Zuzanna M. Nawalicka
MEMORIES OF KAROL

My first meeting with Karol M.Nawalicki was in April 1990 in Nottingham. I had the impression of an interesting man.Our discussion, about history of Poland and Polish literature, was very stormy. The next meeting did not take such a stormy course, although there were lengthy discussions on intellectual subjects. Karol's thought provoking ideas took me away from my "grey daily life". It became an antidote for my sad personal experiences, and helped me to turn my thoughts to reality. There were so many things I wanted to ask him and to tell him. He was a real man of great knowledge. There were no romantic imaginings at this time. But I still remember every sentence and inflexion of his voice. A smile of his blue eyes was warm. He was friendly, though reserved. I just felt he was the most interesting man I had ever met. My fascination with my future husband apparendy did not have anything to do with these new found emotions, but very soon I came to realize that there was something more,between Karol and me, than just discussion during gatherings with mutual friends.

In July I was returning to Poland and two days before leaving I noticed that hearing about my departure was an unexpected blow to Karol

-"Give my regards to Poland and come back as soon as possible, please. You are needed here..." - this was what I heard on my departure.

Almost two months had passed when I found myself back in Nottingham. When I telephoned Karol to deliver best wishes from his fatherland, I was taken aback and touched by his reaction. I was really surprised and very happy. After a few days I found myself at "Peveril House".

It is not customary for me to look over someone else's house, but that time I looked with fascination, for I had never seen such an interior of a house.On a large part of the hall wall and up to the first floor there were the colourful reproductions of The Panorama Raclawicka", the largest of the Polish historical paintings. On the opposite wall, nearest the entrance, there was a silver dish filled with holy water from Lourdes, at the feet of a Crucifix. And futherer still other reproductions of the paintings of various artists. On the main wall of the study I noticed "The White Eagle"- the symbol of Poland. There were also portraits of known men of history, and an enlarged photo of "The Katyn Memorial". Around Karol's house there were many other pictures, family photographs, mementoes from Poland, many records, and of course a lot of books. What impressed me in particular, was the massive picture of "Our Lady of Mercy - the Queen of Poland". "Peveril House" was not a typical house, because its owner and my future husband was not a typical man. Karol was not a very tall man, but he was great indeed.

Karol talked a lot, objectively, colourfully and in impeccable, beautiful "Lvovian language". He opened up to me and revealed his own life without hiding any injuries, he pulled me into a world of his own fields of interest. I became a student spellbound by my best teacher. Thanks to him I entered a wonderuul circle of Polish exiles. I was able to participate in patriotic events, and what was most important I learned history of which I knew nothing, or my knowledge of true historical facts was very small.

I will always remember that evening on the 5th September l990. Karol took me up to his house but he had something important to write. So he suggested that I occupy myself with looking at photographs. He then opened a laage office drawer flill to the brim with a large number of packages. I like to look at photographs very much and that evening I saw about half of Karol's collection. But when I came to a certin photo, I asked for an explanation.

- "It is me". answered Karol with a smile, and added, "Don't you think I was a good looking chap?"

I was shocked. I don't know how long I stared at the photograph signed on the reverse side: "After being released from KoInma". The impression was so strong I could not take my eyes off it. Only then did I realise what Kaol had told me about Kolyma. I experienced a similar shock years ago. I was a very skinny schoolgirl, when for the first time I was taken to "The Majdanek Museum". During the 2nd World War Majdanek was one of many German concentration camps in Poland. It was situated in the Lublin area I still remember the large photograph that I noticed there on a grey wall it showed a naked young woman. From the information underneath I knew that she was a few years older than I was. She and I were the same height, but she weighed half of my weight, when she was taken to a gas chamber.Like many years ago, when I was comparing myself with that girl, I then tried to find the likeness between a "Kolymian' and the impressive figure of the chairman of the Kolymians-Siberians Association. After all it was the same, but how different, Karol!

In the late autumn 1990 Karol became gravely ill. Every day he was getting thinner and looked older. It was a very difficult time. All the symptoms were pointing to cancer of his stomach. But Karol did not want a doctor to see him. He was losing strength and patience. He was easing the pain from his stomach by drinking only cold milk or water with ice. He gave up his work, did not read or answer the telephone. Although the subject was not talked about, I knew that he was reading an article in "The Polish Daily", "The Symptoms of stomach cancer" , that was why my hero diagnosed himself as having it. On the 2nd or 3rd of December I found him, like every day, in bed, but this time he held a small mirror in his hand and he was looking intently at the reflection of his face in the mirror.He was very sad. Pretending not to notice this, and in order to deflect him from mournful thoughts I said: "NARCISSUS" and after that we had a long and difficult conversation. When Karol dozed off; I wrote a poem. It was a good idea. Karol seemed that he was anxious and the next day called for his doctor and willingly went to hospital. Several days later he returned home in an entirely different mood for the tests elinnnated a tumour. On the New Year's Day 1991 he was behind the steering wheel, singing chirpy little Lvovian song:

Come on my girl, I want to dance,
Come on my beautiful, you are my happiness...

"The ulcers of Kolyma " were from time to time a reminder of their existence, but Karol didn't seem to mind that so much. We were very happy again. It was a great pleasure to see him! Sometime in the middle of January he was able to start his work again. In June, after more than 50 years, he visited Poland. He came back very tired but happy, because he took part in the Congress of the National Democratic Party. There he met many interesting people, visited his relatives and delivered the emblems "Kolymians-Siberians", ordered in Poland.

Good days had returned ! Karol did not leave his desk. He made new contacts and soon wrote two articles. Karol liked to work and it helped him to carry on his life.

On one occasion Karol asked me to trim his toenails and so for the first time I saw "external reminders of Kolyma". His feet were disfigured by swellings and scars of red, blue and black shades. I had to treat his foot very gently, and not to touch any tender spots. Now I understood why he wore big and only soft shoes. His feet were rather small. I couldn't have hidden my surprise and shock very well. That day Karol started to tell me about the Kolyma winter.

Marek Celt ( Tadeusz Chciuk), Karol's very good friend from Drohobycz, in his book " White Couriers " describes Karol's physique as " strong and robust ". And indeed he was very strong until the time of his arrest by the Soviets' NKVD at the beginning of 1940. The whole unit of conspirators was apprehended, but it was never discovered who betrayed them. It must have been someone who was well informed, since all the members were captured and all the well hidden arms were discovered and confiscated.

The prison in the home town of Drohobycz was just the begining of an imprisonment in the Soviet Union. The first interrogation was a proof that the N.K.V.D. knew everything about him. Almost every session was accomnnied by torture. He was beaten for being silent, for being "unpleasant ,for trying to contradict, even for having his own name. His involvement in the September Campaign 1939, was also a criminal act, as it was against the Soviet German allies ( The Ribbentrop-Molotov Pact).

Karol although very resilient to pain, could not get used to the beatings and swearing, which in the Russian language were utterly degrading, and which were accompanied by blows.

"During one of those interrogations, when the young oppressor hit me with a pistol, I noticed a window without the usual bars. From that moment I stopped reacting to the questions and blows, and I was waiting for the right moment to throw myself towards that window, to break the glass and dive head first onto the cobblestones below. I put this plan into action and just managed to break the glasspane, when suddenly I saw in front of me the Mother of God. This miraculous vision was so close to me that all I had to do was to stretch my arms out to touch the blue of her dress. At this very moment I was grabbed by two members of the N.K.V.D. They took me into the corridor and dragged me towards the cell. On that day I comitted another crime. While we were in the corridor one of many doors opened and instinctively I looked into the room, and for a very moment, for the last time in my life I saw my father. So he, too, was not spared the "meetings with N.K.V.D ". I have to explain that a prisoner was not supposed to see anyone or other prisoners except in his cell."

"Many times I wondered if the miraculous vision, just on the other side of the window was real or was it a figment of my imagmion, as a result of my short prayer before my suicide attempt. After that, whenever I felt depressed and drained spiritualy and wished to die, suicide was never considered as a way out."

"The old prison of Drohobycz was daily 'welcoming' new inmates and the overcrowding forced the authorities to 'send on' some of the inmates in order to accommodate new ones. This movement was a continuous state of affairs and the prisoners were reshufiled from one prison to another. It was known as being sent on an ETAP."

The last day in Drohobycz prison was the last time Karol would be in his home town. He was never to return there. He found himself in a large prison in Kharkov and later on in the camp in Starobielsk. From there he was transported to Kolyma, having received a sentence of ten plus four years hard labour (ten years as a prisoner plus four years as a free worker). It was in December 1940. He could not understand why they added four years, but even without this the ten years was a burden too heavy to be borne. Well, a man is stronger than a rock!

Karol's father had made sure, that the "traveling bag" contained the most necessary and permitted things: warm underwear, sweater, shirts, soap, strong shoes and above all food. He also included in this "baggage" a few packets of good quality tobacco, although a non-smoker himself and disapproving of his son's habit. Each parcel in turn was searched and many provisions were stolen by other prisoners, and the rest he had lost in Magadan where in spite of excessively sharp frosts, all of the new prisoners were forced to take a bath. Before entering the bath all the possessions. including clothing had to be left outside. All the jeweliery, watches, chains etc.were taken away.

After the baths all the prisoners were taken to the other side where they were given prisoner's clothing : trousers, shirt, anorak, felt boots and a cap. From all of his own belongings Karol managed to save a piece of his shirt which he had torn to be used as handkerchiefs. He did this once in Kharkov prison, when his real handkerchieves were confiscated as "a luxury". On entering the bath he hid a strip of his shirt in his clenched fist and he kept it as a talisman, a good luck object through all the bad times It survives to this day and I have placed it in the album of memorabilia of my husband. Karol called it: "a last present from my Daddy". It is hard to believe that it outlasted him, the "strong and robust" one.

Mr. Jacek Lopuszanski, Karol's companion in Starobielsk camp, insisted that Karol looked stronger than others, but just like all smokers he was exchanging his slice ofbread for some tobacco. Hunger for nicotine, incomprehensible to non-smokers, exceeded common sense.

- "Poor quality tobacco, rolled in hard to obtain paper, proved to be the only available pleasure, allowing one, for a short time, to forget the emptiness in the stomach, the cold, the tiredness and all the misery of life in prison. Tobacco smoke was destroying the oxygen in crowded cells, but softened the fear of awaiting questioning and torture. Smokers seemed to manage or rather be able to bear the pain of hunger, cold and difficulties of being transported in primitiveve wagons with no heating and no sleeping arrangements. On occasions one could witness tobacco being borrowed or lent, even offered. Something that was never done with bread".

The short stay in Magadan camp was not too unpleasant. Outside the huts of Kolyma a terrible winter set in, but inside it was pleasantly warm and the food was plentiful, a dinner consisted of two courses! Stretched out on my bunk I felt pleasantly warm and nourished. Falling asleep, I was willing to believe, that the camps were places for 'education'. This feeling of well being was suddenly shattered by shouts: 'Outside with your things!'

- 'What things?' ; 'Where are they?', we demanded to know. But the young soldier with slanted eyes carried on shouting."

"He looked so small, like Gulliver in the land of the giants. Everyone of us could squash him under the sole of the boot .But we had no boots! The soldier carried on swearing and prodding us with his rifle and we went quietly realising that the most important thing was to survive."

After breakfast of soup, bread and bad smelling herbal tea, receiving two portions of bread, dried fish and five cubes of sugar the prisoners were lead to some lorries which were to take them to the labour camps. No one knew how long the journey would take, and so some men ate their food in the first couple of hours, but others were more cautious and saved their rations for the unforseen future.

"-I was so cold, hungry and tired. I didn't have a clue how many days we would be marching in this snowy and white desert. With my hand frozen stiff from the cold, I pulled the last of the remaining fish, saved until now for the darkest hour. I felt that this was the hour! ('a dark hour'-last chance or last hour in life, finish...) However, before I had a chance to lift it to my month, I felt as though my arm was being ripped out of it's socket. It was too late to retrieve my bit of fish as it disappeared in the mouth of my neighbour, a Ukrainian. My reaction was to strike him with my hand, but I knew that he didn't regret his act. It didn't do him much good either and the poor fellow was dead within two months. He collapsed somewhere between the gold mine and the camp, as the squad returned after 12 hours work."

"From our platform we could see very little. Here and there in the deep snow were some dwarfish trees sticking out and for miles and miles nothing. Just endless snow and snow. On the distant horizon was the outline of the mountains, forbidding cold, and frightening, like the rest of this panorama of hell. The wind blew with such force that there was a danger of being swept off the platform. Occasionally the sound of the engines almost deafened us and the cold stung right to our bones. I felt that every breath I took froze in front of my face. I was afraid to open my eyes, and end up blind. 'This is the end of the world and of my life' - I thought with despair."

The deeper into the tundra the more of the barracks could be seen, and eventually the convoy reached its destination. The white slaves, so badly needed to supplement the brigades of workers, had no right to enter the camp gate.

"Stiff with frost and lack of movement, thrown off the lorry, counted numerous times, we waited a long time. Eventually the chief of the camp arrived, covered in furs, and delivered pointless speeches, and finally gave his permission for us to enter. The guards took us under their command, and escorted us to the barracks. I was too tired to notice the barracks or the occupants, for I fell on to my bunk and into a deep sleep.For many hours I neither felt the cold or the biting bed bugs. I was forced to awaken, thinking I had only slept for a couple of minutes, but I slept for over 12 hours, longer than shift."

The act of compassion of the management didn't last for more than two days. Being free from work, Karol took flill advantage of this by sleeping and recuperating. This was not made any easier by countless thousands of bed bugs, attacking the new victims, and trying to cope with them was not easy but you had to accept them. The cold was more difficult to cope with.The December of 1940 ended with a severe frost, reaching -60 C. Slaves returned after 12 hours work. They seemed exhausted, were cold and hungry. They were walking on stiffened legs. Because of frost outside, the very thin walls of the barracks, problems to get more wood, and only a primitive fire place, it was an impossibility to find a warm place inside the barracks.

In the International structure of prisoners the largest and the strongest group was the Russian common crimials.There were also Ukrainians, Jews,Germans and some young Russian ex-soldiers.The adjoimng barrack was mainly for political prisoners, that is for Poles, Jews, some Ukramians, and to keep things in balance a few Russian bandits, capable of terrorising the whole of the camp.

The conditions in all the barracks differed little. Karol was lucky to be attached to one, where - in spite of stealing and fighting- no one was murdered by the inmates themselves.

"- On the second day of my barrack existence one of the Russians felt the full weight of my hand, when he tried to snatch my daily ration of bread. The poor man looked sorry for himself but I had to eat, too. My father used to say: If you want to have a healthy stomach, you should eat very, very slowly'. My father's advice could not be carried out on this occasion, in Kolyma."

"When I was able to speak, there were many questions asked of me:

'Where from?'

'For what?'

'For how long?' etc"

"My '10 + 4 years sentence' was not an unusual one, but it didn't really matter; 5 or 10, even 20, was the same sentence, as nobody survived more than two winters in this God - forsaken place. Kolyma was the worst place in God's world!"

"The most takative were the crimminals and their favourite subject was their murderous activities. Tired of listening to their braggings I fell asleep, but soon awakened by the biting insects I overheard a conversation about myself:

'The one with red sentence (10 years) looks as if he intends to survive his TEN!'

'But I am sure he will weaken with the wheelbarrow, this proud intellectual!'

'Intellectual or not; but I want to give all of you my advice : don't start anything with him. He is still very strong'. - concluded the early morning bread thief."

And so without trying too hard, Karol gained some respect among the inmates. The prediction of him softening, strengthened his intention to survive.

"Early morning... gathering.. .200 grams of hard dark-brown bread and a tin can of boiling water.Before, during and after breakfast: shouts, barking of dogs. Some prisoners wash their faces and hands with frozen snow. Snow.. snow... snow.. white. cold snow.It was completely dark when the prisoners formed into groups and, escorted by armed guards and their dogs, approached the gate of the camp. It is very cold but by the gate are two rows prisoners with brass instruments. Sounding very out of key.. .they played a Russian melody in a tempo of a march."

It was a different world! Between "Hammer" and "Sickle"!
Kolyma was the most tragic part of the world

The gold mine was a few kilometres from the camp. The distance had to be covered on foot and hastily. "Quick! Quick!", urged a warmly dressed guard. The inmates were dragging their swollen and aching feet with difficulty, and there was no compassion from the soldiers, neither did the sick from exhaustion receive any sympathy.

"The first week in the mine I managed quite well. I had lost weight and I was troubled by coughing and sneezing, but I wanted to live. The amount of food received at the camps canteen was determined by the volume of productivity at the mine. And this wasn't up to me alone, as we had to work in pairs. Sasha, a young Russian, my first partner proved to be the weakest of the lot, so I had to put a lot of effort in, for both of us. My struggle had nothing to do with the slogans, which were all around us ,and appealing to work hard for the good of Russia. The motto which had most effect on us, was: He who doesn't work doesn't eat."

The rewards for good results were numerous: 1) name on the notice board, 2) a bit more bread, 3) slightly better soup, 4) tobacco, 5) sometimes some sugar.

Greediness for these rewards was responsible for extreme exhaustion in a very short time. Experienced inmates had a motto: "Eat less, don't overtire.They seldom found themselves in hospital, or in the barrack for the ones who had come to the end of their struggle and their lives".

Karol learned to like his first partner. He was a Russian aged about 30, but looked like an old man. Sasha was very skinny and a very quiet man. He seldom spoke, but seemed to think aloud. This was his second winter in Kolyma and he lost hope of ever seeing his wife, his little daughter and his second child. Sasha was arrested when his wife was pregaant, but nobody let him know of the baby. The poor man died quietly, and did not move when a soldier kept hitting him one morning, but the soldier did not realise that he was hitting a corpse.

"-It was easier to get accustomed to seeing the dead or dying, than to the scenes of stripping the dead bodies, sometimes even before they had died. The inmates did this themselves in order to have more clothes. There was no place for the majesty of death in the gulags of Kolyma. I could not get used to naked bodies being dragged by their legs to a special store, some considerable distance from the barracks. The mortuary was emptied depending on the season of the year."

Karol's second partner to the wheelbarrow was a hard working man. He got himself shot by the guard for crossing the forbidden for prisoners' line. He knew that he could die, but did not react to a soldier's shouting a warning that he will shoot.

"-It was my bad luck to lose two partners in a month and I was transferred to the barrack for the criminal element. The ringleader was a tall man with scars from knife wounds on his face, and shifly eyes. He became my new partner and this time I feared for my life, as he was in charge of everything and everybody, including me. He could easily kill me, as such things occured, and were quite common among the bandits of the camp."

Well wrapped aginst the cold the soldiers eagerly supervised "equal" distribution of work, and once again Karol had to carry out the work of two men. His new partner only pretended to do his share, moving only fast enough not to freeze to death.

"I have found gold! What a pity it's not bread!' I was pleased however, as the lump was of some 200g., so I could exchange it for bread and tobacco. I passed it on to my superior and in return received a packet of tobacco and 1O0g. more bread for the next seven days. My partner benefited more than me, as apart from bread and tobacco he was given a tin of preserves. So much for 'Soviet justice' !- I have rebelled."

As long as Karol worked productively he was fairly safe and in a way he was under the protection of his "kind" partner who needed him. Karol's work, however, began to diminish and he started to rebeL He demanded to be relieved and complained of being unwell.

"- For some time I have had difficulties with eating hard bread. I suffered with headaches, my gums were covered with boils discharging smelly substances from the bursting blisters."

"In the early morning flill of the usual shouting and swearing I decided to refuse to get up, explaining that my body was aching all over and I had black spots before my eyes. The guards took no notice and threw me out. I dragged myself to the mine, but I could not do any work. When we returned after 12 hours, at the gate of the camp I was taken by two guardsmen who unceremoniously dragged me to the lock-up. This single dark insulated cell, was a small hole, fenced off from the land of the living by the strong door. Inside this smelly dark tomb there was no bedding of any sort, no light, and was piercing cold. The prisoners receive about 200g. of bread and a quarter litre of cold water. Many times I heard,that living through there only one night is some achievement.

In summer one could get pneumonia, in winter freeze to death. The art of surviving was to walk continuosly from wall to wall, resisting the desire to rest and sleep, as this was fatal. One loses sense of time and a few hours of walkng seemed like eternity. I had no way of knowing how long I had been struggling, but I was losing control and sliding towards a depression. I sat on the stone floor and let my mind go back into the not too distant past."

"A day passed from the day of my arrest and every single day since then was worse than the previous one. The slavery, the tortures, the horrifing journey in the snow and wind and ice, were nothing in comparison with my present situation. I was determined to stay awake, waiting for the morning assembly and imagined myself being asked, 'Are you going to work?'; 'Yes, I will!'

I fell asleep and the guard had some difficulties in waking me up, but was pleased to hear that only one night in this tomb had cured me from pretending and laziness It was easy to make a promise 'I will', but not so easy to carry it out. I fainted, and had to be dragged out and returned to the barrack."

One had to be lucky to be admitted to the hospital. There were very few beds and a lot of patients.It was February 1941.Neither doctors nor management were accountable for the deaths, and there were no medicines. Operations were carried out only for amputations. Inflamation of the appendix was fatal.

"Good fortune did not exist in the land of Kolyma, but there were coincidences, and it was a bit of good luck to me that a medical examiner arrived in the gulag, and from the fragments of conversations, reaching my unconscious mind, I realised that I was to be a subject of interest to the doctor. I was painfully examined and it was established that my feet were badly frost bitten although no amputauons were necessary at this time. I decided not to insist on going to the hospital for I knew that in there, amputations would be more than likely for the patients were not asked for their permission."

Chapter One (Part Two)

E-Books

© Z.M Nawalicka 1996