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RADZIA, AMERICAN PRISONER
IN NAZI-OCCUPIED POLAND
by Radzia Niewiarowski
Distributed by the Polonia Media Network
CHAPTER 5
[Born and educated in America, Radzia accompanied her parents upon their return to Poland. There she marries a Polish Army officer and has two daughters, Irene and Dana. When the Germans invaded Poland in September, 1939, Radzia fled to the countryside. She has returned to Torun, finding her villa intact, but food is becoming scarce. Her husband, Edmund, is a prisoner of war and she has heard nothing from him.]
Early next morning Mother left our villa to see how her dwelling fared during the bombing of the town.
My mother, a tall, energetic woman of 65, a widow, found her eight- room apartment intact. The maid was present at all times, so no pilfering occurred.
She was happy to return to her quarters after the five-week ordeal with us. But as she questioned the maid, Kate, about food problems, she learned about more important affairs.
She found by the stack of official papers heaped on her desk that she now was dispossessed of all her real estate. Notices of confiscation for each of her thirteen five-story apartment buildings informed her that hence all revenues from the buildings would be collected by the Germans ... a revenue of $1,500 a month; that they would assume the administration of all the buildings.
Mother also found a list of rules and regulations regarding her stay in the apartment ... that she was considered a tenant and as such would pay rent for the apartment she occupied. All this occurred when the Germans entered the town, when she was in the countryside with us.
Realizing now that she possessed no property, she reasoned the bank accounts in the various banks would be a sure source of income to draw upon. At the bank, the news was unpleasant. All her accounts had been cancelled by the Nazis.
She consoled herself. She still had her money belt and the silver coins, which the enemy had not yet taken. "No time to worry and brood about my lost wealth. I need a roof over my head. I'll pay the rent and maybe the Germans will leave me alone."
She was mistaken. It was not long before she became a victim of constant harassment ... anonymous letters written to her, accusing her of having a concealed radio, guns, blankets and Polish money, the latter to have been exchanged for German money. She was absent at the time, out there in the farm house for the many weeks with us.
Now, back home, she endeavored to do her best to obey the rules, but her heart was not in it.
CHAPTER 6
[Born and educated in America, Radzia accompanied her parents upon their return to Poland. There she marries a Polish Army officer and has two daughters, Irene and Dana. Although her comfortable villa in Torun was not damaged by bombing at the outbreak of WW II, food is now becoming scarce. The Germans have confiscated her mother's considerable real estate and bank accounts. Moreover, there is still no word of her husband, Edmund, a prisoner of war.]
Meantime, I had problems of my own. The morning after our return and Mother's departure to her apartment, Grandpa informed me the ammunition which my husband had in the villa was not disposed of or turned in to the authorities, only the guns [which he had dropped in the well.] I decided to do something. Where, oh, where was it? Then I remembered. Before our flight on that frightening Sunday afternoon, I had hurriedly hidden the ammo and shells under the linens in the large green trunk.
The trunk was in the glassed-in veranda. I opened the chest and everything was still there, untouched. Quickly I placed all the ammo and shells in a big hemp bag, dragged it down the back stairs of the veranda, across the backyard and pushed it over into the deep septic well nearby. Who knows? The gunpowder may still be there, like the guns, resting peacefully submerged in the well.
Immediately upon finishing this task, a thought flashed through my mind. What happened to Edmund's long, dashing dress sword with the gold-plated hilt and the silver-corded tassel? I'd better find out before the Germans take us all to prison for concealing weapons.
I first approached Grandpa. He probably would know what happened.
"Yes, I know what happened to it." His tone was boastful. "I hid it."
"But where, Grandpa?"
"Well somewhere in the dining room. Neither the Germans nor you will ever find it." He looked cunningly from under his heavy eyebrows.
I proceeded to search the premises, missing nothing. The low cupboard, over the cupboard, behind it, the grandfather clock, the couch, behind the tall, tiled Nuremberg stove. Nowhere. But I didn't give up.
Unconsciously I looked in the direction of the high and wide radiator by the far wall. There it was. Lying diagonally across the width of the silver-painted radiator was a shiny metal streak. Eureka! I found it. After spotting it, it looked like an easy target for the Germans' searching eyes.
I called Maria. "Maria, you and I are going for a walk in the evening before curfew."
As soon as the Germans entered Poland, curfew was established for 9:00 p.m. This rule was to force all persons into their homes. This way, the occupants were readily available for the round-ups which took place at night. Never a night passed but someone was taken away.
Maria was suspicious of something unusual. "What for, Ma'am?"
"We have an important job to do and it must be done tonight."
"Yes, Ma'am. We'll go."
It was a ten-minute walk to the place I mentally selected. We wore coats. It was dark. Maria, being the taller one, carried the sword inside her garment. She held it so the sword would not slip out of its sheath.
I walked beside her. "Maria, please hold the thing so that you do not drop it. We are going to the big pond by the cemetery."
"Ma'am, what do you intend to do?"
"You'll see." We continued in silence, my heart pounding.
Soon we arrived at the pond. The moon was now shining on the sparkling water. At that moment I recalled the story of King Arthur, his knights and the sword, Excalibur.
In winter this pond froze over. Tonight the water glistened in the radiant moonlight.
I took the sword from Maria. I was determined to be wholly responsible for the disposal of my husband's treasured saber.
When Maria saw my intention, she exclaimed, "Ma'am, what a pity to throw that beautiful sword away. I could have hid it in my father's barn in the village."
"No, my dear. This is best. No one will any problem with it anymore."
Then I raised it as high as I could and with all my might I hurled it into the water. It made a big splash, because it was heavy.
It disappeared forever. No chance of its reappearance; nor was there an arm to catch it, as in the story of King Arthur. Maybe some day it will show up in a cake of ice.
"Now that's over. Let's go back and forget about it."
We did not have to wait long for another shock.
CHAPTER 7
[Born and educated in America, Radzia accompanied her parents upon their return to Poland. There she marries a Polish Army officer and has two daughters, Irene and Dana. She, the girls and her mother stayed in the countryside at the outbreak of WW II in September, 1939. Although her comfortable villa in Torun was not damaged by bombing, food is now becoming scarce. The Germans have confiscated her mother's considerable real estate and bank accounts. Moreover, there is still no word of her husband, Edmund, a prisoner of war.]
Soon after our ordeal in the country, a neighbor brought us the latest news. Large notices were being pasted on fences, government buildings and specially made bulletin boards. The order was to give up all warm clothing, pillows and blankets without delay. The notice warned of a house-to-house search. This was to be the last call for the articles.
"Maria, where are all our warm woolen blankets?"
Maria enlightened me. "The Germans have already confiscated them."
"How come Grandpa has his green, woolen one?"
Grandpa replied smugly. "I told them, 'I'm an old man. I need it to keep me warm, as you see, we don't have any heat in the house,' and the Germans with a gesture of disgust left it with me."
"Good for you Grandpa." I patted him on the shoulder.
That same day, I decided to go to town to purchase some foodstuffs. On the way I noticed the big placards notifying the civilian population, under pain of death, to hand over any arms, guns and powder in their possession. It would be considered sabotage otherwise; and the penalty ... death. I was glad we had sunk the items in the deep water.
They took the blankets, the radio, by decree. Oh, yes, the Nazis were covered by every decree in the book. Even tearing off the notices signified sabotage ... if caught.
I continued on my way to town for some food, but my heart was set on returning home to my children. I'll send the maid, I thought. She did so well up to now, probably she already made friends with the shopkeepers, in which case she could purchase the food items better than I. I returned home. I was frightened and afraid anything I did would cause trouble for us.
Just then, soldiers came pounding on the front door demanding warm clothing for displaced Germans, who were being settled on Polish territory. I left the room, soon returning with clothes ... all I could carry in my arms. They asked for warm blankets. "I have only those on the beds to cover us." We were allowed to keep them.
When Maria returned from town, she reported she had no luck. No food. But she did have disturbing news. The Nazi officials had an eye on my luxurious home.
CHAPTER 8
[Born and educated in America, Radzia accompanied her parents upon their return to Poland. There she marries a Polish Army officer and has two daughters, Irene and Dana. Although her comfortable villa in Torun was not damaged by bombing at the start of WW II, food is now becoming scarce. Moreover, warm clothing and blankets had to be given to the Nazis. The Germans have confiscated her mother's considerable real estate and bank accounts. Moreover, there is still no word of her husband, Edmund, a prisoner of war.]
The villa was a showplace with its orchard of various fruit trees. Four acres, with formal landscaping, fertile soil producing many kinds of vegetables, and dwarf-size bushes bearing all sorts of fruits. Our lovely estate.
Why not appropriate the property for a high-ranking Nazi? The Germans decided just that. But I was one step ahead of them. The next morning, when they arrived to check out the home, they found the place empty. All the furniture, rugs, art treasures were gone. I found a mover, who, with the help of Maria, removed every item, including the grand piano and a large painting--a wall-sized copy of Matejko's Battle of Grunwald. The mover did an excellent job of stripping the rooms.
After he stored our possessions on the fifth floor attic in one of my mother's confiscated buildings, I was satisfied.
The next day, to check the thoroughness of the job, I went to inspect the place. Bare walls and floors without rugs gave the place an abandoned and forsaken look. It tugged at my heart. Not expecting to see anyone in the villa, I was stunned to hear conversation in the adjacent foyer. Hesitantly, I approached the door to the large hall. There stood two men, one an S.S. in uniform, the other an ethnic [a Pole of German descent] from our town. A swastika was emblazoned in a red band around his arm.
When the latter turned to see who entered, I recognized him as the owner of the electric appliance shop on Main Street in Torun. Many times I'd accompanied my mother to select items for the remodeled apartments. Surely, he knew I lived here.
The S.S. man, furious at the sight of the empty villa, shrieked madly, "Who are you?"
"I'm the owner of the place."
"What did you come here for?"
I was frightened and shaking. I replied in a meek voice, "I came to pick up some little kitchen items."
My reply angered him and he demanded, "Where are all the furniture, rugs and the rest of the items? Where did you haul the stuff?"
I shook with fright, not knowing what to answer.
The ethnic knew the officer would gain little by shouting and whispered something in his ear.
The S.S. man quickly quieted. He, however, warned me, shaking his finger, "Do not remove anything more from his house. Not even the ring from the kitchen stove, which you are holding in your hand."
I returned it to its place on the stove and swiftly left the villa, well aware of the consequences which might follow.
Although I'd stored my furniture, I had no quarters to live in. In spite of the fact my mother had over 100 apartments, in all the thirteen buildings there was at the moment no vacancy; so my two daughters and I moved in with my mother. My father-in-law, "Grandpa," Auntie and Maria came along with us. We were crowded, but we were happy, with the exception of Grandpa. He could not climb the stairs and had no opportunity to take those long walks in our garden, which he now missed. Deprived of this exercise, he sat and brooded over the future of his beloved Poland. Grandpa passed away in his sleep, November, 1939.
One month later, a two-bedroom apartment in one of the buildings was vacated. After furnishing this small apartment with some of the furniture stored in the attic, we moved in.
From the first day of the war, blackout regulations were enforced. When the Nazis took over, they inspected all the buildings throughout the town for light seepage. All the windows had to be completely covered to prevent chinks of filtered light showing through. Drapes would do; but we had none. Instead, every night we hung the heavy blankets that we had not surrendered to the Germans. To avoid their confiscation, we nailed them to the window frame; mornings we partially removed them to allow daylight to enter.
Once, a guard making the inspection rounds noticed a faint glimmer. He sharply rapped at the window pane, alarming us. From that time on, one of us always checked the windows from the outside.
While still living in the villa, a neighbor, who turned into a German overnight, often brought my daughters some oranges. I wondered why he was so generous. Of course, my daughters, Irene and Dana, appreciated the pleasant surprises.
One day I asked him, "How come you bring oranges to my girls? You and your family can enjoy them also."
He replied, "If you sign papers to become a Volksdeutsch [a Pole of supposedly German background], you can also be eligible to receive these good things. They are only for us. By the way, did you know the Polish soldiers weren't so perfect? You probably didn't hear of this; but, as the Polish Army was retreating, the soldiers captured poor German civilians and nailed their tongues to the tables."
German propaganda! I explained to the ethnic that if the army was withdrawing, the soldiers would not have time for such atrocities. I was disturbed to hear so shocking an accusation made by a supposed friend. I thanked him for his fruit and told him not to bother us anymore. He never returned. Best of all, he did not report us to the authorities, for which I was very thankful.
In January, 1940, two German officers were assigned to live in one of my two bedrooms. My daughters moved out of their room and the officers took possession of it.
It wasn't long before they installed a radio in our living room. Their reason ... the space in their den was inadequate.
That radio was a temptation to us, but I refused to turn it on. Probably this radio was a trap set by the men.
My mother, curious about news from outside the country, could not tolerate the German propaganda. She decided to come to our flat to hear some new hope for living.
The BBC [British Broadcasting Corporation] at 8:00 a.m. daily issued a bulletin about the state of affairs of the world and Poland, in Polish. When the program was over, she returned the dial to its original setting ... she thought.
"Mother," I warned, "We'll get caught and be sent to a labor camp, all of us."
"They're not so smart. They won't know how they left it."
This continued for a week. Every morning, rain or shine, my mother arrived before 8:00 a.m. for her latest edition of information.
Suddenly there was no more radio. My German roomers moved it to their room and locked the door, when they left for duty.
We lived in fear for few days; fear the officers would report us to the authorities for using their radio to listen to the outside world.
Nothing happened. They continued to live there several additional weeks.
CHAPTER 9
[Born and educated in America, Radzia accompanied her parents upon their return to Poland. There she marries a Polish Army officer and has two daughters, Irene and Dana. Although her comfortable villa in Torun was not damaged by bombing at the start of WW II, it has been taken over by a Volksdeutscher, a Pole of German descent. Likewise, the Germans have confiscated her mother's considerable real estate and bank accounts. Her husband, Edmund, is a prisoner of war.]
One bright morning in early Spring, 1940, I went to visit my mother. Looking out the window at her apartment, I noticed a big moving van standing on the street nearby. Four husky fellows were milling around.
Getting to move a family, I thought: "Did someone decide to leave town to live with parents in the country?" Or, maybe because of some illness, the family resolved to move in with a sick member? It wasn't long before I had the real answer to my musings.
Suddenly someone knocked firmly on the door. I opened it. There stood the four burly movers with a long sheet of paper.
Surprised to see them at Mother's door, without giving me time to catch my breath, the head man asked, "Is Mrs. J. in?" Not waiting for an answer, he continued, "We have orders to remove everything from her apartment."
He put his foot in the door and beckoned the others to come in. He scanned the rooms, walking through all eight of them, evidently making a mental picture of where to start.
This apartment had three huge Persian rugs, one of them immense, twelve by sixteen; green brocade living room suite with red mahogany woodwork; a hand-carved oak library set; cupboard; a dining room suite of the same oak wood; china dishes, cut glass, vases, crystal bowls and many works of art by Polish painters.
In the sewing room stood a Singer sewing machine. In days gone by seamstresses had created many pretty garments for our family.
There I stood, wringing my hands. I couldn't stop them. They had orders. My mother was not present ... shopping for our lunch. She could not have stopped them, had she been there. This action of the German authorities was brutal. First they confiscated all her properties, compelled her to pay rent, and now eviction from her own home. What more, or next?
While the workers busied themselves carrying out the furniture, I just stood by the window, helplessly watching them stack the items carefully in the van ... its destination unknown.
A uniformed official entered, scrutinized the place, and gave his okay to the men.
I implored, "Now where should my mother go after all this?"
He looked at me with contempt, responding with a haughty, victorious solution. "She can move in with you." He turned on his heels and left.
My thoughts turned to my 66-year-old mother, wealthy and proud, being left without anything. Of course, she came to live in my meager apartment which the two officers had vacated a few days ago.
