Chapter 2

As for me, I was upset and very nervous. I was willing to leave everything as it was, and go.

Mother was more practical. "Radzia, you must take a change of clothing for the girls and yourself, and prepare some sandwiches to eat on the way."

Instead of making sandwiches, I snatched some rings of sausage from the smokehouse, a large loaf of home-baked bread, a good sharp knife, some apples and pears, and we were ready.

The girls hovered close. There was no need to coax them to come along. They were fear stricken; so was I.

I did, however, have difficulty with my 78-year-old father-in-law. He was a guest at the time of the outbreak of the war. I entreated him to come with us. "Grandfather, you as the father of a Polish officer, may be harmed."

He was definite in his reply. "No, I'll stay here and care for your belongings." He somehow was not afraid.

This did not satisfy me, but I could not drag the old gentleman with me, as I resolved to leave matters as they were. The maid was with him, as well as my Aunt Julia, so he would be well taken care of. He enjoyed his daily walks around the home and in the spacious garden.

My husband sent an army truck for us. As an officer's family, we rode in a truck provided for evacuation. The army retreated slowly because of the hundreds of civilians on foot who trailed along. Carts and trucks cluttered the narrow road--all headed in the direction of the indestructible Warsaw. The Polish Army was in flight with this long trail of wagons restricting its movement. We still were in transit, with our destination a question mark.

We stopped in a little village for something to eat, when suddenly the din of airplanes overhead ended our search for food. Self-preservation was more important. A bomb burst nearby and everyone ran for cover.

In the middle of this little town was a square with pretty flowers and dwarf-size bushes. To maintain its trim appearance, a low, wrought iron fence, two feet high, surrounded the plot.

In my panic I decided to cut across the square to find protection from the falling bombs. I lifted one foot over the low fence, when I suddenly found myself impaled on one of its long spikes. At this ill-chosen time, I heard my elder daughter laughing.

"Look, Dana, Mom is stuck on the fence. We'd better help her to get off." Both came running to help.

When I was safely free from my predicament, Dana said, "Mom, you sure looked funny straddling that fence."

Our laughter partially relieved some of the stress of the moment.

We continued our race for cover, although we knew from experience that bombs could go through four-story buildings, and running away from them would not solve anything.

After a few hours of this harassment by the enemy, we reached a good-sized village with farmers still working in the fields.

Various versions of stories reached us; some that Polish officers, shocked by the defeat of the Polish forces, took their lives.

Other rumors: Warsaw had already fallen, and names of some of the officers, who were determined not to be taken prisoners, were mentioned. In their code, no honorable Polish officer became a prisoner. Somehow I could not understand.

Suddenly I remembered. My husband mentioned the honor of a Polish officer was priceless and nothing but death could erase the disgrace of being captured. So this was what was happening.

Hearing that my husband's corps was resting in the dense wood nearby, I told my family to stay close together, while I went in search of the field headquarters stationed somewhere near. I had my Polish I.D. card in case I might be challenged.

Enemy airplanes flew overhead. They might have been informed by spies that a corps of the Polish Army lay in ambush in that area; I tried to avoid open spaces in order not to give help to the enemy in finding our soldiers.

I was frightened for myself and everyone who might be hurt by my stubbornness to get in touch with Edmund by pinpointing their hiding place.

My heart beat fast, but I had to continue. I needed to get in touch with him. I loved him, and just a word of reassurance from my husband would revive the hope I needed now.

I spoke to someone in command and asked for Captain Niewiarowski, but, alas, he was not among them.

One officer did suggest, " I can give you the field telephone number. You can try to contact him; but there's no warranty he'll be there." Seeing my disappointment, he continued, "But you can try. We here will try to notify him there will be a call made to him at a certain hour. Good luck." He saluted and I left the compound. My spirits were greatly uplifted.

Since the time to make the call was four hours away, we decided to check barns to see how they looked inside and what was stored there. We were townspeople who never visited a farm before and we did not know what to expect once we looked inside. We heard moans.

In one corner of the barn lay a dying Polish soldier. He was stretched out on the dirt floor, swollen and unconscious. He was beyond help.

This tragic scene nagged me. My youngest brother, Ted, was a motorcycle courier for the army. Probably he met the same fate as this poor soldier. Alone. Poor Ted; my heart went out to him. We never found him. Eventually, through the Polish Red Cross, we received his keys, which he had in his pockets.

This heartbreaking sight spurred me on to find my beloved husband.

At 4:00 p.m., September 16, 1939, I made contact. "Hello, Darling. This is Radzia. Your family is alive and well! I hope you're feeling fine." I had to talk fast. I didn't know when I would be disconnected. "We have heard rumors that several friends in the army took the defeat so much to heart that they committed suicide. We hope you're not thinking of doing that," I ended. I said all I had to say. I waited for his reply.

"Radzia, I was despondent, not knowing where you and the children were. And this defeat! We weren't ready for it. The General Staff in Warsaw told us we had the strength to hold the German Army, and look what happened. We are prisoners now. Tomorrow the enemy will ship us to a prison camp. Who knows what will happen there. But now, I'm alright, knowing that you and the children are safe and well. Thank you, my dear, for calling. I can now face the future."

Our telephone communication ended, disconnected.

I was glad I made the effort to get in touch with Edmund. I was deeply concerned as to when I would see him or talk to him again.

I returned to my little family sad, but inwardly happy for this rare opportunity to talk with my beloved. It was such a relief to hear him say, "Now I can face the future." I knew he would survive somehow.

Dana and Irene bombarded me with questions. "Mother, did you talk with Daddy? What did he say? How does he feel now since his division surrendered? What's going to happen to Daddy now?

One by one my responses came; and soon we had to be on our way with the caravan.