SERIALS FROM PAST ISSUES
RADZIA, AMERICAN PRISONER
IN NAZI-OCCUPIED POLAND
by Radzia Niewiarowski
Distributed by the Polonia Media Network
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. Although her comfortable villa in Torun was not damaged by
bombing at the start of WW II, it has been taken over by a Volksdeutscher, a
Pole of German descent. Likewise, the Germans have confiscated her mother's
considerable real estate and bank accounts. Her husband, Edmund, is a prisoner
of war.
Chapter 9
One bright morning in early Spring, 1940, I went to visit my mother. Looking
out the window at her apartment, I noticed a big moving van standing on the
street nearby. Four husky fellows were milling around.
Getting to move a family, I thought: "Did someone decide to leave town
to live with parents in the country?" Or, maybe because of some illness,
the family resolved to move in with a sick member? It wasn't long before I had
the real answer to my musings.
Suddenly someone knocked firmly on the door. I opened it. There stood the
four burly movers with a long sheet of paper.
Surprised to see them at Mother's door, without giving me time to catch my
breath, the head man asked, "Is Mrs. J. in?" Not waiting for an
answer, he continued, "We have orders to remove everything from her
apartment."
He put his foot in the door and beckoned the others to come in. He scanned
the rooms, walking through all eight of them, evidently making a mental picture
of where to start.
This apartment had three huge Persian rugs, one of them immense, twelve by
sixteen; green brocade living room suite with red mahogany woodwork; a
hand-carved oak library set; cupboard; a dining room suite of the same oak wood;
china dishes, cut glass, vases, crystal bowls and many works of art by Polish
painters.
In the sewing room stood a Singer sewing machine. In days gone by
seamstresses had created many pretty garments for our family.
There I stood, wringing my hands. I couldn't stop them. They had orders. My
mother was not present ... shopping for our lunch. She could not have stopped
them, had she been there. This action of the German authorities was brutal.
First they confiscated all her properties, compelled her to pay rent, and now
eviction from her own home. What more, or next?
While the workers busied themselves carrying out the furniture, I just stood
by the window, helplessly watching them stack the items carefully in the van ...
its destination unknown.
A uniformed official entered, scrutinized the place, and gave his okay to the
men.
I implored, "Now where should my mother go after all this?"
He looked at me with contempt, responding with a haughty, victorious
solution. "She can move in with you." He turned on his heels and left.
My thoughts turned to my 66-year-old mother, wealthy and proud, being left
without anything. Of course, she came to live in my meager apartment which the
two officers had vacated a few days ago.
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