For it’s Poland I love,
and Poland I will
To remain my home,
As long as the earth stands still.
The young man silenced the noisy bar. His melodic voice and playing amazed us all. We couldn’t understand the words, as only Hans spoke Polish, but he had entranced us nonetheless. I distinctly remember the looks on the faces of my comrades. Hans, Jürgen, and Gunter were all staring, mouths open, ears enraptured. Klaus shifted in his seat, uncomfortable at the silence. It wasn’t just the talent he displayed, but also the passion in the words, which Hans had translated for us. But the pianist was troubled by something. It was as if he knew hardship was near for the people of Poland. It was a moment of complete serenity.
Within a few years, all hell had broken loose. Hitler had taken over, and his fanaticism had enthralled millions. Our group had been broken, both physically and emotionally. Hans had fled to Britain with the rest of his family.
Jürgen, Günter, and I had been thrust unwillingly into Nazism. I became a medic and was able to avoid fighting. Jürgen and Günter were not so lucky. Günter had been sent to the concentration camps and was executed for cowardice when he was seen to have sympathy for the inmates. I heard later on from stories of survivors that Gunter had tried to sneak food to the smallest children and secretly wept whenever there were trainloads of people sent to Auschwitz. Eventually, he went too far. He tried to tackle an officer who had a gun trained on a frail, old woman. Gunter was shot. I cried when I heard the news. He had only tried to make