Memories of my early life at the
Displaced Persons Camp at Husbands Bosworth, Northamptonshire.
Kazia Malińska Myers 2017 |
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A brief history of the prequel before arriving at
Husbands Bosworth Camp: |
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My parents Kazimierz and Anastazia Maliñski were
arrested by the Russian soldiers in the middle of the night on 10th
February 1940, at their address of Leœniczówka ‘Pianka’, Stary Mizuñ,
Dolina, and with thousands of other families packed on cattle trains and
deported to Siberia.Their families lived in the Rawa Ruska region, and my
mother’s family were rounded up by the Germans and sent to labour camps in
Germany. My parents survived Siberia and in the years 1941 – 42
made their journey across Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan and across the Caspian
Sea in an overcrowded old freighter to Pahlevi, where after the much
needed recovery of their health and strength, they both joined Anders’
Army.After my birth in October 1943 my mother stayed in Palestine. My
father was sent to Egypt in preparation for the deployment of the 2nd
Corps to Italy, in January 1944. |
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My mother and I, together with a great number of Polish
mothers and children, waited out the war years in Palestine, then under
the British mandate. The situation in this once safe British colony
dangerously deteriorated with the escalation of fighting between the Jews
and the Arabs. In 1947 the British were forced to evacuate their families.
The Polish mothers and children were allowed to leave too, in order to
join their soldier husbands and fathers in England.
My mother and I sailed from Port Said on the boat SS
Samaria in January 1948. After the sunny and warm Palestine, Liverpool in
the middle of winter, was piercingly cold and depressingly misty. I still
remember shivering violently in my summer coat and sandals. I was four. |
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The waiting coaches took this contingent of Polish
mothers and children to various destinations across England. Our coach,
after a seemingly interminable journey (I still remember the telegraph
poles flying past our coach window and the fields like a vast green sea)
transported us to Hertford Bridge, near Morpeth in Northumberland. Our new
home was a quarter of an army hut, shared with three other mothers and
their children. We lived there for the next nine months. Sadly, the much
awaited reunion with my father did not take place. The four-year-long
separation and the wartime trauma caused my father to form a relationship
with someone else In September 1948, my mother and I together with a large
group of people were transported to Husbands Bosworth Camp. |
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Husbands Bosworth Camp |
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This military camp with an airfield, situated between
Northampton and Leicester, had been used by the Airforce during the war.
The Nissen huts made of corrugated iron were predominantly used for living
quarters and the long brick buildings for administration or community
purposes. There were four sites, and the number
of Poles occupying them could have been close to
800, at the beginning.
Gradually, as people found work in the nearby towns of Market Harborough,
Rugby, Northampton and Leicester, they moved to rented accommodation to be
close to their work. Many emigrated to Canada. U.S.A. and New Zealand,
especially as it was becoming clear that Stalin had no intention of
loosening his grip on Poland. |
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Initially, because of the number of people, four
families were allocated to each hut, with just a hung-blanket partition
between the families. As a small child I was unaware of the discomfort,
but for the grown-ups this must have been a nightmare. Yet no worse than
crowding on the cattle trains on the journey to Russia.
As time went on, families could spread out to two
per hut, then, when the numbers significantly decreased, each family could
enjoy having their very own hut. I lived in ours for nine years, till
1957. |
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The iron beds, the small square table and the four
folding chairs must have been the Air force’s legacy to us, and very
pleased we all were for that. The more enterprising people created
additional furniture by cleverly reusing empty orange boxes or any wood
acquired with not too much of a cost. The women soon transformed these
basic huts into homes with lace curtains, colourful bedspreads,
cross-stitched cushions and embroidered wall hangings.
The corrugated iron made the huts very hot in the
summer and very cold in the winter, despite the iron stove in every hut.
Once the fire went out during the night, I often woke up to icicles on the
windows inside our room. The winters in the 1950’s were harsh with heavy
snow-falls, the top layer often reaching the windowsills. |
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Everyone became a keen gardener, making the most of
the patch of land closest to their hut to grow vegetables, and softening
the drabness of the huts with climbing roses and colourful, seasonal
flowers. Many people kept hens for eggs. We had four, which I adored like
pets. We also had two cats for keeping the mice at bay. |
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Our camp was very well organised, which, as children
we did not realise. I have wonderful memories of care-free play, with lots
of other children on the daisy-spotted meadows, in the shady woodland
areas, by the stream on the edge of Site 4 and of cycling with no fear of
any traffic on the lanes that criss-crossed our camp between the sites.
In our camp we had a community hall which was used
for meetings, dances and theatre. There was a separate cinema building.
There was a church building (once a Gym), a school, and a separate
building for playschool. There were communal baths and communal toilets.
There was also a cottage hospital and an administration building. |
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The warden of the camp was an English gentleman, who
drove around dashingly in a sports car. His Polish counterpart was Mr.
Ertman, who was a great help to those who had not mastered yet another
new language, encountered on their travels since leaving home in 1940. |
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Corpus Christi
Procession
Kazia Malinska and Krysia Anczarska holding
the flower basket 1953 |
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THE CHURCH. |
This was the most used building of all the public
buildings at the camp. At the very beginning Father Jan Stelmach
(a young man) was the resident priest, then after a year Father
Franciszek Dziduszko replaced him and remained with his congregation
till the camp was closed in 1957. I do not know where either of them went
afterwards. Masses were conducted every Sunday, at 9 a.m. then
High Mass at 11 a.m. On Sunday afternoons the vespers were sung
(‘nieszpory’). Certain May time scents still remind me of those
afternoons, when I walked to church with my mother, and the hawthorn, the
lilac and the acacia trees were in full bloom. |
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The church was fully attended throughout the year:
the carols still sung throughout January, as is the Polish custom, then in
Lent, the Stations of the Cross leading to Easter celebrations, with all
the rituals of Good Friday and Easter Saturday, the blessing of the Easter
baskets filled with coloured eggs, culminating with the Resurrection
procession, for which everyone dressed up in their best clothes. It was
quite remarkable how even in those very lowly living conditions, people
managed to turn up elegantly dressed with hats and gloves and handbags and
high-heeled shoes. |
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Easter was followed by daily devotions to Mary in
May, to Jesus’ Heart in June, and the Corpus Christi processions. Little
girls, dressed in white, were the flower girls throwing flower petals onto
the path before the priest carrying the monstrance.October was devoted to rosary prayers. In November
there was the Christ the King feast day, and then the 6 a.m. daily matins
throughout advent leading to Christmas. |
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The helpers in the church made sure there was never
any shortage of flowers, but what made our church unique were the wall
paintings – the creation of a very talented artist, Mr. Leon Tetianiec.Before he was deported to Siberia, he was a student
at the Fine Arts Department of the Vilno University in Poland. On the
brick walls of this long army barrack, he painted trompe d’oeuil figures
of Angels and Cherubs who looked so convincingly 3-dimentional, that one
had to touch the wall to check that they were indeed, NOT sculptures.
Sadly, no one knows what happened to the panels that they were painted on,
after the closure of the camp. The building is now used for stables, and
there is not a trace of the church that it once was.
It may be interesting to add, that Father Dziduszko
ruled his congregation with strict discipline and it was not unknown for
him to tell people off for coming late to church. |
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SOCIAL AND CULTURAL LIFE
The teaching staff and all the young people were
exceptionally enterprising in organising lively and pleasant occasions
for the community. There were regular dances, to which young people from
the nearby DP camps would also come (Lubenham and Melton Mowbray, and
young Polish ex-servicemen based in Brunthingthorpe). We were lucky to
have our own very good band; the Wróbel brothers , who played on
their accordeons, and Mr. Merkis, who played the violin. |
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Kazia Malinska, Basia Pytiak, Jasia Czapnik,
Wandzia Kwacz,
Krysia Krawiecka, Irka Kowal |
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Niusia Salwarowska, Jasia
Czapnik, Kazia Malinska, ? Diubinska |
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The camp was regularly visited by the Polish
travelling theatre based in London, but the young people in the camp would
also put on their own plays. School children were regularly taught to
recite poetry, sing national songs and dance Polish dances on occasions,
special to the Poles: 3rd May – celebrating the Polish
Constitution, and 11th of November, not only the world
Remembrance Day of the end of WW1, but for the Poles the commemoration of
their country’s official break from the shackles of the Russian
oppression, while in fact it took another two years - 1920, for the beaten
Russian troops to retreat completely after the famous battle at Warsaw,
known as the ‘Miracle at Wis³a’ (River Vistula) ‘Cud nad Wis³¹’. |
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There was weekly cinema, and Saturday matinees for
children. We grew up with Laurel and Hardy, Tarzan and Cowboys and
Indians, which we would then re-enact in the play-ground for days. |
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MEDICAL CARE At the beginning the camp had its own hospital (a
long army barrack) with two doctors, who had arrived as displaced persons
with the rest of us, (as I remember: Dr. Maciejewski and Dr.
Grochowski). The nurses were also Polish, who had trained in Poland
or perhaps during the war years. As time went on, and the numbers dwindled, the
hospital was closed down and people with ailments had to get in touch with
doctors in Lubenham or Market Harborough. This was not easy for mothers
with young children, as one had to walk well over a mile to the main road
to catch a bus, and the buses came by only at certain, infrequent times in
the day. |
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THE SCHOOL. Many of the older children and teenagers were sent
away to Polish schools like Lilford Park, Stowell Park, Diddington,
Bottisham and a few others, that had been set up by the Polish Education
Authorities for the purpose of keeping up Polish Education and traditions
for the time when Poland regained her freedom and we all returned home.
History took a different turn, and as the hope of that began to fade, the
Polish children were gradually sent to the English schools.
But, to begin with, a school for younger children was
set up in the camp as well as a playschool for the very young. The
teachers from that period are worthy of a special mention. |
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Mr. Henrik Kozlowski. The Head. A cultured
man with a noble and kind nature and much patience shown to the children. |
Mr. Jan Ozioro. A very kind, family man,
understanding the needs of the children. He organised a trip for us to the
‘Festival of Britain’ in London in 1951. It was an experience beyond our
imagination, for us enclosed in a tiny world of barracks and encircling
fields: the enormous buildings, the busy wide streets, the neon lights
at night time, the fun-fair at Battersea Park, the exotic animals in
London Zoo, and the night spent on folding beds at a Polish Home! We lived
off the impressions for weeks afterwards. |
Mr.Franciszek Bejnarowicz. He was very kind and extremely popular
because of his motorbike. He would give us rides, sitting pillion with
him. ‘Health and Safety’ had not been invented, only great excitement
reigned, as one by one we were given the joyous experience of speed and
the wind whistling through our hair.This also brings memories of our day in the fun-fair
Wicksteed Park near Kettering. Four children who could not fit into a van
with the others, were piled into somebody’s car boot and taken along for a
day filled with adventure. No one complained about the mode of transport;
everyone was happy and grateful to our enterprising teachers. |
Mr. Zbigniew Scholtz taught us English. When
we were small children, we were rather scared of him as he was very
demanding of our attention and performance. His intention was to push us
so we would do well. When I was older, he gave me lessons in English and
read Dickens with me to improve my understanding of the language. Later,
he became the Minister of Education for the Polish Schools in England. |
Mrs. Lucyna Derkacz Kamiñska was the head of
the Pre-school. She was an exceptionally kind lady, always very
hospitable, and even when much older, for years she hosted Poles, who were
on visits here, away from Communist Poland. She lived in Leicester most of
her life, then in Melton Mowbray, where she died at the age of 95 in 2013.There were other kind people who made a good and
lasting impression on us, small children, but I do not remember them all.
It was only as a grown-up that I began to appreciate their input into our
formative years – people, who only a short while before arriving at the
camp, had been through some horrific experiences and survived. |
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Ewa Nowakowska, Kazia
Malinska, Basia Pytiak, Paola Tetianiec 1954 |
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Tadeusz Ludwig with
Basia Pytiak and Kazia Malinska 1951 |
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The Polish School at the camp was closed down in July
1951. The following September the children were sent to the nearest
English school at Welford. It was an old village set in a picturesque
countryside, where families had lived for generations. All the children
were well known to the teaching staff at the school. Suddenly they were
faced with a large group of foreign, non-English speaking children. It
must have been quite a challenge for the headmaster Mr. Twemlow
and his teachers. It was hard for the Polish children too, to whom the new
environment of the lofty, red-brick building looked formidable and
daunting. In fact, it is a small building, surrounded now by sprawling
extensions. The school dinners, served in the village hall across the road
were a strange novelty, especially the boiled cabbage which was no one’s
favourite. I imagine that the rations and the lingering post-war shortages
governed the menus to a large extent. |
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The English teachers showed kindness and patience to
us Polish children, but any punishment for bad behaviour was relegated to
Mr. Karus to mete out to us. I imagine that this Polish teacher
must have been especially appointed by the Education Authorities to help
out in this difficult situation. He was severe and expecting us to do well
and a slap on the back of the hand was his way of keeping discipline. For
that reason he was not our favourite teacher, but many years later, as a
grown-up, I discovered from another teacher of that era, that Mr. Karus
had lost his parents and his brother during the war. He was probably in
his thirties then, but he looked much older to us. I don’t know what
happened to him when the Polish children moved on from Welford School.
I remember particularly the lessons on the Egyptians
with him and the models of the pyramids and palm trees that we made out of
card and crepe paper. Also the riddle of the sphinx: what creature has
four legs in the morning, two at mid-day and three at night? |
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The other teachers were Mrs. Twemlow, the
headmaster’s wife, strict but very fair, Mr.Barnes (I remember
reading with him the story of Long John Silver and making puppets of the
pirates) and Miss Pike, who married Mr. Gardiner, when I was
in her class. She was young, very pretty and everyone’s favourite.
Mr. Twemlow, the headmaster, led assemblies and played the piano to
accompany the hymns. He taught us a number of songs and also the Nursery
Rhymes, which had been second nature to the English children, but we had
to learn them from scratch. He was the image of an English gentleman
in his tie and tweed jacket. But one day he did something which I found
very puzzling. It was in March, 1953, when I was nine. He came into
my classroom (of perhaps 20 - 25 children, some of which were Polish) and
announced the death of a great man. He asked us all to stand up for a
minute’s silence to honour him. That great man was Stalin.
I was bewildered. I could not understand how Mr.
Twemlow could not possibly know what Stalin had done to our parents. But
now I believe that he most probably did not. Six decades later, when my
book ‘The Journey,’ which depicts our parents’ deportation to Siberia, was
published, every single of my numerous English friends spoke or wrote to
me to say they knew nothing about this part of WW2 history. |
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I attended Welford School for three years. In September 1954, my mother
(Anastazja Maliñska-Ludwig) and my step-father (Tadeusz Ludwig) sent me to
the Convent School at Pitsford Hall, where I stayed till the age of
sixteen, coming home only for the holidays. |
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2014 in Nazareth, Israel
Kazia Malinska-Myers and Basia Pytiak-Reid |
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With each
passing year, the camp community got smaller, until October
1958, when I came home for half term, and there was hardly
anyone left at the camp. All the communal buildings were closed,
the church, the cinema and the meeting hall. It was
extremely sad and lonely and I missed all my friends who had
been my companions in my early years. |
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Between that half-term and Christmas, my
parents were allocated a council house in Rugby, so that when I
came home for Christmas that year, I stepped inside a ‘real’
house. It was a prefabricated bungalow, but I had my own room,
there was a bathroom, a sitting room and a kitchen with enough
space for a small dining table. Luckily for me, my best childhood friend, Basia
Pytiak (married name Reid) was also in Rugby. At the camp we virtually
lived in each other’s huts. Here we had to cycle across the town to meet
up with each other. However, I loved visiting her house; it was even more
‘real’ than mine. It had a staircase! |
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Another lovely surprise was to find that Mietek
Majcherczyk, another friend from the camp, lived just around the
corner from our street in Rugby. His parents managed to scrape enough
money for a deposit for a terraced house. Our friendship continued. When
he qualified as a lawyer, we married in 1968. He changed his name to
Michael Myers, because in those days, when ‘Political Correctness’ was
unheard of, no one was prepared to even try to pronounce his name in
Magistrates’ Courts where he practised as a prosecuting Solicitor. |
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Page 1
Husband Bosworth Camp Edek Merkis and Irena Pluszyñska-Gundelach-Memores |
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Page 2 Lydia
Gryzowska Memories
of Ludford Magna and Husbands Bosworth camps
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Page 3 Current |
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