The legend of Besiekiery Castle

Castles. There are a lot of them in Poland, some ruined, some perfectly preserved, and all interesting. At times, we will travel the country and stop in a seemingly insignificant village- there to find ruins or foundations which reveal that the tiny settlement was once home to a great lord, or even a king.

I am rather fond of castles, so you will be hearing more about them soon. Today, I want to tell you about my favourite one.

The castle ruins of Besiekiery

The castle ruins in Besiekiery are not a very well known attraction, overshadowed by the nearby king's town and castle of Łęczyca. Their popularity is further diminished by their location in a very small village with no other tourist attractions. A few houses, a small school; Besiekiery is tiny, but it dates back to the 13th century.

Here's where it gets interesting. The name suggests that its original settlers were Scandinavian- viking mercenaries in the service of our first dynasty of kings, the Piasts. 'Besiekr' is a nordic word meaning 'man wearing a bear skin', and king Mieszko I did indeed purchase the services of a number of Scandinavian mercenaries. Not unusual, considering the strong hypothesis that his daughter married Swedish King Eric the Victorious, and later Danish king Sweyn Forkbeard. The princess eventually ended up in Norse mythology as Sigrid Storrada.

Such is the most probable history of Besiekiery; archaelogical findings of scandinavian remains in Poland support the theory. But in Polish, 'siekiera' means axe, and so there is also a legend about the devil Boruta (who also dipped his claws in the history of the nearby Royal Castle in Łęczyca) striking a deal with a local noble. Diabolical tricks are a common theme in Polish folklore, and such stories usually feature one of the lesser minions of Hell being outwitted and humiliated by the clever landsmen.

Look closely, at the top. That's a stork's nest.

Not so in this case. Boruta is an eminent character in the region's legends, appearing way back in slavic paganism as a forest and swamp demon. His name is an old Polish term for 'pine tree'. He would not be so easy to outsmart!

In the Besiekiery legend, a noble knight made a bet with Boruta. Perhaps the devil had disguised himself, or perhaps the knight was just that foolish, but he bet the demon that he could build a whole castle without using a single axe. In polish: 'bez siekiery'!

Presumably, the knight was promised riches and immortality if he won; upon losing, he would have to surrender his soul. And he would have won…except the poor man didn't know that one of the labourers working on the construction of his castle was named 'Siekierka'. The castle was built, but the bet and the soul was lost, and the Devil Boruta still haunts the area on his days off from guarding the castle in Łęczyca.

But that's only a legend. The castle is neither demonic nor Norse in origin, being somewhat younger than the settlement. It was built around the year 1500 by a court official named Sokołowski, and used to have a large tower which held the main gate and a chapel, an open courtyard and a three storey house in the back. It was modified several times over the years, but has been abandoned since the mid-19th century.

Currently, the municipality is gathering funds to revitalise the ruins and make them a safe and welcoming tourist attraction. So far they've strengthened the remainders of the main house and rebuilt the moat. There's a little beach, but swimming isn't a good idea as there is a lot of duckweed and leeches. Yuck!

Oh, another interesting thing about this castle is that it's home to a pair of storks. They come every year to build their nests on top of the ruins. Storks are very popular in Poland, we consider them to be one of our national symbols.

The stork is a bird that brings luck, and it's very good to have one on your property- they say lightning will not strike where a stork has his nest. And because storks like high places, many landowners will set up a special post or build a platform on top of the barn roof, or in the branches of a dead tree, to encourage storks to make their nest there. No wonder they appreciate the ruins of Besiekiery!

Meta information:

Location of Besiekiery on Google Maps:

http://maps.google.com/maps?q=besiekiery,+poland&hl=en&ie=UTF8&ll=52.151239,18.973475&spn=0.042921,0.131836&sll=37.0625,-95.677068&sspn=55.981213,135&hnear=Besiekiery,+%C5%81%C4%99czyca+County,+%C5%81%C3%B3d%C5%BA+Voivodeship,+Poland&t=h&z=14

A page with drawings of the castle's original layout and shape:

http://www.zamkipolskie.com/besiek/besiek.html

Information about scandinavian presence in Poland (in Polish):

http://www.norwegofil.pl/norwegia/historia/slowianscy-wikingowie-o-wiezach-slowiansko-nordyckich.html

The 100-day dance

Though the Polish education system has seen changes upon changes in the last couple of decades, the crowning of a high school education is still the passing of the Matura- the so-called 'maturity exam' which earns the student a diploma and the right to attend university.

The exams take place in May, but it is customary to celebrate them in January, approximately one hundred days earlier, with a school dance called the Studniówka.

Think of it as a sort of prom, or high school ball- it's a very important affair. Some schools choose to hold it in their gym, but many will rent out a hotel ballroom instead, which makes it easier for alcohol to circulate. One glass of champagne is the official allowed amount (18 is the legal drinking age in Poland), but we shall not speak of what is poured under the tables. My own studniówka lasted until seven o'clock the next morning, and I distinctly remember the hotel ushers asking us to leave, saying 'enough already'. The trick of the dance is that none but the most confident students can be certain of graduating, and the exam is months away. That certainly adds excitement!

So, precautions are taken that have little to do with studying. One superstition claims that in order to graduate, one must wear red underwear to the studniówka, then wear it again, unwashed, to the exam. In Warsaw, where I grew up, the custom is to go to the Old Town after your Studniówka, find the statues of poet Adam Mickiewicz and astronomer Nicolaus Copernicus, then jump around them on one leg. An unbroken skip around Mickiewicz will guarantee you a passing grade in literature and language, while Copernicus takes care of mathematics and strict sciences.

Seems simple enough, until you factor in the January snow, ice, and high heels.

But the most important tradition of the Studniówka is the first dance: traditionally and unquestionably a polonaise. Its roots lie in 16th century folk dances, and it is easy enough to learn. Even with two left feet all you need to do is follow the pair ahead of you, in time with the majestic music.

In some cities, the dance has been pulled out of the gyms and ballrooms and brought to the streets. In the bitter cold of January, hundreds of students file through the city, led in the dance by a pair or trio dressed in the historical garb of the 16th century 'szlachta'.

These boys would do fine in suits, but I maintain that even the
homeliest of men looks like a prince in a żupan and kontusz.

As they say 'We hope we don't see you here next year!'

Bystanders are welcome to join the dance and make the parade grow longer- it starts out as a column of pairs and ends up spreading across the whole width of the street with as many as sixteen people in one row. In Łódź, the students have been dancing for seven years now. One of the traditions for the dancers is to grab the statue of Tuwim by the nose as they pass it by (I wrote about the Lodzian poet Tuwim last year)- this is supposed to bring good luck.

So, we do wish them fortune and a calm mind during their upcoming exams. But they shouldn't thank us, no matter how polite that may seem- it's bad luck!

Meta information

The music you hear in the video is the most popular modern polonaise, composed by Wojciech Kilar for the Andrzej Wajda film 'Pan Tadeusz', based on an epic poem of the same name written by Adam Mickiewicz- the great Polish poet mentioned above. Here is the clip from the film featuring the score and the dance:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vq-VmzcJa3Y  

Wikipedia entry with links to articles about the clothes worn by Polish nobility 

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kontusz 

Wikipedia entry about the Polonaise

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Polonaise

The Heart of Lodz, or how a Jew, a German, a Russian and a Pole got along without a punchline

We've kept to the Lodz voivodship for the first few posts, and that's because I live there, but we'll set out exploring the rest of Poland soon. Today, we're still in Lodz herself, and this post will tell a story which is  a particularly good example of the city's multi-cultural background.

Our story begins in 1909, a good way South of Lodz, in the sanctuary of the Black Madonna in Częstochowa. The icon of Mary, a sacred image revered for centuries as the Queen of Poland, had just been robbed of its ceremonial crown.  It was the tsar of Russia who offered to pay for the replacement. Wasn't that nice of him?

No. It wasn't. Think about it. The Tsar of Russia would effectively crown the Queen of Poland.  To accept this would be nothing short of accepting Russia as our supreme ruler! You see, back in 1815 when our neighbours played tug-of-war with our borders again, the city of Lodz was included in the so-called Congress Kingdom of Poland, a theoretically autonomous state which was in fact subordinate to the Russian Tsar. With the shreds of our country already suffering under the Empire's heel, letting the Tsar raise himself above Mary Mother of God was unthinkable. A plea was sent to Rome, and in the end it was Pope Pius X who funded the crowns. 

The crisis averted and the coronation performed, a pilgrimage of tradesmen returned to Lodz, thinking of a way to honour the event. 

They decided to found a bell for the newly constructed Catholic Archcathedral in Lodz.

The Sigismund bell of 1911

One might have expected this to remain an entirely Catholic event, but in fact, mindful of the symbolism surrounding the crowning of Mary's icon, most of the citizens, regardless of religion, came together to fund the bell. It was to be named Zygmunt (Sigismund), after the famous cathedral bell in the royal castle in Cracow.

The multi-cultural founders' committee chose the factory of Lutheran, German industrialist Adolf John as the casting site. John had offerred to produce the bell free of charge, though he had to go to considerable trouble to acquire the necessary technology and machines. His factory had its own iron foundry, but had never produced anything as big as the six tonne bell.

J is for John- this is the gate to the former foundry

While Adolf John's men traveled to France, Italy and Switzerland to learn the secrets of bell-founding, the citizens of Lodz began to collect money for the cause. The amount gathered came to 4,620 rubles and 41 kopecks (remember, we were under Russian rule), plus a significant amount of jewellery. 

It is fair to say that the people of Lodz bought their bell, but what is exceptional is that they were also allowed to witness the founding process. A special platform was erected, which any curious citizen could climb to watch the founders at their dangerous task. To add to this unlikely display of equality between classes, two individuals were chosen to throw the collected jewellery into the alloy: Adolf John's wife and a line worker from his factory.

On June 25th, 1911, the bell was taken from the factory to the nearby cathedral, with sixty thousand people following (the population of Lodz at the time was around 300, 000 ). The bell itself weighed over ten thousand pounds, its heart adding another three hundred, and the counterweight five thousand. 15,452 lbs in total. Its height was 170 centimetres, and the circumference of the lip a full 2 metres. 

Big, big bell. It was placed on a temporary scaffolding, and moved to the completed cathedral tower in 1927.

The Archcathedral tower

Good story, huh? Not over yet. You see, while in 1911 we were under Russian rule, in 1914, World War I broke out. It was not long before Lodz was occupied by the Germans. The bell, still on its temporary scaffolding, was immediately recognised as an excellent resource- after all, it was made of a bronze alloy commonly called gunmetal!

Planning to melt the bell down for weapons, the occupants attempted to confiscate it. They were met with an armed resistance. The citizens of Lodz would not give up Sigismund!

Bloodshed seemed inevitable. But the invaders had to recognise one unsettling fact: there was a large number of Germans among the people protecting the bell. These Germans considered Lodz to be their home, and the bell to be its unquestionable treasure- they risked life and limb to protect it.

Not wanting to open fire on their kinsmen, the German forces agreed not to take the bell. The condition was a ransom- the people of Lodz had to bring in the equivalent weight in precious metals that would serve to make a new alloy. 

So, only four years after the first collection to fund the bell, a second one had to save it. And once again, the people of Lodz came through, bringing 400 kilograms of precious metals in excess. To save the bell, they robbed their own homes of anything suitable- platters, candlesticks, even brass doorknobs.  To this day, some of the older apartments in Lodz open with wooden handles.

The bell was saved. The war ended, Poland regained independence, and held it for a brief twenty years. 

And just as the country lost its freedom, Lodz finally lost its bell. 

During World War Two, the German occupation returned, and this time the presence of other Germans in Lodz could not soften their hearts. The Lodz Germans were required to sign the volksliste; those who refused were executed. This was the fate of many, rich and poor alike. John's complex was taken over and transformed into a weapons factory, and around 1941, the Nazis stole the bell out of the cathedral tower. It was never seen again.

Until this year...

The new bell is placed on its temporary scaffolding.

In a moving ceremony on September 18th, 2011, a newly founded bell, once again paid for by donations from the citizens of Lodz and the city itself, was triumphantly transported from Adolf John's old factory to the Lodz Archcathedral.

Preschool children ring little bells as they wait to escort the heart of the bell (in the background)

The city guard looking dashing on their horses.

Though it was in premise a laic parade and not a church procession, members of several laymens' convents
carried their standards to the beat of the marching band. Here they are getting ready to set out.

In accordance with the citizen's vote, the bell was christened with the name Serce Łodzi- The Heart of Lodz. The service was Catholic but to underline the unity of Lodz now as it was one hundred years ago, its godparents were selected from the four faiths that have always made up the city: not only Catholic, but Jewish, Lutheran, and Orthodox as well.

Symcha Keller, the head of the Union of Jewish Communities in Poland, and
 Zbigniew Felczyński, the bell-maker whose foundry crafted the Heart of Lodz.

Archbishop Władysław Ziółek blesses the bell

As the new bell had been founded in the year of John Paul II's beatification, its first chime rang at 9:37 pm, the hour of the late pope's death. To make it ring, all of its godfathers gripped the ropes and pulled in unison.

The Return of the Heart of Lodz from Poland Is Awesome on Vimeo.

The proceeds from the following festivities, as well as the donations collected during the service went to the cardio wing of a local hospital specialising in pre-natal and pediatric care.

I would be lying if I said that Lodz was a utopia of tolerance- that it was a perfect example of multi-ethnic co-existence. However, it was a place where, once, Poles, Jews, Russians and Germans all had to find a way to make it work. They all had an equal part in building this city. They permeated all social classes and worked alongside each other, keeping their own faiths but knowing to respect those of their neighbours. But with the ever-changing political situation, the partitions, the struggles for independence which could not possibly unite four different nationalities, and finally World War Two which robbed us of our Jewish population, Lodz was struck from its path and could not evolve further in this direction.

It's a great pity. That's why I cherish events like these, where we all come together, and modern Lodz can be reminded of how diverse it once was.


As a delightful bonus, the whole process was extremely well documented. Most of it is in Polish, but if you skip over the commentary in this video from the foundry you can see the actual Heart of Lodz bell being made.

Meta info:

Image of original Zygmunt bell taken from official Heart of Lodz website:

http://sercelodzi.pl/

PDF of a comic book about the Heart of Lodz (in Polish):

Serce Łodzi-komiks

The Locomotive

Isn't it funny how even today, when talking about trains, most of us imagine a big, fat, steam-powered locomotive? Though the oldest among us still remember them, such machines haven't been running in years. And yet the locomotive remains in our collective awareness as a symbol of railroad travel- all the more magical for its anachronism. Harry Potter rode an enchanted steam train to Hogwarts, and Thomas the Tank Engine is still teaching young children that trains have funnels. Toy trains are more fun when they appear to run on steam, even if the dial connects to electricity.

And one of the most iconic, most famous, most beloved children's poems in Polish literature is an ode to a steam train. The Locomotive, written by Julian Tuwim, is catchy, quotable and a veritable masterpiece of rhythm.

First a toot!

Then a hoot!


Steam is churning,


Wheels are turning!

This week, on September 13th was Julian Tuwim's birthday, which is celebrated with great pomp in Łódź. Born into a Jewish family in 1894, Tuwim was a proud citizen of the industrial town. (Note: at the time of his birth, Poland was partitioned, Łódź was part of the Russian Empire, and it would be twenty four more years before the country regained its independence and reappeared on the map.) He spent most of his life in Łódź, then Warsaw where he studied law. After the war broke out, he emigrated West in 1939, finally settling in New York for five years. He returned to Poland after the war and remained here until his death in 1953.

Tuwim carried a shrewd quill. He wrote about the everyday, about daily struggles- in a city run by ruthless industrialists, he had the guts to mock the greed and lust for riches that defined so many of them. In 1937, he wrote a work gracefully titled "A Poem in which the author politely yet firmly implores the vast hosts of his brethren to kiss his arse", a satire to annoy and denounce those whinging elements of Polish society he found most deplorable.

Suffice to say, the man was outspoken and unafraid. But while it was his sharp tongue and wit that made him famous in his day, it is the "Locomotive" poem that he is now best remembered by.

He has a statue on Piotrkowska Street, the most important street in Łódź. It shows him as an elderly gentleman with a kindly smile, sitting on a bench in front of the City Hall. There is a spot on the bench next to him, and if you sit down, Tuwim smiles at you, sparks in his eyes, as if he were about to tell you a story.

Tuwim's bench, decorated by schoolchildren.

His nose is shiny and golden, worn from all the hands that touched it over the years. Tradition says the nose must be rubbed for luck. Other statues on Piotrkowska share the superstition- their noses are proof. But none have a smile as mysterious as Tuwim.

Tuwim and the children

Every year on his birthday, schoolchildren gather around the statue to celebrate and recite the poem together- for "The Locomotive" is a poem best read aloud.

In 2007, the kids made a live choo choo train which they paraded down the street.

Go on, give it a shot! Here is an excellent translation by mr. Walter Whipple. I'll give you some pointers: Start off slow- the locomotive is tired.

A big locomotive has pulled into town,

Heavy, humungus, with sweat rolling down,

A plump jumbo olive.

Huffing and puffing and panting and smelly,

Fire belches forth from her fat cast iron belly.

Poof, how she's burning,

Oof, how she's boiling,

Puff, how she's churning,

Huff, how she's toiling.

She's fully exhausted and all out of breath,

Yet the coalman continues to stoke her to death.

Now gesticulate, get excited- all this cargo! It's amazing!

Numerous wagons she tugs down the track:

Iron and steel monsters hitched up to her back,

All filled with people and other things too:

The first carries cattle, then horses not few;

The third car with corpulent people is filled,

Eating fat frankfurters all freshly grilled.

The fourth car is packed to the hilt with bananas,

The fifth has a cargo of six grand pi-an-as.

The sixth wagon carries a cannon of steel,

With heavy iron girders beneath every wheel.

The seventh has tables, oak cupboards with plates,

While an elephant, bear, two giraffes fill the eighth.

The ninth contains nothing but well-fattened swine,

In the tenth: bags and boxes, now isn't that fine?

There must be at least forty cars in a row,

And what they all carry — I simply don't know:

But if one thousand athletes, with muscles of steel,

Each ate one thousand cutlets in one giant meal,

And each one exerted as much as he could,

They'd never quite manage to lift such a load.

Now watch out...here we go! It's moving!

First a toot!

Then a hoot!

Steam is churning,

Wheels are turning!

Slowly now...

More slowly - than turtles - with freight - on their - backs,

The drowsy - steam engine - sets off - down the tracks.

She chugs and she tugs at her wagons with strain,

As wheel after wheel slowly turns on the train.

She doubles her effort and quickens her pace,

And rambles and scrambles to keep up the race.

Oh whither, oh whither? go forward at will,

And chug along over the bridge, up the hill,

Through mountains and tunnels and meadows and woods,

Faster, read faster!

Now hurry, now hurry, deliver your goods.

Keep up your tempo, now push along, push along,

Chug along, tug along, tug along, chug along

Lightly and sprightly she carries her freight

Like a ping-pong ball bouncing without any weight,

Not heavy equipment exhausted to death,

But a little tin toy, just a light puff of breath.

Oh whither, oh whither, you'll tell me, I trust,

What is it, what is it that gives you your thrust?

What gives you momentum to roll down the track?

It's hot steam that gives me my clickety-clack.

Hot steam from the boiler through tubes to the pistons,

The pistons then push at the wheels from short distance,

They drive and they push, and the train starts a-swooshin'

'Cuz steam on the pistons keeps pushin' and pushin';

The wheels start a rattlin', clatterin', chatterin'

Chug along, tug along, chug along, tug along! . . . .

Don't stop! Keep going...chug-along tug-along chug-along tug-along, tak-to-to, tak-to-to, tak-to-to, tak-to-to...

Meta info:

Wikipedia page for Julian Tuwim:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Julian_Tuwim

Julian Tuwim's works at Allpoetry.com

http://allpoetry.com/Julian_Tuwim

The Tuwim Birthday Event Page:

http://tuwim.piotrkowska.pl/

Sewers- fun for the whole family

Sewers. Generally a place we avoid, yes? Apologies to any intrepid jumpsuit-wearing reporters among our reader base, but climbing down a manhole to hang out with your buddies is just sixteen kinds of creepy. Besides, you don't need to go that far to find mutants in Poland- check the immediate vicinity of any 24-hour alcohol store.

Still, there are those to whom a sewer is just another world of exciting adventures. I'm not naming any names, but....okay, me. I like sewers. Why wouldn't I? They fulfil all of my criteria for fun, being:

1) a place where people usually don't go
2) a place that is rarely captured in photography
3) a place that has interesting architecture.

You may wonder about the third one, but have you ever considered what the underground world of your city looks like? It may surprise you.

The sewer system in Łódź, for instance, is nearly four thousand kilometres long (sic! and Lodz isn't that big a city) and was built according to designs by the renowned British engineer, William Heerlein Lindley (not to be confused with his father, William Lindley, although their engineer business was a family affair).

Łódź got its sewage system extremely late- construction began in 1925, and the first building was connected in 1927; no other European city of that size was, at that time, lacking a sewage system . It was especially important, since Łódź was an industrial city, and so it was not only human waste but chemical and industrial sewage that ran down the street gutters.

It was engineer Stefan Skrzywan who took up the challenge to bring Lindley's designs into being. He was a remarkable man, driven and enthusiastic. There is an anecdote which sums up his attitude quite well: upon moving in to the building designated as the Waterworks Office, he ordered a mosaic to be put down in the hallway, spelling out the word 'Smile'.

I guess when you're in sewage, you have to have a sense of humour!

The sewers of Łódź, much like any of the sewers built in the late 19th and early 20th century boast brickwork that is almost too beautiful to fill with the waste it was built to channel. I believe 'gothic' is the word that comes to mind, and perhaps not unjustly- the water reserve tanks at the edge of the city are so spectacular in their construction, they have been nicknamed 'The Cathedral'. I am still looking for the right strings to pull in order to access that wonder.

So, how does one get a look at that red brick underground network? For those who are disinclined to trespassing and can't abide revolting smells, the city of Łódź offers a fortunate alternative.

Not for the claustrophobic.

In 2008 it drained one of its old water retention loops underneath the Plac Wolności square and opened it up to the public.  Built in 1926, the reservoir is nicknamed the Dętka, or 'inner tube', on account of its circular shape. Several other sewers connect to it radially; when one of them needed to be flushed out, the Dętka was filled with 300 cubic metres of water, which was then released into the sewer in question.

Nowadays, sewers are cleaned using special mobile pressure machines, and that is why it was possible to drain and clean the Inner Tube, evict the sewage and rats, and open it up to the public.

The space is clean and well-lit, though a damp trickle remains on the floor.

They also rent out the space for photoshoots...ah, I can hear those steampunk cogs turning in your heads. ;) So, if you visit Łódź, don't miss this fabulous chance to see what's going on underneath your feet.

But what does a sewer look like when it's not cleaned out for tourist access?  Let me demonstrate. Here are some photos of an authentic Lodzian sewer, still in use today.

Speleothems which can hurt your head if you don't duck, silly.

Mushrooms grow on the walls- I couldn't tell you what kind, but they are all white for lack of light, and look rather like mutated Hattifatteners.

In some places, tree roots penetrate the sewer and form a delicate mesh on the ceiling.

 These are some of the oldest passages in the city, built in the mid 1920s. This one in particular is a storm drain, which connects to several waste sewers. Note the careful brickwork.

Sewers. So beautiful. Built with such passion.Who would have thought?



Meta info:

The Dętka Museum official Website

http://www.muzeum-lodz.pl/inne/detka.php

The William Heerlein Lindley Wikipedia entry:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Heerlein_Lindley

The Stefan Skrzywan Wikipedia entry:

http://pl.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stefan_Skrzywan

The Strońsko-Beleń battle of September 1939

One more WW2 post before we move on to lighter things.

September 1939 is not a good month in my country's memory- the Nazi advance was swift and overwhelming. To put things in context, here is another map which shows, roughly, the borders of Poland in 1939.

You shouldn't trust in the details, my mapping skills are very amateurish- but you get the idea.

As you can see, Germany was much closer to Łódź than it is today, and so the industrial town would be one of the first larger targets for the advancing army, which was then to move on to Warsaw. To stop the attackers and protect the city was the immediate goal of the 30th Rifle Regiment of Kaniów (named so to honour a 1918 victory, the Battle of Kaniów) and the Łódź Army.

There had been, of course, some anticipation of an attack, and so a line of defense had been built along the banks of the Warta river. Alas, it remained unfinished on the day War broke out- supposedly, farmers had asked the army to hold off construction until after the harvest. The defense had to make do with what was on hand- 47 concrete bunkers, few of them complete.

Seven bunkers remain in the area, and are kept clean by volunteers.

Seven of those artillery bunkers remain to this day in the stretch between the villages of Beleń and Strońsko, in the river valley that saw one of the first battles of World War Two.

 Last Saturday, I biked down there to watch a reenactment.

I park my bike, I walk away for two minutes, and when I get back, there's German motorcycles everywhere. Oh dear.

 The event's main organisers were the Strzelcy Kaniowscy Historical Society, a group of military history buffs who work to preserve artefacts and sites relevant to the Rifle Regiments of Kaniów. A few hundred amateur reenactors and extras took part, with several thousand people gathered on the hill above the battlefield to watch.

The Germans

The Poles

An audience for a memorial.

 
In a strangely contradictory manner, it was at once fun and extremely upsetting.

This was not a victorious battle for Poland. The Łódź Army and Kaniów Riflemen held the defense for three days, but were eventually overpowered by the German forces. They hardly stood a chance- one regiment against a whole division. And so, the colourful, picnicking crowd of families that spread over the hillside last Saturday had in fact gathered to honour the valor and memory of those who fought, and failed, by watching them desperately fight and fail again.

Shivers down one's spine are not optional in such a situation. Sitting high up in this naturally-formed amphitheatre, we were directly behind home trenches, our soldiers's backs to us as they scanned the forest line for enemy forces. All was peaceful, at first, and we watched as a group of peasants slowly walked across the valley, the adults carrying bundles, the children clutching beloved teddy bears and dolls. A strangely gentle image of flight- they looked like families out for a pleasant weekend stroll.

My dad was four when the war began. His family packed up and ran East, because the Germans were coming.
Soon enough they turned around and ran back West, because, word had it, the Soviets were coming...

 And then, the skies roared, and a Luftwaffe machine tore through the blue. Down in the valley, the civilians froze, then began to run. Where were they expecting to go? With the forest line behind them, and the trenches too far to offer any shelter, they scattered like rabbits.

I didn't know there would even be an airplane. My first reaction was: "Wow!" And then: "Oh god."

Boom. Boom. Smoke and fire; screams that we heard even where we sat. Most dove to the ground- some never rose again. The airplane tore away and vanished behind the trees, only to return again and again. In the trenches, guns aimed for the skies and the plane, trying in vain to destroy it and protect the refugees.

Then, by the forest, something moved. German troops crept forward, the plane covering their advance.

Closer and closer they came, and even sitting among the colourful crowd, it was not difficult to forget, for a moment, what year it was, and that there was no need to seek shelter. It was over quickly; much quicker than in 1939. From where I sat, I had a good view until the police line thickened and official photographers wandered into my frame. It's always like that, isn't it? The light did not favour me, either- we were staring West at the setting sun. So, the photos are what they are.

Since the reconstruction was spread over a good couple kilometres of the valley, I couldn't possibly see everything. For one thing, I missed the TKS tankette in action on the battlefield, but I'd snuck over earlier and caught it on video. You can watch that here:

Reenactment of September 1939 Stronsko-Belen defense from Poland Is Awesome on Vimeo.

 This TKS is a particularly interesting vehicle as it is one of a handful still in existence, and was recovered in a remarkably good state from Norway, where it was being used as a tractor. Its rescuer, private collector Jacek Kopczyński had his work cut out for him, but he restored it beautifully. This machine dates back to 1936- it was a Polish improvement on a British design, manufactured in Poland and a significant tank force for our army in 1939. It's a titchy thing, but very maneouvrable and good for reconnaissance missions.

The TKS by one of the remaining bunkers.

So, that was my Saturday.  I'd never been to a reconstruction like this before; not one dealing with history as fresh as World War Two- and in Poland, even for generations born decades after the war was over, it is still fresh. Some people say events like these are ridiculous, childish. I would rather say, seeing all the care put into the reconstruction by the historical societies, that they are like a living memorial. An open-air history lesson. This was no popcorn and candy-floss affair, there were no stalls with plastic guns and chinese knock-offs. As we sat on the hill, every minute of the battle was narrated and explained through large speakers, and the conclusion was inevitable- our side would lose. Our country would be invaded and tormented for long years- not only during the war, but after it.

If any of the thousands of kids and teenagers standing on that hill last saturday thought of their fighting counterparts from seventy-two years ago, if any of them found that the distant memory had suddenly become much more fresh and painful for them, then I think the reenactment was worth it. We all need to know where we come from.

Anointment with fake blood. They were not so lucky seventy two years ago. 

Meta info:


The Strzelcy Kaniowscy Historical Society:

http://strzelcy-kaniowscy.pl/strzelcykaniowscy/

The Łódź Army Wikipedia entry:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/%C5%81%C3%B3d%C5%BA_Army

The TKS tankette Wikipedia entry:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/TKS 

On September 1st

Let's get serious for a minute.

For most people around the world, the word 'Poland' means only one thing. World War Two.  Though one of the goals of this blog is to peel that drab label off of the country, that particular period should neither be ignored, nor forgotten. Awesomeness also comes from standing up to an adverse situation, and for the most part, Poland represents.

Yesterday was September 1st, a date globally considered to be the First Day of World War Two. Seventy two years ago on September 1st, two attacks on Poland happened.

The timelines are disputed, but I side with the following. On September 1st 1939, at 4:45 am, without warning or prior declaration of war, the Luftwaffe bombed Wieluń- a small town with no military structures or units stationed, utterly insignificant in strategic terms, but as good a start as any for a ruthless demonstration of power. Soon after, shots were fired from the battleship Schleswig-Holstein, in an attack on a Polish Military Transit Depot on the Westerplatte Peninsula.

Westerplatte is in Gdańsk, on the coast, but Wieluń is about 100 km from Łódź, the city I live in. I am tempted to say that Łódź did not suffer much during the war- compared to little Wieluń, three quarters of which were blasted to ruins, or Warsaw, razed to the ground so thoroughly that she was never fully rebuilt, it seems to have fared well. But what it did not lose in brick and mortar, it lost in flesh and blood.

Wieluń after the bombing, and Warsaw at the end of the War. If you've seen the Pianist, my dad tells me it was exactly
like that, with one difference- everything was red from the shattered brick. Movies usually show the ruins as grey.

Indeed, you would be hard pressed to find a place in Poland that remained untouched. The wounds of the War in Łódź may not be as apparent as they are in Warsaw, but they certainly exist.

One such wound gapes open in the ruins of the Radogoszcz Prison, now a Monument and Mausoleum. Once a textile factory built by Jewish businessman Samuel Abbe, in Nazi hands it became a grim holding facility.

The remains of the prison, now a memorial and mausoleum. You can still see it has the shape of a factory.

It is supposed that some 40,000 people passed through the gates of Radogoszcz Prison. How many were killed, how many deported and how many sent to labour camps, it is difficult to tell. Its first 'residents' were chiefly Polish and Jewish intelligentsia, citizens of renown, taken in accordance with the Nazi repressive strategies which aimed to eliminate the intellectual elite and leave behind malleable masses fit for slave labour, yet uncapable of rising against the oppressor. About 1500 people, intellectuals, office workers, clergy and military veterans were murdered in the Lodz region alone.

The prison also served as a transit point for labour camps, death camps, and mass execution sites, often the end fate of those who committed crimes against the Reich (breaking any of the special laws that applied to the 'subhuman'), or were simply taken randomly from the street.

"Never again to fascism"

But on the night of January 17th 1945, the prison saw its first mass execution. The Eastern front was approaching, and orders to retreat were dispatched by the SS command- orders which stated that all prisoners must be exterminated before the troops move out.

A wave of mass murders swept over Poland. In the Radogoszcz prison, about 1500 people were still being held. At midnight, the German soldiers began the massacre, using firearms, bayonets, and finally a machine gun which fired bursts at prisoners being chased out of the building. When the soldiers reached the third floor, they met with resistance from the prisoners, who fought back by throwing bricks and debris.

Thus confronted, the Germans decided to burn the prison down. Bullets awaited those trying to escape the flames. Only twenty five prisoners survived.

Five of them did so by submerging themselves in the prison's water tank. It was housed at the top of the building, and filled using small steam-powered pumps. A similar tank, taken from a different building with the same gravitational water distribution system, is now on display in the old prison yard.

A water tank used for gravitational water distribution.

The plaque explaining the event has the following quote from Bolesław Popławski, a survivor:

"(…) We submerged ourselves in the water, then surfaced again for a moment after. Our heads were covered with wet blankets. A half hour later or so the roof collapsed, giving us more fresh air. We climbed out of the tank and hid in the corner, between the tank and the wall, by the sandbox. We watched what was happening. We couldn't climb down, because the Germans spent all day in the yard, guarding the prison.


(…) Once it started to get dark (that is, on Thursday evening) we climbed downstairs, to the ground floor, over dead bodies, because we had to warm up. We were freezing cold. We sat behind the chimney and heard the Germans finally leave Radogoszcz. At around nine or ten at night, a car drove by and took the rest of the Germans. In the night, two prisoners who had hidden on the roof joined us, then seven more from the roof.


We sat there all night, and at around five in the morning we took a ladder from the storage room. In the kitchen we saw the body of the cook dressed in a leather jacket. We climbed out of the window into the yard and crawled along the ground. In this manner, we made it to the outer wall, which we climbed using the ladder. We leapt over the barbed wire onto Zgierska street, and ran into the fields. I was the seventh one to climb over the wall."

For over a month, citizens of Łódź tried to find and identify the bodies of their close ones among the burnt-out ruins. The found remains were buried in February 1945; in 1961,  a memorial sarcophagus was unveiled in the prison yard. The inscription on it states:

Here we lie

murdered 
on the eve of freedom

Our names and bodies were taken by the fire

We live on only in your memory.

May a death so inhuman

Never again repeat.

Meta info:

Warsaw and Wieluń photos:

http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Old_Town_Warsaw_waf-2012-1501-31(1945).jpg

http://pl.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Plik%3AWielun_zbombardowaneCentrum.jpg&filetimestamp=20071004082258

Radogoszcz Mausoleum and Memory Museum official site:

http://www.muzeumtradycji.pl/page/index.php?str=109

About that rooster

Hi again.

Today we are going to have a brief talk about geography, and that funky colourful rooster up in our blog banner (if I say rainbow cock, will I get more hits? Let's try it.)

The rooster is a stylised vector image based on traditional folk art from the region of Łowicz (pronounced Whoa, vitch!).

Okay, says you, but what and where is Łowicz? Could be on the moon for all I know! Where's Poland, anyway?

There is actually a 16th century Faustian folk hero in Poland called Pan Twardowski who did ride
a magical rooster to the Moon. Legend says he is up there to this very day.  I'll talk about him at some point too.

I'm going to pretend you didn't ask that last question (seriously!) and move on to answer the first.

Today, Poland is divided into sixteen geographical regions which we call voivodships.

Say that word. Voivodships. Accent on the second syllable, please. Voiiiivodshipsss. Isn't it cool? It really just means 'provinces', but the term comes from wojewoda, or literally 'leader of the warriors'.

Oh, and it gets better. Each voivodeship consists of a number of poviats. Which in turn are made up of gminas.

Here's a pictorial demonstration, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. Click to enlarge:

For now, all you need to pay attention to are the voivodships. As I write about all the Awesome Things that you can find in Poland, I will always include a map to show you exactly where they are. Just in case you'd like to come and see for yourselves.

Łowicz, for instance, lies in the Lodz voivodship (click here for google map!), and dates back at least as far as the 13th century. The themes of its folklore are among the most recognisable in the country and abroad, and still very much in use in the region, especially during events of importance. For the ultimate ethnographic delight, I recommend you show up in the little town exactly sixty days after Easter Sunday, and watch the Corpus Christi procession.

Adorable little Łowicz children!

Hundreds of people walk through town in handmade, traditional costumes,
carrying hand-embroidered religious banners. 

The prayer on the wine-red banner asks the Mother of God to bless fields,
orchards, and neighbours. The blue one asks for protection.

If that doesn't satisfy your hunger for folklore...well, you can always hit the marketplace afterwards and get your own handmade Łowicz Swag. Paper cut-outs, embroidered accessories, even whole costumes, if you can afford them.

So, in brief (very brief) that's the origin of the rooster in the logo. He's a stylised, yet distinctively Polish cousin of the koguciki (cockerels) that adorn so many of the colourful paper cut-outs of Łowicz.

Meta info:

Maps remixed from CC Wikimedia Commons files:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Wojewodztwa.svg
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:POLSKA_mapa_powiaty2.png
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:POLSKA_mapa_gminy.png

Moon image remixed from CC Wikimedia Commons files:

http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Full_Moon_as_Seen_From_Denmark.jpg
http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:The_Earth_seen_from_Apollo_17.jpg

Łowicz photos from my Flickr set:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/cefeida/sets/72157624073570837/