Godzina W in the centre of Warsaw

Four four years from 2016 to 2019, I spent the moment of Godzina W ('W'-hour) with my father in the quarter of the Powązki Military Cemetery reserved for Batalion Odwet, the Home Army unit in which he served. While this is where the official commemorations occur, the mass event that draws the real crowds is held at crossroads of ulica Marszałkowska and Aleje Jerozolimskie (Rondo Dmowskiego). I have never been before, so I was curious to see how this would compare.

I arrived at twenty past four, so 40 minutes before the sirens would traditionally start to wail.  A public-address system had been set up; someone announced that before the ceremony begins, that a decade of the Rosary would recited (one Lord's Prayer followed by ten Hail Marys). On cue, 20 or 30 powerful motorbikes arrived at the roundabout, revving up their engines and drowning out the prayers.

At half past four, the police closed both thoroughfares to traffic, a signal for people to start streaming in from behind the pedestrian barriers, moving right up to the roundabout and filling the road space from one end to the other. The minutes ticked down. Every higher vantage point – bus stop, kiosk roof, Metro ventilation shaft – was soon topped by young men, some of whom were holding flares. A half-hearted appeal from the organisers for people to get down went unheeded. At a couple of seconds to five, the flares went off. And then, on the dot of five, the sirens began to wail. This was it. Scores of flares filled the streets with flames and smoke. 

Viscerally emotional. I was still in tears from hearing the last song played over the public address system – a song I associate with this day, and with my father – Warszawskie Dzieci. 

The two-minute silence ended and Cześć i chwała bohaterom ('Honour and glory to the heroes') was chanted repeatedly by the crowd. The chanting eventually lost its vigour and fizzled out. A voice at the microphone started speaking in nationalist tones and the crowd began turning away, making for the Metro station or bus stops. "The Germans only pretend to be our friends..." Whatever. Time to leave.

Somehow, I much prefer Godzina W at Powązki. My father would have done so too. But one can't be in two places at one time. A time for quiet contemplation, wandering along tree-lined avenues lined with graves of the fallen.

This time seven years ago:
W-hour on the big day
[My father's last visit to Warsaw. He promised to return for the 75th anniversary. He made it. Three months later, he died.]

This time eight years ago:
My father at the 74th anniversary of the Uprising

This time nine years ago:
73rd anniversary of the Warsaw Uprising with my father

This time ten years ago:
Godzina W remembered with my father – a day of emotions

This time 13 years ago:
Godzina W commemorated in a more civilised way

Godzina W 14 years ago (2012)

Godzina W 15  years ago (2011)

Godzina W ten years ago (2009)