July 12, 2001
Today we all went to tour the places where my Opa & Oma were born & raised. This was a noble task since we are in a strange land and have no skills in the Polish language. In our troupe are my Mom & Dad; Rita, Tyler, David, Erich; Henning & Anne Dahlem; Kristina West; Me & Michelle.
To properly understand the following, it would be helpful to bone up a bit on the history of Poland, East Prussia, Germany, WW II and how Europe was divided up after the war. In a nutshell, this area was German when Oma & Opa were born. After WW II it was given to the Poles so it is now Polish. Reading Omas book Looking Back would be very helpful as well. All the old German city names have been replaced by Polish ones although a lot of them sound nearly the same.
We started out after a good breakfast at the hotel Murat in Reda, Poland and drove through Gdansk on our way to the region where Bruno & Annemarie Bliwernitz came from. We promptly got lost in Gdansk and then were diverted due to recent flooding and road closures. Somehow we found our way near the highway we were looking for but had to take a very narrow path along the highway in order to get on the highway. This was quite scary as many cars and trucks in both directions were crammed onto that little pig-trail of a road. This little road was dubbed the Twinkie Road by Michelle since traversing it tended to make one want to poop Twinkies. We somehow managed to get back on the highway (A6) and continued south to Tzchew.
After turning East on Hwy 22 towards Elbing, Dad thought that we needed to go south along the river Wista to Zugdam. We drove about 10 km before realizing that we were in the wrong spot. It was not in vein though as we did have a pleasant meeting with a cow and met some of the locals who had no idea what we were talking about. We first asked some men working in a church graveyard about Suchy Dab which is the new Polish name for Zugdam. They pointed on the map to a point way North which eventually turned out to be correct. We also got some help from a man in a nearby house who spoke German and was very interested in helping us.
Alas we took a hard look at the Polish map and lo and behold we found Suchy Dab right where the Polish gravediggers said it was. Since it was back towards Danzig we decided to press on to Marienbug, Budisch and then catch Suchy Dab on our way back to the hotel in Reda.
We entered Marienburg from the west and could see the Castle Mahrlbork, as it is now called, from the bridge crossing the river. My Oma and Opa were married in a Mennonite church in Marienburg but the fate of that church is unknown and needs a little research thrown at it. Dad pointed out that he was born in a house next to the river directly across from the castle/fort. The little town was called Kaminke. The name has now changed and the house is long since gone.
We toured the castle which has a great history but all of it is denoted in Polish so it was difficult to take it all in. The post war restoration seems a bit shoddy as if it were performed on a tight budget, which is more than likely the case.
After the castle tour we pressed on further east on 22 until the turnoff towards Kryzanowo and Budisz. As we drove, Dad reminisced about walking those 10 km many times and wondering how much longer? The road is quite scenic with trees lining the roadside as it passes through the fields of mostly wheat and sugar beets. Eventually we came upon a big farmhouse on the left that Dad immediately recognized as that formerly owned by Otto Kline who was married to Omas sister (I am not sure which one). Dad lived and worked on this farm for approximately a year when he was 10 years old. Dad even remembered a tree on the right side of the driveway that has a split/dual trunk.
We stopped and shot a few photos after which a young man with thick glasses, about 16 or 18 years old came out as he chased his dachshund that was barking ferociously at us, the intruders. The dogs name was Caesar. I approached the boy to find that he spoke very little German and even less English. I mentioned the name Otto Klein which prompted a reaction from him as if to say Oh yeah! Ive heard that name before! Somehow I managed to convey that my family once worked this farm upon which he retrieved his apparent mother who was working a weed-eater in the garden. Her language skills were no better but she did invite us in for tea judging by her hand signals. We declined and then it appeared that the boy went in the house to summon somebody else. In the mean time an older man, possibly the grandfather, drove into the farm on a tractor and then came out to greet us. He smiled to reveal a toothless grin and bright blue eyes. He shook our hands and offered some words we did not understand. The boy returned and motioned up the road as if he were waiting for someone. All we could figure is that he had phoned someone who spoke English or German. We waited as long as we could but had to move on. I wish we could have hung on a bit longer as we desperately needed an interpreter here and in the places to follow.
A bit further south we came upon a dirt crossroad marked with crucifix on the NE corner. Dad instantly recognized the spot and we turned left (east). The crucifix stood on the former site of the blacksmith shop. The building/house on the right was the former schoolhouse in the area and just a few yards beyond on the left was Omas birthplace. Omas homestead is distinguished by a small pond in front, a small house (not original) to the right and a barn in the rear that Dad thought to be original.
A stocky man in his 30s or so emerged to meet our van. Dad and I got out and Dad started to talk a bit. I wanted to shoot some photos again but as soon as my camera came out the man withdrew and signaled for us to leave. We backed out without being able to give the slightest hint of who we were and what we were doing there. Dad noted how dreary and dilapidated the farm had become. If the current occupants only knew a trifle of the story of how Oma and her family lived there and worked the land, they would be amazed. In the end, we struck out here.big time.
We made our way back to the tiny crossroad marked by the crucifix. Dad pointed out that the site on the NW corner of the intersection was where Oma and Opa celebrated their wedding back on July 25, 19??. It was also the site of a big celebration for Omas parents 50th wedding anniversary. The area is now just a grassy patch of no great significance. The SW corner of the intersection is a wheat field with a small rectangle of trees/shrubs marked with what seems to be a cross on a pole. This small patch is a cemetery even though it is overgrown to the point of being un-identifiable. We elected not to investigate for four reasons: 1) because Mom said that there were no identifiable gravestones, 2) we did not want to trample the wheat fields, 3) we were already on pins and needles after our hasty exit from Omas farmhouse and, 4) Dad was getting antsy and wanted to get out of there.
We departed to the south and noted that just a few km past the aforementioned intersection is the remains of a windmill that was used to grind wheat and squeeze sugar out of the beets. Dad remembered his fascination with all the wooden cogs and gears in the mill and what a treat it was to watch it in action. A few km to the south we turned NW back to Marienburg.
So off we went heading back to Marienburg, Tschew and north towards Danzig. We made a stop for lunch just a bit North of Tschew. The place looked closed but our brave Kristina found someone to let us in and soon we had cold beers and the grill was fired up. We feasted on some really good soup, authentic Polish sausage, pizza and other goodies. We probably gave this little place more business than they usually see in a week. I think the bill was $25 or so for the 11 of us.
Suchy Dab was the next stop and is easy to find about 10 to 15 km east of A6 about half way from Tschew to Danzig. Using my Uncle Freds narrative from 1990 we eventually found Opas homestead and old farmhouse rather easily.pass the church, cross the river, turn right (south) and the house is immediately to your left. It was quite run down and unkempt. While we snapped photos a group of teenagers across the street in front of a small store were saying things to us in Polish that we assumed, from their expressions, were not friendly. Rita took a picture of the group, which prompted some obscene hand gestures that needed no interpretation. Why these guys were so intolerant of us is beyond me. A kindly old white haired gentleman soon approached us and spoke German. He had retired to Suchy Dab 25 years earlier with his Polish wife. He knew little or nothing about the Bliwernitz family but informed us that the farmhouse was occupied by a young couple and would soon be demolished, as there was no money to repair it. As we spoke to the man the hoodlums across the street started to throw stones at our feet so, again, it was time to get out of there.
We went back across the river to the church that once held a graveyard with our ancestors. There was no trace of any headstones or the obelisk that Uncle Fred had noted 10 years earlier on the Northeast corner of the church. Fred said that the obelisk was 15 meters from the church which would have put it under the neighboring house, There was ~25 foot square flower bed on the SE corner of the church that could have been a graveyard but still no headstones to be found. The church entry was bricked over; a side entry was locked. The church bell was removed and hung from a makeshift tripod in the middle of the grounds. The two-story building to the south looked lived in but no one was home. Five or six cats guarded the grounds in a crouched position. We took pictures and I saved a small piece of brick as a memento. As we left I attempted to ring that bell for whatever reason. Once again we were denied satisfaction as the mechanism was rusted and had locked up.
In spite of all the obstacles, our little foray into our family history was well worth the effort. The negative reception by some of our hosts was overshadowed by the thrill knowing that we were walking the same grounds as my grandparents, great-grandparents and great-great grandparents. Our visit also gave us a physical backdrop by which to re-read Omas book and to breath new life into her colorful words and elegant narration. I would love to translate her words into Polish to allow these people to learn what went on before this region was torn apart by war. Finally, we also discovered opportunities to find more information and to continue to build our great family history.
Ron Bliwernitz
July 2001
