I got to the inside of such a pole and it was necessary to cut it.
Some of such poles could still be seen at Obozowa Street.

         For some days Grandmother put a small pillow on the chair for me...

         Sometimes we acted even cruelly not realizing that this we did was awful! When the Jewish got marked with David's Star we ran after them screaming: Jude! Jude!
         Up to this day I haven't known how it was possible as some time later on, we put food for Jewish children through the hole done in the cemetery wall at the end of Mlynarska Street.

         Our children's plays gradually lost the character of antics for the sake of antics, as "bad" entered in our life, and he was to be hammered. And who was the BAD - it's obvious: DEVIL! Devil that under the uniform of a German soldier hid his horns, hooves, a tail and everything what's bad in the world! Sometimes, but it belonged to exceptions, the devil wasn't so devilish, and he could even speak human language...

         We tried our hands at war very often. As nobody wanted to be a German, we were looking for original rivals. We couldn't shoot at them, but we "dazzled" them with words. Usually we did it in the region of Weitknecht's pub, where Germans dropped in for schnapps. We ran to them - so as to "mislead the rival," we put up the hand in a Nazi greeting and then we hurled at them an offensive epithet. Its content depended on the individual talents for expressing our unfriendly feelings, and on the willingness to demonstrate to the pack a poetic art of using the most offensive and the crudest words.
         For example:
         "Sir Captain, eat some turd for breakfast!"
         "Sir Comrade, you've got mucky pants!"
         "Sir Officer, you are a creep!"
         "Hi! I'll give you some shit to eat!"
         Once I ran up to a soldier I waved my little hand and recited gladly:
         "- Sir Officer, feathers are spilling from your asshole!"
         The German unexpectedly stopped and to my surprise he said [in a pure Silesian dialect]:
         - You clever, devilish boy! If you keep on talking like that then feathers will spill from your asshole! (and he wasn't mistaken here). He wagged his finger at me and went away.
         We were observed by a landlady (the owner of a house where we lived) going out from the drugstore near Weitknecht's pub. The landlady yelled at me and as it was easy to guess she told about it to my Grandfather.

         Grandmother in her customary manner, for some days, put a small pillow on the chair...

Janusz Wałkuski

Janusz Walkuski in our times

drawn up by: Maciej Janaszek-Seydlitz

translation: Małgorzata Szyszkowska