As the post war period continued, I decided I also had to improve my English through my contact with the Americans and I was made organiser for displaced persons. There were a huge number of displaced persons in this part of Germany, Poles, French, Belgians, Dutch, some could return home some could not. I was responsible for some 1200 or so DPs. The Americans gave me a captured German 750cc motorcycle to allow me to do my job. I remember it well it was a belt-drive model. I could then go anywhere where there were Poles and help to translate. When the Americans moved out of the area, the British took over, and they put my motorcycle in the river! They said, “you don’t want a motorbike here, if you need to go anywhere, we’ll send a Jeep and a driver for you”
There were many small DP camps in the area, but this was not really working, in that it was difficult to deliver food to so many places. By now, the UN were involved in the relief work, as the many DPs suffered terrible conditions and many were starving. TB was rife in the camps. Much larger centralised camps were built, and I was ordered to go to Cologne. I was allocated to assist a British officer who was official interpreter for the British who were organising camps.
I’d been there about a week when I met a nice young girl, Erika. Her family had been wealthy before the war, and owned a big farm in Eastern Poland. She was an intelligent and lively girl, and I hung around with her for a while, but often she was ill. Her parents wrote to her and said that they hoped she would find herself a good husband while she was over in Germany. I think she was hoping that I would fit the bill for her! Well she was a nice girl, but I didn’t really want to get married just yet. Having been through what I had, I wanted to see the world a bit before I settled down.
One morning, I heard my name being called over the camp loudspeaker, I was being called to the office. My friends all assumed the worse and that I’d done something wrong! So still in my American uniform I walked confidently over to the office, walked in, saluted, and shook the hand of the officer in charge. He looked at me, and said “You’re Polish? He asked through the interpreter. “Yes sir, ”I replied, piling on the bullshit!
“How well known are you amongst the Poles in the camp?” he went on.
“Well” I replied, I’m not sure, but I know one thing, I brought 1200 people with me when I came over here, and they all know me”.
“Well that’s good, because there is a DP camp at Koln-Ossendorf for 12000 Russian POWs and soldiers. You speak German I understand?” “Yes Sir”, I replied. “German, Russian, French, Czec, Polish…” Oh, you’re a good man! Are you trying to learn English?”
“Yes Sir” I replied “I already know a few words….. “Sleep, Eat, Smoke,” and I smiled broadly at the officer.
The officer turned to his colleagues and said a few words, and turned back to me via the interpreter and said. “We are going to make you Commandant of Police for displaced persons at Koln-Ossendorf, the new camp. When the Russians return to Russia, this camp will be cleared out, and a new one created for Poles.” “Do you want the job?”
I shrugged and said, “Well if that’s what is to be, of course I will accept”
“Excellent!”
Replied the officer,
“We’ll give you a trial for a few weeks, and if you make a good job of it, we will make it permanent.”
The following day I collected my belongings together and went out to meet the Jeep that had been sent to pick me up. In the Jeep was the driver and one officer, a Scots major, complete with kilt, from the camp. He handed me a sheet of paper, and said “sign here” I signed up and we left for Ossendorf.
Friday 6 May 2011
(16) Fishing trips
With the war almost over, I stayed with the Americans billeted by the river Zik. I acted as their “speaker” for their operations to root out Nazi sympathisers, and liberate and collect POWs.
I learned a lot about the Americans in that time, particularly what great sportsmen they were. Their need to shoot and hunt was satisfied, but they needed the fishing as well. The absence of any fishing tackle was not seen as a disadvantage by my American friends, they devised a number of “novel” methods of catching fish.
One favourite involved overhead electric power cables. They would rig up connections from the cables and lower them in to the river. The resulting electric current in the water was enough to stun the fish and bring them to the surface. All that was left to do then was to scoop them up and throw them on the barbecue.
A more effective and dramatic, but rather less popular method with the MPs, involved tossing a live hand grenade in to the river. The effect was the same as the electric current but far quicker. Using this method, we caught fish by the box full, but the MPs got upset, because each time we did it they assumed that the camp was under attack.
Not all the Americans were interested in fishing, nor are their stories as humorous. I remember one little American soldier, he seemed like a quiet type. One evening asked me.
“Can you get me a date with a local girl?”
Close to us was the barrack with the Ukrainian girls. This was before the bombing took it out and killed most of them. They lived in desperate poverty in appalling conditions. I knew one quite well, and wanted to help her. Americans always had lots of cigarettes, money and chocolate and I was sure she’d be on to a good thing. I told her of this young American who was looking for a girlfriend. She liked the idea,
“Yes please, bring him here,” She said.
I brought the American, introduced them, and left them in the cellar of the barracks.
About two hours later I’d not seen either of them, so I thought I’d better go and see what had happened.
I went down to the cellar and saw the girl in the corner of the cellar, lying abused, bleeding and crying. She was in a terrible state. I had to call the ambulance to take her to hospital.
I never saw that American again, and I felt disgusted by what he did. I learned my lesson, as I know know that this sort of thing happened a lot during this time. Girls did things for money or food with no thought for the consequences. Venereal diseases were common amongst soldiers.
To try and control this, I remember with the British forces, we were given tablets to control our urges, but many of the troops pretended to take them and spat them out.
I was careful, and more interested in business and trying to make enough money to get to England to get involved in such things. I did my share of black market dealing, I must admit!
I learned a lot about the Americans in that time, particularly what great sportsmen they were. Their need to shoot and hunt was satisfied, but they needed the fishing as well. The absence of any fishing tackle was not seen as a disadvantage by my American friends, they devised a number of “novel” methods of catching fish.
One favourite involved overhead electric power cables. They would rig up connections from the cables and lower them in to the river. The resulting electric current in the water was enough to stun the fish and bring them to the surface. All that was left to do then was to scoop them up and throw them on the barbecue.
A more effective and dramatic, but rather less popular method with the MPs, involved tossing a live hand grenade in to the river. The effect was the same as the electric current but far quicker. Using this method, we caught fish by the box full, but the MPs got upset, because each time we did it they assumed that the camp was under attack.
Not all the Americans were interested in fishing, nor are their stories as humorous. I remember one little American soldier, he seemed like a quiet type. One evening asked me.
“Can you get me a date with a local girl?”
Close to us was the barrack with the Ukrainian girls. This was before the bombing took it out and killed most of them. They lived in desperate poverty in appalling conditions. I knew one quite well, and wanted to help her. Americans always had lots of cigarettes, money and chocolate and I was sure she’d be on to a good thing. I told her of this young American who was looking for a girlfriend. She liked the idea,
“Yes please, bring him here,” She said.
I brought the American, introduced them, and left them in the cellar of the barracks.
About two hours later I’d not seen either of them, so I thought I’d better go and see what had happened.
I went down to the cellar and saw the girl in the corner of the cellar, lying abused, bleeding and crying. She was in a terrible state. I had to call the ambulance to take her to hospital.
I never saw that American again, and I felt disgusted by what he did. I learned my lesson, as I know know that this sort of thing happened a lot during this time. Girls did things for money or food with no thought for the consequences. Venereal diseases were common amongst soldiers.
To try and control this, I remember with the British forces, we were given tablets to control our urges, but many of the troops pretended to take them and spat them out.
I was careful, and more interested in business and trying to make enough money to get to England to get involved in such things. I did my share of black market dealing, I must admit!
Saturday 30 April 2011
(15) Liberation!
At the next farm, we had a much more sympathetic farmer. He employed a few other Poles, but apart from using them to do the work he didn't want to, like slaughtering the pigs, he was very good to them and even allowed them some freedom. Even the freedom to make their own vodka! Peter, the farmer's son had deserted and escaped from his army unit, and was hiding out in the air raid shelter (bunker). He'd been there for about two weeks, caught between the Germans to the East, and the Americans to the West.
I was out in the meadow one day when I saw in the distance, thirteen soldiers in green uniforms coming across a field at the other side of the valley. They were walking in single file, one after the other. At the same time over their heads I saw the "double decker" spotter plane we called the "Cuckoorichnik" with American markings circling over head. I realised immediately that these soldiers must be American GIs! . As soon as they saw me, the pointed their guns in my direction and waved at me and indicated that I should come towards them and follow them. I walked over to the Americans. The lead soldier, who obviously did not speak German looked at me and said "Deutsche?"
"No , no," I said, and pointed to the "P" badge on my coat, and said "Polish!",
but he continued to say "Deutsche!" I'm thinking
"Fuck me, he thinks I'm German and he's got a gun!"
Not one of the twelve GIs or the officer spoke a word of German, and I spoke no English so I thought I'd try French!
"Moi Polonaise!" Moi Prisonier de la geurre!
At this, the officer said "Ah! French!" and brought forward a soldier who spoke a little French. We communicated in fractured French and I explained that I was working on the farm close by employed to milk cows. At the time I couldn't remember the words that described what I was doing exactly on the farm, but who cared now I was with the Allies! I told him about the searchlight close by, and our two "half-German, half- Poles.
After speaking to my "translator" the Officer got on his radio to the spotter plane and explained the situation. The Officer indicated to everyone to get down and take cover, the spotter plane headed back to the American lines, and within a few minutes we heard the artillery open up. They were trying to hit the searchlight position about half a mile away. This went on for maybe an hour, probably twelve guns raking fire in to the forest and the surrounding town, flattening everything in the vicinity. When the barrage was over, my translator came back to me, and said
" You are now under the command of the American forces". You will be our "speaker" (interpreter) from now on.
You speak German?
"Yes",
bit of French?
"Yes"
Russian?
"Yes"
"Well you are just the man we need."
The officer asked,
"Do you know of any soldiers, ammunition dumps, or Hitler sympathisers around here?"
I told him about Peter and the other German deserter that I'd seen hiding out on the farms. I took them to the farm, and pointed out the cellar where the soldier was hiding. Two GIs stood one either side of the cellar entrance with rifles pointed at the door, while I shouted in German,
" Whoever is in the cellar, come out with your hands above your head, or we'll throw a grenade through the door!"
The hiding German dropped everything and came out, hands up. The Americans then went through the farmhouse, taking all the weapons, pictures of Hitler, and any Nazi regalia, and put them all in a heap in the farmyard and smashed it all beyond use.
When we got to my farm, the one with the kind German farmer, I had to swear to the Americans and guarantee that the farmer was a good man. That he was kind to the workers in his charge, and that his son Peter had deserted, and did not support the Nazi cause any more. The officer said
"If we find that you're lying about these people, we'll treat you as responsible, and as guilty as them"
But I was 100% certain that these were good people. The farmer and his family were terrified, but so grateful, that they kissed my hand and thanked me profusely.
Later that evening, the Americans gave me a uniform, and officially signed me up as their "speaker"
The following day, several lorries arrived at the farm with German prisoners on board. Amongst the prisoners were our two "half-German -half-Poles from the searchlight. Well you can imagine that they were pleased to see me! The tried to make out that they were supporters of the Allies.
Well, there I was, in my American uniform, surrounded by Gis. I looked at the older one and said, "Well, here you are then, the War's over, now's your chance to hang me up by my bollocks!" I looked at the younger one and said, well here you go then, what about you?
With the Americans were a number of GIs who were Poles from a few generations back. Some of them understood a little Polish. The couldn't pronounce Polish very well, but we communicated, and they used to give me cigarettes, and chocolate, we were brothers! One I remember was a huge man, and he just fell about laughing as I explained to him that these were the searchlight crew, and how they'd threatened me!
At this, the huge man picked up the first German and threw him back on to the truck, one of the other "American Poles" lunged at the younger one and knocked him to the ground. I stood over him and offered him a knife and said,
"here you are then now you can castrate me as well!" "That's what you were planning to do after the war wasn't it?"
As he cowered on the floor, we beat him, and threw him on the truck with his friend.
I was out in the meadow one day when I saw in the distance, thirteen soldiers in green uniforms coming across a field at the other side of the valley. They were walking in single file, one after the other. At the same time over their heads I saw the "double decker" spotter plane we called the "Cuckoorichnik" with American markings circling over head. I realised immediately that these soldiers must be American GIs! . As soon as they saw me, the pointed their guns in my direction and waved at me and indicated that I should come towards them and follow them. I walked over to the Americans. The lead soldier, who obviously did not speak German looked at me and said "Deutsche?"
"No , no," I said, and pointed to the "P" badge on my coat, and said "Polish!",
but he continued to say "Deutsche!" I'm thinking
"Fuck me, he thinks I'm German and he's got a gun!"
Not one of the twelve GIs or the officer spoke a word of German, and I spoke no English so I thought I'd try French!
"Moi Polonaise!" Moi Prisonier de la geurre!
At this, the officer said "Ah! French!" and brought forward a soldier who spoke a little French. We communicated in fractured French and I explained that I was working on the farm close by employed to milk cows. At the time I couldn't remember the words that described what I was doing exactly on the farm, but who cared now I was with the Allies! I told him about the searchlight close by, and our two "half-German, half- Poles.
After speaking to my "translator" the Officer got on his radio to the spotter plane and explained the situation. The Officer indicated to everyone to get down and take cover, the spotter plane headed back to the American lines, and within a few minutes we heard the artillery open up. They were trying to hit the searchlight position about half a mile away. This went on for maybe an hour, probably twelve guns raking fire in to the forest and the surrounding town, flattening everything in the vicinity. When the barrage was over, my translator came back to me, and said
" You are now under the command of the American forces". You will be our "speaker" (interpreter) from now on.
You speak German?
"Yes",
bit of French?
"Yes"
Russian?
"Yes"
"Well you are just the man we need."
The officer asked,
"Do you know of any soldiers, ammunition dumps, or Hitler sympathisers around here?"
I told him about Peter and the other German deserter that I'd seen hiding out on the farms. I took them to the farm, and pointed out the cellar where the soldier was hiding. Two GIs stood one either side of the cellar entrance with rifles pointed at the door, while I shouted in German,
" Whoever is in the cellar, come out with your hands above your head, or we'll throw a grenade through the door!"
The hiding German dropped everything and came out, hands up. The Americans then went through the farmhouse, taking all the weapons, pictures of Hitler, and any Nazi regalia, and put them all in a heap in the farmyard and smashed it all beyond use.
When we got to my farm, the one with the kind German farmer, I had to swear to the Americans and guarantee that the farmer was a good man. That he was kind to the workers in his charge, and that his son Peter had deserted, and did not support the Nazi cause any more. The officer said
"If we find that you're lying about these people, we'll treat you as responsible, and as guilty as them"
But I was 100% certain that these were good people. The farmer and his family were terrified, but so grateful, that they kissed my hand and thanked me profusely.
Later that evening, the Americans gave me a uniform, and officially signed me up as their "speaker"
The following day, several lorries arrived at the farm with German prisoners on board. Amongst the prisoners were our two "half-German -half-Poles from the searchlight. Well you can imagine that they were pleased to see me! The tried to make out that they were supporters of the Allies.
Well, there I was, in my American uniform, surrounded by Gis. I looked at the older one and said, "Well, here you are then, the War's over, now's your chance to hang me up by my bollocks!" I looked at the younger one and said, well here you go then, what about you?
With the Americans were a number of GIs who were Poles from a few generations back. Some of them understood a little Polish. The couldn't pronounce Polish very well, but we communicated, and they used to give me cigarettes, and chocolate, we were brothers! One I remember was a huge man, and he just fell about laughing as I explained to him that these were the searchlight crew, and how they'd threatened me!
At this, the huge man picked up the first German and threw him back on to the truck, one of the other "American Poles" lunged at the younger one and knocked him to the ground. I stood over him and offered him a knife and said,
"here you are then now you can castrate me as well!" "That's what you were planning to do after the war wasn't it?"
As he cowered on the floor, we beat him, and threw him on the truck with his friend.
(14) Living off the land again
It must have been winter 1944 and I found myself running for my life through a forest yet again. Not alone this time, but with two other Poles, Eddie and Josef. We stopped to rest and Eddie began to cry. He'd left his wife and children in Poland, he'd no idea whether they were alive or dead. I told him not to think about things like that as he's no idea what had happened. He needed to concentrate on saving himself first. I told him that despite our predicament, there were still plenty of villages, and working in some of these villages were Poles who would help us. Some of them had contact with the Polish Underground in Warsaw.
We found another unoccupied bunker for shelter and stayed holed up in there for about 3 weeks or so. It was so cold, even my friends, the rats, had deserted it, but we had to get protection from the winter.
I was coughing up blood, a legacy of my having lost one lung to TB at Gustaf Stassen's Farm.
One morning it was quiet; no artillery fire from either the Allies or the Germans. The Germans had obviously retreated overnight, and things were peaceful. From the entrance to our bunker we saw three men, two German soldiers and a young officer, each carrying a bundle. We watched them abandon their weapons, throw their uniforms away, and dress in civilian clothes. Clearly they were deserters from the retreating German army. Eddie and Stephan began to pray, but I have always been a fatalist, and said to myself the same thing that kept me going for so long. Two things can happen, if God is in heaven, he might see us and help us, if not we are going to die.
I decided to leave the bunker and sneak down to get the revolver and two rifles, to arm my comrades and myself. From then on, we were heroes! We had rifles, ammunition, so could defend ourselves if necessary.
I believe it was a Sunday Morning when I was walking through the forest and I heard a whistle. Old Eddy, he said
"They've found us, they've got us"!
I said,
"For Christ's sake shut your mouth, you've no idea who or what that is."
I thought to myself,
"Well I'm the single one, I've no family it doesn't matter if I live or die, I just have to find out who this is."
I went from tree to tree, keeping cover, following the sound of the whistle. It turned to be Hilda, the daughter of the farmer where Josef worked, who had heard that he was on the run and had come looking for him with some soup to eat. For several days, Hilda brought soup and tea to us on her way in to town. She left it in the forest and on her return picked up the empty can and took it home.
In the days to come despite the fact that I was coughing blood, and most of us were half-dead from cold and hunger, my little band of comrades looked to me for leadership, they treated me like the officer. I decided our best chance of survival and avoiding capture was to go from farm to farm, hiding out and getting as much help as we could get from the foreign labourers we met there.
The workers at the farms were not all patriotic Poles, we met up with two more Germans from the Polish areas, ("half German, half Pole") they were supporters of the German cause. They operated the anti-aircraft searchlight close to the farm. When they met me they they threatened that after the war was over they would find me and string me up by the bollocks
(the actual word Czes used was "bolongers" :-)
I knew though, that they had picked the wrong side, because, all through this time I was conscious of the close proximity of the Americans, both from the bombing and from the rumours spreading through the locals. All us Poles were gaining in confidence that they would eventually find us, and we could join up with them. On the same farm, hiding in the cellar, was a German deserter, I'd seen his uniform.
The farmer's daughter had to bring the tea and sandwiches to my group and me as we worked in the meadow. She hated me like a dog hates a cat, so after about 2 weeks I decided we should move on to another farm for our own safety.
We found another unoccupied bunker for shelter and stayed holed up in there for about 3 weeks or so. It was so cold, even my friends, the rats, had deserted it, but we had to get protection from the winter.
I was coughing up blood, a legacy of my having lost one lung to TB at Gustaf Stassen's Farm.
One morning it was quiet; no artillery fire from either the Allies or the Germans. The Germans had obviously retreated overnight, and things were peaceful. From the entrance to our bunker we saw three men, two German soldiers and a young officer, each carrying a bundle. We watched them abandon their weapons, throw their uniforms away, and dress in civilian clothes. Clearly they were deserters from the retreating German army. Eddie and Stephan began to pray, but I have always been a fatalist, and said to myself the same thing that kept me going for so long. Two things can happen, if God is in heaven, he might see us and help us, if not we are going to die.
I decided to leave the bunker and sneak down to get the revolver and two rifles, to arm my comrades and myself. From then on, we were heroes! We had rifles, ammunition, so could defend ourselves if necessary.
I believe it was a Sunday Morning when I was walking through the forest and I heard a whistle. Old Eddy, he said
"They've found us, they've got us"!
I said,
"For Christ's sake shut your mouth, you've no idea who or what that is."
I thought to myself,
"Well I'm the single one, I've no family it doesn't matter if I live or die, I just have to find out who this is."
I went from tree to tree, keeping cover, following the sound of the whistle. It turned to be Hilda, the daughter of the farmer where Josef worked, who had heard that he was on the run and had come looking for him with some soup to eat. For several days, Hilda brought soup and tea to us on her way in to town. She left it in the forest and on her return picked up the empty can and took it home.
In the days to come despite the fact that I was coughing blood, and most of us were half-dead from cold and hunger, my little band of comrades looked to me for leadership, they treated me like the officer. I decided our best chance of survival and avoiding capture was to go from farm to farm, hiding out and getting as much help as we could get from the foreign labourers we met there.
The workers at the farms were not all patriotic Poles, we met up with two more Germans from the Polish areas, ("half German, half Pole") they were supporters of the German cause. They operated the anti-aircraft searchlight close to the farm. When they met me they they threatened that after the war was over they would find me and string me up by the bollocks
(the actual word Czes used was "bolongers" :-)
I knew though, that they had picked the wrong side, because, all through this time I was conscious of the close proximity of the Americans, both from the bombing and from the rumours spreading through the locals. All us Poles were gaining in confidence that they would eventually find us, and we could join up with them. On the same farm, hiding in the cellar, was a German deserter, I'd seen his uniform.
The farmer's daughter had to bring the tea and sandwiches to my group and me as we worked in the meadow. She hated me like a dog hates a cat, so after about 2 weeks I decided we should move on to another farm for our own safety.
(13) The new spade
By this time, the Americans were getting close to us. Their tanks were in the hills and shooting at us daily. There were five of us Poles in a work detail. I said to one of them in a a low voice
"Very soon we will be free, the Americans are already shooting at our positions."
That German, Joe heard me, and I think he must have understood a little Polish, because he came up to me, and shouted
"What did you say?!" I should kill you for saying such things!"
He began to hit me across the back with his rubber truncheon. He just kept hitting me, and I realised he was going to beat me to death if I didn't do something! I had my new spade in my hand, just a tiny thing, with just a short handle and I thought,
"If God is in heaven, he just might help me!"
I turned round and gave him such a whack with the spade that he fell to the ground and I was left with just the broken handle in my hand. Well I ran for it, followed by the other Poles and we headed for the forest as fast as we could, before anyone had realised what was happening. We ran over the bombed out railway bridge over the river, and headed in the direction of the American tanks in the hills.
About 10 minutes later an SS squad arrived with a heavy machine gun and started firing after us in to the forest. I said to my friend, we just have to head towards the Yanks and hope that the SS think they've killed us. We ran and scrambled through the forest, uphill in the direction of the American tank fire.
"Very soon we will be free, the Americans are already shooting at our positions."
That German, Joe heard me, and I think he must have understood a little Polish, because he came up to me, and shouted
"What did you say?!" I should kill you for saying such things!"
He began to hit me across the back with his rubber truncheon. He just kept hitting me, and I realised he was going to beat me to death if I didn't do something! I had my new spade in my hand, just a tiny thing, with just a short handle and I thought,
"If God is in heaven, he just might help me!"
I turned round and gave him such a whack with the spade that he fell to the ground and I was left with just the broken handle in my hand. Well I ran for it, followed by the other Poles and we headed for the forest as fast as we could, before anyone had realised what was happening. We ran over the bombed out railway bridge over the river, and headed in the direction of the American tanks in the hills.
About 10 minutes later an SS squad arrived with a heavy machine gun and started firing after us in to the forest. I said to my friend, we just have to head towards the Yanks and hope that the SS think they've killed us. We ran and scrambled through the forest, uphill in the direction of the American tank fire.
Vale Czes
Czes passed away peacefully in his sleep at 12-30AM today.
His daughter Vicki and I were at his bedside.
Though he is gone, I plan to continue this blog as I still have more of his stories to tell
Czeslaw Rataj, 1918- 2011
Polish Patriot
King's Award for Bravery and Carnegie Hero Fund Trust awardee
May he rest in peace.
His daughter Vicki and I were at his bedside.
Though he is gone, I plan to continue this blog as I still have more of his stories to tell
Czeslaw Rataj, 1918- 2011
Polish Patriot
King's Award for Bravery and Carnegie Hero Fund Trust awardee
May he rest in peace.
Sunday 24 April 2011
Chronicler's diversion - Czes' new war
Last Wednesday, a month or so from his 93rd birthday Czes entered a nursing home after three recent stays in hospital. His damaged heart is slowly failing, he is losing strength and he is now unable to look after himself any more.
We almost "wrote him off" during his most recent stay in hospital, where he was struggling to breathe and in constant pain from his arthritis. His spirit seemed to be fading along with his heart, but, his family and the much-maligned NHS have again given him the care and support he needed to carry on. Now, the spirit that guided him through the stories you've read on this blog has re-kindled a little and he is adapting to life in the nursing home.
He is safe, cared for, comfortable, "likes the food" and has some Polish carers to talk to in his native language. He's now taking each day at a time, and we are just doing the same.
Czes' story is not over yet, and it will continue to be told on this blog.
We almost "wrote him off" during his most recent stay in hospital, where he was struggling to breathe and in constant pain from his arthritis. His spirit seemed to be fading along with his heart, but, his family and the much-maligned NHS have again given him the care and support he needed to carry on. Now, the spirit that guided him through the stories you've read on this blog has re-kindled a little and he is adapting to life in the nursing home.
He is safe, cared for, comfortable, "likes the food" and has some Polish carers to talk to in his native language. He's now taking each day at a time, and we are just doing the same.
Czes' story is not over yet, and it will continue to be told on this blog.
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