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MARYSIA'S TRIAL
It was ages
before Marysia gave an account of her experiences in Poland after
my departure early in 1944, until she and Punia arrived at London's
Croydon airport in September 1945. From time to time she referred
to many incidents which took place during that period but not until
a request at the commencement of these memoirs did she ever give anything
Like a comprehensive resumé. I asked for a completely unrehearsed
and spontaneous tape recording. The spoken material is condensed somewhat
but other than that, the following is a faithful transcription of
what was recounted. It is to be emphasised however that the emotion
and pathos of Marysia' s voice in her accented English is beyond my
Literary power to convey. To be felt and appreciated, this rare account
of a young mother's range of adventures in war time should be heard
first hand. Marysia Jeffery on a tape still in my possession:-
I remember seeing Ronnie before he left in February wearing a German
officer's uniform and at the end of the month after a sad parting,
felt absolutely lost. His security precautions in obtaining a dwelling
for me on the upper floor of the Lorenz factory proved too trying
after a few weeks. I was not only isolated from the foe, but equally
out of touch with relations and friends and driven to move into more
sociable surroundings.
My aunt had a vacant villa in
Konstancin not far from Warsaw and the baby and I went to live there.
I took all my belongings, including a small radio which had been disguised
to resemble a sewing box full of thread. The BBC News was avidly monitored
and then one day, and on the two following days, what I had been so
excitedly and anxiously listening for, burst into my ears. It was
a special bulletin "Niech Stas powie Marysii ze Pawel jest u
siebie" - "Will Stas please tell Marysia that Paul is at
home". I had nobody but the three months old baby with whom to
share the good news but I nevertheless cried with joy and told the
uncomprehending infant, "They are talking about your Daddy. He
is safe at home and we do not have to worry any more." I telephoned
Stas (Lorenz) in Warsaw who was about to convey the message which
he had also heard.
Stas insisted that I move out
of Konstancin without delay. German troops were being forcibly billeted
in the area and I could not expect to be left in peace for much longer.
He very kindly travelled to Konstancin and helped me and the baby
move back to Warsaw where temporary shelter was taken at my parents'
home on the Nowy Swiat where I had Lived before marriage. Although
there was ample room at my father's apartment, for us to stay for
any length of time was out of the question. According to Stas the
Gestapo had no idea that Ronnie had reached London and were still
actively searching for him in Warsaw.
Our far flung and numerous Kaziu
family were mobiLised to help. In a few days Punia and I, with an
aunt and her young son for company, were established in a Large villa
in Jozefow about an hour and a half by train from Warsaw. Life with
the company of a relation became more bearable for us and the acquisition
of a small but powerful radio which had replaced the former large
contraption also made for less danger.
The summer wore on for us two women and the children. The knowledge
that Ronnie had reached safety was a great comfort to me over this
period. Other than the necessity of keeping as much as possible out
of sight of the ever increasing number of German troops, life flowed
on in comparative tranquility until July when the march of events
precipitated another change of scenery. The little radio gave clear
warning that the Underground were expecting to come out into the open
against the Germans and co-ordinate an open assault with the Russians
advancing from the east. By now the noises of battle penetrated for
miles into the Polish countryside. Heavy explosions and machine-gun
fire could be heard from the east across the Vistula as German troops
retreated through the area or busied themselves preparing defensive
positions. With every likelihood of Jozefow becoming a battlefield
and an Uprising pending, we decided to go back to Warsaw. My aunt
and I and the two children managed to secure places on an unbelievably
overcrowded train to once again take refuge with my parents in the
apartment on Nowy Swiat.
Before returning from Jozefow
to my family, I took a step of long term good fortune. At the time
of his departure from Warsaw, Ronnie had hidden in various parts of
Warsaw a variety of false documents on which to draw for a quick change
of identity when the necessity arose. Quite a few forged identity
cards had been transferred from the Elektoralna flat to the new dwelling
in the Lorenz factory. The array of evidence of clandestine activity
had unthinkable implications for me if the Gestapo were to find such
papers in my possession. Realising even then that a reminder of those
days would one day be important, I hid the documents for later retrieval.
Until leaving Jozefow some months later I had persisted in carting
this package of death sentences with me as I moved about. At last
reaLising that commonsense demanded the abandonment of the Underground
forgeries, I sealed them up in a large glass jar and buried them in
the garden of the Jozefow villa. With accurate bearings of trees and
posts, the position was pinpointed. Long after, when the fighting
had scorched and thundered through Poland and into the Reich, I travelled
back to the garden in Jozefow to retrieve the buried treasure. The
villa had been destroyed and the garden was now one big trench over
which the fierce battle had raged. I walked dejectedly through the
half destroyed and crumbling trench. The bearing marks I had so carefully
memorised for the glass jar had disappeared. Then my eyes fastened
onto something. There was a glitter. Digging and scraping with my
fingers I took back to Warsaw the only reason for which I had returned
to Jozefow.
Throughout Warsaw rumours of an
imminent uprising were rife. The Russians had almost reached the eastern
banks of the Vistula just across from the city. The atmosphere was
electric. The air was explosive with the Soviet radio calling the
Polish people to arm to expedite the ousting of the common foe. The
Nowy Swiat apartment was crowded with relatives and friends. There
was a seemingly impulsive congregation before the threatening storm.
In spite of the certainty of the insurrection, the first shots heard,
which were fired in the region of the main Post Office on the afternoon
of the 1st August 1944, came almost as a surprise. For the first few
days there was so much fighting, confusion and noise that it is only
possible to convey a jumble of impressions. The local Polish radio
which had come on the air with the outbreak of the fighting, closed
down with a Chopin march: we were bombed from the air. Enemy tanks,
Tigers I think, shelled us from very close range. The firing grew
in volume and under a barrage of shot and shell, a barricade of paving
stones was built and everything else we could lay hands on right across
the Nowy Swiat in front of our home. For the first few days most of
Warsaw was in our hands. A Lot of Germans had been killed and Polish
flags hung from many windows. Our group hung our national colours
made from pillow cases and sheets on the end of broom sticks from
every vantage point. Not far from our house the Underground had thrown
the Germans out of a factory which until then had been used by them
for the manufacture of cosmetics. It was fully stocked with barrels
of face powder and large jars of nail polish and varnish. There was
also a large quantity of charcoal, rice powder and various other raw
materials. It was quickly organised into a Polish production centre
for grenades and bombs. A nearby hardware shop, well stocked with
nails and other metals, provided other essential ingredients for our
purpose. Leaving my little daughter in the capable care of a dear
old aunt who had come to stay at home, I went to work each day in
the new factory to which the Underground had now attached the necessary
technical staff to supervise production which expanded as everyone,
mostly women, worked with a furious purpose. As the munitions were
completed, young boys, laden to the full, ferried the supplies, crawling
around buildings and through bullet swept streets, to the Resistance
fighting units.
Next door to the factory was a
house full of refugees who sheltered mainly in the cellars. A little
boy, about the same age as my own daughter who was in similar circumstances
not very far away, was starving to death. Each day I ran to give him
a little food, mostly semolina, and returned to work. A huge bomb
dropped on this house destroying it and everybody in it. Our factory
also collapsed and we were all buried alive. Rubble and masonry barred
our exit but fortunately there was air to breathe though the atmosphere
was choking. Our raw materials, especially the powders, had been blasted
all over the place and every one of us had a thick coating of white.
We became entombed at about the middle of the day and all we could
do was to pray on our knees for deliverance. Our prayers were answered
because later voices were heard calling us from somewhere on the outside
accompanied by the sound of digging as rescuers worked to reach us.
It must have been well into the night before an opening was forced
into our living grave and torches shone through the hole that had
been made. One by one we carefully crawled out. The house next door
was completely destroyed with no possibility of any survivors, including
of course, the little boy to whom I had taken the semolina.
Shaking violently, I made my way
back to my parents' house and my mother opened the door. "Who
are you and what can I do for you?" she asked as I stood there.
"Don't you recognise me?" I asked, and indeed my mother
had no idea that it was her own daughter who had knocked, such was
my appearance. The apartment on Nowy Swiat became crowded almost to
bursting point. There were dozens of people. They slept in the dining
room and in the hall. Some arrived through the underground sewers
from the Old Town which was untenable through German bombardment.
We had little else to offer these indescribably filthy people except
the chance to clean up in the only water supply we had left, a brown
flow from a broken main in the yard.
Shelling and bombing continued
and now that I had no duties at the factory, it was possible to devote
some time to little Punia. Most of the time she and I lay under a
bed, little enough protection, but affording a slight sense of security.
News had been received that a dead horse was lying a few hundred yards
from our house. A sortie was made with knives well sharpened and a
lot of meat retrieved. One elderly aunt of superior inclination declined
to eat horseflesh until the appetising smell of roasting flesh, untasted
for so long, assailed her nostrils and she tuckcd in with the rest
of us.
Kaziu, my father was fully occupied
tending to the constant flow of wounded and mobilised Krystyna as
nurse aid. Krystyna, my sister, though as yet not qualified as a doctor,
was in charge of a hospital not far from Nowy Swiat on the banks of
the VistuLa. The hospital was bombed and burning fiercely. Patients
were evacuated under fire and Krystyna bravely distinguished herself
by dragging large bottles of methylated spirits for surgical use time
and time again, through the flames to safety. With her own hospital
destroyed, Krystyna returned home to work there with our father.
My young brother Jedrek procured
a pistol and foraged the district with others of his own age killing
what Germans they could find and returning with food and further weapons.
By this time the Poles in Warsaw
realised that the Russians grouped on the other bank of the Vistula
had no intention of helping them. There was nothing to do but fight
on grimly. German pressure from ground and air increased as they seized
the opportunity presented to them by the Soviets. The burden on Dr
Kaziu treating the casualties was enormous. Both Krystyna and I went
with him through bullet ridden streets to succour the wounded. Stretchers
were improvised from ripped down doors. People were carried to the
sparsest of shelter where major surgery was performed under the most
primitive conditions.
During the first days of September,
about five weeks since the start of the Uprising, the Germans retook
the centre of Warsaw. To escape inevitable shooting, Dr Kaziu and
my brother Jedrek Left to join Polish units still battling elsewhere.
There were only women Left when the Germans came. They took us from
the house - 'Quickly, take anything you can grab'. Well, what did
we take? A suitcase full of semolina and sugar, and a Little stove,
a spirit stove, so that I could cook something for Punia. There were
a Lot of Germans around. They tried to separate me from my baby, to
take her from my arms, but I yelled and screamed and said they would
have to kill me first. So they took us, my mother, my aunt Zosia,
our little dog - Figa - and Punia and I, but Krystyna was left behind.
A German Leutnant wanted her, and although she Left him in no doubt
as to what she thought, she was left behind. Much Later she told me
her story, how they'd stayed in the flat for three days, and that
he wanted to marry her, but he was killed trying to help a wounded
Polish woman for her sake. She was left wandering the streets and
taken by some German troops, who raped her. She was very depressed
and even thought of taking her own life, but didn't. Eventually she
found her way to one of the refugee camps. Those that remained, the
elderly men and women, the sick and the wounded, women, like me carrying
children, were mustered at bayonet point and ruthlessly hounded on
foot out of Warsaw. For three days, we trudged, helped one another
as best we could, drawing on every reserve of strength we could muster
to carry what few personal effects we had managed to bring with us.
At night we camped on the roadside in the open. Many of the very elderly
and the very young had by morning found eternal rest.
The refugees at Last reached the
railway yards at Radzimin. Shelter from the elements, especially the
constant rain, was almost a Luxury, provided by the empty wagons into
which everybody was crowded. A further inspection was made by the
Germans of their captives and I survived another attempt to drag me
away from Punia who was to have been left in the care of her grandmother.
My only loss at this time was a gold wrist watch, a present at the
time of my matriculation, which was wrenched away by a German doctor.
We were locked in and the wagons
sealed. They had been used for carting horses and cattle, and there
was no room to sit or lie down - just standing room only. My poor
mother was terrified, clutching the little dog to her breast, and
the people were angry and shouted at her, saying how dare she bring
a dog? But he was such a little dog, and didn't do anything. Punia
had diarrhoea from not eating properly,and I ran out of napkins. I
had to use my pants and petticoat and brassiere instead. Toilet facilities
were non-existent. If we wished to pass water, we had a half pint
cup that was passed round, I emptied it by throwing it out the side
of the wagon. Every morning the dead were thrown out of the carriages.
Once the train stopped, and I climbed up on someone's shoulders. I
could see nuns. They threw brown bread at us, and said 'God bless
you'. We divided it up into little tiny pieces. We were on that train
for four days and four nights. The wagon doors opened and everybody
was ordered "Out".
From the many peasants who surrounded
the train it was learnt that they had arrived at Lowicz nearKrakow
in the southern half of Poland. The peasants had driven~ ~Thedrawn
carts and applied themselves to helping the very stricken refugees.
Punia and I, mother and aunt, were driven off and lodged not far away
in comfortable hut with a large garden. All kinds of help was showered
on the newcomers and we were rapidly fed, cleaned up and reclothed.
Half the accommodation was at the disposal of the new arrivals and
nothing was too much trouble for the hosts who considered their efforts
both a pleasure and a patriotic duty. 'Gosc w Domu Bog w Domu.' 'A
guest in the house, God in the house' was an old Polish saying truly
lived up to.
From the Red Cross it was learned
that Dr Kaziu had been taken prisoner by the Germans and released
on account of his age. Jedrek, my brother, had been kept as a prisoner
of war, destination unknown.
The far flung Kaziu family organisation again went into action with
the appearance of another uncle driving a horse and cart who had somehow
tracked down our little group. In no time we had farewelled our magnificent
peasant hosts and were reunited with about forty other near and distant
relatives under the roof of the good samaritan uncle. Like every other
Pole he could not do enough for the people from Warsaw who had fought
the Hun so valiantly in the capital city.
Dr Kaziu arrived and a little
later Krystyna. With over forty people in a small house, space was
a difficulty, especially at night. Punia was fed on demand to keep
her quiet to enable the rest to sleep. Hard as times were, the main
feeling was one of gratitude that so many of the family had survived
the Uprising.
By November 1944, the immediate
Kaziu group which now consisted of the doctor himself, the baby and
I, sister Krystyna, mama Stefka and the elderly aunt Zosia, found
a little house not far from Krakow in which to live. Krystyna's fiance
Zbyszek, who had, been severely wounded in the arm during the Uprising
turned up also and our more or less reunited small family made preparations
to survive the vicious winter which was already upon us. Fuel for
the stove was a priority. Everything movable and burnable was hoarded
to conserve supplies, for when below zero temperatures set in, a fire
was absolutely necessary. Overcoats were worn twenty four hours a
day, awake and asleep. In the grip of the white icy winter towards
the end of December 1944 a German armoured train, just visible through
the bare trees, pulled into the nearby station. About twenty young
German troops alighted and entering the house, demanded shelter for
the night. A battle with the Russians was looming for the morrow and
most of the new occupants were strewn, dirty and dog tired over the
floors. One or two sat over the inevitable bottles of alcohol and
argued with my irrepressible father who adamantly maintained that
the Germans were already defeated.
Just before dawn the soldiers
left and returned to the train. The battle broke out almost immediately.
Explosions and machine gun fire shook the whole neighbourhood. Speech
over the noise was impossible and the whole family lay on the floor
under whatever shelter was available. I covered Punia with my own
body. The house windows blew in and pieces of the perforated roof
and ceiling showered down and the odd bullet winged through and kept
us glued to the boards. The noise of battle flowed into the distance,
and cautiously opening the back door I sidled out into the garden.
The armoured train was in the same place. There was no sign of life
from any of the carriages although smoke was pouring from the engine.
All seemed to have quietened down satisfactorily when I jumped to
find myself looking into the little hole of the barrel of a machine
pistol held by the wildest looking of creatures who had somehow glided
unheralded into view. Grabbed from behind by Dr Kaziu who had also
come into the garden, my father and I burst back into the house, miraculously
not hit by the burst of bullets which was directed at us. The Russians
came in. They were Kalmuks, members of a Mongol people from the Caucasus.
Dark skinned, matted hair, slant-eyed, long of claw, their appearance
and bearing was more wild animal than human. Filthy, ragged clothing,
held up and together by pieces of string, they were walking arsenals
of tommy guns, knives and ammunition. They swarmed through the house
demanding tobacco, food and watches. Terrified that women would soon
figure in their demands, the females, especially Krystyna and I, cowered
wide eyed and petrified, fearing for our fate at the hands of these
fearsome creatures.
My father assumed defence of his
female charges by springing to a verbal attack in fluent Russian.
"What the hell do you lot mean by bursting into the home of private
people making your outrageous demands?" he thundered at the primitive
group. To be so admonished in a tongue they knew only modestly was
sufficient to warn the Kalmuks that the pickings they had anticipated
might not be that easily come by. A pattern of looting and raping
might well rebound unpleasantly on them through the person of this
very authoritative Russian speaking civilian. It was fortunate that
the Kalmuks were not under alcoholic stimulation to affect rational
reasoning which was clearly surging through them as they weighed up
the situation. They simmered down. Tea was produced and brewed. Smoke
from the foulest tobacco, though it set all of us coughing, signalled
the advent of peace and harmony. We learnt that the German troops
who had left just before dawn to return to the armoured train had
been wiped out by these very Kalmuks who, after tea and a smoke, prepared
to leave in search of less complicated prey.
The thought that the German train had not occurred to the Kalmuks
as a target for looting, inspired a family raid to the deserted carriages
after dark that night. Mother, Krystyna and I, discovered untouched
large quantities of bacon fat, meat paste and other foods as well
as cases of red wine. Well laden with treasure, we stealthily returned
home to return again for an even larger assortment of essentials.
The little house which had been
our refuge for some months was now without windows. A number of other
structural damages had been caused by the fighting, especially to
the roof through which the sky could be seen, rendering the dwelling
most unsuitable as a Polish winter residence. It was decided to move.
With our scanty posessions, including the well concealed loot from
the armoured train, the family organised a horse and cart and journeyed
to a small town near Krakow. Identifiable as Germans by their helmets,
mutilated and stripped of all clothing, frozen stiff corpses in grotesque
positions littered the route.
A pleasant change in fortunes awaited us at Wodzislaw. The local hospital
was short of staff. Dr Kaziu was welcomed with open arms and became
the medical superintendent. A few minutes walk from the hospital a
spacious villa was made available and the whole family wallowed in
surroundings which, for us, had almost ceased to exist anywhere in
Poland.
With the approaching end of the
shooting war, streams of Soviet troops were making a way back to their
homeland through Poland. Large numbers of German prisoners of war
were also taking the same route towards Russia. The majority of these
prisoners were in the most pitiful condition. Wounds were untended
and undressed and many were only able to move over the icy ground
by painful crawling. No mercy, compassion or consideration of any
kind was shown to any prisoner, no matter what shocking need for some
form of decent treatment was apparent. Russian troops were becoming
tired of all the plundered goods being manhandled back home from the
Reich and we were able to secure bargains for next to nothing. We
didn't have very much, only the clothes we stood up in. I was still
wearing my riding boots and the green coat, but not very much underneath.
In exchange for my mother's antique
gold watch, we got three big bags of shoes, boots, curtains, blankets
and the most beautiful eiderdown - a huge bag filled with feathers.
We took turns to sleep underneath it. The curtains were heavy red
brocade, and I made dresses for everybody, including my little daughter.
They also gave us some sugar and tea.
A Russian colonel, carrying bottles
of vodka and amply supplied with good cigarettes, invited himself
to dinner. He was very polite and asked Dr Kaziu for two favours.
The first one was to be allowed to take Krystyna back to Russia with
him and the second for the doctor to treat some of his men whom he
described as very sick. Kaziu, who would, in any case have had little
option, consented to see the Russian soldiers at the hospital the
next morning but took a strong line in refusing to consign his youngest
daughter to the long term care of the guest for the evening. The Russian
officer was puzzled, even hurt, but accepted with signs of genuine
sorrow the refusal of his request. Before leaving that evening he
presented my sister with his elegant gold cigarette case. The engraving
on the case was noticeably in German.
The troops that Dr Kaziu had agreed
to see arrived at the hospital the next morning. They were no normal
casualties of war or bullet, burns or sickness. The men were blind
or nearly so. They had become addicted to drinking methylated spirits.
Their eyes were clogged with puss, and neglect of the condition had
harvested a tragic toll. Kaziu did what he could.
The war in Europe ended, though
in Wodzislaw, which was now our established family headquarters, life
went on without change. Russian troops continued to pour through Poland
on their way back home and preyed on the local population. They behaved
more like marauding bands of conquerors than allies returning from
victory.
As the Soviets sought to assert their influence throughout Poland,
most unpleasant incidents served to confirm to the Poles, that the
Western Allies had indeed sacrificed them to the barbaric idealogy
from the east. Under the influence of this atmosphere of terror and
suspicion I maintained a low key about my association with Ronnie.
The treatment I and Punia might receive at Soviet hands was too suspect
to risk. Former members of the Underground were hunted down by the
communists and liquidated on trumped up accusations of being fascists
and collaborating with the Nazis.
Spring wore on into summer. Physical
conditions in the way of food and communication became more stable
but the mounting communist controls and repressions, especially in
the main Polish centres, made the whole Kaziu family grateful for
the comparative isolation of the little country town in which we had
managed to take up residence.
Good news burst on our family in an almost threefold form. A letter
arrived from the British Embassy just established in Warsaw. It was
addressed to me under my Kaziu family maiden name, under Jasinska
the false name adopted for the wedding and finally as Mrs Mary Jeffery.
I was requested to report urgently to the embassy in Warsaw for the
making of travel arrangements to the United Kingdom. The embassy had
obtained the address from Wladek, Kaziu's doctor brother who had returned
to Warsaw as he intimated to Ronnie in the letter he wrote while a
prisoner of war of Germany after the Uprising. Krystyna and I decided
to go to Warsaw. Punia was left in the care of her grandmother and
the devoted old aunt Zosia and we two girls set out.
There was no public transport,
either road or train. We eventually secured a place on a large Russian
truck ferrying empty petrol drums back to Warsaw. The two Soviet drivers
were paid handsomely in advance. During the drive we stood on the
tray wedged in between the metal containers. The journey took three
days and nights of unceasing physical discomfort. Standing all day
and primitive expensive roadside lodgings at night were only part
of a hazardous journey for the us. Both the Russian soldiers were
permanently inebriated, too far gone in drink to present more than
a token physical menace to us. The real nightmare of the trip was
the dangerous driving of the large vehicle which was hurtled drunkenly
forward without consideration for man or beast.
Warsaw was reached at last and the almost inevitable happened. Of
all places, in the street right outside our destroyed family apartment
block in Nowy Swiat was a huge bomb crater. Into it plunged the truck,
its cargo of drums, the two drunken chauffeurs and us two. The truck
lay on its side. The first to surface onto the side of the crater
was Krystyna. "Marysia, Marysia, where are you?" she screamed.
Polish passers-by quickly extricated me from under a drum by which
I had been pinned. I was badly bruised but able to walk painfully.
Clinging to one another we vanished from the scene as did the Polish
civilian audience. The two drivers sprawled motionless in the cab,
whether dead or dead drunk was of little consequence. The immediate
urgency was not to be anywhere in the vicinity of the incident and
unpredictably involved when Soviet officialdom arrived.
Night had fallen. We slowly made
their way fearful of being apprehended by a Soviet patrol, across
the Poniatowski Bridge to Saska Kepa to seek temporary shelter with
Stenia and Jarika. It ~was not until the early hours and drenched
to the skin from the persistent rain that we tapped at the door of
our friends. The welcome from Stenia and Janka was warm but to stay
in the surprisingly undamaged flat was out of the question. The Soviet
police had just departed after hours of long interrogation promising
to return.
Now barely able to walk, I leaned
heavily on Krystyna as we crossed the bridge into Central Warsaw.
At an all night kiosk we obtained some hot coffee and the kindly proprietress
allowed us to sleep on top of a table. Drawing on the last of her
own strength Krystyna managed to assist me, now stiff and aching,
to the flat of an elderly aunt who welcomed both of us into what was
left of her own dwelling. The old lady did what she could to comfort
us and we both lay prone and exhausted, to sleep for twenty four hours.
Somewhat recovered I reported to the British Embassy which had been
set up but a short walk from where we had rested. A Mr Holiday was
kindness itself and said that an aircraft was leaving the following
day and I was to be on it. Without the baby there was no question
of my leaving. Holiday stressed the urgency of my prompt departure
from Poland and intimated that were I to fall into Soviet hands the
prospects would be grim. Both Krystyna and I made a return trip to
Wodzislaw in similar but successful nightmare fashion. Punia was collected
and hasty tearful farewells made to the family. Krystyna once again
accompanied me, this time with the addition of Punia. The journey
back to Warsaw with the encumbrance of a small child was more fearsome
than ever. The aunt's dwelling was once again mobilised for a night
and the next morning an Embassy car drove to the Warsaw airfield.
Take-off was delayed for twenty four hours by bad weather, but the
next day we were finally airborne in a trusty twin engined DC3. It
was the afternoon of Ronnie's twenty eighth birthday in September
1945 when Punia and I touched down at Croydon airport! End of Marysia's
tape.
I have already described the reunion
with Punia very shortly after the aircraft from Warsaw landed. It
was not until years later that the significance of what Marysia told
me about the hours of unpleasant grilling she was subjected to before
ending my impatient vigil in the car outside the airport. The man
who infuriated her with his allegations mostly about me was named
Philby! *
* Degenerate and traitor. A Soviet agent, highly ranked in British
Intelligence.
Defected after the war. Now lives and works in Moscow.
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