The Wehrmacht soldier who helped rebuild Viciebsk in the 1940s

Kurt Wawrzyniak was taken prisoner near Viciebsk in 1944. The commandant summoned him and told him that Kurt, a professional locksmith, would be helping to rebuild the city.

“It felt right to rebuild the houses our Wehrmacht had destroyed,” Kurt said later.

Kurt Wawrzyniak's work brigade restored many buildings in Viciebsk. It is likely that they also reconstructed the house of the artist Marc Chagall, which would later become a museum. However, Kurt himself did not know this for certain.

During the years he spent in Viciebsk, the German prisoner of war did not even know that an artist named Marc Chagall existed. Only many years later, after returning to Germany, did he first hear about him and see his paintings.

“I would very much like to think that I also helped restore Marc Chagall's house,” he said later in a conversation with his friend Kurt Walter.

Memory worker and historian Kurt Walter recorded Kurt Wawrzyniak's story in the early 1990s. With his permission, Euroradio is publishing these memoirs. 

Let’s Begin at the End

In the autumn of 1944, the commandant of a prisoner-of-war camp in Viciebsk called a German prisoner into his office.

“You caught my eye,” he said.

“Why me?”

You're not just a hard worker. You help others get organised. And when something falls, you pick it up. Not everyone does that. Tell me, were you a Nazi? Tell me about yourself.

“My name is Kurt Wawrzyniak. I come from Meiderich (part of Duisburg) — more precisely, Lower Meiderich. The district lies between the rivers Ruhr and Emscher, which flow into the Rhine not far away.

During floods, we became a true ‘nation of boatmen’. We crossed submerged streets on rafts made from logs, planks, or even doors taken off their hinges.

Then it became obvious why the front doors of houses were built so high above the ground and reached by several steps. Even the cellar windows and hatches were unusually high, so that potatoes would stay dry.

Ships often moved along the Ruhr, mostly carrying coal. But after they built a steelworks, a rolling mill, and a coal mine around 1850, our area became less about water and more about factories. The only place that stayed with water work was the harbour and shipbuilding.

Instead of handmade wooden boats, companies now made steel ships in big numbers. The dock basins called A, B and C became filled with shipbuilding factories.

I was delighted to be earning money at last. In 1936, an apprentice earned 14 pfennigs an hour. By the end of the week, it wasn’t much, but I was happy. I had work and a purpose.”

The working day ran from 7.30 a.m. until 4.30 p.m., and on Saturdays until 12.30 p.m.

Our boss showed us every part of the yard. He was good at finding out what people were good at and liked. I liked shipbuilding and worked my way through all the different jobs.

Welding interested me most. I was lucky — my teacher was a real expert who explained things clearly. When he left, I grabbed the torch and started to practice on any pipes or spare parts I could find. I used all my free minutes for it.

Kurt eventually took his examinations before Germanischer Lloyd, the ship-classification society, and Veritas, a British marine insurance organisation.

Rivets

“When I was fifteen, the yard employed between fifteen and twenty riveting crews.

You can imagine the noise inside a ship’s hull. Metal hammered against metal; everything echoed and rang. The stores issued huge quantities of cotton wool for our ears. Many workers eventually became almost deaf.”

A riveting crew consisted of four people: the riveter, a holder-up inside the hull, a rivet heater and an inserter.

The heater’s job was crucial.

“He had to make sure the rivets were always at exactly the right temperature. They couldn’t be overheated or too cool — the metal had to be glowing.

A small portable forge was dragged around the ship. It had a foot-powered blower, and someone had to keep pumping air constantly.

A steel plate held sixteen rivets. Using long tongs, the heater would pull a red-hot rivet from the middle and throw it to the workers. A cold one immediately replaced it.

He had to stay alert. If he mixed up the rivets, the riveter and his mate would soon let him know.”

Kurt often filled in for other workers.

“At times I worked both as inserter and heater. But welding had got into my blood. I never regretted it. It brought me a lot of good fortune and helped me many times later in life.”

Cutting Off Ships’ Noses

Kurt completed his apprenticeship in 1939, aged eighteen.

“I was supposed to join the Reich Labour Service. But our shipyard received military contracts to convert vessels for the planned invasion of Britain. As a result, I avoided labour service — the entire yard was mobilised for the work.

Nobody was sent to labour service or the army.

We spent our days ‘cutting the heads off’ ships. Around the clock, we removed their bows.

All kinds of vessels were requisitioned — Belgian, Dutch, French and German. Their crews, often the owners themselves, were simply driven ashore.

I saw it with my own eyes.

Two or three lorries would pull up by the large crane at our yard. People were taken off their ships and driven away. Where to? I don’t know. They were simply expelled from their own vessels.”

The work began in September 1939.

“Our job was to cut off the bow, rebuild the wheelhouse, cut through the walls in the middle of the ship, make it stronger with concrete, and add steel beams. Engineers and experts planned everything.

Why?

Because they planned to invade England.

Small river vessels could never have crossed the Channel carrying heavy tanks — they would have broken apart. That was why the modifications were necessary.

Some vessels had no engines at all. We welded massive beams onto them and fitted aircraft engines.”

Kurt recalls one such vessel being tested in Dock Basin A.

“It shot towards the harbour exit near the Klöckner works at incredible speed. The aircraft propeller was spinning through the air, yet there was neither propeller shaft nor screw in the water.”

His shipyard alone converted around 150 vessels. Other yards in Ruhrort, Walsum and Triton were doing the same.

“All those vessels were sent to Le Havre in France, where the invasion force was being assembled.

But the British and Americans discovered the plan. One night they launched a massive bombing raid and destroyed everything.

All our work came to nothing.”

As soon as the project ended, Kurt received his draft papers.

“That was in 1941.

I was sent straight to Russia, and in 1944 I was captured in Belarus.”

Rebuilding Viciebsk

The camp commandant listened in silence before speaking.

“Kurt, you’ll be rebuilding Viciebsk together with the other prisoners. You’ll make a good foreman. Every morning you’ll lead a mixed brigade of Germans and Belarusians to work. You may move freely around the city, but you must return in the evening.”

Kurt later recalled that it felt right to rebuild the houses the Wehrmacht had destroyed.

The war passed through Belarus twice. A great deal was destroyed on the way to Moscow, and during our retreat we demolished whatever was still standing.

The commandant was so pleased with my work that he even paid me.”

In 1949, the commandant summoned him once more.

“Kurt, all of you will soon be released from captivity. Wouldn’t you like to stay here?”

“Thank you. It’s a very generous offer. But I want to go home, back to Meiderich.”

At the time, Kurt did not know that Viciebsk was Marc Chagall’s birthplace.

“I was very pleased to learn later that among the houses I helped restore was Chagall’s own home.”