tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45356939376542569362024-03-17T06:52:22.487+00:00304 (POLISH) SQUADRON - RAFARCHIVEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08394269080036911253noreply@blogger.comBlogger413125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4535693937654256936.post-50725907418215550902022-01-04T01:31:00.001+00:002022-01-04T01:31:52.600+00:00THE BLOG THAT WOULDN'T DIE<p style="text-align: justify;">A few weeks ago I tried to comply with the Google move to unification of services. I did not realise that this would become a task more suited to Superman running a gauntlet of trials more usually faced by Indiana Jones. All I wanted to do was comply with their unification of services policy. All I achieved was to shatter my nervous system and turn into a grumpy old man!</p><p style="text-align: justify;">In following the "simple" process I managed to lose all of my email and messenger services, lose access to my blog, lose control of my blog and lose my entire list of contacts. And lose my temper - big style! </p><p style="text-align: justify;">Using the recovery process totally failed to recover anything - Google just kept telling me that they could not be sure the blog was mine. That meant 15 years worth of research and 13 years worth of blog entries were just about to go down the Suwannee - even though I correctly answered the Security question.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">The big problem was that Google's recovery process is entirely automated and human contact is impossible. That will never change. So I urge you all to make hard copies of everything you are researching. Fortunately I practised what I am now preaching and I have finally been able to recover this blog</p>ARCHIVEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08394269080036911253noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4535693937654256936.post-63219608097529249922021-05-30T09:28:00.002+00:002021-05-31T20:16:56.997+00:00STANISLAW ROMAN BECKER<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwyhX5uSp7TcYzMWuGdSFjplOZjVZSiuAFcy34yL0HH1_ciAZ7VQjDM_73oF4OGwtGVpCrEtjNJG9F_kF6xSyrQgOk22RY1omEAeNMc2UGNPSKY0BIc4NaSFROrpg8JqOoWSvqWApIqvU/s154/B2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="154" data-original-width="120" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwyhX5uSp7TcYzMWuGdSFjplOZjVZSiuAFcy34yL0HH1_ciAZ7VQjDM_73oF4OGwtGVpCrEtjNJG9F_kF6xSyrQgOk22RY1omEAeNMc2UGNPSKY0BIc4NaSFROrpg8JqOoWSvqWApIqvU/w249-h320/B2.jpg" width="249" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">He was born on 30th December 1913 in Kosow, Stanislaus Province (now Ukraine), the son of Władysław and Adeli Becker. He graduated from the 4th grade of the State Industrial School and the aviation school in Lwow. In 1932 he joined the Polish Army and was posted to the 2nd Air Regiment as a flight engineer. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">He served in the September campaign and was shot down in combat after which he made his way back to his unit in Lutsk but was then ordered to evacuate to Romania. He crossed into Romania on 19th September 1939 where he was disarmed and interned. Some weeks later he slipped away from the camp and made his way across the Black Sea and into the Mediterranean to The Levant (now Syria) and from there to Marseilles, France where he rejoined the Polish forces. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">In June 1940, when the French capitulated, he made his way to Great Britain and was sent to the Polish Depot at Blackpool where he underwent further training on British equipment and was finally posted to 304 Squadron where he served as a fitter. Not content with that, he volunteered as aircrew and, after further training, he was posted to 300 Squadron. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Later in the war he and his crew volunteered for 1586 Special Duties Flight and was posted to Brindisi, Italy where his duties were supply drops to insurgent groups particularly the Armia Krajowa during the Warsaw uprising. Late in 1944 he was posted back to Great Britain and was posted to 301 Squadron in its transport function. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">After the War, in 1948, he returned to Krakow in Poland where he remained until his retirement in 1978 and he became very active in veterans groups and aviation groups.
During his military career he received the Cross of Valour and two bars, the Medal Lotniczy and British campaign medals. He died on 29th December 2001 and is buried in the Queen Hedwig Street cemetery at Mielec. The photo was taken towards the end of his military career.</div>ARCHIVEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08394269080036911253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4535693937654256936.post-3599170993148105712021-05-25T23:09:00.001+00:002021-05-25T23:09:35.610+00:00EUGENIUSZ JOZEF BARDECKI<p><b><span lang="PL"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Eugeniusz Józef Bardecki</span></span></b></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">Can anyone please help with information on this man who was possibly a member of the Squadron. Readers in the Ontario area of Canada may possibly have known him. A wartime photo would be very useful too.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">Service No 782197</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Born 10th March 1920<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: inherit;">At Kołomyja, Poland
(now Ukraine)<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Died in 1994<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: inherit;">At Toronto, Ontario,
Canada<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Rank LAC/plutonowy<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Trade: Mechanic<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Last served with
663 Squadron but believed to have previously served with 304 Squadron as 663
was only established in September 1944 at RAF Eboli in Italy. He is also mentioned by name and number in
304 Squadron records, having apparently arrived there on 5th December 1940.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p>
<span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Awarded 3 x Medal Lotniczy and British campaign
medals</span></span></p>ARCHIVEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08394269080036911253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4535693937654256936.post-31923358825347854792021-03-19T15:34:00.008+00:002021-03-19T20:10:06.915+00:00EUGENIUSZ JAWORSKI - NOT OF 304 SQUADRON<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjcZH_ZOlFLgzrOZ0rZMZqbmi10ZgUPRhULcHtnNO2vH84O5TlhIPYczC_yEa_ePRfJcnrMR2f-YZnfD7Q7GLS1Ietv4tMpZ3b1q4_JjzSYgtkkysSbHVujl_liHhn-ffXzTRTDs8d9CE/s279/Jaworski.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="279" data-original-width="194" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjcZH_ZOlFLgzrOZ0rZMZqbmi10ZgUPRhULcHtnNO2vH84O5TlhIPYczC_yEa_ePRfJcnrMR2f-YZnfD7Q7GLS1Ietv4tMpZ3b1q4_JjzSYgtkkysSbHVujl_liHhn-ffXzTRTDs8d9CE/w278-h400/Jaworski.jpg" width="278" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">This is the man who changed identities with Jozef Franciszek
Jaworzyn to help his 16 year old friend join the Polish Air Force in exile.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Warrant Officer
(plutonowy) Eugeniusz Jaworski</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">Pilot</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Serial No 784055 <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Serving with 61
OTU<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Born 24th
November 1921<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">At Łuniniec, Poland
(now Belarus)<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Died 27th April 1944<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Buried at Market
Drayton, Shropshire, England</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">In the aftermath of the September campaign 16 year old Jozeph Franciszek Jaworzyn and
Eugeniusz <span style="font-family: arial;">Jaworski became friends. This
was some time between the fall of Poland and their evacuation from France on
the Arandora Star. They arrived in
Glasgow together and their service numbers were only five apart. On the journey the two conspired, with a few
other Polish pilots under training, to give the young Jaworzyn lessons in the
elements of flying so that he could bluff his way to become a pilot.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial;">When they arrived, Jaworzyn failed his medical on account
of his under nourished condition and his slight stature. He immediately applied for a second medical
and was granted one, three weeks later.</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial;">This time Jaworski took the medical and passed! From that time, their identities were changed
and no one was any the wiser until Eugeiusz Jaworski's untimely death on 27th
April 1944.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial;">In the meantime, Jozef Franciszek Jaworzyn succeeded in
becoming a bomber pilot with 304 Squadron and Eugeniusz Jaworski went to 61 OTU
at RAF Rednal, Shropshire where he trained as a Spitfire pilot.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial;">The deception was discovered after an
unfortunate training accident when two Spitfire MkIIa aircraft P7608 and P8079 from
61 OTU collided in mid-air over Maesbrook, Shropshire. That flown by W/O Lis severed the tail unit
of Jaworski's aircraft and both pilots were killed.</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiruCjqIX55ZrvV6yOPBoi2xyt1pJbSGrgMhjZP51CPCL8v0NYBUS1eNXgpqJQ_CYl7q3iwM-uRedC7GqodF_TVSoxj27XHJvW4gZLahy66ZFlKJGWMXuW98GSaUiPm4BmmUJ-C6GALxj0/s595/Description.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="345" data-original-width="595" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiruCjqIX55ZrvV6yOPBoi2xyt1pJbSGrgMhjZP51CPCL8v0NYBUS1eNXgpqJQ_CYl7q3iwM-uRedC7GqodF_TVSoxj27XHJvW4gZLahy66ZFlKJGWMXuW98GSaUiPm4BmmUJ-C6GALxj0/w400-h232/Description.jpg" width="400" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: arial;"> <b><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">Extracted from Aicrew Remembered, with thanks to
Kelvin Youngs</span></b></span><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUPhZz60NJRKMQByoVdtW29OJw1JaYucXKSzJ0kntTBnqcntlzzquPfzHvXWCmSe9LSZtSmEXj9w6Cj3444qzcnwW_TcMRYD0Yx8SIcmneV3a8B58e4ePaFaE01uGAVrNUoPyvQjLgmT4/s609/Correction.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="82" data-original-width="609" height="54" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUPhZz60NJRKMQByoVdtW29OJw1JaYucXKSzJ0kntTBnqcntlzzquPfzHvXWCmSe9LSZtSmEXj9w6Cj3444qzcnwW_TcMRYD0Yx8SIcmneV3a8B58e4ePaFaE01uGAVrNUoPyvQjLgmT4/w400-h54/Correction.jpg" width="400" /></a></div> <b> <span style="font-family: arial;">Correction of false entry in 304 Squadron records</span></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7j2cNSEcSBWwle99JMwoLi2HiDAhBwB3pc6oqRiNtIf7yBRJrVSIbemY0EGJXM3qVi-BcZu5mx42FvACkBMNROlhZ5zFeJoXLnw4uRFXSleqiUpO-CfciWT1cxlA-95cbn5iQ3STnTk0/s169/False+photo.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="169" data-original-width="141" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7j2cNSEcSBWwle99JMwoLi2HiDAhBwB3pc6oqRiNtIf7yBRJrVSIbemY0EGJXM3qVi-BcZu5mx42FvACkBMNROlhZ5zFeJoXLnw4uRFXSleqiUpO-CfciWT1cxlA-95cbn5iQ3STnTk0/w334-h400/False+photo.jpg" width="334" /></a></div></span><b>Eugeniusz Jaworski
photographed when using Jozef Fraciszek Jaworzyn's identity</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><b>I am indebted to Kelvin Youngs
and Aircrew Remembered for some of the information and to Piotr Hodyra and
Krzystek's List for the photographs.</b></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><br /></p>ARCHIVEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08394269080036911253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4535693937654256936.post-7907808128716439022021-02-27T23:49:00.000+00:002021-02-27T23:49:06.518+00:00JERZY DUNAJKO<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiQO9XBxFP_YAhIHXYODZwJ8HciwYy-t6vX5CZhAoPjbMUc1Y3IXYgTuG766rMs3Sup5S91vFylsmMaLUpPkMjI2uCc86wLzDUyRBx45hHtAfhUgUx343o5zysOBZ3bM69XHC_qH9ZujI/s284/Jerzy+Dunajko.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="284" data-original-width="200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiQO9XBxFP_YAhIHXYODZwJ8HciwYy-t6vX5CZhAoPjbMUc1Y3IXYgTuG766rMs3Sup5S91vFylsmMaLUpPkMjI2uCc86wLzDUyRBx45hHtAfhUgUx343o5zysOBZ3bM69XHC_qH9ZujI/w226-h320/Jerzy+Dunajko.jpg" width="226" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p>He was born on 3rd February 1917 into an
ethnic Polish family in Wiazma, Russia.
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">His parents were Stefan and Florentine (nee Kwiatkowska) Dunajko.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">His father was a veterinary surgeon.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The family returned to Poland and he grew up
in Biala Podlaska where he was educated until 1932.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">His higher education was at the School of
Crafts and Industry at Brest nad Bug (now Belarus).</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">After graduating he worked locally at the
Podlasie Aircraft Factory until he was conscripted into the army in October
1938 and posted to the 5th Air Regiment.</span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">He did his military training and served with
the 55th Squadron but from April to August 1930 he trained as an air gunner
with the 59th Squadron on Lublin R8 bi-planes and later PZL 23 Karas light
bombers.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">On 16th August 1939, having completed his
training, he was posted back to the 55th Squadron and on 31st August of that
year the squadron moved to Marynin airfield near Radzynia Podlaski from where
they fought in the first week of the September Campaign before moving to Marian
airfield close to Lutsk.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">He is known to have been part of a three man
crew in which he was the air gunner; the navigator was Sergeant Jakub Ciolek
(later killed when Wellington Z1386 (GR-P) of 301 Squadron was shot down by
flak at Lorient, France on 6th August 1942) and the pilot was Sergeant Franciszek
Skarpetowski (who flew with 305 Squadron and survived the War).</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Their only known sortie was to bomb and
strafe a German column on the road between Radom and Czestochowa on 3rd
September 1939.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Once they reached Lutsk they were ordered to
hand over their aircraft to the 31st Reconnaissance Squadron and travel to
Romania where they were to pick up new aircraft shipped from Great Britain and
return to Lutsk.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">This was a futile
mission because the ship carrying the aircraft was diverted away but in any
case they were disarmed and interned when they arrived in Romania on the
morning of 18th September 1939.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">They were taken to a camp at Radauti then
moved to Mihai Bravu then finally to Campulung Muscel where it was discovered
that some of those who had crossed through the Danube delta had picked up
malaria and blackwater fever - this included Jerzy Dunajko and the illness
prevented an early escape because he was unfit to travel.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Nevertheless, the Polish diplomats in
Bucarest were busily organising false identification documents and travel
documents to get as many men as possible to France from where they could rejoin
the Polish forces.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">There is no clear evidence of the route he
took </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">out of Romania but it is believed
that he travelled by sea to Marseilles and that would mean that he sailed from
either Constanta or Balcic (now in Bulgaria) and through the Dardanelles and
the Aegean Sea and across the Mediterranean via Syria, North Africa or Malta.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">In any event, he arrived in France on 20th
November 1939 and a week later he was based at Lyon-Bron where he stayed until
the fall of France was imminent and then was evacuated to the port of Ste Jan
de Luz on the Atlantic coast near the Spanish border.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">This was no easy evacuation as the troops
waiting to travel to England were harassed by the Luftwaffe and the evacuation
vessels were also being bombed</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">by the
Luftwaffe and stalked by U-Boats of the Kriegsmarine.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Eventually he was embarked on the Arandora
Star and reached Liverpool on 27th June 1940.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Two days later he was posted to RAF Kirkham
where he would probably had the usual induction to King's Regulations, the
British way of doing things and the inevitable square bashing.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">He would also learn the rudiments of the
English Language.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">On 18th August he
returned to the Polish Depot at Blackpool and on 2nd September 1940 he was
posted to 18 OTU at RAF Hucknall for an air gunnery course and to join a crew
and train with them before being posted to a squadron.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">However he was removed from this course on
24th June 1941 and transferred to ground crew at Blackpool Depot but no reasons
are apparent.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">There was no suggestion
that this was for disciplinary reasons and it seems likely that it was because
of a recurrence of his malaria which would affect his balance and would cause
him difficulties with his inner ear when flying.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">On 11th July 1941 he was posted to 304
Squadron at RAF Syerston as a wireless mechanic but he was only in post for a
couple of months before his malaria flared up again and it was quite serious as
he spent several weeks in the military hospital at RAF Cosford from 23rd
September to 9th December 1941</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Shortly
after that he was sent on a short radio training course at Chelmsford, Essex.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">By the end of 1942 his malaria flared up
again and he was admitted to Haverfordwest County Hospital from 11th - 30th
December.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">He stayed with 304 Squadron
until 23rd April 1943 when he was transferred to RAF Detling to become a ground
based wireless operator with 318 Squadron.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">In this role he travelled to Egypt and
Palestine to prepare for the invasion of Italy.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The squadron was finally posted there in May 1944 to provide fighter
support to the Polish and other Allied forces there.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">He was moved to 5500 Mobile Signals Unit to
facilitate communications between the Squadron and the ground forces and he
continued this duty until his return to England in August 1946.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Unfortunately his malaria flared up several
times and he was treated in field hospitals on these occasions.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">On arrival back in Britain he was briefly
assigned to RAF Coltishall but, within days, he was sent to No 4 (Polish) ACHU
(Air Crew Holding Unit) at RAF Cammeringham, Lincolnshire where he probably
stayed until its closure in December 1946 and he then joined the Polish
Resettlement Corps which assured him a wage and a place to live for a contract
period of two years between leaving the Polish Air Force and final
demobilisation at the turn of the years 1948/1949.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">After becoming a civilian, he did manual work
and then found a job with George Brough Ltd in Nottingham.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Until the outbreak of war they were motor
cycle manufacturers and after the war they specialised in precision parts for
other motorcycle companies and for the newly emerging aerospace industry.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">He became a British citizen on 27th May 1963
and he sadly died on 14th June 1971 at the early age of 54, leaving a wife and
two sons.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">He is buried at Wilford Hill
Cemetery in West Bridgford, Nottingham.</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipxe0SAiXeoXJakMGH6b-q1FkL1W0caGqeG7UEif_FNIac2Jc78QXg8Ozhz1vgxlQFJf_XT8B32IMMCs3lOpZ7TuXfMmC24jHKmCe3KGfTfSqnHQBj6PV-YEuXbcnpMzlA5ALg7Dm_1l4/s744/Dunajko+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="364" data-original-width="744" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipxe0SAiXeoXJakMGH6b-q1FkL1W0caGqeG7UEif_FNIac2Jc78QXg8Ozhz1vgxlQFJf_XT8B32IMMCs3lOpZ7TuXfMmC24jHKmCe3KGfTfSqnHQBj6PV-YEuXbcnpMzlA5ALg7Dm_1l4/w400-h196/Dunajko+1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><b style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><b style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></b></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><b style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></b></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><b style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></b></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><b style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></b></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><b style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></b></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><b style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></b></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><b style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></b></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><b style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">With acknowledgements to Wojciech Zmyslony for
information and the photograph</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;"> </span></p></span></b><p></p>ARCHIVEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08394269080036911253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4535693937654256936.post-87893560446421811932020-12-08T00:40:00.003+00:002020-12-08T00:40:56.462+00:00TEOFIL PAJĄCZKOWSKI<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNcJUSnRdPNvwaJq-n5WuWVRlB6vrC38e1PiYCvfd4zH3oNcjwTgRlckwFMt1k7s_IKZRmGmbOO4_cxYcklqkwHnhS73Nwr0us0TVTmzLRHJ-5tBewz0Y2TdKVvZvvRQnAWXyN_4njd6M/s258/Untitled.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="258" data-original-width="211" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNcJUSnRdPNvwaJq-n5WuWVRlB6vrC38e1PiYCvfd4zH3oNcjwTgRlckwFMt1k7s_IKZRmGmbOO4_cxYcklqkwHnhS73Nwr0us0TVTmzLRHJ-5tBewz0Y2TdKVvZvvRQnAWXyN_4njd6M/w327-h400/Untitled.jpg" width="327" /></a></div><p><br /></p>He was an armourer, born on 20th December 1917 at Kulczyn, Poland to Aleksander and Bronislawa Pajaczkowski and probably served his National Service there around 1936 - 1937. He was recalled to service on 7th December 1938 and was attached to 112 Eskadra, Ist Air Regiment in the Polish Air Force and fought with them during the September Campaign. At the start of the War they were located in Warsaw.<p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqw38RgCB6oULSy06GxRbgLMfLMj_5nmyEzmhixs-Ka493LGJnhXQmYm5UoISM64IdiQRYHDLpD5GOhwASqcqr0lEmrJtMEBrLC8vT76MvUc5z3aynm6KUcUsmZtNFhc4FU2who0L-m_8/s407/Pajaczkowski3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="407" data-original-width="276" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqw38RgCB6oULSy06GxRbgLMfLMj_5nmyEzmhixs-Ka493LGJnhXQmYm5UoISM64IdiQRYHDLpD5GOhwASqcqr0lEmrJtMEBrLC8vT76MvUc5z3aynm6KUcUsmZtNFhc4FU2who0L-m_8/w271-h400/Pajaczkowski3.jpg" width="271" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Pre-war photograph - probably from his National Service</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: justify;">When the Russians attacked from the rear his unit made their way to the Romanian border where they were disarmed and interned. However the Romanians were sympathetic and it was easy to slip away when the Polish Embassy supplied them with false papers, money and travel documents. His route is unknown but would have been either via Balcic (now Bulgaria) or Constanta and then via the Black Sea and the Mediterranean to Marseilles. Or overland via Jugoslavia and Northern Italy to France.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Once in France they were placed in a camp at Septfonds where they suffered poor sanitary conditions and had little to do as the French seemed in no hurry to use their services. After the capitulation they evacuated to the port of St Jean de Luz, close to the Spanish border, where they waited for a ship to take them to Great Britain'</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">This was no easy evacuation and they were constantly bombed and strafed by the Luftwaffe. There were also U-boats of the Kreigsmarine lurking in the Atlantic and some of the escort ships were drawn away from the evacuation, leaving the evacuation ships to sail with little or no protection.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">On arrival in Great Britain, he was posted to RAF Kirkham between Blackpool and Preston, Lancashire. This was part of a complex of training sites clustered around Blackpool and became the main training site for Polish Airmen. It was known as the Polish Depot. He would spend a few weeks here learning the basics of the English language, King's Regulations and square bashing.</div><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-Sb1kVTH3i2D9r6YrA-fg96_bnPhpdCrEvR0bwuDxiawXL0n_6t8sKWmu9qSdW6-BrY0scY2Tz1-NeGIqAlOxkGo29rWKN8HkW51p3LoPJgyojq8rz4jhDGHYic8pm93KcfLWh2CPqzU/s1027/Pajaczkowski+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="465" data-original-width="1027" height="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-Sb1kVTH3i2D9r6YrA-fg96_bnPhpdCrEvR0bwuDxiawXL0n_6t8sKWmu9qSdW6-BrY0scY2Tz1-NeGIqAlOxkGo29rWKN8HkW51p3LoPJgyojq8rz4jhDGHYic8pm93KcfLWh2CPqzU/w400-h181/Pajaczkowski+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Arrival and departure - from 304 Squadron's own records</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: justify;">His arrival co-incided with the creation of the new Land of Silesia 304 Bomber Squadron and he was one of the first men to arrive there on 24th August 1940. His postings took him to RAF Bramcote near Nuneaton, Warwickshire where he began his work on Fairey Battle light bombers. These were slow and outdated bombers and, by November 1940, the squadron had converted to Vickers Wellington Mk 1c medium bombers.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Over time he served at RAF Syerston near Newark, Nottinghamshire; RAF Lindholme near Doncaster, Yorkshire; RAF Tiree, Inner Hebrides, Scotland; RAF Dale near Milford Haven, Wales; RAF Talbenny also near Milford Haven, Wales; RAF Docking in Norfolk; RAF Davidstow Moor near Camelford, Cornwall; RAF Chivenor near Barnstaple, Devon; RAF Benbecula in the Outer Hebrides, Scotland and RAF St Eval near Padstow, Cornwall.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwbpSayUvndf-ULuS0pgZbB9vNa_Jyus2rqmfJqt1K-FBNzDj3RCmXzMu76za2wkN1gXCKrhANtAFkB9mOqYrxhU80s8qioUSjaubwSktPQH4BfPvEeE6m7iKV2XJBWiERskfccGR7pME/s446/Paj2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="446" data-original-width="321" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwbpSayUvndf-ULuS0pgZbB9vNa_Jyus2rqmfJqt1K-FBNzDj3RCmXzMu76za2wkN1gXCKrhANtAFkB9mOqYrxhU80s8qioUSjaubwSktPQH4BfPvEeE6m7iKV2XJBWiERskfccGR7pME/w288-h400/Paj2.png" width="288" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"></p><div style="font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><b>Teofil (in cab) with colleagues</b></div><div style="font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><b> somewhere in Britain during WW2</b></div><div style="font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUmN2K7uPHzx5qcpY9qXUIWcxqKH-s7VFYTBxuWB6TgPiif4z8o-Lxpm9-GFh_lh7L5hED1qEbfKCLwrW9HmcTLLV_DM-FbgCfU2113b6XtyDiD4RTxPHOxTSNeCtUWj5lfE-ifun3dls/s357/Paj3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="357" data-original-width="259" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUmN2K7uPHzx5qcpY9qXUIWcxqKH-s7VFYTBxuWB6TgPiif4z8o-Lxpm9-GFh_lh7L5hED1qEbfKCLwrW9HmcTLLV_DM-FbgCfU2113b6XtyDiD4RTxPHOxTSNeCtUWj5lfE-ifun3dls/w290-h400/Paj3.png" width="290" /></a></div><br /><b>Teofil (left) and friend probably just after</b></div><div style="font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><b>the end of the War</b></div><div style="font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: justify;">As the War was over and the Squadron was being transferred to Transport Command, there was no longer a need for armourers, gunsmiths etc and he became redundant as a ground crew member and so he was posted to No 17 Air Crew Holding Unit at RAF Snaith near Goole in Yorkshire where he remained until he was posted to the Polish Resettlement Corps or until there was a ship available to take him home to Poland which happened immediately after his discharge on 16th January 1947. However there is some evidence that he may have spent time with 307 Squadron during this idle time. If this information is accurate he would have also served at RAF Castle Camps near Cambridge and at RAF Coltishal near Norfolk.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Sadly, he died on 3rd March 1963 at the unusually early age of 45 and is buried in Wereszczyn Parish cemetery, Kulczyn, Poland.</div><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p>ARCHIVEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08394269080036911253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4535693937654256936.post-57330433614234984232020-12-02T20:01:00.001+00:002020-12-02T20:01:32.204+00:00WITOLD TADEUSZ GĄSIORSKI<p></p><div style="text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUf4Grhv46ocrS_E71otnzcl7dtEifPt2gYuEeKfdExw0EUird7lykonoli9WUjAbrT_Ud1_VnzwzTfjDs7EJya4UYG426FUtM_bjtlPCPvr6S857aEq0pj4UGbCEIcSpCtsk7pXXKPew/s360/Witold+Tadeusz+Gasiorski.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="274" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUf4Grhv46ocrS_E71otnzcl7dtEifPt2gYuEeKfdExw0EUird7lykonoli9WUjAbrT_Ud1_VnzwzTfjDs7EJya4UYG426FUtM_bjtlPCPvr6S857aEq0pj4UGbCEIcSpCtsk7pXXKPew/s320/Witold+Tadeusz+Gasiorski.jpg" /></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;">Witold Tadeusz Gasiorski was born in the village of Myskowice in Eastern Poland, (now Ukraine) on 25th January 1921. In his touth he was fascinated by the advancement of aviation and it was inevitable that he would try to pursue it as a career. He was accepted at the Air Force Cadet School in Warsaw where he began training as a pilot.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Sadly, the outbreak of war shattered his dreams and he and the other cadets were arrested by the Russians, crammed into cattle trucks and deported to Siberia. He was eventually interned in the gulag at Vorkuta, a coal mining town in the Komi Republic, Russia, situated just north of the Arctic Circle where he was underfed and overworked like all the other prisoners.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Following Operation Barbarossa, when the Germans turned on their former allies, the Russians released him and he is believed to have been passenger number 90 0n the British ship SS Llanstephan Castle from Archangelsk to Glasgow although his name appears to have been slightly miss-spelt (as W. Gasierski) on the passenger list. He arrived there on 3rd October 1941.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">He spent some time in hospital recovering from his malnourished state and was then sent to the Polish Depot at Blackpool where he learned the basics of the English language and British military ways and regulations before being sent for gunnery and wireless operator training. This is a little odd because he had previously been training as a pilot but may have been due to selection differences in Britain. Eventually he was posted to No 1 (Coastal) Operational Training Unit at Silloth, Cumberland (now Cumbria) where he trained in British Battle tactics and was bonded into a crew.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVJyWdFLgbZ2vHf6nCc_No0-I9lr_uI9blDy2ou6Huhg1pm4GvOrXxRohWwRXARAaa0oxUefGeYsjn_NLVZN1yUS01znTv7YGWBsg87p1jogZI1mLLLDUJ379z7sKVlZ3ylTcB7me__s8/s910/Arrival+at+304+Squadron.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="368" data-original-width="910" height="161" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVJyWdFLgbZ2vHf6nCc_No0-I9lr_uI9blDy2ou6Huhg1pm4GvOrXxRohWwRXARAaa0oxUefGeYsjn_NLVZN1yUS01znTv7YGWBsg87p1jogZI1mLLLDUJ379z7sKVlZ3ylTcB7me__s8/w400-h161/Arrival+at+304+Squadron.png" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>304 Squadron hand written record of his arrival</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: justify;">After passing out at RAF Silloth he was posted to 304 Squadron based at RAF Lindholme on 19th January 1942 according to the Squadron's own records when they were based at Lindholme near Doncaster, Yorkshire which seems odd and suggests there may have been a mistake since he did not fly any sorties for them until 21st September 1943 when they were based at RAF Davidstow Moor in Cornwall.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">He subsequently moved with them to RAF Predannack, Cornwall, RAF Chivenor, Devon and RAF Benbecula in the Outer Hebrides, Scotland although he was only at the latter for about two weeks before he became tour expired and was transferred out to be an instructor with No 19 (Polish) Service Flying Training School at RAF Newton, Nottinghamshire. He had served the Squadron well, having flown 47 Operational sorties with them and being involved with what is believed to have been an attack on a U-boat on the night of 24th/25th July 1944. The Admiralty was left totally puzzled over the green smoke emitted and did not give any indication on whether they believed the U-boat to have been damaged or sunk in the absence of any wreckage coming to the surface. The reports and the ir response are shown below:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWMwsdYDwQC4fZPuHpQ1mBpn414Uj16h1ZHGJQxBg4CUiU9JcOk3qVczigiiE_uIQmqwliZQCT-gZVaCruT4yxmQ-AocXM0E5bKzue6rI98LofpCuHsx5SRK1-r76CBOL2jGn-UyKV7DE/s478/Green+smoke+1.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="478" data-original-width="453" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWMwsdYDwQC4fZPuHpQ1mBpn414Uj16h1ZHGJQxBg4CUiU9JcOk3qVczigiiE_uIQmqwliZQCT-gZVaCruT4yxmQ-AocXM0E5bKzue6rI98LofpCuHsx5SRK1-r76CBOL2jGn-UyKV7DE/w379-h400/Green+smoke+1.png" width="379" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMcbj77xDuci2LOvfAssde8Lz1X1FIKvwh4Sqp4FGU4Am2aNKjDJd_Fwa8pkecCtpxoCygx4Ru8hVt3Djn3nYv7Wl4GcEisdJlK4Lf-N5KnQLhwmJxmixMLrviA5mcW4KMi3OZQg9gNIY/s450/Green+smoke+1a.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="432" data-original-width="450" height="384" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMcbj77xDuci2LOvfAssde8Lz1X1FIKvwh4Sqp4FGU4Am2aNKjDJd_Fwa8pkecCtpxoCygx4Ru8hVt3Djn3nYv7Wl4GcEisdJlK4Lf-N5KnQLhwmJxmixMLrviA5mcW4KMi3OZQg9gNIY/w400-h384/Green+smoke+1a.png" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6ImnJH4UPveg0pzXoHpzSVqtavqBCPhHmUuv9pV42gAwJG1A5YG_bDCxFBt50VmxQq-cEJQG-hJ3ujxOB2YTLy0veSClYeFN_nql1zCGWSAgP_kB_L8u9EniYo6CqK9aOGvs2goR5W_E/s519/Green+smoke+Uboat+attack+2.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="519" data-original-width="448" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6ImnJH4UPveg0pzXoHpzSVqtavqBCPhHmUuv9pV42gAwJG1A5YG_bDCxFBt50VmxQq-cEJQG-hJ3ujxOB2YTLy0veSClYeFN_nql1zCGWSAgP_kB_L8u9EniYo6CqK9aOGvs2goR5W_E/w345-h400/Green+smoke+Uboat+attack+2.png" width="345" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">During his military service he was awarded the Krzyz Walecznych (Cross of Valour) and two bars, the Medal Lotniczy (Air Force medal) and British campaign medals.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVTV3G_jn9c-G6uwPzQnS3l6QmJ0qY1VEzohGreHNdM-4bwUUVz2Yyeo7w7IyUkaqigRTEm99Ikp5iQDny6RHvPW6Ew_snhtDLNo4gB1lZWJC8e11TWaZ9-dmRnranpH6eXzsI3zeAils/s609/Departure.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="44" data-original-width="609" height="29" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVTV3G_jn9c-G6uwPzQnS3l6QmJ0qY1VEzohGreHNdM-4bwUUVz2Yyeo7w7IyUkaqigRTEm99Ikp5iQDny6RHvPW6Ew_snhtDLNo4gB1lZWJC8e11TWaZ9-dmRnranpH6eXzsI3zeAils/w400-h29/Departure.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><b>Witold's departure from 304 Squadron</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: justify;">At the end of the War, the village
where he was born was absorbed into the Ukraine and was subjected to Communist rule
so he decided not to return home and stayed in Britain.</span><span style="text-align: justify;"> </span><span style="text-align: justify;">He started a new life by his marrying Urszula
Burger in 1945, she was a fellow Pole who had also been interned in the gulags and only came to Britain via a long tortuous route but understood the hardships
he had gone through.</span><span style="text-align: justify;"> </span><span style="text-align: justify;">Theyhad known each
other since childhood.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Together they had three children and
he became a bus driver in Rotherham, Yorkshire where they made a home and had a
long happy life together until Witold's death in 2003 at the age of 82.<b><o:p></o:p></b></p><b></b></div>ARCHIVEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08394269080036911253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4535693937654256936.post-86025456560542297752020-11-24T21:57:00.003+00:002020-11-24T22:31:46.608+00:00JERZY KUPŚĆ<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv6JRMLfWYoWLg9pEDpSeSkzpfgwSwoZJm0_C9t8wBZPSeuLj2_QwjFaPBnyAIXnV81OPmaVSabnHfqn-9VXLtFhhiAMIrCExkLj4NPLQQIsch1NNzM2taiNgyrWQIi6BPy1omuzoAs-o/s1024/Jerzy+Kupsc.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="745" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv6JRMLfWYoWLg9pEDpSeSkzpfgwSwoZJm0_C9t8wBZPSeuLj2_QwjFaPBnyAIXnV81OPmaVSabnHfqn-9VXLtFhhiAMIrCExkLj4NPLQQIsch1NNzM2taiNgyrWQIi6BPy1omuzoAs-o/w291-h400/Jerzy+Kupsc.jpg" width="291" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">He was born into a Lithuanian family on 16th February 1917 at Ilecka Zaszczyta which is in the border area of Kazakhstan/Russia but his family were from the Kroszty estate near Rakiszki, Lithuania. The family returned to Wilno, Poland (now Vilnius, Lithuania) and he was educated there, graduating from the Electrical Department of the Technical School in Wilno.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">In January 1940 he became part of the purge of Polish citizens and was arrested by the NKVD (precursors of the KGB) in Wilno. This is probably because his father, Adam, was a land owner which went against the Communist ethos and was therefore a threat. He probably spent a few weeks in a Russian controlled prison or makeshift prison before being deported to a Siberian gulag in the first wave of mass deportations on 9th/10th February 1940. This consisted of 110 trains each with about 2,000 people crammed into its boxcars. Their destinations were spread over the vast area covering Archangelsk, Sverdlovsk, Omsk and Irkutsk. It is not known exactly where he was detained but it is probable that he was part of a family group held in Archangelsk - with his mother (named Kupska) at the head of the family.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">After the signing of the Sikorski-Majski agreement, he was released from the gulag but was not on the passenger list of the SS Llanstephan which brought 200 released Poles from Archangelsk to Glasgow in October 1941 so it must be assumed that he was one of the many thousands who signed up to join Anders' Army in the Niddle East and, by a long and tortuous route, made his way to Krasnovodsk. From there he would have been able to cross the Caspian Sea to Pahlevi in Persia (now Iran) and join Anders' main army.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Whilst he was there, he applied to join the Polish Air Force in exile and was accepted because of his education and technical training - so he would have had priority passage to England.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Once in England he would have been sent to the Polish Depot at Blackpool, a cluster of training establishments centred on RAF Squires Gate and at the absolute limit of the range of Luftwaffe bombers. Also safe because Hitler is reputed to have wanted the town for his playground! He would already have completed his National Service around 1935-1937 before hostilities broke out. On completion of his training he was posted to 304 Squadron as a wireless mechanic and stayed with them until 16th April 1945 before transferring out and completing his service elsewhere.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTzmsQBui0kLjT6kAA7JYUDxBlXgPFqTYNtD6_-Ki_CbkvhqlfdMCFO2-2R2iuDCh4GSUgFyAbf0G22lvxsBrCKU0NDEDJELbU3PFDXZEh8GbbcAwseWYBM8XS3V9rpjOwn3-f9dRNK34/s610/Service+Record.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="198" data-original-width="610" height="130" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTzmsQBui0kLjT6kAA7JYUDxBlXgPFqTYNtD6_-Ki_CbkvhqlfdMCFO2-2R2iuDCh4GSUgFyAbf0G22lvxsBrCKU0NDEDJELbU3PFDXZEh8GbbcAwseWYBM8XS3V9rpjOwn3-f9dRNK34/w400-h130/Service+Record.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Extract from hand written Squadron Records showing his departure date</b></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">With 304 Squadron he probably began his service at RAF Lindholme near Doncaster, Yorkshire and later moved to RAF Tiree in the Inner Hebrides, Scotland on 10th May 1942 and then to RAF Dale near Milford Haven, Pembrokeshire, Wales on 13th June 1942. Later he moved to RAF Talbenny, also in Pembrokeshire and back to RAF Dale on 1st December 1942. His next move was to RAF Docking in Norfolk on 2nd April 1943 then RAF Davidstow Moor near Camelford in Cornwall on 8th June 1943. From there he went to RAF Predannack, also in Cornwall on 13th December 1943 and then to RAF Chivenor near Barnstaple in Devon on 19th February 1944. On 21st September 1944 he moved to RAF Benbecula in the Outer Hebrides, Scotland and finally to RAF St Eval on 6th March 1945.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">He may have served with the Polish Resettlement Corps but eventually returned to Poland in 1947. He worked, among other places, in the Przedsiebiorstwo Electryficacji Rolnictwa - an agricultural eectrification company. Later still, as an electrical inspector in the building administration in Sopot on the Baltic coast. He died in Sopot on 12th October 2000 and was buried there.</span></p>ARCHIVEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08394269080036911253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4535693937654256936.post-62250061785707319622020-11-19T13:11:00.005+00:002020-11-19T13:11:57.909+00:00PRZEMYSLAW HEDINGER<p style="text-align: justify;">I have received a request, today, for information on the above airman. I have a small amount of information on this man and I would like to pass it on to you but both of the email addresses you have given me have failed. Please contact me again with a working email address.</p>ARCHIVEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08394269080036911253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4535693937654256936.post-72482241908918930942020-11-06T22:18:00.001+00:002020-11-07T12:26:54.202+00:00VOTE OF CONFIDENCE<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I would like to express my thanks for your support to those of you who read this blog. Tonight it has received its 250,000th hit and the audience has now spread over 148 different countries and territories and that makes all the hard work worthwhile.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">A more detailed analysis of the spread of hits shows the
following list of the top 10 countries represented in these viewing figures -
in total, more than 80% of hits come from these sources.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" class="MsoNormalTable" style="mso-cellspacing: 1.5pt; mso-yfti-tbllook: 1184;">
<tbody><tr style="mso-yfti-firstrow: yes; mso-yfti-irow: 0;">
<td style="padding: .75pt .75pt .75pt .75pt;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">United
States<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
<td style="padding: .75pt .75pt .75pt .75pt;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>65,988<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 1;">
<td style="padding: .75pt .75pt .75pt .75pt;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">United
Kingdom<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
<td style="padding: .75pt .75pt .75pt .75pt;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>60,014<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 2;">
<td style="padding: .75pt .75pt .75pt .75pt;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Poland<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
<td style="padding: .75pt .75pt .75pt .75pt;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>28,999<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 3;">
<td style="padding: .75pt .75pt .75pt .75pt;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Germany<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
<td style="padding: .75pt .75pt .75pt .75pt;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>15,109<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 4;">
<td style="padding: .75pt .75pt .75pt .75pt;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">France<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
<td style="padding: .75pt .75pt .75pt .75pt;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>10,914<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 5;">
<td style="padding: .75pt .75pt .75pt .75pt;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Russia<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
<td style="padding: .75pt .75pt .75pt .75pt;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>7,729<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 6;">
<td style="padding: .75pt .75pt .75pt .75pt;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Canada<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
<td style="padding: .75pt .75pt .75pt .75pt;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>6,703<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 7;">
<td style="padding: .75pt .75pt .75pt .75pt;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Ukraine<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
<td style="padding: .75pt .75pt .75pt .75pt;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>3,474<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 8;">
<td style="padding: .75pt .75pt .75pt .75pt;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Australia<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
<td style="padding: .75pt .75pt .75pt .75pt;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>3,100<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 9; mso-yfti-lastrow: yes;">
<td style="padding: .75pt .75pt .75pt .75pt;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Ireland<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
<td style="padding: .75pt .75pt .75pt .75pt;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>1,869<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
</tbody></table><br /><p></p>ARCHIVEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08394269080036911253noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4535693937654256936.post-91999946539949635922020-11-03T15:23:00.000+00:002020-11-03T15:23:08.723+00:00ANTONI DADACZ<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJP2z3VuCNu74iGCYI_B8wIqRW-JpUiH-Se_xRifljIh5Vk55axWz8MxQobc8XV_5jdJCOROo5zIP0_6BOfOvK1-JjNj314RFcidYeUnqaTeDOGzJDDBqviBaon_ADLOt9nRgwUvlpIzc/s2048/IMG_2502+%25281%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJP2z3VuCNu74iGCYI_B8wIqRW-JpUiH-Se_xRifljIh5Vk55axWz8MxQobc8XV_5jdJCOROo5zIP0_6BOfOvK1-JjNj314RFcidYeUnqaTeDOGzJDDBqviBaon_ADLOt9nRgwUvlpIzc/s320/IMG_2502+%25281%2529.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="text-align: justify;">Antoni Dadacz was born on 8th
October 1915, son of Walenty and Agnieszka (nee Chmiel) Dadacz at Antonin, near Posnan,
Poland, </span><span style="text-align: justify;">He grew up as a farm labourer in
that area and almost certainly did his National Service there from about 1933.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial;">With war looming, he was
recalled to the military on 7th November 1938 as part of the Lodz Army
supported by 161 and 162 Fighter Eskadra and 63 and 66 Observation Eskadra to
which he would have been attached if he was designated Air Force at that
time. Ironically this force was
commanded by General Juliusz Rommel at that time. His policy was to fight a village by village
campaign to delay the Germans long enough for his forces to complete their
mobilisation and so he advanced towards the Germans.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial;">The battle was fought
viciously over the three days from 6th-8th September 1939 and General Rommel
and three Divisions of troops were cut off from the rest of the army. The remains of the Lodz Army headed to the
Romanian border and crossed to safety.
They were then disarmed and interned in camps in neutral Romania. With help from sympathetic Romanian officials
they were supplied with large numbers of blank ID cards with the correct
signatures and rubber stamps which could later be filled in with false details and
used to leave the country posing as foreign workers.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial;">The camps were not closely
guarded and the men just quietly slipped away when they had their new IDs,
travel documents and money from the Polish Embassy in Bucarest. The ultimate destination was France and there
were many routes to get there including overland routes via Jugoslavia and
Northern Italy and sea routes from Romania, notably the port of Balcic (now in
Bulgaria) across the Black Sea, through the Bosphorus and the Dardanelles on to
the Aegean Sea and the Mediterranean to Marseilles. From there it was on to the Polish area
around Septfonds or Lyon Bron for those destined for the Air Force. In Antoni's case it was Septfonds which is
just over 300 miles from Marseilles in the direction of Bordeaux, arriving
there on 4th February 1940. The area
around Balcic was swarming with Gestapo agents who were powerless to stop this
evacuation but whose presence led to the Germans threatening to invade if these
mass escape routes were not stopped.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial;">The camp at Septfonds was
fairly new because it had been built for refugees from the Spanish Civil War
but it was uncomfortable and insanitary and was intended only as a transit camp
and he should have been transferred to Lyon-Bron within two weeks but there is
no evidence to suggest this happened and he seems to have stayed there for
about three months.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial;">The French had no appetite for
war and the men who made it there were dramatically under used leading to
boredom and constant complaints about inadequate food, poor living conditions
and an almost total absence of hot water.
It was almost a relief for them when it became obvious that France would
capitulate and they could get away to Britain - which they called The Islands
of Last Hope - so they could finally fight the Germans. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial;">Once in Britain, each man was
given the King's Gift of ten shillings so that he would have money to spend
when he got to his base in Britain. It
will barely buy a bar of chocolate today but it was a substantial amount in
1940.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial;">On 1st May 1940, Antoni arrived
at RAF Eastchurch in Kent, meaning that he was one of the earliest
arrivals. However RAF Eastchurch was
soon to become a front line airfield for fighters during the Battle of Britain. Inevitably he would be posted to Blackpool Depot
which was a cluster of Army and Air Force training centres at the very extreme
range of German Bombers and further protected because Hitler wanted it for his
playground after he had conquered Britain!</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: arial;"><span>I
believe that Antoni Dadacz was initially posted to 301 Squadron and after his
initial training that would have been to RAF Swinderby</span><span> </span><span>in Lincolnshire, moving to RAF Hemswell on
18th July when some of the aircrews were moved to 138 Squadron and the
remainder with ground crews were transferred to 300 Squadron.</span><span> </span><span>The supernumaries and others such as cooks
and clerks who could not be absorbed would be posted to the Blackpool Depot or
an aircrew holding centre such as RAF Snaith at Humberside.</span><span> </span><span>This is backed up by a photograph in the
family album which shows a Wellington "bombing up" and the Squadron
Code is GR which was allocated to 301 Squadron.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: arial;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg63CLYmSAw30JYb6bUJeTR5uOnAQ0iNifE8FO1KDgzeQD9aL25DmVILS9_BlIppqnpd9mV-v_q7QaWF3fSk9IU6et8thPqJHC9STy-lG9Cta7mLhVKJHFsTy2PnbO8Lnm5aZmZEQlhWpQ/s551/Bombing+up+at+RAF+Swinderby%252C+June+1941.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="410" data-original-width="551" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg63CLYmSAw30JYb6bUJeTR5uOnAQ0iNifE8FO1KDgzeQD9aL25DmVILS9_BlIppqnpd9mV-v_q7QaWF3fSk9IU6et8thPqJHC9STy-lG9Cta7mLhVKJHFsTy2PnbO8Lnm5aZmZEQlhWpQ/w400-h297/Bombing+up+at+RAF+Swinderby%252C+June+1941.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div style="text-align: left;"> <b>Bombing up possibly at RAF Swinderby in June 1941</b></div></span><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: arial;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;">In
fact, he was posted to 18 Operational Training Unit and so remained at RAF
Bramcote on general duties.</span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: arial;">The
records show only that he was received at RAF Eastchurch, probably on 1st May
1940 and was transferred to the Blackpool Depot sometime thereafter but
effective from the same date and so the move was clearly planned by the time of
his arrival.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="background: white; font-family: arial;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: arial;"><span>On
7th May 1943 he was posted to 304 Squadron at RAF Docking in Norfolk and
subsequently moved to RAF Davidstow Moor in Cornwall on 10th June 1943.</span><span> </span><span>But his stay with 304 Squadron was short
lived and on 10th September 1943 he was transferred to the School of Training
at RAF Halton near Wendover, Buckinghamshire where he trained as a cook.</span><span> </span><span>He had obviously found his forte as his
reports quickly rose from satisfactory to superior.</span><span> </span><span>Surprisingly, he did not return to 304
Squadron but was posted on 28th July 1944 to No 25 (Polish) Elementary Flying
Training School at RAF Hucknall near Nottingham where he stayed for the rest of
the War and until 13th November 1946.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: arial;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW0pRDfGwd_XDquK1rwB7jb2E_5bYsleTWJQqw6Y40cSbuB1pBkLAdsYXGHcW9MsKm1j9C3f5BcsiQv-yKsP22PqhccKy2cPqNqpJinGfcZ6rgL2ldZWa4_-cf-ocpVQOyXMJJO4lRces/s902/Dadacz.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="260" data-original-width="902" height="115" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW0pRDfGwd_XDquK1rwB7jb2E_5bYsleTWJQqw6Y40cSbuB1pBkLAdsYXGHcW9MsKm1j9C3f5BcsiQv-yKsP22PqhccKy2cPqNqpJinGfcZ6rgL2ldZWa4_-cf-ocpVQOyXMJJO4lRces/w400-h115/Dadacz.png" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><b> Antoni's arrival at 304 Squadron - taken from the Squadron's own hand written record<br /></b><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigFU8nctrZxVbI-1VqY1EVUKVsgw_IYGd4zRHnNLQIjaIFuCOFYNAPsIFAayHr0hrAm2Gu7bPhYdDgz04IgnyQky9CeDdUancIvD18LcU1E5R738sLM2DzUpuaYJRtQRrkIZXCixtfMYo/s2048/Cook.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigFU8nctrZxVbI-1VqY1EVUKVsgw_IYGd4zRHnNLQIjaIFuCOFYNAPsIFAayHr0hrAm2Gu7bPhYdDgz04IgnyQky9CeDdUancIvD18LcU1E5R738sLM2DzUpuaYJRtQRrkIZXCixtfMYo/w300-h400/Cook.JPG" width="300" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Antoni (left) with one of his colleagues at RAF Halton or 25 EFTS</b></span><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><span style="font-family: arial;">At
this time he ended his Polish Air Force service and briefly joined the Polish
Resettlement Corps which meant he was temporarily a member of the Royal Air
Force.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">The dates quoted are nominal as
the moves usually took 7-10 days to complete.</span><span style="font-family: arial;">
</span><span style="font-family: arial;">The squadron disbanded altogether only a few weeks later on 10th
December 1946.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: arial;"><span>He
joined the Polish Resettlement Corps for a maximum period of two years which
gave him security of employment, a place to live and a wage until he was able
to find permanent employment.</span><span> </span><span>He stayed
with them for six months and was released on 9th June 1947 to undertake
training as a coal miner at Birley near Sheffield.</span><span>During
his military career he was awarded the Polish Air Force Medal and three bars
and the British Defence Medal, 1939-1945 Star and War Medal.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;">At this time he became a registered alien and was permitted to stay in Britain but with restrictions on his movements and employment until he became a British citizen.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGPnUHeW0OZpNEMrmzzaDNHZX6nU1PWsNnrYbEBonZ9YE48W2meTg7UjhCf_4FPUYO6wt2mMP8dFG83ydVXkDO2N7zRV3MHz3cMTnbmWeXhLYVW70gLwsJT2PFCqd6KRbcPK0HJSpSB-A/s2048/20200824_220714460_002.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1392" data-original-width="2048" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGPnUHeW0OZpNEMrmzzaDNHZX6nU1PWsNnrYbEBonZ9YE48W2meTg7UjhCf_4FPUYO6wt2mMP8dFG83ydVXkDO2N7zRV3MHz3cMTnbmWeXhLYVW70gLwsJT2PFCqd6KRbcPK0HJSpSB-A/w400-h272/20200824_220714460_002.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Antoni's Registered Alien card which was cancelled when he became a naturalised British subject</b></span><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><span style="font-family: arial;">He bought a house, No 14 Montague
Street, Mansfield, Nottinghamshire and as a single man he was looking for a
housekeeper when he found a lady named Ethel Millard who was the widow of
another miner who had been killed in an accident at the pit, leaving her with a
son to support.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">They married and together
they had two further surviving children and were happy until his early death in
March 1980 from coronary disease.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">He is
buried in Mansfield Cemetery, Derby Road, Mansfield.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial;">He did make contact with surviving family in
Poland but unfortunately never met them again as, sadly, he died just before
Poland was totally free of the Communist yoke.</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial;">What follows is a selection of his wartime photographs which are not fully identified but reflect his life at the time. Any information on these items would be most welcome.</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEGH6ZtrdEMs-ofzOmrKLapXFsdy3Kv-KdhJ3JETL780o9Oji0_xXoJ3AO27E6o8qMwmgeMARHnRZBbpcoD8fz8_7er3EZSNVSzsoRQ_aZGtOKLM5LyIitQKf_ot9bthgeCGMwuQtu60I/s2048/IMG_2300+%25281%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEGH6ZtrdEMs-ofzOmrKLapXFsdy3Kv-KdhJ3JETL780o9Oji0_xXoJ3AO27E6o8qMwmgeMARHnRZBbpcoD8fz8_7er3EZSNVSzsoRQ_aZGtOKLM5LyIitQKf_ot9bthgeCGMwuQtu60I/w400-h266/IMG_2300+%25281%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Antoni on the right</b></span><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwQI-zQthfC5uTtYgH-chQqk5fzRDzHrfluPY1QFbooRJMvaqKjXvs4aWWjE2dUmHoNNs-5WMvFreHADPGzo66ukgpnACzZGgIAy4FdnVBJG53THA9vA2JLrf1n6G1J-2obg6ZkuWFExQ/s2048/IMG_2301+%25281%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwQI-zQthfC5uTtYgH-chQqk5fzRDzHrfluPY1QFbooRJMvaqKjXvs4aWWjE2dUmHoNNs-5WMvFreHADPGzo66ukgpnACzZGgIAy4FdnVBJG53THA9vA2JLrf1n6G1J-2obg6ZkuWFExQ/w300-h400/IMG_2301+%25281%2529.jpg" width="300" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>His friend Jozef Fusniak, rear gunner on a Wellington bomber that crashed in Yorkshire - famed for following the footsteps of a fox in the snow, downhill to the nearest farm. He used a piece of the wreckage as a crutch because he suffered a broke leg in the crash. Antoni is thought to have been a member of Jozef's ground crew - before he became a cook.</b><br /><b><br /></b></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3fz0NI6DmpOO-wo14v-YcWDrrKWSkhJoqdaeJNWpeoalSmtlGSkNiaWSM0TKwytytZrvMyOGYArIECOOln4OqRlnu_3umyjoDmijLPlGEInlfRAjxQFP8Pss-KA-fmwgOoA3znLWlVCU/s2048/IMG_2463+%25281%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3fz0NI6DmpOO-wo14v-YcWDrrKWSkhJoqdaeJNWpeoalSmtlGSkNiaWSM0TKwytytZrvMyOGYArIECOOln4OqRlnu_3umyjoDmijLPlGEInlfRAjxQFP8Pss-KA-fmwgOoA3znLWlVCU/w400-h300/IMG_2463+%25281%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><br /></b></span></div> A parade in England - judging by the uniforms</b></span><p></p></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYfEY0NSPqqDAmYc_3LvupQgT6xnWtQPZ9ip5lgCUZiKIG0u37OkHK56E7JnlX0vaKmcKzVqfWKA3rJsE3N3arhYtENMT1DKyEAjA__J7InIrY5MalzzvfDs3LLsOHWT-SbB2pXn3k_Gg/s2048/IMG_2483+%25281%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYfEY0NSPqqDAmYc_3LvupQgT6xnWtQPZ9ip5lgCUZiKIG0u37OkHK56E7JnlX0vaKmcKzVqfWKA3rJsE3N3arhYtENMT1DKyEAjA__J7InIrY5MalzzvfDs3LLsOHWT-SbB2pXn3k_Gg/w300-h400/IMG_2483+%25281%2529.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Post-war photograph with a colleague - he became a sergeant in 1946</span></b></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipoXFLR0TAwqJMzVbVjOoIYLDN7aYuBpKlIWxyelyMx_HPO7qeH2ZbZvGUJx59FmzSV2zcZKw7IZ43a6zxC4kCSlgfq1J3zhIt_aaxAFdUJbJC4CQcpZIHgRUKD-GtYwwxcyH43WnVIlk/s2048/IMG_2499+%25281%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipoXFLR0TAwqJMzVbVjOoIYLDN7aYuBpKlIWxyelyMx_HPO7qeH2ZbZvGUJx59FmzSV2zcZKw7IZ43a6zxC4kCSlgfq1J3zhIt_aaxAFdUJbJC4CQcpZIHgRUKD-GtYwwxcyH43WnVIlk/w400-h300/IMG_2499+%25281%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b style="text-align: left;">Another post-war photograph with unknown companions</b></div><b><br /></b></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> </div><p></p></div>ARCHIVEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08394269080036911253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4535693937654256936.post-2812229039879130562020-11-03T00:58:00.003+00:002020-11-12T12:53:52.532+00:00JAN WINCENTY MONDSCHEIN<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyPyZR0Df_j3CgHw7iAadjKOCMME45FM1xevUblXl27IFum_6Cswq5O-xuHM46AtlgAEOL0ugzx9eY88g8wsxuVbwXnQnMSsH8TjreGNzj3O9CIQwHMpHu8HADAm7Lc1xABj_vAOHow74/s1026/Jan+c1943.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1026" data-original-width="676" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyPyZR0Df_j3CgHw7iAadjKOCMME45FM1xevUblXl27IFum_6Cswq5O-xuHM46AtlgAEOL0ugzx9eY88g8wsxuVbwXnQnMSsH8TjreGNzj3O9CIQwHMpHu8HADAm7Lc1xABj_vAOHow74/s320/Jan+c1943.png" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: 11pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt;"><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; text-align: left;">Jan was born on
28th January 1912 in Czestochowa to Wincenty Mondschein, a music publisher, and
his wife Helena, née Siwczynska, who lived in Warsaw. He grew up in the pleasant suburb of Warsaw
called Praga-Północ, situated across the River Vistula from the centre of the
city, and therefore not destroyed during the 1944 uprising or the German
attempt to destroy the city as they retreated.</span></p></span></span><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">He was born into
a reasonably well to do family and received a good education.</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">After graduating from high school, he
completed his National Service in the army in a mounted reconnaissance unit,
and then studied at Warsaw University, from which he graduated in law in 1935,
and went to work as a trainee lawyer at the Salt Monopoly.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">His future seemed
assured in June 1939 after he had completed his Masters degree in Law in June
1939.</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">War was imminent and he was
mobilised as a reserve officer with the rank of 2nd Lieutenant. From 1st September
he became an active participant in the fighting to defend Poland against the
surprise attack from Germany. During this time he performed reconnaissance and
other duties with the 32nd Infantry Regiment. Because of a shortage of horses,
he commanded a platoon of cyclists to carry out these duties.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVnT5tObqhJWnP5Ym_NFupLEX4ndnJltN7fS92hamuOLDMrtpIPNOOaCGL8Lw3DACayvkhoDgtIPhg8zpskTv6rr27fOsYOhOZcjMhg5jQl5ULbfUbGJ6vt7KiSV3Ud_XNr6jE28jw6II/s882/Mondschein+brothers.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="882" data-original-width="660" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVnT5tObqhJWnP5Ym_NFupLEX4ndnJltN7fS92hamuOLDMrtpIPNOOaCGL8Lw3DACayvkhoDgtIPhg8zpskTv6rr27fOsYOhOZcjMhg5jQl5ULbfUbGJ6vt7KiSV3Ud_XNr6jE28jw6II/w299-h400/Mondschein+brothers.jpg" width="299" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Jan (left) on his first day with the Salt Monopoly with </b></span><b><span style="font-family: arial;">his brother </span><span style="font-family: arial;">Jerzy (right) who was already an Officer</span></b><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt;">In his case the
enemy were coming from East Prussia in the North.</span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt;">The Poles made a fighting retreat towards
Warsaw and made a stand at the fortress at Modlin, north of Warsaw, under the
command of General Wiktor Thommée.</span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt;">The
soldiers here fought ferociously from 13th to 29th September and their
anti-aircraft battery was credited with shooting down more Luftwaffe aircraft
than any other battery throughout the entire September Campaign.</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">After lasting
longer than almost everyone else, this force of 24,000 men finally surrendered
to the Germans and Jan was made a prisoner of war.</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">Two days earlier he had been awarded the
Krzyz Walecznych (Cross of Valour) for his part in the Defence of Modlin.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">The capitulation
agreed by the Modlin commander, General Thommée, with the Germans was on the
condition that the Polish troops would leave the fortress with their ceremonial
weapons, and, after processing, would be released home.</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">On 17th October 1939, Jan was released from
the POW Camp in Dzialdowie and allowed to return to Warsaw.</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">This camp, formerly a Polish Army barracks,
later became a torture camp where between 10,000 - 13,000 of its 30,000
population were murdered.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">From 17th October
to 21st November 1939 he lived in Warsaw but immediately went underground whilst
he planned his next move.</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">On this latter
date he travelled to Krakow where he stayed for only three days before moving
on to Krynicy and two days later he crossed the border into the Slovak Republic
(client state of Nazi Germany) and headed for Orlov.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">In Orlov he was
arrested and taken to Prestov where he was sentenced to a "day
arrest" for illegally crossing the border.</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">
</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">Five days later he was released and directed to the Hungarian border
where he crossed into Hungary at Koszyce.</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">
</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">He was taken to a camp which he refers to as Danos but I believe was the
former Officer's rest camp at Esztergom where he was treated reasonably well by
the sympathetic Hungarians.</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">He stayed
there from 2nd December 1939 until 13th March 1940.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">On that day he
left for Budapest in search of the Polish diplomats there who would provide him
with false ID, money and travel documents to get him to the west.</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">This was a very well organised business both
in Hungary and Romania which acquired large volumes of genuine ID blanks complete
with all necessary signatures and rubber stamps obtained from sympathetic
officials and sometimes with small bribes.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt;">In Jan's case he
travelled on passport number 42095/15/1888 dated 7th or 4th February 1940 and
issued in the name of Roman Waniewicz. </span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt;">His journey took him across Hungary,
Jugoslavia and Northern Italy by train to France.</span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt;">Although Mussolini's government were
sympathetic to the Germans, these people were allowed to cross Italy but they
were not allowed to stop except to buy fuel and food.</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">He arrived at the
French border on the morning of 16th March and enrolled with the Polish forces
at the Officer's station in Paris.</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">He
was posted to Clermont-Ferrand which he liked very much but it was not long
before he was in action.</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">In May 1940 the German panzers entered France. </span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">The Polish units were sent North to help in
the defence, but the French army soon disintegrated. </span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">The Poles were not about to surrender and
Jan's group commandeered a train and travelled South in it.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">He is most likely
to have been sent on to the Polish base at Lyon-Bron where he would have stayed
until the capitulation of France.</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">He was
evacuated from the port of Biarritz or the area around there, most probably
from St Jean de Luz just a few miles away.</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">
</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">It was not an easy evacuation as they were harassed by U-Boats and
bombed and strafed by the Luftwaffe and many of the escort vessels were forced
to act as submarine hunters and anti-aircraft gun platforms.</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">This was not an easy evacuation, taking place
just a few days after Dunkirk and with heavy loss of life on the beaches and at
sea.</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">Nevertheless almost as many men
were rescued from the Mediterranean and Atlantic coasts as were rescued from
Dunkirk.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">As a soldier, he
was taken to Glasgow where he joined what remained of the Polish Army.<span style="color: white;"> </span></span><span style="color: white; font-size: 11pt;">When
the British Army started training paratroops on 21st June 1940, Jan was one of
the early volunteers and completed the rigorous and dangerous training at RAF Ringway
near Manchester (now Manchester International Airport). Some of the training techniques had to be
abandoned because they caused an unacceptable level of injuries to the trainees.
This school was founded on Churchill's
direct instruction and became known as the Central Landing School. It was intended primarily to create a corps
of parachutists but also functioned as an experimental centre and a technical
centre for airborne troops.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: arial;">Jan
was becoming very restless waiting to get into active service and it was
probably when his brother Jerzy was made a Prisoner of War that impelled him to
apply for a transfer from the Army to the Polish Air Force. This would
probably not have been approved if Jerzy had not been a pre-war officer
and well known to the Polish top brass.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj14yQe9JiEPJc0IuzVW2u3vwOAyPRKljlvjW2TNJXtDanKpYYGSS0-qUM1BC_seTDpicw6NBAvRMgQLvRfi0YeA0EA86ica_vlPHGujNdIdf7XBWfATuv0UBdkqD-zdM-1g1b3mK_DrEU/s684/ID+1.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="463" data-original-width="684" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj14yQe9JiEPJc0IuzVW2u3vwOAyPRKljlvjW2TNJXtDanKpYYGSS0-qUM1BC_seTDpicw6NBAvRMgQLvRfi0YeA0EA86ica_vlPHGujNdIdf7XBWfATuv0UBdkqD-zdM-1g1b3mK_DrEU/s320/ID+1.png" width="320" /></a></span></span></div><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: #222222; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyftv25hgEmuKxYY6Wtr0tqUWBV0EG77XRrWc7FPPxLfHT8aTHjqpbCXcqAyluWOwmncyXbtoT9wBf0GBosN2QWjV2xZRaZgiMbZvC2OGF-u9h3V8mpCDItJ5td9PQEaAeDAWDNZPOWXQ/s655/ID+2.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="479" data-original-width="655" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyftv25hgEmuKxYY6Wtr0tqUWBV0EG77XRrWc7FPPxLfHT8aTHjqpbCXcqAyluWOwmncyXbtoT9wBf0GBosN2QWjV2xZRaZgiMbZvC2OGF-u9h3V8mpCDItJ5td9PQEaAeDAWDNZPOWXQ/s320/ID+2.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: #222222; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: white;">Jan's British Identity Card</span></b></div><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt;">He was accepted
and passed as suitable for air crew and then underwent the long period of
training which finally ended at No 6 (Polish) Operational Training Unit at RAF
Thornaby on Tees, North Yorkshire and he was transferred to 304 Squadron on 2nd
January 1944 when they were based at RAF Predannack, Cornwall. He actually arrived at the squadron two days earlier than the official transfer date.</span><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf7EdCGt5hY026MWBOxtu-nErhf0flP19LTd7YNeLfBU5cKKEfU70EUFsHiK0sX27LMBwc2tItdZmsZOMddnqYqptWLnR-UJzs22Gh8-eIpP3VswK9w8I5YbuFXLMr16B833ertNuIapk/s692/Untitled.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="312" data-original-width="692" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf7EdCGt5hY026MWBOxtu-nErhf0flP19LTd7YNeLfBU5cKKEfU70EUFsHiK0sX27LMBwc2tItdZmsZOMddnqYqptWLnR-UJzs22Gh8-eIpP3VswK9w8I5YbuFXLMr16B833ertNuIapk/w400-h180/Untitled.png" width="400" /></a></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><b><span style="font-family: arial;">Jan's arrival at 304 Squadron - noted in their hand written record book</span></b></span></span></div><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;">During his time
with 304 Squadron he flew 44 hostile sorties and served also at RAF Chivenor
near Barnstaple in Devon and RAF Benbecula in the Outer Hebrides, Scotland.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The following selection of photographs were probably taken during his service with 304 Squadron</span></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXdw41OWWx96u35vIzw-jN77zKH_Fix4mlZQofPl9WZnYbG-CV3pjYu7H0T9r_UvES0CYBPnfPGWcDiuP-w-lSktBWNkI0DgRr_jp6oGxGdFCOkMxgsWmPzRf4f1tduK_dtJ0b3EoeSUQ/s665/Jan+2nd+left+in+front+of+Wllington+with+invasion+stripes+June+44.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="465" data-original-width="665" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXdw41OWWx96u35vIzw-jN77zKH_Fix4mlZQofPl9WZnYbG-CV3pjYu7H0T9r_UvES0CYBPnfPGWcDiuP-w-lSktBWNkI0DgRr_jp6oGxGdFCOkMxgsWmPzRf4f1tduK_dtJ0b3EoeSUQ/w400-h280/Jan+2nd+left+in+front+of+Wllington+with+invasion+stripes+June+44.png" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><b><span style="font-family: arial;">Group of 304 Squadron personnel standing by a Wellington Bomber probably in early June 1944. Note the invasion stripes painted on the wing. Jan is 2nd from the left.</span></b></span><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><b></b></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX9KQPckyvZkzEQp_xdwfaHin5Hhe4lioAzH4ebV-KtxYY6rc5yMWOGcqO8WqcpLgi3zdBv4fjRdgbF6CwQG8kV4X4fj-qPLZi6-hlNXltdC0-RxxiB-GnfDN1ctBwKw9sWvzjiaX99Qc/s657/Jan+3rd+from+right+posing+with+Lt+Miedzybrodzki%2527s+crew+and+damaged+Wellington.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="441" data-original-width="657" height="269" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX9KQPckyvZkzEQp_xdwfaHin5Hhe4lioAzH4ebV-KtxYY6rc5yMWOGcqO8WqcpLgi3zdBv4fjRdgbF6CwQG8kV4X4fj-qPLZi6-hlNXltdC0-RxxiB-GnfDN1ctBwKw9sWvzjiaX99Qc/w400-h269/Jan+3rd+from+right+posing+with+Lt+Miedzybrodzki%2527s+crew+and+damaged+Wellington.png" width="400" /></a></b></span></div><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><b>Jan (3rd from right), probably with the crew of Flight Lieutenant Miedzybrodzki, after inspecting the flak damage to the latter's Wellington bomber.</b></span><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcKZVWIRj6-aPoFo3EE9zawd5bbJUndEFOVpwFO6mUf8oh4I_CnUUxmWQky-5r-Um5CzjBCKpAaiWbeyn_85Lj1iJ6F_pAgRFbp5cdc95SYBaohNJzQpB_eFQJeGdT0QlRUXGI0xXQVlI/s770/Jan+and+airmen+2.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="770" data-original-width="527" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcKZVWIRj6-aPoFo3EE9zawd5bbJUndEFOVpwFO6mUf8oh4I_CnUUxmWQky-5r-Um5CzjBCKpAaiWbeyn_85Lj1iJ6F_pAgRFbp5cdc95SYBaohNJzQpB_eFQJeGdT0QlRUXGI0xXQVlI/w274-h400/Jan+and+airmen+2.png" width="274" /></a></span></div><div style="font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><b style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Jan (2nd from left) with unidentified aircrew</span></b></span></div><div style="font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><b style="font-size: 11pt;"><br /></b></span></div><div style="font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1TuJ9VMHDYkgHfCtZfe3vg51dmoY6E0IS3LWR9UgaB8ckJUEWH6VbVsR-AL7hv5Q3bs6mgsMAcHzJfWG1q9BgbcOVDPnkMV4E1jOIEWm_JsF6sL07SgOrNQYDan_IoRTqMhAFZ6Dv7iM/s770/Jan+and+airmen+304.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="770" data-original-width="503" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1TuJ9VMHDYkgHfCtZfe3vg51dmoY6E0IS3LWR9UgaB8ckJUEWH6VbVsR-AL7hv5Q3bs6mgsMAcHzJfWG1q9BgbcOVDPnkMV4E1jOIEWm_JsF6sL07SgOrNQYDan_IoRTqMhAFZ6Dv7iM/w261-h400/Jan+and+airmen+304.png" width="261" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Jan (2nd from right) with unidentified aircrew</span></span></div><div style="font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBdgaY_aRzVjkDofr2x1h8Itq9KWuSz1b_B3R7dTHlQKDC7wtfMO-fYZiTfI69c6NcwaEObii_vl1gzZDiZlDAMjdTGzHy2CnVffN_PK4kYMeIGqTKZ5b0uUVrxdO_Tm3CVW6vNvx3eeE/s569/Jan+in+flying+jacket.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="569" data-original-width="434" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBdgaY_aRzVjkDofr2x1h8Itq9KWuSz1b_B3R7dTHlQKDC7wtfMO-fYZiTfI69c6NcwaEObii_vl1gzZDiZlDAMjdTGzHy2CnVffN_PK4kYMeIGqTKZ5b0uUVrxdO_Tm3CVW6vNvx3eeE/w305-h400/Jan+in+flying+jacket.png" width="305" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><br /><div style="font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Jan wearing standard flying jacket</span><br /><b style="font-size: 11pt;"><br /></b></div><div style="font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPs4pzvsVGGXagkMamCTCUgqDWKlSIv-u8JkZu3vK3PgTVOCE62zZ868N3b2XT_Ed6bYT7NsUTuDQQlcEz3o6IJct0wg4LxLHcUuzYm62gq620NQzNiwtr5NMYVyGW7b_IiaanUGVXwgA/s1026/Jan+on+right.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1026" data-original-width="695" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPs4pzvsVGGXagkMamCTCUgqDWKlSIv-u8JkZu3vK3PgTVOCE62zZ868N3b2XT_Ed6bYT7NsUTuDQQlcEz3o6IJct0wg4LxLHcUuzYm62gq620NQzNiwtr5NMYVyGW7b_IiaanUGVXwgA/w271-h400/Jan+on+right.png" width="271" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">Jan (right) with a senior Officer</span><br /><b style="font-size: 11pt;"><br /></b></div><div style="font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh3dDhQ0Fm7jYOfj_meq3mRgukdDBgwt4jsvTUpo4_sIrYrDynRtJR9LIbkN1efhoBzEpPsmyJGLNhUwV6aBvuHG3PDcx8R9WOebIW0-Wd4nJlethxpS9RUG6mgeBenAMhBmvlgsCnokk/s1367/Jan+front+row+4th+from+left.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="918" data-original-width="1367" height="269" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh3dDhQ0Fm7jYOfj_meq3mRgukdDBgwt4jsvTUpo4_sIrYrDynRtJR9LIbkN1efhoBzEpPsmyJGLNhUwV6aBvuHG3PDcx8R9WOebIW0-Wd4nJlethxpS9RUG6mgeBenAMhBmvlgsCnokk/w400-h269/Jan+front+row+4th+from+left.png" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">Jan (seated 4th from left) with other members of the squadron or, possibly crew from 6 OTU</span></div><div style="font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; text-align: justify;"><br /></span></div></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">In March 1945, while the War was coming to a
close, he was selected for an advanced Staff Navigator course at RAF Shawbury
near Shrewsbury, Shropshire. The War ended during his time there and
on qualifying, he was posted to 301 Squadron which had been moved to Transport
Command at RAF Chedburgh, Suffolk. The duties there included
navigating routes for unarmed and converted Handley Page Halifax bombers mainly
to Italy and Greece.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt;">Instead of
carrying bombs these aircraft carried routine supplies to our forces, including
mail, but also cargoes of around one ton in weight of British printed Greek and
Italian currency to replace the, now worthless, German occupation
currency.</span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt;">On the return journey they also
flew released Prisoners of War home to England.</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">He was among the
many Polish servicemen unwilling to return to Poland under Stalin's puppet
Communist regime.</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">That was a sensible
decision when you consider the number of returning troops who were arrested,
imprisoned, tortured and even executed.</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">
</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">Those who were not subjected to this harsh treatment were denied decent
jobs and men who had been lawyers, doctors and other professional men struggled
to fin</span></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 14.6667px;">I</span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt;">d employment above the level of road sweepers.</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">So, on his
demobilisation, he was enrolled in the Polish Resettlement Corps where he was
assured an income at his existing level of pay and a place to live for a period
of up to two years.</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">He was also given
help to improve his English and learn a new skill.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">The Polish legal
system, based in Roman law, was quite different from Anglo-Saxon common law, so
his Polish qualification as a lawyer was of no value in England. </span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">In 1947 he was offered and accepted a
permanent commission in the RAF, and posted to RAF Cranwell (Technical
Training) in an administrative role.</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;">His postings thereafter
were RAF Luqa in Malta, RAF St. Athan, near Barry, Wales, RAF Stanmore, Middlesex,
RAF Benson, Oxfordshire, RAF Swinderby, Lincolnshire, RAF Hullavington,
Chippenham, Wiltshire at the last of which he was Station Commander. One of his
last jobs was overseeing the closure of RAF Yatesbury, Wiltshire.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;">He retired in
1966 with the acting rank of Wing Commander.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;">In February 1955 he
was invested with the MBE in the New Year's Honours List and the following year
he changed his name to Monsell by deed poll.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPPiAq4om-dxe7N4jvVmFtLsSpkvElvezsP2fGhHUoYUBJDPXWaU1Mhbt2drKps-NIt31zNKzqd19_OXb8t-_cKc9BNSeoT-eZfsX_4PRO9zty90U_0GNCMoFRYG98Nvw8AWF6mgisqG0/s710/London+Gazette+report+of+his+appointment+to+the+Military+Division+of+the+Most+Excellent+Order+of+the+British+Empire.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="710" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPPiAq4om-dxe7N4jvVmFtLsSpkvElvezsP2fGhHUoYUBJDPXWaU1Mhbt2drKps-NIt31zNKzqd19_OXb8t-_cKc9BNSeoT-eZfsX_4PRO9zty90U_0GNCMoFRYG98Nvw8AWF6mgisqG0/w400-h268/London+Gazette+report+of+his+appointment+to+the+Military+Division+of+the+Most+Excellent+Order+of+the+British+Empire.png" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><b><span style="font-family: arial;">London Gazette report of his appointment to the Military Division of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire</span></b></span><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt;">After retirement
he worked as a civil servant in the Ministry of Defence (Navy) in Bath,
Somerset until his death in October 1968 at the early age of 56.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">While training as
a navigator in 1943 he met an English girl named Sylvia Todd, then a VAD nurse
at the RAF hospital at RAF Kirkham, where he was recovering from a case of
diptheria/tonsillitis. They were married in June 1944</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">just 11 days after D-Day</span></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">All leave was
cancelled but his Squadron Commander discreetly granted him an unofficial 48
hour pass to travel from RAF Chivenor to Penn Church in Buckinghamshire near
his future bride's home.</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">This was just
long enough for the wedding and to bring his new wife back to RAF
Chivenor.</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">The squadron presented them
with a silver bowl as a wedding gift.</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">
</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">They had three children together.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCiadiWlhJrRR_SO_uWAykOgjcncWZsUWqL_SVmacgHjtoZ_TN_IenMKLiBK3WTxZi31GnTVCiTPoL5AxvN7hppyWgE36_DSGZfCrNWXaoy6PvB6LpRK_j7NKuNziWnbwJgrkl3w9bmYA/s761/Wedding+invitation.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="761" data-original-width="573" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCiadiWlhJrRR_SO_uWAykOgjcncWZsUWqL_SVmacgHjtoZ_TN_IenMKLiBK3WTxZi31GnTVCiTPoL5AxvN7hppyWgE36_DSGZfCrNWXaoy6PvB6LpRK_j7NKuNziWnbwJgrkl3w9bmYA/w301-h400/Wedding+invitation.png" width="301" /></a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Invitation to the wedding of Sylvia Christine Todd and Flying Officer Jan W Mondschein</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfeH6Er7ez2NmDVwhufR3G2_lMJL0ue6XF1XUi7DKT9McpB08pvP6NrkpN17LUNgNeSVsVDCNz86bmMOAHwsdg0Odv8Qo7wNUKjeZx9xLinwFTv9CPzS0mui-8CIjjVxhJFZts7oosCBw/s1026/Wedding+photo.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1026" data-original-width="758" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfeH6Er7ez2NmDVwhufR3G2_lMJL0ue6XF1XUi7DKT9McpB08pvP6NrkpN17LUNgNeSVsVDCNz86bmMOAHwsdg0Odv8Qo7wNUKjeZx9xLinwFTv9CPzS0mui-8CIjjVxhJFZts7oosCBw/w295-h400/Wedding+photo.png" width="295" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Wedding photograph of Jan and Sylvia</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcYGhiRypRddaH2DAvHgMA4Z3UrMx0Crae6XBOZuNU4w937nDmmIRnGXzFFVJmbNti4fI0DC5LA5JLIn4Xckkh7jma0XT-mFALM6sIdjIsd3V1uU33nWN9DF7E99GvYLRwaHp8RM6R9go/s903/Wedding+report.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="903" data-original-width="519" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcYGhiRypRddaH2DAvHgMA4Z3UrMx0Crae6XBOZuNU4w937nDmmIRnGXzFFVJmbNti4fI0DC5LA5JLIn4Xckkh7jma0XT-mFALM6sIdjIsd3V1uU33nWN9DF7E99GvYLRwaHp8RM6R9go/w230-h400/Wedding+report.png" width="230" /></a></div><b>Wedding report from the local press</b><br /><span style="font-size: 11pt; text-align: left;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; text-align: left;">As a footnote: he was
the brother of Jerzy Tomasz Mondschein who was also a navigator in 304 Squadron
and who was one of the fifty airmen murdered after the real Great Escape.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; text-align: left;">See also https//304squadron.blogspot.com/2012/05/jerzy-tomasz-mondschein.html </span></div><p></p>ARCHIVEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08394269080036911253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4535693937654256936.post-84491310688554140882020-10-10T18:09:00.003+00:002020-10-10T18:20:33.324+00:00ALFRED LESZCZUK<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1437" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiliYI8KV3AGbtnBfJgxWPv444f9RmUkVTNHqizwNz3ZUbUZWQdMqfKTso-OfHX0OEB2G931H9lZBfHEvc00UiGdgOKVh8OjJDAdsBYKcKcqqmHxSKmAB_LEySurPdobifcIWFE0N-yoVQ/s320/Alfred+Leszczuk+pic+during+the+war.jpg" /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Many people believe that only the pilots and other aircrew have stories
worth reading when it comes to World War II but this is not the case as I hope
you will find here.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">Alfred Leszczuk was born on 7th February 1907 in Lwów, Poland (now Lviv,
Ukraine) at the age of only 11, in October 1918, he took part in the
Polish-Ukrainian War as a defender of Lwów in the volunteer Defence Battalion of Lwów and, as a result of
this, he was awarded the Defenders of Lwów Cross.
After which he went back to his schooling and eventually trained as an
electro-mechanic.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">After his compulsory military service, he remained in the army where he
received training as a radio mechanic from 1928 - 1929 with 61 Squadron in what
is now the Ukraine. On 28th March 1929
he was promoted and formally transferred to 61 Squadron of the 6th Air Regiment
and put in the trusted position of Chief Electro-mechanic. He retained this position until 15th
September 1930 when he was released from military service and placed on the reserve
list.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">In 1934 he
married Stanisława Dobrzańska in the Church of St Martin in Lwów and they
continued to live in that city until he was recalled from the reserves for War
service.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimhh4VxtGTXghVMtWuOyyCyBy-KaKE8keHSmp0BHt3cEx5Aaz_HQ1Sxvc9ho2tizsB0BKB_VabAGsPcJObZY0knr7Hft9MTQGjkixD8kCeBJH0LAJwhrkhMjU9C_z46T6ruidKYvN01MQ/s2048/Alfred+with+wife+Stanis%25C5%2582awa+Dobrza%25C5%2584ska-Leszczuk+day+of+mariage+8-9-1934+Lw%25C3%25B3w+Poland.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1478" data-original-width="2048" height="289" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimhh4VxtGTXghVMtWuOyyCyBy-KaKE8keHSmp0BHt3cEx5Aaz_HQ1Sxvc9ho2tizsB0BKB_VabAGsPcJObZY0knr7Hft9MTQGjkixD8kCeBJH0LAJwhrkhMjU9C_z46T6ruidKYvN01MQ/w400-h289/Alfred+with+wife+Stanis%25C5%2582awa+Dobrza%25C5%2584ska-Leszczuk+day+of+mariage+8-9-1934+Lw%25C3%25B3w+Poland.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><b><span face=""Calibri","sans-serif"" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Wedding photograph of Alfred Leszczuk and
Stanisława Dobrzańska, 8th September in Lwów</span></b></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He was mobilised on 24th August 1939 and returned to the 6th Air
Regiment, serving with 161 Fighter Squadron at Widzew-Ksawerów airfield in
Lodz. When the Russian army invaded from
the rear, on 17th September 1939, he was ordered to retreat and head for the
Romanian border where they were disarmed and interned. On 1st October 1939 he was placed in the camp
at Craiova where he remained until 18th December 1939 when he was moved to the
camp at Targu Jiu.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Because the Romanian people sympathised with the Poles, life was fairly
easy in the camps and there was a well organised plan whereby the Polish
Embassy in Bucarest acquired large numbers of blank ID cards which were already
stamped and signed by Romanian officials who were sympathetic or accepted
relatively small bribes. These genuine
"fake" IDs were used to get the men out of the country. All that needed to be added were photographs
and false names. The French authorities
had already agreed to accept a contingent of the Polish armed forces to
continue the fight from France. There
were many routes to France, overland via Jugoslavia and Northern Italy and by
sea through the port of Balcic (now in Bulgaria) via the Mediterranean to
Marseilles port. It is likely that
Alfred took this latter route as he was
photographed in Split, Jugoslavia in 1940.
These routes were not only assigned to the Polish Air Force but priority
was given to airmen.</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV8laTmvKhs_1fvCJeZ8xkpOdWLhH3au4W0i60y6MfzQi8opI7SkUX4N1mypQLnJHBnI3qla12rJOU5_Cv2uxeP-myDHKHFKpS-W9DsLBjk3dr8sN2NyMsHK3XXWeFyb0PUNExi_MpiMU/s670/In+Split%252C+Jugoslavia.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="465" data-original-width="670" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV8laTmvKhs_1fvCJeZ8xkpOdWLhH3au4W0i60y6MfzQi8opI7SkUX4N1mypQLnJHBnI3qla12rJOU5_Cv2uxeP-myDHKHFKpS-W9DsLBjk3dr8sN2NyMsHK3XXWeFyb0PUNExi_MpiMU/w400-h278/In+Split%252C+Jugoslavia.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Alfred Leszczuk at Split, Jugoslavia waiting to continue his journey to France<br /></b></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14.6667px; text-align: justify;"><br /></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtMUKXtbVHEN9RtRYUdhfKRGclfJFaB5_5SbDjay8TOVCzPRK82KWhIdJu3oyRsXtzA2cbgSqEeq5Yo6nSIZ1dXxC8IagojmDjR9AOms8EIQGce6tHHQaAGE1vnUN8gEOw4FOuilhm44A/s866/Camp+de+Carpiagne.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="528" data-original-width="866" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtMUKXtbVHEN9RtRYUdhfKRGclfJFaB5_5SbDjay8TOVCzPRK82KWhIdJu3oyRsXtzA2cbgSqEeq5Yo6nSIZ1dXxC8IagojmDjR9AOms8EIQGce6tHHQaAGE1vnUN8gEOw4FOuilhm44A/w400-h244/Camp+de+Carpiagne.png" width="400" /></a></div><b>Camp Carpiagne Military Base near Marseilles, France</b><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; text-align: left;">He arrived at Camp Carpiagne, a military base
south of Marseilles, on 2nd April 1940 and four days later he was assigned to
the Air Force training centre at Lyon-Bron commanded by Colonel Stefan
Pawlikowski, which was the main centre for the Polish Air Force. </span><span style="font-size: 11pt; text-align: left;">Most Poles were very unhappy here as living
conditions were poor, the food was inadequate and there was a desperate
shortage of hot water for bathing.</span><span style="font-size: 11pt; text-align: left;"> </span><span style="font-size: 11pt; text-align: left;">Most
Poles hated the place and the French attitudes because they were totally laid
back and indifferent to the fighting.</span><span style="font-size: 11pt; text-align: left;">
</span><span style="font-size: 11pt; text-align: left;">The Poles were anxious to fight the Germans and were frustrated at the
slow pace and indifference of the French.</span></span></div></blockquote><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">It became necessary to evacuate the base as the Germans attacked France and most of the men were moved towards the Atlantic Coast and the small port of St Jean de Luz just North of the Spanish border. There was great hostility towards the Poles and many of the French wanted to hand them over to the Germans. This was just a few days after the evacuation from Dunkirk and few people realise that almost as many men were evacuated from the Mediterranean and Atlantic ports as from Dunkirk. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">But it was a bloody evacuation and many were killed as the evacuation fleet was harassed by U-Boats of the Kriegsmarine and aircraft of the Luftwaffe. So much so that Royal Navy ships sent to escort the evacuees had to be diverted to defend against the U-Boat threat. A lucky strike by Luftwaffe bombers resulted in a direct hit on the SS Lancastria which sunk very quickly with huge loss of life. Official estimates say 2,000 - 3,000 but eye witnesses put the number at 8,000 - 10,000 Soldiers waiting to board ships had to run the gauntlet of strafing and bombing before they could escape. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">On 24th June 1940 Alfred sailed on board the SS Arandora Star which was a British liner converted to a troopship which arrived in Liverpool on about 26th June 1940. On her very next journey she was torpedoed and sunk by the U47 west by North of Ireland. 805 people lost their lives - ironically most of them were Italian internees and German prisoners of war on their way to Canada on 2nd July 1940.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirtCfQOPXwGkcFR7z26-oF0NyTUAMORrJ4poKsshLD11_UOVW5NgwMZc970Ibxl5IA8tRjbD3HxROl7YwrdliF6zOlyQmanAYYXLCYJIPCpo2ya4YubOMccSaCcW3VlwZjc5qHQKoCzxY/s300/SS+Arandora+Star.jpg"><img border="0" data-original-height="213" data-original-width="300" height="284" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirtCfQOPXwGkcFR7z26-oF0NyTUAMORrJ4poKsshLD11_UOVW5NgwMZc970Ibxl5IA8tRjbD3HxROl7YwrdliF6zOlyQmanAYYXLCYJIPCpo2ya4YubOMccSaCcW3VlwZjc5qHQKoCzxY/w400-h284/SS+Arandora+Star.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>SS Arandora Star waiting at St Jean de Luz to evacuate the British, Polish and French forces</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg09fVopMHN0x_aDLAfQJpF6JohGVQ1pNnqONoyZdZrErzUxuGf2j98UnTZhrO637gIkALkoPAnRBaaagZ6GCfEsM0kZK1y8X9ha7XcdJWwtgxdHyKNywhR5ltR34jLPCh-kIAGDOInc3M/s500/Boulton+Paul+Defiant.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="500" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg09fVopMHN0x_aDLAfQJpF6JohGVQ1pNnqONoyZdZrErzUxuGf2j98UnTZhrO637gIkALkoPAnRBaaagZ6GCfEsM0kZK1y8X9ha7XcdJWwtgxdHyKNywhR5ltR34jLPCh-kIAGDOInc3M/w400-h256/Boulton+Paul+Defiant.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Alfred Leszczuk working on a Bolton Paul Defiant<br /></b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"> </span></p><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="color: white; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Alfred would have been one of those who received the King's gift of 10
shillings (50p in today's money) which had considerable spending power in
1940. Then, on 27th June 1940, he was
sent by train to RAF Kirkham which was between Preston and Blackpool but was
part of the Polish Blackpool Depot.
There he would learn English, the King's Regulations and the British way
of doing things - as well as the usual square bashing and became part of the
new Polish Air Force in exile - Service number 793819. He was assigned to 307 Squadron "Lwów
Eagle Owls" and posted to RAF Kirton in Lindsey in Lincolnshire on 23rd
September 1940 which was a night fighter squadron.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Whilst with them he served at RAF Jurby on the Isle of Man from 7th
November 1940 until 8th January 1941 when he was posted to RAF Squires Gate at
Blackpool, Lancashire. On 26th March
1941 he was posted to RAF Colerne at Bristol and from 26th April 1941 to RAF
Exeter, Devon.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="color: white;">On 31st October 1941 he was transferred to 304 Squadron where he moved
from servicing fighters to Bombers.
During his time with the Squadron he spent time learning the new
technologies at No 11 School of Technical Training at Hereford and No 12 School
of Technical Training at Melksham, Wiltshire.</span><span style="color: white;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="color: white;">He first came to 304 Squadron at RAF Lindholme near Doncaster in
Yorkshire and later moved to RAF Tiree in the Inner Hebrides, Scotland on 10th
May 1942 and then to RAF Dale near Milfordhaven, Pembrokeshire, Wales on 13th
June 1942. Later he moved to nearby RAF
Talbenny in Pembrokeshire on 3rd November 1942 and back to RAF Dale on 1st
December 1942. His next move was to RAF
Docking in Norfolk on 2nd April 1943 then RAF Davidstow Moor near Camelford in
Cornwall on 8th June 1943. From there he
went to RAF Predannack on 13th Dec</span><span style="color: white;">ember 1943, also in Cornwall until his final
move to RAF Chvenor near Barnstaple in Devon on 19th February 1944. He served in some of the most isolated and
beautiful parts of </span><span style="color: white;">i</span><span style="color: white;">Britain - unfortunately in some of the worst weather
conditions.</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="color: white;">The picture below is unusual because he is wearing a standard
battledress blouse with the RAF eagle and the stripe of a lance corporal (he
was a full corporal at the time) but no Poland shoulder flash. I suspect he has borrowed this f</span><span style="color: white;">rom a British
mechanic just for the purpose of an official photograph.</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyKsoHO6BgloErqPMKvv4yx5poIeOJBZegnur7_zWhNaZ8d8Vi13wjdCZyPkLD56arxXECpM4llBHEOgriHULifNCz1ZIKIpyqEXgVjeoVJSi5ATbOd3Arl-DdxJAczgz6U1ugIkaN1VY/s749/img_047a+%2528Kopiowanie%2529+%2528Kopiowanie%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="503" data-original-width="749" height="269" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyKsoHO6BgloErqPMKvv4yx5poIeOJBZegnur7_zWhNaZ8d8Vi13wjdCZyPkLD56arxXECpM4llBHEOgriHULifNCz1ZIKIpyqEXgVjeoVJSi5ATbOd3Arl-DdxJAczgz6U1ugIkaN1VY/w400-h269/img_047a+%2528Kopiowanie%2529+%2528Kopiowanie%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Inspecting the front turret of a Wellington bomber at RAF Dale<br /></b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="2536" height="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY43uuXFvj1zXFELvYRMAtHrS8TdorzEbWqsYgqHcrwfEjmoWljkSemAy1QJpLowsU04TuSdyaYRseIJQB3w8GFJAo6quXyIs-ASgD8xZVdKYM7nLT9W79_wEuEXs-wTPhLMiZEK_H9qs/w400-h195/15-4-1943+SQ+304+Alfred+Leszczuk+4+th+form+raight+side+bottom.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Alfred is 4th from right in the front row of this 304 Squadron group<br /></b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY43uuXFvj1zXFELvYRMAtHrS8TdorzEbWqsYgqHcrwfEjmoWljkSemAy1QJpLowsU04TuSdyaYRseIJQB3w8GFJAo6quXyIs-ASgD8xZVdKYM7nLT9W79_wEuEXs-wTPhLMiZEK_H9qs/s2536/15-4-1943+SQ+304+Alfred+Leszczuk+4+th+form+raight+side+bottom.jpg"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></a></div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="color: white; font-family: inherit;">On 31st May 1944 the invasion of mainland Europe was imminent and
experienced mechanics were desperately needed to service the aircraft of No 2
Tactical Air Force who were to follow the invasion fleet. He had experience of servicing fighters and
was transferred to 6317 Service Echelon which was responsible for looking after
the aircraft of 317 Polish fighter squadron.
At the time the service echelon was still separated from the Squadron
and it is unclear where it was actually based.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="color: white; font-family: inherit;">It becomes clearer from 1st August 1944 when the Service Echelon
embarked for France and rejoined the Squadron the following day at the Advanced
Landing Ground of Plumetot in Normandy.
This was not a pleasant place where they lived in tents and suffered
alternate spells of mud and dust and they were also within range of the German
artillery.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="color: white; font-family: inherit;">After this the moved to Londinieres, Normandy on 5th September 1944,
Vendeville near Lille in Northern France on 10th September and Deurne near
Antwerp, Belgium on 3rd October until they finally reached Sint Denijs-Westrem
on 11th October. They were still here on
1st January 1945 when they were hit by a sudden and massed attack by the
Luftwaffe. Fortunately 317 and two
British squadrons<br /></span></p></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglbPKPBiWtj4RMcTylB6egrgBL-2EAhRf4rXNp0eN6qbRkpLVFtFq7LPAlDC9M_EuRSD8amnRv0ZBxzly15IdpIIzRgh3cxjAT92o5aExp8bEPxiaEj6Eo9WM3jpztPjcSjpJqJ3bAShY/s2048/Belgium+aftre+the+german+ride+on+base+1-1-1945+%25281%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1534" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglbPKPBiWtj4RMcTylB6egrgBL-2EAhRf4rXNp0eN6qbRkpLVFtFq7LPAlDC9M_EuRSD8amnRv0ZBxzly15IdpIIzRgh3cxjAT92o5aExp8bEPxiaEj6Eo9WM3jpztPjcSjpJqJ3bAShY/w400-h300/Belgium+aftre+the+german+ride+on+base+1-1-1945+%25281%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white;">Devastation following a totally unexpected Luftwaffe attack on 1st
January 1945. Probably taken at Sint
Denijs-Westrem, Belgium where he was serving at the time</span></span></b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5KhxLafhJ9wCbuDqQiw-bdp3Xo9k00XZCqUnGREx9NVNT0OYGx3kLYu6K8CGYZRmtSjSxigEy8JxTDdJr0oHbD3l35ZAyIZOfeKs_13mDX-YJO0vEDinjB8c3ik1oCAcLII4bIKWitVU/s2048/Wreck+near+Cloppenburg+Germany.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1480" data-original-width="2048" height="289" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5KhxLafhJ9wCbuDqQiw-bdp3Xo9k00XZCqUnGREx9NVNT0OYGx3kLYu6K8CGYZRmtSjSxigEy8JxTDdJr0oHbD3l35ZAyIZOfeKs_13mDX-YJO0vEDinjB8c3ik1oCAcLII4bIKWitVU/w400-h289/Wreck+near+Cloppenburg+Germany.jpg" width="400" /></a><br /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white;">Alfred sitting on the tail unit of a wrecked Focke-Wulf FW 190 Dora which was destroyed on the ground probably at Varrelbusch or Ahlhorn, Germany</span></span></b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: white; font-family: inherit;">On 13th January 1945 they moved on to Grimbergen, Belgium and by 9th
March 1945 they had moved on to Gilze Rijen in the Netherlands. By 13th April 1945 they had pushed as far as
Nordhorn in Lower Saxony, Germany and by 30th April they had reached Varrelbusch
where they remained as the War was almost over.
On 10th September they moved to Alhorn where he remained until 28th
November 1946 when they embarked for England.
On 1st March 1946 he was promoted to sergeant.</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: white; font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; text-align: left;">In the latter days of his service on Continental Europe, he witnessed
the carnage imposed on the Luftwaffe by the Allied air forces in one last push
for victory</span><span style="font-size: 11pt; text-align: left;"> </span><span style="font-size: 11pt; text-align: left;">Here he is seen sitting on
the tail unit of a Docke-Wulf 190 Dora - the long nose version which has
clearly been destroyed on the ground - probably at Varrelbusch or Ahlhorn as he
followed the fighters forward in the race to Berlin.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: white; font-family: inherit;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKNN_U03dNCJCAfU1T86024nTmklNcXuXVZjFG8hyphenhyphenSpjvLcQoKPn6ZD_SKWKHZVO8nuEnXLinIrkd2IVIku4BHeS3iWHliacLGLdUujUffDtcW_1gtC-ij4Y6IK0dfv72Fgtuo4npqegM/s614/Medals.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: white;"><img border="0" data-original-height="268" data-original-width="614" height="175" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKNN_U03dNCJCAfU1T86024nTmklNcXuXVZjFG8hyphenhyphenSpjvLcQoKPn6ZD_SKWKHZVO8nuEnXLinIrkd2IVIku4BHeS3iWHliacLGLdUujUffDtcW_1gtC-ij4Y6IK0dfv72Fgtuo4npqegM/w400-h175/Medals.png" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white;">Alfred Leszczuk's medals from the Polish-Ukrainian War of 1918-1921 and
WWII</span></span></b></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="color: white; font-family: inherit;"><br /><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: white; font-family: inherit;">He was disembarked on 30th November 1946 and rejoined the Squadron. On 8th January 1947 he was moved to RAF
Portreath in Cornwall but there is no clear reason for this. He remained there until he was discharged to
the Polish Resettlement Corps where he was no longer active Air Force personnel
but it gave him a place to live and his normal pay until he was discharged and
repatriated to Poland on 9th June 1947.
During his military career he added to his medal won as a boy in the
Polish-Ukrainian War with a Polish Medal Lotniczy and four British campaign
medals. They were the 1939-1945 Star,
the France and Germany Star, the Defence Medal and the War Medal.<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: white; font-family: inherit;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: white; font-family: inherit;">During the course of the War his wife Stanisława remained in Lwów with their two young children
- a three year old son and a 1 year old daughter. After the War ended she was forcibly removed
from their home city which was to become part of the Ukraine. She had no idea where she was being sent. The train journey lasted about two weeks and
the final destination was Klodzko near the Czech border.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: white; font-family: inherit;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-family: inherit;">She managed to find Alfred through the Polish Red Cross. He wanted to bring the family to England or
to emigrate with them to South Africa but they decided that he should return to
Poland, which he did in 1947.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifaP9Kf-e_Q6AZBWt8NjHVJkGigECv6r6FpORrhyphenhyphen2mdMN5vX_itIahR1qdsfHDOQcJvTXUUS3bvwS8hZLzpJoez4T7t3b9DtjT9TDMbqxGoCd3FxWxUJnFc95f4pcl0z4_tKmNcFAE7Kw/s609/SA+doc.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="187" data-original-width="609" height="122" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifaP9Kf-e_Q6AZBWt8NjHVJkGigECv6r6FpORrhyphenhyphen2mdMN5vX_itIahR1qdsfHDOQcJvTXUUS3bvwS8hZLzpJoez4T7t3b9DtjT9TDMbqxGoCd3FxWxUJnFc95f4pcl0z4_tKmNcFAE7Kw/w400-h122/SA+doc.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span face=""Calibri","sans-serif"" style="color: #222222; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">His application showing his willingness to settle in South Africa</span></b></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /><span style="color: white; font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">The ruling communist regime
did not treat returning soldiers well. They
were distrusted because they were considered to be potential Western spies,
they were spied on and punished by being kept out of the best jobs. Communist repression replaced Nazi repression
and, in Alfred's case, it was difficult to find a job. He wanted to work at the
airport in Wroc</span><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">ław but that was not
possible and in the end, he managed to get a job on the railways. </span></span></span><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY0oqF3HuGh60OI1qTCX4QNEJfz-HBy8nRPVFmF3hlWo3i1HZjZeo6ya1F9RlwSCTtNcGaevcQftlfHaQfoWt9J-Fyj02VsNitQW1krFAAauMkyi_PyCIsPJf4K1n6bvHbNLetHFqk3Ac/s2030/Family+aftres+the+war+in+Poland+K%25C5%2582odzko+with++mother+in+lov+and+part+of+children.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1942" data-original-width="2030" height="383" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY0oqF3HuGh60OI1qTCX4QNEJfz-HBy8nRPVFmF3hlWo3i1HZjZeo6ya1F9RlwSCTtNcGaevcQftlfHaQfoWt9J-Fyj02VsNitQW1krFAAauMkyi_PyCIsPJf4K1n6bvHbNLetHFqk3Ac/w400-h383/Family+aftres+the+war+in+Poland+K%25C5%2582odzko+with++mother+in+lov+and+part+of+children.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span face=""Calibri","sans-serif"" style="color: #222222; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Alfred with his wife, mother in law and two children taken in Poland
after the War</span></b></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div style="text-align: justify;">Alfred's wife for many years ran a tailoring workshop on the ground floor of the tenement house where the family lived after the War. This was not an ordinary establishment, because Stanisława ran cutting and sewing courses for women and students of the then Professional Schools Team. She was much appreciated by the girls whom she taught.</div><o:p></o:p><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">After the war, when his health was failing, he was able to continue his passion for chess. He organized numerous tournaments and was actively involved in houses of culture. He died in 1966 and was buried accord</span><span style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;">ing to his wishes in military uniform. For many years his grave remained undistinguished. It was in no way possible to guess that a soldier of the Polish Armed Forces in the West, who devoted </span><span style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;">himself to the Fatherland, was buried there.</span></p><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px;">Recently, thanks to three of his grandchildren, a new and elegant monument was erected along with three plaques, because he, his wife and his mother in law are all buried there. On Alfred's grave there is a photograph of him in uniform, the chessboard emblem of the Polish Air Force and the badges of the three squadrons in which he served - a very fitting and very impressive memorial. The tomb is located in the municipal cemetery at K</span><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px;">łodzko, Poland.</span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: white; font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVEmemL4uX4QJgiGYIbSy4pc3HSjWGveF4fZNdrsxhtkRpisQvy_U97x_MnlQh3I6jPvo1rvyzRzDZfGne56id9G2lueIXgI4krd2u4357_Ru0oOt-ePvqAxRNF4Ntuuj0JIDxiO0d98I/s2048/Alfred%2527s+grave.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVEmemL4uX4QJgiGYIbSy4pc3HSjWGveF4fZNdrsxhtkRpisQvy_U97x_MnlQh3I6jPvo1rvyzRzDZfGne56id9G2lueIXgI4krd2u4357_Ru0oOt-ePvqAxRNF4Ntuuj0JIDxiO0d98I/w225-h400/Alfred%2527s+grave.jpg" width="225" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><br /></span><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><br /></span></span></p></div>ARCHIVEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08394269080036911253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4535693937654256936.post-67998984637846826312020-07-04T18:39:00.000+00:002020-07-04T18:39:42.176+00:00ZBIGNIEW ANDRZEJ KOMORNICKI<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMC5IZdRfBaEBLArLvxblEx9VsXOVlle_Kz0D-nzJ7B7zk5B0q_TQPrOoR1oRahj7BrH9yVZmSN8sfnmxmbUlC0TUFYqO8KHjzOpGsOMXHzsq-8nyX9q_uz4itxbDDSf1hcYH_pQtJJT4/s1600/Untitled.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="226" data-original-width="175" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMC5IZdRfBaEBLArLvxblEx9VsXOVlle_Kz0D-nzJ7B7zk5B0q_TQPrOoR1oRahj7BrH9yVZmSN8sfnmxmbUlC0TUFYqO8KHjzOpGsOMXHzsq-8nyX9q_uz4itxbDDSf1hcYH_pQtJJT4/s320/Untitled.png" width="247" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
Zbigniew Andrzej Komornicki was born at Radomski, Lodz,
Poland on 20th December 1918 son of Brunon Komornicki and Kazimiera Komornicki
(nee Pawlikowska).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Prior to his miltary
service he was employed as a clerk.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
His military records show him as having served from 4th
November 1937 with 41 Eskadra of the 4th Air Regiment supporting the Modlin
Army and based around Warsaw and Torun particularly at the time of the Winter
Campaign.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were flying an outdated
aircraft - the 3 seater PZL 23A Karas in which he would be the rear gunner with
only one machine gun to defend the aircraft from behind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The only other gun being at the front.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whilst it did have some success it was slow,
with a maximum speed of 198 mph and was no match for the modern Messerschmidts
in weaponry, armour or manoeuvrability.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">He flew
several times during the September Campaign, notably on 10th September when his
aircraft made a rough landing and tore off its propeller near Pultusk,
Wyszkow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The crew were only slightly
injured.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were Leon Osmialowski
(observer/navigator), Michal Leszkiewicz pilot and Zbigniew Komornicki
(gunner).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
It was soon evident that the Polish forces were no match
for the onslaught from the Germans and, on 18th September 1939, the day after
the Russians attacked from behind, this group were ordered to fly their planes
to Romania.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It is not clear whether they accomplished the
journey on foot, by vehicle or in flight but the route they took was </span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Torun-Mokotow-Zdunowo-Krzesk-Siennica-Brzesc--Luck
and crossed the border at Kuty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Several
aircraft had been lost or destroyed and so some of the crews flew over the
border, along with crews from 51 Eskadra, and those without aircraft crossed
over in staff cars.</span> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
Initially they were disarmed and interned but the
Romanians were sympathetic at that stage and the Polish Embassy supplied false
papers, money and travel documents so the men could easily slip away by various
routes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Many of the "fake"
documents were pre-authorised and signed official Romanian documents which had
either been given by sympathetic Romanian officials or provided in exchange for
a small bribe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Initially, the ID
photographs were taken by Corporal Oswald Krydner who later became the official
photographer to 304 Squadron.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They made
their way to France where they joined L'Armee de L'Air and planned to continue
the fight from there.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
Unfortunately, the French soon collapsed and they were
forced to flee again for Britain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was
a constant complaint that they were unable to get back into the fighting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, he arrived at Lyon-Bron on 18th
January 1940 and was obviously one of the first to volunteer to come to England
to fight, arriving here at RAF Eastchurch, Kent on 1st March 1940 well before
the mass evacuations from Dunkirk and the Atlantic and Mediterranean ports.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Poles had complained about uncomfortable
conditions and lack of hot water in France and were very pleased to be in
England where conditions were much better and hot showers freely available.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
RAF Eastchurch was to become a front line Battle of
Britain airfield and they were moved to the Blackpool Depot on 30th May 1940 so
that they could train away from the front line fighting and at a place that was
at the extreme range for German bombers and therefore relatively safe.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
For the first three months he was involved in square
bashing, learning English and familiarising himself with British equipment and
the King's Regulations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, on 7th
September 1940, he was sent to No 4 Air Gunnery School at RAF Morpeth,
Northumberland where he would train whilst flying out over Druridge Bay and the
North Sea before being posted to 304 Squadron at RAF Syerston near Newark in
Nottinghamshire.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
He flew 31 combat missions with the Squadron whilst it
was still in Bomber Command and later whilst it was in Coastal Command when he
flew anti-submarine warfare, air sea rescue and anti-shipping missions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some of his bombing missions lasted an
incredible 40 minutes over the target area.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>During the period between 18th August 1942 and 17th September 1942 he
attended a Gunnery Leaders course at the Central Gunnery School, RAF Sutton
Bridge, Lincolnshire.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
In the time he was with the Squadron he also served at
RAF Lindholme near Doncaster, South Yorkshire, RAF Tiree in the Inner Hebrides,
RAF Dale (twice) near Milford Haven, Pembrokeshire, Wales and RAF Docking in
Norfolk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>During this tour of duty he
came under fire many times from enemy aircraft and shipping as well as heavy
flak during his time in Bomber Command.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
After leaving the Squadron on 13th May 1943 he was posted
back to the Blackpool Depot until 2nd July 1943 after which he also spent some
time at No 16 SFTS although it is not clear why as this was jumping the gun on
his pilot training.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However it might
have been for familiarisation and aptitude testing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was then posted to the Air Crew Training
Centre at RAF Hucknall Nottinghamshire for final selection.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
Next he was posted to the Polish Initial Training Wing at
Brighton which was largely for theory and to learn the principles of flight
from 15th April 1944 until 4th September 1944.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>After this he was posted to No 25 Elementary Flying Training School at
RAF Hucknall, Nottinghamshire where he would have his first experience of
actual flying in a Tiger Moth II before moving on to the No 16 Service Flying
Training School at RAF Newton, Nottinghamshire on 14th December 1944.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is where his real flying training
started and he learned to handle the larger machines.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The training was on single engined Miles
Masters and twin engined Airspeed Oxfords.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He finally qualified on 29th August 1945 and gained his Gapa (Polish
pilot's wings) unfortunately too late for the war.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was then posted to the Polish Depot at
Blackpool where he would train and practice flying but only until he was admitted
to the Polish Resettlement Corps pending his return to Poland.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was from 6th December 1946 until 4th
July 1947 when he was technically employed by the RAF.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOEwe4m-dS4tOGGExaMdd_Dlza7SCESsDXgfRXZgQBjmsYd06Dgoxrkin6iqLjF-LEhDdohLsATdYbbpsUYMHf_7glhcbE44I3ZfK7HrAVyKy5XjrnzX5_Fn-eqDGPuBW_DTxglH-hE40/s1600/Komornicki+pilot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1389" data-original-width="955" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOEwe4m-dS4tOGGExaMdd_Dlza7SCESsDXgfRXZgQBjmsYd06Dgoxrkin6iqLjF-LEhDdohLsATdYbbpsUYMHf_7glhcbE44I3ZfK7HrAVyKy5XjrnzX5_Fn-eqDGPuBW_DTxglH-hE40/s320/Komornicki+pilot.jpg" width="220" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b>After qualifying as a pilot in August 1945 note Polish Gapa and RAF Wings</b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
During his time in military service he was awarded the
Krzyz Walecznych (Cross of Valour) plus three bars and the Virtuti Militari -
Poland's highest award for bravery - and the Polish Air Force Medal. He was also awarded campaign medals by the
RAF, these being the 1939-45 Star, the Air Crew Europe Star and Clasp, the
Defence Medal and the 1939-45 War Medal.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju-B2tje3N-Tq2fEboy3G-q3hbrVIh24jXNI1i63ihqxKJCL3Mf2R6hxs_4FNXJp_AWC8BbdMHqnSBfVWniXG1CYBgGYdDVkYiHRiJjUUA-MZyLsJXx2pIA0laaCTwdvG8_XHdIwl1tz0/s1600/Komornicki+Award.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="801" data-original-width="1204" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju-B2tje3N-Tq2fEboy3G-q3hbrVIh24jXNI1i63ihqxKJCL3Mf2R6hxs_4FNXJp_AWC8BbdMHqnSBfVWniXG1CYBgGYdDVkYiHRiJjUUA-MZyLsJXx2pIA0laaCTwdvG8_XHdIwl1tz0/s320/Komornicki+Award.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b>Receiving his Virtuti Militari award</b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
As an addendum to the story, the Polish Communist
Government welcomed him home by putting him in prison in Lodz.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Communist government forced him to
divorce his English wife so that she could return to England thus preventing an
international incident.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His father,
Brunon Komornicki, sold some personal possessions so that he was able to bribe
the guards to help him escape from the prison.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The escape route has never been publicly revealed but it is believed to
have been later used by MI6 to insert agents into Poland.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm2OIk4wNh9UFeFRlMwMaplJKmkiucZCCBQGQ5_9QUe_lR2TRp6ogP7slFM_zfkLQU0SKto3bGMranAk54p_3xuo9Uvz7TVQ92X-aPO9Wu6AemawZhVJfY-rNBkanizDi644bMOZ36SEU/s1600/Former+prison+Lodz.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="532" data-original-width="603" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm2OIk4wNh9UFeFRlMwMaplJKmkiucZCCBQGQ5_9QUe_lR2TRp6ogP7slFM_zfkLQU0SKto3bGMranAk54p_3xuo9Uvz7TVQ92X-aPO9Wu6AemawZhVJfY-rNBkanizDi644bMOZ36SEU/s320/Former+prison+Lodz.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b>The former prison at Lodz; now an apartment block</b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
Once back in England he was initially employed as a
translator by the intelligence services and later became a machinist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sadly, he died at the age of 46 in
Hillingdon, London in 1965.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<b>With thanks to Graham Murray and Alicja Morawiec for the photographs</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
ARCHIVEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08394269080036911253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4535693937654256936.post-48242054323448668702020-07-03T16:57:00.001+00:002020-07-03T16:57:45.268+00:00THE MEDALS OF SQUADRON LEADER STANISLAW JOZEF ZUREK<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0C6wW5CY_OhA6ki4ByMk48jF8A6F8PfMK5bdxEPA-V5z_VWE38oPE3Puqkyw0D5XBVfsmXWUMccb6id8Nvw3AgSt5VcRiJNdHWc8ykklnX2P8FT7niAq_t1usocAN-E3fspKgzbUgjQk/s1600/W+CDR+SJ+ZUREK.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="223" data-original-width="157" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0C6wW5CY_OhA6ki4ByMk48jF8A6F8PfMK5bdxEPA-V5z_VWE38oPE3Puqkyw0D5XBVfsmXWUMccb6id8Nvw3AgSt5VcRiJNdHWc8ykklnX2P8FT7niAq_t1usocAN-E3fspKgzbUgjQk/s320/W+CDR+SJ+ZUREK.jpg" width="225" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
It has come to my attention that
the medals of Squadron Leader Stanislaw Jozef Zurek have been sold in recent
months.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This would not normally grab my
attention as my primary interest is in researching and writing about the lives
and military history of the former members of 304 Squadron.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This being the case, I have done a piece on
Squadron Leader Zurek.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I have recently been contacted by
his son, Dr Andrew Zurek, who has complained to Spink - who auctioned these
medals a few months ago - about the fact that they could not have auctioned the
medals as they are still in his possession.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>As a result of the alleged auction, his family in Poland are very upset
that he has sold off the medals and this has caused considerable distress to Dr
Zurek and significant tensions within the family.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Spink have not taken any
appropriate action other than to alter their original sales blurb to state that
a numbered VM and other copies of the medals were held by a family member.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bolting the stable door long after the medals
were sold and the horses bolted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can
understand the anger of Dr Zurek but I am also concerned that this site and
Krzysteks List were named as the sources they used and he should take it up
with us if he has any further complaints.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This implies that we had some hand in identifying the medals - which we
most certainly did not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In addition, the
buyer will not even know that the medals he/she bought are in dispute.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The medals sold by Spink were
missing the two bars on the Cross of Valour and the Virtuti Militari did not
bear any number.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Virtuti Militari
awarded to Squadron Leader Zurek bore the number 8446 and that detail was very
easy to check.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dr Zurek has the
correctly numbered Virtuti Militari awarded to his father and the correct Cross
of Valour with two bars on the ribbon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He also has the correct<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most
Excellent Order of the British Empire awarded to his father. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From this, I conclude that the auctioned
medals could not be the real thing.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Whilst I am flattered that Spink
used my research material, I would like to make it very clear to everyone that
no matter how much of my material is used for any purpose, I do not work for
any auction house or any other organisation whatsoever and I do not have any
part in verifying medals for them or anyone else.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also believe that the medals in Dr Zurek's
possession are the genuine article and that Spink should acknowledge this fact.</div>
<br /></div>
ARCHIVEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08394269080036911253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4535693937654256936.post-13528818933204386702020-04-11T15:03:00.000+00:002020-04-11T15:03:43.072+00:00W/O JULIAN MICHALSKI<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBtAjA3Y8euBRPb_FxJbDbdfbbVJay4BPX6cJ-FRrcDBodhA-nmyMeIfXnppthxXrCWdQyFbDgD0z7qi9-3TfMkgAdmgc7kMnqU6gOOGAsYE5vhHXAcOZ9nXfeJc73UCvHHOfZ2V5nr-8/s1600/Julian+Michalski.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="195" data-original-width="169" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBtAjA3Y8euBRPb_FxJbDbdfbbVJay4BPX6cJ-FRrcDBodhA-nmyMeIfXnppthxXrCWdQyFbDgD0z7qi9-3TfMkgAdmgc7kMnqU6gOOGAsYE5vhHXAcOZ9nXfeJc73UCvHHOfZ2V5nr-8/s200/Julian+Michalski.png" width="173" /></a></div>
It is with great regret that I have to announce the death of W/O Julian Michalski on 3rd April 2020 at the age of 101. Some years ago I wrote a mini biography of him and later learned, to my great joy, that he had read it and liked it. RIP to another hero.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
ARCHIVEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08394269080036911253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4535693937654256936.post-338341600899270682019-05-03T15:21:00.000+00:002019-05-19T14:32:09.587+00:00LEW SZOSZKIES<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn-EzsmwYhpQ65rM2YR7N4mk3ye99CBvWcW11neph4REg3cpJi8JkOzGMSt3CarlsKdqJ893a3rrZuuDqU4BWXS2F1syRnJnXYlfra37DGzWFbCA_LYQO5erKK-_IEfDN-H7L9MBKm-e4/s1600/Szoszkies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="941" data-original-width="881" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn-EzsmwYhpQ65rM2YR7N4mk3ye99CBvWcW11neph4REg3cpJi8JkOzGMSt3CarlsKdqJ893a3rrZuuDqU4BWXS2F1syRnJnXYlfra37DGzWFbCA_LYQO5erKK-_IEfDN-H7L9MBKm-e4/s320/Szoszkies.jpg" width="299" /></a></div>
<div align="center">
</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">He was born in Charkow, Russia (now Ukraine)
on 17th march 1920, the son of Henryk and Nadzieja (nee Wilner) and grew up in
a loving home in Warsaw where he completed his educational studies before
leaving to spend a year each in college at Antwerp, Belgium and at the London
School of Economics in England.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">On his return to Poland, he would normally
have been drafted to do his two years military training but he was called up
indefinitely for War Service.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He fought
through the September Campaign in Poland and was one of the many who were forced
to cross the border into Romania where they were disarmed and interned.</span></span><br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">However, there was considerable sympathy with
the Poles at this early stage of the war and relatively small bribes were all
that was needed for a guard to look the other way whilst they simply walked out
of the camp.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Polish Government had
an excellent network to help these men with money, travel documents and false
ID papers to get them out of Romania under the eyes of the many Gestapo agents
placed in that country.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">There is no clear evidence of which route he
used to leave the country but what is certain is that he arrived at Coetquidan
and rejoined the Polish military with the Ist Brigade of infantry on 14th
November 1939.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was a short lived
arrangement as he was selected for Air Force training and is recorded as having
arrived here on 30th June 1940 which means he left France at the very last
minute but remained as a corporal with the Polish Infantry until he formally
joined the Polish Air Force, Service No 709549, on 8th June 1942 and began his initial
training at RAF Squires Gate on the Blackpool complex.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This consisted mainly of Drill, learning the
King's Regulations and English language training.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was relatively easy for him as he was
already fluent in English, French, Russian and Hebrew as well as his native
Polish.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">His initial recommendation was for pilot
training but he was re-mustered to train as a navigator and began that training
on 1st August 1942 at No 8 Air Observer School at Ancienne-Lorette, Quebec
which is now Quebec City Jean Lesage International Airport and spent several
months in Canada training on Avro Anson aircraft.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He left with a glowing report from the CO of
that school and returned to England on 12th January 1943.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">However, his training was not over and he spent
two weeks at No 5 Air Observers School at RAF Jurby on the Isle of Man and two
months at the No 3 School of General Reconaissance which indicates that he was
already destined for 304 Squadron as this school specialised in marine
training.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">He was then sent to 6 OTU (Operational
Training Unit) and briefly to 3 OTU where he learned the fighting tactics used
by the British and Polish air forces.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
was also a place where the crews were encouraged to come together and learn the
teamwork and trust that their lives might depend on in hostile action.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally, his crew were sent to 304 Squadron
on 31st December 1943.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The initial crew
was F/Lt T.P. Kolanko (first pilot), F/Sgt T. Boba (second pilot), Sgt L.
Szoszkies (navigator), Sgt M. Kyczkiewicz (Wireless operator/air gunner), Sgt
I. Neumann (air gunner), Sgt S. Slowik (Wireless operator/air gunner).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were initially based at RAF Predannack
in Cornwall.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioNZBHJ4QxpWs2XZkyO7pXSAS9PsO5cpLPoznxY7yWk7Fem4vB-uuBoa79pjAUx4xAAMpHUeM4pX0mcK5yLjSnDwlx4pXm4yTo9t02mUHaSj69g0TUFSD-ecwQVJEjkNGdnwk8xx6Mjxc/s1600/SOSK.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="371" data-original-width="580" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioNZBHJ4QxpWs2XZkyO7pXSAS9PsO5cpLPoznxY7yWk7Fem4vB-uuBoa79pjAUx4xAAMpHUeM4pX0mcK5yLjSnDwlx4pXm4yTo9t02mUHaSj69g0TUFSD-ecwQVJEjkNGdnwk8xx6Mjxc/s400/SOSK.png" width="400" /></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><strong>Group photo at 6 OTU, Silloth Cumberland (now
Cumbria) </strong></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><strong>Several of these men served with him</strong></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"></span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Sgt Szoszkies flew 44 hostile sorties with
the squadron always at low level and for many hours over featureless seas and
frequently in very bad weather but it was a vital task and kept the U-boats
submerged and at slow speed to prevent detection.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For the hunters it was a long boring drag
where concentration had to be maintained because of the low level at which they
were flying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For the hunted because it
kept them away from their prey and it kept them from recharging their batteries
and discharging the foul air and carbon monoxide that was building up inside
their submarines.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was 1943/1944
when the Allies were beginning to take control of the Battle of the Atlantic
and U-boat losses were mounting rapidly</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPS6kwxHGz0ImHrF0RVWAZo92vZsGLeXQkNaHK5BQZoKzgNW9e10X1QMeK9S7JiJsqqLUJreWuyXj1qua17R3viGd3WoNzb_sYStqgKHsaHUaKaPybRPg4Qb3xk7PLzxKiuD4a-O-mkcg/s1600/SOSK2.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="60" data-original-width="606" height="37" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPS6kwxHGz0ImHrF0RVWAZo92vZsGLeXQkNaHK5BQZoKzgNW9e10X1QMeK9S7JiJsqqLUJreWuyXj1qua17R3viGd3WoNzb_sYStqgKHsaHUaKaPybRPg4Qb3xk7PLzxKiuD4a-O-mkcg/s400/SOSK2.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"></span></span> </div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<div align="left" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><strong></strong></span></span> </div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><strong>Handwritten note of his reposting to 304 Squadron</strong></span></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"></span></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">On 6th January 1945, his long tour of duty
expired and he was posted back to the Polish Depot at Blackpool from where he
was then posted for an Officer Training Course which he completed and was then
returned to the Squadron on 11th May 1945 and the War had been over for 3
days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was promoted to Flight Sergeant
on 5th May 1944 and Warrant Officer on 13th August 1945.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He <span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">remained with304 Squadron until 6th May 1946
when he was transferred back to Polish HQ before being demobilised on 16th July
1946.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His promotion to 2nd Lieutenant
came through on the same day as his discharge from the Polish Air Force.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After re-entering civilian life he rejoined
his family in the United States of America where he had a successful career in
Industry.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"></span></span></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">In recognition of his war service, he had
been awarded the Krzyz Walecznych (Cross of Valour) on 27th September
1944.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was ganted a bar to that award
on 7th December 1944 and a second bar on 7th September 1945.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was also awarded the Polish Air Medal and
British Campaign medals.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">At the time of his death, in October 1983, at
the early age of 63, he had been President of Panasonic in Canada for 16 years
transferring there from the US division and virtually starting it from scratch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was a success in both military and civil
life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had changed the spelling,
though not the pronunciation of his surname to Shoskes when he rejoined his
family in the USA</span></span><span style="font-family: "arial";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";">An Obituary Notice appeared in the National Post in Toronto on 22nd October 1983 - see below</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1OxjC4smdxQu5UIvf3VRbieZyrg4eXNK6AVM2Jd1rAltAudGh0zayaa3AwhDaqIG0HfXWYy55YHBgNnP_xXj2Mq8ekdJxJ9ISIpWtVimQx5UmzBZ35jLgoU0XHKf3wwfu_iBZp1aXFpo/s1600/Shoskes+Obit.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="501" data-original-width="545" height="367" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1OxjC4smdxQu5UIvf3VRbieZyrg4eXNK6AVM2Jd1rAltAudGh0zayaa3AwhDaqIG0HfXWYy55YHBgNnP_xXj2Mq8ekdJxJ9ISIpWtVimQx5UmzBZ35jLgoU0XHKf3wwfu_iBZp1aXFpo/s400/Shoskes+Obit.png" width="400" /></a></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span> </div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
ARCHIVEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08394269080036911253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4535693937654256936.post-75558999399915459342018-10-31T16:08:00.001+00:002020-08-05T17:11:44.556+00:00EWALD WAWRZYNIAK<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0WVwDqMR_pb4DIKIdd20Xqz_8C2SUaNhWnuvQh6Sg9679QxQApfMAzrQdqummQ8JuSHeSg_f6h7w1b-OkgUDMNZ3kGliNjoL9JlqPaM9_WlEzl42pJ-D_uKNxgRc3bnNIPh5Yf-QO1fQ/s1600/Wawrzyniak.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="406" data-original-width="320" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0WVwDqMR_pb4DIKIdd20Xqz_8C2SUaNhWnuvQh6Sg9679QxQApfMAzrQdqummQ8JuSHeSg_f6h7w1b-OkgUDMNZ3kGliNjoL9JlqPaM9_WlEzl42pJ-D_uKNxgRc3bnNIPh5Yf-QO1fQ/s320/Wawrzyniak.png" width="252" /></a></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">He was born on 7th May 1917 at Kalisz, Poznan, Poland and went through
all the normal stages of school and National Service but he was born in
difficult times and on 18th December 1938 he was recalled to military service
as everyone in Poland knew that war was coming.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He was posted to 3 Pulk Lotniczy in Posnan where he was inducted into
the Polish Army aviation branch (there was no separate Air Force at this stage)
as an electrician and fitter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">He was involved in all the hurried preparations for what everyone feared
would happen and he was directly involved in the fighting from the German
Invasion on 1st September until his capture on the 17th of that month.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is not clear how he was captured by the
Russians as the fighting around Posnan and Lodz was with the Germans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It must be assumed that he was with a
retreating group when the Russians attacked from behind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">In any event, he was sent to a Prisoner of War camp at Tockoje in Russia
where he was interned until Hitler launched<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Operation Barbarossa and treacherously attacked his former allies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Russians were forced to release the
Polish prisoners under an "amnesty" on condition that they either
joined the British or Russian forces to fight the Germans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Poles did not like the idea of an amnesty
since it implied that they had done something wrong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However they accepted it because it was their
ticket to freedom and the only way they were going<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>to escape from the Soviet Union.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">He was released as part of the first batch of 30,000 Poles in the week
from 24th-31st March 1942 and was marched the five kilometres to the Tockoje
railway station which sat astride the main line from Buzuluk to Czkalow (now
Orenburg) which was very close to the Kazakhstan border.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At this stage his commanding officer was General
Michal Karaszewicz-Tokarzewski who had been the Senior Polish Officer in the
camp and was, by this time, second in command to General Anders and the senior
recruiter for the newly forming Anders' Army.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The men moved on en masse towards Krasnovodsk in Kazakhstan with the
sole intention of getting out of the Soviet Union and into British held
territory in the Middle East.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From this
port they boarded any and every vessel they could to cross the Caspian Sea to Persia
(now Iran) to the port of Pahlevi where they were given the chance of a hot
bath, good food and decent clothing (British uniform).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were separated into two tented
encampments on the beach where natural winds circulated and there was at least
some chance of controlling the spread of disease.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most of them, even those not already infected
by diseases, were suffering malnutrition brought on by hard work and a totally
inadequate diet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Although a lot of civilians had travelled with the new members of
Anders' Army, most of the men were destined to serve in the North African
campaign in Libya and Egypt or in the Italian campaign at Monte Cassino where
it was finally the Poles who took the hill and won the battle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However a number were selected to go directly
to Great Britain where there was a desperate need for trained air crew and
ground crew with aviation skills.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ewald
fell amongst this group and was one of the first of those released by the
Russians to reach Britain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was to be his
destiny to maintain the aircraft of the Polish squadrons in Britain.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">His route is unknown but it was one of many tortuous routes to avoid the
U-Boats and the concentrations of Luftwaffe fighters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He actually arrived at the Polish Depot - a
group of RAF sites in the Blackpool area - on 8th July 1942.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Within a week he had been attached to 302
Polish fighter squadron but this was really only a paper transaction and he was
physically posted to No 14 School of Technical Training at RAF Henlow,
Bedfordshire on 6th August 1942 where he remained until 11th March 1943 when he
was posted to 304 Squadron servicing Wellington Bombers initially at RAF Dale,
Pembrokeshire, Wales moving to RAF Docking, Norfolk on 30th March 1943<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and RAF Davidstow Moor, Cornwall on 10th June
1943.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiY1R57P72GuyAoSBMA4j_5ypoByOe-tJcUAFTDR4lsyfBO66_HD-Cbvnt3m1wxO9N_ugnj6p0tI3tl_D4zpGvMGD9ztSH7_qGzvJooSosYROUkfgZ-Z0kPIqTsJV10YKWpmIezxCcU1Y/s1600/3rd+Left+with+304+Sqdn.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="510" data-original-width="861" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiY1R57P72GuyAoSBMA4j_5ypoByOe-tJcUAFTDR4lsyfBO66_HD-Cbvnt3m1wxO9N_ugnj6p0tI3tl_D4zpGvMGD9ztSH7_qGzvJooSosYROUkfgZ-Z0kPIqTsJV10YKWpmIezxCcU1Y/s400/3rd+Left+with+304+Sqdn.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><strong>Ewald is 3rd from left with 304 Squadron</strong></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqVBzYAs7ttVzkq36mu17lL_xJKm2K30m0zJ5lGodbobjtGo-EYu-nGcb_51IQfPGeWcFC4tUNKtaQerd2mSHB5SrKusA6IbpmQJshvV-F6FeRwkVr7NivRpaqcAs60_UOb2-g3CPDc24/s1600/Sitting+on+a+bomb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="357" data-original-width="567" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqVBzYAs7ttVzkq36mu17lL_xJKm2K30m0zJ5lGodbobjtGo-EYu-nGcb_51IQfPGeWcFC4tUNKtaQerd2mSHB5SrKusA6IbpmQJshvV-F6FeRwkVr7NivRpaqcAs60_UOb2-g3CPDc24/s400/Sitting+on+a+bomb.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><strong>Ewald, left, sitting on the tail of a bomb</strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">On 27th October 1943 he was transferred to 302 Fighter Squadron (part of
84 Group, 131 Wing of the 2nd Tactical Air Force (2TAF) at RAF Chailey near
Burgess Hill, Sussex which was created as a support airfield for the impending
invasion of Continental Europe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On 1st
August 1944 he embarked for the Continent where he would spend most of the rest
of the War maintaining the<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>fighters of
302 Squadron.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir42vIDOsDvJp1FNg6q-L6PoKyEA0kxseUrSemhR8NiDKxkPdZMfJRZU9VnX972YSwobG7YLj3mbtMTNTAxzaw5-uz2Itub3VJGynuJzCtG9kBbxT6OhZd6QtHeZQfsmEHo0fC0KEiHgM/s1600/317+Spitfire.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="487" data-original-width="847" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir42vIDOsDvJp1FNg6q-L6PoKyEA0kxseUrSemhR8NiDKxkPdZMfJRZU9VnX972YSwobG7YLj3mbtMTNTAxzaw5-uz2Itub3VJGynuJzCtG9kBbxT6OhZd6QtHeZQfsmEHo0fC0KEiHgM/s400/317+Spitfire.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><strong>Ewald with a 317 Squadron Spitfire on the Continent</strong></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><strong></strong></span> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0PNSxBMBWxBNkpCZI3jmMCwLdt9FU9cz4Q89MkrCheelmwODgODGaz8Hf8RVIyOpjfCWbJAHmIjGMrSltcZxElkkQGxpDGqlJCkYX054sRVXHMCckSIWryoxr23ByjJa7c4Ap_L1Xcz4/s1600/With+2TAF+in+Europe.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="476" data-original-width="811" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0PNSxBMBWxBNkpCZI3jmMCwLdt9FU9cz4Q89MkrCheelmwODgODGaz8Hf8RVIyOpjfCWbJAHmIjGMrSltcZxElkkQGxpDGqlJCkYX054sRVXHMCckSIWryoxr23ByjJa7c4Ap_L1Xcz4/s400/With+2TAF+in+Europe.png" width="400" /></a><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><strong>Two pictures of Ewald's Continental "office"</strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><strong></strong></span> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_4LeyLuxYPVDnopsGoKIpR_I9MSm7BN-4jkYRPlQOFZ3M68ydcqC-D1Qb6NSMO7LcCpn0lf9CnsbxOmjlCSHu3Ldhv1Q1cA1-ZtOZOSTFbWnY05-IXJJnqQMrR4Ez2cagAI2T2hTniBM/s1600/Not+for+repair.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="461" data-original-width="815" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_4LeyLuxYPVDnopsGoKIpR_I9MSm7BN-4jkYRPlQOFZ3M68ydcqC-D1Qb6NSMO7LcCpn0lf9CnsbxOmjlCSHu3Ldhv1Q1cA1-ZtOZOSTFbWnY05-IXJJnqQMrR4Ez2cagAI2T2hTniBM/s400/Not+for+repair.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><strong>This one is not for repair!</strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"></span> <span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">After his return to England he joined the Polish Resettlement Corps<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>on 11th March 1947.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was effectively his termination of
service even though he was now technically employed by the Royal Air Force for
a period of up to two years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This
arrangement meant that he would have a source of income and a place to live
until he had assimilated into civilian society.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>However, he soon found a job as a spinner and later as a cloth examiner
with Coppull Ring Mill in Coppull near Chorley in Lancashire.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><strong>Publication of his British Naturalisation</strong></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Thereafter he became a Registered Alien and this meant he could only
move his location or change his job with the permission of the Ministry of
Labour.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This lasted until he became a
British Citizen on 21st May 1951 a fact that was recorded in the London Gazette
of 20th July 1951.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He did eventually
change his job and spent the rest of his working life in electrical trades.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He married Marion Baxendale and had a son and a daughter and
lived happily until his death on 7th August 1994.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">As an end note, a charming little story told to me by his daughter: when
Ewald was leaving to join the Polish Air Force he went into a little shop near
where he lived and asked could he have some cigarettes and could he pay on his
first leave, the lady in the shop let him have them but he never went back as
he was deported to Siberia. He did not return until 1969 with his wife and
children on a holiday to visit his family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The shop was still there and when he went in to pay for the cigarettes
the same lady was behind the counter, she wanted to let him off but he insisted
he was paying for them!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p>A selection of photographs follows, showing Ewald, by now known as Edward, at his wedding on 29th April 1949, with his wife and children and with his wife in later life. </o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p><strong>All pictures are courtesy of his daughter Anne Whittaker</strong></o:p></span></div>
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ARCHIVEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08394269080036911253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4535693937654256936.post-31496022505809630502018-10-30T21:36:00.003+00:002018-10-30T21:36:44.342+00:00RETURN TO DUTY<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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After a significant absence due to ill health and a serious heart condition, I am delighted to say that I have been given the all clear and I am now fit enough to return to my researches. For those of you who were waiting for me to complete stories - please be patient. The first of the pending stories will appear soon and the rest will follow as fast as I am able to complete them.</div>
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ARCHIVEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08394269080036911253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4535693937654256936.post-12375074231883714312017-05-09T23:48:00.000+00:002017-05-09T23:48:45.779+00:00THIS BLOG'S FIRST EVER AWARD<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After 10 years of research, I was recently invited to take a trip to Poland to be present at a ceremony in honour of 304 Squadron and it's adoption by the 44th Naval Aviation Base at Siemirowice on the Baltic coast. This is the military group who now perform the anti-submarine warfare and air sea rescue functions previously performed by 304 Squadron and they have painted one of their aircraft in the livery of 304 Squadron - a nice gesture - in memory of those who died..</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The nominal purpose was the presentation of a drawing of NZ-E to the base by Alastair Graham whose father was the first Senior British Liaison Officer responsible for the running of the Squadron during WWII. He did not polish a chair with the seat of his pants and was a fighting Officer who was killed in action when his Wellington Bomber was shot down over Germany early in the War.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">There is still a strong relationship between the 44th Naval Aviation Base, families of Poles from the Squadron who still live in Britain, the Air Cadets in Hastings who also memorialise 304 Squadron and Polish and British military historians. This was very evident on the day.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The big surprise, for me, was being called up to receive an award from the base commander for my work in keeping alive the memory of the Polish Airmen who fought from Britain after Poland and France had been overwhelmed. The Islands of Last Hope as the Poles affectionately called us. They had an equally affectionate name for the Wellington Bomber, which they loved, - they called it the Flying Cow.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I was deeply touched to receive this award and to be so royally treated by the many Poles who attended the ceremony. My special thanks go to Alastair Graham who arranged for me to attend in the first place.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I would also especially like to thank Jarek Andrychowski (former base commander), Andrzej Szczotka (current base commander), Eugeniusz Boblinski (former Senior Officer) and the military historians Mariusz Konarski, Wojciech Matusiak and Milosz Rusiecki (with whom I have corresponded and co-operated over the years) and finally Jarek's mother who provided hospitality in her home after the event - she too was a pilot in her day!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">It was an honour and an experience I will never forget.</span></div>
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ARCHIVEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08394269080036911253noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4535693937654256936.post-64299000372206250012017-04-08T20:31:00.002+00:002017-04-08T20:31:49.735+00:00OSWALD WALDEMAR KRYDNER - Part 3<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I am sitting in a little grove by the
Mediterranean Sea. Michał is making breakfast. Our guns are sitting on racks,
the troops are resting. An hour ago... We arrived at a tiny station. There the
train was unloaded. Our things went to the port by cars. And we are walking. We
are very close to the Spanish border. The Pyrenees rise beautifully over our
heads, and the sea hums below. Two Italian planes flew overhead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A string of cars moves along the road. I think
the French will be loading. We are 8 km from the harbour, waiting for further
orders. I think it’ll get hot when we get there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I made a tent out of my straw mattress and we
were to sleep in the woods. All of a sudden, “Get up! We’re off!” We packed up
and were at the station by 10 in the evening. We loaded onto cattle cars and at
1 am left again for the unknown. 30 men to a car and loads of luggage.I sat all
night, my legs went numb and I couldn’t move. A new day dawned. A great long
train, about 1000 men, was tearing west. We are headed for the Atlantic coast.
The transport is very slow, the tracks are jammed. One question – can we get
there in time?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Wine barrels are lined up, the French have
allowed our boys a drink. Imagine, a mob of men with canteens, shoving each
other by a wine barrel. Food is our worst problem. All we’ve had since
yesterday is some spam – one can for two men – and bread. Chrzanowski is a
decent fellow. He’s been feeding his platoon with his own money: today he put
in 100 francs for food, and he cares for his men.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I had a slice of bread with left over spam
for breakfast, and that’s to last me for the rest of the day. The fat reserves
I collected in Toussieu have run out and hunger is tormenting me. We are 50 km
from the sea. We’ve passed the town of Lourdes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I saw a chapel by the river near the church. Oh, this France is a lovely
place, only the French people are a degenerate nation and worthless. They,
unlike the Poles, don’t treasure their country.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Today I will tell you much. So where am I? On
a large English vessel, I lie on a mattress on the floor. It’s a miracle I got
this spot. Just a moment ago I was getting soaked on the upper deck. A terrible
storm is raging. I tried to go up to the upper deck and was nearly blown off by
the gale. We have sailed out of the harbour at Saint-Jean-de-Luz. Where to? We
do not know. Two large carriers have lifted anchor. We are escorted by 4 English
destroyers. Our vessel is overloaded, more than 6000 passengers. Air force and
infantry, all ours, many women, English and French.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Oh God, how awful the boarding was, not from
a pier but from boats, and the waves were dreadful. 20 at a time approached and
up the ladder, without our things, as there was no way. We pulled up the stuff
by ropes. Our <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Arandora Star</i> is a true
colossus. One can wander about for hours. Thankfully, there is a storm. Had the
weather been any better, we’d be boarding under German bombs. Oh! I write and
the ship rocks so. The vessel is like a little nutshell tossed by waves.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">And now let me go back a little.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At 4 in the morning we got off the train. And
we waited to board the ship until 12. Truly London-like traffic. I felt sorry
for the Polish women who had come to France. Here, the poor souls, rove about
with their children, exhausted, emaciated. A heart-breaking sight. I must note
that many Poles would not leave and decided to stay. French people joined us in
their place. True Frenchmen want to fight, but they are few. I learned much
about the front today, about how the French fought, or rather how they fled. They
are the worst cowards, ugh, repulsive spawn. Now all I ask of God is to lead us
safely, without accidents, as it does not take much to bomb a colossus like
this.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Good morning, Ha! You would not recognize me
now. I am on the upper deck, our company is on duty. With guns. We have an HMG
and hand rifles. Two are at the stern. Destroyers on either side.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A carrier and a destroyer in front of us. Though
a submarine or aircraft could approach us and do their job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I say: it is God’s will, not Hitler’s.
France signed peace yesterday and surrendered her fleet to Germany. Oh, she
will pay dearly for this. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ah! I am
ashamed to say, I couldn’t take yesterday’s waves and tossed my cookies. I
wasn’t alone – there was a queue at the shipside. But the ship did sway – water
was up to the third deck, it’s no joke. Today it’s died down a bit. We have
loads of food, though they do not cook. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Only
we cannot eat. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cans, coffee, chocolate,
fruit. Oh. The English are not like the French. I had a dream that I was in
Africa, and where we are going – no-one knows. </span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">We are headed north-west. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The convoy is going in a zigzag. The weather
has improved. Binoculars are scanning the sky. A magnificent convoy. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="PL" style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: PL; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">Everyone sleeps with a
life vest for a pillow. It’s good to have friends. I’m in cabin no. 212. It’s
crowded, but warm and merry. Plenty of marmalade and jam. One of the chaps
nicked 16 one-kilo cans from the French. We have enough to eat. The preserves
made me sick.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>France had much to offer,
but not to us. Many of our boys went hungry on the French soil. It will not be
forgotten.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: white;"><span style="background-color: black;">
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: white;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Good morning, It’s a lovely day, though the
ship sways a little. We can see land on the starboard side and three sail
boats, it must be Ireland or England – who knows, it’s still a far off. I’ve
been sitting on the upper deck all day, to stay out of my cabin.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">At 4 in the afternoon we had a concert on the
upper deck. It was lovely. Sweet violin music drifted through the hum of the
wind, the creak of ropes and the rush of waves. “Aircraft overhead!” – and yes,
a sea-plane appeared on the horizon. Guns clicked. A moment of anticipation. It’s
ours, British. The plane flew low over the chimney, banked and disappeared in
the distance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I had a pleasant encounter. I was standing in
the crowd, when I heard someone call, “Wal!” – that’s what they called me in
Słonim. I turn around, and there they are, two officers. Włodek Jakimowicz and
another one, whose name I can’t remember. My classmates and childhood friends.
We had a great few hours. So many memories... and of all places – we meet on
the ocean. All the time, wherever I go, I run into people. Tadek Hagenbart –
he’s shot down a Heinkel.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Oh, many, but many more France has buried
forever. God, so much Polish blood has been shed – for whom? From the armoured
brigade, 200 men came back. Of the tank company of 180 men, only four. I am
just writing these numbers to give you an idea. Where the Poles were, there was
the hardest fight, there Germans were getting beat, and where the English were.
But where the French manned a section, there the Fritzes pushed forward without
trouble. They threw down their arms and fled. They have thousands of planes,
but they did nothing and would not let our boys fly, either.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">We are reaching the English coast. We
disembark tomorrow, and then?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I was up early to see land ahead. England. A
great many ships going to and fro. We’ve been told sensational news. We are all
dead, for our vessel, the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Arandora Star</i>
has been sunk on the Atlantic. Only two Poles survived. The announcement from
the German staff was greeted with cascades of laughter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Arandora</i>
Star reached the port of Liverpool at 8:00 in the morning on 27th June. It’s a
beautiful harbour. We are berthed in England. The ship is unloaded. Our company
was the last to disembark, at 1600 hours. We marched out of the port in threes,
to the train station, which wasn’t far, 1 km. As we went through the city, we
were greeted by cheering crowds. And our troops moved through rows of people
who had gathered to see us. The soldiers’ tired faces were beaming with joy. We
were so kindly received. Oh, this is not France. When we reached the station, a
train was already waiting for our group. After going south-west for an hour, we
got off to form ranks of three and march for 10 km. Cheerfully and with song on
our lips, we started down a pleasant road.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Here I can see the famous English order, here
I can see culture, but not in France.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s
heaven and earth. Clean and pleasant homes, lovely little gardens, flowers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kind, smiling faces. We pass by a school for
girls. Oh, what enthusiasm! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The song
stopped, the company did an “eyes left”. I thought the girls would fall out of
the windows. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have gone on quite a
distance, but we can still hear their squeals. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Private buses have come to fetch us. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A little moment more and we get off and enter
an old mansion. This place feels like camp, hundreds of tents are lined up,
smells from the mess tease the palate. Evening is falling. We will spend this
night on English soil, literally – on a blanket under an oak tree.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Oh, what a marvellous night, I slept next to
Michał. It was warm. I had a good breakfast, and will now look around for a
lake or river. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But wait, first we must
set up our tent. Oh, and a few words about our vessel. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It has been attacked from the air 36 times,
once damaged, and it has sunk two German submarines. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I am in the tent now. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’ve put up a pretty little tent and I’ve
gathered some grass for a bed, eaten some preserves and have nothing to do now.
I must wash my things and myself, and I will go to bed early tonight. It’s a lovely
place, but I am unhappy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We won’t stay
here long. We, Polish “exiled soldiers”. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I have guard commander duty today. The
weather is lovely. Everyone’s sunbathing, the place looks like a beach. There’s
been a concert, such beautiful music and singing. The professor, “the Legend”,
played marvellously. Today our officer cadets rebelled. I thought we were in
for a bit of fun. Our company was resting in front of the tents, armed, when General
Ujejski clashed with them by the woods. It’s over now. Oh, those cadets made
trouble in France and now they’re starting the same here. They’ll get what
they’re asking for. I made friends with a few English boys today, fine chaps, I
could go to the front with them. They are not like the French, gutless cowards
and scoundrels.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I am in a new place now, 120 km north of the
other camp. We are by the sea. I am sitting on my lovely bed and it’s after
lunch. It’s a beautiful and clean place. This is a whole other world. Beds,
mattresses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, it’s been a long time
since I’ve slept like this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What next? I
don’t know. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am soon going for a bath
and a medical...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The day is filled with administrative
affairs. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Checking, records, etc. I am
sad today, Not many of us have arrived here in England. I am one of a handful
of exiles. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Men who have not lost hope
and decided to fight until the end. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here,
work awaits us, but not the kind we had in France. Hitler will strike here any
day now. We will go from crater to crater, but we will endure. There will be no
cowardice, no flight.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The main announcement of the day, dated 2nd
July: Our vessel which brought us here, the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Arandora
Star</i>, sank on July 2 off of the west coast of Ireland. She carried German
and Italian POWs, 1700 men, besides the crew. Of those, 700 were rescued – the
others rest at the bottom of the ocean, including the captain. That torpedo was
aimed at us. Hitler wanted to sink the Poles – but he sank his own. The ship
was headed for Canada. What happened aboard, only he can imagine who has been
there and knew that 26,000-ton colossus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And what would have happened to us, had a torpedo hit us? There were
almost 6000 of us. And all would have gone down.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Important news.The French fleet has been disbanded.
Part of the French fleet did not yield to the government in France and came to
England, submitting to her command. The rest rejected the conditions offered by
Britain to the French fleet – and they were as follows: either the fleet joins
that of the Royal Navy or her vessels will be held in Britain and returned to
France after the war, or the French will destroy or sink them immediately.
France has rejected those conditions. So it’s done. The English have attacked
the French fleet from air and sea, sinking almost all of their vessels. One
battleship escaped. The French fleet moored in Alexandria and England has been
disarmed and taken over by British crews. Beautifully done, England, bravo.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">We are proud of the English, and the English
– of us. There aren’t any here that will betray and flee; those who remain are
ready to fight, and fight until the end. Our town is called Kirkham. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have been appointed a squad leader.
Yesterday we were given 10 shillings each from the King. We are being
photographed, listed, etc. So for now we haven’t got much to do. We are
resting, eating well, fruit preserves, eggs and other delicious titbits. This
isn’t France – each room has a bathroom and lavatories – this is real culture
and order.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We here on this little
island, God with us, will hold fast and win.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">We are slowly turning into Englishmen. Oh,
those beautiful things we’ve been given. We had a bit of a drill today. We
showed the English what we’ve got. They were thrilled. I like those English awfully.
So kind, polite, oh, in a word, this is anything but France. We’ve forgotten
all about the war. We don’t hear the scream of bombs or see enemy planes. But
this will not be much longer. This silence is foreboding.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">A lot of our English chaps came yesterday,
who have been here for a long time. Many have already been deployed, other live
18 km away, in a seaside resort, in guest houses. They say they’ve never lived
so well. We are in barracks, but even our huts are like palaces. England – here
is culture, wealth. In France we were always questioned about why we weren’t
fighting, but here no one mocks us for having crossed the Romanian border. With
these men I would walk through fire.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">A great celebration took place in Bergen
today. Germans decorated their soldiers for valour in battle. The English took
advantage of it. And the RAF very efficiently decorated them with wooden
crosses. More than 100 were killed on the spot. The British offensive in Libya.
On the first day they advanced 60 km. The Italian fleet on the Red Sea has been
destroyed, and on the Mediterranean they’ve hid on the Adriatic. Roosevelt has
agreed to run for president. This is the news of the day. Oh, but the most
important: every night German cities and factories are set on fire by RAF
bombs. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I think I will go to Blackpool today, there’s
a camp of ours, our English friends. A whole gang of us are going. I am worried
about Piotrek. I haven’t had any news of him. I do hope he gets here safely. I
must have caught a cold, but where? When? A bit of a headache and pain in the
chest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just like I had after the journey
from Romania.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I went with Michał in a double-decker bus to
Blackpool. We spent no more than 3 ½ hoursthere. 3 ½ hours, but filled with
excitement, thrill and wonder. First of all, I met Heniek Niemiro and a whole
group of friends. French and English soldiers came together. They live by the
seaside, in beautiful guest houses, like civilians, only wearing uniforms. The
King takes care of their bills. They live beautifully, as if on holiday. I did
not speak with them long.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The whole town is packed with airmen, and
almost everyone with a girl. Officers lay on beach chairs in front of villas,
the sea murmurs and laps at the shore. We went to the funfair. Woo-hoo, all
that is there! I tell you, one of the world’s wonders. This is a great big
chest that gobbles up pounds. I did not take part in any of the diversions, but
I bought 4 postcards. I ordered an English textbook – I will study, I like this
language. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have seen many things, but
something like this – never. Blackpool is one of the largest sea resorts in
Europe and in England. What gardens, flowers, simply a fairy tale. My camera is
in Blackpool, at a repair shop. I will go there on Thursday, I think. We had 2
plates each of fish and chips and I was back by 10:00. Today I’m studying
English. It’s a busy day, with lectures, briefings, etc. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The weather here is disgusting. England is
beautiful, but the weather beastly. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mutual
bombardment goes on incessantly. Germany is preparing an offensive against us.
We are waiting, day after day, hour after hour. Here is where they will strike
the hardest. Churchill said, London will sooner be turned to rubble and the
people lost than Britain will surrender to Germany. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here they will have a hard job to do – England
is not France. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">And here, we cannot get through the street
without being swarmed by children with their autograph books and notebooks,
begging us to write something for them. It makes me sad. They treat us like
heroes. No orders, no badges, just a French air force uniform, the uniform of a
disgraced army – no more. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">It looks like I might leave here soon. The
4th Air Regiment is organising units. Oh, to get into a unit. Halinka, how
terrible this waiting is. But we will have our turn. Hundreds of planes fight
in the air every day. Today Hitler was to hold a parade in London. It’s not
happening somehow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, yesterday was
fun enough. 1000 German planes made a sortie over Great Britain. They
accomplished nothing, lost 147 machines. We wait, the war dance will begin any
day now. I’m on duty today.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I leave for Blackpool in half an hour. I have
been detailed. I will be deployed in the first wave. Where and how I am still
to find out. I am the only one from photo to go, from this camp. I will be
doing something at last. What it will be – is of no consequence to me. Whether
I fly in photo missions or work in the lab.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I am in Blackpool now. I am staying on St.
Helen St., in a beautiful guest house. Piotruś lives 50 m away. I am so glad. I
am with the first bomb squadron. I am glad to be the first to go and to be
deployed with the first unit. We leave on Wednesday. Maj Wojda, my chief from
Flight 41, is the squadron’s deputy commander, under L/Cpl Biały. Many of our
officers are there. Daab, who came with us in a sailboat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kuszczyński, Cap tStenczuk, Lewandowski. I am
in the technical group, under Lt Pianowski, also from Toruń. And most
importantly, Piotruś is with me. We were sent out from Kirkham in a ceremony,
by the bishop. The bishop said a personal farewell to each one. Then we had a
parade and went to the train station.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I have 15 minutes. I’ve had a delicious
breakfast, eggs and ham and tea, and we are soon off to be transformed from
Frenchmen to Englishmen. We are going to pick up our uniforms. And the day
after tomorrow – we go on... Soon our planes will begin carrying pills for the
Fritz. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have plenty to talk to them
about. Our time is coming. Our fighters have long since joined the British. We
are about to start pounding. The English bomb Germany day and night, without
stopping.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Well, well, I hardly recognise myself, 100%
an Englishman. I wonder if you’d recognize me. We’ve been given first-class
equipment. Undergarments, boots, oh, what have we not been given. A whole
bagful, I could hardly carry it all. Tomorrow we go for a medical and that’s
it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">We leave today. We’ve had roll call, now I
wait for 12:00. We are to be at the train station at 2. I had an awful night,
kept dreaming of raids and bombings. Well, that is something we will not be
short of at the airfield. For that I am ready.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Well, we might be leaving at last. We are to
report to roll call at 9:30 to find out. I wish I could run away from people,
forget the way they live here. You never see a worried or sad face on an
Englishman. The war, the air raids, the bombings are in full swing, but none of
it frightens the English. They believe in their ultimate victory and pay no mind
to the cost. Yes, this nation can win more than one war. By their common sense,
healthy government and lumps of gold. We, on the other hand, came short of all
those things.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I am now at the Bramcote airfield near the
town of Nuneaton. Last night after dinner we got comfortable and ready to
sleep. 11 pm – alarm... Sirens scream – awfully. I ask Piotr, ‘Piotr, do you
hear it?’ Some English chaps popped in and told us to go down into the shelter.
I dressed slowly and we went down to the cellar, where there is a special
shelter. I snuggled up in a corner and dozed off. I don’t know how long I was
asleep. The alarm was called off. Cursing Hitler for interrupting our sleep, I
got back into bed. Maybe an hour, maybe two hours passed. Same story. But this
time we didn’t go to the shelter. I wrapped myself up tightly in blankets so as
not to hear the howling of the sirens, and tried to sleep. A German machine
began roaring overhead. Searchlights were groping about in the sky. Some of the
men ran down to the shelter. I could not sleep. I strained my ears for the
familiar scream of bomb. I heard artillery fire twice and that was all. But our
night was not over. The same story happened before the break of dawn. Those
beasts would not let us sleep. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Last night provided some excitement. The fun
started at about 10. Fantastic – with a thrill... Somewhere high overhead,
German planes passed over the clear background of the sky. Hundreds of
searchlights groped about with their tentacles, painting a lovely web of
lights. The artillery roared, and the hollow burst of shells came from
somewhere above. It was a beautiful show, Piotr and I stood and admired it.
There were quite a few planes. It was late when I went to bed. But the fun was
not over. I had just dropped off when a volley hit someplace nearby. One of the
bombs burst with a hollow bang, must have been a stray.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Last night brought us new shows. There were a
few small clouds. We waited for the alarm, as usual. But it didn’t come. We
went to bed. Suddenly, it’s light outside. Hop to the windows. Rockets (tracer
bombs).The bastards came over at high altitude, trying to illuminate us. It
looked lovely and it was quite bright. Then we waited for explosions. But they
didn’t come. Even artillery was silent. We heard a few volleys at 1 am – bombs.
You could see the afterglow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Today I spent the day on preparing the
equipment. It is difficult work. I don’t know the equipment, there is an
Englishman who teaches me, but he speaks English and I still have a hard time.
I must read and write in English and that is very difficult.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Last night was, I believe, the worst so far. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was impossible to sleep and few managed it,
I fell asleep after midnight. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once the
fun started with nightfall, it went on until morning. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A lot of planes played a part. They came at
high altitude. They illuminated the area and scattered bombs. Not on us, for
now. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We waited all night for the bombs
to plough our airfield. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But they spared
us. They only passed over us on their way to pound some industrial towns. They
are menacing to look at. This war is terrible. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We – I understand, but what have those women
and children done to deserve it?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>? But
this is nothing compared to what happened in Poland. Though night raids are
very unpleasant. It seems that we won’t have one quiet night here. We’ll just
have to get used to the noise and racket and sleep calmly. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I have guard duty this afternoon. I’ll spend
the whole night with the planes in the airfield. I like this sort of thing, as
long as it doesn’t rain, but tonight the sky is strewn with clouds.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Oh, but it is the first of September. I
forgot... The first anniversary of this dreadful war. Today is a year since we
began without arms, without preparation, an uneven fight. Knowing we would
lose... The September campaign speaks for itself. Romania – camp, escape. Then
vast seas, scorching sands – France.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our
time in France, full of hope in a swift victory – desire to fight, dreams of
Poland.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The fall of France. That was a
terrible blow for us. The journey to the sea. That was interesting, too. Boarding
the ship – 64 hours on the sea – Britain, Kirkham – Blackpool – Bramcote. This
is our vagrant life. Often hungry – cold, barefoot, ah, we have been up and
down. But all that can be described, can be told.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Many thanks to
Barbara Poulter for access to her father's documents and photos</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><br /><strong><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Special thanks also to
Kresy-Siberia who originally translated the documents</span></strong><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
ARCHIVEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08394269080036911253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4535693937654256936.post-2147066468432074562017-04-08T15:33:00.000+00:002017-04-08T17:12:13.655+00:00OSWALD WALDEMAR KRYDNER - Part 2<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">He came. It was dark
– we left the room. Sneaking through the gardens, wading in the mud, we made
our way to the Russian’s (Romanian’s) hut. Luckily, no one saw us. The Russian
knew why we’d come. I gave him 200 lei, we talked over the plan and sat waiting
for a train. I wanted to get into the little cab at the cistern car, but he
talked me out of it. The locomotive would be a better bet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Time dragged on
slowly, lazily. Long after clocks had stricken midnight, still there was no
train in sight... It might not come... The tracks might be damaged or something
else happened. Another hour passed. It was no use waiting any longer. We must
try again tomorrow. We sneaked out of the hut and went back to my quarters the
same way we had come. I was asleep in no time.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">We woke up at 1:00
the next afternoon, famished. I fried some eggs and so strengthened, we waited
for dusk. Night came quickly. We were on our way and soon arrived at the
Russian’s hut. I have got to get out of here tonight, no matter how. The first
train has to take us.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Again, the wait. The
silence was broken by a faint distant whistle. I held my breath, listening.
Again, the same but clearer sound.“Train,” I thought and woke the old man. He
got up lazily, we walked outside. The night was dark; to the right, the rumble
of the train now came clearly out of the black abyss of the night. We were not
happy; it was going in the wrong direction. Never mind. I’m out of here! We put
on our coats and went out, taking the luggage. Something drove me on – we are
over the fence.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">‘Go,’ said the
Russian.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">We ran across the
street. In a flash, I was over a pretty high fence, my companion followed. The
old man was having a hard time, stuck at the top he couldn’t get down. Then –
voices. Several men talking, the flash of a torch, and five figures turned the
corner. They walked straight toward us, lighting their way with torches. I saw
them... gendarmes. I pulled the Russian off the fence. Hush! Silently, I
pointed through cracks in the fence. The gendarmes must have heard the thump
when the old man hit the ground, for they stopped, listening, and looking
round. Three men lay like corpses, glued to the fence. I was clutching my
stick. Three on five is a fair fight. Seconds turned to eternity. The group of
soldiers moved and started on, passing right by us. A sigh of relief escaped my
chest. Silently, we got up and crossed the garden. Another fence and then the
platform. By then, you could see the engine. The station is full of light and
on the platform those five gendarmes were standing, about 50 metres from us.
How do we climb over the fence now and get on the train? But we were in luck. A
second later, the engine rolled into the station shrouded in thick steam and
stopped right in front of us. Billows of steam covered us like smoke screen –
over the fence, across the tracks and we were crouching next to the engine. The
Russian went in for a little chat.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The driver was a good
chap. Offered us bread and cheese, we washed it down with some water. We were
on our way again. I noticed a few sentries by the tracks and on station
platforms, but wasn’t afraid.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">It began to dawn. We
were nearing Ploesti at 8:00am. Before we reached the town, I paid the driver,
he slowed down the engine and signalled for us to jump. One hop and my friend
was off the train, I was right behind him, my luggage got in the way and I was
on the ground before I knew it. We waved to the driver and walked to town.
After lunch and a visit to the barber, we headed for the train station.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">We’re on the train,
going to Bucharest.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">It was warm at
Bucharest train station. Some suspicious blokes were going between the
compartments, watching us closely, but soon they were gone. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At 7:00 pm, we got off in Constanta and headed
for the Consulate. Here we were given a slip of paper for the hotel: The
Cochino.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">We are in Constanta
at last, the place of our departure. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Long
days of waiting began. We had to be on guard always, at any time, ready to
leave. Time was dragging on. We were expecting our real passports to arrive at
any moment – the ones we had were false. We had 40 lei a day to live on, hotel
charges were covered. Still, it was hard to make it last. Dinner was 20 lei. We
ate twice a day until we found a Polish place ran by an engineer. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For security reasons, the Consul told us not
to go to town at night. The Gestapo was everywhere.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Our time in Romania
was coming to an end. Let me describe Romania in a few words. Romania is a
country of prostitution and corruption. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The date 31st
November came at last and the Consul told us to make ready. By evening, we had
blended in with the crowd at the sea port. One more test. A moment of
uncertainty – search and passport inspection.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>All went well - the customs officers had been bribed. Soon the dock
–gangplank – and we are aboard. At 9:00 I took my place in the A cabin, third
class, on the steamer <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Carol</i>. A few
suspicious-looking blokes nosed about in the hallways, but they, too,
disappeared with the bell that signalled our departure. Anchor chains rattled,
the ship rolled gently and the tug boat grunted as it hauled to turn us around.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Last night I barely
had two hours of sleep. We entered the Bosporus at dawn. Sights of wonder
opened to our eyes as land emerged out of the morning fog – Turkey. Mysterious,
hidden from Europeans, cities of mosques – Turkey. We progressed through the
strait – quite broad, 2-3 kilometres in places. Charming Turkish towns on
either side, with slender minaret towers bursting upward; a fortress, too,
stands guard of the country. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a
while, a great port city came up out of the fog: Istanbul.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">We reached harbour at
10:00 am on 1st December. Evening came. At 11:00 pm we left the harbour and
sailed out to the Marmara Sea. Time passed, the Dardanelles disappeared. The <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Carol</i> cut through the Aegean Sea. At
10:00, a tiny wisp of smoke appeared on the horizon. All binoculars turned
toward it. It glided gently across the water on the clear background of the
sky. An English destroyer. As we came closer, she motioned us to stop. The <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Carol</i> slowed down, stopped. A boat
peeled off that other ship and approached us. The ladder was lowered, English
officers came aboard. After an inspection, the two vessels each went its own
way.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Night fell. We passed
a largish island on the port side and I saw land on the starboard – it was
Greece. We entered the Greek port of Piraeus near Athens, at 11 pm. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Carol</i> cast anchor at 7 am in the port of
Alexandria. Egypt. Two pretty motorboats approached us and the Egyptian
princess went ashore. This is Africa – she speaks for herself: the air is as
hot as it is back home in the summer. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I see land ahead.
Yes, yes. This is Palestine. There is no harbour, just a dock. Two cities lie
by the coast. This is Tel Aviv, a thoroughly Jewish town and that – Jaffa,
thoroughly Arabic. The two cities are joined; today Arabs and Jews live in
peace, and all live under the British mandate. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">After five hours we
arrived in Beirut – Syria. A French colony. Docked in the harbour are French
navy ships and an enormous two-chimney ship, full of people – I can tell they
are Polish, waving their handkerchiefs and shouting. We pass it and enter a
second basin. Chains grind, anchor’s down.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I’m no longer aboard
the ship, I had lunch in the barracks of the Foreign Legion and now I’m sitting
in the courtyard. We came ashore at 6:45 this morning and were brought in cars
into the barracks. They received us very kindly. I can finally boldly say I am
a Pole – it is allowed here. This isn’t back-stabbing Romania, this is our true
ally – France. We will stay here a few days, the Polish consul told us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">We are coming into
Alexandria. I know this port. The anchors are down – the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Patria</i> has moored at the pier. Again the shouting, the merchandise,
the loud black crowd dressed in white shirts. I was awakened by noise and
rattle coming from the upper deck. Cranes roared and hundreds of people bustled
about the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Patria</i>. At 12:00 the anchor
was raised. The <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Patria</i> peacefully
sailed in a north-western direction. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">A grey, gloomy day.
Heavy clouds plod across the sky over a slightly rippled sea. I’m going up on
deck. We should see land. Yes, we’re passing the island of Crete now. It’s terribly
mountainous; there is even snow on top of the ridge. It will soon disappear and
we’ll be back to nothing but sky and sea.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">It’s five o’clock,
and the lines of a distant land have come into sight. We can see Italy and
Sicily. We will cross the strait between the island and Italy.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I lost, it got me. How
the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Patria</i> is dancing in every
direction. The stormy sea roars furiously. I’ve been on deck – it is terrifying
to see this colossal vessel be tossed about like a nutshell. The bow dives down
seven, eight metres and we are tossed now to one side now to the other. You
have to cling to the walls. My Halinka would never guess that her Waldy is now out
on a stormy sea, aboard a great ship, in danger from enemy submarines and
magnetic mines. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The sea has calmed
down, and a cheerful sun rose today. The waves are deep, but without foaming
crests. The <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Patria</i> has not yet
settled from her dance and shivers a little. We are approaching the coast of
France. Her rocky shores have appeared on the horizon; Toulon looms in a
distance, combat ships glide across the sea. Oh! And there is Marseilles. Beautiful:
the largest harbour of southern shores. It looks lovely, the railway meanders
just by the sea, tunnels, bridges, what a charming place. We have entered the
harbour. The anchors are lowered. We have arrived. We are to disembark at 4pm.
In a few minutes our passports will be checked and soon we will leave the
vessel.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">On the same day,
large buses took us in an unknown direction. We pass Marseilles, a great and lovely
city, and enter a road that climbs in a wonderful serpentine up into mountains.
We pass a small town of miniature houses. French women wave their
handkerchiefs. We pass anti-aircraft batteries. We have reached the top. On one
side is the sea and a sliver of the setting sun – oh, it’s gone – and on the
other mountains and mountains, bare, rocky, without vegetation.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The cars turned and
entered a small valley surrounded by rocks. Buildings, barracks, huts, we get
off. Carpiagne Camp.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After dinner we
found our bunks in one of the huts and went to sleep. The night was cold, my
ears and feet were cold. It passed. I was appointed team commander and deputy
chief of an air force group.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The living
conditions are poor, 800 men packed into summer huts. This used to be a
prisoner of war camp for Germans. We have no water, no place to wash. But all
this is nothing, we are happy to know we will soon be deployed. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Today, on 21st
December we received General Sikorski’s first orders to the air force. We are
lying around, idling away our time in boredom and apathy. My boots fell apart
after the hike today. I tied them together with a wire. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Today is a better
day. </span><span lang="PL" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Kazik
Skowroński, Mielczarek and Gumowski are here. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Kazik told me
how my little hero lay in a trench in the airfield during a raid. And how
bravely she did. I was proud of you, my Halutka. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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</div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">A new page in my
journal, a new set on the stage of my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Only a few days ago, we were among hills, enjoying warm sunshine. Today
things are different. The air is frosty, snow, cold I am sitting in the dark
mess hall at the Lyon-Bron airfield, 8 kilometres from Lyon. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But let me go back a few hours. From Carpiani
(Carpiagne) we marched over the mountains to Cassis. At two o’clock after
midnight, a steam-shrouded train with frozen windows raced into Lyon station.
Here buses waited for us. They took us to the airfield. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I go to the next
hut... I stop – and look: All of our boys, all my friends but Tadek. Our
officers, commanders, heads of units. Joy lit up my face. The sight of friends,
of the flight, fills one with hope. Who knows where we’ll be deployed –
England, Finland or Syria. Every front leads to Poland. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I was dreadfully cold
today. It’s freezing outside. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We sleep
on straw pallets on the floor. Blankets and pillows froze to the walls, which
are damp and the dampness freezes on them. I have no warm clothing and wear
borrowed rubber shoes. We are still in the distribution unit. Some of the boys
are going to England today, 400 men. Who knows if I won’t go there, too? <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Ah, what is happening
to our hall: they’ve hauled in enormous logs and are hacking them with stones,
as we have no axes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seems stones are
superb for chopping wood, and I didn’t know. One more thing, we have no water –
so instead of washing, we wipe our plates and spoons with bread. It’s horrible.
The French are a shiftless people, unintelligent and creatures as lazy as
mules. And on top of all that, terrible slobs.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">A new transport
arrived yesterday. 300 men.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Many
friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is Lemański, who lives
upstairs from us. A lucky man, he’s got a letter from his wife. She is alive
and well, and lives at home. And I?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
suffer, I’ve got nothing.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I was very busy
yesterday, and ran a high fever last night, I don’t know what from. Well, it
should be expected, in these living conditions everyone has a cold. We are
freezing cold 24 hours a day. 80 men sleep in the same room, one straw pallet
next to another, dirt, dust and bad air. I’m afraid to get chinch, some already
have them. Suddenly, a blanket starts walking or a shirt put down on a bed
travels to the other end of the room. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I got pretty shoes
and a uniform yesterday. I am dressed up all soldierly now. They want to detail
us to Lyon. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I went to the Base in
the morning to nose around a little. So Capt. Wojda told me not to apply
anywhere, that I had a place in France, in a line squadron. The English recruit
a lot. They have their pick.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">We have a visitation
from General Zając today. The camp is abuzz. Cleaning and tidying. At last the
French have started tidying up. Oh, how I wish I could knock their heads
together, those lazy mules. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Here in the barracks
water is hard to come by – even just to brush teeth. Oh, the Frenchies – the
Frenchies. No Frenchman holds a candle to a Pole. The weather is nasty, it’s
raining incessantly. Terrible muddy. Our sleeping quarters are dirty, messy,
filled with smoke. When 80 gobs spew the shag, who can bear it? I will soon be
smoker without taking a puff. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">And now I will tell
you where I am. Not at the airfield any more. Last night, after bath and
disinfection, we were transferred to the city of Lyon. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Food was better at Bron. Here the French serve
raw meat. I cut it into small pieces and swallow like a turkey.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">A big group left for
Bron – the airfield – yesterday. I am leaving, too, tomorrow or the day after,
I have been detailed to No. 1 Line Squadron. Almost the entire flight 41 is
together. Almost everyone’s been transferred to Bron by now. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Today is Sunday. Our
flight is on duty. I don’t think I’ve ever worked as much. After mass the
British commission came – it’s recruitment again. But no, the English are not
in a hurry. They have bombed a German base. Maybe now it will begin.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I was in Bron today to
fetch a prisoner. It is a cold day. The weather keeps changing. A little
sunshine, a little snow.I am so sad today. Many went to England last night. Few
of us are still here. I will move to stay with our squadron at Bron, but not
for another couple of weeks.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">10th May 1940. This is a date to be remembered. This morning we
shot out of our beds, awakened by the rumble of cannons. It was dawn, 4
o’clock. Quick as lightning, I dressed and leaped behind the hut.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Against the sky, still grey, three Dorniers
moved, low – no more than 1000 metres, maybe lower. The artillery boomed,
filling the sky with tiny black clouds. Machine guns flashed and we were
showered with a storm of bullets. Into the trenches!!! I jumped into a trench
50 metres from the hut. It was filled with water up to our ankles. Splash in –
I felt nothing. The boys heaped up on top of each other. We watched. A Bloch
came at them – but a far off. Nothing happened. Our artillery kept on firing –
nothing still. The shriek of shrapnels and shells, smoke – din. A volley... –
and another... we clung to the water. The three were coming our way now. “It’s
over” – someone shouted. A volley... at us. God! Jesus! Mother!
Bam-bam-bam-bam. A storm of stones, sand fell on our heads and backs. Smoke
covered the trenches; silence – long, an eternity. ...Knee!... a quiet groan...
I leaped out of the trench, over the fence – and into the fields. Dropping to
the ground when the shriek of bullets broke the silence, up and on again. I got
out of the airfield and stood against a wall. The artillery was at it still.
Zing! Something wheezed at my feet. A shrapnel of an AA round. The raid lasted
over an hour. Siren... All clear. The aftermath is sad. Bombs were dropped on
trenches and living quarters. About 20 killed, French and Poles fallen
together. One bomb hit a pit – 6 men down. A few huts were turned to debris.
This is just the beginning. What’s next? God only knows. They probably attacked
Belgium and Holland. We are here with no masks and no helmets. Ready – to die.
Our pilots have no aircraft, we have no weapons. Some training. 30 pilots to 1
banged-up Potez. The Finnish squadron is ready – but without aircraft.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Lunch passed quietly.
I went back to my hut, packed my things into a sack and a case. Our hut looks
pretty good – not a pane left in the windows, walls peppered with shrapnel and
shells. I am writing a request for a sergeant. Alarm!!! Sirens. I dropped
everything and took off. Over trenches, fences, the field, to the city. Everyone
bolted, none stayedin the airfield. Ah-hah! Here comes one. AA pounds at him...
he’s gone into the clouds. Wheez – bam bam, burst. He’s gone... well-well, I
think, this isn’t a good place, time to go. I went to the cinema – it’s got
thick walls. A pretty big group of the polonaise was there already. We stayed a
while until “all clear” was sounded. I walked slowly back to the airfield.
Ambulances carried away the wounded. There were 6. One died. The poor fellows had
been out in the field and there they were hit.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">14th June 1940 - The
Germans have reached the outskirts of Paris. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">17th June 1940 - The
situation changes from one hour to the next. The Germans have broken through
the front and are pushing south, towards Lyon, they are 180 km north of us. A
new government in France.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Marshal <span style="background: white; color: #222222;">Pétain</span> has become the dictator
and Weygand his deputy. Everyone has received orders: to stay where they are
and defend themselves. Our training group is in a jam. We are just a handful,
280 men. We’ve been organised into companies, platoons, teams.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">In the afternoon we
prepare arms and ammunition and are to take positions by the river. Capt
Chrzanowski is my platoon commander and I have a team of 12 men. Good men. We
are ready for anything. To stop tanks without cannons is a difficult task. One
disaster is followed by another. At 1400 hours we heard: France asks Hitler for
peace. At 1600 we received orders to get ready to leave. I am ready. Where to?
In what direction?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Time will tell. This
morning, we were in splendid spirits, when we knew we would finally take up
arms and stand up to fight. And now? we are in despair. I hate the French for
this. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Oh, last night was
awful. I went to sleep early, since we were to be up at three. Then there was a
change. We were at the train station at ten.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We waited until midnight. Then we were allowed to sleep, wherever
everyone could, since we might have to pick up and go any time.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Now, when I write
this, I am on the train. It’s pouring cats and dogs and the train is stopped in
St. Etienne. Where are they taking us? We know nothing. Last night there was
talk that the Germans had taken Lyon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’ve
been given guns. The French are not fighting. Hitler ordered for France to be
disarmed. I have a feeling that France will wake up from her sleep and start
acting. She will die if she does not wake up. We passed a few trainloads of
French troops. They have no guns, but barrels of wine are everywhere. The more
wealthy ones load their things onto cars and flee.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The train is moving
now, I am terribly sad. What’s next? God knows. Our train is speeding along full
steam. We are going blindfolded, as Michał says. For now, we are headed for
Lyon. We are 25 km from Lyon. Trains filled with the French, women, children,
soldiers and nuns, pass by going south, and we are going north. The French wave
to us enthusiastically. We have turned south.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">It is now 5 in the
afternoon. We are stopped at a crossroads. A black cloud over Lyon, there must
be a fire. When will we move? No-one knows. 3 Junkers bombers have just flown overhead,
but did not engage us. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I slept quite well
last night – on the floor in the hallway. We are now going west, having left
behind mountains and tunnels and entered a land of beautiful vineyards
stretching as far as the eye can see. War is absent from this part of France.
People work in the fields as if nothing has happened. A funny sight – women
dressed in trousers, carrying some apparatus on their backs and walking between
the vines and ridding them of pest. I am well today, only terribly hungry. It
is 12:00 and I’ve had nothing to eat since this morning. We are now stopped in
Montpellier, maybe we’ll get something to eat here. We have passed through a
great number of towns, travelled alongside the sea shore, and now our train is
pushing west, with the Pyrenees passing us on the left. People wave to us,
girls blow kisses. And the landscape is beautiful. Little old towns buried in
the midst of vineyards. I bought a card at the station in <span style="background: white; color: #222222;">Béziers, where we were served broth by
nurses of the Red Cross. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I am sitting under
one of the train cars, it’s so hot. Oh, ours is the fate of true exiles. Last
night we arrived here – this is a mountain town, a small town in the mountains.
We spent the night on the train. Reveille at 4 am. A chunk of bread with meat
paste and a blind wait.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">They’ve begun
unloading the train and billeting. A colonel came at 11 and says, “The
situation is bad. If we don’t get a train, boys, we’ll have to take to the
road.” On that account, Michał talked me into a glass of wine. Five of us went,
all from Vilnius, out for a glass of wine. The situation is bad, but the main
thing is to keep our sense of humour. We’ve come up with a plan. We are 80km from
the sea in a straight line. I have a map. We will be given guns and then it’s
up on our feet again. We must stick together. Oh, here comes the colonel. Let
me hear what he’s got to say. All right, we’re leaving at 1400 hrs. But he says
to pack for a march.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The Germans are
already where we were yesterday, they are there already. In St. Etienne. But
there’s no wonder. Since the French give them way. They lay mines on bridges,
but don’t detonate, and their roads are excellent, so the Germans can speed
along. No one has stopped them yet. The main thing for them is to have food and
wine. They have not a worry in the world. Well, we’ll see what happens. They
won’t give us weapons. We wanted to be armed and go as infantry. But they won’t
have that, either. Well, never mind. We keep waiting... it’s 1:30 in the
afternoon, we leave in half an hour. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">We are on the train
again. I have a gun and 150 rounds... Colonel Iwaszkiewicz of central command
and a French colonel have arrived. There was a brief farewell. The French
colonel wanted to come with us, but could not. He bid us a warm farewell and
wept, the poor fellow. I’ve packed some food, I’ve got ammunition, we wait. We
will move on soon, we’re to get to the sea shore somewhere and board ships. Such
are our orders. To leave France, since France has failed and surrendered to
Germany. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">We might encounter
some surprises on land and on sea. Hitler is sure to try and hunt us down. Will
France care at all if a few thousand Poles are killed? Not in the least. We
could have boarded yesterday. Now it’ll be difficult, indeed, difficult! </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><strong>Many thanks to Barbara Poulter for access to her father's documents and photos</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><strong>Special thanks also to Kresy-Siberia who originally translated the documents</strong></span></div>
ARCHIVEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08394269080036911253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4535693937654256936.post-69606149988612111042017-04-07T16:37:00.000+00:002017-04-08T17:14:03.568+00:00OSWALD WALDEMAR KRYDNER<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">The Abbreviated War Diary of Sgt
Oswald Waldemar Krydner</span></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Official Photographer of 304
Squadron</span></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"></span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Part 1</span></span></b></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><strong></strong></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhREVFiLFvRBxX5q4UeFdT_rB4GulTeRJwF5zvedN81QAYDdODxaW346NEvfVf2K09Pe02YafhyphenhyphenAaPCR0rl6-SR0TEpsFhfZKGOHhBB2ctqJDAsavSRHD84E_IT8XvZDxIxbTK9Einpm7s/s1600/Untitled.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhREVFiLFvRBxX5q4UeFdT_rB4GulTeRJwF5zvedN81QAYDdODxaW346NEvfVf2K09Pe02YafhyphenhyphenAaPCR0rl6-SR0TEpsFhfZKGOHhBB2ctqJDAsavSRHD84E_IT8XvZDxIxbTK9Einpm7s/s400/Untitled.png" width="272" /></a><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB; mso-no-proof: yes;"><v:shapetype coordsize="21600,21600" filled="f" id="_x0000_t75" o:preferrelative="t" o:spt="75" path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe" stroked="f">
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<v:f eqn="if lineDrawn pixelLineWidth 0">
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<v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelWidth">
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</v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:formulas></v:stroke></v:shapetype></span></b></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Dedicated to his wife, Halina,
whom he left behind in Poland before his epic journey to England and his
wartime career as an official photographer to 304 Squadron, Polish Air Force in
Exile for the duration of World War 2.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
full diary is as much a love story as it is a chronicle of events that happened
to him during the course of this epic period of European and world history. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The pencil sketch below, was in this diary and
was included in the full length version. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whether drawn from memory or copied from a photograph,
it shows his artistic skill and love for his then, and future, wife.</span></span></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge5ctvwwaN9Oasj8BAdUwyDWM9aYEI3BhoyIlJOuXrguiKz0So2EujKy886FLCRFaKNmblubYIFWCD3sh7hzgK16LUhGKwKq8PwcLAtBEWCypE_TFuCH1bRzu7Lub5uepWaA8JAZuedYs/s400/Halina+Krydner.png" width="338" /></div>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Twenty-five
kilometres north-east of Płońsk a swarm of men in grey uniforms bustle around –
they are the crews of the 41st Squadron from Toruń.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unusually, three Dorniers flew overhead then,
suddenly, from somewhere near Modlin, we heard the blast of bombs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>World War 2 had started.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"></span></span> </div>
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"></span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Our planes waited at
a hidden airfield a kilometre away. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our
commander briefed us on the situation but little else happened that day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had a short time to say goodbye to my wife,
Halina.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The train crawled towards
Warsaw. As we approached Modlin, the cars were climbing a hill on the bank of
the Narew when the trailer broke away and rolled backwards; suddenly a crash, and
we hit a boulder which saved us. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Repairs
took two days. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">We passed Modlin; barbed
wire along the road and in the fields told us the enemy was near. We started
flying the next day and hoped for a swift victory.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>German losses were high and our machines
returned safely.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Next day we saw nine
Dorniers challenged by a single fighter but it was over quickly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Our soldiers were
brave and courageous. You could do wonders, great feats of courage with such men.
But our leaders had let us down: when it came to dropping bombs, to deploy the
squadron, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>they had no ability and no
skill.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">One of the aircraft
came back, reporting a column of tanks. Six machines ready for flight, bombs
on, crews dressed, rub their hands in excitement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All is set but our commander waits for
orders. We waited but no orders came until next day. So they took off with the
bombs, wind in tails. One machine wheels up, another can’t even get off the
ground. Four aircraft took off. They were back after an hour, no tanks were
found. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Next to us were
fighters. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dorniers flew overhead, but
they didn’t have orders, either. None came but our commanders had no initiative.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That night we couldn’t sleep, artillery
roared continually and the shelling was getting closer. We were told tall tales
- the Polish air force, alongside Britain, is bombing Berlin; the French army
has crossed the Siegfried Line, etc. But the artillery was getting closer and
the mass of refugees confirmed our suspicions that the Germans were coming. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">That day we loaded
our vehicles. There was a lot of equipment and few vehicles – we could not take
everything at once. At last orders came. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We set off for Warsaw. The road was jammed
with refugees, we crawled at snail speed. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At Modlin some of the cars unloaded and went
back for the rest of the stuff but the boys could not wait; they set a Karaś
and a Czapla on fire and, left. The same happened with the fighters, except
many were captured. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We knew about the
massacres, retreats, bombing of cities and unarmed civilians, and we left them
our bombs. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">We had been kind to
those barbarians. What we saw was horrifying. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dead horses and people, broken wagons, strewn
by the roadside. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Wounded soldiers told
us hair-raising stories; we reached Zielonka near Warsaw with the greatest
difficulty with the roar of Dorniers overhead as they bombed Warsaw all day.
Gunfire grew fainter and there were no fighters to be seen. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Warsaw groaned from explosions. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">From our field, two
Karaś and their crews never returned – they had perished with Lt Strejmik, Lt
Kardasz, Cpl Janicki, Cpl Oleksiński, L/Cpl Szymański and L/Cpl Majewski. One day in an air raid two planes crashed in
flames. The crew bailed out quite far away. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were sure they were Germans. I had a light
machine gun. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We hopped in a car and shot
down the road like lightning; to shoot them right there, was all we wanted. We
turned right, the road ended, so we ran across country.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">We combed the forest for
an hour before we found them. Too late. One of the plains was a Łoś. Two men
had bailed, two were burned inside. Next to it was a Dornier – full of corpses.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Our car took us to
Wołomin. The Germans found us that day. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
leaned back and started firing my machine gun. Others grabbed their guns, too. It
was hot as hell. The wailing of Dorniers, the explosions, the rattle of guns
and the shrill whistle of bullets all mixed together. A few bombs exploded very close and we had to
drop to the ground. The German aim was poor; <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a few bombs failed to explode. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">We left that night
and went towards Mińsk Mazowiecki. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
were safe in the woods, so we lingered for two days. The second night was my
night patrol. At eight at night our unit left the forest for an airfield
somewhere. Only we stayed guarding the stuff, mostly bombs. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I woke up the rest of
my boys, calling an alert. I had two heavy guns and twelve light ones. Things
might happen, German patrols might show up. And so we awaited dawn with guns in
hand. All we heard were a few shots, but all was quiet. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wasn’t until after 10:00 that Edek came
with three cars. We were to drive through Mińsk, on the main road, the most
exposed bit. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p>W</o:p></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">e didn’t make a
kilometre when 24 Dorniers burst from over the woods. The cars stopped, men dived
into a dyke. Suddenly, a hellish racket, all was dark and they started
pounding. We could see nothing, 24 but soon the din died down, the whirr faded
away. Laughing and joking, we climbed back into the cars. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">They’re coming! Run!
The bastards had turned back and were coming straight at us. We took to the
field, as fast as we could. They were flying low to get at the cars. I was on
my back and saw six bombs peel off; they missed; the bombs fell just by the
road on the south side. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But it wasn’t
over. They turned and strafed us. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
raid ended. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All of my boys had made it. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We moved on; there were no more raids. We
passed Mińsk and an hour later reached a forest and our squadron. The Siennice
estate. The wheeze of a bomb and a familiar bang. They must have been on their
way back from a mission with a few bombs left. They started strafing us but we
were unhurt. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">We didn’t stay long; an
order came to move to Brest. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kostek took
off in an RWD, and crashed. He came out all right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We couldn’t take the bombs, so we blew them
up. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My car was last. Dyszlewski, in the
jeep, was to be the courier. Our route led through Łuków, Parczew, Wisznice,
Sławatycze, Domaczewo, Brest. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Thousands of wagons
and people, filled the road. It was rough riding in the trailer in the dark. I
picked up a woman and a man who were fainting from exhaustion. They had fled
from Toruń. I gave them what I had, a meal and some rest. They wanted to get to
Włodawa, so I took them along. I took in a few wounded soldiers, too. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My trailer was full. What a night that was!
Burned villages and towns, corpses on the road, broken wagons. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">We came to a town I
thought we’d never make it through. The whole town was in flames. We were
driving down a narrow street, houses burning on both sides. People running from
burning buildings, women and children. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All
night I stood on the steps of the lorry, guiding the driver so he wouldn’t hit
anyone or fall into a bomb crater. Near Parczew, a colonel stopped us. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Again, tanks are close, we have to make an
obstacle. So I pulled over, we got our guns, someone gave us anti-tank grenades
and we took our positions. We waited until dawn, they must have taken a
different route. We started the car and moved on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">We passed Parczew. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Twice they came close, but didn’t attack. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The road was empty now so we drove fast. I
wanted to get to Domaczew and rest there. But Martoś objected that we were
exposing ourselves, so we pulled into a forest. We had two wheels to repair on
the trailer and one on the Renault. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A
few men got to work, the rest I took to the village to look for food. We met
very kind people there. They fed us and gave us some for the boys and wouldn’t
take a penny. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">We had to move. <a href="https://draft.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Somewhere ahead more
bombs exploded, but that was it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My
tyres began to give.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every 20 km I had
to stop for repairs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That made it harder
and delayed us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But it couldn't be
helped - I had no spare.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Late in the
night we crossed a bridge on the Bug in Domaczewo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Artillery pounded from the north and south.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The enemy had us in a pincer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we went over the bridge, I saw engineers
with explosives and heavy machine guns set up on the other side.</span></div>
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</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZxJ4gnVPfy-R17YAVWSyjNKWyY87CmsgOF-9KdHxHBzXtCSwdpa0n2jQjfVDDy747IZ0Y2J-Ql1H1aHR2DuXKB4QrpPqfP-PUGJ-e38pvMPlqPHOvfvYkhXau92SaEBdEWK2cXrbnKPY/s1600/Bridge+at+Domaczewo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZxJ4gnVPfy-R17YAVWSyjNKWyY87CmsgOF-9KdHxHBzXtCSwdpa0n2jQjfVDDy747IZ0Y2J-Ql1H1aHR2DuXKB4QrpPqfP-PUGJ-e38pvMPlqPHOvfvYkhXau92SaEBdEWK2cXrbnKPY/s400/Bridge+at+Domaczewo.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;">
<strong>The Bridge at Domaczewo (now Damachava, Belarus) </strong></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;">
<strong>just before WW2</strong> </div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Past Domaczewo, I
turned north, towards Brest; we had only 46 km to go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The night was dark but<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the glow of artillery fire rose up over Brest
and every now and then a car bolted past us like a mad man going back toward Wlodawa.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One stopped and asked for a password.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The driver was a reserve lieutenant, sent to
Deblin for petrol.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He told us our flight
had probably gone towards Kowel, as they were not in Brest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fifteen km from Brest I met one of our cars,
going the other way - a technical officer was making off. 'Turn round, it's
closed off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Past Wlodawa, in Koty, is
where we regroup.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"></span> </div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">On our way south to
Wlodawa, fog had risen up from the swamp so thick you could barely see the edge
of the road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I saw a few women literally
dropping with exhaustion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I picked up
the women, put them where I could.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They
were young girls, Warsovians, all eight of them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They had been posted near Nieszawa and
ordered to get to Lvov.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the way, some
officers took their car and they had to walk.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">30 km before Wlodawa
my last tyre popped and the axle bent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My little trailer was doomed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
unhooked it, grabbed the equipment and the most expensive things and burned the
papers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I drove past Wlodawa, now the
road was packed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The fog was still
thick, so no air raids that day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I pulled into the
Koty Estate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were two lorries and
a car and only one technical officer, Dyszlewski.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I found him in the barn, dead asleep, and his
men sleeping next to him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I found a
driver for the car, and two other men and left the estate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Carefully looking around, I took what I could.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now on to Domaczewo, full speed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">When we got to Koty,
all was ready, sadly I found out our last Karas had been left in Brest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had no more aircraft.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our troops were to concentrate on the San and
Bug line.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were going towards Kowel
now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were passed by taxis and
limousines with staff officers and their wives, even their puppies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Meanwhile, wounded soldiers with no one to
attend them, trudged along the roads on foot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I picked up as many as I could squeeze in. They told me terrible things
about crushed Divisions, fleeing commanders and officers, the whole
situation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">When we stopped, the
ladies made us meals and coffee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
passed villages and towns.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In one of the
towns, I met Flight 42, a few of them were wounded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In Luck - a nightmare.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Troop convoys, jammed streets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were barely making any progress. for all
the traffic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We finally got near the
crossroad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a crowd of staff
officers,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a general was yelling
something, waving his arms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was our
turn to be let through.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The lorries
moved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Suddenly - 'Stop! Stop!' yelled
the officers, pouncing on our car with their pistols.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It's easy to stop a car, not so with a lorry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was standing on the step on one side,
Kryslak on the other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two officers
pounced on me, shouting "Stop!" and jamming their pistols in my
ribcage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The driver slammed on the
brake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Renault screeched to a halt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The general jumped to us like a rooster
looking for a fight.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">'Where's your
driver?' he yelled.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">'Here,' replied
Adzinski, putting his head out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">It was less than a
second.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The general aimed his pistol and
fired at the driver.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Then, "Go!
Go!" yelled the same voices.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
Renault moved on, so he's alive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I run
around the car, open the door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is anyone
hurt?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of the ladies sitting next to
the driver - I saw her pale face, mouth open, the poor thing is holding on to
her neck, blood trickling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The driver
couldn't stop, all the cars were moving now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>One of the chaps held the torch, I tore open her blouse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She'd been shot in the shoulder and
chin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thankfully, it was not
serious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Two hours later we
were on the open road. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, 15km to
go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The road almost empty, we'll be
there soon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No man, no sound, all is
quiet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Must be the commander's done
something again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I'm furious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What am I going to do with this wounded
woman?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It's night time, dark all
around.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I found a haystack by the
road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I made a place for the ladies to
lie down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The wounded one felt better. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">That day I got a
different lorry, a Chevrolet loaded with ammunition, 18 men and a machine
gun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was told unofficially<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>that we were going to Romania to pick up
planes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We left at nightfall and made
our way to Rowne where we went on towards Kolomyja via Tarnopol and
Zamosc.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">We trudged on, through
woods and Ukrainian villages where Ukrainian bands lie in wait.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One day we saw planes overhead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were sure they were British.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, they were Soviet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I saw the same machines coming.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A shower of bombs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are not English.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I heard from an infantry officer that Russia
had marched into Poland.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were in
their grip; German tanks on one side, Bolshevik ones on the other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They wanted to cut us off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was ordered to drive full speed through
Kolomyja to Kuty.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">That night Ukrainians
sprayed us with bullets out of the woods.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We paid them back in the same coin and kept going.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We arrived in Kuty on 18th September and I
drove across the border.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We moved in an
unknown direction, going where we were told by Romanian soldiers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And so Poland ceased to exist within 18 days.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I hated the Romanians
from the very first day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We pulled into
the town of Storozyniec.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here we were
disarmed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pistols we hid where we could,
most of us between our legs, inside our pants.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Officers and pilots
were taken in light cars, soldiers by train, and all in an unknown
direction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Heavy vehicles were kept
back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We stayed in Storozyniec two
days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the early morning we were off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The weather was nasty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Endless rain, awful roads.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And so we drove across Romania, stopping only
to rest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had a longer stopover in
Falticeni.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here again they divided us -
air force this way, armoured forces that way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">That day, we moved on,
we had no food to eat, tired, exhausted by the constant rattle on the bumpy
roads, we were driving towards Bucharest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Once in a town we were given a piece each of some nasty sausage and on
we went.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We lived on tomatoes, eggs and
walnuts.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Past Buzau,
Ploesti.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We pull into Bucharest, quite a
pretty town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Beautiful lake, lawns,
pretty buildings and monuments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We drove
through the town to Carol's airport; here we felt welcome.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They fed us and gave us a comfortable place
to sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">On the following day
we were given 50 lei each and taken to the train station.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A Romanian officer said we were all going to
one camp where all the airmen were.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
train moved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were riding in cargo
cars.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With a small compass and a map, I
soon knew where we were going.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To
Ploesti, then Constanta.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The train stopped at
a little station 80km past Ploesti.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Urziceni
station. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We line up and march.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I stuck with Edek.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We got a tiny clay hut, damp and airless. Bedbugs
on the walls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A cot and some dirty
rags.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A kind old lady came in with a
lamp and a girl of about 16. They brought us some fried eggs and bread. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">One day an officer
appeared among us. Secret meetings started in the lodgings, we began to
organise. I was called into a meeting – there were column commanders and an
officer. I was given a serious task; I took an oath, received my instructions
and money and got to work. I was to photograph 1700 men, passport photos, and
deliver the prints at an appointed time. I had to extremely cautious. The place
was swarming with gendarmes and Gestapo; it was easy to get caught and then all
would be lost.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I set about taking
pictures in daytime, developing the film and making prints at night. Our little
quarters turned into a photo studio. I minded nothing, driven by the hope of
breaking out of here. We were well organised.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">We were awakened by a
knock on our door. We leapt to our feet, I hid my rubber club in my coat, Edek
opened the door. Large figures cloaked in black stepped inside. I knew them
immediately – our officer and a captain from Bucharest. The first box of
passports had arrived. Twelve of them were for the boys of our column. That
night, the lucky ones left the camp. Kryslak and Lisiak were the first to go.
They didn’t have much time. I woke them at 11:00pm, they dressed in civilian clothes,
we said a quick farewell – they were gone. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Fervent work began.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We sold uniforms, bought civilian things, and
every few days a group left us. The Romanians caught a whiff of something
happening. They held roll calls and took attendance by name. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Imagine this – Monday – assembly. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We line up by column in the big market square.
A colonel, major, a few officers and a whole pack of gendarmes arrive, all
Romanians. In the middle, a table with books. They start roll-call. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As each one is called, he is to walk past the
table and stand on the other side. What fools those Romanians are – with all those
imbeciles standing there, we ran our game right in front of their eyes. All told,
400 people are missing, but everyone is present.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Romanians were stupefied: they could see
our ranks wither, but when they did a roll call, everyone was there. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">One day we noticed a number
of suspicious types watching us all the time. The Gestapo, of course. We moved
our night-time meetings to another place. Now everything was done at the Red
Cross ladies’ place. The Romanians cut off our connection with Bucharest. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sentries patrolling roads and train cars were
making our work difficult. The Lieutenant brought his sister from Czerniowce<span class="MsoFootnoteReference">.</span><span style="background: white; color: black;"><span style="color: black;">
<span style="background-color: white;">A Romanian citizen, she became our courier. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: "times new roman";">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p><span style="background-color: white; color: white;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: white;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span><span style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">More and more people were slipping out. Strong detachments of
gendarmerie arrived, wrapping our camp in a tight net of sentries. You couldn’t
move and not run into a blue uniform. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Daily
searches of our quarters for weapons and civilian clothing often ended in a
thrashing for the gendarmes. Hatred welled up from day to day. One of the boys
was arrested and beaten in the cells. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
thrashed the captain of gendarmerie in return. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: white; font-family: "times new roman";">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p><span style="background-color: white; color: white;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: white;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span><span style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Another time a few boys got locked up; we broke into the jail and let
them out. That was our daily entertainment. Disarming gendarmes and kicking
them in the mud was our pastime. But I was completely consumed with my work.
Only a few free evenings could be spared for night-time blue-hunting escapades.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: "times new roman";">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I sold my damaged
camera and the rest of my things. Edward and I bought civilian clothes. I
worked out an escape plan and we decided to keep together, Edek, Adam and I. We
were the last ones left of our flight and since our papers had been shipped out
together, our passports should also arrive together. Now we only had to wait...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I was walking down a
road one evening – someone whispered, “The courier is here!” – without a word,
I was on my way back to the lieutenant. My heart was pounding. I knocked on the
door and entered the dim room. Our lieutenant was sitting at the table,
surrounded by unit commanders. Silence fell when he pulled out a folder from
under the sofa. I waited, holding my breath, straining ears. Names were read,
followed by “ready”, “no”. The list ended, but Krydner had not been called out.
Edek and Adam had. God, how disappointed I was! I went back home to announce
the news. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We parted that night. It was
pouring, the night was dark. They left at 11:00.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The Romanians brought
in a few more platoons of gendarmes and even the army came to keep us in. They
manned all train stations, highways and byways. Only a bird could break out of
the camp. And still... they kept running off. No escape route was impossible –
in heaps of corn on wagons, in freight cars, some even pretended to have caught
venereal diseases. A chap that got sick would legally be taken to hospital in
Bucharest and was free. I bribed a Romanian – a poor Russian worker, actually.
He helped our boys leave Urziceni and the Romanians were losing their minds.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Once we had a visit
from a Romanian general. We weren’t covering up any more. At assembly, we
reported all the absent as deserters. I thought the general would blow his top.
We were doing our job. I got an urgent assignment to make some lists. It took
me a few nights. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">One day, November 4th,
there was a knocking on the door. A messenger.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">‘Hurry, the lieutenant
wants you!’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My heart raced, blood rushed
into my face... he was holding my passport.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">‘I have nothing to
say,’ he said, ‘you know everything. There are three roads: prison, death,
freedom...’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I could care less, I
was beaming with joy, thrilled to be standing before an open door at last. Who
knows what waits on the other side...? I got my passport and some money, turned
over command, said my farewells and ran home. The passport, tucked in under my
shirt, was burning my skin. Back home, I got ready. I was to take one soldier
with me. The night was coming in leaps and bounds, dark and rainy. The night of
5th November.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><strong>Many thanks to Barbara Poulter for access to her father's documents and photos</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><strong>Special thanks also to Kresy-Siberia who originally translated the documents</strong></span></div>
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span></div>
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
</div>
ARCHIVEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08394269080036911253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4535693937654256936.post-5786268438017527042017-02-08T00:04:00.004+00:002017-02-08T10:34:52.441+00:00LOSS OF VICKERS WARWICK HG273 (QD-X) 18TH JANUARY 1946<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">This Transport Command Vickers
Warwick flown by W/O Bojarczuk caught fire on landing after a training flight
at RAF Chedburgh, Suffolk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The pilot was
killed but W/O Borek and W/O Zurek survived and were taken to hospital in Bury St Edmunds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>W/O Romuald Bojarczuk is buried in the church yard of All Saints,
Honington, Suffolk. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">It emerged at the inquest that
after two successful single engine landings, on their third attempt at a height
of about sixty feet, the aircraft veered to port and presumably the engine stalled
as it fell straight to the ground and caught fire.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu2HWqLYKdCv2yQQTWL_j6Kt9D85DVQw_wYND3o4VHnYJ7Lt3wKjNABrw2h_6utjQCo2oFCQVgPAM4kNs-siOMqPd1igLlQ1OKTHzsaijAUni5gFyhTlRwU2O_tglZQwYlBAXZdh8dlQQ/s1600/BOREK+1A.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu2HWqLYKdCv2yQQTWL_j6Kt9D85DVQw_wYND3o4VHnYJ7Lt3wKjNABrw2h_6utjQCo2oFCQVgPAM4kNs-siOMqPd1igLlQ1OKTHzsaijAUni5gFyhTlRwU2O_tglZQwYlBAXZdh8dlQQ/s320/BOREK+1A.png" width="279" /></a></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></o:p></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Report of the Inquest into the death of W/O
Bojarczuk<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Taken from the Bury St Edmunds newspaper<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Bury Free Press 25th January 1946<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqsyHqTfTaMYXSajjmtIRoLfuKxQjlwWpcXHBpkPXM21nekgJ-Y6KzidDJKKHRoXomf6E82_MDCA6RT-RIDS0iTkekEV_0kUqQ31kRei9imIbyp4FVT_ieX-ml1heR_klBlYunmPX3I94/s1600/Wreckage+from+the+aircraft.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqsyHqTfTaMYXSajjmtIRoLfuKxQjlwWpcXHBpkPXM21nekgJ-Y6KzidDJKKHRoXomf6E82_MDCA6RT-RIDS0iTkekEV_0kUqQ31kRei9imIbyp4FVT_ieX-ml1heR_klBlYunmPX3I94/s320/Wreckage+from+the+aircraft.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="mso-fareast-language: EN-GB; mso-no-proof: yes;"><!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape
id="Picture_x0020_0" o:spid="_x0000_i1029" type="#_x0000_t75" alt="Wreckage from the aircraft.png"
style='width:451.5pt;height:283.5pt;visibility:visible;mso-wrap-style:square'>
<v:imagedata src="file:///C:\Users\user\AppData\Local\Temp\msohtmlclip1\01\clip_image003.png"
o:title="Wreckage from the aircraft"/>
</v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]--></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Wreckage from Vickers Warwick HG273 (QD-X)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">The following items are press reports of the actual accident<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5PHRMUa2csa4RCv5NNjvLC6MNU6J_vWZXY1zdLbrbkQgYlJ8fkHA1XTAEH7gaaHswGWv2TwsAoDMfaRmC2amxyhHxD06ZqVpnGa8jvgLkSRudn6kIly34s2sp9oISZnh89KBq33pLvGg/s1600/BOREK+2A.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5PHRMUa2csa4RCv5NNjvLC6MNU6J_vWZXY1zdLbrbkQgYlJ8fkHA1XTAEH7gaaHswGWv2TwsAoDMfaRmC2amxyhHxD06ZqVpnGa8jvgLkSRudn6kIly34s2sp9oISZnh89KBq33pLvGg/s1600/BOREK+2A.png" /></a></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Press and Journal 19th January 1946<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF8_8t2UHz_tcnFKzfmU8UNJdES-dYOmsLbtHNy2N3jpmg3UXb5DdeNMDS_4pgNE5Oz-pHDQwhIJqMk0c-hchpBm7j4zth9_dZD-Djmh-NBTnUggNWEIH2TCPyjWnkgN7P6rMl38Wo_Uw/s1600/BOREK+3A.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF8_8t2UHz_tcnFKzfmU8UNJdES-dYOmsLbtHNy2N3jpmg3UXb5DdeNMDS_4pgNE5Oz-pHDQwhIJqMk0c-hchpBm7j4zth9_dZD-Djmh-NBTnUggNWEIH2TCPyjWnkgN7P6rMl38Wo_Uw/s320/BOREK+3A.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">The Scotsman 19th January 1946<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">The Western Daily Press<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Bristol, 19th January 1946<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></o:p></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">The Western Morning News</span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">19th January 1946<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></o:p></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Photograph
courtesy of Mike Borek</span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Press Reports
courtesy of Simon Glancey</span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></o:p></b></div>
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ARCHIVEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08394269080036911253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4535693937654256936.post-85837765215275655982017-01-24T17:37:00.000+00:002017-01-24T17:37:57.000+00:00STANISLAW MALCZYK<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju8UatayktuTY4WLaNaAEtXyDB7A185VWyxqB2C3a5uFL-3Rpz_e1lalesnx93Ogy9MAVTPsNnnHuN9sVuFJz_LvH6dy3vsOjtx_QFwjsbWIMxXIfcVjIHWWp2EU-thVvPJmC5Bzz-678/s1600/Stanislaw+Malczyk.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju8UatayktuTY4WLaNaAEtXyDB7A185VWyxqB2C3a5uFL-3Rpz_e1lalesnx93Ogy9MAVTPsNnnHuN9sVuFJz_LvH6dy3vsOjtx_QFwjsbWIMxXIfcVjIHWWp2EU-thVvPJmC5Bzz-678/s400/Stanislaw+Malczyk.png" width="397" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">He was born at Filipowice, Chrzanow , Poland on
21st January 1916 and, being 23 years old on the outbreak of war, he must have
done his National Service and been placed on the reserve.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In any event, he was conscripted and posted
to 2nd Air Regiment at Krakow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">When the Russians entered the war, on 17th
September 1939, he was evacuated to Romania where he was disarmed and
interned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, the resourceful
Polish<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>government had arranged for all
evacuated servicemen to be<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>provided with
funds, travel documents and false identities through their Embassy in
Bucarest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Slipping away from the
internment camps was easy at this early stage of the war and he made his way to
France.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His route is unknown but it is
likely that he came to the Polish base at Lyon-Bron, probably via Marseilles.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">On the fall of France it is most likely that
he escaped through St Juan de Luz and took a ship to Britain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On arrival he would be placed in a temporary
tented camp before being sent to the Polish Depot at Blackpool.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There he would have gone through the usual
induction process of learning English, learning the King's Regulations and
familiarisation with British equipment.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">It is known that he attended the No 4 Gunnery
School at Tranwell Airfield (RAF Morpeth) in Northumberland before being posted
to 18 OTU at RAF Bramcote, Nuneaton, Warwickshire on 30th August 1941.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was where he learned British tactical
warfare and became part of an integrated crew before being posted to 304
Squadron at RAF Lindholme on 1st December 1941.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Once with the squadron he would train with
them until he was ready to be sent into action.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This happened rather slowly due to the appalling weather conditions and
his first three missions (in January 1942) were all cancelled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He got his first chance on 14th February when
he was sent to bomb the docks at Le Havre and there were four further missions
to Essen, Cologne (2) and Rostock before the squadron was switched to Coastal
Command.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">In all he flew 45 missions with 304 Squadron,
many of them were long and boring flights over the sea but there were some
moments of excitement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On 24th September
1942 on his 22nd mission with the squadron his aircraft was attacked by two
Junkers Ju88 fighters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He raked one of
them with fire and hits were observed but the second aircraft attacked and he
put a long burst into it at short range taking out the port engine and making
hits on the wing root and below the cockpit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This aircraft was seen to roll over and crash into the sea.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">On 22nd November 1942 his aircraft was
attacked by a Focke Wulf Kurier and the pilot skilfully reached cloud cover
whilst he and the front gunner kept the enemy aircraft at bay with a few short
bursts of machine gun fire but it was not possible to tell whether they had scored
any hits.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">At 10.02 am on 8th February 1943 Wellington
Mk 1c HE103 (V) took off from RAF Dale on an anti-submarine patrol.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The patrol itself was uneventful but strong
winds, heavy rain and low cloud took their toll on the fuel supply and the crew
was forced to abandon the aircraft.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
plane carried on and crashed into high ground at Parc Llwydiarth in a remote
area known as the Dyfnant Forest in near Llanfyllin, Montgomeryshire (now
Powys), Wales.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The first indication of the crash was debris
found by<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Private Watkin Jones of the
local Home Guard platoon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were
also reports of German parachutists from various points, one of whom had landed
near the Lake Vyrnwy Dam at Boncyn Celyn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was the co-pilot, F/O Dobrowalski, and he had broken his leg and was
in severe pain and was speaking in Polish.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Local Constables and Home Guard platoons
picked up the rest of the crew The pilot F/O J Wroblewski had injured his arm
and the rear gunner, Sgt Stanislaw Malczyk's parachute had been caught up in a
tree and he had hung there all night and had to be treated for shock and
exposure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The rest of the crew were
uninjured.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He only flew two more
missions after this and, tour expired, he was posted to the Polish Depot on
22nd April 1943.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Little is known of his service between this
time and February 1944 when he was posted to 1586 Special Duties Flight and was
posted overseas to RAF Campo Casale in Italy where he became part of the crew
of F/Lt Szostak, flying frequent and dangerous missions in support of resistance
and partisan groups across Europe notably to Poland.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><strong>Aircrew from 1586 SD Flight </strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><strong>Stanislaw Malczyk is second from the right</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">His last flight was in support of the Warsaw
Uprising and took place on 15th August 1944 on Liberator KG890 (GR-S) piloted
by F/Lt Szostak.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They successfully
dropped a cache of arms, ammunition and food at very low level onto Krasinski
Square in Warsaw.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the way home they
were attacked by two night fighters and suffered serious damage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The pilot ordered his crew to jump from the
burning aircraft but those who made it out of the plane were killed when their
parachutes failed to open due to the low altitude.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were shot down by Lt Gustav Eduard
Francsi of NJG100</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><strong>Lt Gustav Eduard Francsi</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">They crashed near the village of Great
Nieszkowice in the Niepolomice Forest in Bochnia, Southern Poland.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The crew were buried in the cemetery at
Pogwizdowie with full military honours; their funeral was attended by about 200
locals and the German Army fired a volley over their graves. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">After the War, the bodies were removed and
reburied in the British Military Cemetery in Krakow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Stanislaw Malczyk was awarded the Virtuti
Militari and the Cross of Valour and two or three bars (accounts vary).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">This article has been written and illustrated
by material sent to me in response to a request for information on the HE103
Wellington crash.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Any further details
would be most welcome, particularly on his service with 1586 SD Flight or the time immediately after leaving 304 Squadron.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Copyright holders of the photographs used are
unknown</span></b></div>
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ARCHIVEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08394269080036911253noreply@blogger.com0