Disappeared. He left her adolescent, a few photos and suffering, because “Hela” was suspected of treason
Photo: National Digital Archives
He was supposed to talk to the commander, that’s all. Jump up the mountain for 15 minutes and return to the fiancée waiting for him in the cafe. He was gone, she never saw him again. Stanisław Jaster, pseudonym “Hel”, a fugitive from KL Auschwitz, was probably liquidated by the Polish underground, although there is no indication that he was a traitor.
He lived in terrible times.
The black car rushes along Marszałkowska Street towards Aleja Szucha, to the Gestapo headquarters. He slows down as he approaches Zbawiciela Square. Passers-by stop as the back door bursts open and two intertwined men burst out onto the road. One of them, the very tall and broad-shouldered one, jumps up instantly. Without thinking, he runs into Mokotowska, and then into Jaworzańska. The car brakes, tires squeal. Armed with machine guns, the Nazis jump out of it. There is no trace of the escapees. Disappeared. They check if their companion is okay after the fall.
A few weeks earlier, early spring 1943.
A friend calls Anna Danuta Leśniewska. He sends an urgent request from Mira Wleklińska, a famous Warsaw chiromancer. Anna Danuta is to report to her as soon as possible. It’s about Staszek.
He is driving. Wleklińska, taken over, says she has to warn her. The man he loves is in great danger. She describes Jaster, her Stas, and she has never seen him. – Black clouds are gathering over him. He is in danger from someone around him – he argues. She adds that her fiancé has to be most careful between July 12-20. If he does not flee Warsaw, he will be arrested on a train, tram or on the street. Not at home.
Believe? Not to believe? It’s a bit ridiculous. Jaster stays in the capital. Unfortunately.
Bożena Sławińska, daughter of Anna Danuta, says:
Staś’s spirit has always been present in our home, and the stories about him and the war were probably treated by my mother as a form of therapy. He was very tall, over 190 cm, in those days a giant, which my mother liked very much, it was even impressive. She was 170 cm, a lot too, but when going for a walk with him, she wore high heel shoes, as they called it, and a hat to reduce the difference a little bit. There was a casket on her bedside table all her life, difficult to open. When I was a teenager, my mother took out a bundle – gauze with Stas’ appendix in it. The last physical piece of a loved one, some reminder that this man was indeed alive. That it was real. After her death, I found there a plate with photos, photos of them from the occupation, which I already knew. And the poem, probably for him, must be written by my mother, because it’s her handwriting. That’s all she has left of him. And memories.
“There is no sanatorium here, but a concentration camp”
There were four of them: Kazimierz Piechowski, Eugeniusz Bendera, Józef Lempart and Stanisław Jaster, who was the last to join the group. Piechowski and Jaster worked in the warehouses supplying the SS nearby the camp. Bendera, a mechanic by profession, and Lempart, a monk from Wadowice, were employed in the camp garages.
They embarked on a crazy plan.
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