During the uprising Warsaw resembled a concert with many pianos and big drums. There was a constant exchange of shots and occasional explosions. The orchestra was to continue this repertoire for the next two months, with only short breaks at night..." - recalls Prof. Jaroslaw Piekalkiewicz, a Home Army soldier, whom I had the honor to host at my home in Przemysl during the Cultural Attic meetings. Piekalkiewicz fought in the Srodmiescie district, just like my uncle Marian Milewski, aka Czarny, who was famous for destroying the Post Office Station, which was an enemy nest. He was also responsible for removing a sadistic murderer of several dozen Poles called Panienka. The ruins of that Warsaw hid many stories. The ones that have been saved allow us to understand what guided people, who despite the crushing advantage of the enemy, decided to regain their city. Today is the 76th anniversary of the signing of the agreement on the cessation of hostilities. This is a good moment to share with you the insurgent memories of two people close to me - Marek Kuchciński.

Prof. Jaros³aw Piekalkiewicz a.k.a. Andrzej from "Zaremba"-"Piorun" battalion

Memories of the Warsaw Uprising

When July was passing, we all knew that the uprising was approaching. Germans knew it as well. They had prepared bunkers in advance, located by the positions they occupied. We predicted that the arrival of Soviets to the gates of Warsaw was just a matter of a few days. The first alarm appeared at the end of July. I brought my three squad leaders to my apartment at 13 Wspólna St. We were waiting for a phone call from the command. After a few hours of anxious waiting, the alarm was called off. Everyone got back to their homes.

Another alert was issued on August 1. It was decided that the uprising would begin during rush hour, at 5 in the afternoon. Crowds of Warsaw residents coming back from work were to cover the insurgents going to their places. We met again in an apartment on Wspólna Street. Shooting had already started earlier, when insurgents transporting weapons clashed with German patrols. At 5 p.m. shots exploded all over Warsaw. My phone was silent, and we were waiting and waiting. There was fighting all around us already. Finally, I sent the unit commanders back to their units to join their men. I had their telephones, but I instructed them to join the nearest Home Army unit. We did not have any weapons. I decided to continue to wait for a phone call with orders, at least for myself. Hours passed and the phone was still silent.

From a window on the top floor we spotted three armed German Luftwaffe air force soldiers, casually brandishing their weapons on an empty street. They walked on, heading towards Plac Trzech Krzyży. To this day I regret not having thrown at least a flower pot on their heads. We quickly blocked the massive front door so they couldn't get inside. Soon they left. During the night, I joined a group of people erecting barricades from the large concrete slabs that once made up the sidewalk. One of the men said that he had just returned from Hoża Street, where he had seen a Polish unit take over the headquarters of the "granat" police. I knew where it was, as it was the police station in our district. I went upstairs to say goodbye to my family and set out to look for this unit. Crossing two main streets, Marszalkowska and Poznanska, was very risky as they could be patrolled by the Germans. Admittedly, I had my fire helmet with me, but it would not be particularly useful in case of a night fight. I quickly ran through two blocks and reached the police station at Hoza Street without any difficulties. "Corporal Andrzej reporting for duty" I reported to the company commander, Jur, who turned out to be the commander of the Air Base. He welcomed me and told me to sit by the wall with others who, like me, came from different units and didn't have any weapons.

After some time someone came with the information that the front apartments in the building at 62 Hoza Street had been previously inhabited by Bahnschutz officers (German railroad police). Probably there was no trace of them anymore, but it had to be checked anyway. It was then that cadet Stec returned from a patrol (in the Home Army, a cadet was someone who had graduated from officer school, but who had to complete a year of training before being promoted to second lieutenant). He then volunteered that he would go do it, but he needed one more volunteer. It looked like there would be no volunteers, after all, we had no weapons; then I volunteered to go. They armed me with a gun - a Polish VIS (9mm caliber, a copy of the American Colt pistol, manufactured in Radom) that had been "freed" from the hands of the "grenade" police, and also with a Polish, pre-war hand grenade.

The building was only a few houses away. We opened the transport door and ran inside. Stec moved to check the first door on the first floor. It turned out to be locked, so he started trying to break it down. I yelled, "Stop, top floor! Hand grenade!" He understood that we had to start from the top floor, otherwise someone might drop grenades on us. We rushed upstairs. The building was tall, seven stories high. By the time we reached the top, we were out of breath. We checked the first door. It was closed. Stec moved away and again he was trying to force it open. I stopped him. If there had been someone with a gun inside, he would have been dead already. I showed him how to break the door by holding the doorframe and jerking quickly towards himself. In the event of gunfire from inside, we would throw a hand grenade inside. This way was slower, but safer. It took us some time to open all the doors. The building turned out to be empty. We came back to report to Jur. He then moved the company command post there, as it was the tallest and most solid structure in the area. The main command was placed on the first floor.

Having volunteered for such a risky action, Jur must have realized that I could perform such special tasks and from then on I took part in them till the end of the Uprising. In the beginning I was assigned the command of the unit. We became part of the 1st Regiment under the command of Lieutenant Alex. My unit consisted of five other volunteers who had freshly joined the Home Army the night before. They were: Eagle (Tadeusz Olechowski), Kajtek (Józef Krzysztowski), Spłonka (Andrzej Paszewski), and Runner, whose name I never learned, and a nurse whose name I also do not remember, although I met her after the war. Orzeł was a shoemaker's apprentice and a great leader. He was fearless. Kajtek belonged to the middle class and was always scared, but he obeyed every order. I admired his courage and dedication to the cause. Orzeł and Kajtek were about my age. We called Splonka "Grandpa" because he was about 30 years old while the rest of us were 17 or 18. Also in the case of Eagle, we called him by a different name - "Michael". Was that his real name? I don't know. The runner, to whom I gave my fire helmet, behaved exactly like any other Warsaw child. He was an amazingly smart boy. He disappeared from our sight very quickly. Who knows if he was killed or if he found some more profitable occupation for himself, or maybe a more interesting unit?

The nurse, who didn't have the faintest idea about her trade, quickly discovered that my unit was too dangerous for her and decided to stick close to the platoon command. In fact, it turned out to be the best place for her, as she could learn basic first aid from the other nurses there.

At first, I was the only armed person, having in my possession a gnat, a 9mm VIS. Eventually, Orzeł received a 7.65 or 6.35 "women's" pistol, and the entire unit was supplied with one Berthier French infantry rifle. It was a beautiful weapon, but it required special French ammunition, the kind shaped like a bottle. We only had enough for five or six rounds. The weapon was more for show. We used it on guard duty. Gradually I managed to get more ammunition for my gun. Orzeł also had quite a lot of it. With time we acquired a lot of hand grenades, which were produced mainly by the squadron's workshop. Necessary explosives were found in German unexploded ordnance, and there was no shortage of those. Perhaps this proved the ineffectiveness of the sabotage actions carried out by the German workers, all frightened by the Allied bombing. Besides, we had a good supply of petrol bottles. Inside the bottles there were bandages soaked in something that caused an explosion when it came into contact with the petrol. The bottles would explode when broken, so you had to be very careful when holding them. When we found (or were given?) an empty wooden crate with a compartment for vodka bottles and cord handles, we started using it to carry these delicious mixtures. Although some of the bottles in the crate contained real, regular vodka, somehow we never got them mixed up.

Our numbers seemed ridiculously small. My unit was of average size - compared to a whole company or even battalion. At that time Jura company, which was already 2nd company of Zaremba battalion, consisted of 220 soldiers armed with one heavy machine gun, one light machine gun, 25 rifles, three submachine guns and about 100 pistols (there were some more, as many insurgents had their own guns). Additionally, we were short of ammunition. That was all we could fight with, facing the well-armed Germans for 63 days.

After we joined Jura company on the night of August 1, 1944, the next day we were moved to the apartment of Stec's friends (who lived nearby), located at the corner of Poznanska and Wspólna Streets. Our task was to watch over the telephone exchange building occupied by the Germans, which was located a block away from Poznanska Street on the corner of St. Barbara Street. The building, which was 7 stories high and had a very solid construction, was turned into a powerful fortress. At the very front a bunker with a heavy machine gun was erected, whose range covered the entire length of the street from Poznańska to Hoża. I was walking along those streets that night and I was very lucky that the Germans did not start shooting, which sometimes happened to them even without aiming. During the day it was a death zone. Crossing Poznanska on this length was possible only at night or by going around it and crossing the street below. Stec introduced us there to a charming elderly couple, speaking with a charming eastern accent. Their richly decorated apartment had gorgeous oriental rugs on the floor. We carefully cleaned our shoes before entering a room with a balcony, from which we had a great view of the telephone exchange building. There were flowerpots outside which we used for camouflage. We took turns, each for 30 minutes, and during that time the owners invited the others in for a delicious breakfast.

It was a beautiful, sunny and warm day. Then the Germans started firing machine guns. I thought they took us for a target. I ran to the balcony and a frightened insurgent who was taking his shift there assured me that they were shooting down Poznanska Street. Carefully I looked in that direction and to my eyes appeared a still moving woman lying on the street. A German gunner continued shooting with a machine gun, tearing her body to pieces. I was horrified. This was the first casualty I had seen in the Rising. I later learned that she had run to the children who remained on the other side of the street. Our people tried to stop her, but she managed to break free. She had no chance. The distance between them was too short for the Germans to miss. I heard that her children received very good care till the end of the Uprising. I reported what had happened to the senior sergeant.

For some time our position remained quiet. The rest of Warsaw, on the other hand, resembled a concert with many pianos and big drums. There was a constant exchange of gunfire and occasional explosions. The orchestra was to continue this repertoire for the next two months, with only short breaks at night. One day we heard a furor that sounded like a car engine. The sound was gaining in intensity. I ran to the balcony and looked outside. On the crossroads of Wspólna Street and Poznańska Street there was an armored car. It started shooting at us from its cannon. I understood that the target was a barricade connecting this side of the street with a block of flats, which led to a building just opposite the telephone exchange. From there we did not have to fear an attack. There was nothing we could do. At that time we did not yet have Molotov cocktails that we could drop on the armored car. Nor did we have any other positions except the one I occupied on that street corner. After a few rounds, the armored car turned around and drove away. The Sergeant Major ran up to the balcony and fired a couple of shots at the Germans already driving away in the armored car. It was a bit idiotic, but in that situation completely understandable. Since that day I have never seen him "at the front" again. At that time I took command of our unit.

Ultimately, my unit consisted of: "Spłonka" (Andrzej Paszewski), "Kajtek" (Jozef Krzysztowski) and "Orze³" called Micha³ (Tadeusz Olechowski) and me "Andrzej". (according to a photograph that I kept till now). Our weapons were running out. I had a 9 mm gun with 100 rounds, but only one magazine. Michał (Orze³) was armed with a small pistol, 6 or 7 mm, and Grandpa and Kajtek had only grenades. Of course later we also had Molotov cocktails, which we had in considerable quantities, and which, although useful in normal street fighting, were not very useful against an enemy very well armed with light rifles or machine guns and throwers (not to mention heavy artillery). As I mentioned, we also had a beautiful Berthier rifle from the French infantry, but we used it rarely, only for show, as we only had 6 rounds of ammunition for it. Only recently did I learn that our technicians were able to adapt this rifle to our ammunition.

That night we were ordered to move to an apartment on the second floor, a building away from the corner of Wspólna and Poznańska Streets. There was a balcony overlooking Wspólna Street. We were supposed to build a bunker there and we were provided with numerous supplies of sandbags. Local inhabitants turned out to be eager to help. The only trouble was that the balcony was under almost constant fire from the "Front Leitstelle" (Transfer Place for Germans waiting for supplies from the Eastern Front), which was located several blocks from ours. The Germans were shelling us from higher positions and their bullets were hitting the balcony floor sending sparks all over it. No one even tried to carry heavy sandbags under such fire. It looked terrifying. Fortunately, it was a very dark night. The Germans must have noticed some movement on the balcony during the day and set their machine gun on one particular target. I noticed that their bullets always hit one and the same place. After a few rounds they would stop firing and then start again. It was my task to do something about it. So I waited for a break, took a sip of vodka and put the first sandbag near the balcony door. I had noticed earlier that the bullets were hitting a little further away, so I took the opportunity. Working quickly, during each break from firing, I soon had the first row of sandbags ready. I was now able to stand and simply move the bags on. Again the firing was about to begin, now of the next row. Each break I managed to drop two bags. The bullets were hitting them like crazy. With a considerable effort and even more vodka I finally got the firing side of the balcony ready. The others finished the job. Before the dawn the bunker was finished. The Germans were shooting furiously at the sandbags, so we doubled the rows. "My bunker" survived for a long time until it was completely destroyed at the end of the Uprising....

Marian Milewski, 2nd company commander of the "Gurt" Home Army grouping

Destruction of the Postal Station

Shots are heard from all directions. The cannon thunders from the tower of the Main Railway Station. A wide area is under fire: Jerozolimskie Avenues, Marszalkowska, Chmielna, and in the opposite direction to Zelazna Street. The streets are deserted, the residents group together in the gates. I pass Chmielna 67, where I used to live. My friends greet me and wish me victory. Far away I saw our first group, they were pushing a cart with arms. They are almost at their destination. Suddenly... Oh, horror! A series of shots from the Post Office Station. Wounded is "Robur I". (Janusz Debba, officer cadet) and "Idea" (Henryk, a platoon sergeant). A momentary commotion. The cart - a heavy rickshaw tilts, the back seat with the wheel up. One has to rescue the situation. I'm moving with my group from gate to gate. I'm on the level of the last house adjoining the Post Office Station, from where the shots were fired. I am stopping the unit. Quickly I am assigning the function. On the command the last common jump to the carriage. We are jumping, balancing and with the help of people waiting in the gate we are leaving to the courtyard. The weapon is distributed very quickly. I take PIAT with the bullets myself. Bottles with petrol are already flying from the first floor to the Post Office; the building, though wooden, would not catch fire. I am surrounded by several Home Army soldiers, so far unknown. One of them is our future hero "Sokol" (Zbigniew Bornstead - a cadet), another one is just fourteen-year-old "Welek". - the second was "Welek", just fourteen years old, a chaser (rifleman). The group composed of "Kuba", "Converted" (Jan Sznajder - a lieutenant), "Sokol" and two or three, whose pseudonyms I don't remember, we go to the third floor. I choose a position by the window, we set up Piata. I am almost in a standing position. Having learnt from experience about strong recoil I ask to be held. I am shooting at the roof of the post office, where the bottles are flying. Bang! The roof goes up in flames, and despite strong young hands holding me, we land on the other side of the room. The first impression after the shot from the so far unknown weapon, my first shot in the Uprising at the enemy. We are looking at the result. The wooden building of the Postal Station, thanks to spilled petrol from the bottle, was now burning like a torch. One nest of the enemy, which almost deprived us of the whole stock of our weapons, through which we had the first killed and wounded, ceased to exist!

Stanisław Ciesielski, a friend of Marian Milewski:

From 1st August 1944 for 63 days Marian fought in the Warsaw Uprising. Despite heroic defense Warsaw capitulated. "Black" and thousands of other insurgents were arrested but they went into captivity with their heads held high. Marian did not feel defeated. During the Uprising he received the rank of second lieutenant, and then, already in England, he was promoted to lieutenant. He was awarded the Virtuti Militari War Order (a cross in recognition of bravery on the battlefield), the Cross of Valour, the Home Army Cross, the Silver Cross of Merit with Swords, the Polish Army Medal, and, in Great Britain, English decorations. After the fall of the Uprising, he was taken prisoner to one of the largest prison camps in Oflag VII in Murnau, Bavaria, where a total of 7,000 officers were held. As the end of the war approached, Germany was in chaos and disorganization. Hunger reigned in the camps, and food supplies were scarce," recalls Marian Milewski. It was only when the camp was liberated by American troops in May 1945 that its prisoners were saved from death from starvation and exhaustion. In June 1945, Marian Milewski arrived in Italy with the first transport from Germany, where he joined the Second Polish Army Corps in Italy. He was initially stationed in Nola near Naples, then in Motola in southern Italy. There he was assigned to a guard unit, of which he was first deputy commander and then commander. In 1947, his battalion was evacuated across the sea from Naples to England. At first it was stationed at Cumberland, and a month later it was sent to Formby near Liverpool, where it took over the empty camp of the 5th Royal Regiment, which at that time was in the British colonies. Only a few of its members and a handful of German prisoners remained there.

Translation from English Szymon Kuchcinski