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. After the Germans invade Poland in September, 1939, Radzia flees her comfortable villa in Torun and stays in the countryside for over a month. Now, however, all refugees are ordered to return to their hometowns. Her husband, Edmund, is a prisoner of war.

Chapter 4

Rows of freight trains stood with names of towns scribbled in white chalk; we soon found the one headed in the general direction of Torun.

With the helping hand of others, we climbed into the freight car. Finding a vacant spot in the already crowded train was a problem. I heard Dana complain. "There are no seats here. And I'm hungry. I did not drink my milk and we forgot to get some bread from the farmer."

"Maybe we'll be home in a couple of hours, so we'll get some good food there." I tried to placate her.

"I hope so," she signed under her breath.

Alas, what would have taken a couple of hours, in normal times, now required eighteen. Many times the train just stood on the tracks on a siding.

No provisions for washing or restroom facilities existed. While the train stood idle, people jumped out to take care of their needs in the tall bushes alongside the rails.

Eventually the long freight trains with their hundreds of evacuees came to life; and soon we heard the name "Thorn," a new name for our beloved Torun.

"What's that?" questioned Irene. Dismay showed on all our faces. The Germans changed Torun to Thorn. Our beautiful Torun now had a German name. It was a sad day for us.

We were happy to leave the train. As we jumped, each held her little bundle, hoping to bring it safely home. But home was still four kilometers (ca. 2.5 miles) away.

"Mother, do you think we can get a taxi home?" Irene asked in a confidential whisper. "I'm tired and hungry, Mother."

"No, my dear. There are no taxis or horse buggies, or wagons to take us anywhere, as you can see. We'll have to walk." Then I added, reassuringly with a smile, "Think of all the comforts at home ... a nice warm bath, clean clothes and some good food. Maria will have something in the pantry for us."

A townsman standing by responded to a question of mine. "No, the bridges are intact. You can walk over the bridge. Part of it was hit by a bomb early in September, but you can make your way. It's been repaired already."

"Good. Thank you. But what about the rest of the town?"

"Oh, our town is still standing. You know, after the September bombing, no more explosions took place."

"That's fine. Then we'll have someplace to sleep tonight," I replied cheerfully to him.

As we proceeded on our way, I asked myself: Why should the Germans destroy the "Pearl of the Corridor," when Torun was destined for greater things by them?

Our feet aching, our legs stiff from lack of exercise, and our stomachs empty and growling, we slowly inched our way across the long, low bridge over the Vistula River [Wisla] to the suburb of our town.

"Mother, my feet ache, and this bundle of stuff I'm carrying weighs a ton. Do I still have to bear with it? Can't Irene help?" Dana was despondent and tired.

"Dana, darling, we'll be home soon. You seen that Irene has a bigger packet than you. Be patient and we'll be home in a short time."

As we continued on our way, Irene interjected, "I wonder how Grandpa and Aunt Julia are, and Maria."

"I wonder, too," I mused. "It's been a long time away from home. I also wonder if any news from Dad will be awaiting us."

"Mother, the last time we saw Dad was September 3rd and today is October 8. I saw a calendar in the railroad station. I hope he recovered from his despondency and is doing well, wherever he is," sighed Irene.

"I hope so, too," added Grandma, carrying her bundle in silence, sighing from time to time.

Chatting to pass the time, we soon edged our weary way past the cemetery. Now we knew we would be home shortly. Just a little way ... a long street, a left turn, again a five minute walk, and we would be back.

There in all its beauty stood our home, untouched by the bombs. "Our home, sweet home!" We feared for it through the five-week ordeal. Would the Nazis bomb our home? Would we again see it intact? And here it was--just as we left it, except for the autumnal appearance of the trees and the withered long-stemmed roses in the side garden. Now we would be safe from everything; the war was over for Poland and probably for us who returned. This was home. The entrance to the villa held a special appeal to us.

Dana touched the handle of the gate of the tall, white, wooden fence. It squeaked. She threw her packet on the ground and ran to the house, nervously raised the knocker and waited impatiently.

Finally, our 85-year-old aunt shuffled to the door. With an outburst of joy, Dana passionately embraced Aunt Julia. Tears soon wet their faces. "Oh Auntie, how are you, and how are Grandpa and Maria? Any news from Dad?"

In the meantime, Mother, Irene and I slowly made our way into the house, Auntie helping us as much as she could, but impeding our entrance.

Shortly, Grandpa came to greet us. "Oh, you have no idea what we passed through. The Germans confiscated all the property, collecting the rent from the buildings. They came harassing us every day, inquiring when you'd return. They took our radio, telling us we wouldn't need it anymore. It was the only link to the outside world!"

Tired as we were, we stood and listened to Grandpa. "They wanted Edmund's guns ... all of them. They had information from his hunting club. But I didn't give them to the Germans. You what I did?" He looked slyly at us.

"No, Grandpa, I can't imagine how you disposed of them," I said with doubt in my voice.

"As soon as they left, I took the double-barrel gun and Edmund's revolvers, wrapped them in heavy brown paper, tied them with a thick cord, carried them to the deep well at the side of the garden and dropped them into the water. I was relieved. The Germans won't get any use from them and they'll never find them," he said with a cunning grin. He was proud of himself.

"Good for you, Grandpa. Glad that's taken care of. Now what did you do with all the gunpowder, BB's and shells that Edmund had?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing! Well, they'll search and, if they find any, we'll all be in lots of trouble. Coming through town we saw notices plastered on walls on every street warning people to give up all guns and ammunition to German authorities."

Grandpa had an answer. "In fact, I don't know where my son hid them. I could testify that way, if they ever do find them."

"Well, I know where they are, and I know a good place for the ammunition."

At this moment Maria came dashing in. She was in the garden picking tomatoes, lettuce, cucumbers, in preparation for their dinner. She threw what she held in her hands on the table. Her embrace was warm and sincere. "I thought I would never see you again, Ma'am. Oh! I'm so glad you, your mother and the children are safe and home at last. Do you have any news of the Captain? We haven't heard anything." She stopped.

My heart sank. "No news, Maria? We were expecting to find some news here from him. But I'll tell you all about it later."

This gave me a moment to organize my thoughts; first, a shower, then a nice warm dinner with soup and maybe meat patties.

Maria left the kitchen.

Aunt Julia, a big hoarder all her life, getting prepared for that "rainy day," came from her little room. She carried something brown, looking like a thick, heavy rope ... it was sausage. It resembled the good old-fashioned thick salami, but it was covered with a greenish-gray mold.

"This is alright," said Auntie. "I'll just remove the casing and wipe it clean. I'll cut it in thin slices, and you'll be glad you have it. We can't get meat anymore, so I saved it for the day you returned. I hoped you would come soon, because I wanted some a few days ago."

This was the aunt who made the best crepes [nalesniki] in the world. They were thin, crisp and fragrant. She folded them into the shape of small handkerchiefs, first filling them with sweetened cottage cheese, then a sprinkle of powdered sugar.

Irene called to Auntie. "How about making some crepes, dear Auntie? You know we liked them before this awful war began."

"Yes, I know, but I don't have eggs or milk. Only some flour and you can't make good crepes out of water and flour." She quickly shuffled to the kitchen.

How different from our life in the country the last five weeks. We practically lived on milks, eggs, and good, fresh cottage cheese. I felt guilty.

Meantime, Dana placed her order. "How about some ham sandwiches with pickle on rye bread?"

Maria, who was listening to all this, suggested, "I could cook some cereal for you and you can add the sugar. But as for ham and butter, we haven't seen any since the beginning of the war." Her face was sad as she continued to wring her hands.

"Girls, do go up and take your showers and slip into your nighties. Be comfortable, while Grandpa and I go into the larder to see what's on hand for dinner."

Maria intercepted us with bad news. "We've had no meat since the Germans came. Lucky for us if we could find some milk and white bread."

I listened. What will we eat? After all, we did not starve the five weeks away from home, so why worry now? I asked, "What were you preparing for the three of you?"

"I was going to prepare a green salad, boil some potatoes for our curdled milk. That would be our supper. For dessert, fresh fruit from our trees."

"That sounds pretty good to me. We'll have that also."

After a hearty dinner the girls left for bed, glad to be home at last.

My thoughts turned to other comforts. I hoped there would be enough pillows, sheets and blankets to keep us warm.