In the winter of 1944, 1 of us died among the benches on the ground, hidden so that it was hard to know. The foaming SS kept camp at the assembly all night in the cold until any hood crawled under the bench and found a dead body...
We've been most bothered by boredom, cold and hunger. Food in the centre with every-day packages from our friends in Riga was a luxury!
There was a judaic barracks next to us. The most dangerous and most inhuman was the sight of the tortured Jews. The position of Poles was not good, even though we were mostly, but the situation of Jews was simply terrible: hangovers did not give them a minute of rest, tormented them and beat them to death! From our hungry portions to the Aryans they only got half, so they're dead too, like flies... While we were resting, the German, Ukrainian or Latvian sadists (our wachmans) tormented the Jews with exercises `` fall down!``, `` emergence up!`` or another frogs``, so that yet only 1 remained... I've never seen specified an exterminated man before!
There was a barracks on the side of the camp, where Germans were prisoners (they were besides in the camp!). erstwhile upon a time, I went through there, met a friend of M.W. from Grudziądz, the boy of a wealthy butcher. He gave me a sign, and we hid behind the barracks. I said,
- I'm sorry. Holy mother! What are you doing here?
- I'm sorry. You know the old man became Volksdeutsch? They took me to the Wehrmacht, and I ran off the front.
- I'm sorry. Then you were very lucky! A bullet to the head for desertion!
He admitted to me, of course. Here in his barracks, his father sent him a couple of sweet rollers, no work was in him... The Germans didn't even go to the appeal!
- I'm sorry. You must be hungry.
- I'm sorry. You're inactive asking?! - I was jealous of the sleepy German Phokstrota, as we called him at school.
- Wait, - he said... and after a while he brought me a thick, fat soup in a hot, deep plate. - Come all day. You will knock on the window (showed in which). Don't let the Germans see you!
You can imagine how I enjoyed this soup! I don't know... possibly it's him, and I'm certain it's Pietkiewicz's blacksmith, and I owe it to Stutthof that I survived.
