Chapter 36

The S.S. Gripsholm, a ship built in 1925 by the Swedish American Line, weighing 18,134 tons, was designed for passenger service between Europe and the United States. It was over 550 feet in length; its width was more than 74 feet and its depth was 37 feet.

During World War II, it served as a diplomatic exchange ship. It traveled both ways under safe conduct from all the warring countries. It returned enemy nationals to their homelands and brought Americans back to the United States.

Standing on the pier, we could see the Swedish flag fluttering in the wind. A large Red Cross was painted on the smokestack. This mercy ship carried in its belly almost 1,000 persons, including wounded American soldiers. This steamer was to deliver us safely to our country across the dangerously wide Atlantic Ocean, while the war still raged in Europe and in the Far East.

Upon boarding the vessel we received a cabin for the four of us, Mother, Irene, Dana and me.

We did not sail that day, or the next. We just lay at anchor in the harbor. We could not understand the reason for the delay. No reason was given for its detention. No shore leave for anyone. We had ample time now to explore the ship.

I was interested in checking the huge vessel: the various luxurious rooms with their red plush chairs, the vast dining rooms, the huge, round tables covered with immaculate, white tablecloths already set for the meals, the innumerable staterooms with friends already in them, the open promenade decks, and the other unique features of this vast and elegant liner.

I wondered how we would feel, when once the spacious ship would leave the port and move into the open sea. But there was time for that. We still were anchored in port.

The chimes rang for a meal. The masses congregated at the door. The steward assigned us to a table in the grand dining room. The napkins, like the tablecloths, were snow white, large enough to cover our laps. Having been seated, we noticed the individual menu cards from which to make a choice. What delicacies! Chicken, duck, roast pork, and beef from which to choose! Then the dessert was another exciting selection. I was overwhelmed with options. My thoughts went back to the poor Polish people, who were the unfortunate victims of this war and who were struggling for their subsistence.

As for me, visions of black bread and red beet jam, the tasteless barley coffee, and the watered-down gray soup, which was our daily fare in the camp, flashed in my mind. What a contrast! No end to the delicacies here on the ship!

In our free time we walked around, observing many things. One day I noticed a bulletin. There hung a radio message of the ongoing conference in Yalta with President Roosevelt, Stalin and Churchill.

At the time, I was not politically inclined and little did I realize what the conference meant to the lives of the people living in the country to be divided.

It was time to sail. All passengers lined the decks as the Gripsholm moved slowly away from the shore. Leaning on the railing, my thoughts were now of Poland ... the beloved country of my marriage and family years; the times when my children were born and reared in the splendor of the villa and its surrounding garden; the happiness and privileges bestowed upon me by my loving husband. My aunt was gone, my father-in-law, likewise, our beautiful home and all our worldly possessions ... all were gone.

Burdened with sadness, the chimes for dinner brought me back to the ship. I joined my family. We were together again after suffering over five years of uncertainty. My happiness lacked a measure of enthusiasm and joy in the fact that my husband would not be in America with us.

Many days and nights the sky was covered with gray clouds, which foretold a rough sea. My family of four enjoyed the violent rocking, felt no fear and kept their healthy appetites. We were good sailors. None of us was seasick. There was much room for promenading now, because most of the passengers stayed in their bunks.

I remember standing on deck in my warm green coat with a warm scarf around my head and neck. The sharp wind blew and whisked the sea to a white froth. The high, billowy waves rocked the S.S. Gripsholm from side to side and heaved it up and down. As the bow sank with each engulfing wave, the heavy rudder hinged at the stern hung suspiciously up in the air, shaking like a leaf and looking as if it would snap and fly away; a moment later, down went the stern and up came the prow. The turbulent sea tossed our ship about as if it were a mere matchbox. At such moments I wondered if we would ever make it to the United States. Besides, what with the war on and the U-boats that might have been about in the water below, and the sounds of the creaking beams, as if the big ship would break in two, all of this sent shivers down my back. But, as with every storm, there came a beneficent calm. Finally, we hit quiet sea.

After ten days of sailing and one day out from New York, a sanitation crew by launch from the mainland for the purpose of delousing us. Showers were next in order. We disrobed, stood stripped in front of shower taps and, each armed with a bar of good old Fels Naptha soap, we rubbed it on vigorously, while warm water automatically flushed over us; we wanted to scrub away the dirt and sweat of the many years of war. Soon we were a very shining and good smelling group of prisoners.

Early the next morning we could hear the excited passengers, as they sped past our cabin, shouting joyfully "good morning" to each other and stopping for a minute to say, "Oh, we're here at last. We can see land 'way in the distance."

"Oh, God, is it really true that we are so close to my native shore?" I asked myself. My land! My native land! I was overwhelmed with joy. Tears trickled down my cheeks.

Hurriedly, we finished dressing and, with jubilance radiating from our faces, greeting everyone with a smile along the way, we made our way to the deck. Way out there on the western horizon, a faint line could be seen. There was enough time to return to our cabin to tidy it. We also had a hearty breakfast. Looking around in the dining room, I noticed all the tables were filled ... all the passengers were suddenly well. Surprising! All were smiling and cheerfully conversing with each other. What a joyous scene this was!

We were again on deck. Men and women walked about, fervently chatting with each other. "Isn't it wonderful that we are here at last ... we're here at last," they repeated. They tried to approach the railing of the ship to see better. Then, as one of the passengers looked intensely into the horizon, he shouted, "I can see far out. There in the distance I can see something, but at the moment I can't discern what it is; but there is something high above the land."

Both the girls, with their sharp eyes and keen vision, cried out excitedly, "Mom, we can distinguish an outline, but at this point we don't know what it is."

As we neared and were within seeing distance, with a surge of emotion in my voice and a radiant smile on my lips, I cried out, "That's the Statue of Liberty, my darlings." I tingled with emotion. We congratulated each other, hugged and kissed, and tears flowed down our cheeks from happiness.

"Grandma, how do you feel now that you're going back to the United States? See, 'way in the distance is the Statue of Liberty. Can you see it already?" Mother's eyesight was failing.

"Yes, I see it, I see it," Mother answered in a quivering voice. "Oh, what a happy and thrilling experience. I'll never forget it."

"Neither will I," chirped Dana.

As in the beautiful poem by Emma Lazarus, "Liberty" welcomed us to this great country. Suddenly my throat had a lump in it, my nose twitched and my eyes filled with tears; I sobbed with rapture and great emotion.

"This regal lady, at whose feet

the broken shackles of slavery lay,

cried with silent lips to us,

'Give me your tired, your poor,

your huddled masses yearning to be free,

the wretched refuse of your teeming shore,

send these the homeless, tempest tossed to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door.'"

How true, how true. We were the poor, the homeless, the wretched victims of Nazi Germany, and we would seek haven in this, our own land.

Approaching closer, we knew that now we were safe from any U-boat attack, and also from the clutches of the hated, feared Gestapo. Everyone beamed with happiness and walked about as in holiday fashion, arm in arm, confiding to each other.

Finally, quietly at first, then louder from somewhere down below, a sound of harmonica music drifted and, with a curiosity not before shown, passengers flocked to the place from which the music came. Down in the lower deck sat a wounded U.S. soldier, quietly playing his mouth organ. Suddenly, the swinging melody of the "Beer Barrel Polka" was heard, a big wooden barrel was rolled out from somewhere and at this moment the deck below pulsated with couples, dancing as if their lives depended on it. The girls, who, during the whole trip across the Atlantic, had been lying in their bunks holding their heads, throbbing with pain, immediately revived, smiled, danced and frolicked with the American wounded, who up till now were seldom seen on deck. What a jubilant spectacle we all had, watching the twisting and turning to the harmonic music from below.

As we edged toward our berth in the harbor, everyone was eager for the new life ashore. This was a memorable day for us: February 22, 1945. There on the pier to greet us was the helpful and friendly Salvation Army, waiting with its bounty of freshly baked doughnuts.

The landing formalities for the 1,000 refugees were extensive and grueling, but after many hours they were finally concluded. We left the S.S. Gripsholm feeling happy and free at last.

Now we were on American soil--my mother, a naturalized citizen since 1900; my two daughters, aliens; and me, native-born--in the dear United States.

A surge of emotion overpowered my mother. The refreshing thought of returning to her adopted country, the joy and rapture of viewing again the distinctive skyline of New York and the Statue of Liberty after so many years in Europe under Nazi oppression, confounded her. Besides, the spontaneous reception of the Salvation Army officials brought tears to her eyes. With a choking voice she exclaimed, "I should have remained here in this country. It was always good to me."

My two girls left us to say "goodbye" to friends made during their imprisonment in Liebenau, Germany. Eyes sparkling, they munched the Salvation Army's powdered doughnuts. With joyful enthusiasm in their young voices, they shouted, "Mom, we're really going to like it here in America. We know we will. People here are so friendly."

And I, if I were truly sure that I would not be trampled on by the onrushing horde of excited refugees, hurrying to leave the S.S. Gripsholm, would, in ecstasy, have kissed the ground on which I stood.