19. The Overcoat

When the American Army liberated Edward—who they found in Bavaria hunkered down at a farm with about thirty other exhausted and emaciated POWs—the gruelling ninety-four-day death march came to an end. I try to imagine the chaos and uncertainty for the POWs in the few weeks before Germany formally surrendered. With no options, Edward remained living in army barracks the Americans had seized from the Germans near Nuremberg, getting his strength back and considering an uncertain future.

Documents from the Arolsen Archives indicate he became a platoon leader and educational officer in the Labor Service Company, assisting the US military with resettling his fellow Polish compatriots. The Labor Service Company, or "Guard Company" as it was colloquially known, was part of an extensive network supporting the US Army in Germany. Tens of thousands worked to protect military installations, warehouses, POW camps housing German soldiers, and army and civilian offices. These Guard Companies allowed American soldiers to return home while also providing employment to displaced people.

Edward's work in the Guard Company kept him out of the DP camps established across Germany by the United Nations refugee organization. The young Polish men he was helping were POWs like himself, liberated by the Americans. Many were illiterate and from small villages, so he searched for a Polish teacher to provide them with basic reading and writing classes while they awaited resettlement in Poland or another country. A teacher was hard to find. The first person he hired was unsatisfactory, so he undertook the teaching task himself.

Given his proximity to Nuremberg, I hope he found some closure and satisfaction in the outcome of the well-publicized trial of twenty-three high-ranking Nazi officials at the International Military Tribunal. The Nuremberg trial began in November 1945 and concluded with the sentencing and execution of most of the defendants in October 1946.

At the urging of the UN workers, many of the men Edward worked with returned to Poland, but he refused. On the US Army form for displaced persons that he filled out, his stated reason was written in his precise penmanship: "the political situation." What did that mean for him?

The post-war fate of Poland was sealed at the February 1945 Yalta Conference, a meeting of Churchill, Roosevelt, and Stalin. In those last months of the war, the Red Army already occupied significant parts of Poland. Stalin argued at Yalta that this occupation gave him the right to exert influence over Poland's and Eastern Europe's post-war political landscape. Churchill and Roosevelt, viewing the Soviet Union as a critical ally against Hitler, saw granting the Soviets significant control over Eastern Europe as a way to preserve the alliance and ensure Soviet support in the war's final stages. Carving up Europe was a strategic and pragmatic decision, a concession made to Stalin that remained classified information for years.

While Edward may not have been aware of the specifics of the Yalta Conference at the time of his decision not to return to Warsaw, he would have felt its effects. For him, it wasn't complicated. The Soviets had betrayed the valiant Home Army fighters, refusing to come to their aid during the Warsaw Uprising. Poland became part of the Eastern Bloc rather than the independent state Edward and the Home Army had fought for. In those months when he was deciding what to do, and no country had yet opened its door to the refugees, rumours were circulating that Home Army resistance insurgents and men who had served in the Polish Army were not welcome in Soviet-controlled Poland. Reports were that many of those who returned faced imprisonment, execution, or deportation to the gulags. These reprisals solidified Edward's decision to stay away from Warsaw, where he felt little was left for him.

After twenty-seven months of working in the Guard Company, Edward was anxious to move on. His work was finished, as former POWs were repatriated to Poland or resettled in countries that were finally opening their borders. When the opportunity presented itself, he jumped at the chance to work in a low-level job in a lab at Philips Electric in Eindhoven, Holland, a position secured because of his wartime work in Warsaw with the same company. He left Germany in September 1947.

In Eindhoven, Edward met my mother, Maria, a Polish woman who had spent the war years in Germany as a forced labourer. As I record these reminiscences of my conversations with my father, I realize there were parts of his life we didn't get around to discussing, or perhaps that he wished to keep to himself. My knowledge of my mother's history remained limited.

All I knew was that my mother had been resettled by the United Nations refugee organization in Eindhoven, where they found her a job on an assembly line at Philips Electric, making light bulbs. From there, she came to Canada. My father, who loved her dearly, carefully protected and guarded her secrets to the end. During our last conversations, all he ever added was, "Your mother had a very hard time."

Edward worked at Philips for four years before he began exploring other options, now including Maria in his plans. As Dutch colonies gained independence after the war, Dutch expats started returning home, increasing competition for local resources and jobs. This made it difficult for Edward and Maria, who held only war refugee status, to buy a home and settle permanently in Holland.

The couple decided to emigrate to Canada and planned to get married there. They agreed that Maria would travel first, with Edward following a few months later. He wanted to finish his term as president of a local service organization that aided fellow DPs in finding housing and accessing social services.

Edward left Holland five months after Maria, crossing the Atlantic Ocean from Le Havre on a cargo ship that also carried passengers. Before he set sail, his Dutch landlady reminded him he still owed the first month’s rent for his room, which she had not collected out of charity, so he could get settled. He paid her, but it left him without cash for expenses aboard the ship. Significant winnings at poker and bridge with fellow passengers solved the problem.

“What expenses did you have on the ship, Dad?”

“Whisky,” he replied and winked.

It was a difficult and rough December crossing, thirteen days long and much harder than anticipated. High winds tossed the ship, and most passengers stayed below deck in their cabins. Edward was unaffected and passed the time winning at cards.

Two days before Christmas 1951, he stood on the ship’s deck, bracing against the icy drizzle that pelted his face as he gazed out at the horizon. As he leaned on the railing, his eyes scanned the distance until he caught a glimpse barely visible in the faint morning light of the low-lying buildings surrounding Halifax’s Pier 21. This sighting was a moment that would stay with him forever. A new beginning in Canada.

Immigration processing took several hours: first, there was an interrogation by an immigration official who checked that his papers were in order, then there was a medical examination, and finally, a man from customs opened his small suitcase to ensure Edward wasn’t bringing contraband. Before boarding the CN train that awaited the new arrivals at Pier 21, he sent a telegram to Maria. Twenty-four hours later, she greeted him at Central Station in Montreal. Edward, exhausted because he had only slept for short snatches on the uncomfortable wooden seats among all the other immigrating families and children on the train, was hopeful that the most challenging moments of his life were behind him.

Several days later, as he walked along St. Catherine Street in downtown Montreal on a cold January day, fixated on finding work, a man selling winter overcoats called out to him.

"No money," Edward replied in broken English when the man pointed out that he needed a warm coat.

"How much do you have?"

"Five dollars," Edward replied, showing him the contents of his thin coat's pocket.

The man took pity on him and said, "That will do. Stay warm, young man." He sold Edward the navy wool coat for half of what he had.

"I remember that navy wool coat, Dad. You wore it for a long time."

"It was a very good coat," he replied, his eyes crinkling as he smiled.

Growing up, I had heard the story of his winter overcoat more than once. It was another one my father thought appropriate for his daughter's ears. This time, we were sitting in the shade in the garden of the long-term care residence. I was no longer a child, and I was happy to hear it again.

My father was the recipient of many kind acts when he first came to Canada and throughout his life. And I witnessed his kindness toward others, whether family and friends or strangers. Of all the stories he could have told us as we were children sitting around the dinner table, this was a good one to pick for us.