[Based on a dream I had on the morning of Wednesday 27 February 2024. Note to railway enthusiasts – this isn't a work of fiction, nor is it a work of history. It's the retelling of a dream; I've done zero research on the topic, so please – no comments saying that this or that isn't authentic.]
Mieczysław Mikorski (1889-1970) was the engineer-general of Polish state railways (PKP) before World War II, a position he held from 1936 to the outbreak of war. Deported by the NKVD to the far north of Russia in 1940, he was put to work by the Soviets on designing and building a railway network inside the Arctic Circle. He was released as part of the 'amnesty' negotiated between Churchill and Stalin after the Nazi invasion of the USSR, though after his wife and both daughters died of typhoid fever, a tragedy that stayed with him always.
In the Middle East with General Anders' army, Mikorski's talents were deployed by Allied forces there and later in Italy; he was engaged with the Royal Engineers supervising the laying of narrow-gauge tracks laid up towards the front lines to deliver ammunition and supplies. He was promoted and decorated. He ended up in London after the war, on a decent War Office pension, and with the gold coins he'd smuggled in from Egypt, he managed to buy himself a large apartment on the second floor in Hepton Mansions, just off Kensington High Street.
Unable to find suitable full-time employment because of his age, he accepted work as a waiter in an exclusive French restaurant in Knightsbridge. He was perfect at the job. With some customers, he'd silently and efficiently take orders and deliver the meals and the wine; with others, he shine with affected bonhomie and wit. The tips were always significant. British aristocrats loved his pre-war mannerisms; he became a permanent fixture at the restaurant.
One Christmas, walking home, he passed the shop window of Derry & Tom's, and paused to look at a model railway, a miniature steam engine pulling carriages across a snowy model landscape. The next day, he popped in and spent an inordinate amount buying track, a transformer, a couple of engines, some passenger carriages and goods wagons.
He was hooked. This was the first day of the rest of his life.
Mikorski's flat consisted of a kitchen, bathroom, two bedrooms, one large, one small, a large sitting room and an equally large dining room. Over the years, the three large rooms became filled with three large model railway layouts. The three represented the major projects on which he was working in 1939; the development of the port of Gdynia, the rebuilding of the railway junction at Kępno, near the German border, and the modernisation of Wilno station. Mikorski didn't recognise the post-war Polish borders, and his work, he believed, would be useful to Poland after Stalin dies and his homeland would once again be free.
Mikorski was a stickler for accuracy. After a while, the 'toy trains', as he called them, were of no value to him; immersing himself in the hobbyists' literature, he'd order precision high-end models from the best manufacturers, particularly from Switzerland. Money no object. He'd photograph his growing layouts with an Exakta camera, sending the prints to fellow enthusiasts worldwide with whom he would correspond. His photos and articles would end up in small-circulation mimeographed newsletters, eagerly subscribed to by wealthy railway modellers from Tokyo to Cape Town. Not particularly good with his own modelling skills, Mikorski formed a small group of model-makers whose talents matched his demanding requirements for precision in HO/OO scale, and to them he'd outsource the actual crafting of model buildings and landscape elements, as well as the rolling stock that he'd design himself.
Post-war London had several interesting private model-train layouts; one such was located at the headquarters of the railwaymen's trade union, used for labour tribunal cases. Signal boxes, points, junctions and sidings were accurately modelled here to demonstrate to the members of the tribunal the exact circumstances surrounding the incident that led to the unfair dismissal of a driver or signalman. Mikorski, via his well-connected network, had a chance to see this layout several times, which left a strong impression on him.
Over the years, Mikorski's flat filled out with models of locomotives hauling passenger express trains or shunting rakes of goods wagons. Visitors were 'by appointment only' and rare; a great treat for a knowledgeable and enthusiastic father bringing his son to see something absolutely exclusive. Rank-and-file hobbyists with their Hornby-Triang Dublo sets wouldn't appreciate the extreme commitment and precision that had gone into these layouts. Mikorski had his standards. A total of 450 square feet of his apartment were given over to his passion.
And over the years, the layouts would evolve. Keeping up with the latest trends, Mikorski replaced steam motive power with electric and diesel locos; these he would design these himself – or imagine himself ordering real rolling stock from America, France or Britain (never West Germany!) for a free Poland. He would also design liveries for such engines in PKP service, and have model-makers paint the little trains for him to his exact specifications. By 1955, his vision of a free Poland's state railway network consisted of modern electric locos and comfortable carriages, whisking passengers from Warsaw to Lwów or Wilno in a couple of hours, and freight trains connecting the coalfields of Upper Silesia and the industrial district around Kielce to the port of Gdynia, and thence on to global markets.
Mikorski also took seriously his post as Minister of Railways in the Polish Government-in-Exile, a post he held for many years despite the comings and goings of the various Presidents and Prime Ministers of the Second Republic. Whenever railways were on the government's agenda, he'd invite the various ministers and secretaries of state to his flat for long lectures about the needs for modern infrastructure, demonstrated with live action in 1/76th scale, followed by vodka and herring in his (rather cramped) kitchen.
He died in December 1970 of a heart attack following news of the protests against Poland's communist leadership that broke out in the coastal cities; the emotion was too much for him. An executor's sale followed. Because the layouts could not be removed nor sold in situ, the models were carefully removed and boxed and auctioned off in small lots; and thus ended the story of Mikorski's trainset. And my dream.
Back to Lenten posting later today.
This time five years ago:
Heathrow then and now
This time eight years ago:
Radom line modernisation will change the face of Jeziorki
This time nine years ago:
How do we perceive good and evil?
This time ten years ago:
Civilisation and a civil society
This time 12 years ago:
Strong, late-winter sunshine
This time 13 years ago:
Jeziorki's wetlands freeze over
This time 15 years ago
Kensington, a London village
This time 15 years ago:
Lenten recipies
This time 16 years ago:
A walk through Sadyba
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