What was your family’s social status and occupation and was this the cause of your family’s deportation?

 

Both my parents came from the upper middle-class, well-educated families.  My one grandfather was a pharmacist, the other an architect, one great uncle was the Vice Rector of the Catholic University of Lublin, and another had a position in the upper hierarchy of the Catholic Church.  My parents themselves were also well-to-do; father was employed in the PKU (Polski Korpus Ubezpieczen/Department of Public Safety?) while my mother was a patriotic teacher.  There is no question that their stature in the community, their obvious economic status as well as their professions (“intelligencia”) were the cause of our family’s deportation.  Moreover, like other “osadnicy” (settlers in Kresy), father was granted this land parcel in Sarny-Dorotycze by the Polish Government for his service as a 16-yr old volunteer in the Polish/Bolshevik War of 1918-21.  Therefore, Kresy were a thorn in Stalin’s side who wanted to exact his pound of flesh – and did.

 

What brought your family to the Kresy region and how long were they in residence there prior to deportation?  Describe aspects of daily life on their property there.

 

My parents married in June of 1933 and took up residence in an apartment in Sarny, where my Paternal Grandparents lived, and thereafter began the construction of their house in Sarny-Dorotycze on that very piece of land granted to my father.  In his spare time, on weekends and after work at the PKU, father helped my grandfather who owned a cinema, often running the projector while his sister played the violin, being that these were silent films.  My mother, a teacher, was very much involved in school projects and in social work relying on Stefa, their servant, to run the household while my father paid Ukrainian laborers to work our land, harvest the crops and pick the fruit from the orchard.

 

How was the forced deportation of your family from the Kresy region effected, who was deported with you and what were the ages of the deportees?  How much time were you given to get ready and what were you permitted to take with you?

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I have no personal memories of our deportation since I was only five months old when deported on 10 February 1940, but I do have my mother’s memoirs in which she described what took place and the calamity that descended on the people of Kresy – and on my parents in particular, a young couple – mother was 28, father was35. The Soviets barged in, in the dead of night, with guns drawn and carbines on shoulders, demanding any weapons we might have, and gave us fifteen minutes to pack up.  The officer in charge read out loud that the Russian Authorities were dispossessing them of their land and of all their assets and that they were now under arrest to be translocated elsewhere – the elsewhere was not explained.  One of the “Politruks” (NKVD) was gloating that he would take possession of our house and land, and mother recognized him as the father of one of her students.  Fortunately, my parents had expected dispossession – but not where they would be taken to.  Some time earlier, they distributed most of their possessions among their Ukrainian and Jewish friends who were not thought to be subject to deportation, and rented an apartment in Sarny, fully expecting the use of those possessions once they were thrown off their property.  They had a box of food ready and some clothes and documents packed, enough to weather a day or two away from home.  And had not one of the intruders a heart of gold which prompted him to yank the sheet off their bed and throw in everything he saw including pillows, quilt and other clothing, we would not have survived the exile in Siberia.

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What transpired during the journey to Siberia, what was its length and final destination? Include what images stand out the most, if there was access to food/water/sanitation/medical care, what was the fate of those who perished en route, how did the adults cope and what did they do to protect the children, and finally what was the passengers’ mood throughout?

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Cattle wagons awaited them at the train station in Sarny.  For three days, packed in like sardines on top of bunks (70 per wagon), only men were allowed to bring water in pails for the incarcerated.  On one such occasion, Father saw his friend, standing among the crowd of people gathered there, with three suitcases which he motioned for father to come and get.  Father dropped the pail, grabbed the suitcases mouthing his thanks, and like a flash darted back to our wagon with them.  The contents of those suitcases and those in the sheet bundle can be credited with our survival since they were eventually used in trade for food and for other dire, life-sustaining necessities for us.  While still at the station, one ate only if food was brought in from home, otherwise went hungry since no provisions were made for them.  No sanitary facilities were available either, but a hole in the floor curtained off for a semblance of privacy.  A stove of sorts provided heat when whatever type of fuel for it was available.  As we left Poland’s borders, people sang and wept their despair through patriotic and religious songs, not knowing when or if they would ever see their homes and country again. 

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For the next five weeks, the train stopped in outlying stations to refuel and three men per wagon were allowed to bring in “lapsza” (adulterated soup), and water for the hapless passengers.  As we drew further into the depths of Russia, people were allowed to leave their stench-filled wagons and stretch their cramped limbs as they walked past their armed guards and their dogs. On one such occasion, father ran into my god-mother – a Russian, married to a Pole – who was not thought to be a subject for deportation and to whom my mother had entrusted a fur coat. She was kind enough to return it to father who was overjoyed, and even more so when she gave him a glass bottle of frozen milk, evidently bartered from a peasant at some station. Back in the wagon, he saw that the glass had cracked, and he strained the milk through a handkerchief, warmed it up on the “stove” and added some manna to it so it would serve as solid food for me. A constant worry that plagued my Parents was my well-being since no medical care was provided. A further worry that plagued them was what to do should I succumb to the inhumane conditions. They decided to use a small suitcase as a coffin for me, hiding me in it when the time came, because they knew that babies who died were flung off the train as no more than a piece of garbage – a fate that also awaited adults who succumbed.  Overall, people were despondent, hungry, sickly and unwashed – all were worried and frightened of the future – bleak now but expected to worsen later. Once we arrived at the last train station of Szabryca (or Szabrycha), we were transported by sleigh, together with our meager possessions, to Pos’lok (Posiolek) Darovatka – east of the major city of Shar’ya, Oblast Gorki.

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Describe your living quarters, the working and living conditions, the type of forced labor that was mandated and if adolescents were required to work?

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A log barrack, with moss protruding from its crevices, became our living quarters – only three such barracks were available on our arrival. We were crammed into them with several families occupying each, sleeping on upper and lower “koikas” (bunks) – three abreast.  Personal space was partitioned off with a sheet for a semblance of privacy.  (I know our exact location in the barrack from an article written in “Kresowe Stanice” by Wanda Patyna who was our neighbor as a young girl in Sarny-Dorotycze and bunk neighbor in Darovatka).  A massive wood-burning stove stood in the middle of the barrack which was used not only for heat but for cooking and baking when one had the ingredients and the wares to do either.  A small nafta lamp illuminated the interior at night while tiny windows, crammed between the logs, allowed a little light during the day but were not a source of ventilation.

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Milkov, the Commandant, informed all on the following morning that they, including children over 14, would be “paid” laborers.  In Soviet Russia, if you didn’t work – you didn’t eat.  Parasites would not be tolerated. They would receive “right-to-buy” coupons, commensurate with the work they would do, which could then be used to purchase essentials in the camp store – the “Lawoczka”.  Without them, no purchases could be made. They would be divided into three groups – foresters, builders and railroad laborers. The foresters would cut down the trees, the women would cut the branches off the felled trees and debark them, burning the unusable for heat in the barracks. The foresters would then saw the trunks into long, rectangular poles so the builders could build more barracks. The railroad laborers would clear land and lay tracks for the railroad which would extend from Szabrycha to Poldnevitsa, a posiolek north of Darovatka. Felling trees, by amateurs was dangerous especially in winter but staying alive in these temperatures with little sustenance was the biggest challenge of all. Sometime later, father was able to trade his topcoat and hat for a “fufaika” (snow garb) and “onucze” (wrappings for feet) and was finally dressed appropriately for the work and the weather in which he was to perform it.

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Describe the type of food provided or gained by resourcefulness in various seasons, how items brought from home and interaction with the locals play a role in survival, did all family members survive, and what was the locals’ attitude towards the Polish deportees.

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A daily ration of black, rye bread - 400 grams per man, 200 grams per woman and a child under 14 was allocated daily. A gram equaled approximately one thick slice of bread.  “Lapsza” (adulterated soup), thickened with gruel and with bits of meat floating in it, was a staple also provided.  A local woman came through the barracks periodically with milk for trade. Purchases at the “Lawoczka” could be made but the stocked supplies were poor as was the quality of the merchandise.  Lines were unbearable and often by the time one got to be first in line, the sought after item would be gone or the “store” would close. Summer brought a bounty of berries, fall a delicacy – mushrooms.  But getting water out of frozen wells was a challenge. 

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Once visits to the village were allowed, year-round bartering with the mostly friendly, local peasants became a way of life. They were anxious to acquire from us the merchandise thus far unattainable by them. What one brought from home, a luxury to the peasants, could be traded for necessities such as food – vegetables in particular.  We were thus able to supplement the food provided and that which was available in the “Lawoczka”. Another blessing the kolhoz provided was the ability to take advantage of a “bania” (bathhouse/spa) since this simple hygiene medium was sadly lacking within the confines of the labor camp.  In the end my whole family (the three of us) survived the labor camp despite being malnourished and deprived of the basic needs we all now take for granted. 

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Towards the end of our captivity, we were permitted contact with friends and relatives in Poland. My father wrote to all requesting bare necessities from the sale of our possessions but only one small package came through either because others were stolen en route to us or because those contacted were themselves in dire straights being either under Russian or German occupation. News from the outside world did filter in – my paternal grandfather informed us in a missive that “storks were flying over Warsaw and laying eggs” which my parents interpreted as bombardment of Polish cities, news of which others also received, and hope sprung that these events would soon enable us to return to our homes in Poland.

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Was access to medical care available and were religious activities permitted?  What strength was exhibited by parents and siblings?

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Sometime long after their arrival, there was a rumor that a “dentist” was practicing in Poldnevitsa, but when that “dentist” pulled out some kind of pliers instead of filling the tooth, Mother ran and home-remedied her tooth until a dentist in Neya filled it sometime later. There was also a “medic” with the medical knowledge of a hospital orderly who came around checking on those who were reportedly too sick to work. There was no medical care for pre-existing conditions as there was a lack of competence and substantial shortage of medicine. Home remedies were mostly employed such as when I contracted pneumonia, and a peasant woman cured me by placing “banki” (small, round glasses) on my chest and back. A cotton wad on a stick, dipped into alcohol and set afire created a vacuum in a “banki” when inserted, and the banki was then quickly placed on the body in quick succession. Certainly, a dangerous cure in untrained hands. Fortunately, only about 20 people out of approximately 800 in this posiolek, died of various causes. My parents’ perseverance, faith in God, their love for Poland and their own resourcefulness enabled them to endure the fate dealt to them both in the labor camp and on their future, unwanted odyssey.

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Religious displays and activities were prohibited within the barracks. However, the woods would reverberate with voices of the inmates singing religious songs especially in May, the month dedicated to the Blessed Mother.

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When was “amnesty” granted and how soon after were you able to leave, how far did you travel to reach what city and what events took place en route?  Was financial assistance given to those wishing to join the Polish Army, and having met up with the Polish Armed Forces, did anyone enlist and what inventive ways were employed to aid in your survival?

We received our “amnesty”, a misnomer if there ever was one since we committed no crimes, on an unforgettable date of 12 November 1941 – quite a bit delayed for our family because of father’s prior and continual confrontations with the Commandant over conditions in the camp. We had heard of it much earlier from workers in a nearby city and from a Polish soldier, Maj, who came through Darovatka on his way to Poldnevitsa and informed us of our options. Once the “amnesty” papers were in father’s hands, he left for Shar’ya as soon as arrangements could be made, having been elected to pick up a train due to his activities in the camp on behalf of the inmates and his fluency with the Russian language. Returning with the train, he bribed the station master with an alarm clock and the money we got from the sale of mother’s fur coat to the Commissar’s wife in Neya, where both were visiting a dentist. Bribes were necessary to keep the conductor from uncoupling wagons and leaving them behind, thus shrinking our train. That sale of the fur coat was a miracle since a less honest person in that position could have simply confiscated it.

 

On 25 November 1941 all inmates left Darovatka heading for the destination of Kuybyshev, where the Polish Army was known to be forming. En route, father and the other “Provadiers” of the train, jumped trains to arrive at the next station ahead of our transport to ensure provisions for the passengers. Others did similarly, but for another reason which was to barter in various stations. That meant taking a chance to be left behind which would necessitate finding means to catch up with our transport. That was a feat since our train was constantly rerouted, giving way to Soviet military transport. It was not always possible to procure wood to burn in the stove for heat. Such was the case when an aged Veteran died and froze to the side of the wagon. Rather than allow him to be left on a stack of bodies as we’d seen in Sverdlovosk and at other stations, his daughter, relying on the honesty of a local peasant, paid him to bury her father when the thaw came. 

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We arrived in Bukhara on 27 December 1941 and were dispersed to various kolhozes (collective farms) – ours was Jaszkomuna. We settled with the Ptak family, our neighbors in Darovatka, in some ruins making them into a home with a bit of ingenuity.  Once it became known that the Polish Army was forming in Guzar, the men didn’t need, nor did they get any incentive to join up – that option alone was incentive enough. Father left with Ziutek Ptak within six weeks of our arrival promising that he would come back by Easter Sunday to take us to Guzar/Kermine so that we could come under the protection and be provisioned by the Polish Army. But he said that should he be unable to do so and Ziutek returned instead, we were to leave with him and his family. In the meantime, mother became a “Medic” herself, once fame of her skills in alleviating a woman’s toothache with alcohol and an aspirin spread, and her medical/dental expertise was now in great demand. Her medical supplies (home remedies) often needed replenishment at the market and one such trip proved disastrous – all her documents were stolen and probably sold to the highest bidder who needed such documents to be able to leave the USSR.

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Describe living conditions in this part of the world, what assistance did you receive, where were you sent and how long were you there?  Did a family member die when leaving the USSR?

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The people in Uzbekistan lived rather primitively, and their culture was foreign to us but we assimilated learning to eat “dzugara” which, once milled into flour, produced “lepioszki” (bread) and “olmy” (pancakes). Eating all else with my fingers appealed to my childish sense of etiquette.  But all was not well with me – I had developed a large abscess under my chin. A Russian doctor gave mother a salve to be applied, and it eventually softened the abscess which happened to burst on Good Friday, leaving me screaming in pain. At that very moment, a friend brought mother terrible news that father’s regiment had moved to Tehran, but a glimmer of hope was that Ziutek was in Kermine and could possibly make his way here. No sooner was that news relayed, than he showed up and explained that the reason he was not with father was because he had contracted typhus en route to Guzar and father had to leave him in hospital before continuing to enlist. Shortly thereafter, we all left for Kermine, hurrying because Ziutek’s military leave was about to expire. Once we reached Kermine, he left us at the train station where, after mother got some hot water from a “czaikana”, little year old Ziutek knocked over the container, and the boiling hot water drenched my leg which blistered immediately. With no first aid available anywhere, someone at the station gave mother an egg to soothe onto my blistered leg which only made things worse because my pants now stuck to the egg which was stuck onto my blistered leg. In the morning Ziutek came, found us a place to stay in a “kibitka”, and provisioned us with the Polish Army where Mother obtained medical aid for me. Not too long thereafter, little Ziutek died in Meshad en route to India and my adopted “Ciocia Ptak” buried him there using a box from cigars as a coffin, not having anything else to use for his final resting place.

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Hearing that Father Krol was seeking professional teachers to conduct classes for the orphans as well as assume responsibility for them during transport to Tehran, Mother applied for the position since Father was rumored to be in Tehran. As a teacher, mother received a small stipend, and this pittance gave her a feeling of self-worth which had long been submerged. The children were suffering with eye disease which began to infect my and my mother’s eyes. Soon after, awaiting transport to Pahlevi that August of 1942, the children and I, under mother’s care, spent two days on the beach in Krasnovodsk and with a wave of humans, finally boarded a ship to Pahlevi. By the time we got to Tehran, we were almost blind. Once there, we were placed in a hospital for an extended stay. Our sight eventually returned, and mother was once again teaching and in charge of orphans and this time awaiting transport to Africa via Ahwaz, Karachi and Bombay. Stalin’s grasp was far reaching, and it wasn’t until we reached the shores of Africa, did she and others finally believe that we were free and no longer would we be taunted by Soviet soldiers with our return to labor camps in Siberia.

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Describe living conditions in refugee camps in India or Africa, the length of your stay and how relevant was it to be in a Polish environment with Polish schools and religious ceremonies taking place.

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Sometime in February of 1943, we arrived in Beira, Mozambique where we spent the night in a train station waiting to be loaded onto a train which took us to Rusape, S. Rhodesia, Africa. There “normal” life began in a Polish resettlement camp regulated by British authorities. We lived in one half of a building which could be roughly called a house and shared those quarters with another family. We had regular meals in a communal mess hall; we had a church and a school in which mother taught and put on patriotic plays.  My memories of Africa are of happy, carefree times especially after my father, with the Polish Army in Palestine at the time, found us through the Red Cross. Once he did, he sent me toys and spending money – I remember a doll which said “Mama” when turned over that scared our native “waiters” who served us our meals. We had other toys too – I played with balloons made from pig bladders, and with chicken feet with which the boys chased us. Mother received a stipend here also, some of which was spent on me – like on a pair of shoes she bought me. In the store, I tried a pair on, scrunching up my toes to make sure the shoes fit, being afraid I wouldn’t get a different pair.  Walking back home, my feet hurt so badly, mother had to carry me most of the way. When we got home, she measured one of the shoes against my foot…..and consequently, took a razor blade cutting the toes out of the shoes and I now had a brand-new pair of sandals……

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We, children, knew no different life and therefore missed nothing except our fathers who we got to know through the letters they sent us. Four years later, we were moved to Gatooma, another Polish resettlement camp, where we lived in more comfortable quarters. There, the teachers and their families did not have to share quarters but lived in a motel-style rooms next to a Cafeteria. I made my First Holy Communion, in a dress sent to me by my father along with a medal from Jerusalem which, to this day 60 years later, I wear around my neck. In less than two years, we were to embark on yet another journey – this time, to England to join my father where he was being demobilized.

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Which armed forces did your father enlist in, what were his responsibilities, what battles did he  take part in, which medals was he awarded? 

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I have records of my father’s service in the Polish Army obtained from various sources such as the Sikorski Museum and the Department of Defense in England.

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My father filled out a Questionnaire for the Army on 26 January 1943 in which he described our labor camp in Darovatka and how, after “amnesty”, he picked up the train which took us out of Darovatka to “freedom”. His service is detailed in the Ministry of Defense military record showing he completed the NCO course as a cadet upon joining the Polish Army in Guzar and was “posted to the Reserve of the Commander-in-Chief, Polish Army in the Middle East”. He was then posted and reposted the last being to Command Company, 3rd Rifle Battalion, 3rd Carpathian Infantry Division, 2nd Polish Corps, 8th British Army in June of 1942. Thereafter transferred to 4th Company, in March 1943.  He served in the Middle East (Iran, Palestine, Egypt) from 1942-1944 and in Italy 1944-1946 taking part in battles on the River Sangro and Rapido/Southern Apennines, MONTE CASSINO, Ancona, Northern Apennines, River Senio and Bologna/Lombardy Plain. He attained the rank of Sergeant.

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He received the following Polish Medals:  Campaign Medal (1918-1921), Cross of Monte Cassino No. 7343, Army Medal and prior to that, the Cross of Wolyn while still in Poland.  He received the following Medals from Britain:  1939-45 Star, Italy Star, Defense Medal (issued on September 28, 1949) and the War Medal 1939-45 (issued on October 19, 1949). He was buried with them when he died on 8 July 1962, six years after a debilitating stroke and only ten years after our arrival in the USA which put an end to our unwanted odyssey.

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In what Polish Resettlement Corp did you live in while in the UK, describe conditions there, did you attend school and if so, what were your experiences there?  Did you remain in the UK or did you emigrate to another country where you rebuild your life?

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Although we were scheduled to leave for England on the very first transport, we were delayed due to Mother’s unexpected bout with some venomous insect while digging in our garden. It was so serious that she was hospitalized, and amputation of her finger was threatened. Fortunately, the operation performed left her only with a scar, the full length of her finger which remained bent as a reminder of that episode. We boarded Cunard’s line Carnarvon Castle ship in Durban on 12 April 1948. Passing the Straights of Gibraltar, was an emotional moment even for us, children. To this day I remember the solemn silence broken only by my piano teacher playing Chopin’s Funeral March as the rest of us stood at attention, wiping tears away and singing the Polish National Anthem in honor of General Sikorski, who perished there under very suspicious circumstances. 

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Some time later, as we were drawing close to shore on our arrival in Southampton, England, even though it was a cloudy day and rain was drizzling slightly, I was out on deck watching the tugboats guide our ship in. When I saw Polish soldiers aboard, I was overjoyed thinking my Father was among them and ran towards the bow on the slippery deck. Not surprisingly, I fell flat on my face smashing my cheek and eye on the deck. By the time my father arrived at the Daglingworth transient camp to pick us up, my cheek and nose swelled and my eye bulged. And this is how my father met his daughter after a six-year separation.

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Father brought us “home” to the resettlement camp in Hodgemoor, Buckinghamshire, which was modified from a military camp to accommodate Polish refugees. We first occupied half a barrack across from the bathhouse which was a blessing since we did not have indoor plumbing but that was not a problem for me because, no sooner did we get settled there than my parents put their plans for me in operation. Even though there was a Polish school set up in the camp, my mother didn’t take up her profession nor was I enrolled in that school. Instead, my parents placed me in a Catholic boarding school run by Holy Cross nuns because they wanted me to become fluent in English in the least amount of time so I would not ever have to work at menial jobs, as they now lacked English language skills. It was tough not being able to speak English in the boarding school, and it was rough spending week-ends practicing the piano and studying my Polish textbooks, taking tests through a correspondence course while the other girls were out playing, and it was heartbreaking to have been cut off from my mother who had been the only source of love and affection for so many years. But in three years in that Convent School, I became fluent enough in English to attain the 2nd position in my class.

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My parents soon came to the realization that their dream to return to Poland would not materialize. In coded words, father’s family in Poland dissuaded us from returning – simply by writing that “Jerzowka” (my parents’ name for their osada in Kresy) was in disrepair and we would therefore need to find a new place to live. And that was the general feeling of the refugees who now found themselves yet in another country trying to eke out a living. My parents wanted a better life for me and for whatever reason, didn’t think my future or theirs would be as bright in England as it would be in the West.  It was general knowledge among refugees that Canada was looking for “farmers”, and so farmers my parents would become.  However, before those plans could come to fruition, my paternal grandmother wrote to her sister in Detroit asking her to sponsor our emigration to the USA – which she did.  On 5 January 1952 we arrived in the USA, the land of opportunity, which provided us with the highest standard of living, security and boundless opportunity to lead the good life which I now enjoy, surrounded by the love of my husband, children, and grandchildren.

 

Have you felt free to express these experiences and share them with family and friends and what impact did these events have on your subsequent life?

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I not only always felt free to talk and share my life stories with family and friends or anyone else who showed interest but have written a book (unpublished) from my mother’s taped memories who also talked freely of her experiences.  Many years ago, I had the foresight to sit my mother down and taped her as she talked of our odyssey but unfortunately, I was not smart enough to transcribe the tapes while I still had her with me. I have so many questions that I still need answers to and so I continue searching for documents.

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Even though I don’t remember the worst times of my life but being part of that history and living in constant awareness of it, I know I am a stronger person because of it. That is easily substantiated because in my senior year in St. Theresa High School, instead of cringing at the DP (Displaced Person) label disdainfully bestowed on me by one of my fellow students, I wrote an essay on who DPs really are. This essay won the Key Award for my school from the Scholastic Art & Writing Awards sponsored by the Detroit News, and I went on to graduate with honors at the age of sixteen.

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My college education at Wayne State University came to an end almost as soon as it began. I met and then married my partner for life on 5 October 1957, a little over a year after I graduated from High School.

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Why do you think it is important to tell the story of the nearly 2 million deported Polish citizens?

 

It is not only important, but essential because to do otherwise, WWII history will forever remain incomplete. This forgotten chapter was first repressed so as not to alienate Stalin, and then because the World Powers preferred to forget their role in betraying Poland, allowing the tragedy that befell the Polish people to wane into oblivion.

 

Do you think your life experiences have shaped your memories?  If so, how, and are there other thoughts or observations you would like to share?

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No question but that life experiences shape who we become.  AsI grew older, my interest grew as did my pride in the Country wherein I drew my first breath, enforced by both my parents who ensured I never forgot my roots. Today, I want to do more than look for compassion for the lives disrupted, and lives lost during our Polish Gehenna. I want the public at large to know what the Poles endured not because I want their sympathy, but because I want them to ask themselves if they would have had the same fortitude and strength to endure what my parents and other survivors of Siberia did and thereby evoke their understanding and even admiration for Poland and its people.​​​​

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Copyright: Gaffney family

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