The Survivor

THE

SURVIVOR

Roland Pytch

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© Copyright 2008 Ronald Wolstencroft.

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ISBN: 978-1-4251-6850-6

ISBN: 978-1-4269-4090-3 (e)

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10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2

Dedication

To Valerie

with love

and sincere thanks for all your encouragement

Contents

Chapter 1

The New World

Chapter 2

Integration

Chapter 3

The Road to Success

Chapter 4

Change of Direction

Chapter 5

Brief Action

Chapter 6

Freedom

Chapter 7

Succour

Chapter 8

Respite

Chapter 9

The Ambitious Corporal

Chapter 10

Moving Again

Chapter 11

Mediterranean Cruise

Chapter 12

Return to Egypt

Chapter 13

Bitterness

Chapter 14

An Actor Required

Chapter 15

Recruitment

Chapter 16

A Working Holiday

Chapter 17

Hard Bargaining

Chapter 18

Another Keeper

Chapter 19

Preparations

Chapter 20

The New Experience

Chapter 21

A Day at Sea

Chapter 22

The Final Escape

Epilogue

Chapter 1

The New World

Roland Maxim had lived much of his life on a knife-edge. Born Roland Maximillian in 1921, in the poor Jewish quarter of Warsaw, he became streetwise at a very early age, and that education in basics stood him in good stead throughout the rest of his life. It gave him the self-assurance and drive that would one day take him to the highest of social positions, where he would freely mix with kings, political heads of state, world bankers and leaders of industry and commerce.

The youngest of a family of nine children, he was very close to his two sisters, Irene, only one year his senior, and Rita, just more than two years older than him. His earliest memory was of being nursed by Rita, who was then only six years old herself. He was ill due to poor nourishment, and later learnt that he was not expected to live. A brother had died before Maxim was born, and such deaths in large families were accepted as normal in those living conditions.

Lying on a crude bed of rough wood in a damp, overcrowded tenement apartment with crumbling walls, young hands lifted a beaker of water to his lips, and he would always remember those two dark eyes looking tenderly down at him. Their parents were both working to earn the money needed for the basic necessities of life, father being a boiler man in a large factory, whilst mother worked long hours in the clothing trade.

The responsibility for bringing up the younger members of the family was delegated to the older children, and, as soon as the younger ones in turn were able to carry out any menial duties, they did so. Even at the age of five, in the cold days of winter and using a small hand-made cart, Maxim, together with Irene and Rita would accompany an older brother to the forest on the outskirts of the city to collect wood for the fire. Then in the evenings the family would huddle around the blazing logs singing songs.

In the summer the three youngsters skipped and played games with their friends amid the gaunt surroundings of the tenement buildings, and occasionally went to the woods with a picnic. They would play hide and seek, ball games, fly kites and paddle together in a stream. In spite of the poverty, the close knit family life gave them a sense of belonging and happiness

The first real shock in Maxim’s young life came when his closest companion, Irene, contracted typhoid fever and died. He was then eight years of age, and cried bitterly as he watched his father and three older brothers carry her bare coffin from the building. The sudden emptiness in his life was also a milestone.

He was already becoming bored by playing children’s games, and overcame his sorrow by applying himself to his school lessons. He eagerly read any books that came his way, the sheer joy in his newly found freedom of being able to read gave him the chance to enjoy himself without relying on the company of others. His ability at arithmetic set him apart from his classmates, and already the pattern of a superior brain was beginning to emerge.

More sorrow was to come when he was twelve years old, with the sudden death of his father from a heart attack. However, his father had always been rather a remote figure, and Irene’s death had provided Maxim with certain immunity from nature’s cruelties.

Growing up in those harsh post war days of the 1920s, with his country being used as a pawn by the big powers, he soon became aware of the poverty surrounding him. He had heard of the wealth that existed in the New World across the Atlantic Ocean, and decided that a brighter future lay awaiting him there. A mere slip of a youth at fifteen years of age, he bade goodbye to his family, whom he was never to see again, and made his way to Gdansk.

He worked on various menial jobs around the port area, watched and asked questions, but above all he listened. Eventually, with the help of some sympathetic sailors, he stowed away aboard an old deep-sea tramp steamer bound for Baltimore.

After twenty-four hours at sea, with no prospect of the ship putting back to port, he was brought from his hiding place amongst the bales of wipers in the paint locker where the sailors had brought him oddments of food. He was reported as having been found as a stowaway, and wondering if he would be beaten, he was taken to the crews quarters to await questioning.

The captain, an elderly man approaching the end of his working life, listened as the boy told his story. He nodded occasionally, secretly sympathising with him, and admiring his courage. He did not beat him, but put him to work in the galley, making it quite clear that he was not a member of the crew, and would receive no pay. Neither he nor the shipping company would be prepared to assist him in any way, and any problems encountered with the American authorities would be entirely his. Maxim quickly grasped the fact that he was on his own in the world.

His determined personality and quick wit soon made him a favourite with the crew. He was given a bunk, and the sailors gave him oddments of clothing. In the evenings, having worked all day assisting the cook prepare the vegetables, washing up the pots and pans, and finally cleaning up the galley, he would sit with them on deck as they smoked, and listen to their tales. The crew members were Polish, but in their constant travels most of them had acquired a working knowledge of the English language. Maxim knew only a few words of English, but readily soaked up any new ones to add to his vocabulary.

Sitting on the hatches, he sometimes caught glimpses of distant headlands and flashing lights as they passed from the Baltic through the Kattegat and Skaggerat towards the open North Sea. They rolled their way across, with a cold northerly wind cutting across the ship, causing it to wallow in the troughs of the waves. Occasionally the starboard rail would dip into a big wave, sending a torrent of green water foaming along the deck, and seeking a way out through the scuppers, clearing the way for the next big one.

His first glimpse of Scotland was Duncansby Head as they entered the Pentland Firth, which gave him a thrill that he was to remember for the rest of his life. The adventurer in him had now been revealed.

They ploughed their way along off the north coast of Scotland until eventually the Isle of Lewis became a thread of grey on the horizon, and finally slipped out of sight. The old ship was once again alone in the open sea, but this time there was nothing but water ahead of her for almost three thousand miles. She battered her way through the Atlantic gales, rearing her head only to smash it down again into the next huge, green roller, shuddering from stem to stern. The engine alternately raced and laboured as the propeller thrashed wildly above the surface for a moment before burying itself again deep in the foaming cauldron. Maxim was never seasick, and continued to carry out his allotted tasks in the galley as if the challenge was far more important than the end result. The young workaholic had won the respect of the cook and the sailors alike.

After what seemed an eternity, but was actually less than a week, the winds abated, giving way to calm, sunny weather, and again Maxim used every opportunity to learn all he could from the sailors. At nights he lay in his bunk thinking; sometimes of his parents, brothers and sisters back in Warsaw, but mainly of the new life which lay ahead, and of all the promise that the New World held for him.

The cook developed a fever, and became too ill to work. The ship’s Mate detailed one of the crew to take over in the galley, but Maxim assured him that he would be able to manage. The Mate was sceptical, but after one day, and glad to have his seaman back on routine duties again, he allowed Maxim do the cooking, and off-duty sailors assisted him in various ways, obviously pleased to help the cheery lad whom they had helped to bring aboard as a stowaway. Four days later, the cook was well enough to resume his duties, and joked with Maxim about trying to take over his job.

One day, after three weeks at sea, he was told to go to the captain’s cabin. With some trepidation he climbed the ladder to the lower bridge and rapped on the cabin door. The captain’s voice bellowed, telling him to enter; he did so, and saw the Old Man sitting at his desk writing.

The Old Man finished his writing carefully, placed the pen on its rest, and then took his pipe from the rack on the far side of the desk. He filled it with tobacco, lit up, and then swung sideways to look at Maxim.

His gruff exterior belied the inner man. He was deeply concerned about the sad state of Europe, and in particular for the condition of his own countrymen.

He had already assessed Maxim as being above average intelligence, and secretly admired his courage for seeking a new life. To Maxim’s surprise, he said that he was pleased with the way in which he had carried out the work allotted to him while he had been aboard the ship, and that if he approached everything in life in the same manner, he would do well.

Gazing through the smoke haze, he told Maxim that as a younger man he had considered taking his own family to live in the United States, but the war had prevented that, and with sadness in his voice, he said that his only son had been killed during the war. After one more voyage, he would retire to spend the rest of his life in a house overlooking the sea in Gdynia.

Suddenly, re-assuming his Master’s role, he said that tomorrow the ship would be arriving in Baltimore, warning Maxim that he might well find himself in serious trouble if he was caught. The proper course of action would be for him to report Maxim as a stowaway to the authorities, in which case he would probably be held in detention until the ship sailed, and then brought back on board again. However, since he had managed to get aboard unnoticed in Gdansk, the Old Man hoped that he would have sufficient guile to leave the ship in the same manner.

He then took a small bundle of dollar notes from the top drawer, and gave them to him, saying that, hopefully, the money would tide him over until he had found himself some work and somewhere to live. Maxim put the money in the inside pocket of his jacket, and awkwardly thanked the Captain for his kindness in faltering phrases. The Captain nodded, wished him every success in life, and opened the door, leading the way out to the lower bridge.

The sailors had also made a small collection of American dollars among themselves, which they gave to Maxim with final warnings and instructions for his well being if he managed to get ashore without being caught.

Maxim lay in his bunk that night feeling excited. It gave him extra confidence to realise that despite his illegal position on board the ship, he had the unofficial support of the Captain in his ambition to make a new life for himself.

Well inside Chesapeake Bay and approaching Baltimore, Maxim was once again hidden in the paint locker under bales of wiper cloths, and unattractive, half-used pots of paint stacked up beside him. As soon as the pilot was aboard, the news quickly spread that the ship was going to berth at a remote wharf in Back River and not in the main docks. This was bad news for the crew who were always hoping for a berth near the bright lights, but good news as far as Maxim was concerned.

The ship having moved steadily alongside the wharf and moored, the port officials came on board for the docking formalities and a cursory inspection of the ship – without disturbing sticky pots of paint. Once they had left, Maxim was released from the locker, taken to the sailors mess room, and given a meal. The sailors gave him further instructions about the area, and, as darkness fell, they led him ashore in the centre of their group, carrying his few possessions in a bag that had also been given to him. They took him as far as a bar, pointed out the road for him to follow, and then once more he was all alone, but this time in a vast, strange continent.

Chapter 2

Integration

The road was rough and full of potholes, but a three-quarters moon and the glare from the wharf lights was sufficient to guide him. He kept walking past various wharves where there was still some general activity, with the whine of cranes loading and unloading cargoes.

People were still on the move, but as the evening wore on it became quieter, so he decided that he could easily attract the attention of any watchful official, and started to look for some sort of accommodation. The sailors had told him what to look out for, and as he approached a small township near some wharves, he noticed a run down building with a hand scrawled notice in the window, barely visible in the poor street lighting, which read ‘Cheap Lodgings’.

He knocked on the door and it was opened by a tall, burly man wearing a short sleeved vest, and greasy trousers, his bare arms covered in a variety of tattoos.

"What d’yer want?

Room? said Maxim, trying to look as if he had asked the same question many times.

Are y’off the boats?

No, he replied, and, in a mixture of Polish and poor English, started to recite his rehearsed story that he had left his family in New York and hitch-hiked to Baltimore to look for work.

Understanding very little of what he was saying, the landlord cut across his voice and asked Any money?

Maxim produced a dollar note from his trouser pocket, having put the bulk of his reserve in a buttoned pocket inside his tunic.

The man nodded, took the dollar note from Maxim’s hand and then reached into his own trouser pocket, and pulled out a few coins. He gave him a 50-cent coin, and then jerked his head sideways indicating for him to enter. At that moment an equally large woman wearing a stained pinafore emerged from a room at the end of the passage.

Who ‘we got this time? she said, and then seeing Maxim in the dim glow from the gaslight said Christ, ‘didn’t think we were taking bloody schoolboys!

The man ignored her and went up the stairs with Maxim following. There were sounds of voices coming from one of the rooms off the landing, a man’s deep voice, and a woman’s high pitched laughter. Going to a room at the end of the short corridor off the landing, the man opened it, struck a match, and lit the gas lamp. There were two single beds in the room, and a man was asleep, snoring deeply in the bed in the far corner. The landlord nodded at the bed just inside the door.

’Sleep here; he growled,

Maxim looked around the small room, and the only other furnishings were two chairs with worn cane seats, and a small bucket in the centre of the room, half full of urine. The trousers and jacket belonging to the occupant in the other bed lay in a crumpled heap on the floor beside two empty beer bottles.

The shit house is out the back if you want it, ‘better go now ‘fore we lock the back door, he added, not sure if Maxim had understood.

Maxim shook his head, and put his bag on the bed. A mouse scampered from underneath and disappeared through a hole in the skirting board. The landlord turned off the gaslight, and closed the door. Maxim took off his tunic and trousers in the darkness, folded the tunic and placed it on top of the grubby pillow, and climbed under the smelly blankets. In his young mind, he knew that, as long as he wasn’t caught and sent back to Poland again, things could only get better.

He slept only fitfully that night, missing the support of his erstwhile shipmates, and when sleep did come, he would dream of the police taking him away, only to wake up again to hear the man in the other bed snoring loudly. When he finally awoke to sounds coming from the room below, he was pleased to see daylight seeping through the sagging curtains, and surprised to find that he was alone in the room, his unknown companion having already departed, although the empty beer bottles and the bucket were still there.

A few seconds after waking, he instinctively reached for his jacket under his head, and was relieved to find that it was still there. He climbed out of bed, dressed; collected his bag and left the room. As he started to descend the stairs, the woman looked up from below and, gesticulating putting imaginary food to her mouth, asked him if he wanted something to eat.

Maxim nodded and said, Yes please in good English.

Ten cents she said, holding up the fingers of both hands.

He reached for the 50 cents coin in his pocket and gave it to her, and followed her into the kitchen. The landlord was sitting in a high-backed wooden chair in the corner of the room by the fireplace, smoking a pipe. He grunted, nodding his head slightly towards Maxim, while the woman, having placed the coin on the table, reached for her purse on the mantelpiece.

Leave it, Ellie, he said, just give the boy some food, things ain’t that bad. He reached over and handed the coin back him.

She shrugged and went round to the other side of the table, cut two thick slices of bread off a loaf and spread some dripping on to them. She placed them on a plate, and indicated for him to sit at the end of the table. Going over to the stove, she took a brown enamelled teapot off the hob, and poured a mug of tea for him.

The bread tasted good, and while he sat there eating, he managed to answer the landlord’s questions sufficiently for him to understand that Maxim had hitch-hiked down from New York to find work, and last night had found himself well away from the city.

Polish? asked the landlord.

Maxim nodded.

’Plenty of Poles in the City he said, knocking out his pipe on the grate.

Maxim finished his breakfast, thanked them as best he could, and took his leave.

Outside there was plenty of activity, mainly trucks lumbering along, while over on the wharves the cranes were whirring away shifting cargoes. He continued walking along the road, and once more found himself in a comparatively quiet area.

A truck pulled up; the driver leaned out and asked where Maxim was going.

Baltimore, he shouted back.

Jump in.

This was more than Maxim had hoped for. Again, as he was to do several times in the days ahead, in broken English he told his story, and was even beginning to convince himself that his family really did live in New York. However, he did not have to make too much conversation as the truck driver was an extrovert of the highest order, and relished telling his companion that he was born in Baltimore and had lived all his life there. His older brothers had been in the American Navy during the war, and he recounted their exploits as if he had been there himself.

Maxim did manage to tell the driver that he was hoping to make contact with the Polish community, with whom he might find employment.

Yeah, said the driver, "’Know the area well, it’s on my route, and I’ll drop you there.

The truck rumbled on into the suburbs and as the houses and shops became denser, Maxim was already beginning to feel less conspicuous. Various items and decorations reminded him of his own home in Warsaw, and a grin spread across his face.

The driver stopped at the corner of a street in the downtown area, pointed down a side road, and said, Try down there.

Maxim thanked him, climbed out of the cab, keeping a wary eye open for any police, ready to take evasive action if a blue uniform came into sight. Several of the cafes in the street bore Polish names, and one in particular, Wedlencski, was a common name in his own district in