THE STORY OF JOZEF PODBIERESKI and his wife, Zofia, is one to give hope to anyone who hears it. This remarkable couple survived the German invasion of their Polish homeland in 1939 – refusing to yield to nazi terror and oppression. Zofia spent several years incarcerated in concentration camps, while Jozef enlisted as a soldier and fought for the allies, becoming one of the incredibly brave souls who worked in Occupied France with the Resistance, frustrating the German war effort by putting their own lives at risk on a daily basis. During those hazardous and treacherous days, it is fair to say that whatever they witnessed was as close to hell as anyone can possibly imagine.
Quiet, softly-spoken and incredibly hardworking, the war years forced the Podbiereski’s to endure a long period of enforced separation before they were reunited by the Red Cross after the Second World War had ended – when it’s likely both had given up all hope of ever finding one another again. It was in the north of England that fate intervened and Jozef and Zofia saw one another again at a special camp for Polish people in Willerby (located on the outskirts of Hull). Displaced people from Eastern Europe were relocated throughout the length and breadth of Britain in those early post-war years, and in a bid to ensure ravaged, economically challenged cities (and industries) got access to people with the requisite skills, they would join the settlers who found their way to Cottingham, eventually buying a house and two acres of land on the corner of the Lane and the Avenue. From here, they established a successful market garden business and integrated themselves, and their daughter, Kazia, into everyday village life.
Throughout my childhood, I had known nothing about the incredible Podbiereksi story. I was completely unaware of the trials and tribulations experienced by ‘Mr Joe’ (the name we all used when speaking to him) and Zofia (pronounced Sofia), and of the events that had defined much of their early life. They were simply neighbours who happened to come from a foreign country. For a child like me, that was as complicated as it got. I often saw them, waved and said “hello”, exchanging pleasantries as I stood in the rear gardens of number seven and number thirteen. Just like my grandad and uncles, Mr Joe would always be found wearing an obligatory flat cap in all weathers, while his wife always seemed to have a scarf wrapped around her head. Both were permanently bronzed – even during winter – and they always seemed to have a dusty pair of wellies on their feet. But nothing they did, or said, ever suggested they had lived through such hardships. I occasionally heard members of my family refer to the couple, but because the conversation was usually about something to do with vegetables or flowers, I tended to stop listening. Yet whenever my family talked about them, something I now recognise as the deepest of respect was always present. Alas, in 1977, when I was carefree and callow, I clearly recall displaying far less of this trait than my elders would have liked.
One such occasion was on Monday, the twenty-second day of August. The date was significant because it meant I had passed the midway point of my already eventful holiday. I had blotted my copybook with my ‘adventurous’ behaviour (thankfully the lemonade bottle escapade was not yet known about by Auntie Kathleen and Uncle Jim) but I hadn’t been in the dog house for too long. Recalling the experience of being pursued by RAF fighter planes, we had spent the weekend imagining we had become some of the country’s most wanted fugitives – and we laughed at the thought of being notorious. But it was only funny for a while, soon becoming boring. By Monday, I had become a bit of a stuck record, telling anyone who would listen about City’s heroics against Sunderland. I had sorely tested the patience of Auntie Kathleen and Uncle Jim, and despite their best efforts, they couldn’t find a way of shutting me up. The one person who wouldn’t want to have her senses assaulted was my mum, as I discovered when she phoned during her lunchtime to see what I had been up to. When she asked, I told her all about the excitement of my Saturday afternoon, and it wasn’t very long before I heard her yawning down the phone. Had I not been so unobservant, I would have quickly realised she was losing the will to live. “That’s all very interesting,” she commented after finding an opportune moment to break through my monologue. “Make sure you enjoy the rest of the week and continue to be a good lad for your Auntie Kathleen. I will see you in a few days when we can have a good chat about everything you have been up to. Now, pass me over to your aunt – and make sure you continue to be a good lad.”
With Auntie Kathleen becoming absorbed in her conversation with mum, I opted to take Sweep for a walk. I needed to get some fresh air. After finding his lead, I woke him up from his lair under the table, and then proceeded to take the uncooperative hound on a forced march around the block – the same two-mile trek Uncle Jim undertook every evening. This time, however, I made sure he was kept well away from any other dogs and their owners, for I really didn’t want a repeat of the King Charles Spaniel episode of the previous Thursday. When we were on the home straight and had passed Elliott’s, Sweep had a surge of uncharacteristic energy, tugged at his leash, and completely caught me by surprise. Before I knew what had happened, the cunning canine had freed himself from my grip and was bolting in the general direction of the Avenue. I chased after him for more than a hundred yards, but the mutt could run like the clappers when he wanted to, and he held a strong advantage over me. With his legs pumping like pistons, the chains of his lead bouncing off the pavement, and his large ears dancing in the gentle summer breeze, the distance between us grew. In the end, I gave up. The last thing I saw was him swerving to avoid Auntie Bess (a neighbour who lived at number five) as she rounded the corner. Clearly surprised to see Sweep’s ungainly frame bearing down on her, she produced a deft side-step, retaining her composure rather well as she did so, albeit I suspect her heart momentarily skipped a couple of beats. “Don't worry, love, he does that all the time,” she said in between a handful of large gasps of breath that served to steady her slightly frayed nerves. “I am forever seeing your Uncle Jim running home, trying to get control of him before your Auntie Kathleen finds out. That dog has escaped more times than Houdini.”
After bidding me a good day, Auntie Bess continued her brisk walk up the Lane. As I watched her make steady progress on the recently resurfaced path, I noticed something sticking out of the lush green hawthorn bush that shielded the land owned by Mr Joe and Zofia from the hustle and bustle of the main road. It was a blackened object, thin and rounded, invisible to the eye unless you were standing at a certain angle, as I was. The protruding object was at least a foot in length, as I discovered when I carefully extracted it from the foliage and gave it a cursory inspection. A sense of disappointment replaced my excitement as I quickly realised it was merely an old iron railing, the type used to fence and protect churches, schools, and a wide range of public buildings. From far away, it had looked interesting, something of real interest. But after realising what it was, I had little use for it. So, I threw it back into the hedgerow.
And that reckless act proved to be my next undoing.
No sooner had I thrown the rod back into the hedge than I heard the unmistakable sound of breaking glass as the rod smashed into one of the hidden greenhouses located behind the hawthorn hedge. It took a few seconds for me to comprehend what had happened, and the realisation I had caused unintentional, potentially serious damage, left me feeling confused and fearful. There had been no desire on my part to cause more trouble All I had tried to do was return the bar from whence it had come. My mistake was to put too much effort into things because rather than nestle once again in the thick of the hedge, it had sliced through the foliage, shattering several sheets of glass on the other side. At that moment, I once again recalled my mum stressing to me the importance of owning up whenever I did something wrong. But my track record during the past week had not been good, so I fled the scene as quickly as my legs would allow. It didn’t take me long to make it back to number thirteen, albeit my lungs were close to bursting. Without hesitating, I opened the back door, startling Auntie Kathleen, who was sitting down at the scullery table drinking a cup of tea. Beyond her, I saw the smug and distinctive face of Sweep, who was looking directly at me, his eyes full of contempt. He had only been home for a handful of minutes and was finishing off the Winalot biscuits that always awaited his safe return. Occasionally he averted his gaze so he could gulp down large mouthfuls of water, spilling as much on the floor tiles as went into his mouth. But he made sure he looked up every few seconds, just to see how I was reacting. Thankfully, I didn’t have to put up for too long with the feelings of humiliation that enveloped me.
“What on earth is the matter?” enquired my surprised aunt after I had burst through the door. “Spill the beans, Tony, as there is clearly something wrong. And I am not talking about Sweep giving you the slip.”
There and then, part of me wanted to confess everything. But my inner demon, the type that afflicted many boys of a certain age, chose that moment to whisper in my ear, insisting I said nothing about the incident. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” I said, the dark side winning that particular duel. “I was worried about Sweep. He got away from me just around the corner, and I was frightened he may not have come home. Thankfully, I can see he had no trouble getting back to the house. But I am really sorry I couldn’t control him. He caught me completely by surprise.” Auntie Kathleen’s response was to roll her eyes and smile. “I know. I know,” she said. “Uncle Jim is always dashing home, getting in to a right old state because he thinks something has happened to him. But it never has, and it hopefully never will. Sweep’s a wily dog who can sense the exact moment when your concentration is at its lowest point. That’s when he takes control and makes his bid for freedom, and once he’s got it, all he does is trot back here, bark at the door and demand to be let in and fed. He loves his occasional victory and his home comforts. The comment enabled a sense of relief to start pulsing through me. I laughed. Just as I started to relax, Auntie Kathleen and I nearly jumped out of our skins. There was a loud rapping noise at the front door, and it was the kind of hammering nobody ignored. “Whoever could that be?” she inquired. “They are making enough noise to awaken the dead. Whatever could be so important?”
As an aside, she added: “And it had better not be about something you have got up to!”
As she rose from her chair and made her way to the front of the house, I felt a sinking feeling. I was pretty sure I knew who might be at the door. Sure enough, I didn’t have long to wait before Mr Joe’s distinctive voice reached me – and I could tell he was in an agitated mood. In heavily accented English, I could make out the words “broken”, “iron bar”, “vandalism” and “unacceptable”. An awkward moment of silence ensued, followed by my Auntie Kathleen apologising profusely. After a couple of minutes, the conversation seemed to be over as Mr Joe said “tak” and left the house. After a brief pause, when time seemed to stand still, Auntie Kathleen was suddenly sitting once again at the table with an expression and body language that had completely changed.
“I have just had a very interesting conversation with Mr Joe, and I think you need to explain yourself,” she said, before drinking what was left of her tea and letting her all- knowing eyes lock onto me once again. “That poor man. He is not happy, and he has every reason to be upset. I don’t know why you have done what you have, but you will need to offer him something more than a mealy-mouthed explanation when you tell him why you have just gone and inexplicably damaged one of his greenhouses.”
Auntie Kathleen’s words hung in the air. When I sensed the time was right, I attempted to explain what had happened. I had only just started talking when Auntie Kathleen lost patience with me. “Enough, enough,” she hissed. “You need to grow up. You are coming with me right now, and you’re going to tell Mr Joe yourself what happened, and how sorry you are for breaking his property. And you will accept whatever punishment he deems appropriate, because you need to learn your lesson, Tony. You really do.”
My head was spinning. I was surprised at how quickly my day had spiralled out of control. I started to think I must be jinxed (whatever that was). Before I could rehearse what I was going say to the Podbiereskis, I found myself being dragged by the arm. Auntie Kathleen’s vice-like grip quickly hauled me outside, and I found myself walking up the Avenue, towards Mr Joe’s and Zofia’s, where my judge and jury awaited.
“I think I understand what you are saying,” said Mr Joe, after he had listened to my explanation and mulled things over. “So, there was no intention on your part to cause us any harm, or destroy anything? The glass-breaking was a freak accident? You are telling us you expect us to believe this was just an accident?”
I had stood at the front door of the Podbiereskis, on the ‘naughty step’ as my mum liked to call it, for a full ten minutes. Only after Auntie Kathleen had pleaded my case was I allowed in. Then I had to repeatedly explain myself to ensure there were no inconsistencies in my version of the events that had led to two panes of glass being broken. I couldn’t work out whether anyone believed me, as the expressions of Mr Joe, Zofia and Auntie Kathleen remained neutral. It felt like I was standing in the dock of the Old Bailey, not knowing if the judge was going to pass the death sentence, or not. As all three adults appeared less and less convinced by my pleas of innocence, the more desperate I became. In the end, after a lengthy period had lapsed, Auntie Kathleen acted decisively. “We don’t seem to be getting very far,” she observed. “Please accept my apologies for any distress caused by this unfortunate incident. I am sure Tony meant no harm to either of you. By the sounds of it, the whole thing was an accident caused by Tony not engaging his brain, and he has form in this regard. That doesn’t mean he will escape punishment, for he will get short shrift from his mum once I have told her about what’s happened today. And he will obviously make good here by paying for the damage out of his own pocket money.”
I winced. The cost of replacing the window panes was more than two pounds. The prospect of losing some of my own money hadn’t been discussed, and to hear it being offered was a shock. Knowing I was likely to lose the money mum had given for my second week would test the sincerity of any apology I would be asked to offer, for I was doing all I could to save enough to be able to buy a rugby ball. I spent a moment thinking about the Mitre all-weather size-five I had set my heart on. Just as a fully-blown self- pity party threatened to consume me, I realised I was in the wrong and needed to atone for my mistake. The rugby ball would have to wait.
As I looked at the adults, I could see Mr Joe nodding his head in appreciation of Auntie Kathleen’s diplomatic skills. He said nothing but looked as though he was deciding what to do next. Eventually, Mr Joe looked directly at me and said: “I accept your apology, young man. But you were extremely foolish to run away. Fleeing the scene makes you look guilty. If it was an accident, why would you do that?”
Before I could answer, he continued: “Let’s not dwell on this. To put things to rest, I suggest you come here tomorrow morning, at eight o’clock sharp, and work with me and Mrs Podbiereski in the greenhouse. You can help us repair the glass, tidy up the hedge and do some general jobs around the place. After all, there are always plenty of things to do in a market garden like ours. And when you have spent the day working hard, any debt you owe us will have been repaid. There will be no need for you to pay us any of your money.”
I was delighted by Mr Joe’s words, which meant my rugby ball ambitions remained intact. But before I could say anything, Auntie Kathleen spoke up for us both. “That is very fair and very kind of you,” she said. “Tony will be very happy to come around and lend a hand, and I will make sure he is with you just after he’s had his breakfast. One again, please accept our apologies.”
A smile passed across the mouths of the Podbiereskis and once again I heard Mr Joe utter the word “tak”, which I now know means “yes” in his native tongue. Unsure of what to do next, I was grateful when I felt Auntie Kathleen’s hand once again take a gentle hold of my arm and guide me back towards the Avenue.
“You are a very lucky young man to have got off so lightly,” she said as we walked the short distance to number thirteen. “Mr Joe could have come down on you like a ton of bricks. Do you realise Zofia was in the greenhouse when your act of foolishness led to the glass being smashed? It gave her quite a fright. You are a lucky so-and- so. Now, just make sure you do everything Mr Joe and Zofia ask of you. Create a good impression, and we can quickly move on. But if you don’t learn from this, then your mum will have to become involved, and we both know she will be a lot less lenient than me. Do we understand one another?”
I did. I knew my mum had been having a hard time, and the last thing she needed was to find out I had been getting myself into trouble. She needed a break, and if she found out I had been up to no good, she wouldn’t get one. It was as simple as that.
“Don’t worry, Auntie Kathleen, I will be on my very best behaviour,” I pledged. “I won’t let you, or mum, down. And I will do everything Mr Joe asks of me.”
In truth, I was dreading what the following day would bring. The last thing I wanted to do was work. I’d never had to do hard work in my life, so the thought of having to get my hands dirty and do manual work – for eight long hours – was not something I was looking forward to. On the other hand, I did accept I must be punished.
“Okay,” she said after a while. “Let’s try and finish the day off on a positive note. I promise not to say anything about this to Uncle Jim, or your mum, if you volunteer to do the washing up tonight, after we have had dinner. And, if you do so, you will get into Uncle Jim’s good books, as he will be able to relax after a long day at work. What do you say, have we got a deal?”
The smile returned to her face. Auntie Kathleen did not do misery and despair for long. “Have I told you we are going to be having Toad in the Hole and onion gravy, followed by one of my homemade rice puddings?” she asked. “I am sure there will be seconds for you, just as long as I can count on you helping me to get everything sorted out?” My aunt had a special talent for putting people at ease, and today, even though I had caused her more distress, I was the one to benefit from her special treatment. It was easy to understand why everyone in my family loved her so much.
“I will try to be on my best behaviour,” I pledged.
Seemingly satisfied, Auntie Kathleen opened the back door of number thirteen, just in time to hear a blood- curdling howl escape from the depths of Sweep’s throat, as he awoke from yet another deep sleep.
“Now there’s a welcome you don’t get very often,” observed my aunt. “It might sound like one of the Hounds of the Baskervilles is about to go beserk, but I know he’s just pleased to see us. Go and give him a good stroke, Tony, and I’ll start making the tea.”