Ivan collected his winnings. We stayed around for a few more drinks, and then staggered and swayed back to where we’d left our horse and cart. We meandered home in the little light that was left. We woke up the next day feeling a little sore in the head. Over breakfast I gave the wooden cross to Marina to thank her and Ivan for everything they’d done for me. Marina was delighted and the cross was soon mounted in a suitable position in the kitchen.
We reached the middle of October 1944, and winter was getting closer by the day. The work on Ivan’s farm became heavier, we worked from early dawn to dusk, but Marina fed us well, and I began to get my strength back. In the evenings we listened to the radio. The Soviets were still pushing west, driving the Nazis back. Surely it wouldn’t be long before they crossed over the border into Slovakia to take what they needed for their war machine. There was a tension in the air as the three of us listened to the broadcasts.
A week or so later I was in the orchard after breakfast. I plucked an apple from a tree and pulled my pocket knife from my bag to cut slices from it. The crisp, sweet flesh just about dissolved in my mouth. It was a slice of Heaven.
Suddenly, there was the sound of an engine and the skid of rubber on dewy grass. I peered through the crack in the door and saw a Slovak police car parked outside the farmhouse. A pair of armed policemen jumped out and ran up to the door. Ivan was already there, ‘What is the problem, officers? How can I help you?’
One of them pushed past him and went into the farmhouse while the other looked Ivan up and down, ‘We’re looking for vagrants! Anyone who’s travelling without papers. We’ve been ordered to arrest them and keep them at the police station.’
‘Whose orders are those?’
‘That is not your concern! Now, have you seen any vagrants around?’
‘No . . .’
‘You don’t mind if we take a look around then?’
‘No . . . of course not . . .’
‘Good! We’ll need to conduct a thorough search of your land, just to be completely sure. Those are our orders.’
The other policeman came back out of the farmhouse and reported that he’d found nothing. The three of them turned and started walking towards the door to the orchard. I saw Ivan pointing in the opposite direction, but the policeman shook his head and continued towards me. I crept back from the door, turned and ran towards the far end of the orchard. I reached the biggest and tallest of the trees; the one with the densest foliage. I climbed like a cat, faster than I’d ever climbed. Until I was right at the top. I curled myself around one of the thicker branches and hid my face in some leaves, watching below me with just one eye. The door opened and I stayed still, not daring to breathe. The men marched up and down, and had a quick scout around. One of them kicked the apple I’d been eating. Ivan watched them. I saw him look up. I don’t know if he saw me.
The men marched out of the orchard, ordering Ivan to follow them. I waited a few minutes, and then I climbed down. With my heart beating hard, I hitched myself up onto the top of the wall and looked over. Ivan and the policemen were some way in the distance, heading towards the pastures. I saw Ivan look over his shoulder, back towards where I was, but he was too far away for me to see the expression on his face.
I didn’t understand why the policemen were rounding up people like me, vagrants as they called them. I feared it would not be a good reason. Most likely, they were planning to hand us all over to the Soviets to be used as fodder for their army. I didn’t want Ivan to get into trouble on my account either, so I knew what I had to do.
I plucked a few apples from the trees and put them in my bag. Then I climbed over the wall at the far end of the orchard, and I ran. Like I’d never run before. Right into the nearest area of woodland I could see. I concealed myself in between some trees and took some breaths. Then I turned and walked away from Ivan’s land, taking care to stay under cover, weaving myself into the landscape around me. I wondered if a day would ever come when I’d be able to stop running.
Chapter 10
Ukrainian proverb: God is looking for those who come to Him
From that point on, it was just me and my coat. I didn’t have much else. Ivan and Marina were good people and they’d saved me from Lord knows what fate. I whispered a blessing upon them as I walked, for them to stay safe from any harm should the Red Army arrive on their doorstep. Marina’s home cooking had filled me out again, and the farm work had strengthened me up. The land swallowed up my steps as I followed the river once again, with my coat pulled around me to keep out the cold.
Ivan had been like a father to me. I knew I’d miss him, but he was Theodore and Nikolai’s father, and they could return any day and in that circumstance, I may have been expected to leave anyway. In any event, from what we’d heard on the radio and from the recent visit by the Slovak police to the farmhouse, it sounded like the Soviets might not be too far away. I’d be horsemeat if they caught up with me. A Soviet citizen in German territory? Why hadn’t I volunteered to join the glorious Red Army as it advanced? That was just one of the many questions they’d ask me. Then there would be the terrors they’d inflict on me. I had to stay out of their reach. As far away from them as possible.
Of course, I also had the bag with me. Father’s bag, with the basic survival kit given to us by Sasha. I unfastened it, took out one of the apples I’d taken from the orchard, and crunched into it. There were about a dozen in there. I knew they wouldn’t last me long, so I ate it slowly. In one of my pockets was the wooden bracelet given to me by the young girl just as we were leaving Ukraine, I’d forgotten it was even there and when my fingers happened upon it, I wondered what it was. I pulled it out and held it up in front of me, and then I rubbed the beads between my fingers. It gave me a strange kind of comfort, and the girl was right, it gave me a connection with the land that was my home.
The nights were cold as I wandered westward. Once again, I was sleeping out in the open, beneath trees, in fields, getting shelter wherever I could find it, sometimes in an old abandoned barn. Most nights, I got a fire going, thanks to my observations of Father’s fire lighting skills. The fire kicked out heat, and I watched the flames dance in front of me as I tried to sleep. They hypnotised me, but it wasn’t enough to really keep me warm. By morning, I was like a block of ice. I swear I creaked because of the cold, and I stamped my feet, blew on my hands, and tried to keep moving. My stiff legs soon loosened up and I got a little warmer.
Days and nights passed. I don’t recall the name of the river that I walked beside, but it gave me hope, because where there is water, there is life. There were many others travelling along that same stretch of water, and, at times, I walked with them. Other times I was alone, but whether in company or alone, I stayed close to that river.
Every now and then, I got out my fishing line and a hook, and I’d find a spot where I couldn’t be seen. I’d sit, for as long as I could, trying to get a bite. I hooked one or two in, but I needed to be careful. There were many people around just like me. Hungry people who wouldn’t hesitate to whack you over the head to get whatever you’d got. I only fished where it was away from the main flow of people, and then roasted the fish slowly over a small fire, fanning the smoke towards the water. But there weren’t so many fish to be caught around that time, maybe they’d all swum off to a better place.
Within a week or so, my strength was waning. To exist like that, to try and survive on the road was so hard. On many occasions, I found myself stopping to rest my body and my aching heart. I’d been through so much and was still only a boy, just 17 years old. There were times when, after stopping to sit beneath a tree to ease the aching in my legs, I was unable to move again. I was in a strange state of paralysis, but it wasn’t because of a lack of physical ability to move myself, it was the clouds that were blowing around my head that rendered me lifeless. There was a storm inside me. My heart was crying, and my head was heavy. So many of my memories brought me pain, so much so that I had to keep trying to close the door
on them, but to shut them out was to deny who I was, and where I’d come from. I wrapped my coat around me and pulled my hat down over my face. I buried my face in the collar of that coat. It was as if I was trying to hide, like a creature with a shell, I wanted to curl up inside it, safe and warm, with nothing to worry me.
It was a terrible state to be in, and, at times, I wondered how much longer I might last. I could easily have just rolled into a ditch, closed my eyes, and gone into a good, long sleep, and never woken up again.
One morning, I stirred from a bitter autumn night, with my body screaming from the cold. I jumped up and tried to ignore my stomach’s noises. I thrust my hands in the pockets of my coat and made my way around a big curve in the river. The morning sun was dazzling me as I walked that bend, but it seemed different. It was more intense, but I paid it no heed, dismissing it as a quirk of Mother Nature, and I covered my brow with an arm as I walked on.
As I came around another bend onto a straight stretch of river, I walked into a blinding light. I stopped. It was too powerful. I sank down onto my knees, with my head bowed. The light was surrounding me. I didn’t understand what was happening. Then I heard a voice, ‘Stefan, stand up.’
As soon as these words were spoken, the glare of the light receded. I stood up, my legs wobbling a little. There was a man standing in front of me. He looked familiar.
‘Take my hands.’ He reached out to me.
I looked up at him. The light was fading, but still touching him somehow. I blinked a few times and I was able to see again. I held out my hands. As we connected, I felt a surge of something, a rush of belief, and a sense of life. I cast my eyes upon this person stood in front of me and I recognised him from a time before, from a time when I was still with Father. ‘Peter . . . is it really you?’
‘Yes, it’s me. Peter. Come and join us. There are many of us. We travel together, and we look out for each other.’ He squeezed my hands and I felt a surge of energy enter me. I followed him to an encampment close by. There was a fire still burning from the previous night and Peter sat me down next to it. I stared into the embers. All around me were Peter’s travelling companions. They were busying themselves with a variety of tasks. One of them, a middle aged woman dressed in a black skirt, grey cardigan and embroidered headscarf, came over to the fire and stacked a few small batons of wood against it. Flames soon licked onto them and the fire kicked back into life.
‘Hello Stefan, I’m Martha. Peter’s asked me to make you some breakfast, so I’ll heat some water and boil an egg for you. We’ve got some bread too, so that should fill you up and give you a good start to the day.’ She smiled at me. I smiled back, and it wasn’t too long before the food was ready. As soon as the plate was in front of me I shovelled it all down.
As soon as breakfast was done, the camp was packed up. There were 12 people with Peter, five men and six women, and then there was me. The group congregated around Peter to say a prayer, and I joined them. Then we started to walk. We headed towards the west, as I had before. It was a blustery morning and I pulled my collar right up and pulled my hat down tight. After a mile or so, I found myself at Peter’s side. ‘So, Stefan, what happened to your father?’
I hesitated and a lump formed in my throat. Peter seemed to sense this and put an arm around me. He led me to one side of the group as we walked. ‘He’s not with us any more, is he?’
‘N-no.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that. He was a good man.’
‘I miss him, and I miss my family. I don’t know what to do, or where to go. I’m heading for Germany, to stay out of reach of the Red Army, but I don’t know what I’ll find when I get there.’
‘Just do what you think is best. Follow your heart.’
‘Where are you all heading?’
‘I’ve travelled with these people for some time now. We pick up one or two strays such as you, and we help them find the right path. The one for them. Most of them are like you, escaping from the Soviets. They’ve all left their homes behind, not because they want to, but because they had no choice. Most of their lives, they’ve lived in fear of the Soviets. So, they run and they hide. Just like you.’
My cheeks burned as I spun away from Peter, ‘I don’t want to run anymore! I’m sick of running!’ He stood and looked at me, and I stared right back. ‘I’ve had enough of this, I’m going home!’ I turned around and headed in the opposite direction.
I took long strides and marched away, my head down and my arms swinging, but no matter how fast I walked, Peter was right there next to me. I was about to break into a run when he spoke to me once again, ‘Stefan, I know you’re angry, and you’re hurting, but I don’t really think you have any choice right now. Look.’ He pointed at the eastern horizon. It was glowing shades of red, orange and pink, and there were clouds of smoke dotted around. In fact, there were groups of big clouds above us, like giant balls of cotton. They were all racing away from the east as fast as they could.
‘It’s a war zone. You’ll never make it back home. All you can do is come with us, and then one day, when things have settled down, maybe you’ll be able to return.’
I stopped. In the distance I could hear a faint booming sound. Bombs ripping into towns and villages causing untold devastation and bringing death. Peter was right. To walk back home was to walk right into the heart of an apocalypse. I had no doubt in my mind, the eastern front was like a scene from Hell. I turned around once again, and it tormented me to do so, but Peter was there to guide me and we rejoined the rest of the group.
We walked through the days and the nights, just as I had done before with Father, and on my own. We scavenged from the land around us, although with it being autumn time, there was little to find. Somehow, by day we made progress, we crossed over into Czech territory. By the time the evenings came we were all ready to just wilt and drop. After several days of wandering, Peter turned towards me, ‘Stefan, can you catch us some fish?’
‘I can try.’ I dug out the fishing line and hook from my bag and headed to the bank of the river, with a bucket and a pocketful of worms. It was getting late and I didn’t think I’d get a catch. I squashed a worm onto my hook and cast my line, using a stick as a rod, just as I’d done when I was a boy. I sat down and gazed into the shimmering water but didn’t have much time to daydream before the line tightened and I grabbed the stick. I hauled in a big one. It was a beauty! I bashed it with a rock and laid it next to me, once it had stopped wriggling. I cast again. Before I’d even had time to sit back down again, I felt a pull on the line and I hauled in another one. It slid up the bank, wriggling like crazy, but I once I’d whacked it with the rock, it was still. That was two of them, lying at my side, plump and juicy. I had a mind to pack up then, thinking that two was more than I’d ever caught at one attempt, and so quickly, but, with so many of us, I felt obliged to try for another. Within the next half an hour I caught another three! I had to blink at the sight of those five fish tails sticking out of the top of the bucket. Maybe I was dreaming. I hauled the bucket back to the small camp that Peter and the others had made. It was getting late, the sun had just about set, and I was grateful for the fire that Peter had built, it guided me.
‘Bless my soul, look what the boy’s brought back for us!’ Martha approached me and took the bucket. She prepared the fish and roasted them over the fire. I sat down, and several of the others said ‘well done’ and ‘thank you’ to me.
It wasn’t long before the fish were cooked and then, somehow, from nowhere, Peter produced two small loaves of bread. We all ate well that evening. It was a blessing from the Lord above, I have no doubt about that. That night we slept with full bellies.
The next day, we walked on. The days flew by. We stuck together and we fed on what we could find. There was little. I tried to catch more fish, but wasn’t so successful. Winter was almost upon us and there were less of them around.
We headed north west, hoping to stay away from any trouble and from the bombs that were flying back a
nd forth. Somehow, Peter navigated us through, until we were deeper inside Czech territory. We managed to stay ahead of the advancing Soviets and out of sight of any Nazis that were around.
And so, the winter came, and the days were shrouded in darkness. The nights were so cold. We spent long hours huddled around a fire. Somehow, Peter always managed to find firewood, and many times I’d wake up in the middle of the night and see him stacking more logs against it to keep it going. I wondered if he ever slept.
At that time, we were approaching the border into Germany, that’s what Peter told us anyway and we had no reason to disbelieve him. I wondered what would become of us once we crossed that border.
By this time, it must have been close to Christmas. I know this because the prayers that Peter chose when he led us in worship were all about the birth of Christ. The time of our Lord was close, and we needed to be faithful to him, no matter what happened to us. Our Lord guided us, I was sure of that, through those bleak winter days, when it got so cold, we sometimes woke up frozen solid and glued to the ground beneath us. Because there were many of us, we huddled together for warmth, and we collected whatever we could find to keep us warm, mainly sticks to build fires. It was a bitter winter and we spent much of our time huddled around a fire, taking the opportunity, whenever we could, of any brief bursts of sun and good weather to walk a few miles further.
In my head, and in my heart, I struggled to answer questions that were consuming me. In the sky, clouds loomed over me, and I felt suffocated by them, as if they were stopping something inside me. I followed Peter and his group, all the while as if I were walking through a fog, but, there was no fog, only the one which swirled inside me. My coat wrapped itself around me, it comforted me, and kept me warm, until such a time came when I found myself unfastening the top two buttons and folding down the collar. It was getting a little warmer and the days began to stretch in length, we had more light. I hoped the worst of the winter was over.