Pregnant, Alicja had flown from London to Kracow to consult her dead father. An intense man, he’d been a Polish fighter pilot in the famous Kosciusko 303 squadron. After years in exile, the iron curtain had lifted, and he’d died in his beloved Kracow. Thoroughly English, Alicja was a stranger here. Yet, despite longing to be plain “Alice”, she still held onto the Polish spelling.
Strolling through Main Square, she didn’t see the oncoming tram. However, an invisible force shoved her to safety.
Somehow, she would stay.
Yet, could she?
Four years ago, I met Roland in our local bookshop. His father was a Polish bomber plot in WWII, and he came from near Kracow which somehow managed to survive the war without being bombed to smithereens. I have been helping Roland research his father’s story and being in distant Australia, I decided to visit Kracow via Google Earth the other night. It was exquisite. Have you been there? It’s definitely on my bucket list. an interesting aspect to this research is that my Great Great grandmother was born in what went on to become Poland and she was till alive when my mum was a child. I looked up the village she came from some time ago, and didn’t relate to it at all. Meanwhile, I am hoping to find a bakery which makes Makowiec (Poppy Seed Roll). Or, I might have to try baking it myself. Soon, I’ll have to start calling myself Rowski!
Meanwhile, I have recently started a second blog, where I’m exploring English-Australian novelist Ethel Turner, who wrote the classic “Seven Little Australians”. However, so far I’ve been showcasing some of her other writing. Here’s the link:
How are you? I hope you are doing well. This week, I’m able to offer you a slice of yellow sponge cake complete with jam, cream and fresh strawberries and blueberries. It’s all rather delectable, even if I did make it myself. Meanwhile, no doubt you’re wondering why it’s yellow. Well, I’d run out of cornflour and my husband had already does a lengthy trip to the shops, and so I used custard powder. It made a slightly difference to the taste, but it rose perfectly and the texture was fine, although with a few minutes less in the oven, it would’ve been perfect.
Well, yesterday marked three months in lockdown, and I’m pretty sure this week marked a turning point for people’s sanity. I won’t get into the details. Let’s just say there was tension in the air and it wasn’t just at our place. I sat in on a webinar with Sydney University and they’re saying that people have been feeling more tired during lockdown. That certain describes us. I’m feeling like a bear curled up snugly in its cave.
However, fortunately hope is in sight – what’s been heralded as “Freedom Day”. That’s set for the 11th of October – three weeks away. It’s going to be bigger than the end of WWII when the Dancing Man was photographed celebrating in Sydney’s Martin Place. Well, our beloved NSW State Premier Gladys is thankfully warning people no to go crazy, and the unvaccinated are in a league of their own unless they have medical exemption and the requirements for that are pretty stringent. The other thing our happy would be revellers might not have heard is that covid cases in our hospitals are still increasing and they’re expecting to reach capacity around the time we break out. It’s been challenging in the reporting of the covid crisis, but now more than ever we need to listen out to the small, quiet voice that’s asking questions and challenging the status quo. This could well be our scientific community. Someone with a more educated and informed opinion.
Anyway, I launched anew blog last week and I was actually intending to write a post from there this week, but I’ve had a major distraction which I’ll get onto shortly.
For a few weeks now, I’ve been mentioning my emerging obsession with English-Australian author, Ethel Turner, who is best known for her 1894 novel – Seven Little Australians. Well, I’ve been thinking about what to do with my research and how to progress it, and I decided to start off with a blog: Tea With Ethel Turner. Aside from having written these coffee share posts for about eight years, cups. f my grandmother’s had special, much treasured cupboards where they lovingly kept their “old ladies” as I think of them. Visitors were asked to choose a cup and family generally had their favourites and my dad’s mum used to point out who drank from what while I was choosing mine out. It was in its own way our own variation on the tea ceremony.
Anyway, having tea with Ethel Turner seems like a good idea. I can’t actually have tea at home with anyone outside the family atm unless there are compassionate circumstances, or I’m part of their singles bubble (which does apply to my 76 year of buddy, Roland). So, having tea with Ethel Turner at the moment isn’t quite as crazy as it sounds and at east it’s “allowed” within tightest interpretation of our covid restrictions.
So far, I’ve had two posts and a third is almost done. Here are the links and I’d really appreciate your support. It’s a bit daunting starting a new blog, when Beyond the Flow is up and running and it took quite a lot for it to start kicking over. However, I’m not starting from scratch in a way because hopefully it will attract some of my readers here.
So, here are the links:
As if I wasn’t researching enough with all of that, received a message which has taken me off to WWII and the escape of the Polish pilots into Romania, into France and into Britain. Four years ago, I met a Polish-English gentleman, Roland Chorazy, whose father Edward Chorazy, had been a bomber pilot during WWII. Roland and I met in our local independent bookshop where he was enquiring about books to research his father. As you know, I’m right into history research and have been researching WWI and we started to chat and agreed to meet for coffee. We’ve been having coffee once a week now virtually ever since.
Researching Roland’s father’s wartime service has been incredibly difficult. Firstly, there’s the usual thing of parents saying very little or not quite knowing how all the threads come together. In this instance, Poland was closed off for so many years and Roland wasn’t aught Polish growing up for this reason, and it was probably something that grieved his father deeply. There was obviously a point of no return under communism and finding a new home was the only option for a very long time.
So, already you have a research rift between Poland and Australia both in terms of language and communication. Then, it turns out that the Polish pilots service records in England are in Polish so future generations growing up in English-speaking countries can’t understand them. When you think about the outstanding contribution the Polish pilots made to the British war effort, this is obviously quite an oversight and a slap in the face.
However, thanks to the Internet, connections are being made. I have been contacted by a family who met Roland’s father while they were staying at a hotel in Blackpool, along with the best man at his wedding, Alojzy Dreja. He’s sent through a photo. Meanwhile, I found a post by an English woman whose mother had been friends with Alojzy Dreja and she posted a letter he’d written and two beautiful hand-painted cards. You can read her posts here: