An incident in
Krakow
by Jilliana
Ranicar-Breese
I had Polish
contacts via an art restorer living in London
called Jacek Czeczot. His aunt lived in Zakopane
and spoke French being of the old generation. The
younger generation spoke Russian which they hated
because it was forced on them by the Russians.
From there I had an introduction to an English
employee of the British Council in Krakow.
However when I got to his flat to stay, I was
told he had left in a hurry because his life had
been threatened by the secret service.
This man suspected he was being followed by
secret agents as it was during the Cold War. He
searched his flat and found the recording devices.
He removed them and was told by a sinister Pole
that he would meet with a fatal car accident.
This information he told his successor while
briefing him.
The next day was bleak and drizzling but I had
promised myself a trip to Auschwitz.
I noticed that the camp had been modernised and
there was no mention of Jews only homosexuals and
gypsies. No English either but notices in Polish
and Hebrew.
In the car David told me about a business hotel
where all the tables were bugged so the secret
service could glean information!
That night I was meeting Danish tourists to go
and listen to modern jazz. We got lost because we
couldn’t read the directions in Polish. From
out of nowhere a man appeared and began to walk
in step with us. He said he was Belgian and
started speaking to me in bad French but then he
switched to English. We continued walking. He
wouldn’t go away but firmly sat on the hard
wooden bench next to me. I asked him why the Jews
were not written about at Auschwitz. He coughed
excusing himself that he had to make a phone call.
He never returned. I got scared because I thought
I would be followed and so asked the Danes to put
me in a taxi. I asked the driver to drop me a few
blocks from the flat I was staying.
We arranged to meet for coffee in a beautiful
cafe which used to be a library Jama Michalika.
Its Art Nouveau interior was black and dark green
and reminiscent of a splendid bygone era.
The day dawned and I got ready to meet the Danes
after an ample breakfast.
It was around 10.30 and the cafe was empty. The
traditional dressed waitress came to take our
order which was coffee and an apple pie,
speciality of the house. Showing my knowledge of
Cold War politics, I related what David had told
me. However, when the waitress brought the bill,
with it was a handwritten note which said in
English.
‘Do not tell lies and talk shit about our
blessed Poland or else………..’
I looked around but the cafe was empty as it was
pre lunch time. I called the waitress over and
asked who had given her the note. She shrugged
her shoulders and said nothing. It was time to
leave the faded glory of the past and the
Communist regime.
Written
13/12/24 at Nightingale.
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