First Bike, First Love.

My Mother on her first bike. Her first love. She rode a Triumph 'Saint' 900, no helmet, Marlon Brando style or Stone perhaps. The seed for speed was planted by my grandfather [ a Jazz SaX player touring Poland and South Russia, Belarusk night clubs of the day....what a story

My grandfather, Henryk, was waiting for his band members to get ready for stage, there was much to do. This was no make up session but they did need to tune instruments after long journeys hitchhiking on hoarses, and military trucks of all nationalities. They just had to be back and the frustration had turned to angst. This was a time when uttering any provocative statement in public would very casually dismiss you from the land of the living without explanation. Anyone who expressed any concern knew if they were to do so they would remain a statistic in memory. This was the time of Russia's worst and the worlds most tirannical German dictator. This was the time of the heavy lead silence, which was carried on the back of all, the deep quiet..Inconceiveable in the luxury you now [post communismo] rest on.

So, at the time, my grandfather, Henryk, decides to head downstairs to gather his three band members to move stage left. The lower he went the louder the noise from the crowd now gathering outside. A lone protester had been shot for expressing his situation of exploitation. The military police had shot into the crowd indisciminately. Henryk (Pronounced 'Onreik'..) had to find his members and ASAP onto stage, avoiding the militia and military. A crowd member tld him the first was taken, then not long after the second and third. Henryk could do nothing but could not not.. he was stopped by a crowd member and several of the patrons ushered Henryk into the Night Club, smuggled back on stage and left. He was quickly taken off stage by Military police and pushed through the crowd into the prison wagon. The three received consecutive sentences of 5 months, 9 months and two years according to who had been down stairs longest? From there my grandfather was drafted (?) into the Polish/English Army to fight against the Germans on the West, who were attempting to take Poland from the West. Cutting a long story short, Henryk's section were captured by the Germans and he was sent to die in a prison camp. Him and his best friend fled, escaped, exit stage right, and got out of there asap. Along there return to East Poland they were heavily supported by the farmers and town people who gave them clothes and food, their daughters hand in marriage or the occasional donkey, and they went on to return home having crossed approx the same distance to Perth from Sydney (add in German spies, soldiers etc ready to torture and kill and escapees.

They were now close to home. One more bridge to cross and the only one - in winter - no choice. They stayed and watched for any patterns of crossing by Germans, and found none. They took the chance and began to walk casually across the bridge. A very long, time; artificially slow, walk across around two hundred meters.

Half way and their senses flared internally provoking profound responses from their heart, stomach, knees, mind - within seconds of reaching the middle, a convoy of German motorcycle troups, SS in colour, causing profound levels of indescribable fear made worse by the fact that they had to attempt to be casually crossing the bridge as any two famers on the way to the market. Casual was a distant universe at that moment, but without choice they adopted the persona and made gestures of confident greetings. The bikes stopped and waved through the Black SS cars, covered in labels and badges of silver and red with small flags in red, as if dripping 'O positive', all over their internal negative, and fear.. this was to be their last moment alive. They knew that if they showed the slightest amount of fear they would be shot..

The limo stopped ordered by a deep, commanding, powerful voice in back of car, my grandfather, Henryk and his friend stopped.

At this point they had escaped the prison, which was and had not been done at any time there before of after. They had been involved in so many near captures along the way, often saved by the kindness and bravity of the local farmers, saved from a horrible slow and excrutiating death... and now they were closer to capture than ever before.. standing before a high ranking German SS Superior Officer, drunk, with pistol in one hand and whip in other, he began a normal conversation with my grandfather. Yes, no, yes we are going to market, yes we can show you a good cheese man (how they would do this did not matter at that stage - life was for the moment in the present). The friend of my Grandfathers, who had partnered Henryk with the greatest support in team, escaping so many situations together, together they had literally saved each others life walking across Poland in so many different and challenging situations.... but something was wrong and the officer began to focus on Henryk's friend.. Questions were answered well, perhaps too well and the Officer began to lose patience. He called them both over and told my grandfather to walk in one direction to the other side, his friend was ordered to walk to the other, `They both knew what to do. They both knew they would have to walk casually, almost happily across and keep going without turning back. Was it fate that my grandfather was sent in the direction they were originally going? Henryk walked casually, kicking the occasional stone...the noise of the stone scraping along the surface of the ashfelt reminded him of the many concrete pipes they had crawled through, using sewage pipes in order to confuse and evaide the german prison dogs by mixing in the stench of death and shit - so many times - together.

They both knew to walk. No fast or sharp movements, casual body language, nothing to draw attention.

Henryk heard the distinct sound of his friend's feet running, followed immediately by the blat of machine guns and a single pistol shot followed by laughter... and a crumble of human will, a sound he could not remove from memory, a sound they had both heard on their flight from death, many times over.. He could not turn back, he could not run, he could only walk to the other side and then off to a field, or farm house. The cars sped by followed by the motorcycles and Henryk waited till they were well out of sight and sound before looking back.

His best friend who had saved him on so many occasions, lay crumpled. Henryk would have to wait for dark, but by that time the Officer may have identified the dead man - and in so doing, identified my grandfather. He fled to the farthest farm he could get to in one night.

With the sun coming up Henryk quickly realised that he was on the far outskirts of his home town. He watched from a distance and went to many different vantage points to check for German occupation of his home. He saw no-one. He ran to his parents home, the home he was born in, the home he had left two years before.. The feeling of content and safety had risen to the surface, a feeling he had not touched in many months, a feeling he did not trust.. but it was overwhelming. Moving to open the door of his home, he raised his hand to the handle as the door opened just before he touched it.

Hello? A large round officer greeted Henryk at his family home. An Officer in a Russian uniform. Within minutes two other soldiers had arrived and held my grandfather. He was informed that his home village had been taken by the Russian Forces and this was in fact now Russian ground. Henryk was told that whilst he fought against the Germans on the West of Poland, Russia was attacking on the East and had to there succeeded. The towns people had been forced to march across the frozen inland sea to the Northern part of Poland. With minimal possessions, all were forced to march in the winter, across a frozen sea. Beneath his feet, Henryk could see clearly hundreds of meters below, a clear universe in stasis.. still... Occasionally a hoarse would be seen just under the surface, as if projected as a still image, perfect. Occasionally he would see people he knew in contorted poses, some appearing content as if freed from a burden, cold freedom...

He went on to resettle in the North of Poland and met my grandmother. These were somewhat happy times after so much. So much open heart survival. Open heart survival. My grandmothers family would bring their own chapters in survival. It was not long before my grandfather had my grandmother and two uncles as babies, on a boat heading to Australia.... A new life, a brave man, and a beautiful family... soon to be including my mother who was born on the boat, first class.., and these stories are the colours of my DNA.