SADMEN

I think that I should give you some background information before you start to read this article.
This is my personal journal from a trip that was made by four SADMEN and two other friends to Poland a couple of years ago.
Why Poland? I hear you say, well the project was to deliver humanitarian aid to an orphanage in Bartosyce, a small town in the far North of Poland (just 10 miles from the Russian border), which had come to the attention of fellow SADMAN Alan Brunskill via a Polish friend, please remember that this was well before Poland became a member of the E.E.C.

Fund raising and collecting the items that had been requested had gone on for several months beforehand; some of the things asked for were things that we take for granted here in this septic isle but were things that were difficult to get your hands on in post Communist Poland; things like baby milk, baby clothes, nappies, food, warm clothing, bedding, blankets, shoes, toys, outdoor play equipment such as bicycles, swings, slides; basically anything and everything that would make life a little better for these children.

The Jan Polenski Orphanage cared for around 100 children of all ages, from tiny babies to teenagers and as you will see, basic is an overstatement of some of the conditions and facilities we found.
The trip would take a week, starting at the end of October and returning at the beginning of November. This meant a week away from our families and a week living very much in each other’s pockets. For 5 of us this was a very new and exciting experience. Alan, however, had done this kind of thing before, travelling many times to a Lithuanian orphanage.

The plan was to have six drivers, driving in shifts in two long wheelbase Transit vans filled with humanitarian aid, drive to the ferry, cross the North Sea, drive to Poland, deliver the goods, day of rest, drive back, cross the North Sea again, drive home; simple. I can tell you its one of the hardest things that I have ever done. So here goes.

Left to Right; Tony, Alf, Me, Gordon, Joe and Alan

25th October.
The team gathers at the appointed place (Brunskills gaff), and consists of a healthy mix of six middle aged adolescent blokes whose skills number amongst other things smoking 60+ fags a day (each), stunt driving, advanced knot tying, being un-naturally cheerful, basic mechanics and an ability to make a joke out of any given situation.
The team is made up of Alan (Bull) Brunskill, Joe (I am not going to have a shave all week) Makepeace, Gordon (The Bear) Thompson, (Smokin’) Alf Marley, Tony (The Japanese Sniper) Herring and me Stu (Mad Dog) Thomas.

Following a good nosh up and a brief discussion which included the rather disconcerting phrase “does anybody know exactly how to get to Poland.” We set off to Hull, aiming for an orphanage in jolly old Poland.
Aboard the ferry the fun started, in fact it started before we managed to get off the car deck, one of the vans became locked after everyone had got out and refused to yield that teams overnight bags. So, after much swearing, kicking, fiddling, twiddling and frayed tempers, with the Cargo Master threatening to keelhaul us (whatever that is?) the rope and pulley attachment that kept the back doors of the van firmly closed was finally breached and it only remained for someone to tunnel through all of the boxes and bikes and stuff and retrieve the teams bags, which of course were in the front, and secure the van again.

After making our way to the accommodation section and finding our cupboard, I mean cabin, a quick spruce up was in order before we retired to the bar and then the restaurant and then the bar again, an undisturbed night slumbering across the German Ocean.

Alf on the rare occasion of not having a lit fag in his hand and Alan on the rare occasion of having some beer left in his glass

Stu with Tony, who is trying not to let the sea sickness get the better of him

Joe, having a good time in the bar with Bull and Alf

26th October
Decent weather, dry and warm, up at 6.00am. Full English breakfast, collect pre ordered beer (more humanitarian aid, but for us this time) and off into Holland.
Never having been to Holland my expectations were; windmills, canals, tulips and flatness, lets just say that I wasn’t disappointed; except for the tulips.
Heavy traffic meant a slow start, in the first hour and a half we only made 10 miles but by 4.30 pm we had made it to the Dutch-German border. It was all rather odd because the buildings were still there but there were no border guards or customs officials so we stopped for a well-earned brew and a bite to eat.
On into Germany in the dark. And an extremely scary moment for skip 2 and the team therein. Whilst taking a fairly innocuous looking bend on the autobahn the van decided to go for a wander across 2 lanes of traffic and the hard shoulder, I distinctly remember saying to my companions at the time “oh dear”. I am certain that I wasn’t the only one who soiled themselves at that point. Skip 1 was contacted over the radio and informed of the need to stop. We had to change our underwear and take a look at the front tyres on the van while we were on. The tyre was balder than Bull Brunskill so we changed everything at the side of the road, almost being run over by several huge lorries in the process.
This small detail rectified, off we went into old East Germany. The Berlin ring road, as you would expect, took us round Berlin and then off towards Poland.
10.25pm,A brief stop for pork and Weiner schnitzel (fried tatties with onions and mushrooms) in a one panzer town then on to the German-Polish border via roads that would not look out of place in Hamsterly Forest.

A brief stop in the land of windmills and tulips

Brewing up on the Dutch-German border

27th October
00.35am Desolate, disused prison or army barracks on both sides of the road, long queues of traffic heading into Poland. Both teams of drivers are extremely tired but spirits are good as we inch our way to the border control point, heading into Eastern Europe. We finally cleared border control at 01.25am.
When the Polish border guard asked what we were carrying we replied ‘humanitarian aid’ he just looked at us knowingly and rather cynically said, “Ah yes, rags” the bastard!!!!!!!! Incidentally he appeared totally unfazed by our letter of introduction from the King of Poland, we later discovered that Poland doesn’t have a King, so no wonder!
Following a brief stop to stretch our legs and fill the vans up with Polish diesel we were off again. This time into the Polish night, which isn’t much different to the English night except a) its in Poland and b) it appears to be accompanied by very, very thick fog.
Our first taste of Polish drivers was a little disconcerting to say the least. It would appear to be a prerequisite of overtaking in Poland to wait until you find a blind bend on a blind hill at night in thick fog and floor it, close your eyes and put your trust in the gods of good fortune. How these people aren’t splattered all over the countryside is anybody’s guess! The most dangerous job in the world must be teaching these people to drive; Polish mental hospitals must be full of Polish driving instructors who are undoubtedly suffering from Pole Traumatic Stress Disorder.
On into Poland proper. Now the book I borrowed from the library said, “Watch out for inebriated locals and horses and carts” or was it “inebriated horses and locals with warts” anyway I digress.
To say that Polish roads are poor is to make a grave understatement; they are bloody diabolical!

On to Olsztyn, with one or two slight detours. I must admit the only time I became a little disconcerted was when we saw a signpost for Augustow, which is in Sweden!!
Olsztyn, lunchtime, 27th October.
This is a very austere looking city, lots of grey concrete everywhere, which is, I imagine, a hangover from the years spent under a Soviet regime. Vast tower blocks are very much in evidence. We park up in a McDonald’s car park; the Poles obviously don’t like hamburgers because McDonald’s is closed down.

Only 113 km from Olsztyn and 308 km from being in the middle of Sweden

The Mazurian Lake District in the North of Poland

No, not Aycliffe or Peterlee. This is Olzstyn.

Still in The Mazurian Lake District

Very soon we have got a brew and a fry up on the go, the locals just stare in amazement, they must think we are insane (which is a distinct possibility)
We are soon met by the Porczenski family; these are the people we are going to stay with for the next couple of days. The Porczenski home is a large, detached house with a large garden and views of the lake. Inside it was modern and spacious, this was not what I was expecting at all, on the living room wall was the pelt of some large hairy wolf type animal and Wojtek told me that he was extremely proud of the fact that he had killed this animal himself with a sword no less. Personally I think it would have looked far better on the wolf.
It was obvious that the family were pleased to see us and were very excited about our visit as both children went into overdrive acting as our interpreters, their English was very good, so much better than our Polish. Following a quick coffee and a slice of cake we unloaded our personal gear from the vans and drove the 50 or so miles to the orphanage.

The Porczenski Family and their guests, Us.

THE JAN POLENSKI ORPHANAGE, BARTOSYCE, POLAND.

This was the sole reason for our visit to Poland and although we had made light of the visit the mood changed perceptibly when we finally hove into sight. It was with some trepidation that we halted outside of the main entrance not knowing quite what to expect. We had all seen those horror stories on the news about orphanages in Eastern Europe and the conditions that those poor children had to live in.
The buildings were the same grim, grey places to which we had, in our short visit, become accustomed

We were met at the door by the matron and after coffee, a pleasant chat about the work of the orphanage (during which our interpreters went into meltdown) and a very informative guided tour we were ably assisted by the children to unload the vans. Everyone was excited and many hands made light work. Following photos and various other personal missions it was time to leave. The four hours spent with the children had gone in the blink of an eye or so it seemed.

I must admit to being somewhat overcome as I left the orphanage; feeling very guilty at leaving so many lovely children to their fate, a fate over which I had no control. On reflection, the future for these children may not be quite as bleak as I at first imagined. At least now the Polish government is trying to improve conditions for them, and things can only get better. Despite all of this there is a very real need and it must be addressed at local, national and international levels.

The orphanage is housed in a disused Russian Army barracks

The children's washing facilities

Toilet facilities for the children

The efforts of the staff at the orphanage must be applauded, they are doing a very difficult job in very difficult circumstances with very few resources and their primary aim is to care for these unfortunate children the best way that they can, it makes me very humble to know that there but for the grace of the Gods go me and mine.

Central heating system

Some of the children, their carers and the team.

Following our visit it was back to the Porczenski household for a bit of a knees up with the local populace. The beer we had bought on the ferry was broken out, along with 2 hipflasks, which I had taken with me, to celebrate the success of our mission. These contained Southern Comfort (a drink for little girls according to Polish popular opinion) and a 12-year-old single malt whisky (which was only slightly more to their taste). The party progressed with various toasts, such as, Nasdrovia (Polish), Slangevar (Gaelic), Gerritdoonyer (Geordie) being made. Various neighbours appeared bringing with them various bottles of Polish Vodka.
Now for a short lesson in Polish Vodka drinking. Polish Vodka is served ice cold in tiny little glasses; do not be deceived by this. The toast is made and the vodka is downed in one swally, from here it goes directly to your cheeks, making them flush, it then goes to your fingers and toes simultaneously, making them tingle, a very nice feeling you might think, and you would be quite right!! However, do not be fooled by this! You will now want to compete with Polish people to see who can drink the most, you are, after all, a Geordie boy and Geordies are renowned the world over for their prodigious capacity for drink. Don’t do it!!!!! You will be beaten and you will only know that you are beaten when your back legs suddenly go and you find that you are staring up at a very smiley Polish person!!! The two good things that come from this are 1) you will not have a hangover the next day, and 2) you will be unable to remember anything stupid that you did (will you Gordon?).

Those poor Polish people! They had to suffer Alan singing at close range.

Joe, Alf and Stu winding down after the visit to the orphanage

Alf, surrounded by the flower of Polish womanhood. Fortunately they spoke no English!

28th October.

To day is our rest day, following some discussion about what we wanted to do, we decided to visit The Vulfshleer, which was Hitler’s wartime H.Q. the very place from which he ran the war and was the site of the failed attempt on Hitler's life by Claus von Stauffenberg on July 20, 1944.
This turned out to be a trip not to be missed; we hired a very enthusiastic and informative guide who really knew his subject. This is a must visit place if you ever go to Poland its not in the least bit touristy, in fact its such a well kept secret you might find that you are one of only maybe a dozen people there.
The British attempted to destroy the place after the war to stop the Russians from taking it over but you can still see bunkers, tank emplacements, machine gun nests, barracks all kinds of interesting stuff and it was all built in secret by 30,000 men women and children, who were all forced (slave) labour and were all murdered there to keep the place a secret. I must admit it felt rather spooky walking, quite literally, in the footsteps of some of the world’s most notorious men, but what a great day out.

Stu, next to the monument to 30,000 murdered slaves

Tony, next to one of the intact bunkers

Tony and Stu, deep inside one of the destroyed bunkers

A team meal (I can recommend the wild boar, though at one point I thought that they must have sent somebody out to catch it), a quick wash and out to a typical Polish pub, only one draught beer but 35 different types of vodka. Our Polish friends and several of their neighbours accompanied us to 'The Turk'
In the short time we were there we drank all of the draught beer, most of the bottled beer, made a large hole in their vodka stocks and doubled the pubs takings for the next six months.

Great fun was had by all, playing pool, singing old Polish folk songs and not so old Geordie songs. Once the place was dry we were asked to leave (I bet I am the only bloke in Trimdon to be chucked out of a Polish pub). Back to the house and a serious discussion about the political state of affairs in Poland, ably assisted by Mr Amstel and Mr John Smith who acted as interpreters. Surprisingly we discovered that some people in Poland want a return to communism. And so to bed.

And so to 'The Turk' a typical polish pub

Mariola and Lisabet, singing a Polish folk song for us

29th October.
Up bright (or not so bright in some cases) and early.
And following sincere goodbyes from all parties we set off to wend our way home via Germany and Holland, sadly leaving our Polish friends behind.
Next stop the Polish-German border. Needless to say the Polish part was no problem at all. The German part of the deal, however, was another matter completely.
There is always one isn’t there? The only thing was, that this skinny, officious, Kraut bastard was armed to the teeth; he also appeared to need a lesson in geography. I make this assumption on the basis that he believed that the known world ends at the German border, “over here is a country!" (He just couldn’t bring himself to say Poland) "over here is Germany.”
Klaus made us empty the ‘smokemobile’ in the vain hope that we were attempting to smuggle something back into Germany from Polska (cabbages perhaps?). Bull soon arrived on the scene bristling with righteous indignation and fully prepared to offer Klaus a small bribe despite the advice and protestations of his compatriots in Skip 1 who had already managed to sneak their van past Klaus’s bunker.
Following a right verbal blitzkrieg Klaus made him bring back Skip 1 for a good going over. So now the Third Reich’s finest is inspecting both vans.

Now, at this time being the pilot of Skip 2 wasn’t a good position to be in. guess who had the dubious honour of the pilot’s seat at this time? Yes, you got it. Me!!! Now, those of you who know me already know, German isn’t my first language, in fact English isn’t even my first language. So, in the best interests of international relations, self-preservation and also to avoid headlines in the Sun or on the 10 o’clock news I thought it best not to crack any jokes about smug druggling or having a bomb strapped to my chest.
Following a brief exchange between Smokin’ Alf Marley and Klaus Klinkerlicker, and I am not talking addresses and telephone numbers here, Klaus decided that I was the one he really needed to speak to and so pulled me away from the rest of the team (let me tell you my arse nearly fell out). Everywhere I looked there were huge Germans with machine guns. So when my new friend, Klaus took me to his bunker and said, “stand on ze mat!!” let me tell you ze mat was well and truly stood on!! There is nothing in this world or the next that could have made me move off “ze mat.”
I had visions of James Herriot sized Marigold gloves and large pots of industrial strength Vaseline with something brown and nasty clinging to the rim, and being asked if I could touch my toes!
Boy was I relieved when all they wanted was the extra duty on ten gallons of diesel bought in dear old Polska, so relieved in fact, that my stock reply to anything they said was “Thank You, Thank You!!”
This story is long and involved and really only half told but I swear its true, just ask any team member. We did have a jolly good laugh about it all the way to Berlin. Me? I am still in therapy!!!

Crossing from East to West Berlin near to the old Berlin Wall

Another famous site in Berlin is this tower thingy

30th October.
Drive to Bielfeld to be guests of the 7th Logistical Corps, British Army on the Rhine. After finding the barracks, organising our duty free and settling in to army life,a trip to the local hypermarket was the order of the day. Me I bought a jar of German hot dogs, well you can’t go to Germany and not buy a sausage, can you?
Following a British Army nosh up it was off to the sergeant’s mess for a beer or two. You would not believe how cheap the beer was, so of course we made pigs of ourselves in the best SADMEN tradition. Then we all became spectators at the Bull Brunskill Almost Memorial North East All Comers Championship Snoring Finals (under the influence section). Which was soundly won by Bull himself.
His snoring was so loud the local residents association complained to the British Army about testing Lancaster bomber engines at that time of the night, the whole of the German Army was put on full scale alert in case of blanket bombing and the Dutch reported earth tremors measuring 6.3 on the Richter scale.

Due to it being a British Army base we were not allowed to take photo's

31st October.
Into Holland, remarkable only for being unremarkable, except for a brief spell of merriment on the motorway. A remarkably familiar van passed us but instead of the usual 3 suspects up front were 3 bald men. On closer inspection however, we found Bull doing a full on moon at 70mph in the outside lane. Oh how we laughed.
Following a brief excursion into Rotterdam for soup in a basket, a slight detour to see the tulip fields (actually we were totally lost) and off to the terry ferminal, on to the ferry, we were allocated posh en suite cupboards, sorry cabins. Eat, sleep, and drink, not necessarily in that order.

Home is almost in sight

1st November.
Wake up in dear old Blighty. Disembark knowing that we are only a couple of hours from home. A gentle tug from H.M. Customs for both vans. When we tell them that we have been to Poland delivering humanitarian aid they nod knowingly, say “Ah Yes” and much to our relief keep their thoughts to themselves waving us merrily on our way.
But wait!!! What’s this? More drama? Surely not in this green unpleasant land!!!!
Yes, Joe (I haven’t had a shave all week) has lost his wallet and his passport, mercifully after we got back, otherwise he could have been sailing backwards and forwards between Hull and Rotterdam like some refugee from the TV programme Triangle.
Next stop County Durham, home of the Gods and back into the arms of our loved ones.

A Brief Overview.
There are many things that stand out about this trip, not least our time at the orphanage. I would be lying through my teeth if I said that it wasn’t hard work both physically and mentally. I, for one, returned absolutely exhausted. But the things I will remember above all else, apart from the children and the orphanage etc. will be the laughter, the comradeship and that feeling you get from being part of a good team with a common purpose; not being afraid to let your emotions show because you know that you have the full support of your friends.

Piczo