EIGHTY years ago my dad, Stefan Danielczuk, was in Italy as part of the contingent fighting the Nazis who were entrenched in the Abbey on Monte Cassino trying to stop the advance on Rome.
They had arrived in Italy after a long, hard and convoluted journey which theoretically had started on February 10, 1940 with a knock on the door in the early hours by NKVD. Eastern Poland borderlands were being ethnically cleansed under the Stalinist regime.
The young, old, male, female were all woken up and told they had 20 minutes to pack and to meet at a designated place for their onward journey.
After a long, arduous journey with little food and drink, poor sanitation and many deaths, my dad, his parents and his younger sister ended up in a forced labour camp in Archangel where his forestry skills were put to use, cutting down trees to build their shelter and clear land. Work days were usually 10-14 hours long and camps were often marked by unsafe work conditions, insufficient food and clothing and limited access to medical care. No work, no food.
The Soviet Union originally had a pact of non-aggression with Hitler, meaning they would not attack each others’ territory, but Germany broke this agreement and attacked the Soviet Union in 1941.
Stalin joined the Allies. The deportees, including my dad, created Anders’ Army in the Soviet Union in March 1942. Based on an understanding between the British, Polish, and Soviets, it was evacuated from the Soviet Union and made its way through Iran to Palestine. There it passed under British command and provided the bulk of the units and troops of the Polish II Corps (member of the Polish Armed Forces in the West), which fought in the Italian Campaign - the most notable being the famous Battle of Monte Cassino.
Dad was there on May 18, 1944 when the Polish troops were able to raise the flag in victory on the top of the ruins.
My brother, George, and I visited the site this month and, on May 16, we saw the preparations for the commemorations on Saturday, May 18.
We visited the beautifully re-built Abbey bearing the word Pax - meaning Peace. There was evidence of how the Polish soldiers are held in high esteem; the national flag, red and white flowers and the story in pictures of their history.
It is a tranquil place, very spiritual, and was very emotional for us to realise the conditions in which the war was fought by young men, boys, who believed they were fighting for their freedom and for ours, and for a free Poland.
The Polish cemetery can be seen from the window of the Abbey, it is the nearest one to the Abbey and, as the Polish believe, a little bit of Polish soil. There is an information kiosk with an exhibition in three languages.
The walk down the road leading to the cemetery was emotional and very humbling. Walking among the graves of the young men, mostly aged in their early twenties, who died between January and May 1944, some days before or a few days after the campaign, was just heartbreaking.
All the graves are simple, with name, date of birth date of death and rank, including General Anders who died in London in 1970 and his wife, a singer, is buried there too.
We were fortunate to be there to witness a choir from Wroclaw in Poland who gave a concert of Polish songs, most of which I had heard of or sang, including Czerwone Maki na Monte Cassino, Red Poppies on Monte Cassino such a poignant song about the poppies made more glorious and vibrant through the blood of Polish soldiers.
Dad was demobbed and came to Bradford in 1948. He was part of the Polish community who made such a contribution to post-war Bradford. He worked for John Laing, helping to build many of the housing estates, including Thorpe Edge and the infamous York House.
Later, he moved to work at International Harvesters at Five Lane Ends, where there were many Central and East European Displaced People (DPs). who were unable to return to the lands of their birth. Dad worked hard within the city’s Polish community too, using his skills whenever he could when the community bought their own church on Edmund Street in the early 60s, or at the Ex Servicemen’s Club on Great Horton Road where there were outdoor masses and social and sporting events, until it was demolished to accommodate the sports centre for the University. Then at the newly built club on Shearbridge Road, he was a joiner, a builder, painter, decorator.
He would often be a doorman or cloakroom attendant at social events at the Polish Club. As a child I remember attending a concert at the old Co-op Hall behind where Sunwin House was, we waited at the end so he could introduce me to his hero, General Anders, he was so proud that I could shake hands and curtsey.
He never returned to his home as it is Belarus. He never had a passport, he never saw his family again. His parents died en route out of the Soviet Union, buried where they fell, his sister’s journey took her to India and Africa until the war ended, then to Perth in Australia. Thanks to the internet, Dad met his niece in 2003. She was born in Tengeru in 1948 on his birthday.
We owe so much to those who, like my dad, fought in the war, so we could have a peaceful, better life.
Our generation have been so fortunate in that our lives have been peaceful but now, as grandparents, we worry about what the future holds as again there is animosity between neighbours.
Our hopes and prayers are that sense will prevail and all will realise the futility and the cost of lives, not just those who die, but their families and also those who survive and their families.
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