JAN WINCENTY MONDSCHEIN

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.

He was born into a reasonably well to do family and received a good education.  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.

His future seemed assured in June 1939 after he had completed his Masters degree in Law in June 1939.  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.

Jan (left) on his first day with the Salt Monopoly with his brother Jerzy (right) who was already an Officer

In his case the enemy were coming from East Prussia in the North.  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.  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.

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.  Two days earlier he had been awarded the Krzyz Walecznych (Cross of Valour) for his part in the Defence of Modlin.

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.  On 17th October 1939, Jan was released from the POW Camp in Dzialdowie and allowed to return to Warsaw.  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.

From 17th October to 21st November 1939 he lived in Warsaw but immediately went underground whilst he planned his next move.  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.

In Orlov he was arrested and taken to Prestov where he was sentenced to a "day arrest" for illegally crossing the border.  Five days later he was released and directed to the Hungarian border where he crossed into Hungary at Koszyce.  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.  He stayed there from 2nd December 1939 until 13th March 1940.

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.  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.

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.  His journey took him across Hungary, Jugoslavia and Northern Italy by train to France.  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.

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.  He was posted to Clermont-Ferrand which he liked very much but it was not long before he was in action. 

In May 1940 the German panzers entered France.  The Polish units were sent North to help in the defence, but the French army soon disintegrated.  The Poles were not about to surrender and Jan's group commandeered a train and travelled South in it.

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.  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.  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.  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.  Nevertheless almost as many men were rescued from the Mediterranean and Atlantic coasts as were rescued from Dunkirk.

As a soldier, he was taken to Glasgow where he joined what remained of the Polish Army.  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.

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.

Jan's British Identity Card

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.

Jan's arrival at 304 Squadron - noted in their hand written record book

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.

The following selection of photographs were probably taken during his service with 304 Squadron

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.

Jan (3rd from right), probably with the crew of Flight Lieutenant Miedzybrodzki, after inspecting the flak damage to the latter's Wellington bomber.

Jan (2nd from left) with unidentified aircrew

Jan (2nd from right) with unidentified aircrew

Jan wearing standard flying jacket

Jan (right) with a senior Officer

Jan (seated 4th from left) with other members of the squadron or, possibly crew from 6 OTU

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.

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.  On the return journey they also flew released Prisoners of War home to England.

He was among the many Polish servicemen unwilling to return to Poland under Stalin's puppet Communist regime.  That was a sensible decision when you consider the number of returning troops who were arrested, imprisoned, tortured and even executed.  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 finId employment above the level of road sweepers.

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.  He was also given help to improve his English and learn a new skill.

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.  In 1947 he was offered and accepted a permanent commission in the RAF, and posted to RAF Cranwell (Technical Training) in an administrative role. 

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.

He retired in 1966 with the acting rank of Wing Commander.

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.

London Gazette report of his appointment to the Military Division of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire

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.

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  just 11 days after D-Day

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.  This was just long enough for the wedding and to bring his new wife back to RAF Chivenor.  The squadron presented them with a silver bowl as a wedding gift.  They had three children together.

Invitation to the wedding of Sylvia Christine Todd and Flying Officer Jan W Mondschein

Wedding photograph of Jan and Sylvia

Wedding report from the local press

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.

See also https//304squadron.blogspot.com/2012/05/jerzy-tomasz-mondschein.html                             

ALFRED LESZCZUK

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.

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.

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.

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.

Wedding photograph of Alfred Leszczuk and Stanisława Dobrzańska, 8th September in Lwów

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.

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.

Alfred Leszczuk at Split, Jugoslavia waiting to continue his journey to France

Camp Carpiagne Military Base near Marseilles, France

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.  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.  Most Poles hated the place and the French attitudes because they were totally laid back and indifferent to the fighting.  The Poles were anxious to fight the Germans and were frustrated at the slow pace and indifference of the French.

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. 

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. 

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.

SS Arandora Star waiting at St Jean de Luz to evacuate the British, Polish and French forces

 

Alfred Leszczuk working on a Bolton Paul Defiant

 

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.

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.

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. 

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 December 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 iBritain - unfortunately in some of the worst weather conditions.

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 from a British mechanic just for the purpose of an official photograph.

Inspecting the front turret of a Wellington bomber at RAF Dale

Alfred is 4th from right in the front row of this 304 Squadron group

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.

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.

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

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

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

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.

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  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.

Alfred Leszczuk's medals from the Polish-Ukrainian War of 1918-1921 and WWII

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.

 

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.

 

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.

His application showing his willingness to settle in South Africa

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 Wrocław but that was not possible and in the end, he managed to get a job on the railways. 

Alfred with his wife, mother in law and two children taken in Poland after the War

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.

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 according 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 himself to the Fatherland, was buried there.

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 Kłodzko, Poland.

ZBIGNIEW ANDRZEJ KOMORNICKI

Zbigniew Andrzej Komornicki was born at Radomski, Lodz, Poland on 20th December 1918 son of Brunon Komornicki and Kazimiera Komornicki (nee Pawlikowska).  Prior to his miltary service he was employed as a clerk.

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.  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.  The only other gun being at the front.  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.

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.  The crew were only slightly injured.  They were Leon Osmialowski (observer/navigator), Michal Leszkiewicz pilot and Zbigniew Komornicki (gunner). 

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.  It is not clear whether they accomplished the journey on foot, by vehicle or in flight but the route they took was Torun-Mokotow-Zdunowo-Krzesk-Siennica-Brzesc--Luck and crossed the border at Kuty.  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.   

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.  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.  Initially, the ID photographs were taken by Corporal Oswald Krydner who later became the official photographer to 304 Squadron.  They made their way to France where they joined L'Armee de L'Air and planned to continue the fight from there.

Unfortunately, the French soon collapsed and they were forced to flee again for Britain.  It was a constant complaint that they were unable to get back into the fighting.  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.  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.

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.

For the first three months he was involved in square bashing, learning English and familiarising himself with British equipment and the King's Regulations.  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.

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.  Some of his bombing missions lasted an incredible 40 minutes over the target area.  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.

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.  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.

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.  However it might have been for familiarisation and aptitude testing.  He was then posted to the Air Crew Training Centre at RAF Hucknall Nottinghamshire for final selection.

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.  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.  This is where his real flying training started and he learned to handle the larger machines.  The training was on single engined Miles Masters and twin engined Airspeed Oxfords.  He finally qualified on 29th August 1945 and gained his Gapa (Polish pilot's wings) unfortunately too late for the war.  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.  This was from 6th December 1946 until 4th July 1947 when he was technically employed by the RAF.

After qualifying as a pilot in August 1945 note Polish Gapa and RAF Wings

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.

Receiving his Virtuti Militari award

As an addendum to the story, the Polish Communist Government welcomed him home by putting him in prison in Lodz.  The Communist government forced him to divorce his English wife so that she could return to England thus preventing an international incident.  His father, Brunon Komornicki, sold some personal possessions so that he was able to bribe the guards to help him escape from the prison.  The escape route has never been publicly revealed but it is believed to have been later used by MI6 to insert agents into Poland.

The former prison at Lodz; now an apartment block

Once back in England he was initially employed as a translator by the intelligence services and later became a machinist.  Sadly, he died at the age of 46 in Hillingdon, London in 1965.

With thanks to Graham Murray and Alicja Morawiec for the photographs

OSWALD WALDEMAR KRYDNER - Part 2

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.

 

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.

 

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.

 

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.

 

‘Go,’ said the Russian.

 

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.

 

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.

 

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.

 

We’re on the train, going to Bucharest.

 

It was warm at Bucharest train station. Some suspicious blokes were going between the compartments, watching us closely, but soon they were gone.  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.

 

We are in Constanta at last, the place of our departure.  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.  For security reasons, the Consul told us not to go to town at night. The Gestapo was everywhere.

 

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.

 

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.  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 Carol. 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.

 

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.  After a while, a great port city came up out of the fog: Istanbul.

 

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 Carol 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 Carol 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.

 

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.

 

The Carol 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.

 

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.

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.

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.

 

We are coming into Alexandria. I know this port. The anchors are down – the Patria 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 Patria. At 12:00 the anchor was raised. The Patria peacefully sailed in a north-western direction.

 

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.

 

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.

 

I lost, it got me. How the Patria 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.

The sea has calmed down, and a cheerful sun rose today. The waves are deep, but without foaming crests. The Patria 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.

 

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.

 

The cars turned and entered a small valley surrounded by rocks. Buildings, barracks, huts, we get off. Carpiagne Camp.  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.  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.

 

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.

Today is a better day. Kazik Skowroński, Mielczarek and Gumowski are here. 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.

 

A new page in my journal, a new set on the stage of my life.  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.  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.

 

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.

 

I was dreadfully cold today. It’s freezing outside.  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?

 

Ah, what is happening to our hall: they’ve hauled in enormous logs and are hacking them with stones, as we have no axes.  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.

 

A new transport arrived yesterday. 300 men.  Many friends.  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?  I suffer, I’ve got nothing.

 

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.

 

I got pretty shoes and a uniform yesterday. I am dressed up all soldierly now. They want to detail us to Lyon.

 

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.

 

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.

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.

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.  Food was better at Bron. Here the French serve raw meat. I cut it into small pieces and swallow like a turkey.

 

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.

 

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.

 

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.

 

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.  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.

 

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.

 

14th June 1940 - The Germans have reached the outskirts of Paris.

 

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.  Marshal Pétain 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.

 

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?  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.

 

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.  We waited until midnight. Then we were allowed to sleep, wherever everyone could, since we might have to pick up and go any time.

 

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.  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.

 

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.

 

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.

 

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 Béziers, where we were served broth by nurses of the Red Cross.

 

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.

 

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.

 

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.

 

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.

 

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!

Many thanks to Barbara Poulter for access to her father's documents and photos
Special thanks also to Kresy-Siberia who originally translated the documents