The Testimony
We broadcast from the fourth floor of the Post Office building on Świętokrzyska Street. The Germans know our location—they have shelled us three times today—but the antenna still stands. I am reading the news at 1400 hours daily, and I can hear my own voice echoing from the captured German loudspeakers they use for propaganda.
I am twenty-three years old. Before the war, I wanted to be a singer. My brother says my voice is too beautiful for war, but I think nothing is too beautiful for war. War takes everything and makes it ugly.
Yesterday I broadcast the names of the fallen. It took forty minutes. I could hear my voice cracking by the end. When I finished, I found that my hands were shaking so badly I could not light a cigarette.
Today a runner brought us bread from the Old Town sector. He crawled through the sewers for three hours. The bread was wet with sewage but we ate it anyway. He reported that the Old Town has fallen. Twelve thousand of our people are trapped in the cellars. I can hear them dying from here.
The Germans have offered safe passage for civilians. We all know what that means. I will stay. My voice is the only thing I can give to Poland now. I will give it until I have no voice left, or until the building falls on me.
['Danuta' Krystyna Krahelska was killed on September 1, 1944, when a German shell destroyed the Post Office building. She was found buried under rubble, still clutching her microphone. Her broadcasts had become legendary among the Home Army fighters. She was posthumously awarded the Cross of Valour.]
I am twenty-three years old. Before the war, I wanted to be a singer. My brother says my voice is too beautiful for war, but I think nothing is too beautiful for war. War takes everything and makes it ugly.
Yesterday I broadcast the names of the fallen. It took forty minutes. I could hear my voice cracking by the end. When I finished, I found that my hands were shaking so badly I could not light a cigarette.
Today a runner brought us bread from the Old Town sector. He crawled through the sewers for three hours. The bread was wet with sewage but we ate it anyway. He reported that the Old Town has fallen. Twelve thousand of our people are trapped in the cellars. I can hear them dying from here.
The Germans have offered safe passage for civilians. We all know what that means. I will stay. My voice is the only thing I can give to Poland now. I will give it until I have no voice left, or until the building falls on me.
['Danuta' Krystyna Krahelska was killed on September 1, 1944, when a German shell destroyed the Post Office building. She was found buried under rubble, still clutching her microphone. Her broadcasts had become legendary among the Home Army fighters. She was posthumously awarded the Cross of Valour.]