Interview with Auschwitz Survivor Bogdan Bartnikowski

Transcript of the podcast

Bogdan Bartnikowski was born in Warsaw in 1932. During the Warsaw Uprising, he and his mother were expelled from their home. The Germans initially sent them to a transit camp in Pruszków, and then deported them to Auschwitz where they were separated. On January 11, 1945, both were evacuated to Berlin-Blankenburg, where they were imprisoned until their liberation on April 22, 1945. After this, they returned to Warsaw.
Bogdan Bartnikowski is the author of memoirs, including "Childhood Behind Barbed Wire.”In the „On Auschwitz" podcast, we invite you to listen to an interview with Bogdan Bartnikowski about his wartime experiences.

This interview is taking place in light of the 80th anniversary of the Warsaw Uprising and your deportation. Since we are at your place, I would like to start our conversation with a question about your family, when the war begun. What did it look like?

I lived in Warsaw in Ochota district on Kaliska Street. The flat number was 2. I lived on the ground floor, which gave me a perfect view of everything happening on the street from my window, including situations such as a public execution just a few feet away. All I could do was watch as the military police went about, firing their rifles whenever someone attempted to peek out. I am an only child, and my father was employed in security at the War College in Warsaw before the war. As indicated in the documents, my mum was by her husband's side at the time. In other words, she was unemployed and did not have a skilled occupation. Only after the war, when we returned to the destroyed remains of our house, she had to start working to make a living. I did not suffer from hunger during the occupation. My father did not have a permanent job and did not end up in captivity either. He worked off and on and did some casual trading. Thanks to my mother's family in Podlasie, we could easily buy things and bring them to Warsaw, although the Germans' railway round-ups often posed obstacles. They took what was convenient for them, often including travellers. It happened to my father, too; he was once arrested and placed in preliminary detention in the Praga district. The preliminary detention centre was located on Skaryszewska Street. At this detention centre, captured Poles were screened before being deported to Germany. On the way, however, my father escaped from the transport, forcing him into hiding. He didn't live at home, so I had difficulty being alone with my mum. I consistently went to school. I completed first grade before the commencement of the war, and by August 1944, I had finished sixth grade. Shortly before the uprising, my father found employment in some company. From the perspective of the Germans, everything was already in a state of commotion. In the final days of July, they packed up, fled and evacuated their offices in Warsaw, anticipating the imminent incursion of the Russians into the city. I had the privilege of witnessing, with immense delight, the evacuation of Germans from Warsaw, from my street Kaliska, through Warsaw, Grójecka street, to the Poniatowski Bridge. It was a vital thoroughfare for the Germans. There were only two bridges across the Vistula in Warsaw at the time. It took 2 to 3 days. The sight of the dirty, wounded German morons fleeing brought us enormous joy. However, this came to an end, and an uprising broke out. My father was not at home when the uprising broke out, but luckily, he returned in the evening and was with us all night from the first to the second of August. Back then, we sat in cellars used as shelters. We experienced the initial hours filled with joy, knowing Poland was free and surrounded by insurgents. Subsequently, a feeling of despair arose as the insurgents withdrew from Ochota, knowing that the imminent arrival of the Germans would lead to our capture and execution. We felt a sense of joy again in the morning upon realising that not all the insurgents had left. It is worth noting that a centre of resistance against the German forces existed in our area of Kaliska Street. My father was a soldier at this centre. Despite being very young, I served as a liaison officer. I was eager to support the insurgents and could do so for 10 days, as that was the only period our commander could maintain control of the area. After that, he withdrew to the Chojnow forests, where we currently are. Here, the insurgents from Ochota organised and rearmed for two weeks before returning to Warsaw via Wilanów, Sadyba and Mokotów. It was tough, but I didn't go hungry because my father had a job and my mother was a great housewife. I only learned what actual hunger was when we were in Birkenau after having lived in Wola and Ochota, though not all of us, on 12 August 1944. That's how long the uprising in those districts lasted.

Before you and your mother arrived at the camp, you passed through Zieleniak...

The Russians, specifically the Kaminski brigade, had already invaded. These were Russian POWs who joined the SS. This brigade belonged to the 29th Waffen SS division. We were forcefully evicted from our residence, subjected to intrusive searches, physically attacked, robbed, and some even lost their lives. The RONA, along with German soldiers, pacified us and transported us to Zieleniak, where they gathered all the captured inhabitants of Ochota. Nevertheless, there were only a few of them, with the RONA being the main active group. Fortunately, my mother and I only spent a few hours in Zieleniak. Some people sat there for days. Throughout the entire duration, they experienced constant mistreatment, physical violence, and theft. Young women were forcefully taken to the nearby Kołłątaj secondary school building, where they were subjected to sexual assault. We were quickly gathered behind this Zieleniak and couldn't find a spot in the crowd to squat on the ground when suddenly we heard a voice shouting, “Get out, get out." Hastily, we were taken down Opaczewska Street toward the West Railway Station. An electric train to Pruszków was already waiting for us. I spent approximately two hours in Zieleniak. Then, there was another trip to Pruszków, and a similar experience again unfolded. As soon as the train arrived, we were abruptly forced out of the wagons into a vast, vacant hall. The premises lacked machinery or equipment, as the Germans had already appropriated everything. There, too, we crammed into a hall in a crowd when the shouts of "Out! Quickly” filled the air. Then, we were shoved into a line-up of freight wagons that had been prearranged. Throughout the entire time, we firmly held onto each other's hands to avoid getting separated in the crowd. We entered the wagon. The doors closed. We were en route, of course, to the unknown. We did not know where we were being taken or why. The journey to Birkenau was slow, lasting an entire day. It began on the evening of August 10th, and we reached the camp at Birkenau by the night of August 11th through 12th.

Were you with your mother?

I was always with my mother; I tried to stay close to her. The camp had a clear separation between men and women. Younger children stayed in the women's camp. Despite being a big boy of, 12 years old, I still snuck over to be with my mother, especially at night. I vividly remember our marches, and it brought me great satisfaction when I visited Birkenau for the first time 20 years after the war. I noticed that there were no barracks, just the protruding heating chimneys. However, there is an internal road between Sector C and D. We were rushed down this road. As we were led along, we noticed something burning opposite in the distance, far ahead. When we reached the end of these sectors and the road which ran along the camp, we turned left and were again crowded into similar wooden barracks. It was a profound night; there were no bunks, just bare ground. We sat there until morning when the door finally opened, and we could go out. However, there were no toilets, which was a problem. There was a barrel in front of the entrance. It was quite an experience to relieve oneself in a place constantly crowded with people. I don't recall the exact number, but it was a small section of the camp, very close to the crematorium, unlike the larger sections A, B, D, and E. A big brick building with a chimney was 30-40 meters away. Logs of timber were nicely positioned along the walls. One could enter from that barrack and look around. And just close by again, behind the wires, were barracks housing a group of men. I later presumed that these were undoubtedly the Sonderkommando. They even communicated through the wires, but it was not just the wires that kept us apart; there was still a significant distance between us, probably several meters. We cried for anything to drink because there was no water available. The heat was sweltering, so some of the men tossed us bottles of water, a sort of mineral water. We stayed in the barracks for approximately one or maybe two days before the registration begun. Female inmates dressed in striped uniforms arrived to handle the registration process. I was assigned a male number, 192 731. My mother was given the number 85 192. In the evening, we were directed to the huge bathhouse. It was a nightmarish sight for me. I felt awkward in the crowd of naked women, most of them older women. Older people usually look uninteresting, especially when combined with the stench of sweat. After all, we did not wash for nearly 10 days, even while in Warsaw. Women and children, naked, sweaty, and dirty, were standing in a crowd, slowly moving forward to get a haircut. I was a boy surrounded by women. I hold on to my manhood as I stand before the prisoner, giving the haircut. I clutch it firmly... She yanked my hands away. Gazed... Puff!... She shoved me into the group of people who already had their heads shaven. We stayed awake the whole night after having a lousy bath on the Hall’s concrete floor. It wasn't until dawn that the female prisoners arrived and began distributing clothes. I was surprised to find my old clothes from before the uprising, including my underwear, pants, and shorts, since it was summer and we weren't expecting anything. The eviction happened suddenly, and you didn't have time to grab the most essential items. Then, it was time to distribute dresses to women. There was a large stack of dresses, and the prisoner standing nearby would grab them and toss them whenever women walked by. Naturally, there was no trying on or choosing anything. Most likely, these dresses were the ones the Germans didn't want and left behind at the camp, specifically for the prisoners, but without the stripes... I recall that each woman was given a white scarf and a small piece of white material to wrap around her shaved head. Some of them weren't shaved. My mother was left with a few strands of hair on the crown of the head. During our eviction, the women from our residence, as did the neighbours, attempted to remain close-knit. Once we were finally dressed, a one-of-a-kind moment unfolded. As soon as I got dressed, I returned to my mom immediately, as we hadn't been separated. A handful of these neighbours got together and formed a small group. The image of them crying and laughing at the sight of one another is still vivid in my memory. One wore a mini skirt, another wore tattered, sagging clothes, and the third wore a backless ball gown. It was a mix of tragedy and comedy. Next, they were directed to the children's living quarters within the women's camp, where the first roll call was taken - pure hell. After all, these were children as young as two or three years old and girls as old as fourteen or fifteen. As for the boys, they were so young. We were about a dozen cunning boys who managed to sneak through the family divisions. Lining up over 350 children, both big and small, who don't understand anything and yell, "Mummy, Mummy," is not easy, right? The capo had a nightmarish day, but he had no choice. They had to establish some order before the Aufseherin arrived to count us. After spending the night in the barracks, those considered too old were sent to the men's camp. There, we met our colleagues who had already been transferred the day before, bringing the count to approximately 150 boys aged between ten and fifteen.

Let's revisit the moment when you were transferred to the men's barracks. When you and your colleagues arrived, the barrack already housed male prisoners.

It was the same barracks currently being preserved in sector A, the quarantine section of Birkenau. Initially, I stayed in the barrack number five, then moved to number thirteen barrack of this quarantine. A heating stove ran through the middle of the barracks. It could burn wood or coal, but I don't recall ever being coal; there was only some wood occasionally. Both these chimneys were connected by what we called a stove, which I estimate to be about 60 cm high. At the beginning of our incarceration in barrack number five, there were three-level wooden bunks on which 4-5 boys slept. It was pretty cramped, almost like herrings in a jar. We were located on one side of this stove, and on the other side, on identical bunks, were older Hungarian Jews who were still young. We couldn't understand a word they said. Like the Polish Capo, they were strict with us, but not excessively. Occasionally, two sadists would hit us for pleasure or make us do gymnastics, as they called it. As for these Jews, they brutally and relentlessly battered us without any compassion. However, these Kapos, as we know, were criminals - not political prisoners - who German courts convicted for activities like robbery. The weather was scorching hot. We were not forced to work. Our only task, which started in September, was being part of a rollwagen commando, where we - a group of older boys harnessed a cart instead of horses. We served as a form of internal transportation within Birkenau's sectors. We did not go to the Auschwitz main camp at all. Our movements were restricted to Birkenau only. I recall being in the women's camp only a few times, usually when something needed to be moved or taken from there. Things like bundles, bedding, duvets, and items looted from prisoners. That was the only activity we undertook. I would say that for the first 2-3 weeks, we weren't confined to sitting next to the barracks all day. We were not allowed to stay inside the barrack. We were driven out to the adjacent square and had to sit there. They organised us into groups 2-3 times daily and escorted us to the washrooms and toilets. Cold water was available for washing, but we didn't have towels or soap. The soap that was provided didn't lather properly. We were constantly thirsty due to the hot weather; however, we were warned by the kapos and adult prisoners, with whom we occasionally interacted, not to drink the water under any circumstances. And indeed, if you poured this water into a pot or something, it immediately created a red residue on top. They said: 'From this, my dear, you will get typhoid, which means it's over for you." We spent about three months in sector A before being transferred to barrack number twenty in sector D, where we stayed until the end of the year. However, I am unsure if everyone remained until the end. In early January '45, I ended up in either the larger group of 150 or the smaller group, specifically in sector D of block eleven, known as SK - Strafkompanien. The square between the barracks was enclosed by a wall. Roll calls were held on this square. A small wooden shed was positioned by the wall, not from the entrance side of the road that goes through the sector but towards the back. Through the grimy windows, you could see several vaulting bucks, not those used to administer punishment. However, we did not experience any brutality while we were there. In the other barracks, such as the thirteenth in A, the quarantine sector and the twentieth, we had to make do with just one blanket and our coat for warmth. In contrast, there were plenty of quilts in the SK. During winter, we would bury ourselves there. I spent only a few days there before being brought to the bathhouse on January 11th with my mother, and together, we made our way to the train station.

You said you and your colleagues were employed in the Rollwagen commando to pull carts. What activities were you and your colleagues engaged in when pushing the Rollwagen was unnecessary? What activities did you undertake during the day?

In the morning, we were given approximately 500 ml of herbal tea. After that, there wasn't much to do except for the mandatory haircut, especially in the first months when they would shave our heads completely. One of the appointed Capo was responsible for giving haircuts. We also had to keep the barracks clean, which meant repeatedly wetting the concrete floor and wiping it with paper rags. Additionally, there were days when we had to sit next to the barrack with nothing to do. There were days when there was the so-called blockspeer, or ban on leaving the barracks. So, we basically sat on the bunks and conversed with each other. Sometimes, the Capo, particularly Bloody Olek, enjoyed hearing us sing, so he would have us perform various songs. We knew a specific song, one of the most popular and often sung. It was widely known before the war, and someone brought it to the camp. The song was about Jurek Biczan. In 1919, a young boy, just a few years older than us, took part in the fighting in Lviv. When the student joined the battle, he tragically lost his life and was later recognised as a hero after the war in the 1920s. Yes, "Mother dearest, be healthy. To my brothers, I go to battle." Typical prison songs, right? The town clock has just chimed noon; the prisoners are fast asleep". There were also uncensored songs that Bloody Olk loved and had to be sung repeatedly. He was jubilant then. It went on until roll call, which could be short or long. Sometimes, people escaped from the camp, so we had to stand outside in the rain or snow for hours because they wouldn't let us in. There was an incident. I hesitated for long, questioning whether it was worth mentioning. We had a Blockfuhrer named Stefan Baretzky, known for his strict enforcement of rules. If anyone so much as moved or blinked while counting us, he would promptly impose a punishment exercise for everyone, along with additional bashing, as it seemed to give him satisfaction. Sometimes, while pulling the Rollwagen at section D around Christmas, one of us would arrange different things, like pocket knives or bowls; other times, it would be jumpers. It was valuable because you cut off the sleeves and had socks, as nothing else was available. One of us brought a real ball to play with. A real leather one. Given the weather was so calm, nearly a dozen of us sneaked out of the barracks as it was impossible to leave just like that. Finally, we started playing near the ramp. The boys quickly formed two teams. We were overjoyed. However, at one point, someone kicked the ball to the side, and it went flying towards the barracks. We looked over, and there was Baretzki. A feeling of numbness overcame all of us. The ball rolled straight to him. He got off his bike to the ball, made a dribble, scored a goal, got on his bike and rode off. We were afraid he would come over and ask us to the barracks. Imagine, from that day on, when there was a roll call, he would come to count us in the barracks. All the neighbouring blocks would be standing, and we would already be in the barracks, out of the rain and snow. In 1947, he was arrested and sentenced to death, so he was a bastard; however, in this situation, he showed a moment of vulnerability. For a moment, he was human.

You mentioned wearing the same clothes you had on when you were brought from Warsaw. Meanwhile, the autumn months were closing in, and I suppose you were also sporting shoes suitable for summer.

At first, I walked in mine, but then the shoes wore out. How did we acquire footwear...? We could hear the prisoners being taken out at night from the nearby barracks. We were woken in the night by shouts and commands. As other prisoners have been moved, we might as well look around the barracks to see what we can find. And often, we would find supplies there. As I mentioned, finding a jumper was great because you can tear off the sleeves and use them as socks. The same goes for shoes. There was another way, a sort of trade. When it comes to older prisoners, they had more contacts, had been incarcerated for a more extended period, and knew how to conceal things. Do you need shoes? You give bread, you get shoes. So you had to and can't do otherwise.

However, you had to hoard some bread, I suppose....

One had to refrain from eating. Autumn, snow, mud. I constantly have wet feet because of the holes in my shoes. If I remember correctly, I somehow managed to trade for... Oh, it was warm in the clogs, and the soles didn't get wet. Then, I somehow got my hands on regular shoes, but I can't remember how. Admittedly, not clogs. It was uncomfortable and already worn out and shabby. I wore these shoes until liberation in April when the sole came off. And how do you repair them? Well, it's not possible. I heard that in regular camps, cobblers and commandos fixed shoes for prisoners. I managed to acquire a pair of trousers and a jacket. In autumn, they apparently gave us spring coats and jackets. Besides the jacket I already had, we also exchanged other items amongst ourselves. Somehow, we managed to find a solution. We were such a close-knit group that there were no unpleasant incidents among us.

Since you were teenagers, were there any adults who assisted you...

After a few days or weeks, we were taken to Sector A, where we discovered adult and older prisoners working as carpenters, cooks, and electricians in the camp. Some repairs and maintenance work had to be carried out continuously, so they were assigned to the longest-serving prisoners of the camp. They were already familiar with this camp and knew how to help each other in some ways, right? And when they heard the boys from Warsaw had arrived, they came to see us. They were mainly looking for their acquaintances. What district and street do you live in? They asked. Some of these old prisoners actually found relatives among us. In a sense, they were already looking out for us, asking, "You're not getting robbed, are you? They don't beat you for no reason? You are not being bullied?" And so on. And the capos are unable to keep their tempers in check, right? It is a fact that they were familiar with every aspect of the camp. We complained about Kazio, the hairdresser, who was beaten up so severely that he had to be taken to the infirmary. And I guess he never returned from there They did everything they could to help us. Additionally, what assistance were they providing us? Two things: One is they kept our spirits up. They had information from outside the camp. They kept us informed and consoled us. Added to this are the cooks; out of nowhere, a barrel of soup appears in the barracks. Warm soup, not dishwater. On Christmas Eve, some German soup was even delivered to us in a vat. It was a wonderful present. We even got a Christmas tree, not just a tree. Indeed, it was puny, but they brought it, and we had a tree.

Was there a crib under the tree?

I made a crib with the help of my colleagues - a very primitive one made of cardboard.

And where did the cardboard come from?

We stumbled upon it somewhere. Moreover, the prisoner is constantly vigilant to avoid putting himself at risk. Always cautious not to get caught and battered. Or if he won't find something that is needed and beneficial. They are always on the look-out for something. Where would one get cardboard for the crib? Well, from some packaging discovered. I promised to make a crib, so someone brought me cardboard. There you have it, just do it.... Are there any adhesive paints, the kind used to paint rooms? Yeah, there was always something in the camp. Admittedly, it was extremely unassuming, as the Germans did not splash money on equipment and the appearance of the camp. It is supposed to operate as intended, plain and simple. Rummaging around the camp, we somehow managed to find various items that could be used in multiple ways.

You got separated from your mom. When was the first time you saw her since the separation? Did you get any chance to see her, even briefly?

We were utterly isolated the entire time. The women were in a separate camp nearby, but there was no contact. There were, albeit in some extremely rare instances. I recall one situation. Obviously, There were no telephones, but word had spread that the pushcart from the women's camp would pass by our barracks, and the capo was trustworthy and might be able to relay messages to us. So, we prepared secret messages on scraps of paper. And then we see the women pulling the cart. She looked around and tossed a small bundle of secret messages to us. We did the same with ours. This is the only instance I recall. Besides that instance, I once went to the women's camp with a pushcart. Then, after three months, I suppose, I had the opportunity to meet my mother and look at each other for a while. It was a big deal. It was a different day because it's... well, what's there to say? Children, especially, always long for their mothers. It is widely acknowledged that the mother is the one who, in addition to bringing us into this world, also stays by our side, introducing us to the realities, truths, and fundamental aspects of life. And for that, a mother is... She is an unquestionable authority for the child. I never asked my friends about it, even though I had a few friends in the women's camp. The women there had the opportunity to check on their children. What I remember from that short day at FKL was the despair of those young children that their mum was gone. Despite being in Auschwitz when we left the camp together, it was an incredibly fantastic day. We were fortunate when, in early January, the Germans arranged four small transports from Auschwitz and Birkenau, each carrying approximately fifty women with their children. Isn't it strange that the Germans had such a human instinct? After all, the prisoners themselves did not organise such mother-child bonding. I was in the first group of transports on January 11th, where I was joyfully reunited with my mother.

Did all the prisoners, including you and your mother, travel to Berlin Blankenburg by train?

We were initially escorted from the camp to the Oświęcim station, Auschwitz, by a female SS officer and then transported to Mysłowice by freight train. The platform was brimming with people who weren't prisoners, either commuting to work or going somewhere else, while our group was still under the watchful eye of SS men. These passengers step back, looking at us like some bunch of bandits. Then the passenger train arrived. One carriage was empty with an escort inside. So we got in and travelled like humans to Berlin. At that particular place we stayed, there were no individual rooms available. Instead, the accommodation consisted of large halls that were sectioned off to create what could be considered separate rooms. I recall that two of my friends, who also hailed from Warsaw, stayed with their mothers in a room with only two beds. Additionally, two more individuals, likely my friends with their daughters, occupied the same room. Meanwhile, my mother and I were allocated to a five-bed room. We slept in one room. Admittedly, the conditions there were far better than in Birkenau because there were no bunks, just regular beds. One blanket all to myself. In Berlin, we worked mainly on clearing the city of rubble. There were frequent raids, occurring almost every day and night; sometimes two or three raids in one night, and also during the day. There was plenty of debris. The aftermath of the air raid left some streets covered with debris, and it was up to us, the prisoners, to clean it up for the Germans. The streets needed to be cleared of rubble for them to be passable. Then, when a section had been cleared, we had to clean the bricks again and stack them up for reuse. This was our primary task. I remember there was a case when, after a major air raid, we were escorted to some municipal or district office, where the Germans from the destroyed houses came to stay. We would cut black, thick paper from large rolls for them to cover the windows. It was the only day they provided us with a small portion of soup at the camp, about half a litre for each of us, maybe a little less. The soup... It was a very thin broth with a bit of semolina in it. It was the only day something like that happened. It was a challenging task, made even more difficult because we were working in the Tiergarten district. We all commuted to work on an unescorted electric train, except for two civilian-dressed foremen who were German; they monitored and guarded us during the journey and at our workplace. They wielded considerable power and authority over us. When work was finished, and everyone had gathered, one of them would take out a bundle of small cardboard cutouts from his pocket and hand them to us. It was a card for the kitchen. If I messed up, I wouldn't get a card, which meant no lunch. So, it was necessary to get along well with the foreman and not get in his bad books.

Do you recall the day the war ended?

For me, it ended on 22 April when Russian soldiers entered the camp. Blankenburg is one of the small Berlin settlements to the northeast of the city centre, so it is just in the direction where the ring of Russian troops was closing in. They reached us on the night of the 21st to the 22nd. They had already started bombarding the camp. As artillery shells were being fired, we weren't hurried and made our way to the shelter alone. It was a concrete zigzag-like shelter, a very primitive one. It was covered with earth to protect it from shrapnel. If the bomb had hit, I guess it would not have pierced the ceiling. Even though we were safely sheltered at night, the sound of gunfire could still be heard during the day. However, the weather was wonderfully spring-like when I emerged from the shelter. The rain was drizzling, but it felt pleasantly warm. I leaned against the wall of the single-storey building that resembled a barrack. Fortunately, the eave surrounding the wall prevented any dripping on me. And then I listen out for any sounds. I glanced around, taking in my surroundings as the noise of gunfire filled the air. It was a sound I had grown accustomed to - the rapid fire of machine guns and the sporadic shots of single firearms. It means they are fighting somewhere close by. I see a low fence in front of me. Two Volkssturm soldiers, who seem to be retired, are walking along a street behind the fence. The soldiers are carrying panzerfausts on their shoulders, and a young soldier on a bicycle is urging them to move quickly. They are gone. For a few more minutes, the sound of shots, initially distant, becomes more audible and nearer. I glance up again and see the German cyclist zooming past, no longer accompanied by the Volkssturms. A few more minutes pass. I hear a whirring sound. Oh, tanks are approaching. And I see, there they are. And it wasn't German; I recognised it was Russian. The tanks drove slowly along the road, and infantry marched through all the gardens. And that's how they got into our camp. A wave of happiness swept over as many people, including women, quickly rushed out. We also rejoiced at the fact that we were free at last. As expected, the soldiers promptly moved forward, as a railway stop and German fortifications were nearby, leading to the initiation of combat in that area. Once more, the camp was bombarded with shells. Sitting down and seeking shelter was our only option, correct? We spent the entire day sitting in that shelter. As we departed the city in groups, the noise gradually subsided, especially in the early morning before dawn, heading away from the centre towards the outskirts. It took us approximately two days to walk to reach the Odra River without help or support. The Russians did not offer any aid to the prisoners. Several inmates came from various nations and those who could return to their respective countries. I also heard that there were French prisoners who had to wait until the war was over. After two or three days, we reached the Oder. Across the Oder River were already freight depots, primarily equipped with uncovered trucks for transporting combat gear and empty train carriages. Our group consisted of around six or seven women, including people we knew from Warsaw or the camp. Without any prior notice, we got on board. The goal was to get as far away from Germany as possible. Finally, we received word that the train had halted at a devastated station and was heading elsewhere, possibly to Pomerania or Silesia. We got off, sat and waited, hoping for an opportunity. After a couple of hours, we got back on the train, only to get off again. This pattern continued. We left the camp on the 23rd, finally reaching Warsaw on the 30th while the war was still ongoing.

Where in Warsaw did you and your mother get off the train?

We had received disheartening news from a Polish soldier in Germany, who informed us that there was no longer a Warsaw to return to. We are returning to Warsaw. My mom and I always dreamt and talked about it, telling our neighbours, "They are waiting for us." The family will be there, the apartment will be ready, and everything will be wonderful again. And this soldier is telling us that Warsaw no longer exists. What a tragedy! What do we do? We continued on the journey to Warsaw and further to our destination. After what seemed like an eternity, the train finally reached its destination near the Western Railway Station on a beautiful, sun-drenched day. As we approached, I caught sight of the familiar steeple of a church in Ochota and observed houses nestled in the distance. Excitedly, we hurried back home, anticipating Father's warm welcome and things would be as they were. However, as we neared our neighbourhood, we were dismayed to discover that many of the once-standing houses had been burnt to the ground. Some buildings miraculously survived the devastation, but others were reduced to rubble. Despite the desolation, we eventually arrived at our house, tucked away on a street accessible from Kaliska. We can see our house standing on this side and immediately come across someone living there. We meet one person, then another. The warmth and joy of the welcome is palpable. We are filled with a sense of delight at our arrival. Eventually, we arrive at the second part of the house. Our house is located on the corner of two streets. A fire has damaged the part of the house that faces our street on Kaliska. The flat we lived in, as well as the ground floor, was directly in front of the house where the Germans blew up a tank that we had captured. The explosion caused extensive damage to the flat, leaving the walls bare and without zinc. Only a couple of springs were left against the wall, which used to support my divan bed. That was all that remained in the flat.

My father was not there; we learned that he had died. Nobody was waiting for us. A family that relocated to another district of the city where they found a flat offered us some help. Sometimes, when people came back, they found not one but two or three people staying in their flat, with no room left for them. Having those who had already occupied the flats evicted was impossible, as they often had legal papers issued by some start-up office. We stayed with my mother's sister in Powiśle, far from Ochota. However, we were able to reconnect with friends of our parents from before and during the war, and we started to rebuild our lives. In early May, we travelled to my mother's parents in Podlasie. The area had been under Russian occupation since the previous year. Although life there seemed to be returning to normal, it was challenging due to bandits and the so-called forest army or, as they are referred to today, the cursed soldiers. There was a new authority that didn't tolerate any other authority. We’ve nourished ourselves a bit there these past summer months. We’ve also healed a bit. Mum, who was admittedly very weak, didn't know she had tuberculosis. It wasn't until a few years later when she started working for a state company, that she had to be examined. It turned out that she had calcifications, yes, from the camp, untreated, but fortunately, the disease didn't progress. I was covered with ulcers on my legs and my neck. They appeared one after the other. There was no treatment, of course. It was all peasant and homemade remedies. What should we give Bodek? He eats everything here: bread, butter, and meat and is still emaciated. So someone said we should kill a calf and let Bodek drink its blood. And there was this instance when I stood there with a cup after they had slaughtered a beautiful calf. I put the cup under the vein and drank the warm blood. It seemed to help. I had to go to school in Warsaw in the autumn, but we returned to Podlasie to my aunt's. I started secondary school, and a relatively everyday life began. I waited for my father to return, dreaming he would return. But unfortunately, he didn't. There was no trace of him. No one found him. He died somewhere, and to this day, I haven't found his grave. He must have died somewhere not far from here.

You have been through so much, especially as a 12-year-old, when you should have been playing and learning. I wonder how you could carry those heavy experiences with you through life.

I didn't think about it much in the first years because it felt good to be a normal citizen again. I had no fear of anyone, and no one would harm or displace me. I went to school, spoke Polish, and sang songs. I also read Polish books and joined the Scouts, where we sang together. In a nutshell, I was living like a normal boy. It was only after a few years that memories, thoughts, and unsettling dreams started to come back to me. It took about a dozen years before I began to reconnect with my friends, as we had lost contact. Almost everyone was from my house or my street except for Basia, a girl with whom I had no previous contact. I don't think we returned from Berlin together or marched together. She was already living in another neighbourhood, and there was no prior friendship between our mothers, just a camp acquaintance. When the school year started in my class, a new student joined about a month into the school year. We recognised each other as my bunkmate from last year. After a year, we shared the same bench at school. We still maintain contact to date. We went to scout camps together, but we didn't talk about who was where at school. And by the way, everyone was somewhere. So, what's there to talk about? What's important is what's here today. There are no books. My mom bought a book for the first year of junior high school at a stall on Targowa by the Różycki bazaar. It was a pre-war book. There were only two such books in the class. I instantly had colleagues because everyone wanted to borrow... Oh, come on, I can hold it for a few minutes. Then, we started to initiate contacts to meet up with our friends and colleagues from the camp. We began reminiscing and talking about it, sharing memories and asking if you recall this and that .... And yes, it was like this. Details, little things, some reminders. By the 1960s, we had already established a group of former Auschwitz prisoners in Warsaw. It was a large group. We met every month, I suppose, for some time in the Silesia Cinema hall. Minister Gesing, an Auschwitz survivor, was responsible for the timber industry. So thanks to him, we could meet in the hall free of charge. We also attended. About a dozen of us gathered there, and more and more people were arriving. There were probably 30-40 of us, most girls and 10-12 boys. They looked at us and .... And you, where are you from? We were so much younger. Well, we were in Birkenau. And you? From the uprising. They are children. What do you know? What have you experienced? The elders could not comprehend that the child had been forced out of their home, deprived of parents and everything. Well, there are still some of us left, albeit very few. Well, there's still a couple of years. I hope we get the chance, although, as they say, you never know. None of us knows how long we'll be able to drag on.

The book " Childhood Behind Barbed Wire" was initially published in the 1960s. What inspired you to document these memories? Was it specifically the interactions with your comrades?

I started writing even before meeting a dozen of my fellow prisoners. These thoughts about the camp occurred to me frequently, so I began jotting them down. I believed that writing my thoughts might help me cope better. My individual stories were eventually published, and as you mentioned, Nasza Księgarnia released a small book titled " Childhood Behind Barbed Wire" in '68. There were multiple editions of the book from '68 to '80. As the girls and boys shared their stories with me, I noted them down. Subsequent editions of the book expanded as a result.

What enabled you to survive? What made you keep going and not give up?

We dreamt of having a family again, having a home again, and being free. Memories of the home were significant to us. The contact with former prisoners gave us hope and reassurance that our ordeal would come to an end and we would be free again. Despite seeing the smoking chimneys, we believed we would be free. It was also meaningful for us to pray together daily since there was no other form of worship in the camp. Sometimes, we even sang our songs together, with or without the old prisoners. During artistic evenings, we recited memorised poems, which sometimes took place in our barracks - either in quarantine or later on in section D. We held onto the dream of Christmas, which is so essential for a child, for every human being, but particularly for a child. The belief that we would ultimately make it through also sustained us. Perhaps that's why all of us survived.

Is there anything you would like to convey to the modern world?

It is necessary to remember the past but not be engrossed in it. Acknowledging that the world and its inhabitants are constantly evolving is crucial. The Germans who abused and murdered us here are not the same as today's Germans. Those are no longer here. And we must not live and cultivate hatred while remembering the past. One must live in the present. And the future.