In Poland we celebrated name days rather than birthdays. Each day of the liturgical calendar commemorates a particular saint and one of our officers celebrated his name day on 3 September. By early afternoon there was a rather lively party going on in Nałęcz’s temporary quarters. At one time it had been a large, beautifully furnished apartment belonging to the well-known writer, Juljusz Kaden-Bandrowski. Now it was a shambles with windows blown out and covered in plaster and dust. Besides our officers and a few nurses also present was a special guest: the writer’s son. He was a 2nd Lt. in the Radosław Group and like us had just arrived from the old town. He told us that his father had died when he was in the old town at the beginning of the Uprising. His twin brother had been in the Underground and was killed in action the year before. I learned later that he too was killed, two weeks later.
On this day, following the fall of the old town, the Germans switched their attention to our current position, the centre-north. The morning began with artillery shelling while Stukas dropped bombs nearby. No buildings were hit near our position on Boduena Street, but one block away, and visible from our windows, two buildings had been bombed. During this entire time, Nałęcz’s party never stopped and a copious amount of alcohol was consumed. Midway through the party Nałęcz decided to have a shooting competition with side arms. The targets selected included small light bulbs on candelabras and wall sconces, eyes on portraits hanging on the walls and other such objects. Nałęcz gave me his 9mm Colt to take a turn. It turned out I was the best shot, probably because I was the only one sober. I had a great time.
Looking back, as I write this from the perspective many years later, that scenario must have looked like something from a great Russian novel: a room that at one time was grand but now lay in ruin; the noise of artillery shells exploding nearby; the screeching of a diving plane followed by the whistle of a falling bomb, a moment of silence and then a building one block away going up with debris flying high and a shockwave billowing the drapes on the blown-out windows; in the middle of all this a small group of men in uniform and young women on chairs around a large table, drinking vodka and shooting pistols at the candelabras and portraits …
16
Centre South, 4–17 September 1944
On the morning of 4 September, I reported to Nałęcz and was told that our battalion would be moving across Jerusalem Avenue to the centre-south district. Our new quarters would be on Krucza Street.
Jerusalem Avenue was the main east–west artery through Warsaw. The Poniatowski Bridge connected Warsaw, on the left (west) bank of the Vistula, to the Praga district on the right bank. The Russian armies had already reached Praga when the Uprising broke out, but then stopped their advance and discontinued their aerial flights over Warsaw. It became clear that the Russians had given the Germans a free hand to finish us off. From the start of the Uprising the Germans had attempted to keep this thoroughfare open but with little success. They held the Poniatowski Bridge and the area near the roadway for most of its length. Our forces occupied only a small portion on both sides of the avenue between Nowy Swiat and Marszałkowska streets, a distance of about 440yd, while the Germans controlled strongpoints on both sides of those intersections, preventing us from crossing from one side to the other. That was the reason why Andrzej and I could not reach our original assembly point. During the second week of the Uprising a communication trench had been constructed, allowing for limited foot traffic. The trench was less than 3ft deep as there was a railway tunnel below Jerusalem Avenue. The barricades constructed on both sides of the trench allowed one to cross bent over. The German machine guns at their strongpoints on both corners with Nowy Swiat Street were only 270yd away and fired at any sign of movement. Access to the trench was strictly controlled by our military police and required a special pass.
Later that day our battalion crossed Jerusalem Avenue to new quarters in 42 Krucza Street and adjoining buildings. From that date on there was no more electricity; we assumed that the power station was either destroyed or captured by the Germans. The next day was spent working on administrative matters concerning the planned reorganisation. Our battalion was to be divided into two companies: Company number 1, under Lt. Pobóg, was scheduled to reinforce Piorun-Zareba Battalion; Company number 2, under Lt. Holski, the Sokól Battalion. Each company was to have about eighty men including officers. Both were to take their walking wounded. One half of the second company would include all soldiers from P-20 Company previously incorporated into our battalion.
Some time during the two days Nałęcz, who was an accomplished graphic artist in civilian life, found time to design our battalion shoulder patch. To my knowledge, we were one of the first, if not the first unit with shoulder patches. One of the Greek Jews who had come with us through the sewers from old town was a draftsman and eagerly worked making the patches. The material for the shields was cut from red pillowcases; the drawing and writing was done in black and white India ink. I managed to keep my patch through all the years and just recently donated it to the Warsaw Uprising Museum.
During these two days, German forces concentrated their massive firepower on the Powiśle district, an area east of Nowy Swiat Street extending to the River Vistula. Massive artillery barrages were followed by Stuka bombing. I observed, with growing concern, the explosions and fires to the east of our apartment building. In the afternoon I asked Nałęcz for permission to go and see my mother. He gave me a Priority Pass to cross Jerusalem Avenue, as a runner, without limitation. Late that afternoon, I arrived at the rear entrance to our building. As I ran up the stairs Zabcia was barking and whining behind the door to our apartment. When I opened the door, to my surprise, I did not find my mother in the entry hall. I stopped to listen: all was quiet inside. I picked up my dog and as she licked my face I entered the living room. In the falling dusk I saw my mother sitting motionless in an armchair. As I approached her, she lifted her head slightly without getting up, looked at me and said in a low, flat voice devoid of any emotion: Wiktor nie żyje, ‘Wiktor is dead.’
I stopped a few feet away from her. A thought cross my mind: now both prophecies have been fulfilled and I knew that my mother had lost all hope that Andrzej was still alive. I sat down on a chair close to her with Zabcia on my lap. She turned her head towards me and told me that a man she knew, a friend of Wiktor who was in the same unit and lived nearby, had come to see her yesterday. He told her that on the morning of the 4th their unit returned from an all-night action and was going to stand down. He told Wiktor that he should go home for a few hours. Wiktor replied that he was very tired and needed to sleep for a few hours before going home. They parted company and Wiktor went down to their quarters in the bottom basement of the PKO building. Shortly after Wiktor’s friend left the building an unlucky bomb dropped by a diving Stuka fell directly into an elevator shaft and exploded at the bottom level. Wiktor’s body, together with others, including wounded from the field hospital sharing space in that basement, was never found.
I told my mother that I would be back the next morning to take her to our headquarters. We got up and she led me to the front door, held me close for a long time, turned around and walked to her room without looking back. I patted Zabcia, opened the door and walked out of our apartment for the last time.
* * * * *
Prophecies. The first was made in Wilno in 1942, when Wiktor asked a seer, ‘When will the war end?’ and the seer replied ‘You should not worry because before the war ends you will be first wounded and then killed.’ The second prophecy was made in Warsaw in the spring of 1944, when my mother went to see another famous seer, an old woman. When she asked her to tell the future, the woman refused, saying that she did not want to tell anybody their future any more because all she saw was ‘death and fire, fire and death.’ When my mother insisted – I was with her – the seer said, ‘In a short time you will lose two very close members of your family; you will lose everything that you own; you will leave Warsaw, later you will cross a large body
of water and never return to Poland.’
* * * * *
It was evening when I returned to Battalion Headquarters and reported to Nałęcz. Upon hearing of Wiktor’s death, Nałęcz informed me, without hesitation, that my mother would be welcome with us and that tomorrow he would issue a pass for her. Next morning, the 8th, as he gave me the pass Nałęcz told me that the Germans had captured Powiśle district from Jerusalem Avenue to the university. The front line now ran through our street, Nowy Swiat. Walking towards the crossing and waiting for my turn, I saw Stukas dive bombing just ahead of me. The whole area north of Jerusalem Avenue between Nowy Swiat and Marszałkowska streets was under constant attack by the dive-bombers.
I approached our building from the rear and heard heavy fighting on our street. I entered the entrance hall through the back garden. I heard the sound of diving Stuka and made a run for the service staircase. As I jumped into the basement staircase the bomb exploded. The pressure wave hit me and also blew out all the candles in the cellar. In the darkness panicked voices were shouting: ‘We’re buried … we will never get out … God save us …’
According to my mother I shouted: ‘Shut up! Everybody shut up! We’re not buried! The exit is still clear!’ I turned on my torch and, seeing the people’s faces in front of me, I burst out laughing. The explosion had blown open all the doors to the chimneys in the cellar, and covered everybody in soot. Everyone’s face was black, with only the whites of their eyes showing.
The bomb demolished that part of the building that was a mirror image of our apartment on the opposite side of the courtyard. The other staircase from the basement was buried. The explosion had started a fire in that part of the building. People started streaming up the staircase. I went forward and found my mother calmly sitting against the cellar wall with Zabcia on her lap. The poor dog was terrified, she was whining and trembling. I told my mother we had better get going and picked up Zabcia. My mother grasped her handbag and we went towards the exit. We were among the last people leaving the cellar. It took some time since many people were carrying large heavy suitcases up the rather narrow stairs. As we started up the stairs Zabcia jumped out from my hands and ran up between the legs of the people in front of us. By this time the fire from the demolished section of the building was intensifying and smoke began drifting into the cellar. When we reached the courtyard I called out but could not find Zabcia. We looked in the back garden, but she was not there. I ran upstairs to our apartment, but again no luck. I went back into courtyard and waited another ten or fifteen minutes, calling her, and then we left without her.
Once we reached the military police checkpoint at the avenue crossing we were forced to wait a long time for our turn since my mother did not have a priority pass. By early afternoon we were back at battalion headquarters. It turned out that mother had left our apartment just in time. The next day, German forces again concentrated their bombing in the same area and managed to break through from Nowy Swiat Street along Chmielna and capture Gorski Street behind our building. After heavy fighting, the Germans were pushed out by a Polish counter-attack and the front line stabilised along Nowy Swiat Street.
While I was away, Pobóg and his men had left for their new positions. The Piorun-Zareba Group was defending a sector on Emili Plater Street between Hoża and Wspólna streets. Our men were assigned a position bordering on the Pomological Garden near the Church of St Barbara.
The first twenty men from the second company, under Lt. ‘Patriota’, joined Sokól Battalion, defending the front on Jerusalem Avenue between Nowy Swiat and Bracka streets. Our second company was assigned a position on the corner of Bracka Street and the avenue. It was very close to our present quarters.
The Battalion HQ moved to 44 Koszykowa Street. From then on, Nałęcz was CO in charge of only administrative and personal matters. The officers commanding the companies were in charge of the respective units under tactical command of the CO of the battalion they had reinforced. As a result of this new order, my life became boring. No longer was I taking an active part in any fighting, but managed only to be an ‘observer’. I did, however, visit each company daily delivering the Battalion Order of the Day. Whenever I could, I would stay and hang around with the line units. I also accompanied Nałęcz when he visited our front line units, and to his meetings at KB headquarters, which was relocated from Boduena to Hoża, near Marszałkowska Street, on the south side of the avenue.
On 11 September, I accompanied Nałęcz and three of our officers to KB headquarters. The meeting was lengthy and after returning to our battalion headquarters I learned that our three officers would attempt to cross the River Vistula to Praga and get through the German–Russian front line. Contact was to be established with the communist Polish People’s Army headquarters. Their mission was to brief Russian Army high command, via the headquarters of the LWP, of the situation in Warsaw and ask for help in the form of ammunition and weapon drops, and to establish radio communication to help co-ordinate artillery and aircraft support. This initiative was approved by the Polish Home Army high command. The three officers picked for this mission were Lt. Edward, 2nd Lt. ‘Witold’ and the newly promoted 2nd Lt. Czajka. Towards evening, Nałęcz and I accompanied the three officers to the edge of our positions on the corner of Nowy Swiat Street opposite Książęnca Street. It was getting dark when we said our goodbyes and the men crossed Nowy Swiat and entered a building on Książęnca. This street followed the hill down towards the Czerniaków district on the Vistula riverfront. This was the last area with river access still held by our troops. The elite Radosław Group, which had extensive combat experience from the old town, had been sent there to reinforce the area defence.
At the time, we didn’t know if our three men had made it to their destination. There was no change in the Russian attitude. There still were no airdrops, no artillery support and no air activity over Warsaw. It was not until a year later that I learned part of their story. In the summer of 1946, after the war ended, I met Witold in Warsaw. He and his wife Marylka had a kiosk selling cigarettes and newspapers on Marszałkowska Street. He had recently been demobilised, having been severely wounded during the fight in front of Berlin. His leg was stiff and he walked with difficulty. He told me what had happened.
The three men arrived in Czerniaków without much trouble having only encountered fire from some high ground near the National Museum. They approached the waterfront at Mączna Street, where a lieutenant from a local unit supplied them with a two-man kayak. It was midnight when they all managed to squeeze aboard and started paddling across the river. They avoided being discovered by German searchlights and reached the Praga bank of the river. They ditched the kayak, overturned it and sent it floating down the river. After crossing the embankment, careful to avoid German patrols, Edward, Witold and Czajka made their way east through the once-affluent Saska Kempa district. They came across a stable, where contact was made with a local Polish woman. She informed them that the Germans had taken away all the local Polish men and large numbers of German troops, armour and actively patrolling military police were in the area. The building next door was full of German soldiers. The woman and a friend who joined her decided to move the three men, one by one, to a more secluded location. One of the women left with Czajka and Edward followed with the other. As Czajka reached the designated villa, Edward was spotted by German military police. He managed to hide in the osier willows along the riverbank, but was found by the Germans’ police dog. Edward was taken back to the road, where Germans pretended to release him but as he started to walk away they sent the police dog after him. When Edward turned to look, the dog jumped on his chest and ripped out his throat. The Germans finished him off with a pistol shot to the head. All this took place in front of the two women, who were then told to bury him.
When Witold was told what had happened, he decided that Czajka and he should try to cross the front line separately that night. In the meantime, the woman had him hide inside a cold storage bin in the cel
lar of a nearby villa. That evening Russian heavy artillery fire covered the entire area and was followed by recurring air raids. German soldiers took cover in the cellar and made it impossible for Witold to leave. The next morning, 13 September, German troops began to evacuate the building and by noon the soldiers were gone, though some SS men remained. By nightfall a Russian artillery barrage commenced behind him while there was small arms fire in front. Witold left the building and saw a Russian soldier. He shouted to him in Russian, ‘Do not shoot, I am Polish.’ He was escorted to their battalion headquarters and next to regimental headquarters, where he was well received. The officers all wanted to know what the situation was in Warsaw. He was allowed to wash and shave and was fed. From there he was sent to divisional headquarters, where he was interrogated by three high-ranking staff officers. He gave them information as to the location of the front lines, areas for possible airdrops and the locations of German strongpoints as targets for aerial bombing. Witold described the situation on the waterfront and the best location to cross the river into Warsaw proper. A report of the meeting was prepared and signed. The following morning, after having breakfast in the general officers mess, Witold was taken to the headquarters of Gen. Rola-Zymirski, the commander-in-chief of the Polish People’s Army. He finished the war as his adjutant.
I asked him about Czajka. He said that he had tried to find out what had happened to him, but could not obtain any information from the Russians. He assumed that Czajka didn’t make it. A few months later, in August 1946, I visited Pobóg in Pomerania. To my great surprise and jubilation I found a very gaunt and emaciated Czajka there. He had also made it through the front line, but the Russian soldiers with whom he made contact delivered him immediately to Russian Army counterintelligence. It was the dreaded Smersh (death to spies). He was accused of being a spy collaborating with the Germans and sent to a Siberian Gulag. He had recently been released, after two years, without any explanation, and repatriated to Poland.
My Boyhood War Page 17