Chapter 8

The villa was a showplace with its orchard of various fruit trees. Four acres, with formal landscaping, fertile soil producing many kinds of vegetables, and dwarf-size bushes bearing all sorts of fruits. Our lovely estate.

Why not appropriate the property for a high-ranking Nazi? The Germans decided just that. But I was one step ahead of them. The next morning, when they arrived to check out the home, they found the place empty. All the furniture, rugs, art treasures were gone. I found a mover, who, with the help of Maria, removed every item, including the grand piano and a large painting--a wall-sized copy of Matejko's Battle of Grunwald. The mover did an excellent job of stripping the rooms. After he stored our possessions on the fifth floor attic in one of my mother's confiscated buildings, I was satisfied.

The next day, to check the thoroughness of the job, I went to inspect the place. Bare walls and floors without rugs gave the place an abandoned and forsaken look. It tugged at my heart. Not expecting to see anyone in the villa, I was stunned to hear conversation in the adjacent foyer. Hesitantly, I approached the door to the large hall. There stood two men, one an S.S. in uniform, the other an ethnic [a Pole of German descent] from our town. A swastika was emblazoned in a red band around his arm.

When the latter turned to see who entered, I recognized him as the owner of the electric appliance shop on Main Street in Torun. Many times I'd accompanied my mother to select items for the remodeled apartments. Surely, he knew I lived here.

The S.S. man, furious at the sight of the empty villa, shrieked madly, "Who are you?"

"I'm the owner of the place."

"What did you come here for?"

I was frightened and shaking. I replied in a meek voice, "I came to pick up some little kitchen items."

My reply angered him and he demanded, "Where are all the furniture, rugs and the rest of the items? Where did you haul the stuff?"

I shook with fright, not knowing what to answer.

The ethnic knew the officer would gain little by shouting and whispered something in his ear.

The S.S. man quickly quieted. He, however, warned me, shaking his finger, "Do not remove anything more from his house. Not even the ring from the kitchen stove, which you are holding in your hand."

I returned it to its place on the stove and swiftly left the villa, well aware of the consequences which might follow.

Although I'd stored my furniture, I had no quarters to live in. In spite of the fact my mother had over 100 apartments, in all the thirteen buildings there was at the moment no vacancy; so my two daughters and I moved in with my mother. My father-in-law, "Grandpa," Auntie and Maria came along with us. We were crowded, but we were happy, with the exception of Grandpa. He could not climb the stairs and had no opportunity to take those long walks in our garden, which he now missed. Deprived of this exercise, he sat and brooded over the future of his beloved Poland. Grandpa passed away in his sleep, November, 1939.

One month later, a two-bedroom apartment in one of the buildings was vacated. After furnishing this small apartment with some of the furniture stored in the attic, we moved in.

From the first day of the war, blackout regulations were enforced. When the Nazis took over, they inspected all the buildings throughout the town for light seepage. All the windows had to be completely covered to prevent chinks of filtered light showing through. Drapes would do; but we had none. Instead, every night we hung the heavy blankets that we had not surrendered to the Germans. To avoid their confiscation, we nailed them to the window frame; mornings we partially removed them to allow daylight to enter.

Once, a guard making the inspection rounds noticed a faint glimmer. He sharply rapped at the window pane, alarming us. From that time on, one of us always checked the windows from the outside.

While still living in the villa, a neighbor, who turned into a German overnight, often brought my daughters some oranges. I wondered why he was so generous. Of course, my daughters, Irene and Dana, appreciated the pleasant surprises.

One day I asked him, "How come you bring oranges to my girls? You and your family can enjoy them also."

He replied, "If you sign papers to become a Volksdeutsch [a Pole of supposedly German background], you can also be eligible to receive these good things. They are only for us. By the way, did you know the Polish soldiers weren't so perfect? You probably didn't hear of this; but, as the Polish Army was retreating, the soldiers captured poor German civilians and nailed their tongues to the tables."

German propaganda! I explained to the ethnic that if the army was withdrawing, the soldiers would not have time for such atrocities. I was disturbed to hear so shocking an accusation made by a supposed friend. I thanked him for his fruit and told him not to bother us anymore. He never returned. Best of all, he did not report us to the authorities, for which I was very thankful.

In January, 1940, two German officers were assigned to live in one of my two bedrooms. My daughters moved out of their room and the officers took possession of it.

It wasn't long before they installed a radio in our living room. Their reason ... the space in their den was inadequate.

That radio was a temptation to us, but I refused to turn it on. Probably this radio was a trap set by the men.

My mother, curious about news from outside the country, could not tolerate the German propaganda. She decided to come to our flat to hear some new hope for living.

The BBC [British Broadcasting Corporation] at 8:00 a.m. daily issued a bulletin about the state of affairs of the world and Poland, in Polish. When the program was over, she returned the dial to its original setting ... she thought.

"Mother," I warned, "We'll get caught and be sent to a labor camp, all of us."

"They're not so smart. They won't know how they left it."

This continued for a week. Every morning, rain or shine, my mother arrived before 8:00 a.m. for her latest edition of information.

Suddenly there was no more radio. My German roomers moved it to their room and locked the door, when they left for duty.

We lived in fear for few days; fear the officers would report us to the authorities for using their radio to listen to the outside world.

Nothing happened. They continued to live there several additional weeks.