The Polish Connection 6

June 1915

Over the next few days, Rebecca and I worked out what Peter’s background should be, and, of course, we needed to use the same information for telling people about Beth. But we wouldn’t mention that her father was living in our cellar, only that he had dropped her off with us and disappeared.

We have decided that we will pretend they lived in a small town called Stavelot, which is on the river Ambleue in the German speaking section of Belgium. Since the town Peter really comes from is on the Oder River, descriptions of the areas can easily be interchanged. Beth cannot, of course, be expected to know anything about where she lived before. The nearest big town is Liege, and we decided to say her father was an academic and worked at Liege University, only going home to his family on weekends. We said in our fake scenario that he could get a train from Liege going towards Luxembourg, and get off at a place called Three Bridges and from there get a bus to Stavelot.

There are large hills nearby called the Belgian Hills, and people often refer to the area as Little Switzerland. There is a 13 metre waterfall called Coo, and it is six km. from the town of Spa which has thermal springs and is in fact a Spa town. The local church is called St. Sebastian’s, and it contains a reliquary of the True Cross. Here also they have the ruins of the 7th century Abbey of Stavelot where St. Remacle lived.

There is also a lake nearby the Warfaaz Lake. Most of the people in the area speak French, but there is a German enclave there and also at the nearby town of Malmedy.

There is a huge nature park called Hautes Fogres. We will say his house was a small cottage, much as the one he really lived in, and all the details about his wife and her death will remain as they really were. Peter has now told me about her death, which was quite quick really and from a rare form of cancer caused by part of the placenta remaining in the womb and then becoming malignant. Her name was Elizabeth as was Peter’s mother. So now we all know our history down pat. Peter has decided to stick with the name Boutch for his purposes, but we decided it was only fair to give Beth her real last name of Novak.

Over the past weeks each night Peter has brought home something interesting in the bags I provided for him. There is always a supply of coal, as this valley has a rich seam and he can get coal just by using his hands along the banks in the gorge made by the stream just behind our house. He also picks up useful bits of wood from the path for the fire. And then he provides us with a treat such as Alexanders, which we thought were weeds. If you take the young shoots off the central stem before they become woody, you can cook them in boiling salted water for 10 minutes and they taste very like asparagus. He’s also picked some early ash keys which he has told me how to pickle. I must cook them for 25 minutes, and then pack them into jars with horseradish and peppercorns, and then cover with a mixture of cider and vinegar and stand in a slow oven for an hour. So our winter eating will be much more interesting if he keeps on giving me these new ideas.

Peter has managed to get a job at Primrose Mill, overseeing the making of the gas mantles. Mr. Rammy, the manager, was not worried about having him fill in forms so he did not have to lie except for his name and saying he was from Belgium. He says that he might be obliged to work a late shift once he is fully trained, as they have two shifts working at the moment. His pay is very basic, 17/8 per week, but Peter is so pleased to be able to buy the odd treat for Beth, and contribute to our food bill.

I have been taking Beth with me to church on Sunday mornings, and of course everyone is curious as to who she is and why she is staying with us. I am pleased that we now have a history which sounds very reasonable and believable as we say it over and over. She loves lighting a candle by the Blessed Virgin statue after Mass, and is curious as to who the people are in the pictures, meaning the saints featured in the stained glass on the windows. Most of them are labelled – St. Philip, St. Cecelia, and so on - but the ones in the very front are not. I have been told they are St. Margaret on one side, and Edward the Confessor on the other, which would be fitting for at the bottom of his picture is the name of the man who donated them, and he is also called Edward, Edward Ross.

I have more bad news about more of our local men who have died in the war to relay to John. The latest one is Sergeant Hayes who was shot down while leading a charge of the sixth Manchesters as part of the Gallipoli Campaign which was fought in Krithia.

Here is what the paper says about it.

A cablegram to Marple on Saturday conveyed the news of the death in hospital of Sergeant Arthur Hayes, of the 6th Manchesters. One of four Marple soldiers being wounded at Dardanelles, three Marple heroes have now fallen in the operations there, namely, Captain O.A. Carver Bates, Sergt. A. Hayes, and Priv. Willie Ward. Sergeant Hayes, who was also platoon commander, took part in the great charge of the 6th Manchesters on June 4th. He and his comrades cleared the Turks out of three trenches, and were advancing on the fourth trench when he was wounded in the forehead. It is supposed that he was hit by all explosive bullet, which shot part of his head away. He and Sergeant-Major Hurdley were friends, and they were both charging together. They were both tall men, both were hit in the forehead, and fell. But whereas Sergeant Hayes has succumbed to his injuries Sergeant-Major Hurdley is progressing towards recovery. It is thought that Sergeant-Major Hurdley was wounded by an ordinary service bullet, and that the one that struck Sergeant Hayes had been made by a Turk following the German method - an explosive bullet to inflict the worst possible injury on whoever it struck. He was conveyed to the First Australian General Hospital Heliopolis.

Carver Bates, who was 22, was the son of Mr. and Mrs. Bates of Marple and joined the 6th Manchesters on the day after war was declared. He was fighting in Ismalis from January until May. He sent a note home dated the 8th of June saying, “I want you to know that I am safe and sound. No doubt by the time this reaches you, you will have heard about our noble charge on Friday, but my God, it was as if hell itself was let loose.

“Of the Marple lads, I am sorry I saw only one who came through unharmed except he was shot through the leg. The troops who have been sent here say that ever since we landed we have been through the mill under fire and it will be a treat when we can straighten our backs as we have to walk with bended backs owing to a continual rain of fire on us. I cannot tell you more at present but we are looking forward to the day when we leave this hell hole. Carlos.”

But of course he never did. May they rest in peace.

Peter has instructed me how to make the the most wonderful meal for us. Beetroot soup, which he called Barszcz, and Hunter's Stew, called Bigos. He says this is the national dish of Poland, ancient in origin. Originally it was made in a cauldron and cooked over a fire. You can use any kind of wild meat, but we used rabbit.

He suggested mushrooms and juniper berries, and apples. He says is is best made ahead and reheated slowly each day for one hour to give the ingredients a chance to mingle. We managed to all eat the meal together in the cellar, after church on Sunday, which was great fun.