My Boyhood War Read online

  ‘Told with the wisdom of one who survived the deafening noise of war, as well as the deafening silence of the peace that followed, this riveting story of heroism and betrayal is indispensable for understanding political events today. Narrated with elegance, gravity and a writer’s eye for the harrowing details that shaped life on the front, Hryniewicz’s book reminds us all of the urgency of the past …’

  Krystyna von Henneberg

  Historian

  ‘An intensely personal yet politically significant account of a major World War II battle … It also enhances a better understanding of Russia’s current goals in East–Central Europe.’

  Zbigniew Brzezinski

  Former US National Security Advisor

  ‘Hryniewicz’ engrossing and detailed memoir of the Warsaw Uprising adds the unvarnished insights of an adolescent “runner” for the underground to a story that never fails to move the reader with its tragic consequences for Poland and for the Poles.’

  Norman M. Naimark

  Professor of East European Studies, Stanford University

  ‘A fascinating personal memoir …’

  Halik Kochanski

  Historian and Author

  ‘This first-hand memoir is a welcome addition to our knowledge of what [the Warsaw Uprising of 1944] meant for ordinary people.’

  Count Adam Zamoyski

  Historian and Author

  To Andrzej,

  and all the boys and girls who so bravely

  gave their lives in Warsaw, 1944.

  Author’s Note

  When I wrote my dedication to my older brother Andrzej – and all the young boys and girls who died in the sixty-three days of the Warsaw Uprising – I automatically wrote … gave their lives ‘for Poland’. There is no question in my mind that they believed they did. So did I. But did they really? What did they achieve by giving their young and very promising lives? We will never know. It has been, and will be, debated for years.

  On one hand, there was the complete destruction of Warsaw, the deaths of over 200,000 human beings, the loss of the Polish nation’s most valuable human asset. The impact on Polish society and potential, from the loss of its best and brightest, can never be assessed. We all know now that the Uprising was doomed from day one. Stalin deliberately stopped the Russian Army from liberating, or even helping Warsaw, giving the Germans free rein. The Allies, turning a blind eye, did not help either.

  After the Second World War ended, nobody talked about it. The story of the Battle for Warsaw, the largest and longest urban battle of the Second World War, between lightly armed, irregular forces and the most experienced, well-equipped army of the day, was virtually unheard of until the fall of communism. It was simply an ‘inconvenient truth’.

  The Germans obviously did not want to have their war crimes exposed: the indiscriminate murder of combatants and a defenceless civilian population – men, women and children – the bestial murder of wounded soldiers and nurses; rapes; the unnecessary destruction of an evacuated city where, after 80 per cent of the buildings were looted and burned, the remaining structures of any historically significant buildings were systematically dynamited.

  The Russians could have taken Warsaw, and at little cost, in the first few weeks of the Uprising. They opted instead to give the Germans total freedom to liquidate that element of the Polish population they knew would always resist communism. They also prevented the Allies from airdropping badly needed supplies to the insurgents.

  The Allies – particularly the US under President Roosevelt – did not want to disclose that they had sold out Poland, and the rest of Central Europe, to Stalin at the 1945 Yalta Conference.

  On the other hand, many believe that the rise of Solidarność (Solidarity), which later precipitated the fall of communism, would not have happened without the Uprising. I believe (or do I desperately want to believe?) that those lost lives, given so willingly, were not lost in vain. That the generation that produced Solidarity was inspired by those sacrifices, as they were by the sacrifices of their forebears in the Polish-Bolshevik War of 1920, the failed Uprisings of 1863 and 1831, and the Polish participation in the Napoleonic Wars.

  * * *

  In November 2009, at the celebration of Independence Day at the Polish Embassy in Washington, the Polish Ambassador presented me with the Commander’s Cross with the Star of the Order of Merit, awarded by the President of Poland. In my acceptance speech I said (or rather I tried to say as I became overwhelmed with emotion) that the Chinese curse ‘May you live in interesting times’ applied to me. I wanted to share the three most significant days of my life during those ‘interesting times’: the saddest day was 19 September 1939, when I woke to the sound of Russian tanks arriving in Wilno; the happiest day was 1 August 1944, when the Polish national colours, red and white, once again flew from the highest building in Warsaw; and the most disappointing day was 3 October 1944, when my commanding officer would not allow me to go to a prisoner of war camp with the other soldiers of our battalion.

  * * *

  For many years my children, and others, have been after me to write my memoirs. I did live in interesting times, times of significant change in Poland. I am old enough to remember life before the Second World War in the Second Republic of Poland, newly reborn in 1918. I also remember conversations and stories of life before the First World War, of times and a way of life that will never return. I lived through the Second World War, the Russians crossing the Polish border seventeen days after the Germans in 1939; the brief annexation of Wilno by the Lithuanians; the return of the Russians; the arrival of the Germans in June 1941; the German occupation and Warsaw Uprising in 1944; the re-entry of the Russians and the end of the Second World War in May of 1945; the communist takeover and the creation of the Polish People’s Republic; and finally the fall of communism and the rebirth of the Third Republic of Poland. I lived to see, once again, a free, independent and democratic Poland.

  I would like to stress that my experiences in the Second World War and particularly in the Warsaw Uprising were not at all unusual or unique. Many boys and girls my age, both younger and older, took an active part in the fighting and the Polish Underground. The figures speak for themselves. After the capitulation of the Uprising, about 15,000 men, 2,500 women and 1,100 adolescent boys were transferred to German POW camps. One of those camps, Stalag 334 at Lamsdorf, held 5,800 men and boys, and 1,000 women including 14–17-year-old girls. On 18 October 1944, the Germans held a special roll call for underage POWs. From about 550 young POWs present, there were eight between the ages of 11 and 13, fifty-seven between 13 and 14, 115 aged 15, and 175 aged 16. Among them were two recipients of the Order Virtuti Militari, the highest Polish military decoration for valour, eighteen recipients of the Cross of Valour and 206 who received promotions.

  * * *

  I thank my daughter Elisabeth and my cousin Andrew Korab, who edited parts of this memoir. I am grateful for the support and encouragement of all my children, Andrew, Sarah, Elisabeth and Gregory. My special thanks to Elisabeth, who on her own decided to be my literary agent and was successful in having this book published.

  I would like to thank my wife Anne, whose love and friendship I cherish. Her strength and support were invaluable through the difficult process of reliving some of the experiences while writing.

  I dedicate this book to the memory of two of the most important women in my life. My mother Janina (1906–2001), who awed and inspired me with her strength, fortitude and sang-froid in the face of life’s adversities, her ability to go on and never give up under the weight of personal loss, the love that she always gave Andrzej and me. To Linda Kelly Hryniewicz (1937–2001), always loved and never forgotten, life companion of forty-two years, mother of our childr
en. And to the new generation: my grandchildren Janina (Nina), Sophia-Linda, Alexander, Bryce and Neve in the hope that they never have to live in ‘interesting times’.

  Contents

  Title

  Quote

  Dedication

  Author’s Note

  Part 1: Outbreak of the Second World War 1 The Summer of 1939, June–19 September 1939

  2 Soviet Occupation, 19 September–28 October 1939

  3 Lithuanian Annexation, 28 October 1939–17 June 1940

  4 Return of the Soviet Occupation, 17 June 1940–22 June 1941

  Part 2: German Occupation 5 German Arrival, 23 June 1941–June 1942

  6 The Best Holiday, June–August 1942

  7 From Wilno to Warsaw, September 1942–19 March 1943

  8 Warsaw, 19 March 1943–December 1943

  9 Warsaw, December 1943–31 July 1944

  Part 3: Battle for Warsaw: Gloria Victis 10 Centre of Town, 1–5 August 1944

  11 Old Town – Town Hall, 6–11 August 1944

  12 Old Town – Telephone Exchange Building, 12–20 August 1944

  13 Old Town – Radziwiłł Palace, 20–24 August 1944

  14 Evacuation to the Centre, 24–29 August 1944

  15 Centre North, 29 August–4 September 1944

  16 Centre South, 4–17 September 1944

  17 American Airdrop – Centre South, 18–29 September 1944

  18 Capitulation, 29 September–4 October 1944

  Part 4: Under German Occupation 19 Transit Camp ‘Dulag 121’, 4–8 October 1944

  20 Kościelec, 8 October–November 1944

  21 Rzerzuśnia, November 1944–16 January 1945

  Part 5: Russian Return 22 Return to Warsaw, January 1945

  23 Miechów and the End of the Second World War, February–9 May 1945

  24 Second Visit to Warsaw, May–August 1945

  25 Szczecin, August 1945–July 1946

  26 Third Visit to Warsaw, 31 July–11 November 1946

  27 Escape from Poland, 11 November–25 December 1946

  Part 6: Germany 28 Berlin, 25–31 December 1946

  29 British Zone of Occupation, 1 January–July 1947

  Part 7: England 30 Nicholas Copernicus Polish College for Boys, July 1947–June 1949

  31 London, June 1949–8 December 1950

  32 Newark, NJ, 8 December 1950–September 1954

  Epilogue

  Abbreviations

  Code Names

  Select Bibliography

  Suggested Reading

  Plates

  Copyright

  PART 1

  OUTBREAK OF

  THE SECOND

  WORLD WAR

  1

  The Summer of 1939, June–19 September 1939

  I awoke to the sound of metallic clatter on cobblestones. It was early morning and grey light filtered into the bedroom I shared with Andrzej, my older brother. I got out of bed and sat on the windowsill clutching my knees, still in my nightshirt, and was quickly joined by my brother. The noise was getting louder and louder, punctuated by the sound of shots. Looking through the second-floor window towards Arsenal Street, about 200ft away, I could see a column of tanks against the outline of the trees in Cielętnik Park, advancing towards Cathedral Square. The tanks were much larger than the Polish ones I was familiar with. From time to time I saw a puff of blue-grey smoke accompanied by the sound of a shot – but they weren’t shots; their engines were backfiring. Red stars stood out on the turrets, growing larger and more menacing as they approached. The Russians were here, just as my father warned us late last night.

  I was in Wilno (Vilnius), Poland. It was 19 September 1939, nineteen days after Germany attacked Poland and started the Second World War, and two days after the Russian Army also invaded us from the east. I was eight and a half years old and could feel excitement building inside me.

  The summer of 1939 began like any other. My older brother and I had just completed our fourth and third years of primary school in Wilno, Andrzej with all As, while I barely passed. Older by a year and two months, Andrzej was a very serious and studious boy. I, on the other hand, was a hellraiser who did not like to study.

  Every summer we would move to the country house with our governess, Miss Krysia. Our property was in Kolonia Wileńska, a summer community 3 miles from Wilno. In the morning we would commute to school by train with our father, who worked in the Military Bureau of the Polish State Railway, returning in the afternoon by ourselves. Kolonia was halfway between Wilno and Nowa Wilejka, a small town with a very large military garrison comprising the 85th Wilno Rifles (father’s old regiment), the 13th Wilno Ułans and the horse artillery regiment. Because of its proximity to the Russian border, Wilno had a significant military presence. It was the headquarters of the entire military district, with an infantry division and cavalry brigade. Several regiments were stationed there, including an armoured battalion where my favourite uncle, Lt. Karol Smolak, commanded a squadron of armoured cars. Our immediate neighbours in Kolonia were all families of army officers serving in the nearby regiments.

  School ended on the last Friday of June. Miss Krysia left for her usual one-month holiday and was replaced by our maid and cook, Pola. Our mother stayed in Wilno to run her beauty salon, and joined us on the weekends. Every summer we would reconnect with our old buddies: next door were Ryszard and Zdziś (sons of Major Kulczyński, company commander of the Wilno Rifles, with whom father served during the Polish-Bolshevik War), next were the three sons of Capitan Misiewicz and last, to complete the pack, was our slightly younger sidekick Staś Slusarski, son of a local farmer and cavalry sergeant from the Polish-Bolshevik War.

  As summer progressed, we fell into our usual routine of playing our own version of cowboys and Indians (Polish Army and the Bolsheviks), and generally raising hell. When the area near us was used for manoeuvres by troops from the nearby regiments, that was real fun! We would follow either ‘reds’ or ‘blues’, betraying one side or the other in exchange for a ride on a horse, a meal from the field kitchen or some other special treat.

  The day we most eagerly awaited was 24 June, St John the Baptist’s day, important for two reasons. Firstly, it was mother’s name day (in Poland we did not celebrate birthdays only imieniny, the day of the patron saint after whom you are named); secondly, and more importantly, it was the day we could start swimming. It didn’t make any difference what the temperature was, you could not swim until 24 June.

  Mother was born on 23 June and the closest acceptable patron’s day was St John’s, so she was named Janina, a female version of John. The whole custom of Noc Swiętojańska, or St John’s Night, originated from pagan times. Originally, it was celebrated a few days earlier, during the vernal equinox, the longest day of the year. The pagan Slavs celebrated this festival of fire, water, sun, moon, fertility, happiness and love by frolicking in the woods, lustfully chasing one another. The Roman Catholic Church very cleverly embraced this custom, minus the lustful frolicking, as the church holiday of St John the Baptist. Mother’s name day was always celebrated in the country house and was a reliably merry affair with lots of people. This summer, I eagerly awaited the arrival of my Aunt Marysia and her husband Lt. Karol Smolak, who had a soft spot for me. However, to my great disappointment, she showed up without him, explaining that duty had kept him away.

  The much-awaited first swim took place in the River Wilejka, a tributary that joined the Wilja in the centre of Wilno. A fifteen-minute walk from our country house took us to a place where the Wilejka was dammed, forming a reservoir which fed a water mill. The dam was wooden, about 12ft high, with water overflowing onto a wooden spillway below. The long spillway was covered with moss, creating a wonderfully slippery surface. The water cascaded over the top of the dam making a tunnel over the spillway, which we entered from the sides, and made our way towards the middle, inching along on our behinds until the water hit our backs. The force of the water would send us flying down the spillway landing in the water b
elow with an enormous splash. This was great fun, which we repeated ad infinitum, rubbing large holes in our bathing suits in the process.

  Our greatest collective achievement that summer was making gunpowder. Uncle Karol jokingly gave me the recipe: take three parts sulphur, three parts charcoal and four parts saltpetre; pulverise each separately; gently mix together; wet and mix more thoroughly; spread thinly and dry out in the sun and finally, when dry, break up by hand and pulverise very gently. Getting charcoal was no problem, but the other two ingredients presented a greater challenge. We used Staś, our factotum, to purchase the missing ingredients. We gave him money and sent him to the general store with the following stories: first, ‘we have bedbugs and my mother wants to fumigate, so we need 9oz of sulphur’; then ‘we slaughtered a pig and my daddy needs 9oz of saltpetre’. With all the ingredients in hand, we proceeded to manufacture our first small batch. We ‘borrowed’ a brass pestle and mortar from Misiewicz’s kitchen and proceeded according to the recipe. When our concoction had dried out in the sun, we gently pulverised it into real gunpowder. The time to test it finally arrived, and we decided to make a small petard first. We used a little metal pillbox, made a small hole in the side, into which we placed a miniature firecracker to be used as a primer. We filled it with our newly made gunpowder and wired the box securely. We decided to test the powder by exploding it around the corner of Mr Slusarski’s barn. I placed our masterpiece on a brick in such a way that only the fuse protruded around the corner. Since it was my recipe and my idea, I had the honour of lighting the fuse. With great anticipation, and using a very long match, I lit the fuse. The resulting explosion, producing a large amount of bluish black smoke, was very satisfying. As the ringing in our ears cleared and we congratulated ourselves, a very angry Mr Slusarski, who we had assumed was absent at the time, appeared. After ascertaining that none of us were hurt, he confiscated the rest of the gunpowder. He promised not to tell our parents if we gave him our word of honour that we would never repeat the experiment.