Warsaw Uprising 75th Anniversary - Day Two

Day Two of my father's visit. The fourth year in a row now that he's flying over for the commemorations, each year is essentially similar but slightly different. The main difference this year is that there's no Sunday in the week's calendar, so my father is missing his weekly Mass. His unit, Batalion Odwet, celebrated Mass together on the morning of Sunday 28 July as he was on his way to Heathrow with my daughter (driven there carefully by Cousin Hoavis). We fly back on Saturday 3 August, so no Sunday Mass in Warsaw this year.

We arrive an hour and fifteen minutes ahead of the big event outside the Warsaw Uprising Museum, during which Poland's president Andrzej Duda presents medals and awards - an important but not too symbolic occasion, though at a highly symbolic location. To get the best seats, one must be early! I can hear around me people talking French, German and English; veterans and their families have come a long way to be here for the 75th anniversary.

The president arrives. The military band strikes up the Polish national anthem. We stand to attention, the soldiers salute. I wonder what is going through my father's mind as the band plays...

A few words from the president of Poland (below left) and the president of Warsaw (below right). Then a great many people coming forward to receive medals.

The ceremony, around an hour and 45 minutes long, is somewhat longer than it should have been given the summer heat and the fact that most of the honoured guests are nonagenarians. The speeches etc come to an end and the crowds make a bee line for the buffet.

Left: the volunteers and scouts are all very helpful. Before long, my father has a solid plate of food in front of him - braised pork, boiled potatoes, surówka and bigos. Something is missing though... A volunteer asks my father whether he'd like something to drink. Water - fruit juice, maybe? "No." he replies. "I'd like a beer." "I'm sorry, we haven't any beer..."

My father eats up his food and we set ofp down ulica Grzybowska - the part of Warsaw he spent the first six years of his life, past Plac Grzybowski and the church where he was christened, and to the iconic PASTa building, a central battleground in the Uprising. Down in the basement, there's a craft beer bar called Piętro Niżej (which boasts 160 different beers).

Here I buy my father a beer that really takes his fancy; it's called Relaks Pils, and its from the Zodiak brewery, slightly sour, quite bitter and served cold, the very thing to quench a summer's thirst. Moni joins us, and we pop by my office, from where my father can look down upon the massive building works that are going on all over Warsaw. The city is unimaginably different to the one he left at the end of the Uprising.

We have passed so many construction sites, around Rondo Daszyńskiego, along ulica Grzybowska, south of my office - as we did so, my father's eyes would gaze upwards at the new buildings - the Hub, the Spinnaker, Mennica Legacy Tower, and marvel at Warsaw's phenomenal progress.

UPDATE: My father and I had just finished dinner at our hotel and were on our way back up to our rooms when we intercepted by two lady volunteers who wanted a chat with my father about his Uprising memories. Once my father started recounting his story, he continued for over an hour and a quarter. Another volunteer, a young lad, joined us, and my father kept recalling new details that I've never heard about (and well-known facts too). Such clarity of mind - he suddenly became about 20 years younger - and his listeners didn't want him to finish or go, kept on asking more questions. We felt like we were all there, in Warsaw, 75 years ago.

The two-hour-long interview my father gave to camera yesterday for Muzeum Powstania lacked the spontaneity and warmth of this evening's impromptu event. It might have been aided by a small bottle of Żywiec Przeniczny.

One episode I never heard before I'll share: my father was recounting the final days of the war, when the Germans were herding prisoners-of-war and forced labourers away from the advancing allied forces. My father said he saw a narrow-gauge train heading south, a loco hauling tipper wagons, the sort used to convey ballast or building materials. As the train approached its destination (Westertimke), it stopped, and Germans hurriedly started running down the length of the train, getting the wagons to tip out their loads sideways beside the track. The load was human beings. These were forced labourers from a penal camp, barely alive, almost naked, tumbling out onto the ground. My father noted that even in these, the very last days of the war, the Germans had not lost their inhumanity.

This time last year:
Karczunkowska viaduct takes shape

This time two years ago:
My father's return to Warsaw, 2017

This time three years ago:
My father's first visit to Warsaw in 40 years

This time four years ago:
What's worse - unemployment, or a badly-paid job?

This time five years ago:
A return to Liverpool

This time seven years ago:
Too good to last (anyone remember OLT Express airline?)

This time eight years ago:
Poland's Baltic coast as a holiday destination

This time ten years ago:
The Warsaw they fought and died for?

This time 12 years ago:
Floods, rainbows and hope