Anna Zatorska Piotrkowska


by Barbara Scrivens

Anna Zatorska Piotrkowska has never forgotten the sight of hundreds of emaciated bodies and corpses as they arrived, truck after truck, at a Teheran hospital in 1942 and 1943.

At eight years old, she accompanied her mother, Waleria, as the older woman frantically looked for her husband and eldest son. She had last seen them months before when they left a Kazakhstani kolkhoz to look for the Polish army.

Anna, Waleria and the other Poles in Persia at the time shared common experiences—forced removal from their homes in eastern Poland by the occupying Soviets, brutal transport to NKVD1 forced-labour facilities in northern Russia and Siberia, and surviving Stalin’s Labour for Bread regime.


One of Stalin’s ambitions was to eradicate the Polish nation. While the Soviets remained in eastern Poland between 17 September 1939 and 21 June 1941, they abducted an estimated 1,700,000 Poles. The remote regions of the USSR easily absorbed their corpses and and the labour of the living boosted the Soviet economy and Stalin's on-going Five-Year plans.


“… whenever a big truck came with soldiers, we went to see… I will always remember how we used to go through the whole lot… there were trucks and trucks with dead people…”

Albin Zatorski and is son Józef had disappeared, and remain missing. They are not listed among the Polish dead in former USSR cemeteries. Nor are their names among the 115,000 Polish soldiers and civilians who reached Krasnovodsk on the Caspian Sea and shipped across to Pahlevi in Persia (Iran) by the Polish army.

In 1942, Pahlevi’s processing centre sent the Poles to army training camps or civilian refugee camps and institutions in Teheran and Isfahan. Some joined the staff at the main hospital in Teheran.

“The hospital was run by the Persians but they needed a lot more help and there were Polish doctors and nurses and others who worked there.

“My mother tried very hard to find my father and brother through the Red Cross but we never heard from them again. When we got to Persia, she found work in the hospital and whenever a big truck came with soldiers, we went to see… I will always remember how we used to go through the whole lot… Everybody was looking for somebody.

“There were all sorts of bodies in the trucks. I don’t remember whether they were all soldiers. Some of them were alive because people used to say, ‘Oh, this one or that one is found,’ but we never did.”


Before the invasion of Poland by Nazi Germany and Soviet Russia in September 1939, Albin and Waleria Zatorski lived comfortably in Waniów, in the Sokal region of eastern Poland. Bełz was the nearest large town.

Originally from sandy Kraków, Albin and Waleria (née Gurgól) accepted a Polish government offer to buy land with far better farming potential.

map of Waniów and Bełz district

This map, with Waniów in the centre and Bełz to the west, comes from a series created by the wojskowy instytut geograficzny warszawa (Military Geographical Institute Warsaw) in 1936. It shows Waniów's more than 30 farms, a church and a cemetery. The blue line to the north is a river and the green belt in the south represents forests.2

Young families formed the bulk of the new kolonia (settlement). All the Zatorski children were born there, Anna, the third, in 1934. She does not know how her parents heard about the land but suggests the usual form of communication at the time—word of mouth. Travellers chatting to local inhabitants spread and exchanged information.

Anna has few memories of the kolonia. “I only know that we lived not very far from my grandmother, and that we used to visit her often.”

She cannot remember exactly what types of crops her father grew but knows that as well as growing food for their families, farmers often produced “cash crops.” A company producing sugar, for instance, provided a farmer with sugarbeet seed and advice. The farmer produced the crop and was paid on delivery of the harvest. Albin also held a job at the local distillery, which meant that even after the harvest he still had an income.


“Suddenly we had to leave our house and everything that we had… They kept saying, ‘Hurry, hurry, hurry.’”

Newspapers reported record negative temperatures during the 1939–1940 European winter, the coldest in 100 years.

Anna has distinct memories of waking abruptly one night:

“Half-asleep, half-scared, I didn’t know what was going on… I was probably too young to understand why and what was happening. Suddenly we had to leave our house and everything that we had.”

Armed Soviet soldiers—unexpected, loud, insistent—rounded up the family.

“They kept saying, ‘Hurry, hurry, hurry.’ We couldn’t take many things. We were put on a sled and taken to the railway station and put on those wagons—the same kind they used for animal transport—and I remember there were lots and lots of people, lots of children, and they were lying on the floor, vomiting… It was horrible…

“There was no food. We weren’t given any food. If you took some with you, if you were lucky enough, you had, but otherwise they didn’t feed us. We ate what we had brought with us.

“I don’t remember the men who came to our house. I only remember that as we were travelling in those wagons, the people were so sick… If they wanted to go, say, to the toilet, if the train stopped and the doors were opened, they ran out to just do it… and then the train would leave… and they would be left behind in the freezing snow…

“Later on people got so hungry, so ill, that it didn’t matter. You were just lying there… That was horrible. I remember that like it was today.”


On or immediately after 10 February 1940, Soviet soldiers forced about 220,000 Polish civilians, living in the Soviet-occupied eastern half of Poland, from their homes and onto cattle-trains. The soldiers were following NKVD Order No. 0054 to remove “anti-Soviet elements” from Poland. This included “all persons who, by reason of their social and political background, national-chauvinistic and religious convictions, and moral and political instability, are opposed to the socialist order and thus might be used for anti-Soviet purposes by the intelligence services of foreign countries by counter-revolutionary centres.” The order extended one made only weeks after the Soviet invasion of Poland the previous September and its execution that February was well-planned. (See missing humanity for a full account of the transportations.)

Polish soldiers, high-ranking officials, politicians and wealthy landowners had already disappeared into the USSR’s immense depths. February 10 became the first of four mass removals of Polish civilians and the first seizing entire families. Whoever was found in a designated house in the early hours of that particular morning was taken, however old or young. Two other mass removals of Polish civilians took place in April and June 1940. Hitler interrupted the fourth in June 1941, when he reneged on the pact he had with Stalin to divide Poland between them and stepped through Russian-occupied Poland on his way to Moscow.


“I don’t know how long the train journey was. I just know it was really hard in those wagons. I remember at the end we were put in a house with quite a few families and there were bugs everywhere. They were called pluskwy, like little ladybirds but black and when they bit you, it was so sore it would swell and there was nothing you could do about it because there was no ointment or anything. You could do nothing about them.

“Some people tried to stop them coming into their beds by putting the bed legs into containers of water but the pluskwy would crawl up the wall, onto the ceiling and drop down on you. They could smell us and were feeding on us.”

Anna can now chuckle at the audacity and tenaciousness of the insects. She remembers what she calls the obuz (the NKVD forced-labour facility) near a tiny Archangelsk village named something like “Czary.” Their particular house had no visible neighbours. They shared the accommodation but not the cooking. Anna clearly remembers each family preparing their own scarce food, and the bania or sauna-like bathhouse where men and women washed on alternate days.

Zatorski family in Czary, near Archangelsk circa 1940-1

The Zatorski family during their capture near Archangelsk, in the USSR, from left, Waleria, Józef, Marian, Władysław, Albin and Anna. Judging from Waleria’s hair length, the photograph was probably taken in 1941.

Waleria told Anna there was a two-year age gap between the siblings. In this photograph Józef would have been nine or 10, Władysław seven or eight, Anna five or six and Marian three or four.

Soon after arriving at the facility, Waleria and Józef succumbed to typhoid, severely stretching the family’s meagre rations through Waleria’s inability to work.

“They were taken away to hospital for about six weeks and my father looked after us. When we had some bread, he would dry it and put it into the great big kufer (trunk) so when they came back from hospital we had some food. We were really lucky that they came back from hospital but my mother couldn’t go back to work straight away.

“My mother had the most beautiful long hair, like all the women in Poland at the time. When she came back from hospital, it was all gone. I don’t know whether they had to shave it off or whether it fell out with her high temperature.”

“I tried to walk behind him but I slipped and fell into the water. I remember holding myself against that log…”

The rest of the family did not catch typhoid but Anna contracted what the obuz inmates called chicken- or night-blindness (kurza ślepota).

“When the sun went down, I couldn’t see anything. We had a lamp and I couldn’t see it, or any light. It was from lack of vitamins. It was horrible not seeing anything.”

Almost drowning in the nearby fast-flowing river nearby created another indelible memory. One of her older brothers went on a hunt for berries on the other side, and Anna had followed him across a log they used as a bridge.

“I tried to walk behind him but I slipped and fell into the water. I remember holding myself against that log… Somehow they dragged me out.”

Anna retained a fear of water and never learnt to swim—although it did not stop her from teaching her own children. Her family called those particular berries borówki, often used in Polish dessert pierogi (filled pasta).

The Zatorski family’s food problems eased once the facility’s NKVD commandant and other Russians discovered Albin’s abilities as a blacksmith. Instead of hard labour in the forest, he did repair work in the obuz for his daily rations and had time to take on private jobs.

“In the end we did quite well with food because many people needed help and he was a tradesman. He would do the job but he would never take any money. He would say, ‘Rather, give me some milk, potatoes or maybe bread, or flour…’ Just food, and that way we were surviving quite well.”

Waleria spent her days scraping żywica (resin) from the trees. While their parents and older siblings worked, other Polish and Russian women loosely supervised the youngest children.

When Albin and Waleria first heard of the ‘amnesty’ that allowed Polish inmates to leave the forced-labour facilities they were as keen as the other Poles to find and join the new Polish army.


After Hitler took a surprise grip on western Russia, Stalin re-classified the captured Poles. Instead of the “anti-Soviet elements” of Order No. 0054, they became potential reinforcements for his Red Army. Polish Prime Minister Władysław Sikorski brokered a deal with the Soviets in London five weeks after German troops crossed into Soviet-occupied Poland, and Stalin released the Poles under a blanket ‘amnesty.’ (See military timeline.)

It soon became clear that Stalin was not prepared to cater for ‘superfluous’ family members unable to help his military cause—but the military-aged Poles would not leave the NKVD facilities without their families. Streams of Polish civilians headed towards rations even more strained than those they left behind.

There was no clear plan regarding how these Poles were to get to the Polish army enlistment stations. Some of the forced-labour facilities had better communication and organisation than others. Many of those close to rivers left on make-shift rafts. Some families had been able to save a little money that they used for train fares. Few would have known of the exact geographical location of the enlistment camps. Most Poles left with faith and a belief that they had to grasp their chance to escape Stalin and return to their homes in Poland.

Polish authorities estimated that by then half the 1,700,000 Poles taken to the USSR had died.3 That only around 115,000 escaped with the Polish army via the Caspian Sea shows the fragility of their circumstances. Even if the news of the ‘amnesty’ reached a facility, the NKVD commandants needed to retain their workforce. War or no war, Stalin’s Five-Year plans for Soviet expansion rolled on.

Trains provided the usual form of travelling for ‘visitors’ within the USSR—locals used animals—but the on-going Operation Barbarossa in western Russia meant that Soviet soldiers and ordnance took priority on those trains.


“When we got to the kolkhoz there was nothing  there… just nothing. It was desert.”

Like many of the Poles who left the forced-labour facilities, the Zatorskis did not anticipate the dark side of that that ‘freedom.’

The Poles spent weeks, sometimes months, heading towards the Polish army enlistment stations in Uzbekistan. As their army’s presence remained elusive their survival became even more precarious.

“When we got to the kolkhoz there was nothing  there… just nothing. It was desert.”

For the first time in his adult life, Albin could not earn a living.

“I don’t know exactly how we got there but I do know there was nothing to eat. There were quite a few [Polish] families around us and if they found a dog they would kill it to eat. After a while, the [local] people would come around looking for their dogs…

“The [Polish] men still had to work, digging, but there was no food. I only remember the hunger. We stayed in little huts. The floor was the ground. The [local] people grew cotton. They made square biscuits from the husks, pressed together and the oil squeezed out, to feed the stock. We had to go and steal that. When we ate it we were so constipated, we were bleeding, but there was nothing else to eat.

“That was the toughest time and my father said, ‘That’s it. We are going back to Russia. Let’s go back while we have our lives.’”

“I remember there was an inspection every now and then, to see if we were healthy enough to leave, and my mother was hiding me.”

Anna does not know why her father changed his mind. Instead of returning to the NKVD facility as a family, Albin and Józef left the kolkholz to continue looking for the Polish army.

Anna does not remember how or when the rest of the family left the kolkhoz but they did manage to get Władysław into the junaki (Polish military cadet school). Waleria, Anna and Marian made their way west to Krasnovodsk on the Caspian Sea to wait for one of the cargo ships evacuating Polish soldiers and civilians to Pahlevi. Anna’s only memory of getting to Persia in 1942 is that she was so ill, she may not have been allowed to travel.

“I remember there was an inspection every now and then, to see if we were healthy enough to leave, and my mother was hiding me.”

Waleria, too, seems to have avoided the official list-takers. Although the Red Cross list of evacuees from the USSR names Genowefa, Helena, Janina, Julia, Karolina and Maria Zatorska, and a Kazimierz Zatorski—all originally from Waniów—there is no entry for Waleria, Anna, Marian, or even Władysław.


“We saw Władysław in Persia before he went to Palestine with the junaki. I don’t know for how long, but we did see him. There were quite a few camps and whenever a group arrived, we would go and see if we could find somebody.”

Waleria took the job at the Teheran hospital as insurance for the future.

“We were all going back to Poland so we had to have something, however little. I knew my mum wanted to gather up a bit of money so we could go back with something.

“It was beautiful in Teheran. The hospital was the biggest in the city, really well looked after, and the roads were all beautifully sealed. There were trees and roads with two lanes and lovely cars, limousines and people beautifully dressed… They said they were Armenians, the most beautifully dressed women, lovely looking, and the men, they were the handsomest, like my husband, dressed beautifully in two-piece suits and lovely shirts and ties.

“Someone else moved a bed right against the balcony. Marian went to play on the bed. It tipped…”

“When any of the beggars came out onto the main road from the hospital to the city, police on horses would shoo them away. In the city the shops were beautiful. They had the most wonderful jewellery, beautiful bracelets—gorgeous—all different designs and turquoise jewels. I loved Teheran. I thought it was the most beautiful city.”

Anna did not appreciate leaving.

“In Teheran there were big sleeping quarters, two or three storeys high, for the people who worked at the hospital. In each room there were seven or eight beds. There was no cooking done, no other facilities, just single beds. Somebody moved out of this room and someone else moved a bed right against the balcony. Marian went out to play on the bed. It tipped and he was pushed up and fell off, over the balcony.”

Anna remembers how for seven days her younger brother fought for his life while the hospital staff hunted for scarce ice to ease the swelling on his brain. When he died, a shattered Waleria decided to leave another painful memory.

Isfahan was Teheran’s antithesis.

“The rooms were small and we were put with a woman who was so angry with my mum for arriving, but they had already started Polish classes and I could actually start school.”

“They kept grabbing me and they had snakes… I was so scared. I hated it.”

Anna and her mother lived in bursa siódma (hostel number seven), a Polish boys’ orphanage where Waleria worked as a hygienist. The orphanages were a “significant” distance apart and those without the customary horse and carriage had to negotiate local beggars when walking the streets. The experience frightened nine-year-old Anna on her own.

“There were so many beggars. They kept grabbing me and they had snakes… I remember those beggars, always stretching for you and those snakes… They would play something and let smoke out, which would do something to the snake… I was so scared. I hated it.”


Anna was relieved when in 1944 her mother accepted temporary refuge in New Zealand, although she had no idea where the country was. For both of them, the other side of the world became another place to wait until they could go back home to Poland. New Zealand Prime Minister Peter Fraser made the offer to the Polish government-in-exile after he became aware in 1943 of a ship in Wellington harbour carrying Polish refugee children to Mexico.

The two-legged trip to New Zealand marked Anna’s first separation from her mother. Waleria developed morska choroba (sea sickness) and spent most of the journey in both ships’ medical units. Anna remembers the boys “getting up to mischief” on the larger uss general randall, which took the Polish refugees from Bombay to Wellington.

“I remember the nuns bringing us chocolate and that we weren’t allowed to have any lights on at night because of the war, and the ship zig-zagging to escape the torpedoes. The soldiers were so kind to us and occupied us. There were always games and we were busy all the time. I was always hungry… I distinctly remember two meals a day but my stomach kept growling.”

Polish children fill the deck of the USS General Randall as it docks in wellington in 1944

John Pascoe captured this image of the Polish refugees on the main deck of the ship on 1 November 1944.4

In New Zealand Anna and Waleria settled down with the other refugees to life in what became known as the Pahiatua Children’s Camp, erected within the northern Wairarapa farming district and named after the nearby town.

After Poland’s apparent Allies in WW2 handed the country to a Moscow-controlled communist government, Prime Minister Fraser extended his 1944 invitation to the Polish refugees already living in New Zealand, and offered them permanent residency.

Lessons purely in Polish changed to lessons in English and those children who elected not to return to Poland after 1945 were sent to New Zealand schools to integrate and improve their language skills.

“Quite a few young people found their parents or relatives in Poland and returned but my mother decided to stay and asked for Władysław to come to New Zealand because he was in England then. What could she do in Poland as a widow with two young children? She wouldn’t be able to give us an education or even feed us in the same way she could in New Zealand. Here she had the chance to do that.”

Anna and 
Waleria Zatorska in Rotorua

Anna and Waleria on holiday in Rotorua in 1951.

When the Pahiatua camp closed, Waleria accepted a job with an Italian priest in Pungarehu on Taranaki’s south coast. The two Europeans “somehow managed” the language barrier, helped by the priest’s wanting to learn Polish and appreciating that during rationing Waleria could “do things” such as milk the presbytery cow and produce butter.

“He spoke beautiful Maori and enough Polish so that when my mother got stuck with English, they could work it out.”

Anna attended Opunake Intermediate School and later completed her high school education at the Marton District High School.

Waleria accepted that Albin and Józef were dead and married Antoni Characzko, a Polish war veteran who, as part of the New Zealand government’s family reunification scheme, joined his daughter Helena, another of the Pahiatua children and a few years younger than Anna. They all moved to Marton, where Waleria found a job sewing large items such as candlewick bedspreads and dressing gowns. Antoni was a carpenter. Anna lived with them until she married Władysław Piotrkowski in 1953 and moved to Wellington.

“It’s been quite a journey.”

© Barbara Scrivens, 2015
Updated January 2019





  • 1 -  The NKVD, or Narodny Kommisariat Vnutrennikh Del was the Soviet Union’s Secret Police, known officially as the People's Commissariat for Internal Affairs, the precursor to the KGB.
  • 2 -   This map is a section of P47_S38_SOKAL from Mapywig. Home page for the English version is:
  • 3 -  Anders, Lt-General W, CB, An Army in Exile, originally published in 1949. Reprinted by The Battery Press Allied Forces Series, Nashville, ISBN: 0-89839-043-5, page 116.
  • 4 -  Pascoe, John Dobree, 1908-1972, Polish refugees arriving in Wellington on board the General Randall, Photographic albums, prints and negatives. Ref: 1/2-003638-F. Alexander Turnbull Library, Wellington, New Zealand: