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The following story appears courtesy of and with thanks to Marushka (Maria) and Zygmunt Skarbek-Kruszewski and George (Jurek) Zygmunt Skarbek.

There were more and more people in the farmyard. Evacuees were sleeping in the empty barns. The squire was despairing as carts and horses were requisitioned and taken away. Arguing angrily he rushed around the farm, returned to his salon and played Chopin's music on the grand piano to calm his nerves. This large old-fashioned antique salon was now the only place where quiet still existed. This room was rather a relic and worth remembering.
Long, narrow windows were covered with vines. The glass door led to a large front porch with columns. Only a little sun filtered through, lifting the dimness of the room. Some sunrays were touching the gilded furniture in the style of the French Empire. Old glass door bookcases contained books and magazines from the previous century. Green tapestry covered the couches and chairs which were dainty with beautiful carved legs. But these legs sometimes had no support as the floor started to rot and pieces of board were missing. In some places one could even see the dark, mouldy foundations. No-one had repaired this floor for a long time. In one corner stood an antique clock, long out of order. The long brass pendulum rested between heavy cobwebs in its glass case. Time had stopped symbolically. If the tall, grey-haired squire played too long, his housekeeper, a big Lithuanian woman rushed into the room, saying:
"Sir, you are just playing this old music and playing, and the Front is coming nearer. People are fleeing and we have not even packed. A pig must be killed - we must have food, not music. God has punished me with you, Sir. Nobody is thinking here - everything rests on my poor shoulders."
This poor woman could not understand her employers. The old squire said that his son must take charge as everything would be his very soon. But the son, a slightly sentimental chemical engineer, was partly a researcher and partly a musician and was not keen to make any decisions in these uncertain times. He took the way of least resistance saying that the Front might be stopped before reaching them. It was true that no-one made decisions or looked after the farm.

On the fourth day of our stay the head of the village brought the following German Order: All people, male and female between the age of fifteen and fifty, permanent and temporary residents of this shire, must assemble tomorrow at eleven in the morning on the market place of the town. They must take with them food for three days. They will be employed in digging trenches against tanks. Those who disobey these orders will be punished by death.
There was great confusion on the farm. People did not know what to do. Should one go and dig? If not, how could one avoid it? Arguments broke out and it seemed that the discussions would go on forever. We decided to leave and, thanking our host for his hospitality and kindness, we departed immediately. Our first stop was the border town. The order did not apply to people living in the town. Here again our luck held. At the Post Office we met Marushka's old friend, Wanda. The girls were friends from early childhood. By the end of the First World War both their parents were evacuees from Soviet Russia, going together to Lithuania. The girls remained friends throughout all these years. She was one of the bridesmaids at our wedding. Now, in the hard and uncertain times, they were together again. Wanda took us immediately to her house and, being extremely hospitable, even gave us her own room. The house was on the outskirts of the town, right on the boundary. From the windows we could see the barbed wires of the frontier that were in a wheat field. On the other side of the wire were German sentries whose main duty was to catch those who tried to enter Germany illegally. The trains going through Virbalis (the last Lithuanian station) to Eydkau (the first German station) had no checking of documents but, on the German side, the S.D. were hunting those who had no proper permits. All their belongings were taken away and they were transported back to Virbalis barracks.
In the meantime, just in case, we obtained de-lousing papers which were essential for entering Germany. I doubt if even a letter written by the Fuehrer would absolve one from it. De-lousing proceeded as follows: the culprit had to take off all his clothing which went to disinfection chambers where they were slightly charred and buttons crushed. Very unpleasant if you had trouser buttons. Now quite naked, holding his boots in his hands. The water was tepid and there was no soap. The one pleasant thing was that, during this ritual, one was attended by female employees. After the de-lousing, the abashed culprit had to proceed, still naked, to the office, still holding his boots in his hands. Here he was issued with a de-lousing certificate - this time by a military orderly.
Next day the same fatal order to dig trenches was issued here but this time it was signed by the mayor as well. The order was headed "everyone to the trenches,鈥� and placards appeared all over the town. The following day round-up began in the streets. Even the Germans and the Volksdeutsche had to go, leaving their belongings, children and old people on the German side.
We now understood why the frontier was closed. The people in the barracks were grouped into columns and, under military police guard, turned back towards the Front to dig trenches. I was told that they were going for ten days only. It was getting harder to keep avoiding round-ups organised by the S.D. We did not venture into the street but stayed indoors. But even that was not safe as next day the houses were searched. One day a policeman came to Wanda's house searching for people who tried to avoid the issued order. This time we were rescued by Wanda's tenant, a men's hairdresser. She understood immediately why the policeman had come and asked him to the dining room where she offered him a large cup of vodka and some food, then she went to the next room where I was sitting and, taking a handful of cigarettes from me, returned to the policeman and, giving him the cigarettes, announced quite firmly that no-one was in the house. After a second glass of vodka, the policeman was at last 'quite convinced'. This time we were saved ... but for how long? The situation was getting worse each day between the closed frontier and the approaching Front. We decided to have one more try at the military command post. We heard that some civilians, having military travel permits, were allowed to cross the border. We concocted the following story: Marushka, who had been employed in Kaunas as an interpreter in the maintenance workshops of military vehicles (H.K.F.F. - Heeres Kraftfahepark), still had her employment card with her. This document was the cornerstone of our story. She had to say that, being an employee of this military establishment, she had received orders for evacuation, together with her offices. Her husband, being a labourer in the workshops (but with no documents to support it), was also evacuated. As all workshops had left and already crossed the border, we were trying to catch up with them, having missed our evacuation transport. The documents of her husband were with the major of the military workshop. Marushka took the hard mission. By the way, during war it is much easier for females to get results with doubtful missions.
It was more than an hour before I saw Marushka coming back. She was happily waiving documents stamped with all the necessary stamps and a travel permit stating that we belonged to the German Army civilian workshop staff. The paper not only entitled us to cross the border but gave us the right to use all available transport in the German Reich. The point of our destination was Modlin. Marushka was able to convince the unsuspecting military adjutant of the East Command that her workshops were going to this town. In the future, this document gave us tremendous help. I have to point out that in Germany rubber-stamped documents are much valued and respected.
The same day we passed the barrier with our rucksacks. We were directed to the Customs House. All the checking was 'performed by the S.D. Our documents received a new rubber stamp including the de-lousing certificate, and were dated 17th July, 1944.
We continued along the same street but now it was called Adolf Hitler Strasse and the town was now called Eydkau. Going towards the station we saw the differences in the same town. Already here it looked quite different from the 'Ostland'. The market place was paved with bricks, smooth stones, and not with cobblestones. Near it was a typical town hall, a town hall library, a city chemist and a guesthouse. Near the station was a hospital. At last we arrived at the 'Bahnhof' (station). A large placard on the station read "The wheels are rolling for victory". A company of boys from the Hitler Youth passed us. The boys were dressed in their dark uniforms and were carrying shovels, holding them like rifles. They also were being sent to dig trenches. They looked happy and proud and were singing military songs. On the benches some German women were sitting. They were not talking but following the boys with their eyes and knitting grey socks.
The big waiting room was empty. An elderly waiter was reading a newspaper. It was strange to think that only 500 metres away there were such crowds of people occupying station buildings, platforms, streets and highways and large barracks. All were fleeing from the approaching Russians.
A few hours later we were travelling by train in the direction of Insterburg. We saw a goods train going in the opposite direction carrying tanks and their crews. The soldiers were lying on the floor, sunbaking. Some were watching the sky, standing guard near their anti-aircraft guns.
Near us sat a tank corpsman in a torn uniform, thin and badly shaven. Looking at the transport going towards the Front, he was shaking and cursing loudly. He swore that he would rather be dead than return to the Soviet Front. Through the window we could see bunkers, various cement reinforcements and barbed wires between the ripening wheat fields. All still looked peaceful and quiet. On the horizon we could see the lakes of Mazury.
It was dark when we arrived at Insterburg. We had to change trains- the next one was leaving in the morning. There was no hope of getting sleeping accommodation in town as it was very overcrowded, especially with bombed-out Berliners. We spent the night on benches in the waiting room. Next morning we continued our travel.
Next stop was Olsztyn where we had to change trains again. Here already was the atmosphere of the nearby Front as we were nearing the actual front lines, Malkina and Lomza. Again the station was packed with people and their belongings, again the military police were checking. Waiting for our train, I studied a large map hanging on the wall showing the timetables and railway connections. I noticed that there still existed a railway connection between Olsztyn and Warsaw going through Ostrolenka. The next train was due in half an hour. Suddenly I got an idea to try and go straight to Warsaw using our documents which had already opened one border for us. Our post of destination was marked Modlin. The way through Warsaw was a lot shorter than through Mlawy, Ciechanow and Nasiels. It should seem natural that we were trying to use the shortest route. The old cashier was not too happy, explaining that the border to the General Commissariat was closed to all civilians but he relented seeing that our documents were supported by military authority and our argument that we should be passing only as transit passengers. He issued the tickets but warned us that we were not to hold him responsible if we were stopped at both frontier stations. The frontiers here were rather complicated as there were two of them; one between the previous East Prussia and Poland, the second one between the German Reich and the General Commissariat. Of course there was some risk, but without risk we could not achieve our aim.
The desire to reach Warsaw was soon so great that very shortly we were travelling on a small, slow train using one-way railway lines in the direction of Ostrolenka. The nearer we came to the Front, the more hectic the atmosphere became. The slogan: 鈥淭o the Trenches" was everywhere. The train filled with people carrying shovels and pickaxes. On the small stations were boys and old men all with rucksacks and shovels. They were kissing and hugging before their departure, leaving on the platform groups of crying females. Many of them already had sons or husbands in the army - now they had to say farewell to their old and their children. The Fuehrer was taking the last ones away.
Through the open window the young boys were calling "Heil Hitler, Mummy, Heil Hitler". Although it was raining, the 'mummys' were standing for a long time on the platform, their faces wet with rain and tears. "Heil Hitler, Heil Hitler" - the sound remained in their ears.
In the compartment the mood was gloomy. Yet in the rain, the peasants were puffing their pipes and holding their shovels between their knees. The force of the rain and wind increased - a storm was approaching. The sky was rent by sudden lightning and the thunder seemed to growl - Bellum Vobiscum. We felt the electricity in the air and our anxiety increased. In one corner sat a group of Poles. They spoke in whispers between themselves. Their clothing was torn and they had a large letter 'P' on a yellow patch sewn onto the back of their garments. They also had shovels - they were the forced labourers. This time they and their masters were sitting on the same benches and travelling in the same direction to do the same job.
The storm passed, and the rain had stopped when, in the evening, we arrived at Ostrolenka, now called Scharfenwiese. As the train did not continue in our intended direction we had to change. The front was only 40 km away. On the platform there were many soldiers with helmets and packed rucksacks. At a siding stood a train full of tanks. Pushing our way through the crowds, we went for information which turned out to be quite depressing. No-one was allowed to cross the border without special military documents and approval by S.D. One train should leave at 3 a.m. in the direction of Warsaw but it was reserved for soldiers on leave. The offices of the Commandant were in the township, four kilometres away. As a bus was just leaving, Marushka went to try her luck. The waiting room was crowded and very stuffy. At the tables sat tankmen in their dark uniforms and along the walls slept soldiers from the infantry. Further away sat a Party member in his brown shirt, hugging a German fraulein. At the counter two soldiers in German uniforms were speaking with the barmaid in fluent Polish.
"Could you find us somewhere a glass of beer?"
"I told you, there isn't any,鈥� replied the girl, pouting slightly.
"I see, you are probably not friendly inclined towards us because of the uniforms we are wearing, therefore there is no beer for us. You think us traitors,鈥� he continued with irony.
I could not hear her reply as soldiers at the nearby table started to laugh loudly. Their table was covered with Party leaflets and one soldier was reading aloud about some soldier who, with his machine gun, killed fifty Soviets, lost his leg but received the Iron Cross of 1st Class.
One of the men at the table commented "Beauty - he took his leg under the arm, his Iron Cross in his hand and ran to his Frau to brag. The stupid clot."
Roars of laughter met his comment. I was quite astonished, one of the tankmen raised his glass of water, the only liquid available, towards the portrait of the Fuehrer which hung on the wall.
"Cheers, my Fuehrer,鈥� he called out, full of irony, "I am drinking your health with this 'Wine of Geese' which you were generous enough to provide, as well as for the refreshment supplied" he finished, waving the leaflets. Other soldiers laughed and cheered.
The Front was so close that they felt free and uninhibited. Himmler's Party guardian angels were far away.

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