Z szuflady Ali tym razem:-)

Dziadek Stefan z małą ciocią Jadzią.

Chłopcy z ferajny:-)

Józio: "Dziadek Stefcio,to ten,co przycina na organkach"...

Dziadek w niewoli.

W obozie jenieckim.

mały nieznajomy cd;-)

Niewiasty plus nieznajomy...

Józio: "Obok babci,po lewej i prawej,Basia i Jadzia,ta druga pani to siostra babci z Ciechanowa ,pozostałej dwójki nie rozpoznaję....niestety"...

Retro party

Opis Józia: "Impreza u p.Makiełów,Wrocław,lata pięćdziesiąte,serdeczni przyjaciele dziadków/mieli taxi!!!!!!!!!!!!/"...

Znaleziska z szuflady Małgosi...

Puszczenie w obieg linku z moim projektowym blogiem nadało mu automatycznie drugie życie, o które postarała się Małgosia, z sukcesem przekopując szuflady, pudelka, albumy z rodzinnymi fotografiami. Oto pokłosie tych przeszukiwań:-)

Story

My grandfather Stefan with his wife Józefa use to live in Wrocław, it was far away from Olsztyn, where I always have lived with my parents. From that reason, there is not much personal stories which I remember myself about them. But, there is one, connected with grandfather Stefan's wife.
When I was a small child she use to come to us every holiday. In the evening she use to tell me fairy tales. What was surprising, they were not usual children stories, but they were poems.

I remember one about children waiting for theirs father - the merchant, who left home, looking for better job and money, because they were getting really poor. From the time he left, every evening they were going to the cross road of the field-paths, where was standing the cross. They use to pray there to God, to bring theirs father home safely and healthy. In the same area, there was living a very terrible robbers gang with the Boss. They were killing and robbing all lonely wanderers in the area, and even all villages around.

One day when the children as usually were praying on the cross roads - they saw the father coming back on the rich cart, with the servants. When he came closer to his happy children - the robbers gang jump from the bushes, wanted to take all the goods he brought with him, and kill him. But, the Boos of the gang said: we never live our victims alive, but while we were waiting here, we have heard the children's prayers - that's why we let you go. I just ask your children , to come here one more time to pray for my soul...

What surprising and what interesting - my grandmother was really simple person, not well educated. She just manage to finish 4 years of village primary school before the war. But the fairy tale about "The Robber" I've discovered once again almost 10 years later - when I was learning at school about the most famous polish poet Adam Mickiewicz. I've discovered, that my grandmother was telling me his ballads. She had so many of them in her memory - she didn't even read and write well...but she use the big poetry as something natural.

Z rodzinką...

Na zdjęciu w pierwszym rzędzie od lewej: ciocia Wanda, Andrzej, dziadek Stefan, Ala córka ciotki Jadwigi, Józio.
U góry: ciocia Barbara, ciocia Jadwiga, babcia Józefa.

Informacja o powrocie na terytorium Polski

Dziadka zwolniono z obozu 27 listopada 1945 roku. Granicę Polską przekroczył 1 grudnia, w Szczecinie.