Remembrance Day marks the anniversary of the signing of the armistice on November 11, 1918. The signing of this agreement was the first step to the end of World War One. Each year on this day we honour, commemorate, and remember all of the men, women and children who fought, died and were involved in the fight for our freedom today.
My maternal grandparents and their families were torn apart during World War II. Growing up, I remember asking my grandma about the war, and what happened, but it was a very difficult thing for her to talk about and she would quickly change the subject and did not want to talk about it.
However there were very few times when my Grandma would open up and talk about what she experienced. I was probably seven or eight years old when I recall her saying she would have nightmares years after the war ended. I remember she would hold back tears while talking about the destruction she witnessed from the aftermath of the bombs that flew overhead while her and her siblings hid. The soldiers marching through the town. The fact she was separated from her family.
She was reluctant to tell these experiences, but I think she knew that it was important to talk about them and share them. It was a devastating time to live through, but it is important to keep these stories alive. It is what shaped my family, and many other families out there.
This is their story.
My grandma, Helga was born in 1929 in a small town called Fulnek, in modern day Czechia. She was one of five siblings and was the second youngest. At the age of 14, she was taken away by German soldiers to go to Germany to tend a farm and take care of a family. She prepared meals for the workers, as she called them. I recall her saying she had to milk the cows, clean the barns, cook food for the people there and care for the family that owned the farm. She wasn’t sure if she would ever see her family again, as her family, and countless other families were being separated to go fight in the war.
My Grandma at 16 years old met my Grandpa, Zdzislaw, who was 24 years old while in Germany. He was born in Poland. Six weeks later they got married. They had one child, a boy, in 1948 while in the Displaced Persons Camp, but he died shortly after birth. My mom was born in 1950, while still in the camp in Germany. They had to wear the letter “P” on their clothes to signify that they were Polish, and that they were given the “poor jobs.” She recalls getting harrassed and spit on, just because of their nationality. They were treated like animals. One time my Grandpa did not wear his “P” and he was beaten very bad by the German soldiers. My Grandma had to sneak in food in the bottom of the baby carriage and hope she didn’t get caught at the camp checkpoint. Conditions were very poor, they were allowed to eat small portions of food, enough to stay alive and not starve. They were not allowed to sit with the Germans. There were also signs that read “No Poles.”
The following year they had the opportunity to leave Germany in search for a new life and a fresh start. They had the choice to go to the United States or Australia, and my grandparents chose the US because it was closer and quicker to get to. They landed through Ellis Island and lived in New York City temporarily. They moved numerous times and settled in Buffalo, New York. My Grandma contacted the Red Cross to get in contact with her family back home in Czechoslovakia in hopes that her mom and siblings were still alive. Soon after, she received a letter from her Mother and they planned a visit to come to Buffalo!
Within the following few years they had two more children, my uncles, and they worked hard to provide for their family. My grandfather worked for a burial vault company and transported the vaults to the cemetery in preparation for burial. When he retired became a vegetable salesman and enjoyed singing in the church choir which in later years he got travel around. I remember he was so proud that he got to sing for Pope John Paul II in Rome with his church. My grandma worked many jobs, from cleaning offices, working for a catering company to working for an envelope company to which she retired from.
Growing up I remember my Grandpa singing and playing his harmonica and my Grandma was always cooking up a storm. She could whip up a three course meal in a matter of minutes! They tried to make the best for their family given the circumstances they went through. My Grandpa passed away in 2005 and there isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t think of him and the fun times we had when I was growing up. My Grandma now is 89 years old and is battling dementia. She is one of the strongest women I know. She has been through so much that no one should ever have to experience. She helped raise us as kids, taught us valuable lessons and Milo is named after her. I love her more than words can ever express. I could not thank them enough for all that they did, what they had to endure, and the sacrifices they made. This is their story.
