In September of 1939, war broke out in Europe when German dictator Adolph Hitler ordered German troops to invade Poland. During this time, Joseph Stefans had been living with his family in a little town just outside of Warsaw. When German troops pushed past Polish borders and made a threat to his homeland, Joseph and his family decided to flee to the nation's capital in hopes of finding safety. From this point in time until he was released from a prisoner of war camp in Germany then repatriated to the United States in 1945, he would struggle in the most challenging, fearful, and painful years of his life.
Joseph Stefans, my grandfather, lived through Hitler's attempts to overrun Europe and mold it into a powerful fascist regime. This is his story.
Kevin Thomas
I was born in the United States of parents of Polish descent. When I was five, my parents decided to return to Poland, which after World War One had become newly independent, no longer under Russian domination. There I spent my entire youth and fully believed that I would be living in Poland the rest of my life.
However, when war broke out with Germany in September of 1939 - with Hitler ordering the German troops to invade on the first day of the month - I was placed in a dangerous situation which threatened me with the loss of my life. I began thinking of returning to the United States.
The German Army contained superior military power. It had many more modern planes and tanks, and a larger army (than Poland). The German forces easily broke through the meager Police defenses and advanced rapidly towards Warsaw. Their planes wiped out the small antiquated Polish Air Force in a few days, and dive-bombed every village, town, and city in their path without any opposition.
They were on the verge of entering the little village where I lived with my parents. Everyone there of every age packed whatever belongings they had and tried to escape the German onslaught by moving towards the heart of Poland, towards Warsaw its capital.
Our family followed the example of the refugees leaving our town. We scraped together some small belongings, took what we could in small handbags, and left the rest to the oncoming Germans.
Most of the multitude of fleeing people took to the roads, but they were unsafe. German planes strafed the civilians periodically during the day, and the clogged roads suffered many civilian casualties.
Surveying the danger and casualties, a group of us decided it would be safe to leave the highways and travel instead through the forest patches and the open fields. We broke away from the crowded roads and traveled by foot, abandoning our belongings which had begun to hold us back. We crawled and dashed through the fields of the great plains of Poland.
We hoped to reach Warsaw safely this way, making a smaller target to the strafing German planes which kept appearing regularly. We had to walk, as there were not other means of transportation.
The railroads had been bombed and put out of commission. Very few automobiles were owned by the peasantry. And those which were available and were possessed primarily by the officialdom, had long run out of gas and were immobile. Gasoline had run out quickly and was no longer available.
My group's choice of escape route worked well when it came to the German danger. But another danger suddenly faced me - the Polish security forces. This encounter nearly cost me my life.
After three days of this through-the-fields scampering, we reached the outskirts of another town and looked forward to perhaps some food and rest. As we approached the town, Polish armed guards suddenly appeared. They were local vigilantes, suspicious of everyone due to the fear of German infiltrators.
We were arrested and taken in for interrogation. Our footsteps led through the center of town, jammed with hostile residents who believed we were spies. They had just been bombed indiscriminately by the German Stukas, and the crowd was in an ugly mood.
As we were being led forward through the mass of people, heading for the interrogation, the mood of the people grew worse, and now they were calling for our lynching.
We were spit on and accused of being German spies. The problem is that we had been apprehended away from the main roads, where they had expected the main thrust of the German Army to come. They just believed everyone else away from these had to be spies.
Our names were no help, as they only served to further incite the nervous crowd's suspicion. We did not have common Polish names.
Luck sometimes intervenes at the most opportune moments, and such a stroke of luck happened to me. While waiting to be interrogated I heard my name called by someone in the next office. I didn't believe I would be recognized by anybody, so I figured it was my turn (to be interrogated). I was far away from home and quite apprehensive. How do you convince suspicious people of who you really are? I had no idea.
I went in through the crowded area, and turned to see who called me. It was a familiar face - a woman I had been acquainted with in my home town. She waved to me to come over to her, and asked why I had been arrested. As soon as she heard my story and learned of my predicament, she interceded for me with the interrogator and vouched for me. I was released into her custody.
When I got out, I looked for my companions and for one special one, a young girl, who traveled with me. They were gone. I never saw them again. I grieved constantly for them, and to this day I wonder what happened to them and where they could be.
The woman in whose custody I had been placed turned out to be an ambulance driver with the Polish village's hospital, driving wounded soldiers from the front lines to the hospitals in the safer rear regions.
She had stopped into the village town hall for a quick rest and had just come in when my name was called. Recognizing me, she immediately vouched for me and saved my life. I believe to this day that had destiny not brought her to that little village that day, the enraged and suspicious Poles would not have believed my story and they would have shot me.
She arranged for my release and sent me on my way towards Warsaw in search of my family. As if the dangers brought about by Polish patriots and those of the German strafing and stray bullets were not enough, I would still have to face the toughest days of my life. I was captured on my way to Warsaw by the Germans and imprisoned.
I was brought to the huge stone prison at L'Aufen near Salzburg. I was placed in a small cell that had one small high window and which I shared with several other men. In the morning, we were served hot water. For lunch, hot water along with bits of potatoes, cabbage, or other various vegetables. For dinner, we were served hot water and a mere few ounces of coarse bread.. The Germans didn't serve us by quantity or taste, but by an amount of calories minimal to survival.
However, the Red Cross did help to ease some of the pain by providing parcels that would make life more comfortable. Although they were minute quantities, they kept us alive. We were provided with with canned beef, powdered milk, precious Nescafe coffee, cigarettes, and clothes.They also played a role in my getting moved to an American camp where conditions improved.
When I was moved, conditions at the camp were the poorest that I had witnessed. They were out of fuel to heat cells. Sickness, mainly tuberculosis, was spreading. Bugs infested the cells. Nervous disorders were extremely common. And personal hygiene was unheard of.
I can remember one of my last days at L'Aufen hearing Hitler's voice coming over the radio, seemingly to shout at his people and calling the Americans and British the aggressors and warmongers.
Shortly after arriving at a well observed and all American internment camp, I was told that I would be repatriated to the United States with the next arrival of the Gripsholm.
There were times of frightful danger, and times of relative peace. There were times of great hunger, freezing cold, jammed internment barracks and barbed wire fences. Times of German guards firing suspiciously at shadows moving, and times of interminable lineups and sneering guards.
There were times of heat and times of cold. Times of soup lines, and times of bread lines - thin soup and stale bread. Times of shared friendship in spite of living in barbed wire camps. Then times of hatred and suspicion of those around you who may be internal spies placed by Germans. No security, no trust.
Through it all, I somehow survived. After six years of deprivation, cold, hunger, tattered clothes, no soap, dirty faces, stinking bodies in stinking barracks, there came that strange day when I was told to clean up and get ready. I was pulled out, as a United States citizen, and repatriated to this country. A long journey had come to a successful end with me. Through it all, I always felt the Hand of God on my shoulder.
Joseph Stefans
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