We reached Southampton on a late afternoon on 3rd March 1948. The quay was empty, nobody was receiving us. It was cold. Holding to the rails and looking down I noticed two Polish soldiers gazing at the boat, then I heard: "look, what Kolcholnice (women from a kolkhoz), Italian girls were much nicer!;" In a hurry, I searched for few ladies wearing lamb fur coats from Tehran and pushed them in front of the beige uniforms, but this first encounter kept me for a long time away from the heroes of Narvik, Tobruk and Monte Cassino.
After disembarkation we were taken to a camp near Cirencester and distributed in a row of barracks. The beds had plenty of blankets and the night was very cold. In the morning, with sun shining through the roof windows, the barrack looked like a Turner painting. From the beds was rising a cloud of vapour, the blankets were damp. Outside, the ground was white with frost.
The day started with a delicious breakfast after which we were sorted out with the help of various officials, who registered us and allocated us to one of the barrel type metal barracks. A general atmosphere of uncertainty prevailed. I heard a whisper, that we would be directed to various factories in the vicinity, the nearest was producing China. Fortunately out father arrived the following day and gave us moral support. I made contact with the scouts and met Rys, an instructor I knew from Teheran and we started our usual activities with excursions and camp fires. Cirencester is an interesting old town. I looked for Roman ruins in and around town and the first time for years I went to a cinema. Then it was decided that I should go to London and contact the Scouts' Headquarters, to which I eagerly consented.
On a chilly but sunny morning, I arrived at Paddington station with a tiny case and took the underground to Gloucester road. Emerging from the station with a beating heart, I felt like a bird let out of the cage. On the pavement, a man was playing the violin and touched by his sincerity I dropped into his cup, a half a crown coin the only I had. I was warmly received at No 49 and was given a camp bed in an office where I could put it up for the night.
The next morning I rushed to Kensington gardens in search for the statue of Peter Pan near the Serpentine. The park was full of daffodils and primroses. Among them a flock of sheep was grazing - which made me wonder if I was really in London?. Along my path was walking a young woman in high heel shoes, with painted seams on her bare legs, the sign of the shortage of stockings. It was three years since the war was over, but food and many goods were still rationed.
Soon I received my ration book, started learning English, was helping in the house and exploring London. The scouts' house was run partly as a hostel and with a few shillings a week earned by cleaning the dormitories, I went skating on Queen's Way ring, or with some companions to the theater at Covent Garden to see and hear Carmen, or to the roof gardens at Barker's Store in High street, Kensington.
During the summer, I was sent to different refugee camps, to welcome the transports arriving from India and Africa, and acted also as a secretary to the Chief of Girl Guides, a lady of an outstanding personality. Twice I went to see the Olympic Games at Wembley Stadium and chanted with the excited crowd: ZA-TO-PEK, the Czech runner who won the Gold Medal.
The atmosphere in the house was of great comradeship and when I enrolled in the course of architecture in September, all instructors living there were very supportive. One repaired an old bicycle rusting in the cellar and Romek gave me his father's drawing instruments. My application for a scholarship at the Polish Committee of Education was refused, because I was a female civilian and had not been working as a teacher in Africa. My father paid the annual fee for the first year and I continued to live at Gloucester road.
Cycling to the South West Essex College and School of Arts in north-east London, near Epping Forest, took over one hour. But traffic was easy and I was soon familiar with the route. It was great fun to turn at Hyde Park Corner, then at Piccadilly to Holborn, past Saddler Wells Theater, through Islington to Finsbury park, a straight run from Manor House to Bell Corner at Waltham stow. Soon to the left, appeared an imposing building, the Town Hall, and next to it a neo-classical building in red brick with a stone frieze and a colonnaded porch with a vast flight of steps leading to it - the College.
The first year of architecture was hard. The class was big with forty students and we had fifteen subjects, some a which were beyond my comprehension. A quarter of the students was Polish: a few ex-service men, one officer from the Polish division that liberated Holland, a few from labor camps in Germany, Marysia a general's daughter and myself a girl from the jungle. They all had a grant, only I was without any money. Strangely, it gave me the feeling of complete freedom from financial temptations.
On the way from the College, I often changed the route and cycled round the city. St. Paul's Cathedral was very impressive standing among the ruins of bombarded buildings with weeds and shrubs pushing through the rubble and birds nesting in them. A big area of the city was devastated, but bulldozers removing the rubble and many cranes helping construction, made the resurrection progress rapidly. The bridges over the Thames were particularly beautiful and I remember on the south side of Waterloo bridge, sculpture-like dramatic ruins, a skeleton of twisted metal projecting into the sky, which I thought should be retained as a powerful reminder of the war
I used to stop at Cleopatra's Needle and wonder about its past in Egypt and I saluted Bodicea standing by Westminster bridge. With great excitement I climbed the steps of a monument built to commemorate the Great Fire of London in 1666, and from the top I admired the roofs below. Then, only the dome of St. Paul's cathedral, the tower of Big Ben and the spires of surviving city churches could be seen above the ruins.
In middle of winter my bicycle was stolen while I was watching the Royal Couple at St. Paul's. It was a blow, because I had no means of travel to college. The only way was to cheat the public transport, improvising stories to bus conductors and discovering escape routes at underground stations. Luckily, to my rescue came Wanda, who was studying sociology at S.W.E.T.C., offering to share her room in Finsbury, and my brother sacrificed half of his grant to cover my expenses. I bought a second hand bicycle and existed on bread, with one egg per week and an occasional tin of sardines.
The second year at college was much better. I got a grant and found the lodgings near school in a nice semidetached house. My landlady, Mrs. Rollason, was a young widow with a ten year old son John. Her cooking was quite tasty, especially delicious was her Yorkshire pudding. Full board and lodging were at £2.00 per week and she was giving me a nice sandwich for lunch at the college.
I was spending weekends with my family, who moved to London and had found a two bedroom flat in Tachbrook street near Victoria station. The house was old, with sagging floors and gas lighting. There was no bathroom, only a water closet on the landing and a water tap in the kitchen. For a full clean-up we had to go to a public bath near Victoria station. I remember brown tiled walls and enormous tubs, which disappeared a few years later. My parents were very pleased to find that flat, because in the fifties, it was very difficult to secure accommodation for foreigners. The usual answer was "no blacks, no Poles". For this reason a majority of our compatriots in London were buying their own houses with "demob" money of their fathers and brothers. As my father spent most of his savings on my education, he could not follow the pattern. As a lawyer with a limited use of English, he took a job in a factory. A popular occupation of Polish ex-servicemen, especially the officers, was in hotels and restaurants. They were jokingly called "Silver Brigade", a poor generation of unrewarded fighters for the freedom of their country.
At that time life was very interesting for me and the studies were very absorbing. In order to see various examples of architecture it was necessary to travel. So, Marysia and I set off on a hiking tour of historic sites in England, particularly the Gothic cathedrals. Starting at Ely, we went to see Guildford, Winchester, Salisbury, Wells and Exeter, admiring their sublime spires, stained glass windows, flying buttresses and the various forms of vaulting, internal layout and finishing. We found the towns, villages and countryside charming and some ancient sites absolutely fabulous. Famous Stonehenge was easily accessible, without fences or tunnels and free of charge. The cows were grazing between the magnificent stone pillars. Travelling from place to place we spent many hours waiting for a lift, often we walked for miles, because at that time there were very few cars on the road. We managed to see quite a number of picturesque places, like King Arthur's castle in Tintagel, cobble streets with donkeys in Clovely, or a funicular descending to the sea in Bude.
During the winter break, we decided to go for two weeks to Paris. To have sufficient money for this venture, I was cleaning a big house in Knightsbridge, scraping old paint, preparing walls for redecoration. At St. Lazare station in Paris we were met by a student friend who took us to a pre booked modest hotel near Parc Monceau. To my despair, friends of Marysia's parents collected her the next day, leaving me alone in a double room that I could not afford. I went for advice to the brother of Rys who lived in Paris with his wife. Thy invited me to stay with them, offering me a spare bed. I had a wonderful time with Stefa and Mrusio, they were a wonderful couple and took me to their friends for the-New Year's celebrations.
From then early morning to well past sunset (days were short), I walked the streets and boulevards of Paris, with a sketchpad under my arm and a packet of roasted chestnuts for lunch, singing to myself "I love Paris...". One day, sketching in St. Etienne church I ran out of paper and went out in search of an art shop. It took me some time before I found one. At the moment of paying, I discovered to my horror, that under my arm was only the sketch book, but not the handbag. Panic stricken I ran to the church, praying to St. Anthony and all the other saints for help. On my return I found the church full of people as mass was going on. I pushed myself to the first row of people standing behind the pews and looked carefully around. There, in the middle of one was an empty seat, with my handbag on it. My mother would say "Guardian angel protect the fools".
From that time, Paris became even more beautiful than before. I was nicely surprised by finding in different places, pleasant associations with Poland. In the middle of the Place de l'Alma was standing on a huge pedestal an impressive statue of our-great romantic poet Adam Mickiewicz pointing with his hand towards the north-east to his beloved Litwa. The names of Polish soldiers fighting beside Napoleon were carved on a beautiful arch in the Tuileries. On the island of St. Louis in the middle of the river Seine were many houses occupied by Polish emigrants from the nineteenth century, the most outstanding was the Hotel Lambert. I also found there, an imposing mansion, housing the Polish library with a big collection of old books, documents and historic treasures.
In one of the churches, St Germain des Près, was a big sarcophagus of Jan Kazimilerz, a Polish king of the seventeenth century, who after a stormy reign abdicated and left for France. On one of the bridges stands a statue of Sainte Geneviève, sculpted by Landowski, who also made the hands of an enormous statue of Christ, towering over Rio de Janeiro in Brazil.
In another church was a huge picture of Sainte Maryja in an impressive frame, nicely illuminated with a poetic strophe in Polish, asking her to protect people in exile, dated 19th century. All these discoveries made me feel very nostalgic for my country and I was overwhelmed by these strong ties with France. With Marysia I went to museums, art galleries, to the Casino de Paris and the Comedie Française to see "Le Malade Imaginaire" by Moliere, although my French, was zero and I depended on the translation by my friend who had taken French in an English boarding school. We ventured also to the well known night club "Oubliette", where I had my first glass of wine. We passed under the Eiffel Tower, climbed hundreds of steps to the top of Notre Dame cathedral and the Sacré Coeur, made sketches of our favorite sphinx in the Louvre and walked miles along the river Seine, changing sides at every bridge.
On leaving Paris I felt it rooted in my mind and heart. It was unforgettable. In London the college routine took over. Our class being reduced by half in the second year, became more friendly. The age of the students varied considerably. Besides senior ex-servicemen were young boys like small Matton. Brian was brilliant and he knew it; Jim was attractive with his look of Sherlock Holmes and the pipe, but he never showed interest in me. The Polish group of my colleagues was surrounding Marysia with admiration, while teasing me with my provincial behaviour, especially Adam!
So I decided to part with my long plaited hair and went to a hairdresser, who after cutting it consoled me with a loud remark: "Voilà, Ingrid Bergman"! The same evening Marysia's mother made me put on her lipstick. Looking into the mirror, I saw a girl like any other in London. I shook off my jungle awkwardness.
Our tutor took his students to the Victoria and Albert museum for sketching various copies of classical statues, which was a poor substitute for the study tours to Greece and Italy organized by other Schools of Architecture. Ours was not recognized by the Institute of Architects and we had to take there our intermediate and final exams. I was rather pleased with them, because on the home grounds of the college I felt often embarrassed competing with my friends. The Intermediate I passed both written and oral without a hiccup and enjoyed the last two years of study tremendously.
Created on ... September 27, 2003 by Pierre Ratcliffe