Just one more repost from last year for anyone who is interested.
This thread has proved to be quite interesting, and I thought I might add a bit more to it by going into some deeper detail regarding our bi annual trips to cold war Poland, including some of the preparations. Unfortunately, it’s turned out to be a very long post so apologies for this. However, I hope you may find it interesting reading. I’d make a cup of tea first though.
Firstly, just some background. My dad was Polish and came over during WW2 and served in the Polish air force. He met my mum who was English and served in the RAF, and then my dad stayed in the UK after the war. He worked for British Rail at BRB headquarters in Marylebone, and his office was directly under the then Chairman Sir Peter Parker. He said he could hear Sir Peter ranting occasionally when things were going wrong somewhere on the system. As a result of my dad’s job, we always travelled to Poland by train using a combination of FIP coupons and FIP rail discounts.
Preparations for a trip behind the Iron curtain would start as early as a year in advance. We would try to take as many gifts as we could for our extended family members so we would start amassing things over the year. Stuff that could not be readily obtained in the East. I can’t really remember what my mum and dad used to put aside, but as a teenager, I was given the task of taking care of my young cousins and given a budget to spend over the year putting together presents. I would try to make the most of the budget, and made several trips to Portobello market in West London.
Very popular among my cousins was anything from the West that could not be got in Poland and would help them to achieve a ‘cool’ status among their friends. So, I went to several stalls and would try and find pairs of jeans, tee shirts with logos or slogans, and patches that could be sewn onto clothing. Stuff like the Smiley face, or two fingers giving a victory sign or patches with rock band names, stuff like that. Anything American was a sure winner. Records were very popular and I would go to a local record store on Portobello road and buy stuff from The Beatles, Rolling Stones, Moody Blues, Deep Purple etc. The LP covers were just as important as they would go onto bedroom walls. I would also buy Athena posters as it was all light weight stuff that we could carry.
Another place I went to was Lawrence Corner in London. A famous army surplus store. I would go raking through their bargain bins looking for any military stuff like tee shirts, and military patches. One of my older cousins rode a Russian or Chinese motorcycle in Warsaw and I managed to find a bargain WW2 US army helmet with webbing and some Biggles style aviator goggles. My dad also bought a pack of Lucky Strike cigarettes to go into the webbing. My cousin later rode around the streets of Warsaw wearing that helmet and goggles thinking he was Clint Eastwood from Kelly’s Heroes. He didn’t even smoke but the packet of Lucky Strike gave him the extra cool factor among his friends.
About three months before departure, my dad and I would take the tube over to Victoria station. We would troop though the station and across the road to the Continental Travel Centre in Semley Place. In the travel centre, we would then go through an unmarked door and this led into the BR staff travel section, Here, a whole morning or afternoon could be spent while the two clerks dealt with staff bookings. With a pencil behind his ear, the clerk would take details, and then busy himself making phone calls or sending telexes to various Continental administrations, or writing out chits. Hopefully, after a couple of hours, my dad and I would walk away with reservations for the sleeper or couchettes, the port taxes for the ferry, and any FIP discounted tickets for me or my mum that were required in addition to our coupons.
On the day of departure, we would get a black cab over to Liverpool street station, with about three or four suitcases packed with our clothes for the trip and all the many gifts we were bringing for family. Although we were loaded down with suitcases, it was never a real problem. In those days there were porters to carry your bags from the taxi rank to the boat train at Liverpool Street, then porters at Parkeston Quay to carry the cases onto the ferry, and then porters at the Hoek to carry the cases off the ferry and over to the Nord West express.
The boat train to Harwich was the Day Continental, normally blue & grey Mk 1’s and a class 31 or 37. We would normally sit in the first coach as my dad knew I liked to hang out of the window as we set off and hear the 31 or 37 thrashing away through East London towards Stratford. At Harwich, we would go through passport control and then onto the boat, the St George I believe, meeting the porter with our cases in the saloon. Although I really liked the ferry, I suffered with the ‘Mal de Mare’ a bit as a child, and if the North sea was a bit rough, the six hour crossing could be a nightmare.
I would always watch the docking process from the outside deck as we arrived at Hoek of Holland, and look down onto the station beside the quay and see the waiting trains down below. It’s a shame to go to the Hoek nowadays, and see the station a shell of what it once was. After disembarkation, we would follow the Dutch porter through the passport and customs checks, and then round to the train. I’ve stated before that there were DB coaches for Hamburg Altona and Copenhagen, and PKP seating and couchette cars for Warsawa, and then at the head of the train behind the NS class 1500 loco (class 77 UK), would be the imposing RZD sleeping car for Moskva.
There was one time, 1974 I think, when we walked down the train and arrived at the loco, but no sleeping car. The NS train guard for the local to Amsterdam was stood on the adjoining platform ‘waiting time’ for his service, and unfortunately for him, he was surrounded by several excitable Eastern European passengers demanding to know where their sleeping car was. Of course, he didn’t know and went off to try and find someone who could. My dad was not among the throng though. Being a railwayman himself, he guessed something had gone on for operational reasons and busied himself grabbing a seating compartment for me and my mum and getting the porter to stow the bags.
Meanwhile, the NS guard returned with the guard for our own train who informed the group that the Westbound service had been heavily delayed earlier in the day, and that the sleeping car had been taken off at Hengelo to avoid it being delayed and it was waiting there. That mean’t a bit of a scrum now for the sleeping car passengers to find seats and stow their bags, while my dad had been ahead of the game and we were nicely sat already. When we got to Hengelo, we got the suitcases off. Luckily, the seating coach was near the head of the train so we didn’t have to carry them far. I watched as the NS loco pulled forward, and then the station pilot propelled the sleeping car from a nearby siding (in the days when some Dutch stations had pilots based nearby). As the sleeping car approached the train, I could see the Russian sleeping car attendant standing on the metal steps wiping down the handrails as the sleeping car buffered up. It was a swift operation. Ten minutes saw the sleeping car passengers on board, the pilot loco withdrawn back into the siding, and the NS loco back onto the head of the train.
Normally though, the sleeping car would be at the Hoek of Holland waiting for us. To a young lad brought up on Michael Caine’s ‘Harry Palmer’, the sleeping car always looked sinister and the start of the main adventure. It looked so sombre and imposing, this dark green carriage with its badges, lace curtains, Cyrillic lettering, ribbed bodywork and the pale faced severe looking sleeping car attendant in his RZD uniform. It was always a male on these trips. I don’t know if female attendants ever made it on Westbound services? Oh, and the destination plate on the side. Hoek v Holland, Berlin Ost, Warszawa Gd, Mockba. This was the real deal !
The sleeping car attendant always seemed to make a big deal of the documentation. Carefully examining each document carefully including passport before finally allowing you access to his sleeping car. I was always taken by how plush the sleeping car seemed compared to the couchettes we’d occasionally taken in the past. From the lace curtains to the carpet in the corridor, the three plump bunks in the compartment (I am an only child so there were no siblings to worry about. Just mum, dad and myself), the black and white photos of Moscow and St Petersburg on the compartment wall, and the filigree tea holders on the compartment table.
I was always surprised at how some passengers would immediately get changed into pyjamas before departure from the Hoek, and remain that way for the entire journey, until my dad explained that’s how a lot of Russians liked to travel.
Regarding the sleeping car attendant and my dad, I got the impression that the Russians and Poles tolerated each other, but didn’t particularly like each other. However, during the journey, my dad would have some discreet meetings with him. Black market money exchanges would sometimes take place to get Polish Zloty at a preferable rate to the official one, plus a carton or two of Marlboro Red would be secreted in the compartment on behalf of the attendant in exchange for unlimited tea and biscuits for the journey. If it was just dad and I travelling, a few US dollar bills to the attendant would ensure the third bunk remained empty.
On departure from the Hoek, I would settle onto the bunk to watch the flat countryside of Holland out of the window, and try to spot my first windmill. The first stop would be at Rotterdam Schiedam. I now live in Holland in the town of Woerden, and the Nord West express used to pass through Gouda and Woerden on the way to the next stop at Utrecht Centraal. My late Dutch father in law said he used to see the train at Schiedam while waiting for his local to Woerden after finishing work at a furniture store, and remembered the Russian sleeping car. Little did I know back in the seventies and sat on that bunk, that I would one day be living in a town on the route of the former Nord West express.
After Utrecht Centraal the train would head through Amersfoort to Hengelo where I believe the German border guards would get on to have their checks done by the time the train reached the German border at Bentheim. I may be wrong though. The NS loco would normally come off at Bentheim to be replaced by a DB loco. The train would then carry on to Osnabruck where I believe the Hamburg and Copenhagen cars came off, and then Hannover and Helmstedt, the East German border in the early hours of the morning. We would normally be in bed by this time but forget getting a good night’s sleep. You would clearly hear the East German guards in the corridor going from compartment to compartment, and then when they got to you, there would be two fierce knocks before the compartment door was flung open and the compartment light switched on.
From memory, the East German guards were exactly as depicted in various spy films, with their uniforms and loud abrupt manner. I always remember the guard checking the passports and other documentation had a little desk strapped to his chest, complete with rubber stamps and visas etc. While he was doing the documents, another guard would be casting his eyes around the compartment and glancing at the suitcases, and it’s probably at this point that my dad would start to sweat a little.
On the ferry crossing to the Hoek, my dad would always go to the duty free shop to get some spirits, and even though he didn’t smoke, he would always get a carton or two of 200 cigarettes, and always Benson & Hedges Gold. I never understood why, but later I did. It was amazing how a packet or two of Benson & Hedges could oil the wheels of bureaucracy during the border checks and avoid suitcases being opened. The East German guards particularly liked B &H apparently as the gold packets looked very exotic in their breast pockets.
After Helmstedt, the DB loco had been exchanged in favour of a DR one and we carried on through the night to the West Berlin border at Marienborn. I can’t remember if there were more checks at Marienborn but I would imagine so. I remember we stopped at two stations in in West Berlin (around 7am I think), Friedrichstrasse and then Zoo. However, I cannot remember where further border checks were made? If it was before the wall or after when we got to Berlin Ost. I just remember looking out of the window as we headed to Berlin Ost on an elevated section of track, and clearly seeing the wall and the no man’s land on the East German side, and seeing how the architecture changed from West to East Berlin.
Maybe the checks were carried out at Berlin Ost, as I clearly remember officials getting on there. As we sat in Berlin Ost, I remember seeing the dingy looking trains of DR arriving and departing, and the dark maroon of Mitropa sleeping cars and restaurant cars dotted about on trains from the East.
A couple of times but not always, after checks were completed, the PKP couchette and seating car and the sleeper were shunted out of Berlin Ost and stabled in a weed strewn siding amongst DR freight wagons, and just left there for an hour or two. No explanations and none asked for by the passengers. We just sat there and it was accepted. Eventually, we were propelled back into the station and coupled up to another train, and then set off for the short journey to the Polish border at Frankfurt Oder. The Polish officials were normally quite quick with their checks on Polish nationals, albeit holding blue UK passports, and then my dad and I would step off onto the platform to have a walk.
When I started my European travels in earnest as a teenager, one of the first tools I acquired was a T key for continental trains, Similar to a British Rail T key but with a hollow square socket as opposed to the solid square socket with BR. It was always useful for unlocking slide down windows, or securing compartment doors when trying to keep a compartment for sole occupancy on overnight trains. However, it was always frustrating travelling in the sleeper. The RZD had to be different to everyone else and used a triangle lock on their stock. It was impossible to get an RZD key and the attendant used to keep the sliding windows firmly locked apart from his pantry window. Also, my dad forbade me to get off the train at any point unaccompanied in case I just disappeared. Therefore, for a boy interested in the railway operations of the train, I could not keep a track of all the shunting movements and engine swaps.
When we got off for a stroll at Frankfurt Oder, it was the first time I could really see the train since we left the Hoek. The consist of the train had changed entirely. The sleeping car instead of being at the head of the train was now in the middle. As said before, we had lost the Scandanavia cars in the night, the PKP couchette and seating coaches were behind us, then the sleeping car, then DR or PKP seating coaches from Berlin Ost to Warszawa. As we strolled to the front of the train, my dad and I would watch as the DR loco came off and a PKP one came on propelling the Polish restaurant car with WARS (wagon restauracyjny) emblazoned on the side. It was a welcome sight for my dad as we would always walk down the train around Rzepin for a traditional Polish lunch in the restaurant car. Borscht for starters (yuck !), and then pork and potatoes for mains. The stop at Poznan would see us heading back to the sleeping car in preparation for our arrival into Warszawa Gdanska.
On arrival into Warsaw, at least twenty family and friends would be waiting on the platform to greet us. Cousins visiting from the West was a big thing in those days, especially when it was only every two years. As I was being smothered in kisses from aunts and grandparents and cousins, I would be looking back at the sleeping car, and wishing I could carry on to Moscow with it, and experience the bogie changing process I had heard about. We would be herded down the platform, all my relatives loud and excitable, and cram into several ancient cars including my uncle’s FSO Warszawa (google that make of car to see one), plus all our suitcases, and go off to my aunt’s flat in Warsaw, all twenty piled into her small flat. The evening would be spent eating and drinking and dishing out the presents to my grateful cousins. It was truly xmas come early for them when the English cousins arrived from the West.
We would spend about three weeks in Warsaw and other places in Poland before the return journey. Just as much came back with us in our suitcases as went. It was mostly Polish crystal carefully wrapped, articles of clothing like soft pig skin gloves, and furs which were cheaply available and could be sold on in London for a nice premium. For me it was model trains. East German model trains were cheaply available and very high quality. As I write this, there is a model train on my son’s window sill comprising Mitropa sleeping cars, DR and CsD (Czech Republic) green seating coaches. Unfortunately, my son does not show an interest in trains (who can blame him being brought up with efficient but boring Dutch trains), so the model train is more for my amusement.
I won’t bore you with the details of the return journey. Suffice to say just as many relatives came to see us off again, and more Benson & Hedges Gold were used during border checks to avoid the unnecessary opening of suitcases. However, at Berlin Ost, the checks were much more intense. In addition to document checks, soldiers were going through the train lifting every seat or sleeping berth, searching all cupboards, searching the locomotive, and running barking dogs under the train and using mirrors. As we went into West Berlin, DDR soldiers were still on board and leaning out of doorways and windows as the train made its slow progress into the West.
When we finally reached the Hoek of Holland, our Dutch vessel for the crossing back to Harwich PQ was usually the Koningen Juliana I believe. If the North sea was being kind, I always enjoyed a creamy dessert in the cafeteria called Mona Tujhe, a pot of which is in my fridge right this minute.
Apologies again for this long post.
So, to answer the OP. Was it a mundane event to travel behind the Iron Curtain? I personally would say it was far from mundane. There were enough characters to fill a spy movie twice over, there was always apprehension if your travel documents were in order or if you would be pulled off the train at any time as my mum found out at Helmstedt. There was also apprehension if your belongings would be confiscated by customs, negated by a few bribes here and there. The train itself could be delayed by hours. And for my late dad himself, there was a bit of apprehension. He initially settled in the UK after the war as part of the Poles in Exile, and although he was travelling under the relative protection of a full UK passport, there was always that underlying fear that something could happen and he might not be allowed to cross back to the West. So yes, far from mundane.
Apologies if I seem to have hijacked the thread. Please return to first time on a foreign train posts.
), but found your account fascinating.