From the little chamber we entered the sewer and proceeded south under Miodowa Street. As he said, this part was easy. This part of the sewer was the main collector, beautifully built of bricks, almost 8ft high by over 5ft wide. It had small walkways on both sides and a channel in the middle. A small amount of relatively clean sewage flowed through it. I have no recollection of any particular smell. We walked in single file at a relatively fast pace, easily following the light of the sewer worker’s torch. After about fifteen minutes we stopped. We were near the end of Miodowa Street and soon would enter a different sewer under Krakowskie Przedmieście Street. The next part would be under German held territory so we would have to be very careful as there would be open manholes. He told us that if any Germans heard anything they would drop in grenades.
After a short time, we came to a junction and entered a sewer which led slightly to the right. This sewer was only about 5ft high and proportionately narrower. There were no separate walkways, only a concave bottom. We waded in 3 to 6in of sewage. I was able to walk straight with my helmet on. The other two had to bend forward. Czajka took his helmet off. This section, about two-thirds of a mile, took much longer. Every so often the torch was turned off; we stopped, grabbed each other’s belts and then proceeded very carefully until we passed under an open manhole. Looking up, we could glimpse a clear sky full of stars. In a few places we heard German voices. Once, as a tank passed over us, the sewer worker whispered that we were next to the university. After about an hour and a half we stopped under a manhole. We were now within Polish lines, under Nowy Swiat Street at the intersection with Warecka Street. We couldn’t exit here because this street was covered by machine gun fire from German positions nearby. From this manhole we crawled through the smallest sewer. With his torch the sewer worker showed us an egg-shaped pipe in the wall of the manhole. The pipe was about 3ft high and 2ft wide, the bottom was covered in a rather nasty looking and smelling slime (the sewers were combined, both domestic and storm). He took his stick and demonstrated how we would have to crawl: grab the middle of the stick with two hands, push it forward as far as possible through the widest part of the pipe; jam it down against the walls of the pipe and pull yourself forward. Repeat the same motion until you reach the first manhole. I would go first, he said, followed by Czajka, and he would go last. He would shine his torch over our heads from time to time; but most of the time we would be in darkness.
I started to crawl and found it to be quite easy. It was: one, stick forward; two, jam it down; three, pull myself forward. I heard Czajka behind me grunting from time to time, his wounds had not healed yet. Every so often, the sewer worker shone his light behind me; otherwise it was pitch dark. The unpleasant part was having my face so close to the smelly slime I was pulling myself through. I kept repeating the movements: one, two, three and again one, two, three … It didn’t take long before I saw a dim light ahead. I reached the manhole and started climbing up the metal rungs. I yelled ‘Starówka!’ (old town).
A torch shone down and as I reached the top I grabbed an extended hand, which pulled me up. Czajka was next and the sewer worker last. There were questions, congratulations, slapping of backs. The sewer worker said that we had done very well. We were given some buckets of water and tried to clean ourselves up. We came out only three blocks away from where I lived. After thanking the sewer worker and saying goodbye, we walked to KB headquarters on Boduena Street, where we reported to the duty officer. Col. Doliwa, commanding officer of the KB, was woken and we gave him Nałęcz’s report. Czajka was still answering questions when I was told to go and get some rest. I found a room on the ground floor with a few men sleeping on couches and the floor. I found a place near the wall, took my helmet off, and immediately fell asleep.
On the morning of the 29th I woke up late and reached for my helmet. It was gone and the room was empty. Over the previous few months my vocabulary had greatly expanded and I let out a stream of profanities that would make an old master sergeant proud. I found Czajka and we raised hell with the duty officer to no avail. Nobody knew anything; nobody saw anything. We were given some food and told to go to Chmielna Street, where a public bath was open for people coming through the sewers.
As we walked the short distance to the bathhouse we could not believe our eyes. In contrast to the old town, there was relatively little damage. This was particularly true on the smaller side streets. The principal streets suffered most damage in the first days of the Uprising. There were bombed and burned-out buildings, rubble and glass on the streets, overturned and burned-out cars and trams; but not the same degree of devastation as in the old town. There were barricades at most intersections. There was much more foot traffic. People were walking, not running. They congregated in building entrances and courtyards. Officers in clean uniforms and polished boots walked alongside pretty girls, medics and runners. The most striking thing was the relative quiet. There wasn’t the constant whine of diving planes, whistle of falling bombs, rattle of machine guns, or noise of ‘mooing cows’, artillery and mortar fire. There was only the distant, subdued noise of explosions coming from the direction of the old town, under plumes of rising smoke.
Our panterki, the SS camouflage uniforms only worn by troops from the old town, made us stand out. We were constantly being stopped and asked about the situation in the old town. The bathhouse was only a couple of blocks away and the same distance from where I lived. It was called Orana and had been taken over by the German Army and used as a bath and brothel for soldiers during the occupation. After twenty-five days, I finally took all my clothes off and stepped into a shower. I stood under the warm water and luxuriated. I soaped and scrubbed myself until I was told to get out to save the warm water. When we arrived, a woman who noticed our panterki had offered to clean them as well as possible. She now returned with our clean uniforms, as well as a new shirt for me, too large but the smallest she had. We dressed and returned to headquarters. The duty officer told us that Col. Doliwa wanted to see us upon our return. When we reported to him, he asked us more about the battalion and its actions in the old town. He told us that he expected our wounded to start arriving that night. He asked me where I lived and when I answered that it was only two blocks away he told me to go home and check back daily. I saluted, shook hands with Czajka and walked out.
I had no more excuses not to go home. I wanted to see my mother very badly, but I also dreaded it. I had never lied to her before and I would now have to do so for the first time. I walked back the same way that, twenty-five days earlier, Andrzej and I had brought our mother to meet Nałęcz to give her permission to join the Uprising. As I entered our staircase and started up the stairs, I heard Zabcia frantically barking at the door. She knew I was coming up. When I reached the landing, I heard my mother’s steps come to the door. She opened the door as I reached it. We both stood there for a moment as the dog frantically jumped on me. We embraced and then the question I dreaded but knew was coming, ‘Where is Andrzej?’
Without hesitation, I gave an answer I had been rehearsing: ‘He was wounded and evacuated through the sewers to Zoliborz.’ The other anticipated questions came: ‘How bad are his wounds, how did it happen, where and when?’ And another rehearsed answer: ‘I don’t have much detail because I was with Capt. Nałęcz and we were cut off for a few days when it happened; Andrzej was our battalion runner at headquarters; when we were relieved, all we found out is what I’ve told you.’ I tried to change the subject by asking about Wiktor, Zygmunt, my cousin Danuta and her husband.
My mother looked at me for a long time. I sensed that she wanted desperately to believe me, but I also knew that I had not really convinced her. She told me that Wiktor was alright, though he had been wounded and lost an ear. His unit was billeted nearby in the PKO building (the post office savings bank). I didn’t say anything, but I thought of the prophecy he had heard from a fortune teller before he left Wilno. When Wiktor asked him, ‘When will the war end?’ the man replied: ‘Before the war ends
you will first be wounded and then killed.’
That night I slept in a clean bed in my own pyjamas. Zabcia jumped up and snuggled next to me, and my mother didn’t make her get down. I slept non-stop until noon the next day.
15
Centre North, 29 August–
4 September 1944
I woke up to Zabcia licking my face. As soon as I opened my eyes she started jumping up and down. I got dressed in my own underwear; my mother had my panterka uniform ready, washed and pressed. I told her that I had to report to headquarters and would then try to find Wiktor. She told me that his code name was ‘Kot’ (cat). When I arrived at headquarters I learned that our wounded with the girl medics had arrived safely early that morning. Their journey was much longer and more difficult than ours. Carrying and supporting the wounded was hard and exhausting work. The hardest part was dragging the wounded through the small sewer pipe. They were now in the KB field hospital in the basement of 4 Boduena Street, in the same building as our headquarters. I saw both Gryf and Baśka II, badly burned by acid, as well as many others. I visited Sten. He and I had ‘defended’ our positions for a short time, armed with one grenade and a 7mm pistol. Sten was one of the few survivors pulled out of the blown up building on 3 Przejazd Street. He had suffered serious leg wounds. Before the Uprising was over he would be wounded twice more. I also ran into Baśka, the chief medic, who asked me if I’d seen my mother and what had I told her about Andrzej. Hearing my reply she agreed that for now it was for the best.
After a few hours, I left to find Wiktor. I wanted to see him alone, not in my mother’s presence. The PKO building was only four blocks away. On my way there I realised the Germans had started to shell and bomb the centre of town, concentrating on the Powiśle district to the east. I saw Stukas diving and explosions in that direction. I could not get into the PKO building; General Monter, the Uprising’s commanding officer, had his headquarters there and I did not have the necessary access pass. Wiktor was sent for. He appeared a few minutes later, wearing the same officer’s boots and breeches and the same black beret that he was wearing over a month before, only now the beret had a Polish Army eagle on it. He had a bandage under his beret covering the left side of his head, where he had lost an ear. Since he outranked me I saluted him and tried to offer him my hand but he grabbed me and hugged me. He escorted me inside; we sat down and started to talk. His first question was about Andrzej. I repeated my story but I knew I had not convinced him. After a long uncomfortable silence, he started to ask me about my experiences. My mother had told him the name of our battalion, so he knew we were in the old town. I briefly told him my story. Noticing the ribbon on my uniform he congratulated me on my Cross of Valour. My panterka uniform was worn only by soldiers from the old town, which made me stand out; several officers from headquarters stopped to congratulate me and asked about the fighting in the old town. Wiktor introduced me to his CO, Lt. ‘Kosa’. As soon as we were alone I asked him about Zygmunt, but he had no news and hadn’t found out what unit he was in. All Wiktor knew was that following his escape that spring, Zygmunt had a new ID and had been hiding outside of Warsaw. Wiktor suspected that Zygmunt had been on his way to Warsaw just before the Uprising. (We found out many years later that Zygmunt had been killed on the first day of the Uprising; his body was never found.)
Wiktor told me that he was in Kedyw B, an elite unit for special action under direct orders of the high command. The unit also acted as security for headquarters. As we parted so he could return to his duties, Wiktor told me that he would try to come home the following day. Before he left he suggested that I go to the Palladium cinema, where newsreels from the Uprising were being shown. I stopped there on the way back; it was only four blocks away. There was a line in front waiting for the next showing. I went to the end of the line but was ushered to the front because of my uniform. The newsreel, titled ‘Warsaw Fighting’, had been taken by war correspondents and cameramen from the Polish Home Army. It looked very professional, with narration and background music, just like the German newsreels showing their ‘glorious fighting’ on the eastern front. The newsreel started by showing German POWs with big swastikas painted on the back of their uniforms, put to work clearing rubble from bombed-out buildings. There was a clip of a German POW disarming a dud projectile from a 24in Karl-Gerat siege mortar, removing the explosives. This was followed by scenes of manufacturing grenades using salvaged TNT. There was also a clip of a captured assault gun being prepared and painted with a big Polish white eagle. I recognised it as a Hetzer, the first armoured vehicle destroyed by us in front of the town hall. The most dramatic pictures were of the fighting for police headquarters. The whole show was about half an hour long and it was very enthusiastically received by a full-house audience. On the way back I stopped by headquarters and visited our wounded and nurses. That night I luxuriated once again in my own bed.
Next morning, the last day of August, Wiktor came home. I asked him about his unit and their combat. He said that on the first day of the Uprising his unit had been moving from their assembly point to the designated jump-off spot in Hotel Victoria on Jasna Street. They got into their first firefight half an hour before 5 p.m., the designated hour for the start of the Uprising. They came across two German cars, which they captured, killing the crews and collecting many weapons and ammunition. Later on that day, they encountered an armoured car, which escaped though they damaged it. Unfortunately, they also lost a few men. During the next two days they cleared Germans out of buildings in their area of operation, from the PKO building to the Saxon Gardens. On the third day, they engaged in clearing Germans from the Esplanade coffee house on the corner of Marszałkowska and Sienkiewicz streets. Wiktor’s unit led the attack from Sienkiewicz and another unit from Marszałkowska. It was a long fight and moved from the ground floor to the cellars, where the remaining Germans gave themselves up. They took sixteen POWs and captured weapons including a machine gun. I told him, to his surprise, that the other attacking unit had been Nałęcz Battalion (this happened a day before Andrzej and I had joined). The next day (4 August), they went to Widok Street to clear out some reported Ukrainian forces. While in the building there was an air attack and a Stuka bomb destroyed it, killing one and wounding four, including Wiktor. He considered himself lucky the bomb fragment only took off his ear rather than splitting his skull. His unit’s primary duty was to provide security and defence of the high command of the Uprising. They were also used as a ‘fire brigade’, to liquidate any reported pockets of Germans. During the last major action his unit took part in the successful attack on and capture of police headquarters and the Church of the Holy Cross on Krakowskie Przedmieście Street. The day before, I had watched the newsreel of this very action at the cinema.
Wiktor had to go back. We returned together and said our goodbyes in front of the PKO building. He entered the building, stopped, turned around and waved. I waved back at him and saluted. Wiktor returned the salute, smiled, turned and walked in. This was the last time I saw him.
When I awoke on 1 September 1944, I realised that it was the fifth anniversary of the German invasion that had started the War. I vividly remembered being in our living room in Wilno when my mother said simply, ‘The war has started, the Germans attacked this morning.’
When I arrived at headquarters later that morning, I found most of the survivors of our battalion. They had arrived in the early hours. I was surprised to find new faces among them. After Czajka and I left the battalion late on the evening of the 28th, the wounded were evacuated the following day. On the 30th there was an attempt to break through the German lines and reach the centre of town. The right wing of this attack included the remnants of our battalion. The attack failed. The ambulatory wounded and unarmed soldiers of our battalion were ordered to evacuate on the afternoon of the 31st. As the news spread, several soldiers from different units volunteered to join us and some were accepted. Some of our soldiers tried to smuggle out their weapons, but were found out by ou
r military police. Rather than give up their weapons, they stayed to continue fighting. The last of them entered the sewers the next morning, just before the entrance was covered by rubble from a newly bombed building. About eighty men and women had escaped from the old town.
I ran into Cpt. Nałęcz as he came out of a meeting with Col. Doliwa, and he asked about my mother. I said I thought she believed my story about Andrzej but I couldn’t be sure.
Throughout that day everyone cleaned up, was fed and billeted in the adjoining buildings. The ambulatory wounded were attended to and some were hospitalised. Cpt. Nałęcz and the Battalion HQ staff took over an apartment on the top floor of 5 Boduena Street, in a five-storey apartment building opposite headquarters. During the officers’ conference Nałęcz announced there would be a three- to four-day rest before the battalion returned to the front line, but we would not be assigned a sector of our own. The units currently defending the front line were already well acquainted with the terrain and their command structure; communications and supporting services were well established and functioning. The commander-in-chief, Gen. ‘Bór’, decided that the units from the old town would, after a short rest, gradually be placed in the line, assigned to different sectors to better take advantage of their battle experience. The men who had families nearby were allowed to visit them.
On the next day, 2 September,, the old town fell. During the thirty-two days of fighting, about 7,000 soldiers lost their lives (German losses were around 4,000). Approximately 5,000 soldiers, including 3,000 wounded, were evacuated through the sewers, along with 6,000 civilians. There were nearly 35,000 people left in the old town when the Germans entered. There were 7,500 severely wounded, including 2,500 soldiers. The SS, with collaborating Russian, Azeri and Cossack units, went on a murderous rampage. Virtually all wounded fighters and doctors were brutally murdered, shot, blown up by grenades or burned alive. Nurses who stayed behind were raped and then murdered. About 8,000 to 10,000 civilians were also murdered.
My Boyhood War Page 16