Jo'Burg Days: Sequel To The Bride Who Wore A Blanket
Barbara Durlacher continues the astonishing story of Stephanie Kobierzycka, who, after hearing that she was on a Russian hit-list, had to flee from Poland in a metal container packed with bottles of vodka.
Stephanie's article appeared in Open Writing last Thursday. To read it type her name in the search box on this page.
Some years later, after the Russian occupation of Poland, Stephanie and Micky’s lives were disrupted once again. By this time Stephanie was the editor of a Polish “Pathe-news” fortnightly documentary film, which gave her access to many people. Micky had joined the Polish Merchant Navy as a Radio Officer, and his job took him away from home for months, sailing the world’s oceans.
Before the war, Stephanie had been one of a family of five sisters and a brother, children of a wealthy Polish family, owners of factories and properties in Warsaw. Her father wanted her to take over the management of one of his most profitable factories manufacturing precision optical instruments, mainly for the film industry, and it was through business contacts that she later obtained the job of editor in the film unit. The factory, commandeered during the war as an essential industry, was producing bombsights, and as a prime target for the Allies it was bombed flat, leaving the family with nothing. Their large home in Warsaw was also bombed and her only brother died fighting in the Resistance during the Warsaw uprising.
Soon word reached Stephanie that her name was on a Russian ‘hit list.’ They suspected that through her job, she was disseminating anti-Russian propaganda, and that she was a member of a subversive resistance movement. She was brutally interrogated. The questions included her relationship with Micky, as the authorities suspected that his job gave him the freedom to act as a go-between for the movement. In order to protect them both, Stephanie said over and over again, “He’s a sailor; and like all sailors has a wife in every port. You don’t really think that he is still faithful to me or we still have a relationship, do you? I’m not in love with him, and he doesn’t love me. There is absolutely no reason for him to be a member of any ‘resistance’ movement, if there is one.”
Shortly afterwards friends told her she was to be arrested. She had twelve hours to leave the country. Frantic arrangements were made to smuggle her to neutral Sweden, where it was hoped she would somehow get work and make some sort of a life. She might even be able join up with Micky in the future.
That night she was packed into a metal water container (about the size of a tea chest) doubled up with her knees to her chin. Any remaining spaces around her were crammed with bottles of Polish vodka. The vodka was for her to barter or sell, the only asset she had in her new life.
The distance between the Polish port of Gdansk and Sweden is about 6 – 8 hours sailing, and worried friends hoped that somehow she would survive to reach freedom and safety; and she did. On reaching harbour in Sweden a couple of crew members extracted her from the water container, unable to stand or move, frozen in every joint.
But worse was to follow. Hardly had she been released from the tank, than one of the crew came rushing in to say that a Custom Officer was on his way. Nothing could be done, as the ship called regularly at this port and the crew were known to Customs. They also knew that Polish vodka was available, and arrived looking for a night of heavy drinking and plenty of talk.
Swiftly Stephanie was pushed into a tiny clothes locker in the cabin and the door fastened tightly. Dazed and exhausted, suffocated by the press of the dirty, sweaty clothes she remained there for hours, while the men sat in the cabin drinking and telling stories. In the end, totally exhausted, she fainted, and fell against the door. It opened, and she collapsed onto the floor. She was very near death; her blackened tongue was protruding from her mouth and her eyes were rolled back in her head.
The men were so frightened by her sudden appearance and condition, as well as the consequences should she die while a Customs Official was aboard, that they rallied to save her and managed to revive her.
Nothing further was said of the incident and she subsequently found work as a ward maid in a children’s hospital in one of the country towns. Here she washed dishes, scrubbed floors and after some months, looked after sick children. Later she and Micky emigrated to Argentina where they lived for some years, before they decided to join her sister and husband (Ken Newman, the authority on birds) in Rhodesia. Some time later, after her sister Elizabeth’s death from cancer, Ken (who had married again) decided to move to South Africa.
With the political climate changing in Rhodesia, Stephanie and Micky thought they would move south as well. Sadly, on leaving South America and again on leaving Rhodesia they lost their pensions and arrived in South Africa practically penniless – where, in the same fatalistic way, they started again.
With the help of friends they bought a small house in Kensington and lived happily together, active and busy, loved and admired by many. Then Micky had a series of strokes. I met Stephanie a few months after his death when she was still trying to adjust to life without her beloved husband.
She worked for many years at SA Breweries and was well known for her kind heart and love for everyone; helping out in every way she could. Creative and artistic, she made scrap books long before this hobby became popular, frequently constructing a witty and clever record of a popular staff member’s life to mark a ‘big’ anniversary.
Knowing Stephanie has been an inspiration and a blessing. She is a wonderful woman with great courage and strength of mind. She has faced difficulties and tragedy in her life which to many others would have proved overwhelming. She continues to struggle on, despite failing health, still giving her love to others and radiating a sense of joy despite everything.
