Some 75th Anniversary reflections

People like to bask in the reflected glory of others, none more than politicians. It struck many of us, the ageing children of elderly veterans, as we made our way to our places at the main commemorations, that the seats at the front were not for the brave warriors of 1944, but for Party and Government. Behind the great and the good, roped off and protected by a cordon of security men in suits and dark glasses, sat the nonagenarian veterans, most in wheelchairs. Few of them could see over the heads of ministers, under-secretaries of state and other senior functionaries sitting with their backs to the very people they claim to be paying tribute to.

Mobile phone clamped to the ear, briefcase in the other hand, they paraded importantly to the fore as Mass began. Then came the speeches, praising the veterans fulsomely; speeches written with an eye on the forthcoming election campaign. Because the main events were attended by the president and/or the prime minister, airport-style security screening was deployed - entirely understandable - but the toilet facilities were placed outside the scanners and body-search stations. Each visit to the loo required a scan before being allowed back in. And this event lasted four hours. And the real guests of honour were in their nineties.

Everything dragged on. A novelty (introduced I believe for the centenary of Poland regaining independence last November) is the singing of all four verses of the Polish national anthem, each one followed by the chorus repeated twice. Including that rather dumb second verse about Poland learning from Bonaparte's example how to to triumph. Extending the Polish national anthem in this way, to my mind, dilutes its impact - it is a vastly more stirring tune than the placid, stately God Save The Queen. But once you've sung złaczym się z narodem for the eighth time, that initial emotional punch has gone out of it. For me, it was best done on the morning of 1 August at the 'Monter' wreath-laying ceremony on ulica Filtrowa - baczność! one verse, one chorus - spocznij.

The wreath-laying at the Uprising memorial was intensely long. Wreathes were laid by "just about everyone with a vested interest in the status quo", to quote from Life of Brian. As yet another group of functionaries laid their wreath, the veterans had reached the limits of their endurance, having sat on one place for well over three hours for the Mass, followed by the roll-call of the dead, followed by the wreath-laying. One by one, they were wheeled out to awaiting transport. Because everything had gone on so long, they were no longer able to stay for the communal song-singing which is said to be the real high-point of the event, held on the eve of Uprising. It's clear that whoever organised it was thinking about the needs of high officialdom before that of the veterans.

Similarly with the Gloria Victis event at Powązki wojskowe cemetery on 1 August. My father has never been able to actually see this in any of the four occasions at which he's been present. We all stand to attention at Godzina 'W', listening to the sirens, staring at the tall trees that surround the monument, but unable to hear or see the actual ceremony. My father was finally able to catch it on the 11pm news back in his hotel room. Party politics prevail.

But once the politicians and the functionaries and the pamphleteers had all departed, the evening turned sublime. The low evening sun filtered through the trees, the candles lit the graves of the fallen, families with a real sense of belonging walked from grave to grave to remember grandparents, great-grandparents, uncles and aunts; this was our time, the time of those who really own the Uprising commemorations. Those who were there, whose families where there, who experienced it first hand, those who, like me, heard about the Uprising in their earliest childhood, from one who was there.

This was the culminating moment of the whole anniversary for my father, the 90 minutes or so in which children, young adults, older folk, scouts, soldiers and civilians all thronged around him to shake his hand, to thank him, to present him with flowers and home-made cards - spontaneous, human, heartfelt. It was beautiful.

A huge thank-you to the Warsaw Uprising Museum and the City of Warsaw for organising and paying for my father's flight over to Poland, and paying for our hotel rooms and free taxi travel around the city. But please, in future, whoever is organising the big events - remember who they are about.

This time last year:
In praise of Polish mineral waters

This time two years ago:
Going back to my roots - Mogielnica

This time three years ago:
My father's walk around Jeziorki

This time five years ago:
What's the Polish for 'sustainability'?

This time seven years ago:
Last chance to see Amber Gold's billboards in Warsaw

This time eight years ago:
The Twilight Rambler