The Aftermath
Inside the Bulgarian Embassy. It’s the evening. I wake up on the floor in a corridor. I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep, maybe fifteen, maybe twenty-four hours. I can’t remember clearly how I got here. Ever since I left the sewer it feels like being in another world. I remember the exit. Was it on Nowy Świat? I remember the peace and quiet, and the windows with glass still in them. Then they led us through the town. So many people! All just walking around as if there was nothing going on. Admittedly there were a few explosions but nothing very close. What do you call close? Well, close is when the smoke and dust obscures everything. What do you call really close? That’s when bits of plaster land on your helmet and bricks fall around you. I must be hallucinating, because nothing like that is happening here. Even trees have leaves not blown off by explosions.
They’re calling us to fall in. I get up, but my head starts spinning so badly that I have to lean against the wall. Nonetheless I go to see what’s going on. If this is supposed to be the whole battalion, then it doesn’t have many people. ‘Lot’ is here, and ‘Zabawa’ and a few others, but from my section only ‘Baszkir’. Most people look as if they’ve barely washed since climbing out of the sewers, but the mood is somewhat lighter. There’s talk that the sections from the Old Town will be taken to the rear to rest in some quiet sector, probably in Czerniakόw, near the banks of the Vistula. It’s just unbelievable. We are also thinking that when the Russians finally cross the river they will liberate us first. It’s all looking very rosy. We might even survive!
In the meantime I have my own personal problems to contend with. At the moment I’m too weak to climb a set of stairs, never mind walk as far as Czerniaków, which is not very far. I go in search of our doctor. He listens to my story how I haven’t eaten anything for the last few days, and even when I did, it didn’t stay inside me for very long. He tells me I have scarlet fever. It appears there’s an epidemic. There are no medicines in our quarters so I’m to try and get to the hospital on Sniadecka, where they’ll give me some. I’ll probably be able to rejoin my section the next day or the day after. I’m not very keen on parting company with my MP40. In the end I get round the situation by swapping it for a Sten. A Sten can be dismantled and hidden in a rucksack. ‘Baszkir’ offers to help me go to the hospital. He doesn’t look brilliant himself, probably coming down with the same thing.
7 September 1944
The hospital on Śniadecka Street. It’s very pleasant here. Obviously this is all relative. The pleasant thing about this place in what was once a school is that I can lie on a mattress in a corridor. It’s also pleasant because we’re on the second floor and not in a cellar. From time to time an explosion of a bomb or an artillery shell can be heard, but fairly far away. This morning I heard a dozen or so explosions nearby, which I immediately recognised as being the muzzle reports from a tank (it’s surprising how you can become expert in these things). Apparently, from time to time tanks appear on the Mokotowski fields, to amuse themselves by shooting at the buildings overlooking the allotments. Our building is not in the first row, so there’s nothing to worry about. Some locals went downstairs for shelter but I can’t see the point. I listen out for machine-gun fire or grenades close by. That would indicate a German attack and then we’d have to run downstairs to help. Come to think of it, this running might be a bit of a problem, as I’ve only just managed to get up and can barely walk.
8 September 1944
I’m feeling much better. I can even eat and more importantly, it stays down. Having said that the food here is not what one might call varied. Every day the same ‘spit soup’. It’s a thick soup made with boiled grains, probably barley. It’s called that because of the barley husks, which you have to spit out whilst eating it. In the Old Town there was more variety: either nothing, or plain sugar, or excellent German preserves. Curious that – why do we constantly think about food?
10 September 1944
I am practically recovered. The last dressing is to be removed from my arm tomorrow. I should mention that my arm, shot through the elbow in the first days of the uprising and almost completely healed up, has been playing me up ever since we got out of the sewers. All the various exertions and general filth didn’t help.
I’m beginning to realise how lucky I am to be alive. Those last days in the Old Town weren’t pleasant. That’s how people probably feel when they’ve been sentenced to death and are awaiting execution.
I remember the ruins of the High Court buildings. The Krasiński Square coming under fire from behind. Tanks in front. No contact with anyone on either side. The German machine gun firing bursts into the wall above my head. Two magazines for my weapon, and two remaining bullets in the pocket of my jacket … for that last moment. Then somebody pulls at my leg: ‘Come on, we’re going into the sewer.’
Yes. It’s alright now.
11 September 1944
Great excitement last night. We heard low flying aircraft. They sounded completely different from German aeroplanes. In any case Germans don’t fly at night. Why should they? They can bombard us any time they like during the day.
This means the Russians are nearby. Maybe even as far as the Vistula.
There are various rumours going around, but nobody really knows what’s going on. The Russians must get here eventually, though. They can’t keep waiting forever.
I’m ready to rejoin my group. Tomorrow I’ll try and get to Czerniakόw.
12 September 1944
I’m on my way to meet up with my group. I feel sufficiently recovered to be of some use. Czerniakόw is not far away, but we’re getting conflicting information. A fellow who apparently had just come from there said the Russians had landed and any moment will arrive with help. About time! On the other hand yesterday they brought a wounded casualty from Czerniakόw, not from our section, but from the boys stationed next to the Parasol somewhere near Ludna Street. He spoke of heavy bombardment and a major German attack from the direction of the gas works.
This morning I climbed up to an observation post situated in one of the tallest buildings near Śniadeckie. The view from here is extensive. In our sector, the Mokotowski fields and the Polytechnic, it’s quiet. There are fires burning in Mokotόw, and also towards Sadyba. The largest fires are in Powiśle and probably Czerniakόw. There are also explosions from what look like artillery shells.
I say goodbye to the few people I’ve become friendly with during my stay, and set off. In normal times, before the Uprising, it would take half an hour to walk from Śniadeckie to Czerniakόw, quicker by tram. There’s a thought – these days the trams are used as barricades!
To start with the going is easy until I get to Marszałkowska Street, then through some ruins and cellars to Mokotowska, finally through a ditch along Ujazdowskie Aleje towards Three Crosses Square. Here things start getting difficult. There’s gunfire and explosions from the Deaf and Dumb Institute. I make my way along another ditch to the barricade next to the square. Suddenly a sound I remember well from the Old Town. Three Stukas circling over the square. Shortly afterwards I see the first one diving straight towards St Alexander’s church, a large building in the centre of the square. It’s only about 100 metres away. I press myself down as low as I can in the ditch. A huge explosion followed by two more. Everything gets covered with thick smoke and clouds of dust. I lie flat and check I haven’t been hurt. After a while the smoke disperses. There’s a huge pile of rubble where the church used to be. Not one part of the building remains standing; all three bombs must have hit their target.
I retrace my steps through the ditch and find a group of soldiers sheltering in the ruins of a building in Wiejska Street. They call out to me to take cover whilst I’m still quite a distance away, as they’re coming under heavy fire. I explain I’m trying to find my way to Książęca Street and then to Czerniakόw to find my section. They tell me there’s no way through, but I could try and make my way around the square all the way back to Nowy Swiat. Easier said than done.
I go back along the Aleje, all the way to Wilcza Street. Then through more ditches, ruins and cellars. It’s almost evening by the time I get to the barricade on the corner between Nowy Świat and Książęca. Here I find more people trying to get to Czerniakόw. There’s one soldier in a battle dress similar to mine. He’s from the Zośka battalion, just making his way back from his mother’s funeral, who died in a building near Złota Street. He tells me the Parasol battalion is stationed right next to them. He knows ‘Luty’ and a few others from my company.
The route to Czerniakόw goes through a long and a fairly deep ditch dug right down the middle of Książęca. Street. There’s heavy fire from grenade launchers. As it gets dark, we can see tracer fire from machine guns flying just above the ditch. We would like to know what’s going on in Czerniakόw, but somehow no-one’s coming from the opposite direction. People are starting to run the few steps from where we’re standing, and dive into the ditch. Soon it’s my turn. Darkness all around and smoke coming from a nearby burning building (possibly St Lazarus’ hospital). Shells and grenades exploding nearby. I see someone on the other side helping a casualty. I recognise my friend from the Zośka battalion. I reach a place where some of our soldiers are blocking the way. They’re standing or lying with their weapons aimed along the ditch.
‘Germans ahead. No way through.’
13 September 1944
I’m back in Śniadeckie. I spent the whole of last night and some of today in a cellar next to Książęca Street waiting for an opportunity to get through. Instead, the bombardment and gunfire grew heavier. There’s no way of reaching my section. I’m ashamed to admit that in the end hunger forced me back to where I started from yesterday. When I was still in hospital, and was just about able to walk, I became friendly with some of the lads occupying the sector opposite the polytechnic. I decide to join them. I present myself to the Major in charge of the section. He takes me on gladly, probably not so much for my personal attributes as for my Sten gun, which I’ve managed to hold onto.
15 September 1944
Still in Śniadeckie. It’s like being on God’s hearthrug here, as the saying goes. Obviously, this feeling of comfort is relative. There’s a fine barricade across the street protecting the square in front of the polytechnic from the occupied parts of Warsaw. Further to one side are open fields, the allotments on Mokotowskie. The Germans are dug in, several hundred metres from our positions on the other side of the fields. They are clearly upset that the buildings along Polna Street, although partially damaged, look over their positions in the fields. From time to time, a few tanks arrive and fire a few shots into the buildings. Then peace returns, that is, if you don’t count the snipers and bursts of machine-gun fire aimed at the windows. We don’t fire back as there’s not much ammunition, and what we have we must save in case of a frontal attack.
18 September 1944
All I can think about is food. Ever since I recovered I could eat all day. The food situation is not good; there’s a steady supply of barley soup from the kitchen but, as they say, there’s too much of it to die of hunger, but not enough to live on.
Yesterday I had a marvellous stroke of luck. One of our various duties is keeping watch in the observation posts on the roofs or upper storeys of the houses overlooking the Mokotowskie fields. You sit there for hours with binoculars and observe. Obviously it’s important not to be observed yourself. The Germans don’t know exactly where we are, and every now and then spray the buildings with machine-gun fire here and there. Sometimes they find a real target. And so, yesterday, as I was looking out over the foreground trying to find their positions, one of them must have spotted me. A long burst of fire crashed into my window. Fortunately it was a fraction high; otherwise I wouldn’t be writing this. They quickly corrected themselves and the bullets crashed into the bricks and other pieces of rubble I had filled the window frame with. Needless to say, by this time I was in the next room flat on the floor.
After this little mishap we decide to move to another floor. The building was damaged some time ago from an artillery shell, or by a tank down in the fields. Scrambling around through the rubble we discovered a door to a kitchen cupboard or a pantry. Searching around we found a huge paper sack filled with crusts of bread, about 20 kilograms in all. It must have been there some time, as the bread was stone hard. Not that this is a problem, as we all have good teeth. The worst part was that each crust was riddled with a network of little tunnels made by tiny maggots. When we carried our booty back to the quarters our colleagues take differing views. Some say they won’t ever eat anything so revolting, others quite the opposite, that it doesn’t bother them at all and that maggots are as good as butter or dripping. My opinion is somewhere between the two: I bite off a small piece and tap the crust against something hard until the maggots fall out. I bite off another piece, and carry on. It’s a slow but it’s a perfectly pleasant way of spending long hours on guard when nothing happens.
22 September 1944
Today I ate my fill for the first time in ages. It happened like this. From our observation post overlooking the Mokotowskie fields, we could see on some nights a certain commotion down below. The German machine guns suddenly start firing very low over the fields. From time to time they fire white flares, which illuminate everything as if at daylight. The Mokotowskie fields are covered in allotments all the way from our positions near Polna Street, right up to the German lines. On very dark nights groups of civilians crawl out into the fields looking for things to eat – vegetables, tomatoes, potatoes. Unfortunately, German patrols also move around from time to time. This situation has lasted right from the start of the Uprising. It is probably the only front line in the whole of Warsaw that hasn’t changed since that time. I fall in with a group of civilians, all young men, typical Warsaw artful dodgers. They make me an offer which I could not refuse. They need someone with a weapon to protect them. In return they’ll share their spoils with me.
And so last night, I wasn’t on duty and it was very dark. I went out first, across the street and into the allotments. You have to crawl out very low, flat on your stomach. The vegetation here is of variable heights as it has been thoroughly raided, sometimes a few centimetres, sometimes almost a metre high. Potatoes, carrots, nettles, all sorts. I crawl along right up to the German positions. My job is to keep watch and, if a German patrol should appear, to open fire, giving the people a chance to escape. I’m quite close to the German trenches; at times I can hear German voices. Worse still, I can also distinctly hear the sound of digging behind me and even voices speaking in Polish. I wanted to shout ‘keep quiet’ but obviously can’t. I lie in some furrow keeping as flat as I can, aware there’s a machine-gun nest not very far away. A rocket goes up for me to observe just how close it is. I think I’ve crawled too far. I lie still, too scared to move and give away my position.
An hour or two pass in this fashion. Nothing happens but behind me, in the fields, quite a commotion is going on. I’m sure more people joined our group. After a time it must have dawned on the Germans there’s something going on. The machine gun wakes up, and opens fire just above the ground. Tracer fire whips over my head. The commotion behind me dies down. The Germans quickly got bored and settled down again.
As it starts to get light, I crawl carefully back to our positions. I must admit my partners have given me a very fair share. I get a small sack of potatoes and two tomatoes. I eat the tomatoes straight away but what am I supposed to do with raw potatoes? During the day I set off towards Marszałkowska Street to do some ‘trading’. Another stroke of luck. I meet a friendly family whose house is not completely destroyed. They can still cook and have some supplies. They accept my potatoes gladly and in return give me quite a decent meal, barley with potatoes and something else. I must keep up their acquaintance.
24 September 1944
Morning. I’ve been on the observation post on the top storey of a house on Polna Street since midnight. It’s getting light, it’s going to be a nice day, and there’s some good news. There have been more Russian aeroplanes overnight. I’m intrigued by their pilots’ tactics. The aircraft approaches just above the roofs with its engine turned off, or on very low revolutions, completely silent and totally invisible in the darkness. Then a sudden growl from the engine and if at that particular moment you look in the right direction, you can just about see a shadow of an aeroplane. Then the engine cuts out, and it disappears again. Sometimes there’s a burst of tracer fire from the German positions on the other side of the fields in the direction where the aircraft was. These games last all night.
Now the sun rises, and the stage, in this case the skies above Warsaw, is taken over by the Germans. I can hear the rumble of large aircraft. I spot them soon afterwards, flying in our direction. I start to feel uncomfortable. Up until this time I had never seen more than three or four German aircraft in one formation. I count them … five … ten … twenty-seven! If all this is intended for us here, it’s the end. I know fully well how much damage only three aircraft can do.
I can now see where they’re heading for: Mokotόw. I’ve been in that observation post many times, and I know the terrain of our foreground pretty well. From here we have the best view over the Mokotowskie fields, Okecie and Mokotόw. A little further away are the districts of Sadyba and the outer Mokotόw. The taller blocks of flats and small villas shining in the sunlight are clearly outlined. Everything is out in the open, completely undefended. There might have been some antiaircraft fire from the other side of the Vistula, but can’t be seen from here. But what can be seen quite clearly through the binoculars are the bombs breaking away from the planes. Huge pillars of fire and rubble rise into the air and smoke obscures everything. The whole of Mokotόw is now covered with a thick cloud of smoke, through which the aircraft dive repeatedly. There is also artillery fire and bursts of machine-gun fire in the distance. No doubt about it, the attack on Mokotόw has started. I send a messenger off to the headquarters with the news.
My morale plummets. The euphoria I felt after escaping from the Old Town has gone. What now? I got out of there alive, but it seems like a stay of sentence rather than a reprieve. Here it may be like being on a God’s hearthrug, but for how much longer? From my observation post I can see the situation developing as if on a stage. The Germans surround one neighbourhood after another and obliterate it. We can’t help the people there, nor they us. Since I’ve been here districts have fallen one by one: Powisle, Sadyba, Czerniakόw, and now Mokotow. It’s obvious our turn will come in the next few days. How long will it all last? It doesn’t make much difference, maybe a few days, maybe a week. The houses here are still standing and are relatively solid, but we have far fewer weapons and provisions than in the Old Town. And also there is the fact the Germans are not taking prisoners. Obviously every soldier is prepared for the possibility that he might die, but there’s a big difference between ‘might’ and ‘must’. Too much thinking! It’s just as well we’re being relieved and can go to lunch.
Today something most unusual happened. Silence reigned in my section of the barricade on 6th August Street. Not even gunfire. Suddenly, a group of people appeared through the passage on our side, among them officers I’ve never seen before. They gave me an order: to make a way through the barricade. A delegation will be passing through. What? Where? Where are they going? What’s going on?
It appears I’m the least well-informed person in the whole of Warsaw. It seems there’s a possibility we can surrender, and the Germans will take us prisoner and not execute us as they have been doing so far. Apparently the British and the Americans have officially recognised the Home Army (Armia Krajowa) fighting in Warsaw as part of the normal fighting forces protected by the Geneva Convention. So there’s a possibility we might get out alive. In any case there’s new hope, the same feeling as when I heard there was a way out through the sewers in the Old Town. Afterwards that hope began to crumble, when the districts of Warsaw fell one by one.
But, can the Germans be trusted? Might they not pretend to take us prisoner only to wipe us out in some concentration camp?
2 October 1944
The palace in front of the polytechnic is quiet and empty. I’ve spent a long time observing this area from a distance from our observation posts in the houses along Śniadeckie and 6th August Street. The main entrance to the polytechnic is to the right. Ahead of us, the hospital buildings occupied by the Germans. To the left, just before the Mokotowskie fields a small chapel where candles were lit before the Uprising. It’s a flat paved area. On our side is the barricade and reinforced houses. The silence is deceptive. There are machine-gun nests on the side of the polytechnic and the hospital, holding the square in a crossfire. To step out into this area means certain death.
But right now it’s quiet. A ceasefire. You can stand on the barricade and nobody opens up. Indeed, what is happening is very strange. From the German side a group of officers emerge holding a white flag. From our side too, a group of people, also with a white sheet on a stick: several officers and some civilians. They walk across the square towards the German group and disappear around the corner.
3 October 1944
The surrender has been signed for certain. We now have all the details. We have been officially recognised as allied soldiers. We are allowed to leave Warsaw with our weapons and standards. It’s unbelievable. I wonder where we’ll find the standards? Also I don’t see how it’ll work with the weapons either. According to the pact we’ll surrender only to the Wehrmacht. The SS, the Gestapo, the military police and similar, will not be involved. We will be treated as prisoners of war, under the Geneva Convention.
There’s a strange atmosphere in my sector. To start with, they’ve handed out all the remaining provisions, so suddenly we have plenty to eat. They also divided up the treasury. Somebody handed me 1,500 złoty. There is also talk we might be getting dollars. Maybe somebody else did get some, but I personally never received any. We were supposed to get them later, but obviously later never came. It doesn’t matter in any case. It’s difficult to decide what to do with the weapons. We’re supposed to walk out carrying them, and hand them to the Germans. I’ve become quite attached to my weapon during all these days. Parting with my Sten gun is unimaginable. I always thought we’d be together till the end. Mind you, the end was supposed to be different.
We talk about it amongst ourselves. If the agreement with the Germans is that we’re to walk out carrying weapons, then we should keep to our side of it. If we leave without weapons they might think we’ve hidden them, and could start making us tell them where. Some say the exact opposite, that if the Germans see anyone with a weapon they’ll shoot them on the spot without further ado.
In the end we decide as follows: I buried my Sten and the magazines in the cellar of one of the houses along Śniadeckie Street. One of my colleagues gave me an ancient pre-war Polish rifle without a bolt to carry instead.
We also have to provision ourselves for the march to captivity. I fasten a small potato sack to my splendid leather webbing, which previously carried magazines and ammunition pouches for my Sten gun, and on occasions, the hand grenades – and here it is – I’ve a knapsack. A blanket or something to cover myself with would come in handy, as we might be held captive until the winter. This is difficult, as others more enterprising than I have made off with everything already.
I had more luck with the rest of my equipment. I manage to get hold of a warm jumper. A civilian sold me a fairly decent overcoat for my 1,500 złoty. Apart from that I have my big silver spoon from which I won’t part. A soldier never knows when they might be serving soup.
4 October 1944
Ożarόw. So, it turned out to be true after all. We’ve left Warsaw and we’re now prisoners of war. I have very mixed feelings. On the one hand the Uprising failed, on the other hand I am alive. We knew the Uprising would fail even before the Old Town fell. Our hopes were raised in the Town Centre when there were rumours of landings or help from the other side of the Vistula (where the Russian front was stationed), but for the last week it started to look as if they would finish us off after all. This time we couldn’t have relied even on a handy sewer. Where could we have gone? We were in the last district left standing.
In the final days, I’ve witnessed important events. The people negotiating the truce went through our barricade. We dismantled the same barricade to facilitate the march out from our sector.
It was quite an occasion. Our section marched out second. From our position on the barricade waiting for our turn, I had a good view of those who came out first. They fell in along 6th August Street and marched past us. I didn’t recognise any of them. Apparently it was some infantry brigade. I never knew we had brigades but, I imagine, now that we are a ‘real’ army, we need to have brigades. Either way, they were marching very smartly. Four columns, an officer in front, followed by the soldiers. The first four carried weapons. They also carried standards, probably the Polish flags that were hanging from houses at the start of the Uprising. It all looked very impressive. They passed the barricade and marched in a long column across the empty square towards the polytechnic. The Germans were on the other side next to their positions in the hospital.
It was our turn next. We formed up in fours. Those with weapons were at the front. We had flags, but I daren’t think how it all looked. Those of us in front still had some sort of uniforms: Polish, German, railwaymen’s and others. In the column were also our girls – colleagues, messengers, nurses. Finally a few of the youngest, the underground messengers and others, those thirteen to fourteen year olds. But everyone had a white and red band tied around their arm. I was in the second row from the front on the side and could clearly see the goings on. Eventually the order came.
‘Quick march!’
We set off. A little irregularly to start with. It’s just as well we were a good few metres from the barricade, it gave us time to fall into step. Left … left … left right left.
It wasn’t too bad considering we’d never been on parade together before. We got to our partially dismantled barricade. There was a group of officers and civilians standing there. They all looked important. Maybe Bόr-Komorowski (commander of the AK Polish Underground Movement) himself was there? I had no idea what he looked like. The officer in front saluted. We replied with a sort of ‘eyes right’. Now we were marching across the empty square. Tension mounted. The Germans are close. We are now in their territory, in their positions between the hospital and the Polytechnic. They were firing at us from here. We were now able to see their positions from close up. Quite a large group of officers and soldiers were carrying machine pistols ready to fire. They were probably worried in case we threw ourselves on them. I hadn’t been this close to a German for a long time. But the only shots they took were from cameras. All the more reason to look as military as possible.
We kept marching down Nowowiejska Street along the side of the polytechnic and into Filtrowa Street. The road was empty, but every 10 metres on either side stood soldiers with a gun. They were indeed the Wehrmacht, most of them quite elderly. A few of them even had tears in their eyes. I imagine they were most moved by the sight of the youngest boys – the messengers – and the girls in uniform with red and white armbands.
We marched all the way to Narutowicza Square. The buildings on either side were still standing, although you could see the marks of the battles on them. We went through a wide gateway into what looked like a school. Here the atmosphere got less pleasant. The whole courtyard was surrounded by machine-gun nests, with gunners ready to fire. Was this a trick? They could easily polish us off here. But no. In the centre of the courtyard was a big pile of weapons. Rifles, Sten guns, Russians antitank weapons, and others. We approached one by one or in pairs, and threw our weapons onto the pile. After that we were individually searched, not very thoroughly, and pushed through another exit. They didn’t even take my watch, possibly because I fastened it above my elbow.
They made us fall into another column. After a while we started to march out to the west, away from Warsaw. We reached our destination in the evening. Now we’re in a factory of The Ożarόw. Cable Company surrounded by soldiers. We entered the empty factory buildings. All the machines and equipment have been taken away. We stretch ourselves out as best we can on the concrete floors. It’s cold and dark.
8 October 1944
A wagon train to Berlin. It’s pleasant, relatively speaking. I’m one of fifty-seven passengers stuffed into a smallish wagon. The wagon itself is locked and bolted. There’s a small window high up firmly boarded over. It’s packed tight. There’s not enough room to lie down, I can only sit hunched up against the wall. I have my own window however, and only share it with one of my colleagues. It should be mentioned that this window is a hole about 4 centimetres in diameter, carved out of the wooden sides of the wagon with a penknife. There are around twenty similar ‘windows’ in our wagon. The first one was cut out during the night when the train was moving. We were worried what the Germans might do when they saw it in daylight. The train moved very slowly and stopped several times but nothing happened. The Germans are sticking to the agreement and we’re indeed guarded by the Wehrmacht, and not by the SS or the Vlassov men. This Wehrmacht is in fact Volkssturm, comprised of the last conscription of elderly people. Even if they’re not exactly friendly towards us, they are certainly not unfriendly. I found out from those who have spoken to them that they just do what they’re told, waiting for the war to end.
During one of our halts I volunteer to bring water. We stop at a small station, there are some wagons around and some rubble. I go with a guard along our train. Each wagon has as many perforations as a sieve. It appears they didn’t find any penknives when we were searched!
The train finally got moving after a few hours and several more stops. Right now we’ve halted for good and have been standing for several hours. We must be either in Berlin or very close. The train is standing on an embankment from which we have a good view on either side. During the night we could see fires burning on the horizon on both sides.
Then a heavy artillery barrage can be heard. At least one gun emplacement is not far away from the tracks. It’s an air raid! It’s rather unpleasant as we are stuck in this train on the embankment exposed from all sides. Obviously it’s impossible to escape from closed wagons. Train tracks are frequent targets for air raids. The bombs start to fall. They fall far away to start with, then closer. The nearest explosion was no more than a few hundred metres away from us. I’ve never experienced anything like it. Successive explosions blend into one continuous noise. I can distinctly feel the ground swaying underneath me. It must be one of those famous air raids with a thousand bombers that we heard about on the BBC.
Serves them right. That’s for Warsaw!