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AMNESTY
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Here, we also heard about the Amnesty, thanks to the negotiations
of the Polish Government-in-Exile with Russia. But hope of improvement came to nothing. We traveled from Oparino to Kirov
in dirty, frozen cattle trucks. The Russians threw the dead out of the train along the railway tracks, probably as a meal
for wild animals. We were traveling south to Saratova, on the other side of the River Volga and, each day, there were fewer
of us. There, three more wagons were attached and we were left on the sidings for a few days without any help. Then, the transport
went to a kolkhoz called Ekaterina, where heavy labor was no longer in the tundra but in the fields. Many more Poles began
to arrive; they were deportees from all over Russia. After two years in Russia, we saw our first Polish soldier and, from
this time onward, we were in Polish hands.
Barbara Kocuba Bik
b. 1929, Lwów
February 1940, deported to the
Soviet Union
1942-46, Iran, Iraq, Syria, Lebanon
1945-51, England
1951-present, USA
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Anna
and Wojtuś Krzysztoporscy, Poland, 1939
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My sister, Anna, also got tuberculosis when we got to Kagan,
Uzbekistan. She was taken to hospital where she was neglected terribly. We lived in the local park for several weeks. I remember
that I was not allowed to get up as I still had a fever. My mother made contact with Jan Piłsudski, the brother of Marshal
Piłsudski, whom she had met on the maiden voyage of the Batory. He invited us to live in his quarters. The doctors said that
there was no hope for my sister and that she was completely spent. She was brought back to our room and lived with us for
the last two weeks of her life.
As a child, you don’t fully understand what is happening. Anna couldn’t sleep at night
and one night she woke up and asked Mother for some chicken soup, thinking that would give our mother pleasure. I remember
thinking, “Don’t be ridiculous, just die and don’t bother Mother.”
She died shortly after that and for a long time
I imagined that I was in some way responsible. So my mother lost two children in two months. Shortly after this there was
an outbreak of typhoid, and the doctors thought I would die as I was so malnourished. Fortunately, Jan Piłsudski, coming from
the family that he did, had some privileges and this helped my recovery. He saved my life, as my mother was in hospital with
typhoid, so he looked after me. He would sit and talk to me which was good for my spirit. So many people were dying at this
time that you could forgive any family that did not make this effort. We left Russia on the last transport and arrived in
Iran on March 4, 1942.
Jadwiga Krzysztoporska Piasecka
b. 1935, Warszawa
June 1940, deported to the Soviet Union
1942-43,
Iran
1943-68, England, Scotland
1968-present, USA
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I remember nothing about the journey across the Caspian Sea.
We finally got to Pahlevi in Iran; we lived on the beach all day and night, with little canopies to keep out the sun. I was
very sick at this time. The English doctors would check us regularly to see if we were fit enough to be put on a lorry and
taken to Tehran. My mother told me to rub my cheeks so that they would be nice and rosy; then we’d be selected. I remember
that my insides were coming out of my rear end, (it may have been dysentery), and I remember a woman in a white coat coming
to see me. She gave Mother some pieces of soap and told her to soak them so that the rough edges would be removed. Then she
cut them into little pieces and used them to push my insides back up inside me again.
Julian Ciupak
b. 1935,
Bartków
February 1940, deported to the Soviet Union
1941-48, India, Africa, England
1948-present, Canada
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The Sacrament of the Division of Bread
My Aunt Zosia
relates the tale
Of Janka
Whom she met
When they shared a mud hut in Uzbekistan
In terrible times
Darling
Zosia
Fretful with worry
That her mother
Whom she had had to leave
Without anyone to care for her
Mother Janina
Alone,
ill, fading away.
Might die,
Zosia praying to God
To keep Janina in his loving embrace
Met Janka
Tall,
brunette, eyes that knew life,
Self-controlled.
Janka
When the spoonful of sugar
And small chunk of bread
Was
handed out
With the pea soup
- the food for the day –
Would divide her bread
Into two equal halves
And dry
one half for a later date
When starving Zosia
Asked in disbelief
How Janka could be so
Disciplined
How
she could abstain from eating every last crumb
In a flash of need, of desperate need
She replied
“I dry the bread
so that
If I get the opportunity
I can send it to my mother.
She is in the Uzbek village
And is suffering hunger.”
Zosia
fell ill
And was taken to a mud hut
That was used as a hospital.
When she returned from the hospital
Janka
was not there
She had died from hunger.
Zosia does not know if Janka’s mother
Ever received the bread
Which
this teenage girl had kept aside
To keep her alive
The bread of a life
Sacrificed by a daughter
For her mother
In
terrible harsh times
Just as Zosia had shared
Her meagre rations
With her precious mother
Janina
In previous
months
Ready to die
So that the other might live
The truest testimony of love
The miracle of breaking bread
The
sacrament of holy communion.
© Martin Stepek, 2005
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