school diploma. I belonged to the final year using this approach to education. In the 1930s, education reform was carried out. After six years of general schooling, young people moved on to a four-year middle school ending in a mała matura, or a“junior high school diploma,“ and then to a two- or three-year high school, culminating in the high school diploma proper. In both systems, some young people completed their education at a seven-year comprehensive school. The new-type school was intended to facilitate the transition to higher-level schools.

At that time, our school had four classes of elementary school and six classes of junior high school. In addition to boarders, there were also day students. During classes, we were generally divided into three groups: the “older” girls - from the fourth to sixth gymnasium classes, the “younger” girls - from grades one to three, and finally, the “little” girls - from the elementary school. By the way, all of them were referred to as “girls”, which is why I often use this word when recalling those years. 

Individual classes had several female students each, which created a family atmosphere. The day began at seven o’clock, when the sister on duty would go around the bedrooms and wake us up with a shout: “Jesus, Mary, Joseph!” to which we responded: “Take care of us!”. We had to rush to wash, dress, comb our hair (I wore braids), and make our beds beautifully because already at 7:30, we were gathering in the recreation room for morning prayer. After prayer, we would go in pairs to the refectory for breakfast, during which silence was enforced to shorten its duration as much as possible. After breakfast, we ran each to our class. Then, grouped by classes together with our “incoming” classmates, we would gather for prayer before teaching. Sister Headmistress often used this opportunity to give us updates, orders, or critical comments. After singing: “Holy Spirit, who enlighten our hearts and minds, give us willingness and good memory, so that this study may be for us with temporal and eternal benefit”, we ran off to our classrooms. 

Soon the sound of the bell announced the start of lessons.

As a rule, there were five 45-minute lessons every day. There were days when the timetable provided for fewer, especially in the younger grades. The first break lasted five minutes, the second break lasted ten minutes, and during the third break, which was half an hour long, we would run down to the refectory for a second breakfast. The fifth lesson ended at 12:30, and we immediately ran to the checkroom to get dressed and walk for an hour. We walked in pairs, with the last pair being walked by the sister on duty. The first pair chose the route according to their preference. Some schoolgirls enjoyed walking along the avenues of the spa park, especially in summer when an orchestra played there. One year the conductor was an acquaintance of one of our boarders. At her behest, when a double row of girls in navy blue uniforms and white collars entered the park, the orchestra would start playing our favorite hit: “A fairy tale was you to me…”

Instead, other classmates would lead us to the local Poniczanka stream, where, on warm sunny days, a sister would let us camp out. The girls would then divide into groups. Some would play some games. Others would walk in twos or threes, busy in conversation. Still, others would run around the shrub-covered hillsides, observing flowers, plants, birds, and black and yellow salamanders. I was generally among the latter. Sometimes we brought some specimens to biology lessons. In the winter, we went sledding and later also skiing.

After returning from a walk, we would wash our hands and go down to the refectory for lunch. Before lunch, throughout the cold season, we were given a spoonful of fish oil each from the hands of a sister, after which we would bite into with a piece of bread with salt. Some girls hated the oil, but others liked it. One amateur of cod-liver oil, two years younger than me, Halina Chełmicka from Okalewo, would sometimes stand behind her sister’s back and drink a few spoonfuls each, replacing her friends. 

At lunchtime, the refectory was bustling. Those on duty helped the Sisters distribute the prepared portions and collect the plates. After lunch, rows of cups with a small amount of brine awaited us. We would stand in line and gargle with it. We would then lie on deck chairs on the veranda, dressed appropriately for the weather and temperature. In winter, we slipped into furry sleeping bags. In spring and autumn, blankets sufficed. Some friends made arrangements to lie next to each other and chatted quietly. Others slept or, like me, used the time to read. I read most of the Polish and foreign literature masterpieces during this period and many novels for young people.

We were called for afternoon tea at four o’clock, followed by homework. We would gather in groups covering several classes in larger classrooms, and the sister on duty would take her place at the lectern, ensuring the room was quiet. One had to ask permission from the sister to exchange a few words with a classmate. Later, it became accepted that many girls from different classes came to me asking for help. I helped them willingly; recalling the program I had once rewritten was a real pleasure. I simply enjoyed learning. 

While doing homework, I found it difficult to tear myself away from individual subjects. After solving the mandatory math assignments, I was tempted to do the next ones. They provided interesting puzzles for me. After reading the assigned history chapter, I was curious about the next chapter. When translating Latin, I would always unravel beyond the obligatory passage of text. My classmates laughed at this, saying that I was “greedy for knowledge.” Most of them regarded learning as an onerous duty. None shared my interests to such a degree.

We worked on lessons until seven o’clock, until dinner. After that, “recreation” began, which lasted until eight o’clock. We enjoyed this half-hour break, which was filled with various games and activities, sometimes even very childish ones. We felt utterly relaxed then. On Sunday, dinner was served earlier, which made the recreation last longer than usual, and it was a “dancing recreation.” Girls who knew how to play took turns at the piano to accompany their dancing friends. When I first arrived in Rabka, dances that were fashionable at the time, such as the tango and foxtrot, were forbidden in our school. However, the new Mother Superior lifted the ban the next school year. 

What we liked most were the evenings when Sister Bernadette showed up. She would come as a guest since her duties did not include teaching; she worked in administration. She once suffered an accident that damaged her spine. She wore an orthopedic corset, yet she was incredibly lively and cheerful. She liked to dance herself and would come to Sunday recreations and either sit at the piano, playing waltzes, polkas, kujawiaks, and mazurkas with vigor or dance with us, teaching us these dances. We liked her very much and always greeted her with an ovation.

The Congregation of the Sisters of the Holy Family of Nazareth is a Polish order founded at the turn of the 20th century by Mother Siedliska. Its main task was to run schools and educational institutions for girls. The motherhouse was located in Rome, with individual establishments in Poland and the United States. The nuns were divided into “choir” sisters, educated people who perform the functions of teachers and educators, and “conversion” sisters, engaged in physical labor, that is, laundry, cleaning, and cooking. Among the conversion sisters, Sister Romualda, who took care of our closet, enjoyed great affection. Every Saturday, she would put fresh underwear on our beds and then take the used ones to be washed. She was very understanding and patient and tried to fulfill our wishes. We coined a humorous poem, deliberately ungrammatical: “With golden teeth, golden Romulus shines and with a golden toothbrush vomits garbage” (she had golden lace on some of her teeth).

The most important person at the boarding school was the Sister tutor, who was supported by the sisters on duty during classes. One of them was a young American woman, Sister Teresa. She spoke Polish poorly; she conducted hours of optional English conversation, teaching us English phrases and rhymes. A headmistress sister headed the school. The lecturers were mostly lay people. For the five years of my stay in Rabka, Sister Sylwia, who taught biology, served as headmistress. She had pedagogical and organizational skills. Under her leadership, our middle school developed from very humble beginnings to the level of the best schools. There was also much merit in this due to the management of the entire establishment, that is, the school and the boarding school, of the Mother Superior, who then became Mother Beatrix Kirkor.

My first stay in Rabka lasted five months without a break until the end of the school year. My parents decided that I would not return for the Easter vacation. I don’t know whether they didn’t want to interrupt my climate treatment or feared that a short stay at home would rekindle my longing. So I spent the holidays at the facility with a fairly large group of boarders, and was sad to say goodbye to those leaving. For me, it was the first Easter spent without loved ones. As a consolation, I received a large package of fruit and Easter treats, which we shared. It was the custom that we gave the products brought or received in packages to the tutor sister. She stored them in a large closet, where each of us had a compartment, and every day until afternoon tea, we received some portion of victuals.

During the holidays, the sisters tried to provide us with entertainment. They organized excursions in hired fiacres (that’s what horse-drawn carriages were called), which made our walks more enjoyable. We also went to the cinema for some movies with religious content. During the school year, there was no shortage of excursions either. For example, traditionally, there was a highland sleigh ride along a route through Obidowa every winter. Mainly once a year, we went to Cracow and visited its monuments. From time to time, we visited Zakopane, not to mention numerous hiking trips to the nearby mountains.

Eventually, I became very attached to “Nazareth.” I did not consider the thought of changing schools at all. My health improved considerably. I grew 5 cm (from 145 to 150 cm). I gained five kilograms. In a word, a longer stay in Rabka was no longer necessary, from a medical rehabilitation perspective. In addition, the trip to Rabka was long and arduous. After all, there was no shortage of schools closer in Poland. However, my parents took into account my emotional involvement and, to my joy, decided that my continued stay in the mountains was advisable. Thus, the decision was made that I would remain in Rabka for the next school year. So, leaving for vacation, I left most of my belongings with the Sisters.

The ceremonial end of the school year arrived. I received “very good” grades on my certificate, and my joy was immense. The knowledge that I was returning home helped me overcome my anxiety, associated with my first independent such a long journey. I had to change trains in Cracow, from where I took the recently commissioned so-called coal main line to Tczew by night train. Here again, I had to change trains and, to make matters worse, deal with border formalities. During the last leg of the journey, from Tczew to Malbork, I was already completely overwhelmed by joy. 

In Malbork, a family member was waiting for me on the platform, and our car was standing in front of the station. My happiness had no bounds when in Czernin I was greeted, as well as my brother, also returning for the vacations from Bielany, by green garlands with inscriptions, “Welcome” (obviously the initiative of our Gosia), as well as various gifts and surprises. I was home again in my beloved home with my parents and siblings. I couldn’t get enough of my little Staś and tried to spend as much time with him as possible. I would put him to sleep in the evening by telling him stories and singing songs. When, a year and a half later, I was assigned an essay at school on the topic: “The happiest day of my life,” without hesitation, I described that very day.

Fatally etched in my memory was the return to Rabka after that first summer vacation in 1931. I was driven to Malbork and placed on a train that soon took me to Tczew. I was carrying a large and heavy suitcase this time, which posed no problem for me because numerous porters wearing official numbered caps were waiting at all stations. After the train stopped at the station, it was enough to call out: “Porter!” Quickly, a willing person appeared and brought the luggage to a cab or other vehicle. On the other hand, when leaving, there was no need to worry about the platform number and the time of the train’s departure. The porter had the entire schedule in his head. When it was time to wait, the porter would guide us to the waiting room or station restaurant and then report punctually at the right time. Even when there was a big crowd, the porter usually managed to arrange comfortable seats for his customers.

This time, too, when I found myself in Tczew, the porter led me to the hall where customs and passport control was taking place, first German and then Polish. The German control probably went smoothly, as I don’t remember it at all. So without much concern, I waited for the Polish customs officer. A still relatively young man approached me, asking me where I was going and what I was carrying in my suitcase. At the time, regulations prohibited the importation of food to protect Polish agriculture. One was allowed to bring in only as much as the passenger needed for the journey. So I replied that I was going to school and had clothes and provisions for the road in my suitcase. I crossed the German-Polish border many times, which was a normal routine response. 

This time, however, I ran into an overzealous clerk who sank his hands into my suitcase and began to bring out on the counter: fruit from our garden, cakes specially baked for me, figs, dates, candies, and chocolate - my supplies for Rabka’s afternoon snacks. Occasionally, he would mischievously repeat: “And this is called provisions for the road!” With tears in my eyes, I stood helplessly and looked at the sizable pile piling up next to my suitcase. With the greatest effort, I restrained myself from crying. 

Suddenly, an elderly man wearing a customs officer’s uniform approached us, asking: “What’s going on here?” After which, he began questioning me, and I answered in trembling. “My dear co-worker,” he turned to the younger customs officer, “don’t you understand that this child is going from Germany to a Polish school?”…. My hands were trembling as I stuffed the ripped-out victuals, previously so carefully packed by my mother, into a rumpled suitcase. My protector came to my aid and soon the porter was able to take care of my luggage.

In Rabka, I found big changes. The nuns had reduced the middle school to four junior grades, so I found myself in the highest one. My former classmates did not appear. Laluta returned to Kowel and I lost contact with her. Hala Perczyńska’s parents moved her to the Immaculate Sisters’ institution in Zbylitowska Góra. We later wrote to each other regularly and our friendship has survived to this day. In the same school as her was Krysia Skarbek-Borowska, along with her older Sister Hanka. A great shock for me was the news of the death of Danusia Pacynówna from Rudnik upon San, who was a year younger than me and drowned during the summer vacation. I liked her very much.

In my class, I found a new student. She was ill often and mostly absent from school. Eventually, she left, and I was left alone in the class. This had great significance for me. The fourth grade was the beginning of a new, more advanced stage of high school. Here I began a four-year course in general history and the history of Polish literature, the study of Latin and algebra. Being the only student, I thoroughly explored all these subjects, often going beyond the program’s scope. This state of affairs continued throughout the first half of the year.

Going home for Christmas, on the other hand, I had another adventure. Wishing to make my trip less arduous, my parents decided that, this time, I would go through Warsaw, where I would meet my brother and make the rest of the journey together. At the capital’s train station, Olo and my Aunt Stefa Zieliǹska were waiting for me. I was “all in larks” and my mouth would not close. As we left the platform, according to the rules of the time, my aunt and Olo gave the inspector their platform passes, and I handed over my ticket. We then went to my aunt’s, who hosted us warmly. Suddenly, when we mentioned the onward journey, I realized that my ticket was issued for the entire route, from Rabka all the way to Iława, where we were to disembark. I froze in horror….

In the 1930s, for various reasons, including foreign exchange restrictions that did not allow us to export money from Germany, my parents bought tickets by mail at the “Orbis” branch in Berlin for train travel in Poland. So for all trips we had tickets issued right there, often in the form of passes containing several sections. I was horrified when I realized that I had thoughtlessly lost the document entitling me to further travel.

So without waiting for the train’s departure time, all three of us went to the station. When we explained the matter to the head of the station, he summoned the railwayman, who led us to a box locked with a padlock. It contained the returned tickets. Fortunately, Olo remembered which exit we left the platform through. There were several of them, and at each one, such a box! Ours was half-filled with cardboard and paper tickets of various types. At first, it seemed impossible to find anything in this pile. However, it turned out that there were a few tickets similar to mine. As a result, we fished it out relatively quickly. I breathed a sigh of relief. Now we could wait calmly for our train. 

A new colleague, Hanka Saska, arrived in January. She was not very well prepared for fourth grade, especially since she had a break in her studies due to illness. Of course, I tried to help her, and she gradually did better and better. She came from Radom, where her father owned a brewery. Her parents divorced, and both started new families. She spent vacations alternating - once with her father, once with her mother. Although she was received warmly in both families, she felt unhappy and sometimes complained that she was not at home in either house. Her presence was a positive change for me, for until then, I had felt the lack of a friend, especially during breaks, when the whole school became animated for those brief moments, but each class “hummed” on its own.

Until 1932, the school was located next to a building comprising convent premises and a boarding house, in a small house called the “chaplaincy” because the chaplain, pastor of the nuns, and also our catechist, lived there. He celebrated Mass every day in the convent chapel. The nuns attended only Sunday and holiday masses and sometimes some afternoon services, such as May Day. Going to the chapel, we put white veils on our heads. There were always many flowers in the chapel, and it had a pleasant decor, creating an atmosphere of peace and concentration.

I remember two catechists from my time in Rabka. The first was Father Lapis, with an unpleasant shallowness. When he spoke, he stuttered and stammered. The girls didn’t like him because he could sometimes be malicious. After some time, his place was taken by Father Bozowski, who proved to be the opposite of his predecessor. He was immensely well-liked and had great authority among the schoolgirls. Some maintained contact with him even after leaving school. During the war, he was chaplain to the Home Army.

The chapel was a residential building adapted to the needs of the school. Classes were housed in small rooms with no room for physical education. However, because of the few classroom students, regular instruction could occur here. A garden stretched behind the chapel, where the sisters grew vegetables for the kitchen. Several fruit trees also grew. Access to the garden was forbidden to girls. That’s why we happened to sneak in there to get the “forbidden fruit,” and we found it very amusing. From time to time, I took part in other similar escapades. Being an exemplary student, I wanted to prove to my classmates that I was not a teacher’s pet, but I was taking risks and risking punishment alongside them.

Another popular misdemeanor was nightly feasts. The girls from one bedroom would hide some of the sweets secreted by the Sister educator in the pockets of their aprons during afternoon tea. We would store them in the nightstands, and after a few days, we would organize a party. After lights out, we would wait for the sisters to gather in the chapel for evening prayers, and then we would spread a blanket on the floor with our supplies on it. This always put us in an excellent mood. A poem composed on such occasions is proof:

When night falls, the stars shine there and here, When night falls, our bedroom wakes from sleep. In the moon’s mist, on the blanket’s backdrop, a cluster gnaws…. As night falls, the chocolate disappears from the blanket, Mazurkas, cakes, apples, no pillow pesters at all. When the night falls, at the rustling of the habit into the beds, the whole bunch rushes in, frightened. As long as the footsteps can be heard, melodious snoring sounds, But when the rustling is gone, the bunch falls back on the blanket….

The girls were uprooted from their family environments, greatly missed their loved ones, and sought someone to replace them. So they often gave special trust and affection to a chosen nun or teacher, seeking support from her in difficult moments. For me, such a person was Sister Noela, an educator at the boarding house for two or three years. She became a role model for me, I considered her a saint. 

Occasionally, the tutor called on individual girls for “talks”, which concerned educational problems, learning difficulties, or some stress that plagued them. I did not often have “talks” with Sister Noela, but they always made a strong impression on me. Over time, under her influence, I concluded that only a religious life can provide true happiness. I decided that after high school graduation, I would join a convent. I read a lot of religious books. The primary source of my reflections became Dzieje Duszy [Acts of the Soul] by St. Teresa of the Child Jesus*. After some time, Sister Noela was transferred to another establishment, and Sister Generoza took her place. I persisted in my resolve, but gradually the prospect of life in the convent somehow receded and I gave less and less thought to the subject.

We knew the Nazareth nuns planned to build a new school building. These projects aroused our enthusiasm and fired our imagination. I no longer remember when the construction work began. We followed their rapid progress with interest. Once the walls and roof of the building were ready, despite strict prohibition, we would sneak inside and imagine what it would be like in the new school.

Thanks to the financial assistance of other “Nazarenes”, a modern building was constructed in a few months, to which the school and dormitory moved. Highly qualified educators were engaged, and an adequate level of physical education was provided following the official requirements of the educational authorities. In this way, the conditions needed for officially recognizing it as a school. (After 1945, the authorities confiscated the new building, using it for a sanatorium for children. The sisters remained in the old house, henceforth receiving children only for rehabilitation.)

When I went to the fifth grade in 1932, I returned after the summer vacation already to the new school. At that time, I came to Rabka for the first time in the company of Lili and Renia, who began studying according to the newly reformed program. Their beginning was easier for them than for me, because, as my sisters, they were welcomed warmly from the start. They both went to the same class, appropriate to Renia’s age, because our parents hoped that with her help, Lili would more easily overcome her reluctance to learn. She had difficulty with math, and while she was better with other subjects, she told herself that she lacked ability and that all her efforts were doomed to failure anyway. 

The fact that Renia and I were very good students may have played a role here.  The conviction that she would not measure up to us led Lili to lose self-confidence. Although she went from class to class with good grades, she did not get rid of her insecurities.  After two years, our parents decided to separate us and transferred her from Rabka to the Ursuline Sisters’ School of Household in Kościerzyna. In turn, my youngest Sister Ewa came to “Nazareth” then.

After I moved to the new school, big changes also took place in my (fifth) grade, which had “as many as” five students. In addition to Hanka Saska and me, two more boarders appeared: Jaga Nowakowska from Cracow and Lala Jastrzębska from Starachowice, as well as one day student, Krysia Stebnicka, whose father was the head of the state elementary school in Rabka. Two more local highlanders arrived a year later - Marysia Pinczer and Janka Wesper. They aroused our admiration. They walked several kilometers every day, regardless of the weather. Especially in winter, this required great dedication. Although they had big gaps in their preparation for sixth grade, they spared no effort to make up for them, in which we tried to help them. These seven lasted until matura. In the seventh grade, we had another friend, Halina Piłsudska. She was the daughter of the Marshal’s cousin’s brother. After going to the eighth grade, she left “Nazareth” and returned to Warsaw.

Our four boarders (Hanka, Jaga, Lala, and me), spending time together in the classroom and the boarding house, became very close. We had no shortage of humor and ideas, which united us even more. We composed poems and songs together, mostly to the tune of popular hits at the time and cheerful skits. On various occasions, we presented them in front of the whole school. We had great fun coming up with these songs. Everyone added their ideas, not all of which were suitable for distribution, but we laughed at them in our group. I became the most friends with Jaga Nowakowska. I shared many interests with her. 

When we were in the sixth grade, we decided to publish a school newspaper we called Halo, Nazaret! [Hello, Nazareth!]. We developed the first issue very carefully. It contained several articles of our authorship. My specialty was poems, and Jaga’s was illustrations. We rewrote the issue by hand in duplicate. We worked on the next one for several months, and the design of the third one was limited to a few ideas, but we never realized them. We counted on the cooperation of other colleagues. Unfortunately, none of them decided to do so.

At the guesthouse, we also got to know other girls more closely from the junior classes. They were not always younger in age, as many of them came to Rabka after illnesses with a backlog of studies. I had a great fondness for Zosia Kułakowska. She was a tall brunette. Her dark curls slipped out of her loose braids, and her big blue eyes shone with understanding and kindness from behind her long, dark lashes. She was always smiling, always welcoming. She never showed a bad temper. After I left school, I lost contact with her. We met by chance in Warsaw’s Old Town during the Uprising. It turned out that we were both Home Army nurses. We exchanged only a few sentences because we were hurrying to our duties. We exchanged the addresses of the quarters of our units, and I hoped we would meet soon. After a few days, I learned that she had died.

Another classmate from the same class, a year shorter than mine, was Jadzia Rapacka, whom I also liked and appreciated very much. Smooth-haired, quiet, and receding into the shadows, all too modest, always ready to make sacrifices, she was the epitome of kindness. She also, after I left Rabka, disappeared entirely from my sight. Only years later, in 1967, I met her relatives in Olsztyn (as it turned out, the then foreign minister, Adam Rapacki, was her cousin). I received her address, and we exchanged letters. Soon the opportunity to meet came: together with my eldest son Jacek, I spent a two-week vacation in Kudowa, and on our way back, we visited Jadzia in Katowice, where she lived with her husband, four sons, and mother. She had not changed at all. She was dedicated to her domestic and family duties and took on all the associated troubles, which were not lacking in communist Poland. She cared for all members of the family, watching over their needs and ignoring her own. The meeting was enjoyable. We told each other our turns of fate in a hurry. Then we wrote a few more cards to each other - and the correspondence stopped. We were simply overloaded with numerous duties.

Wisia (Wiktoria) Kosimówna was also in that class with Zosia and Jadzia. Wisia loved Sienkiewicz, especially the Trilogia [The Trilogy, referring to his most famous historical series of novels: With Fire and Sword, The Deluge, Colonel Wolodyjowski]. She constantly hid one of the volumes under her blouse and read its passages for the nth time at every free moment. During recreation, she would sit somewhere in a corner, either wiping away tears of emotion or laughing out loud at Mr. Zagłoba’s facetiousness.

Since the arrival of my sisters, I spent my free moments with them. I, therefore, had the opportunity to get to know some of their classmates better. Lili became friends with Irka Kostrzeńska, who, coming from a landowning family, shared her love of horses and country life. We also met with Irka and Basia Sopoćko during the vacations. Both of them visited us in Marusza. Basia was collegial and sociable. My friendship with her survived the war and the communist era. Thanks to her, after many years, I reconnected with some of my other colleagues, including Hela Turowicz and Renata Kulczycka.

With the latter, I shared my enthusiasm for skiing. 

In fifth grade, the sisters arranged for us to learn to ski under an instructor from the locally well-known Cholewa family in Rabka. Several of us attended regular training sessions and soon mastered the basics of the sport. Renata came to Rabka sometime later but was already skiing well by then. From then on, if the weather conditions were favorable, we indulged in “white madness”. And when the young, charming “Buba” became the “PE” teacher, she often organized wonderful skiing expeditions along the trail of the nearest, rather mild, peaks in Gorce Mountains. I loved just such tourist skiing. We wandered along mountain trails, then climbing and then descending into the valley. Behind every hill we climbed, a new fascinating view opened before our eyes.

While studying in Rabka, two of my cousins were also staying there at the Szczuka Ladies’ Institution, and I would meet them occasionally. One of them was Irka Dąmbska, younger than me, from Babalice in Pomerania. Her fate unfolded in an unconventional way. During the war she found herself in Paris, where she married an Arab. She was engaged in teaching Polish. Years later, my children met her son Ali Hassine in Warsaw, who spoke beautiful French and also knew Polish very well. Married to a Polish woman, he worked at Polish Radio.

My second cousin from that high school, Teresa Krassowska, played an important role in my life. Her outstanding personality, crystal character, and organizational skills were fully revealed in her underground work during the war. In consultation with the Home Army Headquarters and the Government Delegation for Poland, she organized a group of nurses-liaison officers who were specially trained in the problems of East Prussia and the Poles living there. Thanks to Teresa, I found myself in this group. The Government Delegation was preparing administrative cadres for the rapid development of these areas in the event of a successful end to the war for Poland. Our group was to join the action, bringing aid and care to the population of these lands.

At the beginning of 1934, a new resident appeared, Irka Rawicz. She walked on a crutch and, in time, on a cane, as she had one leg much shorter than the other after suffering from bone decay. She wore orthopedic shoes with a raised sole and heel, which did not compensate for the difference. She was two years older than me, but due to long gaps in her education caused by illness, she attended a class a year earlier. When introducing her to our class, the Sister educator appealed to show her warmth and surround her with care. As I have already mentioned, I have always tried to take care of the newcomers, so I took care of her with even more zeal. Besides, other colleagues also referred to her warmly, especially Jaga Nowakowska. 

Irka’s parents, grieving over her disability, did everything they could to mitigate the effects of her limited dexterity. They were wealthy, as her father held a high position in the management of the Starachowice Plant. At the time, they were building a beautiful villa in Rabka on the slopes of Banya. The mother, who was of Russian descent, often visited the only child and took her for rides in the mountains, sometimes to the cinema or a café for ice cream. She also invited her friends, mainly Jaga and me, and sometimes my sisters as well. It was a lot of fun for us. I realized that by inviting us, Mrs. Rawiczowa wanted to provide Irka company and oblige us to maintain our friendship.

Friendship with Irka brought with it various difficult moments. Irka often succumbed to violent emotions. She wanted to be the only friend, demanded exclusivity, and was jealous of every close, cordial conversation with other girls. Up until now, I had always been friends with several female friends who shared interests with me in various fields, and I had no intention of giving this up. This caused tensions between us. However, I became attached to her and could not treat her experiences indifferently. 

Whenever I heard her crying in the evening after lights out, I would break down to comfort her. She almost always lamented her disability, expressing fears that she would never find a loving man with whom she could start a family. Sometimes I would sit on her bed late into the night until she calmed down. Sometimes Jaga played this role. Irka’s beloved teacher was the Polish language teacher, Mrs. Irena Świda. She sought opportunities to talk with her and often confided in me about her experiences of these meetings. In return, she demanded my confidence. 

She introduced a game called “What do you think?” to Nazareth, which was very popular. It consisted of the fact that friendly female colleagues asserted to each other the right to ask this question at any time of the day or night. She had to answer honestly and accurately, considering all the “layers” of her thoughts. Sometimes it was troublesome, but we felt obliged to tell the truth. Besides, none of us could hide our embarrassment during such confessions.

With the arrival of spring, there was usually a fashion for another game - “In the green”. Its participants had always to carry some leaf or another piece of fresh greenery with them. If any of them was caught in a situation where she didn’t meet this requirement, she carried out the command given by the winner. Depending on the girls’ ingenuity, the tasks were sometimes reasonable and useful, most often amusing, but there were also some decidedly silly ones. In any case, they provided variety in the monotonous life of the boarders. During the vacations, Irka and her mother spent a few days in Marusza. She was one of my closest friends for the last two years of my middle school education. After leaving Rabka, we wrote to each other regularly and met from time to time.

As we moved to a new building, our middle school expanded rapidly. A new class was added every year, and we were still in the oldest one. Also, the number of students in the school grew steadily.

I had a lot of appreciation for the teachers of those years and remember them with gratitude. The younger classes were dominated by older ladies, enthusiasts of their specialties, related maternally to the female students. A geography teacher, whose name I can’t remember, “survived” to the end, because we never called her anything other than “Mapka.”, or Map. Clumsy and not very pretty, she often dressed bizarrely, arousing our merriment. However, her earnestness appealed to us, and her lectures, illustrated with lively gesticulation, were memorable. She made us draw maps depicting various phenomena, hence her nickname. This was, by the way, a good way to consolidate news. She ran a sightseeing club and often organized excursions. We marched then, singing our hymn:

Who wants to live a cheerful life, spend time pleasantly, Let him take up sightseeing with us together,  Soon he will regain his mood, and the moth of sadness will disappear And will say that life has great value! For is this life, is this to live,  To sit at home, to eat, drink, sleep, and grow fat,  To wallow in the shell of one’s own affairs  And to know the country as much as the hit gives!…. etc.

In the fifth grade, we were taught Latin by Mr. Greiser, an older man with broad interests and extensive knowledge in various fields. He was a great storyteller. We abused this propensity of his, provoking him with questions that he could not resist. We composed a song about him based on an old hit: 

“I like fairy tales so immensely…“

Gradually, however, these lecturers of old were replaced by a new generation. These ladies in their thirties earned their degrees after the war at Cracow universities. In addition to their thorough knowledge of the subject matter, they were distinguished by their use of the latest pedagogical methods, to which the educational reform of the 1930s had referred. Learning was no longer to consist of memorizing a certain amount of knowledge. It was supposed to develop independent thinking, associating facts, and searching for connections between various phenomena. The teacher’s task was to provoke discussion, during which students were expected to express their opinions, even if they did not conform to the accepted views.

The Polish language teacher, Mrs. Jadwiga Kubrakiewicz, excelled in this. In her lessons, we explored literature and the principles of literary Polish and gained comprehensive general knowledge. 

History was taught to us by the daughter of a well-known professor of this subject at Jagiellonian University, Mrs. Helena Friedberżanka. Due to a speech defect, she kept her lectures to a minimum, giving us the initiative. She required a solid knowledge of only basic dates and facts. Based on these, it was necessary to develop certain topics through the centuries or to juxtapose contemporary events from different countries, explaining their causes and effects. 

Latin was taken over by Mrs. Irena Cyganowska, who was energetic and determined. Mathematics and physics were taught by Miss Janina Michnikówna, who was very demanding and made no excuses. She was friends with the Romanist Maria Stefankówna. Both ladies were always elegant and well-groomed. However, while many female students, especially those weaker in her specialty, disliked the mathematician, our French teacher enjoyed general sympathy. She treated us as partners and tried to deal with each student individually. Many girls adored her.

Sister Sylvia, the headmistress, taught biology. She was always calm, composed, and enjoying great authority. Much joy was brought to our school by the physical education specialist, Mrs. Grochowalska, whose proper name I do not remember because she was commonly called “Buba” (we learned that this was the name her family and friends called her). She was very young, full of energy, and joie de vivre. She treated us as younger colleagues and was able to interest even weak and not very athletic girls, of whom there was no shortage among us, in the activities she conducted. She devoted her free time to organizing hiking and skiing trips in winter.

Most of the ladies additionally conducted extracurricular activities in the form of student interest circles for students of older grades. Participation in them was not mandatory. Once a week, we met with Mrs. Kubrakiewicz and discussed literary works. On another day of the week, the physics circle met. Under the direction of Miss Michnikówna, we conducted experiments related to the program since there was not enough time for this during lessons. 

Sister Sylwia led the nature circle. Its main task was to take care of the school’s biota: feeding the fish, taking care of the plants, etc. As part of the circle, we also belonged to the League for the Protection of Nature and took part in its actions. There was also a Red Cross circle, whose task was to organize collections for the poorest and in the years of flooding for the flood victims in the area. I was very active and belonged to all these circles.

When I moved on to the eighth high school graduating class, we received the information that the inspections carried out at our school were successful, and, in principle, the school met all the conditions for obtaining state rights. The final decision depended on the results of our baccalaureate exam, which we were to take as extracurriculars. We were to be examined by a state commission composed of teachers from outside our school. This posed a stressful challenge that motivated us to work even harder. In addition, there was a reputation that schools run by nuns were not well regarded by the authorities. 

Our class became the apple of one’s eyes among the Sisters. We enjoyed various privileges, sometimes in defiance of the rules. We were fed delicacies that were supposed to have a beneficial effect on mental work. Before going to bed, we were each given a small glass of hawthorn wine made by the infirmarian Sisters as a strengthening medicine.

At the end of May 1936 came those decisive days. The examining board was appointed by a group of educators from the state gymnasium in Zakopane, who came down to Rabka for a dozen days. For five days, every day at nine o’clock, in the morning, we took written exams in Polish, history, French, mathematics, and Latin. After this marathon, we were given two or three days of respite, and then for the next two days, there were oral exams, which applied regardless of the results of the written work. We also had to pass religion and physics. We were divided into two groups: four students took the exam on the first day. On the second day, three students. We were called one at a time. While one answered, the other received the questions and was allowed to prepare. While the last of the group was being questioned in one subject, another student was preparing to answer in another subject. This went on for several hours with a break for a meal, which I don’t think any of us touched, once it was served. We only had some drinks. The infirmary sister weighed us before and after the oral exam: I lost three kilograms that day.

I no longer remember the topics of the written tests, although some questions from the oral exam have remained in my memory to this day. From Polish, I was told to analyze a poem by Iwaszkiewicz, ending with the words: “For the meaning is not in tugging nor is it in joy, but in patience and great waiting”…. 

I experienced great excitement during the history exam. As I found out later, the examiner was finding out which of us came from the landed gentry. During the exam, he asked me, “Are you in favor of or against land reform?”  I knew that the attitude of the educational authorities was leftist, but I had an educated opinion on the question asked. I had heard a lot of discussion among our family in Poland, where the 1925 law was gradually being introduced. My answer was that in certain situations when the estate was badly managed or neglected, it should be parceled out but not divided into too small plots so as not to increase the number of dwarf farms, which was a difficult problem. 

On the other hand, it would greatly disadvantage the state to liquidate estates managed rationally and modernly. Only such estates give commodity production suitable not only for the domestic market but also for export, which requires the supply of thousands of tons of a given product, of the same variety, in the same packaging, etc. Also, only large estates are able to supply the right seed and breeding material for agriculture. The professor tried to argue with me, but his arguments for reform were weak. He gave me an A.

I also remember a physics question that, courtesy of the incoming professor, was asked by Miss Michnikówna. The final year’s program included a chapter on electromagnetic waves containing elementary knowledge. Given the rapid technical progress and its ever-widening applications, the professor suggested to me an extensive popular science article in this field for me to read and familiarize my classmates with its contents. So I studied it carefully, and she, knowing this, gave me a chance to shine in the graduation exam.

As a result, my success was tremendous, as I received only “very good” grades on my high school diploma. The matura was passed by all seven of us. After some time, we learned that our junior high school was granted state rights.

I was sad to say goodbye to my Nazareth Sisters and classmates. But even stronger was the feeling that a wide, unknown world was opening up before me. My sisters felt less connected to the school and moved to a junior high school of the Sisters of the Heart in Wielkopolska after my high school graduation, where contact with home was much easier.

On the way back on vacation, another adventure befell me and my two sisters, Renia and Ewa. We went again through Warsaw, where we stayed with family. In the capital, we spent our zlotys, which we always did because of German foreign exchange regulations prohibiting the export of money. This time, “Orbis” issued us tickets only to the border station, which was the small Jamielnik station. There we were to buy tickets for the last section of the train to Iława. At the station in Warsaw, I received information that a Jamielnik-Iława ticket costs 1.60 zloty. So I left myself 5 zloty for three tickets.

We arrived in Jamielnik. Customs and passport control took place on the train, after which I ran to the ticket office in consultation with the conductor. To my dismay, I learned that this train had a double fare. So I bought one ticket for 3.20 zloty. Returning to the compartment, I met the conductor on the platform, who smiled at me in a friendly manner. Not doubting that I had made a purchase, he waived the inspection. Meanwhile, with a heavy soul on my shoulder, after carefully closing the door, I whispered to my sisters, “Two of us are riding free!”. 

We arrived happily in Iława, where my brother was waiting for us on the platform. We could not leave the platform without tickets. However, Olo found a way out of the situation. He went to the train station and bought extra platform tickets. We handed them in at the exit without arousing any suspicion.

When we were in the car, I felt only immense joy. Here I was coming back, carrying a wonderful high school diploma, for the longest vacation of my life!

Every time I returned from Rabka to Czernin, I was euphoric. I couldn’t get enough of home and family. I was happy to meet old friends. I was quickly integrating into the rhythm of our local life. My first return after a five-month absence was particularly enthusiastic; later returns were not much different. The mode of life during my first vacation did not differ from that described in the previous chapters. The days were filled with similar duties and games. Only the study fell off. An important place in my life was occupied by my little brother, with whom I tried to spend as much time as possible. For a few weeks, we left as usual for Marusza.

In Czernin, the main topic of conversation at the time was Polish schools, which, despite numerous difficulties, were established and developed both in Powiśle and Warmia. Jan Boenigk, who ran a school in Postolin for a while, was entrusted with organizing education in Mazury. There was no shortage of volunteers there either, but the nationalist groups set up for Germanization purposes unleashed an indiscriminate campaign - harassment, assaults, and beatings - and Boenigk’s action ended in failure. The teacher of the only school he managed to establish died under unexplained circumstances.

Jan Boenigk, therefore, returned to Sztum as secretary of the School Society. Meanwhile, Franciszek Literski became head of the Office of the Union of Poles of the Malbork Land District. He came from the area near Bytów. After graduating from a German high school, he worked in Polish organizations in Germany. He quickly won recognition for his diligence and reliability and became familiar with the specifics of our region. From time to time, there were controversies between Jan Boenigk and Uncle Kazik, who, having held numerous elected leadership positions, took a different approach to some issues. However, they formed a united front in the face of the German authorities. They spoke in unison on issues concerning Polish organizations and intervened together in defense of victims of discrimination or aggression.

The group of people actively involved in the Polish movement expanded to include school administrators who, in addition to their teaching work, were involved in cultural and educational activities, bringing in new ideas and initiatives. I did not see these people very often. They were preoccupied with their work, each in the area of their school. They organized after-school activities in the daycare center, meetings for adults, choir rehearsals, and excursions. However, I heard so much about everyone that I greeted them as if they were good friends when I met them.

I remember Franciszek Jujka from Stary Targ, who wrote poems under the pseudonym Lech Malbor, known to me from the Gazeta Olsztyńska newspaper and other periodicals. He was the author of the words of the Rodło Hymn, a song popularized in the 1930s in the circle of the Union of Poles. Poems and articles in the Gazeta Olsztyńska were also published by Franciszek Jankowski, head of the school in Sadłuki, who was also very active. Antoni Matyjaszek developed various activities in Waplewo and Józef Neugebauer in Dąbrówka. The latter’s predecessor, Paweł Hans, became the object of such hatred from the local Nazis that they organized attacks on him and his school. In the end, his teaching license was revoked. He left for Poland, yet in 1939 the Germans found him there and murdered him. Leon Wiśniewski probably lasted the longest at his post in Nowy Targ, from 1930 until his arrest in August 1939. He was later imprisoned in concentration camps but survived and was released in 1945. I have listed those teachers who have become particularly fixed in my memory.

The summer vacation of 1932 passed us by in a sad mood. My older brother, who had just passed to the eighth graduating class, returned from Bielany strangely weakened. The illness attacked him with full force when we left for Marusza. He had a high fever with no other symptoms except pain in his left shoulder. Dr. Maj, who was summoned from Grudziądz, was unable to make a diagnosis. He consulted with other doctors, who suggested that the cause of such a high temperature could be asymptomatic typhoid fever. Olo was quarantined from us, and strict sterility was observed at home. 

When the fever persisted, we all returned to Czernin. My parents summoned the most recommended doctors, but these ignored the pain in the shoulder that my brother complained of for a long time. Finally, an X-ray was taken; it showed a defect in the arm bone due to decay. Mother took Olo to Gdańsk, to the most renowned professors. Their unanimous opinion was that only a quick arm amputation could save the boy’s life. I remember the conversations after returning from Gdańsk. My mother was distraught, and my father was heartbroken. I lived through these dramatic dilemmas with them. 

They searched desperately for some kind of rescue. They remembered a homeopath from Malbork named Grafenberg, who had an excellent reputation. Stories were told of curing hopelessly ill people. Mother went for advice to him. The visit rekindled a spark of hope. He undertook to cure the boy. He told my mother: “For God’s sake, don’t make him a cripple!”. The decision was difficult: on the one hand - medical celebrities, on the other - an unknown therapist from a small town, considered by doctors to be a quack. In the end, his optimistic assurances prevailed.

Olo began homeopathic treatment. He was still lying in bed because he was so weak after so many days of high fever. He was tired from even sitting up. He also didn’t have the strength to get up. On the table next to his bed lay a lot of homeopathic medicines and a sheet of paper with a schedule for taking them. Every 15 minutes, he would take five drops of a liquid or a powder the size of a pea. He was also bound by a strict diet based on white cheese, vegetables, fruits, and nuts. And… he lived! He lived despite the professors’ ruling that failure to undergo surgery would result in imminent death.

When I arrived in Czernin for Christmas, I found my brother in much better shape. He still spent most of the day in bed but got up every day for a few hours and took an interest in current affairs. He was still taking his medications, a set of which Grafenberg changed from time to time. He read quite a bit, though still with some effort, so many hours were filled with listening to the radio. Every day he browsed through the program of the Warsaw radio station and selected programs that interested him. He was very fond of music programs and enjoyed listening to popular songs of the time. He often sang them to himself while lying down.

My mother gained confidence in the Malbork homeopath and began to turn to him with any health problems in the family. After a while, I, too, became his patient. He made remarkably accurate diagnoses based on examining the eye, mainly the retina, from which he read traces of past illnesses and signals about the workings of various organs. Finding in my mother an intelligent and interested listener, he readily explained his observations to her and justified his conclusions. He explained that the ailments often experienced were secondary symptoms, and their hidden cause was a malfunctioning, seemingly unrelated organ. 

He recommended a treatment for me, obviously much less complicated. I am convinced that his medications significantly contributed to improving my condition. My mother remembered Grafenberg’s teachings and tried to apply them for the rest of her life. We all became convinced of homeopathy. After the war, when health problems arose in our families, we sought help from homeopathic doctors. Unfortunately, we were met with disappointment: none of them had Grafenberg’s skills. However, homeopathic remedies proved effective in many cases.  

As Olo’s health improved markedly, the atmosphere at home during Christmas 1932 was more cheerful. The annual Christmas party in Czernin was attended by the consul Mieczysław Rogalski, who had been in office in Kwidzyn for a short time and quickly became involved in the problems of the Polish population in East Prussia. His tenure coincided with the beginning of the rule of the National Socialist Party, which seized power in January 1933. The Polish government showed more and more interest every year in defending Polishness in East Prussia. Consulates were obliged to support it and to report on this work. Through them came financial aid, not very high in relation to the needs because limited by the difficult situation of the Polish state, but necessary and valuable. The activities of the Polish consuls in East Prussia did not escape the attention of the local authorities, who, in response, from time to time, raised an uproar of propaganda, spreading information about the alleged preparations of the Polish government to seize these territories by force. We, youngsters, used to joke: “a guilty conscience needs no accuser!”.

During the Easter holidays of 1933, I felt clear that the political situation concerned my parents. My father saw in dark colors the future of Poles in Germany and predicted threats to Poland. Increasing repression confirmed these predictions.

After Hitler seized power, both the Prussian Diet and the Reich Diet were dissolved by a decree of President Hindenburg. Before the elections, held in March, an unprecedented intimidation campaign was organized. In the immediate aftermath (the results differed little from the previous ones), a campaign of hatred and terror was unleashed. The publication of the Polish press was obstructed. In Sztum, both employees of the Polish Union office were temporarily arrested.

Terrifying news came from Warmia, where Nazi militias demolished the parsonage in Butryny and attempted to kill the parish priest. Since 1904, the priest had been Father Wacław Osiński, brother of “our” friend Mr. Bolesław of Sztumskie Pole. He was one of the leading Polish activists in Warmia, holding leadership positions in Polish organizations. He was also regularly elected to the district assembly in Olsztyn. After the events of March 1933, he relinquished his rectory. However, he did not cease his activities, remaining, among other things, president of the fourth district of the Union of Poles in Germany from 1923 until the outbreak of war.

News of the incidents, reaching me during my stays at home, aroused in all of us a desire to oppose the violence, which was becoming increasingly commonplace. So, as usual, we happily celebrated Easter and its associated customs. We visited with our cousins from the Małe Ramzy and participated in the Youth Society’s Sztum meetings. During this difficult period, they were held less frequently, and attendance was lower, but the atmosphere remained.

Youth organizations had been active in Sztum for many years, although their nature and name had changed. Before the plebiscite, the Falcons’ Association was formed. In the city then functioned a thriving “Gniazdo Sokole” (Falcon’s Nest), which organized various events, primarily sports and social ones. Memories of them, fixed in the memory of the residents, reached me in my childhood years, and the anthem of the Falcons was one of the most popular songs:

Sluggish and sluggish, gnarled this world,
For a new life, he turns from its comfortable bedding, it does not radiate, And body and soul faint in it. Hey, brothers Falcons, let us give him strength, To make him desire life, to rise and live, etc.

Faced with the threat of harsh repression from the German authorities, who treated the Gniazdo Sokole as a paramilitary organization, it was disbanded by order of the “Union of Poles in East Prussia”. In its place, several sports clubs were established in Powiśle, including one in Czernin. This club joined the Sztum club after some time. The sports club in Cygusy turned out to be very lively, surviving until the 1930s. The events organized by the clubs were not limited to sports. There were also proposals of a cultural, educational, and social nature. Gradually, the role of clubs was taken over by youth societies, whose activities were more comprehensive. And my siblings and I began very early to participate in the life of the Sztum Youth Society, and the older we were, the more enthusiasm it aroused in us.

After establishing the Union of Poles in Germany, Polish organizations in the Reich began to unite. The Union of Youth Societies in East Prussia was established. Efforts were made to avoid overly formalizing membership obligations, as it was realized that information about membership often resulted in far-reaching consequences and restrictions on registered members. No ID cards were issued, and no dues were collected. It was simply important to attend meetings.

The summer of 1933 brought new acts of violence. They accompanied the abrupt census, which took place in June. Nevertheless, as many as 440,000 residents of the western and southern regions of East Prussia admitted to speaking Polish, which required courage.

The Ostdeutscher Heimatdienst, which had already existed since 1919, was joined by a new organization: the Bund Deutscher Osten (BDO). The task of both was the rapid Germanization of East Prussia and, thus, the ruthless extermination of Polishness. Terror was the main method, but more insidious means of struggle were also used, such as economic destruction of Polish businesses or bribery - providing better material conditions for those who agreed to cooperate. The BDO enjoyed the support of all instances and had at its disposal huge funds. The authorities could officially assure that they had nothing to do with the various excesses, and the terror of the Nazi militias was a spontaneous reaction of the German population, outraged by the provocative behavior of the Poles, who, organizing mass events, brazenly demonstrated their separateness by loudly talking and singing in Polish.

The events we experienced most were those of July 2, 1933, in which we nearly took part personally. On that day, a meeting was held in our forest. It had a more festive character than usual, as guests from outside the Sztum circle attended it. Also present was consul Rogalski with two children of our age. We went with the whole family, as did the uncles from Małe Ramzy. Everyone treated each other to sandwiches and sweets and admired the performances of choirs and displays by children from the Postolin school. In the evening, as usual, a party was organized at Kaszubowski’s venue in Postolin, to which most participants went after the “May Day” picnic. From our family, uncle Józio from Cygusy went there. The rest, along with the children, returned home.

The next day we learned how tragically the party ended. Around midnight, several trucks arrived, bringing Nazis from neighboring villages. They rushed into the hall, beating up the party participants. The police must have been in cahoots with them, as those attacked called for her help in vain. The assailants especially abused those involved in Polish organizations. Mr. Literski and several teachers were severely beaten. Chairs and bottles were thrown at the fleeing Poles. The premises were demolished. I remember with what emotion uncle Józio told us the details of the attack, illustrating them with animated gesticulation. In the confusion, he managed to slip away with Mrs. Klin, catch up with the carriage and drive away. We were all shocked by this account. When an article describing the incident appeared on the pages of Gazeta Olsztyńska, the editors were punished by banning the magazine for two weeks.

That summer, we got to know Mr. Rogalski’s son and daughter better. We soon became friends with them; Tadzio and Krysia thus became frequent visitors to Czernin. The consul was divorced, and the children lived permanently with their mother in Poland. However, the ex-spouses maintained friendly contacts, and in the summer, the children spent part of their vacations with their father.

At a party at the consulate in Kwidzyn, my parents met Mr. Jan Rapf, then the consul in Elk. He, too, had two children, Lidia and Artur, aged 18 and 16. At my parents’ invitation, the youngsters spent about two weeks in Czernin. These new acquaintances were a great diversification for us. A romantic flirtation developed between Lidia and my brother. It must be admitted that Olo liked the girls very much. It seems that after his serious illness, he became particularly interesting. From those years, he became fixed in my memory as a slim, handsome brunet with features made delicate by illness and thoughtful dark eyes, in which I saw some sadness.

I, in turn, found my first, very still childish admirer in Arthur. At that time, my parents bought me a bicycle, on which I learned to ride. Artur devotedly ran beside me during my shaky ride and caught me, to hold me up, when I fell off. Friends and family joked that he looked forward to these moments with joy. I was a bit abashed by this, but I liked him and was certainly flattered by his interest. A few months later, Mr. Rapf was transferred to another post, and we lost contact with him and his family.

Visits by guests from Poland provided an opportunity for us to see the sights and curiosities of our area, including, of course, Malbork Castle. Having been to Malbork often for shopping, we didn’t pay much attention to this massive Middle-Ages castle, one of Europe’s largest and best decorated. In the nineteenth century, the entire complex of buildings was renovated, and on that occasion, all traces of Polishness were carefully erased. 

And yet, the castle, built on a grand scale in the 14th century by the Teutonic Knights, passed into Polish hands as early as the 15th century. This happened by virtue of the Peace of Toruń in 1466. From then on, for three hundred years, until the first partition of Poland, it was the seat of the Malbork voivode, representing the authority of the Polish monarch. Several Polish kings visited the castle on various occasions. 

The Germans rebuilt the castle with great reverence as a Teutonic residence, multiplying props and details that reminded us of this at every turn. Hence, a tour of the castle made a depressing impression on us. And today you can admire the craftsmanship of the builders employed by the Teutonic Knights who erected these mighty structures. However, it should be remembered that for three hundred years, the Polish inhabitants of the castle introduced a number of changes and new elements here.

Near Sztum, there is another very humble witness to the events of several centuries earlier. It is a stone commemorating a truce finalizing the Swedish wars in 1635, known as the “Truce of Altmark”. When I was in junior high school and read about it in textbooks, it angered me that this German name, admittedly Polonized, was being used, while for the locals, it had always been Sztumska Wieś. This was also true of some other place names. Historians used, for example, the name Altmark for the Polish village of Stary Targ in Sztum County. Meanwhile, as my son found searching archives, the name Stary Targ had been used in the church records of the local parish for almost a century following the Prussian Annexation.

The summer vacation of 1934 brought some relaxation. Poland and Germany signed a non-aggression pact for ten years. It seemed that Hitler, not wanting to irritate international opinion, would ease the repression somewhat. The authorities tried to maintain a semblance of compliance with the law, but the totalitarian legislation gradually introduced simply ignored the existence of national minorities in Germany. Thus, neither my parents nor the leadership of the Union of Poles had any illusions; they were only trying to make the most of the official improvement in Polish-German relations.

There was joy in my family over my brother’s recovery. He was feeling better and better, had more and more energy, and we were especially pleased that the X-ray showed a gradual regrowth of the damaged arm bone, which amazed the doctors. Olo continued to take homeopathic medicines, but the treatment was no longer as absorbing as in the first period of the disease. He participated more and more actively in the events of the Youth Society. We played volleyball and made nearby bicycle trips. We met at Barlewicki Lake to bathe. There, I learned to swim, and the Potowski sisters, mainly Micha, played the role of instructors.

That summer, my uncle’s nephews appeared in Cygusy: Janka, Tadzio, and Mietek Oświecimski. We had heard about them before and knew that Uncle Boleś intended to bequeath Cygusy to Tadzio. Maybe that’s why Tadzio attended a secondary agricultural school in Oborniki (in Wielkopolska), where all three lived. They lost their mother early, so the eldest, Janka, cared for her brothers. Tadzio was my age, Mietek a year younger. We met often, then in Cygusy, then in Czernin. Not infrequently, these meetings were also attended by young people from Małe Ramzy. 

Someone then taught us a game called “Social Flirt”, which the whole company liked. It was a collection of cardboard cards containing various statements. Participants divided the cards among themselves and gave corresponding messages to selected people individually. Some of the statements were more or less explicit declarations of love, while others dealt with various states of mind or contained friendly advice (“Why are you sad?”, “I have problems I can’t reveal to you”, “Be brave, don’t give up on adversity!”, etc.). That summer, we played this game often, having a lot of fun. Only Tadzio took it seriously and sent me the hottest confessions. In my opinion, I tried to cool his ardor, naive and out of place. 

I had a serious grudge against him a few months later when I was already in Rabka. One day, Sister Noela called me for a “talk”, holding a letter in her hand (the custom was that the Sister educator read all letters received and sent by the boarders, except for correspondence with their parents). It turned out that it was a fawning letter from Tadzio. I felt ashamed and was furious with him. 

Kazik Donimirski from Małe Ramzy was interested in Renia for several years. He gave expression to this in his own humorous way. Renia had excellent reflexes; she immediately found an equally witty response to each of his taunts, and we all had great fun with their verbal exchange of “blows”.

During the 1933/34 school year, when I was staying in Rabka, there was a wedding between my godmother, Aunt Minya Skrzydlewska, and my mother’s brother, Uncle Wlodzimierz. They invited me to spend two weeks with them at the seaside in the summer. They rented rooms in Orłowo, in a guesthouse close to the beach. The weather was good, so we bathed in the sea every day, went for walks, or sunbathed on the white Baltic sand. In the afternoons, my uncle would take me to a café, and sometimes we would go to an outdoor seaside dance, where my uncle, who liked to dance, often invited to dance either my aunt or me. 

A great event for me was a concert by the Dana choir, which toured the seaside towns of our then-short coast, besieged by summer visitors from all over Poland. The choir featured, among others, the young Mieczysław Fogg, who was already very popular at the time. Among my friends in Rabka, there was no shortage of admirers of both the choir and its soloist. So I was happy to see the famous ensemble and listen to its popular songs live. Although I felt the lack of the company of my peers, this first stay at the seaside was pleasantly etched in my memory. Everything was new and interesting to me.

In August 1934, the Convention of Poles from abroad was held in Warsaw. As we found out later, it had a ceremonial character: the wedding of Rodło with the Vistula was performed, immersing the banners with Rodło in the Vistula water. None of us participated in it because our parents decided that my sisters and I were still too young, and my brother had been in Switzerland since the spring.

Influenced by doctors’ advice and Grafenberg, my parents decided to send Olo for rehabilitation at a spa. After seeking many opinions and a long correspondence with various treatment facilities, he went to Leysin, a town known for its numerous sanatoriums and effective treatment. He found himself in the clinic of the highly regarded Professor Rollier. The professor did not recognize any unconventional treatments. He did not accept them in his sanatorium and even removed those patients whom he found to have used them. Despite this, Olo took homeopathic medicines with him and secretly took them.

Upon arriving in Leysin, Olo was shocked when he learned that most patients there spent three to four years or more on treatment. For him, a minimum of two years was assessed to be needed for the damaged bone to regenerate. The effect of Grafenberg’s drugs clearly accelerated the healing process. Surprised doctors found that after just one year, the shoulder joint had recovered and was functioning normally with only a slight limitation for some movements. So when I returned home for a summer vacation in 1935, I found Olo in Czernin.

Earlier, during the Easter holidays, I enjoyed the wedding of Celinka Donimirska from Małe Ramzy, which took place in Waplewo. The affairs of Mr. and Mrs. Sierakowski’s estate, at one time seemingly settled, retook a bad turn around 1933. Jan Kowalski, who managed the estate, went bankrupt. He lost Górka and had to move to Poland. Unfortunately, he did not fulfill the hopes placed in him to heal the finances of Waplewo. In this situation, the State Agricultural Bank had to salvage the sums invested by agreeing to sell the manors, which constituted the bulk of the Waplewo estate. They passed into the hands of institutions whose task was to settle settlers of German nationality in East Prussia. By the decision of the Polish government, the palace with the park remained the property of Mr. and Mrs. Sierakowski. Waplewo was handed over to Zbyszek Donimirski of Małe Ramzy. Having graduated from an agricultural school and served an agricultural apprenticeship in Poland, he had the background needed to manage the estate. As far as I know, Waplewo was to pass into his ownership in exchange for the settlement of outstanding debts, which was not easy. However, a gradual economic recovery in Germany made it feasible.

Since the palace remained the property of Mr. and Mrs. Sierakowski, Zbyszek soon proceeded to build a new mansion not far from the former residence. The housekeeping was taken care of by his sister Celinka, who, after graduating from high school in Poznań, continued her education there for some time, including singing lessons. At various social and family gatherings, she was encouraged to perform. Everyone listened to her with pleasure, and the two songs she liked best were Ułani (“Hey, girl, hey, heaven, some army is rushing down the road…”), and Ajajaj, a Spanish ballad about three medieval knights. She and her brother soon moved to a new house equipped with various modern appliances, rare at the time.

During her stay in Poznań, Celinka met Ludwig Echaust, a lawyer, much older than her, to whom she became engaged. He enjoyed a good reputation. People spoke of his crystal character and solid financial standing. He belonged to the Order of the Knights of Malta, which required proof of noble descent for several generations and was important to many people.

The wedding was solemn, with all traditions observed. It was a source of excitement for me, Lili, and Renia. We were bridesmaids in long tulle evening dresses for the first time in our lives, and the bride’s brothers acted as our partners. The ceremony was performed by Father Bronisław Sochaczewski, known to our family for his patriotic activities back in the plebiscite days. In the 1930s, he served as a parish priest in Szynwiza (now Krasna Łąka) near Waplewo. Rev. Sochaczewski later shared my father’s fate. He was arrested by the Gestapo shortly after the outbreak of war and murdered in the same camp, Sachsenhausen.

The main event of the summer vacation in 1935 became our participation in the World Rally of Polish Youth from Abroad and the associated week-long trip along the route: Warsaw - Spała - Cracow - Lviv. The four of us went: my brother, Lili, Renia, and me. The trip was well organized: we traveled by rail and arranged six people, each in a compartment. Our carriages were attached to night trains, running on schedule. They became our hotel on wheels. We were getting off in the morning and returning in the evening, leaving behind the things we didn’t need during the day.

We left Iława in the evening and woke up early the next morning in Warsaw. We spent the day exploring the capital and were taken to the theater in the evening. A colleague from Rabka, Basia Sopoćko, arrived at the appointed meeting and accompanied us most of the day.

The next stage was Spała, where the ceremonial rally of the Polish Scouting was taking place, combined with the Rally of Polish Youth from Abroad. As its participants, we thus spent as many as three days here - from July 12 to 14. The rally host was the Polish Scouting Association, and the guests were Polish youth, mainly scouts, from all over the world. 

After establishing Polish schools in East Prussia, scouting troops also began to be organized there, attracting many volunteers - first in Warmia and then in Powiśle. We were received very hospitably. We lived in tents. Scout kitchens served meals that were tasty and plentiful. We were given bread rolls with bacon on the first evening for dinner. The bacon was tasty but cut into thick slices. The scouts, carrying Finnish foldable knives, divided the slices into finer pieces. The guests had trouble, which became the occasion for many jokes. 

On the first day of the jamboree, the official part took place. Representatives of the government and various organizations welcomed us. Then the time was filled with scouting games and events. A bonfire was organized every evening, including performances by hosts and guests. Favorite songs reigned supreme in a choral performance by all participants. We were shown the palace in Spała, where the president used to come for a few days’ rest. It presented itself rather modestly and differed from others only because a guard stood in front of it.

From Spała, we returned to Warsaw, from where we continued our journey. In the compartment, in addition to the four of us, traveled Kazik Donimirski from Małe Ramzy and another of our good Sztum acquaintances, Feliks Włodarczak. He carried with him an accordion, on which he cheerfully played. We organized our sleeping arrangements perfectly: Lili and I were given seats, the two boys located themselves on the luggage racks, and the third on the floor covered with blankets. The youngest of us, Renia, slept in a hammock hung diagonally across the compartment. Due to the thinness of the space, she would wake up in the morning curled up into a ball. Despite the modest conditions, no one complained, and we were in great spirits. 

Before everyone went to sleep in the evening, we visited fellow tour participants in other compartments and carriages. We would introduce ourselves and, accompanied by an accordion, sing some well-known songs, which we usually finished together.

We took the next day to explore Cracow. My siblings and I, thanks to school excursions, were already quite familiar with this city full of monuments. At that time, a mound was being laid there in honor of the recently deceased Marshal Pilsudski, not far from Kościuszko Mound. We eagerly took part in this action, and, like most of our tour participants, we each carried a wheelbarrow of earth to the top of the already piled hill.

The final stage was a tour of Lviv.  I visited this city for the first and last time, taking away many unforgettable impressions. The similarities and differences between the situation in Poland’s eastern and western borderlands impressed themselves on me. 

Above all, however, what won all our hearts was the extraordinarily warm and welcoming reception we experienced there.  During our last walk through the city, we spent every penny on ice cream and drinks, hoping we wouldn’t need them anymore. This was because the plan for the trip was to connect our carriages to the Lviv-Warsaw and Warsaw-Gdańsk express trains, so we were to reach Iława in the morning of the next day.  

We arrived in Warsaw around midnight, but - probably due to the necessity of sending the different groups in different directions - our carriage was not attached to the right train in time. When it turned out it had already left, we were escorted to a remote siding, where we waited until morning for the next train. Impressed, we couldn’t sleep. We watched the night sky lit up by the lights of the capital, with headlights moving across it from time to time.

When we finally set off in the morning, it turned out that this slow train would only take us to Toruń, from where, after a few hours of waiting, we would travel to Iława on another train. Gradually our hunger began to bother us. In Lviv, we were served dinner and given sandwiches for the road. After a sleepless night, we consumed them at dawn, still in Warsaw. Further provisions, of course, no one provided for us. We also had no money to buy ourselves anything. In Włoclawek, Kazik got off and sold a lighter to a casual buyer for a zloty. He bought a kilogram of cherries for it on the platform. We threw ourselves at them and were soon hungry again.

Around noon we arrived in Toruń. We got the idea to visit our uncle there, Marceli Łukowicz, a doctor, married to our relative Janina Łyskowska. Fortunately, Kazik was the only one of us who knew our uncle, as he had attended high school in Toruń for several years. However, we found no one at home. Devastated, we stood helplessly in the street when our aunt arrived. She cordially invited us to breakfast. Soon her son Tomek, whom the aunt had sent to fetch bread, also showed up. He brought a big bag of buns, of which there was soon little left. We were embarrassed, but auntie made extra sandwiches out of them and gave them to us for the journey. On the train, we fed them to our traveling companions, whom we didn’t dare take with us to our uncle’s house. When we finally arrived in Iława sometime later, Janek Krajewski was there waiting for us, with his car.

I have devoted so much space to the memories of that trip; its many details, preserved to this day in my memory, testify to how much of an impression it made on me. Trips to Poland were the best way to consolidate Polishness. Coming into contact with the homeland was a great experience for any Pole from abroad. The Germans were aware of this and tried to make trips difficult. As Nazi rule became entrenched, passport regulations, as in any totalitarian system, became increasingly restrictive; and if one did leave, reprisals often awaited upon return. As a result, from the mid-1930s onward, the number of Poles from Germany visiting Poland declined year by year.

During this time, my father began to have heart trouble. Not surprisingly, there was no shortage of stress. Among other things, articles slandering my parents appeared in a local newspaper Stuhmer Zeitung [the Sztum Times]. The charges were absurd, accusing my parents mainly of anti-state activities, and there was no shortage of offensive language. Of course, my father’s protests were to no avail. 

I remembered the story of an article, which dragged on for a long time, as my father took the case to court. The publication accused my father of Polnische Wirtschaft, portraying Czernin in the worst light. It wrote about allegedly crumbling buildings, dirt, and mess. Father found it easy to prove that this description contradicted reality. The trial dragged on for months. In the end, the court admitted that, although there was not a grain of truth in the article, its author was guided by noble patriotic motives, which is a mitigating circumstance. Therefore, he was exempted from any punishment. The verdict only obliged him to publish a retraction of the lies in the Stuhmer Zeitung within two weeks. When the retraction did not appear within that timeframe, the father complained to the court, to which he received a reply that because the deadline had passed, the sentence could no longer be enforced.

Father endured even more stress as he fought for several hectares of our land. The German authorities promised it to two estate workers: a gardener named Karaś and a masonworker named Kurkuć - as a reward for joining the National Socialist party. Both were Poles. My father defended himself for a long time, but in the end, despite solid legal grounds in his favor, the forced expropriation of a piece of field located behind our garden on the road to Sztum was ordered. Housing with homesteads was built for the two settlers with state money. 

In principle, the loss of a few hectares would not have mattered, although the fact that it was land right under the side of our house created an unpleasant situation. The fields belonging to Czernin started right here, around the manor buildings, and stretched far in the direction of Ramzy, making fieldwork difficult. Most important in the whole affair, however, was its significance for my parents’ social status. My father’s loss weakened his reputation as an employer and a Pole. From then on, the residents of Czernin and other passersby, on their way to church or to get groceries in Sztum, observed the good fortune of the two laborers privileged for betraying Polishness. This was a significant local success for Nazi propaganda.

In addition to medication, the cardiologist recommended that my father receive regular annual sanatorium treatments. Due to foreign exchange restrictions, an extended stay outside the Reich was impossible. Therefore, my father treated himself in western Germany, where he was not subjected to the hatred of Poles - most preferably at the Bad Nauheim spa near Frankfurt.

In 1935 he had just been on treatment when Melchior Wańkowicz appeared in our neighborhood. He was on a tour of East Prussia with his daughter and had already made contact with our Uncle Kazik, who invited him to Małe Ramzy and was his guide to the Malbork region. He also brought him to Czernin for a few hours, where they found my mother with Ewa and Staś. Over afternoon tea, they chatted about current events in the area and the latest harassment by the authorities against my parents. During a walk in the park, the Polish guest took some photos.

Wańkowicz’s expedition resulted in the book Na Tropach Smętka [On the Trail of Sorrow], which soon became a bestseller in Poland. By the outbreak of the war, it had reached ten editions. The last, the tenth, was confiscated by the Germans after they entered Poland in 1939. Thanks to this publication, the Polish public learned of the existence of compatriots beyond the northern border, their stubborn struggle to defend Polishness, and the repressions applied against them. It happened to me later, and quite often, that people I met at the sound of my name associated it with the book by Wańkowicz and immediately showed me a lot of sympathy.

The Nazis were also interested in the content of the book. It was translated into German and delivered to functionaries of the Bund Deutscher Osten of the National Socialist Party and the Gestapo as a top-secret print to help them track down Poles.

After returning from Switzerland, Olo began to think about further education. He realized that in order to return to his high school graduating class, as a result of the three-year hiatus, he would have to spend a lot of time repeating high school material. So it was decided that he would enter an agricultural high school established in Bydgoszcz. The organizers intended it to be a school whose diploma would go beyond a high school diploma and open the way to the second year at SGGW, the Warsaw University of Life Sciences. Unfortunately, few graduates managed to complete it, as the outbreak of war put an end to its existence.

Thus, from September 1935, out of all my siblings, only seven-year-old Staś remained at home (as I have already written, two of my sisters were educated with me in Rabka, and the third at the Ursuline Sisters in Kościerzyna). He began his education under Florian Wichłacz, who at that time took over from Jan Boenigk the running of the Polish school in Postolin and came to Czernin two or three times a week. My brother, being on Mr. Wichłacz’s list of students, met the requirements of the school authorities. So lessons with a German teacher were no longer necessary.

Meanwhile, the prospect of opening a Polish gymnasium in Kwidzyn, where Staś could study in the future, began to look more and more real. After 1932, in the entire German state, with an estimated Polish population of 1.5 million, there was only one Polish high school - the gymnasium in Bytom. For many years, the Polish side had been making efforts to establish a second such institution, precisely in Kwidzyn. In Poland, where the German minority was half as numerous, there were several well-equipped German high schools. During the period of official improvement in Polish-German relations, the chance to realize our plans increased. A detailed design of a suitable building with all the surroundings was drawn up. Although the German state authorities consented to the project, the local authorities opposed it for a long time. Finally, in 1935, permission was obtained to begin construction.

Staś was a good child, cheerful and smiling. I don’t recall any situation in which he drew someone’s ire. He was absorbed in various activities. He was still busily tinkering, building, and arranging something. When he reached some stage in his planned work, he would come running to his mother or one of his sisters to show off his work. We would respond with expressions of appreciation and hugs, and he would usually say: “Well, goodbye then!” and return to his game. 

Often the children of our employees came to see him: The Borzych children, Marcinkowski, and Nastarzyk - students of the Polish school in Postolin. Staś, who remained at home alone among the adults, enjoyed these visits, and they had a great time together. 

During the winter holidays of 1935-1936, we met a group of Polish students from the University of Königsberg. Studying at various faculties, they organized the Union of Polish Students. The Union of Poles in Germany ran a dormitory for them and supported them financially. They, for their part, were to cooperate with Polish organizations in East Prussia. They came to Sztum with a whole group at the invitation of local activists and lived for several days in Czernin. We all tried to make their stay pleasant. For my siblings and me, this visit was a big attraction. I particularly remembered the main founder and secretary of the Union, Wojtek Wawrzynek, an economics student of Silesian origin. Also staying with us at the time was Dominik Ochendal, a Warsaw Central Institute of Physical Education (CIPE) graduate, generally known as “Nik”, who organized sporting activities in Warmia.

During those holidays, I experienced my first ball. I was already in my senior year of high school, and my parents decided to take advantage of the invitation they received every year to attend the traditional New Year’s Eve ball in Inowrocław. It was hosted by the local gentry, inviting relatives and friends also from outside Kujawy, mainly from Pomerania. About the first ball, I read romantic poems, sentimental memories. So I expected it with interest. However, I was met with disappointment. Wearing an airy ball dress but sleekly combed into two not-very-long braids, I still gave the impression of a childish, naive boarding school girl. Besides, I knew almost no one there. I hoped to meet the young Podkólinski, whose parents, who were friends with Aunt Mina, frequented Żegotki. However, those didn’t show up, neither Wacek nor Hala, much less the youngest Adam. Meanwhile, the vast majority of those present were close acquaintances from the area. I felt uncomfortable, as the couches and armchairs around the halls were mostly occupied by older ladies who watched the dancers. When one of them asked me a question, it turned out that she knew perfectly well who I was, to whom, and how I was related, and I had no idea who was talking to me.

The ball began with a general polonaise. All couples, regardless of age, set off. At the command of the ringleader, traditional figures were performed, and at one point, the ladies formed a large circle, and the gentlemen, passing around from one to the other, greeted their acquaintances and introduced themselves to strangers. Thus, after the polonaise, there were no strangers in the hall. 

A few fine-dancing gentlemen stood out, excellent ringleaders, and among them were three Mr. Feill: a father and two sons, who showed off, among other things, particularly difficult acrobatics during the mazurka. For example, they would fall stretched out on the floor, grasp glasses filled with alcohol with their mouths, without the help of their hands, tip out every drop, and put them back in the same place, after which they would get up and take their partners into the whirlpool of the dance again.  

Uncle Karol Donimirski of Szadłowice introduced a lot of friendly chaos. Wanting to make it easier for the youngsters to get to know each other, he would invite the maidens to dance, and after a few turns, he would give them away to the bachelors he had selected. I did not yet understand his tactics at the time, but when I visited him later, I already knew he was playing matchmaker.

I attended these balls three more times in the following years - with one or two sisters and a brother. There was much laughter as we discovered the “destiny” planned by my uncle for each of us. 

At subsequent New Year’s Eve balls in Inowrocław, having met more and more people, I had a great time. The most enjoyable was the last ball, to welcome the year 1939…. But at that first one, I felt intimidated and lost.

On the other hand, the summer vacation in 1936, the first after high school graduation, was pleasant and varied. After the first weeks in Czernin, we went to Marusza in July. There we invited some of our friends and some of Olo’s colleagues. So Halina Perczyńska, my faithful friend from the third grade, came. Also,  Irka Rawicz and her mother spent a few days in Marusza. We were also visited by Irka Kostrzeńska, a friend of my sisters, pretty and very friendly. From the boys appeared Mirek Karyłowski from Warsaw, a law student. As befits a lawyer, he was “chatty,” intelligent, and outspoken. On the other hand, Janusz Czerny, also from Warsaw, studied chemistry. Serious, rather low-key, he spoke calmly and always thoughtfully.

Axel Semrau from Grudziądz stayed with us very often. He came from a German family of the “Station Hotel” owners. He lost his father at an early age. His mother ran the hotel. As co-owner and future manager, Axel helped her with management. Mrs. Semrau believed that if life among Poles awaited her son, he should be with them from an early age to get to know them and become friends with them. Therefore, she sent him to the Marian Fathers in Bielany. There he completed middle school and passed his high school diploma. He was very sociable, always cheerful and smiling. He liked jokes. He played the piano and sang quite well. 

I remembered what he said about the linguistic misunderstanding he fell victim to when he first went to Bielany. The list of layettes for boarding school residents included an item: one blanket. In Pomerania, a “blanket” was called a sheepskin, a sheepskin covering used to cover the legs in a sleigh. The mother was greatly surprised by such a requirement, but what wouldn’t she do for her only child? (In Pomerania, as in our region, a wool blanket was called a “derrick”.) Poor Axel became the object of jokes and pranks from his colleagues when they found out that he had brought equipment “for white bears”.

We experienced two or three weeks of real relaxation in this group. We danced a lot, sang and listened to music. Usually, already at breakfast, someone would usually set up some kind of record, after which Lili or Axel would sit down at the piano and put us in a cheerful mood. We went for walks in the woods, bathed and went boating on the pond, and occasionally went to the lake in Rudnik. We played various games in the garden and ate cherries straight from the tree or gooseberries and raspberries straight from the bush. Farewell simply surprised us so quickly that those carefree days passed!

In August, we went to the seaside, taking advantage of the new regulations facilitating travel to the Free City of Gdańsk. The Treaty of Versailles gave Gdańsk this status under Polish jurisdiction. The city had its own separate currency - guilders. The majority of its inhabitants were Germans. The Nazi party conducted intensive propaganda among them, gaining more and more supporters. Nationalist slogans were also increasingly preached, and Polish residents of the city were increasingly discriminated against. Wanting to facilitate contacts between Danzig residents and German newcomers, the Nazi authorities agreed to a break in the strict foreign exchange regulations prohibiting the export of currency from the Reich. It was permitted to exchange a certain amount of German marks for Danzig guilders if they were for a vacation stay within the Free City.

My parents rented an apartment in Sopot, and we lived there with the whole family. Only my father remained in Czernin, but he dropped in from time to time for two or three days. After all, Czernin lay about 70 kilometers away. Within the Free City, guilders were in circulation on a par with Polish zlotys. We asked to be given our due change in Polish currency at every opportunity. In this way, we earned zlotys, the possession of which enabled us to move around the Polish coast. With my brother at the wheel, we visited various towns and cities on the Polish side of the border almost every day, meeting relatives and acquaintances staying there. Of course, we also enjoyed Sopot’s beach and other attractions, attracting many Poles. My father sometimes liked to go into the local casino with a small amount of money. He always brought back some winnings when he had pre-arranged to meet with us at a specific time. When, on the other hand, he went to the casino without doing so, he usually came back a loser.

Today I can no longer name all the people I met that summer. On the occasion of visiting Gdynia and its harbor, we made an appointment with my uncle Włodek Sikorski, in Orłowo. In Jastarnia, we were hosted by Halina Perczyńska, who spent part of her vacation there with her family every summer. Another day, we visited Uncle Janek Sikorski and his wife in Jurata. Jurata was the most fashionable bathing resort on the Polish coast. It had modern guesthouses, and you could meet summer visitors from government circles there. There was no shortage of sunshine that summer. Time passed quickly and pleasantly. Today I have doubts that we fully appreciated these happy moments….

When we returned to Czernin full of happy impressions, our good mood collided with threatening signals coming from everywhere. New restrictions were being applied again and again. The authorities were trying to torpedo Polish schools, placing ever harsher demands on teachers. The publisher and editors of Gazeta Olsztyńska faced harassment and obstructions, including the threat of losing their journalistic privileges. During some events, the police suddenly appeared and allowed entry only on presentation of a Union of Poles ID card. As I mentioned, many event participants did not have such ID.

Meanwhile, the economic situation in Germany had improved considerably. After the crisis of the late 1920s and early 1930s, the economy, controlled by the fascist authorities, developed in the direction they wanted. Unemployment disappeared, and wages were rising. The government emphasized special interest in the fate of workers. Housing estates were built for them; an institution called Kraft durch Freude (Strength through Joy) organized excursions and various events for the widest possible public. 

Under the guise of entertainment was nationalist propaganda. Much attention was paid to children and young people. Boys and girls were drawn compulsorily into party youth organizations. High family allowances were established, which sometimes exceeded the parents’ earnings in the case of families with many children. However, Polish schoolchildren had neither the right to these allowances nor any other privileges and could not find work after graduation. Unsurprisingly, some Poles withdrew from participating in Polish events and moved their children to German schools out of fear or for financial reasons. On the other hand, those who persisted in the Polish movement became increasingly aware of their roots and better organized.

In 1935, Kazimierz Pietrzak replaced Franciszek Literski as head of the Sztum office of the Malbork district of the Polish Union. He was a native of Westphalia. After graduating from German high school, he worked for twelve years at the Polish consulate in Essen as a desk officer for cultural and educational affairs, which was an excellent preparation for his new duties. Intelligent and energetic, he maintained close contact with the Union of Poles headquarters in Berlin. In the summer of 1936, he engaged Marian Cybiński, a Warsaw Central Institute of Physical Education graduate, as our district’s sports instructor. His arrival contributed to a marked revival in Powiśle, especially in the Youth Society. The new instructor set to work with great enthusiasm, meeting with an equally warm reception. On set days of the week, he conducted sports classes in designated localities: mainly volleyball and gymnastic exercises, as well as soccer. Of great interest was learning folk dances. 

From time to time, Marian Cybiński organized bicycle excursions, the destination of which was often Biala Góra, which had long been a favorite place for meetings and picnics because of not only its beautiful forests but also its symbolic location at the confluence of the borders of Poland, Germany and the Free City of Danzig. A tall cross stood there. The Germans called this place Drei-Länder-Ecke (Corner of Three Countries) and held meetings there. The difference was that we directed glances full of sympathy and longing toward the Polish side while they made aggressive speeches.

Taking advantage of the vacations, my siblings and I regularly attended Marian Cybiński’s classes in Sztum. There was a friendly atmosphere there. The instructor treated the participants in a collegial yet respectful manner. He was a handsome young man with an endearing appearance and personal culture. Not surprisingly, young people showed up in large numbers for the training sessions he conducted. Unfortunately, there was a lack of suitable rooms, halls and playing fields for sports. Therefore, the period of more intensive exercise was the summer months; the Sztum team trained volleyball in our park. 

At that time, the work of the School Society in Powiśle was headed by a new employee of the Sztum office, Franciszek Wojciechowski. Like Kazimierz Pietrzak, he came from Westphalia. After some time, they were joined by another newcomer from Westphalia, Stefan Potarzyński. Although there was criticism of the Polish Union Headquarters for hiring people from outside East Prussia, unfamiliar with local relations, I don’t remember any stumbles on their part. They were prepared for their work, already had some experience, and fulfilled their duties carefully. Their transfer often resulted from protests by the local German authorities at their previous places of work, where they had endangered themselves with their zealousness.

On the first of September, my siblings had to return to their schools begrudgingly, so I was the only one who was able to represent our family at the “Festival of Sports” held in our forest on September 6, 1936. It was an unforgettable experience for me. The volleyball competition between sports clubs from each village ended with the victory of our Sztum team. I also did not miss the gymnastic show or the fiery Krakowiak dance performed in Cracovian costumes. I danced it in the first couple with young Boleslaw Quella. The dancing and singing took several hours, and everyone had a great time. 

Such activities played a big role in unifying and consolidating the national consciousness of our youth. I participated in the activities of the Youth Society until the end of my vacation. September was warm and sunny. For the first time in several years, I spent this time of year in Czernin. After my siblings left, the house was quiet and peaceful. The grapes on the front wall grew beautifully. We picked their berries with Staś, exceptionally large and sweet for our climate. The end of this long and eventful vacation was approaching. I was in a melancholy mood and simultaneously anxious at the thought of a more independent life about to begin.

While I was still in middle school, I sometimes wondered about the field of study I should take after high school graduation. For a while, I thought about medicine. I wanted to become a pediatrician because I really liked children. I believed that helping sick children was a goal worth devoting my life to. However, our situation was very precarious when I graduated from high school. After Hitler took power in Germany, no one could predict what the immediate future would bring us. And medical studies took a long time, at least seven years. 

On the other hand, as I grew older, my curiosity about the world increased. I dreamed of traveling, of getting to know different countries, different nations. To fulfill these dreams, the ability to use foreign languages was needed. Thanks to my Swiss governesses, I mastered French well. I continued learning this language in junior high school under the guidance of Miss Stefankówna, who conducted an individual program for me at a high level. I am grateful to her for this!

On the other hand, my poor knowledge of German made my life difficult, so I welcomed my parents’ proposal that I go to Berlin and study this language intensively there. My parents were happy  that they could pay for my studies in German currency. Four of my siblings were studying in Poland, which was a significant financial effort, and at the same time, resulted in constant surveillance by the German authorities. As citizens of the Reich, we were not allowed to take money abroad or have any income there. If there was any, it had to be deposited with the German State Bank, which would pay the equivalent in marks at home. My father had invested in Poland before these regulations were introduced. Uncle Janek Sikorski traded them, and used them to cover expenses related to our studies. Officially we claimed, before the German authorities, that our family from Poland had financed it.

My mother had been gathering the necessary information for a long time, so when we left for Berlin in October 1936, we already had a concrete plan for my studies and my stay in the German capital. My parents wanted me to find myself in a German environment and be forced to speak only that language. Therefore, they forbade me to contact the Headquarters of the Union of Poles in Germany. They realized that Polish activities would draw me in quickly and that the Polish language would push German to the margins.

Upon arriving in Berlin, we stayed near Alexanderplatz in a boarding house run by nuns. They rented rooms both to those arriving for a few days, as well as to students and single working women - for longer periods. The mother quickly realized that the nuns’ house was located in an uninteresting neighborhood overrun by the semi-literate, something she had not realized before. So I stayed there only until I found better quarters. This lasted for two months, and it wasn’t until after the Christmas holidays that I moved into another boarding house. Nuns also ran it on similar terms. It was, however, of a higher standard. Moreover, its location near the Friedrichstrasse train station was more convenient to me because of its proximity to the Institute for Foreigners located in one of the University buildings.

We went there the following day after arriving. The enrollment clerk ruled that she could not accept my application because, as a German citizen, I did not meet the applicable criteria. The institute was intended for foreigners, who were supposed to ensure mastery of the German language to the extent that they could study at a German university. For advanced students, it provided courses authorizing them to teach the language abroad. She eventually referred us to the director to decide on my case.

The director, Dr. Georg Kartzke, turned out to be an open-minded, kind-hearted man with impeccable manners. He decided that my German citizenship was no obstacle to my admission as a student at the institute. In all my documents, I was written in the “nationality” box - Deutschland (Polnische Minderheit), that is “Germany (Polish minority)”. During my entire study at the institute, I did not encounter the slightest sign of hostility or discrimination, while in East Prussia anti-Polish hysteria was increasing day by day.

Learning took place in groups of twenty, bringing together people with similar language skills. It included two-month courses of varying levels: Anfängerkursus (for beginners), Mittelkursus (for intermediate students), Oberkursus, the successful completion of which entitled the student to study in Germany, and finally, Fortbildungskursus, which prepared the student to teach German in his home country. If the final results were not satisfactory, the course had to be repeated, enrolling at the same level but in a different version so that it was not a simple repetition of the material. After a brief check of my skills, I was qualified for the intermediate course.

After my mother’s departure, independent student life began. My boarding house served breakfast from early in the morning until eleven o’clock. In a relatively spacious dining room, salad bowls with jam, butter dishes with excellent butter, and baskets with fresh, crispy rolls stood on the table. Coffee was fragrant and served in porcelain pots covered with sheathes to maintain the temperature. Regardless, every now and then, the sisters would bring fresh hot coffee with milk. I sometimes wondered from what source they obtained butter, which was delicious. After all, it was available only on ration cards, in accordance with Hitler’s slogan: “Cannons instead of butter!” The morning menu suited me well, so I consumed five or six rolls with butter and jam daily.

Classes at my course began at eleven o’clock. I, therefore, came to breakfast late, around ten o’clock, when the permanent residents of the guesthouse were already at work or school. So I tended to meet guests who came for a short time, single people, often married couples, sometimes whole families. Trying to participate in the conversation, I would listen in and put together the sentences I wanted to say in my mind. This took a long time at first, and most often, when I was ready to speak, the conversation had already drifted to another topic. So I had to start all over again. Slowly, however, I made progress.

Language courses were held every day before noon and lasted two hours. A lunch break followed this. My parents recommended that I eat lunch at my boarding house, where a solid meal was served for one mark. However, I rarely used it. After a late and hearty breakfast, I was not yet hungry. Secondly, it was a waste of my time to get there. And finally - which makes me laugh today - I was saving those marks for expenses that I considered my whims. My parents authorized me to spend the money I received on entertainment and pleasures as well, ordering me to always pay for myself and not to agree that someone would fund me. However, I thought it would be unfair to my siblings if I benefited more than them from our parents’ resources. If I spent money on impulse purchases and provided for other needs I was giving up, I felt justified.

My midday meal was usually bananas, which I bought from street carts, numerous in the inner city. Like other southern fruits, they were cheap - a banana cost six to eight fenigs. In the afternoon, the institute offered lectures on German literature and culture, cities and monuments, the economy, and other subjects. During a lecture on national socialist ideology, the speaker presented its noble slogans of social justice, concern for the country’s poorest, and economic and civilizational development, arousing the admiration and envy of many listeners of different nationalities. The lectures, intended for the institute’s general student body, were not compulsory. As usual,I was greedy for knowledge. I attended all available classes from the first day, although understanding the lectures did not come easily at first.

My free time was spent in the library, filled with reading borrowed books, and I did homework for my course. Around eight o’clock, I would return to the guesthouse, preparing dinner for myself. My mother sent me regular parcels, and in them were excellent homemade products: butter, cold cuts, cakes, vegetable and fruit preserves, as well as apples. I bought baked goods and small amounts of the items I was missing at the convenience store on my way back from college.

My day did not end then. I was still attending evening language courses at Berlitz School. This well-known school, whose branches were located in almost all European capitals in the 1930s, had developed an original method of teaching languages designed to replace a stay abroad. It consisted of the use of specially adapted textbooks and a particular organization of learning. The school employed a dozen lecturers for each language, teaching all courses. Thus, the students met a different teacher each time, differing in pronunciation to some degree from the others. Such differences sometimes made it difficult for foreigners arriving in a foreign country to communicate. In addition, there was a rule that only the language being taught was used during lessons.

I attended a French course for advanced learners twice a week and an English course for beginners twice a week. The listeners were exclusively Germans. In addition to me, there were three gentlemen about fifty years of age also taking the French course. They knew the language, but spoke worse than me. The lessons consisted of reading and conversation. A dozen people of different ages taught me the beginnings of English. Quite quickly, I came to the forefront of the group. I took great satisfaction in one lesson, during which our English speaker explained the difference between the simple present and present continuous tenses. At the end of the lesson, he instructed us to complete several sentences that were examples of the use of these tenses. It turned out that only I wrote them correctly. The teacher in broken German pronounced: Das ist nicht für deutsch Kopf, das ist nur für polnisch Kopf! (“It’s not for the German head; it’s only for the Polish head”).

After some time, I got to know one of the participants of this course more closely, an artist by profession. We sat next to each other during lessons, and I helped her a little when she didn’t understand something. Once, she invited me to her home. I gladly accepted the invitation because I felt lonely in that initial period. She was a divorcee in her mid-thirties, the mother of a three-year-old girl. She offered me to pose for a portrait she was painting. I agreed. As a result, I spent a few hours at her place. 

Talking with her, I learned about the life of an average resident of the German capital. She told me about the difficulties of shopping because the food supply in the stores was not the best. Food ration cards allowed the purchase of a certain amount of meat, butter, and other items. However, my interviewee did not complain about these regulations. She claimed that they made people eat healthily, replacing missing products with vegetables. 

She was an admirer of Hitler because, she said, he had brought order to Germany and eliminated unemployment; she firmly believed that after overcoming temporary difficulties, general prosperity would prevail in the country. One day during my visit, her daughter behaved noisily when the radio had just broadcast the Führer’s speech. Her mother reprimanded her, explaining that when Onkel Hitler (“Uncle Hitler”) speaks, everyone must listen to him.

In the first half of December, the portrait was ready. The painter suggested that I buy it. I wasn’t thrilled about it, but given that she had devoted a lot of time and effort to it, that she had sometimes invited me to meals while I was posing, I thought it was appropriate to buy it. I obtained my parents’ approval, especially since the price was not exorbitant. I believe that from the beginning, she hoped to sell me this work of hers. Eventually, the portrait became my gift to my parents for Christmas.

I made another acquaintance in the library. I had my own table there, where I spent a couple of hours every day. Often some students would take a seat at it when it got crowded. On several occasions, a student of the highest course, Hungarian Stefan Mann, sat down next to me. In a hushed voice, we could talk, so gradually, we learned more and more about each other. I think he was a teacher by profession - an elderly gentleman since he was already over thirty. He had come to Berlin to obtain a diploma as a lecturer in German. As time went by, we always sat at the same table. He would ask me all sorts of questions, and I - having no one close to me - was happy to confide in him about my daily experiences. He advised me, sometimes praised me, and sometimes warned me. He related to me in a fatherly manner. I guess the teaching profession became second nature to him.

As I mentioned, I accepted the painter’s offer mainly because I wanted some companionship. At the institute, I tried to get in touch with my female colleagues, but none took up my offer. Generally, groups were formed by nationality, and - unfortunately - I did not meet anyone from Poland. Some girls were rather interested in meeting boys, which was not difficult. Soon many inseparable couples were formed. In Germany at that time, the “friend” status was officially recognized, either as a “trial marriage” or as a planned short-term relationship. In Poland, similar situations were much less common, and young people tended not to admit it or act as fiancées.

Since I did not have a partner, and boys outnumbered girls, I received an almost daily proposal from some colleague to go to the movies or dancing with him. I regularly responded in the negative. My mother warned me to go out only in the company of several friends, never alone with some man. I strictly adhered to this rule, especially since I was also afraid of such situations.

It happened, however, that I broke it. One of the professors was happy to stay after the lecture with the students, talk to them, and answer questions. And I was often among those interested in these conversations. One day he suggested that I go to the movies with him. It seemed an honor to me, and in my naivety, I believed that every professor is a moral authority. So we arranged a day and time and a place to meet. I did not fail to confide in Mann, who reacted quite violently, explaining to me that a professor is a man like any other and that my rule applies here as well. I was horrified and decided to cancel the meeting. Mann, however, told me to go and that he would take care of me.

With great trepidation, I went to the agreed rendezvous. The professor was already waiting for me with the tickets. As we entered the cinema hall, Mann suddenly approached us and greeted us with a look of surprise, saying that he had just bought a ticket for the same film. After the screening, the professor invited me to dinner. I made vigorous excuses, explaining that I had to get back. The Hungarian soon appeared and offered to accompany me home. In the end, they both escorted me. I could see that the professor was furious. At the few lectures he still gave in December, I sat in the last row to avoid meeting him. 

After the start of each two-month course, the institute held a “get-to-know-you afternoon” to provide an opportunity for newly arrived foreigners to get to know each other. German students interested in meeting colleagues from abroad were also invited. Thirsty for camaraderie, I decided to go too. The afternoon tea had a rather modest setting: a medium-sized room was divided into two parts. In one, there was a small dance floor with a patéphone (record player) and records, and in the other, there was a long table where one chatted over a glass of coffee or a cold drink, munching small cookies. There was no crowd. I didn’t notice any familiar faces. I sat shyly at the table, thinking that I had probably come here unnecessarily. 

Soon, however, three German students approached me, and a lively conversation began after an initial banal exchange of words. The boys were studying medicine. All three were Bavarians, which strengthened their friendship. When they learned that I was Polish from East Prussia, they also enthusiastically convinced me of their friendship with Poland and Poles. They believed that our national character and traditional customs had many features in common with those of Bavaria. On the other hand, they hated the Prussians, their hard and ruthless customs, and their military “drill.” So the evening was enjoyable, especially since I danced a lot with them during the intervals of friendly conversation. However, I never met them again.

In November, Kazimierz Pietrzak visited me, making me very happy with the visit. I had the feeling that suddenly here in Berlin, was a piece of Sztum, my home, my family. I inquired about all the news. Mostly they were not cheerful, but I learned with great interest that in Sztum and Olsztyn, the University of Poznań had organized secret lectures on historical, legal, and economic subjects. 

The main initiator of these lectures was Professor Zygmunt Wojciechowski, a Polish state and law historian. In his academic work, he was concerned with the history of our western lands and Polish-German relations. Involved in many scientific and patriotic institutions, he was one of the leading activists of the Polish Western Union. Only trusted persons were notified of the place and time of lectures, knowing that if the information reached the German authorities, no lecturer would be granted a visa again. Czernin hosted the speakers during their stay in our region.

Mr. Kazimierz came on business to the Polish Union Headquarters. I sensed that, in his opinion, I should cooperate with it. I would have done so willingly. After all, I wanted to get to know these people, who inspired my admiration and respect. However, I was obedient to my parents’ wishes.

By Christmas, I had completed the Mittelkursus with good results. Those first two months in Berlin were not easy for me. However, there was no shortage of pleasant moments either, and my good academic performance compensated for my longing. I was soaking up knowledge, which gave me much satisfaction.

As usual, I was happy to return home, be with my loved ones again, and meet my friends from the Youth Society. 

Immediately upon my arrival, I was greeted with a surprise: that very day, there was a lecture by Professor Marian Jedlicki, whose specialty was the study of the legal aspects of Polish-German relations. Like his colleagues, Professor Jedlicki was staying in Czernin. As a result, we spent the evening having an interesting chat. The next day he was already returning to Poznań. My parents found these meetings with Polish scholars uplifting. They were full of appreciation for their knowledge but even more for their moral and patriotic attitude.

Life was going on seemingly normally, but news of dangerous and disturbing events kept seeping into this cheerful festive atmosphere. The annual social gatherings were held. Unfortunately, the well-liked Tadzio and Krysia Rogalski did not show up, as their father had been transferred a few months earlier as consul to Ełk, located quite far from Sztum. During the first period of his tenure in Kwidzyn, he engaged one of the Potowski sisters from Sztum, Ludwika, to work at the consulate. We learned that she had become his wife. We were happy to hear this news, as we greatly admired the Potowski family. Mr. Edward Czyżewski, a bachelor, was appointed consul in Kwidzyn; so we could not count on an increase in the number of young people in the area. The new consul continued the activities of his predecessor, being intensely involved in solving the problems of the Polish local population.

On New Year’s Eve, we went to Inowrocław again. This time I went with my brother and sister Lili. I had a much better time than the year before. After high school graduation, I cut my braids and was now fashionably styled. I gained confidence, and most importantly, I met many of the people I had met at the previous ball.

However, probably the most enjoyable ball of my life was the party under the auspices of the Agricultural High School in Bydgoszcz. My brother and several colleagues organized it. They put maximum effort and ingenuity into it. First thing in the morning, I left with my mother by car for Bydgoszcz, where we stayed at a hotel called - if I’m not mistaken - “Under the Eagle”. I was supposed to lay down to rest before the ball but couldn’t fall asleep from the excitement. 

Finally, the evening came. I was immediately charmed by the carnival decor when I entered the ballroom. What was new to me was the rotating ball suspended from the ceiling, composed of small mirrors reflecting the different colored lights of the lamps placed all around. During some dances, this was the only atmospheric lighting. Couples danced in a dark room, illuminated only by a multitude of colorful swirls. In separate rooms were a richly stocked buffet and tables. I wasn’t interested in the buffet. My brother’s friends snatched me away, and I danced non-stop. Eventually, my main dancer became Olo’s friend Janek. He was a visual artist who became interested in farming for reasons unknown to me. I no longer remember his name today, but he still impressed me for several months after the ball. We exchanged letters, but soon new experiences erased the trace of this romantic infatuation.

In mid-January, I returned to Berlin and continued my studies, already attending Oberkursus. Compared to my previous stay, there were many changes. I lived in a different, more pleasant boarding house. Some of my previous classmates had left. Stefan Mann left Berlin with a diploma in his pocket. 

To my great joy, I met a Polish woman, Wanda Czapigo, at the course. She was the daughter of a doctor from Łódź and had graduated with a master’s degree in psychology. She was older than me, married, and socially sophisticated, so she quickly made friends. Besides, there were two of us now, and it was easier for us to match mates for joint outings. So we would go out, usually in fours, sometimes in fives or sixes, to the cinema, theater, dancing, visiting museums and exhibitions together.

As for museums, in late January and early February, I saw their most beautiful exhibits in the company of an expert and lover of fine arts, Professor Tadeusz Silnicki. This specialist in ecclesiastical law and church history gave a lecture in Sztum in January as part of the University of Poznań’s reading campaign. So he was hosted by my parents, who, during an evening chat, learned that taking advantage of a German visa, he was going to Berlin to visit his beloved works of art in Berlin museums there. So they asked him to take me there as well since I had not had the opportunity to see the works of the great masters until then. 

As a result, I spent a dozen or so exciting hours wandering with him through the numerous museum halls and listening to his fascinating stories. I learned a lot that day. The professor was particularly interested in painting. He advised me to think about which painting impressed me the most after visiting each exhibition and to return there and remember it as clearly as possible. He was simply in love with some of the paintings and, as in those days to Berlin, would undertake trips just to see his favorite canvases again. He later wrote to my parents that I was an appreciative and intelligent listener and stressed that I had not said anything stupid in asking questions and sharing my comments. It was clear that it simply fell to him to write something nice. Nevertheless, his letter gave me great pleasure. Perhaps that is why I remembered its contents. 

In February, my parents arrived in Berlin with uncle Włodek Sikorski. I was happy but also surprised by the visit. Its purpose was to meet the Polish ambassador to Berlin, Józef Lipski. My uncle knew him from his studies in Lausanne, where a group of young people from the Prussian partition had met during the years of the First World War. They found themselves in Switzerland out of a thirst for knowledge and to avoid serving in the invader’s army. Uncle Wlodzimierz continued to maintain friendly relations with Lipski. He asked the ambassador to receive and listen to my parents, who wanted to introduce him to the Poles’ situation in East Prussia. They undertook this mission without consulting the Union of Poles and other activists. Not knowing the outcome, they kept it in the deepest secrecy. 

Invited to the embassy for breakfast, they went there with my uncle and me at noon. Lipski received us warmly in his private suite. Soon the conversations began. The parents convinced the ambassador of the need to defend the persecuted Poles more vigorously. “We personally know what we are deciding to do, and we are prepared for the worst, but our conscience does not allow us to involve in our activities so many poor people to whom we cannot provide assistance”. The ambassador warmly assured that the Polish authorities were doing their best and would personally intervene when he received information about the repression. He also said that the current situation could not last long and that international relations must change. I don’t know whether he meant war or diplomatic pressure from world powers. He repeated the appeal of a dozen years ago, “You are at the post - persevere!”

I listened poignantly to these statements. We sat around a small table set with appetizers. The maid served roast chickens, considered an elegant dish at the time. I was a bit cramped, trying to take up as little space as possible. I didn’t notice that my plate had moved dangerously to the edge of the table. When I attacked the piece of chicken lying on it, it was suddenly in my lap. I was wearing a two-piece light-colored dress, which fell victim to my awkwardness. The maid rushed me to the kitchen, helping to cover the stain, while the other guests, including the ambassador himself, offered warm words of consolation. Yet this small mishap haunted me for years, standing out in my memory as my most mortifying social moment.

When I enrolled in January for the next course, I was informed that the students of the Institute for Foreigners were entitled to use the sports facilities intended for German university students. In the summer of 1936, the German capital was entrusted with hosting the Olympics. The Nazi authorities, who had mastered the art of propaganda, took full advantage of this opportunity to shine in front of the whole world. Sports facilities were developed on an impressive scale. After the Games, it was decided to dedicate this extensive network of swimming pools, stadiums, and sports halls to the physical education of young people. 

Hitler attached great importance to the physical fitness of his people, with the main emphasis on the young. Sports training was made compulsory for students. If a student did not document a certain number of hours of such activities each semester, he could not pass it, even if he passed all the required exams. No specific achievements were demanded, only participation in training.

A few students at our institute took up this offer. However, I was interested in it. I contacted a relevant center, where I received information about the conditions of admission. Sports were divided into two groups. One had to choose at least one from each list. After some thought, I chose swimming, jiu-jitsu, and dance gymnastics. From then on, in addition to my existing classes at the institute and Berlitz School, I had training sessions that I attended regularly. 

At the swimming pool, I found myself in a group of twenty girls. We did exercises to prepare for crawl swimming and perfected the classic style. In time, we were already swimming crawl. I wasn’t very successful at it.

The group of beginners in jiu-jitsu also consisted of twenty exercisers - sixteen boys and four girls. I signed up for the sport under the influence of a publicity video in which a girl easily defended herself against an attacker. I didn’t quite realize that it was a sport involving fighting. The beginning of each training session was filled with gymnastic exercises, developing strength and agility. Each time we also practiced elastic falling on the mattress. Our trainer bounced on it like a ball. I think that after these exercises, I was left with the ability to “land softly” if I fell, which protected me from more serious injuries in the future. 

We practiced fighting in pairs - boys with boys and girls with girls. Two female participants, who had been friends for a long time, always practiced together; my opponent became a third German student. After a few weeks, however, she gave up training and chose another sport. One of the boys also withdrew, and the coach assigned his partner as my opponent. I fought an uneven battle with him several times and finally decided to say goodbye to jiu-jitsu. I was uncomfortable grappling with the boy, especially since the grappling gradually became more brutal. Besides, the spring weather tempted me to take walks and go out of town.

I don’t remember on what occasion I met Halina Konieczna, who led a troop of Polish girl scouts from Berlin’s northern working-class district. She invited me to gatherings on several occasions, usually in the less touristy forests on the city’s eastern outskirts. I gladly accepted the invitation, and my presence mobilized the girls. They did their best to make sure that their demonstrations around the campfire and the songs they sang together came off as well as possible. Sometimes I joined the program, telling them a legend or a passage from Polish history. This was certainly a deviation from my parents’ instructions, but it somehow satisfied my need for community service, which was instilled in me since childhood as a duty.

Since the arrival of Wanda Czapigo, my life on the “Berlin cobblestones” took on more vivid colors. We met every day, and after a while, together with two colleagues, we formed a foursome of friends. We were sometimes joined by other colleagues or friends to explore the city or have fun together. These friends were Fabian Pla, a Spaniard, and a Dane, whom we called Schornstein, which means “chimney”, because he was slim and very tall. His name had a sound similar to this German word. Fabian Pla was from Barcelona and considered himself not Spanish but Catalan.

When Polish artists appeared in Berlin, we advertised them in our circles and went to their performances in large numbers. Jan Kiepura sang in the Berlin opera house for a week. We admired him in two operas. My heart grew with pride as I watched the enthusiasm of the Berlin audience applauding him. During the intermission of Rigoletto, we walked out into the corridor and saw a lovely figure in an airy white dress running lightly down the stairs. Behind her, an elderly lady was slowly descending. We asked her if her companion was Marta Eggert. Ja, das ist Frau Kiepura (“Yes, this is Mrs. Kiepura”),“ she replied proudly. As it turned out, it was her mother.

The euphoria in the hall was also caused by the guest appearance of Hanka Ordonówna, to which we also persuaded quite a few colleagues. She had a kind of special charm, impossible to reproduce. We also went to all the films with Pola Negri. These films, produced in Germany, were trendy, and her song Mein Herz hat Heimweh nach deiner Liebe - (“My heart yearns for your love”) became a well-known hit. 

The four of us students sometimes visited modest entertainment venues in downtown Berlin. However, its elegant district then became the western part, around the subway station - “Am Zoo”. Along Kurfürstendamm and Tauentzienstrasse, a number of refined restaurants and entertainment venues, luxury stores were springing up. Unexpectedly, an opportunity came to taste the atmosphere of this exclusive district. 

Two of Wanda’s classmates from high school in Łódź, sons of wealthy German factory owners, came to Berlin for a few days. They invited Wanda and me to an evening dance at a place on Tauentzienstrasse. The impressive decor of the hall, the select orchestra, and the elite international company made a good impression on me. The boys were friendly and spoke Polish without a hint of a foreign accent. We passed the evening in a great mood. Even then, in my mind, I wondered about their attitude toward Poland and Poles. This question recurred during the war and occupation. However, by then, I was no longer in contact with Wanda and never got an answer.

In March, I graduated from Oberkursus and received a certificate stating that I could study at a German university with my knowledge of German. Meanwhile, I enrolled in a phonetics course. Wanda decided to take the Oberkursus once again. So not much changed in our Berlin life. For the lecture “The Political Situation of the Third Reich,” the speaker brought a map of Europe, on which the areas inhabited by the German population were marked in red. The authors of the map did not feel bad about the red paint. In Gdańsk Pomerania, which was restored to Poland by the Treaty of Versailles, only a few bright dots were visible against the ubiquitous red. When, as usual, the students asked questions after the lecture, I spoke on the matter. I said I was familiar with the region and knew it was inhabited mostly by Poles. Wanda backed me up. The professor countered that there was probably a change in the situation and that his map was based on earlier data. So we were powerless, and we knew that thousands of foreigners here would continue to learn how badly Germany had been wronged after the First World War. This was constant revisionist propaganda by the German authorities, both at home and abroad. 

On April 20, all of Germany celebrated Hitler’s birthday. Berlin was drowning in a sea of Nazi banners and decorations. The Führer’s meeting with young people at the Olympic stadium was announced, and entry cards were distributed at our institute. They were not popular with foreigners, but I wanted to see the stadium advertised during the Olympics, and I was also curious about the demonstration. 

A few months earlier, it had been made compulsory in Germany for young people under the age of 18 to belong to Nazi organizations: Hitlerjugend for boys and Bund Deutscher Mädel for girls. Obviously, the purpose of this ordinance was to raise young people in the spirit of the party and to reduce the influence of parents and the environment on their views. Theoretically, Polish youths were exempted from this obligation, but boys and girls who did not belong to these organizations had their paths closed - both to German high schools and to vocational training or even to work. Both unions were organized along military lines.

I went to the stadium quite early on the subway, known here as the U-Bahn (Untergrundbahn). All the train cars and stations were overcrowded. The stadium was divided into sectors with numbered seats. My admission card entitled me to a seat high up in the stands. However, when the crowds appeared, the orderlies lost control of the situation. So in the sectors designated for the public, more seats were assigned as the spectators flowed in, regardless of ticket number. As a result, I found myself in one of the first rows.

The amphitheater was filled mainly with young people - squads of girls and boys dressed in identical uniforms. The day was sunny and hot. At one point, the order was given to remove the brown jackets. It was fascinating when thousands of jackets fluttered simultaneously, revealing white shirts with brown ties. 

Hitler soon appeared. Also dressed in a brown party uniform, he stood upright in an open car, holding his right hand outstretched in a Nazi salute. The car went around the stadium all the way; it was only a few meters in front of me at one point. I was so close to the man who threatening millions of people, and whose aim was to destroy Poland! In his speech, passionate as usual, he mainly emphasized the honorable mission of the younger generation - to serve the future power of Germany. This display of power and the announcement of world domination made a depressing impression on me. Reflecting on this, I traveled a large part of the way back on foot to avoid the overcrowded public transportation.

When I returned to the guesthouse, I found there my brother’s colleague, a participant in the holiday celebrations in Marusza, Janusz Czerny. He had been waiting for me for a long time. He was annoyed because he had lost the better part of a day from which he had promised himself a lot, hoping that I would show him around the city. First, he had difficulty finding my whereabouts. He didn’t realize in time that there was a different rule for numbering houses in Berlin than in Poland. On one side, the numbers grew until the end of the street, and then the numbering continued in the opposite direction on the other side. In this way, he walked a long street to return to his starting point. In addition, the weather that day was downright hot, and he, not anticipating such high temperatures in April, was dressed quite warmly. When he finally, tiredly, reached his destination, he did not find me at home.

I explained to him that he should have notified me in advance of his visit. It turned out that he had stopped by on his way to Paris and hadn’t planned this break in his journey beforehand. He didn’t have much time left, so after boosting his strength with a hastily prepared meal, I just led him down Unter den Linden Street to the Brandenburg Gate and then to the train station.

After a short Easter vacation spent in Czernin, I returned to Berlin. I completed the phonetics course with a “very good” result and enrolled in the Fortbildungskursus. Wanda studied intensively in order to return to Poland with a good certificate. We continued to meet with classmates. Walks and excursions organized by our institution became a frequent occasion for this. In previous months, the program had included a once-a-week city tour together. Because of the not-so-good winter weather, we mainly visited museums and various monuments. Spring started early, making trips outside the city possible. Berlin’s surroundings are picturesque - due to both the forests and lakes surrounding it to the east, and the many sports and tourist centers west of the capital, whether located on the shores of Lake Wannsee or surrounded by the beautiful Grünewald forest.

During a trip to Grünewald, I met a Portuguese man who had arrived in Berlin a few days earlier and had started a medium German course when I was starting the highest. By this time, the four of us had broken up. Wanda no longer took the new course and soon returned to the country, as did Fabian Pla. Schornstein, on the other hand, transferred to a German university, although he remained in Berlin after receiving a certificate for passing the highest course. 

My new acquaintance, Mariano Feio, inspired confidence in me. He behaved towards me in a friendly manner, although without a shadow of confidentiality, and was always correct. I met him with colleagues with whom our group had previously been associated and with whom I maintained a collegial relationship. I missed Wanda very much. Nevertheless, the last two months of my stay in Berlin, rich in excursions and entertainment, passed very pleasantly. I owed this to the presence of a serious and friendly colleague.

Mariano Feio was four years older than me. He came from a wealthy family living in the city of Beja and owning an extensive landed estate. As a young child, he lost his mother, and shortly before we met, he also lost his father. His financial affairs were handled by an administrator who managed the estate and provided the necessary funds. 

Mariano arrived in Berlin after completing four years of technical studies in Lisbon. He agreed on decisions about his studies with his parents’ family, who supported his plan to study German abroad and possibly continue his studies in Germany. His stories clearly showed that life in Portugal followed traditional customs, often dating back to feudal times. Such extensive family relations reminded me of Polish customs, already gradually disappearing in our country. He was fluent in French, so we used that language when we spoke to each other.

At the time, nationalist sentiment prevailed in many European countries. The aftermath of the great world crisis was a difficult economic situation, with poverty and unemployment. The chance to solve these problems was seen in the introduction of more or less arbitrary powers. Portugal was one of Europe’s poor and backward countries, just like Poland. Mariano gave me a book in French, Une Revolution Dans La Paix [Revolution in Peace], whose author was Professor Antonio Salazar, at the time a little-known scholar. In the quiet of his office, he drew up a plan for the modernization and development of his country. His vision was captivating and awakened in me a desire for something similar to be carried out in Poland. Years later, it turned out that Salazar’s dictatorial rule had failed. In contrast, despite its complicated situation, Poland achieved significant growth during the years between the two wars. It was necessary to unify living conditions across the three partitioned territories, to rebuild the country after the massive war damage, and to face two economic crises (the first, regional, in 1924-1925, the second, global, in 1929-1933).

In June, with several colleagues from the institute, including Mariano, I took part in a group trip to Denmark. In addition to a tour of Copenhagen, the program included bus excursions outside the capital. The most interesting was a tour of medieval castles around the island of Zealand, along the Baltic coast. During this day-long tour, we were served two meals at the castles we visited: a colossal table richly set, mostly with cold appetizers, awaited us in the great hall. The historic interiors’ architecture added charm and flavor to these meals. Every day we returned to Copenhagen and spent our evenings at the Tivoli amusement park, equipped with downright fantastic facilities. I was carried along at an unheard-of pace on a crazy roller coaster, took a boat ride through mysterious caverns, and whirled around on a variety of carousels. All this aroused my awe.

This trip brought me very close to Mariano. We spent whole days together, having lots of experiences together. Eventually, I realized that we were in love. However, from the first moment, I rejected the idea that I could settle far away from Poland and live and work in a foreign country. I considered it a betrayal of the Motherland. Therefore, I decided from the beginning that only true friendship could connect us. I was determined to break off our acquaintance if, on Mariano’s part, I encountered the slightest sign of insistence. But he was gentle and reserved all the time. Only later did I learn from correspondence that he had a fiancée in Portugal to whom he wanted to remain faithful. The family had long fixed this marriage, and he feared that breaking the engagement would cause a scandal. This created a romantic feeling between us, to which we owed many beautiful moments spent together and many interesting discussions on various topics. I am glad that this was what happened.

At the end of June, I completed the Fortbildungskursus. In order to be certified as a German language teacher, I would have to pass at least two such courses. Now, however, I was in a hurry to get home. My siblings had already started their vacation. I also had no intention of returning to Berlin in the fall. My parents and I had agreed that I would start studying at the Szkoła Główna Handlowa (Warsaw School of Economics) in October. I was very much looking forward to college life in Poland.

The joy of returning to Czernin was shrouded in a haze of sadness at parting with Mariano. It was quickly obscured by the still black cloud of gloom that prevailed at home and throughout our community. The Nazi government was introducing more and more laws, regulations, and ordinances aimed at disciplining the German people. Totalitarian legislation ignored the existence of national minorities, making no provision for them and expecting to condemn them to extermination. 

In theory, the agreements concluded with Poland were supposed to provide Poles with certain rights, but they were gradually reduced. To eradicate Polishness in East Prussia, the authorities sought, first, to disrupt the education of young people, hence the ruthless attack on Polish schools; second, to bring the Polish population to its knees through economic pressure. Among other things, regulations on buying and selling land were tightened. The state already had a right of first refusal on such transactions. However, the new regulations went even further, allowing in border areas, and Warmia, Powiśle, and Mazury were considered such, even expropriation without compensation. My father had been reckoning with such an eventuality for some time and told us to excel in our studies because there was no telling what else would follow. These fears contributed to my choice of studies since a Warsaw School of Economics degree could be obtained after intensive work for only three years.

Despite all these restrictions and limitations, Polish life in the Malbork region did not die out. Polish schools functioned, although some parents, forced by various pressures, moved their children to German schools, and the fight was on for every student, every pupil. Sporting exercises and other youth gatherings were held, though attendance declined. While Polish services were curtailed in many churches, services in Sztum, Postolin, and several other towns were held as before. Despite constant attacks on the Polish press, the Gazeta Olsztyńska continued to reach us, although it softened the tone of its description of our reality to survive.

As soon as I returned home, my siblings triumphantly told me about the trick my brother had managed to play on the Nazis. The authorities promoted Germanic legends and customs. Celebrations associated with them were supposed to cement the national feelings of Germans and contribute to the integration of minorities. The Sonnenwendfeier, corresponding to our Midsummer Night in 1938, was planned in Czernin, certainly intentionally, on the square around the German school. 

Towards the evening, the official part began. Government representatives gave a series of nationalist speeches, emphasizing, as usual, the Teutonic origins of these lands and their loyalty to the German homeland. Nazi marches were sung. Then a bonfire was lit, and the party began. Participants were treated to beer, and the mood improved. Taking advantage of the falling dusk, my brother, one of my sisters, and two or three more Poles, whom Olo had specially arranged, mingled with the crowd. After the marchers, it was the turn of the German chants. At one point, taking advantage of a momentary pause, our group intoned: “Where the brook flows slowly…”, a Polish scouting tune. Many people joined in to sing along, and then loud conversations in Polish could be heard. The stiff formality vanished…

Life follows its own laws. In the midst of all this upheaval, we made plans, as usual, for the beginning of the vacation. We decided to repeat, if possible, last year’s successful stay in Czernin - classes with the Youth Society, three weeks in Marusza and two or three weeks in Sopot, with excursions to the Polish coast.

We invited Olo’s colleagues and some of our female colleagues to Marusza again. Janusz Czerny did not come because he was on a scholarship in Paris. Hala Perczyńska did not show up either. After passing her first year at the Central Institute of Physical Education (CIWF) in Warsaw, she spent the summer at a sports camp. Irka Kostrzeńska did not disappoint, and Mirek Karyłowski brought two of his colleagues from Warsaw. As usual, Axel dropped in intermittently for a few days, always cheerful and merry.

We were also visited “on leave” by a cousin, Tomek Jodko-Narkiewicz, who was doing his military service at the Grudziądz Cavalry Training Center. At one time, Uncle August Donimirski, whom I have already mentioned, contributed to its establishment. 

Many young people volunteered for the army immediately after high school graduation, although military service was not yet mandatory. As a result, they exercised their right to choose arms. The landed gentry often chose to serve in the cavalry, where they were welcome, as they generally knew how to handle a horse. After completing a year’s training, they began their studies. I was scheduled to meet Tomek in October at SGH.

Although the days spent both in Marusza and at the seaside were happy, they were not as carefree as the previous year. Today I don’t know if the reason was the less sunny weather, or if I thought too much about my Portuguese, or if I was plagued by subconscious anxiety related to the political situation.

September brought new restrictions. The Nazi authorities attacked the Catholic Church, not wanting to share its influence on society. A ban was issued on Catholic organizations in East Prussia, which hit Polish organizations that had the word “Catholic” in their names. The Polish Catholic School Society and the St. Kinga Catholic Women’s Society were in our area. The ban caused a lot of unrest and confusion. 

Soon, however, the local authorities notified the office of the Union of Poles in Sztum that it did not apply to the Polish minority of Sztum County. Everyone was surprised by these contradictory decisions. Meanwhile, it turned out that the work of the Polish-German Commission on the rights of the Polish minority in Germany and the German minority in Poland was going on at the time without publicity. Once again, Hitler put on the mask of a friendly neighbor. On November 5, 1937, the text of a Polish-German declaration regulating the treatment of the two minorities in both countries was announced - simultaneously in Warsaw and Berlin. The declaration forbade forced assimilation, ensured the right to use their mother tongue freely, run schools with instruction in that language, and associate. It forbade any hindrance to their professional or economic activities. However, it stressed the duty of absolute loyalty of minority members to the state in which they were citizens.

On the day the declaration was promulgated, Hitler also received a delegation from the Union of Poles in Germany and reviewed the contents of a memorandum submitted to him on acts of discrimination and violence against Poles living in the Reich. As it later turned out, he simultaneously began concrete preparations for war with Poland. However, the declaration relaxed restrictions and some positive decisions by the German authorities, including permission to open a Polish gymnasium in Kwidzyn. The gymnasium’s management had been applying for permission for several months without success, despite the construction and all preparations being completed. However, the main reason for the change in the German side’s position was the retaliatory action taken in Poland, where the authorities closed two German schools. I had learned about these events from the Warsaw press, as I was in the Polish capital at the time.

On October 1, 1937, I began my first year of study at the Warsaw School of Economics (WSE, abbreviated as SGH in Polish). Candidates were not required to pass entrance exams. A high school diploma was sufficient. Students were admitted to many university faculties under such rules. Competitive examinations, however, were mandatory at the Polytechnic due to the limited number of laboratory places. SGH charged much higher tuition fees than private universities and other state-funded Warsaw universities. We paid 300 zlotys per semester; studying at a university cost much less. Our school had an excellent reputation, so there was no shortage of candidates. 

In the fall of 1937, about a thousand students enrolled for the first semester, and they overwhelmed the college, crowding from morning to evening both the main building on Rakowiecka Street and the library behind it. All lectures were held in the auditorium, which - after the lecturer entered - the janitor would lock so that latecomers would not disturb the professor and the audience.

Uncle Janek Sikorski and his wife provided me with an apartment, “board and lodging” for my studies. Over the past few years, my uncle’s situation underwent big changes. In 1933, he married Zofia Zaleska, known in the family as “Zita.” After almost two years, their son Robert, who was less than three years old when I began my studies, was born. Trying his hand at business, my uncle got progressively better results and became a serious businessman. He joined the boards of several joint stock companies, which put him in a good financial position. 

Up until this fall when I started college, my uncle’s family had occupied an elegant, though not very spacious, apartment on the top floor of a modern building on the corner of Bagatela Street and Unia Lubelska Square. The windows of this apartment opened a beautiful view of Mokotów (a genteel southern district of Warsaw). However, when I started my studies, they decided to move to another apartment better suited to their needs. They decided on half of a large semi-detached villa at 71 Różana Street in Mokotów. The move was to take place in mid-October, so I had to find myself some accommodation for two weeks. 

My cousin Krysia Swinarska helped me (her mother, Maria née Łyskowska, was the sister of my Aunt Janka Łukowicz, who had saved us in Toruń from “death by starvation” when we were returning from the Youth Rally). Older than me by two years, she was a third-year philosophy student at Warsaw University and lived in a dormitory on Dobra Street run by nuns. She occupied a separate room, so the nuns agreed to let me stay with her, for the regular fee. So I could taste student life in the dormitory right from the start.

When my uncle had set up in their new apartment, I immediately moved in with them. Their apartment included three rooms, a hallway on the high first floor, and three rooms and a bathroom on the first floor. The larger rooms on the first floor housed the dining and living rooms. The third, smaller one, became my residence. As for the rooms upstairs - one belonged to my uncle, the second belonged to his wife, and Bobuś occupied the third with his tutor. The kitchen and service room, as well as the laundry room, were located in the basement.

I had excellent conditions here. Różana Street crossed with  Aleje Niepodległości, which I used to reach my university in fifteen minutes. The intersection of these two streets was then the end of the alley’s asphalt surface. A bumpy road led further on, and fields sown with rye could be seen. There were nice villas in gardens along Szustra Street (now Dąbrowskiego Street), parallel to Różana Street from the south. Our house, too, was surrounded by a small garden, a place for little Bobuś to play on the sunny days of the warm season. 

My uncle’s manservant prepared meals for them and me, although it was rather rare for us to sit at the table together. Each of us led a different lifestyle. My day depended on my schedule at the university. After his morning coffee, my uncle usually spent a few hours at home, running errands by phone. Around noon, he would eat breakfast and head out on the town to one of the offices or appointments. Zitka was working on a translation of a French psychological novel, full of philosophical musings. At noon, she would often go to meetings with ladies she befriended or go out with her sister for a “half black”, similar to an espresso, usually at the then fashionable “Swan” cafe on Nowy Świat. When I sometimes also attended such a meeting, I would order tomato juice, advertised as a novelty and specialty of the establishment. 

Both my uncle and aunt were young. He was under forty, and she was only seven years older than me. So they suggested that we call each other by our first names. My uncle opened an account for me with my parents’ funds at the Communal Savings Bank, from which I could withdraw money for my needs.

With trepidation, I crossed the thresholds of my university for the first time. Despite the large number of new students, the administration worked smoothly, and the formalities did not take long. I looked around intensely in the crowd in search of familiar faces. Quite quickly, I met Hela Hassówna, a colleague from Rabka. She was a year younger than me and had just passed her high school diploma that year. We were both happy to meet and decided to stick together, and since she had previously found another friend of hers, Krysia Centkowska, we formed an inseparable threesome. Soon Krysia’s friend Nadia Markov joined us. 

Krysia and Hela, very conscientious and hardworking, came early to the university daily and spent many hours there. They were among the first to appear in the auditorium before lectures and took good seats for all four of us. I valued this greatly, because from farther away, one could hear the professor’s words less well, and it was also more difficult to read the notes from the blackboard. At first, I attended all the lectures, but soon, on the advice of my older colleagues, I decided to give up the few that were neither interesting nor useful for the exams.

On the other hand, I tried not to miss a single hour of those I chose. I took notes, which made it easier for me to prepare for quizzes and exams. My colleagues also used my notes, and it happened later that, before the exams, a queue formed for them. Among us, the “fuks”, as first-year students were called in the early months of their studies, one often saw second and third-year students. This was because, at SGH, students were allowed to continue their studies if they passed a certain minimum of the mandatory colloquia by the end of the semester. However, in order to take the final exams for a given academic year, one had to make up all the backlog from that period. There were students who, having already completed the entire program of study, turned up for the colloquia and exams they missed. Experienced colleagues were eager to give practical advice to beginners: from which subject to choose a seminar, from which teacher one could learn the most, and which one was less demanding and graded softer. They also advised what to pay attention to in the lectures of individual professors in order to meet their requirements during exams. We listened to this advice attentively and tried to follow it. 

In addition to lectures, there were: a seminar (in one elective subject) in which one had to write a longer paper, lectures in two languages (including at least one at a higher level), and exercises in accounting. These classes were held in groups of 20 people formed by surname in alphabetical order, so I got to know most of my classmates whose surnames began with the letters A through D, especially since we took exams in the same groups. Nothing brings one closer than repeating material together and teaching each other at the door, behind which the fate of further studies was decided. 

Thus began my student life in Warsaw. I would get up in the morning, depending on the time of my first lecture, and after breakfast, I would run to Rakowiecka Street. I would quickly run into the locker room, and soon I was already in the lecture hall. At the sight of me, the hands of my female colleagues would rise above their heads, letting me know where they had taken their seats for us. During the “windows” between lectures, we often sat on the wide stairs connecting the floors, indulging in reading or chatting. This was where it was easiest to meet friends.

Here, too, older colleagues recruited “newcomers” to various organizations. Some young people, preoccupied with their studies, studied diligently, not getting involved in anything. For others, social life played an important role. There was an opinion that many pretty, elegant girls were studying at our university. Malicious people claimed that some of them enrolled at SGH in order to catch a well-to-do husband. However, students with little interest in learning dropped out after the first semester.

A large part of the youth, generally very patriotic, became politically active, easily succumbing to nationalist and anti-Semitic slogans. Obóz Narodowo-Radykalny (ONR) was an extreme grouping headed by Bolesław Piasecki. Its followers were called “bepists” - from the leader’s initials. ONR did not have many members, but they inspired and set the tone for various student demonstrations. Most of the academic youth accepted their anthem to the tune of Warszawianka, and it was sung on various occasions:

Golden sunshine all around,
White Eagle soars, Proudly raise our foreheads, looking at the Polish sign and the Cross.
We bring Poland rebirth,
We trample down meanness, falsehood, and filth,
In us, the strong breath of spring, in us, is the future, with us, the people!
Forward we go in the direction of the flood, let foreign violence tremble,
The day of victory is already coming; the great Polish power is us!

Many supporters belonged to a youth organization of National Democracy - All-Polish Youth, whose members wore a badge in their lapel called the “Sword of the Brave”. I also remembered the NZMS, or Independent Union of Socialist Youth, which was unpopular at our university. Its members were sometimes subject to attacks by ONR-ists.

Older colleagues from the All-Polish Youth selected me as a candidate for their grouping. Sitting on the steps of the school we sometimes had long discussions. They convinced me that every Pole’s duty was to work socially for the country’s good, defend its interests and make myself and others aware of the dangers threatening it. I explained that I was fulfilling this duty by living in Germany, as I belonged to Polish organizations there.

I debated against anti-Semitic slogans, seeing in them an imitation of Hitler’s ideology. In Germany, we condemned the persecution of Jews, which was intensifying month by month at the time. My interlocutors asserted that they were against violence but there was a need for self-defense in Poland. They cited statistics proving that Jews in Poland were capturing the most lucrative professions, making up several tens of percent each of wealthy merchants, lawyers, and doctors, and that they were driving Poles out of these professions because, having money and positions, they could introduce their own everywhere. 

In addition, they believed that it was mostly Jews who were promoting communist ideas that were dangerous to the country and gaining supporters for them. They cited the oppression and misery prevailing in the Soviet Union and the economic improvements in Germany and Italy. In Poland, as in many European countries, there was a yearning for a strong government that would unite the efforts of a divided society, put the country’s affairs in order, and create better conditions for development.

I did not allow myself to be recruited by the All-Polish Youth, but I wanted to belong to some kind of community. So I joined Juventus Christiana, an academic Catholic organization, and the Circle of Pomeranians. Both associations were non-political. In addition, I volunteered to work for Braniej Pomocy (Fraternal Aid), which took care of students and their livelihoods. On certain days and times, I issued vouchers for cheap lunches of 50 groszy (pennies) each, available to everyone who wanted them.

Events soon took place in our school that stirred up a lot of emotions in me. At that time, there was a numerus clausus admissions quota for Jews in Polish universities. If I’m not mistaken, they could not make up more than 8% of the total number of students. They were assigned seats on the left side of the lecture halls. Jewish students boycotted these seats and stood during lectures, leaning their briefs against the wall, where they took notes. For me, it was an unpleasant sight.

One day before a lecture hall lecture, I noticed a female student sitting alone on a bench, whom two third-year students approached. I heard the words of one of them: “You must be mistaken, my friend? You don’t belong here.” The girl didn’t answer anything, just grabbed a bench. The boys took her in their arms and moved her to the bench on the left. This incident drew the attention of those sitting nearby. Suddenly a slim, pale boy stood up, walked between the benches to the girl, shook her hand, and sat down by her side. 

The lecturer walked in, there was calm in the room, and the two remained in their seats until the end of the lecture. I then learned that this brave student was the son of economics Professor Edward Lipiński, Jan. The professor stood up for both Jews and NZMS members. His son became the target of attacks by ONR members. He left the SGH and went to study in England. 

However, it did not end there. Sometime later, during Professor Lipiński’s lecture, a tear gas firecracker was thrown in front of the lectern, which instantly filled the entire auditorium. The audience rushed to all the front doors, which were locked. So they started banging on them, but it took some time before the janitor realized what was happening and opened them individually. The gas quickly filled the hall and stairwell. Our eyes burned, and tears ran in streams. Some friends had their faces smeared with mascara that ran down their cheeks. Despite the cold November day, we ran for the exit. We ran into the locker room to get our coats and ran home. For three days, the university was closed. And when we returned to class after the break, the slight smell of gas still irritated our eyes. Before starting the following lecture, Professor Lipiński gave a beautiful speech in which he called for tolerance and humanity. It made a great impression on me.

I don’t know how the university authorities reacted to these stunts, whether they drew any consequences against the perpetrators, or whether they were detected at all. In any case, calm prevailed afterward, and we could go about our studies unhindered.

However, there was no shortage of social entertainment. These included the obligatory “fuchsia,” a party in honor of the newly admitted to the university. I invited my colleagues who frequented Marusza. All four of them showed up and took turns dancing with me. And to make it fair, they set a line. So I danced non-stop, which suited me very well, but eventually, it became a little boring.

Gradually, I got to know more young people. I became friends with my cousins: Tomek Jodko-Narkiewicz, from my year at SGH, and Zbyszek Kuczyński, who started studying at SGGW (Warsaw University of Life Sciences). Both had passed their matriculation exam the year before, after which they graduated from the Cavalry Training Center in Grudziądz.

Our universities, SGH and SGGW, located close to each other on Rakowiecka Street, had much in common, and we visited each other. SGGW students often came to our cafeteria, where we could buy cheap tasty sandwiches and pastries. This was because there was an agreement between SGGW and the well-known confectionery shop on Bagatela Street, which, like others, offered only fresh baked goods to its customers. Those left over from the previous day were delivered early in the morning to our buffet, and here they were sold for 15 groszy (pennies) each, while similar pastries in grocery stores usually cost 20 groszy. At our place, they never lingered long.

Both cousins belonged to the “Sarmatia” fraternity, often called corporations. Corporations, whose members were only boys, followed the medieval tradition of student organizations. They aimed to help each other and represented certain political views, but the most important thing there was close camaraderie and social ties. Former classmates sometimes kept in touch until late in life. Corporations were snobbish in nature. They were proud of their seniors, called “philistres” when they reached high positions or gained general recognition through their merits. The most famous corporation was “Jagiellonia”, whose annual ball was the social event of Warsaw. Also, “Sarmatia” held its ball during the pre-Lenten Carnival, which was popular.

I took advantage of the capital’s many cultural offerings when I arranged my new life. Nadia Markov also turned out to be interested in them. Krysia and Hela put all their energy into studying and did not find time for other things. So with Nadia, we visited museums and exhibitions in our free time from classes and went to the theater or concerts. I liked her and shared common interests with her. As we got to know each other better, I learned that she was Ukrainian.

On Sundays, I used to go to Mass at St. Anne’s Academic Church at 9 o’clock because Juventus Christiana came to Mass. After Mass, we would meet at the rector’s house, who would receive us with tea, sandwiches, and cookies. It was usually swarming and bustling. From time to time, the former president of the Republic of Poland, Stanisław Wojciechowski, then a professor at SGGW, would come to these breakfasts and discuss various topics with us. In addition to Sunday meetings, we had meetings every other Tuesday at 7 p.m. Their topic was some passage of Scripture. After the text was read, we commented on it, and at the end, the rector took the floor, summarizing the discussion and correcting any errors in the statements. The gathering ended with a social conversation over tea and cookies.

As part of Juventus Christiana, I also participated in the “Help your Neighbor” campaign. From time to time, we organized a clothing collection for the poor. On the feast of May 3, we collected money on the streets of Warsaw for the Polish Educational Society. In 1938, I was collecting donations together with Jerzy Giżycki, a student at the Polytechnic. On this occasion, we made social commentary, sharing our observations with humor. We found that the most generous donations came from fathers taking Christmas walks with their families. Ladies walking with their dogs generally bypassed us. However, most passersby were happy to throw some coins into the can.

On Sundays at noon, I sometimes went to the cinema. Most cinemas held “matinees”, during which good films were often screened, and tickets were cheaper than for afternoon screenings. I was very much affected by the content of the films I watched and sometimes shed tears over the fate of the characters. Once, I left the cinema after a tragic ending and boarded a tram weeping. Sitting opposite, a little girl asked: “Mommy, why is that lady crying?”. “She probably has something big to worry about,” the mother replied. Of course, I had to smile at the little one.

Despite such numerous and varied experiences, I remembered Mariano, with whom I maintained a lively correspondence. He wrote that he too still could not forget me. He continued his studies in Lisbon, this time in archaeology, which had become his hobby. Mariano’s letters often contained interesting information in this field.

Nor did I forget my friends from Rabka. On All Saints’ Day, there were a few days off, so I went to Starachowice to visit Irka Rawicz. Earlier in September, I spent a pleasant week with Hala Perczyńska in Piotrków Trybunalski. Although we both studied in Warsaw, we met rarely. We were busy, and almost the entire city separated us, as her college, the CIWF, like its successor AWF, had its headquarters in Bielany.

Time passed quickly, and the Christmas holidays arrived before I knew it. Upon arriving home, I found my parents saddened by the recent death of my Uncle Boleś from Cygusy. It had fallen on them unexpectedly. When my father had telephoned Cygusy a dozen days earlier, Mrs. Klin had informed him that my uncle was in a clinic in Königsberg, where he would undergo specialized surgery to remove dead teeth whose roots had become infected. There was no indication that the situation was so dire. Unfortunately, there was a general infection that caused a quick death. Father, in particular, was deeply impacted.

The entire family resented Mr. Roman Janta-Polczyński, who, informed by his tenant of his uncle’s serious condition, brought in a notary to draw up a will without consulting the family. My parents were convinced that my uncle had done this long ago. He made no secret that he intended to make his nephew, Tadeusz Oświecimski, the heir. Admittedly, his Polish citizenship might have been a problem, but it was hoped that because of the improvement in Polish-German relations at the time, taking over the estate through an inheritance would be possible. 

Meanwhile, Mr. Roman drew up a will in favor of his uncle Józef, ensuring that the property would be transferred to Oświecimski after his death. In doing so, he got the names wrong and made Kazimierz the heir instead of Tadeusz. This was the name of Tadeusz’s father, who had already died. The fact that uncle Józef had never been involved in farming was a cause for concern. Not only had he not previously worked in a field, but also, to make matters worse, he had no idea about financial matters. Everyone predicted he would lose such a well-managed estate within a few years, thus passing it into German hands.

In his memoirs, Mr. Roman articulates an assumption that our father and Uncle Kazio hoped to take over the inheritance from Uncle Boleś. This was absurd reasoning since, from a legal point of view, such an eventuality was not an option at all. The Cygusy line had been long separated. Kinship was distant despite the common surname.

As it later turned out, these disputes were meaningless. After the outbreak of war, the German authorities seized all Polish property, and uncle Józio was sent to the Stutthof (now Sztutowo) concentration camp. He died in Dachau Concentration Camp in 1941.

The holidays passed rather peacefully. The German authorities clearly avoided any conflict, although no one deluded themselves as to their intentions. Instead of brutal violence, effective economic pressure was applied. The biggest Polish success was the opening of a middle school in Kwidzyn. Students came from all regions of Germany. Some, in anticipation of the opening of the new school, had been studying for some time at the only Polish secondary school in Bytom in the German area. The program of the new middle school followed that of German high schools, with the necessary changes for a Polish school. Dr. Władysław Gębik became the principal. He introduced a modern and attractive educational system, consistently implemented by the entire educational team.

So we spent the Christmas period in peace and according to established traditions. Only during the Christmas party in Czernin, did conversations kept returning to the national and international situation, to predictions for the near and distant future. A carefree interlude was the New Year’s Eve ball in Inowrocław, to which the three of us went again and had a great time. Our soirees in Sztum were also cheerful.

In early January, I returned to Warsaw. The end of the year was approaching, and we had to get serious about our studies. The Carnival was also gradually unfolding, which I had no intention of giving up. I somehow managed to reconcile the two. In the first days of February, I took my first colloquia. I passed all of them on the first attempt, except for technology or commodity science. 

Professor Miklaszewski’s lectures did not include the material his assistants examined us on. Also, the official summaries that could be purchased at the university did not fully cover it. The assistants assumed that we should learn from various books, of which there were many. As a result, the real preparation was to discuss the subject together before tests, and taking them several times became the norm. No one passed the first time. Thus, getting a positive result the second time, I considered it a success. 

Gradually we got to know our professors and their habits. The most popular was Professor Loth, who taught economic geography. Affable and friendly, he cooperated with the young people in organizing excursions. To us, freshmen, he was not yet so familiar, but in the second year, we greeted him with applause. 

An interesting character was the law professor, Jarra, about whom there were many anecdotes. He was a known misogynist at the university. He treated women harshly. They had to be well prepared for the exam to get a good grade. I remember his remarks to female students who showed little interest in his lecture: “Maybe the colleague in the pink sweater in the fifth row will stop pushing on her colleague and let him take notes”, or “I’m waiting for the colleague in the colored blouse by the middle aisle to stop talking”, and others of a similar style. There was a belief that for an exam by Professor Jarra, a female student must come smoothly combed, dressed in a modest navy blue dress with a white collar. To be fair, he was also demanding towards boys. 

It must be admitted that his lectures were perfectly designed. First, he discussed the topic in detail, logically and clearly, and at the end, he dictated his basic theses in points. He asked about these formulations during the exam. It was necessary to know them almost by heart. This was not too difficult for those who attended the lectures and listened attentively, but it required a lot of effort from the others. Professor Jarra taught civil law in the first year. In the second year, we learned about commercial law under Professor Jackowski.

We all referred with affection to our good-natured “grandfather,” Professor Chorzewski, who taught economics. On the advice of my older colleagues, I chose a seminar on this subject and wrote my first paper on the role of money. While working on it, I studied many works of famous economists and tried to keep it in a serious and scientific style. I ended with a quote (I can’t remember the author’s name today):  Three things drive people crazy: love, theology, and money. Both the seminar and the colloquia were conducted by assistants who were quite demanding.

My classmates did not have an easy time learning accounting. The first semester was commercial accounting, and the second semester was industrial accounting. In the second year, bank accounting awaited us. Fortunately, this subject did not cause me difficulties, but I would have been outraged if someone had told me then that it would become my profession. I had more ambitious plans.

Meanwhile, the Polish press brought more and more news from behind the cordon, this time optimistic, testifying to the vitality of Polish organizations in Germany. On the occasion of the fifteenth anniversary of the Union of Poles, they decided to manifest their strength. On February 15, the sejmik Ziemi Malborskiej (Malbork Regional Assembly) met in Sztum, following an earlier one in Olsztyn. Some 900 people attended the Sztum sejmik. Similar meetings were also held in other districts of the Polish Union, with the main task of preparing the Congress of Poles in Germany. It was held on March 6, 1938, in Berlin and became a powerful demonstration of the unity and strength of the Polish population in the Reich. It was attended by nearly 6,000 people. Delegates from all districts of the Polish Union came. My parents were in the representation of the Malbork Land.

The congress was the biggest success in the fifteen years of activity of the Union of Poles in Germany. Its main initiator, the president of the union for all of Germany, the patron priest Boleslaw Domański (the title of “patron” was due to him as president of the Supervisory Board of the Union of Polish Cooperatives in Germany). It is difficult to list all of his functions. He remained in popular memory as an incredibly active and self-sacrificing activist.

The congress’s main organizer was the association’s head, Dr. Jan Kaczmarek, who worked closely with father Domański. On his initiative, the emblem of the Union of Poles in Germany, artistically designed by Janina Kłopocka, was proclaimed at the congress as the “Rodło” sign. It depicts on a red background a white, stylized sign of the Vistula River with an indication of Cracow as the historical capital of Poland. The five Truths of Poles were announced and approved:

1. We are Poles
2. The faith of our fathers is the faith of our children
3. A Pole to a Pole is a brother
4. Every day, a Pole serves the Nation
5. Poland is our Mother, one must not speak ill of the Mother!

The anthem of the association was proclaimed the Hymn of Rodło, as already mentioned, written by Franciszek Jujka, the head of a school in Stary Targ, located near Czernin. The music was composed by Dr. Kaczmarek’s wife. And here is the text of the hymn:

For centuries we have laid everything in sacrifice,
For centuries we have fought every day again and again,
For a crumb of the law, the Polish “In God I believe”,
For the Polish soul, every Polish word. We are Poles, and no power can change this,
God with us,
The Cause with us, God has set our hearts aflame with faith!
We have the King’s Rodło, we are Poles!

Earlier we had our Slogan, which we sang at the end of meetings and events:

And without ceasing to fight, the strength of right we have,
And by the power of this right, we will persevere and win!

Press reports from the congress filled me with pride and joy.

Just a week later, the Polish public was shocked by the news that Austria had been incorporated into the German state. Hitler, at the head of the German army, entered Vienna, greeted enthusiastically by his Austrian supporters. As his power consolidated, he was increasingly ignored by international opinion. Therefore, all the more reason was to expect him to reckon with Poland. 

Amid these changing moods, life went on in its own mode. Ash Wednesday marked the end of the season of balls and parties. From time to time, Zitka and Jaś took me with them to visit close friends. I began to attend parties regularly at Mrs. Zofia Szymanowska’s house. She had two daughters, Zosia and Romcia. Both the first one, not much older than me, and the second one, a little younger, had calm and serene dispositions, unlike their mother, who was bubbling with energy. I took a liking to them and enjoyed visiting them, especially since many young people gathered at their house.

Mrs. Zofia was a charming lady of the house. She was able to introduce her guests in an exciting way. Introducing me to the living room, she would announce: “Miss Donimirska from East Prussia!”, which evoked general friendly curiosity about my person. First, Wańkowicz’s book Na Tropach Smętku [On the Trail of Sorrow], and more recently, newspaper articles on the persecution of Poles in Germany, made my family’s name well-known and popular in Poland.

Sometimes the Jaś’s family took me to a cocktail bar in the “Bristol” hotel in the evening. In addition to a large, exquisite restaurant, the “Bristol” ran this not very spacious, intimate establishment. The cream of Warsaw’s society met here. It was visited by the landed gentry when they came to do their business in the capital and representatives of Poland abroad on the occasion of visits to the country. So it was possible to meet various interesting and well-known figures here. Guests usually ordered a relatively cheap but generally well-liked three-course dinner for 5 zlotys, accompanied by various cocktails, which were the specialty of the establishment and its main source of income. Those who wanted could also dance to the music of a good chamber orchestra.

Janek and Zitka usually met there with friends and relatives from outside Warsaw when they dropped in for a short time in the capital. This is how I got to know my distant cousins, whom I had not had the opportunity to meet before. One of them was Adam Janta-Połczyński from Wysoka near Tuchola in Pomerania. He liked to spend the evening at the “Bristol” and appeared there from time to time. He was eager to dance, so it was a pleasure to go to these meetings. The second cousin from the same family was Aleksander Janta-Połczyński, a well-known reporter and writer, whom the family nicknamed Olo, like my brother. I remember a longer conversation with him. I said I envied him for traveling worldwide and visiting many countries. He replied that over time it becomes uninteresting. After all, whether it was Europe, Asia, or America, he spent his evenings in a similar bar, meeting strangers and indifferent, mostly uninteresting people….

Another of our distant relatives I met in the cocktail bar was Bohdan Kwieciński, chargé militaire at the Polish embassy in Britain, much older than me. He promised that when I graduate from SGH, he would try to hire me in London.

At the Bristol, I also met engineer Stefan Ossowiecki, a well-known psychic. He was friends with my Uncle Janek. He was friendly. We discussed various interesting topics in our conversations. Three years later, already during the German occupation, when, after the theft of my mother’s jewelry, which I had recklessly carried in my travel bag, he did not help me, I did not resent him. At the time, he was focused on reconstructing the fate of the missing, which many people had asked him to do. This required a great deal of effort from him. In some cases, he managed to provide explanations. Material losses were insignificant in the face of this.

As usual, we met with the whole family in Czernin during the Easter holidays. Olgierd was preparing for the final exams at his university. Renia and Ewa continued their education at Sacré-Coeur, at the Sisters of the Heart in Pobiedziska near Poznań. Lili continued her studies at the Ursuline Sisters’ school in Kościerzyna.

In the spring of that year, the parents gave Staś to the Polish middle school in Kwidzyn. However, after a month, they decided that he was experiencing too much of a separation, so they decided to keep him at home for the time being, especially since the head of the Polish school in Postolin, Florian Wichłacz, undertook to further his education.

The holidays passed quickly, and I returned to student life in Warsaw. In May, I took part in a pilgrimage of Warsaw’s academic youth to Jasna Góra. We traveled by a special train reserved for us by PKP. There was an atmosphere of kindness and friendship. On the spot, we attended services and meetings with students from other Polish cities. Despite the seriousness and focus, the mood was cheerful, and there were plenty of cheerful events.

Upon my return, I got down to work with vigor as the end of my first year of study was approaching, and with it, semester colloquia, followed by exams. After two semesters, there were exams in four subjects. As usual, only a part of the students of my year took them, as more than half had “corrections” from the colloquia. On the other hand, many students from previous years took them along with us. Of course, I was too ambitious not to be among the top. I passed the “maximum” colloquia and passed the exams, receiving the corresponding entries in the index.

Summer vacation came. As soon as I returned home, we all went to Marusza. Uncle Gucio, who had just acquired a new estate called Nowe and set up in the manor, invited the entire Donimirski family for a reunion. Such reunions were held every few years, alternating between different family members. This was because the Donimirski Family Union existed to maintain mutual contacts, agree on decisions related to the family, maintain a shared archive, etc. The union also extended care to members in distress. They were entrusted to the efforts of those who could undertake these duties. A president, secretary, and archivist were elected at the convention, and other tasks were distributed as needed.

Official deliberations played an essential role during these conventions. However, even more time was taken up by meals and social gatherings, which were the main attraction for the young people, and I think not only for them. This time, since Nowe is not too far from Marusza, and the guests came in large numbers, we invited some of them to stay overnight and spent quite a bit of time at our place as well. Uncle Gucio was beaming with happiness that he could finally host his family on his doorstep. How short-lived this happiness was!

In Poland, there was increasing talk of the likelihood of war. The Polish community in Prussia was waiting for it outright. The situation was becoming unbearable, so everyone wanted fundamental changes, and only war could bring them. While older people realized the horrors of war, such fears did not reach the youth. However, even the greatest pessimists never imagined it would be so cruel.

Meanwhile, the persecution of Poles became more severe, and the life of Polish organizations became more difficult. Despite these harsh conditions, the schools were active. Mr. Wojciechowski and Mr. Potarzyński continued to perform their duties in Sztum, and Marian Cybiński conducted sports activities. We gathered as before, although in an increasingly tight-knit group. The ladies of the Landed Gentry Society continued their activities and held regular meetings of the St. Kinga Society on scheduled dates. The Polish gymnasium in Kwidzyn was expanding, being the pride of our region.

Our parents were concerned about us and tried to ensure we stayed in Poland. Together with my sister Lili, I spent some time in Kożuszki. We did not feel well there. In order to shore up their finances, the uncle had been receiving summer visitors from Warsaw for the summer months for several years. Several families regularly used this hospitality. They became friendly. My four elegant, gallant cousins entertained the guests while entertaining themselves. They played tennis with some, volleyball with others, and led the elderly to the forest for walks. In the evenings, they played bridge and danced. We felt alienated and intimidated in such a close-knit company but tried to make up for it with our faces. We did not suppose at the time that in a dozen months or so, our uncle’s house would be replacing our lost family home….

What I remember best from that vacation was a trip to East Prussia, organized jointly with the Polish consul from Kwidzyn, Mr. Edward Czyżewski, and the director of the Kwidzyn middle school, Dr. Władysław Gębik. We set off in three cars. Director Gębik was accompanied by the gymnasium doctor, Dr. Gabriel; the consul took with him a long-time employee of the consulate, Józef Nowaczyk, and the husband of our cousin Celinka, Ludwik Echaust. My mother and several siblings took our car, including Olo as the driver.

The trip’s destination was Mazury, despite its neighborly location, hitherto unknown to us. The beauty of this land directly captivated me. The charming lakes, surrounded by beautiful pine forests, attracted me with their silence and tranquility. It seemed that nature was developing here according to its own laws, without human interference, and the lives of people in small villages, blended into this landscape, have been going on unchanged for centuries. Despite the tourist qualities of this land, it was little prepared to welcome visitors.

Particularly etched in my memory was a stay in the village of Wojnowo (Mrągowo County), which, along with neighboring Ukta, has been - as far as I know, still to this day - the seat of the Old Believers, also known as the Filipons. In the 17th century, the Orthodox Church in Russia introduced a reform of liturgical books and some ritual changes. Opponents of these novelties became subject to persecution, and as a result, sizable groups took refuge in Poland and East Prussia. In these two villages, their descendants have survived to this day, preserving the old traditions while integrating to a large extent with the indigenous inhabitants. The Mazurian dialect, based on 17th-century Polish brought here by settlers from neighboring Mazovia, was common throughout the Mazurian region until the Second War. We found that Russian and Polish were spoken in these villages and the surrounding area, in addition to this dialect, and less frequently, German.

The Old Believers had no temples or clergy. They held services in their homes. However, there was an Orthodox church in Wojnowo. There was a pop, intelligent and cultured, who hospitably invited us to his apartment and told us the history of the villagers in Polish. I don’t know if there is still an Old Orthodox female monastery in Wojnowo. At the time of our visit, there were still a dozen nuns, but they were gradually dying out in the face of a limited supply of young female recruits. 

Sitting on a bench next to the monastery, I saw a procession of nuns as they walked with singing to the chapel for prayer. The great serenity of the place struck me. It seemed to me that all the hustle and bustle of our world, politics, and the threat of war become unimportant and inaudible here. As I waited alone like this for the rest of the company, all that came to me was the sound of ripe fruit falling every few minutes from a big old pear tree.

At the end of the trip, we visited consul Rogalski in Ełk, who treated us to an elegant lunch, as Mr. Czyżewski had announced our visit to him.

During this trip, we had the opportunity to get to know Director Gębik better. The more we spent time with him, the more appreciation and affection he inspired in us. Also, Dr. Gabriel won over everyone with his great kindness. We joked that he not only bore an angelic name but also had an angelic character. We soon found out that the entire teaching team of the Kwidzyn middle school was made up of people of the highest ethical and professional levels.

I had a great desire to drive a car, so at the end of the summer, with great zeal, I began to go twice a week to Sztum, where the German owner of the garage ran a driving school. He finally decided that I was sufficiently prepared and agreed on a date for my exam at the end of September. I had to go with my instructor to Elbląg, where the office that issued driver’s licenses was located. I drove there heavily stressed, especially since the exam also included technical knowledge of car mechanics. I had to learn from a German book containing many unfamiliar words and phrases.

At the time, Elbląg looked very different from today. My examiner made me drive through the narrow and winding streets of the old city, and in addition, it was a market day, and various vans blocked the road. In the end, I had to perform an operation that my teacher had taught me many times, anticipating that it would be among the exam tasks: stop on a fairly steep driveway and then move off without the car backing up. Somehow, I tackled the driving and waited anxiously for the mechanics’ test. Fortunately, my examiner ruled that he didn’t suppose I’d ever need to repair a car, so he limited himself to a few general questions.

Proud and happy, burning with the desire to give an account of how the exam went, I rushed home but was not met with the interest I expected. My parents were very concerned about the latest world news: at a conference in Munich, the prime ministers of France, Great Britain, and Italy agreed to Germany’s annexation of the Sudetenland. The obvious conclusion was emerging: the Western countries could not be counted on to help against Hitler! We painfully experienced the entry of German troops into the Sudetenland. At one point, I recall that in my naiveté, I expressed joy at the annexation of Zaolzie by Poland. I will never forget my father’s sad smile, with which he tempered my enthusiasm.

A few days later, I left for Warsaw to continue my studies. The capital was also experiencing the Munich decisions fervently, albeit unapologetically, expressed primarily in an explosion of jokes and satire, whose protagonists were the main actors of the international political scene. I remember numerous jokes about British Prime Minister Chamberlain, depicted with an inseparable umbrella, making numerous trips to keep the peace supposedly. “We saved the peace!” - he exclaimed triumphantly, stepping off the plane upon his return from Munich…. In Poland, no one doubted that concessions to Hitler only encouraged him to go to war. Political satire flourished in the “Qui-pro-quo” theater, and Ludwik Sempoliński caused hurricanes of laughter with his performance: “That mustache, ah, that mustache!”. Together with Zitka and Jaś, I went there quite regularly.

Mariano flew to Warsaw for three days in November, with whom I maintained a lively correspondence. I introduced him to my uncle and showed him around the city to ensure he got the best impression. We felt very close. At times I had doubts about whether we should change our plans. However, I could not get over the thought of leaving Poland. 

We spent Christmas, as usual, in Czernin. Olgierd, after graduating from the agricultural high school, helped our father. Under his guidance, he practiced managing the estate. His constant stay-at-home made him intensely active in Polish organizations. In the deepest secrecy, I learned that alongside the official ones, a secret organization called MOP (Speech, Custom, Polish) was being formed on the initiative of the Union of Poles. My brother took part in the first founding meeting and intended to participate actively. I believe the idea was to prepare an alternative organization in case the Union of Poles was outlawed. However, the rapid aggravation of the situation likely made this plan impossible.

In the evenings, we would surround our mother, confiding one by one about our experiences, and she would listen to us with interest, although sometimes, after a busy day, her eyes would droop. The two youngest sisters recounted with enthusiasm the adventures of the Sisters of the Sacred Heart school, and Lili had no shortage of topics either. I described my life in Warsaw. It never occurred to anyone that this was the last time we would all meet under the family roof….

I took every opportunity to drive, as I was afraid that after such a long break, I might have difficulty with it. I also had to get used to winter road conditions, as December brought snow and cold weather this year. When my mother and I set off for the New Year’s Eve ball in Inowrocław, my brother mainly drove, but I took turns behind the wheel for large stretches of the road.

As I mentioned, this ball was delightful. All three of us had a great time. 

In the morning, we drove back by car to uncle Włodek Sikorski’s place in Żegotki. At night the wind blew, and it snowed. Snowdrifts had formed on the highway, with icy pavement between them, making driving difficult. Driving into a snowdrift, one had to add gas, but the car immediately slid on the ice. My brother did well for quite a while, finally getting tired, so I took his place, carefully instructed on how to behave. I drove happily along a stretch of road, but the car, coming out of a snowdrift, skidded at some point. I turned off the gas, but nevertheless, our vehicle slid into the ditch and slowly turned over on its side. “Sorry!” - I called out, embarrassed, not forgetting to turn off the engine. We all had ball shoes on our feet. My brother set off through the snow in his half-boots to a nearby homestead. The awakened farmer got up without hesitation, harnessed the horses, and soon got us out of the ditch, for which, of course, with heartfelt thanks, he was duly compensated.

A few days later, I had to return to Warsaw. This time I was leaving from Grudziądz because I had decided to take my Rabka skis from Marusza in order to take advantage of the opportunities offered to students for a cheaper trip to the mountains during the semester break. I stayed overnight in Marusza, and since my train wasn’t leaving until the evening, before noon, I strapped on my skis and set out on the paths I knew from my summer walks. However, there was not much snow, especially in the forest, where it stopped on tree branches. Going down a rather steep hill, I broke my ski against a stone at the very bottom and shattered my knee. With great effort, I reached home on foot, with my skis on my shoulder. I left my damaged skis with the recommendation that the wheelwright repairs them, and on my own, with a swollen knee, I set off for Warsaw.

Upon arrival, I was at first heartbroken. My knee swelled up mightily and hurt quite badly. I decided not to see a doctor, fearing that he would immobilize my leg and thus prevent me from participating in the carnival games. Every evening I made myself a compress for the night, and in the morning, I bandaged the whole joint rigidly. Soon I learned to walk evenly without limping and to dance without bending my legs at the knees, which was possible in the fashionable dances of the time. The pain gradually bothered me less and less, and under stronger sensations, I did not feel it at all.

The carnival had begun, the crazy carnival of 1939! Everyone was aware of the inevitability of war. This realization caused some gallows humor, mainly among the youth. “Let’s enjoy life because we don’t know how long we will enjoy it!” This reflected the prevailing mood. The capital was partying like never before. Every Saturday, crowds of people met at various balls, and on Sunday, as soon as dawn broke, the churches were full of young people in ball costumes who went straight from the party to the first mass.

The most beautiful balls were held at the Resursa Kupiecka on Senatorska street. This establishment consisted of many rooms on two floors, connected by a wide staircase with huge mirrors on all levels. The decor of the entire building was very rich. The Resursa Obywatelska on Krakowskie Przedmieście, next to St. Anne’s Church, was slightly more modest, but even there, the entertainment was excellent. My uncle and aunt attended refined balls in the halls of the “Bristol” and “European” hotels, where government officials, business people, and other well-known personalities met.

The balls began with the traditional polonaise. The tango and foxtrot were also danced. The Viennese waltz was always popular, often with figures. The ball program usually included a cotillion waltz, which was a big attraction. It was obligatory to have a mazurka, usually performed by fewer couples, as it is a difficult dance. Among student youth, the fashion was for the elegant, lounge-like kujawiak. As for me, I was most fond of the kujawiak and the English waltz, as well as the Viennese waltz. From time to time, the orchestra played the rumba, a hit rather from the previous season. A novelty of this carnival was the lambethwalk. As soon as the first sounds of it could be heard, everyone present, old and young, moved to dance, emptying the seats. This simple, amusing dance put the whole company in a good mood. On the last Tuesday of the carnival, I enjoyed myself at the Resursa Obywatelska. At midnight the orchestra rolled up the instruments and stopped playing. Herrings were served - and everyone dispersed.

On Ash Wednesday, after sprinkling ashes on my head, I went to the doctor. He told me that I had risked heavily by neglecting my knee injury. Fortunately, an X-ray performed afterward showed no more serious changes.

The semester was ending, and I was working hard to pass tests and colloquia. I was keen on foreign languages, the learning of which came easily to me and gave me real pleasure. In addition to French and English, I additionally signed up for Italian lessons. I liked this language immensely, and thanks to my not-inconsiderable knowledge of Latin, I learned it quickly. Encouraged by this success, I also enrolled in a course offered at the Italian Institute. I additionally satisfied my enthusiasm for learning English at evening courses at the Methodist School in Savior Square. The attraction there was the learning of songs. Before the start of the lessons, students of all groups would meet with a pianist and a violinist to sing English versions of popular songs of the season to their accompaniment. Unfortunately, my already good knowledge of English, rather theoretical, was never fixed in practice, as it was with French and German. That’s why, years later, I can communicate freely in these two languages while I struggle with English. To this day, however, I still remember the English songs I learned at Methodist. As for Italian, I only worked on it for a few months. I learned it quickly and forgot it quickly.

Among my friends, a few young people always showed interest in me. Some I liked very much and enjoyed being in their company because each of them had some merit. So there was Edmund, a student at Warsaw University, who impressed me with his broad interests and the knowledge he possessed. From time to time, we met at the café “SiM” (“Art and Fashion”) on Królewska Street for interesting conversations and discussions. 

I was happy to take part in balls and parties with Włodek Jasieński, a second lieutenant of sappers from Kazuń near Warsaw. Charming and, at the same time, somehow fraternal, he looked elegant in his uniform. I liked to dance with him. 

At a party hosted by consul Czyżewski in Kwidzyn, I met an engineer from the Warsaw Aircraft Works, Józef Kośmiński. A short, blond man with an unassuming appearance, he had a reputation as a respected aircraft designer. He lived with his mother, an only child, for whom he was a good and loving son. He owned a small sporty self-driving car of a well-known brand. When he learned that I had no opportunity to practice this skill after passing my driving test, he gladly offered to help me. Every once in a while, when I finished my lectures, he would wait for me in his car in front of the SGH, after which he would seat me behind the wheel, and we would set off for a ride on the suburban highways of Warsaw.

During the carnival period, a serious gaffe occurred against another young man. At the last New Year’s Eve ball in Inowrocław, I danced a lot with Staś Wichliński, a young landowner farming independently on his estate. He enjoyed general recognition and affection. As a farewell, we exchanged addresses and phone numbers. Sometime later, he came to Warsaw and called my uncle’s number. It was a Saturday, I was going to some party that evening, for which I had arranged with Włodek. Since he couldn’t call from his military unit in Kazuń, he was to report to me when he arrived in Warsaw. So, leaving the house, I asked little Robert’s babysitter, who answered the phones in my uncle’s absence, to give him a message. At that time, Włodek did not call, while Staś called several times. Each time he heard: “Is this Mr. Second Lieutenant?”. He told me this irritatedly when he finally found me at home. I felt sorry for him, although at the same time, I laughed at this unfortunate question from a not-very-articulate girl. For some reason, I was also glad the meeting did not occur. Staś did not belong to the reckless “golden” youth. He made decisions prudently and responsibly. More serious proposals could follow if he proposed such a meeting to me.

And at that time, I did not want to think about marriage. I liked all these young people, but I was careful not to let our friendships grow too intimate or encourage any serious feelings. At the time, my heart still belonged to my Portuguese acquaintance from Berlin, leaving little room for anyone else. Besides, I was going to study and travel. I wanted to be free. Undoubtedly, I wanted to have a husband in the future and children. I could not imagine a life without a family. However, I believed marriage meant taking on difficult responsibilities that I wanted to push away for the time being. The role of a landowner’s wife seemed particularly difficult to me. I observed the busy lives of my mother, grandmother, and most of the ladies I knew in the countryside and compared them with the lifestyles of those I met in Warsaw. How much more time the latter had for themselves, for reading, which was my passion, and for enjoying the benefits of culture!

In early March, I experienced a day full of emotions. After one of the lectures, someone ran into our room as soon as the lecturer left it, and voiced an appeal that, in a moment, passed from mouth to mouth, went around the entire university: “Everyone to the polytechnic! Rally to the polytechnic!”. The crowd of students rushed to the locker rooms. Everyone picked up their coats and ran out of the edifice, which was soon deserted. We arrived at the polytechnic on foot and partly on overcrowded streetcars. I was among those who still found a place in the lobby while the others filled the square in front of the university, where academic students from all Warsaw universities had gathered. 

Speakers relayed statements outside. From the gallery on the first floor, a representative of the student organizations greeted us and explained the reason for calling the rally: it was the brutal attack on Polish students at the Gdańsk University of Technology.

A student of this university named Sroczyński (son of the owners of the Seroki estate near Sochaczew, neighbors of Kożuszki) acquainted us in detail with the course of this event. A large group of Poles was studying at the Gdańsk University of Technology. The previous day, Nazi students attacked Poles working in the laboratory and forcibly threw them out of the building. Polish students from Gdańsk travelled all over the country, calling on their colleagues at all universities for a nationwide protest. 

Representatives of Warsaw universities appealed to those gathered to take part in a demonstration in front of the German embassy on Piękna Street. So we all set out in that direction.

Anti-German shouts were raised, mainly: “Down with Hitler!” “Down!” - replied the crowd.

In the last term, there was no shortage of opportunities for such protests, so this slogan was repeated regularly during student demonstrations, alongside the formerly shouted: “Down with Jew-driven Communism!”.

We didn’t get far, because the police blocked us. A mounted officer appeared and made a speech to us. He appealed for calm in the name of the Polish raison d’etat. On that day, the Italian foreign minister, Count Ciano, was paying an official visit to Warsaw. The officer stated that the student excesses would cast a shadow over the image of Poland and make a bad impression on a guest who was friendly to us. “Long live Ciano! Down with Hitler!” - shouted the students. No one gave way. After a while, the “motor pumps” arrived, and streams of water poured down on us. A command was given: “Everyone to the university!” Only a small group of boys dispersed with the task of getting to Piękna Street and breaking the windows of the German embassy. The rest, despite the resistance of the police, who, however, did not use force, advanced in streams of water. On the way, some fell off, but a sizable crowd reached their destination. 

Once we were in the university courtyard, a gate was slammed, which the police were not allowed to cross and enter. According to the laws in force, universities enjoyed full autonomy. A number of police officers stood motionless in front of the gate facing the students gathered in the courtyard. Excited young people raised various shouts, often aggressive against the silent police officers. After a while, news reached us that glass windows in the German embassy had been broken. We began to gradually disperse, leaving the university through the exit on Oboźna street. I returned home. I was moved to my depths. Water was running down my brown fur coat, but it saved me from getting wet.

New acts of aggression and violence by the German nationalists and their leader were accompanied by more student protests and demonstrations. Aside from minor irritations, the events followed one after another quickly. On March 15, German troops entered Czechoslovakia, taking a “protectorate” over the Czech Republic and creating an “independent” republic in Slovakia, allied with Germany. Shortly after that, Hitler demanded that Poland cede Danzig and allow an extraterritorial link between Germany and East Prussia through a Polish “corridor”. On April 28, he made an aggressive anti-Polish speech, declaring that he was breaking the non-aggression pact he had concluded with Poland for ten years.

Of the experiences associated with these facts, the speech of foreign minister Józef Beck, delivered on May 5 in the Sejm in response to Hitler’s demands, is the one that sticks in my memory most deeply. We listened to this speech collectively from loudspeakers installed in our university. We agreed with his every word. Peace - yes, but not at any cost! After Poland’s agreements with Great Britain and France, we firmly believed that these three countries would be able to resist aggression. I only thought with anxiety about my parents, who were staying there, in Prussia, at the mercy and disfavor of the Nazis.

My parents forbade us to return home for Easter. They themselves lived in a sense of danger, uncertain of tomorrow. My older brother Olo had already been in Poland for several months. He had begun an agricultural apprenticeship with Mr. and Mrs. Znaniecki at their Jaronty estate near Inowrocław.

Starting in April, when the beginning of the school year in Germany fell, Staś began his studies in the first grade of junior high school in Kwidzyn. Although the first days at the boarding school were difficult for him, he adapted quickly this time. There was a friendly atmosphere among the Kwidzyn students. Older classmates took care of the younger ones. This time, however, he did not stay long. Faced with an aggravating situation, my parents picked him up from the gymnasium. Our mother took him to uncle Włodek Sikorski’s estate in Żegotki.

Then a surprise decision ordered the eviction of Uncle Kazik Donimirski from Małe Ramzy. On April 30, a representative of the local Nazi authorities delivered a displacement order to Uncle Kazik, where he and his wife were ordered to leave the estate within three days. Only the youngest daughter, Tereska, called “Tuchna”, was with them. Mietek, who was not much older than Stasio, was staying, like my little brother, at the Polish boarding school in Kwidzyn. Like my parents, my uncle sent the other children to Poland to various schools.

Uncle and aunt left for Elbląg, taking Mietek with them. After spending the first night in a hotel, they were ordered to leave the place. The situation repeated the next day in another rented accommodation. By this time, they had communicated with the consul in Kwidzyn and arranged a plan of action. They boarded a transit train through Pomerania with tickets to Berlin. The train stopped in Tczew, where they were not allowed to get off. They staged Aunt Marysia’s heart attack, calling for medical help. Warned by the Polish consul, the Polish rail workers quickly took care of the entire family, taking the luggage from the compartment. Paramedics with stretchers came running. Despite the protests of German officials, the uncle and aunt found themselves in the care of Polish authorities.

In Poland, they took refuge with family. The end of the September campaign found them in Szadłowice near Inowrocław, at the home of their Uncle Karol Donimirski. The latter, thanks to his citizenship of the United States, where he had already stayed before the First World War, moved overseas with his wife soon after hostilities ended in Poland. My uncle, aunt, and their youngest children were deported with the transport of displaced Kujawy residents to a camp in Chełm Lubelski. Fortunately, unrecognized by the Gestapo, they hid one by one in several friendly manors. My aunt and Mietek did not survive this wandering, but my uncle survived the war and returned to Sztum in 1945.

Meanwhile, my life in Warsaw went on as usual. May was warm and sunny. The beautiful weather encouraged trips out of town. The Jaś family had built a summer house in Świder near Warsaw and often spent weekends there, inviting relatives and friends. Several other friends had summer residences nearby, so they visited each other. I attended these “May Day” parties a couple of times and got to know many people on these occasions.

Zitka and a bunch of friendly ladies organized an entertainment event for charity. She was not to appear on stage this time, although she took singing lessons (for a time with the famous Ada Sari) and sometimes performed on more intimate occasions, receiving much praise and applause from the audience. The artistic program for this evening included songs performed by the well-known opera singer Ewa Bandrowska-Turska, as well as a dance performance by a group of girls, referring to a folk ritual with a “gaika”. I was invited to participate. We met several times to practice the dance and accompanying singing. Long white tulle dresses were tailor-made for us. Among the participants, I knew Zosia Szymanowska and Ninka Ciechomska, who later became the wife of our cousin Frank Dąmbski, more intimately. The event was held in the European Hotel hall, winning the guests’ appreciation and generating a nice income intended for the poorest.

Pentecost fell that year on June 1. My parents announced their expected arrival in Żegotki. It was decided that Jaś, Zyta, and I would go there to see them. I was looking forward to seeing them. On one of the last days of May, we set off by car from Warsaw in the evening. My uncle took turns driving. It was a beautiful warm night. At dawn, we stopped at the Gopło lake. I will never forget the wonderful view of the lake in the first rays of the sun against the fresh greenery. The chirping of birds enhanced the charm of that spring morning.

With emotion and joy, I greeted my parents and Staś. After Uncle Kazik’s experience, we asked my parents to leave for Poland permanently. However, they could not imagine that they could voluntarily abandon everything. They still hoped they could exchange Czernin for an estate in Poland since some German owners, faced with the threat of war, preferred to be among their own. Taking advantage of his stay in Żegotki, father visited several candidates in the near and distant vicinity and tentatively discussed the terms of a possible transaction with them.

Before leaving for Żegotki, mother bought some clothes and other necessary items for all our siblings. Also, later, our parents took advantage of opportunities to continue to supply us. This made it easier for us to survive the war period. As for me, I only lost everything in the Warsaw Uprising. Staś, who - probably due to the mental shock he experienced - grew very little during those difficult years, and was able to wear the clothes he received until the end of the war.

During our stay in Żegotki, we met with Olo, who was doing his apprenticeship in Jaronts, a dozen kilometers away. His passport was about to expire. He applied to the German consulate in Toruń for an extension but was instructed to report the matter in person to the district office (landratura) in Sztum. In addition, in Czernin, he received a summons to perform compulsory military service in the German army. Henceforth, as a deserter, he found himself on lists of people wanted by the Gestapo.

Despite everything, the full horror of the situation did not reach our consciousness. Life around us went on in its ordinary course, and the future, which was drawn before us in black colors, did not take real shapes.

On the second day of Pentecost, Mr. and Mrs. Znaniecki organized a party to celebrate the name day of their only child. Many people from the neighborhood came to it, including, of course, a lot of young people. The party lasted until dawn. At sunrise, the dancing couples spilled out into the park, enjoying the crisp, aromatic air and the birds’ morning chirping.

Saying farewell to my parents was very sad. We were shown a lot of cordiality by uncle Włodek, thanks to whom we could meet and who took care of Staś with a sense of great responsibility. However, now the parents decided to take him to Marusza, where Lili was staying at the time.

The first half of June was filled with semester-long colloquia. In the second half, I took exams to finish classes in general economics. In the third year, specialization was mandatory. Our choices included foreign trade, domestic trade, consular department, finance, and statistics. I was most attracted to the consular department as it offered a chance to learn about foreign countries.

The comprehensive exam in economics included knowledge of twelve subjects divided into two groups. Thus, twelve exams were concentrated in a relatively short period. Out of a thousand people who started studying with me, only twenty-some passed it on the first attempt. Most of those who passed were former students, often working for several years already, sometimes holding serious positions, with experience and practical skills that often made their tasks easier. However, they had to learn the theory all over again while I had it fresh in my mind. Thus, while waiting before exams for my turn, I often helped older colleagues.

Of course, obtaining a proper entry into my index (student transcript) gave me great pleasure. However, I did not feel the usual joy in such a situation, as I was unable to show it to my parents. Upon my parents’ return from Poland to Czernin, the authorities immediately demanded the return of their passports. Thus they were cut off from us, as we could not risk a trip home. After the successful escape of Uncle Kazio, repeating their ploy was no longer possible. The Germans guarded the train, and the train cars were locked.

I had long planned an internship for this vacation, highly recommended by our university. Mr. Rawicz, Irka’s father, promised to arrange such an apprenticeship for me in the financial department of the Starachowice Works, where he was the chief bookkeeper, serving as the director for financial affairs.

Therefore, after I passed my exams in late June and early July, I only dropped by for a few days in Marusza, where my three sisters and Staś were staying. Renia had just graduated from high school and boasted of having earned a great high school diploma. Ewa had earned good grades after four years of junior high school, getting the so-called small high school diploma. Lili successfully graduated from her school. Janek Krajewski’s passport was not revoked, so he could cross the German-Polish border. Our parents sent him by car to Marusza with more parcels of clothing, which could be transported in limited quantities due to border controls. Consul Edward Czyżewski also brought some more valuable items to my sisters and Staś.

At that time, Lili became engaged to a lieutenant of the 18th Lancer Regiment from Grudziądz, Rysiek Koziełło-Poklewski, a native of Vilnius. He visited her in Marusza, often in the company of colleagues. From time to time, my sisters would meet them in some Grudziądz cafe. During my stay, Janek had just arrived from Czernin, so in order to practice driving, I was the one who drove all three of them to an afternoon dance at the “Royal Court” hotel in Grudziądz. Of course, all four of us danced with our respective bachelors until the very end of the afternoon tea.

However, I was in a hurry to get to Starachowice, so, according to my plans, I soon left. Mr. and Mrs. Rawicz received me warmly, but the matter of my apprenticeship turned out to be more difficult than we expected. My German citizenship stood in the way. Since this was an armaments plant, there was a ban on hiring foreign citizens. The security services subjected every newly hired employee to a “background check”. They did not approve of my employment. Despite Mr. Rawicz’s arguments that, after all, it was well known from the press who my parents were, the employees of the plant did not want to deviate from the regulations in force. In this situation, Mr. Rawicz began to try to arrange an internship for me in some other office.

I waited for several weeks. It still seemed that I would go to work any day, but everything was being delayed. The mood of anxiety associated with the impending war was not conducive to arranging anything. Mr. and Mrs. Rawicz tried to make those beautiful summer months more interesting for both Irka and me. I visited the countryside with her. We took part in some social gatherings, but later I didn’t want to take advantage of invitations because unpleasant situations arose when I was asked to dance, and Irka was sitting at the table with her mother. 

Starachowice, still a small settlement after the first war, began to grow in the 1920s after merging with neighboring Rybnik. However, it was not until the 1930s, and especially in its second half, after the creation of the Central Industrial District, that it experienced rapid development. Modern armaments plants were located there. A whole infrastructure was built next to the factory: apartment blocks for workers, a housing estate for engineers and administration, a church, and a modern school. In 1939, this bustling industrial center was granted city rights.

One of the important products of the Starachowice Works was anti-aircraft guns under British license. According to the license agreement, Poland exported some of them to Great Britain. Poles who ended up in the Polish Armed Forces recounted that these weapons’ high quality and effectiveness drew widespread praise after the war.

At the beginning of August, I finally began working in the small office of the State Forestry Administration. It was subordinate to a large area of beautiful and valuable forests. My most important job was calculating compensation for damage caused by wildlife on nearby farms. Wild boars were the main pests. According to the victims, the state paid large sums but did not fully compensate for the losses suffered.

I learned to use an instrument used in the former Russian and Austrian partitions, namely abacuses. In our parts, they were considered befitting only for children in the first grade of elementary school. I came to the conclusion that, although primitive, they are helpful at work. Another instrument I encountered here for the first time was an arithmometer, commonly known as a “spinning wheel.” While abacuses were particularly convenient for addition and subtraction, the arithmometer facilitated multiplication and division (you had to manually turn the crank as many times as the multiplier or divisor). The people employed in “my” office, generally around fifty, received me very kindly and treated me with care. I sent a letter to my parents describing my situation and received a short card from my mother, from which I could only determine that they were both still in Czernin.The remainder was censored.

I had limited contact with my family that summer. Around August 20, the post office brought me a postcard written in small letters. I recognized my father’s hand, and this already surprised me since my mother generally corresponded with us. Father informed me briefly that on August 15, my parents were ordered to leave East Prussia by August 22. He wrote that mother was packing because they were leaving for Bad Nauheim, the only place in Germany where they had friends thanks to father’s medical treatments. As I later learned, the mother had packed silver and other more valuable items before leaving. They were taken for safekeeping to Malbork, to a modest apartment of kind people. All this supposedly survived until 1945, when the Red Army demolished the entire city center.

From Agnieszka Borzych’s account, we learned how touching it was for our parents to say goodbye to their household. The mother and the father, who was not in the habit of showing emotion, hugged all those employed in the house warmly. Our driver Janek Krajewski drove our parents to the train station in Malbork. In my mother’s perception, he gave them a cold farewell, which hurt her. Janek himself described it quite differently many years later, claiming that he did not know the reason for the parents’ departure at the time, but guessing something wrong, he suffered greatly over it.

The news of my parents’ eviction moved me deeply. I consoled myself only, thinking it was better than being arrested. I hoped that they would be safer in western Germany, that no one knew them there, so maybe the Gestapo would forget about them.

Meanwhile, in Poland, everyone was talking only about the war. The training was organized for the population: how to behave during an air raid and react to an alarm. Particularly feared were the war gases. I went through a special course in gas defense with a group of people of different ages. 

I went to the office every day, but no one gave me anything to do. Everyone was discussing, trying to predict further events. At the end of August, mobilization was announced. Hitler responded to this with vehement accusations that Poland was preparing aggression against the Third Reich, which must organize the defense. The Western allies put pressure on the Polish government not to provoke the Germans. Mobilization had to be called off. This caused chaos and made it impossible to achieve a state of readiness at the time of the German attack. Re-mobilization, announced on August 31, was already being carried out under the fire of the encroaching enemy army. Planes were bombing the entire country when crowds of refugees blocked all roads.

On September 1, I got up early. Before going to work, I wanted to go to church, as it was the first Friday of the month. I had picked up the habit from home of going to confession and receiving communion on these days. I didn’t get far as the airplane alarm sounded. I was convinced that it was yet another test alarm, but the people on the road prompted me to take refuge with them in the ditch. Above us, planes flew over with a growl. Without dropping bombs on our city, they rolled ominously in an unknown direction. The alarm was called off. Two men, who were already listening to the radio that morning, informed me that today at dawn, German troops crossed the Polish border in many places in the air and on land. So - war!

I constantly anticipated better news from the moment the war broke out. I listened to the radio announcements, believing that if not today, then tomorrow we would hear about the strengthening of Polish defenses, the effective intervention of the Western allies, and the halting of the German offensive. On September 3, after the publication of the news that France and Great Britain, keeping their commitments, had declared war on Germany, I succumbed to the wave of elation and optimism that swept over the entire country.

However, when the days passed one after another, without any action on the part of the Allies; when it became clear that our nation was fighting a lonely battle against a much stronger aggressor; when every day came more and more monstrous information about the bombing of the entire country, about the millions of people crowding the roads in panicky flight, shot at from planes flying low over them - I fell into a kind of stupor. It seemed to me that this was a nightmare dream from which I had to wake up.

Mr. Rawicz went to the office every day, from where he returned earlier than usual and brought more detailed information obtained through official channels. Everyone expected that Starachowice would become the target of German air raids because of the weapons produced there. For some time, it was hoped that the Polish army pushed back from its border positions, would consolidate on the Vistula line. This would be possible if Germany was also forced to fight in the west. 

Considering such an eventuality, a decision was made to evacuate technical documentation and some factory equipment to the east. Two or three trains were loaded, taking the management with their families. Mr. Rawicz decided to stay. After a few days, the group of evacuees returned. It turned out that only the first part of the transport was on the right bank of the Vistula. The following wagons were bombed before they reached the bridge near Annopol; only a few survived. The retreating Polish troops gradually blew up the bridges behind them. Soon crossing the Vistula River became impossible along a long stretch of it.

News that was reaching us was becoming more and more fragmentary and unclear. After the heroic defense of Westerplatte, in turn, people spoke with admiration about besieged Warsaw, which defended itself until September 28 thanks to its inhabitants’ unheard-of determination. Although it seemed that the Soviet incursion on September 17 was the final blow, there were still echoes of the defense of Lviv, the long and hard struggle on the Bzura River, as well as in the Lublin region and finally at Kock. There were even times when our troops enjoyed temporary local successes. A handful of Hel defenders persevered until October 2. 

Meanwhile, nothing was happening in Starachowice. We only watched the bombers heading east every day in the cloudless sky. The enemy ground troops bypassed us, encircling the region from the north and south. By chance, I came across a group of our retreating soldiers. Meeting them was a shock to me. They looked deathly tired, and many were wounded. They were lying lethargic or sunken in sleep on country carts pulled slowly by horses on straw-lined village carts.

Mr. Rawicz experienced dramatic moments. One evening he returned shaken as officers arrived with orders to blow up the factory so the Germans could not start production. We sat in the house, waiting anxiously for the sound of the explosion. He, a man in his sixties, cried, unable to accept that these beautiful modern plants, the pride of Polish industry, were about to be destroyed. Around midnight we heard several more explosions, but not very strong ones. The following day it turned out that the hasty action of the retreating security cell had caused only minor damage. The German army’s first units did not appear in Starachowice until late September. Shortly after that, Mr. Rawicz, as the only representative of the plant management, was summoned for an interview. The Germans – sparing no threats – demanded that the factory be put into operation. However, when they became convinced that he really had nothing to do with production, they gave him peace.

German servicemen were brought into the houses for quarters. A German soldier was also lodged at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Rawicz. In attempts to learn about the mood of the Germans, various acquaintances asked me to translate conversations. When one of the ladies asked whether a soldier believed in God, the man replied: Ich glaube in Adolf (“I believe in Adolf”).

In October, other problems arose: the workers, who had received their last paycheck at the end of August, began demanding money because they had nothing to live on. They attacked Mr. Rawicz, who, after all, managed the factory’s finances. It got to the point where a loud protesting crowd gathered in front of his house. Together with his wife and daughter, we experienced unpleasant moments. The situation was difficult. Starachowice remained cut off from the world for a long time. Communications and the post office did not function. I also suffered from this. I was worried about the lack of news from my family. I was worried about my loved ones and longed to be reunited with them, but I had to be patient.

Finally, Mr. Rawicz managed to contact the headquarters in Warsaw, where several people from the Starachowice directorate were located. By then, the Germans had already allowed certain types of businesses to start with limited bank activity. Mr. Rawicz was allowed to go to Warsaw in a passenger car to get money for the crew. I hoped he would take me with him, but, unfortunately, more important people than me took seats in his car. 

Once in Warsaw, he sent someone with my letter to Różana Street, from where I finally received the first information about my family. The Jaś family remained in their apartment, which was not destroyed during the siege. Grandma Sikorska occupied my little room. At the end of August, when the rapid occupation of Pomerania by the Germans was widely predicted, she arrived by rail to visit uncle Włodek in Żegotki. Soon, however, my uncle and aunt were displaced. My aunt and her grandmother took refuge on the estate of her aunt’s relatives. As soon as Uncle Janek found out about this, he immediately sent a car for my grandmother, which, incidentally, the Germans confiscated for him soon after. What depressed me most was the news that both my parents had been imprisoned.

From then on, I lived only with the thought of going to Warsaw. From time to time, truck transportation was organized for some groups of people, but it was not until mid-November that I managed to take a tightly packed truck sent to Warsaw by the factory management. Mr. and Mrs. Rawicz considered this opportunity safe and agreed to my departure. Only fragmentary and chaotic news later reached me about my siblings’ experiences during and immediately after the hostilities. I will therefore use here the account of my brother Stanisław, then eleven years old, Staś:

At the end of the second decade of August 1939, Renia and I returned to Marusza from distant Krasnolesie - the estate of Gołębski’s family. It was located at the other end of Poland, beyond Lviv. During the long trip, we fondly remembered the days spent there and the long walks with our aunt’s daughters: Elżunia and Bożunia. Their mother, called Aunt Tola, was one of the most loved by me among the many aunts and uncles.

In Marusza, we found Lili and Ewa, who were not going anywhere that summer. The latest news about my parents shattered the cheerful mood of the welcome. They had received an order to leave Czernin and the entire border area. This news depressed us greatly. We regretted that during our parents’ last stay in Poland, we had not insisted more on not returning to Czernin. Now that they had been deprived of their passports, they had nothing left to do but head deeper into Germany.

On August 24, the 18th Pomeranian Lancers Regiment was mobilized. Later that night, the regiment left Grudziądz, heading towards Chojnice. We were very concerned about this. Marusza was located too close to the Polish-German border to risk staying there in case the war broke out. Therefore, in accordance with the wishes of my parents and taking advantage of invitations, Renia and Ewa went to my Uncle Zygmunt Donimirski of Kożuszki, and Lili and I went to Włodzio Sikorski of Żegotki. The older siblings did their apprenticeships: Tina in Starachowice and Olgierd at the Znaniecki estate in Jaronty in Kujawy.

In Żegotki, we found aunts Minia and Helena Wiśniowska, whom auntie called “the savior” tongue in cheek. A day or two after our arrival, Busia - my Grandmother Anna Sikorska from Wielkie Chełmy, arrived, and Marian Donimirski from Małe Ramzy appeared. Following Busia, a wagon from Wielkie Chełmy arrived in Żegotki, loaded with crates of the most valuable things, which Busia decided to locate in Żegotki - as it seemed safer than Wielkie Chełmy. A wagon man drove the wagon, and a grove officer played the escort role. On August 30 or 31, uncle Włodek returned from Gdańsk. Despite the tense situation, we still believed the war might not happen.

September 1 was the first Friday of the month. My aunt and I went to Mass in Markowice early in the morning. After returning from church, we had not yet managed to get out of the carriage when Uncle Włodek ran out of the house. Nervous and preoccupied, he relayed to us the latest, how frightening, news. War! The Germans entered the Polish lands without declaring it. The German air force is carrying out air raids. It is bombing our cities.

I became numb. Various thoughts rushed to my head. We spent the next few hours at the radio receiver. Messages were interspersed with unintelligible, cryptic information like: “Attention, attention, here it comes. Lu - Ka 31”. The next day Olgierd arrived from Jaronty. I listened to the conversations of the adults. We (primarily Olgierd and Marian) could not fall into German hands. Olgierd was in Poland illegally.

Ultimately, the debaters unanimously ruled that we should go to Kożuszki. However, most of the passenger trains stopped running. Many of them were bombed. The tracks, too. At that point, Busia took the initiative to use people, horses, and a wagon from Wielkie Chełmy. The gamekeeper and foreman agreed to take us to Kożuszki. The next day we set out on the road. The cart was loaded with suitcases, rearranged, and covered with straw. On it, I sat together with Lili, Olgierd, and Marian. We sat in a not-very-comfortable position as our legs were rolled up. The wagon driver and the gamekeeper, who took turns driving, were in a better position since, sitting at the front of the wagon, they could freely lower their legs. When we met the Kazimierz Donimirski family at one of the manor houses on our route, Marian changed to his parents’ vehicle.

At first, we drove briskly, and it looked like our journey would not last long. However, as we moved away from Żegotki, there were more and more wagons on the road. People loaded their belongings onto the carts and headed east, south, as far as possible from the advancing enemy. As many carts filled the highways and roads, we drove slower and slower, sometimes at the speed of an infantryman. At times, military units attempted to overtake civilians. They called out: “Left slow!” This had no effect. Where were the carts supposed to go when endless strings trailed the entire width of the roads? I will not forget the frequent sight of tortured horses harnessed to military carts, cannons, and other equipment, which overtook us as they drove through the fields along the highway, with the wheels of the vehicles cutting deeply into the soil.

The German air force began to pester us more and more. Whenever anyone spotted incoming planes, they would warn, shouting loudly: “Planes! Take cover!” This call spread rapidly along the crowded road. The planes sometimes flew at a high altitude, aiming for the set targets. Sometimes they lowered their flight to fire at the crowd of refugees with machine guns. At that point, horses were stopped, wagons were abandoned, taking cover in roadside ditches, various depressions in the terrain, or under larger trees.

One such alarm stuck deeply in my memory, after which our daily schedule changed fundamentally. We stopped in the market square of a small town. Suddenly a cry rang out, “Aviator! Take cover!” At the same time, some kind of siren wailed. We hurriedly left the market, entering a road clogged with carts. To the right, stretched a high wall. To the left, in a meadow, a herd of unmilked cows roared. No stately trees were nearby. We had barely jumped off the cart, clinging to the ground, when a low-flying plane emerged above the wall. It seemed huge to me. It flew right over us. Its proximity and size filled me with fear, heightened by the terrifyingly loud whirr of the engines and the rattle of the machine guns firing at us. We could still hear the distant rattle when suddenly the air trembled with two explosions that followed one after the other. Another plane flying across the road a short distance from us dropped two bombs. A cloud of smoke and dust rose above the spot where they exploded.

The event, short as it was, was a great experience for us. We realized what was threatening us. Not daring to watch the aftermath of the explosion of these bombs, we turned into a side dirt road just after the ending wall. There, under a large, spreading tree, we remained until dusk. From then on, our further trek took place only at night.

Looking forward to the evening, we wondered whether the aircrews were performing their criminal acts “on orders” or “for entertainment.” German airmen knew that the target of their assault was the civilian population. Flawless reconnaissance was made possible by beautiful, cloudless weather and low flight.

Night finally came, during which we expected to reach Kożuszki. The distinctly heard incessant murmur of cannons testified to a cannonade going on somewhere not too far away. We began to fear whether we would find anyone at our destination. The location of Kożuszki between two important transportation routes: the highway and the railroad tracks leading to Warsaw, posed a great danger to the population living there.

I slept with my head on Lili’s knee. A strong jerking of the wagon awakened me. We were approaching the bridge over the Bzura River in Sochaczew. Above the city, the glow of fires lit up the darkness in several places. Looking around, I saw a huge number of different horse-drawn vehicles around. They were coming from the north, west, and south. We found ourselves in the middle stream of these vehicles, trying to get to the other side of the river.

When our wagon was only a few meters away from the bridge, we were unexpectedly deafened by a bang. As it turned out, not far away, an artillery shell had exploded on the right bank of the Bzura. It caused panic not only among the refugees. Horses jerked their harnesses, stood toe-to-toe, broke their drawbars, and roared. The shouts and arguments of the people completed the measure of horror. Some tried to turn back, calling for a retreat “because the Germans want to destroy the bridge.” Others shouted that it was not the bridge that was being shelled but the city.

For us, there was no longer an alternative option. Amid the prevailing turmoil, we slowly advanced. We had reached maybe a third of the length of the bridge when there was a second, even closer detonation. This time the shell fell into the Bzura River spewing water fountains. I remember that drops fell on me as well. Again there were Dantean scenes. Immediately afterward, the carts in front of us stood still. Time slipped away, and everything stood still. Olgierd and the gamekeeper, squeezing through the maze of carts and horses, moved forward, trying to find the reason for the standstill. How long it took! A question flashed to my mind: where will the third shell hit? These were probably the slowest-flowing minutes of my life. Our nerves were stretched to the limit.

Thank God we did not live to see the next bullet. The reason for the halt in movement was a kind of clinch of the carts. The tangled, close-knit wagons had to be separated, sometimes partially lifted, which required great effort because of their considerable weight. Finally, we set off. Passing Sochaczew, we entered the Warsaw highway. We were surprised that it was not crowded at all. What annoyed us, however, was the awful smell that followed us everywhere. The slaughtered, decomposing horses lying along the road - the results of Luftwaffe operations - gave off an unbearable stench.

Reaching Kożuszki, we had little hope of finding our uncle, aunt, cousins, and sisters - Renia and Ewa - there. Unfortunately, our fears came true. The house was empty and closed. Olgierd then suggested that we reach Warsaw, go to Uncle Janek Sikorski’s, and after leaving our luggage with them, set off without our belongings to Uncle Gołębski in Krasnolesię. We believed that the Germans would reach no further than the Vistula River in its middle course. And we were already so close to Warsaw!

We returned to the highway. There were few carts on it, which allowed us to increase our speed. But then we encountered a considerable accumulation of them, and again we moved very slowly. Weary, I fell asleep. This time I woke up because of the prevailing silence. It was dawning. As far as the eye could see, all the carts were standing. In front of us, a chimney of some sort stood off to the left. Someone said that we were standing in front of Błonie. It was getting lighter and lighter, so we had to leave the highway. We turned off the highway to the left, to the north. Passing a field and crossing the Utrata River in a ford, we reached the park of some landed estate. At its edge, under the trees, our day’s stop began.

For various reasons, we did not return to the highway to Warsaw. Eventually, Olgierd and Lili decided that the best option would be to hole up in the Kampinos Forest and wait there for further events. However, they could not foresee that this was the route through which Polish troops would break through to Modlin and Warsaw after the Battle of the Bzura. Thus, we found ourselves in the center of the tragic battles waged by scattered units of the Polish army against German troops.

In those days full of horror, we experienced no small number of moments of tension and fear. We did not arrive in Kożuszki again until late September. We arrived exhausted, starving, emaciated, and with diarrhea plaguing me. The news we had heard earlier about the Soviet invasion of Poland completely broke us down. We were relieved to see the whole and healthy sisters and the Kożuszki family, who had returned home after escaping for several days. However, it was difficult for us to get over our joy. We could not snap out of our apathy.

After a long period of sleeping on a cart in the open air, or on straw on the ground, or in the barn, I finally stretched out in bed in white sheets that smelled fresh. The next day, my mood improved markedly. This was fostered by the atmosphere in Kożuszki. My cousins, and especially Wojtek, were picking out tragicomic threads from the general tragic situation and their experiences of the past weeks, improving the mood at home and even sometimes arousing merriment. Important decisions about plans for the near future awaited us. Our siblings gathered almost in full. Only Tina was missing. From her, as well as from our parents, we had no news.

Accustomed to having our parents decide, we now had to make the decisions ourselves. After deliberating, we decided that the three sisters would return to Marusza, Olgierd to Jaronty, and I to Żegotki. We were unpleasantly surprised by the expedition participants who came from Wielkie Chełmy. Without mentioning or agreeing beforehand, they left Kożuszki, taking their horses and cart. This prolonged our stay at our uncle’s house. We had to wait for the possibility of returning by rail, but even then, the journey was not easy. Trains ran without schedules. We generally traveled in freight cars. Our luggage was substantial - the contents of an entire wagon! Zygmuś rode with us to Kutno. I felt better when there were two adult men among us. I traveled further with only Olgierd and three sisters, with whom we parted in Inowrocław.

In Żegotki, I was warmly welcomed by my uncle, aunt, and Busia, who was staying with them. I also found Treuhänder Schulz, referred to Żegotki by the occupation authorities. He came from the German minority in Kujawy. He spoke Polish poorly. He interfered with everything.

Contacts with him were frequent, as he wished to eat meals with his household members. One day at dinner, he announced that he was organizing a hunt this Sunday, October 22. He expected many guests. He requested that none of us go down to the first floor on that day. (The upstairs housed my uncle’s bedroom and guest rooms, while the first floor housed the hall, study, living room, dining room, and kitchen).

That Sunday passed quietly until nightfall. Schulz’s guests descended. A large group of them went hunting. Only upon their return, when they sat down at the table, did the conversations begin to turn increasingly loud. Out of the general uproar, roars of laughter and drunken shrieks erupted more and more often - like geysers.

Busia, Mrs. Wiśniowska, uncle, and aunt came to “my” room to eat dinner together. One of the girls serving Schulz’s guests came running upstairs to us. She said there was an important Nazi dignitary among them. Soon after, she informed us that it was Greiser (Artur Karl Greiser - in the 1930s, president of the senate of the Free City of Danzig, after the occupation of Wielkopolska - governor of the so-called “Land of Warta”). Another of the women hired, who knew a little German, came to warn our uncle. She had heard that Greiser mentioned he needed to arrest my uncle. We were overwhelmed by increasing anxiety.

When everyone dispersed to their rooms to rest, I was left alone. Fear of the hard-to-predict behavior of the drunken Germans kept me awake for a long time. Therefore, in the morning, my uncle could not wake me up. Sleepy, I initially did not understand what he was saying to me. However, I quickly came to my senses, as the news proved striking. Schulz communicated that, within two hours, we must leave Żegotki. He put a horse-drawn vehicle at our disposal. He left the choice of the vehicle and the place where he was to take us to my uncle. He would provide us with a suitable pass.

For the time being, the uncle decided they would go to nearby Wójcin, the estate of the Skrzydlewski, relatives of my aunt. He made a proposal concerning me. It was not known how the fate of the uncle would turn out. They were facing wandering. Therefore, the Donimirski family of Szadłowice should take care of me.

Although my uncle was a Hallerian and occupied Pomerania with the “Blue Army” in 1920, he was temporarily in no danger, as he had American citizenship. The best solution, therefore, would have been for me to stay temporarily in Żegotki until my uncle took me to Szadłowice. This also offered the possibility of safeguarding my siblings’ belongings located in Żegotki. Going with my uncle, I could not take much with me. After all, my uncle had to take some of Busia’s and Mrs. Wiśniowska’s luggage and their own.

When asked by my uncle if I agreed with his plan, I answered in the affirmative but expressed concern that Schulz would not approve it. Barely having time to wash and dress, my uncle returned with the news that Schulz had agreed to let me stay and had promised to notify Szadłowice.

The last minutes of Schulz’s appointment were spent running around, packing, and carrying my luggage outside the house, where a carriage was already standing, with Busia sitting in it, cuddled in the corner. Uncle chose this particular vehicle because of both the rainy weather and the capacity of the carriage. In addition, in order to be able to carry more things, the uncle and Mrs. Wiśniowska agreed that they would go on foot themselves.

When the last luggage was crammed into the carriage, and its doors slammed shut, farewells followed. Schulz was not among those saying goodbye. I led this peculiar procession out of the garden to the road. There my aunt stood, turned around, and turned her tear-filled eyes to the beautiful park and the family home where she had spent all her busy life. This was noticed by the old steward Skaza. He stopped the carriage and wiped the tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand. At the given sign, they set off. That view has remained in my memory forever: A foggy, gray autumn day. An aged steward on the trestle of a slow-moving carriage. Behind it walking three figures….

Editor Janusz Ryszkowski in his reportage (Dziennik Bałtycki [The Baltic Daily], 1999), once wrote about me: “He was quick to grow up”. How apt that observation! Even a year and a half earlier, I would fall into despair when it came to separation from my mother for one or two days!

When I returned home, Schulz instructed me to leave the guest room and move to the housekeeper’s room. There, on a mattress laid on the floor, I was to sleep. I could continue to eat my meals in the dining room with him. Thus, I passed day after day, and as many times as I asked Schulz to contact Szadłowice, he replied that he remembered. At that time, information about German crimes against locally residing Poles began to reach me in whispers. I did not yet know that this was the implementation of the occupier’s large-scale extermination plans. Half a century later, similar actions in Yugoslavia were called ethnic cleansing.

The Germans first set about exterminating the Polish intelligentsia. Eliminated were mainly social, economic, and national activists, active in various Polish organizations, holding various positions in them, people who enjoyed respect and authority among their compatriots. Hence the high proportion of landowners among the murdered.

That night, while a libation was being held in Żegotki, a horrific massacre took place in the Inowrocław prison. Drunken officers with skull-and-bones on their hats arranged shooting games with the prisoners they shot at, treating them like game. Perhaps it was Greiser who, going on a hunting trip to Żegotki, entered Inowrocław, where he emboldened and encouraged the SS officers there to act in this way. Among those killed that night were Edward Poniński of Piotrkowice and Włodzimierz Wichliński of Helenow. Józef Trzciński of Świerkowiec was shot in the Mirad forests near Strzelno. Jan Mlicki of Komaszyce, nephew of Busia’s brother-in-law, and Franciszek Mlicki of Obudno were also shot. Witold Kozłowski, the owner of Dulsk, was murdered in the forests near Gniewkowo. Józef Znaniecki of Jaronty, with whom Olgierd had served his apprenticeship, was also killed there.

All lands annexed to the Reich were subjected to similar measures. In the Nieszawa district, the Germans convened a meeting of landowners, after which everyone was arrested, and then most were exterminated. That’s how Władysław Niedźwiecki of Wierznica, nephew of Uncle Gucio, died. Of the Donimirski family, Jan, the owner of Łysomice, president of the Pomeranian Chamber of Agriculture and patron of the Union of Pomeranian Agricultural Circles, was executed at Barbarka in a forest near Toruń after a prolonged torment, and Jerzy of Gołanice, a member of the Polish Parliament, was executed in Leszno or Poznań.

Life in Żegotki flowed slowly for me. One November day, a maid came running to me, announcing that a wagon from Szadłowice had come for me. I couldn’t believe it, because the previous day, when I reminded Schulz, he dismissed me by asking if my stay in Żegotki was bad?

The news of the wagon from Szadłowice angered him immensely. He continually repeated the question, “Who notified them?” I shrugged my shoulders, not knowing the answer. He became even more furious when he went with me to the shed where eight of our suitcases were stored. He returned to the matter of the ammunition cartridges that had disappeared earlier from the lobby. In an effort to intimidate me, he shouted that I was in danger of being “punished by death”. Eventually, however, he wrote out a pass and let me go, admittedly with only six suitcases, taking the two most valuable ones for himself as loot.

In Szadłowice, in addition to my Uncle Karol and his wife, I found Maria and Kazimierz Donimirski of Małe Ramzy, along with their children Marian, Mietek, and Tuchna. Marian was preparing for a long-distance trip. He was going to reach France to join the Polish Army there. Despite my disbelief in the success of the attempt, he succeeded.

From my uncle, I learned who slipped information about my detention from Żegotki. It was my uncle’s chauffeur and a gardener who, at night, without a pass, risking a lot, reached the Janowice estate belonging to the Podkóliński family. A long chain of people of good will ensured that the news reached my uncle’s estate.

A matter that remains unclear to this day is Schulz’s reluctance to agree to my departure from Żegotki. The locals believed that Schulz feared he would be poisoned. He, therefore, wished me to dine with him.

I did not stay in Szadłowice for long. I was in a hurry to Marusza, to my sisters. My uncle arranged a pass for me. For my name day, I came to Marusza. I had never imagined that I would shed many tears there in the coming months.

After arriving in Warsaw, I stayed at Różana Street, where my uncle and aunt provided me with an apartment and helped me with various errands. Among other things, I extracted money from my account at the Communal Savings Bank. The fund paid out 100 złoty at a time, I no longer remember if it was possible to withdraw this amount every day. Since there were many takers, I spent many hours in a long line each time.

My older brother was also in Warsaw, where Uncle Janek provided him with temporary employment. There, he met Edmund Osmańczyk, Olo’s colleague from the Bielany Gymnasium, a distinguished activist and publicist, head of the Press Headquarters of the Union of Poles in Germany. They established contact, in order to continue working together in the underground.

The railroad was already running on some sort of schedule, although trains were often late, and the train cars were constantly crowded. After the recent war wanderings, crowds were moving from place to place. Some were returning to where they lived, others were trying to find their loved ones, and many displaced people traveled searching for work and a roof over their heads. 

I went to Kożuszki, where I found a house full of close and extended family deported from Pomerania and Wielkopolska. My uncle welcomed me warmly and assured me that we and my siblings could count on hospitality in their home. A post office was also already functioning. I made contact with my sisters, who, after their dramatic wanderings, lived with Staś in Marusza. The estate was still managed by Bernard Otrębski, and the housekeeper there, Franciszka Drążkówna, albeit not as kind as Gosia in Czernin, prepared their meals. Everyone was convinced that we would regain the right to our property sooner or later. No one in Poland lost faith in the final victory and return of the sovereign Polish State.

Although our government official from Czernin, Franciszek Malicki, had joined the NSDAP to hold on to his post, he showed us kindness and affection. He secretly came to Marusza at night, bringing my sisters’ various things from Czernin. Through Gosia, information about my parents reached us. They were both imprisoned in concentration camps: mother in the Ravensbrück women’s camp, father in KL Sachsenhausen. 

Notice of my father’s death came to Czernin, who supposedly died of heart failure on December 6. I was skeptical about his death’s circumstances and could not accept it. I was overwhelmed not only by grief and despondency but also by a feeling of helpless rebellion. Only after many years of collecting the accounts of witnesses to these events whom we met on various occasions could we reconstruct the ordeal our parents went through.

When they left Czernin on August 22, they went to Bad Nauheim, a health resort near Frankfurt am Main. They rented a room in the boarding house where our father used to stay. The owner was Mrs. Boesebeck, a Russian by descent and the widow of a German doctor. The first weeks of September passed relatively quietly. Only the triumphant reports on German radio aroused despair and dismay. Finally, one day, when the residents gathered in the dining room were eating lunch, listening to the war announcements broadcast loudly over the radio, the news of the Red Army’s entry into the eastern territories of the Polish state was given. Those present broke off and, stretching out their hands in the Nazi salute, began to sing the anthem of the National Socialist Party. They thought they had come to the victorious end of the blitzkrieg war.

The parents got up from the table and left the room. The next day the father was arrested and imprisoned in Darmstadt. With the fervent support of Mrs. Boesebeck, the mother tried to get in touch with him, deliver some things to him, and get help from a lawyer. Despite the insistence of both ladies, no lawyer was willing to take on the defense. One of them, an acquaintance of the doctor’s, declared that he could not help the imprisoned man in such a case and that he would expose himself to difficult foreseen consequences.

In October, it was the mother’s turn. She ended up in the women’s ward of the same prison where our father had been. Occasionally, they saw each other from a distance while walking. However, we know little about this period of their lives. There were signs that Mrs. Boesebeck relentlessly tried to help them. Soon, however, the parents were deported from Darmstadt, and the wandering around prisons in Wiesbaden, Frankfurt am Main, and Berlin began. Everywhere, interrogations, threats, and anguish began anew. Mother was sometimes in a cell alone and sometimes in a group of criminal prisoners. She later recalled the three weeks she spent alone in the cell as the most difficult period when she could not exchange a word with anyone.

In Berlin, the verdict came down: the concentration camp. As mother and her guard stood on the platform of the Berlin train station, waiting for the train that would take her to the camp, she spotted father in the group of prisoners being led past her. She managed to get close to him and heard his softly spoken words: “It’s bad…”. This was their last meeting.

In 1939, most of the concentration camp inmates were political opponents of Hitler. The few Poles who were there at the time came from the Polish minority in Germany. The accounts of those few people who came into contact with my father at Sachsenhausen and survived the war agreed. He maintained a dignified attitude and solidarity with his comrades in misery until the end. He was particularly mistreated - by SS men for his Polishness and by Communist kapos for belonging to their most-hated social class.

On December 6, he was tortured to death. The man who witnessed this did not want to tell me anything more about it. He thought it would be too cruel. I met him in passing in Olsztyn shortly after the war. In shock, I did not ask for his address. Nor did I write down his name, trusting my memory too much.

My mother also found herself surrounded by German women after arriving at Ravensbrück. However, she met some old acquaintances from her work in the Union of Poles, mainly from Warmia, among them Maria Zientara-Malewska, a distinguished educational activist, poet, and writer. They were soon joined by Janina Leśnierowska, who was also in charge of kindergartens in Olsztyn and Babimojszczyzna, and for a few months in 1936-1937, worked in Sztum. Gradually, Polish women were brought in singly or increasingly large groups. At the end of 1939, such a fate befell Wanda Pieniężna, the wife of the editor of the Gazeta Olsztyńska. My mother’s acquaintances were released from the camp in April 1940, which did not mean the end of their persecution. Like my mother, Otylia Teszner-Grotowa, a Warmian, commander of the East Prussian Scout Association in Germany, was imprisoned at Ravensbrück throughout the war. Only unprecedented fortitude enabled them both to survive.

Most of the German women had minimal sentences. They were sentenced to stays of several months in the camp for disobeying orders from the Nazi authorities or for anti-fascist statements. Harsher punishments were applied to women accused of communism. The camp also contained a group of those convicted of criminal offenses and prostitution. The most sympathetic and friendly were female prisoners from the sect of Bible scholars, whose religion forbids any action supporting the war. They were condemned for refusing to appear for auxiliary military service or other similar tasks. Even after imprisonment, they refused to do jobs such as sewing uniforms and undergarments for the army, risking confinement in the so-called bunker and other harsh punishments.

During this initial period, the camp was orderly, good sanitary conditions were maintained, and the food was tolerable. Mother was given the number 2386. In the following months and years of the war, the number of prisoners increased, and representatives of various nations from the occupied countries were brought in. Transports were arriving from Poland throughout the occupation, reaching maximum numbers after the Warsaw Uprising. Conditions in the camp deteriorated more and more. Hunger, cold, dirt, disease, and abuse decimated the hapless victims. Criminal medical experiments were carried out, mainly on the youngest. It was calculated that by the war’s end, 132,000 people, including 30,000 Polish women, had passed through this largest concentration camp for women. Some 92,000 died, including about 17,000 Polish women.

Mother survived at Ravensbrück for five and a half years. Despite the blow of my father’s death, despite the confiscation of all my parents’ property as property of enemies of the German state, carried out in 1941, despite her constant fear for the fate of her children - she was calm and composed, and gave encouragement and hope to others, as her fellow prisoners recall. She rose above earthly affairs with her spirit, which could not bring her down. To the best of her ability, she tried to help others. When she worked in the kitchen for long periods, she always carried bread or potatoes under her apron for the hungry. She hid drawings and poetry by Polish female camp artists under her mattress, which put her at risk of severe punishment. She cared for the young Janina Soldenhoff as her “camp mother.” Settled in a barracks intended for German women citizens, she worked constantly with the female residents of the Polish blocks. According to the recollections of former female camp inmates, even those without direct contact with her knew her from hearsay. In time, she was transferred to the Polish block.

We learned about all this much later. In December 1939, we knew little about our parents’ experiences. With the news of my father’s death also came the information that my three sisters had been arrested and imprisoned in Grudziądz prison. Staś remained alone in Marusza and was in danger of being placed in a German orphanage. I decided evacuate him immediately.

The Germans had incorporated Poland’s western and northern parts into the Reich, forming the so-called General Government from the central and southern parts. Special passes were required to cross the border. A German office in Warsaw issued them. When I went there, I found a crowd of people often waiting for such a document for several days. Many people were dealt with by refusal. Having a valid German passport, I decided to take a chance and go without a permit. In the event of an inspection by ignorant officials, my passport could protect me, but our name was on lists of people wanted by the Gestapo, and an encounter with their officer could end badly for me. Later, after my return, I made myself an identity card valid for residents of the General Government, the so-called kenkarte, based on my student ID, without revealing my German citizenship.

Before leaving, I met with uncle Włodek. After being displaced from Żegotki, he managed to reach Warsaw, where he temporarily stayed with friends. I obtained from him the addresses of a few people who could help me in my time of need and a certain amount of German money. They asked me to bring some things from Inowrocław and Rakowice.

Thus, on December 9, I found myself in a crowded compartment of a Łowicz-Kutno-Toruń train. The border station was Żychlin. The stop lasted about an hour. Two German gendarmes boarded the first and last carriages to inspect documents and luggage. They advanced from both sides toward the middle. With my heart pounding, I waited until it was my turn. Some screams rang out, and several people were disembarked from the train to the platform, where they waited under guard. Time dragged on forever. Finally, I heard German voices in the neighboring compartment, but the steam engine signal almost simultaneously sounded, and the train slowly moved. The gendarmes had jumped off as the train moved.

Late in the evening, we arrived in Toruń. With a large group of passengers, I got off at the Toruń Przedmieście (now Toruń Główny) station. We were separated from the city center by the Vistula River. We set off in the direction of the bridge. It was damaged during the war effort, but mostly survived. After crossing it, we descended a high ladder to a footbridge leading to the shore. When it was my turn, and I was descending the shaky rungs in the light of the floodlights, I could see the threateningly moving lumps of ice floes on the Vistula below me. 

Around midnight, I happily arrived at the home of uncle Łukowicz, whom I was to ask for hospitality. Unfortunately, I found the front door to the townhouse locked. They lived on the second floor, so I started knocking and tugging on the handle, but for a long time no one answered. I was afraid to be left alone in the street at night, and on the other hand, the noise could bring in the gendarmes. Finally, a window opened somewhere on the top floor, and a voice asked: “Who is there?”. I answered: “To Mr. and Mrs. Łukowicz!” - and at that moment, I heard my aunt’s voice: “Please wait!”. She heard knocking but was afraid to speak up. Everyone was afraid of night visits.

She received me warmly. It turned out that only her sister, Maria Swinarska (Krysia’s mother, with whom I lived in the dormitory), forced to leave her estate, was with her now. Uncle Marceli Łukowicz, as a doctor, was drafted into the army and, with his unit, found himself in Lviv under Soviet rule. Their children were not at home, I no longer remember why.

When I presented my plans to my aunts, we decided that I would accept my aunt’s invitation and use her apartment as a base camp. From here, I would set off one by one to the planned destinations, and here I would return each time.

I spent the next day in Toruń gathering information. I also took part in an unusual action: my aunt opened a box of food stored in anticipation of the war. To her horror, she found there a mouse nest with a female and several little ones. Together with Aunt Swinarska, I helped her remove these uninvited guests. Fortunately, she accepted it with humor. Although a large amount of spilled flour and porridge had to be thrown away, a sizable number of packages, including sugar, coffee, and tea, remained untouched.

First, I set off for Marusza, as I was very worried about my siblings. Around noon, I left by train for Grudziądz and continued by bus. At dusk, I arrived at the places I knew so well. I got to the house through the kitchen entrance and met the housekeeper. It turned out that the situation had fundamentally changed. Only then did I learn more about my sisters’ fate in that first period of the war.

In the fall of 1939, one of the sons of Ventzky, the former owner of Marusza, was appointed Treuhänder, manager of his father’s former property of both Marusza and the factory in Grudziądz. He proved to be a cultured and kind man. He insisted that he had no claim to the property that his father had sold to our father voluntarily and legally. He ensured that my siblings could stay in Marusza. This put my sisters in a unique situation compared to the fate of other Polish landowners in the areas annexed to the Reich. After all, most were imprisoned or murdered, and families were deported brutally to the General Government.

The caretaker Bernard Otrębski and housekeeper Franciszka Drążkówna signed the Volkslist, allowing them to continue working. Soon, Ventzky relinquished management of the estate and retained only the function of Treuhänder of the factory. The estate management was taken over by Kreislandwirt - (county agricultural official) Bernet, who was not hostile to Poles and upheld the decisions of his predecessor, behaving politely toward my sisters. Later, in the spring of 1940, he hired Renia as a secretary in the estate’s office and Ewa, who had not yet matriculated, as a “farm laborer” to work in the garden. When winter came, Ventzky, at the request of our distant cousin Bogdan Czarlinski, transferred her to his factory. Czarlinski was an engineer who had been employed at the factory since before the war.

In December 1939, a barn in Marusza burned down. My sisters were accused of sabotage, although everyone around knew that a Swiss carbide lamp had started the fire. All three were incarcerated in single cells in the Grudziądz prison. During the inspection, the prison warden, having heard their name, took an interest in them. He had been transferred to Grudziądz from Sztum, where he held the same position. He knew our father, who sometimes employed prisoners in Czernin during the flurry of fieldwork. He held our father in high esteem. However, he stated that he did not have the slightest influence on the investigation and sentencing. The pre-war prison guards, probably accustomed only to female criminals, dealt with my sisters badly. Nevertheless, my sisters told me about it with humor, treating this incarceration as a great adventure. Only later did I learn that this imprisonment was a hard experience for the girls, one they could not forget. Their further fate could have been tragic.

However, they were freed thanks to the intervention of Ventzky, to whom Bogdan Czarliński passed on the information about their imprisonment. Proving the absurdity of the accusation was easy, but everything depended on the person acting in their defense. Soon the sisters returned to Marusza and were allowed to continue living there with their brother. They were allowed to live in the former guest rooms on the second floor of our house. Various German officials and later officers periodically used the first and second floors. So I had to sneak around quietly. I slept on a mattress, which we hid in an unused and unheated room for the day. I hid there myself, too, when a servant appeared to bring wood to burn in the stove.

I greatly desired to stay with them for Christmas, but it was too risky. The day went by like a second. We had so much to tell each other. I listened in suspense to the chaotic accounts of their wartime adventures which were sometimes dramatic; sometimes, they simply saved their health and lives by a miracle. However, even in the most difficult situations, my sisters’ dark humor did not leave us, and at times we laughed at the scenes they described.

We also discussed plans for the near future. We decided that as long as nothing threatened them here, they would remain in Marusza. However, they would be cautious, and as soon as they felt threatened, they would leave for Kożuszki.

With a heavy heart, I slipped to the bus stop the following day at a very early hour. Fortunately, I did not meet anyone who could recognize me. I returned to Toruń, and a day later, on Christmas Eve, I set off for Rakowice, where my deaf Sikorski uncle, Uncle Stefan’s wife Aldona, and Aunt Zosia were staying. With my soul on my shoulder, I walked from the train station to the farm buildings. I didn’t know Rakowice and didn’t know where to look for my uncle and aunt. I had to ask about them boldly. It was already early evening when I encountered some workers who were eager to give me information.

As it turned out, the German administration had left for Christmas, and my uncle and aunt were feeling more at ease. They had just set up a small Christmas tree decorated with candles and a few “angel hairs”, and were about to sit down to a modest Christmas Eve supper. They were delighted to see me. With tears in our eyes, we shared the Christmas wafer, a Polish tradition around Christmas, and the news of the family. The German administrators employed the uncles on the farm and treated them like other estate employees. The ladies took care of the household. After the meal and a longer chat, I handed over a list of things uncle Włodek had requested. They packed them right away, adding other more valuable items on their own initiative.

They, too, were afraid that someone unauthorized would find out about my arrival. Later that evening, they made an appointment with a trusted man, who drove me in a wooden wagon to the tiny station in Zajączko at dawn. If I remember correctly, only once a day did a local train pass through here to New Town, two or three stops away. 

It was still dark when I set out with two heavy suitcases. A heavy frost had taken hold during the night, and I was gritting my teeth from the cold, shivering in a not-very-comfortable seat. The train left on schedule, and when I got off it at the New Town station, a bright, sunny day had already started, although the biting frost still held. It turned out that the nearest train to Toruń did not leave until seven o’clock in the evening. The train station was at least three kilometers from the city. The building had suffered a bit during the war effort, and a window had been broken in the waiting room. The station was glaringly empty. Railroad workers were coming to the service room only during the arrival hours of the few trains.

I lodged in the waiting room, horrified at the prospect of spending the first day of Christmas in such conditions. Beside me, soon appeared a man laden with bags and packages. We started talking to each other. He was a shoemaker by profession and lived in Gdynia until the war. Later he left his city, wandered all over Poland, and finally stayed with his family. He was going to Gdynia to see if he could return there. We were waiting for the same train. He was eager to chat, and his stories eased the boredom. However, I was increasingly bothered by the cold. I had sandwiches prepared by Aunt Zosia, so I didn’t feel hungry, but ossified, I dreamed of a cup of hot coffee or tea. 

Finally, I came up with a brilliant idea. I suggested to my companion that he watch over my luggage while I went into town to some cafe, and then I would watch over his things, and he could walk away.

All in larks, I marched down the icy road to town, enjoying the beautiful sunny day. The movement itself had already warmed me up. A hot coffee did the rest in a cafe near the market. At some point, I realized that I didn’t know this man, and I had entrusted him with such precious things for my uncle. I was overwhelmed with anxiety. With a quick step, I set off on my way back. When I entered the waiting room, my legs gave way under me. There was no one in it. It breathed emptiness! I was utterly devastated. I wandered around the station but did not meet a living soul. I made bitter excuses to myself: how could I do such a thing! I spent about four hours despairing over my guilt. 

Finally, around six o’clock, I heard voices. Some people were walking towards the station. And lo and behold, I recognized the silhouette of the cobbler. He was walking, carrying my suitcases, and the people accompanying him shared his packages. I felt like throwing myself around his neck! I thanked him warmly, and once we were in the train compartment to Toruń, I extracted a beautiful wallet from my uncle’s suitcase and gave it to him as a token of gratitude.

It turned out that shortly after I left, an old acquaintance of his, whom he had lost sight of for a long time, came by chance to the station. Invited to his nearby house, he took my suitcases with him, feeling responsible for them.

The final destination of my trip was Inowrocław. I reported to the indicated address, where I was kindly received by a lady who was a friend of uncle Włodek. From her, I received some valuable items, some documents, maybe securities, in a small package. However, I did not remember any details from this visit. A feeling of horror dominated my recollections. Then, I learned about the horrible crime committed against several hundred men in an Inowrocław prison. I have mentioned it before because the thought of it recurs and cannot be forgotten. The murdered represented the elite of the city and the area. I was shocked - many of them I knew, with many of them I enjoyed New Year’s Eve balls, Staś Wichliński was among them….

The day came to return to Warsaw. I said a heartfelt goodbye to my aunts, who had shown me so much heart. I was especially grateful to Aunt Janka for her hospitality and all-around help, whether through good advice or contacts with people. It would have been much more difficult for me to fulfill my tasks without her. 

The way back didn’t stick in my memory. I was probably stunned by the excess of impressions and experiences. After handing over the things I had brought to uncle Włodek, I left for Kożuszki, where I decided to stay permanently. Aunt Hala, or my uncle, suggested I teach their youngest son Wojtek. Until the summer of 1939, he studied at the Jesuit Fathers in Chyrów, where he completed the second grade of junior high school. There was no trouble acquiring textbooks, so I set to work without delay. My uncle paid me a few złoty a month, which was also important to me.

Numerous guest rooms were along the long corridor on the house’s second floor in Kożuszki. At the time, a different family lived in each of them. These were mainly people related to my aunt by the Dąmbski family, from which she descended. Nevertheless, family ties often connected the Dąmbski with the Donimirski and Sikorski families. Among the Pomeranian nobility, who married mainly in their community, families were often related to each other several times.

After being displaced from their estate in Kaliska, the Sokolnicki family found refuge here: Uncle Jan and his wife, generally known as Aunt Frania, with their teenage son Adolf and paralyzed daughter Iza. Two Dąmbski sisters from Sędzice (Pomerania) also spent almost the entire war here - the younger, Tola, and the older, Maryna Tucholczyna, with her two teenage daughters, Terenia and Basia, and the youngest, Wojtek. Maryna’s husband worked in Warsaw, and at the same time was very active in the underground. On his days off from work, he would visit his family. 

There were also Aunt Marycha Dąmbska from Babalice (Pomerania) and sixty-something Aunt Celina Dąmbska, a single person, with her beloved dog Teddy. Also there was Jaś Lutostański, who was severely wounded by a bullet in his shoulder, was deprived of medical attention for a long time. He was wounded in the September campaign. When the bullet was finally removed, the infected wound stank and refused to heal for months.

As for my uncle’s sons, Janusz, the eldest, graduated from the Warsaw School of Economics before I began my studies and worked in foreign trade before the war. During the war, he and his cousin Frank Dąmbski of Babalice ran an illegal currency exchange office in Warsaw, a dangerous occupation punishable by death by the Germans. However, with good organization and avoidance of risky operations, this business, which earned much trust among relatives and friends, prospered quite well until the outbreak of the uprising. After healing his wound, Jaś Lutostański also worked with them.

The second cousin, Jerzy, who had graduated from agricultural and horticultural studies in Belgium, was involved in gardening, and the third, Zygmuś, a year younger than me, a lover of nature and country life, helped on the farm. The youngest Wojtek took to studying with my help.

That first wartime winter was very hard. The occupier’s terror was rampant. The scarcity of first aid kits was gruesome. Exceptionally severe frosts aggravated the situation. I remember that in addition to warm underwear, I wore three sweaters and two skirts, one on top of the other. In 30-degree frost, we ran out of the house every day to warm up. One day, as we chased each other through the woods, throwing snowballs, my uncle noticed my nose was completely white. He started rubbing it on me with snow, but I still developed frostbite. I treated it extensively later and even, arousing the merriment of my peers, wore a warm case over that part of my face. The symptoms subsided fairly quickly. Only a tendency to redness under frostbite or overheating remained for some time.

At that time, more than twenty people sat at the table every day in Kożuszki, and sometimes more than thirty on Sundays and holidays. The uncle and aunt provided everyone with three modest but healthy and nutritious meals. Their basis was vegetables from their garden, dairy, and flour dishes. The mothers bought butter, eggs, cheese, and meat from local farmers for the children only. 

Despite the gathering under one roof of so many people of different ages and characters, the coexistence of this community of ours was harmonious. Everyone helped each other and showed mutual kindness. From time to time, the individual ladies would invite the entire company for the modest delicacies they had prepared, contributing to even closer relations and a warmer atmosphere. Despite the difficult conditions and seemingly hopeless situations, no one lost their encouragement, and we youngsters didn’t even lose our good mood and humor. Like the whole society, we believed in a happy ending of the war for Poland. However, no one imagined that it could continue for so long. Every year looked potentially like the longed-for spring, one which was expected to result in a fundamental breakthrough and, as a result, liberation.

From time to time, I traveled from Kożuszki to Warsaw to visit my grandmother and Jaś, and sometimes uncle Włodek, who lived in a small wooden house in Radość. Uncle worked several times a week as a cashier in a café his friend ran.

Meanwhile, the spring of 1940 did not bring the expected breakthrough. On the contrary: Germany started occupying Denmark, Norway, and the Benelux countries. The fall of France caused general despondency in Poland. Without losing faith in the successful final end of the war, we realized that this year would not be the last, contrary to previous hopes. It was difficult to accept. It seemed that no one could stand it.

Although possession of a radio was punishable by death, my cousins, with their parents’ knowledge, hid the apparatus in the attic in the chimney and listened regularly. Of course, they did not reveal this secret to anyone. Without giving the source of the information, they passed it on to our small community. I never personally listened to Polish news from the BBC in Kożuszki. It wasn’t until two years later, in Warsaw, that I met with this good fortune. At night, in a dark hiding place, I could receive with a pounding heart that longed-for signal: boom-boom-boom, and then: “This is London speaking…”.

In time, we established contact with our mother imprisoned in the Ravensbrück camp. Once a month, we received a short letter from her in a special print. She, too, could only receive correspondence once a month. We, therefore, agreed on who among us would write in turn so that she would have news from all of us. After a while, we were allowed to send the camp one two-kilogram package a month.

At the end of 1940, Wojtek and I completed the fourth-grade middle school program. His parents made arrangements with the school of the Immaculate Sisters in Szymanów so that he could get the “little high school diploma” there. Before the war, the nuns ran an educational institution for girls, including primary and secondary grades, with a boarding school. During the war, they continued this activity under the banner of a vocational school since the Germans allowed only vocational training for Polish youth and elementary education in reading, writing, and calculus. 

There were severe penalties for educating students at a higher level, up to and including the death penalty. Nonetheless, secret education was widespread, including middle and high schools and higher education curricula. In the Szymanów school, as in many other underground educational institutions, examinations were also held for externs. After the war, appropriate certificates were issued based on which young people could continue their education at the appropriate level. Wojtek passed the exams well, so my task was fulfilled. I decided to go to my brother’s in Lublin.

My brother Olgierd moved to Lublin after a short stay in Warsaw. Uncle Janek Sikorski hired him there as a representative of a company the uncle co-owned. It produced combs, buttons, buckles, and similar accessories, which Olo offered to stores in Lublin. His earnings were modest but provided him with a livelihood. At the same time, his company, accepted by the occupiers, provided him with reasonably secure documents to protect him from being arrested in a street roundup. 

In this way, the uncle came to the aid of many people, not only employing them but often, at the risk of his life, simply issuing them with fictitious labor certificates. This enabled them to carry out underground activities. I know, for example, that such fictitious workers were some teachers from the Emilia Plater Gymnasium engaged in clandestine teaching. Even many years after the war, he still received thank-you letters whose authors stated that he had saved their lives. My brother, appearing on the honor rolls, was also exposed to particular danger. Fortunately, since he could produce a kennkarte, which Polish citizens used to have, he simply disappeared into the crowd. In Lublin, he met the former Polish consul in Kwidzyn, Mr. Mieczysław Rogalski, and through him, established clandestine contacts with compatriots under the “Rodło” sign from Mazury.

So, after Wojtek’s successful exam, I left for Lublin to help my brother with his work. One of the most difficult periods in my life began. My brother took care of the more serious transactions and commissioned me to go around the stores and offer for sale the small accessories of which he was a salesman. While the atmosphere in Kożuszki was similar to our former home, here in Lublin, I only realized what changes my position had undergone. I felt downgraded and humiliated. Shy by nature, I had to overcome strong resistance to offer the meager goods in the stores. Behind the counter sat generally confident shopgirls, treating me with disdain and my combs, buckles, and buttons with contempt. Of course, each wanted to extort the lowest possible price, and that, after all, was not up to me.

At home, I was oppressed by the atmosphere of drastic austerity, which Olo adhered to, having - like me - a sense of steep decline. Fortunately, we lived in a room rented from sympathetic landlords. The owner of the apartment, the engineer Mr. Szmurło, worked in surveying. He spent a great deal of time in the field. His wife, handsome and friendly, an excellent hostess, took care of the house and two school-aged children. She showed us a lot of cordiality, and I owed her no small number of moments that allowed me to forget the grim reality.

They occupied a beautiful apartment in the city’s center on Krakowskie Przedmieście Street, near Unia Lubelska Square. Olo and I had a nice big room with all the comforts. We went to the semi-secular nuns of St. Zyta, called “zytki”, who ran a canteen not far from our house for lunch. We admired their ingenuity. They served minced meat every day but in a different form each time. So there were chops, scions, roast romaine, meatballs, croquettes, and stuffed cabbage rolls. I don’t know where they got the meat because it was difficult to get it. 

The Germans strictly controlled breeding. Only meat from clandestine slaughtering went to market at high prices. It was delivered to the cities at the risk of smugglers’ lives, mainly women, for whom the gendarmes conducted raids on trains. A few Poles had ration cards for meat, but they mainly received bones for these cards.

At Christmas, we all met in Kożuszki. This trip was connected with an unpleasant experience for me. On the way from Lublin to Warsaw, my travel bag, in which I had all my mother’s jewelry, was stolen. There was a lot of my fault in this. I was traveling with Uncle Jan Sikorski, and we met friends from before the war on the train. An interesting conversation ensued. I was already looking forward to meeting my family. I was animated and excited. In the crowd, I paid no attention to my luggage. I desperately tried to retrieve the valuables. I put a lot of effort into it, but the matter was hopeless. For a long time, I was tormented by remorse. After all, the loss was suffered by my entire family. Along with the bag, I also lost my German passport, which could perhaps protect me during street roundups.

In January, I returned to Lublin. In the following weeks, the number of roundups there increased to a degree never seen before. Every two or three days, gendarmes and Gestapo men would round up a section of the street and load all random passersby into trucks. Although a certificate of work, deemed necessary by the occupiers, in principle protected from arrest, there was no certainty. Not all Germans believed these documents. Those who were captured were usually deported to forced labor in the Reich. Many were sent to concentration camps. Some became victims of mass executions, often public ones, to punish the public for underground actions or under other pretexts. I would have been without a chance if fate had fallen on me.

So, I began to look for a job that would provide protection from deportation. Some acquaintances referred me to an institution called Landwirtschaftliche Zentrale. There, I was offered a job as a typist at the Agricultural and Commercial Cooperative in Hrubieszów. At first, I considered it an unrealistic stretch. First, I did not know how to type, and second, I was terrified of going to a deep, completely unknown province. However, after a conversation with the director of the cooperative, Mr. Czypicki, I began to think about it. My knowledge of German was an asset to them because they needed someone to type out the relatively few letters in that language. They provided good financial conditions and, free of charge, a room alone or beside a family. I accepted the proposal after conferring with my brother and Mr. and Mrs. Szmurło. It was February 1941.

Several friends gave me letters of recommendation to Hrubieszów’s residents they knew. These letters turned out to be necessary. I felt foolish when I was placed in a room reserved for the secretary of two German commissioners overseeing the cooperative. The secretary was due to arrive soon from Germany. The commissioners were looking forward to her. They were pleased that a typist with knowledge of German had appeared for the time being and imagined that I was some kind of Volksdeutsche. 

I was horrified when they offered me to have coffee and go to the movies together. I fended off coffee with the excuse that I already had an appointment, and as for the cinema - I decided to dispel any illusions about my person. I explained to them that my father had died in a concentration camp, my mother was still in Ravensbrück, and I had vowed I would not go to the movies until she returned. During the German occupation, going to the cinema was treated as a collaboration with the occupier, who managed the cinema. “Only pigs sit in the cinema” was a common saying.

As I found out later, both commissioners were members of the Nazi party not out of conviction but for opportunistic reasons. One had a mill in Germany. The other was an official of an insurance company. My outspokenness did not arouse resentment in them toward me. They felt perhaps even something like sympathy. However, they feared that any contact with me might be frowned upon. Thus, I ensured peace of mind on their part. 

They performed their duties very zealously, first of all wanting to earn recognition from their party superiors and with a sense of accomplishing tasks that were important to the fatherland. As time passed, I began to understand the activities of our cooperative and why it was so expanded. It employed about a hundred workers, half displaced persons from Pomerania and Wielkopolska. The two directors who headed it also came from Poznań. They had graduated from German schools before the First War, so they knew the language well.

The area around Hrubieszów was par excellence agricultural, famous for its fertile soil and rich harvests. The cooperative’s task was to collect grain, potatoes, and livestock quotas from farmers, especially estate owners, for which they were paid symbolic official prices. As additional compensation, they could buy from the cooperative, as a “bonus”, at official prices, certain amounts of sugar, vodka, kerosene (villages in the Hrubieszów region were generally without electricity), and modest clothing. The bonus did not offset the losses incurred, despite the possibility of selling sugar and vodka at free market prices.

A quiet but fierce struggle against quotas continued. It was considered a patriotic duty not to give away the food produced to the occupying forces but to provide it to the population of the cities, who had to buy it on the free, or black, market. This brought financial benefits at the same time. On the other hand, those who failed to fulfill the imposed obligation and sold their crops illegally faced the highest penalties. Often, the owner lost the right to his property, which the Treuhänder took into administration.

Obviously sympathetic to the Polish owners, the cooperative’s employees had little influence on the course of events. Here, the main role was played by German commissars, whose task was to collect and deliver as much food as possible to the Reich. Shortly after my arrival, they punished the entire crew with an extension of working hours for their lack of zeal in performing their duties. We had to spend all day at our desks, from seven in the morning until seven in the evening, with an hour’s break for lunch. This lasted for a few weeks, after which we returned to the previous norm, from seven in the morning to four in the afternoon.

Gradually, I got to know my colleagues working at our cooperative, and over time I became friends with some of them. Quite quickly, I took a liking to Janka Pawlicka, a woman from Poznań, a little older than I. She was married. When the Gestapo discovered the secret organization in which she was active with her husband, he was arrested, and she managed to slip away and, under a false name, reached Hrubieszów. She was very concerned about the fate of her spouse. Also, my immediate superior, the machine shop manager, showed me a lot of kindness and was protective of me. On various occasions, she introduced me to the gentry from the area.

At that time, my distant cousin, Staszek Czernic, whom I had not previously known, appeared in Hrubieszów. He was a medical student, almost having completed his degree. Well-wishers referred him to work at the hospital in Hrubieszów. His sympathetic friend, Jurek Wolszczan, worked at our cooperative, so a meeting soon occurred. As a result, together with Janka, we formed a close-knit foursome. Jurek’s parents had a farm in Dziekanów, near Hrubieszów. Cultured, friendly, and hospitable, they invited us for days off from work, which we gladly took advantage of.

According to the contract, I didn’t have much work to do in my office, as I wrote only a few German letters. However, to not waste time, I bought a typing manual from a bookstore and practiced according to the recommended rules, using all my fingers. I practiced typing “blindly”, without looking at the keyboard.

After three months of my work, a German secretary arrived. I had to cede my room to her, which I did with relief. I still felt embarrassed that I was living in a house occupied by Germans. In all cities, they took over the best houses, throwing the residents out. After I left Lublin, this fate also befell Mr. and Mrs. Szmurło and my brother. The Germans seized their beautiful apartment and the entire house. The Szmurło were resettled in a hovel in the Jewish quarter, from where the unfortunate previous residents were deported. Also, the house in Hrubieszów, where I lived for a while, was one of the best furnished and - a rarity in that city - equipped with water and sewage systems. 

Now, I was given a room in a wooden house belonging to an employee of our cooperative, where he lived with his wife and four children. We went to the well for water; the toilet was a “saloon” at the yard’s edge. I was lucky that the winter months had passed and I could spend them in better conditions. When I moved, spring was already in full swing, and the primitiveness of my new residence did not scare me. 

I quickly established friendly relations with my landlords, very respectable people, and felt comfortable with them. The cooperative paid them for my room, so I brought them additional income. So they felt obliged to take care of the subletter and helped with everything. They provided water, including hot water for washing. I could boil water or milk for meals with them. I ate my lunch in the workers’ cafeteria, where we were fed well. I brought food for myself from a nearby village for breakfast and dinner. 

As cooperative workers, we were entitled to buy a kilogram of sugar, a liter of kerosene, and a bottle of vodka every month at official prices. Colleagues who handled this were able to increase the rationing slightly without much trouble. With the large turnover, such small amounts did not matter. I exchanged kerosene and vodka with a friendly peasant family for eggs, butter, and cheese. In this way, I fed myself and sent parcels, primarily to my mother and on behalf of my sisters Lili and Ewa, to officers in prisoner-of-war camps.

I expected to be assigned to a group of typists writing in Polish after the arrival of a new employee. Meanwhile, the German woman with a secretarial diploma turned out to be a simple girl who had taken a course after elementary school but knew little. Not only did she type poorly, but she could not handle either grammar or spelling. The commissioners demanded that I work with her, correct her mistakes, and write some letters personally. In this way, I spent a lot of time with her and did not fail to tell her about the war crimes committed by the Germans. Being a good but naive girl, she couldn’t believe it and asked the commissioners if it was true. They yelled at her and threatened to turn me over to the Gestapo. The next day, she came to the office crying and apologized to me warmly. I was alarmed by this, but the commissioners, having called me in for an interview, only repeated their threat, which was the end of it. I understood that they themselves were afraid, lest the Gestapo find out about the it.

I kept in touch with my siblings, of course. The first to leave Marusza was Lili. After a short stay in Kożuszki, she left for Lublin, where she was taken in by Rysia Koziełło-Poklewski’s sister, Lola Wnukowa. As the wife of an officer who, like Rysia’s, was in German captivity, she belonged to a group of ladies whose husbands were in oflags, i.e. officer POW camps, and who helped each other, and jointly tried to get jobs to ensure their livelihoods and the ability to send packages to their imprisoned husbands. Lili went to live with Lola, and both found work in a restaurant.

With some delay in the spring of 1941, news reached me that my sisters Renia and Ewa had again been imprisoned in Grudziądz. This time, the situation was even more dangerous than before. They had fallen victim to a widespread action against the Polish intelligentsia. They found themselves in a group of women destined to be sent to the Ravensbrück camp, where our mother was located. In harsh conditions, they were kept in the attic of the “Madeira” (the former barracks where the unemployed had been living since the crisis). Hunger and dirt were a nuisance. However, this time, too, thanks to Bogdan Czarliński’s request, Ventzky’s intervention led to the girls’ release. Much is owed to Bogdan’s kind help and this German who maintained a humane attitude during these cruel times. My sisters returned to work. However, fearing for the future, they decided that Staś would leave for Kożuszki.

Thus, he again had to part with his loved ones and set off alone to a family he did not know. Fortunately, this trip had a positive influence on his education. His uncle engaged a teacher, Mrs. Murawska, who prepared Wojtek for the matriculation exam. Also taking lessons from her were Teresa and Basia Tuchołka, whom Staś joined.

On June 22, at dawn, I was awakened by a monstrous rumbling. It seemed that some powerful force was smashing a barn nearby. I got up to see what was happening. My hosts woke up earlier and managed to find out that the Germans had launched an attack on the Soviet Union. Intense shooting could be heard for an hour, after which the sound of gunfire gradually receded. When I went to work at seven o’clock, there was already silence all around. There was no indication of a battle going on somewhere over the horizon.

There was joy among the Poles. In our office, instead of working, everyone was discussing how our two occupiers would destroy each other. On the other hand, the Germans, including our commissars, were depressed. They were terrified of war with such a powerful opponent.

I had a dental appointment scheduled for that day. At the appointed hour, I dismissed myself from my boss’s place and went to the office in the doctor’s house. However, instead of her, I found her husband there. I was surprised, as I knew he was in hiding. As a professional officer of the opposing side, he did not report for captivity when the Germans issued such an order. For this, he risked being sent to a concentration camp. On that day, however, he forgot to be careful. He was sitting in his wife’s office with a buddy, and they were drinking alcohol. Upon seeing me, they declared that they would not let me out until I had a glass with them to commemorate this historic day. I protested as best as I could, but faced with the persistence of the tipsy men, I decided to wet my lips symbolically. This was enough for me to feel the fire in my mouth suddenly: I realized that the men were sipping the dentist’s medical spirits.

The summer passed pleasantly for me. We would finish work early on Saturdays and immediately set off with Janka, Jurek, and Staszek to Dziekanów. Sometimes, we all joined in working on the farm. We raked hay and helped with the harvest. We often met with local youth and played volleyball. Staszek took in the sick. People from neighboring villages would come to him, and he would examine them, give them medicine obtained from the hospital, and give them injections and bandages without accepting any compensation. In return, grateful housewives brought him a chicken, a whetstone of butter, a clutch of eggs. He defended himself against these gifts and left them to Mr. and Mrs. Wolszczan, who in turn served them to us. In him, we had a companion of crystal character, always ready to sacrifice for others. In any case, all three of my friends exemplified the idealistic, valuable youth I met so many during that war, and of whom so many paid with their lives for their fidelity to professed ideals.

My contact with some of the local gentry also increased. Several times, I was invited to Sunday parties by an old acquaintance of my Uncle Zygmunt’s, Mrs. Walewska, who, with her brother Tadeusz Świeżawski, ran the estate in Dołhobyczów. I also visited Mr. and Mrs. Pohorecki, whom I met through my boss. I attended meetings at the restaurant that Mr. Jan Hulimka organized for his friends from time to time. All these meetings made a big impression on me. They reminded me of my lost world from before the war.

Thanks to these acquaintances, Mr. Roman Janta-Połczyński found out about me. Displaced with his family from Żabiczyn, he found refuge in Zamość. He was soon engaged by Count Smorczewski, owner of the Tarnogóra estate in the Krasnystaw district. Mr. Roman took up the administrator’s post there and sought a trustworthy accountant-secretary. When he made me an offer, I agreed without a second thought. Despite my work’s good conditions, I was weighed down by the increasingly clear conviction that my workplace served German interests. I had little difficulty in arranging my release from my duties. The German secretary was doing better and better, so after I left, the burden was on the commissioners or directors of the cooperative only to correct mistakes. On September 15, 1941, I left Hrubieszów, regretfully saying goodbye to my friends.

My living conditions improved significantly. I had a room in the palace with all kinds of services. I ate meals together with the whole family of the owners. I was obliged to work from nine to one in the morning, and from three to six in the afternoon. Performing my new duties felt satisfying. I could always count on Mr. Roman’s help in case of trouble.

Count Smorczewski, then in his fifties, had encyclopedic  knowledge. He knew several foreign languages and had traveled extensively in the past. He was fond of music and played the cello himself. When I met him, he devoted most of his day to reading. He was not personally involved in managing his estate, although he took an interest in it and discussed all matters in detail with Mr. Połczyński.

The count’s wife, Mrs. Ewa (née Obertyńska), was the epitome of kindness. She was very active and energetic and cared for all her household members. And there were quite a few of them. Of course, the main object of her care was her two sons. The elder Rafał was about seventeen years old at the time. The younger Mark was about fifteen. Both parents put a lot of effort into their education and upbringing.

Mrs. Smorczewska’s mother and sister, the former in her eighties and the latter in her sixties, also lived in the palace. After the loss of her estate in Kresy Wschodnie, the Eastern Borderlands, countess Łosiowa also found herself here and took over the running of the house. The boys’ former nanny stayed on, in return for room and board. She helped set and clear the table and prepared delicacies for her two favorites. The boys were home-schooled by two teachers, each with separate specialties. The rest of the household consisted of the old butler Bernard, who was attached to the family, as well as the cook and a few girls, who took care of laundry, cleaning, and stove-burning. Wood was used as fuel. Large logs burned in the ornate fireplace in the dining room. The palace was spacious, so it required numerous servants. 

Mr. and Mrs. Połczyński lived in a separate house near the palace. They had two sons, aged six and four. They also took care of Ms. Maruszka’s 16-year-old niece, Anulka Koczorowska.

Mr. Połczyński administered a complex of several farm units. The Tarnogóra estate had three granges and a large mill. Each grange was run by a manager, and the mill was run by its dedicated manager. The estate of Mr. Smorczewski’s father, called Stryjów, was also run by the administrator, Mr. Połczyński. Hence, the bookkeeping was complicated. Two owners had to be taken into account, having practically one common cash register. However, this was not the main challenge. It involved double bookkeeping, which was necessary due to illegal income from free market sales. Without them, estates in the Generalna Gubernia could not function, or even exist. Often, official expenses covered up illegitimate proceeds. At the time, Mr. Roman and I had to get creative over how to account for this. Mr. Smorczewski’s hobby was his racing stable, the upkeep of which consumed large sums of money.

I had a lot of work, and at certain times I could not complete everything during the scheduled hours. However, I was still left with quite a lot of free time. I often spent it in the company of Anulka and the young Smorczewski family, who had a lot of ideas, and organized fun activities. There was a large pond in the park’s depths. In the summer, we sailed in a boat or swam. From time to time, we burned a bonfire on its shore. In the winter, when the snow fell, we skied. There were also occasional carriage or sleigh rides to the forest or to Stryjów. All three of my new friends were a few years younger than me, but we understood each other well. Besides, I used the well-stocked library and read a lot. The Smorczewski family helped me send parcels to the camps.

Meanwhile, in the fall of 1941, the German authorities in Grudziądz began to show impatience with Renia and Ewa, pressuring them to leave Marusza. Apparently, Ventzky’s position was so strong that even the Gestapo did not want to oppose him, but the presence of my sisters was salt in the Gestapo’s eyes. In the end, my sisters were promised that - if they left - our mother would be released from the camp. As a result, they decided to go to Kożuszki. Unfortunately, we never saw the promise fulfilled.

I welcomed the news about the arrival of my sisters in Kożuszki. I was concerned about them and also worried about Staś, whom they were now taking care of. Previously, when moving from Hrubieszów to Tarnogóra, I thought about taking him there. However, I found that the conditions were not conducive to this plan. The arrival in Kożuszki of my sisters was a much better solution.

That same autumn, Olgierd married 21-year-old Jadwiga Grodzka, whom he had met through our Uncle Edward Donimirski from Smuszewo. After the wedding, the young couple continued to occupy a room in the apartment of Mr. and Mrs. Szmurło on Lubartowska Street. In September 1942, their son was born, who was named Witold, in honor of his grandfather. Their living conditions were difficult, but they managed with their hosts’ kind help. I dropped by from time to time, meeting Lili on occasion.

I didn’t go to Kożuszki often because the trip was long, complicated, and associated with risks. I spent Christmas and Easter there, meeting up with Staś and my sisters. It might have seemed that we led a peaceful life in Tarnogóra, away from the horrors of war and occupation. Unfortunately, the occupiers were also present there. A large room in the palace was occupied, and three German soldiers were housed there. Several weeks after my arrival, the head of the Gestapo in Krasnystaw, ironically named Engel, which means “angel” in German, approached Mrs. Smorczewska and declared that he wished to dine here. Of course, he could not be refused, and from then on, he regularly arrived in his car, ate the prepared meal, and returned to Krasnystaw. His regular visits reminded everyone that none of us could feel certain about tomorrow.

In the winter of 1941/1942, this man’s activity inspired the utmost terror. Krasnystaw’s high school during the occupation was officially transformed into a vocational school. However, under the guise of vocational training, clandestine teaching was carried out at the old level. In addition, a group of young people organized an underground cell. The Gestapo got on its trail, and many students were arrested. They were kept in prison and tortured, in order to extract confessions. Chilling rumors were reaching us. Some parents asked Mrs. Smorczewska to intercede on behalf of the children with the head of the Gestapo at lunch, which she attempted to do, I don’t know with what success. When it came to conversation, the Gestapo officer would show off his culture and sensitivity to beauty, talking about his love of music and the roses he grew at his home in Germany. And at the same time, he abused the children of the Krasnystaw Middle School. I remember that once the snow he shook off his shoes as he entered the house was mixed with blood.

The following autumn other harrowing experiences happened. Tarnogóra stretches on a hill, below which, in the valley of the river lies the poor town of Izbica. Before the war, most of the town’s residents were Jews. After the Germans occupied Poland, the Jews fell victim to the first wave of Nazi persecution. Izbica had few residents when I arrived there, and the deportees’ houses smelled empty. One autumn day, a train pulled into the train station, and a crowd of people was unloaded from cattle cars under the supervision of Gestapo men and Ukrainian militia and crowded into abandoned apartments. As it later turned out, this was a large transport of Jews deported from various European countries.

Mr. and Mrs. Smorczewski, wishing to come to the aid of these people, asked Engel if they could employ a certain number of them on their estate. He agreed, and every day, a group of Jews was brought to work. In the evening, they were escorted back to Izbica. Among them were citizens of Germany, Austria, Belgium, and Hungary, mostly educated, wealthy people, representatives of various professions. They spoke mostly German, so I could communicate freely with them, like Mr. Smorczewski and Mr. Połczyński. The names have mostly escaped my memory, but I recall some people very well.

I remember two sisters, German baronesses, raised Catholic. Around their necks, they wore gold crosses and mementos of their baptism with engraved dates of those ceremonies. A veteran of the First World War, a colonel in the German army who had been decorated with several orders, drew our attention. He felt he was a German patriot, but it was enough that one of his grandmothers was Jewish for him to be on this transport. 

The athletically built young man, whose father owned two movie theaters in Vienna, studied at the city’s College of Physical Education. So, instead of directing him to another job, Mr. and Mrs. Smorczewski commissioned him to train boys in gymnastics and sports. Mr. Smorczewski also discovered a marriage of musicians; she was a pianist, and he played the violin. So, daily concerts began. Earl played the cello with them, and when the boys were not busy with lessons, a quartet formed with Mark playing the clarinet. 

I had the most to do with a Viennese dentist named Taussig. Although he was already in his mid-fifties, he was distinguished by his great cleverness and resourcefulness. He was employed in our office as a messenger. I sent him to the post office and to the store for small office supplies. He was the liaison between the office and the mill and did well everywhere.

Everyone who came to work received two solid meals. When leaving, they took food with them for those left behind at home. The deportees were old and young, single people, and families with children. They often came from German families, and only one of their parents or grandparents was Jewish. We all tried to help them somehow, realizing their hopeless situation. On the other hand, they displayed a naive optimism, which, of course, none of us dared to cool. Attachment to life is stronger than logical reasoning.

The married couple of musicians had a three-year-old daughter, pretty as a doll. Mr. and Mrs. Smorczewski offered to take care of her. Her parents brought her with them so she would get used to us. Still, they could not decide to leave her overnight. Meanwhile, one December day before dawn, everyone was awakened by the hustle and bustle, screams, and gunfire. Concerned, we got dressed and ran out of the house. From the edge of our hill, we could see the train station. Freight cars stood on the rails, and a crowd waved in the square before the station. Several Gestapo men were directing the action, and a dozen Ukrainians on horseback surrounded the crowded people, shooting occasionally in their direction. 

The hapless victims were in constant motion as those on the outside felt threatened and tried to force their way into the crowd. After an hour, the people were loaded, the wagons bolted, and the train started. The corpses of a few of those shot remained in the square. As we found out later, some managed to slip away in the darkness, hide in the bushes, and escape into the nearby woods. The Germans caught some of them out, but a few likely survived. A few months later, when Mrs. Łosiowa reached Lviv, she met Taussig there by chance. We had no news of anyone else. We were all shocked by the fate of these people and direct contact with such an inhuman crime. The memory of this monstrous scene plagued me for a long time.

That winter, Rafał and Marek told me of an operation they carried out in secret from their parents, with the ruler of one of the farms, Mr. Adaszyński, the commander of a unit of the Peasant Battalions. The scarcity of weapons was the affliction of the partisans. Every piece of it was worth its weight in gold. It was mainly acquired from German soldiers. 

According to the plan agreed upon with Mr. Adaszyński, one evening at the appointed hour, someone knocked on the palace’s front door. Marek opened it and then, simulating a victim of terror with his hands on his neck and under the barrel of a rifle led several men into a room occupied by German soldiers, who were already preparing for sleep. The partisans easily seized the weapons and ammunition in the room and withdrew quickly. We were worried about Mark during the investigation conducted by the military authorities. It is unclear how it would have ended if it had been in the hands of the Gestapo, but Wehrmacht officers found the version presented credible, and only the soldiers were disciplined for their lack of vigilance.

News of the collapse of the German offensive began to come in from the eastern front. The boundless desolate spaces made it impossible to supply the army regularly. The harsh winter decimated the German army. Finally, the fierce defense of Stalingrad became the beginning of the end. 

More and more armed groupings of various kinds appeared in the Lublin region. Numerous units of the Home Army were stationed in the forests of Zamość, benefiting from the generous support of Ordynat Jan Zamoyski. Peasant Battalions were organized in many districts. Soviet partisan groups were also growing in number. Taking advantage of the confusion, bands of robbers claiming to be partisans were prowling with impunity. Assaults on mansions began to multiply. In the first months of 1943, the situation became so dangerous that the residents of Tarnogóra began preparations to leave the estate. In March, I left for Kożuszki. Soon, Mr. and Mrs. Smorczewski and Mr. and Mrs. Połczyński moved to Warsaw.

I was happy to see our Kożuszki-based family again. The family also received me very warmly. I was happy to be with Staś again. I thought at first that I should look for a job to earn even a little money and get the proper documents. However, I soon changed my plans.

First of all, Stas’s education had to be taken care of. Wojtek had already completed the high school program and passed his high school diploma at the Immaculate Sisters. Therefore, his teacher, who also taught Staś, and his two cousins, Terenia and Basia Tuchołka, had left Kożuszki. So, I concluded that I should take care of the education of all three of them.

The meeting with my cousin, Teresa Krassowska, greatly influenced my decisions. As I have already mentioned, I met her in Rabka when we both studied at two different middle schools: she at the St. Theresa Gymnasium run by the Szczuka ladies, and I at the Sisters of the Nazareth. Her mother, née Pruska, was my father’s aunt’s sister, but family contacts were rare. Aunt Zosia lived with her husband and two daughters in Krzeszowice near Kraków, so her family was connected with that town. 

Teresa, three years older than me, graduated with a degree in Polish studies from the Jagiellonian University before the war broke out. During the occupation, she moved in with her mother and sister, to her uncle’s place in Warsaw at 58 Raszyńska Street. Starting in the spring of 194O, she began organizing an underground group of nurses. This was a training course for volunteers who wanted to serve as nurses, run officially by the Polish Red Cross at the Maltese Hospital. This hospital was established as a branch of the Ujazdowski Military Hospital in September 1939. It was located at 40 Senatorska Street in the building of the former Merchants’ Resursa (I have already mentioned the splendid balls that were held there before the war).

The group of nurses commanded by Teresa Krassowska expanded slowly. The rules of conspiracy were strictly adhered to, and the candidates were carefully selected to minimize the risk of a slip-up. Only Teresa was in contact with the Home Army Headquarters, from where she received orders.

At the beginning of 1943, there were evident organizational changes. The unit became part of the East Prussia Sanitary Group, intended to support the East Prussia Operational Group, under the Armia Krajowa (Home Army). All these activities aimed to prepare a suitable cadre for the Newly-Postulated Territories. The mission of this cadre was to conquer, garrison and secure the New Territories by people familiar with the population and economic problems of these areas. The Operations Group was to have its own volunteer nursing services, which would be deployed in the conquered territory to support this activity (H. Brzozowska, Nasza dziwna grupa ZWZ AK [Our Strange Group of the ZWZ AK], pp. 60 and 66).

I did not learn about the origins of this group until many years after the war. When I met Teresa in March 1943, she simply asked me if I wanted to become a nurse in an AK unit designated for action in East Prussia. I enthusiastically accepted the proposal, but Teresa did not want me to make an immediate decision. She outlined my duties and risks, demanded absolute secrecy, and set a date for the next meeting. We had complete confidence in each other.

My answer, of course, could only be in the affirmative. After all, the proposal fulfilled my dreams. In addition, new circumstances made my decision easier. My Uncle Janek Sikorski gave me and my sisters a room in his cooperative apartment at 6 Fałata St. He rented the other two rooms with a kitchen to a certain family.

This gave me great freedom. I had my own corner in Warsaw, where I could always stay when my underground activities required it, although I actually lived in Kożuszki. I systematically conducted lessons with my students, whose number soon grew to four. The fourth participant in the lessons was Jan Donimirski’s son from Tarchalin (Wielkopolska), Muś (Zygmunt) Donimirski, whose parents had sent him to Kozuszki specifically for this purpose.

I could reconcile these lessons with my new duties since getting to Warsaw did not present any significant difficulties. Kożuszki is about 50 kilometers from the capital. The trains on this line ran frequently, and I went to the nearest train station in Piasecznica on foot in 15-20 minutes. 

There was also an unexpected improvement in our financial situation. As I have already mentioned, my father invested some sums in Poland to provide funds to cover the cost of our education. He entrusted most of them to Uncle Janek, who did not manage to invest them well. As a result, during the war, my uncle and I suffered heavy losses. 

On the same terms, my father bought, in partnership with Mr. Roman Janta-Polczyński, lots in Radość near Warsaw. In the mortgage, they were registered in Mr. Roman’s name because my father could not be listed as the owner due to his German citizenship. When, after leaving Tarnogóra, Mr. Roman lost his previous source of income, he began selling these plots of land to raise funds to support his family. Every few months, he would call me to the notary, where, after signing the deed of sale, he would share with me the amount received. I managed the money I received, distributing it among my siblings, depending on each one’s needs.

My sisters and I were concerned about Staś. He was very petite for his age, and his height hardly changed. We tried to feed him, buying cheese, butter, and meat from nearby farms, but this did not produce any visible results. I went with him to Warsaw to see a doctor, but the doctor found no abnormalities. The stunting was probably psychological in origin. These troubles, however, eventually played a positive role. When the Germans introduced compulsory labor for all Poles from the age of fourteen and deported people en masse to labor in the Reich, Stasio managed to protect himself from this. His uncle maintained good relations with the village chief so that in the records of the municipality until the end of the war, Staś did not exceed the appropriate age, and his appearance confirmed this.

The occupation authorities required municipalities to keep accurate records of their residents, and mansions were subject to particular observation. In most of them, thousands of displaced persons from areas annexed by the Third Reich found shelter in the General Government, including many wanted by the Gestapo. In addition, larger concentrations of young people attracted the officers’ attention. That’s why we tried not to stay too long in Kożuszki, especially since the mayor had warned my uncle more than once.

So Lili persuaded Renia to go to Lublin. For a while, they worked there together. However, when Renia began cooperating with the Underground and was threatened with arrest for distributing underground resistance literature (known as ‘bibuła’ or ‘blotter’“Bibuła” (literally “blotter paper”) was a term used in Polish resistance contexts to refer to underground/illegal publications - particularly resistance newsletters, pamphlets, and other anti-Nazi or anti-occupation literature. The term came from the thin, often poor-quality paper these materials were typically printed on. ), the ‘Opieka’ organization relocated her to the Żytno estate (in Radomsko County). The estate was owned by Jacek Siemieński, who was deeply involved in underground activities. I knew his daughter Zosia as a fellow resistance nurse.

Ewa, in turn, was invited after a few months by Mr. and Mrs. Karnkowski, owners of the Paski estate in the Sochaczew district. Mrs. Karnkowska was a schoolmate of our mother’s from Sacré-Coeur in Lviv. When she learned of her plight and our presence in Kożuszki, she wanted to help somehow. Ewa was officially hired as a gardener in order to have an alibi against the Germans. We had always considered Ewa lucky in life. And this time, in Paski, she was in almost ideal conditions, away from the burdensome war troubles. Her hosts greatly liked her, calling her their “daughter”. No one required her to work in the garden. 

On her own initiative, she tried to be useful and helpful at home and in the garden. Her primary “duty” was the evening bridge. Thanks to her presence, Mr. and Mrs. Karnkowski, avid bridge players, found it easier to complete the necessary foursomes for this game. Both my sisters, Renia and Ewa, were fond of bridge and showed an aptitude for it. They also began to achieve excellent results thanks to the fact that it was played quite often in Kożuszki. Renia belonged to bridge clubs all her life and participated in competitions. I, too, occasionally sat down at the table when a fourth partner was missing. However, I was never an enthusiast of the game and never reached that class. Anyway, I was consumed by my duties. In the evenings, I would prepare for the next day’s lessons.

So, from April 1943, a new “double” life began for me. My duties among the resistance nurses consisted mainly of learning. First of all, I started taking a course. This cost me much effort, as I had nothing to do with the health care before. In accordance with the rules of the Underground, training took place in small groups, generally of six people. In this course, if I remember correctly, participated with me: “Hala” (Stanisława Dobrzańska), “Basia” (Teresa Dunin), “Kasia” (Róża Siemieńska), “Hania” (Zofia Przedpełska) and “Cesia” (Krystyna Starowieyska). We met regularly in certain apartments, not knowing who their owners were. The addresses were not to be written down. They had to be memorized. 

At first, we knew nothing about each other. We only knew nicknames. The course covered basic physiology and medicine. In addition to theory, we also had practical classes later: dressings, bandaging, and first aid. We practiced injections by first sticking a needle into a napkin, then injecting saline solution into our own thighs, and finally into a friend’s thigh. There was often a cheerful atmosphere during the practical classes. Our lecturers were senior nurses; most had had longer nursing practice, and some had studied medicine in clandestine classes. They all quickly won our sympathy and enjoyed great authority in our eyes.

In May, the course we called “Prussian” began. I felt honored because I joined the group of the most senior classmates. Thanks to this, I got to know a few of them better, namely “Anna” (Helena Brzozowska), acting as deputy to “Joanna” or Teresa, “Bożena” (Danuta Zwolińska), commonly known as “Dada” “Luta” (Maria Plater), “Klara” (Maria Grodzicka) and “Grażyna” (Teresa Kobyłecka). Classes were held once a week and often lasted several hours. Lecture topics included geographic location, history, economic situation, population, political and religious problems, and everything that concerned the area known in the interwar period as “East Prussia”. The lecturers were serious people, specialists in their fields. I was fascinated and absorbed the knowledge with the utmost interest, eagerly taking detailed notes.

Although these classes held my attention, they were organized in such a way that they left time for the participants to work, and for their private lives, and for me to teach the Kożuszki classes. My family guessed that my secret duties in Warsaw were connected with the conspiracy, so no one asked me for details. I no longer remember how I explained myself; I think I was admitted to the nursing course, which certainly gave them food for thought. In the summer, quite a few people from Warsaw visited the uncle. I also invited the young Smorczewski family, who were friends with Wojtek. All three of them started meeting in Warsaw after some time. I guessed that they were undergoing military training.

In the summer, there was a break in the Prussian course. It allowed me to concentrate on the sanitary course that I completed in July. After intensive preparation, I passed the final exam and received a referral for a six-week internship at the Malta Hospital. I started it at the end of July and completed it in September. At the time, my youngsters were enjoying their vacation. I spent the first week in the women’s internal ward, the second week in the men’s internal ward, the next two weeks were spent in surgery, women’s and men’s, and finally, for the last two weeks I performed support functions in the operating room.

The Merchants’ Resurgence (Resursa Kupiecka) was built for a different purpose than that of a hospital. It lacked basic facilities, especially sanitation. One sometimes had to wander through several rooms to reach the nearest tap. Under these conditions, we were often told by older colleagues that we were necessarily learning how things should not be done in a real hospital. My first entrance into the edifice made a deep impression on me. The large mirrors on the staircase, the decoration of the walls and ceilings, and the vast windows reminded me of the happy times spent here - under different circumstances…

The internship was a difficult time for me. It would have been even more difficult had it not been for the kindness of many people I encountered at the time. First, an exceptional person was Nurse Superior, sister Barbara Glińska. A great organizer, she was an effective manager; she demanded good work and, at the same time, knew how to understand difficulties and stresses. For me, a completely green nurse, at first lost and very unsure of myself, my colleagues from “Joanna’s” group, who were permanently employed at the hospital, also provided support. In fact, on every duty, I could find at least one in some ward and count on advice and help.

The night duty was the most difficult when few staff members were left in the hospital. I remember such a duty when I worked in women’s surgery. A patient was brought in at night with acute appendicitis. Without the slightest experience, I had to help with the operation as a “dirty” sister, unlike the nurse who directly handled the surgeon, after which they both took care of the next patient, leaving me with the sleeping patient. Ether was used as a sleeping agent, after which the patient’s mood was unpleasant. In addition, the operation took place without preparation and, therefore, without prior fasting. Waking up from anesthesia was usually accompanied by violent vomiting, and I was equipped only with a bowl for facing them. I had to manage somehow. From a nearby dressing room, I raked up whatever utensils I could find and then pulled down the sheets spread out there to change the patient’s bedding. For several hours, I couldn’t fall asleep. In the morning, I was at the end of my strength.

Our hospital received emergency patients, victims of accidents, and sudden illnesses. This made it possible to aid fighters of the Underground, wounded during combat or other actions. A wounded person was received as an accident patient. Usually without registering him, surgery or other necessary procedures were performed. After this, his command and colleagues, usually acting as his family, took him out of the hospital as soon as possible, removing all traces behind them. By the time the pursuing Germans got there, it was all over. And yet the death penalty was in effect for hiding and failing to report a patient suspected of belonging to the Underground.

After surgery, such patients required special care. As long as they were unconscious, they could betray themselves. This was a special kind of duty that could only be performed by insiders. I was also entrusted with this responsibility on several occasions. Most often, they had a peaceful course. 

However, I remember a dramatic night spent by the side of a young partisan, a “boy from the forest”, wounded in a battle with the Germans. His condition forced the doctor to amputate his arm. He slept very restlessly after the operation, tossing about, shouting something. When, at some point, he began to return to consciousness and realized what had happened to him, he was shocked. He broke off. He shouted that he didn’t want to be crippled, that he didn’t want to live as an invalid. He tried to rip off the bandages. I held him down, calmed him down, tried to be firm. Fortunately, he succumbed to the still-acting anesthesia again and fell into a half-sleep. Taking advantage of this, I ran to a nurse who came to my aid. Soon, his colleagues appeared and took him out of the hospital. Did he finally come to terms with his fate, and by what means? That’s what I never found out. That duty station was a real shock to me.

While working in surgery, I became friends with twelve-year-old Karol, one of the numerous victims of overcrowded streetcars at the time. There were not enough means of transportation in Warsaw. Horse-drawn carriages, rickshaws, or bicycle cabs were too expensive for the average Varsovian. Only streetcars were generally available, and there weren’t too many of them either. The front part of the carriages was reserved - Nur für Deutsche (“Only for Germans”), but generally few used it. There was a perpetual crowd in the second section and on the platform through which one boarded the streetcars of the time. People were hitching as much as possible, even on the steps, forming human “grapes.” Karolek was hanging on like this when a neighboring passenger moved violently, inadvertently pushing him under the wheels. The result was that the boy’s leg was amputated, fortunately below the knee, giving him the chance for a relatively comfortable prosthesis. He was still very childlike, but some of his expressions sometimes surprised me with his maturity. I used to visit him in my spare time, and our conversations often ended similarly: - Sister, when will they make me an artificial leg? - he asked. - They will make you, Karol, as soon as the war is over! - I answered.

When I started practicing in the operating room after four weeks of working in the patient rooms, it seemed that I had already become immune to patients’ blood, wounds, and suffering. Yet I found it difficult to endure assisting with amputations. One sawed the bone of a living person like a piece of wood. Lo and behold, someone’s arm or leg, inert and redundant, was thrown into a wastebucket. Indeed, the primitive conditions of war aggravated the situation, but I concluded that I could not perform these functions professionally. The job was too depressing for me.

In September, we had a few more lectures on the Prussian course, followed by an exam. It caused much excitement, especially since it was conducted formally before a committee of several people. I soon learned I had been entrusted with training a group of newly admitted nurses.

Sometime later, I think it was in October, together with five of my colleagues, I took the solemn oath of a Home Army soldier. It was taken by Father Jan Zieja (who was probably entrusted with the pastoral care of the East Prussia Operations Group) in the presence of our commanding officer - “Joanna” (Teresa Krassowska) and her deputy “Anna” (Helena Brzozowska).

After the oath, we began a military course. It was held in other apartments less frequently - every two or three weeks. We practiced drill because it was believed to develop discipline and fitness. It looked pretty funny, as we had to remove our shoes to avoid making noise. We also learned the rules of army organization, the names of the various units, military ranks, their signs, and abbreviations used in the army. After some time, weapons began to be brought to these training sessions. Most often, it was a rifle or a Vis pistol - the prized Polish-made sidearm. One by one, each of us received the weapon in our hands, learned how to use it, and had to disassemble and assemble it. We were always trained by the same young man nicknamed “Lightning.” None of us knew anything more about him and never met him afterward.

In addition to training, my colleagues and I were gradually introduced to tasks previously performed only by the “elders”. Such tasks included duty at the orphanage “House in the Sun” at 13A Ikara Street. This house was established in January 1943 in connection with the action to rescue children from the Zamojszczyzna region. At the time, the Germans displaced the population of about 300 villages from the area. They pacified some of them, murdering the inhabitants. Thousands of children were taken to German orphanages, where they attempted to Germanize them. Others ended up in concentration camps. Many did not survive transport in cattle cars during the cold winter. At some stations, rail workers or local people managed to steal a few children each, of which Warsaw was informed by clandestine mail. Fellow members of our group brought them to the capital. Thanks to the help of many people, it was possible to organize a shelter not only for children from Zamojszczyzna but also for those whose parents died or were arrested and for Jewish children. Some of the orphans were transferred to foster families.

“House in the Sun” was run by Zosia Meyer, whose nickname we did not remember. Teresa’s sister, “Elżbieta” (Zofia Krassowska), worked with her. We went there on duty, usually at night, to help, especially when the children were ill.

In the fall of 1943, a lady who had been released from Ravensbrück and returned to Warsaw wrote to Kożuszki. My mother gave her our address. I met with her, and we talked for a long time. Everything she told made a shocking impression on me. My mother asked for clogs to be sent to her, as she was getting very tired of the ones she got in the camp. I found a craftsman who made them very carefully, insulating them from the inside. Although I asked him to do this myself, I was concerned whether this improvement would cause them to be rejected by the inspectors. Fortunately, my mother thanked me for the excellent footwear in an upcoming letter. 

The advice I received about packages was important. A former prisoner advised sending a piece of soap each, but not toilet soap, but ordinary soap; the better soap and other more valuable articles were stolen by the guards, who opened and inspected each package before delivery. Even pieces of meat, usually minced chops, were dunked in a jar of lard so they wouldn’t be seen. Anyway, lard (like onions) was one of the very desirable ingredients.

In the winter of 1943/44, my primary task, in addition to participating in a military course, became training two more nurses in Prussian subjects. It was also up to me to prepare the necessary materials. I collected them from “Mrs. Irena” at the health center in Wola. After the war, I realized that she was the wife of Kazimierz Pietrzak, the former head of the office of the Polish Union in Sztum, Irena Pietrzak-Pawłowska. She later became a professor of history at Warsaw University, and her husband held important positions in the cooperative movement. 

When I asked her after the war about these underground contacts, it turned out that she knew nothing about our group. At the time, she only acted as an intermediary in forwarding shipments to the various organizational units of the Home Army. Her husband held important positions in the Underground.

Some of my friends learned independently from the scripts we prepared for them. At night, I typed them in a considerable number of copies. We often worked on it in pairs, at the home of someone with a typewriter. I remembered such night work with “Alina”, or Anielka Załęska. She was a pretty light blonde with an endearing manner. She enthusiastically engaged in various underground work, not only in our group. I liked her very much. On January 10, 1944, she was arrested on a streetcar while carrying some underground materials, probably military maps of East Prussia, which she was supposed to copy. When she didn’t reach the agreed place, her friends, who were waiting for her, notified her parents, and everyone connected with her. They removed any compromising materials from places she might have known about. However, no searches took place anywhere. As we later learned from people who came into contact with her at Pawiak, she was very brave. She consistently claimed that the package with the papers was handed to her by some stranger, who promised a high payment for transporting it. It is known that “Alinka” persevered despite being bullied. We deeply experienced her arrest, as well as the secret messages we received later. We took turns carrying packages to Pawiak. She was executed on May 18.

When I met with my Sister Ewa in Kożuszki during the Christmas holidays, she declared that she guessed my connections to the Underground and asked me to get her into the organization. Of my sisters, only she came into the picture: Renia was “burned out” for the time being, and Lili was sick a lot at the time. I did not immediately have the opportunity to talk to Teresa about it. When I finally did, Teresa promised to consider Ewa when forming the next group of “children” - as her senior colleagues referred to the newly admitted. However, after the arrest of “Alina,” it was decided to suspend recruitment for a while.

In February, I went to Lublin for a few days to deliver to the fraternity some money from the plot of land just sold by Mr. Połczyński. They had been invited to someone’s friend’s nameday party and I decided to accompany them. We celebrated such festivities in the afternoon to get home before the curfew that had been in effect since 8 pm. We said goodbye to our hosts in the evening and left with the whole group. It turned out that the streets were covered with a layer of ice, as frost had taken hold after the thaw. Someone commanded us to hold hands and support each other. We formed a row the width of the street and walked quickly, at times even ran, as eight o’clock approached. Someone slipped and clipped his neighbor’s legs, so we all fell over. My corpulent neighbor fell on my leg; something crunched in it, and I felt severe pain. With the help of two gentlemen who almost carried me, I somehow made it home, and the X-ray doctor present with us made an appointment for me to go to the hospital the next day.

I was put in a cast for four weeks. At first, I lay immobilized, but after two weeks, my sister-in-law gave birth to her second child, daughter Iwonka. Now it was she who was lying down while I, with a cast on my leg, shuffled around with my brother and Mrs. Szmurło, taking care of the mother, the infant, and one-and-a-half-year-old Witek. When I showed up at the appointed time to remove the cast, there was only gauze left in the lower part of the cast because the cast had crumbled. Fortunately, the broken bone had healed.

While I was still bedridden, I had time to think. I realized that I was already tired of being homeless, wandering around. I had recently turned 26, and I felt a growing desire to have my own family and home. However, I did not want to get married before the end of the war. I sympathized with mothers who, due to the war and occupation, were unable to provide their children with proper living conditions. However, I decided to get engaged. In Kożuszki, I continued seeing Jasio Lutostański, a young man I came to trust completely. His right arm had been disabled in battle, and his injury stirred my compassion and a desire to help. I knew he had feelings for me. After my return from Lublin, our relationship deepened, and we became engaged.

During my absence, the situation in the apartment on Fałata Street changed. When one of my sisters went there for the night, she found none of the residents, and the rooms were in disarray, clearly indicating that a search had been conducted. Neighbors confirmed that Gestapo men had rushed in one night and taken away the entire family of four. This aroused our warm sympathy, but we knew too little about these people to be able to come to their aid. We believed that someone from their underground cell had taken care of them. We decided to leave the apartment and rented a room on Nowogrodzka Street from friendly ladies.

Meanwhile, my youngsters were doing well and moving forward quickly with the material. The only one who gave me a bit of trouble was Muś, who was very lively and busy. He often shirked lessons, especially homework. I had to keep an eye on him - sometimes even searching the garden or yard to get him home and plant him over a book. Today, I don’t remember when we completed the sixth-grade program of the public school, after which we were admitted to the junior high school. 

With great trepidation, I went with my bunch to Szymanów for the exam. The sisters subjected the youngsters to solid written and oral tests. All four passed. Muś made up for some deficiencies with his lively intelligence and quick reflexes. It was a joyous event for me.

I don’t remember when Renia returned. Ania Niklewicz, two years younger than me, also came to Kożuszki and lived in our room. We became very friendly with her.

Gradually, the Prussian courses ended with exams. It was agreed that after the coveted occupation of East Prussia, three of our nurses each would be deployed in the cities and towns of Warmia, Mazury, and Powiśle, creating Red Cross points there. Our task would be to care for the local population. We received the appropriate assignments. I, of course, asked for a referral to Sztum. I was concerned that no new group was formed where Ewa could participate. 

I did not know that organizational preparations for the Warsaw uprising were already underway. In the spring, military training was moved outside the city. We participated in the field exercises with great enthusiasm. As it turned out, they constituted our examination. At a friendly tailor, we ordered military uniforms, which he sewed to measure. The older classmates already had them. I had to wait for my turn.

Meanwhile, the eastern front had crossed the pre-September borders of Poland and was rapidly approaching Warsaw. Everyone had a memory of the arrests, executions, deportations, and looting after the Red Army seized the Polish eastern lands in September 1939. Anxiety gripped society, especially the intelligentsia. The belief prevailed that the safest place to survive the Soviet army’s incursion was in Warsaw. It was believed that it would be easier to hide in a larger city in a crowd and that news from the capital would reach the Allies, with whom Moscow should reckon. 

Refugees began arriving from all over the General Government, with many bringing their most valuable possessions here. The Olgierd family also succumbed to this psychosis, wanting to be closer to the rest of their family during this difficult period. They brought all their more valuable belongings, better clothing, and household equipment to their Aunt Stefa Zielińska’s apartment on Hoża Street. In Kożuszki, they left several-month-old Iwonka in Renia’s care while Witek, and they went to Lublin to get the rest of their belongings. Before they had time to return, Lublin found itself in an area occupied by the Red Army. We lost all contact for many months.

Until then, our group was directly subordinate to the Home Army Headquarters and the Warsaw District Command. Two teams of eighteen persons were formed from us, each of which, after assigning a doctor, was to run a sanitary post for a unit no larger than a battalion.

Command of the first team was taken over by “Joanna”. I found myself in the second team, which was commanded by “Anna”. “Ostoja” (Jan Anyżewski), a fourth-year medical student with a year and a half of surgical training, became our doctor. Our sanitary post was located in Wola, at 14 Wolność Street (during the occupation, the German authorities changed the street’s name to “Zegarmistrzowska”). This was the area of operations of the “Broom” battalion of the “Radosław” grouping, to which we were assigned. All these decisions were made gradually from May to July, which we learned about only later.

In the middle of July, we learned the place of our assignment. The premises were in an annex separated by a courtyard from the main building on Wolność Street. In this building, the nuns ran an Emergency Care Center with a boarding school for children who were at the time in the colonies. The small house assigned to us was in poor condition. Apparently, until the establishment of the ghetto, the wall of which ran not far from here, a Jewish kindergarten was located there, later destroyed by the Germans. 

First of all, we had to deal with the deconstruction. With piles of rubble, we carried away whole mountains of various debris. The man assigned to help us did masonry, glazed windows, and repaired water and electrical installations. We whitewashed the walls and ceilings, cleaned with enthusiasm, washed the windows, and scrubbed the floors. We worked hard for at least a week, from morning until late afternoon. Finally, we could get on with decorating the rooms. Beds, mattresses, blankets, and medical equipment were brought to us from the Malta Hospital; previously prepared dressing materials and medicines were brought mainly by senior colleagues. The sanitary post itself consisted of three rooms: an operating room with a wooden table in the middle, a wounded room with ten beds, and a common room, which quickly turned into an additional wounded room. The wounded lay here on mattresses. If I recall correctly, upstairs was the kitchen, where we cooked our meals, and our bedroom, lined with mattresses.

Full of tension, we waited for further orders. On Friday, July 28, a state of alert was declared. In the afternoon, I no longer remember what time, we showed up with our backpacks at the designated place. Some of the classmates already had military uniforms. I was after the first fitting and was worried that I didn’t have time to pick mine up. However, I didn’t regret it later because August was hot, so I only wore a light skirt in military colors. Each of us had a sanitary bag we had received earlier, which we replenished upon arrival. We busied ourselves sewing red and white armbands. A list of nurses with personal information for AK ID cards was drawn up. As I found out later, the first team of “Joanna” received stamped armbands and ID cards, which, unfortunately, did not reach us.

On Saturday, the state of alert was canceled, but the state of readiness was maintained. So we remained in place. “Anna” set up a schedule of passes, and every day, a few of us went out on the town at designated times. My turn fell on Tuesday, August l. I left in the morning, with instructions to report at 1 pm at the liaison point. I went to our apartment on Nowogrodzka Street. There, I found my two sisters, Lili and Ewa. Lili was in bed with an attack of gallstones. Ewa had come to nurse her. I packed my clothes and more valuable things in a suitcase but put documents, photo albums, and some mementos in a separate package. I located everything in the basement, asking my sisters to take only this package if they had to leave the house. We had previously purchased a bag of groats, flour, sugar, and certain amounts of other foodstuffs to get through the difficult times.

At 1 pm, I showed up at the liaison point on Piękna Street. It was the apartment of “Irena” (Jolanta Mirosławska). I did not find her at home. I was received by her mother, who was already worried that her daughter had not returned at the appointed hour. Forgetting about the conspiracy, we began a frank and cordial chat. I learned that Jola had three brothers who died tragically during the war years. I don’t remember the details. I think one was killed in combat in 1939, another in a motorcycle accident, and the third was murdered in the Pawiak prison. The mother trembled for her only child, as she was the only one left. Finally, Jola showed up with a report: the “W” hour today at seventeen o’clock. You must appear at the designated point by sixteen o’clock at the latest.

I only stopped by to say goodbye to my sisters and left immediately, fearing traffic difficulties. I managed to reach Wolność Street quite early. At 16:00, a shooting had already broken out nearby. The uprising had begun. I will never forget that first day. The first wounded, the first killed—shocking impressions.

The day before, our point was visited by the commander of the “Miotla” battalion, Captain “Niebora” (Franciszek Mazurkiewicz), brother of the head of the grouping, “Radoslaw” (Jan Mazurkiewicz). Second Lieutenant “Algajer” (Stefan Śledziewski), commander of the battalion guard, looked after us and visited us occasionally. We admired and appreciated our commander, “Anna”. She possessed organizational skills combined with courage and a sense of responsibility. At the same time, she radiated kindness and cordiality.

I belonged to one of two five-person patrols. We ran with stretchers whenever news of bomb, shell, or explosion victims came in. We experienced the most difficult moments when our patrols were directed to the ghetto area. Heavy fighting was going on there. The ghetto was a huge field of rubble, above which rose only the slender tower of St. Augustine’s Church. It provided an excellent vantage point for the German crew and, at the same time, allowed for hellish shelling in any direction. 

After administering the most urgent first aid, we carried the wounded to our sanitary post, where we entrusted them to the care of a doctor and our female colleagues. Under cover of darkness, we would later move them to the Charles and Mary Hospital. This was a children’s hospital with all the facilities and doctors who could save the wounded. However, after just four days, it stopped accepting new patients. First - it was overcrowded, and second - like our facility, it had to prepare for evacuation. 

The insurgents were forced to withdraw from Wola. On Sunday, August 6, we attended Mass in the Sisters’ chapel. We were depressed by the retreat but happy with the feeling of freedom. In the end, with tears in our eyes, we sang “Boże coś Polskę”, a patriotic hymn, (“God who bestowed Poland with the grace of power and glory) for the first time officially since September 1939. After the Mass, our patrols rushed to rescue the wounded, who kept arriving. The dressing station turned into a field hospital with many wounded. “Anna” set out to the command with a proper report. Fortunately, “Algajer” did not forget about us. A truck arrived in time to transport our wounded, turning several times.

My patrol, on the orders of “Radosław,” was directed to assist civilians wounded after the air raid, quite far from our headquarters. When we completed the task and returned to Wolność Street, the evacuation of the wounded was coming to an end. Through a hole in the ghetto wall, we moved the last patients to the large Tobacco Monopoly building, where “Algajer” was stationed with part of the “Miotła” battalion. There we all received “panterkas”, German camouflage blouses.

On Monday, August 7, in the early morning, I walked with a group of friends to the ghetto area of the so-called “Gęsiówka”. This was a camp in the “Gęsiówka” area, where the Germans held a group of Jews from various countries and employed them in workshops, working for the army. In the first days of fighting, the insurgents liberated this camp to the great joy of those imprisoned. Among them were many educated people. They told us that the Germans murdered their wives and children and ordered them to bury their corpses, leaving only people capable of working alive.

We met up with friends who had already arrived the previous evening. We also found many of the wounded evacuated from Wola, who were gradually taken by open truck to the Jan Boży Hospital. The freed Jews helped with everything. They led a few of their friends to the warehouse where the Germans had stockpiled food and mineral water. 

When a doctor, Dr. Gierałtowski, appeared with the next group of wounded, he immediately set up a hospital in a large barrack. It turned out that one of the Greek Jews, who spoke French, was a veterinarian. With his help, the doctor performed many operations. “Gęsiówka,” however, was only a stage of the evacuation, and we did not stay there long. All the time, the wounded were being taken away. Also, the freed Jews left the camp in their striped uniforms. I do not know their further fate. We only met some of them later in the Old Town, where they helped us rescue the wounded.

Our orderlies marched out through the ghetto to the Old Town on Tuesday afternoon. However, a few of us, with “Anna”, remained with the wounded man in agony. We couldn’t leave him like that. After he died, we buried him, which required a lot of effort since we didn’t have the right tools. “Anna” put a bottle containing a piece of paper with his name on it into the grave. Meanwhile, a truck returned for us, and the young driver urged us on as the Germans were already approaching. We got in quickly and lay down on the platform, wearing our backpacks as our cover. The driver drove us at a frantic pace through the ruins of the ghetto, taking turns, probably due to the heavy shelling from the tower of St. Augustine’s Church. He drove us to the St. John Hospital and left again at full speed.

We reported to this hospital, looking for a new assignment. It was a psychiatric facility, but during the uprising, the wounded were placed there as well. There were many of them lying around, some in severe condition, and mentally ill patients were wandering among them. The hospital was overcrowded, but there was no shortage of personnel either. It was our duty to place ourselves at the disposal of the command. So “Anna” and “Miła” set out to find him, leaving a group of nurses from Wolność on the curb of the sidewalk of the Old Town Square. 

The night was already falling. We were exhausted. An older man spotted us and invited us into his apartment. We collapsed onto the floor and quickly fell asleep. Some of my friends later recalled sleeping on the carpet, but the carpet probably wasn’t enough for everyone because I remember lying on a shiny dance floor and sleeping just as well, although my bones hurt a little in the morning.

In the morning, we left the hospitable apartment and returned to the Old Town Market Square, where “Anna” found us some time later. She, “Miła”, and a few more friends fared worse because they spent the night under the open sky, against some wall after a long trek. Fortunately, the August nights were bright and warm. It was not until the next day that they reached the command and received referrals.

“Anna” informed us that there was a request for ten nurses for the “Orlęta” ¹, a company of the “Gozdawa” grouping; the rest were to organize a field hospital on Barokowa Street. I volunteered for “Orlęta” because I still did not have confidence in my nursing skills, and besides, I preferred to be on the move, taking part in insurgent actions. Along with me, “Luta” (Maria Plater), “Nina” (Zofia Siemieńska), “Bożena” (Danuta Zwolińska-Gutowska), “Barbara” (Antonina Maria Siemieńska), “Klara” (Maria Grodzicka), “Hania” (Zofia Przedpełska“) and “Monika” (Maria Załęska) volunteered there.

We went immediately to the “Orlęta” headquarters at 18 Świętojerska Street. Hardly had we checked in, we were invited to a traditional scouting campfire. After the harrowing experiences of the last days in Wola, we were stunned by the atmosphere in the Old Town. Residents were walking normally in the streets. Electricity was flowing (in Wola, it was turned off on the second or third day of the uprising). There was a bonfire in a large bright room: poems, songs, skits—we felt we were in free Poland.

Much later, I learned more about our company. The organization called “Orlęta” was founded in 1934. It was led in Warsaw by Stanisław Srzednicki (during the uprising - Lieutenant “Stach”, company commander), and Zygmunt Elgas (during the uprising, his deputy,officer cadet sargeant Cieǹ (Shadow) worked closely with him. Largely modeled on the Boy Scouts, it set itself the goal of caring for young boys from poor families. Stanisław Srzednicki dedicated himself to this work and proved an excellent educator. 

In the fall of 1939, he formed “Orlęta” units out of the boys, subordinated to the Home Army’s command (ZWZ AK). Before the uprising, a company of the Stefan Czarniecki battalion was formed from their participants. The battalion commander was Captain Lucjan Giziński, alias “Gozdawa”. This name was given to the entire battalion, which included the “Orlęta” company.

When we joined this unit, it was fighting in the Old Town. On the night of August 8-9, Lieutenant “Stach”’s unit participated in an unsuccessful attempt to capture Pawiak, which ended with heavy losses. It was then that he was wounded in the head near the eye. Despite this, he continued to perform his duties as commander and managed all affairs himself. When I met him, he had a bandaged head and eye. From the first moment, he aroused our sympathy and appreciation. 

The staff of the company consisted of the deputy commander “Cień” (Zygmunt Elgas), “Mars” (Ryszard Żukowski), “Chrabąszcz” (Andrzej Sieczkowski), “Jacek” (Jacek Zawiślak), “Szlubicz” (Janusz Załęski) and “Rota” (Michał Ruszczyc), the quartermaster of the unit.

The idyll in the Old Town quickly came to an end. Already from the next day, our patrol had its hands full. There was heavy fighting over Stawki Street. Richly stocked German warehouses were located there, which changed hands several times. Each time they were captured, our boys brought full backpacks of food: canned goods, pasta, peas, beans, dried potato flakes, and clothing for the army. As a result, our kitchen served hot meals every day. If my memory doesn’t fail me, we could get them twice a day at certain times, and the surrounding civilian population also used them.

Day by day, the German attacks on the Old Town intensified. Stukas bombarded more and more intensively, powerful tanks fired, coming closer and closer, and from August 12, the Germans introduced new weapons - incendiary rocket launchers, also called mortars. They demolished mainly the upper floors of buildings, starting fires. We colloquially called them “commodes” or “cows” because when they were fired, a sound comparable to the sound of a sliding commode or the roar of a cow could be heard. Germans, and sometimes civilian Volksdeutsche seated in some high-altitude hiding places, also posed a threat, shooting at anyone appearing within range of their rifle, usually a machine gun. In our dialect, we called them “doves” or “sleepwalkers” if they operated at night.

Thus, the streets were mostly under fire, and it was rarely possible to move around. We used the network of routes created by the insurgents that led through backyards and holes punched in the walls and basements - also moving the wounded. The situation was similar in Wola, where our patrols were often led by the liaison officer, “Zosia” (Irena Tafel), petite and thin, probably the youngest of our group. Here, in the Old Town, I quickly figured out the maze of paths and soon knew it better than the layout of Old Town streets.

Meanwhile, our friends with whom we parted had set up, in our opinion, “luxuriously”, a hospital on Baroque Street but did not stay there long. The premises were bombed, with the wounded not suffering because they were moved to the basement in time. However, the command considered the area dangerous and ordered an evacuation. The severely wounded were moved to 7 Długa Street. The so-called Central Hospital was located there, in the building of the former Ministry of Justice. The hospital of our group was located from August 13 in another building at the Dluga 21/Miodowa 23 passage, where it was organized from scratch, under the command of “Joanna”. Everything went quickly and smoothly. The Jews from Gęsiówka helped zealously with the evacuation and work in the new premises. 

For a short time, life was still going on here “on the surface”, in the premises of the former tuberculosis clinic and in neighboring rooms, but after a few days, it was necessary to move again to the basement. From then on, I brought the wounded here or to 7 Długa Street. In any case, I maintained constant close contact with my colleagues. Here, I came into daily contact with “Joanna” and could observe her at work. I admired my cousin. She was always calm and superbly organized and quickly gained authority with those around her. She did not forget anything, even small things. She cared for the wounded entrusted to her and us nurses, for whom she felt responsible. She was ready to bring help to anyone who needed it.

Wounded Germans were also brought to this hospital from time to time, whom we nursed on an equal footing with the Poles. A few or a dozen found their way here after the bombing of the building where the insurgents held prisoners of war. After being cured, they returned to the previous grouping, but at least two remained to help on the spot. They were commanded by “Irena”, who spoke German. They were loyal and, one might even say, friendly. One of them specialized in hairdressing services for the wounded. 

From August 12 to 15, Allied planes appeared over the Old City at night. We anxiously awaited the longed-for airdrops of weapons and ammunition, which the insurgents felt acutely lacking. However, the German anti-aircraft defense was very strong. The airdrops mostly ended up in German hands, and the losses were enormous.

We were most affected by the accidents of the previous night, when the remains of a Canadian plane fell on Miodowa Street, and two pilots were found among them. One died on the spot. The other was still alive. Transferred to the hospital, he died without regaining consciousness.

Airdrops were carried out in other city areas earlier and later but with similar results. It is known that the main reason for the failures was that the Soviet Union did not agree to the landing of Allied planes in areas occupied by the Red Army. The distance the aid planes had to travel in both directions, taking additional fuel for such a long route, exceeded their capabilities. Overloaded, they were defenseless against German anti-aircraft artillery and fighters.

We learned about the situation in Warsaw and on other fronts from the Biuletyn Informacyjny [Information Bulletin] delivered to us almost daily. Since the outbreak of the uprising, we counted on the help of the Allies. The loss of hope for this help in any form was a severe blow. In the first period after the transition to the Old Town, when the mornings were still calm, I ran every day to the garrison church for Mass. Each time, the priest gave those present a general absolution in articulo mortis; no one was sure whether he would live to see tomorrow. Death did not frighten me; at that time, I only prayed not to become a cripple. Every day I came into contact with people so terribly crippled that death would be their salvation.

Each day brought new dramatic events. On Sunday, August 13, news reached us that the insurgents had captured a German tank. Whoever was alive ran to Kilińskiego Street to see it. It turned out that it was a tank trap stuffed with explosives. A terrible explosion caused a massacre. Among the victims, there was no shortage of “Orlęta”. Despite efforts, few of the wounded were saved.

Like the entire Old Town, the “cows” gradually ruined the house on Świętojerska Street, where our quarters were located on the first floor. With a bang, floor after floor collapsed. Each time, we put out the fires. When only the ruins of the second floor remained above our heads, Lieutenant “Stach” ordered an evacuation. On August 17, we moved to the prison on Daniłowiczowska Street. The defense of this particular section was entrusted to the “Orlęta”. 

The building had massive walls and seemed to us an impregnable fortress. The orderlies were assigned a spacious cell on the second floor with mattresses on bunks, which seemed very comfortable. We covered a wooden table with a white sheet pretending to be a tablecloth. In a large room on the lower floor, we organized a sanitary post, where we dressed the wounded, who were then taken to the hospital. The next day, returning to our prison, I met Zosia Kułakowska, a friend from Rabka, about whom I have already written. She was a nurse at Dr. “Piotr” (Stanisław Wojecki) at 15 Dluga Street. We were very happy to meet and agreed to chat longer.

On August 19, the Germans launched a ruthless, relentless attack on the Old Town. From early morning until late evening, there was hurricane fire of cannons, mortars, and machine guns. Every hour, planes carried out bombing raids, wreaking enormous damage and starting fires. The garrison church also fell victim to fire. It became increasingly difficult to get water for firefighting. 

During one of the air raids, I found myself in our hospital when it was hit. I took refuge in a stairwell that resisted the explosion, although the surrounding walls were sprinkled. I was buried, but nothing happened to me. When, with the help of rescuers, I crawled out of the dust and rubble, I only found that I had gone deaf. Over the next few days, I gradually regained hearing in my right ear, but my left ear was still not functioning. The hospital staff and the wounded were already in the basement by then and had not been harmed.

August 20 was a tragic day. First, I received the news that Dr. “Peter’s” hospital had been bombed, burying under the rubble all the staff along with the wounded, including Zosia, whom I had met two days earlier. I was still shocked by this tragedy when it turned out that during the bombing of Daniłowiczowska, our commander, Lieutenant “Stach”, was killed. His death was an irreparable loss for us personally, for his unit, for the country.

The next day, two platoons of “Orlęta” set out through the sewers to Żoliborz to get weapons, the lack of which prevented the entire company from any action. Along with them went our four friends. According to the established schedule, I was to be one of them. We envied them the great adventure, although canal expeditions were not easy or pleasant. I could not participate in them since I had lost my hearing. Maintaining silence in the sewers was necessary, and all information and instructions were passed to each other in hushed whispers.

I remained at Daniłowiczowska, where we experienced another day of hellish fire from all kinds of weapons. On August 22, the Germans launched an assault on our fortress. Planes bombarded it; shells poured in from all sides. A tank drove up to the prison and fired at it from close range. The upper floors of the edifice were on fire. We extinguished the fire by forming a chain and passing buckets to each other. After a while, the water ran out. We were ordered to go underground.

In a spacious room, “Bożena” (Danuta Zwolińska-Gutowska) and I were dressing the wounded, many of whom had gathered there. Some kind of shell exploded behind a boarded-up window, and suddenly I saw that Dada had fallen. I ran up to her and found that she was dead. It turned out that shrapnel had pierced the board and hit her in the head, causing death on the spot.

I couldn’t get over it. We all liked and appreciated her very much. She was among the nicest of my colleagues. Like her, we did not know at the time that her husband, whom she had recently married, had been killed in the first days of August in combat in Mokotów.

I was overwhelmingly shocked by this death when we received orders to leave the prison, which was in flames, along with the wounded. We hastily organized a funeral. I will never forget that scene: tears ran down my cheeks as we stood like that in a large group in the prison yard, surrounding our colleagues who were digging a grave while the fire raged all around, its heat parching our bodies.

After leaving Daniłowiczowska, the “Orlęta” divided. With the “Shadow” platoon, I walked to Kapucyńska Street. In front of the house where we were stationed, there was a large airplane bomb crater filled with water from shredded pipes. We used it for washing. I would go to the pump near the mortgage for drinking water. It was mostly under fire. One had to hit a lucky moment, pump the water quickly, and with a full bucket, run uphill to a hole in the wall, behind which it was already safe. Several times, I heard a hail of bullets bouncing off the ground and the wall behind me, but I was lucky.

Behind the mortgage were gardens full of flowers. The whole area was under fire, and among these flowers were laying many dead. This is where “Konrad” (Henryk Głuchowski), the youngest of the “Orlęta”, supposedly the nephew of “Mars”, was killed. Risking his life, his colleagues took the corpse to bury it. On August 24, our commander “Shadow” was killed at a barricade. Depression prevailed in our unit. With us were still cadets “Mars” and cadet “Rota”, who relayed to us the command orders. The two platoons of “Orlęta”, after supplying themselves with weapons in Żoliborz, were directed to fight in another area of the Old Town. They were accompanied by colleagues from our sanitary patrol, in addition to

“Nina”, who broke her leg while wandering through the sewers and had to remain in Zoliborz. We no longer received the “Information Bulletin” from our stay at Daniłowiczowska Street. We didn’t even realize how much the insurgent area in the Old Town was shrinking.

Deeply etched in my memory was the retreat of the unit, which, after a long and fierce defense, was forced to withdraw from the building of the State Security Printing Works. After several days of hell, the unit stopped at our place for a short rest. Starved and black from smoke and dust, they were falling from exhaustion. Many were wounded and burned. I made it possible for them to wash themselves, put on bandages, fed them, and freed up some of our mattresses. The severely wounded, among them many with terrible burns, were taken to the Central Hospital.

A plan was formed to lead the wounded through the sewers to Żoliborz. The first group passed there on August 27. Later, however, the Germans built a dam in a place that could not be bypassed. This evacuation route was therefore closed. The city center remained standing. On August 30, a group of wounded from the Długa/Miodowa hospital went to the manhole at Krasiński Square. After several hours of crowding at the entrance, they had to return to the hospital. However, the next attempt was successful. The evacuation was better organized, although the crowd was getting bigger. In addition to the wounded, more troops of insurgents began to be evacuated.

“Joanna” returned from the headquarters with an order that the nurses with all the lightly wounded should go through the sewers to Śródmieście. After the experience in Wola, where the Germans murdered both the wounded and the staff in most of the hospitals, they did not want to endanger anyone. However, many of the wounded were unable to make the journey. Therefore, Teresa Krassowska asked the girls in our group who would be willing to stay with the severely wounded. They all volunteered despite the common belief that passage to the Śródmieście would be a return to life and liberty. Staying in the Old Town would be almost certain death. 

The nurses of the “Orlęta” company also had to decide. “Hania” had already returned to her colleagues from the Długa/Miodowa hospital. “Klara,” “Monika,” and “Barbara” remained loyal to the “Orlęta”; “Luta” and I - to our former group. We reported to the command of our unit with a request for permission to stay. Stanisław Podlewski described this moment in his book Przemarsz Przez Piekło [A March Through Hell]. An inaccuracy crept in there regarding my age: he estimated me at seventeen, while I was, after all, much older.

“Orlęta” were given an order to leave during the night from the first to the second of September. That evening, I was with them until they left. We said our goodbyes, and when I was left alone in the quarters at Kapucyńska Street quarters, I fell on the mattress and into a stony sleep. At dawn, I was awakened by the noise of excited voices. It was the unfortunate residents of the surrounding houses, cooped up permanently in basements, who realized that the insurgents had left.

The civilian population, which we called so in contrast to the militarized insurgents, cooperated sacrificially with us in the first days of the uprising and rushed to help. While still occupying their apartments, they brought bedding, blankets, pillows, and even beds and shared whatever could be of use to our troops. However, when the German attacks gained momentum, everyone was forced to leave their home thresholds and move to the basements. Into the apartments, they still sometimes surreptitiously dropped by to prepare something to eat, to bring something. With each passing day, however, more houses fell victim to bombings and fires. As I ran through these overcrowded undergrounds while doing my job, my heart was broken at the sight of these people, often sick, mothers with children, infirm old people. I tried to help them as much as possible, but it was so little!

I was united with the residents in our last quarters by a close relationship. Under their care, I placed four wounded people who did not require hospital treatment. I regularly changed their dressings and brought them food, as much as possible, for others in need. It was for their sake that I decided to spend this last night here in order to resupply them in the morning, or possibly take them to the hospital. That morning, however, a hail of accusations fell on me: “You are leaving! And you leave us to the Germans! You craved an uprising, and now we have to pay for it!”. I thought they were about to throw themselves at me - that’s how agitated they were. With great effort, I convinced them that I would remain by their side, sharing whatever fate lay ahead. Yet I was consumed by guilt, knowing I had played a part in bringing them to this predicament.

Then, from the ward’s handy storeroom, I gave away everything, mainly foodstuffs. I visited four wards, changed their dressings, and stocked them with food. To my suggestion that I bring help to move them to the hospital, they refused. They preferred to stay where they were. Later, I sometimes thought about them and the other residents of that basement. I never found out what fate had befallen them.

After putting these matters in order, I ran to Długa/Miodowa Street. There was emptiness all around and a strange silence to which we were utterly unaccustomed. In the dressing room, I found my colleagues sewing red cross armbands from our red and white ones. At the sight of me, they tore off the army camouflage, our costume throughout the uprising. Our field hospital was hastily transformed into a civilian hospital. I had to put on a white apron, which I was not enthusiastic about because it was very dirty, but another one was not at hand. 

I wanted to help them, but they sent me to a remote basement sick room, where Father Kordecki, a Pallottine priest, was celebrating Mass. In complete silence, only his words could be heard. During the Elevation, I heard the whirring of an airplane and then three more detonations. Suddenly, dust and debris were sprinkled on us, and fire appeared. Nearby was the exit to the courtyard. Together with sister “Karolina” (from outside our group) and “Grażyna” (Teresa Kobyłecka), we began carrying out the wounded and returning for more. We tried to suppress the fire on our route with sand and rubble. I was worried about the fate of my other colleagues, but I couldn’t leave here before all the wounded from the basement were in the courtyard.

When I finally ran to the dressing station, I found a situation indescribable in its horror. A bomb had collapsed the ceiling, which hung diagonally. Beneath it, covered with debris, lay our colleagues amid tongues of flame. All efforts to extract them from there were fruitless. When debris was removed from below - the ceiling slipped, and when attempts were made to reach them from above - bricks and wall crumbs fell on them. And they burned alive. At first, they were supposedly still talking, but by the time I got there, all I could hear were quiet moans. The rescuers’ only achievement was reaching someone’s arm or leg, making it possible to give them painkilling injections. It was relatively best to free “Jolanta,” who was exposed almost to the waist, but her legs and lower body were still burning under the debris. “Anna” applied all the ampoules of painkillers found in my sanitary bag, which the other colleagues had already run out of. There was no water. “Renia” scooped muddy liquid from some puddle, which she poured over the flames of those closest to the entombed. Gradually, their voices quieted, and only the crackle of burning beams could be heard.

Nine nurses died there, including seven from our group, with “Joanna” at the head. At that time, I still did not know exactly who was among the victims, but I remembered which of them were here when I parted with them half an hour earlier. Appearing in my memory was my Aunt Zosia Krassowska, who had lost both her daughters here, Mrs. Mirosławska, with whom I had spoken just before the uprising, and the unfortunate victims themselves, among them my favorite friends. 

The criminality of this attack outrages me to this day. The bombers knew there was no more resistance in the Old City, yet they continued their raids. We stood like this, weeping, blackened with smoke, covered with dust when suddenly I heard German words spoken in a harsh voice. In a moment, the Germans appeared. I was so heartbroken that I almost wished they would put us against a wall and execute us. They advanced cautiously with their weapons ready to shoot. From a neighboring burning hall, some of my colleagues managed to carry all the wounded to safety. Among them were also Germans. I heard them call out: “Kameraden! Kameraden!” - and when those there approached them, they began to ask them to treat the staff and wounded of this hospital well because they were cared for here, nursing them on a par with the Poles. The officer declared that he had to communicate with his superiors, after which he left, leaving a few soldiers to guard us.

Soon, German orderlies showed up with stretchers and took away all the wounded Germans. The hope of saving our wounded seemed faint. Yet after some time had passed, the officer returned with the news that all the wounded, along with the doctor and nurses, would be taken to the hospital in Wola. In the meantime, he ordered that the wounded be taken out immediately, as the entire district would be burned.

Eleven of us nurses remained, and there were many wounded. Until late afternoon, we carried them without stopping to the square designated by the Germans on Bielańska Street, near Theater Square. We took the route in stages. First, we carried everyone to an open space near the hospital and then, gradually, further and further away. As it turned out later, this was the only hospital in Old Town where the wounded were not murdered. 

Those who could keep on their feet walked with the help of civilian residents. We carried the rest on stretchers and, when those ran out, on blankets as we could. I remember that we carried the wounded on a door we found in the rubble. There were many dead lying along our route, and flies swarmed around them. But we were already thinking only about saving the living.

We met German soldiers. Some laughed at the sight of us, others shouted something to us, and one of them shot a wounded man carried by his female friends. At one point, we were surrounded by soldiers recruited by the Germans in the Soviet Union. In Warsaw, they were called Vlasovists, Ukrainians, and Kalmyks. They were the terror of the residents because they not only robbed but also committed gang rapes. I don’t know which formation those who attacked us belonged to. They pulled rings from people’s fingers, unhooked watches, and ripped chains from their necks. I saw several watches, bracelets, and rings on their hands. I had “Bożena’s” watch on my hand, which had been entrusted to me after her death to be given to her family. When one of the assailants took it from me, I turned to complain to a German officer standing nearby. He pulled a soldier’s ring off his finger, one of his many spoils, and gave it to me. when I protested, he shouted that I should move on or I might meet a worse fate.

We finally moved all the wounded to the square. The heat was tremendous. They begged for something to drink. Especially those with a fever suffered greatly. Thirst nagged at everyone. Since the morning, both the wounded and the nurses had nothing in their mouths, neither drink nor food. We were waiting for the promised transport to the hospital when several Germans with SS signs on their collars approached us. They demanded that German speakers go with them as interpreters to the residents of nearby houses. I quietly asked Dr. “Przemysława” (Zofia Maternowska), who was in charge of the hospital on behalf of the command and later its evacuation, whether we should report. She answered in the affirmative.

Along with me, another nurse I had not known before also reported and joined us that day. The Germans told us to go ahead, and they followed us with their weapons ready to shoot. Apparently, they were afraid of the insurgents. We went around many houses, from attics to basements. The apartments were empty, and there were things scattered in panic by the exiting residents. In one room we found a paralyzed old woman, abandoned in the chaos. When we begged to help her, the Germans simply motioned with their weapons for us to keep moving.

At some point, my companion was taken by soldiers to other houses, and I kept walking with some officer. He was surprised that I spoke good German. He started questioning me, trying to impress me with his knowledge, education, and humanitarian principles. So I told him about the fate of our wounded, who had not received a drop of water all day. He promised me that he would try to get them some drink when we returned. Finally, he escorted me to our square, and I reminded him of the promise. He told me to go with him and then gave some instructions to a soldier he met. He told me that I would be given water. 

Meanwhile, the soldier led me to a group of civilians walking under the gendarme’s guard. When he included me in the guarded group, I tried to explain to him that I needed to get to the hospital in Wola. He replied that that’s where we were going.

I realized that he was indeed leading us in the right direction. After a long march, we arrived at St. Adalbert’s Church in Wola. 

The gendarme handed us over to the guards guarding the church. I was forced to enter with the others. It turned out that residents were being gathered there, who were then transported to the Pruszków camp. I found a crowd of people who had located themselves in the pews and around the altars as best as they could. I found my Aunt Maja Swinarska with Krysia in the crowd when I started looking around. Mother and daughter occupied the confessional at the side altar. They had parcels of clothing and food and gave me something to eat and water to wash. It’s hard to describe what a joyful experience this meeting was for me after such a nightmarish day. I breathed a little and sat down on the steps of the side altar. Suddenly, a German stood before me and called: Du kommst mit! (“You are coming with us”). That is when I rebelled. I grabbed my aunt, crying out that I wasn’t going anywhere. He forcibly pulled me away and pushed me in front of him.

I found myself with a group of about thirty young women and girls in a truck that took us to the Wola Turnpike. In abandoned workshops and barracks, the stockades and kitchens of the German troops were stationed there. We were employed in four field kitchens. In each of them, the ruler of life and death was a non-commissioned officer, the head of the company. We slept in a barracks on a threshing floor lined with straw. 

We were woken up at five in the morning and led to the field, where we dug potatoes. We would then peel them and perform other auxiliary tasks in the kitchen. Each soldier received excellent dry provisions every day: bread, fresh Dutch butter, cold cuts or canned meat. The rations were segregated, so they were not available to us. However, the cook in my kitchen, a Danzig man, was kind to us. We received rations of dinner dishes, carried in cauldrons “to the front” in the early afternoon; besides, we could use the surplus bread left in the kitchen. We used it to fry ourselves croutons in vegetable fat intended for kitchen use.

Each of the four bosses found himself a “chosen one” who had to be at his disposal, for which she was exempted from hard work and received gifts from him. These girls went along with it, and the rest of us had peace of mind in this regard. The kitchen supervisor, a native of Szczecin, was extremely aggressive. He yelled at us again and again and threatened to shoot us for the slightest offense, but the threats ended there. He had a motorcycle, which he used to drive to the districts captured by the Germans, from where he brought a full trailer of loot. He would dump them on the ground and pick out the most valuable things for himself, of which he had full suitcases in the stockade, then let the soldiers snoop around. Their options were limited to the capacity of their backpacks. They were not allowed to send packages home, so the German population would not be aware of the robberies. Instead, freight trains left Warsaw for the west, loaded with everything of greater value.

After the soldiers, we were also allowed to choose something from the leftovers. Most women, leaving home, took as much as they could carry, but there were also those who managed to save little. I came out of the uprising in a denim skirt and a man’s shirt, from our “Orlęta” unit’s uniform. I had nothing but sandals with thin straps on my bare feet and a medical bag with the last of our medicines and bandages. The autumn chill had begun, and I was already freezing severely, so some warmer clothing was a lifesaver for me. However, I did not have a suitcase to pack my modest possessions. One day, I noticed a box of hats. I threw the hats away, and the box served as my only luggage for a long time.

At first, I was so heartbroken that everything became indifferent to me. I moved like an automaton. Nothing reached me. I couldn’t come to terms with the fact that while our people there were fighting in Warsaw, I was here working for the Germans.

Meanwhile, it turned out that among my comrades, I was the only one who spoke German. I was constantly called upon to translate orders and commands on the one hand requests and complaints on the other. In this situation, I felt responsible for our entire group over time because I could get more than one thing right by properly presenting things. My comrades began to report to me with all their troubles and needs. My knowledge of German also allowed me to understand the conversations of the Germans. It lifted my spirits when I heard words of admiration for the Poles’ valor and their reluctance to wage war against the insurgents. Of this unit, only a third of its personnel remained capable of continuing to fight after battling in Warsaw.

I had already begun slowly returning to equilibrium when a few difficult days lay ahead. Seeing that I was not skilled at peeling potatoes, the cook assigned me to other jobs. Once, he had me dice the meat for a goulash stew into small pieces. It took me at least two hours. By the end, I was already feeling severe pain. During the night, my hand became swollen, and I got a fever. It turned out that I had thawed my right hand. A painful abscess had formed at the base of my index finger. I was not able to do anything, I had a fever, and I didn’t sleep at night because of the pain. Our boss at first threatened that if I couldn’t work, I had to be shot because there was not a sanatorium. 

On the third day, when I felt worse and worse, he put me in the trailer of his motorcycle and drove me to a sanitary post in Włochy, where a Polish doctor taken prisoner worked. He cut my ulcer and scraped the pus from my bones, all alive, of course. The pain was excruciating, but I endured without moaning. I wanted to show the German man accompanying me that Polish women can be brave. I achieved my goal, and he expressed his appreciation to me. After the operation, my hand healed quickly, and I could return to work soon.

After the operation, my hand healed quickly, and I could return to work soon. A few days after the surrender, we were loaded onto a train and our entire unit was transported near Tarnów, with the aim of reorganizing. Our situation improved considerably; the non-commissioned officers had to reckon with their superiors, and the unit commander, a half-Hungarian, took care that we were treated well. But for us, the world had collapsed. We were surprised that there were still people living normal lives. We didn’t know what was happening to our families and couldn’t contact them.

At that time, many newly enlisted soldiers arrived at the unit, and among them were former Polish citizens from lands annexed to the Reich, the so-called Eingedeutscht (literally translated as “Germanized”, incorporated into the Germans). Under pressure, they were given German citizenship of the lowest category (there were three or four categories during the war), and the men were drafted into the army. 

One of them, a forestry worker from Pomerania who used to work in Marusza, met me and was very concerned about my fate. He agreed that I should use his field mail number and send a letter to Kożuszki. At his address, Renia answered me after some time. It turned out that the situation had not changed at the uncle’s house for the time being. She, Staś, and little Iwonka were still staying there. The letter contained the sad news of the death of our Sister Ewa. On September 18, she went with Jaś Lutostański to see if anything could be salvaged from Olgierd’s belongings in Aunt Stefa Zielińska’s bombed apartment. A shell exploded on Krucza Street. The shell’s shrapnel hit her in the temple, causing instant death. The one who died was her, who had been the luckiest of us so far in life!….

At my request, my sister sent me the address of my Aunt Maria Oziębło in Kraków, where I intended to escape given the right opportunity. For the time being, it was not possible. I would have to board a train in Tarnów, where round-ups were constantly being carried out, mainly targeting former Warsaw residents. They were transported to concentration camps. Using this soldier’s address again, I asked my aunt if I could take refuge with her and two girls younger than me. I received an affirmative answer. However, I still delayed.

In early December, I was suddenly summoned to the unit commander. He instructed me to notify my comrades that he was releasing us from this slave labor. His soldiers were going to the front, where heavy fighting awaited them. He did not want to expose us to such great danger. Those who wish to remain would be treated as volunteer civilian auxiliaries and be paid according to regulations.

Unfortunately, the remaining captive comrades did not choose to leave their jobs in the army. After breaking contact with their families, they felt completely lost. They had nowhere to go, and it was known that those who wandered off were in danger of being sent to a concentration camp. As for me, I became friends with two teenage girls, Nina and Stefcia, whom I took care of at the same time. Their last names have already escaped my memory. I decided to take the girls to my aunt’s. I was glad that I had time to prepare for such an eventuality. As I found out, the army was going to Hungary, and the train’s last stop in Poland was designated Kraków-Płaszów, which made my plans easy. So when the train stopped at the Kraków-Płaszów station, only the three of us got off, bidding a warm farewell by the other friends. My friends carried two suitcases each, which they had taken from their homes in burning Warsaw. I carried my hat box. I had saved a couple of zlotys in my sanitary bag. They had a little more, so we started inquiring about some transportation. A sympathetic railroad man brought a small wagon rather quickly. We negotiated a deal with its owner and got on with our luggage. The coachman started egging on his horse, which moved towards the city at a slow trot. We were free!

Anxiety gripped me as our vehicle began to climb to Salwator in slow motion. Had I done the right thing in imposing on my still unknown aunt the burden of hosting three people in these difficult wartime conditions? Was her invitation not forced? However, when I rang the bell and the apartment door opened, my doubts were quickly forgotten. My aunt welcomed us so warmly and naturally that I quickly felt at home. Her three daughters equally warmly welcomed us. The eldest, Bogumiła, known as Boguchna, supported the entire family by running a grocery store established for the war. Terenia worked in some office. The youngest, fourteen-year-old Marychna, went to school. We did not find our aunt’s son, Wojtek, who, as I mentioned earlier, was studying medicine at the Warsaw cadet school. During the war, he served as a doctor in the Home Army. 

Uncle Oziębło was seriously ill at the time. He lay in his room, and my aunt nursed him with dedication. Aunt Marysia Oziębło, née Sampławska, the sister of my father’s aunt, spent her childhood and youth in Wielkie Ramzy and Czernin, which further deepened her sentiment for my family.

In a cordial atmosphere, we recovered from the traumas we had experienced. I was still deaf in my left ear, although it had been several months since the bombing in the Old Town when I was covered in rubble. So, I decided to go to an ENT specialist. As it turned out, a “plug” had formed deep in my ear during an explosion: cotton wool, which we wore constantly in our ears to protect our eardrums, and dust moved deep inside. The rest was done by wax. After the ENT specialist removed the “plug”, I regained my hearing, and suddenly, all sounds seemed very loud. Unfortunately, this ear remained forever weaker than the right ear.

Stefcia and Nina wrote to relatives living outside Warsaw and received letters from them in response. It turned out that Terenia had the contacts to make false documents. Thanks to her efforts, the girls could leave safely for Christmas with the proper papers. We warmly said goodbye to them because we managed to like each other. I, too, established a correspondence with the Kożuszki. The next set of fake papers were to be for me.

Meanwhile, we prepared a traditional Christmas. Wojtek Oziębło arrived unexpectedly, to our great joy. In January, by order of General Okulicki, the Home Army was disbanded. Despite this, many units remained in the forests, but many obeyed the order. Thanks to this, Wojtek Donimirski and both Smorczewski brothers also appeared in Cracow. All three had spent their last months among partisans. They were impressed by their experiences, which they humorously entertained us with stories during their almost daily visits. They soon left. In turn, Jaś Lutostański arrived. Terenia, however, had difficulty getting documents for me.

In mid-January, the offensive of the Red Army began. I decided to leave immediately with Jaś to Kożuszki. We thought that - first of all - the Germans now had more serious problems than hunting down Varsovians. Second of all, we expected that there might soon be disruptions in rail traffic. And we were not wrong in supposing that it would happen so soon.

Going to Warsaw, we had to change trains in Częstochowa. My aunt gave us, just in case, a card to Mr. and Mrs. Apanowicz, who lived there, and my cousins supplied us with a lavish bread and provisions for the road. The farewell was sad. We clung to each other, and in those days, no one could predict if and when we would meet again.

Around noon we arrived in Częstochowa, from where we had a connection to Warsaw two hours later, according to the schedule. We in the waiting room when the loudspeakers informed us that the army had taken over our train and that the next one would leave in another two hours. So, we armed ourselves with patience.

We watched the unusual movement of German soldiers around the station. At one point, one of them rushed into the waiting room without a cap, with a flame coming out of his pocket. It was probably caused by a cigarette butt thrown there in absentmindedness. The soldier ran up to the buffet and nervously demanded a beer. It was obvious that he was in shock. When his attention was drawn to the burning pocket, he quickly smothered the fire, downed the beer, and left the station at a run. News soon reached us that there were Soviet tanks in the city. As we learned later, several tanks broke the front and pushed forward, entering Częstochowa. The Germans quickly destroyed them, but they achieved their goal; they caused panic in the German army.

It became clear that further travel by rail was out of the question. We, therefore, decided to go to Mr. and Mrs. Apanowicz. We realized that they would not be thrilled with uninvited guests, but we had no other choice (generally during the occupation, people, even strangers, helped each other). They welcomed us hospitably and prepared a bed for me in the living room and for Jaś in the servants’ room next to the kitchen. Despite my fatigue, all night I heard a noise coming from a street crowded with trucks, tanks, and military equipment of the retreating Germans. Only in the morning did I fall into a hard sleep. 

When I woke up, the sun shone brightly, and silence was all around. I got up and went to the window. It was a frosty, sunny day. A string of small horse-drawn wagons harnessed to single horses slowly glided down the street, driven by Soviet soldiers in padded jackets (fufayas) and fur hats. The impression was uncanny: just yesterday, the streets were filled with the whirr of motorcycle-bound soldiers armed to the teeth with the most modern weapons of the German army, and today, village wagons quietly took their place. We had no idea where or how they came to be here.

After visiting Jasna Góra, we wandered around the city for days in search of food and some kind of transportation to Warsaw. We realized that, like most of the residents of Częstochowa, our hosts had ample supplies of basic foodstuffs. Little by little, they fed us, but we felt that they did so not very willingly. We did not want to abuse their hospitality. It was difficult to buy anything because people had lost confidence in the occupation’s zlotys. Soviet soldiers opened stores, which were almost exclusively state-owned and cooperative, and distributed their contents for free. A crowd surrounded them. People snatched goods from each other. I saw two women snatch a pair of pants from each other, and as a result, each was left with one leg.

During these wanderings, I met by chance on the street a colleague from our sanitation group, “Barbara” (Didi Siemieńska). And she found herself in a situation similar to ours. She originally hailed from the region, so she had many friends in Częstochowa. She suggested that we visit friendly families together, asking about the possibility of going to Warsaw. From time to time, there were such opportunities; for a certain fee, trucks would take passengers. Didi would arrange these visits with lunchtime when the hosts would feel obliged to invite us, as Didi’s companion, to the table. We called it “making the rounds for a meal”.

Someone advised us to go to Koniecpol, where it was supposedly easy to buy food. I don’t remember what transportation we used. In any case, Jaś and I went there. By chance, we met on the street a cousin from Małe Ramzy, Celinka Echaustowa, with her two several-year-old daughters. Her husband was in an oflag (a camp for officers - prisoners of war), and she spent the war years in the Potocki palace in Chrzastów, where many displaced people found shelter. The Red Army expelled all residents from Chrzastów as “bourgeois”, and burned the palace. Celinka, her daughters, and a certain infirm old man she cared for moved into an abandoned, badly ruined cottage in Koniecpol. We met her when she was hauling coal from the train station in a wheelbarrow to heat this shelter of theirs. We helped her so she was able to gather a little more fuel.

No further details of our stay in Koniecpol have been fixed in my memory. I don’t even remember if we managed to make any purchases. After returning to Częstochowa, we went to the train station every day, inquiring about the situation on the railroad. One morning, we learned that a train would set off in a few hours, carrying wounded soldiers to the East via Lublin. Several train cars were destined for the civilian population. We decided to take a chance and try to find my brother Olgierd and his family in Lublin. We hadn’t heard from them since July. We took our belongings from Mr. and Mrs. Apanowicz and said goodbye with gratitude and mutual relief.

At the station, it turned out that the wagons for civilians, obviously cargo wagons, were arranged alternately with the much more numerous ones carrying the wounded. In ours, there were about twenty people, mostly residents of the eastern provinces. The vicissitudes of war and the sudden shift of the front line in July 1944 had cut them off from where they lived. In the afternoon, the train started. We traveled to Lublin for three days and three nights. 

The nights were the worst: Soviet soldiers came to the civilian wagons and took what they could. No one robbed us because we sat on our luggage - Jaś on his briefcase, and I on a hat box, which turned out to be so solid that it could withstand my weight. We sometimes stopped for an extended stop in a field; people would light fires, boil water, and bake potatoes. The train also stopped at some stations, where soldiers sold items stolen during the night for vodka. Their owners watched helplessly.

With my heart pounding, I walked to my brother’s apartment in Lublin. I was tormented by anxiety about whether and whom we would find there. Meanwhile, to our great joy, we were greeted not only by my brother and his wife but also by Renia and Staś! It turned out that after the occupation of Kożuszki by the Red Army, my uncle still remained at home with the family staying with them, including Renia, Staś, and little Iwonka. She was left in Renia’s care for a few days, and the war events made the separation last six months! Olgierd set off for Kożuszki as soon as it became possible, worrying about the fate of his daughter. There was no end to the stories. Each of us had so many different dramatic experiences behind us! Jaś soon left Lublin for his surviving family. Several of his relatives died tragically.

Meanwhile, after the PKWN (Polish Committee for National Liberation) manifesto was proclaimed on July 22, 1944, under Moscow’s dictates, the previously formed National Council transformed the Committee into the Provisional Government of the Republic of Poland, headquartered in Lublin. Although the borders were not established until a few months later at the Potsdam Conference, Stalin authorized the settlement of Poles and the establishment of a Polish administration in the areas that were to fall to Poland. The Lublin government announced recruitment for administrative jobs in areas already occupied by the Red Army. Soon, the government moved to Warsaw, or rather to Praga, for the left bank part of the city lay in ruins.

We wondered how to arrange our lives in the new reality. Before I even arrived in Lublin, Olgierd and Renia had declared their intention to go to East Prussia. We realized that we could not return to either Czernin or Marusza. Regulations related to agrarian reform forbade the owners of confiscated estates and their families to live even in the county where they were located.

The landed gentry, like the participants in the resistance movement, in which the vast majority of them were also involved, were considered the main enemies of the new regime. The agrarian reform was aimed at eliminating them. Not only were they deprived of their land. They were also driven out of their family homes and deprived of all property - everything in their manors was subject to confiscation, including the most private heirlooms. And yet, their manors were hubs of patriotic, educational and social activity. The landowners, who were home at the moment their property was taken from them, occaisionally salvaged something. Most lost everything.

In the following years, the land reform was accompanied by a deceitful propaganda campaign to denigrate “landowners”. Many of the most active and deserving landowners found themselves in prison. Often, rigged trials resulted in harsh sentences, up to and including the death penalty.

Almost all of our family had previously suffered similar injustices at the hands of the German occupiers. Only Kożuszki, located not far from Warsaw and therefore in the General Government, remained in family hands until 1945. Thus, during the war years, the uncle was able to support a large number of displaced persons from Pomerania and Wielkopolska, after which they and the families they took in - were thrown out onto the street in 1945.

Soon after arriving in Lublin, my brother and I decided to visit the capital to see if our belongings might have survived. I was advised, moreover, to buy some goods in the capital to sell later in Lublin. It turned out that trade was flourishing in ruined Warsaw. Trade was much more widespread. Prices were lower than in Lublin, which had been stripped bare by several months of Soviet occupation. 

Of course, all this lush life was concentrated in Praga. The ruined center and most of the capital were dead and deserted. Only a few Varsovians, known as “Robinsons”, somehow persisted in these ruins. Only with the coming of spring did the return of former residents began. Some managed to secure at least some of the apartments or houses they had previously occupied. Some traded, and others earned money in various ways. It is hard to believe how it was possible to live in such conditions. But human ingenuity has no limits….

We met with Jaś Lutostański in Warsaw and together set out to look at the houses we were interested in. Unfortunately, on Hoża Street from Aunt Stefa’s apartment on the second floor, only one bathroom wall remained with the bathtub hanging there. Our room on Nowogrodzka Street looked better, but its appearance testified to the panic in which the residents had left it. On the floor lay the scattered remains of various objects, including books.

Jaś and I went down to the basement in search of the suitcase left there and, even more valuable to me, a bundle of documents and memorabilia. By candlelight, we were wading through the thick layer of garbage covering the floor. Suddenly, a photography blurred among them, as I concluded, one of those I had packed before the uprising. After this discovery, we began sifting through the trash centimeter by centimeter. The results turned out to be sensational. We found many of my documents, including my birth certificate, high school diploma, index, photo albums, and individual photographs! And although most of these treasures were damaged, I was happy to recover them. My suitcase was “taken care of” by someone, but the package contents turned out to be useless to him, so he dumped it on the floor.

So I was successful, but worse was the shopping side of my trip to the capital. I did make some successful purchases - I acquired some cosmetics and some ration coupons for fabric for summer dresses - but some of them I used for gifts. While feeling bad for the plight of others, I felt awkward about sharing coupons with to complete strangers. The rest found buyers among friends at fair prices.

A huge wave of displaced persons of various nationalities swept through Lublin. Poles deported to forced labor in Germany and prisoners of liberated camps were returning from the West to the East. In the opposite direction, in turn, were those who wished to cross to the West. French officers from liberated oflags stayed in Lublin temporarily. They went in groups to Odessa, from where they returned to France by sea. Our acquaintance, Krysia Ruszczyńska, took care of the French officer, who, not knowing Polish, felt lost. Leaving Lublin, she handed over his care to Renia. Renia fulfilled on her promise so well, that the Frenchman fell in love with her and officially asked for her hand. Both Renia and my brothers felt that the acquaintance lasted too short to make such an important decision. So, in order to give them time to get to know each other better, we decided that I would be the one to go to East Prussia instead of her, when the summons to appear in Warsaw for a preparatory course came.

So I left with my brother and a dozen other people in an official truck. In the capital, we stayed with a distant relative of my sister-in-law, who, having been evicted from her apartment in left-bank Warsaw, found an independent room at 8 Podskarbinska Street in Praga. It was a one-story building, and on both floors, it had large corridors with a row of rooms on two sides, with sanitary facilities shared by the residents of one floor. A different family lived in each room, having a “goat”, which was an iron stove with a pipe built into the window. The goat was used for cooking and heating the room. In those days, this primitiveness did not scare us.

I no longer remember for what reasons I was not included among the preparatory course participants. I only know that Olgierd went there without me. He was given a lot of practical advice; it made us realize that we were not properly prepared for the trip. First of all, we had to take vodka with us, which at the time meant moonshine. Alcohol was the only means of payment in this “wild west”. We didn’t have the connections in Warsaw to buy it, but even if we had succeeded, we would have had to pay several times the price here than in Lublin. We also took too few blankets and warm clothing. March was very cold, and we had to reckon with the fact that we were going north. There was no telling what the heating would be like there. So we decided that since my brother could not leave the course, I would go to Lublin to acquire what we needed.

After seeking all possible advice and guidance, I headed to Dworzec Wilenski with a backpack on my back. Crowds of people occupied the platforms while waiting for trains to be switched in various directions. Only freight trains were running, and several cars were usually made available to the public. The travel on them was free, by the way. It was approaching evening when I finally boarded a depot heading to Lublin. Along with a fairly large group of travelers, I found myself on an open platform, and after some time, we set off. As dusk fell, the frost became more severe. I wrapped myself in a blanket and sat down among the others. We all kept close to each other to keep warm. Suddenly, someone lit a flashlight and illuminated the neighbors. A shout went up: on the rags of one of the women appeared in the torchlight white clothing lice, very dangerous, spreading spotted typhus and other diseases. Only by burning the infected clothing can these parasites be gotten rid of. Despite the loud protests of the unfortunate passenger, everyone backed away from her, not allowing her to get close. Although she aroused sympathy, we had no other choice.

Getting moonshine in Lublin took me several days, more than I had planned. I was nervous because Monday, March 19, was approaching, for which our departure from Warsaw to Olsztyn was announced. It wasn’t until early Sunday morning that I stepped out onto the highway leading to the capital, laden with a heavy backpack. I had no choice but to opt for the more costly, but recommended as a safe and quick trip. 

At the turnpikes of Lublin, there was a crowd of people waiting every day, and the trucks going to Warsaw took a few passengers each, charging 500 zlotys per person. The travelers were mainly men, with women only in their company. So they were quite a competition and did not allow me with my heavy backpack into the “comfortable” trucks. I finally managed to get into a “gas-generator” van, i.e., moved by steam, for which there were fewer takers. A couple more people got in with me. We had to pay a set rate in advance and set off.

Unfortunately, our vehicle was overloaded: it carried perhaps ten bags of flour, a tree as fuel, and us passengers. When it drove uphill, we had to get off and walk. Moreover, we stopped at the water tanks to add water to the boiler; in a word, we moved at a snail’s pace. Nevertheless, we might have reached our destination before evening had it not been for the fact that the driver somewhere near Otwock unexpectedly turned off the road to the left. We all began to protest, but he was unmoved. He declared that he would take us to Praga, as he had promised, but tomorrow morning. As it turned out, he was illegally transporting flour to a suburban bakery and needed to get rid of it before entering the city. All vehicles were subject to Soviet control at the turnpikes. He drove us to some settlement, where the car got stuck in the sand. So he headed off for the night without unloading the flour. The passengers also dispersed. Besides me, only one man remained in the car. The moon was shining. The night was bright and frosty. Despair overwhelmed me. We began to talk. My traveling companion was also in a hurry.

Suddenly, a large truck, covered with a tarp roof, drove out from among the houses. It advanced slowly, bogging down in the sand. My companion jumped down quickly and ran up to it. Two Polish soldiers drove it. The Polish uniforms exuded emotion and confidence. The soldiers explained that they had just taken flour to the bakery for bread for the army and were returning to Warsaw. When we asked them to take us, they replied that they would be happy to do so, but we were putting ourselves at serious risk. They were not allowed to transport anyone. If, during the inspection at the turnpikes, Soviet soldiers find us, they will detain us. Night had already fallen, the shed was long, and we hoped that if we sat right behind the cab, no one would notice us.

Unfortunately, when we arrived at the checkpoint, one of the checkers illuminated the inside of the truck with a flashlight and spotted us. He ordered us to get out and the Polish soldiers to drive on. Two Red Army men led us under the barrels of rifles, they said, to a komiendantu. We quickly realized that they were leading us into a field of rubble stretching along the highway. It was clear that they were going to shoot us and get at our backpacks. When we had gone far enough, someone from the outpost began calling out in our direction. The handlers answered something, and for a moment, the exchange of shouts diverted their attention from us. My companion tugged and pulled me along. Nearby was the entrance to the basement of a ruined house. We rushed in there and dashed, wandering hurriedly through the narrow corridors. Then we crouched down quietly and waited. They started shouting and shooting but didn’t dare venture into the rubble.

My savior knew Praga very well. He led me through the rubble and ruins of houses toward the better-preserved part of the district. We quickly ran through the sections brightly lit by moonlight because Soviet patrols could be found everywhere. He escorted me to the house on Podskarbińska Street and went on his way. The entrance to our building was on the side of the courtyard. The door was locked. I tried to knock, but no one answered. Obviously, the tenants were afraid. I wrapped myself in a blanket and sat on the threshold. Someone came out of the house at five o’clock and opened the door. My brother and our landlady heard the knocking but did not suppose it was me.

The trip to Olsztyn was delayed, and it wasn’t until Ash Wednesday, March 28, that we set off in two trucks as the first team of the Ministry of Public Administration to the former East Prussia. There were thirty-some of us, including three women. My brother knew more intimately some of the men with whom he had previously met in the underground Union of Mazurians, among them: a distinguished activist from Szczytno, Gustaw Leyding, the artist Hieronim Skurpski, and the teacher Jerzy Burski, members of the pre-war Union of Mazurians from Działdowo, and two brothers from Szczytno named Późny, appearing during the occupation as Woźniak and Stupnicki. One of the women, Ms. Romanowska, was also from Szczytno, while the other, Ms. Czaplińska, was from Central Poland.

That day, however, we did not reach our destination. The road was disastrous, full of holes and potholes. In Mława, one of the cars fell into a deep pothole filled with water, forcing us to make a longer repair stop. As a result, we stopped there for the night. When we were getting ready to leave the following day, a strange vehicle approached us: a military rover, upholstered and roofed with green-painted boards. As it turned out, this car was at the disposal of Colonel Jakub Prawin, who had been appointed government plenipotentiary for the Mazurian district. He asked us: “How was the trip?”. After a short conversation, he said goodbye: “See you in Olsztyn!”.

The farther we moved north, the more traces of recent fighting we encountered. On both sides of the road, the remains of wrecked military equipment and various vehicles piled up. The surrounding area gave the impression of being deserted. Dead horses lay in places. Depressed by this sad landscape, we arrived in Olsztyn, which also seemed to be an extinct city. Only not very numerous Soviet soldiers could be seen on the streets.

It turned out that we were not the first. In February, a group of Polish railroad workers arrived here and began working on the railroad under the supervision of Soviet military officers. They settled in a “Zatorze” district near the train station. In mid-March, the Ministry of Agriculture sent its operational group to Olsztyn, which established the Provincial Land Office here. The people employed there, of whom there were about thirty, occupied apartments in a modern block of apartments in the downtown area near the post office on a street that was later named 22 Stycznia. 

It took time to locate our group; the Land Office staff, therefore, agreed to take us in temporarily as sub-tenants. My brother and I and Hieronim Skurpski found hospitality at the home of Mrs. Szymankiewicz, who ran the gardening department. The next day, on Good Friday morning, she led us to the canteen on today’s Pieniężnego Street, where we all met. After breakfast, we went to the city hall, which was to be our workplace. 

Representatives of the Ministry of Public Administration, led by Lucjusz Dura, distributed functions among us. The government plenipotentiary was the governor. Jerzy Burski became the deputy plenipotentiary, or deputy governor, whose duties included dealing with the local population. Several gentlemen received appointments as district governors, including my brother as the district governor of Olsztyn. Others became heads of departments in the provincial office. Ms. Romanowska was sent to Szczytno, along with Walter Późny, who was appointed starost of Szczytno. I was assigned the secretary position to the government plenipotentiary, and the third of us, Mrs. Czaplinska, became secretary to the mayor.

We were assigned to rooms to work . It was very cold in the edifice. The Red Army captured Olsztyn on January 22 during the great frost. No one cared about the water and heating systems then. The water froze in all the pipes, causing them to burst. Both the offices and private apartments had very low temperatures. The secretariat was located in a corner room on the second floor of City Hall, between the offices of Prawin and Burski, so I had two bosses. 

From the first day, before we had time to furnish and arrange our rooms for work, more and more interested parties began arriving. The supreme authority over the city and all of East Prussia still rested in the hands of the Red Army. The city’s military authorities instructed the army to catch people who were fit for work and, from time to time, sent transports of people to the Soviet Union. That’s why residents hid in basements and didn’t dare go out into the street. 

Now, the news spread that Poles, including locals, were not subject to deportation and that Polish authorities had arrived who could protect them from it. A crowd of women streamed into the town hall. The area around Olsztyn was inhabited mostly by Poles. Before the war, there were many Polish organizations here, as there were in Sztum County. In addition to these conscious Warmians, few families in Warmia did not have Polish roots. So the terrified representatives of these families brought various papers testifying to their Polishness, such as that their grandmother bore a Polish surname. Of course, there was no time or conditions to check them. Now, it was necessary to rescue people, whoever they were.

We started issuing bilingual certificates. It was difficult to find a typewriter in good condition. Almost all of them had been shredded by the Soviet army. Along with a few others, I wrote, largely by hand, the Polish text, while the few who knew Russian, among them the gregarious Mr. Michałowski, calligraphed the translation in Cyrillic. We mostly wrote on the back of German documents for lack of paper. Our certificates saved many people from deportation, although sometimes soldiers tore up the document and took its owner away. However, this happened only in the early days of our tenure.

It must be admitted that although authority in the city still belonged to the gorod komiendant, he largely recognized the competence of the Polish administration. The good relations that Prawin maintained with him contributed to this. The situation was different in the district towns. Several starosts sent to their posts returned to Olsztyn because the local commandants would not accept them, and in one case, the starost ended up in prison. Thanks to the interventions of the government plenipotentiary, they eventually all took up their posts.

Already on Holy Saturday, Mrs. Wanda Pieniężna, a distinguished fighter for the Polish cause, found me in my office. She had come to Warmia voluntarily during the plebiscite, married Seweryn Pieniężny, the publisher and editor of the Gazeta Olsztyńska and from then on, together they carried out comprehensive national and social activities. With the outbreak of war, the Gestapo arrested her husband and imprisoned him in Hohenbruch concentration camp near Königsberg, where he was executed. Imprisoned for several months in Ravensbrück and then in an Olsztyn prison, Mrs. Wanda was forced to live with her children in a primitive barrack and work in a cement products factory after her release. During the war, she lost her 20-year-old son, who died of illness and exhaustion after his release from prison. 

At the time of our meeting, she lived with her three daughters: twenty-year-old Ewa, eighteen-year-old Niuta (Maria), and fifteen-year-old Halinka. She knew my parents, of course, so we greeted each other like old acquaintances. She invited us to stay the next day with a friendly doctor, Dr. Sypniewski, who had come to Olsztyn as a railroad doctor. On Easter Sunday, we were given half a hard-boiled egg and three slices of sausage each in the cafeteria for breakfast, in a nod to tradition. This was a luxury for us. The party at Dr. Sypniewski’s house, which my brother and I went to after attending Mass at St. James’ Church, deserved to be called luxurious at the time. Our host was indebted to generous railroad workers for his lavishly set table. The rail workers, moving in the field, provided food for their superiors, doctors, and canteens. Mrs. Wanda, her daughters, and a handful of other people were among the guests. We spent the afternoon having interesting conversations in a truly festive atmosphere.

On Monday, despite it still being a holiday, we returned to work. I had an extended conversation with Colonel Prawin. I wasn’t sure if he would accept me in the secretariat when he found out about my background. I told him about my and my family’s fate. He showed me a lot of kindness and trust. He handed me his seal of government plenipotentiary and entrusted it to my care. No single closet in our office or a single drawer could be locked or padlocked. Soviet soldiers broke all the locks. From then on I carried this seal in the pocket of my windbreaker and never parted with it for a moment. 

Many looters coveted these seals, since only the government plenipotentiary could authorize the export of machinery, equipment, or furniture from the area. Abandoned valuables were scattered throughout the region - items that would command high prices in Central Poland. But it was in our nation’s interest to develop the Recovered Territories as quickly and efficiently as possible.In this, I agreed with the communist government, which at that time still masked its true intentions.

My duties primarily included receiving people wishing to meet with the government plenipotentiary. I generally agreed with him whom he would receive himself and whom I should direct to the deputy governor or to the heads of departments. I determined the order and dates of the receptions. Thanks to this, I later knew all the more important personalities in the city and the province. Almost every day, new operational groups of various ministries came to Olsztyn, and people came individually in search of employment. Everyone directed their first steps to the government plenipotentiary. Years later, I met people who told me, “You were the first woman I met in Olsztyn.” In the secretariat, I was accompanied by a young man, a party man, in charge of confidential matters. He received and recorded confidential correspondence while I took care of everything else. I kept a sub-journal, typed letters, and forwarded them to the chancellery for posting.

An important occupation of Col. Prawin, in addition to organizing the administration and economy of the province, was defending its resources from plunder. To a degree incomparably greater than the Polish looters, the Red Army looted. Machinery and equipment from the industrial plants, generally small in the area, were carted away, not to mention the stockpiles stored there. Railroad tracks were dismantled in some sections, and rails were taken away. Huge herds of cattle were driven east, some of which died along the way. The soldiers leading the cows sold them, charging half a liter of moonshine apiece; after the long trek, they were fit only for slaughter.

When we arrived in Olsztyn, we found rows of pianos and grand pianos taken from Olsztyn apartments on the train ramp. They stood for several weeks in the cold, sun and rain, misshapen and bent, until finally, the scrap was loaded onto wagons and taken to the Soviet Union. The soldiers treasured all fabrics. They took covers from the quilts commonly used here, emptying them of feathers. It seems they were also looking for money hidden there. Thus, feathers were ubiquitous in the city. It floated over the streets like snow in the air, and getting rid of it from apartments was difficult. New residents fought it long after moving in.

One day, we heard a powerful explosion in the downtown area. It was the army blowing up the wall of a dairy to carry away a large boiler. In April, houses in the city burned almost every day. No one put them out because there was no water or the necessary equipment. The current Wojsko Polskie Avenue was burned to the ground because of its then name, Adolf-Hitler-Allee. The Old Town was also almost 100 percent destroyed. The Red Army occupied Olsztyn in January with a very skillful maneuver, almost without a fight and without much destruction. When Soviet representatives handed over power to the Polish side on May 23, 1945, appraisers estimated the damage at 40% of the city’s resources.

Colonel Prawin vigorously protested to the relevant authorities in every case of devastation. By military phone, he frequently contacted Moscow, demanding intervention. Sometimes, his efforts were successful, but often, it was too late, or the perpetrators could not be found.

A sad picture was presented by Olsztyn’s main monument, the 14th-century castle. In the 16th century, it was managed by Nicolaus Copernicus on behalf of the chapter to which the castle belonged. During this period, he fortified it and prepared it for defense against a threatened attack by Teutonic forces. Before the Second War, part of the rooms were used to house the headquarters of Erich Koch, the gauleiter of East Prussia. In addition, it housed a small museum. The Polish authorities decided that the castle would serve only museum purposes.

The Soviet army ransacked the museum, its exhibits lying scattered. When my brother and I visited the historic building in the first days after our arrival, I noticed a thick volume in the castle moat with the appearance of an old print. It turned out to be one of the first editions of Copernicus’ famous work De revolutionibus orbium coelestium [On the Revolutions of the Heavenly Spheres]. We handed it to Hieronim Skurpski, who became curator of the Olsztyn museum and collected, organized, and restored exhibits old and new with his staff.

The same was true throughout the district. Massive damage was done in Frombork, boasting a complex of medieval cathedral and monastery buildings classified as zero-class monuments in the world. The Soviet army organized a slaughterhouse in the cathedral. When I was able to go there a few months later, I still found a huge, bloody trunk on the porch and damaged altars and animal droppings inside the sanctuary, where cattle destined for slaughter were kept.

While I was busy arranging my office, my brother was not idle either. He energetically organized the Olsztyn district office. He engaged people to work, carefully selecting them. After a long search and a thorough review of several buildings, he chose a building on Kajki Street as the seat of the Starosty. It was located near the former Moltke Square, which was quickly renamed Pulaski Square. At this square, the brother selected a three-story tenement with eight comfortable apartments, two on each floor, for the employees of the Starosty. After arranging all the formalities, we moved in there with six other families.

We occupied two apartments on the second floor: one - a four-room apartment for my brother and his family, the other - a three-room apartment for me, Renia, Stasio, and possibly our mother. On April 10, we all moved in at the same time for security reasons. Soviet soldiers were breaking into the Poles’ apartments at night. We hoped that they would not dare to attack such a populous house. Besides, opposite the Starost’s Office was the villa of the deputy governor, and next to it was the first post of the Polish Civic Militia in Olsztyn.

However, we were wrong. We had not yet had time to get settled and were sleeping on spring mattresses on the floor, half-dressed due to the cold in the apartment when we were awakened in the night by the clink of glass. It was soldiers breaking the glass door to our apartment with their butts. There was no electricity, so two Red Army men entered with a candle in hand. First, they dealt with my brother: they took away his watch, a fountain pen, and a gold device found in his pocket, the last valuable thing we had left from before the war. Then one guarded Olgierd, and the other approached me with the now proverbial demand:

“Davay chasy!” (Give watch)

Sitting on the mattress, I managed to throw my watch under the springs, and in my weak Russian I explained to him that I did not have one. He swung the flask at me:

“Give it to me, because I will kill you!” “No”, I insisted.

Then he gave up, but took the clothes lying next to me: a sweater and a windbreaker with a seal in the pocket. I started shouting that there was a seal of Polish coat-of-arms. He checked and was visibly frightened. He put away my things meticulously, placing the seal on top.

Then they both left, taking my brother with them. I was concerned by the numerous accounts of rape by Soviet soldiers. Here in the former East Prussia, gang rapes were the order of the day. I didn’t know whether I would be more at risk by staying here alone in the dark or if I would follow them. However, I thought I might be able to help Olgierd somehow, so carefully, slipping on broken glass, I approached the exit to the stairwell. There, the soldiers kept all the men from our house under guard. At one point, they ordered them to continue to stand, and they themselves fled, taking their booty. It consisted mainly of the still-packed luggage of Mr. Póżny-Stupnicki’s family, which he had just brought to Olsztyn. The other residents were robbed, like us, of valuables. One of the neighbors, a young Warmian named August Sarnowski, slipped out unnoticed and alerted the Civic Militia. However, the militiamen had neither the desire nor the courage to come to our aid.

More and more displaced persons from Poland were arriving in Olsztyn, and assaults were becoming less frequent. For the longest time, the residents of the single-family house colony on Lake Długie suffered from them. All the newcomers occupied empty apartments for which they received allotments from the City Council. They took furniture, pots, and china from other unoccupied dwellings, which were increasingly difficult to find because better household appliances had already found new owners. Much later, in 1946, officials of the District Liquidation Office went around the apartments, wrote down, and valued the post-German property. The amount they calculated, the “pioneers” usually paid back in monthly installments. Of course, no fees were collected from the looters.

So we already had an apartment, and it was a lot of fun to furnish it. With our meager earnings (called advances, though we never saw the promised compensation), we bought doilies and curtains at the bazaar near the High Gate from local women trying to make ends meet. Some were preparing to leave for Germany and were selling things they couldn’t take with them.

We still lived in difficult conditions for a long time. We were deprived of electricity and gas. We generally worked until dark, got our meals in the canteen, and didn’t sit for long in the evenings because we saved candles. We got up very early to get something done before going to work. What bothered us most was the lack of drinking water. We drew water from the Łyna River, which was simply a large garbage dump. In the first days of our stay, it even happened that human corpses were found in it. Water for drinking had to be boiled for 15 minutes. After a while, we received tablets for its treatment from the UNRRA.

Soon, epidemics began. I think the canteen might have been the source of the infections. When a group of new people arrived unexpectedly, the cooks would simply add water to the soup that was the basis of our food. They probably didn’t always boil it again long enough.

The most widespread illness was called “Olsztynianka”, consisting mainly of diarrhea. A glass of moonshine two to three times a day was recommended as the only remedy. Over time, however, cases of typhoid fever became more common. And I succumbed to it. I had a high fever. I remember burning up under the blankets we still used without bed sheets. I lay at home. The railroad doctor Dr. Piotrowski visited me, and sometimes his wife came. Olgierd received a large bag of rice for me from the Department of Provisions and from Mr. and Mrs. Burski, who kept a cow near their villa because of their small children, he brought a bottle of milk every day. Fortunately, my illness was mild and I was able to return to work after two weeks. Sometime later, Mrs. Pieniężna was very seriously ill with typhoid fever, and her youngest daughter died from the illness. I visited Mrs. Wanda in the hospital and was very much affected by Halinka’s death.

Quite early, the Polish Nationalities Committee was established at the government plenipotentiary. The Committee’s task was to consider applications for Polish citizenship for those wishing to remain. It included pre-war Polish activists who knew the local environment well, headed by Mrs. Pieniężna.

The residents of East Prussia endured a living hell. During a period of great frost, the fear-mongering Red Army entered the area in January. The command promised the soldiers that they would be allowed to ‘go wild’ on the territory of the German state. So robberies, rapes, and arson were rampant. Those who resisted were often killed with impunity. People fled in panic - as much as they could - to the West.

At the last minute, the Nazi leadership, headed by East Prussia’s super-president, Gauleiter Erich Koch, ordered a general evacuation. For a long time, any preparations for it were forbidden. They treated any mention of leaving for the Reich as defeatism and sowing panic. As a result, there was a mass, disorderly escape instead of an organized evacuation. And when the Red Army surrounded East Prussia with a quick march from the south and blocked roads and railroads from the west, the frozen Vistula Lagoon was the only available route for this escape. Many-kilometer-long columns of carts with refugees headed this wayin temperatures of minus 20 degrees Celsius (-4 degrees Fahrenheit). The ice sometimes cracked. Some of the carts sank, and the people continued on foot. Many paid for the crossing with their lives. Those who made it to Gdańsk or Gdynia sailed to German ports on crowded ships.

Marion von Dönhoff, who later became famous, also fled on horseback to the West from her estates at the time. She described her memories of this nightmare in her book Nazwy, których nikt już nie wymienia [Names No One Mentions Anymore]. She wrote that German “tanks … mercilessly pushed all the refugee vehicles into roadside ditches, where many of them overturned and crashed”. What a contrast with the attitude of the Polish army in 1939, when military vehicles advanced through fields along roads occupied by refugees. After the war, as editor of the liberal weekly Die Zeit, she worked for the reconciliation and friendship of European nations, including Polish and German.

The Polish administration thus found the country largely depopulated. In Warmia and Mazury, the remaining population was mainly rural, Warmian or Masurian, and therefore essentially Polish. For the Soviet military, it was a hostile country in which one could do anything. Unfortunately, the incoming Poles also mostly treated the locals as enemies. The people who were prepared to work in the area under the Home Army and the London Government Delegation were mostly not used for political reasons.

Much harm was done to the Polish local population during this time. Both my brother and I tried to play the role of its advocates, cooperating with Warmian activists from under the sign of Rodło. Their names were known to us from before the war, and now we got to know them better. In addition to Mrs. Pieniężna, we became good friends with Mrs. Maria Zientara-Malewska. In the 1920s, she was active in many Polish organizations. A teacher by training, she became particularly associated with the Polish School Society, working for it first in Warmia, then in Złotowosk, and also at its headquarters in Berlin. She gained recognition and popularity among the Polish community through her articles, especially poems and short stories printed in the Polish press in Germany. She also wrote the lyrics to Feliks Nowowiejski’s well-known songs.

Arrested in early September 1939, she was imprisoned in Ravensbrück for several months. After her release from the camp, she was allowed to return to her native village, Brąswałd, where she survived the war. As soon as the front moved away, she arrived in Olsztyn to join in building a new life in Warmia. She took on the position of head of the Kindergarten Branch of the Olsztyn School District Board of Trustees. She also worked for the Polish Nationalities Committee. After retirement, she continued to be active. Above all, she wrote a lot and published a number of books.

Władysława Knosała was also associated with pre-war Polish education. She came from the distinguished Kaszubian Styp-Rekowski family. In the 1930s, she taught at a Polish school in Olsztyn, as did her husband, Ryszard Knosała. Both very active, they organized scouting in Warmia. Arrested at the outbreak of war and imprisoned in several concentration camps, her husband did not live to see liberation, dying in Dachau in February 1945. She survived imprisonment and other repressions. After the war, she returned to Olsztyn and worked as an educator at a high school and a lecturer at the Pedagogical College and the Agricultural College. She then devoted herself to the affairs of the local population within the “Pax” Association, working on the editorial board of “Word on Warmia and Mazury” (a regional supplement to Słowo Powszechne [The Common Word]).

The incomparable director of the Kwidzyn gymnasium, Dr. Władysław Gębik, also settled in Olsztyn. He arrived here early, shortly after his release from the concentration camp. Despite being imprisoned in several camps, he survived the war, where he was an example and support for his fellow misfits. He headed the secret international prisoners’ organization he founded. In 1945, he settled in Olsztyn with his wife, daughter, and son. Working in the Superintendency, he developed tireless activities in education and culture from the first moment. He wrote many articles and books on the Kwidzyn gymnasium and its ideological and educational foundations, as well as on the situation of the Polish population in East Prussia before World War II and in the postwar years. 

At the same Superintendency, Paweł Sowa took over as head of the General Department. Born in Warmia, he studied in Poland. After the plebiscite, he was active in Polish organizations in East Prussia. In the 1920s, he temporarily served as secretary of the Union of Poles in Sztum.  Later, however, for reasons stemming from his activities during the plebiscite (contacts with Polish intelligence), he had to leave East Prussia and move to Poland, where he was active in the Association of Compatriots from Warmia, Mazury, and Malbork Land. After the war, he arrived in Olsztyn and remained there. He is the author of many articles and books on the problems of Warmia and Mazury.

In addition to Dr. Gębik, another distinguished educator from the Kwidzyn gymnasium, Professor Aleksander Brückner, also came to Olsztyn. And he, imprisoned in several concentration camps, survived the entire war in them. A co-organizer and manager of the “Książnica Mazurska” cooperative, he came to the aid of former activists of the Union of Poles in Germany, employing them at the cooperative when, under Stalin, they were discriminated against as former members of the “clerical and nationalist organization.” Later, my mother also found work there.

It is difficult to name everyone. We felt very connected to these people. We were united by shared ideas stemming from the pre-war atmosphere in which we grew up. Also among the administrative staff who came from Poland were people interested in the fate of the land and its inhabitants. We tried to intervene in defense of the local population and reported cases of discrimination and abuse to the authorities. Both Colonel Prawin and Deputy Governor Burski countered lawlessness vigorously, but only a small number of such cases reached them. On the other hand, there was the challenge of uniting the original residents with the newcomers. These new arrivals had suffered their own wartime traumas and were unfamiliar with the region’s complicated past.

Together with several employees of the Provincial Office, mainly Ms. Janina Jakubowska and Ms. Danuta Przystasz of the Social and Political Department, we decided to organize a course for the local population. It began in the summer of 1945 under the name: Repolonization Course. I ran it with the help of Ms. Przystasz and Mr. Pepłowski, head of the Social Welfare Department. The authorities had no funds for this purpose. The Polish People’s Party, which was then associated with the London government, was also helpful in the organization. It was only after the arrival of Stanisław Mikołajczyk that the Party spun off from it.

I taught the Polish language - reading and writing and gave talks on topics drawn from Polish history, mainly related to the history of Warmia, and we sang Polish songs. I had students aged fifteen to sixty, with many female students.

In the first days of May, we learned with emotion about the arrival in Olsztyn of Mrs. Otylia Teszner-Grotowa, who had returned from the Ravensbrück camp. After all, that is where our mother was imprisoned! Since the outbreak of the Warsaw Uprising, we lost all contact with her. We were apprehensive about her, as we stopped receiving letters from her. And lo and behold, we learned from Mrs. Otylia that our mother was among the group of about 3,000 Polish women released from Ravensbrück thanks to the efforts of Prince Folke Bernadotte, nephew of Swedish King Gustav V. It was he who, as president of the Swedish Red Cross, obtained permission from the German authorities at the end of the war to release a number of prisoners from concentration camps.

We learned about what my mother was going through while my brother and I started our new lives in Olsztyn much later. 

In the first days of April 1945, at the morning camp roll call, the guards called up a large group of Polish women. After separating them from the other prisoners, they handed each a Red Cross food parcel, leading the women to freight cars, where they were tightly packed. The wagons were locked, and after some time, the train started. The women were anxious about where they were being taken - whether to freedom or the gas chambers. As they passed through the stations, they tried to read their names through the gaps in the boards but found it difficult to figure out which direction they were heading.

They all opened the packages they received. Some, starved, threw themselves greedily at their contents. Many of them paid for it with severe illness. They suffered mainly from diarrhea. They could not keep up with the hole in the floor, which served as a toilet. There were even fatalities. The mother selected a bag of raisins from her pack and chewed them slowly, about one per hour. The trip took a long time. The wagons would sometimes stop for several hours, then set off again into the unknown. Finally, they stopped at some station on a bright, sunny morning. Someone began fiddling with the bolted doors. There was complete silence. Finally, the gates slid open. In the rays of the spring sun appeared the figure of a priest, who said: “Praised be Jesus Christ!” - a common greeting among the clergy in Poland. He was answered by one great inarticulate shout, a shout of relief and joy.

It turned out that the priest was Danish and that, except for this greeting, he did not know a word of Polish. The prisoners disembarked at the Danish station, from where they were taken to Sweden. There, they were placed in camps, but how different from the one they had behind them! Mother found herself in a small barracks divided into several single rooms equipped with all modern facilities under the constant care of a nurse. It turned out that her presence was badly needed, as the mother became gravely ill. Miraculously, she survived, but her body refused to obey. For a long time, she lay with a high fever, fighting death. At 165 cm tall, she weighed 34 kilograms at the time! Thanks to attentive care, she gradually recovered, but it was only after a year that doctors deemed her fit to return to the country.

The day the war ended came. Thanks to a few radio owners, rumors of this spread with lightning speed among the residents of Olsztyn. However, we did not believe them until the government plenipotentiary rallied everyone. On May 9, 1945, standing in a group of former activists from under the sign of Rodło in Freedom Square in front of the Olsztyn Town Hall, I listened with tears in my eyes to the announcement of Germany’s unconditional surrender. Conflicting feelings tugged me: on the one hand - great joy that we lived to see this momentous day when the Polish authorities take possession of this tortured land of ours; at the same time regret that there are not so many among us who gave their lives for the fulfillment of these dreams; and the painful question of the reason for and necessity of their monstrous suffering, which had no influence on the decisions of the great powers; and finally, deep in our hearts, anxiety about the further fate of our Homeland, dependent on a foreign and hostile power….

The charming town of Olsztyn, which I still greatly admire, became my “little homeland” for almost forty years. In June, a certified officer, Captain Józef Szyrmer, arrived in Olsztyn from the oflag in Woldenberg. Of course, he reported to the secretariat of the government plenipotentiary, where I entered him in my guest book and set up a date for a meeting. After a not-too-long conversation, Colonel Prawin summoned the head of the Personnel Department, and the newcomer emerged from his office with an appointment as head of the Military Department at the Provincial Office. He proved to be an excellent organizer, so he was additionally entrusted with various functions unrelated to his department, which necessitated frequent visits to Dr. Prawin. At times, he had to wait in the secretary’s office, and this is how we made acquaintance, which a year later ended in our marriage.

As was to be expected, my older brother Olgierd, due to his landed gentry background, did not hold the post of Olsztyn starost for long. The office he organized was taken over by someone else while he took charge of reactivating the pre-war Polish cooperative “Rolnik,” in which he took the position of commercial director and member of the Board of Directors. In June 1945, he went to Lublin to pick up his family. He returned by repatriation train with his wife, children, Renia and Staś. My sister and younger brother moved in with me. Staś began studying in the fourth grade at the Adam Mickiewicz Gymnasium in September, where I became vice-chairman and the youngest member of the Parent Committee. Renia immediately became secretary of the Nationalities Committee. The Committee worked intensively due to the constant flow of applications for Polish citizenship, which it tried to manage. Unfortunately, the functionaries of the Security Office who organized the deportation of Germans across the Odra River applied different criteria: those who had already been robbed of everything were left as Poles, and those whose property could still be fetched were deported as Germans. Those leaving were allowed to take only a certain amount of luggage necessary for basic needs. It happened that the Provincial Office received news of trains with Polish villagers prepared for transport. Thanks to immediate intervention, they returned to their homes but found only empty walls.

Compared to the situation of the Poles deported to the General Government in the winter of 1939/1940, the Germans left in much more humane conditions, but of course, innocent people suffered a lot then. They suffered the consequences of the crimes committed by their leaders. The plight of the deportees was aggravated by the abuses of the new communist government, which was imposed on Poland by force and whose victims included Poles. And yet, had it not been for the destruction of the Polish state as a result of German aggression, Poland would not have found itself under the Soviet regime.

In July, all the residents of the tenements on Pułaski Square and neighboring ones were removed from their apartments, which were put at the disposal of Marshal Rokossowski’s staff, returning from Germany to Russia. The displaced were forbidden to take out their belongings. They were assured that after the short stay of the staff, everyone would return to their previously arranged apartments. We did not believe these assurances. With great difficulty, we took our furniture and belongings, bribing a guard with moonshine. In fact, the army stayed there for six weeks, and all that remained in the recovered apartments were the bare walls. All the lamps, both hanging and attached to the walls, were taken, and in many rooms, even the carpets were ripped from the floors, not to mention the furniture.

Olgierd and his family were taken in by friends who owned a spacious apartment. There, he lived to see the return of his former dwelling, devastated by the Red Army. In 1946, his next son, Christopher, was born. Three years later, the youngest, Marek, was born.

Renia, Staś, and I took temporary shelter at these friends’ house, making do with a pile of furniture and other belongings for a short time. Despite the housing difficulties that prevailed in Olsztyn at the time, I managed to get an assignment to a tiny three-room apartment in a house with a garden on Grabowski Street, from where the Germans still living there had just been deported. Our apartment was on the second floor, and on the first floor, in equally small three rooms, lived another family, recently arrived from Vilnius. Mr. Milewski worked in the provincial office as a district inspector. His wife was a pharmacist. Living with them were their four daughters and Mrs. Milewski’s mother. We became fast friends with them.

We were happy to have our new nest and started decorating it enthusiastically. We enjoyed every little thing we managed to get. In the following months, Staś began to grow rapidly. This could have posed a serious problem because there were no clothing stores in Olsztyn, and even if they had appeared, we certainly couldn’t have afforded to buy them. The United Nations Relief and Rehabilitation Administration (UNRRA) saved us. From December 1945, large quantities of foodstuffs and used clothing from the West began arriving in Olsztyn. Food was available from the Provincial Department of Provisions, and clothing from the Department of Social Welfare enabled me to retrieve more and more clothes for my brother. Since the Internal Troops (KBW) barracks were located nearby, electricity was connected in our neighborhood as early as the end of the summer. The entire city received a permanent supply of electricity in December.

Our street was on the outskirts of Olsztyn, so we had to make the long walk to work or school every day. For a bottle of moonshine, I managed to buy a bicycle from a Soviet soldier, and from then on, I rode my bicycle to the City Hall office. There was no public transportation. It was not until April 1946 that the only streetcar line for many more months was launched, the Dworzec-Jezioro Długie streetcar line.

Every day, a small two-seat plane, playfully called a “kukuruźnik,” carried mail from our district to Warsaw, and from there, it was distributed throughout the country. On the way back, it would bring mail destined for Olsztyn and the province. The space behind the pilot was used for business trips, mainly heads of operational groups of various ministries and heads of offices and bureaus traveled. Each time they had to get the government plenipotentiary’s approval, Colonel Prawin personally signed the travel orders. Thus, if only to affix a seal, it always passed through my hands. 

In the summer of 1945, I longed to go to Warsaw. So, one day, when there were no takers for the mail plane flight, I asked my boss to let me use the available seat. He agreed and even relieved me of my duties for a few days. The flight to the capital took an hour and a half and brought me many unforgettable experiences. The plane was open. I sat behind the pilot, and in front of me was a semicircular window. I felt a mad rush when I leaned my head out of it. And yet, for an airplane, the speed was not dizzying. We were flying quite low, so I could get a bird’s-eye view of villages, towns, fields, and forests. The pilot kindly asked me from time to time: Charasho? - and I confirmed that I was feeling fine: Charasho!

We landed quite far from the city, and I had to walk a few kilometers on foot to reach Praga. I found some “hotel” where I was offered a bed in a room with a broken door to an adjoining room, where two men were staying overnight. The night, however, passed peacefully. The next day, I visited some friends and made some purchases. I went to the Ministry to inquire about the return of the kukuruźnik. It turned out that no one had contact with the pilot, and I was advised to return by rail.

At Vilnius Station, I boarded the train indicated to me and (in a freight car) arrived in Iława. After a long wait, I learned that a coal-laden train to Olsztyn would soon leave. I climbed onto the wagon filled with coal dust, spread a blanket on it, and felt like I was at the beach, as the day was warm and sunny. I had to be careful when passing underpasses and lay flat on the blanket, as some of them rose not much above my wagon. Full of excitement, I returned the next day to my daily routine.

New waves of people were arriving quickly all the time. The newcomers from Central Poland were divided into “pioneers” and “looters.” The former, having lost their homes and livelihoods during the war, and often their loved ones, wanted to settle here and start life anew. They were ready to develop these lands even at the expense of hard work and many sacrifices. The goal of the second group was to get rich quickly. Taking advantage of the chaos and lack of organized authority, they seized stray property, which was often owned by the defenseless population, to sell it in other regions of Poland.

Displaced persons from across the Bug River were a separate category. As early as April 1945, an outpost of the State Repatriation Office (PUR) began operating in Olsztyn, organizing repatriation and settling newly annexed lands to Poland. The Olsztyn province was to become a new homeland for the population from Vilnius. Many wrongs were meted out to the Polish local population during this migration of people. The new settlers occupied the homes and farms of the Warmians, who either did not try to defend themselves or lost in administrative struggles with the existing Polish government offices. Many officials believed that retaliation for German crimes should be taken against these locals. They had no clue about the fate of these lands. In the surviving minutes of official meetings, for example, the name “Kaszubians” appears to describe the inhabitants of Warmia incorrectly.

I continued to give lectures in the Repolonization Course. At Christmas 1945, we organized a small celebration for the participants, to which we invited a few guests. Schoolgirls performed recitations. We sang Christmas carols, and broke the traditional Christmas wafer. The head of the Department of Provisions, Mr. Cmela, allocated 1 kg of sugar and 1 kg of herrings for each course student, which was of great value at the time and caused much joy.

I was committed to this work and regretfully gave it up in the spring of 1946 when the Board of Trustees organized professional repolonization courses and hired professional educators. I was still working in the secretariat when, in December 1945, Colonel Prawin was promoted to general and appointed head of the Polish Military Mission in Berlin. This was a prominent position.

Dr. Jakub Prawin was a Jew, a pre-war communist. Born in Tarnów, he graduated from Vienna with a doctorate in economics. In the late 1920s and early 1930s, he worked in a managerial position at the Italian insurance company Riunione in Warsaw. He joined the strike when the company ordered layoffs due to the crisis. He was then fired from his job and joined the Communist Party of Poland (KPP). Arrested for communist activities, he was imprisoned in the Bereza Kartuska camp. After the Soviet army entered Poland, he joined the Red Army and, in 1943, joined the 1st Kościuszko Division. 

I must admit that, unlike many people with similar biographies, as a government plenipotentiary in Olsztyn, he stood up for Polish interests, which won him general recognition and sympathy. He was an idealistic communist, but the comrades who took power in Poland after the war did not like his attitude very much. When he returned from Berlin, he was assured a position as deputy chairman of the National Bank of Poland but was removed from political influence. He was 52 years old at the time of his sudden death while swimming in the Świder River near Warsaw. His adopted son is the well-known journalist Daniel Passent.

After Stanisław Mikolajczyk arrived in Poland, the Polish People’s Party (PSL) was formed. The deputy prime minister visited Olsztyn in August 1945, where the Party’s Organizing Committee was soon established. Engineer Stolarczyk headed it. In January 1946, the first Provincial Congress was held. A distinguished Mazurian activist, Fryderyk Leyk, was elected president.

Governors throughout the country were appointed according to the party key. In two provinces, Olsztyn and Rzeszów, nominations were given to candidates recommended by the PSL. Thus, as of January 1946, the PSL candidate, Dr. Zygmunt Robel, became my chief. He was somewhat surprised when he realized what kind of secretary he had inherited from a party government plenipotentiary. Cooperation with the new governor worked out well for me. I gained more independence, which raised my authority in the provincial office.

Dr. Robel did not decide to join the Party that supported him. He came from Lviv, and thanks to the experience he acquired there, he accurately predicted the scenario of future political events in Poland. At that time, the Polich Workers Party (PPR) came to Olsztyn to form party committees in the city and province. Gradually, they played an increasingly important role, taking power into their own hands. Dr. Robel could not counteract this and concentrated his activities mainly on cultural and educational matters, trying to mitigate, to the best of his ability, the dire economic state of the province.

Renia did not stay too long in Olsztyn. At the beginning of 1946, she heard from her French fiancé, who had applied for the position of French consul in Kraków. He asked her to come, offering her a position at the consulate for closer acquaintance. She decided to give it a try. She left for Kraków. There, she found warm support in the family of her Aunt Oziębło. Together with two Polish women she knew, she began working at the French consulate.

She realized quite quickly that her fiancé-consul was not a trustworthy man. So she limited her contacts with him to strictly professional matters, which drew his ire. Fortunately, she befriended the vice-consul and his wife, who were able to protect her from him. After some time, it became clear that the consul had abused his position. Paris reacted quickly and sent an inspector, Mr. Jean Rialland, for a detailed inspection. The vice consul assigned my sister to assist the inspector. She found the documents and typed them up. In turn, the inspector developed an affection for Renia, winning her reciprocation. He was held in high esteem by the vice-consul and his wife. The consul was recalled, and Jean Rialland, who, inspecting consulates, continued to travel all over the world, dropped by Kraków whenever he was in the vicinity, whether in Prague, Vienna, or Berlin.

Jean began seeking permission to marry a foreign woman, which he had to obtain while working for the French diplomacy. At the same time, he sought permission from the Polish authorities for her to travel to France. Both matters consumed a lot of time and effort. In the end, however, he overcame all difficulties, and in 1948 my sister left Poland.

They married in Paris. Jean continued to spend many weeks away from home, inspecting consulates. My sister used this time to study. Finally, her husband received an appointment as consul in Lausanne. After a few years, he was transferred to Buenos Aires. Renia, of course, accompanied her husband. They had two children: daughter Marie-Ange and son Yves.

Renia was already in Kraków when we welcomed our mother’s return from Sweden in April 1946. Our joy was immense, overshadowed only by the memory of Ewa, no longer among us. Mother came to live with me and Staś. We watched with sadness the impact of her experience in the concentration camp. She was serious and silent in those first months, yet a year had already passed since her release. For a long time, we did not ask her about this terrible period - five and a half years of slavery, so as not to arouse stress. When she finally gradually regained her equilibrium of mind, she could tell us little. Her stay in the camp became a gap in her memory, and only encounters with fellow ex-prisoners brought back vague memories of this period. She hated idleness. Her day was filled with work. Professor Brückner employed her at the “Mazurian Bookstore”, where she fulfilled her duties with great care and zeal.

Meanwhile, with Jaś Lutostański, our paths diverged (I became attached to Olsztyn; he did not see a future for himself here), and my acquaintance with Captain Szyrmer led to marriage. We were witnessed by two ladies with whom we shared a close friendship: Eugenia Rowecka and Janina Rzepecka. Mrs. Rowecka was the widow of Stefan Rowecki, commander-in-chief of the Union for Armed Struggle/Home Army (Związek Walki Zbrojnej/Armia Krajowa, ZWZ/AK), with whom my husband had worked closely before the war as deputy chief of staff of the 2nd Legion Infantry Division in Kielce and the Warsaw Armored-Motor Brigade. Mrs. Rzepecka was the wife of Colonel Jan Rzepecki, head of the Office of Information and Propaganda of the HQ of the ZWZ/AK, later twice imprisoned by the Security Office (Urząd Bezpieczeństwa, UB) as president of the Freedom and Independence (Wolność I Niepodległość, WiN). He was my husband’s former lecturer, first from the cadet school, then from the Higher War College, and then a fellow prisoner in the POW camp.

My husband descended from a landed gentry family of Schirmer, a.k.a. Szyrmer, from near Łomża. Their ancestor moved around 1830 from what is now the Belgian-German borderland to the Congress Kingdom, where he bought several neighboring estates. My husband’s father died back in 1918. He had dreamed of the army since childhood. In 1920, as a 13-year-old student, he joined a volunteer regiment. As soon as he turned 18, he enrolled in a cadet school for professional officers. He fought in Warsaw during the May Day events. He served in the 21 pp Children of Warsaw, then became commander of the Border Protection Corps company on the Lithuanian border near Marshal Piłsudski’s estate, Pikieliszek. After graduating from the War College, he moved to operating staff work. 

After my wedding, I moved to the apartment occupied by my husband in the center of Olsztyn, very close to the city hall, where we both worked. With him lived his mother, Ewelina née Przywieczerska. The apartment was located on the third floor of a tenement house from the early 20th century. It was large, with five rooms, but living conditions there were difficult: a high floor (no elevator, of course), tiled stoves, and a cold kitchen. The household on Grabowski Street was taken over by my mother, taking care of Staś.

Preparations for the referendum, which took place on June 30, 1946, became an occasion for fierce attacks on the PSL. Rallies were organized, during which absurd accusations were made against the Party. This action intensified even before the elections. After their results were falsified, arrests and trials of PSL activists began, ending a year later with harsh sentences. Many of our acquaintances were released from prison only after the October “thaw” in 1956.

Although we lived and worked not far from my hometown, we had no contact with either Czernin or Sztum. In the summer of 1946, my husband, who often used the means of transportation owned by the Provincial Office for business purposes, rented a truck for private use. Renia and I took a trip to Powiśle. We first found in Sztum Uncle Kazio Donimirski from Małe Ramzy, who had settled there after the war. He worked for the district office as chairman of the Sztum Nationalities Committee. His daughter, Elżunia Zakrzewska from Poznań, with her six-month-old daughter, had just stayed with him.

After a cordial welcome and a lively conversation, we got into our truck and drove to Czernin. To the person we met there, we explained who we were and took a leisurely walk around the manor and through the park. The house was in good condition but was stripped of its furniture. As we were informed, the Germans took the stylish furniture to a museum in Gdansk. The rest and other items were allowed to be taken by the workers. When we later made contact with them, some offered to return to us the items we received at the time, but of course, we had no intention of taking them. The coat of arms deer from the roof presented a sad sight. One of them lay smashed on the ground, while the other - headless - was still on top of the house.

Suddenly, we were stopped by uniformed Security Office officers, sharply asking what we were doing here. My husband (as head of the Provincial Military Department, wore a uniform) explained his function and his documents. Escorted by the secret police, we returned to Sztum, where my sister and I were allowed to go to my uncle while my husband was detained at the Security Office. After a lengthy interrogation, he was released and returned to us. My uncle told us about recent events, which were probably the reason for such a harsh action: Czernin was managed on behalf of the State Land Properties (PNZ) by Mr. Zielke, who secretly received into the manor a wounded officer of the partisans still active. He was said to have had the alias “Żelazny”. The Security Office caught up with him. During the wounded man’s attempt to escape, a shootout ensued in Czernin. As far as I know, as a result of it, “Żelazny” suffered death, and Zielke was arrested and sentenced to death.

Although already in January 1945, by order of General Okulicki, the Home Army (AK) was disbanded, many of its units remained in the forest. Most of the AK soldiers had no chance to return to a normal life. Disclosure risked imprisonment, often exile to Russia or death. The amnesty later announced proved to be a trap for many.

Understanding that under this system of power, non-partisan people were deprived of rights and any support, my husband, and the governor with him, decided to join the pre-war Labor Party (Stronnictwo Pracy, SP), Polish Christian democratic party, which was reactivated at the time by Dr. Widy-Wirski. They hoped that the authorities would tolerate it because of the party’s leftist, though far from Marxist, program. My husband became chairman of the Party’s provincial board. However, it ended up that during the period of party mergers in 1948, the SP was absorbed into the Democratic Party (Stronnictwo Demokratyczne, SD), just as the Polish Socialist Party (Polska Partia Socjalistyczna, PPS) was absorbed into The Polish United Workers’ Party (Polska Zjednoczona Partia Robotnicza, PZPR), and the Polish People’s Party (Polskie Stronnictwo Ludowe, PSL) into the United People’s Party (Zjednoczone Stronnictwo Ludowe, ZSL).

From the beginning of 1947, the governor and I, along with him, realized that our days in this office were numbered. I just wanted to make it to maternity leave. I started it in April after giving birth to my son, Jacek. Dr. Robel, on the other hand, suffered a serious car accident in May, following which he spent many weeks in the hospital. After leaving the hospital, he received social insurance benefits due to the need for further treatment and rehabilitation, after which he retired.

At the time of his arrival in Olsztyn, he was a widower, the father of several-year-old Alina. After he left his post, he married a second time to Mrs. Janina Jakubowska, who worked in our office’s Social and Political Department and became his secretary after I left. I was friends with her. The function of the acting governor was taken over by the head of the department, Mr. Jaśkiewicz, who was seconded from the Ministry of Regained Territories. Mr. and Mrs. Robel settled in Warsaw, where I visited them from time to time.

Despite the Provincial Office changes, my husband persisted in his position. On the one hand, thanks to his activity, he was a generally well-known and well-liked figure in Olsztyn, and on the other hand - his boss at the Ministry, after any inspections, gave an excellent opinion, both of him personally and of the work of his Department. After the birth of our son Jacek in April 1947, life took on a new value for us.

Against the backdrop of the gray reality of the time, Lili’s wedding to Zygmunt Krzysztofik became extraordinary. Since the fall of the Uprising, we had lost contact with her. We knew that she went through the camp in Pruszków, and after the end of hostilities, she left for the Recovered Territories. Thousands of families scattered in the country and abroad were searching for their loved ones. The Polish Red Cross circulated lists of those seeking and being sought, providing effective assistance. This is how we got our mother’s address in Sweden and how we finally reached our sister. 

At the time, Lili was living in Zielona Góra, where she found employment at the Social Security Office. There, she met Zygmunt Krzysztofik, a pre-war graduate of the well-known Agricultural High School in Cieszyn. When he became administrator of the State Land Properties in Girgajny near Morąg in the Olsztyn province in 1947, their acquaintance was sealed with a wedding. The wedding took place in Girgajny. Family and friends were invited. A string of horse-drawn vehicles drove the guests to the church, and after the wedding, they enjoyed each others’ company until morning. Of course, I attended the ceremony - with my husband, his mother, and six-week-old Jacek, as well as my mother and all our siblings.

Six months later, the Security Office arrested the young couple. At first, the officers searched for them in an apartment on Grabowski Street, where they found our mother and Stasio. After a search, they set up a stakeout there, not allowing anyone to leave the house. Staś was not even allowed to go to school. At that time, another group went to Girgajny. Brutally bound, they threw both detainees into a truck and brought them to Olsztyn. Zygmunt feared that the UB had fallen on the trail of his participation in the AK. However, it turned out that they were mistaken for some NSZ officer and his liaison officer. They were beaten and mistreated during the investigation but were eventually released.

After a few months, my brother-in-law was transferred from Girgajny to nearby Plenkity, where he became the stud farm’s director. This was a dream come true for my sister, who had loved horses since childhood. During my stay in Plenkity, two of their children were born: Andrzej and Oleńka. Every year, I spent some part of the summer with Jacek at their place, then with two, and finally with three of my children.

For a long time, we did not know the fate of Uncle Janek Sikorski, their son Robert, and our grandmother. Like other residents of the capital, during the Uprising, they had to abandon their house on Różana Street, the second floor of which had already been destroyed. They were imprisoned in a transit camp in Pruszków. After selection, the uncle was taken to Germany for forced labor, and the two women and Robert were loaded onto a crowded freight train. Such trains took people unable to work to the towns and villages of the General Government. After leaving the wagons, they had to seek help from the local population. Our grandmother was unable to endure these hardships and the dire conditions in which she found herself. 

She soon died. The uncle, aunt, and their son, after many dramatic experiences, found themselves in France, from where they moved to Tangier, Morocco. Their fate was described by Uncle Janek in his memoirs A Landowner Without Complexes [Ziemianin bez kompleksów], compiled by Professor Józef Borzyszkowski and published in 1990 by the Kashubian-Pomeranian Association. In 1958, they lost their son in tragic circumstances. In the 1970s, they settled in Geneva, where my uncle’s daughter from a previous relationship, Jola Skibińska, lived. Aount Zitka, after a long and serious illness, died in the summer of 1999. The uncle maintained excellent intellectual form until his death in 2002 at the age of 104. He was warmly cared for by Jola until the end.

At the end of my maternity leave, in the summer of 1947, I began to look around for work that would enable me to take care of the baby simultaneously. Such conditions were provided by accounting. After the nationalization of all workplaces, there was a huge demand for accountants. Smaller offices hired them willingly on a part-time basis. My studies gave me theoretical preparation for work in this field, and it was necessary to take advantage of this.

Soon, our acquaintance, Mr. Władysław Wach, office manager and member of the Board of Directors of the Zagon Publishing Cooperative, offered me a bookkeeping job at this institution. I was to come to the office for two or three hours, then take the documents and book them at home. If any problems arose, he promised his help. I started to work on July 1, 1947, and was quickly drawn into my new duties.

Władisław Wach came from the countryside, from a seven-hectare farm. While managing the Zagon Cooperative, he joined the PSL party and was an active member. A few months after I became involved, he was arrested along with several other members of the Board. A new Board was appointed, whose main task was to find irregularities in the Cooperative’s previous activities. This proved unsuccessful, but the political charges were enough to sentence Mr. Władisław to ten years in prison. I experienced constant inspections and interrogations. My autonomy at work was restricted. Again, I had to survive until my next maternity leave, in August 1948, when our daughter Wanda was born.

When I had recovered a bit from the experience and my maternity leave came to an end, I took up bookkeeping duties, under similar conditions as before, at the office of the Society of Friends of the Soldier (Towarzystwo Przyjaciół Żołnierza, TPŻ), of which my husband was chairman. Again, I had good working conditions. I did only the necessary work in the office and made accounting entries in the evenings at home, with time during the day to take care of the children.

In the autumn of 1948, Mieczysław Moczar, the former head of the Public Security Office in Łódź, took over as Olsztyn’s governor. After a few months in office, he proceeded with a general personnel reshuffle. He declared the former Union of Poles in Germany a clerical and nationalist organization and ordered the dismissal of those activists who had been employed in government offices. The witch hunt also affected pre-war officers. As of October 1, 1949, my husband was immediately dismissed. This was followed by a demand that I also be dismissed from the TPŻ. However, I was pregnant again, and the office manager, on this basis, strongly objected. Committees came to inspect my work and ordered me to work normally full time, but Mr. Garliński, a repatriate from the Eastern Borderlands, stood firmly in my defense. Among many stresses, I managed to reach my third maternity leave when our youngest son, Janusz, was born in August 1950.

We experienced hard times then. After he was fired from his job, my husband began to be summoned to the Security Office for hours-long interrogations. He would return from them in the morning, and I, with two small children and a third on the way, spent sleepless nights waiting and praying for his return. As usual, he was accused of spying for the West at the time. I don’t know why the interrogations stopped after a few months. Many people, accused as groundlessly as he was, found themselves in prison. Probably, he was not suitable for the case that was being prepared. Or perhaps the officer who handled his case was one of the fairer ones? In any case, he did not use physical violence. Nevertheless, we faced severe repression: a detailed search was conducted in our apartment, and we were deprived of a telephone.

However, the worries did not end there. It turned out that there was no work for my husband in Olsztyn. Former acquaintances would have gladly hired him, but “force majeure” prevented them from doing so. After several months of effort, he became an office worker at a small local wholesaler called “ Food Central“ (“Centrala Spożywcza”). I also found it difficult to get hired, especially since I was exhausted and our three children needed my care.

Fortunately, this hopeless situation did not last very long. I cannot recall how it happened that in 1950 my husband received an appointment as a delegate of the Headquarters of the Folk and Artistic Industry (Centrala Przemysłu Ludowego i Artystycznego, “Cepelia”) for the Olsztyn province. This appointment was directly from Warsaw, bypassing the local party instances. His task was to organize cooperatives of folk artists in Warmia and Mazury. The office was to supply them with the necessary raw materials, as well as guarantee the sale of their products.

My husband spent several difficult months in the field. As a result, a network of cooperatives was established in the villages and towns of Warmia and Mazury. Overseeing this network proved challenging, especially for someone new in this field. The offices did not reliably complete the tasks assigned to them. For example, a large shipment of weaving kits arrived for the entire province from Łódź, which turned out to be so worn out that they were unusable. Similar things were a source of constant stress and anxiety.

And lo and behold, unexpectedly, my husband met an acquaintance from his pre-war days on the street. In the course of the conversation, it turned out that he had come to Olsztyn to establish a provincial branch of the Association of Private Trade and Services here. He proposed that my husband take the position of office director. This function was reserved for a member of the Stronnictwo Democratyczne Party, and my husband was one, thanks to the incorporation of the Stronnictwo Pracy into the SD. He was soon relieved of his previous job and took charge of organizing the office, establishing contacts with representatives of private initiatives in our province, and conducting elections to the Association’s Board of Directors. The salary associated with this was high, so I did not need to work for a while. I cared only for the house and the children for over three years.

My younger brother Staś, after graduating from high school and passing his matriculation exam, went to Warsaw, where he studied chemistry at the Polytechnic (Warsaw University of Technology). He lived in a dormitory. On vacation, he would come to Olsztyn, welcomed joyfully by our entire family, including my children, who adored their uncle. My mother lived alone for about three years in an apartment on Grabowski Street. I didn’t go to work then, so I often spent whole days at her place in the spring and summer with my children. We cultivated a neighboring undeveloped plot of land. The garden belonging to this house was used by Mr. and Mrs. Milewski. Their apartment on the first floor had a direct exit to it.

The housing situation in Olsztyn was steadily deteriorating, so severe restrictions were gradually introduced. We were threatened with squatting by foreign tenants because the area of our apartment exceeded the standards we were entitled to. Meanwhile, my mother began to be harassed by internal army officers, insisting that she cede her apartment to them voluntarily. Otherwise, she was threatened with having part of it taken away. So we decided that she would move in with us and have a separate room at her disposal. She lived with us for about two years until Staś, after getting his master’s degree, started working and got his own corner.

Professor Porejko, under whose guidance Staś wrote his master’s thesis at the Polytechnic, also taught at the Military University of Technology (Wojskowa Academia Techniczna, WAT) and offered him employment there. Staś decided to work at the WAT mainly because of the chance to receive a housing allowance, which was tempting for institutions connected with the military. Unfortunately, the housing situation in Warsaw was also deteriorating year by year. He was assigned only a room in a shared apartment. Our mother decided to move in with him and run the household for him. After some time, they were allowed to move to a small studio apartment on Koło.

When our youngest son, Janusz, turned three and could already go to kindergarten, I started looking for a job again. I decided on the “Veritas” store (a bookstore and devotional store), where I was hired in early 1954 on a part-time basis. My duties included accounting and all the “paperwork”, which the then manager of the store, Mrs. Jadwiga Łukasiewicz, disliked very much. This work allowed me to reconcile my domestic and professional responsibilities.

I faced many difficulties at home. Throughout the winter, I burned coal in tiled stoves. Laundry required heating water in boilers on the coal stove. Shopping for certain items meant standing in long lines. I often had to take my place at five o’clock in the morning just to get what we needed. When going for a walk with the children, I had to push the cart and then carry it up to our third-floor apartment. Sometimes, I carried the coal from the basement myself, but most often a young man from a neighboring house would do it for a fee. I owed a lot to the help of my husband’s mother, who, although she was approaching eighty, supported me as much as she could, mainly in the kitchen and often keeping an eye on the children.

When I began to work, I could use my earnings to cover my household help expenses. Many Warmian young girls were eager to take on such work. For those we employed, a new life was made possible. They took additional courses, and later found better employment with our help. When the children grew up, I was already managing the house on my own.

I was satisfied with my work at “Veritas”. I remained here for fifteen years, working successively with four managers. The first three left after a year or two, only the last, Jerzy Wolff, became associated as a young man with the store for many years. The son of a local Polish woman and a German, he lost his father during the war and his mother shortly after it ended. So he was alone for a long time and devoted himself entirely to his work. He later married a girl from a family of repatriates from Vilnius. I liked working with him.

The company “Veritas” was one of the Association “Pax” agendas, which took an early interest in the pre-war history of the region and people from under the sign of Rodło. Therefore, many of them joined the activities of the Association, whose goal was to perpetuate the memory of the struggle for Polishness and its heroes in the past while caring for the local population in its difficult post-war present. Władysława Knosała, Maria Zientara-Malewska, and Dr. Władysław Gębik, among others did this. The Association’s premises hosted meetings, interesting lectures, and discussions in which I often participated. An important role was played by the weekly regional supplement to the periodical “Słowo Powszechne” [The Common Word].

The children gradually moved from kindergarten to school, where all three of them did well, being among the best students. They also gave us a lot of joy at home. Meanwhile, after my mother left, a family of five was added to our house. Two rooms were taken by an employee of the Municipal Committee of the Polish United Workers’ Party (PZPR), Mr. Skrzeszewski, with his wife and three children. Home life became burdensome. The shared bathroom created the most tension, and fostered a nervous atmosphere. The two men had to be on time for work and six children for school at eight in the morning. We also had a shared kitchen for a long time, but then a separate one was arranged for our roommates in the staff room.

The historic October of 1956 arrived, and on a cold, damp, cloudy day, we saw a manifestation through the windows of the “Veritas” store. We all knew what it was about. The initiative came from the students of the University of Agriculture. They set out from the campus in Kortowo with banners and shouts, demanding justice and democracy. They chanted, “Hands off Hungary!”, “Down with the security forces!”, “Moczar to the prosecutor!”, and to the people standing in the street, they called out: “Come with us!”.

These calls found immediate resonance, and the march swelled more and more. We immediately closed the store and joined the crowd along with the customers. We walked through the city towards the train station. The march stopped at the Red Army Square near the station. The students tore down the placards with the square’s name and, to great applause, nailed up new ones previously prepared with the name “Hungarian Insurgents’ Square”.

That’s when I noticed my husband and approached him. Soon after, we spotted our Jacek in the crowd. With a frozen pale face, he was seriously marching in the first ranks of the students. As it turned out later, he joined them with his colleagues immediately after the demonstrators left Kortowo.

Although October did not meet our expectations, it nevertheless represented a definite breakthrough. The feeling of fear and intimidation subsided. After the Security Office’s action against my husband and the search conducted in our house, we didn’t even dare to keep a radio in the house. We set up one of the common radio sets connected to the local broadcasting network. The programming included carefully selected world news, propaganda interspersed with popular music, and sometimes entertaining radio plays. Our three young children were too precious to us to put ourselves, and thus them, at risk for trivial reasons. 

After the October events, we immediately bought a radio, and one of our daily activities became catching the jammed broadcasts of “Free Europe”. October aroused great hopes, but the authorities clung to the ossified system, while the gray reality was disappointing, and emotions subsided. Although unlawful repression was used less frequently, widespread enslavement continued. Over time, we concluded that, within the framework of the existing difficult conditions, it was possible and necessary, if only in a small way, to improve the state of our country and contribute to its future. 

Being an active man, my husband began to contribute to local government as a city councilman and long-time chairman of the Culture Committee. There, he met several other people with similar views and aspirations. His function involved membership in the Democratic Party (SD). He did not know how to be passive, so he became an active member of the SD. In addition to artisans, doctors, lawyers, and other representatives of the intelligentsia belonged here. They treated the Party as a kind of asylum, allowing them to exist without being forced to renounce their views. My husband found a group of friends here, with whom he often met outside the Party as well.

Passionate about history and possessing extensive historical knowledge, he was a member of the *Polish Historical Society (*PTH) and, at the same time, cooperated with the Wojciech Kętrzyński Scientific Research Center. He held in high esteem Professor Janusz Jasiński and several other historians who did not succumb to pressure from the authorities and adhered to the truth in their work. He actively participated in the work of the Olsztyn Lovers Society - from its inception in 1966 until 1980, when we left the city, moving to Warsaw. He also lectured for many years as part of the Common Knowledge Society, which the Communist Party wanted to serve its purposes. My husband Józef undermined this, by specializing in astronomical subjects. He could speak interestingly, presenting difficult issues in an accessible manner.

The awareness of our doing useful work, and the appreciation that work inspired, made it easier to overcome the annoyances of everyday life. My husband was very popular in Olsztyn and generally regarded as a “pre-war” figure. We did not doubt for a moment that Poland would regain its sovereignty in the future, but we did not think it could happen quickly. It seemed to us that long difficult years awaited us, ones which it must survive by protecting its identity.

Mother lived in Warsaw with Stas in a tiny studio apartment. In 1960, my brother married. His wife became Danuta Drabarek, a visual artist. Staś moved in with his wife’s parents. Under Communist housing regulations, when the primary tenant moved out, their family members were also required to vacate the apartment. The authorities did not want to agree to transfer right to use the studio apartment to our mother. Appeals based on her service record, including her years in the camp, were rejected. Only the intervention of a former plebiscite activist, Jan Kucharski, permanently residing in the United States, who came to Poland to organize an outpost of the Casimir Pulaski Foundation in Warka, resulted in my mother being allowed to stay in the apartment for life.

She enjoyed it immensely. She was very social and often received friends and relatives in her room. Whenever I could get away from my duties for a few days, I visited her in Warsaw to our mutual delight. My siblings also visited her often, not to mention Staś, who visited every day after work, sometimes even for five minutes.

After 1956, the government’s official attitude toward former activists of the Union of Poles in Germany changed. Mother was awarded the Officer’s Cross and later the Commander’s Cross of the Order of Polonia Restituta. In addition, activists were entitled to a “special pension,” generally in the amount of 3,000 zloty. The application for such a pension for the mother got stuck in Warsaw. It lay in a ministerial drawer for a long time, because the Warmian delegate employed by the Ministry did not have the courage to support a former member of the landed gentry class. Finally, after having been reminders many times, he approved it, lowering the amount of the pension. She was finally granted 1,000 zlotys. At the time, my mother was receiving more than 800 zloty in pension, so her financial situation had not improved much.

In 1960, our driver from Czernin, Janek Krajewski, obtained my mother’s address in Warsaw and began to write her long and kind letters in German on a special machine for the blind. In them he described his fate: He was conscripted to the German army as early as August 28, 1939. He was stressed that he never fought against the Poles. He spent the war in a military unit stationed in Königsberg. He later spent some time on the Western Front. The last months of fighting in the Soviet Union proved to be the hardest. He was severely wounded and lost his eyesight. After the war, he ended up in the Federal Republic of Germany with his wife and two children. As an invalid veteran, he was trained in making brushes. He received the necessary materials, and someone picked up the finished products. He was granted a generous pension, thanks to which, with his wife’s help, he bought a large house. As he wrote, of the eleven rooms he owned, he rented out four, which further increased his income. Thus, in a good financial situation, surrounded by a loving family, he felt happy. However, he reminisced that the years of working at my parents’ house were the most beautiful period of his life, that his best memories were from the time of his youth. In his letters he recalled various details: sleigh rides in the winter, trips in the summer, shopping trips to Malbork, when he always received a tip, which he was very happy about. He wrote warmly about my father, emphasizing that he never forgot him and included him in his prayers for his deceased parents and relatives.

Shortly after the “thaw” of 1956, my sister Lila’s husband, Zygmunt Krzysztofik, became director of the Bialy Bór Stallion Stud, in the Koszalin province. He actually created it from scratch, and expanded it continuously. Zygmunt initiated “holidays in the saddle” for foreigners in Bialy Bór, previously unheard of in communist Poland. Lili did a valiant job of entertaining foreign guests, but was pained by the fact that she herself lacked time for horseback riding.  In the late 1960s, she began complaining of pains in the liver area. After many misdiagnoses and even an unnecessary gall bladder operation, it turned out that my sister was plagued by cancer. She underwent surgery belatedly. Except for the periods she spent in the hospital, she stayed with her mother, where she felt most comfortable. Her mother gave her the tenderest care. The fight for her life lasted nearly a year from the time the disease was diagnosed. She died in July 1969, the same night when the whole world was excited about the landing of the first man on the moon.

Lili left behind two children. Andrew, or Andrzej, was a good rider, but most of all, he loved music. He became a member of the pop band “Two plus one.” In the late 1970s he emigrated to Australia, where he still lives. Alexandra, or Oleńka, married a Swede and moved to his country. She and her husband both love horses and horseback riding.

My older brother Olgierd, was a deputy director at the Polish Grain Works in Olsztyn in the 1950s. He tried to continue to contribute to the integration of the local population with the immigrant population and to counter discrimination. In the atmosphere of the post-October changes, he became involved in organizing the Committee of Catholic Activists in Warmia and Mazury, of which he was chairman for a time, as well as the Warmia and Mazury Cultural and Social Society, where he served as vice-chairman. However, the authorities torpedoed the activities of these organizations, which were completely independent of them. When it turned out that nothing could be accomplished without the support of the authorities and compromises in their favor, my brother withdrew from these activities. As a passionate farmer, he tried his luck in this field for many years. His passion was shared by his second wife, Renata (née Stablewska), an agricultural engineer by training. However, they were unable to adapt to the prevailing economic system, especially the ability to give bribes. Without bribes, it was difficult to run a farm. They eventually settled with their son Piotr, who came from a second marriage, in the village of Koźmice, near Wieliczka. His wife died of cancer when the boy was seventeen. Currently, my brother is retired and Piotr is studying in Cracow, while still living with his father in Koźmice.

My younger brother Staś, having earned a PhD in Chemistry, worked as a civilian research and teaching employee for more than 40 years at the Military University of Technology in Warsaw (Wojskowa Academia Techniczna, WAT). In addition to his activities as a professor, he devoted a lot of effort to research. He repeatedly received awards and honors for this. For his work he was awarded the Knight’s Cross of the Order of Polonia Restituta, the Medal for Meritorious Service to the WAT and the title of “Distinguished Academic Teacher of the WAT.” He is currently retired, but remains active.  He never has enough time, and would like to devote more of it to his hobby: the history of our ancestors, native land and Pomerania.

The life of the second of my sisters, Irena, or Renia, has been most interesting. After years spent in posts in Lausanne and Buenos Aires, my brother-in-law became consul general of France in Antwerp. I had the pleasure of visiting them there twice, and thus found myself behind the “Iron Curtain” for the first time. We later spent vacations at their estate in the south of Brittany. From Antwerp, my brother-in-law was transferred to the same position in Madrid, where he lived upon retiring. He remained in excellent intellectual and physical shape into old age. He died recently at the age of 92. My sister lives in Paris. Her son Yves is an engineer, a graduate of the elite Ponts et Chaussées school; he works in Paris for the Bouygues concern. Her daughter Marie-Ange, with her Spanish husband (whose mother was a Romanian émigré), after a longer or shorter stay in various countries, including England, Nigeria, Portugal, China, finally settled in Madrid. She works there at Canal Plus television.

As for me, in 1965 we moved to a nice, beautifully located apartment on the outskirts of Olsztyn, at the edge of the forest. While it was managed by the housing authority, the five-story building was owned by the resident of the first floor. After 1956, the city authorities sold her the entire house with the tenants. The previous tenants had moved out due to the owner’s difficult personality. We could not hope for full independence as a family here. In addition, despite great efforts on our part, we did not escape harassment. But we had a beautiful forest right on our doorstep and could visit it at any time.

Our children gradually drifted out of the family nest as they graduated from high school and began university. In 1965, Jacek entered the Faculty of Foreign Trade at the Central School of Planning and Statistics, the Communist name of my former university (SGH). A year later, Wanda became a physics student at the University of Warsaw. When 1968 came, Janusz was preparing for matriculation, planning to follow in Jacek’s footsteps. They were both looking forward to studying together at the university. Meanwhile, student unrest thwarted all plans. Our children were, of course, involved in them. Because of Wanda’s participation in the student protest, the militia visited the owner of the apartment where she rented a room, threatening her with reprisals. Jacek was expelled from the university for speaking at a rally called by the rector and for other actions, even though he was generally within the bounds of what was legal. My husband was threatened with being fired, if his son was removed from the university permanently. Although Jacek had previously been declared unfit for military service due to his health, he received an appointment to a penal company building roads in the Bieszczady Mountains. He was searched, both at the apartment where he rented a room in Warsaw and at our place in Olsztyn. Fortunately, the SGH authorities managed to arrange the last-minute release of the students in that protest. Prof. Irena Kostrowicka, pro-rector of SGPiS, came to my son’s great aid. She did so with great commitment and a big heart. Others also helped, such as Janusz and Wojtek Donimirski, my cousins from Kożuszki, as well as my husband’s cousin, Professor Jerzy Szyrmer. A “certificate” issued by Colonel Jan Rzepecki also proved useful. In June, the appeals committee reversed Jacek’s punishment of expulsion from the university to a one-year suspension.

In this situation, Janusz had no chance of being admitted to SGPiS. So we decided that he would apply to the Higher School of Economics (later the Academy of Economics) in Poznań. He began his studies there from October. The beginnings were difficult, as he found himself in a completely alien environment. Our children in Warsaw maintained close contacts not only with my family, but also with my husband’s family, and above all with my husband’s cousin, Jerzy Szyrmer, a professor at SGGW. He and his wife helped them many times in their troubles.

Poznań also had much worse transport links with Olsztyn than Warsaw. Jacek and Wanda could come home more easily; for Janusz, this meant a seven-hour train trip each way, as there were no better connections. Gradually, however, he established close contacts with his family living in Poznań: the Zakrzewski family, that is, the family of Elżunia of Mały Ramz (her husband, Zbigniew, was a distinguished WSE professor) and the large Chełkowski family. He stayed with Mita Chełkowska, the widow of Franek from Telkwice.

After all three of my children started university, I began to look around for a full-time job. The living expenses for our children staying away from home increased and household responsibilities decreased. For a while, I worked additionally at the Provincial Archives, doing searches for the Main Commission for the Investigation of Nazi Crimes in Poland, along with several other people. After completing this task, I took over the bookkeeping of the Archive, trying to reconcile this work with my previous duties at the “Veritas” bookstore. This did not come easily to me. So when in 1969, I was offered the position of chief accountant at the Provincial Branch of the Polish Tourist and Sightseeing Society with a salary higher than both of my previous jobs combined, I decided to take the job, even though I regretted leaving both institutions.

However, I very quickly bonded with my new employer. Despite the fact that I had a lot of work, I completed a course and passed an exam that gave me PTTK tourist guide privileges. After I retired in 1976, I was able to devote more time to this, guiding quite large groups of tourists, which gave me a lot of satisfaction. My knowledge of German, as well as French, proved very useful. Even more than the financial benefits, I valued establishing friendly social contacts. I found many friends in the Circle of Guides. Our meetings provided opportunities for interesting conversations and discussions. We were also brought closer by the excursions organized by the Circle for its members. Going on them, I discovered almost all the regions of Poland.

Three years earlier than me, in 1973, with 21 years of work in the Provincial Association of Private Commerce and Services, my husband retired. He did not give up his social activism, which he continued until we left Olsztyn in 1980.

In the early 1970s, our children successively earned their university degrees and began working. Jacek was left with a “black mark” after 1968, because of his previously mentioned politically uncomfortable activity at rallies. He could not count on employment at the university or in the field he studied. He had difficulty finding a job. Finally, he was accepted into the Department of Agricultural Geography at the Polish Academy of Sciences, under the supervision of Professor Jerzy Kostrowicki. I was surprised to discover that Kostrowicki and I had been colleagues before the war at the university in Warsaw. He had finished his degree after the war and built an academic career. For Jacek, transitioning to this completely new field was a difficult choice, the consequences of standing up to totalitarian rule.

Wanda received a teaching assignment to work at the Mechanical-Electrical Technical School in Celestynów near Warsaw. There she met her future husband, Marek Majkowski, a teacher at the same school.

Janusz, on the other hand, had become involved with his college friend Hanna Saroszewska at the university in Poznan. In accordance with our mutual desire to maintain close contacts within the family, he moved to Warsaw and took a job at the Institute of Geography of the Polish Academy of Sciences, where Jacek worked, in the Department of Environmental Protection.

The years 1973 and 1974 brought a significant flurry of family events. In less than two years, there were alternately three deaths and three funerals, as well as births of the next generation. In early 1973 in Warsaw, Jacek married his distant cousin, Anna Donimirska. In August in Poznan, Janusz married Hanka. At the end of that year, my husband’s mother, with whom I had harmoniously coexisted under a common roof for twenty-seven years, died at the age of 97. Seven weeks later, my mother also left us. Straight from her funeral, Janusz had to rush with Hanka to Ostrów Wielkopolski for his father-in-law’s funeral. In June 1974, the wedding of Wanda and Marek took place in Olsztyn. Jacek’s wife gave birth to a son, Olaf. Thus, within a year and a half, from comfortably existing as the middle generation, my husband and I became the oldest generation.

My mother died in Warsaw on January 13, 1974. In the last years of her life she was ill a lot, bravely struggling with numerous ailments. She kept a lively mind to the end. Political and social issues were her great passion. We could see how great, when sorting out the papers she left behind. She rests in the Bródno cemetery, in a common grave with Ewa, who was buried there after the Warsaw Uprising.

Jacek’s marriage, despite the birth of Olaf, very quickly proved unsuccessful and ended in divorce.

Contrary to the family’s shared desire of living in Warsaw together, our three children dispersed around the world. They all intended to return to the country after a few years of work or study abroad. The state headquarters of “Polservice” organized trips to Third World countries, mainly to work as lecturers at universities. In 1975, Wanda and Marek went to Zaire (now Congo), where Wanda taught physics at the Kishasa Higher Institute of Technology. Marek soon moved from education to work at a company owned by the Belgian subsidiary of Coca Cola, where he became one of the plant’s executives. While in Africa, their three sons Christopher, Gregory and Radosław were born.

After earning a doctorate in geography from the Polish Academy of Sciences, Jacek followed in Wanda’s footsteps, taking up lecturing at the University of Algiers from 1979. He was accompanied by his second wife, Grazyna (née Nejfeld), a historian and graduate of Warsaw University. Jacek had been fascinated by history since his youth, and interested in learning about the world. His new wife shared these passions.

Janusz also left Poland the following year. Thanks to passing difficult exams, he was awarded a Fullbright doctoral scholarship in the United States. Contrary to an international agreement, the authorities prevented his wife from visiting the US, consistently denying her a passport. It was only during the period of Solidarity’s [2] greatest influence, in response to official complaints, that she was allowed to leave. Fearing a change in the decision, she took advantage of it immediately and, leaving all their modest possessions in the country, flew to the US with their two children: five-year-old Luke and six-month-old Magdalena. Their youngest daughter, Paulina, was born there.

All of us, at home and abroad, experienced the rise of the Solidarity labor movement. Later, we were overwhelmed by the gloom associated with the imposition of martial law. After this event, the situation in the country appeared very uncertain, which caused Wanda and Janusz to remain abroad with their young families. Having three young children each, they were afraid to return to the country. So Janusz, after earning his doctorate at the University of Pennsylvania in Philadelphia, remained at the university, soon assuming the position of professor.

Wanda and Marek, leaving Kinshasa, decided to emigrate to Canada. They settled in Montreal, in the French-speaking province of Québec.

According to our family plans, my husband and I tried to move to Warsaw. It was not easy at the time. Warsaw was administratively a closed city, and it did not welcome new residents. However, thanks to Jacek, who declared that he was accepting us into his small apartment, we obtained the coveted official residency permit we needed. We lived at Jacek’s place for a few months, after which we moved to Janusz’s family apartment when it became clear that they would not be returning for the time being.

Once all the formalities were settled, as legal residents of the capital, we could give up our official permanent residence in Olsztyn. Associated with it was, among other things, the receipt of food rationing coupons. Until then, I would go to Olsztyn once a month, redeem our rations and return with them to Warsaw.

In 1983, my husband, who was eleven years older than me, was feeling unwell. I had to carry out the liquidation of our Olsztyn apartment by myself. It was a difficult experience for me. Over the course of several days, I sold what I could, gave away or threw away the rest; I transported to Warsaw anything of value, and that could be fit into the new apartment. Everyday items, letters, books and papers contained some part of the lives of our family of six. I carried out the selection, often in tears. In those difficult days for me, my husband’s cousin’s son Benio Świerszcz and his wife Beata were a great help.

One whole transport consisted of books, of which I carried about fourteen thousand. I rented a room in Goclawek, where I deposited this library of my husband. He refused to get rid of any titles in his book collection. To this day, it causes a lot of trouble, mainly for Jacek, who took custody of it. My husband died on December 1, 1985. Of our children, only Jacek was able to attend the funeral. Our relatives and friends came in large numbers, as well as representatives of the Association of Private Trade and Services from Olsztyn and from the Head Office in Warsaw.

Thus, only Jacek returned in 1986 to the country and to his work at the Institute of Geography of the Polish Academy of Sciences. Both Jacek and his wife became involved in the Solidarity movement (Grażyna worked in the nationwide Civic Committee) and together we celebrated its victory in the 1989 elections. The children living abroad also cast their votes at consulates.

Since the fall of the Warsaw Uprising, I have not been in contact with my AK colleagues. From time to time I only exchanged cards with our commander, Helenka Brzozowska (“Anna”), who graduated with a degree in medicine after the war and settled in Katowice. We both survived the fall of the Uprising and its tragic consequences. In time, other colleagues from our sanitary group also volunteered to join her. Finally, Helenka, also known as “Elen,” organized a meeting in Katowice. It brought us all so much joy that we decided to hold such reunions regularly. When Elen retired and found herself in the “Doctor’s House” in Warsaw, the place of our meetings became the capital. A large number of former nurses live there, and it was also easiest for others to come here. At each reunion, one by one, we recounted our experiences from the war and the Uprising, and Elen recorded them on tape. On the basis of this, she wrote the book Nasza dziwna grupa ZWZ AK [Our Strange Group of the UAW-AK]. She put a lot of work into it, collecting source materials and contacting historians of the period.

However, it was not only for this that we valued and loved her. She was a model of integrity and courage, kindness and dedication. Toward us, she was caring and cordial, always rushing to help those who needed it. She originated from Kresy Wschodnie (Eastern borderland), a family that lost property as a result of the First World War. In September 1939, her only brother was killed in a battle near Tomaszów Lubelski. In the first days of the Uprising the Germans executed her father. However, her strength of spirit allowed her to control her emotions, focus on her duty, and forget about herself. I write this with regret in the past tense, due to by her recent death. An irreplaceable person has passed away.

We visit Czernin from time to time. In the first years after the war, the house was badly damaged. It was rebuilt, divided into many small apartments for workers. Over time, Czernin became the center of a large Kołhoz collectivist state farm. New buildings were erected, the former mansion fell by the wayside, and declined more and more over time. In the late 1970s, the Olsztyn Historical Society organized an excursion to Powiśle. Historians, seeing the dire state of this former center of Polishness, took the initiative to renovate it. And indeed, in the early 1980s their demand was granted. According to the guidelines of the regional historic preservation office from Gdansk, the former layout and appearance of the house was restored. However, it now required further maintenance. The old spruce trees, which used to isolate the mansion from the yard and outbuildings, have been cut down, as have many other old trees. The park has been devastated. The family chapel is in ruins. In the 1990s, the State Agricultural Agency leased several hundred hectares of farmland along with the manor house. Multiple parliaments of several terms has already tried passing a reprivatization law, and it is still not in place. Without our knowledge, Marusza was sold into private hands, despite the filing of our claims of ownership in a fledgling capitalist society.

For us, however, the most important thing is the evidence of the memory of our family, a memory that has survived, despite the years-long campaign to belittle its role. Already the period of the first “Solidarity” movement brought the naming of my parents, first to Vocational School No. 2, and in 1998 to the entire Vocational School Complex in Elblag. In the 1990s, the name of my Great-Grandfather Ignacy Lyskowski was given to the Agricultural School Complex in Grubno near Chelmno, and the name of my Grandfather Stanislaw Sikorski was given to the school located in his former manor house in Wielkie Chelmy. We are particularly pleased to hear that the authorities in Sztum intend to name the elementary school in Czernin - at the request of Councilman Waldemar Fierk and the school itself - after the Donimirski family.

Our family is still scattered around the world: my son Jacek lives in Belgium, where he is a professor at the University of Liège. Wanda and her family live in Montreal. She received her PhD in atmospheric physics there and works at the Université du Québec à Montréal. Her younger sons are studying, Gregory in economics at the same university, and Radek in mathematics and computer science at Franklin Pierce College (New Hampshire) in the United States, where he enjoys a full scholarship as a member of the university’s soccer team. The eldest, with almost a university degree in his pocket (actuarial, or insurance), is thinking of working in Poland.

Janusz’s family meets at their home in Philadelphia only on holidays. He heads a Harvard University-created team of economic advisors to the Ukrainian government in Kiev. Luke, after earning a degree from the University of Pennsylvania (economics and English literature) and working in Philadelphia for a year, began working as an IT specialist in Warsaw, Magda is studying at Princeton, and Paulina is finishing high school, having already been accepted to Georgetown University’s School of Foreign Service in Washington.

And I, as long as my health allows me, visit them all, realizing youthful dreams of traveling and exploring the world.

Warsaw, February 2000

[2] Solidarity was the labor union that resisted Communist rule, and ultimately led to its downfall in Poland and the region.

Early 1900s - Halina’s parents Witold Donimirski and Wanda Sikorska are part of the “organic work” movement resisting Germanization in East Prussia through promoting Polish language and culture.

1910 - Witold and Wanda marry. Over the next 12 years they have 8 children, including Halina in 1918.

1920 - East Prussia votes to remain part of Germany in a contested plebiscite. Halina’s family decides to stay despite repression of Polish minority.

1920s - Halina’s parents establish Polish schools, banks, cooperatives in East Prussia to strengthen Polish community.

Early 1930s - Hitler comes to power in Germany. Repression against Poles increases. Halina’s father has land seized and given to Poles who renounce their heritage.

1931 - Halina goes to all-girls boarding school run by nuns in Rabka, Poland. She returns home to East Prussia for holidays and summers.

1936 - After high school graduation, Halina studies German in Berlin. She witnesses Nazi propaganda and militarization.

1937 - Halina’s parents secretly meet with Polish ambassador in Berlin to plead for help defending persecuted Poles.

1939 - Germany invades Poland in September, starting World War II. Halina’s parents are arrested by the Gestapo in October. Her father is later murdered in a concentration camp.

1945 - With East Prussia now part of Poland after the war, Halina and her family work to rebuild the Polish community, having lost their estate.

• Muzeum in Waplewo (Sierakowscy):

  • https://www.facebook.com/TradycjaSzlachecka
  • https://pl.wikipedia.org/wiki/Muzeum_Tradycji_Szlacheckiej_w_Waplewie_Wielkim

• Muzeum in Śmiełowo (Chełkowscy)

  • https://www.facebook.com/MuzeumAdamaMickiewiczaWSmielowie/?locale=pl_PL
  • https://mnp.art.pl/en/mickiewicz-museum-in-smielow

• On the Trail of Sorrow [Na Tropach Smętka] by Melchoir Wańkowicz

• Biographical Dictionary of Warmia, Mazury, and Powiśle [Biographical Dictionary of Warmia, Mazury, and Powiśle] by Professor Tadeusz Oracki

• Gospodarz [The Farmer] by Stanisław Sikorski

• Śladami Pitagorasa [Footsteps of Pythagoras] by unknown

• Dzieje Duszy [Acts of the Soul] by St. Teresa of the Child

• Une Revolution Dans La Paix [Revolution in Peace] by Antonio Salazar

• Wypisy Reither’s Selected Works

• Polskie Drogi [Polish Roads]

• Na Srebrnym Globie [On the Silver Globe] by Żuławski

• O czym się nie mówi [The Unspeakable] (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Unspeakable)

• The Trilogy Henryk Sienkiewicz’s famous historical trilogy consists of three novels:

  • “Ogniem i mieczem” (1884) - “With Fire and Sword”
  • “Potop” (1886) - “The Deluge”
  • “Pan Wołodyjowski” (1888) - “Fire in the Steppe” (also translated as “Colonel Wolodyjowski”)

• Dziady [Forefathers’ Eve] by Adam Mickiewicz

• Waplewo by Andrzej Bukowski

• Przemarsz Przez Piekło [A March Through Hell] by Stanisław Podlewski

• Nazwy, których nikt już nie wymienia [Names No One Mentions Anymore] by Marion von Dönhoff

• De revolutionibus orbium coelestium [On the Revolutions of the Heavenly Spheres] by Nicolaus Copernicus

• Ziemianin bez kompleksów [A Landowner Without Complexes] by Jan Sikorski

• Nasza dziwna grupa ZWZ AK [Our Strange Group of the ZWZ AK] by Helena Brzozowska

I was persuaded to write my memoir by Prof. Józef Borzyszkowski, Ph.D., Head of the Laboratory of the History of Pomerania and the Baltic Countries at the University of Gdańsk. I am grateful to him both for his kind support during my writing process and for his numerous publications about our family. After  briefly hesitating, I came to the conviction that we should take advantage of the opportunities that unexpectedly appeared in Poland after the fall of communism to protect the truth about that world and its people from oblivion. And there are now fewer and fewer people who still remember those times….

When I wrote my memoirs in 1992-2000, I was many years away from the events described. I relied essentially on my memory, so I could not present all matters as vividly as I would have liked. My book is a tribute to everyone I was lucky enough to meet on my path and who sacrificed time, property, health, and often life, to Poland, especially to the Polishness of my native Malbork Land. 

Thinking of them, I feel bitterness because this was not the kind of Poland they fought for, which emerged in 1945. Was their sacrifice not in vain? After all, these territories were annexed to Poland not to satisfy the patriotic aspirations of their Polish inhabitants but at the behest of Stalin, who, in addition to compensation for the lands taken in the East, had a far-reaching goal: to hinder reconciliation between Poles and Germans who would not come to terms with the loss of territory and would make revisionist demands, forcing Poland to seek support in Russia.

I feel it is my fond duty to thank my brother Stanisław for his cooperation and valuable comments, as well as for providing photographs from his collection, thanks to which the illustrative material of this book was enriched; also to my son Janusz, who assisted with the beginnings of my writing. I sincerely thank him for introducing me to the ins and outs of working on the computer, and to his wife Hanna and my daughter Wanda, along with her husband Marek, for creating the conditions that made it easier to write down my memories. 

I thank Krzysztof Pruski for making a map of the Sztum area. The book appeared in its present form thanks to my son Jacek, who, together with his wife Grażyna, prepared the text, compiled supplementary materials, and handled the administrative side. 

My heartfelt thanks go to Mrs. Regina Gromacka and Maria Wichrowska, and Mr. Zbigniew Garwacki of the Cyclades publishing house for carefully and thoughtfully preparing my memoir for printing. 

Finally, I would like to express my deep gratitude to my uncle, the late Jan Sikorski, for financing the publication of the book, and to his daughter, Jola Skibińska, for her help in this matter.

Halina Donimirska Szyrmerowa

Warsaw, June 2003

Halina Szyrmerowa, née Donimirska, pseudonym “Halszka” (born January 18, 1918 in Czernin near Sztum, died October 22, 2008) - Polish social activist, soldier of the Home Army, participant in the Warsaw Uprising, honorary citizen of Sztum.

She came from the Donimirski family, a well-known family of landed gentry, distinguished for their “organic work” social activism in Pomerania, on behalf of the Polish minority in East Prussia. Born in Czernin, Halina was involved in Polish educational work in Powiśle from an early age. She was educated at the Sisters of Nazareth gymnasium in Rabka (1931–1936). In 1937, she began studies at the Warsaw School of Economics.

At the beginning of WWII, her parents were interred in Sachsenhausen and Ravensbruck concentration camps, due to their anti-Nazi political activity. Her father died after a few months, while her mother survived the entire war. She spent the first years of the occupation in Kożuszki near Sochaczew, where she participated in underground teaching. In March 1943, she found herself back in Warsaw and under the pseudonym “Halszka” joined the ranks of the Home Army. She underwent medical and military training and was directed to work at the Maltese Hospital, where she cared for wounded partisans, participants in Home Army combat operations, as well as German soldiers. She also took care of a group of children from the Zamość region who were taken from a transport to Germany. During the Warsaw Uprising, she was also a paramedic (in the “Miotła” battalion), providing aid to the wounded in Warsaw’s Old Town and City Center. After the defeat of the uprising, she was deported to Germany for forced labor.

In 1946 she married Captain Józef Szyrmer, then head of the Military Department of the Voivodeship Office in Olsztyn, a veteran of the September Campaign.

She was awarded, among others, the Knight’s Cross of the Order of Polonia Restituta, the Cross of Valor, the Home Army Cross, the Warsaw Uprising Cross, the Rodło Medal, and the Honorary Badge for Merits to the Warmian-Masurian Voivodeship. The town of Sztum granted her the title of honorary citizen.

The author passed away on October 22, 2008, after a long battle with health issues that began in her childhood. Despite these challenges, she lived nearly 91 years, driven by her strong will and character. Remarkably, she maintained an active lifestyle, doing daily gymnastics and taking walks until she was 90, while also keeping up with her medical treatments. In late 2007, her health worsened, and she was unable to visit her children in the US and Canada as she had done every year. In May 2008, she was hospitalized due to a blockage in the blood supply to her brain, which led to another blockage. This left her unable to walk or use her hands effectively. Despite predictions that she would never walk again, she amazed everyone by regaining some mobility with assistance. A specialist warned us that she wouldn’t survive intense emotions, whether positive or negative. Sadly, this proved true. The joy of anticipating her grandchildren’s visit from Canada and planning a family Christmas Eve was too much. On the night of October 20-21, she expressed feeling very ill and lost consciousness, passing away from a massive stroke on October 22. Her funeral was a solemn event, held with military honors at the Powązki Catholic Cemetery. Many family members, friends, and acquaintances attended, including representatives from Sztum and the Donimirski School in Czernin. In her Memoirs, she modestly omitted mention of the numerous honors she received, including the Order of Poland Reborn and the Cross of Valor from the Uprising. She was later promoted to lieutenant in the Polish Army. After her Memoirs were published, she was named an honorary citizen of Sztum, and the Warmian-Masurian Voivodeship awarded her a Badge of Honor. She left behind three children, seven grandchildren, and thirteen great-grandchildren, with another on the way. Her eldest son, Jacek, retired from teaching but continues his historical research. His son Olaf works in the travel industry, inspired by his parents’ careers. Olaf’s children, Klaudiusz and Natalia, are pursuing careers in journalism and culinary arts, respectively. Her daughter, Wanda, retired after a career in meteorology, working with organizations like NASA. She and her husband have three sons and six grandchildren, all living in the Montreal area. Her sons have successful careers in various fields, from business management to real estate. Her youngest son, Janusz, continues to work as a macroeconomics expert, advising governments worldwide. His children have pursued diverse careers, from finance to veterinary medicine. The author and her siblings, who lived long lives, passed away within eight years of each other. The family has faced challenges in reclaiming properties lost during political upheavals, a process that has been lengthy and complex. Despite these struggles, the family remains committed to preserving their heritage and honoring their ancestors. They have maintained strong ties with the community in Sztum, where they have many friends and supporters. However, connections with schools in other areas have waned over time.

Jacek Schirmer
Warsaw, September 2023