Observe a Polish Refugee’s Strength: Meet Krystyne, a Polish refugee whose family was killed by the Germans and whose home was destroyed. Learn how she maintained her dignity, wearing the same blue woolen skirt and shoes without socks for months, and what gave her the strength and desire to rebuild her homeland.
I hope you enjoy this excerpt from Chapter 24, Waiting for Orders. In this chapter, we delve into the complexities of life in the military camp as Kathy faces new challenges, including selecting and managing a group of displaced girls to help in the mess. Among them, one girl, Krystyne Winiauski, stands out with her quiet dignity and resilience, capturing Kathy's attention. Through their growing friendship, we witness the harsh realities of war and the strength that emerges in the face of adversity. Stay tuned as the story continues to unfold, revealing the bonds and struggles that define these characters.
CHAPTER 24
WAITING FOR ORDERS
A blonde Captain came into the office. “Lieutenant Collens? I’m told Captain Kemp is out-of-town, so it’s up to you. Which of these girls do you want?”
“We’re getting 750 nurses. I really don’t want any more.”
“I’m Captain Hill, personnel officer,” he explained. “There’s a new program of aid for displaced people and refugees, which means we are hiring a dozen girls. You get four in this mess. Thought I’d give you first choice. They’re out in the mess.”
“Those that speak French or English. I don’t know much German or Polish,” said Kathy. “Could I interview them later? I have to dispatch a supply truck right away...”
“There’s one Polish girl you should look at, though she can’t speak French or English, she does speak German. One glance and you’ll know what I mean. She’s different,” said the Captain. “I’ve interviewed the others. I’ll choose for you if you’re rushed.”
He led her into the mess, where the patients were now standing in line for their lunch. The group of girls and women he had brought in were wiggling for the patients and the GI cooks who were serving. Their hair was straggled, their clothes too tight and dirty, and they giggled when the GIs pinched them. They were the kind of girls you’d expect to find wanting to work in an Army camp.
One girl stood quietly apart from the others, standing erect, her head high. Without makeup, her skin glowed rosy and smooth. Her short, softly curled brown hair was shining clean. She wore a shapeless dull brown skirt, and worn brown shoes with no stockings. Her short-sleeved pale blue sweater hung loosely, neither hiding her well-developed figure nor advertising it. She carried herself with dignity, with her shoulders squared, not thrusting herself forward as the other girls were doing. When she saw Kathy, she looked straight at her, neither submissive nor arrogant, but with a look of equality. Kathy, wearing sturdy, polished shoes, nylon stockings and a pressed uniform bright with brass buttons, felt shabby beside the quiet dignity of this girl.
This girl smiled in a friendly way to the GIs who spoke to her. She managed to discourage familiarity without being aloof, with the dignity of her smile, and the way she held her head. These men, who considered any civilian girl in the mess fair game, stood back and looked at this girl with respect.
“She is different. I’ll take her,” said Kathy.
“Her name is Krystyne Winiauski.”
“Krystyne. OK. I’ll take the three French girls, too. Have they all had their medical examinations?”
“Of course.”
“I can use them right now, with 750 nurses dropping in for supper.” Kathy chose three girls. “Nous avons de travail pour vous. Venez.” To Krystyne she held out her, hand, palm upward, to invite her to come along. She had them wash their hands, and put on aprons and hair nets to serve the patients, while the regular workers started preparing lunch.
Kathy told the three newly hired French girls to clear the tables after the patients had eaten, and set the tables for the arriving nurses. They giggled and flirted with the men more than they worked, and they didn’t know where to set the silver. Krystyne, without being told, saw what needed to be done, and did it.
When Vivienne and D.B. returned at 1800, the mess was completely rearranged. Five field ranges had been added with four new helpers, and dinner was prepared for 1100 people. However, dinner was served to just 150 patients. The expected nurses didn’t arrive until the next day, and 200 patients had been transferred out.
Immediately, they made adjustments to being a staging area. They learned to not actually prepare the food until people in fact arrived. This necessitated an efficient readiness and a rush of last-minute work. In both, Krystyne showed capable foresight. Kathy and Krystyne worked well together and became friends. Vivienne continued to spend her time with DB.
Today was going to be one of those days. They had a 6 a.m. breakfast for 87 nurses and for 124 patients that were being sent to Le Havre. Then they prepared meals for another hospital that was closing, involving 600 men and 387 nurses. Now they waited.
A GI cook came into the mess where Kathy and others were working. He opened the stove door and threw in a shovel of coal dust. “Got new pictures from my wife today. Want to see, Lieutenant? There’s my boy. Some boy, huh? There’s my girl. She was a month old when I left. And here’s my wife.”
Kathy’s admiration of the pictures was automatic, and sincere. All the GIs that had families had beautiful children and beautiful wives.
Kathy returned the pictures, with the proper appreciations, and held her cold-stiffened fingers over the stove.
“Some of those men who left for home this morning had only 41 points,” said the cook. “I got 46 points. So how come they went home and I remain here?”
“Write your congressman,” said the mess Sergeant.
“How many points you got, Lieutenant?”
Kathy responded, “26.”
The cook shook his head. “Just 26? That means Germany. If you’d get married, you’d have... you’d have 38 points. Then you could go home too.”
Kathy returned to her typewriter. She had been typing letters to search for a new job for Krystyne. Now she wrote to the head dietitian at Versailles. This hospital, as a staging area, could be closed any day now. When she finished, she looked around the mess for Krystyne.
Kathy watched Krystyne stacking trays and dishes on the counter with Oscar. Oscar was speaking German, a language Krystyne understood. Krystyne was not only laughing, she was laughing with Oscar, a German. It was a little surprising, considering what the Germans had done to Poland. Krystyne had shown neither bitterness nor hatred toward the Germans. Kathy did not interrupt. This was the first time she had seen Krystyne talking easily to anyone.
Krystyne came into the office with a pleasant “Now we learn?” This was Krystyne. She had worn the same blue sweater and brown skirt every day. She might be alone and friendless, poor and without hope for a job, yet still she walked in with dignity to say, “Now we learn?” Kathy had asked Krystyne to teach her German while they waited, paying her with warm underwear, stockings, and cigarettes which Krystyne could exchange.
They went into the kitchen, where Kathy gestured to a pot of coffee and a pan of hot chocolate. Since she suspected it was the only food Krystyne had there, she offered it often. “Haben sie Kaffee mit Zucker und Milch? Oder Schokolade heiss?“
Krystyne would not let her ignore the gender. She corrected, “Der Kaffee, der Zucker, die Milch und die Schokolade heiss. I like the hot chocolate, danke.”
They carried their cups into Kathy’s office and sat at her desk. With sketches and gestures, and occasional use of a dictionary, Krystyne told Kathy her story.
She drew a three-story house with twenty windows on the front. She drew four people next to the house and pointed to each one. “Meine Mutter.” She was stout, and smiled pleasantly. “Mein Vater.” He was tall with a straight, strong mouth. “Mein bruder, ein student.” He carried a book, was as tall as his father, but slender. “Krystyne.” She was a little girl with long curls tied back with a big ribbon.
Krystyne had been fifteen in 1939 when the Germans invaded Poland. Her father, a Major in the Polish Army, was shot. “Mein Vater tot.” The tone of Krystyne’s voice made “tot” sound very dead. Her brother had escaped to England, joined the Royal Air Force, was shot down and killed. “Mein Bruder tot.” Krystyne and her mother were taken into work camps in Germany. She saw her mother die of hunger and exhaustion. “Mein Mutter tot.” This was 1939, the year Kathy started college, joined a sorority, and was a cheerleader at basketball games.
Kathy learned that during the war, Krystyne had lived in German work camps. At the age of 21, she was released from the camp when the Allies swept across Germany. She had tried to return to her hometown, but the entire town was rubble. She returned to France and started working in the United States Army’s mess for Kathy.
That afternoon they studied together until it was time for supper, after which Krystyne went home. She never stayed after dark.
Kathy took a hot shower, but was chilled walking in the freezing night back to her barracks. The living room was almost warm, but the bedroom upstairs was cold. She dressed quickly, shivering, and hurried off to the officers’ mess.
She stood in line behind a slender, narrow-shouldered doctor who was called Dewey, which might have been either his first or last name.
He handed her a tray. “How are you this miserable day?”
“Cold.” She put silverware on her tray.
“They say there’s a shortage of coal in the ETO,” Dewey said, taking a slice of bread and a spoonful of canned butter.
“I can believe that.” She helped herself to dehydrated carrots.
Dewey looked at the platter of corned beef. After consideration, he passed it by. “They say we can convert the stoves to oil.”
Lieutenant Lee, the Special Services Officer, stepped in line behind Kathy. “That won’t help. They say there’s a worse shortage of oil. Not that it makes any difference to me. I heard of an MP going home with 36 points. I have 38. Soon, I’ll be basking in that good old Kentucky sunshine with my wife handing me mint juleps.”
“Got a job in mind?” asked Dewey.
“No. All I know is that I don’t want my old one. Might go back to school.” He turned to speak to Kathy. “Speaking of school, your correspondence courses came, Kathy. You thinking of being a radio repairman? Not that I’d blame you. It must be discouraging to be a dietitian with canned and dehydrated foods.”
“First, I’ll study the psychology courses. When I give up on understanding people, I’ll repair radios. It would be easy to fix broken wires. Give me something to do these cold winter evenings.”
“You could spend the winter at Biarritz,” said Lee.
“Where is that?” She poured coffee into their cups.
“On the Bay of Biscay in southern France. Near Spain, on the Atlantic Ocean. It was the royalty’s playground of Europe. It truly is, though maybe the Riviera’s more fashionable now. It’s warm and sunny.”
“Just how do I manage to get there?” She poured canned milk into her coffee.
“The Army has set up a university for redeploying troops. You’d be eligible, since we’re not functioning as a hospital. They’ve taken some teachers from our troops in the ETO, and they’ve also imported excellent professors, the best.”
“I’ll apply, in triplicate.” Kathy responded. The choice was between waiting in Mourmelon for a transfer to Germany, and studying in Biarritz in sunny southern France.
Kathy returned to her room early that evening, still thinking about Biarritz. Coming in sometime in the middle of the night, Vivienne woke her. “D.B. asked me to marry him.”
The news penetrated Kathy’s sleepy mind slowly. “Oh?”
“I worried about that.” Vivienne took off her tie and unbuttoned her top shirt button.
“About what?” Kathy replied.
“About our ages. I told him I was ten years older than he. He said that didn’t matter.” She looked at the skin on her temples in the mirror.
“Oh. I wasn’t thinking of that.” Kathy wasn’t thinking at all, just struggling to wake up.
Vivienne opened a jar of cold cream and smeared some on her face, neck, and elbows. “Stan? We didn’t forget Stan.” She massaged her neck. “We didn’t decide easily. I ought to see Stan first, but that would mean months of waiting. We’ve decided that we should both break our engagements. You knew D.B. had a girl in the states? We feel badly about that. But don’t we have a right to some happiness after all these miserable years? I’ll write Stan in the morning.” She massaged her face, vigorously, almost furiously. “I’m going to grab what happiness I can get. Here. Now.”
That didn’t seem like a good basis for marriage, but it was as good a basis as Mathilda had. It was better than anything Kathy had found. Kathy sat up in bed, wide awake now, but not capable of thinking with wisdom. “When will you be married?”
“As soon as we can. Maybe I’d better write now. A ‘Dear John’ letter is kinder than a wedding announcement. Or is it?”
By the end of November, after three weeks of effort, Kathy found a job for Krystyne in an American hospital in Metz. The job would begin the first of January, which was encouraging.
Vivienne was not married yet, which was discouraging. D.B. would not agree to a specific wedding date. He left for the States with the promise of a wedding date set sometime after Vivienne’s return.
Thank you so much for reading Chapter 24, Waiting for Orders. I truly appreciate your time and interest in following Kathy's journey as she navigates the complexities of war and the new challenges that come with it. Your support means a lot, and I hope you found this chapter as engaging and meaningful as I did. Stay tuned for more, as the story continues to evolve and the characters face new twists and turns in their lives.
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