Fairy Tales from Auschwitz

Transcription of the podcast

Among the unique artifacts held in the collections of the Auschwitz Memorial are fairy tales created while the camp was in operation. Crafted out of a heartfelt need, and in the hope of leaving behind a trace of their authors, these stories were smuggled out the camp. Their creators were prisoners employed in the camp’s Construction Office. With the help of people on the outside, they passed these fairy tales on to their loved ones. The story behind the fairy tales from Auschwitz is told by Jadwiga Kulasza, a retired employee of the Memorial Archives, as well as family members of the authors: Felicjan Świerczyna, son of Bernard Świerczyna, and Andrzej Czulda, son of Henryk Czulda.

Jadwiga Kulasza: The Zentralbauleitung (Central Construction Office) was a design and construction enterprise responsible for all building projects within the camp, as well as everything related to its construction and expansion in the surrounding areas. It comprised all the necessary departments to carry out this work, producing materials ranging from design plans and financial documentation to project descriptions and construction logs. And, of course, it operated outside the formal camp structure, but cooperated closely with the commandant’s office. It fulfilled the camp’s needs, but above all, it relied on prisoner labor—both in the department’s offices and across all its construction sites. One such department of the Zentralbauleitung was the Baubüro, which employed prisoners —primarily technicians, engineers of various specializations, architects, surveyors, and draftsmen. Their tasks included drawing up blueprints, conducting site measurements, and transferring that survey data onto the plans. It was likely during one of these survey assignments in the field that a prisoner found some children’s books. It may have been near the so-called Kanada warehouses or the railway ramp in Birkenau. He brought these books back to the office and showed them to his fellow inmates. That was when they decided to create something similar for their own children—so that they would have a keepsake from their fathers. They had little hope of surviving the camp, so these stories were meant to be a lasting memento. I managed to identify 27 prisoners who were involved in various ways in bringing this idea to life. Some wrote the texts, while others transcribed them onto paper, tracing paper, or stencils, which were then used to make copies on photosensitive or photographic paper. Others bound the books, while others still smuggled them out of the Bauleitung office to various construction sites, passing them to civilian workers or other people who could get these fairy tales home. This entire operation had to be carried out in absolute secrecy. Since no official records exist to shed more light on the matter, everything we know is based entirely on prisoners’ accounts. It remains difficult to determine exactly when these fairy tales were created, how many copies were made, or who received them. In the end, we rely solely on the memory and testimony of the prisoners.

Prisoners were not allowed to freely use the Baubüro’s writing materials. If caught by the SS, they faced severe punishment. Despite the danger, many prisoners took the risk, hoping the fairy tales they crafted would reach their loved ones.

Jadwiga Kulasza: They utilized whatever materials were available in the Bauleitung offices for drawing plans—including colored pencils, paints, and paper—even though using them for personal purposes was strictly forbidden. They could have been accused of sabotage, which, as we know, carried severe consequences. The prisoners had to produce a great number of these fairy tales because they could never be certain if the little books were actually reaching their children or the people for whom they were intended. With 27 people involved, even if each of them received just a single copy, that would already amount to a substantial number—especially considering their limited means and the fact that they worked in secrecy. Currently, the Museum holds eight original copies, but to my knowledge, at least seven more copies of three different fairy tale titles are still in the care of the authors’ families. According to the prisoners’ accounts, the first project they took on was a story about the adventures of a little black chick. This was a completely original piece. The text was written by Stanisław Bęć, who drew inspiration from the walks he used to take with his son, Andrzej, along the banks of the Pilica River. The illustrations were also unique, most likely created by Jacek Kopczyński, Borkowski, Leszek Kozak, and Jerzy Baran. Every copy of this book features the lyrics and musical notes for two or three songs. Stanisław Bęć wrote the words for the songs about daisies and waves, while the lyrics for the third song, about bees, were written by Artur Krzetuski. Krzetuski also composed the music for all three songs. This fairy tale sometimes appears under different titles, including “The Adventures of the Little Black Chick and His Little Brother” or “Murzynek and Mniszek”—the names of the two main characters. In the story, the little chicks set off on a walk of their own to see the world beyond their backyard, having various adventures along the way. One particular copy of this fairy tale was produced entirely by Henryk Czulda, who transcribed the text and painted all the illustrations himself.

Henryk Czulda, an Auschwitz survivor, is remembered by his younger son, Andrzej Czulda. Andrzej is a director and screenwriter whose work includes “Tales from the Land of Ovens,” a documentary film about the creation of these stories in the camp:

My father was originally from Warsaw. He ended up in Łódź because he moved there to be with my mother, who was from Tczew. In Łódź, my father worked as a construction inspector in the municipal design office. As far as I know, he was a member of the Home Army, but in 1943, their network was blown. One day, the Gestapo came for him at his office on Wolności Square. He was taken to the Gestapo headquarters on Anstadt Street in Łódź, where he was beaten to get him to talk, but he never said a word. And that’s where they held him. By the time my father was brought to Auschwitz, the fairy tales were already finished. So, my dad asked Stanisław Bęć if he could borrow his book. He said, “I want to draw one for my little boy.” They were created in various ways—using stencils and then coloring them in. If it hadn’t been for that design office, those books would never have existed. If you compare all the fairy tales from Auschwitz, the layout, the color scheme, and the overall composition of my father’s book stand out. It is completely different. While he studied and drew inspiration from the other work, he created his own distinctive composition. My father did not use those famous stencils. In fact, he mentions in one of his letters that Bęć had lent him that original book, which allowed my dad to illustrate his own copy. That is exactly how it happened. My father didn’t expect to survive. Truth be told, none of them expected to make it back. And they just wanted to leave something behind. They thought that if they didn’t return, at least these little stories would somehow reach home—as a lasting memento from the authors. Even with my vivid imagination as a filmmaker, I can’t begin to comprehend it. How could anyone draw a fairy tale under those conditions? Stealing a moment to use your paints the second a German guard turns his back... I don’t know if I would have had the courage to do it. Apparently, the Germans weren’t watching them every single second, right? Because otherwise it would have been impossible.

Jadwiga Kulasza: To underscore the deeply personal connection between the giver and the recipient, every single copy of this fairy tale contains a dedication. These took various forms—some were incredibly brief, while others were written as short poems. One copy of “The Adventures of the Little Black Chick” features a dedication that Stanisław Bęć wrote for his son. It’s a poem entitled “Do You Hear My Heart?” In this particular case, Bęć penned the verses by hand onto the master sheet before the pages were developed. It serves as a profoundly personal testament to the author’s longing for contact, and his desire to leave something lasting for his son. In other copies, we find a poem titled “Prayer.” These versions differ by just a single word, depending on whether the book was a gift from a father or an uncle. That single word was altered simply to show who the book was from.

A PRAYER
thick dust lies in the corners…
nights stands at the door…
a little boy with his gentle voice,
offers his prayer to the Lord:

thank you God for the golden sun,
for my busy feet all day long,
and for the colourful flowers amongst which I could run,
and for my dear Mummy’s love for her son…
that I am well and that we have summer here,
for everything around me – but please make it so
that You bring Daddy back to me
from that strange world I don’t know
his head drops on the pillow,
tired eyes slowly close,
please dear Lord, will you remember
to bring my father from his journey back home?
Translation: Aleksandra Marsh

Jadwiga Kulasza: The next project was “The Tale of the Little Hare, the Fox, and the Rooster,” which was originally a Czech fairy tale. Stanisław Bęć translated it with the help of Czech prisoners who also worked in the Zentralbauleitung. It tells the story of a little hare whose house is stolen by a fox. None of the animals he turns to for help can manage to drive the fox away. In the end, only the clever rooster succeeds, and the house is recovered. According to Stanisław Bęć’s accounts, the illustrations were also copied from this original Czech book—with the exception of the cover art, which features all the main characters. That specific composition was designed by Alfred Przybylski. The other drawings were made by Marian Moniczewski and Mieczysław Kościelniak. Several copies of this book also contain dedications addressed directly to the children who received them. Two of these were written by Stanisław Bęć. His poem was later used by Eugeniusz Nosal in the copies he passed to two young girls, Alojza Kotulek and Małgosia Lewińska. This was done to thank their mothers, who risked much to help prisoners by smuggling in medicine, clandestine messages, and other essential supplies. The second dedication, written by Józef Drożdż for his sister and family, is particularly notable. Through these lines, he managed to signal his plans to escape. Since he was from nearby Sosnowiec, his family lived relatively close to Oświęcim. His plan succeeded in September 1944, when he and a fellow inmate, Roman Taul, managed to escape from the camp.
The third dedication was written by Bernard Świerczyna and addressed to his son, Felicjan—a little boy he didn’t even know, having only caught glimpses of him from afar. With the help of courageous individuals, he managed to see his son in Bielsko. Świerczyna was able to do this while assigned to a work detail transporting camp laundry to a facility there.

Bernard Świerczyna, a prisoner of Auschwitz, is remembered by his son, Felicjan: As a lieutenant in the Polish Army, my father went to war on the very first day—September 1, 1939. He was captured and held in a POW camp, but thanks to the tireless efforts of my mother and their close neighbors, he was eventually released and returned home. He took a job at the Tax Office in Mysłowice, but by April 1940, he was forced to flee the town. He found refuge with friends in Krzeszowice and stayed in touch with my mother, who, as it turned out, was pregnant at the time. He often traveled from Krzeszowice to Kraków looking for work. It was during one of these trips, just as he was leaving the Main Post Office in Kraków, that he was arrested. That was in June. He was held at Montelupich Prison, and in July 1940, he was put on the second transport to KL Auschwitz. He was registered there as prisoner number 1393. I was born shortly after, on September 12, 1940. Around that time, my mother received the first official letters from Auschwitz—letters that had to pass through camp censorship. In them, my father wrote to my mother, stating that she should—and I repeat, should—raise their son as they had previously agreed.

Jadwiga Kulasza: For Felicjan Świerczyna, those words meant everything. It wasn’t just a unique memento, but a direct message from a father he never truly got to know.

Felicjan Świerczyna: The book was completely handmade, written, and dedicated by my father. The story itself begins like this: “Long ago, as old tales say, in a clearing far away, near a forest deep and green, lived the finest hare you’ve seen. His floppy ears were long and light, his cozy home was dry and bright.” But the hare was driven out of his home, chased away by the fox. At the very end of the story, however, my father wrote these words: “So, grandfather ended his little tale, as he packed his pipe, cold and stale. But I, my dear boy—your father, unknown—send further thoughts to guide your own, a lesson to heed as you are grown. The summer heat has slipped away, and chilly rains mist through the day. When suddenly, as if by spell, the cunning fox bursts from the dell. Stunned to see his mortal foe, the hare breaks into a frantic run, fleeing into the fields below, with nowhere to go, no place to turn. The fox, wicked and starved for a meal, leaps and strangles the rooster with zeal. Then, like a tyrant filled with pride, his chest swelling high, he steps inside and claims the home for his own domain. Oceans have swallowed rivers of rain since that dark hour until today. The hare still wanders, driven away from his warm burrow, his shelter and nest, living in fields and woods without rest. The lesson for you, my son, is clear: whoever is ruled by cowardice and fear, depending on others to fight his fight, will always be shrouded in poverty’s night, living and dying without a name, or remembered only in shadows of shame. To you, Felicjan, on your mother’s birthday, lovingly dedicated by your Father.”

Jadwiga Kulasza: The third known project survives in only a single copy, titled “About Everything That Lives.” It is a collection of verses about all the insects and birds one might encounter in meadows or fields. While it was based on a Czech fairy tale, Stanisław Bęć’s accounts reveal that it was not a literal translation. Instead, he used those Czech poems as a starting point, pouring his soul into the lines. The illustrations, however, were copied from the Czech book by Piotr Kopańczuk and Zbigniew Kowalczyk. The original composition is the seascape that forms the background for a poem Bęć wrote for his little boy, Andrzej. This collection also includes the poem “Prayer” at the very end of the book. A dedication note indicates that it was intended for Boba, on his fifth birthday and is dated July 7, 1944. Another project we know of is the fairy tale “The Wedding in Osy Wielkie.” It survives only as a manuscript rather than a finished book, consisting of just a few pages written in pencil on various types of paper. Created by Stanisław Bęć, it was also dedicated to his son, Andrzej, and bears the date “May 1944.” Intended strictly for children, this story describes the wedding and feast of the Wasp and the Drone, detailing all the guests who arrived for the celebration. The next project is “The Selfish Giant,” based on Oscar Wilde’s classic short story of the same name. While Wilde wrote it in prose, Stanisław Bęć adapted the narrative, transforming it into a poem. Like the previous work, this fairy tale survives only as a handwritten pencil manuscript. It follows the children who sneak into the Giant’s garden to play while he is away. When the Giant returns and discovers them, he drives the intruders away, causing the garden to fall into a perpetual winter. Life only returns to the garden when the children find a way back inside.

For safety reasons, both the creation of these fairy tales and getting them out of the camp had to be done in secret. These activities were strictly forbidden, and if the operation had been discovered, the consequences would have been severe—not only for the prisoners involved, but also for those who helped them. Jadwiga Kulasza explains how these books were passed on.

Jadwiga Kulasza: To ensure these books reached their families, the prisoners relied on individuals willing to take them outside the camp and pass them along—a process that often required transporting them across great distances. Such people were indeed found. Three of them are remembered with particular gratitude: Józef Łyszczarz, Józef Żurek, and Wanda Kondziołka, later known by her married name, Wanda Nosal. They became deeply involved in supporting the prisoners, helping not only to deliver medicines and clandestine messages, but also to maintain vital contact with their loved ones. Remarkably, all these fairy tales reached the children while the war was still ongoing. Eugeniusz Nosal handed his copies over directly. Since the Bauleitung offices were located very close to the main road along the Soła [Sola] River, the prisoners had a rare opportunity to pass materials out. He delivered the books precisely to those two girls, Alojza Kotulek and Małgorzata Lewińska, who were just children at the time. Sometimes they would come incredibly close to the site with their mothers—likely as a cover to avoid arousing any suspicion. Also during the war, a fairy tale from Andrzej Czarnecki reached his little boy, Jaś—delivered personally to the child’s mother by Wanda Kondziołka. Similarly, Józef Drożdż managed to send his book to his sister, Maria Sitko, and his nephew, Tadeusz, in the Grodziec district of Sosnowiec. This was accomplished with the help of Józef Łyszczarz, a civilian telephone technician employed on the camp grounds. Stanisław Bęć also used civilian workers to send the books to his wife and little son, though he unfortunately couldn’t recall their names. These copies had to make quite a long journey, crossing from the Third Reich into the General Government. Artur Krzetuski, who worked in the Bauleitung’s water supply department, cooperated with a civilian worker named Józef Żurek. Żurek, who built wells across the camp, became the courier who smuggled Krzetuski’s fairy tales out to Krzetuski’s daughter. Meanwhile, the fairy tale featuring Stanisław Bęć’s text and Henryk Czulda’s custom illustrations went on an extraordinary journey. Clandestine letters from the period reveal that Czulda initially tried to send the book home through official channels, but he quickly realized it was impossible. Determined to save the keepsake and get it to his family, Czulda carried it with him through every single concentration camp he was transferred to after leaving Auschwitz. Upon his liberation and return to Łódź in 1945, he was finally able to hand it to his older son in person.

Andrzej Czulda: My father wrote that he would sometimes trade his bread—even his very last rations—just to protect the book. Perhaps a guard wanted to confiscate it, or maybe a fellow prisoner threatened to inform on him, forcing my dad to give up his food to keep it safe. Yet, he managed to carry his copy through everything. He also confided in a small, trusted group of fellow inmates, begging them that if he didn’t survive, if something happened to him, they would take the fairy tale and ensure it was sent to my brother after the war. Fortunately, it never came to that. He survived, and brought it home himself.

Jadwiga Kulasza: Another mystery surrounds the story of how the fairy tale reached Barbara Tondos, the daughter of Władysław Tondos. Because she was just a little girl at the time, she has no memory of how the book arrived, and no one ever explained to her who brought it or how her father received it. It is highly likely that it was a token of appreciation. Since Władysław Tondos was a prisoner physician, some fellow inmate probably gave it to him out of deep gratitude for his help. Similarly, it remains a mystery how copies of both titles—“The Adventures of the Little Black Chick” and “The Tale of the Little Hare, the Fox and the Rooster”—reached Paweł Moszyński. He was too young to remember the details and simply doesn’t know how they arrived. In any case, he still holds both of these fairy tales today. Jadwiga Kulasza describes the extraordinary details of how these books reached Felicjan Świerczyna. The copy of “The Tale of the Little Hare, the Fox and the Rooster” was highly unusual because of its small size. Prisoners created these fairy tales using whatever materials they had access to, and this particular book was smuggled out inside a hollowed-out dictionary, where it fit perfectly. Felicjan Świerczyna preserved that dictionary for decades before donating it to the Auschwitz Memorial collection in 1996. The artifact stands as a clear testament to the dangerous conditions under which the story reached him. Ironically, it was likely a German officer—an SS man—who delivered it directly to his family’s home.

Felicjan Świerczyna: The way “The Tale of the Little Hare, the Fox and the Rooster” reached us was truly surreal. One evening—my mother could never recall the exact date, whether it was 1943 or 1944—the front doorbell rang. She walked into the hallway and looked through the glass panes of the entrance door. She could see a tall figure standing in the corridor, wearing a uniform and a striking, distinctive head covering—an SS officer’s cap. Terrified, she opened the door. The man simply handed her a small package, said “thank you,” and walked away. When my mother went back inside and opened it, she found a substantial German dictionary. Flipping past the opening pages, she discovered that a rectangular section had been neatly hollowed out, concealing a tiny booklet. It was the fairy tale I mentioned. My mother was shaken to her core, but she immediately hid both the dictionary and the story. On the very last page, my father had signed his name, adding the note “KL Auschwitz prisoner number 1393.” That fairy tale accompanied me from my earliest days, from the very moment I first learned to read.

Jadwiga Kulasza: Even before the war, Bernard Świerczyna was known for writing scripts and radio plays, some of which were broadcast on Radio Katowice. This creative background gave him the skills to express himself in writing, resulting in the lengthy dedication he left for his son—a message meant to serve as a guide for the boy’s future. The text also emphasizes the deep, enduring bond between Świerczyna, his wife, and their child. This testament is all the more tragic because, unfortunately, he did not survive the camp.

Bernard Świerczyna was a key member of the camp resistance movement. In 1944, he and four fellow prisoners attempted a daring escape. Tragically, due to a betrayal, all five men were captured and imprisoned in the bunker of Block 11. Bernard’s son, Felicjan Świerczyna, describes the grim details of those events:

It was decided that the leadership of the resistance movement would escape from the camp. How? Their plan relied on the work detail that transported laundry outside the gates. The prisoners were to hide in the back of a truck, concealed beneath sacks of soiled clothing. They had bribed the SS driver, who was supposed to take them directly to a partisan unit once they crossed the camp perimeter. But the driver—the only person who knew the destination and the identities of the escaping prisoners—betrayed them. Instead of driving toward freedom, he pulled up right in front of the infamous “Death Block,” Block 11. My father and the others were thrown into the cells, where they waited for the camp authorities to decide their future. In Auschwitz, those in power could hand down only one verdict: a death sentence. And indeed, on December 30, 1944—just three weeks before the camp was liberated—my father and his fellow comrades were executed by hanging.

Jadwiga Kulasza: He died by hanging in the last execution to take place at KL Auschwitz.

Felicjan Świerczyna: As a 26-year-old, he was practically a Renaissance man—he could do it all. Perhaps I’m exaggerating, but he was a man who worked, who gave back to his community, who was a scout, a military officer, and a law student at the Jagiellonian University. Then came 1940—May, June, July—and my father’s life began for a second time, inside KL Auschwitz. A life that ended so tragically…