ŁUKASZ SZPAKOWSKI


Rifleman Łukasz Szpakowski, born on 15 February 1913 in the village of Miesiatycze, Pinsk District, Lemieszewicze post office; farmer, bachelor.


The Soviets entered my village on the day they crossed the border. One of the residents reported to them that I had said that communism would be defeated and we would take back all of Ukraine. Then he said that I had walked under people’s windows with the police, spying on the communist party, that I was an informer and worked for the police and the Riflemen’s Association. I was summoned by a political commissar who looked at me and asked where I was when the Soviet army entered the occupied territories. I said I was at home. He asked me if I had served in the army.

Then, a crowd of people gathered around us and the political commissar told us: “The situation in our country is different than it used to be in Poland; here your lords used to put horse collars around your necks and make you plow the land.” He started mocking us: “We have dealt with those who prevented you from doing communist work.” He told some of my colleagues and me to leave, so we left. Then, they summoned us again every day and [illegible] “do you know these officers? We will give you a good job in our country and will pay you,” but I refused. One day, he gathered the entire village and said: “Maybe someone will tell us how it used to be in Poland; how your lords abused you.” One of the farmers replied: “I would love to live and die experiencing the justice we used to have here in Poland.” I remember that the political commissar then told him: “You unfaithful kulak.” The poor old man was arrested for what he had said and was beaten so badly that he was all covered in bruises when they let him go. If I remember correctly, his name was Jan Kaczanowski, 65 years old. Then a neighbor of mine, Stefan Patchowski, came forward and said: “He’s a friend of Łukasz Szpakowski.” The political commissar looked at me. That man looked like a bandit – he had a face covered in scars, and his surname was Kowalow.

I also remember the voting. When villagers refused to vote, they were locked up and beaten, just like cattle. I was also among these. I didn’t want to vote because I knew they had already chosen some [illegible], who had spent five years in prison in Poland for a robbery, and when the Soviets came, he said he was a political prisoner. All the farmers said reluctantly to each other: “There’ll be no order when thieves come to power.” I stayed there a few weeks more, hiding in the woods and haystacks, until 2 April 1940, when I was arrested at night. I went home to have some rest and warm myself inside. I went in, but I could not leave. When I was leaving, I heard a voice saying: “Freeze! Who’s there? You can’t leave the house. You’re under arrest! Put your hands in the air or I’ll shoot you.” I put my hands in the air; I had no choice. “Does Łukasz Szpakowski live here?” I had no other option than to say: “It’s me.” Then, he started reading out names [illegible] my arrest warrant, including the names of some of my friends, so I turned to my ten-year-old sister and I told her in Polish to go tell the friends whose names he had just read out. When my sister was trying to leave, without looking at us, the NKVD officer told her: “No one leaves here.” I asked my sister again to leave, but when she tried to do so, one of the criminals hit her with his rifle in the back and said: “I said no one leaves here.” This hurt me the most. When he then kicked my sister in the leg, I wanted to launch myself at him, but my father stopped me and said: “Leave it, maybe we’ll endure it.”

I was transported away together with my colleagues who were also arrested that night: Lieutenant Jakutowicz, Sergeant Jakutowicz, and Kaczanowski, the owner of a mill. We went on foot and they herded us like cattle. When we got tired, they beat us with rifle butts, saying: “You abused workers for 20 years, so now you’ll see what it’s like to work in our country.” They took us to some basement; there was water on the concrete floor, the windows were closed, so we couldn’t see anything; there were lice, cockroaches, bedbugs, mice. It was horrible; everything was dirty. They gave us water once a day. The conditions were unbearable.

From the dungeons at 84 Pułku Piechoty Street, we were transferred to the prison at Brzesko Street. During the transport, they ordered us to lie down on the floor of the wagon. We were not allowed to move. If you moved, you were kicked. They interrogated us every day. In the prison, I was interrogated by an NKVD officer called Vapapayev. He was a terrible man, resembling a chief of bandits. While interrogating prisoners, he kept a revolver over their head. He asked: “Tell me where the officers who organized the rebellion against the voting are.” I said nothing, so he gave an order to lock me in a cell. This went on for 20 days and I was placed in the punishment cell many times. I didn’t tell them anything. They asked me repeatedly: “Where is your gun?” I didn’t say anything because I had nothing to say, so they took me to the punishment cell. They kept me there for three days. On the third day, they came to me and beat me to make me confess.

From Pinsk, I was transported to Chervyen, located 65 kilometers from Minsk. I was placed in an old monastery. The conditions were difficult. Eighty people were locked in small cells, which could accommodate only 15 people, and if anyone said anything, they were locked in punishment cells and beaten. I stayed there until August. In August, I was sent to the prison in Minsk, where the conditions were ten times worse than in Chervyen – lice were eating people alive, we were extremely dirty, and there were scabies; it was just unbearable. In Minsk, I was sentenced by the Moscow Special Council to eight years of forced correctional labor. In Minsk, we were promised we would have great housing conditions, but in September, they transported as to labor camps, to the north, to the 11th otdeleniye, 11th colony. There was no medical assistance. Sick people were beaten and forced to work. If someone didn’t want to or wasn’t able to go, they set dogs on them, which made them go to work. They shouted: “You, Polish people will die here in the north.” This was the situation in the north. From the 11th otdeleniye, we were transferred further to the north, and we were ordered to go there on foot. They told us it wasn’t far away, only ten kilometers, but it turned out we walked for four days in the snow. There was a lot of snow (up to two meters) and we had to keep walking. If someone got tired and stopped, we never saw them again because the soldiers killed them. I know that one day a prisoner called Chmielewski was ordered to go and fetch some dry wood to make fire. He walked a few steps and was shot dead. After four days in such difficult conditions, we arrived at 9th otdeleniye, 175th colony. We were tired and they told us that we had to put up a tent. We had to level the snow and put up tents. We lived in difficult conditions: cold, hungry, sick, and dirty. In the camp, there were 350 Poles and a group of Russian thieves who ran the camp and paid [illegible], and so on. So the conditions were hard. All the time we heard: “You Poles will die.”

As for food, they gave us thin soup and bread; if you worked like a horse, you got 500 grams, and if you worked less or weren’t able to work, you were given 300 grams of bread and some soup once a day – they called it “penal food ration.” The clothes were poor: torn shoes, torn pants; we had to work half-naked and sleep in the same clothes. We had no blankets and nothing to cover ourselves with.

Other inmates told us all the time: “You Poles will die.” The NKVD carried out brutal interrogations – we were beaten, starved, locked in punishment cells, had water poured all over us, and we were ordered to stand in water. They treated Poles very badly. The communist propaganda was spread among us; they mocked us all the time, saying that we had not been able to rule and had lost the war with Germany. As for medical assistance, there was almost none. Sick people were sent to work. When someone said he was sick, they beat him and locked in a punishment cell. A lot of people died because of hunger, diseases and freezing temperatures. I don’t remember well the names of the deceased, but there were a lot of them.

We were not allowed to communicate with anyone. I remember that once one of the wardens came to us and said: “If you want to write letters to your families, you can.” So everyone started to write letters with pleasure. And what happened next? All the letters were found in the toilet of the soldiers’ commander. One of my colleagues told me that my family had been deported to Kazakhstan, to Akmolinsk Oblast.

I was released from the camp in the north on 1 September 1941. They were trying to persuade me to go and work for them, and were making it difficult for me to leave. After I was released, I went to Totskoye, and on 24 September I joined the army, the 19th Infantry Regiment, 1st Sapper Company.