Legacy

The story of Lech Kwasiborski's mother and father

By Lech Kwasiborski
Montreal, Quebec

I was born on a cold and wintry January morning in the year 1954. The second of three children, a year and a half younger than my sister Barbara and eleven years older than my brother Roman. I was to go through life known as Lech and what a wonderful life it would be. All three of us were blessed to be born to two loving & caring parents. So as a lasting tribute to them & their memory, I write their story.

My mother, Bronislawa was born in Gawlike, Poland in 1921,the fourth of nine children. It was here she would learn her skills, which prepared her (unknowingly), for what was about to happen. Under the watchful eye of her mother Matilda she learned her culinary and needlework skills and from her father Jan, she learned compassion, perfection and love of languages. The people of the village used to say that she would marry a man of stature and as it turned out, that's exactly what happened. She married in November of 1939, World War II had started two months earlier and her happiness was to be short lived. The newlyweds just had enough time to consummate their marriage before Emil (her husband), was taken away by the Soviet NKVD never to be seen again.

Two days later on the midnight of April 12, they came for her, under the pretext that she was a spy because, since her husband was a Polish officer, therefore a spy, so was she by association. She was herded into a cattle car along with hundreds of Polish doctors, officers, legislators, the intelligentsia of Poland & transported east, where many were to perish on the frozen steppes of Siberia. What must have gone through her head, she was 19 years old, three months pregnant, not knowing if her husband was dead or alive, thousands of miles separating her from her loved ones alone, scared, hungry, cold and so very alone.

Feliks, my father was born in Kutno, Poland in 1909, the second son of Alexander and Margaret. Brother to six sisters and two brothers. In the years just preceding WWI, the family packed up & moved east to a village called Suprsal. It was here that he would marry and spend his first 30 years. He spoke so lovingly of the beautiful pine forest and meadows, the rolling fields and soft flowing brooks, a place where dreams would become his reality.

In 1931 he was called up for his national service and was to spend two years in the army. He excelled during his training and was appointed to NCO school where upon completion he graduated as a young corporal. Prior to his release, he was sent to Berlin to represent Poland in the 1936 Olympics as a relay runner.

In 1938 he married Helena, then on September 1 1939 the Nazis invaded. He was mobilized in the first week and sent southeast to defend the city of Lwow. On the 17 of September, the Soviets crossed the border and invaded Poland from the east. Under the agreement of the Non-Aggression Pact signed by Molotov and Ribbentrop, Poland was divided. He was taken prisoner by the Germans, managing to escape and after one month of hiding and dodging Soviet, Nazis, Ukrainian and other fifth column parties he made his way back home. His wife had born him a son Ryzsard who was now 4 months old. He had no time to spend with his family, for he had learned that the NKVD was looking for him. He was an active member of the AK (Underground army) but surrendered to the Soviets on March 21 after receiving news that his wife was arrested. She had managed to leave their son behind in the care of her sister just prior to her arrest and it would many years before he would see him again.

My mother would journey in the crowded cattle car for weeks and endure many hardships. The train would stop only to take on more water and then continue on east. Many poor souls were destined to die from dysentery, malnutrition and other ailments, the young and elderly were the first to fall victim. They weren't given much to eat and relied upon each other to share what meager rations they had.

The long and arduous voyage ended in a place called Pawlodarskoja Oblasc, a small town in Asian Kazakstan. Here they were trucked to Ofcy Sowhos and told how privileged they were to work for the greatness of the Soviet Republic. One of her assignments was to watch over and protect a fold of sheep and if any were to vanish she would forfeit with her life. One day a few lambs wandered off and mingled with another fold, upon doing her count and coming up short despair set in. She went to the other keepers and was fortunate enough to find them. Many were not as lucky, the head shepherd, a Kazak was shot for losing a lamb.

She had never given up hope in trying to locate her husband and had made numerous inquiries, always receiving the same replay: Write to Papa Stalin and he will answer. She wrote and never received a reply. She was summoned to the building of the camp council and told that her husband was not in Russia and never was, and any further questions concerning him would not be tolerated. She didn't accept the answer and continued to explain how in the early morning of April 10, 1940 the NKVD came for him. At this point the political officer, a stout and dark haired man fell into a rage and stomped towards her pistol in hand, placing the barrel against her head saying he was going to shoot her. A younger man in a military uniform stood up and rushed towards them, extending his arm and covering the revolver with his hand, saying "Put it away, can you not see her condition? She is with child." At this point he turned toward her and said she had better leave.

She gave birth to her first son, Andrew Francis on St. Francis Day, October 4, 1940, in the back of an ox-driven cart. Young Andrew Francis was to live for 44 days and died on November 17, 1940. His tiny body was tenderly wrapped in cloth and placed into a makeshift wooden box. A shallow grave was hollowed out of the frozen tundra so as to prevent wild dogs & wolves from scavenging his remains.

Germany invaded the USSR on the 22 of June 1941 thus making enemies of the one-time partners. An armistice was signed in July 1941 between Gen. Wladyslaw Sikorski, head of the Polish government in exile and the USSR thus enabling 150,000 of an estimated 2 million Poles in Soviet prisons to go free. The painful road to freedom had begun.

Upon my father's imprisonment he was interrogated regularly about his association within the Armjia Krajowa, always denying any allegations and refusing to sign any pre-written confession. This only made his tormentors angrier and they in turn told him they had a special place for him.

Life in a Soviet prison was by no means comfortable, there was no privacy and one slept on the floor without blanket or mattresses. Rations were meager, a mere 20 deco of stale dark bread and a cup of lukewarm soup. There was no toilet and only a bucket in the corner,which was always overflowing. Boredom drove some of the inmates mad and diseases claimed many more.

Still they found ways to occupy themselves. Sometimes they would hold flea races. A circle with a meter diameter was etched into the floor and fleas were placed in the center. One was covered in fleas so they were not hard to find, but getting a winner was another story. The first flea to jump out of the circle was declared the winner & his owner would place his champion back in a safe spot needless to say the losing fleas were dealt in a less caring fashion.

After spending several months in prison, he was sent along with his wife to a labour camp near Oreburg in the Ural Mountains. Here he worked in a lumber mill till the amnesty.

There was to be much confusion concerning the location of registrar points, leading many to wander aimlessly. My mother boarded a river barge and voyaged along the Irtys reaching Semipalatinsk. Once there she was told to go to Buzuluk, northwest of her present location.

Upon her arrival she was informed that the first contingents quota was met and that she better make her way to Lugovoj. Her quest for freedom did not end there, for it was in Lugovoj that fate would once again play its’ hand.

Her health had deteriorated and malnutrition took its toll. She fell ill with malaria and rheumatic fever. Here she lay at death's doorstep in a state of paralysis. Her friend Wladyslawa Alangilan, sister to a Polish colonel in London noticed her condition worsening and called for a doctor. He examined her and said that a pill would be a waste and covered her face with a blanket. Wladyslawa protested and said how could a doctor say such a thing in front of a patient. He just looked at her and walked away. My mother had heard the comment but was unable to respond all she could do was cry and tears started to buildup under her eyelids.

Above her cot a bird had built its nest, one of its chicks had fallen and landed on her pillow, a cat heard the chick chirping and jumped on my mother pawing for it in the process pulling the blanket off of her face. Wladyslawa's attention was drawn to the cat and upon noticing the tears running down my mother’s cheeks started yelling "She's alive, she's alive." She ran out of the barracks toward the administration building and caught the attention of a Polish military doctor. In haste they ran to my mother’s bedside and saw for themselves her sorry state. A Polish government official, also present said with pent-up emotion, "Before us we see the flower of Polish youth wilting away, we must at all cost save our future". She was treated with quinine and strychnine and slowly started to regain some strength. In July of 42 she was carried by two male military nurses to the train station and placed aboard a special hospital train, destined for Krasnovodsk, a port on the Caspian Sea. This was the final lift out of the USSR.

Upon reaching Krasnovodsk she was carried onto a boat which in turn made port in Bandare-Pahlavi, Iran. She was to fall under the attention of a famous Polish Professor, Dr. Zaplatynski at the Red Cross hospital in Tehran. She recovered slowly and was released in September of '43.

She was given work at the military club for allied officers in Tehran, and worked there till the war's end. In Nov. of '45 she made her way to Beirut. Upon her arrival she sought out the assistance of the Red Cross in helping her locate her husband Emil. She was officially categorized as a displaced person and given refugee status. She was interviewed by Canadian officials and granted passage to Canada under the condition that she would have to sign a work contract with the Canadian government. She boarded the USS General Black and arrived in Halifax in 1949. My father’s quest was also filled with disappointments. Upon learning about the amnesty, he and his wife had to come to terms on how they were going to return to their son. Poland was now completely under German occupation and if he was to return, he would either be shot or imprisoned once again. They had decided that the best thing to do under the circumstances was to split up. Helena would stay in the USSR and my father would try and make his way into the army, maybe this way one would survive and eventually make his or her way back. That decision proved to be the right one, but nevertheless costly, for they were never to see each other again.

He journeyed along the Trans-Siberian railway, reaching as far as Novosibirsk and Kraswojarsk. In Kraswojarsk he was once again arrested by the Soviets and charged with being a deserter. He was brought before the local commissar and interrogated. He was asked why he wasn't in the Soviet army and what he was doing so close to the China-Mongolia boarder. He explained that he was a Pole trying to make his way into the Polish Army so that he can continue his fight with the Germans. This answer pleased his interrogator and he was released and given a Soviet ration card and train ticket. Reaching Togyz in May 42, he made his way to the registration center. His heart set in with despair upon the sight of what greeted him. There he saw an endless queue of half-starved men in rags lined up before the center. He knew he would not get in, so he asked the guard at what time the center would open. "Seven o'clock in the morning" was the reply. He turned around and walked away wondering how he would overcome this obstacle.

He set out early the next morning with a plan. Placing himself in the general area, he noticed a window overlooking the courtyard and a guard standing between a fence and the window. Patiently he waited; a NCO opened the door to the building and told the guard to open the fence gate. At the same instant he darted from across the street, leaped over the fence and through the window, before any of the staff could react, he jumped up, stood to attention and in the prescribed Polish military fashion said, "Corporal Kwasiborski of the 77th Infantry Regiment reporting for duty". Just as the NCO started to unleash a series of verbal remarks questioning my father’s lineage, the officer in charge said "silence." He asked where he had served in 1939. My father answered and the officer, satisfied, told him to sign a document, thus enlisting him in the 18th Infantry Regt. of the 6th Lwoskie Division.

He transferred to the 6th Military Police Company in Sachrisabz and left the USSR for Iran. Once in Iran, they were transported to a camp in Iraq and started training for their integration into the British 8th Army. From then on they were to be known as the 2nd Polish Corps, which consisted of two infantry divisions and an armored brigade, commanded by the Polish General Wladyslaw Anders.

In Feb. of 44 they crossed the Mediterranean Sea and were moved into the front lines. It was to be here, at the Battle of Monte Cassino that the 2nd Corps was to receive its baptism by fire.

My father was a military policeman in the 2nd Armored Brigade and was known to volunteer for difficult tasks. One such task was in the early stages of the offensive on Cassino, where units having advanced into enemy territory found themselves cut off. At the time he was assigned to brigade HQ and was the personal bodyguard to General Rakowski. He was listening to the general brief his subordinates and learned that one of the formations was out of communications due to being cut off. This was a serious situation and could jeopardize the ongoing assault. He volunteered to deliver the message and was briefed by the General.

That evening, under the cover of darkness, armed only with his personal weapon and a few grenades, he set out behind enemy lines. He moved with stealth, bounding from one escarpment to another trying to avoid contact with the enemy, but this proved to be very difficult. The terrain was mountainous and loose rocks would start small rockslides whenever he moved, in turn alerting the enemy. The enemy would illuminate the terrain and bring down mortar fire or machine gun fire on his previous position. Under these conditions he moved during the night, he reached his objective and briefed the commander. For this action he was decorated with the Krzyza Walecznych (Cross of Valour) for valour under fire.

Another scary incident occurred when he was on traffic duty and rerouting upcoming columns. It was just after the battle at Ancona, and the Germans had mined the area. A sapper bulldozer was making its way up to the road clearing debris from the previous battle. My father was watching the dozer when something caught his eye. Without hesitation, he jumped onto the dozer and ordered the driver to stop. Bewildered, the sapper stopped. My father told him he saw something and his gut feeling was something was wrong. Together they went to investigate, after probing the earth the sapper noticed that the soil was loose and sagging. He told my father something was definitely wrong and that further investigation was needed. My father called in and reported what was happening,a sapper platoon was sent up. Upon their arrival they quickly found out that they were sitting on top of enough explosives to completely level a grid square or a square kilometer. What the Germans had done was fill a hole with hundreds of unused artillery shells and propellant, along with Italian and German anti tank mines.

He fought his final battle in Bologna on the 21st of April 1945 and stayed there till the war's end. The whole Corps was moved to England in 1946. He was appointed to the position of Company Quartermaster and upon his release in August of 1947, had earned the rank of Company Sergeant Major.

With the Corps disbanded, Poland under Soviet rule and no place to call home, he approached the Canadian authorities. He was accepted but just like my mother, had to sign a work contract. Through the Red Cross, he was to learn that his wife was missing and that his son, who was 8 years old was still being taken care of by his aunt and uncle. On a regular basis he would send aid packages and money from England. His plan was to come to Canada and start a process, which would unite him with his son. This proved to be very difficult.

He arrived in Canada in Sept. 1947 with the hope of a new life. Under the terms of the work contract, my mother was to work in Lennoxville, Quebec. The place was a hotel called "The Bishop's House" owned by Mr. and Mrs. Odette. Here she would work her way up to head waitress and meet many guests, such as Barbara Ann Scott, Premiere Maurice Duplessis and The Honorable George Drew, who at the time was Minister of Immigration. With sincere emotion, she personally thanked the minister and his wife for his efforts in allowing Polish refugees entrance into Canada.

She completed her contract and moved to Montreal. Here she found work as a nanny in the house of Mr. and Mrs. Cecil Pascal and would care for their 3 sons, Freddy, Sidney, and David. It was during this time that she would meet my father.

My father would also finish his contract in Sherbrooke, Quebec and make his way to Montreal. He found work at the Montreal Convalescent and Rehabilitation Hospital. He was truly a remarkable craftsman and would spend hours designing and building exercise machines, artificial limbs and walkers. He worked with the thalidomide children and helped in designing methods of attaching artificial limbs. But his biggest achievement was in designing the walker. This simple device would enable people to move around independently without fear of falling and was sold worldwide under the patent "The Gregory Walker." He did not receive any royalties from its sale because it was not he who patented it. He was just satisfied in the knowledge that he had done something good for humanity.

My parents met in the spring of 1950 and married on the 4th of August 1951. Together they tried to bring my father's son Ryzsard over to Canada, but due to the Cold War their efforts were unsuccessful.

We eventually met Ryzsard for the first time in 1962 and we communicate with him regularly. He married and started a family of his own and was to remain in Poland.

My father set out on his final journey on the 19th of October 1990 and died in the loving arms of his family.

My mother, through her courage and devotion, continues to soldier on. Her being not only acting as an inspiration to her family, but also as a living testimony of human resilience.

THEIR LEGACY LIVES ON!

Email Lech Kwasiborski, Montreal, Quebec