Personal data:
Bolesław Wierzchoń, lieutenant on permanent active duty, born on 4 January 1908, physician, married (has one 6-year-old child).
Date and circumstances of arrest:
I was arrested on the night of 4/5 February 1941 at my own apartment in Wilno at Mała Raduńska Street 4, flat 1. The arrest was conducted by three men from the NKVD’s railway department and was supposedly for the purpose of verifying my identity and the validity of my papers. There was no arrest warrant and no official criminal charges.
Name of the prison:
From 4 [February] to 1 March 1941, I was detained at a remand prison of the NKVD’s railway department in Wilno, at Słowackiego Street 5 (on the corner of Wiwulskiego Street); the building’s cellars were specifically adapted for use as a prison. From 2 March to 22 June 1941, I was at the Łukiszki prison in Wilno. Next, we were evacuated to Russia in sealed cargo cars – the journey lasted from 24 June to 3 July 1941, with 45 to 47 persons in each 15-ton train car. Finally, between 3 July and 8 September 1941 I was at the Gorky prison (town on the Volga River, previously known as Nizhny Novgorod).
Description of the prison:
The remand prison was organized in the cellar of the building that served as the living space and headquarters of the director of the Polish State Railways in Wilno. It was a brick building. The cells were dark and cramped. They were damp, poorly ventilated, and furnished with just cots – no parasha [bucket for relieving oneself]. Hygiene was severely lacking: lack of baths, infestations of bedbugs and lice. The Łukiszki prison was also a brick building and the cells were overcrowded but we had access to towels, electric lights, central heating (even though not sufficient), a parasha in the cell, a warm bath once every two or three weeks and other means to keep the cell hygienic (such as brooms to sweep it and paraffin to wax the floor).
The train car taking us to Russia was filthy and had no berths – we could only stand or sit on top of our personal luggage. It was unbearably stuffy and hot, there were hordes of lice and we received 1.5 kilograms of bread for the whole 11-day journey. We also lacked water. Six people died on the way to Russia. The Gorky prison was a brick building with severely overcrowded cells (three to four times over capacity), quadruple bunk beds made from wooden planks, tropical heat at the topmost bunk level, as well as a lack of towels and ventilation (we were not allowed to open the windows). The cells were filthy, damp, infested with bed bugs and initially also with lice. Bath access once every four or five weeks. Overall, hygiene clearly inadequate for an arrangement with around 16 inmates per cell.
Social composition of prisoners:
Mostly Poles, some Lithuanians, a small percentage of Jews, Belarusians, and Russians. Mostly political crimes, counterrevolutionary activities (i.e., Article 58) and illegal border crossing; a small fraction were accused of so called “hooliganism,” speculation or theft (out of the 16 inmates in my cell a few were professional criminals). Mostly members of the intelligentsia, the military, civil servants, freelance occupations, landowners, merchants, and some wealthier peasants. If from the lower social strata, they were imprisoned just for being good Poles. Morale among the Polish prisoners was generally high – cases of breakdowns or dejection were rare. Much mutual moral support and good relations, even despite varied intellectual level and prior social standing. Organized talks on various subjects (books were provided rarely and only at the Łukiszki prison in Wilno). Lithuanian prisoners were unfriendly towards the Poles and other nationalities; there were frequent misunderstandings that resulted in fights. Even intelligent Lithuanians still exhibited chauvinism and an open hostility to all things Polish. We were lucky that the Poles were in the majority – had the numbers been inverse, we would’ve been in deep trouble. Notably, Poles imprisoned for professional criminal activity showed a great patriotic spirit and actively responded to any anti-Polish behaviors exhibited by the Lithuanians.
Life in prison:
Wake-up call at 6.00 a.m., cell cleaning, washing in the cell (only in the Łukiszki prison in Wilno and only if water was available in the cell), distribution of bread and boiled water (450 grams of bread in Wilno, 350 grams in Gorky; sometimes sugar). Next came the summons for interrogation at around 10.00 a.m. Then, parasha [bucket] emptying and time to wash ourselves, followed by dinner between noon and 1.00 p.m. The dinner was always soup – decent in Wilno and completely awful in Gorky. Supper between 5.00 and 6.00 p.m. (also soup). Lights-out and roll-call at 9.00 p.m. Nighttime summons for interrogations started at 10.00 p.m.; the interrogation could last until 4.00 or 5.00 a.m. and sometimes even longer. The food was bad, there were no books to read, no entertainment and no walks (we spent our free time listening to talks and engaging in discussions). We wore our own clothes. Relations among the Poles were decent, and our cultural activities consisted of talks on various topics given by fellow prisoners.
The NKVD’s attitude towards Poles:
The interrogations were brutal. They involved verbal abuse, beatings (including kicking) and all sorts of threats directed at the prisoner and their family. Extremely hostile attitude towards the prisoner, Poland and all things Polish. Communist propaganda was employed during interrogation sessions, specifically in the form of boasting about the alleged varied and wondrous achievements of the communist system – mostly ridiculous, factually incorrect, and akin to fairytales. No information about Poland was ever provided and any statements about it were to the effect that Poland is surely in the dustbin of history and if it were to ever rise again, then only as a Red state. The interrogation sessions were long, tiring and often took place at night to prevent the prisoners from getting enough sleep. They could be conducted for a few days and nights in succession. The interrogation methods were inhumane, comparable at best to some medieval inquisition.
Medical care, hospitals, mortality rate:
The provision of medical care was basically an illusion. It was hard to get hold of a nurse or a feldsher, not to mention a doctor, and those doctors who did attempt to help a sick prisoner would soon end up behind bars themselves – there were two cases like that during my imprisonment in Wilno. When in the Łukiszki prison a fellow inmate (a technician by the name of Antoni Olszewski) developed dysentery, the deputy chief of the prison suggested I treat him with hypnosis and ridiculed the man’s condition. It was impossible to arrange a doctor’s visit; luckily, the man recovered somehow without any treatment. There were hospitals adjoining the prisons, but I have no information about the conditions or mortality therein because I haven’t met any prisoners who were treated there.
Was there any possibility to get in contact with one’s country and family?
When I was interned in Wilno, my wife was allowed to bring me new underwear once every two months. Our other source of information about things outside were the newly arriving prisoners, who updated us on the goings on in the wider world. As regards the Polish-Soviet agreement, we learned about it from scraps of newspapers left at the restroom – the prison authorities not only neglected to tell us about it but also reacted to our subsequent questions with suspicion, interrogating us about the way we found out. They improved the conditions somewhat only once it was clear that we knew: they allowed more frequent walks, issued one book in Russian for us to read and gave out a few packets of low-grade tobacco to a roomful of 170 people. The relations with the prison staff remained just as hostile as prior to the agreement – searches were still conducted, and we were still being bothered in various ways.
When were you released and how did you manage to join the army?
I was released from the Gorky prison on 8 September 1941 and sent to the Shatki area. There, 100 kilometers away from Gorky, I worked in the woods. I demanded a referral to the Polish Army office in Buzuluk but was not given one and was told to file for it via the local NKVD and the voyenkomat [army draft board] in Shatki. They refused to give me any office work even though there were open positions to be filled – I had to choose between working in the woods or in a kolkhoz. Being employed in my profession was out of the question, as I was told that I was not a Soviet citizen and could not provide a valid medical diploma. They would not even take me in as an apprentice at the cooper artel [cooperative association]. Given this situation, I and my friends wrote letters to the headquarters in Buzuluk, the Polish embassy, the British embassy and the US embassy in Moscow. I received a postcard from the army headquarters, summoning me to the 5th Infantry Division in Tatishchevo, and only on this basis did the local army draft board finally issue me the relevant papers, a ticket, and a referral to the Polish Army. My friends wanted to go with me but were not issued these documents. When I got to the 5th Infantry Division, I was able to give their names to the right people, who intervened in the matter (possibly even wrote something about it), such that they were finally allowed to leave. I arrived at my unit (the 5th Infantry Division in Tatishchevo) on 23 October 1941. The journey took some effort because I had to try various means to get the necessary train ride – it took me around a week to secure it. With this I end my present testimony, although I wish to state on the record that this is but a part of the most important experiences I have had while in the Soviet prison system and after my release from it.