The Street of Martyrs
The CBB -> St Hild's Sitting Room
#1: The Street of Martyrs Author: Elzbie, Location: London PostPosted: Wed Nov 17, 2004 8:46 pm

I've bitten good and hard by a PB after reading 'Be Brave- Irma', but I'm not sure I can do the subject matter justice. I've put it in here because it is very likely that it will not be nice, and I really don't want to upset or offend anyone. Parts of it are based on what I know of my family history, extensive travel in Poland, and stand-out stories from the time. If it's been done before, sorry again. ___________________________________________________ As I write I watch my fingers, and they look old and gnarled to me now. My body aches, for I have done much work today, and I sit crouched on my bunk taking up as little space as possible. I share the bunk with five others, and we sit on straw which should be changed soon, but I do not know if they will notice and give us more. I have been here for a month, and I surprise myself in that I grow used to this, day by day, although life for me has changed in the years and months since my country was devoured by the dogs of war. I was educated well, at an English school in the Austrian mountains, and returned home at the end of my time there with great joy, to our free country, cultured and sophisticated, and ready for a life as befits a young lady from the upper reaches of society. My father was a rich man, obviously, or I would not have been schooled in such a way, and I remember our appartment in Warsawa, and the house in the country where I would ride and tumble with our hounds. I saw enough society to realise that there were political undercurrents even then, but took no heed, child that I was. In those days of sunshine and life, I felt that the world would stay the same forever. Now I see that we should have expected the invasion, and equally that there would be no help for us. I do not blame my old friends for this it is not their fault that old men will treat nations and peoples as pawns in a game which none will win. And Britain did come to our aid, but by then it was too late. Too late for us, for Austria and the Czechs, too late for so many, many people. I was taught froma young age, at home and at school, to analyse events, and to hold on to my ideals. I could not stand by and see my nation raped by the Nazi butchers, the children starving in the street, and the bombs falling around us. My family stayed in Warsaw, where we saw privations which we had never learnt to cope with. Nothing prepared us for the gunfire, the stink of the drains, and certainly not for the disgusting treatment meted out to the Jews of our city. I felt real shame as their quaters became smaller and smaller, and could not laugh at the stories told of Jews made to dance in the streets for the amusement of the Nazis, and being made to eat their own feases as the terror drove them mad. We saw humans crawling like animals, crazed and dribbling, but the real beasts were the Nazis who drove them to it. I was taught at my school to accept people of all creeds and races, that God loved all man, and that all men are brothers. For this reason I had to help the poor souls who were the target of the horror. I helped all I could with the resistance movement, and was given a place on their news-sheet due to my education. My heart ached every time we sent a small boy or girl off to hand them out, although I believe that Poland will never surrender when children will fight for their country. This concern was to be my undoing, however. I walked along the street one day, eyes cast down and as inconspicuous as possible everyone walked like this, in these days of uncertainty and fear. And as I rounded a corner, I saw a small boy lying on the ground, beaten until both legs were broken, bleeding from his mouth, and the newsletter strewn around him, and a Nazi was looking down at him. As I watched, stricken, the man raised his gun, pointed it at the boys head, and fired. I heard screaming, and realised it was me, I ran forward to the boy and saw his unseeing eyes with a veil of blood seeping down his face. And as the Nazi grabbed me, I looked into his face. There was no expression there apart from in his eyes, where it seemed to me that the little boy he once was mewled like a baby from this face that had done to much. As he dragged me away, I was glad, glad that he would suffer, and I hoped that he would never sleep again.

 

#2:  Author: Josie, Location: London PostPosted: Wed Nov 17, 2004 9:02 pm

Wow. Ela, I have a huge lump in my throat right now. It's so emotive and powerful. I can see it's going to be my turn to need the tissues and eye-drops! I am really looking forward to reading more of this, even though I know it's going to be harrowing. But as they say, the best things are always the toughest. cheers mate.

 

#3:  Author: Dawn, Location: Leeds, West Yorks PostPosted: Wed Nov 17, 2004 9:28 pm

So far you are definitely doing this justice - I have tears in my eyes already Please continue

 

#4:  Author: Mihiri, Location: surrey england PostPosted: Wed Nov 17, 2004 9:56 pm

This is very powerful already Elzbie. Thank you

 

#5:  Author: Lesley, Location: Allhallows, Kent PostPosted: Wed Nov 17, 2004 10:00 pm

Disturbing stuff, Eizbie - thank you.

 

#6:  Author: Elzbie, Location: London PostPosted: Wed Nov 17, 2004 10:33 pm

News had filtered back that many of those who left the city had been sent to work camps, and when I was captured and imprisoned I was unsurprised when told that I would be sent somewhere where I could 'repay my sins against the Riech'. We had heard stories, spoken in hushed voices on street corners and in the few restaurants left open, that thousands had been put on great trains going east, all those considered enemies of the Riech, and few returned. We all wondered where they were keeping this vast amount of people, how they were housing them, how they meant to keep them. At this time tales of murder and the like were dismissed as cynicism, for what right thinking and decent person could be capable of even thinking of such things. Of course, evil things happened in war, but we Polish had been taught to hold our honour above all else, and assumed that others would feel the same. I suppose we should have known, after they slaughtered us on the battlefields, came at us in tanks and with rapid fire when the hussars rode with their sabres into the fray. There was no mercy then. I waited with many others for the trains that were to take us to our prison. I felt sick as I watched mothers desperatly trying to feed under-nourished children, and emaciated grandparents helped along by their familys to the platform edge. What had they done, these old people, these babes in arms? How could they work for the Riech? There was no special treatment for these vulnerables, and as we boarded the trains they were knocked down, children taken from their parents, and all the while the officers and the treacherous police made up of people from our own country waved their little guns like toys, and ignored the frail, the sick- we were cattle to them, no more, no less. No more pity for us than for a cow or sheep off to the slaughter. Crammed in on the train, with the shouts and cries of the lost, the terrified thick in the air, I prayed that we would come to the end of our journey living, and be given the chance of life that the cattle are not. The journey was long, and we were not allowed to get down from the carriage at any point. There was a hole in the floor, and we did what we needed to do as well as we could. A young mother and I held a shawl around an old lady, who looked so dignified as she squatted. Why should she be made to do these things, I thought then. She has seen war before, borne the effects of years of mans folly as she sat, uncomplaining, calm, my mind burned with anger. Only pure evil could have such disrespect for our mothers and fathers, for those who had given us life and hope for the future. And still the old lady sat, swaying in time with the carriage, and as the journey progressed she grew thinner and slept so that we could not wake her. On the final morning we realised that she had gone to God, and though we prayed, we threw her body from the train. Nobody knew who she was. That day, way drew into our destination. The air was cold as the doors were drawn back, and little by little the train disgorged its load onto the rough grass platform.

 

#7:  Author: Josie, Location: London PostPosted: Wed Nov 17, 2004 11:12 pm

It still staggers me the things some humans are capable of doing to others. Crying or Very sad thanks Ela

 

#8:  Author: patmac, Location: Yorkshire England PostPosted: Wed Nov 17, 2004 11:18 pm

"Old men will treat nations and peoples as pawns in a game which none will win." This is very powerful and the above quote could read as written today! Very moving, Ela and obviously written from the heart.

 

#9:  Author: Ann, Location: Newcastle upon Tyne, England PostPosted: Wed Nov 17, 2004 11:22 pm

I can see this becoming one of those drabbles where the subject matter is disturbing but you just have to keep reading regardless. Thank you, Elzbie, this is powerful stuff so far.

 

#10:  Author: Cazx, Location: Swansea/Bristol PostPosted: Thu Nov 18, 2004 12:07 am

Your writing is truly amazing Elzbie, I hope the bunny continues to bite.

 

#11:  Author: pim, Location: Helmel Hampster PostPosted: Thu Nov 18, 2004 12:45 am

Wow, *speechless* This is so powerful and moving. Also hoping that the bunny keeps biting.

 

#12:  Author: Lesley, Location: Allhallows, Kent PostPosted: Thu Nov 18, 2004 6:29 am

Thank you Elxbie.

 

#13:  Author: LizB, Location: Oxon, England PostPosted: Thu Nov 18, 2004 9:22 am

Elzbie, this is amazing. Thank you Liz

 

#14:  Author: Rachael,  PostPosted: Thu Nov 18, 2004 10:12 am

This is riveting, Elzbie Powerful, moving and very sobering I hope Lonny has the strength to get through this ...

 

#15:  Author: Joey, Location: Cambridge PostPosted: Thu Nov 18, 2004 10:19 am

This is extraordinary, Elzbie. Very powerful writing. Disturbing and riveting.

 

#16:  Author: Nell, Location: London, England PostPosted: Thu Nov 18, 2004 11:16 am

Thank you Ela. This is very powerful and a sensitive handling of the subject.

 

#17:  Author: Ally, Location: Jack Maynard's Dressing Room!! PostPosted: Thu Nov 18, 2004 11:19 am

Thank you Elzbie some beautiful and evocative writing.

 

#18:  Author: Elzbie, Location: London PostPosted: Thu Nov 18, 2004 1:00 pm

Not a proper post- sorry! I have just seen that Ilonka Barkocz was at the LSE in at War, so not only have I skillfully changed her nationality, but also her dwelling place! Ooops. So please can you bear with me and suspend disbelief.... look at it as an alternate reality, after all, it is very likely to have happened to at least one or two of the Chalet girls. More drabble tonight, anyway, and thank you all for your comments.

 

#19:  Author: Rachael,  PostPosted: Thu Nov 18, 2004 2:47 pm

Disbelief duly suspended - please don't worry about little inaccuracies - this is far too good for that ... But your next post had better be for real! Twisted Evil Wink

 

#20:  Author: Nell, Location: London, England PostPosted: Thu Nov 18, 2004 3:15 pm

Agrees with Rachael... Waiting for that real post...

 

#21:  Author: Elzbie, Location: London PostPosted: Thu Nov 18, 2004 8:44 pm

...And here it is, my dears... ----------------------------------------------------------------- It is difficult to describe what I saw when I stepped of that train, with more than a little relief since the days are hot in August. On either side the rails were long wooden huts streatching as far as I could see, and I saw that the track where we had come in was now blocked by heavy gates, barbed wire running along their tops and guard in towers on either side. In the distance, a plume of smoke rose from somewhere, and the air was heavy, leaden with an atmostphere I could taste, but did not yet understand. However, I had no time for more, as guards came along the platform with whips and sticks, beating us back into a line. I stepped forward, hoping to ask where we were, but a heavy blow across my thighs knocked me back. So I stood, like the rest, and waited. I still find it amazing how quickly humans learn having been treated like cattle on the train, we stood like sheep or cows now, waiting. We did not wait long. There appeared to be some kind of selection process in operation, and I watched bemused as women, children, the elderly, the weak, were hauled out of line and sent off in groups with more guards. They were told to leave their cases, and tose who argued, or tried to take what was theirs, were hit around the head and back- it was easy for the guards to deal with dissent, the journey had tired these poor souls and no one had any fight left in them. When the guards came to me, I felt their eyes rake over my body, like men will look at a horse. I caught their muttered words- thank God for my knowledge of German!- "She is strong. There is work in her.", and heard his companion say, "And plenty more, I like some strong Polish meat!". Both laughed, while I blushed in anger and in shame, but I remebered the blow of earlier, and said nothing. Next to me was a woman and her son, little more than two years of age. The guards pulled them out of line, and one roughly grasped the woman's chest. "Do we keep her?" he grinned as he said it. The other shook his head. "To skinny, and the child is useless." He pushed her out of the way. As he did so she looked at me, her eyes wide with fear. "I will help you," I said impulsively, but she just smiled, and shook her head sadly. I watched her go with a feeling of dread, watched as she carried her son, head bowed, and stumbled down to the waiting group. At last the sorting was over, and we remaining were told to take those cases and oddments left on the platform, and marched to one of the huts. There, we were told to strip, and herded into showers to wash- again, the relief!- and then to take the rough cotton suits we were to wear. Each had a number stiched to the pocket I was number 11768. Then came the moment which I am ashamed to say sticks in my mind as the worst time of my life so far. They cut my hair. Shaved me. My beautiful hair, which when I was at school used to fall like a mantle about my shoulders, dark and thick. The tears fall as I write this, as they trickled down my face as each lock fell to the floor. As I watched them fall, I counted the revenge that I would take when I could, and still the tears fell. And I wept for myself, not for the old lady on the train, not for the poor woman and child who went to their fate, not for my family or my old friends. They took my past, my femininity, when they shaved my head, and they also robbed me of empathy and concern for others. I will never forgive them, and I can never forgive myself.

 

#22:  Author: Lesley, Location: Allhallows, Kent PostPosted: Thu Nov 18, 2004 9:05 pm

Oh God that is so sad, so realistic. Elzbie this is amazing, and it must be costing you dear to write it. Thank you.

 

#23:  Author: patmac, Location: Yorkshire England PostPosted: Thu Nov 18, 2004 10:14 pm

If some of this is family history, it must cost you dear to write this. It is so 'personal' that I feel I am reading the story of the woman experiencing it. Thank you.

 

#24:  Author: Elzbie, Location: London PostPosted: Thu Nov 18, 2004 10:42 pm

There won't be any more of this till monday I'm afraid- I'm off away for the weekend, and I actually need to stop thinking about this drabble cos it's taking over! Thank you again for your comments and encouragement, and also, cheers to all the people on this board who write 'personal' drabbles, respect to you. Ela

 

#25:  Author: Kim, Location: Tipperary, Ireland PostPosted: Thu Nov 18, 2004 11:15 pm

Seconds Patmac's comment Sad

 

#26:  Author: Helen P, Location: Crewe, Cheshire PostPosted: Thu Nov 18, 2004 11:37 pm

Wow. Powerful writing - very evocative and disturbing. I don't want to read it but I simply have to! I can understand why you need a break from it - if it is affecting us as much as this, how must it be affecting you?! We will look forward - sort of! - patiently till Monday.

 

#27:  Author: Cazx, Location: Swansea/Bristol PostPosted: Thu Nov 18, 2004 11:54 pm

Crying or Very sad This seems so real, I feel as if I'm watching events unfold before my eyes.

 

#28:  Author: Dawn, Location: Leeds, West Yorks PostPosted: Fri Nov 19, 2004 2:47 am

Hope you manage to have a real break Ela and a great weekend This must be so draining to be thinking and writing about

 

#29:  Author: LizB, Location: Oxon, England PostPosted: Fri Nov 19, 2004 8:33 am

Thanks Elzbie. This is just so .... *words fail* The hair-cutting brought tears to my eyes. Hope you are able to enjoy your weekend away and have a break from thinking about this. Liz

 

#30:  Author: Rachael,  PostPosted: Fri Nov 19, 2004 10:34 am

I'm in awe, Elzbie :worthy: This is just superb ...

 

#31:  Author: Josie, Location: London PostPosted: Fri Nov 19, 2004 10:51 am

:ahhh: Ela Not surprised this is comsuming you. It really is terrific you know, but must be so hard to write. Have a good weekend hon.

 

#32:  Author: Ally, Location: Jack Maynard's Dressing Room!! PostPosted: Fri Nov 19, 2004 11:41 am

Crying or Very sad This is superb. Have a great weekend Very Happy

 

#33:  Author: Nell, Location: London, England PostPosted: Fri Nov 19, 2004 11:46 am

This is terrific Ela. Thank you. Hope you have a great weekend and a real break.

 

#34:  Author: Vikki, Location: Sitting on an iceberg, freezing to death!!! PostPosted: Fri Nov 19, 2004 9:49 pm

Thank you Ela! this is incredible! Have a great weekend, you deserve it!

 

#35:  Author: Elzbie, Location: London PostPosted: Mon Nov 22, 2004 5:44 pm

My gift for languages soon became apparent, and I was transferred to the main administrative blocks to work. On this part of the camp, the buildings were of brick, long brick huts, and everything was packed close together. In a way, this made everything much, much worse, although I cringe at my selfishness when others toil all day in the fields, or dig graves for their countrymen. But the smell here is that of death, and a light ash falls from the sky, the yield of the crematoria whose ovens burn constantly, a faint crackling in the air. It was here that I first learnt of the gas chambers which I have since discovered operate in every part of the camp. In my first week, I was made to clean these 'showers', holding my breath against the residual stench of gas. Thank god, I never had to remove the bodies. This job is left to the Jews, and their dead eyes as they lifted their brothers and sisters from the chambers make me shiver. I always dread seeing a face that I recognise on those piles, but often the stretched, haggard faces of the corpses, blue and withered from starvation, are unrecognisable. Thank God. After the first week of my confinement I was assigned to the dirty work of the huts, in the toilets and showers, and endless sweeping out in the yards. My work was and is now much better than some things, and more than that, I could see people, wander around and watch. It was in this way that I saw a man I had known in the past, Stefan Jaszinski, an officer in the Polish army. He moved in the same circles as I did before the war came and all the men went off to fight, and we had been friends, talking of this and that. He was a very cultured gentleman, and I was surprised that he found me to be clever and cultured too. He asked me all about my school, and spoke of sending his own children there. I always felt a tremor when he said this he was handsome, and our parents were great friends. I used to lie awake at night and wonder, what if he wanted me, and dream of life as it must surely be. As it might have been. Who knows what might have been? When I saw him roughly marched between the huts, towards the one where the 'dangerous' prisoners were kept he was very thin, and limped, and my heart sank as he disappeared through the wooden door and out of my sight once again. I had thought that I would never see him again, and that if I did our meeting would be bathed in a golden light, alive with laughter in the fields of my home with the birds singing. But although the day was hot no golden light penetrated the shadows of the low buildings, and dust hung in the air, and in the trees no birds sing in this place.

 

#36:  Author: Mihiri, Location: surrey england PostPosted: Mon Nov 22, 2004 7:01 pm

This is amazing, very powerful writing. Thank you.

 

#37:  Author: Lesley, Location: Allhallows, Kent PostPosted: Mon Nov 22, 2004 8:39 pm

Thank you Elzbie.

 

#38:  Author: Cazx, Location: Swansea/Bristol PostPosted: Tue Nov 23, 2004 12:20 am

Words cannot describe how amazing I think this drabble is.

 

#39:  Author: Ally, Location: Jack Maynard's Dressing Room!! PostPosted: Tue Nov 23, 2004 11:20 am

Thank you Elzbie and poor Lonny Crying or Very sad

 

#40:  Author: LizB, Location: Oxon, England PostPosted: Tue Nov 23, 2004 6:55 pm

Poor Lonny... all her dreams... Thanks ElzbieLiz

 

#41:  Author: JustJen, Location: waiting for a bus PostPosted: Sat Nov 27, 2004 7:46 pm

This is a very powerful and moving story, something that was ignored in the series.I hope this has a happy ending

 

#42:  Author: Emma A, Location: The Soke of Peterborough PostPosted: Fri Dec 03, 2004 2:20 pm

Wow. This is so moving. The erosion of all the things that we think necessary for a civilised life, the sheer instinct for survival which grips us and the sheer inhumanity of man to man. To be fair to EBD, this is not something she could have ever covered: she mentions the disappearance of a couple of characters (Florian Marani, I think). I hope Ilonka survives this and manages to be freed.

 

#43:  Author: Elzbie, Location: London PostPosted: Fri Dec 03, 2004 6:35 pm

I hardly slept in the days that followed, lying every night in the hot, cramped bunks and thinking of what might have been. I had learnt that the place where Stefan was being kept was a stinking hole of a prison, with rooms no wider than a couple of feet prisoners were tortured there, kept out of the sunlight and made to stand or crouch for hours on end in the damp and clammy cold. I wept to think of what might be happening, but I also dreamed that maybe soon they would let him out into the 'normal' life of the camp... after all, an honourable man such as he would not be tortured, surely? They could not keep him locked up like a dangerous animal for long, could they? I thought that maybe we would have a chance to talk, and that it would make it easier, being here, to have a friend, someone who had known our life beforehand, knew how much life had changed. I selfishly assumed then that other would not understand, that people in prison were there for a reason- but that Stefan and I were not that type of person. I still don't know why I held on to this belief for so long I think I thought that the Nazis would realize their mistake and let us go. I should have known, after seeing what I had seen, that there was no reason behind the evil that went on here, no desire for good. Just the wish to kill, maim, and murder, displace and alienate. Soon, however, something did happen that made me realize the horror of what we were experiencing, but also still keeps me going when I am so weary that I just want to lie down to sleep and never wake up again. A group of men from the camp had planned an escape, and were successful. At first I was joyful, thinking that they would go and get help, and that we would be rescued by the brave people nearby who I thought could know nothing of what went on here the thought that they did was too much for me to bare. But when the afternoon came we were called to our the square, and as we stood in line in the beating sun, we were told that for every man who had escaped, another in the camp must pay with their life. My blood ran cold, but still we stood, staring straight ahead, beaten into obedience even in the face of mortality. Ten men were chosen from the ranks. Some of them faced their now certain deaths with proudly up lifted faces, straight backs, the bravery of our race wasted on a futile act of revenge. One of these men could not help but let tears run down his face, but he still held countenance. This man was someone I knew a little- he was known for his skill in wood working, and would often carve little toys, wooden animals and figures to amuse us. He had a wife and three children who were still at home in the west, we all knew this, he talked of them all the time. His fair children, one of whom was just walking, the little boy who enjoyed climbing trees with his father, his wife who had been his childhood sweetheart. My heart felt as if it was torn in two by the knowledge that he would never see them again. Just then, there was a scuffle in the rows, and a tall, cleanshaven man with a bald head stepped forward, his face calm. He said to the German officers, "Take me instead of him," pointing at the man who wept for his family. "He is needed. I will go in his place." The man who had been chosen stared in shock, but also in hope. The Nazi in charge also looked surprised, but said to the bald man, "You will die, you know. Why should we take you- we chose him. Why should we not kill him?". The bald mad just smiled, a wide, calm smile. There was a silence, until at last the Nazi officer pushed the father of three back into our ranks. "Very well. Go then." he nodded to the bald man. Why did this unknown man offer his life in place of another? I could not do it. I hate to see others suffer but to do that to save a life, a life of someone I didn't know? No, I could not, and I could see from the faces around me that they were thinking the same. I think that we watched the condemned being led a way with a joint feeling of relief and shame, and it makes me sick now to think that humans will always be glad to save themselves above others, and that the Nazis know this and use it to divide us. But this saviour, for that is what he was, put some hope back in to my heart, and that night I prayed for hours on my knees on the cold stone floor, my face in my hands, that one day I could be like that man, and have the courage to stand forward and save the life of a fellow human being. Sadly, I still don't believe that I could.

 

#44:  Author: patmac, Location: Yorkshire England PostPosted: Fri Dec 03, 2004 6:40 pm

I really don't know what to say except thank you. So moving.

 

#45:  Author: Josie, Location: London PostPosted: Fri Dec 03, 2004 7:10 pm

Wow. Ela, your writing is incredible. Thanks for post, especially as writing this takes so much out of you.

 

#46:  Author: Ann, Location: Newcastle upon Tyne, England PostPosted: Fri Dec 03, 2004 7:31 pm

That was amazing, Elzbie. Thank you.

 

#47:  Author: Lesley, Location: Allhallows, Kent PostPosted: Fri Dec 03, 2004 9:10 pm

"Greater love hath no man than this .... that he lay down his life for his friend." It doesn't matter who said the words, what matters is what the words mean - the bald man was a true friend. *Humbled - don't think I could do that for a stranger.*

 

#48:  Author: Cazx, Location: Swansea/Bristol PostPosted: Fri Dec 03, 2004 9:11 pm

Poor Lonny Sad

 

#49:  Author: Vikki, Location: Sitting on an iceberg, freezing to death!!! PostPosted: Fri Dec 03, 2004 10:03 pm

Thank you Ela!! I really hope Lonny will make it!

 

#50:  Author: Amanda M, Location: Wakefield PostPosted: Sat Dec 04, 2004 12:34 pm

This is very moving Elzbie, thank you for writing about something which should not be forgotten.

 

#51:  Author: Mihiri, Location: surrey england PostPosted: Sat Dec 04, 2004 12:42 pm

Thank you Elzbie, this is incredibly moving.

 

#52:  Author: Ally, Location: Jack Maynard's Dressing Room!! PostPosted: Sat Dec 04, 2004 2:50 pm

An amazing and brave man. Thank you Elzbie

 

#53:  Author: Elzbie, Location: London PostPosted: Sat Dec 04, 2004 6:16 pm

Thanks guys- not all my own invention though. If you google Maximillion Kolbe, you can find out more about this incredible man. Ela

 

#54:  Author: LizB, Location: Oxon, England PostPosted: Sat Dec 04, 2004 7:07 pm

I've read about that before somewhere. Thanks for bringing it in here Elzbie. While incredibly sad (too mild a word, but I can't think of the right one) this is beautiful writing. Liz

 

#55:  Author: Nell, Location: London, England PostPosted: Sat Dec 04, 2004 8:53 pm

Wow. Thank you Ela. I too had heard his story before but it is one that cannot be told too often.

 

#56:  Author: Dawn, Location: Leeds, West Yorks PostPosted: Sun Dec 05, 2004 7:23 pm

thankyou Ela for such powerful writing and re-telling something that we should all be more aware of

 

#57:  Author: Ciorstaidh, Location: London PostPosted: Mon Dec 06, 2004 12:26 pm

Ela,thank you for writing this - it is hugely powerful. It must be taking a great deal out of you (((hugs))) take care of yourself, hon.

 

#58:  Author: Guest,  PostPosted: Mon Dec 06, 2004 10:39 pm

That scene was very moving.

 

#59:  Author: Rachael,  PostPosted: Mon Dec 13, 2004 2:19 pm

Thank you, Elzbie Very humbling and powerfully written ...

 

#60:  Author: Marianne, Location: Lancaster PostPosted: Fri Dec 17, 2004 12:20 am

Sad Amazing...

 

#61:  Author: JustJen, Location: waiting for a bus PostPosted: Sat Jan 15, 2005 5:31 am

Any chance of an update? It's a very moving story

 

#62:  Author: Jools, Location: Sadly Broke PostPosted: Tue Jan 18, 2005 6:05 pm

Echoes JustJen. Please could we have an update this is a brilliant and moving story.

 

#63:  Author: nikkie, Location: Cumbria PostPosted: Sun Jan 23, 2005 9:35 pm

Echoes Jools and JustJen Would love an update, Thanks

 

#64:  Author: auntie karry, Location: Stoke on Trent PostPosted: Sun Jan 23, 2005 11:10 pm

I have just read all of this - after the Songs of Praise Auschwitz (sp) programme - this makes it all so real! Thank you Elzbie

 

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