The General Langfitt Story
Chapter 4 - Amnesty and the Journey South (continued)
The Southern Kolhozes
Once in the south the fate of the Polish refugees remained uncertain because there were so few facilities to deal with the influx of people. By the beginning of 1942, thousands of Polish refugees had made their way to the southern regions of the Soviet Union to congregate close to their army. This, however, was no guarantee of improved circumstances as civilians were being denied Soviet ration cards and starvation was common even in the army camps. By March, due to the difficulty of feeding these people, the Soviet Union finally agreed to Polish plans to evacuate 30 000 Polish military along with 10 000 members of their families (Królikowski, 1983, p. 66).
General Wladyslaw Anders, chosen by the Polish government in exile to command Polish forces in the Soviet Union, had spent two years in the Lubyanka prison in Moscow and therefore had a deep mistrust of Stalin's regime. This was further justified when, by March 1942, only 70 000 soldiers had managed to make their way to his headquarters at Buzuluk, between the Volga and the Ural Mountains. Added to that was the notable absence of officers. Polish records indicated that 180 000 men, including 15 000 officers, had been taken prisoner by the USSR in 1939 (Ascherson, 1987, p. 120). Relations between the Polish government in exile and the Soviet Union had been tenuous from the start of their alliance and, according to Ascherson, relations deteriorated further when Anders moved the Polish forces towards the Caspian Sea and refused to send a division to the front on the grounds that they were under-armed and unfit for battle.
The Soviet authorities retaliated by cutting rations and conditions in the south deteriorated still further. Undeterred, and inspired by news of the March evacuation of Polish armed forces and their families, Poles continued their 'feverish stampede toward the south' (Królikowski, 1983, p. 66). The Polish army and government in exile were doing their best to organise aid and information for their compatriots and many adult refugees were seconded to positions with the various Polish relief agencies. Stan (Zbigniew) Patro recalled that after the remaining members of his family reached Bukhara, his mother got a job in an orphanage.
We stayed there until we left two months later. The orphanage had large dormitories, but the children were sick and each day some died from diseases such as malaria and dysentery. After starvation the children had no resistance at all. They were looked after by the Polish army but there was not enough food and no medicine so there was little one could do. I got very sick there and my grandfather got dysentery. Around this time we had to leave for Persia (Iran). Grandfather died on the train to Krasnovodsk. There was no funeral. They just removed his body at one of the stops.
Janusz Smenda, his mother Wladyslawa and sister Teresa eventually left the Soviet Union with one of these orphanages:
We ended up in Turkestan and Uzbekistan where the Polish units were being formed. There were a lot of Polish orphans because so many mothers died. Mother was approached to take charge of orphans and she accepted. Ultimately, the Polish army was moved out of the Soviet Union to Persia, to be under the British command, to be equipped and trained. This whole orphanage, and many others, were moved out with the army on one of the transports to Krasnovodsk, and from there on to the boat across the Caspian Sea to Pahlavi.
If women and children were able to find a relative who was in the army they had a greater chance of being able to settle temporarily near the various army headquarters. Jerzy Mazak's family discovered a relative who was with the Polish army in Tashkent:
We travelled south too. It was an interesting place and some significant things happened there. Being the headquarters for the army they started organising little schools, and prepared us for first holy communion and confirmation. A thing like that happening at Uzbekistan in the middle of the Soviet Union was unbelievable! Bishop Gawlina turned up from London and there was a big open air mass. There were very moving scenes in Tashkent because as the soldiers gained in strength they held a parade on the national feast day. Everyone made flags and banners and a band was organised from somewhere. This happening so far away from Poland was fantastic, unbelievable.
But the vast majority of refugees were once again sent to kolhozes where they continued to work for rations. Perhaps the worst of these were in eastern Turkestan, in the Uzbek and Kirghiz republics (Królikowski, 1983, p. 46). Tadeusz Gruszka, then only a little boy of five, described his family's time in this region with disarming understatement as 'pretty bad'. The Gruszka family spent their whole period of deportation in the cotton fields and, to the youngest of the Gruszka family, the amnesty initially meant only a change of location.
Polish orphans in Uzbekistan, 1942
(Courtesy of Tadeusz Dobrostanski)
From Kirghistan the Russian authorities shifted us to Uzbekistan. It was pretty similar. We were working in the cotton fields. I used to work behind my mother and father when they were picking cotton. It was something to do but it was hard work for a young fellow like me. Eventually, the Polish government got us out of there.
Many women took the risk of leaving these kolhozes without permission rather than remain isolated from news or the meagre assistance available at the Polish army relief centres. Relocated to an isolated kolhoz in Uzbekistan, 40 kilometres from the nearest kolhoz with large numbers of Poles, Elizabeth Patro explained that their diet consisted of pancake made from wheat chaff and some lebioda, pigweed, growing in the area. Consequently:
Almost every day, someone died. Once my sister Iza recovered from dysentery, my mother prepared us for a trip - on foot if necessary. Next morning when everyone was still asleep, we left our kibitka (hut). Mother carried a small bundle of clothes, some dried uruk (apricot) which was stolen, a bottle of water and three pancakes. Once we reached the hills the enormity of the task dawned on her. Forty kilometres of hilly terrain with three small children. The tears rolled down her hollowed cheeks and her hands trembled. She prayed. We three looked at her and did not speak. From time to time she urged us on. Eventually Talek, the youngest, started to cry, his feet were bleeding and he complained of being very tired and hungry. At first she chose not to listen. She fastened her strap and dragged the boy by the hand. It was well past noon when we stopped. She gave us half a pancake each and a few drops of water. She herself did not eat or drink. Sadly she looked at her young son, took his tattered shoes off, unrolled her small bundle and retaining only the large shawl secured Talek to her back with the shawl. With half a bottle of water and one and a half pancakes we continued on our way. When dusk was falling Mother unashamedly cried aloud. Fortunately God must have listened. After a few more kilometres the trees became sparse, the path widened and over the next hill far in the distance we could see the lights of Lenin Kolhoz. It was dark when we were welcomed by our Polish friends. We all believed that for sure we would see our father - unfortunately it was not to be.
Irena Makowiecka told of how she and her mother arrived in Bukhara where they registered with a Polish relief agency and were given flour and a few other provisions. Soon after their group of eight families, who had travelled together from Siberia, were sent to the cotton fields because staying around Bukhara 'created a problem'. The adults cleaned up after the cotton harvest and prepared for the ploughing but after that there was no more work for the women and therefore no money to buy rations until the next harvest. They spent Christmas of 1941 in this kolhoz, walking the 22 kilometres to Bukhara to get rations from the Polish relief agency whenever their strength permitted. Everybody got typhoid and several friends died, including Irena's baby brother. Irena recalled that in April they were told to leave everything because they would be leaving Russia.
We took what we could carry and walked to Bukhara but we were left there again with nothing because Stalin got annoyed with the allies over something and used us as hostages. For the second time we were told, 'You have to leave Bukhara. You are not allowed to stay'. We were taken to another kolhoz which was even further away than the first one. There were only two Polish mothers and two children, myself and another boy. We stayed there among the Uzbeks who were very unfriendly. They hated Russians and they couldn't care less who we were.
My mother was very upset and worried. We had very little - one huge pillow which was my mother's wedding present from her mother, I still have that - and a few odd things. Mother had to go to work but again we were not paid or given anything and we were so far away from Bukhara that we couldn't go to the Polish centre to get help. It was spring by then so I used to make soup out of green weeds. I would add a green apricot for a bit of taste. I'm sure it was full of vitamins! We still had a bit of flour and some salt, although that was running out too, and we could buy a cup or two of milk so I would chop some weeds, add them to the flour and make little pancakes. I was a very imaginative cook' That's what we lived off daily for quite a few weeks.
Eventually in desperation we packed up and sneaked away in the middle of the night. We walked through kilometres of fragrant cherry and apricot orchards in full bloom, in beautiful moonlight. It was like a fairy tale, except for the hyenas. They were following us through the orchards. Their howl sounds like a child crying - sobbing and going higher and higher. It was bloodcurdling and such a contrast: the beautiful full moon, the beautiful trees dressed in white and pink and the horrible sound of hyenas. It was symbolic of all our life woes.