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by tombartle on May 5, 2008 at 7:54 pm · Filed under Diary Entries
“In the second tent, I was given the two most important questions I had ever received. The next officer, wearing similar uniform as the last one, sat down and asked me where I wanted to end up. There were two choices: America or England. I had always wanted to see the countryside of England, but as the Baron always said: “If you ever wanted to make your dreams come true, the best place to start is in the land of opportunity; America.” I knew my decision, I told him where I wanted to go and my reasons, and was moved into the last tent. A third man greeted me wearing the same military uniform as I sat down. He asked me a question which I shall never forget. “What would you like your name to be?” I knew straight away and I smiled when I said it. “Baron Abel Rosnovski.” I was taken out of the tent. As I left the last tent, I saw an extremely large boat over by the pear which stood a few hundred metre’s away from the train station. I had wondered why I had not seen it passing through. A man hurried over to me and led me down a pathway which led to the large boat. There was a line of other immigrants boarding the boat, and I was again waiting a while to get inside of the boat. I waited another 10 minutes and the boarded the boat. As I walked in, I was shown to a small cabin with a set of bunk beds and a set of drawers which already had a small case of belongings on the top. I sat down on the lower bed looking around the room, when a young man, not much older than I was entered the room. As he walked he stood about a metre in front of me and stared at me, looking rather confused. A few seconds passed and he broke the silence by introducing himself. “George is the name,” as he extended his arm to shake my hand. I grasped it firmly as I told him my name. “My name is Wla- I mean… Baron Abel Rosnovski.” I felt a sense of pride saying the name, as I shook my new friend’s hand. “Well come on then, I’m starving, and I want to get into the kitchens before all the good food is snatched up.” We left the small room and walked down 2 flights of stairs and into a large dining room. There were people lining up at the front of the room with bowls and plates being served by the chefs. We grabbed a bowl each and lined up with everyone else. We had potatoes and carrots, bread and beans, nuts, the variety seemed endless. I followed George back to a table, where a young girl was sitting in the corner. “Abel, I’d like you to meet my cousin, Zarina. Zarina meet my good friend Abel Rosnovski.” George said while stuffing his face with food. I shook hands with Zarina realising how beautiful she looked. “Nice to meet you.” She said as I smiled.
The journey to America took 2 and a half weeks, everyone was glad to get off the boat. I took my first steps in the land of opportunity and smiled to George. I was ready to make my fortune.”
That was all he had written. I looked back through the other entries and smiled to myself. It just goes to show, that even the poorest of children grow up to be the happiest of men and women. I closed the book and shoved it into my closet.
by tombartle on May 5, 2008 at 7:31 pm · Filed under Diary Entries
“Date: 21st May 1922.
I had slept for over 3 hours, when I heard someone enter the house. The woman’s husband had come in from work. I waited about 10 minutes while the wife and husband were yelling at each other. I could make out some of the louder comments the man said to his wife. “He cannot stay here! He is an illegal immigrant!” The wife would argue. “But he has nowhere else to go! He has no money and as soon as he gets found out he will go to jail for the rest of his life!” “We don’t even know the boy, why should we care?” A moment later the man came into the room. I stood up to face him. He was vey short, and was balding greatly. He looked to be in his mid-forties and stunk of alcohol. “You are not to stay here. I will drive you right now to the Polish embassy and they can look after you. The woman came in behind him crying. He shoved her out the way. The angry man handed me 50 Turkish dollars and pushed me out the door. The woman had packed me a bag of food containing 4 pieces of bread, an apple and some mixed nuts as we rushed out of the little house. I thanked the woman and hugged her as she burst into tears again. We climbed into the small, and drove for 40 minutes of silence to the Polish Embassy, which was located deep into the city of Constantinople. I got out the car followed by the man and walked into the entrance. I was told to take a seat as the man talked to the General of International Affairs inside the head office. The husband came out of the General’s office and walked straight out the door without a second glance. Two men walked over to me, one being the General. “Please come with me boy.” Said the other man and I followed them both into a small room. After I was examined, cleaned, fed and clothed, I was led into a room with a desk with the General sitting behind it. “Right then. I want you to tell me the story of how a little Polish boy such as yourself is sitting inside the Polish Embassy in the middle of Turkey.” I told him the full story. I told him of the Baron and the dungeons, the Russian guards and the death camp, the long journey to Poland, and the generous woman who had helped him the most on the journey so far. The man stared at me in disbelief and sat there in silence. “Thank you for that Wladek. I will discuss the circumstances with my colleagues, in the mean while you get your self a good night sleep and we’ll talk more in the morning.” He led me into a room with a single bed. I sat there for several minutes and thought about the events that had happened over the last year. The next morning, I was awoken by the General. First he took me to the kitchens where a small plump Irish woman made me some fresh bread and tomato soup. I thanked her and walked back into the head office to join the General and his colleague. I filled out a full set of details. The man stood up and led me to the car park where a car was waiting to take me to an unknown destination, which later I found out was the Turkish national train station. “Farewell Wladek, I hope we shall meet again. I don’t think I shall ever meet a man who has been through more than you have. You should be very proud to be a Pole.” He smiled at me and I smiled back, and entered the car. The journey to the station was very short, and the train arrived not too long afterwards. I boarded the train to Ukraine. The train ride took three days and two nights, which I slept for most of the journey. By the time the train had boarded into Ukraine, I was exhausted. I got out of the train and was told by an official to line up just outside the station. There were about 50 other young and old people lining up. I wondered what for. I waited 30 minutes watching people go inside a little tent; I wasn’t sure where they came out of, as I got to the front of the line. I walked in and was greeted by a very large man wearing an army uniform with lots of medallions on the breast pocket. He sat down and motioned me to do the same. “Alright soldier, you’re here because your application for immigrancey had been accepted. You just need to fill out some forms and what not, just so we know its not you.” He handed me a pen and some paper as I scribbled my details in English as fast as I could. I handed by the details as he got out more tests for me to do. I was in the tent for almost 20 minutes and when I finished the last of the colonel’s tests, I moved on to another tent. Where was I going to end up?”
by tombartle on May 5, 2008 at 6:57 pm · Filed under Diary Entries
The third entry to the journal.
“The next morning i went on the 5 hour truck ride with 5 assistants and 2 head chefs. We arrived at the meeting point and prepared all the food. I was so nervous i felt like vomiting. The train seemed to take a lifetime to get there. An hour past, and i was starting to worry. A few minutes late, 2 extremely long trains pulled on each platform. On the platform closest to me, hundreds of people filed out of the train and came over to the food area. We served each and every prisoner before they went off and changed into there uniforms, just as i had done so many months before. After all the prisoners we fed, changed and counted, i started to eat some of the leftovers, along with the other cooks. It was the perfect chance. By now the rest of my crew had guessed my plan and helped in the best way they could. They all walked slowly over to the trucks, looking back to me every couple of seconds. One of them nodded and eyed over an empty space of on the next platform. Now was my chance. I quickly ducked behind all of the other prisoners and ran quietly over round the other side of the platform. I peeked my head round the corner and checked all the guards positions. It was now or never. I quickly jumped onto the tracks in front of both trains and crawled to the other platform. I ripped of my prison uniform and jumped onto the train on platform two. I had made it. I didn’t look out the window in fear of being spotted, and sat down next to a young lady. I waited and waited. I started to worry as neither train moved, when the engine of the train turned on. I started to breath again. I had made it. I was free. The train started to move out of the station, picking up more and more speed. Hours travelled and the tall grassy mountains of Turkey had started to appear. The woman sitting next to me had woken from a deep sleep. She reached into her bag and took out an apple which she started to eat. I tried my hardest not to fall asleep, but as the journey got longer and longer, I soon found myself caught inside a deep sleep. I was sure how long I had slept for, but when I awoke, it was dark outside the small windows. I dazed outside one of the closer windows, the darkness of the night made it difficult to see hardly anything. I started to think about my success back in Russia, when a small, chubby man came through one of the carriage connecters. He was a ticket inspector. My heart sank and he started to check everyone’s tickets around me. He drew closer and closer. He reached the woman sitting next to me and she gave him her ticket. He turned to me. I wanted to vomit. “Where is your ticket young man?” I didn’t say anything. “What is your name?” Still no words left my lips. The woman next me interrupted. “He’s with me, he is my child.” The man looked at the woman and then back at me. He stood for a moment glaring at the both of us, and then started to walk over to the next carriage. I turned and looked at the woman, who I had only just met a few hours ago. Why did she help me? Who was she? Before I could properly thank her, she fell into another sleep. I did the same. I was awoken by the sound of the big horns being released by the large train. I was in Turkey. The train came to a halt and people started to rush in and out of the train. The woman turned to me and said “Do you have a ticket.” I told her I didn’t. “Right. Come with me.” I wasn’t sure I could trust her but will all she did for me with the tickets, I had no choice. She grabbed my arm and rushed us both out of the train and onto the platform. We came to the ticket booth and she pushed hers through to release the doors. She quickly rushed us both out of the station and away from everyone who saw. We walked in silence for about 20 minutes, eventually stopping at an old, small, brick house. She reached into her bag and pulled out a set of keys. She unlocked the doors and went inside. I stood out the front. After realising I had not followed her into the house, she quickly came back with a smile. “It’s alright. You will be safe here.” I smiled and walked in. She led my upstairs into the bathroom and started to fill the bath with hot soapy water. She got some clothes for me, and left me to bathe. The feeling of being clean was overwhelming, as I started to fall asleep. I had been in the bath for just under an hour when the woman came in. I hopped out and dried as she started unfolding the clothes. She made me some hot soup and bread, which at the time seemed like the best meal I had had in my whole life. After the meal, she led me back up stairs and into a small bedroom which had a single bed and a chest of draws. She drew back the cover and jumped in, instantly feeling the comfort of having a matress.”
by tombartle on April 30, 2008 at 7:55 pm · Filed under Diary Entries
I spent several hours that night reading the stories of the young Polish boy in surprise. I read the next entry.”Date: Sunday 12th May 1922.
We had just finished eating and were changing into the pyjama type clothes, a Russian military tank, and two very large trucks pulled up the long drive way to that castle. We immediately were counted, then split up into a group of 3 and a group of 4, and hurled into 2 trucks. It was dark, cold and everyone was scared. Were we ever going to see the other group again? We felt the truck gain more speed as it moved on to more flat land. It was an uneasy journey and most of the group had vomited over the side. We would go days, even weeks at a time just driving, with the smallest portions of food divided up between the 4 of us. How i missed the days of having large buffet’s with the Baron and Leon, the long tables full of food and drink. I sat down in the corner and started to cry. We travelled for another 3 days and suddenly the truck came to a halt. We all got out the truck and sat down quietly next to the truck. I had over heard one of the drivers; we were at the borders of Russia. The soldiers went to fill up the truck with petrol, while another came over with small bits of food for the group. After the soldier filled up the truck, we went and sat back down in the back of the truck. Another week or so passed, as the eldest of the group had passed on, we briefly stopped to throw the body aside. I though she had died of starvation, or maybe she had lost the will to live. The future looked very dull for me and the remaining to prisoners. We had been driving for another week, which felt like a year and stopped off at a camp, 90 miles out from Moscow. We got out of the truck and lined up behind another group of prisoners. There looked to be over 500 people all lined up, awaiting the Russian Death camp. We could instantly feel the cold snow of the Russian mountains. It took over 3 hours to get everyone inside the camp, and set up with cabins. That night i slept on a cold, hard bed with no pillow and a blanket that was as thin as paper. The temperatures reached below minus and i had gotten frostbite at the ends of my fingers. The next day, everyone awoke at 6am and was given the daily chores. A group of people were sent to cut wood, another to go dig in the mine, and a small group were selected as the cook’s assistant’s for the daily dinner of gruel and black bread. Days went on as i rotated between jobs. Cutting the wood was the hardest. I would walk for 2 and a half miles in freezing weather, through bush and rivers, cut down about 60 trees for the day and bring it all back in a little bucket with no handle. The frostbite in my fingers had spread and most of my left hand was numb, which made the task all the more difficult. I had been cutting some wood one day and slipped the axe, causing a huge gash on the side of my leg. I couldn’t walk. I was sent to the first aid cabin that night and got my leg cleaned and bandaged. For the first few days i could not walk, and was put on kitchen hand, being closely observed for any sign of false injury. The head chef was 70 and had been there almost 60 years. He had never been out of walls of the Russian death camp since he first arrived. I quickly became friends with him, using the best of my Russian accent as i could. Two weeks pasts and my leg was healing slowly. The chef and I became more and more friendly and one night I was invited into his cabin. After doing all the chores quicker than usual, still having the boundaries of my wound, I went over to meet the elderly man in his cabin. He had plan that he’d been perfecting to the finest detail over the last 50 years. He had a map of Russia and 50 Rupels. He also had a dinner jacket and some slacks which were all too big for me. The plan was to go with the chef’s as assistants to meet the new prisoners going into the camp. When i arrive at the train station, i was to wait until the perfect opportunity and jump onto the tracks and onto the other platform. If any soldier saw any attempts to escape the prisoner would immediately be shot. It was a very big risk. The arrival date of the new prisoners was 8 days away, and i consumed my mind all day long. The day got closer and closer, and i got even more nervous. The night before the plan was to be set, i saw the elderly old man to go over and over the plan to perfect the escape. I put the jacket and trousers underneath my prison uniform, with an unknown pocket of the inside for the Rupels. I couldn’t sleep all that night, in fear of being caught.”
by tombartle on April 30, 2008 at 6:52 pm · Filed under Diary Entries
So I was walking home from school one day and kicked what looked to be a little brown book. I don’t usually pick up things off the ground but something about this book had caught my interest.
As my friend was shortly behind and catching up, I quickly shoved it into my bag without him knowing. I walked home a little quicker that night and when I got home, I ran straight into my bedroom and closed the door. By this time it was dark, not as quick as I thought. I turned on the light and placed the book onto my desk. It seemed to be a diary. It was very old and was almost falling apart. I opened the book and started to read the contents. The writing was very small and almost illegible. The first entry was written almost 90 years ago. Some of the writing was in a different language. I picked the book up to read closer, when a shining sliver band fell from the middle. It had the words “Baron Abel Rosnovski” engraved on it. It looked very old and dirty and I could hardly see the words written.
I started to read the first entry:
“Date: Friday 13th September 1921.
The war had begun. You never know how much you’ve got until your watching a group of German’s take every last bit of it away from you, then watch them enjoy it from a damp, dark dungeon two metre’s under the ground. By now the stench from the dead corpses piled in the corner was eye-watering. The remains of once a proud Baron of Poland, and his 7 servants, were unbearable in my eyes, and I could only wonder how long this torment would last. The Germans had attacked in the night. I was the last to wake as i had heard a gunshot in the room next to mine. It was Leon’s room. I had been awake for no more than 5 seconds when 3 very large German soldiers came into my room with very large weapons. They quickly pulled me up, shoved a bag over my head, and hurried my out the castle. When I left the large wooden doors, I could feel the cold Polish wind hit the back of my neck. By the time all the servants had been rounded up, it was morning, and the sun shone through the clouds. We had all been lined up, dead or alive. All up there was 16 servants, 3 cooks, a dead child and The Baron of Poland. In all the years I’ve known the Baron, he looked the worst I’ve ever seen him. His once brave confident posture had been bruised in a depressing hunch. I looked around and the sight of my best friend’s motionless body lay there as a German guard walked over. He shouted at the top of his lungs “Get into the dungeons!” which not all the servants understood. I quickly led the pack into the dungeons, in fear of more injuries, or even deaths. We were trapped in the dungeon for over 3 months, and in that time, 6 of the 17 broken men and women had died. At first I had hope of being saved, but as the days went on with so little food, that hope had started to fade. The Baron had decayed and was now fully blind, and mostly deaf. It seemed to be about morning, even though there was no way to tell as there was no light inside the dungeon. No light, no sound, to realisation. I had woken to sounds of gun-fire and large explosions outside. Everyone awoke. We waited in anticipation as to what was happening, and a little shed of hope had reached the back of my head. What was happening? Will we be saved? Or will things get much worse? There were a few moments of silence, when the big steel door opened and 3 Russian soldiers rushed inside. The daylight that shone through the door was blinding, the remains of the prisoners filed out onto the grass and looked at the once proud castle of the Baron, being destroyed inside and out. I was the last to leave the castle, and just as i started to climb the steps, i heard a faint whisper from the Baron, laying in the corner. At the age of 45, he looked much older, and had gone completely blind. I walked slowly over to him, and crouched down next to his body. Neither of us said anything, as the Baron slipped a silver bangle up my arm, almost to my shoulders. I hugged him and felt his body go limp. He was dead. I walked slowly out of the dungeon, i could feel the warm spring air against my face as a lined up next to the others. It was the 12th of May. We had been locked inside the cold, dark dungeon for over 7 months. We bathed in the river surrounding the castle, and then ate a short meal of black bread and beans, which i portioned out between the 7 remaining prisoners. What was going to happen next?”
I didn’t know whether or not i would be able to believe this as my mother came into the room. So i put the book down and went downstairs for dinner.
by tombartle on April 30, 2008 at 6:32 pm · Filed under Statement Of Intention
The task I have chosen to do is to create an alias character by creating a web blog to further my understandings of the text written in “The Baghdad Blog” novel written by Salam Pax. My character is a 12-year-old Russian immigrant named Wladek Koskiewics, trying to get into Australia, expressing his challenges and struggles in Blog-form. The blog is written as if someone has found a journel or diary that had been written to a young boy called Wladek Koskiewics, and are reading it out through the blog.
The purpose of my blog is to express the hardship, struggle and pain he is going through at that particular time, and how a lot of immigrants, especially those of Russian heritage, go through so much pain and anxiety , and risk a lot of things to try and make a better life for themselves and their family. I will show the aguish caused by war and famish in most of the suburban areas of Russia particularly around the Moscow area. I will also look into the history of the Russian Monarchy and the Royal family, and also the governmental system including the laws of immigrants surrounding both Russia and Australia. The aim for Wladek by writing his blog is to gain global awareness and to get as many people viewing his blog as possible, seeing as though, with all the war and government interactions, he constantly finds it difficult to express the challenges faced by hundreds of thousands of people going throughout Russia.
The intended audience for my blog are people who are going through the same situation, or know of anyone, either friends or family, who are struggling and finding it hard to make a better life. It can be viewed by most age groups, particularly those from High School or above, as some of the content might not be legible by younger readers. It will be aimed at people who have high knowledge of any Russian descendents as they would be able to get a better knowledge of the text being written in my Blog.
In my blog I will be writing mostly formal with slang and jargon casually mixed into the text. It will have hyperlinks leading to other posts and other bloggers who are facing the same circumstances or bloggers that are supporting people who are being faced with this challenge. It will also have links to Russian news pages and have a lot of posts concerning the government laws. It will have pictures of Russian immigrants and their old way of living compared to their new way and the difference it has made to their life.
The type of language used will attract viewers by using sarcasm, and jokes throughout the text, while keeping the formal style of writing, and have links to other sites or images which will attract the reader to continue following the posts that will be published in my blog.
PlanningInformation to be included:
Name, date of birth, birthplace, the name of the town.
Ideas from set text I will draw upon:
The fictional character from the novel “Kane and Abel” written by Jeffery Archer.
Research I need to do before next lesson:
A good understanding of the Russian government, and the war with Germany, details of the character, a good historical knowledge of the living conditions in Russia, a set date to start the first blog.
What I need to create/collect:
I need to create the personal information about the character and his surroundings, his family life and what his marital status is. I need to collect a geographical map of Russia and an understanding of where the worse living conditions in the suburban areas are.
