Witez, Drinker Of The Wind

By Wm. McCall

This is the remarkable and (mostly) true story of the Arabian stallion, Witez, born in Poland in 1938. Son of the renowned Ofir and the beautiful mare Federacja, Witez had a remarkably adventurous life. In his first, and very formative, year, he was cared for and trained by an eleven year old girl named Monica Myrek at one of the world's finest Arabian horse farms: the famous Royal Polish Stud Farm near Janow-Podlaski.
The invasion of Poland by German and Russian armies (September 1939) was a disaster for the bloodstock at the horse farm. The horses were rounded up by Russian soldiers and shipped by rail to Russia. In Mostovaja, Witez was taken by a Russian captain for his own and, when the captain was ordered to Leningrad, he entrusted Witez to a young Russian girl (Ivana Michaelovich) for care and training. Months later, with the captain away and fearing Witez was about to be killed for meat by hungry peasants, Ivana set Witez free.
With an innate sense of survival, Witez headed north, traveling mostly at night, hiding in woods and riverbeds during the days until he reached the vast steppes of the Russian north. There, for almost two years, he roamed, becoming a legend as the "Wild Stallion of the North". At last he was spotted by a German ski patrol. The commanding officer, seeing the Royal Crown brand of the Polish Stud on his withers, realized that he had a potentially valuable prize and set out to capture him. A chase was impossible, so he approached Witez as an experienced horseman would, attempting to win his trust. He was successful. Witez’s trust proved to be well placed, because the officer sent Witez to the German's famous horse farm at Monsbach, near the Black Forest, where he received royal treatment. During this time he sired numerous offspring.
Witez had qualities of character that endeared him to all who knew him. He was cheerful, courageous, kind, gentle and intelligent and, in the most literal sense, people fell in love with him. Poland issued a postage stamp in his honor. Over one hundred people attended his twenty-fifth birthday party at which he was honored by a U.S. Marine color guard. He received birthday cards and telegrams from all around the world.
Witez died peacefully at age 28 on the Hurlbutt ranch in Saugus, California.
This is also a story of lifelong friendships developed by those who shared their love of Witez. A key element of the story is the meeting and life-long friendship developed between the two young girls who cared for him: Monica in Poland until Witez was a year and a half old, then Ivana in Russia until she set him free. Both girls dream of seeing him again and, for years, wonder what happened to him. Eventually they learn of him and in dramatic scenes, each is reunited with Witez.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wm. McCall
• Release date: Jun 21, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476178547

Wm. McCall

Taught HS for many years. Owned and operated a dairy in Camp Verde Arizona. Got my Masters at Arizona State College in Flagstaff. Now retired, writing full time and enjoying life with my Dutch wife of 36 years. Have three children: Billy, Kristen and Laurie. Although I'm 3rd generation removed from Ireland, I feel Irish to the core.

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WITEZ, DRINKER OF THE WIND

Based on the life of Witez II, 1938-1965

By William Connelly McCall

Copyright 2011 by William C. McCall. All rights reserved.

Cover Design: Roberto Ball

Smashwords Edition

DEDICATION

This story is dedicated to my good friend Victor Black without whose knowledge of Arabian horses Witez, Drinker of the Wind could not have been written. His advice was invaluable as was his friendship. Wm. McCall

INTRODUCTION - W I T E Z - D R I N K E R O F T H E W I N D

This is the story of a great horse - the mighty Arabian stallion Witez. Born in 1938, he died in 1965 at the age of twenty-seven. He was more than a horse. He was a hero, eventually a legend in his own lifetime, and a great personality. To quote Earle Hurlbutt, one of his owners, He was an inspiring example of triumph over adversity, with his dignity and friendly disposition. Doing his best under all circumstances, Witez has founded a proud dynasty, endeared himself to all who knew him, and promoted understanding and friendship on two continents.

Some say it is a fanciful conjecture to imagine that a soul as noble as any on earth could reside in an animal, while others firmly believe it is possible. While this debate may never come to an end, this much is true: When one reviews the life of the great Arabian stallion Witez, and considers the many adversities he had to overcome, it is hard to imagine that any human has lived his life with more courage, generosity and cheerfulness.

May the road rise with him

May the wind be always at his back

May the sun shine warm upon his face

May the rain fall soft upon his fields

And until we meet again

May the Lord hold him in the hollow of His hand.

- Old Gaelic Blessing -

Chapter One - A Y o u n g G i r l ' s B i r t h d a y

September 1, 1936 dawned warm and sweet over the eastern Polish province of Krakow. The stables and corrals of the Royal Stud were still in shadows, but early morning sunlight cast a rosy glow on the large, white manor house resting on a knoll to the west. As Jacek was throwing hay in racks for the hungry horses, he glanced up and saw Monica, her head resting in her hands, gazing out of her bedroom window on the manor's second floor.

Monica had awakened early in eager anticipation of the day to come because it was her ninth birthday and her father had promised to take her riding. Although she rode almost every day, this was to be a special ride. Today she would be allowed to ride her favorite horse, the mare Federacja, who had just been returned to the farm from the estate of Countess Nadia Szarzynski, near Warsaw. Federacja was also the Countess' favorite and she had kept her all summer. Many expert horsemen considered Federacja to be the most beautiful and most perfectly conformed Arabian mare in Poland.

For a long while, Monica had sat upright in bed, looking out the open window before getting to her knees and resting her elbows on the windowsill in the pose that Jacek had caught. What a beautiful morning, she thought, as she let her eyes wander over the broad pastures and meadows of her farm with its great sheltering oaks that dotted the pastures sloping down to the Bug River. Monica had always been sensitive and observant, but this morning she took an extra long time searching out all the things that were precious to her, then letting her gaze dwell on them. She let her eyes linger lovingly on all the familiar sights: the glistening white barns, the equally white stables and spacious paddocks with their neat, whitewashed fences. She scanned the long roads lined with poplar and linden, letting her eyes trace the various rows of trees until they ended in the soft blue horizon. That everything was so clean and neat bespoke of an order and caring which touched all things on the farm. Even the randomness of horses playfully galloping and frolicking in the morning's dewy pastures was confined, being made to fit into an orderly pattern by neat white fences.

How much she loved it all! Monica thought herself the most fortunate young girl in the world. She allowed herself to daydream for a while, imagining herself as a sixteen year old riding a magnificent Arabian stallion in a dressage competition at the great parade grounds in Warsaw. It was a favorite dream, and she always won her events. Suddenly, she roused herself from her fantasy, bounded out of bed, got dressed and raced downstairs for breakfast.

The farm that Monica considered her own was actually the property of the state of Poland. It was the Royal Stud near Janow-Podlaski, and her father, Steffan Myrek, was the farm manager. It was an important position with many privileges, and in addition to the obvious duties related to managing the farm itself, there were social obligations. Many royal personages visited the farm to purchase the horses that were offered for sale each year, or sometimes they came just to view and enjoy them. It was expected that the manager and his wife would entertain such guests in an elegant style. Consequently, the farm manager was allowed to live in the great manor house, the equal of any to be found on the finest estates of Eastern Europe.

Good morning, Hilde, Monica said as she entered the kitchen. Where's Mama?

She's still at the breakfast table, sweetheart, Hilde replied amiably. Run in and join her and I'll have your breakfast fixed in just a few minutes.

Thank you, Hilde, Monica replied courteously. She had been taught to always speak civilly to all the help, whether they were house servants or stable hands - an easy thing for Monica because she had no meanness in her and liked everyone on the farm. She skipped into the large dining room and plopped herself in a chair across from where her mother sat. Good morning, Mama, she said brightly.

Good morning, sweetheart, her mother answered lovingly, and happy birthday too! Now, how old are you today?

I'm nine, of course, Mama, as you well know.

I know, Monica's mother said softly as she studied her daughter, but I can hardly believe it. Where do the years go? She was proud of Monica, and could see herself as a young girl in her daughter's features. Monica usually wore her long, blond hair in a single braid that hung down her back, but sometimes she wore it up. She had very blue eyes, an irrepressible smile and was long limbed and tall for her age. Eva Myrek was, herself a beautiful woman, regal in appearance, standing almost five-foot-nine, and Monica's father was over six feet, so Eva imagined that her daughter would also be tall.

Where's Papa? Monica asked

He's already gone to the stables. Don't you two have something special to do today? Monica's mother asked with a twinkle in her eyes, knowing full well that a ride had been planned for several weeks. Something you'll be doing after you practice the piano? she teased.

No piano today, Mama, Monica said with assurance. Today I get to ride Federacja! You know that, Mama! Monica knew she was being teased. We're going to have a long ride. First to Tonkile, then up toward Sterdyn along the beautiful, shaded road that follows the Bug River. You know. It's one of your favorite rides. You remember, don't you Mama! Then we'll ride along the banks of the Cetynia, and finally, we'll circle back here through the woods. Oh, Mama, it's going to be a grand ride! Monica paused, Won't you come with us? It would be so much fun.

Though once a fine horsewoman, Eva had come to treasure her hours at the piano and enjoyed playing more than riding. Today, the prospect of having a few hours to herself before preparing the house for Monica's birthday party appealed to her. She did not want to let her years of training as a classical pianist go to waste, and tried to practice at least two hours every day. Much to their delight, however, Eva still occasionally rode with Steffan and Monica. She also enjoyed those times, but since she was responsible for the managing the household, entertaining, and many other duties besides, time for such rides was infrequent, and today was not to be such a time. No dear. It's far too long a ride for me, besides, I'm afraid I'm not the horsewoman I once was. It will be nice for just you and Papa to ride together. Then, without knowing why, she added, Treasure these days, my dear, and save your memories.

Of course, Mama. I always do. You know what a good memory I have, Monica answered brightly.

Yes you do. It's just that I want you to be especially aware of these times.

I will. Now, I think I'll go and find Papa.

Eat first, daughter. You have a long day ahead of you.

* * *

When Monica arrived at the stables she was greeted by the stable hands who all wished her a happy birthday. Alexi Pietrzak, the stable master, had an especially warm greeting for her. He and his wife, Wanda, were like second parents to Monica, and they loved her as if she was their own daughter. Wanda wants you to stop by our house sometime today. I think she has a little something for you.

Thank you, Alexi, Monica exclaimed. I'll go by this afternoon, when Papa and I return from our ride.

Alexi smiled. I know how much you've been looking forward to this morning, so I've had Jacek give Federacja an extra good grooming. You and she will make a handsome pair! Alexi called down the shed row to Jacek. Miss Myrek is here, Jacek! Bring up Federacja!

Jacek Polanski was the son of a local farmer and only eighteen years old. He had been working at the Royal Stud for nearly four years and showed signs of becoming a competent horseman. Monica's father and Alexi both thought highly of the young man, and Monica had a young girl's crush on him. She told her girlfriends that he was So-o-o handsome.

Jacek led Federacja up the shed row, past many stalls with bobbing heads, craning necks and whinnies. They wanted out too! Lucky Federacja! Although Monica usually put on her own tack, this morning Jacek had Federacja saddled and ready to ride. The gesture was not lost on Monica. Thank you, Jacek, she said appreciatively.

She had watched Jacek lead Federacja as they came toward her down the shed row and, had noticed again, how perfectly conformed the mare was: a refined and feminine head, a lean and delicate looking body, yet well muscled and strong. Monica thought Federacja the most beautiful mare she had ever set her eyes upon. No wonder she was Countess Nadia's favorite!

Monica looked around, but did not see her father. Where's Papa? she asked of no one in particular.

Alexi replied, He wanted to inspect the fence work that was done yesterday down near the river. He said that he'd meet you at nine o'clock at Jaroslaw's Inn. You'd better be on your way.

Monica grinned broadly. How exciting, she thought. She took Federacja's reins from Jacek, but before she could mount, he stepped beside her and gave her a leg up. That pleased her, and thrilled her too! Mounted, she wheeled Federacja around, and with an easy gesture waved her crop at the men, and particularly at Jacek, then with a clucking sound, urged Federacja into an easy canter down a long, straight, unpaved road lined with elegant poplar trees already showing a few yellow leaves, past lush neatly fenced pastures, past hedge-lined fields, over small bridged streams until, at last, they neared the inn.

It was almost nine o'clock and, as she approached the intersection of another tree-lined dirt road, she saw her father coming toward her on his mount, an Arabian stallion named Karim. He was a splendid animal and although he had never given her any reason to be Monica had always been afraid of him,. It was what he could do that made her uneasy - he was masculine, grand looking and every inch a stallion. Almost as imposing, she thought, as the great Ofir, reputed to be the greatest Arabian stallion in the world. And from what Monica knew of horses, she did not doubt that he was. It was her dream to have Federacja bred to Ofir so that she could have their colt as her own. She knew the foal would not actually belong to her, but it would be hers to care for and train, and that was what she wanted.

As her father drew near, Karim whinnied in recognition and Federacja answered in kind. Monica studied her father as if she were seeing him for the very first time. She did this not because of her mother's words at breakfast, but because she frequently looked at people and things in a way to experience them anew. Besides, it always pleased her to look at her father. She thought he must be the handsomest man in Poland. Steffan was one of those individuals who just looked aristocratic. He was tall, sandy haired, blue eyed, possessed of fine, even features and sported a moustache, which was fashionable in those days. And she loved the way he sat so tall and erect in his saddle. He was a consummate horseman and had been a member of Poland's 1932 Olympic equestrian team - a source of great pride to both Monica and her mother.

Good morning, Papa, she called, reining in Federacja next to Karim.

Good morning and happy birthday, he answered.

Thank you, Papa. I think this is one of the happiest days of my life.

Federacja pleases you that much? he asked.

Yes, Papa. And I'm happy because it is such a beautiful day, and that I'm going to get to ride with you, and that everyone at the stable was so kind, and . . . Her eyes rimmed with tears. She hesitated, deciding to omit the part about Jacek giving her a leg up. She was too overcome with emotion to go on.

Well, said her father, taking heed of her feelings, if you must shed a tear or two, how much better to have them be tears of joy. You have many reasons to be happy! And one of them is that you are one of the most beautiful young ladies in the whole world!

Of course you would say that, Papa! Monica said with a mirthful laugh, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

Your mother thinks so too, he said earnestly, and she's never told me a lie.

Oh, Papa! Monica said, feigning exasperation. Let's have our ride, shall we? She urged Federacja forward and the mare responded eagerly, breaking into an easy, long-striding gallop. Steffan let her ride ahead of him for a while, then brought Karim up alongside, and they both slowed to a brisk walk. Thus they began the ride that Monica would remember and cherish in all the years to come.

It wasn't that the ride was so eventful that caused Monica to hold the day fast in her heart. It was, in fact, a rather uneventful day, but it was her birthday and she felt she was growing up, and she was with her father. That was always special to her. Federacja was special too and, on this day, she seemed perfect - spirited, yet completely under Monica's control and seemingly enjoying the day almost as much as her rider. The skies were high and blue, and the air warm and sweet. All these things made Monica think that it was the most perfect of days.

They stopped for a noon meal at a small, elegant inn near Sterdyn catering to sportsmen and the local aristocracy. They sat outdoors on a small terrace overlooking the Bug River. A long, perfectly groomed lawn sloped down to the river where several small pleasure boats were moored. Being a Tuesday it was not as busy as it been on the weekend. There were perhaps twenty other people having lunch where a hundred might be easily accommodated, so the service was unhurried and relaxed. A waiter, a distinguished older man with a kind face, offered Steffan a wine list.

A glass of dry Chablis for my daughter and the house burgundy for me, he said.

It's my birthday, Monica blurted impetuously, then immediately felt ashamed that she had said it. It seemed so childish, she thought. The waiter gave her a big smile and a slight bow.

A very special occasion, then, he said. We're pleased that you are dining with us. May I ask the young lady how old she is? he said, looking at Monica's father. Steffan smiled and nodded to the waiter.

The waiter turned to Monica who did not wait for him to ask. With an air of propriety she announced firmly, I am nine years old.

The waiter smiled warmly, and gave a slight bow. Nine years old! A fine age, indeed.

Thank you, Monica replied, returning his smile.

She was allowed wine at home on special occasions, but always took just a small glass and, when the wine was served, Monica's glass was appropriately small. Then Monica's father ordered lunch: Salmon, small potatoes and fresh peas. Then, coffee and ice cream! Monica and her father chatted easily of the things about which fathers and daughters talk. They were unhurried, and when Steffan was sure that Monica was ready, only then did he summon the waiter, pay the bill and leave.

The inn provided an oak-shaded, grassy area for horsemen to tether their animals. Returning there, Monica and her father Remounted and continued their ride along the beautiful tree-lined banks of the Cetynia, then took a small branch road running to the southeast which brought them back to the farm at about four o'clock in the afternoon.

They were greeted by Jacek who, it appeared, had