THE GRZYBOWSKI FAMILY
CZESŁAWA RACHEL-GRZYBOWSKA
vi. FREEDOM FROM PARADISE
In mid-June 1941, its former friend Germany attacked Russia. Facing imminent defeat, the Soviets looked for allies in the fight against the aggressors. On July 30 1941 with British mediation, the Sikorski-Mayski Pact was signed in London. It agreed to the creation of a Polish army formed of political prisoners locked up in labour camps and forced deportees who would fight a common enemy in the near future. There was the so-called "amnesty" according to which we became free people. We could change our place of residence, but only within the territory of the Soviet Union. This news and that of the Polish Army being formed in the south of the USSR reached most exiles in Siberia. There was crazy joy. Crowds of released prisoners and exiles moved south. Hungry, devastated by disease, overworked, exhausted by physical and mental abuse, they died by the hundreds along the way.
My parents decided to leave the posiołek as soon as possible, convinced that otherwise we would not survive the next winter. They sold off what they had left and paid for a rail wagon with a few other families. It did not differ much from the one in which we were transported to Siberia - the only difference was that there were no guards with rifles.
I don't remember when we left the posiołek, but I suppose it was late 1941. It was definitely winter. We reached the nearest railway station in Wilwa by sleigh. We boarded the wagon and headed to southern USSR. The journey, I don't know how long it took, was very strenuous. We weren't travelling continually to a timetable. The wagon was simply attached to the train going south. Sometimes the wait was short, but sometimes we stood on sidetracks for days. There was a huge shortage of food, so people took risks and as soon as the wagon was unhooked, they rushed to buy something or exchange it for food. Often they were left behind when the train moved on, never to be connected with their loved ones again. This happened to us. The train stopped, the wagon was unhooked. My father took the bucket and left, hoping that he might be able to buy something. Before he returned, we were attached to the train and off we went. Despair ensued and turned into joy because after two days he found us. Moreover, he managed to buy some soup. He poured off the thin soup in preference for the thick liquid with which he satisfied the hungry family. I remember that I was very sick with measles at the time. My temperature was high and I couldn't even eat this soup. I just wanted to drink.
At one of the stops, one of the ladies from our wagon met her brother who had left the camps. A human skeleton covered in rags; of course he was admitted to our group. After a few days we all had lice. Poverty was grinding us and now lice had joined in.
After some weeks, we reached Uzbekistan. We were sent with two other families to a kolkhoz named "Stalin". It might have been January, but here it was spring. We lived in a "kibitka". It was a flat-roofed clay room. Instead of a window, there was a slit. A door and one bunk where our whole family of seven slept together with Mrs. Domaradzka and her daughter Halina, Stenia's friend. The conditions for most locals were little better than in Siberia, except for a wealthy few (and there were some) who had larger houses. In general, the population was poor.
Shortly after, an order was given that all adults should report to work, because that's what we came for. My sister, who was only 12 years old, was forced to work hard collecting cotton. I stayed at home with my younger sister. I remember being very scared. I propped the door with a peg and we sat huddled together quietly until the others returned from work.
If in Siberia it was bad for us, here it was almost tragic. There was unimaginable hunger. I have no idea how miraculously mother managed to keep us alive. I remember with disgust the so-called oilcake that was fed to the camels. Oilcake was made from the remains of oil squeezed from cotton seeds – they were hard as stone. When we managed to beg, buy or even steal a piece, mother would soak it, season it with something and we tried to eat it although it was completely disgusting.
Once I woke up crying in the night. Mother tried to calm me down and said: - You must be very hungry, darling….- ‘No, mummy, I am not crying because I am hungry, but I feel so sorry that I could not eat the soup that Daddy brought to the wagon when I was ill.’
We didn't have unrealistic desires, we dreamed simply of having enough to eat.
Some of the locals bred sheep - karakuls. Various things were made of wool, but my mother came up with an idea to earn something; Mrs. Domaradzka would spin wool, and Stenia and Halina made hats and gloves from the yarn. In this way it was possible to buy something to eat. There was no bread, but there were pancakes - lepioszki. What a delight it was to get a piece of pancake!
I think at the end of February or the beginning of March little lambs started to appear. At two weeks old, they were killed whilst they still had black curly fur. After treatment, furs were sewn from the skins. The meat on the other hand was destroyed probably for religious reasons. When mother found out about this, she begged the Uzbeks to give her the meat. I don't know if and what kind of bargaining took place, but the meat went into our pot and it tasted delicious. Perhaps it saved our lives because we were already extremely undernourished and we were in danger of starving to death.
About this time, the news reached the kolkhoz that a Polish centre had opened in the nearest town of Bukhara. By now father was very weak, hardship continued to dog us so mother had to act as usual. Skin and bones, dressed in rags, without a good command of the Russian language, but desperate to save her family, she decided to go and seek help. She was gone for a few days, but eventually to our universal joy she returned. She brought a few roubles, a loaf of coveted bread, and most importantly, the news that a Polish army was being formed in Kermine. Whoever joined in time would likely be able to leave the country with the first transport planned for the end of March 1942. Without rest or loss of time, she organised father and Władzio and went with them to Kermine. My father was not admitted to the army due to his poor health, but my brother, who was 15 years old, was admitted to Junaki (cadet soldiers). In this way we became a military family with a chance of leaving the Soviet Union. However, we had to be in Kermine before the departure of the transport, which was leaving in only a few days. My brother secured, mother found a safe place for my father to stay. She then returned to the kolkhoz to collect us. In a great hurry and with relief, we left this gloomy place for the nearest station or rather a train stop located in a terrible wilderness. Several Uzbeks escorted us. Probably those for whom Stenia and Halina made hats and gloves but above all to take back the arba (a two-wheeled, tall wagon) with which they gave us a lift.
On arrival, it turned out that we couldn't buy tickets. The cashier at the counter said the next train was overbooked and tickets were “niet” (not available). Desperate, my mother took off her wedding ring - the last thing she had left for herself, and asked again for the tickets, which this time she received but with a warning that the train might not stop. Indeed, it did not stop, but it slowed down very much, and by some miracle and with the help of the Uzbeks, we all managed to get in. There was no place in the wagons, so mother placed us and some bundles on the buffers. The conductor came to check tickets. When she saw us settled on the buffers, she started screaming that we were not allowed here and at the next stop she would throw us out off the train. To which mother answered that if she takes something that belongs to us, she will throw her under the wheels. A terrible, loud row broke out because the quarrelling women were joined by the crying of frightened children. Fortunately a man, maybe even the conductor's supervisor, showed up and told her to leave. Not only did he stop threatening us, but he helped mother arrange our things better so that my sister Hela, who looked terrible, could lie down. He then brought a doctor to look at her who said that he was very sorry, but the girl was dying and he had nothing to save her. In a moment he brought out two or three lumps of sugar and something to drink. It is not known if this saved her, but she did not die then.
I don't know how long it took, but we finally got to Kermine. Here I remember black mud, a disgusting stench, a multitude of human skeletons in rags. We found father and we left quickly in more comfortable carriages and in better conditions. I don't remember much about this trip.
On reaching Turkmenistan and Krasnovodsk we were put on a ship. Again this incredible stench and crowds of people looking for a place. It was impossible to stand below deck. Mother found some space on the deck where she put us. Before us was the Caspian Sea, and on the other side Pahlevi, Persia (Iran) and freedom.
During the night when we were already out at sea, there was a storm. A panic broke out that we were sinking, because the small ship was being tossed about. In this confusion, I went off and found myself an interesting place. High up, leaning against a railing, I stared down at fires burning in enormous furnaces. A sailor passing by noticed me and frightened, said: “What are you doing here child (rybionko)? You'll fall.” In the corner was a thick rope coiled into a snail. He picked me up and put me inside."You'll be safe here until the storm passes," he said. After a long search and afraid that I might have fallen overboard, my delighted father found me.
We safely reached Pahlevi in Persia (Iran) and entered a completely different world. It was with joy and a great relief that we saw soldiers, but this time Polish soldiers and without rifles pointing at us. There were many tents, the sand was yellow, the air was clean and fragrant. Even the sun was shining brighter, and the impression of something gloomy, dark and sinister remained on the other side of the Caspian Sea.
The next stage of our wandering began, but now organised and under the supervision of special services. First, we were led to a tent with showers - women and men separately. You had to take off the lice-ridden rags which were burned. Only after all hair was shaved off to get rid of these annoying bugs, could we bathe. What a delight - warm water and soap. After the bath, relatively clean, we went through to the other side of the tent where we were given fresh clothes and welcome food.
It was the first evacuation of the Polish Army from the USSR at the turn of March and April 1942. Almost 43,500 people were involved, mainly soldiers, but also about 2,500 civilians. Thanks to our mother's heroism, sacrifice, superhuman courage and struggle with adversities we joined this group and the whole family was saved. For many months we lost contact with our Junak brother.
After a short stay in Pahlevi, we were taken to Tehran by truck. Father, who was bedridden, was immediately taken to the hospital, where he died on April 24, 1942. In 2012, I was lucky to be in Tehran on the 70th anniversary of his death, to say a prayer at the grave and lay flowers. In total, 1993 Poles are buried in the cemetery in Tehran - civilians and a number of soldiers.
Another event stuck in my memory. Shortly after my father's death, our little sister Danusia fell ill - exhausted by whooping cough. I easily recall the picture of an emaciated, unconscious child lying on an outstretched blanket on the ground (there were no beds) in the tent. We all cried, and the ladies whispered around us that this was the end. Help was called and mother ran to the open-air altar and I after her. There was an icon of Our Lady of Częstochowa on the altar. She knelt down and began to pray aloud, begging Our Lady to save her child. Danusia was taken to hospital. She had pneumonia. Mother did not leave her day or night, and after a few days she recovered almost completely!
A new way of life began. Unusual, as it was still in a camp, but much easier than the last two years. Our tireless mother, of course, immediately found a job to be able to buy fruit for us, which was abundant. Wonderful grapes, melons, cherries and tomatoes attracted our attention. I don't know who cooked the meals, but the rice with mutton stew was very fatty with a specific taste and smell. It may be that it was a local dish, but it was not the best idea for undernourished stomachs. Hence, the aversion to mutton remained with me my whole life. So a suggestion arose to organise a dietary kitchen where lighter meals would be prepared, especially for children and sick people. This is what mother did. Soon she changed jobs and, together with Stenia, they started sewing in the newly opened sewing room. A school was set up immediately and we started to attend. There was no equipment, you sat on a few bricks and listened to the teacher’s stories.
I was nine years old and children my age were prepared for First Holy Communion. The preparation was very brief, as the ceremony took place at the beginning of May.
Soon we were moved from camp 2 to camp 3 and from there we were sent onwards to make room for further transports. In August 1942, the second evacuation of the Polish Army and civilians to the Middle East took place. The third and final stage took place in September of that year, but by a different route - by land. After that Stalin changed his mind and the border was closed.
In 1942, about 114,500 Polish citizens were evacuated from USSR through Persia, including 78,000 military personnel who were sent to Iraq and Palestine and about 36,500 civilians of whom 12,500 were children under the age of 14. Single men and fathers of families had joined the army when they had the chance. They had thought that the families left behind in Siberia would be taken care of later. However, help did not reach distant collective farms throughout USSR. Desperate mothers gathered up the last of their strength and set off with their children on the way to the camps. Others who were seriously ill tried to find out where the Polish orphanages were in order to send their children to be cared for by an older brother or sister. On parting, terrifying scenes took place, more painful than hunger and epidemics. The children clung to sobbing mothers who chased them away, begging them to save themselves.
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