The exile and the return

         We were taken care of by the Central Welfare Council (founded with a permission from the Germans in 1940, it was a charity institution that cared for people who suffered during the war). They put us in a nearby village called Reczyce. Every morning before the sun came up, I had to peel a potful of potatoes for the breakfast borscht and after the meal I had to take the cows out to graze.
         Unfortunately, it was getting colder and I didn't have any warm clothes. I did have a fur coat but I didn't have any stockings and only a summer pair of shoes. Therefore, I caught a cold and had fever. Since it was Sunday, I decided to lie down for a bit. The landlady scolded me and said: "No work, no food." We didn't eat that day.
         Next morning, we walked to Lyszkowice where I got two bread rolls and a cup of warm milk for my child. I tried to find another lodging and only in the evening I managed to get one. It belonged to a German lady, the owner of the mill. She had three children and her husband was in the battle. She promised to take us in if I took care of her children. We stayed there until mid November but she treated us very poorly as if we were some beggars asking for alms. I guess she decided that we cost her too much so she informed us one day that her family is coming over and we have to vacate her house within three days. Sadly, I couldn't find another place to stay in the allocated time, and although it was pouring down, I had to pack my things, grab my child, and go.
         I stopped at the gate. I didn't have the courage to go forward. It was freezing cold. The child was crying and the rain was still pouring. The mill supervisor, who was just closing up the facility, spotted me and surprised, asked me what I was doing there. I told him about my situation. He couldn't do much, but he secretly took us to the equipment room in the mill where we found a little table, a chair, and a small bench. It was as cold in there as it was outside. I wrapped my child and put him on the bench. I sat in the chair. After an hour or so, a boy brought us a few bread rolls and a flask full of hot tea from the supervisor.
         We were let out in the morning by the supervisor. I went to a little shop/dinner where the local sugar factory workers ate. We had some tea and ate a few bread rolls. I learned there that the owner was looking for someone to help in the kitchen and serve the meals. I applied for the position and became a cook and a waitress. The job was demanding but we were warm and our stomachs were full. The only problem was sleeping as there was only a small kitchen room at the back of the diner. We slept on two tables joined together, covered by my fur coat.
         At some point, Lyszkowice residents had organized a collection of used clothes and gave them over to the priest. I swallowed my pride and went over to him to ask for some warmer shoes for my son. He only had a pair of summer sandals, and one shoe was broken. I got nothing though. The priest scolded me for asking for them when I was wearing a fur coat myself. He said: "Take the fur off your back and trade it for some shoes for your child."
         As you can imagine, my son got sick and I lost my job again. I took my son to the hospital. They gave him a bed and I slept at his feet. I obviously wasn't very lucky, though. As soon as my child was starting to recover from the sickness (it was a New Year's Day), the same priest who scolded me before came by the hospital. He must have recognized me and said: "What are you doing here? Get out of here immediately!" I could not take it anymore. Where was I supposed to go?
         I was walking straight ahead without knowing the time or a destination. All of a sudden, someone tugged on my sleeve and pulled me back. It turned out that I stepped into wetlands and had I not been pulled out it would have been our end. My savior happened to be Roman Pomorski. He lived in Skierniewice but would often come to Lyszkowice. He took us to his friends' place. They ran a diner as well. We stayed there for a few days and helped in the kitchen.
         There was a sugar factory in Lyszkowice. I decided to get a job there. There were three Germans and an interpreter in a director's office. They asked me immediately for my id. Once I showed it to them, they yelled: "Bandit" at me and tossed my id card towards the door. I saw three fingers pointing at the door. I hurried outside as I left my son alone in the corridor and was worried about him. I realized that I'm doomed and won't get any job that would secure my son through the winter.
         However, someone up there must have been watching over us since while I was standing there in that corridor, cuddling my son, sobbing, a man came over. He was older, nicely dressed, and looked friendly. "What happened? What are you doing here?", he asked. I told him what had happened. "Sadly, I cannot help you with getting the job - the Germans don't hire people from Warsaw. Come here to see this man tomorrow, though", he said as he pointed at the porter. I thanked him and left. I hoped he would help me find a job.
         I came back there the next day. There was a package waiting for me there. I learned that a man who I was talking to the day before was a previous director of the factory. In the package I found amenities for my child, woollen pants, two sweaters, several shirts, leggings, gloves, a hat, and the most important item - long boots and 500 zloty inside one of them. I burst into tears. This time, however, these were the tears of joy.
         A few days later, Roman Pomorski arrived from Skierniewice and took us with him. We stayed with women who were refugees from Poznan. There were eight of us there. We evenly distributed everything that Pomorski managed to get for us such as potatoes and bread. This is how we managed to survive until the Soviet soldiers took over Skierniewice. The army moved at a great pace. The Germans stampeded out of the city like rats, leaving everything behind.
         I decided to go back home as soon as I learned that Warsaw was finally free. Every day I would go out onto the road with my son and look for a ride to the city. It took us a week to finally stop a driver of a Russian tank truck. I used a bottle of vodka as a bait to stop him. I was lucky that Pomorski had given me three of those bottles and a dozen of candles. They took my son into the cabin and sat him on the guard's laps. I sat outside on a platform, nestled next to a gas tank.
         They dropped us off at Okecie. We started walking towards Dabrowka thinking that we'll find our family there. This journey turned out to be a horrible ordeal. We took a shortcut. I quickly realized that the fields that we were walking through were mined and we waded in snow up to our waists. We retraced our steps and wobbled back out of the fields. When we got back to where we started it was already dark. Once we got out on the hard ground, we felt exhausted and cold. There was no way we could have kept walking.
         There was a wooden house just next to Krakowska Avenue. I decided to go there and ask if we could stay there that night. Before I even managed to walk up to the door, a friendly landlord came out and invited us in. There was only one room inside. There was a bed, a bench and an iron fire with a cabbage soup cooking on it. They offered us some soup. What a treat that was! It brought us back to life. The landlord got a sheaf of hay from the attic and spread it on the floor for us. The iron fire kept us warm all night. I gave the landlord four candles as a "thank you" gift (candles were at a premium back then) and left the next morning.
         The sun was shining, and the snow was melting into the sloughs. We sank to our knees most of the way. We finally made it to a village. We stayed there in one of the cottages to get warm and dry. They gave us each a cup of a hot beverage that could hardly be called tea. In return for a bottle of vodka, a young man carried my backpack (that I had appropriated before) in which there was the last bottle of vodka, candles and my son's clothes, and promised to take us to Dabrowka. We did in fact find our family there. But we found them in dire poverty. What mattered most, though, was that we had a roof over our heads. We all stayed in the kitchen so that we could warm ourselves with our own breath. The candles that I had with me proved to be invaluable. I traded them for two loaves of wholewheat bread and some potatoes.
         After a few days, we walked to Warsaw. We visited everyone we knew there. Unfortunately, every apartment that we saw was either totally destroyed or desolated to such an extent that it would be impossible to live there. The apartment on Filtrowa Street was the least ruined one. On our way back, we visited my dearest friend who was also my son's godmother. She lived on Madalinski Street. Her mother and her had just reopened their kindergarten. We were so happy to see each other. We moved there the next day. Not only did we have a roof over our heads but also comfortable air temperature and, most importantly, we weren't starving.
         I began to obtain tobacco and cigarette paper and started to roll cigarettes again in order to earn my living. At the beginning of March, we went to Pustelnik to find the rest of our family. Pustelnik was our meeting point. Sadly, I didn't find anyone there except for the caretaker. The mansion was destroyed. We stopped there for a day to catch our breath and then set off again.
         I decided to go to Radosc where a relative of mine lived with her family. Indeed, I found them there but they became a shadow of their former selves. We enjoyed our company for some time and then went to bed. I slept for 36 hours straight and my son - 24 hours. We were so exhausted from all this walking from Warsaw to Pustelnik and from there to Radosc. There wasn't any transportation to use, only a barge through the Vistula River. This is how my exile from Warsaw ended.
         We lived on Madalinski Street until April. Finally, on the 3rd of April 1945, we moved to 70 Filtrowa Street, to an apartment which my sister used to live in before the war. We put the place in order with our own bare hands. It was sooted and extremely filthy from the Russians who stayed there for a couple of days. We were lucky, though, as the bomb that was used to knock down the building, hit the roof on the other side of the staircase. All the apartments in this 7-floor house that were on that side were completely ruined. On our side, on the other hand, all the accommodations from the first floor all the way up to the fifth, were in good condition. The windows were broken and most of the things were stolen. They did leave some of the furniture behind so the situation wasn't too tragic for those times.
         So, we began life after the war…My sister and I still spent our days hand making the cigarettes. I would walk to Mokotow every other day to sell the cigarettes and candles. Once the summer started, I began to look for a stable job.