WHEN THE RUSSIANS CAME

By George Jesze, Friday 23rd October 2015

George at three years old, with his parents Emma and Edward Jesze

“Bless (affectionately, gratefully praise) the Lord, O my soul; and all that is (deepest) within me, bless His holy name! Bless (affectionately, gratefully praise) the Lord, O my soul, and forget not (one of) His benefits”

Psalm 103, 2 + 3 The Amplified Bible

Bombs whistled, sirens screamed and buildings came crashing down all around us. Mutilated bodies lay in the streets, displaying all the grotesqueness of death. The Russians – then allies with Poland and England against Germany – were nearing the city. Fusillades of bombs being dropped kept everyone in confusion, making it easier for the Russian soldiers to advance. The world was reeling in the stranglehold of chaos and suffering that was World War II.

How we had loved Poland, with its beautiful countryside, proud cities and friendly people. My grandparents, like thousands of other German settler ­families living in Poland, lived an industrious, prosperous life there. They had a farm where they grew bountiful crops and had magnificent cart horses to pull the plough. When the Russians came, all the property was confiscated and given to people of Polish descent; there was terrible suffering and many committed suicide.

My mother had been a shy, dark haired dressmaker and my father repaired hosiery machines, when they met and married. They both loved and feared God and my father came from a very strict background. When I was born, Father dedicated me to God to be a minister of the Gospel.

When Germany declared war on Poland, the country capitulated very quickly. Conditions were not too bad at first; but when Father marched off in his soldier’s uniform, we did not know that it would be many years before we would be together as a family again. Under the Russian occupation, my mother had to go with the forced ­labour gang and drag the dead bodies out of bombed houses. Tears of shock, fear and sorrow streamed down her face as she pulled out somebody’s mother or child from under the rubble. She also had to remove the clothing and shoes that were still wearable, and the corpses were then piled up in the street for removal. As the war progressed, food became scarcer, and Mother often gave me her share. My little brother lived only a few days as there was no baby food and Mother was producing no milk.

A Russian soldier once came into the house where we had rooms, and raped a young girl just a few metres away along the corridor. She screamed and resisted him, so he shot her in cold blood. Mother and I clung together and hid behind our door, which the soldier had to pass to get out again. God kept us and he did not see us.

One day I heard crackling and rushed to the window. The house next door was in flames! Not heeding the danger I ran to the door to look. The house was in ruins where bombs had fallen. Wooden beams stuck out like stark arms, and charred, blackened corpses hung from them while the flames licked and leapt. I screamed, never to forget the sight, and it haunted me for many years. Many German children were sent away to concentration camps, torn screaming from their mothers’ arms. I could have been one of those children, but God protected me.

The stranger

One evening a stranger in uniform came to the door, and smiling kindly, asked Mother why she and her little boy were still in the city, for there was almost no food now. “Go into the country,” he went on. “I will come tomorrow with a train ticket and take you both to the station.”

The stranger collected us the next day and put us on the train. We had no idea who he was or what his uniform represented. Mother believed he was an angel in human form. After a long train ride we walked 8 miles to an area where we had some relatives, and a kindly farmer and his wife offered us refuge at their farm. Mother sewed and mended in return for our food and lodging and I, at 4 years old, had to take the cows out to pasture and look after them all day – a small ‘cowboy’.

One wonderful day we received a letter and a photo from Father. He had been taken as a prisoner of war to England, but was now free, and living and working in Preston, near Manchester. He had comfortable lodgings and was learning to speak English! We were to start a new life there, and he was trying to get the papers for us to join him. From time to time, Father sent little parcels from England. Several of our relatives had already left, and after many months the long awaited document came from my grandparents.

The man in the dream

Many refugees were leaving and it was difficult to find a place on the refugee trains. One night in 1950, God spoke to Mother in a dream, where she saw a door with a number painted on it, and a man sitting at a desk. A voice spoke to her, saying: ”Go now!” She woke up with a start and was soon on her way to the train station. She walked barefoot several hours through cow fields, and streams, up steep inclines and through thick woodland, carrying her precious shoes and homespun stockings.

When she reached the town, Mother slipped on her shoes and stockings and soon the black steam train thundered alongside the platform. Arriving in the city, she went to the Government office and found the door with the number on it, and the same man sitting at his desk, just as she had seen in the dream. After she had asked for permission to leave the country, the official was not willing to help her until she gave him a fine fountain pen that Father had sent her from England.

After many weeks, a letter came and she undertook her weary journey again to see the man, armed with a fur coat which Father had sent her. After examining the coat, the official said he would get our papers ready. “The journey is free of charge, You can travel in three days time. Take enough food for three days until you reach Germany!”

Off to the West

We had very few belongings but it was a rush to say Goodbye to our friends and get everything ready. The farmer took us and our bundles to the station, and we boarded the train together with hundreds of other refugees. For four weeks we travelled through Poland and East Germany, stopping at camps on the way, then had medical check­ups before coming into West Germany. Everybody also had to be deloused! No hair­ lice were allowed to come into the country!

How good it was to be reunited with my grandparents! Mother had been so brave during all the time that Father was away, but the sorrow and privations had left their mark upon her. She had never been strong and often I heard her praying: “How long, O Lord, how long?!” We could do nothing but wait and trust God to open the door.

A new start in England

It had been a long journey by train to Ostend in Belgium, then by boat-­train to Victoria Station in London, where we were met by an official from a travel agency. He took us by taxi to another station, and put us on a train to Preston, where Father would be waiting for us. After some hours Mother was getting worried and kept saying, “I think we must be nearly there!” At last, in desperation, she handed the little card with “Preston, Lancashire” written on it to a man wearing a fur hat, sitting in the carriage.

He jumped up as if he had been shot, grabbed us and hauled us out onto the platform. Needless to say, we were already at Preston! Father was looking into the carriages at the other end of the train, but suddenly we all caught sight of one other, and rushed into each other’s arms! It was a wonderful huddle of hugs, kisses and tears – after ten years we were a family once again! God’s protecting hand had guided every detail so that this reunion could take place.

Some Christian friends of Father’s had also come to meet us. They had helped to make our few rooms comfortable, and wanted to give us a warm welcome. They had also given us some food, although they had so little themselves, for England was in the throes of rationing. My first English meal that night was Baked Beans on toast, and strong tea with milk!

Father told me about Jesus and explained to me the way of salvation. It was then that the Holy Spirit began to convict me of my sins. I wasn’t a murderer or a Bank robber, but there at my bedside, kneeling on the worn matting, I cried my way to God – through Jesus. It was simpler than I had realised – Jesus had just been waiting for me to ask Him to save me and cleanse me from sin. He had done the complete work on the cross of Calvary. I just had to accept Him into my life. Although the room was dark, it seemed as if a light had been turned on inside me and that all Heaven was rejoicing!

Excerpts from “God’s Interpreter” by George and Helen Jesze

We hope you enjoyed reading some of George’s life­ story! Often we are asked how an English man can have a name like “Jesze”, and we explain that George was born of German descent, and spent the first years of his life in Poland. When the family were reunited in England, they became British subjects.

These wonderful Bible verses remind us to always thank God for His great goodness, His benefits to us. It was His goodness, guidance and protection that brought George and his parents away from war ­torn Poland and later Communism, to the freedom of England, and we are extremely thankful for this.

When we see the millions of refugees and migrants on the move in the Middle East and Europe, we have no answer for such huge problems. But we can pray that God will show Himself to many of them, that they might find Jesus Christ as their personal Saviour, that any terrorists among them might also have an encounter with the living Christ, that God will give us wisdom or opportunity to help any of them in practical ways.

We are living in the “End Times”, where we will see many situations which were unknown before, which could cause great fear to take hold of us. Jesus said that when we hear of wars and rumours of wars we should “lift up our heads” – ​look up and ​to Him, for He is our Lord and Great Help in time of need.

Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank you for all your benefits, for every good and perfect gift you have given us, and most of all, for YOURSELF, and your sacrificial death on Calvary to set us free from sin. Thank you for guiding and protecting me and my loved ones today by your loving hand. Amen.

George at two years old in his hand­-knitted outfit