Do you like riddles? I do. I like codes and puzzles and anagrams and acrostics- any kind of brain teaser. And one day, my housekeeper, Klara, told me a good one. Here it is…
Klara is Polish. She was born in 1939 (sorry, my dear) and this means that she lived smack in the middle of hot fighting and German occupation during WWII.
I remember her telling me bits and pieces of the trauma that the war had wreaked on her childhood. Her parents had sent her to live with some relatives in Germany and she had to pretend that she was “a German girl.” Had to speak it all the time and forget that she ever knew Polish.
I don’t how long she lived undercover but she never forgot the anxiety and fear of this terrible time in her- and the world’s- life.
My very first housekeeper and beloved mainstay of our household, Mary, was also Polish. She never talked about her wartime experiences there but I know that her husband, Ted- a former bicycle racer- had been interned at Auschwitz. (He was not Jewish but that didn’t stop the Nazis. They were equal-opportunity monsters.)
And he had survived this hell only due to the fact that he had been a great athlete and in superb physical condition before they imprisoned him.
When we would go to their house for dinner on occasion, the kids’ eyes were invariably drawn to the tattoo he had on his arm. Drawn- and then they’d turn away in fear.
Fear that their curiosity and revulsion would embarrass him. Ted became a living testament to them that the Holocaust was only too real – and omnipresent.
And their discomfort upset him. You can see why Holocaust survivors never wanted to talk about their ordeal with their own children. Too horrible for all concerned.
But turning back to Klara…
One day, as we were filling out the forms to make her an American citizen, we came to the question asking if the candidate had ever been a war criminal or a prostitute. Klara laughed and said, “Put down ‘no,’ Pani Ellen. I’m too young to be war criminal and too old to be putana.”
And then she told me this story.
In her town in Poland there was a gardener. A good one. He had been given special dispensation from the authorities to go to the German town across the border to (slave) labor for an important German official.
Every day he would bicycle over to the Polish checkpoint and be waved through. He would then toil all day at the mucky-muck’s house and then cycle back to the checkpoint to return to his home in occupied Poland.
Every day he would make the trip back and forth. And every day, when he was returning to Poland, he would carry with him a small sack of dirt.
Every day. One small sack of dirt. (Here Klara held her hands out to indicate a bag about the size of a five pound flour sack.)
Naturally the border guards were intensely interested in this dirt.
They would confiscate it, sift through it, and examine it throughly each time he came through the checkpoint.
Every time.
And they could never figure out what was so precious about this sack of dirt.
They could never find anything contraband at all. And reluctantly they would let the Polish gardener though.
This continued all throughout the war. Each day the gardener would go to the German town, work and return to the border with his small sack of dirt.
Each day it was examined. The guards knew he was smuggling something illegal but they could never figure it out.
When the war ended, one of them asked him what exactly he had been doing all those years.
“Tell us what you were smuggling. Gold, diamonds, what?”
The gardener knew that there was no way he could be punished now and so he told them
What was it?
Take a guess. This is not a trick. He really was bringing a verboten item back into Poland. See if any of you can figure it out.
Use the “comment” section below. (Sorry about the “captcha” feature. It protects me from Japanese spambots.)
And if none of you guess correctly, the answer will be posted next time.
Happy Sunday, dear friends.
Do widzenia.
Stamps?? Oh wrong thriller. Sorry
Lol. Nope. And I’m glad you didn’t guess correctly. People would have thought it was an inside job.
Seeds, to grow food or grain to make beer, mixed in with the soil.
Nope. But good guess. And thanks as always Rick, for reading me bright and early. I’m bluesing about that great Cali sunshine right about now.
The real question should have been what old movie was based on this story. (That’s your area of expertise, not mine). The gardener was obviously digging a tunnel to help people eventually escape. Weren’t there prison movies like this? Sherlock would have rejected this case as being too easy.
Not even close, Dr. Watson. And yes “The Great Escape” was an awesome movie. (Remember what the tunnels were called?) Thanks for playing- and I’ll be all tuned in tonight as Sherlock stands best man at a wedding.
I’m still a bit puzzled, but have now change my focus from the soil to the sack. Here is guess number two. Was the sack made of fabric, taken back into Poland, to be made into clothes, bedding or curtains?
Really good guess but nope. (And Kenny just emailed me the same question.) If I fly out there and tell you the answer, will you take me to Apple Pan?
Perhaps the bag of soil was a distraction as to what he was really smuggling out on his body?
Very nice guess but no, my dear. And let’s have dinner this week, and I’ll tell you.
Last try. He biked to the Polish checkpoint and walked the rest of the way once he was in Germany. On his return he would bring back a different bike everyday .
Yes! He would ride into Germany on a lousy falling apart bike and then he’d steal one. He’d bring the German bike back through the checkpoint and the guards were so busy with the dirt they never noticed the switch. Klara said by the end of the war, her entire village was riding around on good bikes. And you’ll notice I played it fair and square. The bike was in plain view all the time. Congrats, Sherlock! You cracked the case. I’d share a bunker with you anytime.
Yes but the stamps were in the bikes!!! Holly Kielbasa I got it!!!!!!!!!!
You did! It must be from watching all those “Hogan’s Heroes” episodes. You can outsmart Sgt. Schultz and Colonel Klink any day!
I see nothing!!!!!!!!! Actually I think that the dark side of Bob Crane is blog worthy.
You may be right, Lebeau, ( an actual Auschwitz internee in real life.) But that would have to be in my double secret probation pay-per-view xxx rated blog. What a freakish and a sordid ending for the guy.
I knew it all the time.. Just wanted jimmy to figure it out himself!!!!! Haha
We know who the brains are in the family, don’t we?
It’s not a laughing matter…. What a clever and selfless man to do such a courageous thing… Hope they are both well
You’re right about the seriousness of this endeavor. The gardener was taking his life in his hands every time he smuggled in another bike. How brave and how cunning. That’s why I loved this story so. The heroism of the unsung, ordinary man. As for Klara, she is alive and well and looks better than me. The gardener, alas, has probably passed on by now as he was a grown man when she was a little girl. But his legend lives on- in this post at least. Thanks, Betsy.