Chapter 1

Droning sounds of German Stukas awakened the slumbering population of Torun early September 1, 1939. They crossed the western boundary of Poland and released their deadly bombs on the airports throughout the country, immobilizing the Polish Air Force, as well as killing many civilians.

This sneak attack by the German fliers destroyed the Polish Air defense. The lack of it made easy for the Germans to gain control of Poland in so short a time--27 days.

Torun was my home town. It was the county seat that contained two officer training schools, the city and county governments. The population of the town in 1939 was 85,000.

It was not just any hamlet. Torun had an old historical background. Founded in the early 13th century at the crossing with the Vistula [Wisla] River, this medieval town flourished. By the 14th century Turn was a powerful member of the Hanseatic League--an important link in the trade of Poland with the countries of Western Europe. At that time the population numbered from 10 to 12,000.

Torun was also the birthplace of Nicholas Copernicus [Mikolaj Kopernik], who played along the narrow medieval streets and, as a youth, walked among the marvelous Gothic structures. This was his home until he moved to Krakow to enter the university.

Now in the 1930s business flourished here as everywhere in Poland. Shops of all kinds thrived. Merchants with great pride exhibited wares in their rich window displays, while the butchers and grocers effectively arranged their stock to catch the eye of the passersby. Various smoked hams alongside thickly sliced cold cuts of sausage lay on pretty platters while large slabs of beef, veal, pork and lamb hung on steel hooks in storage. The grocers were not to be outdone by the butchers. They built high pyramids of fresh fruit and displayed various cheeses to enhance the eye.

Torun abounded in many first-rate coffee shops, where the middle class sipped aromatic coffee and nibbled on delicious French pastry.

Here in this unusual town--part medieval, part modern--about two kilometers [ca. 1-1/4 miles] away lived my family: my 78-year-old father-in-law, a guest; my 85-year-old Aunt Julia; my two daughters, Irene, 12, and Dana, 8; Maria, my helper; my husband, Edmund; and I.

We lived in a spacious two-story villa with a big cemented basement on a four-acre plot of ground. These four acres were a peaceful haven from the hubbub of the busy town not so far away. Our home, a white stuccoed building, was set back about 100 feet from the road. A six-foot-high, white fence with two-inch pickets spaced two inches apart, built on a two-foot-high cement base, separated us from the passing world.

Along the tall front fence blossomed a profusion of lilacs in various shades of purple, pink and white. In springtime the fragrance of the sweet-smelling blooms was overwhelming. Once inside this estate, the well-kept green lawn spread along both sides of the freshly raked graveled walk to the building. Long rows of smiling pansies dancing in the breeze greeted the visitor on each side of the walk.

To the left of the villa there was a formal garden with its low hedges of shiny myrtle forming a border for the many kinds of rose bushes displayed. Here among the various plants, my husband spent his free time from duty as a career officer. Sitting on a low stool, equipped with a sharp knife, raffia straw and rose eyelets, he patiently cut away at the rose, grafting it. Edmund, as time went on, became a skillful gardener. He enjoyed the work. It relaxed him. He had pleasure doing it. For all of us it was an ideal and happy life.

At the time of the bombing, my husband was not at home. He was on duty at Army headquarters.

Although the airport was only six kilometers [ca. 3-3/4 miles], being sound sleepers, we did not hear the explosions as the planes blew up.

Hitler demanded that Poland agree to his annexation of the Free City of Danzig [Gdansk] and give him a free strip of land across the Polish Corridor to connect East Prussia with Germany. The Poles refused. Hitler decided to take the country by force.

Meanwhile, the area newspaper ceased publication. Sabotage took place at the printing plant. One of the workers, supposedly a Pole, but now a turncoat, dismantled an essential portion of the press, thereby stopping the printing of the news. That same afternoon the German police entered the shop and arrested the editor. That was the end of the free Polish press in Torun.

Now news came by word of mouth. People huddled close to the radio for news of the day. Strains of soft melodious music of Chopin now filled the air, interrupted only for the news Warsaw imparted to her people about her allies. Questions like, "Will France and England, our allies, come to our rescue and when?" kept us in a state of great suspense. Meanwhile, Polish Radio called for mobilization of the army, ordering all men to age 45 to report for general mobilization.

When, unexpectedly, my husband came home for lunch, I asked him, "What's going on that you don't keep regular hours?"

With sadness he uttered, "I'll be coming home less often now. There's something brewing in the air ... a war" Impulsively he took me in his arms, embraced me tenderly, kissed me affectionately and said, "Take good care of our girls." My handsome, dashing husband left.

I was sad and worried. I wished the war would hurry and start, just to get it over with. Polish authorities had assured us we were well-prepared for all eventualities. Supposedly, over our capitol a huge screen was stretched to prevent any damage by bombs. What nonsense! And yet, we believed it.

The General Chief of Staff, when addressing the soldiers a few days before the war, said, "We will not give up one button to the enemy." The army cheered and cheered. September 1st came and the defense of Poland collapsed.

The civilian population now resorted to the radios for word of help from our great allies. None came. At first, as waves of planes approached and passed over our home, we thought they were ours and waved to them.

Mother, concerned about our welfare, came to see how we fared, now that the enemy planes were regularly flying over our town.

The children, Grandpa, Mother and I sat spellbound by the radio, listening for any good news. We sat gripped with fear.

It was 3:00 p.m. when the milkman arrived with our daily supply of dairy products. This afternoon, as soon as he entered the kitchen, he shouted at the top of his voice, "They're the Germans! Go under cover or to the basement."

Hearing this warning in the dining room, Mother, the children and I hurried for protection from the bombs. Shaky with fright and scared, we were now panicky. On our way to the shelter, we were immobilized. A deafening noise cut through the air. We stood riveted to the floor. We could not make our way to the basement. We remained in the kitchen, Mother shielding sobbing Irene, and I, terror-stricken, Dana, with our arms and bodies. We, also, were frightened. Soon it was all over, except for the huge amounts of cement dust still in the air. Thank God, we were safe. The planes scurried away. Our villa walls, the thickness of two bricks, withstood the sudden destructive blasts.

It was now quiet. We shook the dust from our hair and garments, then went outside to see what had happened to cause the dreadful noise, with all the mortar spreading in the rooms.

Four bombs fell near the house, one in the garden, 50 feet away, one in the street to the right of our home, and two hit a newly constructed four-story building 100 feet to our left; it was totally demolished.

We heard cries and screams of the members of families left alive. We didn't investigate; we panicked. Another wave of enemy planes followed, but this time they flew to another target. Where shortly before people lived and enjoyed life, now a great heap of rubble, bricks and broken boards lay. It was hard to believe that all the occupants, mostly helpless women and children, were buried under the debris! Eleven persons were killed by this merciless bombing.

On the first day of September, I had resolved that no matter what happened, I would remain in my home. But with the bombing so close by, I changed my mind. I wanted out and away immediately, if possible, with the army. That, according to my thinking, was the safest way out. It was, however, not the best solution.

Many persons had the same idea, of leaving everything and following the army. This exodus of the citizenry impeded the movements of the army, thus giving the German planes easy targets to bomb and harass by descending low enough to cause havoc all around, not discounting the mental anguish suffered by the retreating Polish Army.