My great-grandfather's school report

My great-grandfather Stanislaw Warczachowski was born and raised in the small village of Grodnia on the Skrwa River in central Poland. When he was 1.5 years old, World War I broke out. Before his 12th birthday, his father, the family's main breadwinner, died. A blind, ailing widow and seven children were left on the farm. Stanislaw, along with his older and younger brothers and four sisters, took over their deceased father's duties. Days, weeks, and months passed, marked by arduous and difficult work in the countryside. Even the weather and the river were not always nice for their family. In spring, the river flooded the valley, destroying the autumn grain crops. In summer, the heat and the heavy harvesting effort were oppressive. In winter, there were bitter frosts and sometimes famine due to dwindling food supplies. Despite this, Stanislaw dutifully walked every day along dirt roads to school in a village 4 kilometers from his home. Every Sunday and holiday, he attended services at the parish church, which he walked almost two hours to. On this journey, he traversed forests, fields, and meadows, crossing a river on a wooden footbridge suspended by ropes. He could only dream of travelling to the district town; there was neither time nor money for such a long journey. He didn't experience a carefree childhood. Stanislaw's surviving school report from 1926 indicates that his farm duties likely had a significant impact on his academic performance. This document confirms Stanislaw's meticulous calligraphy skills and his love of singing, perhaps a hidden talent. His top grade in religion testifies to the young boy's deep faith in God. A dozen or so years later, as an adult, Stanislaw discovered just how strong his faith was. It was thanks to it, and to entrusting his life to the Virgin Mary, that he managed to escape from the Stutthof concentration camp and, some time later, safely return to his hometown. A few years after World War II, my great-grandfather married and had four children. Then his mother died. He lived in his home village for another 30 years. When his younger son started his own family, Stanislaw and his wife moved with him to another village. It was closer to the city and to another village church. But he didn't forget his Grodnia. He never forgot what that village taught him, what that land gave him, what he experienced during that time. Every year, he visited the new owners of his former farm. When his granddaughter (my mother) could already ride a bicycle, he took her on trips to Grodnia. He showed her the river, the fields and meadows, the medieval stronghold, and told her fascinating and incredible stories of their former neighbours. It was Stanislaw who taught her how to name trees, dry herbs, and pick mushrooms in the forest. He showed her how to make a pipe from an elderberry twig and how to whistle for starlings. It was he who instilled in my mother a love of cycling, reading, and exploring the secrets of the forest. And when the school year ended, my great- grandfather would carefully examine my mother's report card and praise her for having the best grades in her class. During the day, he helped his son on the farm, and in the evenings, he read books or whispered prayers. He was a loving and kind grandfather. He wanted to give his granddaughter what he himself, as a child, had never experienced. Back then, he lacked the necessary conditions, time, strength, or money to fulfill even his smallest dreams. His life was marked by two world wars, the loss of his father, and the serious illness of his mother. He worked hard throughout his life, but one thing is certain: he was always true to his conscience, honest with others, pious, and faithful to folk traditions and customs. When he was 85, he was diagnosed with cancer. The disease ravaged his body in two months. He died on the night of August 14-15, 1997. He passed away during the church feast of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary, with a prayer on his lips: "Mother, take me to yourself..."