eBook
Available on Compatible NOOK devices, the free NOOK App and in My Digital Library.
Related collections and offers
Overview
My Boyhood War, Warsaw 1944 is an intensely personal account of Hryniewicz' life in Poland during the Second World War, centered primarily on the Warsaw Uprising of August 1944. Despite being the longest urban battle between lightly armed irregular forces and the most professional Army of its day - in terms of ferocity, compared by the Germans themselves to the Battle of Stalingrad - the Warsaw Uprising still remains one of the least known chapters of World War II. In this first-hand account, the harrowing details of life under years of occupation and heavy urban combat are told with disarming authenticity through the eyes of a 13-year-old boy. Hryniewicz was eight when the war began and 13 when he became a runner to the Commanding Officer of a Polish Home Army Unit, making him both witness and participant in the midst of the 63-day long battle. These impressive personal recollections are explored together with the author's broader insights into the connected events that so transformed the map of Europe, which continue to dictate geopolitics today Praised by eminent historians, authors and statesmen alike, the author's account stands as a cautionary tale about the brutal and lasting effects of war. As tensions in Russia, Ukraine and Eastern Europe continue to mount, this book serves as a timely reminder of the ever present dangers of Imperial annexation on Europe's eastern flank.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780750964746 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | The History Press |
| Publication date: | 06/01/2015 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 192 |
| File size: | 6 MB |
| Age Range: | 18 Years |
About the Author
Bohdan Hryniewicz was the first-time author of My Boyhood War, Warsaw 1944, a deeply touching memoir centered on the Warsaw Uprising of August 1944, the longest urban battle between lightly armed irregular forces and the most advanced military power of the time. Born in Vilnius (Wilno) in 1931, Bohdan Hryniewicz was only eight years old when World War II began and the Russians invaded his home time. After Germany invaded Russia in March 1943, Bohdan’s family moved to Warsaw. When the Uprising broke out he and his older brother Andrzej joined the Underground Boy Scouts and became runners. During the 63 days of combat Bohdan was in the midst of the heaviest fighting in the Old City, escaping through the sewers. He was awarded the Cross of Valor and promoted to the rank of corporal. After capitulation and the end of the war Bohdan and his mother Janina, escaped from Poland, making their way to England in 1947 and then the United States in 1950. In the US, Bohdan obtained a degree in civil engineering at the Newark College of Engineering, continued graduate studies at MIT, and pursued a successful entrepreneurial career during which he lived in Boston, San Juan, and Stockholm. After the fall of communism in Poland Bohdan was appointed as Honorary Consul of Poland in Puerto Rico, a position that he held from 1994-2008. Upon his retirement he was awarded the Commander Cross, with Star, of the Order of Merit by the President of Poland. Bohdan was married for 42 years to Linda Kelly with whom he had four children. He resided in Sarasota, Florida with his wife Anne Olshansky until his death in 2023.
Read an Excerpt
My Boyhood War
Warsaw 1944
By Bohdan Hryniewicz
The History Press
Copyright © 2015 Bohdan HryniewiczAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-7509-6474-6
CHAPTER 1
The Summer of 1939, June–19 September 1939
I awoke to the sound of metallic clatter on cobblestones. It was early morning and grey light filtered into the bedroom I shared with Andrzej, my older brother. I got out of bed and sat on the windowsill clutching my knees, still in my nightshirt, and was quickly joined by my brother. The noise was getting louder and louder, punctuated by the sound of shots. Looking through the second-floor window towards Arsenal Street, about 200ft away, I could see a column of tanks against the outline of the trees in Cieletnik Park, advancing towards Cathedral Square. The tanks were much larger than the Polish ones I was familiar with. From time to time I saw a puff of blue-grey smoke accompanied by the sound of a shot – but they weren't shots; their engines were backfiring. Red stars stood out on the turrets, growing larger and more menacing as they approached. The Russians were here, just as my father warned us late last night.
I was in Wilno (Vilnius), Poland. It was 19 September 1939, nineteen days after Germany attacked Poland and started the Second World War, and two days after the Russian Army also invaded us from the east. I was eight and a half years old and could feel excitement building inside me.
The summer of 1939 began like any other. My older brother and I had just completed our fourth and third years of primary school in Wilno, Andrzej with all As, while I barely passed. Older by a year and two months, Andrzej was a very serious and studious boy. I, on the other hand, was a hellraiser who did not like to study.
Every summer we would move to the country house with our governess, Miss Krysia. Our property was in Kolonia Wilenska, a summer community 3 miles from Wilno. In the morning we would commute to school by train with our father, who worked in the Military Bureau of the Polish State Railway, returning in the afternoon by ourselves. Kolonia was halfway between Wilno and Nowa Wilejka, a small town with a very large military garrison comprising the 85th Wilno Rifles (father's old regiment), the 13th Wilno Ulans and the horse artillery regiment. Because of its proximity to the Russian border, Wilno had a significant military presence. It was the headquarters of the entire military district, with an infantry division and cavalry brigade. Several regiments were stationed there, including an armoured battalion where my favourite uncle, Lt. Karol Smolak, commanded a squadron of armoured cars. Our immediate neighbours in Kolonia were all families of army officers serving in the nearby regiments.
School ended on the last Friday of June. Miss Krysia left for her usual one-month holiday and was replaced by our maid and cook, Pola. Our mother stayed in Wilno to run her beauty salon, and joined us on the weekends. Every summer we would reconnect with our old buddies: next door were Ryszard and Zdzis (sons of Major Kulczynski, company commander of the Wilno Rifles, with whom father served during the Polish-Bolshevik War), next were the three sons of Capitan Misiewicz and last, to complete the pack, was our slightly younger sidekick Stas Slusarski, son of a local farmer and cavalry sergeant from the Polish -Bolshevik War.
As summer progressed, we fell into our usual routine of playing our own version of cowboys and Indians (Polish Army and the Bolsheviks), and generally raising hell. When the area near us was used for manoeuvres by troops from the nearby regiments, that was real fun! We would follow either 'reds' or 'blues', betraying one side or the other in exchange for a ride on a horse, a meal from the field kitchen or some other special treat.
The day we most eagerly awaited was 24 June, St John the Baptist's day, important for two reasons. Firstly, it was mother's name day (in Poland we did not celebrate birthdays only imieniny, the day of the patron saint after whom you are named); secondly, and more importantly, it was the day we could start swimming. It didn't make any difference what the temperature was, you could not swim until 24 June.
Mother was born on 23 June and the closest acceptable patron's day was St John's, so she was named Janina, a female version of John. The whole custom of Noc Swietojanska, or St John's Night, originated from pagan times. Originally, it was celebrated a few days earlier, during the vernal equinox, the longest day of the year. The pagan Slavs celebrated this festival of fire, water, sun, moon, fertility, happiness and love by frolicking in the woods, lustfully chasing one another. The Roman Catholic Church very cleverly embraced this custom, minus the lustful frolicking, as the church holiday of St John the Baptist. Mother's name day was always celebrated in the country house and was a reliably merry affair with lots of people. This summer, I eagerly awaited the arrival of my Aunt Marysia and her husband Lt. Karol Smolak, who had a soft spot for me. However, to my great disappointment, she showed up without him, explaining that duty had kept him away.
The much-awaited first swim took place in the River Wilejka, a tributary that joined the Wilja in the centre of Wilno. A fifteen-minute walk from our country house took us to a place where the Wilejka was dammed, forming a reservoir which fed a water mill. The dam was wooden, about 12ft high, with water overflowing onto a wooden spillway below. The long spillway was covered with moss, creating a wonderfully slippery surface. The water cascaded over the top of the dam making a tunnel over the spillway, which we entered from the sides, and made our way towards the middle, inching along on our behinds until the water hit our backs. The force of the water would send us flying down the spillway landing in the water below with an enormous splash. This was great fun, which we repeated ad infinitum, rubbing large holes in our bathing suits in the process.
Our greatest collective achievement that summer was making gunpowder. Uncle Karol jokingly gave me the recipe: take three parts sulphur, three parts charcoal and four parts saltpetre; pulverise each separately; gently mix together; wet and mix more thoroughly; spread thinly and dry out in the sun and finally, when dry, break up by hand and pulverise very gently. Getting charcoal was no problem, but the other two ingredients presented a greater challenge. We used Stas, our factotum, to purchase the missing ingredients. We gave him money and sent him to the general store with the following stories: first, 'we have bedbugs and my mother wants to fumigate, so we need 9oz of sulphur'; then 'we slaughtered a pig and my daddy needs 9oz of saltpetre'. With all the ingredients in hand, we proceeded to manufacture our first small batch. We 'borrowed' a brass pestle and mortar from Misiewicz's kitchen and proceeded according to the recipe. When our concoction had dried out in the sun, we gently pulverised it into real gunpowder. The time to test it finally arrived, and we decided to make a small petard first. We used a little metal pillbox, made a small hole in the side, into which we placed a miniature firecracker to be used as a primer. We filled it with our newly made gunpowder and wired the box securely. We decided to test the powder by exploding it around the corner of Mr Slusarski's barn. I placed our masterpiece on a brick in such a way that only the fuse protruded around the corner. Since it was my recipe and my idea, I had the honour of lighting the fuse. With great anticipation, and using a very long match, I lit the fuse. The resulting explosion, producing a large amount of bluish black smoke, was very satisfying. As the ringing in our ears cleared and we congratulated ourselves, a very angry Mr Slusarski, who we had assumed was absent at the time, appeared. After ascertaining that none of us were hurt, he confiscated the rest of the gunpowder. He promised not to tell our parents if we gave him our word of honour that we would never repeat the experiment.
On 1 July Miss Krysia returned from her holiday and Pola left. Pola went to her sister and brother-in-law's small farm near Troki every August, returning more tired than when she left, since she spent the whole time helping to bring in the crops. Pola had been with our family since before I was born and was very devoted to my mother and family. Her previous employers had thrown her out when they discovered she was pregnant, a detail mother was not aware of when she hired her. Pola gave birth to a boy, the day before I was born, who unfortunately died in childbirth. As a result, she transferred her love to me and we had a very close bond.
As August unfolded we noticed changes from the year before. Father, who normally spent as much time as possible in the country, hardly showed himself. Mother, who always closed her business in August to holiday at some spa, cancelled her trip. Uncle Karol did not visit us at all. We also saw much less of our friends' fathers and other neighbours, most of whom were officers in the nearby regiments.
Around the third week of August we returned to our apartment in Wilno. This too was unusual as we normally stayed in the country until mid-September, commuting to school with our father. All the adults seemed very preoccupied; we overheard talk about war with Germany. Personally, I was looking forward to it since I was sure that our Polish Army would quickly win any war. Did we not have the best army in the world? Did we not win against the Bolsheviks in 1920? Did we not regain lost territories from Germany after the world war? Wasn't our cavalry the best fighting force in the world? I had seen our soldiers marching smartly in national holiday parades right under our balcony. I had been to the barracks, ridden in tanks and armoured cars, watched the cavalry horse shows and military manoeuvres, visited army shooting ranges, stood in the chow line with soldiers to get food from the field kitchens. I knew officers like Uncle Karol and Major Kulczynski ... I knew they were the best!
A few days later, we bid a tearful goodbye to Miss Krysia, who had to return to her family. Mother hired a woman to cook and clean temporarily, but my brother and I didn't want another governess. Father started spending more and more time in his office, sometimes overnight, coming home only to grab a quick meal and change clothes. He seemed completely preoccupied and more unapproachable than ever.
Mother decided we should all have gas masks. She obtained patterns from the Government League for Air Defence (Liga Obrony Powietrznej i Przeciwgazowej, LOPP) and proceeded to make them from sheets of latex taped together with surgical tape. The eyepieces where cut out from stiff cellophane and the inhalers were purchased already loaded with activated charcoal. We had a bit of fun trying them on but they certainly were not comfortable. After a few minutes you would start sweating, the latex would stick to your skin and the eyepieces would fog over, but you could breathe without a problem. Mother's next project, which we helped with, was to glue paper strips onto the windows in the form of an 'X' to stop glass fragments from flying if they were blown out by bombing.
During the last days of August the radio blared martial music, which was broadcast on the streets through loudspeakers. The military choir would sing, 'Marshal Rydz-Smigly is a gallant commander; nobody will take anything from us as long as he is with us.' The streets were plastered with posters showing pictures of the Marshal, resplendent in his uniform, superimposed on planes, guns, tanks and marching columns of infantry. An inscription in bold letters stated, 'Violation by Force Must be Repelled by Force,' and further down, 'In case of war, every man regardless of age and every woman will be a soldier.' I was sure that the latter applied to me: I was a 'man,' age did not matter. After all, I knew that young boys and even girls, called 'Young Eagles of Lwów', fought to defend their city from Ukrainians and Bolsheviks in 1918–19. One of them, only 13 years old, was the youngest recipient of the Order Virtuti Militari, the highest Polish decoration for bravery under fire. And the youngest Eagle was only 9 years old. 'Well', I thought, 'in a few months I'll be 9.'
On 30 August, around noon, the streets were plastered with large yellow posters. The President of the Republic, Ignacy Moscicki ordered the general mobilisation of the military. Large groups of men were gathering to read the orders; there was a new feeling of excitement in the air. We noticed long columns of troops marching out of their barracks towards the railway station, cheered along by the gathering crowds. That night uncle Karol came to say his goodbyes while his staff car waited downstairs. He looked splendid in his officer's black riding boots and black leather coat of the tank troops over his elegantly tailored uniform. He had a brown leather Sam Browne belt; his large, heavy 9mm VIS pistol hung in a triangular tan leather holster on the right side of his belt with a pleated leather lanyard around his neck. A leather map case hung on his left side while field glasses and a gas mask in a metal canister completed his equipment. Brown leather gauntlets where wedged under his belt and a black beret of the tank troops, with the Polish eagle and two silver stars signifying his rank of first lieutenant, capped his head. His orderly stood behind him carrying his helmet and holding Rex on a leash. Rex used to be our dog, a big male cross between an Alsatian shepherd and a Great Dane. Our old white female Spitz didn't want him in our city apartment and constantly attacked him so uncle Karol took him in. Now, I thought, with uncle Karol and Rex going to war we were certain to win. On the last day of August, more troops marched towards the railway station. Father briefly stopped by our apartment to discreetly speak with my mother; after he left we did not see him again for a while.
The next morning was 1 September 1939. I was awakened by the sound of the radio in the living room, where mother was sitting on the couch and listening. She looked at us and very quietly said, 'the war has started, the Germans attacked us this morning,' and then she hugged us.
The next couple of days were uneventful but the radio was on all the time, alternating between solemn and martial music periodically interrupted by a grave voice saying, 'attention, attention, arriving ...' followed by co-ordinates that meant nothing to us. The Air Defence was giving coded positions of German planes on bombing raids over Poland. Then on 3 September, there was great jubilation: France and England had declared war on Germany! Now we were sure that the war would end soon with a quick German defeat. There was no way they could stand up to the combined might of the Polish, French and English armies. After all, weren't the French supposed to attack Germany immediately? And wouldn't the British bomb them and send us new planes through Romania?
One day, when the air sirens sounded we ran to the balcony and looked up. I spotted a few small planes in the distance and heard explosions from the direction of Porubanek Airport. Then I noticed one small plane rising up to meet them, two planes came from above to attack it. They were circling each other, sparks appearing on the wings of the attacking planes and on the fuselage of the small plane. They looked just like the sparks from my toy tank. I had a wind-up toy tank with a gun that had a lighter flint. In the evening I would turn off the lights in my room, making my tank march forward over obstacles, its guns blazing sparks, just like the planes were doing. The air battle did not last very long. We watched in stunned silence as heavy black smoke started to trail behind the small plane, which was now falling. There was an explosion. Andrzej and I looked at each other in disbelief, how could this happen? Weren't our pilots and our planes the best?
(Continues...)
Excerpted from My Boyhood War by Bohdan Hryniewicz. Copyright © 2015 Bohdan Hryniewicz. Excerpted by permission of The History Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
Contents
Title,Quote,
Dedication,
Author's Note,
Part 1: Outbreak of the Second World War,
1 The Summer of 1939, June–19 September 1939,
2 Soviet Occupation, 19 September–28 October 1939,
3 Lithuanian Annexation, 28 October 1939–17 June 1940,
4 Return of the Soviet Occupation, 17 June 1940–22 June 1941,
Part 2: German Occupation,
5 German Arrival, 23 June 1941–June 1942,
6 The Best Holiday, June–August 1942,
7 From Wilno to Warsaw, September 1942–19 March 1943,
8 Warsaw, 19 March 1943–December 1943,
9 Warsaw, December 1943–31 July 1944,
Part 3: Battle for Warsaw: Gloria Victis,
10 Centre of Town, 1–5 August 1944,
11 Old Town – Town Hall, 6–11 August 1944,
12 Old Town – Telephone Exchange Building, 12–20 August 1944,
13 Old Town – Radziwill Palace, 20–24 August 1944,
14 Evacuation to the Centre, 24–29 August 1944,
15 Centre North, 29 August–4 September 1944,
16 Centre South, 4–17 September 1944,
17 American Airdrop – Centre South, 18–29 September 1944,
18 Capitulation, 29 September–4 October 1944,
Part 4: Under German Occupation,
19 Transit Camp 'Dulag 121', 4–8 October 1944,
20 Koscielec, 8 October–November 1944,
21 Rzerzusnia, November 1944–16 January 1945,
Part 5: Russian Return,
22 Return to Warsaw, January 1945,
23 February–9 May 1945,
24 Second Visit to Warsaw, May–August 1945,
25 Szczecin, August 1945–July 1946,
26 Third Visit to Warsaw, 31 July–11 November 1946,
27 Escape from Poland, 11 November–25 December 1946,
Part 6: Germany,
28 Berlin, 25–31 December 1946,
29 British Zone of Occupation, 1 January–July 1947,
Part 7: England,
30 Nicholas Copernicus Polish College for Boys, July 1947–June 1949,
31 London, June 1949–8 December 1950,
32 Newark, NJ, 8 December 1950–September 1954,
Epilogue,
Abbreviations,
Code Names,
Select Bibliography,
Suggested Reading,
Plates,
Copyright,