A Polish Doctor in the Nazi Camps: My Mother's Memories of Imprisonment, Immigration, and a Life Remade by Barbara Rylko-Bauer

Author:Barbara Rylko-Bauer [Rylko-Bauer, Barbara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: University of Oklahoma Press
Published: 2014-02-24T00:00:00+00:00

14

Flossenbürg and the End of War

JADZIA REMAINED BEHIND IN FLOSSENBÜRG, locked up in the condemned prisoners’ section of the camp. “There were these separate buildings for prisoners who were being punished. They called the cells Bunkers in German. When they first put me into this very small, windowless cell, all alone, with no idea what was happening, I thought this was to be my fate. I was sure they were going to kill me.”

The Flossenbürg concentration camp had a detention block of forty cells where prisoners were kept in solitary confinement for days, usually with little or no food, before being executed. The SS ordered many executions at Flossenbürg, often by hanging, and especially in the last months of the war. Jadzia, understandably, was disoriented and terrified. But one aspect of her detention did not quite fit with the notion that she awaited execution:

“What puzzled me from the start was that I was fed quite well. Someone would bring my meals on a metal tray, which they would slide in through a narrow slot near the bottom of the locked door. When I was through eating, I would leave the dirty tray by the door, and at the next mealtime, it would be taken away and another tray of food slid in its place. No one ever opened the door or came into my cell. I don’t remember what I was given to eat, but it was regular food, even vegetables, and plenty to drink.”

With each passing day, Jadzia began to hope that she would be allowed to live. She rested and ate regularly, slowly recovering her strength and becoming more aware of her surroundings.

“Then, one day, much to my surprise, I found a small slip of paper with a message tucked under my bowl, assuring me that everything would turn out all right, that I was not to worry, not to be afraid. I was being sent to a different camp where things would be better for me. After I got this anonymous message, I calmed down a bit.”

Listening to my mother describe this turn of events, I thought how terrible it must have been, after all the ordeals, to end up in solitary confinement. I must have made some remark to this effect, for once again my mother surprised me with her response:

“Not really. Once I realized that nothing bad was going to happen, it was okay. Well . . . of course, you couldn’t leave. But I had everything I needed. It was quite elegant, actually,” she added, with a grin.

“The Bunker was small, but it had a real toilet and a sink, so I could wash up. And a single wooden bed. I wasn’t being herded along with the others to the outdoor communal toilets. I had my own clean bed and blanket. So compared to what I had been through, it could have been much worse.”

Then, naively, I asked my mother how she had spent the days, whether someone let her out daily for a walk.

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