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In January 1963, one Monday morning, our son Andrew sprang like a dolphin into the world and became the center of our life. He was a wonderful baby, but very demanding and as his father did not like him crying I had a lot of sleepless nights. Once I was rung up by one of my scouting comrades, now a very important professor of psychology in the United States. He was passing through London and hearing Andrew's crying from a pram in the garden I asked him for the reasons of baby's outbursts. When I was told that it is usually from being underfed, overfed, or wanting the mother's love, I dropped the receiver and ran to my baby. I did not accept friends' talk about spoiling the children, rather compared them with women who could not be over-loved.
Already before Andrew's birth, Staszek made enquires towards his education and returned with the opinion of an M.P for the best future for the boy. It would be at Harrow, or Westminster, or Dulwich college - while a girl should go to the French Lycée. So Andrew was enrolled at the nursery of Dulwich College, subject to an entrance exam at the age of three which he passed with the help of the headmaster Mr Woodcock.
The following years passed like a dream, enjoying he company of growing up Andrew. We found the present house not suitable for a crawler and we moved to a small modern one, but that did not last, because it was too small for Staszek, who lived in a room where he could not stretch his arms without touching the walls. When Andrew was two, we moved to a bigger Victorian house with a nice garden behind a tall brick wall, separating it from the street and the garage at the bottom. The garden was neglected and we had to set fire to the grass in early spring. Little Andrew, interested in everything, put his right hand into the hot cinders. He had a shock and his poor hand in blisters.
I used to take him to a nearby play group where he was withdrawn at the beginning and not keen on sharing his toys. On the first day at the nursery school he did not want me to leave; he cried bitterly, but the teacher took him from my: hand and very shortly I heard quiet sobs and "Yes, Mrs Disher". For some time he was speaking with Mrs Disher's accent, she must have had a great influence on Andrew. Before going to the nursery he was very friendly with men visiting us, but not with women, and when we travelled with a lot of luggage he objected strongly to anyone offering to help me carry the cases. "Do not touch it, it's my mummy's".
When three years old he suffered with the tonsils and the doctor advised an immediate operation, or a change of climate. Within a few days, Staszek arranged for us to go to Zakopane in the Tatra mountains in southern Poland, the new tourist center. The resort is situated in a valley between the High Tatra range to the south and gentle Gubalowka to the north. We stayed with friends, both of them architects, and their son Jasio, almost the age of Andrew, in an old, highlander style house on the outskirts of town, with a magnificent view of the mountains. From the handsome veranda with beautiful carvings, the view was dancing over a stretch of meadows, now under a blanket of snow, across the black line of dense pine forest with white caps, to the towering mountains in the shape of the Sleeping Knight - famous Giewont. It was easy to be charmed by the magic of this place and I remained under its spell ever since.
By the house ran a path along a mountain stream cascading over rounded boulders. Not far from us, before reaching the forest known as Regle, were standing relics of local architecture - ancient wooden barns built of logs and pitch roofed with shingles. There were also a number of smart villas, built between the wars with mansard roofs and well proportioned facades, where upper levels were of pine or cedar logs resting on a stone masonry base, executed by the local builders with virtuosity in elaborate patterns.
Gubalowka's gentle slopes were favored by the skiers and easily reached by the funicular railway. The several kilometer long ridge had a touch of magic at sunset. When walking along it towards the sun, one saw Giewont inflamed and other peaks with a red glow upon them to the left, beyond the valley with Zakopane, while to the right the gentle hilltops covered with woods turned blue. Along the ridge, a procession of sledges with tourists, pulled by horses with ringing bells, were adding a romantic touch to the scenery. At the top station was usually parading a white bear ( a man in a bear skin), with a sledge pulled by two big husky dogs. This was a special attraction for onlookers, who were insisting on being photographed together. So, as soon as Andrew recovered, we had to follow with Jasio the custom.
The people of Zakopane known as "Gorale", were as colorful as their surroundings. Their walk was light and springy, like that of chamois, their voices strong, melodic and vibrating. Their profiles had something of the mountain eagle or an American Indian. They were wearing richly embroidered costumes. The men's outfit was a black felt hat with a band of small sea shells, a short embroidered sheepskin coat over a white linen shirt with a special heart shaped brooch, and very impressive thick felt trousers, ingeniously embroidered. On their feet they wore 'kierpce', a special shoe made from one piece of leather. Women had colorful scarves with silky fringes on their heads and rows of amber and coral strings around their neck. Their blouses had laced collars and they wore brightly colored and richly squinted corsages and an apron over floral printed skirts. When they were singing in a chorus, the glass in the windows was shattering.
During Andrew's illness, Wladyslaw, an old goral (highlander), who was helping in our friends' household had a great influence upon us. Although illiterate, he was a visionary man of wisdom. He was nursing little Andrew, who obeyed Wladyslaw unquestioningly, and I had to follow his instructions when he said: "This child comes from an island, so his heart and lungs are small - remember then to bring him gradually to the fresh mountain air. The first time for three minutes only, then for five and ten." That man was priceless and we loved him. He used to ask me for few Zloty to go to the cinema when was shown a Western with Red Indians, whom he considered to be his brothers. He did not respect the political system, neither the state boundaries and wandered often to the southern slopes of the Tatra, putting on his hat a feather worn by the Slovaks. He ignored the rule of compulsory registration and when called to the police office exclaimed: "Everybody in the area knows me well without any registration, so it is not necessary for me to do it, only for you, newcomer-officer, it is a different matter, because you are not a local."
Once he asked me if we had a garage in London and when I said yes, he proposed to come one day to us, after swimming the channel, to kill a pig for Christmas in the garage, as it is done in the mountains, and make us a winter supply of ham and sausages. Well, enough of Wladyslaw, although it is not all, but there were so many wonderful aspects of the highlanders that we went there whenever possible. We adored their customs and Andrew picked up their accent. He also befriended Jasio and they became brothers for life, playing and learning to ski together.
Our first Christmas among Highlanders had to me some unreal feeling, it was like a fable. With the first star on a darkening sky on 24th December, the whole family of our hosts gathered round the table and with breaking wafer thin oplatek they were exchanging wishes and kisses. The table looked festive with masses of various dishes of fish, salads, dumplings, mushroom soup and a desert of nuts and poppy seeds steeped in honey. Dining was followed by singing beautiful local carols by the candle lit Christmas tree full of home made decorations. The ceremony of distributing the presents took place in a big hall with the fire burning in an enormous stone fireplace, Christmas decorations suspended from the panelled ceiling over the two stored space, with a generous wooden stair rising along one side. Before midnight our boys were put to bed under the care of Jasio's grand mother, while the hosts, Staszek and Madzia with the remaining guests went to midnight mass in a celebrated old church in Strazyska. It was a pleasant walk with the snow crackling under our feet and sparkling in the light of the rising moon. We joined a crowd of Gazdas and Gazdinas in their festive costumes and I tried to sing with them, feeling light and airy under the falling snow flakes. The atmosphere was very special, emotional and "Godly".
On return I joined Andrew in our tiny room by the gallery, but before falling asleep the door suddenly opened, and a rain of grain fell over us, accompanied by the Highlander's greeting: Na szczescie, na zdrovie, na to Boze Narodzenie! - Happiness and health on the day of God's son's birth! It was Jon Marusarz, famous personality, most senior Gazda and father of an Olympic champion of the thirties. I had the impression that nobody slept that night in Zakopane.
The following year I joined a folklore group after Pasterca (midnight mass) and we wandered from house to house, making short cuts in deep snow, singing, drinking and dancing till dawn, then taking skis and children to the slopes. These winter breaks in the Tatra mountains had a magic charm and they continued for the next few years, until Andrew joined the Kandahar skiing club in England.
Thus I went to Courmayeur to watch him racing in "under sixteen" European teams. In a sunny but frosty afternoon the boys were very heroic. Andrew was in 30th place and his trainer told me that if he had been with him from age eleven he could be easily Olympic champion. Well, he did not, and later withdrew from the racing club but remained an active skier in school and university challenges.
When he was ten years old, he and all the other boys in Preparatory school had to prepare a major portfolio on a specific subject. Andrew received a long list of questions under the title "Poland". It was rather hard on him, because at home he was spared any political or religious "isms" and his contact with Poland was limited to the highlanders' environment. As Krakow, the ancient capital of Poland, was only a hundred kilometers from Zakopane we took a bus there in order for Andrew to take photographs of historic sights. After leaving King Zygmunt's chapel in Wawel Castle he asked me thoughtfully: "Do people in England have knowledge of this chapel? I have not seen anything so beautiful as here!"
The most impressive and bewildering experience were the salt mines of Wieliczka. The mines were wonders beyond description. Seeing them for the first time and entering the enormous underground void, I exclaimed "Pyramids!" - to the great disapproval of one of the mine guardians. It is salt, not stone" he corrected. We were in a magic world, walking kilometers of corridors constructed with thousands of big timber logs between spacious chambers of fantastic shapes and the scale and proportion of Gothic cathedrals. Some were approached by a flight of stairs, others surrounded by a lake; all walls and roofs were textured with the carving patterns by ancient workers who had extracted the salty rocks. Some of the magnificent spaces were containing statues of current political eminences of communist Poland, something I did not appreciate. There were also rooms, which were transformed centuries ago into chapels full of effigies of saints, whose features had mellowed a lot by the addition of a salty crust through time. They looked mysterious, these old companions, who had watched the hard working miners, crouched on scaffolds, digging for the precious mineral.
The lower level of the mine was turned into a sanatorium, treating pulmonary problems, especially asthma, another part into a museum. I stopped astonished in front of one showcase, seeing he word Pyramids. A French traveller in the sixteenth century had a reaction identical to mine, only elaborated more: "...they were not for the glory of a Pharaoh but for the welfare of people". Few years later I was very pleased to find in a book entitled "Architecture without Architects", a whole page devoted to Wieliczka. Andrew was so impressed by the mine that a week later we revisited it, bringing also Jasio and his father, who although living in the area, had not visited it since before the war.
After spending most of the afternoon in this fabulous place, we were full of excitement on the way back to Zakopane, when near Myslenice Staszek's car broke down. All his vigorous attempts to revive the engine were fruitless and we had to abandon the vehicle. We walked to the nearest bus stop, the waiting for the bus with the sinking sun behind the peaks of the Tatras and the temperature dropping below zero seemed to be endless.
Occasionally Stanislaw, although not a Goral (where this name is exceptionally popular), joined us towards the end of the holidays and was a great supporter and protector of our boys. He watched them on the slopes and cooled down the angry adult skiers who were out maneuvered by our youngsters at the head of the lift queue: "You have no chance of becoming an Olympic champion, while these boys have it, so let them pass!"
Jasio was a born skier and at the age of ten he belonged to the challenging team with the instructor training them all year round, beside academic studies. Andrew was very sad to loose his companion on the slopes and eventually he was accepted as an extra during his winter holidays. At the beginning he was lagging behind, but after a few days he reached the required level. The instructor tried to convince me to leave Andrew for a year in his hands, because "Andrew has in him all what is required to become a champion in skiing - well balanced physique and psyche". To my question about school the answer was, that Andrew could pick it up later and anyhow "look at the Gross brothers, Olympic champions of Italy, I don't think they went to school further than elementary". I just laughed, trying to imagine my husband's reaction. Later he advised Andrew to stop going to winter holidays with his mother, but to join the skiing club in England. So after some investigation he became member of the Kandahar Ski Racing Club. Thus I went to Courmayeur to watch him racing in the European "under sixteen" teams. The boys were heroes in the sunny but frosty afternoon, Andrew took 20th place and his trainer told me, that if he had been with him from the age of eleven he could easily become Olympic champion. Well, he did not and later withdrew from the racing club, but remained an active skier in school and university challenges.
In December 1981, during the tragic events in Poland, Jasio was training for Olympics in Austria and not being able to spend Christmas with his family in Zakopane, he telephoned to London, asking for the necessary invitation and visa before joining us for a few days. I spent the whole day of 23rd in the Home Office, begging the officials for the visa, but faced a cold, impersonal reaction to my request. While in many houses of Europe candles were lit in sympathy for the Polish Solidarity movement, the English bureaucracy froze the issue of visas and in a dry voice the clerk said "The boy will anyway have a nice Christmas in Austria". Our disappointment was great and a few days later Andrew went to meet him in Schladming to cheer him up and ski for a while together.
Jasio did not go back to Poland that winter and , after receiving a visa to the USA he studied and skied for the University of Salt Lake City. Later he developed a great interest in cross country cycling. In the last years he brought to perfection a mountain bike, designing, construction and demonstrating his creation, the bike Karpiel.
Beside skiing Zakopane was offering other local attractions. Clubs, bars and restaurants were always full, as well as the theater, cinema and some art galleries. Our hosts introduced us to the artists, among them local residents: well known Hasior and Rzasa. The first one was truly a modern artist, expressing his inner ego in powerful outbursts of flames, light, water, barbed wire, knife blades, candles, music in the wind, surrounded by enormous images on church-like banners. He created his masterpieces mainly of resurrected treasures from rubbish dumps, using even some loaves of bread. I was caught up by his spell and wanted to organize an exhibition of his work in London. The negotiation with one of the art galleries of South Kensington went ahead, but unfortunately Hasior withdrew in the last moment because he had to cover the cost of transport to Dover before the London gallery would take over.
Antoni Rzasa was my Michael Angelo in wood. His figures of Christ, angels, children and animals were captivating by there excellence and finesse. He lived with his wife in a large room cum studio, baby cradle made by him in the middle, surrounded by his beautiful carvings, which projected from the walls and threw mysterious shadows around. They lived on very modest means, but he would not part with his work for any price. After befriending him I had the unusual luck of obtaining from him one piece made for his baby boy, in return for a set of carving chisels sent from London.
Both these artists, years after living in their small, crammed, but very charming studios, were later allocated spacious houses, specially built for them, but in the new surroundings the old exhibits did not make the same impact. I liked to take to Antoni's old studio some of my friends and young Alexandra from Rio de Janeiro burst into tears of emotion when entering it. Ask him, she said, if he would like to come to Brazil!
In the house of Staszek, the native of the mountains, and Madzia of the Krakow middle class, there was always a considerable crowd of friends from various parts of Europe. We met writers and travelers like Isabelle and Janusz, Norwegian journalist Douglas, painters and theater actors. A very colorful person was Siri, also Norwegian and on an annual scholarship for postgraduate study of weaving with the celebrated Abakunowicz in Krakow. She was spending her weekends on skis and was staying for the night with Staszek and Madzia. So Saturday nights were full of Gorals' music and dances. Siri demonstrated a special way of eating fish as prescribed by her mother, an authority on health diets. To Andrew's and Jasio's amusement Siri consumed the whole fish from head to tail, proving her mother's theory that this was the right way of keeping your teeth white and strong.
The atmosphere of the house was too Bohemian for my husband and he decided to buy his own, so that Andrew would breathe in a "smokeless zone". Jon Marusarz was approached for advice and he sent his niece Hanka to look for a simple "goralska chata". It was found in Blachowka, on the slopes of Gubalowka, high above the valley of Zakopane, with a breathtaking view of the Tatra range. It was a small farmhouse, partly adapted for the farmer's family and their animals, the smell being noticeable. The house was built from sizeable pine logs, covered by a pitched roof with cider shingles. Through the whole length under it was an enormous loft, with openings on each end for bringing in the hay for the winter months. The loft could be reached from inside via a peg-like ladder, giving Andrew a lot of climbing enjoyment.
We found ourselves in the middle of a rural community with small holdings scattered along the slopes of Gubalkowa and I was eager to make contacts with our new neighbors. The nearest was Anna, mother of the previous owner of our house, slim, elderly woman, speaking with a very strong accent. She lived with her twin sons in a spacious house, partly turned into a hostel. Her personal habitat was less than modest, with her bed in the kitchen and her belongings hanging above it, beside the holy pictures on the wall. She was working hard in her household and supplied us with milk and eggs, also helping me to start the fire in the kitchen stove, which was old, cracked and fuming.
The water was from the well a little up the slope and the toilet was outside the house with a beautiful view of Gievont, usually in the rising sun over the valley, with Zakopane under a thick blanket of morning mist.
On the other side was a prosperous looking farm with a number of domestic animals and quite a big carpentry shop. There was a family with nearly a dozen children, mostly lovely girls. The helped me to organize a house warming party, which turned into a big happening. The twins prepared the house by throwing most of the furniture into the snow and improvising benches along the walls. They were also in charge of the drinks and part of the house previously occupied by the animals, the "boisko", became a well furnished bar with various bottles of vodka. The house was full of people and the magic sound of "goralska muzyka", I was enchanted to see Gorals entertaining happily the guests from towns like Warsaw and Krakow. Jan Marusarz was treated by everyone with great respect and admiration because he decided to join the party in spite of his advanced stage of cancer. Because the house had access over a steep wooded slope, he was carried on shoulders of younger ones. The night passed with dancing, singing and drinking. The twins serving the drinks, sober themselves by rolling in the snow from time to time, made the Gorals burst into great bravado, which was only calming down towards the morning.
During the following winters Andrew often preferred to stay with Jasio down in the town, where they enjoyed the company of other youths, beside skiing. Andrew's last visit, before he joined the Kandahar Club, was in 1990, when he brought from London the ashes of deceased Staszek, who wished to be buried in a family grave. Andrew came for a day to Zakopane, revisited familiar places and said good-bye to the Tatra mountains.
Back in London the everyday routine was arranged to run smoothly. After a few years of caring for little Andrew I was working in an architect's office and my husband arranged with his office of "Arup and Partners" to have shorter days of work, on the basis of having to look after his son, a "motherless" child. As it was difficult to return to the profession, I had to arrange a mini cab to take Andrew to Dulwich and I did not dare for the first few months to admit that I had a child. Once, when I telephoned the office explaining that my absence was due to the high fever of my son, I was told the next day by the firm's secretary: "I crossed out one day of your annual leave, because it is not our fault that you have a child."
Well, it was no easy life for a woman in this men's country, but soon after I took up work in the local municipality with a more human atmosphere. Life became quite well organized with my husband catering for school holidays in summer and me in winter, sometimes in spring also. When Andrew started having history lessons at school we used the long weekends at half term to visit historic places. This was of great interest to me, because, as a foreigner, I had little knowledge of English history. Our excursions in the footsteps of the Vikings, the Romans, the Saxons and the Normans were very exciting.
Created on ... September 27, 2003 by Pierre Ratcliffe