12 R E C O L L E C T I O N S
Family Histories
KWIATKOWSKI Family
5/ Rumours
Good news indeed, a kind Uzbek woman agreed to let us stay with her overnight. Wearily we walked that short distance, across the roadside ditch spanned by a plank. The next day, I woke up to a grey morning. Mum had gone and we went outside. It was drizzling with rain but not cold. Soon Mum appeared sitting beside a soldier driving a one-horse cart. Quick goodbyes to Mytrenkos who faced the long walk back and we were being driven up the long, gentle slope to Błagowieszczanka. We were taken to the first house on the left which, I think, was the Regimental Command Post of 14th Infantry Regiment, 5th Division. There we stayed for several days. It was in an apple orchard, trees already in leaf, grass quite high by now. Afterwards Sergeant Urban, in charge of civilians the Army cared for, moved us halfway up the kilometre long street. Here we settled under a lean-to belonging to an Uzbek widow. Salt was stored in her yard, large blocks coloured brown. We were now sure of survival though it was a precarious existence. The soldiers were on half rations themselves and from these meagre resources they fed several hundred women and children. After a while, life settled into a rhythm. Sometimes there were ready cooked meals, sometimes just provisions which Mum cooked on an open fire. The only fuel available were the dry stalks of cotton some of which still lay on the ground. Often I went with Mum to gather these along the irrigation canal. Beyond the houses on the other side of the road there was an open space covered with tiny pebbles. Across it trickled a tiny stream, there I often played with children of my own age. There, the Army held a parade at the end of their live manoeuvres. Spring turned into hot summer, we stopped expecting news from Dad, just lived from day to day. One evening I watched the Uzbek woman bake pancakes in a clay, beehive shaped oven. After heating it on a small interior fire, she threw the pancakes into the inside surface and when they were ready, golden in colour, just peeled them off to stack beside her. By her house grew a few small apple trees and mulberries. These she guarded warily. In mid August, rumours began that we were going to leave the Soviet Union with the Army.
It was around that time we had an unexpected visit from Anna Mytrenko and "Niura". They came late afternoon, leading a cow. Her husband had been called up and to survive they were selling the cow but keeping it's calf. Mum still had a little flour so they milked the cow and that evening we had a magnificent meal of milky noodles. Unusually, the next morning was foggy and damp. Crying, Mum and Anna said their goodbyes before the Mytrenkos carried on to Jalal-Abad market.
Once again we were back to the normal routine of existing and waiting. The lime trees along the street at this time had leaves covered with sweet drops of liquid and it was fun licking them in spite of Mum's warnings. The end of the month approached and the rumours of leaving became true. We didn't need a lot of time to pack; all our possessions went into one bundle and a bucket.
When, on 30 August, we headed towards the lorries already full of soldiers, I felt a sense of adventure without having the faintest idea why. It was a short drive to the Jalal-Abad station. During that time I stood behind the cab of the lorry feeling exhilarated by the wind. We were soon on the train and moving, this time it was dry and warm here. A contrast with the cold, wet arrival but this time Dad wasn't with us. Once the train was on the move I fell asleep quickly in the comfort of a window seat. Mum woke me for breakfast. Eating, I watched the passing hills. They were covered in long grass, occasionally large, grey, smooth looking boulders appeared. This scene didn't change most of the day, it wasn't until the next morning when we left the hills and began travelling over flat, grey ground that stretched into far distance. Early in the evening the train stopped. There weren't any visible buildings, only dry, grey bushes. People were getting off the train, small fires were lit. Mum grabbed our bucket and ran somewhere. She was back quickly, made a small fire in a nest of three stones and boiled the water in the bucket. With some she made noodles, using the rest of our flour. Once it cooled we drank what remained in the bucket, there wasn't a lot of it. I don't remember how long the train stopped there because once fed I must have fallen asleep. That meal and a small breakfast were all we ate that day. I next woke up by a high fence laying on a blanket in the hot sunshine.
Beyond the fence there was an open space and water stretching into the far distance. This was the port of Krasnovodsk, today Turkmenibaszi. There wasn't any shade, we were hot and without water to drink. There must have been several hundred people sitting along that fence suffering from thirst like us. Towards noon, a word spread along the crowd that water was available further along this quayside. Tadeusz took our bucket and trudged off in that direction. He was gone for a long time. When he eventually reappeared he was crying but carrying water. A lot had spilled out because the full bucket was too heavy for him to carry a long distance from the tap, yet what he managed to bring was sufficient for us to recover. Time passed very slowly, the temperature didn't drop. The sky was cloudless. We were waiting for a ship that would take us across the Caspian Sea to Iran.