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Gulag Teenager (5)

    It is the Dvina, a Soviet river,
    It isn´t dearest the nightingale,
    But devils music, oppressing men,
    Sucking the blood till its last drop.

    Will daddy come for Christmas, mummy?
    To clean the walls and make them white,
    So when the priest comes,
    Our dearest house will be all pretty and nice.

    You, dearest daughter will soon celebrate,
    The worried mother said with tears,
    Oh fate, oh fate, you damned fate,
    Why have you taken us to such trial?

    My dearest mother when I reach heaven,
    I will tell all to the Holy Lady,
    That you haven´t enough bread here,
    Tortured unjustly by the devils.

    Christ knows all this my dearest child,
    The Holy Lady knows this too,
    As we keep calling him to our rescue,
    To give us freedom, to break the chains.

    Tell me dear mother, what did I do?
    What sin? So I have to die in this land.
    I always prayed so earnestly,
    You know it mother, you know it well.

    For common sin - this fate from God,
    It seems we´re given the life of Golgotha.
    But you will not die my dearest child,
    As then I will die from sadness and longing.

    You see, dear mother, I do have to die,
    The angels came to take me with them,
    But as soon as I will reach the heavens,
    I will tall everyone how we have suffered.

    How at night, devils have taken us,
    How they have packed us into the carriage,
    How frozen children they would throw out,
    How mothers, wives prayed and cried.

    How they have taken all our belongings,
    What our dear brother have earned with hard work,
    How they did not spare swearing and cursing,
    The Kreml´s executioner has wished this for us!

    How they have drove us through steppes for months,
    To starve and to suffer severe poverty,
    Made everyone forget that there was the sun,
    Since the only thing one could see was the grave.

    How they have forced us to work heavily,
    Giving our dog holes to have as houses,
    How brothers died deep in the taiga,
    Nobody saw this on the big screen.

    And you dear mother, when God will let you,
    See our dear house, our village house,
    Do greet our people from your Halina,
    And most of all do greet dear dad.

    Do greet, dear mother, all things from me,
    Flowers on fields and silence in woods,
    And do not cry, it is in vain,
    I have to die here, such is my poor fate.

    She touched her mother for her last time,
    And then looked at the frost on the ceiling,
    A blessed picture she held in her hand,
    And the young life slowly has faded.

    Unknown melody the Dvina sung,
    As ever it hurried its waters far,
    In snow Halina was lying dead,
    Over her grave the mother fainted.

    I quickly learned this poem by heart and each time I said it I cried.

    Mrs Lempicka and her daughter left and a German lady took their place. It was a young woman with two little children. She worked as a milk maid and would bring milk in bottles hidden under her armpits. She didn´t have any fuel for the fire. When she wasn´t at home and the children were crying I would look after them. It is because men have be brothers not wolves. Now, when praying I asked for the spring to come quickly, so that I could collect the kiziaks again.

    When the Sikorski - Majski agreement was signed a Polish Patriots´ Association and an Assistance Committee was set up in Pavlodar. The help that reached the farm was flour, powdered milk and clothes. I was given an English army uniform - dark green jacket and trousers and a navy blue coat, a little too big. I was very pleased with these clothes. I didn´t have to wear a ripped padded jerkin any more.

    Each Polish family was given a picture of the Virgin Mary of Ostra Brama with a warm blessing from the Bishop Gawlina. The fact that someone was thinking of us risen our spirits.

    On the farm an office of the Assistance Committee was set up. Children and the elder were given a portion of soup daily. This were batter dumplings. Spring came. Easter day was no different from any other, but there was spirit of celebration as grandma painted the eggs which our hazelhens laid.2

    Disabled war veterans begun to return. Some didn´t have legs, some didn´t have arms. There were people to run the place again. There was a Kazakh wedding on the farm, as the fiancé, although without an arm, returned to the beloved girl. He was a Hero of the Soviet Union instead. All those living on the farm were invited to the wedding, including the Poles.

    The wedding guests sat on the floor. In the corner of the house, in best clothes with coins fastened onto them, there was the newly wedded couple. Tables, with small legs, were full of food and drink. There was kurt, jeremshyk and bursaki. The bursaki are small doughnuts fried in butter. The drinks was tea made in the samovar and kumys (champaign made from fermented mare milk, prepared in such a way that it had a low percentage of alcohol). On the side, also sitting on the floor there were the musicians, older men who played balalaikas made by themselves and sung wedding songs with their drawling voices. The songs were in Kazakh language. They were funny as all the guests and the couple laughed loudly. One of the musicians begun to sing in Russian to amuse the Polish guests and then every word was understandable. This is what he sung:

    When I was a Kazakh,
    I ate meat and I smoked,
    When I turned into a Soviet,
    I have nothing.

    When I was a Kirgiz,
    I ate bursaki, I drunk kumys,
    When I turned into a Kazakh,
    I lost my stomach.

    The other musician sung;

    Drink water, eat water,
    Then you´ll never shit.


    There was plenty of laughter. The third musician stood up, walked to each guest and ordered him or her to sing. If somebody didn´t, then he jokingly beaten the person with a belt and spat through his teeth with thin saliva. I stood in the door with other children, observing this strange show. I was treated to a bursak.

    Once again we had to go to pasturing. Zosia drove the ill animals and mum the few months old calves. This year the pasturing time was bad because Zosia was in one place and we were in another. Grandma didn´t feel well and kept talking about her death. I still pastured the calves guarding them carefully. While pasturing I would pick flowers and make bouquets. At midday, when I drove the calves back home for a rest I would bathe in a well which wasn´t used to take water from.

    We got a bad news from Zosia, she got ill with malaria. During a fit she couldn´t keep an eye on the calves and one got eaten by the wolves. She was sacked immediately. Later the punishment was laid off but, despite her illness, she was moved to the haymaking. Once again she had to work far to much for her and the malaria fits were not making it much easier. Mum visited her once bringing her some food. Zosia was devastated. She was saying that she doesn´t think she can stand such life. Her whole body was bit by mosquitoes - they carry malaria. The only good thing that summer was the frequent rain.

    In autumn we returned to the farm. Now we lived in a two room house in the middle of the farm. In one room there were us and another Polish family, Mrs Teclaw from Grajewo. In the other room there were exiles from Germany. They were middle age men - human shadows in ripped clothes. They didn´t have any shoes or bedclothes. They slept on hay. Nobody from the authority gave them any attention. I remember how once I went into their room to ask how they were. I was attacked by fleas and louse. Apart from that I was scared of them as being unshaved and unwashed they looked horrible. Apparently they were castrated. How could I have helped them if myself I was hungry and cold constantly. Many times I would go in there, but they didn´t answer any questions. Later I saw them swollen and dying of hunger. It is indescribable sight. All four of them died. They were buried in the snow. I still feel sorry for them.

    This winter together with Zosia we used to go to clean off the snow. But one can not get much nourishment from snow. Mum would bring a little bran, which was given to the calves. We would make bran cakes. Every glass of flour was accounted for. Often we would eat only once a day to make the food last longer. If not for the Polish Assistance Committee who knows what would have happen to us.

    In our house there were concerts every evening. Mrs Teclaw´s children would sing songs. Polish songs! Blue eyed, five year old Zosia, seven year old Rysio and three year old Jerzyk.

    They are Recruiting for the Polish Army, Making Pretty Girls Unhappy or the Little Lady do You Know? or A Little bird left Lobozovo and other very melodic songs which wormed up our hearts.

    Even the moon and the stars would look in through the window asking who was singing so sweetly. It was Polish children.

    From time to time one of the children would walk up to our bag with flour which was standing on the floor by the wall and would take a handful and eat it raw. They thought that we are so taken by their singing that we didn´t notice. Could one shout at the poor hungry little children? No! They had such small and thin hands, so they couldn´t even take much. At least they had some food. Mrs Teclaw was not an ordinary person, she was a very talented speaker and could tell the future from cards. So from time to time someone thirsty for information on what the future held would come to see her. These people would bring things to eat as payment.

    The evenings were filled with singing and stories told by Mrs Teclaw. When she spoke one would forget about our poverty.

    It was in Poland, before the War, one story went. There was a couple, they liked each other very much. They went out for a year and were very happy. They were planning to get married. The girl got herself a wedding dress. But the boy left her and got married to another, a richer one. The girl couldn´t bear it and poisoned herself with vinegar essence. She was buried in a wedding dress. Mrs Teclaw would also tell us about her husband. He was very handsome and rich. He was only eighteen when they got married and she was sixteen. They went to the church in a carriage. The little Zosia is to be a copy of her dad.

    Another Christmas was approaching. The third in exile. In the hall, on the wall there was a large bush of bent grass that was to be the Christmas tree. I was making trinkets and Mrs Teclaw´s children would watch me. Apart from this I was learning a song as there was to be a show during the celebration and it was to be in our house. It was the ladies from the Polish Assistance Committee and my sister Zosia that prepared the show "Dream". I was to be the dream.

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