The Last Train to Dachau

By Robert B. Niklewicz

The Last Train to Dachau is based on the real life plight of the Miller family during World War II. With the invasion of Poland by the Germans, the story follows the family and their experiences of: the occupation, hunger, cold, and the terror in their home town. This family of five was Polish Catholic, but had a German-like surname. This situation placed them between the Germans, who wanted them to sign a loyalty declaration, which they refused, and the community which assumed that they had. The story tells of the horrors and obstacles that they faced and had to overcome to stay together and live.

Emilia, Alicia and Leszek are children that spend most of their youth surviving both the physical and emotional stresses of war. Wladyslawa, the mother, is a worker in a Red Cross shelter during the day, but often had to travel at night to find black market food for her family. Wiktor, the father, was conscripted to a labor train after the surrender of Warsaw. He worked under threat of great harm to his family while forced to travel and repair damaged trains and tracks across Poland and Germany. His travels and experiences on a recovery and repair crew gave him an avenue to stay alive while still resisting his oppressors.

The intensity of the story increases as the Millers face the brutality of their captors who desperately try to accomplish their “final solution” for all Poles in the closing days of the war. The reader will find it hard to put the book down as the Millers face their fate.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Oct 30, 2008
• ISBN: 9781452087924

Robert B. Niklewicz

Robert B. Niklewicz is a Physical Therapist with a Doctorate in Health Science. In addition to being a health care professional, he is a teacher and national lecturer. The book he has written is the end product of stories he has heard since he was a boy. The private spoken memories of his grandmother and mother over the years not only intrigued him, but the family as a whole. Taping his mother’s stories, many of which she was reluctant to tell, caused a stark awakening in him about how fragile life is, and how close fate came to ending his mother’s existence seventy years earlier.   Robert researched and reassembled the chronicle of a bleak time using his skill as a teacher to guide the reader through this incredible story. He is able to bring the intensity of the physical stresses with the psychological challenges for the Millers in a way that the reader could almost experience themselves.   As thousands of survivors of the Second World War die each day from the burdens of age, it became a cause to put his connection with history on paper. As a physical therapist, he had the great privilege to hear bits and pieces of other people’s stories during the course of his work with the elderly. Each story was a jewel unto itself that if untold, would disappear with the soul that experienced it. He could not imagine the sadness he and his family would feel if their own incredible history would be lost as well. This is a true family story to share, his to tell so others will not forget.  

Book preview

© 2008 Robert B. Niklewicz. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or

transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse  10/27/2021

ISBN: 978-1-4389-1437-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4520-8792-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2008909846

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in

this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views

expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the

views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Epilogue

Author’s Notes: #1

Author’s Notes: #2

Author’s Notes #3

Author’s Notes #4

Author’s Notes #5

About The Author

To

Mom, Dad, Babcia and Dzia Dzia,

Thank you. May those of us who are proud to be your family now and into the future, never forget your sacrifices, love and courage.

Prologue:

Warszawa Poland, 18th November, 1938

Emilia Miller stands a little straighter than usual as she watches the parade go by. A small wisp of a smile plays on her face as she watches the endless lines of soldiers marching to the beat of the big military band.

Oh, the band is so loud, I can feel it in my stomach, she thinks, as she turns and stares down the block at the columns of men, proudly high-stepping with stiff knees and pointed toes, marching in perfect cadence with the band.

There are so many of them, she says to no one in particular as the soldiers stare straight ahead with serious faces as they pass.

The wind blowing the red ribbons in her hair makes her reach to her head to make sure they’re still there. Her fine blonde hair is cut short and flutters in the wind, just barely tethering the ribbons against the gusts. Please stay in place, she pleads to the shiny bright red streamers that, to her, are absolutely the prettiest ribbons anyone could wish to have. Emilia lowers her hand, satisfied that the ribbons are secure, and becomes aware again of the deep pounding vibration in her body from the drums in front of her. She covers her ears against the intensity of the noise, but the vibration tickles her stomach and that makes her smile even more. Her joy comes from her wish to have red ribbons coming true, for today is not only the Independence Day that warrants the celebration of parading men, horses, and cannons, but also her eighth birthday. She is very pleased with herself as she watches the festivities. The white and red Polish flag along with banners of all colors and shapes flutter before her, carried on long poles by perfectly lined up men.

This is so beautiful! she yells over the noise to her mother, who is standing behind her. Emilia secretly pretends that the parade is just for her.

The snow has been falling for several days, but stopped the day before. Mounds of dirty snow and slush are piled away from the street, and crunch under her feet. Emilia rubs her red nose, the only unprotected part of her body experiencing the cold. On this sunny but cold November morning, the chill of the northerly breeze is blocked by her favorite blue wool coat, with its wide collar buttoned up to her chin. The white tights covering her thin legs disappear into the shiny new black shoes her father made especially for her. She feels special, and is sure that she is luckiest girl in the whole town.

Her daydreaming is brought to halt when her older sister, Alicia, excitedly shakes Emilia’s shoulder as she points out one of the young officers on horseback.

Look! There’s Marek! Doesn’t he look handsome in his uniform? Wave! He’s looking at us!

Her waving is intensified by jumping up and down as she calls his name, her voice audible even over the drums, horns and cheers.

Leszek, their 4 year old brother, twists away in protest from the weight of Alicia’s other hand on his shoulder. He swings his fist at her, but the impact on her forearm doesn’t get her attention at all. This makes Leszek even more frustrated, and he swings a second time, making contact with her hand and earning him a puzzled look.

He’s always looking at you, says Emilia, more in fatigue than anger. She then mumbles under her breathe, of course he’s looking at us. How could anyone could help but look over here with all the noise Alicia is making? Ala, your screaming is hurting my ears! Emilia protests out loud. Displeasure is turning her once subtle smile into a tight line.

Slowly, the enthusiasm diminishes as the long lines of men and machines pass from view. Emilia, Alicia, and Leszek gather at the side of their mother and father, who guide them back towards their neighborhood, a short thirty minute train ride from the great parade that celebrates Polish unity and Poland’s military strength.

Emilia reaches for and then holds her fathers hand and with an enthusiastic squeeze says to her father Tata, (Polish for Daddy) wasn’t that wonderful!

Wiktor looks down at his little girl, smiles as he gently squeezes her little hand and lets it slide away as Emilia starts to run after her brother and sister.

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As Emilia’s mother and father, Wladyslawa and Wiktor, walk, they enjoy the day, in no hurry to have it come to an end. Arm in arm, they walk towards the train station, their children running and playing with the others who are also heading home. There is laughter and a sense of calm on this busy street.

Their idle conversation of this middle aged couple turns to current events, and they talk of the Germans, who have just failed to convince Poland to give up the seaport of Gdansk.

Wiktor asks his wife, How could they think we would just give up the seaport like that? They failed to convince us to allow them to build a road and railway to East Prussia. Why should the question of Gdansk be any different?

The couple is content that this fine display of Polish military strength would surely dispel any thoughts the Germans might have about looking eastward. Fear of a move like Germany has made to the south into Austria and Czechoslovakia is fresh in their minds.

Wladyslawa states, with some certainty, But, after all, the Austrians are like the Germans in behavior as well as language, and probably don’t care who’s in charge of their government.

Besides, Wiktor says, the French and British have a treaty with Poland that boxes Germany in on two sides; with England and France on one side and Poland and Russia on the other. Germany does not want to split its armies. The Germans are ruthless but they’re not crazy, Wiktor thought. Russia is a different story. It’s big and strong, and hates the Germans, but it can’t be trusted. Russia would love to have our land again, as they did in 1792, and again in 1920, those Bolshevik murderers, Wiktor adds. He remembers the Russian revolution, when the Reds murdered not only their own people but Poles, too.

Poland had been partitioned by so many empires that when the Great War happened many Poles were forced to fight each other, depending on the misfortune of where the homes were. Russia had conscripted citizens of occupied land into their army, while the Austrian-Germans took their share of the unwilling conscripts.

As the parents continue their walk to the train station, their mood becomes more somber and quiet as each contemplates the unthinkable. Could a repeat of what happened just twenty-five years ago happen again? Each felt a moment of anger, then a fearful chill, as they remember their own painful experiences of not so long ago. They reflexively pull on each others arms, just a little tighter and closer.

The train ride east to their home in Kobylka is quiet. The winds of change, both seasonal and political, are beginning to blow colder, and the chill is growing more noticeable. Wladyslawa looks out the train window as it arrives at the station. She gazes at the barren trees, and their naked branches holding clumps of the early, heavy snow. To Wladyslawa, the trees have a beauty of their own. She enjoys the crisp clean air of winter and the blanket of pristine snow that covers their well-maintained community. The changing seasons each have their own special challenges and rewards for those who appreciate such things. Wladyslawa loves this time of year.

Despite the calm of this wintry day, deep inside her there is a twinge of fear that she cannot control or fully understand. She shakes off the feeling, and enjoys the closeness of her husband as they walk arm in arm to their home. The children run ahead, and things are peaceful.

CHAPTER 1

17th DECEMBER 1938

The Miller Family

December is a cold month in Poland. On this Sunday, snow was on the ground and the temperature hovered below the 0 degrees Celsius mark, but the sun was out and provided brilliant light on the frozen mud streets. The Millers walked down the slippery street, arms interlocked with their three children, trying to remain upright. The family’s arms were entwined for support and safety.

Momma, look at me! Leszek called, as he shuffled in the snow with his head tilted up. I am the train! Woo wooooo! The frost on his breath became his train’s smoke. The smoke had to stop to make the steam engine’s choo, choo, choo sounds.

All sounds stopped for a moment when Alicia jerked his arm sharply. Stop that! You’re going to make us all fall down! If you slip I won’t hold you up! she lectured—and threatened her little brother.

An endless sheet of ice had formed during the night over the soggy dirt of the street, and the children held each others arms more snuggly to add stability to their steps. The family was walking home from church at a slow, deliberate pace, being careful not to slip on frozen puddles. The sheets of ice could stretch for hundreds of meters on days like this. Walking was treacherous, yet exhilarating, as the footing became more precarious for the line of five. The task of staying upright often found them laughing when one person would lose their footing, but was dramatically saved by the others. This would bring celebration of surviving the near catastrophe and increasing their guard for the next one.

Leszek, at the end of the line and next to Alicia, enjoyed the precarious position of having his right hand free to pretend to be a train while having an anchor from his sister on the left. Tempting fate he looked up again and released more smoke, which Alicia tolerated, but he was jerked nonetheless. The obligatory Stop it! from Alicia again fell on the deaf ears of a little brother.

The family was bundled up with brown fur caps pulled down over red ears, long blue wool coats with fur collars over sweaters, and gloves or mittens. Scratchy wool tights and high boots were part of the needed apparel. Emilia picked at her scarf, which was encrusted with frost from the moisture of her breath.

Fluffy snowdrifts along the walkways, one or two meters high, were perfect for snowballs that packed down hard and traveled far in the cool air. After breaking away from the grip of his oldest sister, Leszek made and threw several volleys of snowballs that missed their target. He was frustrated by the lack of accuracy and distance of his throws, most of which were aimed at Alicia but hit Emilia instead. The comedy of errant throws brought a laugh from Wladyslawa, as she watched from a distance. Because of the icy street, Leszek ran unsteadily when he chose to abandon his assault and hide behind his mother. His retreat was prompted by volleys from his sisters, who’d had enough of his attacks and released a barrage of snowballs themselves. He was trapped, outnumbered, and angry but exhilarated, as he tried to hide from his sisters. Wladyslawa spun aside to get away from the incoming snow bombs, and the grip Leszek had on the back of her coat. Leszek stood alone and exposed.

The odds changed quickly when his father snatched him up and ran a couple of steps with Leszek under his arm. The men joined forces in the fight against the girls, much to Wladyslawa’s dismay, since she was caught in the crossfire as the combatants maneuvered to keep her in the middle. Wladyslawa became a mobile shield for both sides.

Ignoring her orders to stop the barrage, the battle continued, with shrieks of laughter and cries of shock as snow quickly turned from solid to liquid against warm skin under a scarf, or down a blouse. The battle ended as quickly as it started when an errant toss caught Wladyslawa squarely on the scarf that covered her nose. Emilia and Alicia stopped in their tracks and released a volley of denials and finger pointing that quickly replaced snowballs as weapons of choice. Leszek, for the moment, was glad his aim was so poor.

Moments later, Wladyslawa turned towards Wiktor and started scolding him about his behavior in front of the kids. What’s wrong with you? she asked the empty-handed but guilt-ridden man. Within a few seconds her scolding had him pondering his actions and had him looking down and away for a moment.

That was just enough time for Wladyslawa to smash a snowball she had in her gloved hand onto his neck. This brought howls of laughter from the kids and a couple of neighbors observing the fray.

Wiktor found himself dancing a bent-over jig to get the remaining unfrozen particles off his neck. The laughter of all but one person erupted as Wladyslawa was unceremoniously dumped into a snowdrift by her husband for her deceit. Wiktor dropped to his knees in the snow next to his wife, laughing to the point of tears. He leaned back on his heels and rested his hands on his knees, breathing heavily from the exertion.

Everyone get momma, Leszek cried, as he released another snowball that again failed to find its mark. While he pouted over his near-miss, a snowball exploded on the back of his head as Emilia squealed with delight at her marksmanship. Alicia began throwing handfuls of snow in every direction. Before long there was snow in every pocket, cuff, hat, scarf, or fold of cloth that covered a member of the family.

At the end of the fray, they returned home and quickly unbundled their frozen clothing. Emilia took off her frosted over-clothes and placed them neatly on a wooden hanger near the stove. Leszek and Alicia tossed their clothes in the general direction of a chair as they moved closer to the warmth. The cast-iron stove always had wood or coal in it to keep the house warm this time of year, and it was rarely appreciated as much as at this moment.

The sudden increase in activity got the attention of Wladyslawa’s mother, Julia, a petite older woman who was sitting on her bed making lace doilies. The house was a duplex, with the Millers and Julia living in one side, and Wiktor’s mother, Emma, in the other. Though a slightly strained living arrangement, it served everyone’s needs well.

Julia did not make it to mass today because of the cold and the difficulty in safely traversing the slippery walkways. She was annoyed and dismayed to see the family piling back into this modest house, red faced and jovial.

A mood much too gay for a Sunday, Julia thought.

She walked into the mud room and saw the pile of wet and frosted coats on a chair. She proclaimed, in a frustrated tone, You know that these things will not dry if they’re tossed in a heap like this? An answer did not come. She picked up coats and placed them on hangers, next to Emilia’s. Julia mumbled, Children have no respect for their things these days, and found a place inside to sit near the window.

The family huddled around the stove, rubbing their hands and other parts of their anatomy, as they enjoyed the heat. Emilia turned towards and then away from the heat. A sense of relaxation filled her. I love being warm, she purred.

Slowly, the whole room warmed up, and the giggling melted away. Wet clothing was exchanged for dry things, and within minutes the whole room was quiet and sleepy.

Shoes were attended to properly, to keep these precious possessions in good condition. This task was a must, to be done by all, for shoes were expensive and special. Christmas had been celebrated five days ago, and everyone in the house had new shoes. Wiktor, a skilled cobbler, spent most of his spare time during November and December making shoes for his family. Except for Emilia’s birthday gift, that was a job he had put off for most of the summer, much to the displeasure of everyone in the house whose feet had grown since the beginning of the summer.

Summer was the last time he made shoe measurements. There just isn’t any time to do it he protested, until it was easier to lock himself in the root cellar and make patterns, after which he had sown the materials into the shoes at the big table in the kitchen. Everyone was proud of the shoes that Wiktor made. It gave him pleasure to make shoes for his family, though it was a tedious task, especially at the end of a long day. He was also pleased to save the money, instead of purchasing shoes from a store. No overhead! he would boast when asked by neighbors as to why he labored so hard in making exceptional shoes, Just for children.

What was really ingenious was that he made shoes that were designed for growing feet. There was just a little extra leather built into the shoe’s toe box, as well as having a slightly longer sole. This was the key to having the shoes last a whole year. If there was a growth spurt, he could just let it out a little, and the shoes could continue to be worn as an extra pair of shoes or as play shoes. Play shoes were very much a rarity, because of the cost of materials. The Miller children were very fortunate in this way.

Wladyslawa and her mother took part in the Christmas manufacturing frenzy. Christmas was the time that the children got their new winter coats. Wladyslawa and Julia made the coats over many weeks, generally after the children were sent to bed. After all, there should be some surprise for them come Christmas day.

There was a small Christmas tree on a table in front of the main window. It was decorated with candy, ribbons, and small ornaments that sparkled in the light of the ceiling-mounted light bulb. A blown-glass star adorned the top of the tree. Though the tree was small, it was special to the family.

As is the Polish custom, Christmas Eve was the time when the family gathered to share the Holiday meal. Traditionally, it was a meatless meal, although fish was allowed. There was trout, herring, and bass as the main course, with a simple soup and side dishes. Before the meal, they would share unleavened bread wafers called Oplatek. During the ritual, each person had a small piece of Oplatek in their hand, and would greet the person closest to them and break off a smaller piece from that person’s wafer and eat it. After eating it, they would give each other their blessings. If there were any bad feelings between two people, this was a time to make amends.

The children got the gist of the process and shared the Oplatek. They passively accepted kisses on their heads, and occasionally experienced an overwhelming hug from an exuberant aunt or neighbor, that would have their heads buried deeply between massive bosoms. After a couple of Christmas Eves like this, the children learned which person did what. If they could not avoid the potential smothering, they learned how to hold their breath quickly to make the custom more bearable.

At midnight on Christmas Eve, they went to church for mass, to welcome the Newborn King into the world. Songs and lights added to the mood of the many of neighbors gathered for this special day. The church choir wore their best robes, and raised their singing voices to glorify God.

On returning home, the family put their shoes outside the door, so that on Christmas day there would be something special from Swiety Mikola (Santa Claus) in the shoes—if they were good. If they were not good, as legend had it, they would get a lump of coal in their shoe instead of sweets or a gift. Wiktor, for some reason, always got a lump of coal, much to the amusement of the children and his wife. Of course, his mother-in-law always thought that it was appropriate. She chose not to say anything because, It isn’t very Christian to say such things at Christmas time.

On Christmas morning, the children ran to the front door to find their shoes. Excitement exploded as they found gifts next to them. That is, all the shoes except for Leszek’s, which were nowhere to be found. In Emilia’s shoes a Shirleka Doll stood staring wide-eyed into the distance. This doll looked like Shirley Temple, the American movie star. Emilia couldn’t believe her eyes. She was thrilled, and within moments had started to examine the clothing that came with the doll, and was thinking of what clothing she would make for her first.

Alicia found a waistcoat next to her shoes, which she could wear to her new job in Warszawa. It was green velvet jacket with two buttons and little pocket for a handkerchief. It could easily be accented with different accessories or blouses. It was tapered at the waist, so it highlighted her developing figure, which, at 15, had a definite shape, so she was very pleased with the beautiful coat.

Wladyslawa found a tiny red silk bag, closed at the top with a yellow drawstring. A small crystal bottle of perfume was inside. The essence of rose quickly filled the room as she opened the bottle and dabbed a drop on her wrist.

Babcia (Grandmother) Julia found a warm sweater next to her shoes. When she tried it on, it fit perfectly. She stroked the front of the sweater, as she admired the quality of the work. I could make one just like this, she thought. Julia said, in a voice directed to no one specifically, Swiety Mikola is much too generous to me this year. He should not have spent so much. Deep inside though, she was glad that he did. She really needed a new sweater.

Wiktor looked, and found an old wrinkled newspaper with a lump of coal inside it—again. Wladyslawa offered animated sympathy to the overly dramatic and pouting Wiktor, which made everyone laugh except Leszek. The young boy stood at the end of the row of shoes with a sad look on his face. Not only was there nothing for him, his shoes were gone, too.

Wladyslawa turned to Leszek and knelt in front of the little boy, asking Why are you so sad?

He pointed to the shoes and said, in a low sullen voice, My shoes are gone! He tried hard to keep back his tears.

Well, where did you leave them? Wiktor asked, in a sincere voice, with a look of concern.

On the porch, last night before I went to bed, was Leszek’s forlorn reply.

Well, let’s look outside and see if they’re there, said Wiktor, as he reached for the door and led Leszek by the hand.

His shoes were there on the porch, but were not on the floor. Instead, they were on the seat of a new bright red Tricycle. Leszek’s eyes widened, as did his chest, with a big breath, at the sight of this beautiful Trike.

Is this for me? he asked. He stood there frozen in place, afraid the tricycle was not for him.

"Those are not my shoes," said Wladyslawa, with a coy smile.

Nor mine, said Wiktor, with a broad smile.

Leszek mounted the shiny Trike with one step on the back platform, and quickly pedaled a circle around the porch. The cold seat made no impression on him while taking his magic ride. Mother and father led their excited boy (and his cold Trike) into the house. Leszek continued to touch and examine the parts of the Trike with a sparkle in his eye. He could not believe that this fine tricycle was truly his. Each person in the family enjoyed their gifts and the excitement of the moment. Even the lump of coal was used to heat the house, and that, too, was good.

Christmas Day was a day of celebration and tasty food. Ham, chicken, lamb and Kielbasa (sausage) were the traditional meats for this festive day. Side dishes of beet soup, potatoes, tomatoes, and onions, kluska (pasta), carrots, and peas, with various types of breads, covered a large table in abundance. Desserts could outnumber the main dishes, and often did. They included cakes, pies, cookies, fruit preserves, and candies. It was not long before the mouths of both adult and child watered, and their waistbands stretched. Family and invited friends shared a joyous meal and early evening naps.

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When school started on January 6th, following the Christmas break, Emilia was ready to go. She had her new shoes and coat, and her beautiful ribbons. Each braid and ribbon was meticulously tucked under a finely knitted new cap she received as a gift from Babcia Julia. She felt special on this first day of school in 1939. Striding out into the cold, she was too absorbed with her attire to notice that the snow had melted a little in the sun the day before, but during the night had turned to ice.

Emilia was no more than three or four steps outside her gate when she lost her footing on the ice and found herself flat on her back. She was dizzy from the impact and wanted to cry. Ever so slowly, she rolled over onto her hands and knees, which were now wet, dirty, and not fit for school. She carefully turned around and went back to the house for some sympathy and help from her mother. Help did not take long to appear.

Wladyslawa had been watching her daughter, and saw Emilia fall. Wladyslawa’s heart froze as she saw a graceful young lady, walking in her finest clothes, suddenly become a sprawled figure lying on the ground in a clump of wet clothing. Without a coat or other protective clothing, she was quickly down the stairs, and hugged her distraught child. With Emilia hugging her mother’s hips, they went back up the stairs, and into the house. Inside, Emilia was horrified by the mud and wet stains that marred her new clothes. If she was hurt, she did not show it. She was more engrossed in what needed to be done to set things right. Except for a slight bump on the back of her head, her multi-layered ensemble protected her from greater harm.

After careful brushing and sponging of the coat, hat, and shoes, Emilia was ready to try going to school again. Hand in hand, she walked with her mother, ever so tentative in each step. It seemed as if each step would result in the same catastrophe that had befallen her earlier. For the first time in her academic career, Emilia was late for school. To her, this was the greatest pain and injury of all. What was more frightening was that she might have to go through this again tomorrow. What could she do? Go to her father of course; he’d know what to do.

Later that night, she relived for her father her horrible experience with the ice. Sitting at his side, Emilia related, with an animated description, her life-threatening mishap. She vividly detailed the slipperiness of the ice, with her arms swinging widely in a reenactment of flying through the air and her body’s collision with the ground, which she demonstrated on the floor in front of the mesmerized Wiktor. He was so engrossed in the child’s detailed story that it reached a point where it took all of his strength not to laugh or smile despite the gravity of the story Emilia painted. If he’d laughed, his daughter would certainly have interpreted it as belittling her injury, and would have embarrassed her. This he would not do for any reason, so he listened as she reenacted the fall once more, arms flailing wildly, so that it made her fall appear to come from still a higher arc, and the traumatic results being described as nearly fatal. Exhausted from the progressively more serious event, Emilia was put to bed by her father, who assured her that things would be better tomorrow.

When Emilia prepared to go to school the next morning, the dread of a possible repeat of the catastrophe from the day before started to haunt her again. When she found her shoes the next morning, she found some modifications. Firmly attached, by means of a large buckle on top of each shoe, were two straps that crisscrossed under the sole. A series of small pointed studs that protruded only 2 mm below the straps were fastened to the straps. In addition, there was a stick with a large spike in the tip that Emilia could use as an ice-worthy walking stick.

Emilia was unsure what the purpose of these deadly-looking additions to her shoes was, but her father said that things would be better. With the help of her mother, she unbuckled the straps in the house and put them back on her shoes at the bottom of the stairs. She was able to buckle the straps and, with the aid of the short stick, take cautious steps in the direction of yesterday’s tragedy site. Much to her amazement and delight, her shoes gripped the ice as if she was on regular ground. The stick was an added help. She felt assured hat she would not be late again today. She smiled and turned to wave at her mother, who was in the window watching over her little girl.

Emilia’s fear of ice and snow is diminished. That’s very good, Wladyslawa thought. She returned to getting herself ready for work.

Wladyslawa was a slender woman with black hair and sad, penetrating, brown eyes that could give immediate comfort or freeze you in your steps, depending on her intent. Her eyes were balanced by a peaceful smile. She frequently used a hug and a kiss on the cheek to show her support and love. She was a friendly person. People gravitated to her when in search of advice. She was a very proud woman, both in mannerisms and dress. This pride should not be confused with arrogance, but was a strong feeling of what is right and wrong, and what is good and bad.

Wladyslawa, or Wladzia, (pronounced Vladja) as her friends called her, worked several hours each week in the Charity Kitchen of the Red Cross. She helped prepare meals for people in need. The recipients were primarily widows and orphans, and occasionally travelers who were hungry. She was trained as a practical nurse, and gave comfort to those who were ill.

When not at the Kitchen, she worked as a pharmacist’s helper, and would blend the drugs ordered by the pharmacist. She made a special formula for the infant orphans, which was rich in minerals, protein, and fat.

When time permitted, she attended the little shop she started in her front room. Jars of preserved vegetables and fruit, hand-sewn doilies, table runners that she made, and small leather items her husband produced were displayed around the room. Though nothing they did made them financially rich, they were wealthy by any other measure.

This was the Miller’s life. It was not easy, but it was a good and rewarding one.

CHAPTER 2

4th APRIL 1939

The Extended Family

The Holy Trinity Church in Kobylka, like most churches built in the 17th & 18th centuries, was a masonry building much larger than the other buildings found in quiet country towns. By comparison, if someone was living in what was considered a new building, it had to be less than 175 years old. This church was over 250 years old, and was surrounded by a white picket fence that gave way to a larger and higher brick wall. This, in turn, continued around the block and enclosed a well-used cemetery. The cemetery, like so many others, had a soft green clover ground cover. The green was accented by a mix of perennials and the fragrance of the seasonal grasses and flowers that grew amid the aging stone monuments. The markers were arranged in crowded rows. There were no decorations; only worn-away names carved in granite.

Horse hitching rings adorned the wall at a respectable distance from the church entrance. After all of these years of existence, Holy Trinity was only half as old as the oldest resident awaiting resurrection in the cemetery. The cemetery was once a wooded field, which was eventually incorporated into the church’s property. Today, horses and simple carriages found shade under oak and walnut tree branches that defied the walls that enclosed their massive ancient trunks.

Inside the modest church, there were several wooden benches near the altar, for the old and infirm. All other parishioners stood, or, when the silver bell rang, knelt on the stone floor of the open room. At the very front of the church, facing the people, the altar was immaculate in its cleanliness and simple beauty.

Although Kobylka was not a rich town, like the country’s capital, Warszawa, a mere 20 kilometers west, parishioners were proud of their church. Holy Trinity had a tranquil feel to it. The moment one placed their feet on the solid steps and blessed themselves with the holy water from a stone dish at the door, a sense of relaxation and peace greeted one and all. Kobylka families, both rich and poor, over many generations, contributed money to purchase a gold leaf tabernacle and other sacramental items. These modest but thoughtful pieces of art sat proudly on the altar of this church. After all, these items symbolized God’s home; so how could be it any less? Yet it did not need more.

The church building had large hand-hewn square beams and strong thick walls painted in traditional white. The area in front of the twelve small stained glass windows contained statues of saints looking down on the parishioners. At the foot of the statues, on layered shelves, were little red glass cups that held candles. When lit, the parishioners believed that the candles would help a troubled soul. The candles helped celebrate a thankful heart’s joy, or a heavy heart’s sorrow. On any given day, the flickering flames sent many messages to heaven.

The solid walls were needed to support two very tall steeples, crowned with the classic Roman Catholic Cross. The steeples housed the prized bells, the sound of which were known by every man, woman, or child in town. With the first note that rang from these perfectly pitched bells, the sound was easily heard for kilometers. The bells beckoned the community to come together for prayer, reflection, or community events.

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On this day, which followed a light spring shower in the morning, the bells called the people to Mass. The sounds of crickets and soft conversation of parishioners were in harmony with the cool calm air as they approached the church. Those who entered through the heavy doors found peace and security, things in their lives were good, and the people were thankful.

This typical Sunday in a typical spring found everyone standing in spaces dictated to them by the needs of their families, and the remaining vacant areas available when they entered the sanctuary. The Millers would stand for an hour without hesitation, because it was not too much to do in order to worship and to thank God for his many blessings.

As mass drew to a close, the uninterested and fatigued Leszek pulled on his father’s arm, which had him hanging a small distance above the floor, the way four-year-olds do. Finding freedom from his fathers grasp, he melted to the floor amidst the handbags, legs, and shoes of family and neighbors. His temporary freedom allowed close examination of the craftsmanship of the tightly fitted and polished stone floor. Finding an interesting pattern on one of the slabs, he traced it with his finger. This action absorbed his attention, but he soon found himself again under the control his father’s firm grip. Despite his passive protest, he was pulled back onto his feet by the gentle but firm hand of his Tata.

Suddenly, without warning or obvious thought to, Leszek blurted, through his tortured nose and twisted lips, his unpleasant discovery. Aaaugh Tata! Mr. Lubecki farted!

Leszek continued to hold his mouth and nose with one hand, while at the same time he tried to swing to the other side of his father without losing his balance. His futile attempt to escape the invisible assault was less than successful. There were a couple of sympathetic smirks and giggles from the other children around him, but overall he didn’t raise more than a glance of acknowledgement from the other attendees. He didn’t even break Father Boleslaw’s rhythm, as the priest said the final portion of the Mass.

Mr. Lubecki, the richest man in town, didn’t care much about what people said, nor smelled for that matter, about him. He wore the finest suits, yet somehow always looked like he’d slept in them. His excessive girth did not fit with the general body types of the hard-working members of the parish. What gave him comfort was all that mattered to him. As such, Lubecki had a habit of avoiding his suffering from gastrointestinal pressure any time it suited him—something all too well known by the children and the shorter members of the community. Leszek’s outburst was not a surprise. Lubecki never let go of a Grosza (Polish penny), but never held a random intestinal bubble if he could help it.

From the front of the altar, the young priest signaled the closing of Mass by raising his arms as if to embrace the whole congregation. The mass has ended, go in Peace.

Thanks be to God! came the response from the tightly packed community.

In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, Amen. The priest left the altar with the altar boys. He walked to the front of the church and positioned himself at the bottom of the steps, where he bid goodbye to the members of the parish.

Wiktor and Wladyslawa made the sign of the cross with their heads bowed and eyes closed, in perfect synchronism with each other, a gentle yet somber gesture that came from years of repetition, performed with deep reverence.

Emilia worked on pinpoint accuracy as she touched her forehead, then her heart, left shoulder, right shoulder, and finally her lips with her right hand, which held a Rosary. This was also perfectly synchronized with saying the names of the trinity in her most reverent words and thoughts. Her precise technique, developed last year for her first Holy Communion, had not lost its style.

Leszek, standing between Emilia and his father, moved in large grandiose motions to generally the same four points as he confidently spoke out in a slightly louder than reverent voice …and the HOLY GHOST, AMEN! The Amen was punctuated very proudly. This was rewarded with an elbow against his upper arm from Emilia.

Alicia, at the far right of the family, made the sign of the cross quickly and fairly accurately. She raised her head so she could scan the bowed heads of the other parishioners, looking for the golden blonde head of Marek, the young cavalry officer. Marek had been near the front, but was not visible. Unfortunately for Alicia, Mr. Lubecki’s bulk, in front of her, obscured a great portion of the Church.

Instead of finding her target, Alicia’s eyes locked on the equally scanning gaze of Eva, her classmate and social foil. Eva, the shameless tart, Ala thought.

Eva was obviously surprised to find Alicia in the same dilemma of scanning but not finding Marek. From the momentary surprise of encountering Alicia’s eyes, it was clear that Eva had also come up empty. In a split second, Eva quickly assessed the distant quadrant to her right, where Marek had been standing. She surveyed the aisle that was emptying out the side door of the church. She was unimpeded by Mr. Lubecki’s frame, and therefore had better luck finding her prey than Alicia—this time.

Eva’s heart leapt as she made out the cap of a cavalryman being placed on the golden locks of a handsome head walking out the side door. Success was at hand for Eva, as she managed to lead her family towards the side door against the slowly moving wave of humanity gliding to the front door. Her maneuvering placed Eva and her family squarely between Marek and Alicia’s family. Success in this maneuver allowed Eva to act surprised and charming when she accidentally bumped into Marek outside the doors.

The thought that Eva has no shame passed through Alicia’s saddened heart. The thought collided with the frustration of not thinking of that maneuver herself. Disappointed, Alicia followed her family out the front doors.

Fr. Boleslaw said goodbye to his parishioners at the bottom of the stairs. He had recently finished seminary, and this was his first assignment as a parish priest. He could not have been more excited and proud of the wonderful church and parish.

Leszek, he called, to attract the young boy’s attention, God certainly knows that you were at church today! He patted him on the head. Leszek beamed, unlike his parents, who said goodbye to the priest with slightly strained smiles and a different interpretation of his comments.

At the bottom of the steps, the family waited for the arrival of Babcia Julia, who had been sitting on a bench at the front of the church and was one of the last to leave. When they were gathered, Wiktor, Wladyslawa, Alicia, Emilia, Leszek, and Babcia Julia departed for their home, a slow walk of about ten minutes.

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Kobylka is a small community, not far northeast of Warszawa, a rural area with modest homes on one to five acre parcels of land. That was enough for one large home or, more the custom, a duplex where one or more families lived in close proximity in order to maximize the land use for growing food and livestock. The land was tended with great care, since the food grown was needed to carry them through the winter. Any money saved on food was spent on things that could not be made at home.

There was only one very large house in town. It looked out of place. This was not surprising, if you knew that the owner was Mr. Lubecki. Unlike the other parcels, where land for the garden was the priority, wealthy Mr. Lubecki’s home took up more space than his small gardens. Mr. Lubecki had purchased the property and the adjacent parcels of farm land many years ago, at a relatively low price. The large parcel was rented to several farmers. The land was fertile and rich, which made Lubecki rich, too.

Wiktor’s mother Emma, though married both times to Poles, was German by birth. Over the years, it was clear to the family that she did not fit into Polish life and, for the most part, did not want to. Wiktor’s family and his mother-in-law lived on one side of the duplex, and Emma lived alone on the other. On many occasions, Wiktor experienced the feeling of being between a rock and a hard place.

Wiktor and a sister were surviving siblings from Emma’s first marriage. They had lost a brother during the Great War. Wiktor also had a step-brother, Roman, and step-sister, Emilia, who he named his youngest daughter after, from Emma’s second marriage. Roman was an Army engineer, and Emilia was with her new husband, west of Warszawa.

The duplex was set close to the front of the parcel, with a white picket fence in front and split-rail fencing along the sides and back. They grew apple, pear, plum, and cherry trees, as well as currants, goose berries, blackberries, and blueberries. There was a large, deep pond in the back, where Wiktor had planted crayfish and sunfish. The pond kept the children entertained in the winter by being their ice skating rink. In the summer, the children played in the water and used a large metal tub as a boat. Emilia loved to make the tub spin all by herself. Once moving at a fair rate of speed, she would lie on the bottom of the tub and watch the branches of trees or the clouds whirl above her.

For special meals, the kids were asked to use their fishing skills, and were sent out to collect a dozen or more crayfish. The first time they were sent out for fishing adventure, Wiktor laughed while watching his children try to figure a way to reach into the pond, and then into recesses of the pond’s walls to capture the snappy little food morsels without being pinched themselves. Though small, the claws of the crayfish, if given the opportunity, could provide a nasty pinch to a finger placed in range of the quick but ugly crustacean.

Emilia knew this from personal experience, after an unforgettable tub-boat capsizing that brought her running into the house screaming, with her arm and finger decorated by the mini-monsters. All the kids quickly figured out ways to substitute a stick for a finger and solved their needs. The giggles and excitement of a successful hunt added to the flavor of the pending meal.

Emma owned the property on which the duplex was built. She promised Wiktor that if he built the duplex, he would inherit ownership of the property and the home when she died. She was quick to remind Wiktor about his situation when he displeased her. It may be your house, but it is on my land, was her threat. She would often use it to end arguments. There was friction between the principle occupants of this modest plot of land.

The coldness of the relationship did not go unnoticed by the children, who always found ways to avoid Babcia Emma when she was outside. The kids cringed when they heard, You’re too loud! Or, Don’t stand there! You’re too close! Or, You’re in the way! When she wanted something from them, she would call their names and scold them when they were slow in coming. Yes, it was better to keep their distance from Babcia Emma, because her pinch on an arm or neck was worse than that of a crayfish, and just as sudden.

On the other hand, Emma easily found time and kind words for the two children from her second marriage. This special treatment irritated Wiktor, though he would not say anything harsh about his mother. This was especially evident when Roman and Emilia came to visit. The preparations were always extensive, and never perfect enough. According to Babcia Emma, The poorly-behaved kids are going to ruin the celebrations! That gave Emma a rallying point whenever something was in need of blame. For young Emilia, this was especially hard, since she was named after her Ciotka (aunt) Emilia, who seemed to be so loved by Babcia, yet Babcia was so mean to her. Ciotka Emilia knew her mother well. Yet, unlike her, Ciotka Emilia had a warm heart and was always nice to her namesake. Ciotka Emilia would try to comfort little Emilia whenever she was visiting, bringing her special gifts. On very special occasions, the two of them would go to the theater in Warszawa. Those outings made little Emilia feel grown up, and made a wonderful bond between the two Emilia’s.

Emma’s distain, or at best tolerance, for Wiktor and his family was rooted in Wiktor’s father’s sudden death, just before the Great War. This was promptly followed by seeing her oldest son, Henryk, killed by the Germans in 1917 as retribution for the partisans killing of one of the German officers. Henryk was not involved, but had the misfortunate to be in the wrong place when the Germans needed to make an example of someone. They used twenty-five examples. Henryk was shot to death, still in disbelief that this was happening to him. Henryk’s disbelief, and then terror, was repeated by thousands of other souls, a split second before a 9 mm bullet to the back of the head ended their blameless existences.

All deaths were intended to serve as examples of German punishment for defiance, and to improve community behavior. The irony of Henryk’s death was that though he was an innocent Pole and a victim, as so many millions soon would be again, Emma felt his death was a problem of him being Polish rather that being caused by a German’s repressive behavior.

Olga, Emma’s middle child, escaped to America in 1914. She left behind the misery caused by no heat, little food, and little hope that was the fate of many innocent souls during that time in history. Olga did not wish to be one of them. Emma never forgave Olga for leaving and not staying to take care of her. It would have taken a strong woman to have stayed, but it took a stronger one to leave, since there was no promise of safety in America.

Prior to 1900, Karol Miller, Wiktor’s father, was a successful leather garment manufacturer in Lodz. Karol managed the workers that were part of his legacy as well as his pride, and considered himself responsible for their welfare. He often worked side by side with them on double shifts. Afterwards, he would retire to a room at the factory, just long enough stave off fatigue and consume a modest meal. The room was always full of factory leather production fumes, as well as being cold and damp in the winter, and hot and humid in the summer. This self-destructive work habit made the family fairly wealthy and socially well placed. However, a time came when Karol had to continue his work level just to maintain that status, a status that Emma hungered for.

The strain of an unhealthy work environment and a chronically poor living situation took a toll on Karol’s pulmonary system, which was also challenged by a one or two pack a day cigarette habit, which saw him dying in 1901, at thirty-six. Karol succumbed to a fatal heart attack while playing his accordion for some friends. A long chord ended a short life.

His death overwhelmed Emma, who was left with three children and only modest savings. Modest, because she felt that the money that Karol had been generating would continue, and she wanted to buy what was needed for their home to fit the social style she longed for. She was either unaware or was not accepting of the strain on Karol’s health. At the end, his illness drained what savings they had, Emma was in debt, and angry over her life’s situation. Emma never saw herself as a worker, so she had to find ways to generate income with the skills that she had, which were limited. She had friends in businesses related to the leather industry, who were sympathetic to her plight. Her solution was to put her children to work.

Wiktor worked with his older brother Henryk, who at the time of his father’s death was fourteen. He made money clearing trees in preparation for planting. He cut the trees into logs for fireplace wood. Wiktor, at the young age of four, was given a small hatchet, and broke up sticks for kindling to help his brother and bring in money for his mother. As he grew older, he, too, chopped trees. People in the towns knew him as the little boy with a hatchet. It was even joked that if he did not stop soon, The forests of Poland would have the same fate as the forests of Egypt.

In 1908, Emma married a German. Halmut Ashiemer was a very successful carpet maker, with a company in Lodz. Her new life was a substantial improvement in both financial security and comfort. She was able to enjoy her life. Unfortunately, it did not include the children from her first marriage. Halmut preferred children be seen and not heard. The offspring sired by Halmut included a son, Roman, in 1910, and a daughter, Emilia, in 1912.

By the time he was ten, Wiktor was physically strong but poorly educated. His education in reading and writing came from his sister, Olga. She took pity on her little brother and taught him to read. When given a book, he would absorb it, cover to cover, and trade it for another. His passion for hard work and learning was noticed by one of the managers at the factory his father ran. They brought him into the business to teach him his father’s trade. Wiktor learned about the business, and worked in leather product fabrication. He showed an aptitude, with his strong hands and fingers, that allowing him to work well with needle and thread, and with leather. He had an eye for design and shoe construction. The company produced leather coats, caps, and briefcases, with boot production at a high level to support the needs of the Army.

When the Great War broke out in 1914, Poland was part of three empires, Prussia, Russia, and Austria. The Treaty of Tilsit, of 1807, partitioned Poland between the allies of Napoleon, leaving a once large, historic, and sovereign nation reduced to a small area in the heart of that once extensive country, now called the Duchy of Warszawa. It was allowed to keep its language and pride, but very little else.

The German Army conscripted Polish boys and older men, replacing the working men who went into the German Army. Wiktor was sent to France at the fifteen, to dig trenches and build underground structures for the German army along the Verdun Line. His youth, strength, and tenacity kept him alive much longer than nearly all the other conscripts were able to survive. He learned how to maintain train cars and engines; in addition to the hard labor he performed digging. Death from war, disease, hunger, or just plain bad luck was always present. Being cold and wet for weeks and months at a time took the lives of nearly as many people as bullets. The work made a boy into a man over the course of a year of de facto slave labor.

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In these trenches, a chance encounter with a German officer who had damaged his dress boots gave Wiktor a chance to get out of the trenches to repair one of the greatest assets that a soldier had in this war—his boots. The war drained skilled labor from German factories and essential services, and the shortage had to be filled. Orders came to the commanders of infantry battalions to identify any soldier or conscript who had skills in leather work or boot making, mechanics, machinists, or carpentry, so they could be sent back to Germany for reassignment. Wiktor and only a few others made the trip.

Wiktor learned to speak German fluently, and French to a lesser extent. He also knew Russian, because of the similarity to his native Polish. When asked what the Russian language was like, he would respond, with a matter-of-fact smirk, If you have ever heard a baby speaking Polish, then you have heard Russian. He would keep a straight face, but the twinkle in his eye gave him away.

Once the irreverence of his comments was appreciated by the questioner, a big smile and laugh would follow. Most of the time, people thought he was joking, but that was what he really thought. He laughed even harder to himself.

In addition to laughter in hard times, he would sing to himself, or whistle to distract his thoughts from the unpleasantness of his existence. This would usually be in a low tone or hum, so as not to attract a jab with a stick, and the subsequent bruise, from his overseers, when they were close. To keep any melody to himself, he would light a cigarette, if he had one.

Cooking with onions, when available, helped hide the taste of the lousy food in his cooking pot. Wiktor found onions useful while eating food with little taste or nutrition. Learning to drink thick coffee, and to smoke, produced a chronic cough that never went away, another result of the German internment.

A year after arriving on the front lines, Wiktor was sent to a factory in Germany. He continued serving the German war machine by making boots and repairing equipment in the factory. He mastered his craft as a shoemaker, or cobbler, by making boots for the soldiers. The hard work that had toughened his body and his mind over the past ten years helped him survive the vile existence. His skill quickly had him placed with master craftsmen, where the more complicated and most important hand-crafting was done. Wiktor progressed to making knee-high cavalry boots, the favorites of the officers. More important, he was dry, and fed well enough to stay alive.

In 1918, the war with Russia started and he was again pressed into service as a train mechanic, but this time he was ordered to work by Poland. He returned to being a cobbler in 1919 though now skilled in locomotive maintenance and repair.

By 1920, Wiktor had become a master craftsman and designer of leather shoes and boots. His department created stylish women’s shoes that became popular throughout France. He traveled to France to learn the latest tastes in women’s apparel. Soon he was promoted to the position of department head. This gave him the job security and income to start a family and build a home. In 1921, he wed Wladyslawa Iwanczyk, and had his first daughter Alicia, in 1925. Alicia was a healthy baby, with strong lungs and her mother’s dark hair. Alicia gave the young couple great joy.

Babcia Emma’s perceived a total loss of control of her life when Wiktor, a Lutheran, fell in love with Wladyslawa, a Catholic. He converted to the Catholic faith to be married. Emma had lost her two oldest children to the chances of War, and now in