Soviet Mass Deportations – June 1941

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The fourth and final deportation began on May 22, 1941 in Moldova and “Western Ukraine”. From June 14, 1941, the Baltic republics were cleared of the “uncertain element”, and from June 19 to 20, 1941, displacements began in “Western Belarus”. 12,371 people from Western Ukraine went to the South Kazakhstan, Omsk, Novosibirsk Oblasts and Krasnoyarsk Krai, 22,353 people from Western Belarus went, among others, to the Omsk and Novosibirsk Oblasts and to the Altai Krai, to the basin of the Katun and Bija rivers. Together with them, 2,059 people were arrested accused of belonging to counter-revolutionary and insurgent organizations as well as illegal organizations and political formations. The number of deportees from the western regions of the Belarusian SSR is controversial and ranges from 20.3-24.3 thousand people. Unfortunately, on the way, during the ongoing hostilities, some of the transports were shot at by Luftwaffe planes. As a result of the shelling, out of 20 transports sent from Western Belarus, five got stuck on the way to Minsk or its vicinity. As reported by the NKVD Convoy Troops, 10-13% of the deportees in the wagons were killed during the shelling, and 12-15% were injured. The Białystok region suffered the most during the June deportations, from which 11,405 people were deported.

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Lucyna Jarocka-Rączkowska, deported from Białystok:

From mid-June, all railway sidings were blocked with freight wagons. On June 19, my uncle came to us and advised us to run away from home because they would deport Poles at night. The depressing mood of the adults spread to the children and prevented them from sleeping. You don’t know what to do, where to go.

Just after midnight, we were woken from sleep by the pounding of rifle butts on our aunt’s door and a loud cry: “Open up!” It was Russian soldiers who came to my uncle. We got scared. The children started crying. They took my uncle away, and the house was still surrounded by soldiers. Maybe they came for my aunt in an hour. Through the wall we could hear my aunt crying and screaming. My uncle stayed. There was no more sleep. We were terribly afraid. In the morning, a loud bang on our door paralyzed us with fear and we started crying. They came for my father, they didn’t let him take anything or say goodbye to us. They pushed him out by force. The father shouted to the mother: “Fela, be conscious!” After taking my father away, the soldiers left. The uncle left the house. The neighbors went out to the yard, came to my mother and comforted her. The desperate mother took soap, a towel, a razor and a piece of bread and wanted to go to prison to take it to her father. She had barely gone about 200 meters when a car came to pick up our family. Without a word, they put Halina, Staś and me in the car and went into the house. Tadzik took advantage of the confusion and encouraged me to jump out of the car and escape through the hole in the fence. I didn’t want to go with him, I preferred to be with my mother.

The neighbors turned my mother off the road. Mom started to lament and sat down helplessly. Almost 15-year-old Irena did not lose her mind, she started packing clothes and everything she considered necessary into bags. The soldiers looked at her hands and ordered: “Don’t take this, you can’t take this.” We only had 15 minutes to pack. What can you take for 15 minutes? At the last minute, my mother took two pillows and a duvet. We got into the car. My mother begged them to refrain from leaving because she wanted to find Tadzik. They did not listen to the request. In the morning they took us to the Poleski station. There was crying and lamentation here. Every now and then, trucks brought the exiles. The wagons were overcrowded. We were given a seat by the door. In the middle of the wagon, near the wall, there was a hole cut out that served as a toilet.

The day was sunny, the temperature was rising, it was going to be a hot day. The carriages were stuffy and cramped, and the crying of children and adults intensified the atmosphere of terror and uncertainty. We had nothing to eat. The rest of the bread, which my mother was supposed to take to my father to prison, was left on the kitchen cabinet. She forgot about it when she hid the soldier’s handwritten certificate about the belongings she had left behind. My companions in misfortune gave my mother half a loaf of bread for breakfast.

Białystok, June 20, 1941

Source: Memories of Siberians vol. 2, Warsaw 1990

Lucyna Jarocka-Rączkowska, deported from Białystok:

At. 14 the train started. There were two armed soldiers at the doors of each carriage. There was a chant of “Under Thy Protection.” A few kilometers outside the city, the train slowed down, the soldiers jumped down, closed and sealed the carriages, and the train rushed to the East. It was pulled by two locomotives.

On June 20 and 21, we were given nothing to eat or drink. The carriage was terribly stuffy and crowded. Children were constantly complaining, thirsty for water and not yet used to the discomfort. Little air came through the barred window. At every stop, the mothers begged for water. The railway workers gave us water from the steam locomotive (we were in the second carriage from the steam locomotive).

On June 22, in the morning we arrived in Minsk – the capital of Belarus. There was a strange noise at the station, confusion, crying and lamentation. Mr. Zagorski (travel companion) learned that the German-Soviet war had broken out. The mobilized ones went to the front. The Poles began to hope that they might not take us deeper into Russia. We stood in Minsk for several hours. Around noon, the soldiers called two people out of the wagon for water and lunch. They brought two buckets of water, a bucket of soup and a bucket of porridge with sauce. The soup was sour. Many people suffered from stomach upset after eating it. The wagons were resealed and the train rushed to the East. The men drilled two holes in the wagon walls, through which some air came in and one could see the world. We received water and food every other day. Probably on the fourth day of the journey, Mrs. Szczytkowa gave birth to her daughter Lala (Janina) – without any medical help, without water or diapers. With the help of Poles traveling together, the child and mother survived.

Białystok, Minsk, Byelorussian SRS, June 1940

Source: Memories of Siberians vol. 2, Warsaw 1990

Lucyna Jarocka-Rączkowska, deported from Białystok:

We drove through the Ural Mountains through a long tunnel. The train slowed down. Smoke from the locomotive was seeping into the wagons and choking them. We crossed the Urals. We have already been to Asia. Military transports pass us constantly, and we often find ourselves standing in passing lanes. After two weeks, we reached Biysk, where the railway ended, a town on the Bija River (a tributary of the Ob).

After opening the wagons, many people fell over, intoxicated by the fresh air. We took out our meager possessions. The first thing the Russians did was to conduct a search. They took documents, photos, money and valuables. When my mother realized the situation, she gave me her social security card to hide under my father’s shirt. They took my mother’s life savings – money and savings book, and a certificate of the belongings left in Białystok. (Later, my father’s ID card was very useful when returning to the country.) There were hundreds of two-wheeled carts, called taradajki or podwody, parked at the station. After the search, we were assigned two such taradajki. A huge snake of wagons was formed and stretched along the road leading from the Altai Mountains to Mongolia. Armed civilians escorted us. It was uncomfortable to sit on the carts, there was little space, and you could feel every step of the horse. After moving on, the song “Under Your Protection” was heard, followed by “Heartful Mother”. Then there was silence, interrupted by a child’s cry somewhere. I fell asleep tired. Mom covered us with a blanket because the night was cold. I was woken up by a sudden jolt. The horses were unharnessed for the night to graze, and the weight of the luggage took over and the wagon tilted down backwards. I lay down on the other side and fell asleep again. In the morning I woke up, I was very cold, my teeth were chattering. The stop was at a wide river, a lighted ship was sailing. Poles lit fires, warmed themselves and boiled water.

In the morning, my mother gave us hot, thin semolina. The quilt and all the clothes were completely wet, as if after washing, from the dew that had fallen during the night. The morning was sunny, the sun was hot and everything dried well. In the morning we got buckwheat bread and milk for the children. The horses were harnessed and we set off again. On the way, local people approached us and asked where we were from and where we were going. They felt sorry for us because their fate – 20 years earlier – was similar to ours. Some people brought us milk, boiled potatoes or pancakes.

The heat was almost tropical. Clothes were steaming. The line of wagons stretched across the road and was so large that neither the beginning nor the end could be seen. Around noon we reached a wide river, probably Katuń. We had to cross to the other side. It took several hours because the ferry was not large. Clouds appeared in the sky and turned into clouds, which announced rain. We had barely had time to cross to the other side when a storm and heavy rain broke out. Everything was completely soaked, we felt as if we had just had a bath. Just as the storm came quickly, the weather cleared up quickly after it. Everyone wrung the water out of quilts, duvets and clothes. The clothes dried in the sun, but the bedding did not. We had nothing to cover ourselves with. Mom also took some damp clothes out of the bag and we put them on. At night we stopped again and dried ourselves by the fire. The night was very dark, the sky was full of stars and it was cold. Tired, I lay down on the cart.

The journey by cart took several days, four, maybe five. Siberian summers are hot during the day, but cold and wet with dew at night. We dreamed that this journey would end sooner. The mountains were getting higher. We reached the high Altai Mountains, where the Poles began to be dispersed. Some of the carts were directed to side roads, and on each side road, several more carts were directed to them. In this way, several families came to a village or settlement. This made subsequent contact between Poles difficult. Along the way, on a high rock, we saw an inscription carved in Polish from the old days: “There were Poles here” – and four names that I don’t remember. When we entered the high Altai mountains, I was captivated by their beauty. The mountains were covered with tall firs, larches and lime trees, we passed many rivers and streams with crystal clear water, perfect silence, transparent air. It was then that I saw the mountains for the first time. The mountains were getting higher and the road was getting narrower. We often drove along riverbeds because there were quagmires around. We passed Tereshczynskiye Belki and Katunskie Perevaly. We would soon reach our destination. There were only about 25 carts on the way. We were already hungry, but not thirsty, because there were many streams. The guard reassured us that we would reach our destination before the rain. It became cloudy again, the wind was blowing the trees and us. Large drops of rain turned into a downpour, lightning struck, horses were scared, with each flash of lightning I crossed myself and cried, I was terribly afraid. We arrived completely drenched in the pouring rain and reached the settlement – Belyy Sovkhoz. Our wagons were driving towards the end, we were the last ones to enter the barracks where we were quartered. We were given a seat by the door. There was so little space that we couldn’t stretch our legs. It was a settlement located in a valley surrounded by very high mountains. On the second day of their stay, young boys – Poles – made a white and red flag and went to plant it on the highest peak.

Altai Krai, Russian FSSR, July 1941

Source: Memories of Siberians vol. 2, Warsaw 1990

Janina Kozłowska-Szumska, deported from the village of Rybaki in the province. Białystok:

It was a Friday in June, a beautiful morning. At sunrise, as usual, my father took the horses and cattle out to the pasture and suddenly noticed uniformed, armed Russians approaching our house. Our neighbor, the representative of the Soviet government, Mr. Kuberski, and four of them were with them. From a distance, they shouted to their father: “Hands up!”, pointing guns. The father did so immediately, because what other choice did he have? At that time, my mother was preparing the mash for baking bread. Bread was usually baked on Friday to be fresh on Sunday.

They told the father to take him to the barn, because that’s where young people slept most often in the summer. That’s where two brothers – Julian and Józef – slept.

It happened around 4:00 a.m. Through the window, my mother saw soldiers approaching, leading her father and brothers under arms. She opened the door to the room where her older brother Wacław was sleeping, said that there were Russians in the yard and quickly retreated to the kitchen.

They entered the kitchen, with weapons still pointed in front of them, and ordered the men to sit on a bench against the wall, with their hands on their heads. They did not allow them to get dressed, one soldier guarded them, and the other three penetrated the apartment, looking for Brother Wacław. […]

After an hour, or maybe less, when my mother – still crying – had already partially packed, they ordered the men to get dressed quickly. They ordered the father to hitch up the horses. We loaded our modest belongings onto the cart, cried goodbye to our family home, crossed ourselves for the road, and our – one could call it – funeral procession, surrounded by soldiers with bristling bayonets, set off towards the road.

We were taken to the railway station in Mońki. Thousands of people from neighboring towns had already been gathered there and transported from further afield. Word must have spread around the area about what had happened that terrible morning, because people began to flock to the station. Larger groups of people were dispersed, but many individual people reached their loved ones. The neighbors’ son, Alfons Pełszyński, came to us. His mother, seeing what was happening around us, guessed that we might not have bread in stock because it was Friday, baking day. She quickly kneaded the bread, did not let it rise or even bake, for fear that she might not find us in Mońki anymore, and sent her son by bicycle with two large loaves of bread, so tasty. He was our biggest saving grace during the trip.

Rybaki, Mońki, June 20, 1941

Source: Memories of Siberians vol. 8, Warsaw 1994

Janina Kozłowska-Szumska, deported from the village of Rybaki in the province. Białystok:

On Saturday morning the train started. The torment we had never dreamed of in our worst dreams began. 42 people (and their luggage), including small children and infirm elderly people, were placed in the cattle wagon. They also dragged them to Siberia. What for?

In the corner, in the floor of the carriage, a hole was cut out to serve as a toilet. The women quickly made a partition out of sheets to separate the place. An old man with an upset stomach was traveling with us. He settled right next to the toilet and almost didn’t come out. There was a terrible stuffiness and smell in the carriage. The people closest to this supposed toilet had it the worst.

We arranged each other side by side. Someone was constantly stepping on someone and on folded luggage. You could hear the screams and cries of children – hungry, dirty, deprived of basic comforts and forced to remain still. What bothered me the most was hunger and the stench. The window on one side was closed shut, on the other there were two small windows with a thick grate, and it was a hot June. Not a drop of rain, the sun was terribly warming the roofs and walls of the carriages. People were suffocating. The younger and stronger were pushing towards the windows, and the weaker and children had no room to breathe at all

On Sunday morning, June 22, the train stopped in Minsk. We heard sirens wailing. We didn’t know what happened. We learned from the guards that it was a [German-Soviet] war. We weren’t worried about it. Although this gave us no chance for freedom, there was at least a small hope that they would not take us far. Maybe they will settle in Belarus? Nothing like that happened. They continued east and we kept passing transports carrying soldiers to the front. We often stood on the sidings for long hours because the tracks were busy with trains with troops and ammunition going [in the opposite direction]. Later we learned that the transport that left Poland a few hours later than ours was bombed. They were injured and killed, but he was not arrested. They also dragged them to the East.

Mońki, Minsk, Belarusian SRS, June 1941

Source: Memories of Siberians vol. 8, Warsaw 1994

Janina Kozłowska-Szumska, deported from the village of Rybaki in the province. Białystok:

During the entire journey, we were hungry and sucked on the fat skin until it became fibrous and tasted disgusting – like rag. Two loaves of bread donated by a neighbor may have saved our lives, but they could not feed a family of six during a month [of travel]. During this entire journey, twice at the stops they gave us some soup that imitated soup. Out of hunger, we tried to make pancakes out of flour and put them on the roof of the wagon to bake in the scorching sun. However, this did not give the desired result. It was just slightly dried raw dough. We ate that too, because hunger was making our insides twist. Not only was there a shortage of food, but also water. It was delivered once a day and divided among families. It was barely enough to drink. There was no question of hygiene, let alone washing. All this led to lice and disease in most people.

Belarusian SRS, Russian FSRS, June-July 1941

Source: Memories of Siberians vol. 8, Warsaw 1994

Janina Kozłowska-Szumska, deported from the village of Rybaki in the province. Białystok:

We were taken in trucks to the river port in Omsk and to a cargo ship that headed north along the Irtysh. Many were also sent in other directions unknown to us. On the train with us was a resident of our village, Mrs. Durkowska, the wife of a retired sergeant. He has been arrested before. We wanted to be together with this lady. It’s always better to have familiar people close to you, like a piece of Poland. Failed to. The Russians tried to confuse us so that we would forget who we were.

Most of us were sick with diarrhea. And again, the ship’s toilet could not accommodate such a large number of people. The ship was loaded to the limit and we had difficulty getting on board and to that unfortunate toilet. Those who could stand stood in line, and many simply leaned over the barrier. I remember an old woman with gray hair, waxy skin, shaking all over, who was supported by a young boy, maybe her grandson. It was an unpleasant, gloomy sight that stayed in my memory for the rest of my life. After years of arduous work and hardships of life, old people were dragged to death in a foreign land. Additionally, we were “mean Poles”. They showed us their hands – that their hair would grow here before we saw Poland. We sailed for three days.

Omsk Oblast, Russian FSRS, July 1941

Source: Memories of Siberians vol. 8, Warsaw 1994

Kazimierz Sztachelski, deported from Białogrądy in the province. Białystok:

On the morning of June 20, 1941, and it was a Friday, I woke up as usual to graze cattle. My duty – as almost the youngest in the family (there was an even younger brother, Stefek) – was to graze the cattle. I have been doing this job diligently for several years now. […]

It was 3:00 or 4:00 a.m. when several military and civilians were spotted coming towards us. They were NKVD officers and militiamen from our village. They ordered everyone to gather and sit in one corner and kept an eye on us. Others searched for weapons. They listed all livestock and dead animals. One of the uniformed men told us that “they are taking us to the other oblast [oblast-voivodeship of the USSR] because our land is poor, but there it is better and it will be better for us.” […]

We were going no one knew where, only one thing was certain: it was going to be bad luck. On Sunday, June 22, the train was standing at the station in Minsk, Belarus – closely guarded by armed troops. [The NKVD Convoy Troops] had their own wagon and also sat on the brakes while driving. When the train stopped, they immediately jumped over the carriages and did not even allow anyone to lean out. On that day – in Minsk – the Germans bombed the city. Then we learned that there was a [German-Soviet] war. Although it was a terrible thing for the Russian people, it gave us hope that our fate might change, but we had to wait five long years for that. […]

After the bombing of Minsk, we thought that maybe they wouldn’t take us any further, that they would cut the tracks somewhere or maybe something else would happen. And yet they took it away. They attached two steam locomotives and pulled our wagons for two days, then we stopped for two days in some forests. When Minsk was being bombed, I leaned out the window to see what was happening. Our train was rocking with noise and shocks. There were many planes in the sky. A soldier jumped at me with a bayonet on his rifle and shouted at me to hide.

Białogrądy, Minsk, Belarusian SRS, June 20-22, 1941

Source: Memories of Siberians vol. 8, Warsaw 1994

Kazimierz Sztachelski, deported from Białogrądy in the province. Białystok:

One day the train stopped in the forest and we were allowed to cook. First one part [of the people from the wagon] cooked, then the second one, and finally the third one, the middle one in which we were. They let a few people out, we lit fires and everyone cooked what they had. Somehow I got out of the wagon, but not for long, because the guard immediately herded me back. So I didn’t take advantage of this pleasure. Cooking was also interrupted and provisions had to be taken to the train, even though we stood there for several hours. People sang various songs, mostly pious, such as: “Listen, Jesus, how the people are begging you, listen, listen, do a miracle for us…” Some also cursed the perpetrators of our tragedy – the Soviet authorities and Stalin. It was very hot in the carriages because summer was in full swing.[…]

One July evening we arrived in Omsk. We were taken by car to the building where the circus was located. It was prepared for our reception and fenced with a high board fence. After leaving, after two weeks of riding in the wagons, I felt somehow strange. The army was no longer guarding us, only the militia. I saw them walking around with guns in their hands. The army put some boxes under the fence and threw cookies and candies for the children. Children caught these candies without realizing that an enemy was throwing them. There were so many people that the entire square and the building inside were filled. People looked like dolls because the building was very large. We didn’t stay there for long, as far as I remember, only a few days. Then we were moved to permanent residence and this did not happen without resistance. People rebelled and did not want to go anywhere “across the water”, as it was called. We were transported on steamboats along the Irtysh and Ob rivers. When the cars arrived to take us to the river port, there was so much screaming and crying that it must have been heard far away. Every mother told her children to scream as loud as possible, and the elders did not spare their throats, and it was somewhere in the middle of the city. They brought the army to shoot at the crowd, but they did not want to. Each of us has seen it. Then the army started throwing our belongings – whatever was left – into cars. People saw that nothing could be done and started to join their families and friends. This is how the time for the train ended and the time for the steamboat ride northwards began.

Omsk, Russian FSRS, July 1941

Source: Memories of Siberians vol. 8, Warsaw 1994

Stefan Kurpiewski, deported from the village of Rozwory in the province. Białystok:

On the night of June 18-19, 1941, our house was surrounded by the NKVD and there was a pounding on the door, shouting “Open up!” The father went to open the door and was surrounded by soldiers. One talked to his father, and three ran into the apartment. When my father returned, he told us all to get up and get dressed because we would be deported. My mother started screaming and crying terribly, followed by the whole family. Judgment day came, no one could move from their place until the “fighters” began to be driven from their beds.

We were told to take only what we had at home, because no one was allowed to go outside, and NKVD soldiers were standing by the doors and windows. They gave us two hours to pack, so we couldn’t take anything except things to put on and something to eat. At my father’s request, I was allowed to take bedding and some underwear. And so, amidst crying and rushing, we gathered, not knowing anything about what was happening around our dock. When someone wanted to go out to meet his needs, a soldier went with him. We were waiting for a car to take us. Around 3.00 – 4.00 a.m. a car pulled up and we were loaded with screaming and crying.

[…] The entire life achievements of the father, mother and the entire family, all the livestock, the house, the farm buildings, the entire farm where we had everything and everything in abundance, were going to waste.

Rozwory, June 19, 1941

Source: Memories of Siberians vol. 4, Warsaw 1991

Stefan Kurpiewski, deported from the village of Rozwory in the province. Białystok:

They took us to the Śniadowo railway station, where there were already a lot of wagons. They drove us to the ramp and told us to quickly unload the car. There were a lot of troops around. The entire square was crowded with people and bundles, and new ones were still being brought in, everything was surrounded by NKVDs.

Around 11 loading started. Several officers arrived with lists according to which families were led one by one to the wagons. Our family ended up in a large wagon with as many as 17 families crammed into it, and in some families there were even babies. Moreover, there were so many bundles – it turned out that not everywhere was so strict about what could be taken (and how much). After loading, there was no room for people, so each family sat and slept on their own bundles at night. Walking was out of the question. A big problem was getting to the door, where there was a tin pipe instead of a toilet, in the shape of a funnel, so wide at the top that when it came to doing both needs at the same time, it took a lot of skill to get to the pipe. We were surrounded by quite unpleasant smells, which were difficult to get used to at first, and we also had to relieve ourselves in front of everyone. It was only thanks to the roommates who took a larger supply of bed linen that the curtain was organized. The worst thing was when I wanted to relieve myself at night, it was a disaster.

The loading was completed before evening, so that at sunset all the wagons were locked and there were guards around. Someone secretly learned from the railway workers that we had to leave in the morning. And indeed, as soon as it started to get light, the steam locomotives arrived and we set off. Despite such experiences and such tiredness, no one slept. In all the wagons, like a long train, cries of despair and tears could be heard, people were praying and singing songs – “Whoever entrusts himself to the protection of his Lord” and songs to Our Lady of Częstochowa. As much as anyone could, he said goodbye to his land, family, and Poland – his homeland. We experienced the second such moment of despair and farewell when we crossed the [former] Polish-Soviet border, although no one knew for sure whether this was really the border.

Śniadowo, June 19-20, 1941

Source: Memories of Siberians vol. 4, Warsaw 1991

Stefan Kurpiewski, deported from the village of Rozwory in the province. Białystok:

The rest of the way was just counting the days and nights, then we lost count of the days altogether, we were just waiting for them to give us water, which was always in short supply. It was June, and then July, terrible fevers, the wagon was overloaded, it was stuffy, it was almost hard to bear it. Only at night there was some relief, as they tried to move the boards covering the windows a little, but when the guards noticed that the boards had been moved even a little, the water allocation was withheld as a punishment. This was the greatest punishment due to thirst, because washing was out of the question.

We received six buckets of water a day for 17 families, but sometimes, when there was no longer stopover, this amount had to be enough for two or three days. By then it was already despair, and the worst was with small children. During transport, which was already far outside Moscow, two infants died. There were violent clashes in the carriage because mothers hid their dead children, explaining that they wanted to bury them when we arrived, but had to part with them due to the temperature. Their bodies were taken away from them at one of the stations, and no one knows where they were buried.

Russian FSRS, July 1941

Source: Memories of Siberians vol. 4, Warsaw 1991

Stefan Kurpiewski, deported from the village of Rozwory in the province. Białystok:

As the journey continued, the conditions in the carriage deteriorated – it was dirty, the smell was terrible, and people started getting sick. This condition was even worsened by long stops on sidings, because the railway lines were occupied by military transports, which one by one were going west, towards the front [after the outbreak of the German-Soviet war], loaded with troops and equipment. In addition, they started feeding us salted herrings, which made us thirstier, and then they didn’t give us water, which was unbearable.

After passing Novosibirsk, from the Barnaul station, they started leaving 2-3 wagons at every few stops, and that’s how we reached the Topchycha station [southwest of Barnaul]. It was July 22 or 23, I don’t remember exactly. At this station, three wagons were disconnected from the transport, including ours. Since it was at night, we stood at the station until morning. We waited on the ramp until noon, and then we were placed in the grain warehouses next to the station. We were in these warehouses for a week. After a week, several civilians arrived. It turned out that they were representatives of collective farms and state farms from the Topchichinsky district, and each of them chose as many people as he needed to work.

Altai Krai, Russian FSSR, July 1941

Source: Memories of Siberians vol. 4, Warsaw 1994

Henryk Dzierżek, deported from Grodno in the province Białystok:

We cross the bridge over the Neman and enter the loading ramp of the Łosośna station. There is a warehouse of covered, 10-ton freight wagons here. The truck stops in front of one of the wagons – “Reload!” We enter the wagon. On both sides of the door there are two-story bunks made of thick boards. Opposite, the door is moved back by about 25 cm, in the gap there is a channel made of boards leading outside, the gap above is closed with a thick board. This trough is intended to remove the effects of the physiological needs of the wagon’s “passengers” to the outside.

We occupy part of the upper bunk. The train of wagons is filling up. New trucks with people are arriving. The doors of our carriage and the others are open. We can communicate and even walk on the ramp and meet each other, because the ramp is guarded. The NKVDs are deporting a lot of our friends and their school friends. We meet and comfort each other. The mood is improving. Rightly or wrongly, we think that we won’t die in such a large group. At one point, trucks and shops arrive on the ramp. There you can buy bread, cigarettes and primitive sweets for rubles. The father, having some money, buys a little of everything.

This stopover and loading of new people takes several hours. There are over 20 people in our wagon, mostly women and children; my father is the only adult and not an old man. At one point, a rumor spreads that the NKVD is separating families by taking the male heads of the families, supposedly to prison. We hide my father under the bed. And a group of NKVD members actually come and ask about the men. We answer that there are no men here except one old man and me – a young man with his mother. After a cursory check of the wagon, they leave.

At the end of the day, they herd us into the wagons and close the doors by screwing a nut and bolt from the outside. It gets dark in the carriage and the train starts moving.

Łosośna, June 1941

Source: Sybirak no. 7, Białystok 1992

Henryk Dzierżek, deported from Grodno in the province Białystok:

The train starts moving, it gets dark. I fall asleep on the bunk. I wake up in the morning and look out the window. The sun is shining, the train isn’t going very fast. At one point I notice that the telegraph poles near the track are leaning. As we travel, the inclination of individual poles increases, and finally I see broken wires, the next sloop leaning in the opposite direction and a bomb crater in the middle. I share my observations with other deportees in the wagon. We consider the significance of this; Has the air damage from 1939 not been removed yet? Further on, I see crooked poles and torn wires again. Is it war? But with who? The train stops at Roś station. There is no glass in the station building, and the entire platform is covered with broken glass. A train with passenger cars arrives from the opposite direction; all the windows in the carriages are broken! Now our suspicions turn to certainty; it’s war! War, of course, with Germany.

There is spontaneous joy in the carriage! Our enemies have fought, and maybe we too will not reach the inhuman land? The train moves on, we enter the Volkovysk freight station, where the train stops among other freight trains. We hear the roar of flying planes and bomb explosions. This station is being bombed.

At one point I hear the sudden roar of an approaching plane and an increasingly terrifying whistle. I jump from the bunk onto the floor of the carriage and at that moment I feel a violent shock, the sound of an explosion and a blinding flash of light. In the first seconds, apart from the strong glow, I see nothing. After a while, I see a clear image of the inside of the wagon and hear a human scream. After several seconds I understand what happened. An aerial bomb exploded near our wagon, demolishing it quite effectively: the entire wagon was twisted, the bunks fell down, crushing some people, the doors fell off the guides and fell upwards by about 45 degrees, and every second board from the wagon walls was knocked out. The sun suddenly broke into the semi-darkness of the carriage, and the dust of the explosion completely obscured my vision.

There are no dead or injured people in our wagon; between the site of the bomb explosion and our wagon, there was another freight train loaded with bags of loose materials; fragments were stuck in these bags and did not harm us. NKVD members run along the train shouting that they will shoot whoever gets out of the wagon.

There were several raids. Our wagon survived, although there were victims in other wagons. Finally, teams of NKVD and railway workers began to walk along the train, check the carriages, and crowd people from the broken carriages into the remaining ones. Not wanting to be thrown out of such a “good openwork” wagon from which you can get out, we repair it by lightly nailing boards and pulling the door up with a string. We tell the team that the wagon is good and strong, they believe it and leave us in this wagon.

Roś, Wołkowysk, June 1941

Source: Sybirak no. 7, Białystok 1992

Henryk Dzierżek, deported from Grodno in the province Białystok:

Our wagon is located approximately in the middle of the bridge. Sirens begin to sound in the city, announcing an air raid; steam locomotives also whistle. The incredible noise and the awareness that we are standing in the middle of a high bridge that may be bombed makes us panic. Regardless of anything, we kick down our “moving” doors and jump out onto the narrow bridge footbridge. The wagons are narrow, the railway bridge footbridge is narrow, the two-rod railing and the abyss into the river terrify women and children. That’s why my father and I jump out first and land the women and children on both sides. The scenery is terrible: the roar of sirens and steam locomotives, people screaming, running and pushing on the narrow bridge deck, and above us the spans of the bridge structure completely obscure the view; it is impossible to assess the situation either by sight or hearing.

In other carriages, their “passengers” break down the doors with axes, in still others the freed people unscrew the nuts and bolts from the outside and throw them into the river, freeing their companions. Panic is widespread and paralyzing. Busy in ambushing my companions, I don’t pay much attention to my surroundings, but at some point I notice that I am alone on the bridge and only people are running away in the distance. Now I am fully overcome with fear and, giving in to panic, I run like a frightened hare along the bridge. A cry reaches my ears. I look and see that a girl, maybe 12 years old, my friend’s sister, is sitting on the edge of one of the carriages, stretching out her arms and calling to me for help, afraid to jump down onto the bridge footbridge. Expecting an air attack at any moment, at first, in a panic, I pass her by, but after running a few steps I regain consciousness enough that my sense of duty overcomes my fear; I stop, go back and, not feeling the girl’s weight at all, I put her off the carriage onto the footbridge, shouting in her ear: “Run away from me!” and then I run along the bridge, and she follows me.

I run off the bridge into the meadow and a crowd is in front of me. The girl walks into the crowd and I stop to the side. The crowd shouts and storms the footbridge over the drainage ditch. At some point, due to the pressure of the crowd, the side railings of the footbridge break and people fall into the mud. Some people fall into the mud up to their waists and then “emerge” by lifting their muddy legs high. They are predominantly women. The sight for an 18-year-old young man was so shocking that I sobered up in an instant. Standing on the side, I start looking around; now nothing blocks my view of the sky. There are no planes, only human screams in the distance. Panic not justified!

I’m getting better. I see a crowd of people surrounded by NKVD members; I remain outside the cordon. I run into the houses – I’m free. I want to run away. The train starts and disappears across the river. A reflection comes to mind: in the crowd surrounded by NKVD fighters are my parents, they are 53 years old; they will take them to Siberia, where they will die; I may be needed by them. I’m going back to the crowd. I tell the NKVDs that I’m lost. To their surprise, they let me in behind the cordon. I’m looking for my parents.

Słonim area, June 1941

Source: Sybirak no. 7, Białystok 1992

Henryk Dzierżek, deported from Grodno in the province Białystok:

The NKVDs are driving us further. We come to the Słonim railway station, find “our” train and wagon. We get in and drive on. In the evening we arrive in front of the Baranowicze station. It’s already dark, the station is being bombed. The NKVDs let us get out of the wagons and take shelter in the ditches next to the tracks. Thems, with rifles ready to fire, lie a little further between the trees. There is no danger. The bombed station is located about 1 km from us. However, the view is truly beautiful. The streaks of five aircraft searchlights cut the sky with white lines. When they catch the [German] plane, everyone focuses on it. Numerous beads of white and red light projectiles rise from the ground, with white ones exploding. Streaks of light projectiles also flow from the plane towards the headlights. The spectacle lasts all night.

In the morning we pass through the Baranowicze station, which is significantly damaged. We continue to the northeast. Tired after a sleepless night, we fall asleep while driving.

At one point we are woken up by strong explosions and tremors; the train derails and stops. Explosions continue, the bark of machine guns can be heard. Without looking back, we run out of the wagon and fall into a ditch. The raid stops. Some wagons are burning, and there are no NKVD fighters in sight. We understand that they won’t take us any further.

We start saving our belongings. I enter the wagon and hand the belongings of all the deportees to my father, who is standing outside the wagon. Women take things further away from the track. Planes fly over from time to time. At a signal from outside, I jump out of the wagon and lie down in a ditch, and after the planes fly over, I enter the wagon again.

Finally, all the things were evacuated from the wagon, the last wooden trunk remained. It is very heavy. I moved to the door and waited for more people to collect the trunk. Suddenly there is a cry that an air raid is approaching. My trunk is blocking the door, the shouting is urgent. I stuff the trunk and throw it off the wagon. After he falls, a white opaque fog completely obscures my view. I jump blindly into the fog and fall knee-deep in… flour. There was flour in the trunk, and when it was broken, it created a cloud of opaque mist.

After the planes fly over, we move things away from the track towards the forest about 50 meters away. At one point, turning my eyes to the west, I noticed three horizontal lines low above the ground, growing thicker quickly. I understand that these are attack planes coming to attack us. After shouting at the surrounding people, I start running with them as fast as I can into the forest. When we reach the first trees, planes fly over. As we fell to the ground, the onboard machine guns barked and not very powerful bomb explosions were heard. Planes are attacking us from a low altitude.

After this attack, we start taking our things to the forest. We see that our wagon is already on fire, and the flour is burning in front of it. After taking our things to the forest, we spread out and rest. We see four NKVD soldiers carrying their dead comrade on an improvised stretcher. They don’t order us to do anything, but they say they will send cars for us; we don’t believe them. We stay in the forest for several hours.”

Slonim, Baranowicze, June 1941

Source: Sybirak no. 7, Białystok 1992