I was recruited for the exhumation in Kharkov for two seasons: 1995 and 1996. Eight weeks altogether. Together with a team I was to investigate the sixth quarter of the Forest Park; the burial site of the murdered Starobelsk prisoners of war was disclosed there. At the same time, I was the team's doctor.
Basically, I could feel a warning bell ringing inside me not to go there. I did not expect, however, that the task would be so horrible. [...]
We went to the exhumation site. As a result of the earlier excavations bones were coming out of the ground everywhere: a jaw here, a piece of a skull there, and a shin bone somewhere else. I was afraid I was walking on human remains, perhaps my father's bones. I was tiptoeing... The profanation of that site was enhanced by the bottles scattered around, rubbish and dirt, traces of bonfires, recreational paths - after all it was a KGB's resting ground.
[...] Our working conditions were incredibly difficult. One can hardly imagine them, not to mention describing. In deep hollows, often filled with pallid fluid; it was pouring down on us, remains of corpses were falling down...
[...] During the exhumation works I wanted very much to find my father's remains or his personal belongings. I knew he could have had a golden wedding ring on him, an ancestral signet ring, a watch, a cigarette case with a "JG" monogram. Also photographs: a 30-year-old long-haired brunette and a five-year old little girl with short fair hair...
[...]
I could not recall my father at all! He was a "blank page" for me. And I should have remembered him, even a little bit. I was already five when we were parting! [...] After the war, still as a child, I erased him from my memory. He was like an unpleasant, painful recollection. We were not allowed to talk about him, we only could hide him like a criminal. Even mum did not want to tell me about him, as she was afraid I could "let on" about him.
But, as I was growing up, I started to gather information about him on my own. I was looking through documents and photographs, reading articles from the period before the war, and listening to stories told by my family and friends. And all of a sudden I discovered that his life was unusual, heroic. [...]
I left earlier. As a matter of fact I ran away. I though I would go nuts if I did not get out of that place. I felt imprisoned there. I left my visiting card with only three persons. Also information about my father and the details about the personal belongings he could have had at the last moment of his life. A few days after I returned to Szczecin, where I lived, I got a message: a signet ring with the "JG" monogram and a watch were found! [...]
Karta No. 36, 2002