Who in Bolesławiec does not know Henryk Czopek, who has lived here for several decades? Today he is a pensioner, a war invalid, and, by inclination, a hunter and social activist in the veterans’ and war veterans’ movement. It is difficult to believe what an incredible story was written into his biography during the years of the war. And yet it is true, confirmed by documents.
The war found him serving in the Marine Battalion in Polesie, which later joined General Kleeberg’s army and fought the Germans until the end of the September Campaign of 1939. Had he not fallen ill with malaria in August, he would probably have defended Westerplatte or Hel, because that was his assignment. But he did not give up the fight in Lublin, occupied by the Nazis, where he managed to find work in a mill. He had belonged to the underground resistance since 1941.
He successfully avoided enemy ambushes until 21 February 1944. At that time, while carrying out an order from the commander of the “Lech” BCh units, he was arrested in the street by the Gestapo with a weapon in his hand. Three pistols and a grenade left no doubt: this meant a death sentence. Except that the agony was spread out in the prison at Lublin Castle, one installment at a time.
At the Gestapo torture chamber “Under the Clock,” bestial “interrogations” were conducted. They always ended in unconsciousness after a beating. The inhuman “processing” (in German terminology) was preceded by a thorough search and stripping naked, followed—accompanied by screams and curses—by a gradual escalation of elaborate tortures, ending with hanging from a bar with the head downward.
Henryk Czopek dug in, put everything on one card, and chose death, refusing to admit guilt or reveal his contacts with the AK and BCh resistance movements.
After the tortures, he was returned to the prison at Lublin Castle. He stayed in the infamous tower for about 10 days. Then he was taken to the third ward, to cell no. 20, where he spent only 3 days. His next move was to a prison isolation cell, where he remained until 9 May 1944, that is, until the time of the fictitious “trial.” The interrogations and tortures “Under the Clock” lasted 15 days in total... He remembered that time with a chronicler’s precision: every hour meant beatings, sadistic abuse of a defenseless human being, the horror of contact with genocidaires who attempted to create a parody of law.
Early in the morning of 9 May, he was called out of the isolation cell. In this way, 65 prisoners were gathered and made to stand facing the wall in the courtroom. His entire body hurt, every muscle and every bone, yet he had to overcome the pain and stand, because another round of blows from his torturers threatened. The so-called “court”—in German, “Standgericht”—consisted of a judge, a secretary, and an interpreter. The old, bald judge in glasses inspired neither sympathy nor trust. Two guards brought prisoners before him, removing Mr. Czopek’s handcuffs for the occasion. Uncuffing his hands was meant to create the impression that justice existed, to create an illusion of the rule of law in the Nazi version.
The interpreter asked for his personal details and checked them against the list. Then the “judge,” without asking any questions, read out in a bored voice that for belonging to a gang, possessing weapons, and rising up “against the German reconstruction effort,” he was sentenced to death.
The interpreter repeated this in Polish, but the words were unnecessary: the Nazi death machine ceaselessly ground up thousands and millions of human bodies in Poland and Europe.
Today he does not remember the details of his own reaction. Red patches beneath his eyelids, a clenched throat, a dry tongue. As he later learned, his wife Krystyna had also been sentenced to death, arrested under the cruel German law of collective responsibility. His wife gave birth to a son, Jerzy, in prison.
65 death sentences. Waiting for execution lasted weeks, although people died every day: shot, gassed, hanged. Time passed calmly. Without torture, abuse, or torment. And only those terrible roll calls, each one of which could be the last...
18 May, 19 May, 20 May 1944. All the prisoners were called out from the list one after another. They left their cell. After leaving, each received a blow to the head, and their hands were tied with barbed wire. They stood in the execution yard, where their presence was checked repeatedly once again. A brutal loading into trucks. More screams and beatings. The vehicles waited for several minutes, tightly closed and covered with tarpaulins. Then they set off for Majdanek, returning empty for the next “transport.”
Facing the wall, he waited for his turn until evening. There was not enough time. So there was another roll call on 21 May. Several hundred people stood in the same execution yard. Pushed back against the wall, he awaited another “interrogation” and additional “examinations.” The vehicles departed for the land of death. Darkness fell, and the guards took him back to cell no. 5. Unintelligible things happened—the prisoner was forgotten. Every day he waited for execution, and that day did not come. On 16 July he was taken to a doctor with a high fever; the next day he found himself in the prison hospital on suspicion of typhus. The Germans were afraid to enter cells where infectious diseases were spreading. They preferred not to take the risk.
On 21 July 1944, Henryk Czopek was ultimately and irrevocably scheduled to be shot by the Germans, and the appropriate entry had been made in the documents many hours in advance. Years later he learned that the delay in carrying out the sentence had resulted from the arrest of his brother Stanisław, who had shot a Nazi. The prisoner was still needed for a confrontation. Then, however, there was complete chaos and the torturers’ panicked flight. On 22 July 1944, units of the Red Army entered the city. Two hours before their arrival, our hero left the prison. Prisoner Henryk Czopek, who to this day appears on the lists of those executed on 21–22 July 1944, under number 41, was able to return to normal life among other people...
Once free, he saw his son Jerzy, born in prison, today the youngest member of the Polish Veterans’ Association (born 21 May 1944). He survived the torture chamber thanks to the care and help of good people. Mr. Henryk is reluctant to return to the tragic memories and does so rarely. He simply says: “People prepared this terrible fate for people. May hatred born of an ideology of national megalomania, intolerance, and the violation of ethical principles never triumph in Europe again. This warning must be conveyed loudly to future generations, to young people.”