[LarryLied]

Stalin sent some real sweethearts to run Poland at the end of WWII, didn't he?

[Aleksandar Vojvoda]

Stalin sent some real sweethearts to run Poland at the end of WWII, didn't he?

Apparently,Stalin also sent some "sweethearts" when Poland was divided between USSR and Nazi Germany.

Polands Holocaust Read Thoroughly

[Aleksandar Vojvoda]

Stalin sent some real sweethearts to run Poland at the end of WWII, didn't he?

But the Soviets were no laughing matter. What unfolded under their occupation no one could have imagined. Many Poles were immediately executed or arrested while entire families would be deported to the USSR. Local Boy Scouts posted with old carbines were handed over by Jewish Communists to the NKVD, the Soviet equivalent of the Gestapo. We heard stories of Polish soldiers being executed after surrendering. In the countryside the Soviets encouraged ethnic minorities to attack Poles with scythes and axes--and some did!

Or maybe you meant these "sweethearts"?

[Aleksandar Vojvoda]

Our Deporatation Our tragedy culminated on April 13, 1940, when two locals, a Jew and a Ukrainian, arrived bringing a Soviet soldier with them. "You have thirty minutes to pack!" they growled. Flashing in my head was the word that terrified all Poles: Siberia! Mama and I lost our composure. But Czeslaw began packing and throwing together bundles, and he ordered us to gather things like tools and boots. Czeslaw was hampered by the soldier who followed him everywhere and wouldn't allow him to take an axe--a weapon! My beloved cat Zbik was running after me and when I asked Mama what would happen to him she just said: "It'll be a lot colder for us."Natalia's Letters Then we were ordered to hand over our house keys to someone. But who? Mama knew that the poor Jews weren't being deported, yet, and she gave the address of her tailor. When he arrived Mama asked him to take care of our whole fortune and distribute certain valuables to remaining friends in town. I grabbed his hand and begged him to take care of Zbik, and he agreed. Later I learned that Zbik ran away and our things were stolen or sold at low prices by the NKVD--photos were thrown into a fire by those who wanted the frames. We then loaded our thing into a peasant's wagon waiting on the street. It was barely light as we rode down streets of dirty snow to the rail station. I beheld Krzemieniec dripping with fog as if in tears. This would be my last memory of home. A sudden thought: "My God! I was just racing down these streets with my atlas--and now where is it?" I had forgotten it. But would I need it where we were going? I snuggled up to Mama and she to me--we felt so alone and lost.