80 years ago, our neighbors decided to change the course of Polish history. The Nazis invaded us from the West and the Soviets from the East. Once again, as it did through the centuries, our country had to defend its identity, culture, heritage and its territory. The brutality of the invading forces was unspeakable, and the extermination of our national assets was conducted with such premeditation and bestiality that hope for surviving of the assault quickly vanished. But soon the Poles realized that we can fight the aggressors.
First, we didn’t give up. Poland was the only country not have a collaborative government under the Germans. Second, our resistance forces were arguably the strongest among the invaded nations. The third reason, and probably the most important, the Poles made our national virtue of helping each other.
I was born a few months before the Warsaw Uprising, and I don’t remember those barbaric times. But I’ve heard the stories about the torment and sacrifice, about the lost hopes and resurrected dreams, about people helping people to live through the hell. My father didn’t tell me much, but my mother did. For the sake of my children, I wrote them down. The main facts are true, the least important I’ve made up. The life, as it goes, is sometimes hard to follow. The literal description of our activities is unreadable. But the heroism of those times will survive the test of time.
The five, so far, written stories will be presented in the next blog posts. Because of the darkness of those years, and the feeling it had happened in a distant past, I designed the covers in sepia.
