Second Lieutenant of the Reserve Zygmunt Glezner, born on 17 September 1911 in Warsaw, a roadway and construction technician by profession (Polish State Railways), married.
After crossing the border in Zawiasy, I was arrested and sent to the internee camp in Palanga and from there to Kalvarija in Lithuania. In 1940 I was deported to Russia. Forced to endure exceptionally difficult conditions, I and the other internees finally arrived in Kozelsk (USSR). The camp had been set up only recently and was located some 10 kilometers from the city of the same name, relatively close to a river, the name of which I don’t remember [annotation: the Żyzdra River]. The area was more hilly than flat, and sparsely forested – I seem to recollect that when passing the entrance to the camp, we walked between trees. Obviously, the whole camp was surrounded by a wire fence, with watchtowers at the corners. The buildings had once housed an Orthodox chapel or monastery; some were made of brick, and some of wood, however practically all required repairs and were infested with bugs. Only after we fixed them up ourselves, and also constructed bunk beds and repeatedly disinfected the place, did our living conditions become tolerable. There was a pump in close proximity, and this provided us with water for cooking and personal hygiene. Initially, there was only one primitive bath, which we were forced to use to both wash ourselves and do the laundry. Some time later, however, we readied a second bath, using it exclusively for washing; the first then functioned as a laundry. There were some 5,000 internees altogether: officers, officer cadets, privates and policemen. Generally speaking, these were intelligent people of a satisfactory moral caliber (a considerable number of men would go to confession, of course in secret), with relatively strong patriotic feelings; there were a few misfits, but they formed their own, numerically small groups. The largest was the group of the “reds” (that is what they were called), while I also heard of a few Ukrainian and Belorussian nationalists, and some German sympathizers who praised the strength and organization of our age-old enemy. Luckily, there weren’t many of them in total – at most one or two percent of the whole camp population. I must add, with considerable sadness, that the majority of the “reds” were officers. Most unfortunately, I don’t remember any surnames. Mutual relations were correct, however conversations on political issues with men from any of the smaller groupings would always lead to a heated exchange of words. Life in the camp was monotonous, for each day was similar to that before. We would be woken up at around seven (some got up earlier, while others later) and eat breakfast – kasha or herrings, and tea. We would spend the time till dinner reading books, learning foreign languages, playing chess, talking, or just walking about the camp. At around one o’clock we would be given dinner – usually fluffy or thickly-boiled kasha. Sometimes they gave us fried fish or a piece of meat. Indeed, our detention in the camp can be broken down into “food periods”. There was a period when we ate kasha, then there was the “cabbage period”, the “mangel-wurzel period”, and the “fish period” (the fish would be of various kinds). After dinner we would continue to pass the time, with the difference being that we would sometimes go to the kitchen to peel potatoes or gut fish. Following supper, which comprised tea and bread, we would take a walk. The day ended with taps. Sometimes, if I received a ticket, I would go to the cinema, which was located in the camp, or to a performance that we ourselves had organized. In order to give a complete picture, I must say that we would receive special ration packets containing tobacco, cigarette paper, matches, and sugar mixed with tea. Obviously, the quantities that we were given were small and never lasted until the next ration packets were handed out. In principle, we were not ordered to perform labor, occupying ourselves with maintenance work around the camp and assisting in the kitchen.
Each one of us was examined at least once by NKVD functionaries, and they were very interested in our life stories. In consequence of these examinations, certain number of our colleagues would be taken from the camp to unknown destinations. Thus, the population of our camp melted away, until – after nearly all the non-commissioned officers and policemen were deported to the Kola Peninsula (as I later learned) – only one half or so of us remained. A political indoctrinator was assigned to practically each living block, and his role was to disseminate communist propaganda, sound out our feelings, and generally to report on us to his superiors.
As regards medical care, it was organized more or less effectively. There was a hospital, and it was staffed by our doctors. The number of patients was relatively small, and – thank God – the mortality rate amongst them was low. There were a few instances of suicide, caused in all probability by our recent experiences, while some men lost control of themselves and went mad. Unfortunately, I don’t remember the surnames of the deceased.
Towards the end of November 1940, we were allowed to write letters to our families back home, and also receive return correspondence. Until the outbreak of the Russian-German war, nearly everyone managed to send and get at least a few letters, even though we were permitted to write only once a month. A few days after the aforementioned war started, we were transferred to Gryazovets. Life in this camp followed a rhythm similar to that in Kozelsk. It was situated nearly 15 kilometers from the train station of the same name, by a river (the name of which I don’t know) and near a forest, on slightly hilly land. In the main, the buildings were made of wood, but since they were few, we had to construct additional barracks. The food was worse than in Kozelsk, especially towards the end. Because our files accompanied us, only some of us were summoned for examination. Nearly all those from the “red” group were taken away in an unknown direction, and I have met not one of them to date. I heard that before their departure they signed declarations to the effect that they would assume Soviet citizenship.
On 29 August 1941, following the conclusion of the Polish-Soviet agreement, I reported to the Polish Army in the USSR and was soon summoned before a committee that had been established in the then former internee camp in Gryazovets. We left this township for Tatishchevo, where I began life as a Polish soldier.
Official stamp, 7 March 1943