The Danzig Corridor

by Paul R. E. Jarvis

  The longer he waited, the more these thoughts played on his mind. Out of habit, Henry kept looking at his wrist where his watch used to be. Maybe Viktor has no intention of returning.

  ‘Do you think he’s been caught?’ Tommy whispered, catching him by surprise.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘But he is taking his time, isn’t he?’

  Finally, a lone figure appeared on the path at the foot of the hill and headed towards them.

  ‘Is that him?’ Tommy nudged Henry.

  ‘I think so, but let’s stay hidden until we’re sure he doesn’t have company.’

  The two British soldiers scrutinised the man as he approached. At about a hundred yards, they recognised him. Once satisfied the man was alone, Henry stood up from behind the bush and waved the tall Pole over.

  ‘The city is full of Germans,’ he said. ‘We haven’t got long. Put these on.’

  He threw the bag on the floor and looked around nervously as the two men grabbed at it like vultures at a dead animal’s carcass. They pulled out the items of clothing and stripped off their torn and dirty uniforms. The clothes did not fit them perfectly, but they were much less conspicuous. Stuffing their belongings into the holdall, they looked to Viktor for guidance as to what to do next.

  ‘Wash your face,’ he said, pointing at the stream.

  As they splashed ice-cold water over themselves, he continued to talk. ‘Big gathering. Nazis. Come, we’d better go quick.’

  He slung the bag over his shoulder, then set off back down. The two British soldiers hurried after him.

  ‘We can’t walk together,’ said Henry. ‘We’ll arouse too much suspicion. Viktor. You go first. I will be twenty seconds behind you and Tommy, I want you walking on the other side of the street, okay?’

  They nodded.

  ‘Whatever happens, we can’t lose sight of Viktor,’ he said.

  ‘What do we do if we become separated?’ Tommy asked.

  ‘Go bakery on Hucisko Street,’ the Pole said.

  ‘Good,’ said Henry. ‘But what if we can’t find it? We can’t ask anyone, can we?’

  ‘Big church on Piwna Street. You can see it from docks. No miss it, too big.’

  ‘Excellent!’ the blond soldier replied. ‘Let’s get moving.’

  The two British soldiers followed, some distance behind the tall Pole. As he entered the city, Viktor noticed the atmosphere had changed. The streets had been empty, but now the pavements were packed. Everyone was talking enthusiastically as they walked along. Many wore Nazi emblems on armbands; others carried flags and banners. It felt like returning from a football match on a Saturday afternoon. People chatted excitedly as if there had been a home win. Henry pulled down the peak of his cap, his eyes never leaving Viktor’s back.

  It was difficult to follow him in the crowd. Occasionally, he would catch a glimpse of the bag Viktor carried, reassuring him they were heading in the right direction. Similarly, Tommy battled his way through the people on the opposite pavement. For Viktor, it was even harder. People recognised him. He would smile and nod politely but walked on relentlessly.

  An old customer spotted him, grabbing him by the arm. He started asking about his family. Frustrated, Viktor made polite conversation as Henry continued past.

  ‘When did you get back?’ the old man asked.

  ‘A few days ago. Zofia and the kids are with my parents in Olsztyn.’

  ‘What did you think of the rally? The speaker was excellent, wasn’t he?’

  ‘It was good,’ Viktor said. ‘I’m really sorry, I have to hurry back to light the ovens in the bakery, so they are ready for today.’

  ‘Oh! Don’t let me keep you. It’s been lovely bumping into you. Maybe I’ll pop round to see you tomorrow. It would be good to catch up.’

  Viktor thanked him and then set off once more.

  Breaking into a sweat every time he passed someone in uniform, Viktor tried to locate his friends. To make matters worse, a company of German guards marched down the street back towards their barracks.

  Eventually, he spotted Henry and Tommy up ahead.

  ‘Hello again,’ said the voice from behind him.

  Viktor turned and saw the police officer who had stopped him in the street earlier.

  ‘Did you get your washing done?’ he asked, nodding towards the bag.

  Viktor’s heart sank. This was all he needed, a friendly policeman.

  ‘No, my wife was at the rally,’ he said as the British soldiers walked past. ‘I’m afraid I have to rush off. I need some sleep before I have to be back at work,’ said Viktor, praying the officer would not look in the holdall again. ‘We have to start loading again in a couple of hours.’

  ‘No rest for the wicked. Sleep well.’

  Where had the other two gone? He negotiated the crowd, frantically searching for his two friends. Thankfully, he found them standing in a doorway, a few hundred yards from where the policeman had stopped him. He smiled apologetically.

  Viktor reached the bakery first. Letting himself in, he relit the lamp on the kitchen windowsill. Henry was next to arrive, closely followed by Tommy. Once everyone was inside, breathing a huge sigh of relief, he locked the door.

  ‘Welcome,’ Viktor announced with a warm smile.

  29

  Henry’s slumber was finally disturbed by the gnawing ache of a full bladder. He tried to ignore it, but the discomfort became unbearable. Flinching as his feet made contact with the ice-cold linoleum, he yawned. He rubbed his eyes as they contended with the sunlight streaming through the threadbare curtains.

  The room was relatively spartan. A brightly coloured, cross-stitched picture hung on the wall at the foot of the bed. On top of a rickety table in the corner rested a ceramic washbowl next to a well-loved teddy bear. A snore emanated from Tommy, who remained fast asleep in a single bed adjacent to his. Henry smiled, content in the knowledge he was no longer a prisoner, even if he was now on the run.

  Viktor knocked on the door, making Henry jump.

  ‘Breakfast soon,’ he said, placing down two steaming jugs of water on the table. ‘I’ve got razor blades and soap.’

  Tommy put his hand to his mouth and yawned while nodding his appreciation.

  ‘Thanks, Viktor. But I think we’ll keep our beards, so we’re not so easy to recognise.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right,’ said the blond corporal. ‘Any Nazi sympathiser between here and Berlin will be looking for us.’

  ‘I hate having a beard,’ Henry confessed. ‘It’s so itchy, but we have to change our appearance. The entire German Army will be looking for us.’

  Viktor disappeared downstairs, leaving Henry to stagger over to the table and pour some water into the bowl. He washed his hands and face before letting out another yawn. Next, he took one of the razor blades and tidied the edges of his already shaggy face. Once finished, he admired his neat, rudimentary beard in the mirror. Sadly, it would be a few weeks before his facial hair would provide an adequate disguise. Slipping on the clothes from the previous night, he set off in search of a lavatory.

  In the kitchen, their host removed some freshly baked bread from the oven, while a kettle boiled on the stove.

  ‘You must have woken early,’ Henry said, taking a seat at the table.

  ‘Not really. Missing my wife.’

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Just after midday.’

  ‘Gosh, I didn’t realise it was that late.’

  ‘You needed the sleep,’ he said, sounding like a parent talking to a child.

  ‘I wanted to say thank you for helping us escape and letting us stay here. We appreciate everything you’ve done.’

  Viktor smiled uncomfortably, not used to receiving compliments.

  The two men stood in awkward silence, Henry realising he hardly knew this man.

  ‘Viktor, something’s been bothering me,’ he said tentatively.

  ‘What?’ he asked, turning out the bread onto a wire rack.

 
‘Surely the Germans know your address from when they captured you in Olsztyn. Won’t they come straight here?’

  ‘I used wrong name. All fine, all fine.’

  ‘That was quick thinking, but why?’

  ‘Protecting my family. The soldiers hurt my father,’ said Viktor. ‘I wanted everyone safe.’

  Tommy bounced into the room and interrupted the conversation inadvertently.

  ‘For the first time in a long while, I feel human. So, what’ve we got to eat, Viktor?’ he asked.

  ‘Only bread and coffee. I’m sorry.’

  Without invitation, Henry cut the loaf and tore a slice in two. Smothering each piece with butter, he waited for it to partially melt. The flavour was terrific, far better than anything he had eaten in the last few months. The three men ate hungrily, savouring every morsel.

  ‘This beats that awful brown bread they served in the work camp,’ said Tommy.

  ‘Sure does,’ Henry said. ‘What’s the plan for today?’

  ‘You two must hide,’ Viktor replied, spreading jam. ‘I’m going out.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ asked Henry, still worrying their host would return with some Germans.

  ‘Must go bank then buying a few things.’

  ‘Great. I’m sorry we can’t contribute financially,’ Tommy said sincerely.

  ‘Have you any thoughts on how we can get home?’ Henry asked.

  ‘My cousin,’ Viktor said.

  ‘Can he be trusted?’ Tommy asked anxiously.

  Henry kicked him for asking such an ungracious question.

  ‘Of course,’ said Viktor with warm reassurance. ‘He very good man.’

  Tommy rolled up the last piece of bread and ate it before finishing the remnants of the coffee.

  The two soldiers cleared the table and began washing up at the large kitchen sink.

  ‘Tell us about your cousin,’ Henry said while Viktor straightened his tie in front of the mirror.

  ‘Gregori,’ he said. He’s fisherman in Gdynia.’

  ‘Where’s Gdynia?’ asked Tommy.

  ‘Eighteen miles west.’

  ‘Aren’t there fishermen in Danzig you could ask? Wouldn’t it be easier to use one of them?’

  ‘Danzig was German until the last war,’ he said politely. ‘Can’t trust here. Gregori is good Polish. Good Polish.’

  The two British soldiers listened intently as Viktor continued.

  ‘So, you’re saying the population around here are mostly German sympathisers,’ Henry said. ‘That explains the attendance at last night’s meeting in the city square.’

  Viktor nodded.

  ‘I see,’ said Tommy. ‘But won’t this Gdynia place have been captured during the invasion too?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Viktor, ‘but Polish, not German.’

  ‘It seems to make sense,’ Henry reflected. ‘We’ll trust your judgement.’

  ‘So, when do we meet your cousin?’ Tommy asked eagerly.

  ‘I go on my own. I ask him. Too risky for you.’

  Reluctantly, the British soldiers agreed.

  ‘You two stay here. I’ll be back before dark.’

  ‘Fine, we understand,’ said Henry, looking for a nod of approval from Tommy. ‘How is your cousin going to help?’

  ‘He crosses the Baltic often,’ Viktor said. ‘He goes to Sweden. They have better fish prices. He take a letter to the English in Stockholm.’

  ‘You mean to the British Consulate,’ Henry said, trying to follow what Viktor was saying.

  ‘Yes,’ said Viktor. ‘They arrange boat to take you home.’

  ‘Why don’t we go with him?’ Tommy asked.

  ‘Too risky for him if caught,’ Viktor said. ‘This best way.’

  Henry agreed. Tommy nodded grimly.

  ‘Gregori usually come home on Wednesday for Thursday’s market,’ he said. ‘You write letter now.’

  After discussing what they should write, the two British soldiers set about composing their letter. Henry wanted to keep the text suitably vague, in case the letter fell into the wrong hands, but it had to contain enough detail to explain their situation adequately. It might raise some awkward questions, particularly around how they ended up in Poland, but that didn’t matter right now. They decided it was better to avoid writing their names. Instead, they included their service numbers, so if the letter arrived in London, Major Fosdyke would be informed. Tommy had the idea of describing themselves as ‘Escaped Prisoners of War,’ hoping it would encourage the British government to repatriate them quickly. Henry was not sure.

  When they were both happy with the content, Henry neatly folded the sheet of paper before placing it into a small, brown envelope which Viktor had provided.

  ‘Hang on! Today’s Wednesday, isn’t it?’ Tommy said in realisation.

  ‘Yes,’ said Viktor. ‘Must go now,’ he said, pocketing the letter and putting on his overcoat and cap before locking the two men in the house.

  Tommy made more coffee on the stove, while, through the yellowed net curtains, Henry watched Viktor disappear down the alleyway.

  ‘Do you think we’re safe here?’ Tommy asked.

  ‘As safe as we can be,’ he said nervously. ‘Remember, Viktor’s neck is on the line too.’

  ‘But waiting here is torture.’

  ‘I know it’s frustrating, but all we can do is lie low and hope Viktor and his cousin come through for us.’

  ‘I swear I’ll go crazy being locked up in here.’

  Be patient. Being here is much better than being in a cell. Anyway, I think we need an escape strategy.’

  ‘Isn’t that what Viktor is trying to organise?’

  ‘No, I mean a plan, just in case the Germans come looking for us here.’

  ‘Oh! What do you have in mind?’

  30

  Viktor hurried down the high street, becoming increasingly self-consciousness. A constant pang of nausea gripped him, causing perspiration to run down his chest. He knew he had to do this, so he kept his head down, avoiding eye contact with anyone.

  After twenty minutes, he was still only third in the queue at the bank, stuck behind a rotund lady carrying a wicker basket and a frustrated-looking businessman in a dark suit. The red second hand on the clock ahead of him moved slowly. Behind him stood a middle-aged man dressed in an overcoat and a fur hat. Viktor did not recognise him, but the man continually glared at him.

  A cashier rang a bell. Viktor looked up and realised he was at the front of the line. Beckoning him to the desk, she smiled politely. He tried his best to act naturally, smiling back as genuinely as he could. Handing over his bank book, he requested a modest withdrawal from his account. The cashier selected several banknotes from a hidden drawer. She counted the notes methodically before stamping his paperwork and placing the money inside the front cover. Thanking her, he stuffed the book into his jacket pocket. On his way out, he passed the people waiting in the line. The man in the fur hat was still staring at him.

  Unsettled, he walked the short distance to the grocers where he bought some odds and ends, beads of sweat collecting on his forehead as he paid. As he left the shop, the man in the hat came out of the bank. Viktor smiled lamely, but the man scowled back. Feeling besieged, he crossed the road.

  The man was walking parallel with him on the other side of the street. He was certain the Germans were onto him. After a few yards, he glanced across. It took him several seconds to locate the man in the hat—now some distance behind, heading in the opposite direction. Breathing a massive sigh of relief, he proceeded down a side road, entering a familiar yard.

  The warehouse seemed to have remained undamaged by the recent conflict.

  ‘Hello, Viktor,’ said a voice, startling him.

  ‘Hi, Kasper,’ he replied, recognising him instantly.

  ‘I haven’t seen you for a while. How are you?’ asked Mr Kosinski, the local flour merchant. ‘I thought you and your family headed east to stay with your parents.’

  ‘
We did. Zofia and the kids are still there, but I’m back now. I thought I’d drop in and say hello. You seem unscathed despite everything that’s gone on.’

  ‘We were fortunate,’ said Kasper, one of Viktor’s oldest friends. ‘It was a terrible business. I think you made the right choice. You know, leaving when you did.’

  ‘Are Ioana and the children all right?’

  ‘Yes, the wife’s okay. But the little ones were a bit shaken by the invasion. Things have settled down now. Well mostly,’ he said, lowering his voice. ‘We’re worried about our eldest, though. He’s volunteered for the Wehrmacht.’

  ‘No!’ Viktor said in disbelief. ‘How did Ioana take that?’

  ‘She cried for days. But there wasn’t anything we could do—he’s old enough to make his own decisions. We’re just praying he’ll be okay.’

  ‘I’m sure he will be. Does he buy into this Nazi stuff?’

  ‘Not really. They were recruiting in the centre of Danzig, and those who didn’t ‘volunteer’ tended to disappear. Anyway, enough about my woes. How’s your family?’

  ‘They’re well. I’d thought they’d be safer staying in Olsztyn.’

  ‘Very wise, as always. Are you opening up the bakery again?’

  ‘I’m not sure yet. There’s a little bit of damage which needs repairing first.’

  ‘I can come and give you a hand if you’d like.’

  ‘No, it’ll be fine.’

  ‘Why don’t you have a drink before you leave?’

  ‘I don’t mind if I do,’ he said, hoping to lose the man with the hat for good.

  The two men sat in Kasper’s cramped office. Pouring two cups of coffee from a flask, the flour merchant handed one to him. ‘Things have changed. Shortly after the invasion, a German officer came here demanding I supply the Wehrmacht. To be honest, I wasn’t given much of a choice. They pay well enough, mind you, but I barely have enough to supply my customers.’