Doughter about Marcin Jaworowski

My father

My memories about my father, well there are so many of them and so little of the, when he went missing i was 10 years old. Who he was, where he came from - he was a Pole, a Pole of capital "P". He was born near Inowroclaw, under the German occupation, as a 17-year-old boy he participated in Great Poland Uprise, for which he was awarded many times. After the stabilization after the I World War he comes to Silesia and finishes the Police School in Katowice. His first workplace after finishing school is Katowice, here he meets my mother, a woman from Chorzow, but he - a man bonded with countryside, with soil, tries to get a job in a village, and moves first to Lisow, then to Kochcice - it's his last station. As a citizen of Poznan he buys an estate in Kochanowice and soon with big effort builds a house for him and his family. On the beginning of september 1939 he can finally move in with his family which by the time had 5 members. He couldn't, however, enjoy his new house for long and finish it. Here comes 1st of September along with an order of evacuation, by that time nobody knew that the war is going to outbreak. We were told to stand near a simple wagon which was packed with the most important stuff. It was meant to drive us to Herb from where by train we were to go further, which meant to the east. When we reached herb, in a mess, it turned out that all the trains are filled with civilian people. And so our wagon journey lasted - with the wagon we reached Antopol near Równe. There was 8 of us, my mother, being 6 months pregnant, I was 10 years old, my 8 year old sister, sixteen year old brother, a widow of a policeman mrs Błaszczyk and her 14 and 10 year old daughters, and our driver mr Wójcik. I was a young child but I won't ever forget these experiences, there was so many of them that I could write a book - some of them are especially stuck in my memory. Continuous shooting from the planes, escapes from the quarters because the Germans almost got us, fear about ourselves, mother and siblings. I especially remembered an air strike during the passing of some river, i think it was Wisła, thousands of wagons driving one by one and continuous air strike, we were being shot with onboard weapons, everyone ran wherever they could, we were lying in ditches, and in the swamps, and they kept shooting us all the time, after the air strike we couldn't find each other but luckily, mr Wójcik, our driver, found us. Maybe some of you have similar experiences? Another "picture" which I will remember forever is our passing through burning Zamość - I still have burnings on my hands caused by a burning tar falling on us from the roofs, but what I remember the most are these who died there, killed children, crying mothers - no, you can't forget it. But in this nightmare was also a moment of joy - we met our father, I don't remember which town it was. Father, due to mother's condition got a special permission to convoy us and that's how we reached Antopol. I don't remember when it was, but it must have been 15 September. My father got an accomodation for us but went to Równe to check in in the headquarters. Our landlady - Pole, widow of a policeman, who knew Russians' attitude towards Poles, asked my father to stay for at least one day, warned him that he might have not came back, suggested wearing civilian clothes, but my father had a huge sense of duty, thought he couldn't deny to fulfill an order and he had to check in in the Commandature. I still remember my mother begging him to stay, I remember us crying, holding his bicycle tight, but to my father an order was sanctity. That's when we saw him for the last time. 17 September came and everyone had to go by the road and greet the "saviors" of Poland. By that time my mother was sick, pregnant, suffering the pains of the way travelled, so that all the duties went on me, the oldest child. After two or three days, i don't really remember, our landlady, not wanting to wake mother up, woke me up, led to the attic and showed me what our "saviors" did to Poles. I saw Polish soldiers and policemen walking in rows, then I heard pistol shots, I don't know if there were holes dug there but I know for sure that they have all been executed. When my mother woke up, despite her condition, went to Równe in search of our father whom she of course didn't manage to find, but she saw thousands of arrested soldiers and policemen. When my mother was searching for my father in Równe we in Antopol, experienced Ukrainian massacre on Poles, all Poles were being murdered, we were lucky enough that our landlady and her sons led us to a forest and saved our lives. On my mother's way home from Rowne she experienced the same, she had to run, hide - she survived because she hid in an anti-air ditch. When the situation had stabilized we took off to Lwów, where we were accomodated in a dormitory, it's not worth mentioning the conditions of the place. My mother who was very ill couldn't walk or spend nights standing in kilometers-long queues to buy some food - one bread, one egg or 10 dcg of larg - it was my duty to go buy food, I was the oldest, after all. I was only 10 years old but I remember our life in the dormitory as a horrible thing. After some time we managed to get to Przemyśl by a transport. There was a border there but chances of getting a pass to go back to Poland were close to none. We, thanks to God and good people - motormen from Przemyśl - managed to achieve that. It were the motormen who directed the mom where she should go to get the pass. She got it not only for us, but also for mrs Błaszczyk with the family and whole carriage of our companions in misfortune. She managed to do that probably because of her health condition - she was eight months pregnant. But it's only thanks to the motormen in Pryemzsl we get back to Poland, thez led us to the border and itąs worth adding, on the border waited thousands of people. And thats how luckily on the last day before the passage closing we crossed the border and got to Poland, occupied Poland, but still our Poland. To our home in Kochanów we returned on the first days of December, and on 31 December my mother gave birth to my youngest brother, who even though he has never seen his beloved father, was marked as a PRL enemy and never got a rent of hid father. The "peace" time had begun, our searchings for our fathere lasted very long, through the Polish Red Cross and Red Crescent, but we were always given the answer that Marcin Jaworowski never stayed on the territory of USSR. He was found in Mednoy after passing of the documents to Poland. Now I know how he died, I know his number, date of his death, but nobody will give him back to me.

Eugenia Gambus doughter of Marcin Jaworowski

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