Contents
31 December. The Feast of
St Sylvester*
We're attending Holy Mass in camp. The sun illuminates the heads bowed before the Highest Majesty. Concentrating, they ask for God's graces. Certainly everyone is thinking of Poland and their families; I'm certain everyone is commending Poland and their families to God's care. The Polish nation is after all loyal to God, He will not let it down.
Silence occasionally punctuated by a carol. Embittered hearts, blissful peace in one's soul.
It's Sunday today -I'm sure that our thoughts, jointly with the ones of those who pray there**, hasten together before the Lord's altar. God will hear us. We finished the Mass with a hymn, "May you return to us, Oh God, a free homeland"***, and went our separate ways, with heads bowed.
They give us lots of cigarettes. I've collected several packets already. Can't keep up with smoking them all, because they're all too strong. Obviously, the French like them strong.
Julek is moaning because some Arab women nicked his purse. One has come across theft in various forms ever since Rumania.
I should mention that we visited the town yesterday. The surrounding area is more interesting than the town. One senses an atmosphere similar to that in one of our little
* 31st December is St Sylvester's Day and hence New Year's Eve is known as the Feast of St Sylvester.
** "there", in Poland.
*** "Ojczyzne wolna racz nam wrocic Panie" -the final line of "Boze cos Polskke", a solemn Polish hymn, asking for God's protection for Poland.
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towns
on the eastern borders. The same mess, dirt and smells. Only the town centre is different,
more European. Yellow houses,
several storeys high, the warehouses in the colonnades
are richer and cleaner. Here, again, one is struck by the similarity to Rumanian
towns. The houses
are decorated somewhat in the
eastern style.
The
most interesting are the market districts of the towns. Narrow lanes, cluttered
with southern fruits, all types of footwear, all manner of household goods and
necessities - you'll find it all here. It's so crowded, one can barely squeeze
through. One meets all sorts of people here. Shouting and turmoil. The men
mostly wear red Turkish hats, like flower pots. One comes across Arab women
also, in black garb and black face veils.
Curious,
I looked
around trying to find some pretty women. I didn't see any. The Arab women
only had extraordinarily unusual eyes. Black, expressive, alluring - lovely!
Occasionally,
one came across an Arab woman with her face veil drawn aside. You only
had to look
at her and immediately the veil fell back to cover her face. I noticed that the prettier
women generally wore face veils, and the uglier ones I
saw were usually uncovered. Generally,
however, they were ungainly. Squat, without any obvious shape, and
with pot bellies and ugly legs. I also saw two dromedaries shuffling lazily
along the street, their humps laden
Without
any great feeling of delight, we returned home tired.
Great
changes in the weather -rain and wind. The sky was spread with fleeting showers.
The wind lashed the tent's canvas with drops of rain. It was dripping inside.
What a shame to lose the beautiful sunny weather. Out of boredom the gang sings
meaningless melodies. The dripping is becoming worse -we'll all drown here if it
rains long.
They're finishing people off with the pointless roll-calls; the pre-war story continues to
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exist.*
Sylvester Night**. The young are
bursting to have a ball in the traditional manner. Dear
God, Sylvester -a night of
merry-making. Roused by the moment, they want to celebrate -banish this
miserable Old Year and welcome
the New, from which we expect so much.
They want to celebrate its arrival, to gain as many good favours as possible.
It's an empty,
hollow enthusiasm, boys -have you considered the sad truth? Do you have any
money, clothing, girls. I know what we young people need.
And you're forgetting that the ground isn't frozen, after the rain the clay soil
is sodden; how will we get there in our holey boots?
Everyone
stayed. They didn't lose heart. They're singing, no! It's not song, it's
something else. Are you truly feeling so happy? I'm also screaming like a
lunatic.
How hard it is to come to terms with reality, how
hard to experience these exceptional moments in adversity.
Mr
Bruno has made himself a clarinet
out of bamboo; he's been playing, like Wojski***, for several hours now. He's
really struggling, poor chap; his forehead is bathed in sweat, but he plays on.
I don't understand him.
Is Sylvester in Dawidgr6dek the same as
it was a year ago? Are the same happy couples dancing my favourite waltz "Jeszcze
jedna para sie zmiesci"****.
I expect Krepel
* Yet
another allusion to the strong feeling
of disgruntlement amongst the ranks towards
those in command.
**
New Year's Eve.
***
Wojski -a character from "Pan
Tadeusz" by Adam Mickiewicz.
****
"There's room lor one
more couple" -a
popular waltz.
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is
playing, he's the only one who plays it well. And on the stage, in the same way,
is the Old
Year, having handed over the world to the New Year , departing sadly,
apologising to those
gathered for its misdeeds. Oh! Just like last year, I don't think they'll
forgive it, probably
hurl curses after it. Not just curses -it's done so much harm to people.
Do
they, on this day also, gather on the stage to sing the tango "Joanna"
in harmony Oh!
they're singing! I can hear that beautiful sound. So they're having a good time.
And I
can see myself there too, because, after all, I'm there with them.
From
a nearby tent the sound of carols being sung reaches us. It seems they are
singing beneath my window at home. My friends have arrived, we're preparing to
have a
ball. "Another one!" I shout, throwing them a zloty. They're singing
another one -one
can hear them.
What
are Urszulka, Mychna and the other girls up to now? Dear girls forgive me, I
didn't take you seriously then, but now I love you all.
23.00
hours. We're playing bridge. We've decided to [stay up and] greet the New Year.
New
Year 1940
Midnight.
We came out in front of our tent beating on our mess-tins. We roused the whole
camp. Shouts and cheers of "Long live the New Year". One could hear
the national anthem,
carols. Very moving. We wished one another, full of hope, that we might return to
a free homeland this year, and en-joy some happiness. We're off to pass on our
best wishes
to everyone else.
Contents
Not
a good start to the New Year; it's been raining since daybreak. The tent is
leaking everywhere,
lots of water on the paliasses. Maybe the New Year is washing away all the evil
from the world.
Lunch.
Horrors! the rain isn't stopping. Everything in the tent is wet. Phooey! It's a
dog's
life.
18:00
hours. It's still pouring. There isn't a single spot in the tent where the water
isn't
coming in. It's wet, filthy, quite impossible. It's unbearably boring. No hope
of sleep
-it's as if this was a punishment. Outsside, the sodden clay soil sticks to our
boots and is brought into the tent.
Beirut,
2nd January
At
last we've come out into the sun, like frogs emerging from the water. I've
shaved for the first time in a week; the barber even cut my hair. We do, after
all, have
some home comforts. The barber comes to one's tent. The Arabs bring lots of oranges
which we buy for cigarettes. It's worth mentioning that we have running water
and comfortable toilets.
More than three hundred sailed for France today. When will our turn come? No-one knows. For the time being they're taking the maintenance and anti-aircraft crews first. They obviously have enough flying personnel.
Horrors,
the lice have got to us. My mates are catching them inside their shirts. I
haven't
noticed or felt any on me yet.
16: 15 hours. They boys are boiling their louse-ridden clothing. I haven't found any