The Liberation of Oflag VII-A in Murnau, Germany

I was born April 29, 1983. I’ll start this story 44 years earlier though, when both of my grandfathers became prisoners of the Nazis. Konrad and Kazimierz, were officers in the Polish army. They knew each other from officer’s school and both fought in the September Campaign when Poland was overrun by the Nazi Blitzkrieg from the west and the Soviet invasion from the east. Kazimierz fought in the south of Poland where his unit took a number of German prisoners but was forced to surrender when their ammunition ran low. Konrad defended the Poniatowski Bridge in Warsaw as the Luftwaffe bombed the capital and was taken prisoner when the city finally capitulated on September 28, 1939. By coincidence the two were taken to the same P.O.W. camp in Murnau, Germany, officially known as Oflag VII-A.

The camp was meant to serve as a showpiece for the Nazis to demonstrate that prisoners were treated well, so conditions in the camp were bearable. What must have been unbearable was for young men in the prime of their lives to be held as captives, while their brothers in arms fought and died for a free Poland as part of the Allied armies and the Polish underground. They would also eventually learn of the fate of their friends and fellow officers, 22,000 of whom were murdered by the Soviet secret police, the NKVD, in 1940, also known as the Katyn massacre. Ironically, my grandfathers were “lucky” to have been taken prisoner by the Nazis, otherwise they would have surely perished.

On the morning of April 29, 1945 shots rang out, outside the gates. An American tank was moving down the road in front of the camp. Coming from the opposite direction a black sedan ominously neared the camp gates. A brief firefight broke out and the sedan was destroyed and its Nazi occupants were killed or captured. The day of liberation had arrived at last! The saviors were a unit of the 101st Cavalry, part of Patton’s 3rd Army. As the camp gates were opened and the Polish officers rushed out to meet the Americans, my grandfather Konrad handed his officer’s dagger in gratitude to the first soldier that he saw. After nearly six years the men were free. The euphoria was short-lived however once the realization set in that Poland was still far from freedom. She would be held captive for close to half a century as the Nazi nightmare made way for the Communist stranglehold. Light still managed to pierce the darkness as countless Poles sought true freedom, well beyond the familiar borders of home. On April 29, 1983, I was born in Redwood City, California, 38 years to the day after my grandfathers were brought into a new world of their own. As a first generation American I’ve reaped the benefits of the sacrifices of my grandparents  and parents. Their selflessness gave me the chance to go to college and get a degree in history, to go to grad school, to travel, and to learn about my Polish heritage.

I’m about as old as my grandfathers were when they were freed from captivity. How different their lives were from mine, so challenging, so many friends lost. It’s deeply humbling to reflect on the struggles of generations past.