Warsaw, 11 April 1946. Judge S. Rybiński, delegated to the Commission for the Investigation of German Crimes in Poland, interviewed the person named below as a witness. Having advised the witness of the criminal liability for making false declarations and of the significance of the oath, the judge took an oath therefrom, following which the witness testified as follows:
| Name and surname | Mirosław Stępowski |
| Date of birth | 27 September 1922 |
| Parents’ names | Wacław and Maria, née Jefsen |
| Occupation | student at the Łódź Polytechnic |
| Place of residence | Warsaw, Wspólna Street 65, flat 23 |
| Religion | Roman Catholic |
| Criminal record | none |
On 19 August, while taking part in insurrectionary operations ("Radosław’s" group, motorised battalion, assault and sortie unit (special operations) commanded by lieutenant Ryszard "R"), I was severely wounded. [I was wounded] in the courtyard of Radziwiłłów Palace at Bielańska Street, across from Tłomackie Street, following the explosion of six tank shells fired by a tank in Leszno Street,
Since I remained conscious after being wounded (even though I received 29 hits, among other places in the neck, nose, and left lung), I managed to crawl out of the fighting zone to a cellar in the right wing of the Palace, adjacent to the Bank of Poland, from where my friends, having applied temporary dressings, carried me through the courtyard, Długa Street, and Krasińskich Square to the hospital set up in the two storey building of the former Ministry of Justice at Długa Street 7 for the most gravely wounded insurrectionists and civilians. Following an operation during which I had shrapnel removed from my back and left leg, I was placed in room no. 1, as per the following drawing, in the cellar on the side of Długa Street. This room was set aside for the most difficult surgical cases. I don’t remember the surname of the administrator of the hospital; I only know that following the evacuation of the Old Town he ran a hospital at Śniadeckich Street, in the "Przyszłość" (Future) secondary school.
The sisters who were in charge of room no. 1 were Marysia, Agnieszka and Luta (day and night shifts). The hospital housed some 700 wounded, while later on it accepted the wounded and mentally ill from the John of God Hospital at Bonifraterska Street (around 24 August).
The cleaners were Greek, Hungarian and Romanian Jewish volunteers, who had been freed by the insurrectionists in the first day of the Uprising from the warehouses at Stawki Street. All of these Jews had tattoos on their left arms, with the following symbol:
Jcountry
number
Being fluent in French and German, I talked with one of the Jews, Dr Meier from Budapest. He had been taken to Pawiak from Treblinka, where he had been transported in 1942 directly from a transit camp near Budapest. He knew nothing about the fate of his family, with whom he had been deported. The Germans had been using this group of prisoners – freed by the insurrectionists at Stawki Street – to carry loads from the Gdański Railway Station to Pawiak, passing through the Ghetto.
On 1 September the insurrectionists left the Old Town. The hospital doctors left with them. A part of the personnel left the hospital on the following day, exiting through Zamkowy Square together with the civilians. Some of the wounded also left. Germans arrived at the hospital already at 10:00 on 2 September; the remaining female nurses spoke with them, saying that this was a civilian hospital and assuring them that no weapons were hidden on the premises. Indeed, only the most severely wounded insurrectionists remained, for the lightly wounded had been evacuated through the sewers. A soup was prepared from the surviving supplies. As I heard, the hospital wing in which I was lying was the only building left standing in the entire Old Town. At around 11:00 a rumour spread that the Germans were calling all of the healthy people (the personnel) and those wounded who could walk unaided into the courtyard. A great many (some 200) exited the building. After half an hour, during which the Germans toured the cellars – only the gravely wounded were left there, myself included – the personnel were allowed to go back downstairs. First, however, one of the Germans in a Wehrmacht uniform came into my room (no. 1) downstairs and hurled abuse at me in both German and Polish, calling me a "Warsaw bandit", a "dog", and one of those "who must be justly punished". At 13:00, shouting and screaming, the Germans once again ordered everyone to go to the courtyard (drawing) and, dividing the patients into two groups – as I learned much later from nurse Luta, who escaped from the transport to the Carmelite church (the Polish Red Cross point) in Krakowskie Przedmieście, they led these out of the building. I was told by a nun from the Carmelite church and the daughter of a female doctor from the Polish Red Cross, Barbara Kossakowska, that one of these groups was executed, killed to a man, in Mariensztat Street (approximately 40 people).
A few minutes later, after a deathly silence had fallen – for we were well aware of out fate – we started praying, while screams, grenade explosions and [...] individual shots reverberated throughout the floors of the hospital. Finally, a German in an SS officer’s uniform (this was related to me by some friends who survived) entered room no. 3 and shot dead ten people, and thereafter proceeded to room no. 2, where he killed six more people – the entire complement of bed-ridden wounded.
(drawing)
Next, he went to room no. 1. An old man, some 70 years old, was lying there, with a very grave stomach wound. [The German] shined a torch upon him and shot at his head twice, but both shots missed: one completely, while the other only tore off the man’s right ear. Lying in the next room, I clearly heard that the old man was singing some religious song, and then fell silent.
I would now like to submit a plan showing the arrangement of rooms and beds, 1 and 1a.
(plan – drawing)
There were no other people in room no. 1a, while room no. 1 contained eight wounded men and two women (X), one of whom had tetanus, while the other – next to me – was wounded in the stomach and legs.
Father Pągowski was lying in bed "a", with his housekeeper sitting beside him. The entrance from room no. 1a to room no. 1 was covered with a blanket. I assume that by the light of his torch the German mistook the blanket for a part of the wall. For, having executed the old man, he did not go to room no. 1.
An hour later, or maybe later still, [I do not know], because I lost consciousness, however I think that for a short time only, [I lay] completely numb and ready for death; the smell of burning petroleum was suffocating us. The building above us was on fire. The worst period now began. The blaze consumed the building for two days. Father Pągowski’s housekeeper, the sole person able to move about, tried to extinguish the fire caused by the beams which were falling into room no. 1a and the entrance to room no. 1 through the small window. She helped me move to room no. 1, bed "b", and gave me water and a little food (army-issue biscuits). As regards the surnames and pseudonyms of those who were in room no. 1, I remember only Father Pągowski and lieutenant "Sęp". On 5 September the fire appeared to be subsiding. It turned out that four people (men), including one boy, had survived in rooms no. 2 and 3. Two of them were alive thanks to missed shots, while the boy (previously wounded in the stomach) and one man had hidden under their beds during the execution.
On 5 September the woman with tetanus heard footsteps in the street and started screaming. I would like to cite the dialogue (in Polish and Ukrainian) that was carried on, while everyone else was deathly silent:
question: – Is there anyone there?
woman: – Only civilians.
question: – How are we to enter?
woman: – From the courtyard, through the lift.
Two soldiers entered.
question: – Who are you?
woman and others: – We are civilians.
soldier I: And we are the Krasnaja Armia, where are the flowers that you should be greeting
us with?
The soldiers searched the wounded in a professional manner, taking watches and rings.
Before the soldiers entered I crawled from bed "b" under the bed occupied by the old man. The soldiers looked through rooms no. 2 and 3, and then left rapidly; we could hear how in the courtyard one of them reported in German: – Her Leutenant, ich melde gehorsam…
Lying under the old man’s bed, I discovered a boiler with fire-fighting water, which was spoiled. I shared it with the others. By now we were unable to speak, no one had had any dressings for ages. On the evening of the same day (5 September) the woman who called the "Ukrainians" had spasms, while the two men with head wounds died. The third man with head wounds (who had survived in room no. 2 under the bed), seeing the sparks flying from the ceiling, bolted up the (air-raid shelter) stairs to the entrance and escaped into the street. We then heard a single shot.
During the night the fire roared and grew in intensity, fuelled by the wind. Father Pągowski, lieutenant "Sęp", and the priest’s housekeeper went to the courtyard through the lift. I was left behind, for I could not get up. On the evening of the next day, namely 6 September, I heard someone say in Polish from the street: "Is there anyone there?", and, upon hearing no reply: "I give you the word of honour of a Polish physician that all of you shall be transported to a Polish hospital and placed in beds. I can assure your safety". Someone replied. Priests and nurses from the hospital in the Carmelite seminary at Krakowskie Przedmieście Street entered the building. I was pulled out through a window into the street. Everything occurred very quickly. I was only in my shirt; holding onto the nurses; with my last breath and fainting a few times along the way, I managed to reach the Carmelite church. There, under the care of Dr Kossakowska and Ms Wieniawa-Drubecka from the Polish Red Cross, I was placed in the isolation ward. Other wounded people from Długa Street (seven persons in total) were sent to Polish Red Cross hospitals in Milanówek and Pruszków on the next day.
I was haemorrhaging (5) from my pierced lung and remained in the seminary until 29 September. There I learned from one of the wounded, Stanisław Wroński (he died in December 1944 in Podkowa Leśna, at the Wolski Hospital), that the executions at Długa Street 7 and in the church at Sucha Street were administered by the adjutant of general Rhode.
Finally, accompanied by the sound of Russian artillery firing from Praga, I left the Carmelite hospital and, transported on a German military vehicles, reached the Wolski Hospital at Płocka Street, from where three weeks later, on 15 October, I travelled to Podkowa Leśna. I found my family and on 18 February – healthy but crippled – was discharged from hospital.
The report was read out.