the carts, even our very fine suitcases and toiletry cases. Everything is lying
on top, within easy reach, including the little cases containing gold and silver.
Nothing is missing. Concerned only to save their bare lives, nobody had
been interested. We rush into the courtyard at a gallop. It is Saturday morning.
We hide like mice in their holes, taking shelter under very old trees which
have probably lived through many wars. The noise of the ‘birds’ pierces our
skulls. Bombs are exploding all around. We stay Saturday night. It is beyond
human strength [to go on], and besides, the roads to Warsaw are occupied.
We await the occupying forces in trepidation. Thousands of hearts are pounding.
Everyone is dominated by a single thought, trembling with the same fear:
they are coming! And thus we live through the weekend.
Monday morning.¹³⁹¹ Loud shooting, great fear and agitation. Soon green
uniforms arrive with weapons in their hands. They come one by one and
are followed by motorcycles, then cars. The military staff arrives. We form
a delegation with a young woman and go to the staff to ask for passes. We
are very well received. I am the interpreter and have to tell everyone to stay
close to the German troops, not travel at night, and no one will be harmed.
If anything happens to anyone, they should inform the German military.
We obtain our passes, go once again to the colonel to ask whether [13] “we
can leave despite the artillery fire.” He gives us an assurance, on his own
responsibility. Calm and secure, we drive off. We are not allowed into Błonie
and have to turn back. We drive back to the village of Święcice, where something
terrible happens. Polish railway officials from Poznań threaten to have
us shot by the Germans if we do not leave the yard where we want to spend
the night. The Polish population in the area is very anti-Semitic overall. We
spend the night in 2 barns, 6 people in one and 7 in the other. In the bright
moonlight I make out through the slits in the wooden gates that the Polish
troops are preparing to attack. I can feel a catastrophe approaching, because
the Germans are just outside the yard. Soon I hear a quiet ‘hurrah,’ which
grows louder. The seconds last for years. The attack is launched. The fighting
takes place alongside the yard, then in our yard, and now in our barn.
We bury ourselves in the straw. These minutes are the most frightening and
terrifying that a person can experience. The Poles pull back behind our barn.
At that moment an enormous burst of gunfire is directed at our stable from
1391 11 September.
