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In Eastern Europe
”How does it feel to stand in front of a firing
squad ?” I asked the Vice-Chairman of the Polish
Red Cross who sat next to me in the car.
It was in the end of April, 1947, that I, on their
invitations had started a journey to Poland, Romania,
Hungary and Austria in order to contact the Red
Cross organizations and the governments of these
countries. We had flown from Stockholm to
Gdansk. When we flew over the Polish coast we
passed over a row of sunken warships in the bay
of Gdansk. We could see their rusty hulls awash
in heavy seas. At the entrance to Gdansk harbor
we saw the derelict German warship Gneisenau. I
suddenly remembered the time when, about twenty
five years ago, I last flew over Gdansk. At that time
I was a light-hearted young cavalry officer who, with
some comrades of my regiment, was on the way to
Zoppot where we spent a pleasant but hectic
weekend. Now I was on my way to new centers òf
devastation of the Second World War in countries
where, as far as could be judged, conditions were
anything but satisfactory. We landed in Gdansk,
according to reports fifty percent destroyed, where
the population made a sad and dreary impression.
With the Vice-Chairman of the Polish Red Cross
we continued by car to the Polish-Swedish refugee
home for children’in Dzierzazno.
165
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