Those Miraculous Sunflower Seeds: A Riveting Story of Faith, Hope and Love

By Colleen Hartley and Katja Kowalec

The stories told and untold about the Second World War must be infinite and will only ebb (not end) when the last old soldier leaves this world for the next.

Katjas story remained dormant for many years after the seed to write about her wartime experiences was planted unwittingly by her father.

Mr. Mrzyglod was an extraordinary raconteur, and during our teatime breaks at her first dress factory in Mooimark House, he would entertain us with stories about his family in Poland particularly when he was a boy. Tales that were humorous and appealing. Accounts regarding the war were only touched on briefly, but there was no doubt about their sorrowful misery.

I listened, enthralled, while Katja nodded thoughtfully. We must write about all this we promised one another. That was forty-eight years ago!

It proves that it is never too late to realize a dream.

And so this is Katjas story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Partridge Publishing Africa
• Release date: May 20, 2016
• ISBN: 9781482825954

Colleen Hartley

Born Of Polish-German parentage in Swientochlowice, near Hajduki in the Upper Silesian province of Poland, at the stroke of midnight on 30-31st July 1924, she celebrates her birthday on 31st July. This interesting circumstance in which she greeted the world could have been a sign that Katja Kowalec was destined for an unusual life. Having spent a happy childhood during her early pre-war years, commuting between the two countries visiting with relatives, we learn in her biography of a very determined young child; A girl who developed into a creative and discerning woman with good business acumen, a sense of humour and an adventurous spirit. Katja, who learned to overcome fear through her faith in God, is prepared for the challenge to ‘try anything once!’ The tragic loss of her only child Veronica, through a freak accident in 2003 whilst attending a baby’s party at a friend’s house one afternoon, where she suffered a fatal fall– was one of the worst setbacks that Katja felt she could have ever endured. Her life-long friendship with the late Ala and Lolly Sussens meant that Katja often spent time with the Sussens family on their game farm in Hoedspruit (Mpumalanga) where she enjoyed with them, the wildlife and this picturesque slice of African bushveld. In 2011, Ala Sussens, her closest friend and a Polish biographer in her own right, was killed tragically with her son Ian in a head-on collision en route to visit with her in Nelspruit. Ala was on her way to an event to promote a Polish translation of her book This was another intense blow for Katja, who was known to refer to Ala as her ‘little sister’. Through her absolute faith, Katja rose above these and other adverse happenings during the latter part of her life. Being a much loved member of her community, she is mentor to many, volunteering much needed support and encouragement. She enjoys entertaining her friends in her home. Katja keeps herself busy with her Divine Mercy ministry, teaches Polish to friends and attends many ‘oldies’ events. She potters around graciously in the little garden of her cottage living independently on the property of her granddaughter Katja, Bruno her grandson-in-law and their two daughters, Jessica and Emma– her only family members in South Africa. Not to be outdone by technological advancement, Katja enjoys the occasional ‘Skype-chat’ with her German and Polish family overseas on her android tablet, referring to it as ‘my companion.’ Often seen around town driving her little yellow ‘Atos’ as she goes about her business, Katja maintains her independence and good health. All who know her feel blessed by her presence. Truly a pint-sized lady with a giant-sized heart, is this much-loved and admired Woman of God, by all cultures and nationalities in her home town and beyond. It was originally not her intention to write a book for publishing as she said: “I just felt the need to record my life’s experiences in book form for posterity to give to the future generations of my family, that they will know of my background and how life was during the Second World War. I carry a particular message in my story, especially for the young people – to strive for peace and love towards one another in this world.” Those who read the draft manuscript of her story were in awe of the content and encouraged her to publish a book for a wider readership. Katja released a limited edition at the age of 90 years, which became sold out in 2014. Due to popular demand, “Those Miraculous Sunflower Seeds” was re-published a year later.

Book preview

Copyright © 2016 by Katja Kowalec.

ISBN:      Hardcover      978-1-4828-2597-8

      Softcover      978-1-4828-2596-1

      eBook         978-1-4828-2595-4

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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.

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Contents

Acknowledgements

PART ONE Poland

Chapter 1 The First Meeting

Chapter 2 Before The War–June 1939 Klara’s Birthday

Chapter 3 The Last Holiday before the War

Chapter 4 Mein Gott! What Have They Done?

Chapter 5 Babe In The Wood

Chapter 6 Cyprian’s Ordeal

Chapter 7 Of School And Teachers

Chapter 8 The Disappearance Of Maciek

Chapter 9 Call-Up Time

Chapter 10 Lorijan’s - 1943

Chapter 11 The Russians Are Coming

Chapter 12 Fearsome Flight

Chapter 13 The Road To The West

Chapter 14 The Russians Arrive

Chapter 15 The War Is Over?–Not For Long

Chapter 16 The Sunflower Seeds

Chapter 17 Grossenau

Chapter 18 Grossenau Revisited

Chapter 19 Rape

Chapter 20 An Unexpected Proposal

Chapter 21 Lost and Found

Chapter 22 Papusz–at Last

PART TWO South Africa

Chapter 1 Intermezzo

Chapter 2 Divisions Of A Different Kind

Chapter 3 The End of the Beginning

Chapter 4 A Vision Prophetic

Chapter 5 Salt Of The Earth People

Chapter 6 The First South African Christmas

Chapter 7 Eva

Chapter 8 Veronica – A New Beginning

Chapter 9 Things That Go Bump In The Night

Chapter 10 The First Sweet Taste Of Success

Chapter 11 Flight Back To The Free State

Chapter 12 No Place To Hide

Chapter 13 Fate Moves In Mysterious Ways

Chapter 14 The Ones She Left Behind

Chapter 15 Marysia’s Story

Chapter 16 Time to be Reunited

Chapter 17 A Sad Homecoming

Chapter 18 A Friend From The Past

Chapter 19 CJ And Klara Arrive

Chapter 20 The Wind Of Change

Chapter 21 Time To Go Solo

Chapter 22 Marijon

Chapter 23 Not The Best Of Times…

Chapter 24 Winners And Losers

Chapter 25 Life Goes On

Chapter 26 Ron’s Story

Chapter 27 The Sacchi Saga

Chapter 28 Another Beginning

Chapter 29 Settling In – To Each His Own

Chapter 30 To Every Man Upon This Earth…

Chapter 31 Return To Sanity

Chapter 32 The Angel Who Walked Among Us

About the Author

List of Illustrations

Veronica Kowalec (Ronnie)

My 1st birthday

Grandmother with my mother on her lap

18 months old

6 years old

Standing from left: My Father, Mother and Grandfather Theodor Seated In front: Gran Katarzyna, myself, Gran Anna and Cousin Sonja

Mamusz and I 1938

In front: Mamusz seated with me on her lap and Aunt Hanni, Papusz, Aunt Elli and Uncle Eugen

Centre circled: Aged 8 at my first sewing experience where I translated for my mother (circled at right) during a Singer sewing course

With my cousins Dagmar and Klaus

On a visit to Beuthen with my mother, Aunt Ellie and Cousin Sonja

National Festival for Independence Day 3rd May 1933 celebrating at school aged 9

Crystin, myself and Maryla

lrka (right) and I walking ‘per klinke’

Bern

My bestfriend Elusia

In the Beskida Mountains dressed in my Polish folk costume

Grandfather Valek Mrzyglod

Grandfather Theodore Richter

Grandmother Katarzyna Mrzyglod

‘Doroszka’ ride with the family into the mountains at Wisla

My parents at a Fair in Cherna near Krakow on that fateful day when their future was predicted

On Rugen lsland whilst visiting Grandfather Theodore

Cleaning the cowsheds on the farm during my ‘Pflicht-jahr’ 1940

Father reluctantly had to change his Polish hat for a German one while working with the railways during the German occupation

The first year under German Occupation 1940

A family portrait that Uncle Lukas painted with Aunt Paula his wife in the foreground

A self-portrait of Lucas Mrzyglod the artist restoring damaged art work from the war

Lucas’ son Jolle

The apartment building near the station where we lived in Hajduki which was bombed during the war and restored afterward but is no longer in existence

Fresco of Christ crucified painted by Uncle Lukas on a wall in my paternal grandparents house in Patczyna near Opole

The two Katarzynas

Heilige Kreuz Church in Nyasa restored after the war

The Russian soldier offering me sunflower seeds and who saved me from capture to Siberia

Famous Polish icon ‘Black Madonna of Czestochowa’

The ship Drottingholm that brought our group of ‘war brides’ from Southampton to Cape Town in 1945

Marysia my ship companion from Poland

I experienced my first ‘vision’ on my arrival in South Africa in this gracious Victorian Hotel – The Kimberley Hotel in Cape Town

Jannie and his son Danie of the Serfontein family in the Orange Free State who were my first South African friends and became my friends for life. Insert: Anna Serfontein at age 22

Anna Serfontein at age 90

Eva my Czechoslovakian ‘sister’ newly married to Ronald of Cape Town

Exploring the Serfontein Farm—my first home in South Africa

Must I go to school Mama? Veronica age 6

Veronica at 1 year

Roni’s first school holiday at the sea – Margate, Natal

Roni with Samson her Great Dane

And her a young lady

Our trip from Bern to Rome

With my parents on our first trip from South Africa to Poland

I love you Mamusz

Now we are a complete family again — with Marijon Kowalec and my parents

With Gerry on the way from my first job interview in Johannesburg

During teatime with colleagues at my first job with ‘Monopoly Dresses’—Johannesburg 1948

With Zosia Jaworska in Polish folk costume

Making uniforms for Tshukudu Game Lodge, Hoedspruit

Colleen and I on our Durban trip

My parents arrived safely in South Africa from Poland—relaxing at our home in Senderwood, Johannesburg

My parents’ first visit to Kruger National Park

On holiday at the Natal coast with Ala and Lolly Sussens of Tshukudu

On holiday break from work at Victoria Falls in 1948 where Ala and Lolly became lifetime friends of mine

With Mieke and Fr. Christopher

At Tshukudu with Samantha the tame cheetah

Making friends with a Elijah the lion cub

Reunion with Eva at JFK Airport and another visit to the USA where she shows me her new country

My cousin Kazik on a visit to South Africa from Poland

My lovely country cottage on ‘Friedenheim’ farm near Nelspruit

Opening a new haute couture department

My parents with British friend Ron who resembled ‘Pilsudski’ a Polish Leader

Cleaning up after a flood in my factory

My beautiful home In Senderwood

Receiving a design award in 1958 at S.A. Wool Board Fashion Show

Relaxing at Colleen’s home

Colleen Models At ‘Casa De Eleganzia’ My Boutique In The Carlton Centre

With Colleen And Ala In Later Years

Colleen in my 1960’s creations

Introducing the next generations from 1970’s onwards: Roni, Harry and baby Katja-Roni and Katja the toddler, In the new millennium: Our family of three generations and welcoming my first great-grandchild Jessica-

Driving in her ‘90’s’: What would I do without a car?

-and second great-grandchild Emma

To God be the Glory for my daily blessings

Being introduced in the local tabloid after retiring to farm near Nelspruit

Glamorous Gran/Great-gran of 90 years-celebrating with Jessica, Emma, Katja and Bruno

In partnership with my dearest friends Patrysia and Sharenka spreading the good news of the Divine Mercy of Jesus

Jesus I Trust In You Jezu, Ufam Tobie

Sunflowerbackinsidecover

Patczyna in winter – by Lucas Mrzyglod 1925

The place where divided loyalties gave birth to love

Against all odds, it was my precious only daughter who gave me a constant sense of purpose in life.

I therefore dedicate this book to the memory of my beloved

Veronica (Ronnie) Kowalec

01/05/1946–07/02/2003

THOSE MIRACULOUS SUNFLOWER SEEDS

A riveting story of Faith, Hope and Love

Poland invaded – September 1st 1939

Tension is being felt all over Poland as Europe is on the brink of another Great War. Austria has already been devoured by the ideology of the leader of the emerging Third Reich and Poland stands in his way and he prepares to conquer Eastern Europe and Russia…. The Silesian province of Poland and Germany where Katja was born of Polish and German parentage emerges as a breeding ground of German-Polish conflict after the First World War. Initially bewildered and embittered, Katja’s account of her personal experiences during the confusion does not fail to include some humour in spite of being surrounded by the ongoing tragedy. Uncertainty amidst the prejudice between the two cultures give rise to further confusion as WW2 continues and communities are displaced….

The end of World War 2 - or is it?

The Russian troops move into Poland from the East and Germans, Poles, Czechs and Ukrainians are among those brutally ‘liberated’–only to find themselves falling victim to Stalin’s counterplan.

But miracles can and do happen…

A detailed account follows describing actual circumstances and events during the displacement of several populations and their return to their villages and homes after the so-called liberation in Eastern Europe.

Allied troops return home with their European war-brides, and the story continues into South Africa where this young Polish bride sees a future of love and opportunity in a land of diverse cultures foreign to her.

And then there are the unkept promises…

From Cape Town to the spreading plains of the Orange Free State and from Johannesburg to the lush tropical Eastern Transvaal, this is an endearing account of a young Polish woman’s struggle and her timely success in her adopted country.

Katja’s faith and tenacity is an inspiration to many as she encounters a certain Deja-vu associated with her early years in Poland, and the inner peace she receives as she approaches the threshold of her twilight years.

Sharon Cronjé – Publicist

UPPER SILESIA – HISTORY AND GEOGRAPHICAL POSITION

Current Status: Split between the Provinces of Opole and Silesia in Poland. Population (1921}: 2, 073,663

Capital (1921}: Opole

Historical Dates:

1815 to 1919: Part of the Province of Silesia in the Kingdom of Prussia and the German Empire.

Image3375.PNG

1919: Silesia divided into Upper and Lower Silesia after the treaty of Versailles at the end of World War I. A Plebiscite is ordered to be held in Upper Silesia in 1921 by the Interallied Commission, to allow the residents to determine if they wished to join Germany or Poland.

1921: The plebiscite is held, policed by French, British and Italian troops on March 2Ist. The results were 60% in favour of Germans, mostly in the west and 40% in favour of Poland, mostly in the east. The territory is eventually divided between Germany and Poland in the approximate area ethnic vision.

Image3382.PNG

Acknowledgements

My thanks go to my late parents who lived through two world wars and other hardships. They encouraged me to highlight the complications caused by mixed marriages and how love and respect for individual cultures not only personally, but as nations that could rise above the need for war.

To Colleen whose dogged determination made the dormant promise of the book grow to be a reality. For twenty long years, including visits across the ocean, we spent our time together intermittently compiling information.

To Gilbert and Jolle my cousins–sons of Uncle Lukas my father’s brother–who assisted not only with copies of Uncle Lucas’ paintings, but information about the family.

To Father Christopher Neville, my Franciscan friend for his constant nagging to give it a go.

To the late Ala Sussens, an author in her own right–Until we meet again my little sister–

To Sharon Cronje my soul-mate and enthusiastic publicist and my dearest friends, Pat Schorn and Mieke Cochrane–for all your support and the time you spent in making the production of this book possible.

And finally to my namesake Katja, Bruno, Jessica and Emma my dear little family and all those friends who believed in us and were an endless source of encouragement.

Katja Kowalec

PART ONE

Poland

1

The First Meeting

Spring seemed to have lost its way in 1939 as the winter snows clung tenaciously to the Silesian Landscape, creating a Christmas-like atmosphere as Easter approached in early April.

In the mining town of Hajduki in Upper Silesia, there was excitement in the air as people anticipated the Easter Holidays–this, in spite of the gloomy tension that had prevailed in the country since the news of the annexation of Austria by Germany in March 1938. Anxiety had intensified as the greedy monster of the third Reich, his appetite whet by this tasty hors d’oeuvre of Austria, had sniffed the air scenting out a possible second and even third course. Poland and Czechoslovakia, up wind, provided irresistible temptations. By March 1939 Hitler had taken over all of Czechoslovakia. The Polish people felt uneasy and insecure. But none of this tension could dampen the high spirits of fifteen year old Katja as she hurried down Konipnicka Street towards the tram stop that Good Friday. She still wore her school uniform as her arrival from school had been only a few minutes before their departure for Beuthen. It had all been such a rush.

Is my suitcase ready Aunt Emma? she asked between mouthfuls of the sandwiches that Emma had prepared.

Of course, now just slow down child, you will give yourself indigestion. But she was eager to be off.

Hurrying towards the tram stop, her blonde, waist length braids swaying behind her, she turned back every now and then to encourage her companion. Emma, elderly and rotund, puffed and wheezed as she tried to keep up with her young charge.

Not so fast Katja! she implored.

The tram is already there Aunt Emma. If we don’t hurry it’ll be full, and we’ll have to stand. She did not worry for herself, but she knew her old Aunt would suffer standing all the way to the border. She retreated to the old woman’s side and, supporting her elbow, tried to help her along, but Emma would not be rushed. It was at times like this that she wished she was a few years younger and a few pounds lighter. She was getting too old to be rushing about with a spring chicken like Katjuszka.

Emma and her grandmother Anna were old friends, their friendship dating back to their school days, a period of nearly five decades. Emma had seen Anna’s daughter, Klara, marry Cyprian, a young Pole from across the border. A mixed marriage–Klara was German, Cyprian Polish! A wise marriage? When their little daughter Katja had been born, she had felt that she too had received the gift of a grandchild. Emma, of German extraction, had been married to a Pole herself. After his death she has suffered at the hands of the authorities because of her nationality. Oh yes, she knew of the sorrows and heartache a mixed marriage could bring. Life had been hard and lonely after the death of her husband, but she had never re-married. Her joy therefore, at being included in Klara’s life and especially at being asked to assist in times of need filled her with warmth.

This was one of those times–Klara had taken ill and had had to be hospitalised. She remembered Cyprian’s plea,

I can’t trust her with anyone else Emma. a worried father had told her, I would take her to Beuthen myself, but it is so important to get Klara to the sanatorium at Wisla as soon as possible. The doctors say the worst of the illness is behind her, but what she needs now is the healthy mountain air of the Beskidas and complete rest. They say six weeks at least.

The family had intended to spend Easter with Klara’s sister and her husband in Beuthen, German Silesia. Now it was out of the question, but Cyprian did not want to disappoint his young daughter.

How could she refuse? It was all for Klara, Katja’s mother. Emma still had a slight feeling of apprehension where Cyprian was concerned even though he was a good husband and father–wasn’t he Polish after all? She dreaded the thought of Klara meeting the same fate that she had. But Klara loved him, Katjuszka loved him, and to be honest she loved him as well. So, where did all this antagonism between the races stem from? It came galloping from the past to manifest itself in the present, and probably repeat itself in the future. Never mind that now–Klara was ill–she needed her to take care of her young daughter whilst she was recovering, and that was all that mattered. Quite a task! The young girl was headstrong, but at the same time compassionate and caring.

What a combination! She definitely took after her paternal grandmother Katarzyna. They shared the same vigorous, impetuous temperament and the capacity for squeezing the most out of every moment! Only their coloring was different. Katja was blonde with blue eyes whereas Gran, now grey, had been dark haired with grey eyes.

As they boarded the tram Emma tutted:

Tch, Tch, you were quite right girl, the tram is full.

Katja’s face clouded for a moment, as she thought of her mother, convalescing in the Beskidas. The family had been so looking forward to this visit to Aunt Elli and Uncle Eugen, and for Katja most of all, seeing her favourite cousin Sonja. Undeterred, Emma bustled her way to the front of the tram, nudging people aside with her umbrella as she went, hoping to find a seat. Katja, preparing for a long uncomfortable ride, followed.

Emma turned and nudged Katja as they moved to the front of the tram.

Did you see Wiadek sitting near the back? I wonder what he has up his sleeve today.

Wiadek was well known for being a first rate smuggler, particularly where foodstuffs were concerned. He would smuggle wonderful Polish krakowovska sausage (named for Krakow) concealed in the sleeves of his overcoat, ducks tied to the inside of his legs hidden by his great baggy trousers. But the ‘piece de resistance’ was the cigars brought back from German Silesia hidden in ten fingers of his gloves!

As she reached the front of the tram, Emma sagged against the glass panel that separated the driver from the passengers. She was already weary, and the journey had not even begun. Then unexpectedly, a pleasant voice offered,

"Bitte, nähmen sie platz." A tall slim dark haired young man stood up and offered her his seat.

"Oh danke schön. In a fluster, Emma accepted his offer wondering why he had addressed her in German. The she realised that in her agitation she had been speaking in German. Relieved, she sank back on the uncomfortable bench, grateful that she had been spared the undignified ordeal of being thrust from side to side in the moving carriage. As Katja moved into Emma’s vacated position the tram lurched and she felt herself falling forward even though she was holding tightly onto the overhead rail. A strong arm reached out to steady her enabling her to regain her footing. She glanced up gratefully to thank her benefactor and found herself looking into the smiling dark eyes of the same young man who had just so gallantly given Emma his seat. She hesitated. A Thank you" in German was out of the question as she was wearing her Polish school uniform. She merely nodded and briefly glanced away. Lately political issues had provoked some ugly incidents between the German and Polish communities in Silesia, animosity and bitterness which Katja in her naivety found hard to understand.

She had grown up shifting between the German society of her mother and her mother’s family, who lived only thirty five kilometers away over the border in German Silesia, and the Polish community of father, friends and school. She observed that the Polish people of the province of Silesia were somehow different from those in the rest of the country. Their allegiance was first to Silesia, and her past history. Nevertheless, now the growing bitterness between Polish and German Silesians was unmistakable, making matters difficult for those who had opted for ‘mixed marriages’ and for their children. To Katja, all people were the same, only the languages were different. In her inimitable way, she oversimplified the situation.

But there were those who did not share her lack of prejudice, and the reality of vicious injustice and intolerance reached out to her for the first time when she was at school. This bright enthusiastic little girl had been chosen as class prefect for one year, a responsibility she accepted with honour and great pride. One of her duties was to clean the blackboard after each lesson and to make sure that there was chalk and a sponge ready for the next teacher. On the fateful day the next subject on the timetable was geography, one of her favourite subjects.

The previous teacher had already moved on to her next class, and the inevitable clamour broke amongst the children. Impervious to this, Katja applied herself to her duties. She thoroughly cleared away the remnants of the maths lesson and then left the room to fetch the stand and the map that the teacher would need. As she reentered the classroom, she was appalled to see that someone had written on the board in a large childish script the words: "Katarzyna jest Germanka!"

The little girl, already sensitive to the Polish/German question, considered the remark offensive particularly as it was directed at her personally. Her small frame shook with rage. Blue eyes blazing and close to tears, she shouted at the top of her voice:

Who did this?

A wave of silence had swept over the class. The children glanced uneasily at one another afraid to speak up. Katja fixed her eyes on each pupil in turn. All returned her intense gaze, until it came to the turn of Marysia. She moved nervously in her place, her hands behind her back. Wilting beneath Katja’s fierce stare, she let the telltale piece of chalk fall to the floor. She gasped in dismay.

‘So, it was YOU!" Katja screamed. Her face turned crimson with fury. Never before had she felt so angry. Marysia, now afraid of retaliation, left her seat, and edged towards the door

You won’t escape me, she shouted, as she picked up the ink well from the teacher’s desk, and taking careful aim, hurled it in the direction of the unfortunate offender. At that moment, the door opened, and as the bottle shattered against the doorframe, ink showered down on the unfortunate geography teacher, Pani Dutkowna, who spontaneously uttered a profanity. Katja covered her mouth with her hand, shocked at the unhappy turn of events, and in addition, to hearing the offensive language never used in her home.

Summoned to appear before the school director and staff, she stood, head held high, with an air of respectful defiance about her, facing this formidable assembly. They waited, expecting some remorse from the young pupil. However, all she would say by way of an apology was:

I’m sorry. The bottle was not meant for Pani Dutkowna. Then as an afterthought, she added:

Marysia called me names!

Some of the teachers knew that Katja’s mother was German, for that matter, so was the director’s wife, Pani Eliza Waszynska, who was good friends with Klara.

Klara seldom accompanied Cyprian to school functions unless she knew that Eliza was going to be there. Her self-consciousness at not being able to speak Polish was mistaken for aloofness, which caused much gossiping amongst the Polish teachers. The resulting resentment and even jealousy, inevitably often created a strained atmosphere.

It seemed now, that this animosity had descended on her daughter. Seven out of the thirteen teachers voted for her to be relieved of her prefect status for the rest of the year–a harsh punishment for the little girl. No cognisance had been made of the slur the three words had implied or so it seemed to Katja. It had left a bitter taste.

The young man acknowledged her silent thanks with an understanding smile. They stood facing one another as the tram lurched on its way, their arms outstretched above their heads, clutching the handrail. Occasionally their arms would touch as the speeding tram rounded a corner, making both aware of certain chemistry between them. Emma observed this disapprovingly, and with a strategic nudge of her umbrella at the young man’s calf, accompanied by an apologetic exclamation, she reduced the physical contact to a minimum. He must be at least twenty maybe twenty-one, and Katja… only fifteen. What was he up to? Well she was here to take care of the young girl, or if she was honest, the young woman.

The young man was inwardly amused at her efforts to discourage behaviour she might consider as improper. ‘Yes little mother, I would protect her the same way if she were mine.’ He smiled to himself.

I see you are still in your school uniform. he remarked chattily to Katja.

There was no time to change… she started to explain then stopped herself. What did it have to do with him? Emma scowled. She had slowed down her umbrella attack, which seemed too obvious a ploy and had no backup plan.

Nothing daunted, the stranger continued trying to break the ice with some mundane remarks.

I am still studying although I am not at school anymore. Katja nodded politely. What is your favourite subject? he asked thinking he must try to keep this very fragile communication going.

History, she exclaimed, lighting up immediately. Fantastic, it was one of his favourites too.

What is your second favourite…?

By the time they reached the border, the young couple had introduced themselves and was chatting away in Polish and German. Their repartee was witty as they bandied words in both languages delighting some of the passengers as they listened to the mixed exchange.

Katja spoke fluent German, as her mother’s tongue was their home language. Klara had given up trying to learn Polish a long time ago.

Cyprian had patiently tried to teach her, spelling out words like ‘Dozowdica’ or ‘szczotka’…

I’ll never learn! Klara had sobbed and with a defiant toss of her auburn hair, she sent her scribbler and textbooks flying across the room. The language is impossible, and they had left it at that…

A Polish customs official boarded the car calling for passports, and anything to declare. Some passengers had to leave the car for the routine search. Emma, her curiosity getting the better of her, glanced back to see whether Wiadek was still in his seat.

Sure enough, the seat was empty and she saw Wiadek under escort to the terminus building. She could picture him standing there in one of the private cells, arms outstretched as the customs official patted his body up and down. Somehow, he always managed to escape detection, as it never occurred to the searcher to examine his open arms. Eventually the tram rolled on through Niemansland to the German Zoll-amt. There the same ritual took place amid the frustrated murmurings of the passengers not only because of the second search, but because they would now have to alight and board another tramcar on the German side of the border. The passengers eased towards the exit door, keen to be off as soon as possible.

Katja turned to Bernard shaking her head,

What do they hope to gain? A few minutes perhaps? He agreed with her. He certainly was not in a hurry to leave the tram. All he could think was that by taking their time to alight he would have a few more minutes of Katja’s company. The tram ground to a halt, wheels screeching on the rails and now with the doors wide open an icy blast of windborne snowflakes blustered through the tram. The passengers at the front of the coach clutched at their scarves and hats as they alighted, their heads bent against the wind, peering into the gathering darkness, some seeking the terminus building, others, those who had come to meet them. Emma hesitated on the top step as she fought a losing battle with the wind to gain control of her fugitive shawl.

Katja supported her on one side and Bernard on the other as they started what seemed to be a precipitous descent. As they struggled down the steps, a tall dark figure detached itself from the small group that had ventured forward to meet the tram.

Eugen, thank goodness! Emma exclaimed as he relieved the two young people of their burden and helped her down the last step.

Eugen’s greeting was warm but brief.

Come quickly, he urged as he took the bags that Bernard handed down to him. Elli and Sonja are waiting in the car. It’s not far. It was obvious that Eugen was anxious to be underway as soon as possible as the storm was getting worse. Now that night had fallen, visibility would be limited, making the journey hazardous.

Katja followed her uncle as he hurried towards the car. She would so like to ask him whether they could give her newfound friend a lift but Uncle Eugen had already opened the car door and was waving her in. She turned back expecting to see Bernard close by, but by now he was walking towards the terminus building. As the car door slammed, he turned and waved. She wound down the window in spite of her Uncle’s protests and waved one more time: "Aufwiedersähen! she called, her salutation carried on the wind. Dowidzenia!" he echoed back, smiling as he recalled their exchange on the tram. The car engine reluctantly coughed to life. Eugen let it run for a few minutes to let the motor warm up. Seizing the moment, Bernard ran forward impulsively to the car and pressed his hand against the window in a final greeting. Katja responded in the same manner, a last contact as the car pulled away leaving his receding figure to merge with the swirling snow.

Sonja glanced at her cousin askance, eyebrows raised in an unspoken question. Katja took her hand and squeezed it. She could not answer her cousin now; her thoughts were in total disarray. ‘Will I ever see him again?’ She wondered wistfully. She could not know what an influence he would have on her life in the future.

2

Before The War–June 1939 Klara’s Birthday

Two elegant women sat in a secluded corner of the local Kawiarnia in Hajduki, a stylish restaurant serving morning coffees, luncheons, afternoon coffees and dinners at the appropriate times. It was three thirty in the afternoon; they chatted discreetly in German as they scanned the menu and prepared to order.

Klara still felt a little weak. Her rest in the Beskidas had done her the world of good, but it would be sometime before she was back to her old self.

You look marvelous, her friend enthused, "I’m so glad you are back.

I missed our weekly tête a tête." Klara flushed with pleasure at her friend’s words. It was true a pale colour had returned to her cheeks, and her eyes, always a giveaway, now shone with vitality.

Klara was a striking woman in her late thirties. A long mane of auburn hair worn tied back leaving soft curls that framed her classical features. She was of average height, slender and long limbed. Reserved, and not given to venturing out very often, when she did heads turned not only because of her looks, but also because of the casual elegance of her carriage. No wonder the handsome young Pole from across the border in Upper Silesia had pursued her with ardent persistence.

Klara, born in German Silesia, had come from old German stock. Her father had been in the Hussar Kaiser Regiment and was anti-Nazi to the bone. At the same time, he was no lover of his Polish neighbours. Her mother on the other hand had come from a mixed Polish/German background.

From the first minutes of their meeting, Klara had detected a certain nervousness about her friend. Dania had been married to a Polish army captain, Karzel, a tall quiet man from Poznan. They had met while Dania was working for the Polish consulate in Germany. A devoted couple, she was devastated when he died from tuberculosis leaving her with two young children.

Klara could not imagine how it must feel or how one lived through such a loss. She did know how she herself would survive and so she advised Dania accordingly. Keep busy. Dania followed her friend’s advice, and even took a part time job as a translator in the department of imports and exports in Katowice, a bustling city with many distractions. She covered Dania’s hand with her own and coaxed,

Now tell me what the problem is.

How did you know? a surprised Dania asked.

I have known you long enough to know when something is troubling you. You have been edgy since we met this afternoon, Klara smiled.

Well it’s Elusia. She has decided to drop her studies and take a job. She feels she has to contribute now that Karzel is gone. I have tried to talk her out of it, but she will not budge from her decision. She has even found a job. Perhaps Katja can reason with her.

Tall slim Elusia and short plump Katja, affectionately nicknamed Pat and Patashon after the famous cartoon characters ‘Mutt and Jeff" by their friends, had been inseparable since kindergarten. Their friendship had first brought the families together.

Don’t worry Dania. Elusia is a sensible girl, I’m sure she has thought this through, Klara said trying to re-assure her friend.

When does she plan to start working?

That’s just it; she has already been accepted for a position at that new bookshop in Konipnicka Street. In fact she started two weeks ago!

Well at least she has not abandoned books altogether, Klara tried to comfort her. The waiter coughed tactfully, ready with pen and pad to take their order. They were about to order their usual coffee and cheesecake when Dania announced with a grand gesture–

No coffee, today we celebrate your good health. Waiter, bring us a half bottle of red wine and some kanapski. Savoury sandwiches will be better than cake don’t you think? she said turning to Klara.

There was so much catching up to do. They were still chatting animatedly when they left the Kawiarnia walking per-klinke–arm in arm down the avenue. The wine had added an extra vivacity to their exchange, and certainly, their voices were louder than they might otherwise have been. They were so wrapped up in their own little world, even more excited as they planned their approaching holiday in the mountains, that they did not notice the shadowy figure of a man supporting himself on a walking stick, as he passed by. Why should they, after all they were on the main street. However, his interest in them was more ominous than that of just a casual passer-by. He had overheard their conversation in German and infuriated he shouted:

"Wy niemcy…wy niemcy!"–You Germans, you Germans! In an uncontrolled rage, he brought his stick down with all his strength narrowly missing them. The terrified friends ran from him in terror followed by a burst of abuse. Their aggressor did not leave it at that. He gave chase. Desperately they looked for a place to hide. They reached the entrance of a private apartment block, and frantically rang the bell, hoping that someone would respond and open the security lock. Seconds seemed like hours as they waited, and still no response. Dania rattled the handle and pressed against the door. Miraculously it gave way! Hastily they slipped inside and slammed it behind them. Just in time.

Their attacker had just reached the entrance, and now, even more incensed, started to thrash the door with his stick. Petrified, Klara and Dania stood on the other side praying that he would leave. Finally, he acknowledged defeat and left.

They were both dazed, but relieved and bewildered at the same time.

I must get home, Klara gasped shakily as she embraced her friend. Dania wanted to accompany her, but she declined.

No I’ll be alright, Klara said and left a very concerned Dania at the entrance of her own apartment.

I’ll call you Klara! she cried.

Secure in her own home, Klara made herself a cup of tea and sank back on the sofa trying to calm down. You were right Papa. she whispered, when you said life across the border would not be easy for a German. She felt a bitter taste in her mouth as tears of sadness stung her eyes. She did not regret her marriage to Cyprian for one moment, but at times, the injustice of it all was hard to accept, and with that, she fell into a troubled sleep.

It was snowing and cold outside as Klara sat in the kitchen preparing the vegetables for the evening meal. A small blonde girl sat opposite her retrieving the potato peels as they fell in long strips from Klara’s knife.

I do like visiting you Ciocia Klara, she said with sincerity. Totally absorbed, her tongue protruding from the corner of her mouth, she made designs from the peels.

Oh, Klara smiled, and why is that Wanda?

It’s so peaceful here.

Klara laughed. She was not surprised. The little visitor, who lived next door, often appeared on her doorstep as she made her social rounds. She had two bullying older brothers and a much older sister at home who regarded her as a nuisance. Klara enjoyed the innocent spontaneity of the child, and since there would be no more babies for her, she seized the chance to be with children whenever the opportunity presented itself. It filled an empty space and helped to ease her longing.

It was warm and cosy in the kitchen and Klara hummed along to a tune that was playing on the radio. Suddenly the loud report of a gunshot made the two scream with fright.

‘That was close, too close’, Klara thought. She grabbed the little girl who was trembling with fright, and forced her to the floor.

Don’t be afraid Wanda; Klara told her with calm she did not feel as she covered the small frame protectively with her own body.

They lay there for a while, afraid to get up in case there was a repetition of the shots. However, none came. Cautiously Klara lifted her head and looked up at the window. There was a small bullet hole in the glass, jagged and star like, where the bullet had penetrated the outer window of the double-glazing. The inner glass was only cracked.

Mama, Mama, Wanda wailed plaintively.

There, there, I’ve got you, Klara soothed gathering the child in her arms she moved cautiously to the window and saw that the bullet lay lodged on the inside ledge between the double-glazing and the inner window frame. ‘They aimed for me, and could have killed an innocent Polish child. Does the hatred go so deep that only murder will satisfy them?’ Klara wondered. Her dread deepened. She feared most of all for her daughter. The ordeals of the months and years that lay ahead would test her courage and her faith. There would be times when she felt abandoned, but nothing would crush her spirit.

Janek at seventeen was quite a good looking young man. A head of thick light brown hair cropped short, large deep-set grey eyes, and a sensual mouth that made the young girls swoon. It could be said that his large nose was not his most redeeming feature, but then you can’t have everything. He was popular with his peers, but has been said, particularly with the young women–except, that is, with Katja.

They walked down the high street, Janek shuffling backwards crab style, as he tried to keep ahead of her and keep her attention, Katja thinking, How can I get rid of this pain in the neck.

This is the way I see it, the highly ideological Janek, droned on, maybe Mr. Hitler does not have such a bad idea wanting to rid his country, or is it the world? He frowned for a moment,

Anyway as I was saying, ridding the world of the Jews and the Poles. But if it was up to me, (‘Thank goodness it isn’t’ Katja thought) I would only want to rid Poland of the Germans and the Jews.

She quickened her step in desperation, looking for an opportunity to shake off this persistent fanatic. Then her face brightened–they had reached the new bookshop. The door stood invitingly open and she saw her chance. Surely Elusia would rescue her.

She turned to Janek,

Sorry, but this is where we part company, she said with an air of finality.

Oh, that’s not a problem, Janek rejoined, I’ll come with you." There were only a few customers browsing between the tall shelves as they stepped inside. Anxiously, Katja scanned the shop for a sign of her friend. At last she spotted her dusting some shelves at the far end of the shop.

Sorry Janek, but I have to speak to Elusia privately, Katja told him bluntly. Seeing that he was not wanted, he shrugged and wandered off to do some browsing on his own.

Don’t work so hard. Surprised, Elusia spun round. Pleasure replaced surprise in her big wistful eyes as she acknowledged her friend. Katjusz! You gave me such a start. I was miles away.

Well then a penny for your thoughts. Katja laughed. I’m so glad you’ve come. Follow me, Elusia beckoned, putting down her duster and leading the way to the small German section.

I’ve got a book I think your mum might like. Here, she said proudly as she handed Katja her find,

Der Graf von Monte Christo. Your mother will love it, she is such a romantic.

"You are right! This will be a perfect birthday present for her.

Does the daughter share her mother’s passion for romance? The voice sounded familiar and yet Katja could not quite place it. It came from behind the one of the dividing bookshelves. Elusia nudged her friend, her fine eyebrows arched quizzically,

Is it someone you know? she asked in a stage whisper.

But before Katja could answer, the handsome face of Bernard peered at them through a gap between the books.

Remember me? he asked, grinning broadly as he entered the aisle where the two young women stood.

‘He can’t be talking to me,’ Elusia thought, ‘there is no way I would ever forget that face if we had met.’ She looked sideways at her friend. Katja had frozen for a moment. There was no doubt she did remember.

‘How could I ever forget?’ she thought. His winning smile and engaging manner had haunted her since Easter and she had wondered whether they would ever meet again.

Oh yes, I remember you, she said, embarrassed as she felt a hot flush of colour rising in her cheeks. The tram ride to Beuthen at Easter Aunt Emma. The words came too fast, and her agitation increased as she observed Janek from the corner of her eye, with a curious look on his face. Nervous fingers, which had been clutching the book, lost their grip, and Der Graf von Monte Christo fell to the floor. Bernard stooped to retrieve the book,

I see you have chosen a German book. She was annoyed with herself, and tried to regain her composure. She hesitated as she felt the urge to cover up the fact that the book was for her German mother. Angrily she brushed the thought aside. This crazy world around her was starting to taint her own behaviour.

Mr. Za …Za, How embarrassing! She wanted to tell him to mind his own business and she could not for the life of her remember his name.

Zagoda, he said helpfully, and as I recall the last time we met it was ‘Bern’.

She looked past his shoulder and saw a very determined Janek making his way towards them.

I must go, she said softly, and leaving the book in his hand she left the shop followed by Janek.

The book was for her mother’s birthday tomorrow, Elusia said quietly as she went to take the book from his hand, but he held onto it. He had other plans for the book.

Gaiety and celebration!

Happy birthday– Dania embraced her friend and handed her a huge bunch of lilac. Lilac in June, Klara cried in delight. ‘Mmmm… What a fragrance!" She buried her face in the tiny blossoms which traditionally and according to the seasons only bloomed in the spring.

Many happy returns Aunt Klara, guess what, Elusia quizzed placing a small rectangular parcel in her hand.

Let me see.

Klara gazed upwards as if expecting some answer from another source. Cheesecake…. Ah no, pyszny, delicious! Thank you Elusia.

The doorbell rang, and Klara welcomed Emma bearing flowers and chocolate. Pani Waclaw, their neighbour, passed her a basket of fruit freshly picked vegetables and more flowers.

Oh my goodness, where will I put all these wonderful blooms?

Klara asked laughing happily. As she gathered the gifts in her arms, she felt a tug at her skirt. It was little Wanda Waclaw.

This is for you Ciocia, she said shyly handing her a small box. Wanda had written in her childlike hand on the wrapping:

‘Mojej najlepszej Poni Kloro. No pamiatke od. Wandy’

This is to remind you that you saved my life. Wanda announced proudly. Deeply touched, Klara opened the box to find a most beautiful amber stone on a gold chain. There were tears in her eyes as she held the little girl close and whispered,

Thank you, I will never forget you. As she looked over the little girl’s head she saw the smile of gratitude on her mother’s face acknowledging her thankfulness.

Klara was busy refilling coffee cups and cutting slices of cake when the doorbell rang interrupting the celebrations. ‘Now who could that be?’ Klara wondered. All the guests seemed to be present and accounted for.

I’ll get it, Dania called over her shoulder as she hurried to the door. Good evening, she did not recognise the young man standing on the threshold.

Is Katja in? he enquired.

Yes… but this is not a good time, Dania explained to the stranger, You see, it is her mother’s birthday, and a family celebration is in progress.

Yes I expected as much, Bern answered. I am the uninvited guest. Dania, won over by his charm, invited him in.

Katja, there is someone here to see you. She left the gathering and hurried through to the lobby where she did a double take as she saw Bern.

Aren’t you pleased to see me? he asked.

Yes of course, but it is a very special family time and we did not expect any outsiders. He handed her a small package, beautifully wrapped.

I believe you went off without this the other day. It’s your mother’s book. Please take it, he added as he held out the book.

Confused, she accepted, and turned to go back to the living room. He followed her discreetly. She held out the package to Klara, and kissed her on the cheek. Another gift, for me? Katja had already given her a beautiful blouse, and now this. There was no mistaking her pleasure as she eagerly removed the paper. There was a loose note attached to the cover, it read:

"Alles gute zum Geburtstag.

Unbekannterrweise,

Bern Zogoda"

A mystified Klara glanced from her daughter to the young man, waiting for an explanation.

It is not from you Katjusz? she asked, confused.

He saw that Katja was obviously at a loss, and hastily exclaimed,

I’m afraid I’m the guilty party, may I introduce myself? Bern Zagoda. He courteously took Klara’s hand in his own and bent over it in a dignified greeting. Klara still looked puzzled.

I met him on the tram to Beuthen at the Easter weekend, Katja volunteered later that afternoon when the guests had left, "and then again just by coincidence in the bookshop. Elusia sprang to her friend’s aid,

I told him about your birthday Aunt Klara, she confessed. Klara nodded in understanding. She smiled, understanding more than they realized, and did not pursue the matter further. She could not help but notice that Bern was so unmistakably German.

Thank you, you have very good taste. She added.

‘Was Mamusz thinking of her or the book?’ Katja wondered.

3

The Last Holiday before the War

Cyprian and family were not really in a holiday mood that July in 1939, but earlier in the year they had promised Gran Anna, Elli and Sonja that they would all go away together. A holiday cottage had been booked at Zakopane, high in the Tatra Mountains–a favourite holiday resort. The visits between Beuthen in Upper Silesia and Hajduki in Lower Silesia had dwindled lately. The border had become a torturous ordeal for travellers. People were subjected to indiscriminate searches, intimidating questions, and there was the uncomfortable feeling that they were regularly being spied on. The pleasure was taken out of innocent journeys to see family and friends, and it was grudgingly that Elli traveled to Hajduki that July.

The attraction was Maciek Weinberg, a Jewish tailor from Sosnowice, who had attended to the fashion requirements of the family since Katja was a toddler. He was a well turned-out young man, a true advertisement for his trade. He was tall, green eyed, with a shock of red hair. His colouring, totally extraordinary for a man of his race, made him stand out wherever he went. Clothes were Elli’s passion, and she would travel to the moon for the tailoring perfection Maciek was able to provide. She had been a fashion model, slim and elegant, with a flair for showing garments in her youth, a model who was very much in demand. Later she had gone to work as a fashion advisor and coordinator for one of the big department stores in Leipzig.

The street where Maciek lived was old, quaint and cobbled. He conducted his business from home as did many other Jewish tradesmen. They were mostly tailors, but there were a fair number of milliners, shoemakers and textile merchants. The front of each house was utilized as a shop during the day and in the evening resumed the function of home.

Maciek had a few good clients in town, but Klara and Elli were the only ones that he actually visited to do fittings at their home. On the other hand fabrics and accessories were always selected at his home. A visit to his workshop was always an exciting outing for the little Katja. She watched, fascinated, as beautiful creations flowed from beneath the nimble fingers of the seamstress, and it was here that a love of couture was born, that would last her entire life. Maciek, two boxes tucked beneath his arm, rang the doorbell.

I’ll get it. Klara called as she walked from the kitchen where she had been preparing vegetables for the evening meal

Good afternoon Maciek, please come in. She stood back holding the door open for him to enter. An excited Elli joined them, nodding a quick greeting to Maciek, and without ceremony she seized the larger of the two parcels and ripped off the cord that bound the box. With more care, she lifted the garment from the package–a beautiful emerald green tweed outfit with a brown broadtail collar and muff to match. Her eyes sparkled with pleasure as she held it against her, stroking the soft fur.

I must try it on, she cried and disappeared down the passage to the bedroom. She re-appeared almost immediately, twirling as she would have on a catwalk, presenting the garment to its best advantage, much to the delight of her small audience.

It’s stunning Maciek, thank you! There was no mistaking his pleasure at her spontaneous praise.

I’ve brought you dollars this time, she said handing him an envelope. Usually she paid him in marks; but the exchange rate was constantly changing and she did not want him to be out of pocket.

Please check the amount. Her request embarrassed him.

I’m sure it’s correct, he said gruffly not wishing to count the money in front of his clients. He was only too satisfied that he had not been paid in zlotys, an almost worthless currency these days. Elli, always exuberant, teased him,

Now I know why you give priority to your customers across the border. Not very patriotic eh? No sooner had she uttered the words than she regretted her thoughtlessness. Maciek looked down; his face had clouded over. There had been some vicious attacks on the Jewish community by certain of the Poles in Lower Silesia. Synagogues had been razed to the ground, and Jews moved around warily, preferring to stay within their own districts.

The little group in the living room fell silent. They felt upset. Elli, in particular, was mortified at her lack of understanding, knowing full well the torturous and shameful treatment he, and his kind, were receiving at the hands of many of their Polish compatriots. The bright gaiety of the moment had been replaced by a somber cloud. No one could have imagined at that moment the horrors that lay in store.

At last Maciek, his composure regained, broke the silence. I will be back next week with Cyprian’s suit and Katja’s overcoat. Oh, and this is for you, he said handing Klara the small package he still held by the string. ‘Matzos, Klara exclaimed with delight, you remembered! Thank you. When you come next week there will be a cheesecake for your wife."

Suddenly Maciek seemed to be in a hurry.

"Dowidzenia." His salutation was abrupt, as he turned to leave.

An eager little party had stepped off the train at Zakopane station. The bright sunshine gave the dreary little station, which did not have much to offer apart from the waiting room, a lift. Of course it had one other positive feature; it was the gateway to the Tatra Lakes. A line up of dorozkasz drawn by gaily decorated horses waited to take holidaymakers to their cottage in the mountains. ‘May I choose one Papusz?" Katja asked turning to her father.

He gave her a wry look pretending to ponder the question, and then he smiled at her and nodded.

‘Make sure you get one with a strong pair, he instructed as he eyed the pyramid of baskets and bags that stood on the platform. Klara always seemed to be preparing for a siege when they came on these holidays. She insisted on carrying a large amount of consumables, especially tinned food–Just in case." Shops were few and far between high up in the mountains, but on the other hand, fresh fruit and vegetables as well as meat and dairy products were readily available from nearby farms. Foresters allowed controlled game hunting, making venison available from time to time.

Their cottage was built of stone and treated pinewood giving it the pleasant fragrance of fir trees that always reminded Katja of Christmas. The cottages were used by the farmers themselves, in the off season, as stopping off places when they drove their sheep to higher grazing grounds.

The next day a gloomy holiday group watched as Cyprian prepared to leave for Hajduki.

Must you go Papusz? a disappointed Katja pleaded.

He looked down at his daughter. She made it so difficult for him to leave. He wanted nothing more than to stay, but he had already had so much time off work what with Klara’s illness that he had no alternative. He ruffled her hair.

Now, now. I’ll be back in two weeks’ time. You will be so busy that you won’t even miss me. His assurance did not convince his daughter, but she acquiesced. As turned out he was absolutely right. Elli planned their days from mornings when she would oust them from their slumbers, as they begged for just five minutes more, until she ordered them, protesting, to bed in the evening.

Mountain air makes for healthy appetites, and that is all very well, she would say ever mindful of the need to maintain a pleasing figure, but mountain exercise is the only way to keep those calories from settling on your hips.

It was difficult to know who was kept the busiest- Elli with her strenuous exercise agenda, or Klara and Oma Anna with the demanding catering program for the girls, who were always starving after their long hikes.

On a brilliant day they made their way through the small pass to Morskie Oko, which to Katja was the most breathtaking of the Tatra Lakes, besides the fact that it was certainly the largest. The water, fifty metres deep, sparkled in brilliant sunshine as the Tatras swept up from its shores, leaving the lake cupped in a basin like some inland sea.

Unable to contain their eagerness, the two young girls ran forward eagerly, throwing themselves face down in the lush grass that grew on the bank. They turned on their backs and faced the blue dome of the sky.

I wish that this holiday could last forever, Sonja exclaimed longingly.

Me too, Katja agreed as she propped herself up on her elbow, her cheek cupped in the palm of her hand, and faced at her cousin. She hesitated for a moment and then asked her:

Can you keep a secret? The younger girl laughed and said,

You know I can! What is it? Katja became serious, Promise you won’t laugh. Sonia nodded.

I promise. She listened as she told her of her of the two encounters with Bernard.

I just have the feeling that he is going to have some special importance in my life. She concluded, her eyes shining.

He might, provided the war doesn’t come between you, Sonja, always pragmatic, remarked. She thought for a moment and then added,

Mind you, from what you tell me, he will probably look handsome in a uniform.

The magic of the moment melted into morning mist that still lingered in the crevices of the Tatra Mountains at her words. They looked at each other both feeling an icy uneasiness. The pending hostilities between Poland and Germany were discussed daily in every household. The radio was obsessed with reporting what everyone knew and feared. It was hard to imagine the implications war would mean to a ‘mixed marriage’. Families, friends divided by nationality and in some cases religion. One thing was certain–nothing would ever be the same again. Unrealistically she tries to persuade herself, ‘Perhaps it will never happen.’ But deep down inside she knew her optimism was only a myth. The beauty and tranquility of the lake, overseen by the imposing peaks of the Tatra Mountains, could not dispel a truth that came closer with every passing day.

Two weeks later Cyprian returned welcomed by a suntanned and revitalized family. He was, however, subdued and the bearer of bad news.

"Just before I left, I had a visit from