Palestine Diaries of a Polish Schoolgirl by Isabella Moore

Author:Isabella Moore
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Brown Dog Books and The Self-Publishing Partnership

As always to fight for the honour

The red poppies of Monte Cassino

Drank blood instead of the dew

Over the poppies the soldier perished

His anger was stronger than death

Years and centuries will pass

The traces of old days will remain

And all the poppies on Monte Cassino

Will turn crimson because of the shed Polish blood

They swooped through the fire

Not a few of them fell

Like those from Somosierra – madmen

Like those from Rokita – many years ago

They swooped with great impetus

And conquered, victorious at last

And the white and red flag

Was placed on the ruins in the clouds

Can you see that row of white crosses

There, the Polish men pledged to honour

Go forward…further…higher

Even more you will find under your feet

This ground to Poland belongs

Though Poland is a faraway land

The freedom is measured in crosses

When history repeats its mistakes’

31 st July 1944, Monday (somewhere between Nazareth and Lebanon)

So much has changed since yesterday. Most of all, I am with one rucksack, one haversack and a handbag, and of course, the teddy bear. We are leaving, noise and activity from the early morning. The Indian convoy brought us to the railway station in Haifa. It was great to be in the open-top car, the malarial patients team together.

But getting onto the train, that was something else. Crowds, hundreds of people. At last, I am sitting by the window and waiting for 6 pm when the train will start its journey to Beirut. The train started to move at 7 pm. Through the window I could see Haifa, disappearing in the distance, with the security balloons above it. I was mesmerised by the view. So many hours of travelling along the seacoast, the sea rough with waves hitting the land and roaring. The moon threw the reflections on the water which shimmered and shone. From time to time a cooler wind from the Mediterranean Sea brought the smells of water and fish. The rocks on the coast in places reached the water and there, the train had to enter a tunnel.

The journey wasn’t particularly pleasant, dark, stuffy and noisy. We arrived in Beirut at 2 am. The station was lit and we were given typical English tea at the NAAFI and the English, who were on duty, looked at us as if they had never seen anything like it. Some girls were saying that our three years of education were enough to be able to get a place at the famous Beirut University.

The girls fell asleep. I couldn’t. It was morning when I noticed that our train travelled through green and lush gardens, and when I noticed on the coast a large town – Tripoli. Towers, minarets, churches were seen well above the other buildings. The station wasn’t pleasant for such a town, with many Syrians and English. Lacking in sleep and exhausted, we boarded waiting cars. This time there was chaos, thankfully short-lived, as they only took us to the English camp where we could wash and have something to eat. They knew that we like potatoes, so they cooked an enormous amount and with great pride filled our mess tins.

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