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Here's an Associated Press Story about a Polish gulag survivor and
Monte Cassino veteran who recently returned to live in Belarus.

Andy Golebiowski
Buffalo, NY


dyn/content/article/2008/12/17/AR2008121701121.html

Vet of famed Polish WWII unit honored on 103rd birthday
By YURAS KARMANAU –

IVANYETS, Belarus (AP) — Tortured by Stalin's henchmen and attacked
by Hitler's forces, Aleksander Szekal almost became one of World War
II's millions of victims.

But he survived the Soviet Gulag and a famous battle against the
Nazis — and was honored on his 103rd birthday this week as the oldest
living veteran of a celebrated Polish unit that helped defeat
Hitler's army in Italy.

Military attaches brought greetings from the governments of Britain,
Italy and Poland, which promoted him from soldier to officer. The
ceremony was held Monday at a Polish community center in western
Belarus — from which he was uprooted early in the war, not to return
for 60 years.

In between, Szekal endured the hardships of Soviet Communism and the
fight against fascism.

"Both of these 20th Century ideologies became hell for me," said
Szekal, who walks with a cane but feels healthy and remains sprightly.

He lived a quiet life as a lumberjack until 1939, when Hitler and
Stalin divided eastern Europe with a nonaggression pact and the
Soviet Union annexed his homeland, which had been part of Poland.

Szekal, who had served in the Polish army, was torn from his new
wife, imprisoned by Stalin's secret police in Belarus and tortured
until he confessed to "anti-Soviet activity." He said his captors
stuck needles under his toenails and left him naked in the freezing
cold, inadvertently saving his life by tossing him into a barn after
they thought he was dead.

Szekal was then sentenced to eight years in the Soviet Gulag in 1940
and shipped by freight car to Russia's Pacific Coast with other
Polish soldiers. Many died during the long journey.

In prison, he and the other inmates dug trenches and struggled to
survive in one of the world's harshest environments.

"People were dying like flies before my eyes — from hunger, cold and
fatigue," Szekal told The Associated Press, as he sat in the living
room of his brick home. He said he made his last confession to a
Catholic priest who was digging beside him in "the trench that was
meant as our common grave."

But Szekal was saved when Germany invaded the Soviet Union in 1941.
He was recruited to fight with an army formed with Stalin's
permission and commanded by Polish Gen. Wladyslaw Anders, which
consisted mostly of Poles released from Soviet prisons and internment
camps.

Anders led his troops through the Middle East, across Northern Africa
and into Italy, where they gained renown for their role in the Battle
of Monte Cassino in 1944. They fought as the Second Polish Corps of
the British Eighth Army.

Szekal said the British burned Anders' troops louse-infested
clothing, gave them new uniforms and decent rations. "We felt like
human beings again," he said.

But the Italian campaign thrust them into the horrors of war. Szekal
said he scaled cliffs mountaineer-style, fearing the grenades at his
belt would explode. He recalled accepting a cup of hot cocoa from a
young field-kitchen worker just before a shell hit, then turning back
and seeing nothing left but her severed leg. His own coat was
punctured by shrapnel, he said, but he was unhurt.

After the war, many soldiers returning to the Eastern bloc were
imprisoned. Szekal gained British citizenship, settled in Luton,
north of London, and took a job as a factory worker.

The Iron Curtain descended over Europe and Szekal did not see his
wife, Evelina, until 1976, when he traveled to the Soviet Union and
met her in secret. "I dreamed of returning to her, but I was afraid
the Communists would arrest her," he said.

The Soviet Union fell apart up in 1991, and Szekal moved in 1999 to
Ivanyets, where he lived with Evelina until her death in 2002. Both
had grown up nearby.

Anders never returned to Poland, which stripped him of his
citizenship after he refused to recognize the communist government,
and died in England in 1970. His citizenship was posthumously
restored in 1989 as communism collapsed.

In contrast with Poland, there has been little official reckoning
with communist wrongdoing in Russia and even less in Belarus. Belarus
President Alexander Lukashenko speaks warmly of the Soviet era and
calls the national security agency the KGB.

Lukashenko's authoritarian government has granted Szekal residency,
but no accolades.

"The trial of Nazism took place at Nuremburg, and I am ready to be a
witness in the trial of communism, which I hope to live to see,"
Szekal said.

I think you sent this to me in error
Best regards from the USA
Chris

On Sat, Dec 20, 2008 at 6:04 AM, Stefan Wisniowski (Kresy-Siberia) <
stefan.wisniowski@...> wrote:

Welcome Danielle

I am in Sydney, and we have a number of Aussie members - where are you?

Stefan Wisniowski
SYDNEY

From: Danielle
Sent: Saturday, December 20, 2008 9:12 AM
To: Kresy-Siberia@... <Kresy-Siberia%40yahoogroups.com>
Subject: [Kresy-Siberia] hello !

Hello. my name is Danielle and I live in Australia.

I am hoping to piece together some timeline of my fathers life.

I hope to find someone who may have known him.

I would like to fill in a lot of gaps in my family and I would like to
learn more about his past.

It would also be amazing if I could find out who his father was. That would
be the cherry on top of the cake.

Really, I guess also I would like to feel a connection to other people
whose lives were also affected, even as the next generation on - by this
terrible history.

My Father died in 1990. His name was Jerzy Antoni AUGUSTYN. Although this
was his stepfathers last name. His stepfather was Boleslaw Augustyn. I
don't
know who his father was although I have memories of my mother saying he was
an Austrian Soldier ? But this memory s very vague. When my mother died I
found some notes amongst her mountains of paper- that said his fathers name
was Kammerman but previous to the war his name was Kalman. That is all I
know.

My father was born in Krakow or Warsaw ( I am not sure) in 1927. His
mothers
name was Helena Rutowski. But I also have found papers where she was called
Rutowska. Also Augustynowa. Maybe this is when she was with my fathers
stepfather? ( his name being Augustyn?) I also have a photo of a grave
where
the head stone says Marcella Rutowska who died in 1963. I presume this is
her mother? Or sister? She is buried with a man called Stanislaw Skalski
and
a woman Marian Bartha. I know my fathers grandmothers name was Bartha and,
I
think she was Hungarian. I believe the grave is in a place called Reba. He
also had a sister in America somewhere I would love to find her. Her name
is
Mary.

So this is all I know. My father was definitely sent to Siberia by the
Russians, then somehow was in India where he lived with Jesuit Monks who
then sent him to study Theology in Zurich ( 1950?). he applied for
residency
there and was denied it- so was sent to USA. There he lived till the early
70s then relocated to New Zealand where he lived till his death in 1990.

Are there lists of children or histories? Or does anyone know my father. I
don't know at all how he came to be in India. He never ever ever spoke to
me
about these things. He never spoke to my mother. I was aware of him having
one or two polish friends but I never knew who they were. Just voices on
the
telephone. He was a deeply hurt and very angry silent man and I am very sad
that I never knew him.

I hope to find some answers big or small to this history with so many
questions.

Thankyou, Danielle Meyer

hello Lucyna,

and I am in adelaide ! Has this site helped you find family or connections to relatives ?

hope you are having a good christmas holiday etc !

danielle meyer



To: Kresy-Siberia@...: lucyna.artymiuk@...: Sun, 21 Dec 2008 01:06:41 +1100Subject: RE: [Kresy-Siberia] hello !



Hi fellow aussieI am in MelbourneLucyna Artymiuk_____ From: Kresy-Siberia@... [mailto:Kresy-Siberia@...]On Behalf Of Stefan Wisniowski (Kresy-Siberia)Sent: Sunday, 21 December 2008 1:04 AMTo: Kresy-Siberia@...: Re: [Kresy-Siberia] hello !Welcome DanielleI am in Sydney, and we have a number of Aussie members - where are you?Stefan WisniowskiSYDNEYFrom: Danielle Sent: Saturday, December 20, 2008 9:12 AMTo: Kresy-Siberia@ <mailto:Kresy-Siberia%40yahoogroups.com> yahoogroups.com Subject: [Kresy-Siberia] hello !Hello. my name is Danielle and I live in Australia.I am hoping to piece together some timeline of my fathers life.I hope to find someone who may have known him.I would like to fill in a lot of gaps in my family and I would like tolearn more about his past. It would also be amazing if I could find out who his father was. That wouldbe the cherry on top of the cake.Really, I guess also I would like to feel a connection to other peoplewhose lives were also affected, even as the next generation on - by thisterrible history.My Father died in 1990. His name was Jerzy Antoni AUGUSTYN. Although thiswas his stepfathers last name. His stepfather was Boleslaw Augustyn. I don'tknow who his father was although I have memories of my mother saying he wasan Austrian Soldier ? But this memory s very vague. When my mother died Ifound some notes amongst her mountains of paper- that said his fathers namewas Kammerman but previous to the war his name was Kalman. That is all Iknow.My father was born in Krakow or Warsaw ( I am not sure) in 1927. His mothersname was Helena Rutowski. But I also have found papers where she was calledRutowska. Also Augustynowa. Maybe this is when she was with my fathersstepfather? ( his name being Augustyn?) I also have a photo of a grave wherethe head stone says Marcella Rutowska who died in 1963. I presume this isher mother? Or sister? She is buried with a man called Stanislaw Skalski anda woman Marian Bartha. I know my fathers grandmothers name was Bartha and, Ithink she was Hungarian. I believe the grave is in a place called Reba. Healso had a sister in America somewhere I would love to find her. Her name isMary. So this is all I know. My father was definitely sent to Siberia by theRussians, then somehow was in India where he lived with Jesuit Monks whothen sent him to study Theology in Zurich ( 1950?). he applied for residencythere and was denied it- so was sent to USA. There he lived till the early70s then relocated to New Zealand where he lived till his death in 1990.Are there lists of children or histories? Or does anyone know my father. Idon't know at all how he came to be in India. He never ever ever spoke to meabout these things. He never spoke to my mother. I was aware of him havingone or two polish friends but I never knew who they were. Just voices on thetelephone. He was a deeply hurt and very angry silent man and I am very sadthat I never knew him.I hope to find some answers big or small to this history with so manyquestions.Thankyou, Danielle MeyerNo virus found in this incoming message.Checked by AVG - 8.0.176 / Virus Database: 270.9.19/1857 - Release Date: 19/12/200810:09 AM





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hi stefan, I think i have now sent you two emails in one day. ooops... i didnt recognise the name till i see it again on this email... i am in adelaide.

To: Kresy-Siberia@...: stefan.wisniowski@...: Sun, 21 Dec 2008 01:04:26 +1100Subject: Re: [Kresy-Siberia] hello !



Welcome DanielleI am in Sydney, and we have a number of Aussie members - where are you?Stefan WisniowskiSYDNEYFrom: Danielle Sent: Saturday, December 20, 2008 9:12 AMTo: Kresy-Siberia@... Subject: [Kresy-Siberia] hello !Hello. my name is Danielle and I live in Australia.I am hoping to piece together some timeline of my fathers life.I hope to find someone who may have known him.I would like to fill in a lot of gaps in my family and I would like tolearn more about his past. It would also be amazing if I could find out who his father was. That wouldbe the cherry on top of the cake.Really, I guess also I would like to feel a connection to other peoplewhose lives were also affected, even as the next generation on - by thisterrible history.My Father died in 1990. His name was Jerzy Antoni AUGUSTYN. Although thiswas his stepfathers last name. His stepfather was Boleslaw Augustyn. I don'tknow who his father was although I have memories of my mother saying he wasan Austrian Soldier ? But this memory s very vague. When my mother died Ifound some notes amongst her mountains of paper- that said his fathers namewas Kammerman but previous to the war his name was Kalman. That is all Iknow.My father was born in Krakow or Warsaw ( I am not sure) in 1927. His mothersname was Helena Rutowski. But I also have found papers where she was calledRutowska. Also Augustynowa. Maybe this is when she was with my fathersstepfather? ( his name being Augustyn?) I also have a photo of a grave wherethe head stone says Marcella Rutowska who died in 1963. I presume this isher mother? Or sister? She is buried with a man called Stanislaw Skalski anda woman Marian Bartha. I know my fathers grandmothers name was Bartha and, Ithink she was Hungarian. I believe the grave is in a place called Reba. Healso had a sister in America somewhere I would love to find her. Her name isMary. So this is all I know. My father was definitely sent to Siberia by theRussians, then somehow was in India where he lived with Jesuit Monks whothen sent him to study Theology in Zurich ( 1950?). he applied for residencythere and was denied it- so was sent to USA. There he lived till the early70s then relocated to New Zealand where he lived till his death in 1990.Are there lists of children or histories? Or does anyone know my father. Idon't know at all how he came to be in India. He never ever ever spoke to meabout these things. He never spoke to my mother. I was aware of him havingone or two polish friends but I never knew who they were. Just voices on thetelephone. He was a deeply hurt and very angry silent man and I am very sadthat I never knew him.I hope to find some answers big or small to this history with so manyquestions.Thankyou, Danielle Meyer





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After ten years work I am pleased to announce the publication of "Noble
Flight"



This first-hand account details events at the start of WWII at Poland's
north-eastern Bialystok province including the confusing movement of
peoples. It expands to further uncertainty of German / Russian lines and
finally through Europe. The story is told through the eyes of Terenia (many
of you are familiar with her exploits in "Noble Youth") as she faces the
cruelties of war with grace, exuberance and optimism. This story has been
reviewed as a non-Jewish version of Anne Franks with a positive outcome and
has been encouraged as reading for high school book reports as well as
anyone wanting a better understanding of daily life during the war. Due to
special interest in advanced copy, we have received the Holy Father's thank
you (this is not meant to be read as His endorsement).



"Noble Flight" is available from:

Chrisco Publications

PO Box 25190

Portland, OR 97298 USA

email: Orders@...

website: www.NobleYouth.com <>

In USA $19.95 and we will pay book rate postage (please send check)

In Canada C$24.95 and we will pay postage (please send check)

In Poland PLN69 and we will pay postage (we will advise payment option)

In these and other nations, please contact us.



Happy reading

The following article came up when I googled "oplatek" and "Siberia".

I wonder if anyone else has stories about wigilia in exile.
I'd like to share such stories with our 2nd generation group from Buffalo.

Andy Golebiowski
Buffalo, NY

Original article and photos at:



Moraga woman remembers Christmas in Siberia exile

Maria Anna Prokopik made her First Communion in 1936, three years
before Stalin's army marched into her town of Slonim in eastern Poland
and took control of the area.

By Gerald Korson
Voice correspondent

Ten-year-old Maria Anna Prokopik peered into the darkening sky over
eastern Poland, searching for that first star so that her family's
Christmas Eve wigilia could begin. Although she did not know it that
most holy night of 1939, it would be years before she could celebrate
Christmas according to Polish traditions again.

Life was changing rapidly for the Prokopik family. After Germany
invaded western Poland on Sept. 1, Maria's father figured the Russians
would arrive next, eager to retake regions of eastern Poland they had
lost in previous wars. Feeling sure that he, a police official, would
be imprisoned by the Soviets, Piotr Prokopik tearfully kissed his wife
and two daughters goodbye and told his girls he was joining the Polish
army. In reality, he was heading for the relative safety of Lithuania
in hopes of reuniting with his family later.

Within days, Piotr's instincts were confirmed. The Red Army marched
into their town of Slonim and took control of the disputed territories
just as Soviet dictator Josef Stalin and German chancellor Adolf
Hitler had secretly arranged. On that bittersweet wigilia of 1939,
Maria's mother, Stanislawa, knew not her husband's whereabouts; rumor
had it he was already in prison.

All Maria and her sister knew was that their father was not there at
wigilia to carry into the house the traditional sheaf of grain, a
symbol of their Guardian Angel, whom they would need so desperately
during the trying times ahead.

With the occupation came food shortages, suppression of the Polish
language and the secularization of Catholic schools. In February, the
deportation of Polish citizens to Siberia by train began. By
mid-April, it was the Prokopiks' turn, and they were herded into a
tightly-packed boxcar with many of their neighbors, including Maria's
grandmother.

Maria (left) and her sister Irena posed for this photo in 1941,
shortly after they were given the freedom to leave Siberia.

"It was very sad," wrote 80-year-old Moraga resident Mary (Prokopik)
Scherer in her memoirs of that ordeal. "The people started singing an
old Polish song, `We Will Not Abandon Our Soil,' but we were forced to
leave. Many were crying."

That train made few stops along its two-week trek to its destination
in present-day Kazakhstan. From there, the deportees were trucked to
Zeleznoje, where the Pro-kopiks were to share a one-room house with a
Russian widow and her son.

"We were actually lucky," Scherer told The Catholic Voice in a recent
interview. "In the collective farm, we worked along with our mother. I
sometimes drove a team of oxen that responded only to Russian swear
words! It was very fertile soil, and Zeleznoje grew enough wheat to
supply all of Russia, I think."

The harsh conditions, poor diet and lack of medical care took a toll
and Maria's grandmother died that same year. Meanwhile, Maria's family
made contact with her father, who had been arrested after the Soviets
took Lithuania and was then in a distant Russian prison.

Scherer remembers her mother as "very resourceful." Through the sale
of wild strawberries, she and a friend purchased a "little sod house"
for their families. Their household was like most others, comprising
only mothers and children because most men had been imprisoned.

Christmas in Siberia was a meager affair. "We didn't have the
traditional foods or anything special, or the hay under the tablecloth
to symbolize the stable where Christ was born," Scherer recalled. "But
my mother's sister sent us an oplatek" — a thin wafer that is broken
and shared among family and sent to loved ones across the miles as a
symbol of unity.

Faith and prayer sustained the family. "I don't know where my mother
and the Polish ladies in Siberia found the little booklet of prayers
to the Blessed Mother, but all the prayers sounded like they pertained
to us," she said. "It was our faith that gave us hope that all this
was going to pass."

After Hitler attacked Russia in June 1941, things began to change.
Piotr was released from prison and enlisted in the Polish army in
southern Russia. The Prokopiks eventually left Zeleznoje, but by the
time they headed south, Piotr's unit had been transferred to Tehran.

Settling for a time in Guzar in southern Russia, the Prokopiks had
something they lacked in Siberia: a resident Catholic priest. "I
remember the long line of people going to confession," Scherer said.
For the family Christmas, they again had no special foods to prepare,
but joined in prayer, carols, and the oplatek.

In Guzar, Maria and her sister attended a Polish military academy. In
August 1942, they were transferred to Iran, where they and their
mother hoped to reunite with Piotr. Sadly, before arriving, they
learned that Piotr had died of typhoid fever in a Tehran hospital.

Maria's family marked two Christmases in Tehran. "There was no church,
so everything was like a field Mass," Scherer remembered. "Some Polish
priests who came out of the prisons joined us in Tehran, so it was a
little bit more traditional — but we still didn't have all the stuff.
I don't even remember having oplatek."

When the military school relocated to Nazareth, Maria went along in
the care of some friends. "My religion really picked up once I got to
Nazareth," she said. "The Church of the Nativity was across the street
from where I stayed. . . . One Good Friday, I was part of a group of
girls that walked the Via Dolorosa, which led to the Church of the
Holy Sepulchre. . . . It felt like we were in paradise."

Maria returned to Tehran in 1945, and she and her mother would
celebrate a makeshift Christmas that year in Ahwaz, Iran, en route to
Baghdad, Iraq, where many Poles had relocated. They spent over a year
there, long enough for Maria to complete her diploma from an area
Polish high school.

By May 1947, Mary — her first name was Americanized in immigration
records — and her mother joined her now-married sister in San
Francisco. In the land of the free, they would celebrate their Polish
traditions once again.

Maria married her husband, Jack, in 1949, and together they raised
three children. The kids have grown, and Jack passed away five years
ago — but Mary keeps the Polish Christmas wigilia traditions alive
among her grandchildren.

"I don't have it like my mother — she used to make 12 different
dishes, to represent the 12 apostles. But my granddaughters just love
it," Scherer said. Perhaps they enjoy it as much as she did as a young
girl in Slonim, scanning the dusky heavens for the night's first star.

"We usually go to church first, and after church, we have oplatek,"
she added. "I have a friend in Chicago, and she always sends me an
oplatek."

Hi fellow aussie



I am in Melbourne



Lucyna Artymiuk



_____

From: Kresy-Siberia@... [mailto:Kresy-Siberia@...]
On Behalf Of Stefan Wisniowski (Kresy-Siberia)
Sent: Sunday, 21 December 2008 1:04 AM
To: Kresy-Siberia@...
Subject: Re: [Kresy-Siberia] hello !



Welcome Danielle

I am in Sydney, and we have a number of Aussie members - where are you?

Stefan Wisniowski
SYDNEY

From: Danielle
Sent: Saturday, December 20, 2008 9:12 AM
To: Kresy-Siberia@ <mailto:Kresy-Siberia%40yahoogroups.com> yahoogroups.com
Subject: [Kresy-Siberia] hello !

Hello. my name is Danielle and I live in Australia.

I am hoping to piece together some timeline of my fathers life.

I hope to find someone who may have known him.

I would like to fill in a lot of gaps in my family and I would like to
learn more about his past.

It would also be amazing if I could find out who his father was. That would
be the cherry on top of the cake.

Really, I guess also I would like to feel a connection to other people
whose lives were also affected, even as the next generation on - by this
terrible history.

My Father died in 1990. His name was Jerzy Antoni AUGUSTYN. Although this
was his stepfathers last name. His stepfather was Boleslaw Augustyn. I don't
know who his father was although I have memories of my mother saying he was
an Austrian Soldier ? But this memory s very vague. When my mother died I
found some notes amongst her mountains of paper- that said his fathers name
was Kammerman but previous to the war his name was Kalman. That is all I
know.

My father was born in Krakow or Warsaw ( I am not sure) in 1927. His mothers
name was Helena Rutowski. But I also have found papers where she was called
Rutowska. Also Augustynowa. Maybe this is when she was with my fathers
stepfather? ( his name being Augustyn?) I also have a photo of a grave where
the head stone says Marcella Rutowska who died in 1963. I presume this is
her mother? Or sister? She is buried with a man called Stanislaw Skalski and
a woman Marian Bartha. I know my fathers grandmothers name was Bartha and, I
think she was Hungarian. I believe the grave is in a place called Reba. He
also had a sister in America somewhere I would love to find her. Her name is
Mary.

So this is all I know. My father was definitely sent to Siberia by the
Russians, then somehow was in India where he lived with Jesuit Monks who
then sent him to study Theology in Zurich ( 1950?). he applied for residency
there and was denied it- so was sent to USA. There he lived till the early
70s then relocated to New Zealand where he lived till his death in 1990.

Are there lists of children or histories? Or does anyone know my father. I
don't know at all how he came to be in India. He never ever ever spoke to me
about these things. He never spoke to my mother. I was aware of him having
one or two polish friends but I never knew who they were. Just voices on the
telephone. He was a deeply hurt and very angry silent man and I am very sad
that I never knew him.

I hope to find some answers big or small to this history with so many
questions.

Thankyou, Danielle Meyer







No virus found in this incoming message.
Checked by AVG -
Version: 8.0.176 / Virus Database: 270.9.19/1857 - Release Date: 19/12/2008
10:09 AM

Welcome Danielle

I am in Sydney, and we have a number of Aussie members - where are you?

Stefan Wisniowski
SYDNEY


From: Danielle
Sent: Saturday, December 20, 2008 9:12 AM
To: Kresy-Siberia@...
Subject: [Kresy-Siberia] hello !




Hello. my name is Danielle and I live in Australia.

I am hoping to piece together some timeline of my fathers life.

I hope to find someone who may have known him.

I would like to fill in a lot of gaps in my family and I would like to
learn more about his past.

It would also be amazing if I could find out who his father was. That would
be the cherry on top of the cake.

Really, I guess also I would like to feel a connection to other people
whose lives were also affected, even as the next generation on - by this
terrible history.

My Father died in 1990. His name was Jerzy Antoni AUGUSTYN. Although this
was his stepfathers last name. His stepfather was Boleslaw Augustyn. I don't
know who his father was although I have memories of my mother saying he was
an Austrian Soldier ? But this memory s very vague. When my mother died I
found some notes amongst her mountains of paper- that said his fathers name
was Kammerman but previous to the war his name was Kalman. That is all I
know.

My father was born in Krakow or Warsaw ( I am not sure) in 1927. His mothers
name was Helena Rutowski. But I also have found papers where she was called
Rutowska. Also Augustynowa. Maybe this is when she was with my fathers
stepfather? ( his name being Augustyn?) I also have a photo of a grave where
the head stone says Marcella Rutowska who died in 1963. I presume this is
her mother? Or sister? She is buried with a man called Stanislaw Skalski and
a woman Marian Bartha. I know my fathers grandmothers name was Bartha and, I
think she was Hungarian. I believe the grave is in a place called Reba. He
also had a sister in America somewhere I would love to find her. Her name is
Mary.

So this is all I know. My father was definitely sent to Siberia by the
Russians, then somehow was in India where he lived with Jesuit Monks who
then sent him to study Theology in Zurich ( 1950?). he applied for residency
there and was denied it- so was sent to USA. There he lived till the early
70s then relocated to New Zealand where he lived till his death in 1990.

Are there lists of children or histories? Or does anyone know my father. I
don't know at all how he came to be in India. He never ever ever spoke to me
about these things. He never spoke to my mother. I was aware of him having
one or two polish friends but I never knew who they were. Just voices on the
telephone. He was a deeply hurt and very angry silent man and I am very sad
that I never knew him.

I hope to find some answers big or small to this history with so many
questions.

Thankyou, Danielle Meyer

True, but they will take in claims from anywhere, even the USA.

Stefan

--- In Kresy-Siberia@..., Danuta Janina Wójcik
<sandlily@...> wrote:

Witam,

You may not be aware that the Toronto Polish Consulate handles

these provinces:

All of Ontario except Ottawa
Manitoba
Saskatchewan
Nunavut

Pozdrawiam
Danuta


----- Original Message -----
From: Stefan Wisniowski (Kresy-Siberia)
To: Kresy-Siberia@... ; Kresy Claimants
Sent: Friday, December 19, 2008 7:41 PM
Subject: [Kresy-Siberia] Lodging property clims at Polish

Consulates

There have been a number of questions about lodging at Consulate

Generals, including the London one which, despite their website,
seemed to be unsure what to do with claimants who presented at their
offices.

The following e-mail from the Toronto Consulate explains that

according to Polish Administrative Code, article 57 paragraph 5, the
deadline for receipt is clearly considered met if the correspondence
is submitted in any Polish Post Office (ie. date of postmark) or
submitted in any Polish consular office (and stamped as received).

Of course, this rule applies to ANY Polish Consulate General.

However, a number of Consulate General's have made their staff aware
of this claim and the how to handle it - specifically Toronto and
Sydney (and possibly New York). London clearly has not, stating that
this is a routine matter and needs no special arrangements.

I spoke with the Consul for Legal Affairs in London, Michal

Mazurek, yesterday who said that the matter seemed straightforward,
but that a conversation that one of our members had with a clerk at
the Warsaw provincial offices seemed to cast some doubt on the Warsaw
offices understanding or acceptance of the principle. Consul Mazurek
was attempting to reach the Warsaw provincial offices, but with no
response so far.

So what does this muddle mean for claimants?
1. Canada & Australia: If you can get your applications in to

Toronto or Sydney Consulates before 31 December, you know they will
deal with them properly.

2. UK: London is almost there, but needs some shoring up on

Monday - please ask for Consul Mazurek if you visit or phone before
sending your application to London (and for now, perhaps you should
send it to Warsaw "just in case" but make sure it gets there before
31 December).

3. USA: Americans not visiting the New York CG personally might

as well send their applications to Toronto, Canada (at least until we
have confirmation that New York knows what it is doing, as I have not
heard confirmation from any members presenting yet).

4. Rest of World: Please call your local Consulate General and

ask them what they need to do to submit a document to the Polish
government via the Consulate General, and will the CG stamp the date
of receipt so that there is proof the application was lodged by the
deadline. If the CG gives you comfort, go ahead. If not, and you
can't get to the Consul for Legal Affairs, it may be safer to get a
courier out to Warsaw (yes more costly, but worth the peace of mind).

I ask any claimants dealing with their consulates to feed their

experience back to us - whether good or bad. We will keep a running
list of the state of play for reference.

Pozdrawiam,

STEFAN WISNIOWSKI

PRESIDENT, KRESY-SIBERIA FOUNDATION
3 Castle Circuit Close
Seaforth NSW 2092 Australia
Telephone +61 411 864 873
stefan.wisniowski@...
www.kresy-siberia.org

From: Legal and Property Section
Sent: Saturday, December 20, 2008 5:42 AM
To: Stefan Wisniowski (Kresy-Siberia)
Subject: Re: Do uwagi Pani Wicekonsul Alina Opyd

Szanowny Panie

Odpowiadajac na pkt 1 Panskiego listu wyjasniam, iz zgodnie z

kodeksem postepowania administarcyjnego art 57 par.5 termin uwaza sie
za zachowany, jezeli przed jego uplywem nadano pismo w polskiej
placówce pocztowej albo zlozono w polskim urzedzie konsularnym. Mysle
ze teraz sytuacja jest wystarczajaco jasna.

...

Pozdrawiam

Alina Opyd
[Wicekonsul, Konsulat Generalny Rzeczpospolitej Polskiej w

Toronto]

----- Original Message -----
From: Stefan Wisniowski (Kresy-Siberia)
To: law@...
Cc: Henry Sokolowski
Sent: Friday, December 19, 2008 10:35 AM
Subject: Do uwagi Pani Wicekonsul Alina Opyd

Szanowna Pani

Pisze w sprawie rekompensaty za miene tz. zabuzanskie.

1. Pierwsza sprawa dotyczy przyjecie wniosek w placowce KG w

Toronto do daty terminu 31.12.2008; Chcialem potwierdzic ze data
otrzymania wniosku w konsulacie generalnym - czy osobiscie czy przez
poczte - bedzie uwazana jako data otrzymania wniosku w znaczeniu
prawa, np. wedlug kodeksu administracyjnego. Tak uwazam, ale Pan
Konsul Michal Mazurek w KG w Londynie nie byl pewien na 100%. Czy
Pani Wicekonsul moglaby nam wyjasniec wlasciwa situacje wedlug zdania
KG Toronto?

...

Z góry dziekuje za okazana pomoc i pozostaje,

Z powazaniem,

STEFAN WISNIOWSKI

PREZES, FUNDACJA KRESY-SYBERIA
3 Castle Circuit Close
Seaforth NSW 2092 Australia
Telephone +61 411 864 873
stefan.wisniowski@...
www.kresy-siberia.org

Hi

amerkrystine@... posted a little while ago trying to find
Zbigniew Fedorowicz. I emailed Krystine to tell her that he is my uncle
and he lives in Canada. I would love to know her interest in my family
and am impatient to hear from her! If you read this Krystine please do
get in touch or, if anyone personally knows her can you tell her I am
awaiting her mail please.

Kind regards.

Dianne Custance (My mother's name before marriage was Stefania
Fedorowicz and is Zbyszek's sister.)

Our Lwow-based friend Slav Tsarynnk has a service where he travels to villages and takes photos.
You can reach him at

Stefan W



From: joolsdiane
Sent: Saturday, December 20, 2008 7:59 AM
To: Kresy-Siberia@...
Subject: [Kresy-Siberia] Re:Zboiska


Has anyone any ideas on how I could get images of Zboiska today?. I
cannot travel there myself.

Rob

.

Lucyna,

I don't know how you found this interview of my mother's but thank
you for posting it...I tried, but was unsuccessful.We have tried for
years to get the local paper to write the story of the deportations,
and finally they responded to my little news release about my mom
receiving the Siberian Cross.

The interview was cathartic for her! She was nervous, but did it so
that the bigger story could be told.

There is a short video from the interview (in English)on the paper's
website Just look on the left side of the home
page, and click on "videos" and hers will be just a few from the
beginning...you will see her in a pink shirt.

Wanda Sawicki
London, Ontario

--- In Kresy-Siberia@..., "Lucyna Artymiuk"
<lucyna.artymiuk@...> wrote:

A medal for surviving

Thu, December 18, 2008

Katherine Sawicki of London was among Poles shipped to Siberia by

the

Soviets

:






By <mailto:kdubinski@...> KATE DUBINSKI











Katherine Sawicki wears a special commemorative medal given to her

by the

Polish government for surviving her Soviet-forced deportation from

Poland as

a child. (Susan Bradnam, Sun Media)

The Russians came early one morning, banging on the door of the

family farm.

They ransacked everything.

"Get ready. You're going," they yelled. "Twenty minutes."

As her four terrified siblings cried, one Russian soldier told 10-

year-old

Katherine Sawicki's father, "Bring warm clothes for the children."

Today, tears well in the London woman's eyes as she recalls two

years of

hardship in Siberia, from 1940 to 1942, when her family was

deported by

Stalin's Soviets for one reason: they were Polish.





"They put us in cattle cars, locked us in, packed us in."

Sawicki received a medal from the Polish government recently for

surviving

the forced deportation. She was one of 1.7 million Poles shipped to

Siberia

between 1940 and 1942.

Sawicki, 79, lives in a bungalow near the Our Lady of Czestochowa

Polish

Catholic church on Hill Street.

She has a message for those falling on hard economic times. "You can
survive. If you use your head and don't want much, you can survive.

What you

have, you have."

The day the Russians went to her village in southeast Poland is

still vivid

in her mind, as are the years of poverty that followed.

"In Siberia, the grownups had to work, and we had to go to school.

And I

mean, had to go to school. One day, when I didn't go, they sent my

father to

prison," Sawicki says.

"We learned Russian, and that there was no God," Sawicki says.

The families, about 10 to a barrack, were prohibited from speaking

Polish.

Ticks, mites and lice abounded. Beds were simple wooden boards.

Surrounded by forest and snow, there was no escape.

"You couldn't run. One guy tried, and they found him weeks later in

the

woods. He lost his mind."

Summer, though, brought berries and mushrooms -- and encounters

with bears.

"I made friends, and we had fun, like children do. But my mom

said, 'Don't

run too much, you'll get hungry.' There was nothing to eat," she

says, her

eyes filling with tears.

Then one day -- just like that -- Stalin made a pact with Poland's
government in exile, granting amnesty to imprisoned Poles.

"People started leaving camp, but we couldn't go because my brother

had

injured his leg," Sawicki says.

Her father made a sling, and the family, cold and hungry, set out

walking to

a nearby village. Their clothes worn through, the family would pour

water on

rags and let them freeze over their feet -- makeshift shoes.

Finally, Sawicki's father was told trains were leaving with Polish

refugees.

The train station quickly filled up.

"We didn't know where we were going, but we knew it was freedom,"

Sawicki

says.

Sawicki's mother, sick from starvation, died on that train to

freedom.

"The doctor said we had two choices. Stay and bury her or come to

freedom.

We left my mom by the side of the train, covered in a blanket."

The train stopped at a port and the family learned they would cross

the

Caspian Sea to Iran.

Sawicki has pictures from those times, several months in a refugee

camp

outside Tehran, with people dying of diseases contracted in

Siberia. But

also school, scouts, friends. Then, more camps, in India, then

Uganda.

After a time in England, Sawicki and her dad landed in Halifax, at

Pier 21,

in 1948 and began another journey -- this time to Saskatoon, where

an aunt

had settled in 1929.

Her father went to work on a farm, and she in a factory. In 1963,

married

and with three kids, Sawicki moved to London.

This month, she was one of several Polish people in Canada to

receive a

medal of recognition for her survival.

"It brought back so many memories," she says.

The medal is her most prized possession, Sawicki says. Before that,

it was a

scouting cross she earned in the Ugandan refugee camp.

"Back then, we had nothing. When you talk to people nowadays, and

you say

there was nothing, they can't comprehend it."

Witam,

You may not be aware that the Toronto Polish Consulate handles these provinces:

All of Ontario except Ottawa
Manitoba
Saskatchewan
Nunavut

Pozdrawiam
Danuta

There have been a number of questions about lodging at Consulate Generals, including the London one which, despite their website, seemed to be unsure what to do with claimants who presented at their offices.

The following e-mail from the Toronto Consulate explains that according to Polish Administrative Code, article 57 paragraph 5, the deadline for receipt is clearly considered met if the correspondence is submitted in any Polish Post Office (ie. date of postmark) or submitted in any Polish consular office (and stamped as received).

Of course, this rule applies to ANY Polish Consulate General. However, a number of Consulate General's have made their staff aware of this claim and the how to handle it - specifically Toronto and Sydney (and possibly New York). London clearly has not, stating that this is a routine matter and needs no special arrangements.

I spoke with the Consul for Legal Affairs in London, Michal Mazurek, yesterday who said that the matter seemed straightforward, but that a conversation that one of our members had with a clerk at the Warsaw provincial offices seemed to cast some doubt on the Warsaw offices understanding or acceptance of the principle. Consul Mazurek was attempting to reach the Warsaw provincial offices, but with no response so far.

So what does this muddle mean for claimants?
1. Canada & Australia: If you can get your applications in to Toronto or Sydney Consulates before 31 December, you know they will deal with them properly.
2. UK: London is almost there, but needs some shoring up on Monday - please ask for Consul Mazurek if you visit or phone before sending your application to London (and for now, perhaps you should send it to Warsaw "just in case" but make sure it gets there before 31 December).
3. USA: Americans not visiting the New York CG personally might as well send their applications to Toronto, Canada (at least until we have confirmation that New York knows what it is doing, as I have not heard confirmation from any members presenting yet).
4. Rest of World: Please call your local Consulate General and ask them what they need to do to submit a document to the Polish government via the Consulate General, and will the CG stamp the date of receipt so that there is proof the application was lodged by the deadline. If the CG gives you comfort, go ahead. If not, and you can't get to the Consul for Legal Affairs, it may be safer to get a courier out to Warsaw (yes more costly, but worth the peace of mind).

I ask any claimants dealing with their consulates to feed their experience back to us - whether good or bad. We will keep a running list of the state of play for reference.

Pozdrawiam,

STEFAN WISNIOWSKI

PRESIDENT, KRESY-SIBERIA FOUNDATION
3 Castle Circuit Close
Seaforth NSW 2092 Australia
Telephone +61 411 864 873
stefan.wisniowski@...
www.kresy-siberia.org


From: Legal and Property Section
Sent: Saturday, December 20, 2008 5:42 AM
To: Stefan Wisniowski (Kresy-Siberia)
Subject: Re: Do uwagi Pani Wicekonsul Alina Opyd


Szanowny Panie

Odpowiadajac na pkt 1 Panskiego listu wyjasniam, iz zgodnie z kodeksem postepowania administarcyjnego art 57 par.5 termin uwaza sie za zachowany, jezeli przed jego uplywem nadano pismo w polskiej placówce pocztowej albo zlozono w polskim urzedzie konsularnym. Mysle ze teraz sytuacja jest wystarczajaco jasna.

...

Pozdrawiam

Alina Opyd
[Wicekonsul, Konsulat Generalny Rzeczpospolitej Polskiej w Toronto]
----- Original Message -----
From: Stefan Wisniowski (Kresy-Siberia)
To: law@...
Cc: Henry Sokolowski
Sent: Friday, December 19, 2008 10:35 AM
Subject: Do uwagi Pani Wicekonsul Alina Opyd


Szanowna Pani

Pisze w sprawie rekompensaty za miene tz. zabuzanskie.

1. Pierwsza sprawa dotyczy przyjecie wniosek w placowce KG w Toronto do daty terminu 31.12.2008; Chcialem potwierdzic ze data otrzymania wniosku w konsulacie generalnym - czy osobiscie czy przez poczte - bedzie uwazana jako data otrzymania wniosku w znaczeniu prawa, np. wedlug kodeksu administracyjnego. Tak uwazam, ale Pan Konsul Michal Mazurek w KG w Londynie nie byl pewien na 100%. Czy Pani Wicekonsul moglaby nam wyjasniec wlasciwa situacje wedlug zdania KG Toronto?

...

Z góry dziekuje za okazana pomoc i pozostaje,



Z powazaniem,


STEFAN WISNIOWSKI

PREZES, FUNDACJA KRESY-SYBERIA
3 Castle Circuit Close
Seaforth NSW 2092 Australia
Telephone +61 411 864 873
stefan.wisniowski@...
www.kresy-siberia.org


[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]

Hello. my name is Danielle and I live in Australia.

I am hoping to piece together some timeline of my fathers life.

I hope to find someone who may have known him.

I would like to fill in a lot of gaps in my family and I would like to
learn more about his past.

It would also be amazing if I could find out who his father was. That would
be the cherry on top of the cake.

Really, I guess also I would like to feel a connection to other people
whose lives were also affected, even as the next generation on - by this
terrible history.

My Father died in 1990. His name was Jerzy Antoni AUGUSTYN. Although this
was his stepfathers last name. His stepfather was Boleslaw Augustyn. I don't
know who his father was although I have memories of my mother saying he was
an Austrian Soldier ? But this memory s very vague. When my mother died I
found some notes amongst her mountains of paper- that said his fathers name
was Kammerman but previous to the war his name was Kalman. That is all I
know.

My father was born in Krakow or Warsaw ( I am not sure) in 1927. His mothers
name was Helena Rutowski. But I also have found papers where she was called
Rutowska. Also Augustynowa. Maybe this is when she was with my fathers
stepfather? ( his name being Augustyn?) I also have a photo of a grave where
the head stone says Marcella Rutowska who died in 1963. I presume this is
her mother? Or sister? She is buried with a man called Stanislaw Skalski and
a woman Marian Bartha. I know my fathers grandmothers name was Bartha and, I
think she was Hungarian. I believe the grave is in a place called Reba. He
also had a sister in America somewhere I would love to find her. Her name is
Mary.

So this is all I know. My father was definitely sent to Siberia by the
Russians, then somehow was in India where he lived with Jesuit Monks who
then sent him to study Theology in Zurich ( 1950?). he applied for residency
there and was denied it- so was sent to USA. There he lived till the early
70s then relocated to New Zealand where he lived till his death in 1990.

Are there lists of children or histories? Or does anyone know my father. I
don't know at all how he came to be in India. He never ever ever spoke to me
about these things. He never spoke to my mother. I was aware of him having
one or two polish friends but I never knew who they were. Just voices on the
telephone. He was a deeply hurt and very angry silent man and I am very sad
that I never knew him.

I hope to find some answers big or small to this history with so many
questions.



Thankyou, Danielle Meyer

Has anyone any ideas on how I could get images of Zboiska today?. I
cannot travel there myself.

Rob


--- In Kresy-Siberia@..., "Antoni Kazimierski"
<ASKAZIMIERSKI@...> wrote:

Stefan,
You are absolutely right that changes were made after the outbrake of

war; when searching one has to bear that in mind.

In the case of Kowal family, Karta also uses Ru designtions because

it follows the way Memorial entered these names and places. Zboiska is
named as SBOISKA - phonetically it is almoast the same.

antoni530

Karen,
Just examining another posiolek where 356 members were from Lwowskie; in that group 21 names are Nikiel names.
Here again if you examine them you might find the ones you know or relate.
antoni530

Karen,
Just a quick look at posiolek Mucznaja in Archangelsk oblast, where practically all 682 deportees were from Lwow area, there are 16 Nikiel names. Some are the ones you mentioned. Please look at them and you might work out your relatives; I cannot link them as I do not know the ages.Please consider names as in some instances they may not be exactly as you gave them, but one can work out the correct ones if you link them to patronymic names. Sometimes they are miss-spelt as well. Worth a try.
antoni530

Stefan,

That is nonsense. They are confusing the wniosek with later sworn statements from witnesses etc.

There is no need for a notary to legitimise the wniosek.

I will try to get this fixed for any last-minute claimants (you went to London, right?

I did - yes. And they knew exactly what I wanted to give them as they got me to open the envelopes (probably because my Polish wasn't quite up to it all). I spoke to a gentleman in English and he was very helpful, but as you say, seemed to be confusing things (and me!).

Marion

Mrs Janina (Rydel) Nowoslawski

(Janka)


(Sponsored by Pennhurst Group, LLC)









Buzuluk

The women and the children stayed at the station, and the men went out
looking for the Polish army post. Unfortunately, on the door of one building
was a note, which indicated that the army post had moved to Tashkent, and
everyone should go there. What else could they do, but gather their things
and wait for a train going in that direction. After searching through their
sacks, each of them found something to sell in order to have money for yet
another train ticket.



This time, Janka's family had more room in their car. They were traveling
with a family from Uzbekistan. From time to time along the way, they would
leave the train at a station and go to a commissary to get some bread and
soup rations.

The train crossed deserts and steppes. It became unbearably hot in the car,
and it was filthy. They could not wash, as they had had no soap for months.
They were now covered with lice, which bit constantly.

One day, at a station, Janka's father left the car and came back a moment
later with a piece of bread. He threw the bread to someone, and quickly hid
among some boxes. Some KGB police followed him into the car, looking for
him. They would have found him, except that at that very moment the train
began to move and the police had to jump off the train. Janka's father had
stolen that bread. It was a crime of hunger. Their whole group shared that
bread, a tiny piece for each person.



After a few days, they reached Tashkent. There were many Poles at the
station already, as well as in the city. People were milling about the
streets. Although there were representatives from the Polish army, they told
people to wait, nothing was organized yet. The Russians were in no hurry,
and were giving no orders. Janka's father found out that at one of stores in
town had flour. He took some Polish money and told the shopkeeper that the
money could be made into nice earrings. He traded the money for flour. It
was night already, but in the morning Janka's mother would make some noodles
and they would not be so hungry anymore. With this hope, they fell asleep
under the stars.



(Tashkent)

In the morning, they realized that they had received not flour, but a sack
of white sand. In the darkness of the night, Janka's father had not been
able to see.

In Uzbekistan, the climate is warm, but the nights are cold. Once the rains
started, people started getting sick and dying again. Every morning a truck
would make rounds and take the corpses that lay on the streets. Those who
were still alive became jealous of the dead. People began to say, "What are
we to do here? Surely we will all die."

Soon the Russians and the Polish representatives determined that the
refugees should be relocated to the collective farms. Janka's group was
relocated to a collective that produced rice. They were placed in a small
house made of clay, with a straw and grass roof. They were all told to
prepare for work, and received some soup and flat bread.

The Poles were patient and brave. Siberia had hardened them. They did not
complain, but they believed in God and prayed to him.

After a week, things had improved. Janka's father had pieced together some
boards and had collected some straw from the rice fields, so that they
didn't have to sleep on the ground anymore. Janka's mother washed their
clothes and got rid of some of the lice. They walked to their jobs preparing
the rice fields, and they waited to be called to the army.

After a month, they received word to go to the train station. Already, there
were many people there. They were placed on a cargo train and headed out in
the direction of Saniarkand. There, too, they were told to wait. They did
not know it yet, but the Russians were already making it difficult for Poles
to join the army, and they did not want to help the families. Again, the
representative of the Polish army was sent to explain to everyone that they
had to go for a few weeks to a collective. He explained that there was no
train, and they would all die if they remained at the station. For the time
being, they were allowed to go into a church that was being used to store
grain. Being empty of grain, they were allowed to take shelter. Once again,
people lay side by side on the floor, removing clothing and killing lice.

Janka couldn't believe how many lice there were. She had knitted a scarf in
school. From every hole peeked a louse.

Each family was once again directed to a collective. Somehow, Janka's group
was once again able to go together. After several hours in a car, they
reached the collective. They were taken to a brick building, and again they
lay down on the bare floor to sleep. In the morning, they must report to
work.

During the night, they were awakened by an earthquake. They all ran outside
to watch their building shake and then collapse. Their belongings were all
covered with debris. They had to dig, for these were their whole wealth.
Thankfully, no one was killed. Later, they were given a new home made from
clay.

On this collective farm, they farmed cotton. It was Janka's first time
seeing cotton growing They would pick it and put it into sacks, and they
carried the sacks on their heads when they were full. This collective also
raised silkworms. Janka had to pick leaves off the trees to feed the little
worms.

On this collective, Janka's group was told that they should work, and their
work would be recorded daily. Once their days were added up, they would be
paid. Everyone went to work with the hopes of making enough money for a
piece of bread. Their hunger was very strong now. The Uzbekis were different
they too were oppressed by the Russians. Their living conditions were
terrible. They lived in houses made of clay bricks. They had no forests,
rather, only desert.

In order to cook something, they had to gather dry grass to burn. Water was
collected from the mountains, and sent through irrigation ditches. The water
was dirty, even opaque, as it flowed from the mountains. People would
collect it in buckets or pots, because they never knew when it would be sent
down again. When the water flowed through the ditches, one could see a
donkey drinking on one side, someone washing his feet on the other. They had
to boil the water, but boiling did not kill all the bacteria.

After a few weeks, Janka's mother became ill. She was able to go to the
medical office in the city. They diagnosed typhus. She was put m hospital
isolation. The whole group in fact was quarantined on the collective. The
collective would not give them any food, because they had not yet earned
enough. There were inexpensive onions, though, and they made soup. Certain
grasses also provided vitamins.

Janka and her friend Frank (her friend from school) discovered that in the
barn, there was a manger full of cottonseed for the cattle, which turned out
to be edible. In fact, it was a little sweet. They ate so much, that they
nearly died from bloating.

Janka's mother finally returned from the hospital. She was very weak. Janka
spoke Russian well, so she determined that she would go into town, and ask
the Captain of the KGB if he could give them some food because they were all
so hungry. He listened to her, and then threw her out. Janka stood in the
hallway crying. Now, how could she return home empty-handed? At that moment,
another miracle happened: a man came up to Janka, and asked who she was and
why she was crying. He was a man from the Polish army post, who was helping
the Poles. He took Janka back in to speak to the KGB officer, who then told
her to go to the store. There, they would give Janka some

It wasn't much, but it was enough for some noodles and bread. The man told
Janka that the army had not forgotten about them, and that they would be
summed very

Janka and Frank would walk around in the Uzbeki market where vegetables and
tea were sold. The Uzbeki's delicacy was boiled red beets. The peels were
thrown under the tables, and Janka and Frank would race under the tables and
feed on the scraps like animals. Sometimes, they were unsuccessful, for
there were many children like them. The Uzbekis would kick them and laugh at
them, but hunger has no shame.

The days began to grow cold, and the rains came. The roads turned to mud. It
was difficult to walk on the roads, because they all had bare feet. One day,
when Janka and Frank were returning from the town, they saw some Uzbekis
standing in the road, throwing a rope to a man lying in the road.
Apparently, he could not get up, but the Uzbekis did not want to get muddy.
As Janka and Frank drew closer, they recognized the man as a Jewish neighbor
that lived close by with his brother. They did not work on the collective,
and they did not associate with any Poles, though they were from Poland
themselves. Janka came home and told her father that they should go rescue
the man. Because he was sick and unable to get up Janka's father told her to
run to the man's brother and tell him, which Janka did. The next day, the
head of the collective came and told Janka's father to take another man and
go bury a Jew who died in the mud the night before.

Within a few days, Janka and her father both went to the hospital and were
diagnosed with typhus. For then days, Janka lay in the hospital
half-conscious. She had a high fever. The hospital gave her bread and water,
but she couldn't eat. She hid the bread in a drawer near her bed. She
thought she would take it with her when she got better. Either someone took
her bread, or she had just imagined that they had given her bread. She began
to hallucinate, once seeing a beautiful woman standing by her bed. Other
times, she would jump out of bed wanting to go somewhere. Slowly, however,
her fever began to break, and Janka returned to reality.

Janka's father lay in a different ward. She begged the hospital personnel
for permission to go see him, and they agreed. Janka's mother looked on
through the window, happy that they were all still alive. When they were
released from the hospital, Janka's mother could not get a wagon to take
them back, so they had to walk. It was not far, but it took them over half a
day. They had to sit down every so often because they did not have the
strength to go on. Janka did not realize the depth of their tragedy. Her
parents did not want to tell her, or perhaps they, too, believed that
somehow they would survive.

None of them could work then, because they had no strength. It was the same
for many Poles. Some set out for themselves to find the Polish army post.
Janka's father was too weak to go with them. Every day, he felt worse.

Janka's mother learned that there was a Russian doctor nearby. She sent
Janka and Frank to him to ask him to come by. They didn't know how they
would pay him, and the doctor refused anyway. He gave some sort of medicine,
and told them to send Janka's father in a week or so. On the way home, Janka
was full of hope that her father would get better.

Her father only got worse. His face, hands and feet started to swell, and he
felt no pain. He said that if he could have some bread and butter he would
feel better, so Janka's mother took a shawl and traded it to some Uzbekis
for some flatbread, butter and milk. She came home so pleased! Janka's
father took one look at the flatbread and said he wasn't hungry, but he
would drink the milk. Everyone sat down around him on the floor. He began to
reminisce about Poland, how good it was there, how the trees and flowers
bloomed. He wondered what grandmother was doing.



(Janka's mother and Aunt - white dress)

That evening, Janka's mother began cooking some soup from flour. Janka's
father called her over. He said, "Look at the beautiful sunset. Here in this
forsaken place it is shining for us." He told Janka that they would be
rescued soon. He would go into the army and the Polish government would take
care of her and her mother. Thus passed the evening. In the dark hut they
had no light except for a few pieces of kindling soaked in some sort of
fuel. Occasionally they would light it, but her father didn't ask them to.
They all lay down to sleep, and as dawn approached, Janka awoke to her
father's voice. He was praying.

He was saying the litany very calmly. Janka's mother lit a piece of
kindling. Frank's mother and older sister also woke up. Everyone started to
pray. Their words sounded so strange in that tiny hut in Uzbekistan. Janka's
mother and her friend must have known that the end was near. Janka had no
idea, and she cuddled close to her father. She was warm and comfortable next
to him, and she fell asleep. Soon, her mother woke her up and told her that
her father had died. They needed to wash him and dress him, so they asked
the children to leave. Janka sat outside the house and cried. Frank's face
was wet with tears as well. His sister tried to cheer them up.

It was already day when they were called back in. Her father lay in the
corner, washed and dressed, peaceful forever. They had to begin thinking
about a funeral.

Outside of town was a Russian cemetery. Janka's mother wanted to bury her
husband in consecrated ground. She said it would be better for him. After
much effort, and the last polish zloty, they were able to get permission to
dig a grave there. Janka's mother also hired a man to dig the grave and wait
for them. She arranged for a wagon and donkey from the collective, and
brought it to the house. Two women and three adolescent children - how were
they to put the corpse on the wagon? Janka's father had been a large man,
although not much of him was left. But they were all so weak. After wrapping
the body in a bed sheet, they were able to finally get the body up onto the
wagon. Frank led the donkey because it didn't want to go. The women walked
behind the wagon. Tears flowed so freely as they the Polish refugees, far
from their own land, were carting the remains of their loved one to a grave
in a foreign soil.

After about an hour, they reached the cemetery. The man whom Janka's mother
had hired to dig the grave had left, since she had paid him beforehand. The
grave itself was dug, but how could they lower the body into the grave? They
couldn't, after all, just drop it. After discussing it, Janka jumped into
the grave, and the rest lowered the body slowly. Janka could hardly hold the
body; in fact it pressed her to the ground below so that she had to dig
herself out. She arranged the body somehow, and covered her father's face.
Then, they helped her out of the grave. They began to fill in the grave with
their hands.

An older man came by and offered condolences. He called Janka's mother
aside, and told her to fill the grave with rocks. He said, "You see those
mountains over there? There are jackals they're just waiting for night to
fall." Somehow, they managed to fill the grave with rocks. What else could
they do? They returned home, and another week went by without food.

One day, Janka and Frank went out to look or beg for food. Walking among the
houses, they came upon a little dog, who followed them out into the fields.
At the same time, both Janka and Frank thought perhaps they could kill the
little dog for meat. But how? Frank came up with an idea.

There was no one nearby. Frank took off his belt, and they put it around the
dog's neck. They hung the dog from a nearby tree. It cried until finally it
suffocated and died. Janka and Frank wrapped the dog in grass so that nobody
would see, and they brought it home. Somehow, they removed the hide and
began to cook some soup. They told everyone that they had caught a rabbit.
It was quite a ceremony they had a little flour to make noodles. It was a
ceremony that hadn't taken place in a very long time. Only Frank's sister
did not believe that it was a rabbit.

The worst thing is waiting without knowing what is going to happen. They
were supposed to be notified by the Polish army post when to expect to
leave. For now, they heard nothing. Janka's mother went into town to
inquire, and someone told her to go to Samarkand. which wasn't too far away.
There, they said, Polish army troops were stationed, and perhaps they could
arrange their departure from Russia. Somehow they were able to persuade some
cotton truck drivers to take them to Samarkand. At first, these drivers
would not even hear them out, but after being paid with their last
possessions, they agreed.

Janka's group gathered their things and at first light, they stood by the
wagons. The drivers made room for them among the bales of cotton, so that no
one could see

In this way, they reached Samarkand. After that, they sometimes walked,
sometimes hitchhiked, and finally reached the Polish Army base in Alma Ata.

Frank's mother had no trouble registering. Her oldest son was already in the

Janka's father was no longer alive, so who would let them out of this hell?
Families of army members were given priority for transfer out of Russia.
After much trouble, Janka's mother somehow was able to get them on a list
for departure from USSR1. Hundreds of people were waiting for the some thing
-- perhaps someone took pity on them or perhaps Janka's father pleaded with
God on their behalf?

Again, they began waiting for the transport. But here they were not hungry
anymore. The Poles gave them bread an4 soup. After a few weeks of waiting,
the officials told them to get onto wagons which would take them to the
train. Not everyone could leave on this transport: among the Poles, the
Ukrainians, and the Jews, only Poles were allowed to leave. The others were
considered Russian citizens. As the wagons left, those who were forced to
stay behind were in agony.



Within a few hours they found themselves on a train, this time under the
supervision of both Polish and Russian officials. The very long train slowly
made its way across the desert. Everyone had hope that the road to freedom
began here. They arrived at the port of Krasnowock, and waited again, this
time for a ship. Hundreds, possibly thousands of people were already waiting
for this ship, to take them across the Caspian Sea to Persia. This was their
road to freedom.

It was extremely hot. They were given little water, but they could have
bought sweet melons. There were many women and children. Finally, they were
told that they could begin boarding the ship. Near the gangway stood Polish
and Russian officials, who checked documents, and made sure that no one took
any rubles out of Russia. There was not one person among them who would keep
a ruble and miss the chance to go on the ship. People were throwing the
rubles into a basket, so that they could all the faster get on the ship and
stand on the deck, escaping finally the Russian "paradise."

The boat was large and old. It was overloaded with people. Finally, it set
off from the dock. People were praying "Lord keep us in your protection."

Unfortunately, some of the people waiting on the dock drank contaminated
water, and got dysentery. They were already sick in port, but no one would
admit to it, for fear of being left behind. There were only a few toilets on
the ship. The lines to the bathroom were unbelievable. Some would
immediately get back in line after using the toilet.



The ship left port in the evening, and it took us two days to reach the port
of Pachlevi in Iran. The night passed, and a beautiful morning dawned. When
everyone began to wake, they found a number of corpses on the decks. Some
had died from exhaustion, others hearts could not take the joy of freedom.
The sailors wrapped the bodies in bags, and threw them overboard. The sea
accepted them with open arms, rocking them in the waves. Finally, they were
free.

Once the ship reached Pachlevi, Janka and her mother somehow held each other
up while they walked down the gangplank onto the dock. They were thanking
God.

Some trucks were waiting to take people from the port to a camp a few
kilometers away. Tents had already been prepared for them. The British Red
Cross and officials from the Polish Government m exile in London were
charged with the care of the refugees. Immediately, they were told to get in
line for dissinfection. The officials told them to turn over anything
brought from Russia. Clothes would be burned, but other items would be
disinfected. Janka had an embossed icon of Our Lady of Czestochowa.
Thankfully, they told her that she could keep it.

The dissinfection began with the shaving of hair, disinfecting of the body,
and a shower. Afterwards, everyone received a towel, soap, bed linens, a
dress and a blanket. The deloused people felt better already, and they
became hopeful

The kitchens gave out breakfasts and dinners: soups with generous pieces of
lamb. They gave fruits, dates, tea, and bread. They wondered who was
responsible for such lavish portions. Their stomachs were not used to such
bounty, and many people became sick. In addition, dysentery was still
rampant.

Janka's mother got sick within a week's time. The officials took her away to
the hospital. No visitors were allowed, as she was in isolation. Janka was
left alone. would wander around the camp and often met friends from Poland.
She would go to the beach, where the water was clean and the sun gave her
strength. She was happy to be around other people, and she believed that
everything would be alight. Her mother would be home soon.

Every day, she would go to the hospital tents in order to get any
information she could. For now, however, no one could tell her which tent
her mother was in. A week later, Janka got a high fever, and was taken to
the hospital, half-conscious, dysentery. When her fever abated, Janka
started looking around the ward and in all the beds for her mother. She
thought she saw her mother in the bed next to her. Disbelieving her own
eyes, she closed them and opened them again. Indeed, it was her mother. Fate
caused her to be placed near her mother, though no one knew they were
family.

Janka's mother was still very sick, with a high fever. Janka, however,
returned to health quickly, under the care of the Polish and British
doctors. The hospital staff, however, was mostly Polish. Finally, her mother
began to recognize Janka, and to improve somewhat.

Unfortunately, it was determined that the hospital would be closed, and the
sick would be moved to Tehran, where the conditions were said to be better.
The most seriously sick were left behind until the very end, so that they
could improve before the journey. Now, Janka and her mother would not be
separated. They would go together in an ambulance.

The road from Pachievi to Tebran went through mountains. The Persian drivers
were obviously skilled to be able to drive along narrow roads through steep
mountains and not fall over the cliffs. After a dozen hours or so, they
reached Tebran. There, too, they had to wait for a transport to the
hospital. Janka's mother felt very ill during this trip, and they could see
that there were many people before them. When her mother finally fainted,
they were given priority.

The hospital consisted of the same type of tents as in Pachlevi, but the
nursing care seemed better. Janka begged that they not be separated, so they
were placed next to each other. After such a trip, everyone was exhausted.
They were given medicine, and Janka's mother was given a shot. She calmed
down somewhat, and Janka fell asleep as well.

When Janka woke in the morning, she saw that her mother was still very sick.
The doctors came and prescribed some other medicine. They even gave her a
glass of wine, as she was not allowed to have water. The doctors tried to
cheer Janka, telling her that everything would be alright. Again, hope
sprang in her heart. Janka had no idea that her mother could die.

When Janka's mother awoke, she began to complain that her legs and hands
were painful. Janka tried to massage her mother's limbs, but she had little
strength herself. Her mother was terribly thirsty, but was not allowed to
have any water. Instead, Janka wet a cloth and moistened her mother's lips.
As her mother pleaded for water, Ihe nurse came by and gave her a shot.
Another day had passed. The nights were worse.

One night, Janka woke to hear a conversation between the doctors and her
mother. As she lay quietly, Janka heard her mother say, "Why do you torture
me? Let me die. I want to go to my husband. It will be better there. It's
time for me to rest." The doctor told her "Mamma, you have a daughter. You
have to stay alive for her. She has nobody here to take care of her."
Janka's mother replied, "I will go, and she will survive." Tears flooded
Janka's eyes, but she was afraid to move. She didn't want her mother to know
that she had heard the conversation. Even now, Janka did not understand that
her mother was dying.

The doctors decided that very night that there was nothing they could do to
save Janka's mother, and they allowed her to have as much water as she
wanted. In the morning, as if she felt better, she began talking about how
much she missed Poland, and that the war would not last long. She would slip
into sleep, and when she awoke, she would talk about God, that everything is
in His hands, and that nothing happens without his knowledge. Later, she
told Janka to remember all those things that she had been taught at home, so
that she would not have to be embarrassed for her. Janka thought this was
strange talk, but it still did not occur to her that anything would go
wrong.

When night fell, Janka' s mother fell asleep. It was very hot in the
hospital tent. There was no avoiding it, for there were over twenty people
there. Janka fell asleep as well. At dawn, a nurse woke Janka to tell her
that her that her mother had died, and to say good bye to her. It was
October 9, 1942. It was a terrible fate for a young girl in a foreign land
to lose both parents in just a few months. They took her mother's body,
wrapped it in a sheet, and took it out of the hospital, just like they had
with hundreds of others.

Here, too, death had its harvest. Polish refugees remains had been scattered
over the Siberian Taiga, the steppes of Kazakhstan, and along the tracks
across that huge Soviet country. In Persia too, then, they had to make their
offering.

Apparently, there was a polish priest at her mother's funeral. Janka was not
allowed out of the hospital. In fact, she got another high fever, and the
doctors determined that she had malaria. The hospital moved her to another
tent. Her treatment was long, but the worst part was that there was no
family there.

Slowly, Janka's health returned. She was able to go outside into the fresh
air near the hospital tent. There, she was many people who were visiting
their loved ones in the hospital. Sitting there one day, Janka saw a
familiar face. It was a friend of her parents from Poland. Her name was
Maria, a widow with two sons, ages 7 and 9. Janka told her that her parents
were dead, and that she didn't know what she would do when they let her out
the hospital. Maria told Janka to come to her barracks when they let her
out, gave her the number, and even organized it with the hospital.

After a few days, Janka was let out of the hospital. She was alone, and had
to fend for herself. She wrapped up her belongings and walked out in search
of Maria's barracks. There were so many barracks and tents, and everywhere,
people were searching for loved ones. She finally found the right barracks.
In it, were about fourteen families. They were all arranged on mats on the
floor, one next to the other. Maria was nowhere to be found. The barrack
leader came out, and told Janka to place herself in the middle of the
barracks, because no one wanted to be near her.

During the time she had been sick, she had never looked into the mirror,
since she neither had one, nor was it important. Now, she looked like a
walking corpse, just skin stretched over bones. Her hair was cut rather it
was shaved. The people were afraid of her, they thought that they would
catch some disease from her. They said she probably had tuberculosis. It was
hard to blame them.

Janka sat on her bundles and began to cry. When Maria came back, she calmed
Janka, and said to the people around them "Have you no hearts? She will be
with me." She moved her own things and placed Janka's things next to her
own.

Thus passed the next few weeks. Janka regained some strength, since there
was plenty of food. Her hair began to grow back. She met some girls her age
and they would often walk around the camps. They were even able to go into
town as see the palace of the Shah. Janka began to feel happy. She belonged
to someone. Someone cared about her. For her, this was enough for now.

The Poles were not destined to stay in Persia for long. The officials began
to inform them about transports leaving for Africa and India, the British
Dominion. Again, there was a packing of belongings and preparation for a
long road ahead. This time, they were headed for the port of Ahwaz.

Once again, she had to wait for the boat, in a camp build by the Polish
refugees, where the families and children and even the army were stationed.
There, Janka met another friend from Poland. Her mother worked in the army
laundry. The girls ran around the whole camp, and nothing at all bothered
them. After a few weeks, they got word that the boat was waiting. Janka was
immediately ready. Maria liked Janka very much, because she would watch her
boys from time to time.

Janka's friend from her childhood days had to stay behind. They were not
destined for this transport. On the boat, the conditions were very good, and
there was medical treatment. Janka again met some girls her age who also had
lost her parents. There was no end to their stories and conversations. But,
when evening came and the girls went back to their cabins, the tears began
to flow. They missed their mothers, fathers, their homes. They couldn't
sleep. Then began the conversation with God. "Why?" No mother, no father.
She wanted to cuddle up to her mother, to hear her father's calm voice
saying that everything would be alright.

The ship slowly approached Africa -- a strange and foreign land. After
reaching port, they were all loaded once again into a train, in the
direction of Southern Rhodesia. The train stopped at the larger stations,
and the British from various organizations greeted them with warm tea and
cookies. There, Janka ate her first banana. Finally, the train made it to
their new place. Again, they were loaded into cars to be taken to their new
home, the town of Marandelas, Southern Rhodesia.



There, there were two-family homes with thatched roofs and some beds. Janka
was still with Maria. They had added one more girl with no family. Maria
immediately volunteered to work in the kitchen, and Janka was left to take
care of Maria's boys. They began to organize a school, but there were few
teachers available. The level of instruction was, therefore, quite low.
There were over a thousand people in this camp. Mostly, there were families
of the military, who would receive letters and money from their loved ones.
No one wrote to Janka. She had been taught to love God, so she went to mass.
taking Maria's boys with her. She and others from the camp met there for
prayer. They had reason to pray. For parents, friends, their homes, for the
end of the war, and for everyone to return to their homeland.

Over the next few months, Janka began to wonder what would happen to her.
One day, a representative from the Polish Air Force came to the camp, and
told that those who were 18 years or older, could sign up for the WRAF, the
women s service. All the girls went to sign up because they wanted to help,
and because they wanted to return as quickly as possible to Poland. Janka
went too, her heart beating wildly.

When she reached the officer, he looked at her and shook his head. He asked
Janka how old she was. She lied and said she was 18. She was only 16 at the
time. He asked where her parents were, and Janka replied that they were
dead. He said "So, you have no one. Still, cannot accept you, you look like
a child, and you are lying about your age." Janka steadfastly insisted that
she was 18 years old, but that she did not have a birth certificate. Crying,
she told him she couldn't stay there any longer maybe the officer had a
family that died in Russia. He took pity on her and signed her up.

A few weeks later came the day to depart to the gathering place of the WRAF.
There were over 200 girls in all. They received identical clothing,
something resembling a uniform. The girls were young and attractive. They
all presented themselves well.

Another train trip, this time to the port of Durban. Africa is beautiful,
and along the way they passed farms and small African villages. There were
plenty of fruits growing by the roads, including peaches and bananas. Once
in Durban, they waited a few days for another ship. She befriended more
girls, with whom she visited the towns. They got word to load onto the ship
"New Amsterdam." It was immense, and there were many military men on it.

There were pilots from New Zealand, and some British. The girls tried to
talk to them, but only through gestures, because no one could speak English
very well, and no one had a dictionary. Below deck were some Italian
prisoners, who fought alongside the Germans in Africa, and who had been
captured. Now, the prisoners served them at their tables as waiters.



How different this voyage is than the last! Janka was happy, everything
pleased her. She had made a family from her friends. They all promised each
other not to have too close of contact with the soldiers. But before long,
they were having conversations through gestures with the men in the
watchtowers. What comical moments! There was much laughing, much singing,
but not one scandal.

Many of the girls were seasick. For a while, the ship sailed along by
itself. But one morning, they woke to find the ship surrounded by about 30
other ships. One after the other, they followed each other. There were also
escort ships. Apparently, this area was very dangerous, as there were German
U-Boats below the surface. Not many of the girls were aware of the danger
surrounding them.

The girls organized drills, and the soldiers assigned each of them a place
on the lifeboats, just in case. Still, the young girls did not thing about
death.

One morning, they woke to find that the convoy had dispersed, each ship
going its own way. It seemed that it should now be safer from German
U-Boats. They were surprised, therefore, when the sirens began to howl on
the ship. They all ran onto deck in whatever they had been sleeping in. They
put on their life vests and went to their assigned places. They could hear
explosions. A German U-Boat ahead was releasing mines and it seemed that
every second they would run into one of them. On the other side of the ship,
lifeboats were lowered. The soldiers stepped calmly into the boats. This was
no time for panic.

Janka quickly thought to say a prayer. She didn't want to die. After so many
trevails, when life was starting to look up, the end comes. The seconds
seemed like eons. Did the prayers of their dead mothers, or simply fate
intervene? From the clouds appeared fighter planes. The submarine abandoned
its prey, disappearing into the depths. Everyone whispered prayers of
thanksgiving to God. They were spared.

After a few days, the ship reached the coast of England. Such joy! Land to
stand upon! Cars were already waiting to take them to the mess for a meal.
Then, they were taken to large villas, which the British people had donated
for military housing. There they began meetings, roll calls, medical
examinations. Many girls were chosen to work in the kitchen, others as
waitresses. They did not know the English language, so they had little
choice. Janka was selected to work in the kitchen.

First, however, they had to go through military training. Then, they were
taken to culinary school. Soon, they were given their WAFF uniforms, with a
Polish Air Force Eagle on their cap and the Poland flash on their shoulders.
They were handsome uniforms, the same as the British wore. They learned
muster, and how to march and salute.

In the evenings, there was much laughter and joking, especially when the
skirts were too small or too big. It was difficult to fasten the garters to
their stockings.

They had to lay down on their beds and ask a friend to fasten it for them.
The skirts and pants look messy when they are wrinkled, but they had no
iron. So, they placed them between the mattress and sheets, and slept
peacefully on top of them.

Lessons, lessons all day long for six weeks. Then, they took their military
oaths. On a beautiful morning, they pledged to be faithful to and serve
their country. Of course, Janka's thoughts turned to Poland. How will it be
when the war ends and she can go back home?

The next day, they left for their culinary course. What could she know about
cooking? Still, she needed to try and learn something. The courses were in
English, but there was an interpreter. They taught her how to measure in
ounces and pounds.

The classes were held during the day, and in the evenings the girls went for
walks to the army canteens. There were many Poles there, going through pilot
training. There, Janka met her future husband. His name was Joseph, and he
had gone through the Russian camps as well. He was in radio school, and upon
finishing he would go into the bomber division.

After finishing the culinary course, Janka was assigned to the 300th
Squadron, a Polish Bomber Squadron. Sorties left every night to bomb
Germany. Many bombers never returned. Janka worked in the kitchen at the
shift change. It was difficult work, but she obtained the rank of corporal,
so she became responsible for serving the meals. They served about 800 meals
per shift. They lived in military barracks. They were young, and they would
travel and visit nearby towns on bicycles. They had other interests as well.
Joseph and Janka continued their correspondence through the end of the war.



(Janka and Joseph)

It was 1945 and the end of the war. Everyone is still hopeful that they can
return to Poland. It would not happen, however. Roosevelt, Churchill and
Stalin met in Potsdam and gave Poland to Stalin as a present. The country
that had fought since 1939 for its freedom had its freedom taken away. Poles
were not even allowed to take part in the victory parade in London. The
British Government issued a statement that all Poles should return to
rebuild Poland, but no one wanted to return to a Poland ruled by the Russian
Communist Regime.

Everyone was concerned now about their future. In the fall, Janka and Joseph
were married, and began to plan a family. They were both still in the
military, so Janka's new husband was transferred to the 300th Squadron. They
moved to a house outside the base. Halfway through 1946, Janka became
pregnant with their first child. Once she could no longer fit into her
uniform, she was discharged from the service.

Janka and Joseph knew that they would not return to Poland. Joseph was still
in the service when, in 1947, their first son Zbyszek was born. Once again,
the family moved to another air force station, where they lived off base.
They were happy, their child was healthy, they had few troubles.

In 1949, Joseph was discharged from the service. They had to look for work
and begin to live as civilians. They moved near Leeds, and Janka's husband
gets a job in a glass factory. They found a two-bedroom home, and had a few
Polish families in the area. Still, there was no future for them here.

They had to leave England. The British had been good to them; they had
accepted so many Polish soldiers. Now, the American Congress had issued
16,000 entry visas for Polish military personnel. All, however, needed to
have sponsors in the United States. Janka remembered that her mother had
once told her that she had distant cousins in America. She wrote to her
uncle back in Poland, and asked for their names and address.

Luckily, they received the address, and immediately wrote to their cousins,
asking whether they could supply an affidavit. After a few weeks, Janka and
Joseph received the answer: Yes, they would supply an affidavit, and some
money to start off.

The year is 1951, three days before Easter. The family stands on the deck of
the ship "Scythia", looking to the future. What will this new land bring us?