Chapter 18

In March, 1941, Irene reached her fourteenth year. Her education was finished. She was assigned to a tailor shop. There she worked diligently to keep her job and not be sent to a labor camp.

I don't recall her being paid for her services. She was at least safe from deportation to a camp.

During this time, when in need of factory labor, the Nazis made frequent unexpected raids during the night, taking whomever they found in the homes. Those kidnapped landed in various labor camps. Irene was safe for awhile.

Excitement and fear increased among the townspeople. Men were being taken at night and sent along with the army to help support it. Every day news spread that John L., Frank G., were gone; finally Irene's boss wanted to see me.

"Mother, Mr. S. wants to talk to you."

Her statement frightened me. "What for?"

"He wants to tell you about me."

"And what is it? Do you know what he wants to talk to me about?"

"Yes, Mother. He wants to propose that you turn Volksdeutsch [one who claimed or accepted German nationality]. Then he would sponsor me and I would be safe from deportation." She spoke in a timid voice.

"Irene, darling, it just happens I made arrangements with two American-born women, Sophie and Kitty, to go to the Swiss Embassy in Berlin to take care of my U.S. citizenship. But I will go to Mr. S. to see what he has in mind."

"My daughter's employer presented his case. "Mrs. Niewiarowski, Irene is a very good worker and very capable. It would be wise for her to go to school for further training. But as it is, she is not permitted to go further. You need to change your status from Polish to Volksdeutsch. This can be done with little trouble. With the proper I.D. card comes lots of benefits in food, including meat and white flour. Irene is a frail child and she needs good, wholesome food to keep well."

"Mr. S., I have already made arrangements to go to Berlin."

He looked surprised.

"I will see about my citizenship. As you probably know, I am a native-born U.S. citizen. I will not decide to be a Volksdeutscher, if I don't need to. I hope to get a pass from the police to leave day after tomorrow." I left with a satisfied feeling.

It was after my conversation with Irene's boss that I went to visit my very good and close friends in town.

Kate greeted me. " Well, Radzia, now you look happy and satisfied, as in the pre-war days."

"Why? Why should I be any different today from yesterday? Nothing changed for me."

Surprised, she exclaimed, "Didn't you sign the Volksdeutsch list today? You know, it was the last day and those who don't sign up will be in great trouble."

"No, Kate, I didn't sign it. I'm going to the Swiss Embassy in Berlin in a few days to inquire about my political status. When I return, I'll tell you all about it."

We then resumed our conversation about the scarcity of food. Kate informed me she would be receiving some of the luxury items. She was sorry for me and my children.

As time passed, the officers in the camp were allotted a parcel of ground to grow a garden. My husband knew the value of a plot of ground from pre-war days. It gave him a sense of fulfillment and peace of mind. The garden prospered under his untiring and patient care. Vegetables sold to fellow prisoners gave Edmund a little income. This was augmented with the winnings over the poker table.

One time he mailed me 600 German marks. That was an enormous amount of money. But I really could not purchase anything of value or extra food, because of my Polish status. Of course, had I declared myself Volksdeutsch, there would have been no limit to the goodies I could purchase. The Volksdeutsch card was the official entree to all the shops.

For the time I had the German marks, I did not need to barter clothes. The marks were sufficient for my regular trips to the countryside.

My children also did not long for the various items still on sale in the shops. The war weaned them of the goodies. We subsisted on the nutritious barley soup and the dark, chewy bread. Once in awhile I could buy, from under the counter through my cousin, a small ring of sausage. The ethnic [Polish of German descent] farmer took chances selling dairy products to a Polish woman.

With some of this money, which he could from time to time mail me, I bought food items in the meagerly outfitted stores for the underprivileged.

Now I used some of it to purchase a round-trip ticket to Berlin. On the way I hoped to stop in Grossborn, my husband's detention camp, which was on the same route to Berlin. I prepared a shoebox of goodies ... some sausage, hard-boiled eggs, a small carton of cookies and some candy.

In the morning of the next day, I met my two American friends at the appointed time in the railroad station. Upon spotting the shoebox, which I carried under my arm, Kitty asked, "Why the shoebox? We can get something to eat in Berlin, when we arrive there."

"Of course, we can. But this I'm taking to my husband. I'm planning to get off at Grossborn, which I noticed is on the way to Berlin. I do so want to take it to him, as well as to see him. It's been such a long time."

"Well, lots of luck to you, but I doubt if you'll get to see him."

"I'll never know until I try," I added, while the train went clickety-clack over the rails.

When we reached the Grossborn station, I left the train with my shoebox. The other continued on to Berlin. (We stranded Americans intended to arrange for our passage on a Swedish ship.)

I didn't know the direction to the officers' camp, but with my knowledge of the German language, I soon found myself walking in the right direction.

It was a long half-hour walk outside the town, along a dusty road. Soon in the distance I saw a high wire fence stretching for miles. My heart felt compassion for the inmates.

Coming closer, I noticed a barbed wire topping the fence. Tall guard houses loomed at frequent intervals.

I walked very slowly, hoping to attract attention. Maybe one of the prisoners would come close enough for me to ask for my husband.

Alas! No one was about ... in fact, it looked deserted. I walked to the entrance gate. Grossborn Oflag [Officers' Camp]. Here thousands of Polish officers were confined.

Hesitantly, I pulled the knocker on the gate. I waited a few minutes, my heart pounding.

A German guard talked to me through the bars. "What do you want?" he asked curtly. "Do you have a pass."

"I didn't think I needed one," I answered very quickly, adding, "I'm on my way to Berlin to the Swiss Embassy to try to obtain transportation to the United States."

"Wait here. I'll talk to the commanding officer."

After waiting ten long minutes, I was still on the outside of the gate, clutching my shoebox. At last I was admitted into the office of the commanding officer.

There sat a middle-aged officer. "What is your business here?" asked the officer in a defiant voice.

"I am Mrs. Niewiarowski. My husband is here as a prisoner and I would like to see him. I also have news for him. I will be going to the United States with our two young girls, and I thought he should be notified. I also brought some food for him. It's here in this box." To be so naive to think I could accomplish this so easily! I soon realized how wrong I was. The officer of the day began to rattle off the rules of violations of the camp, pertaining to an appearance of persons, especially an American woman without authorization papers or a permit to visit a prisoner in camp.

"Well, first of all, you had no business coming here. You cannot see him. And he is not to know about your transport to America. Here is a piece of paper. Write him a letter, but not a word about America. You can leave the box here. We'll take care of that." My stomach knotted. Quickly he pushed a slip of paper in front of me.

I felt faint at what he said. Not to meet my husband after all my efforts and longing to see him. Then, to write a letter about what? The weather? Not to mention America! What else, if not the most important fact that we might soon leave for the United States.

I reluctantly gazed at it, and finally decided not to write anything but a short note: "Dear Edmund, I was here. Your wife, Radzia."

When the officer read my brief note, he was furious. His face turned red and he swore in German.

Since I couldn't give my husband my reason for coming to the camp, I decided not to write anything.

It was an unheard of thing to visit the compound, but I, in my naivete, did it.

The C.O., now composed, stood up and warned me, "Mrs. Niewiarowski, you have only two hours to leave the premises of the camp and the town. If you are not on the next train, 4:00 p.m., to Berlin, you will suffer the consequences." I was frightened and sad.

It was 2:00 p.m. already. Upon hearing such a threat, I decided to speed my departure from the area. With a sinking heart I walked past the tall fence, hoping to see someone. Unfortunately, no one was in sight. I returned to the railroad station and was soon on my way to Berlin. How I longed to touch my husband and feel his arms around me.

I didn't wish to be left behind. If I disobeyed the officer, a squad car would be watching out for me to put me away in another camp.

I reached Berlin in a few hours, and my friends, Sophie and Kitty, waited for me at the railroad station. I was happy to see them.

The next morning we arrived at the Swiss Embassy. There I saw many Polish American women waiting their turn in line.

When it was my turn, I asked the secretary for information concerning the transports. "Yes, there is a transport of Americans leaving May 8th." It was now the end of April, 1941. "Do you want your name put on the list?"

Suddenly faced with this question ... just one week to get ready ... I answered, "No, I can't go next week. What will I do with all my belongings? Just leave them?" I did not know at this time that this could really happen. "No, I can't go next week. Is there another transport in the near future?"

"Yes, there is one May 15th."

"I have two daughters. I'd like them added to the list along with me."

"That's impossible."

"Well, then my answer is a definite No."

The three of us, Sophie, Kitty and I, left the Embassy without accomplishing our mission. On the way back they questioned me about my visit to my husband. "What? You didn't see him? What happened that you missed seeing him? Did the German officer give you any trouble? How about the shoebox?"

With sadness, I answered all their questions. Having arrived home, each went her way.

As we parted for home no one was quite sure what would happen next. I kept in touch with Sophie and, when in town, I visited her and was informed of the latest news from the front. She had a radio hidden in her apartment and thereby was well-informed of the happenings in the world.