- When you are 16 and have little life experience, although your stay in the terrible land of the eastern neighbour has left a cruel and lasting mark on your consciousness, it is difficult to find your place in the world, the interviewee states. – I knew that Poland had to be fought for, that I had to reach my homeland by way of the Black Continent and find the path leading to my goal. My colleagues volunteered for the Navy, so I volunteered too. A group of young volunteers was transported from the camp to COJA in Uganda, situated on Lake Victoria. Another Polish civilian camp was established here, while specialist military training was organised for us. It is easy to imagine: a vast body of water, heavy boats, heavy oars, swimming among wetlands, plenty of theory and the first attack of dangerous tropical malaria... We gritted our teeth and endured without complaint – hoping to board armoured ocean-going giants and fight the enemy.
We left COJA after a month for another camp in MAKINDU. Here we learned military drill, became familiar with British weapons and methods of conducting combat operations on land. A reserve of wild African nature stretched around us; the British often organised safaris—hunts for zebras, giraffes and rhinoceroses—and took young Polish soldiers along in off-road vehicles. At last, there was no shortage of fresh meat in the kitchen, and the bush took our breath away: life seethed and churned all around, like an incredible kaleidoscope. The young men made trips as far as Tangier (Tanganyika, today Tanzania); another Polish camp was located near Mount Mcm (beside the well-known Mount Kilimanjaro). Riding trains without tickets (“as stowaways”), risky expeditions deep into the Black Continent, blood-chilling adventures, a 16-year-old’s first love... It was a truly surreal dream, something unique and personal, impossible to describe.
The young soldiers did not interrupt their training. After a few months, the order came: departure for the Middle East, where the 3rd Corps of the Polish Army was being formed. A journey to Mombasa, a transfer to a ship, finally Port Said and CASSASIN near Ismailia. The sun-scorched sands of Egypt, heat and dry air that was difficult to breathe. A military medical commission carried out the first selection of volunteers for the front. Young Eugeniusz did not have a sailor’s build: wartime wandering through Asia and Africa had made his body gaunt, and the malaria he had suffered also played a part. The decision was made: not the Navy, but assignment to the motorised infantry. Here he also met a colleague and lifelong friend – WŁADYSŁAW ŚLIZ. They would remain together through good times and bad and, years later, come to Bolesławiec together.
They dug themselves into the desert sands while intensive training continued. The more sweat a soldier shed, the less blood would later soak into the ground during battle. It is an old, brutal truth about war. But Poland, their country and homeland, was already appearing before the young men’s eyes. They longed for battle; they did not know the price of victory, the tragedy of dying or the cruelty of death. They were young; that was their absolution. Finally came the solemn soldiers’ oath, which sank deeply into their memories and hearts. At last they were Polish soldiers, waiting for the order to march to the front. Homeless wanderers in a foreign land – they would go to Poland.
But the young soldier, who stood out among his peers, was sent to a non-commissioned officers’ school for minors. And although he was eager to fight, he continued training in the soldier’s craft. He had barely completed his studies when malaria and jaundice struck him. A hospital in EL Kantara on the Suez Canal, a long convalescence, letters from friends, death notices for those killed. The cruel law of war made itself felt here, in Egypt.
After recovering came the journey by sea to Italy—from Alexandria to Toronto (in the south of Italy). Two encounters with German U-boats, which were effectively driven away by the escort of British warships using depth charges. From the port, they went straight to SAN BAZYLIO near Bari. They were housed in barracks renamed the “barrels of laughter,” because the young people—despite the drama of their lives and situation—had their own sense of humour. Here he met RUDOLF SKORUPA, a documentary photographer who later left many unique works in Bolesławiec. He was promoted to training instructor and, at the age of 17, taught soldiers who were replacements for an army being bled white in battle. The trainees were former German soldiers from Silesia and Pomerania who had arrived as deserters or prisoners of war; they were Polish by origin, both old and young, with grandfathers beside grandsons. Drill, terrain studies and mine warfare were the ABC of the art of war at that time, and Mr Eugeniusz passed this knowledge on to his subordinates. After becoming acquainted with modern British weapons, everyone received individual assignments to frontline combat units. He put all his talent and passion into the work, but he was also waiting for his own assignment to the front, to settle the score for wrongs and humiliations.
It happened: by order of the commander, he was assigned to the 16th Pomeranian Infantry Brigade and sent as a replacement to the fighting in the IMOLA area. This meant incorporation into the 5th Kresowa Wilno Infantry Division, as attested by the proud bison insignia on his uniform sleeve. He ended his combat route in Bologna.