Two years after World War Two, my family had tried to escape to the American Zone in Germany.

  The horrendous and all consuming terror of the new pro-communist, pro-Soviet establishment was becoming abundantly self-evident.

  There would be no World War Three, lamentably.

  No General Eisenhower, no General Anders on a white horse leading an American invasion here.

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  Everyone was getting to know exactly as to what was, and what would be.

  My father had spent nearly the entire war as a partisan fighter with the home army.

  He became a wanted man by the Ministry of Public Security after the end of the war, and had to hide.

  The whole thing was organized by my mother’s brother, Uncle Stanley.

  He knew several languages fluently and worked intelligence for the Home Army during the war.

  As a child of war, I knew how to keep my lips sealed, so my mother informed me daily about the progress of the preparations.

  Unfortunately, Uncle Stanley was murdered shortly before we were to go.

  The tragedy deeply affected my family and the business of escape wasn’t broached again.