EXEMPLARY SOLDIER

In the early 1970s, Polish television programs for children and teenagers often promoted the military and military service. This was especially noticeable in Teleranek ("Sunday Morning"), one of the most popular youth programs of the era. The promotion of military values was particularly visible when episodes of the hugely popular television series Four Tank-Men and a Dog (Czterej pancerni i pies) were broadcast. Before each episode, a young, uniformed and impeccably disciplined army officer would appear on screen and solemnly announce that he was "ordering" viewers to watch every episode of the series. Today this sounds rather amusing, but at the time such messages were treated quite seriously.

Exemplary Soldier – an honorary title and badge awarded to soldiers of the Polish Army in the years 1950–2010.

One related initiative involved displaying photographs sent in by viewers showing fathers, grandfathers, and other family members who had been honoured during their military service with a commemorative photograph taken in front of their unit's ceremonial flag. My father, who had also completed his mandatory military service, often mentioned that he had received some sort of military distinction, and it is quite possible that this pin was connected with that recognition. Unfortunately, television only showed the photographs, not the medals or awards themselves, so I could never impress my friends with having his name mentioned on TV!

"Korpusówka" (Corps) – the colloquial name for the insignia of a personnel corps in the Polish Army and other uniformed services. It is the insignia of the armored forces in Poland.

I know that my father served in an armoured unit. He commanded several tanks, probably as a platoon commander, and often told me stories about these machines. As a boy, I dreamed of climbing inside a real tank. I finally got my chance in the mid-1970s when a film was being shot about soldiers of General Berling's Polish Army fighting on the eastern bank of the Vistula River and attempting to cross it to help the Warsaw Uprising of 1944.

The Polish People's Army (Polish: Ludowe Wojsko Polskie), was the second formation of the Polish Armed Forces in the East during the latter stages of the Second World War (1943–1945), and subsequently the armed forces of the Polish communist state (1945–1989), which was formalized in 1952 as the Polish People's Republic.

The "Berling Army" was the Soviet-backed Polish Army formed in the USSR during World War II. In September 1944, some of its units attempted to cross the Vistula River to aid the Warsaw Uprising, suffering heavy losses in the process.

Several T-34 tanks, fully operational despite being used as movie props, stood along the riverbank. Every now and then the soldier guarding them would allow local children to climb inside. I must admit that the interior of a tank is definitely not a place for anyone suffering from claustrophobia! I was thrilled to have the opportunity to explore one from the inside, but I was also surprised by how cramped the crew compartment was.

Around the same time, my father was learning to drive a car and was having some difficulty passing his driving test.

"You were able to drive a tank, yet you're having trouble driving a car?" the instructor asked him.

My father replied:

"When you drove a tank, there were no traffic lights, road signs, intersections, or speed limits. And you didn't have to worry too much about trees either—one more or one less didn't make much difference. You simply drove straight ahead!"

Fortunately, he eventually passed the test. As far as I know, he never had a serious accident during the rest of his life. And I don't think he ever 'collected' any trees along the way either!

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MOUNTAIN SHELTER ON LUBAŃ IN THE GORCE MOUNTAINS

The mountain shelter on Lubań (49°29'17.0"N 20°20'28.1"E / 49.488056, 20.341139) — or, more precisely, a small PTTK mountain shelter known in Polish as a bacówka — has remained in my memory primarily because it was newly built at the time, very cozy, and staffed by exceptionally friendly and hospitable people. We were also given a very private double room on the first floor, something that was not particularly common in Polish mountain shelters.

Mountain Shelter on Lubań

The shelter itself was rather small and offered only a limited number of beds. However, we never expected luxury. On many occasions, we stayed in dormitory-style rooms equipped with bunk beds and shared them with numerous other hikers. Indeed, this was an integral part of the atmosphere of traditional Polish mountain shelters: evening conversations, singing hiking songs together, and exchanging stories about mountain adventures often became lifelong memories.

Although we never personally experienced a situation in which all the beds in a mountain shelter were occupied, I know from numerous accounts that mountain shelters virtually never turned hikers away. Even when every bed had been taken, the staff would usually find some solution — sometimes this meant spending the night on the floor, on a mattress, or even on a bench in the dining room.

Mountain Shelter on Lubań, 1974
Source: Wikimedia Commons. Author: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/pl:user:Wp

To this day, I remember how much comfort and privacy we enjoyed in this modest little shelter.

Sadly, not long afterward, we learned that the entire building had been completely destroyed by a fire in early 1978. The shelter had been in operation for only two years.

The present-day PTTK mountain shelter on Lubań was subsequently rebuilt and continues to serve hikers exploring the beautiful Gorce Mountains.

For readers unfamiliar with Poland, PTTK (Polskie Towarzystwo Turystyczno-Krajoznawcze, or the Polish Tourist and Sightseeing Society) has operated an extensive network of mountain shelters for many decades. These establishments traditionally offered inexpensive accommodation, hot meals, and a welcoming atmosphere for generations of Polish hikers and mountaineers.

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The Mountain Tourist Badge

I began hiking in the mountains a very, very long time ago — back in the 1960s. To this day I still remember rafting through the Dunajec River Gorge and climbing Trzy Korony (“Three Crowns”), one of the best-known peaks in the Pieniny Mountains of southern Poland. I was only a small child then, and other tourists were surprised that such a little fellow managed the climb.

In those days, during the communist era in Poland (the PRL period), family holidays were often organized in a modest and practical way. We usually stayed “na kwaterach” — at private rooms rented by local families — and from there made day trips into the surrounding hills and mountains.

While staying in the spa town of Muszyna, we climbed Pusta Wielka (1,061 m), where there stood a wooden triangulation tower that later collapsed. When we reached the summit, my father surprised us by producing a bar of chocolate. That may sound ordinary today, but in Poland of those years chocolate was not something taken for granted, so it felt like a true reward.

When we stayed in Rabka, we often hiked up nearby Grzebień Hill (677 m), whose bands of forest looked like the teeth of a comb (and thus the name, Comb Hill), and Bania (612 m). One day we even climbed Luboń Wielki (1,022 m) — in winter. At the top stood a mountain hut and a radio-television transmission station. We came back after dark, which was no small challenge.

Over time, these short outings turned into multi-week mountain expeditions. For many years I hiked intensively through the Polish Carpathians carrying a backpack that sometimes weighed as much as 30 kilograms (66 pounds), much of it food and supplies-it was the reality of life in Poland then. We travelled from summit to summit, from mountain hut to mountain hut, and from town to town.

Hiking in the Beskid Mountains, 1977

We spent nights either in mountain shelters (a.k.a. mountain lodges, hostels, huts or chalets), mountain refuges or in private homes in villages and small towns — and people often refused payment. On mountain pastures we sometimes stopped in shepherds’ huts called bacówki, where a fire burned in the middle and cheeses hung from the rafters, slowly smoking into the famous Highlander cheese known as oscypek. We bought that cheese together with żętyca (also called zyntyca), a traditional whey drink produced during cheesemaking.

Even then I kept something like travel journals. I carefully recorded our routes, described each trip, pasted in postcards, and collected stamps from mountain huts. Sadly, all those notebooks disappeared because of one family member.

Quite early on, I became interested in combining pleasure with purpose — by earning the Mountain Tourist Badge (Górska Odznaka Turystyczna, or GOT), awarded by PTTK, the Polish Tourist and Sightseeing Society. I bought the official rulebook and badge booklet, which listed how many points were awarded for particular hiking routes. The number of points depended on distance, elevation gain, difficulty, direction of travel, and other factors.

To prove that you had completed a route, you had to keep a hiking logbook and collect official stamps from mountain huts, town offices, shops, or other places along the trail. Once you had enough points, you submitted your application and attended a verification meeting.

Usually this was a friendly conversation with an experienced PTTK volunteer (przodownik PTTK) who knew the mountain trails well. I still remember the name of the exceptionally kind gentleman who “examined” me: Tadeusz Gurbiel.

Tadeusz Gurbiel

Years later I looked him up and discovered that he had lived an extraordinary life. Tadeusz Gurbiel “Góra” (1908–1993) had been a soldier of the Polish Home Army during the Second World War and a participant in the 1944 Warsaw Uprising against the German occupation. He fought in fierce battles in the Wola district, then in the Old Town, and later escaped through Warsaw’s sewers to the city centre with other insurgents — one of the most dramatic episodes of the uprising. For bravery he was awarded the Cross of Valour. After the fall of the uprising he became a German prisoner of war and did not return to Poland until 1947.

Tadeusz Gurbiel's memorial plaque in Warsaw’s PTTK Pantheon.

After the war he devoted himself to mountain tourism and became one of the respected figures of PTTK. He held several important positions in Warsaw’s mountain tourism commissions, but what matters most to me is that he spent years verifying hikers’ logbooks and approving earned GOT badges. In other words, this war veteran and former POW was the man who confirmed the achievements of young hikers like me. After his death he was honoured with a memorial plaque in Warsaw’s PTTK Pantheon.

By 1977 — or perhaps even 1976 — when I was only fourteen or fifteen years old, I had managed to earn four GOT levels: Popular, Bronze, Silver, and Gold.

I should add that for many years I have felt little attraction to medals, decorations, or official honours. Perhaps that is partly a reaction to communist countries, where politicians, military officers (especially Soviet), miners, and various officials were often covered in awards like Christmas trees, which tended to cheapen their meaning.

Yet I value these four modest hiking badges very highly, because I truly earned them myself. No one granted them to me by bureaucratic decree. They symbolize youth, effort, independence, unforgettable journeys, and wonderful memories.

They also left me with many metal hiking badges and souvenirs, whose photographs I hope to post here in future entries, together with descriptions of old routes and mountain adventures.

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Finally, one telling story. A schoolmate of mine also hiked in the mountains, but he had not yet earned the Gold GOT badge and was clearly jealous of mine. He questioned me about how and when I had earned the badges — not because he wanted to learn interesting routes, but because he hoped to undermine my achievements.

Around the same time, our class was preparing a school trip project (which was never realized), and my role was to design several mountain hiking routes. After my presentation I was surprised by his angry reaction and personal attack. He could not tolerate someone else speaking in an area he considered his private domain.

I thought about those incidents for a long time, with both surprise and sympathy. Eventually I understood that such behaviour often comes from insecurity and low self-esteem — something that became evident in other situations later. Fortunately, in the following years our relationship returned to normal, and those episodes faded into the past.

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My collection of metal badges, pins, photographs and other memorabilia

Like many children, I collected all sorts of things when I was young. During the communist era in Poland (the PRL period, 1945–1989), even very simple everyday items could become treasures for children and teenagers. Bottle caps, matchboxes, comic strips found inside chewing gum wrappers, foreign beer cans and soft drink bottles, cigarette packages, and postage stamps often found their way into the collections of my friends and classmates.

I was no different. I gathered many such items myself. I still remember, for example, a plastic cigarette package made by Philip Morris, which at the time was considered a particularly desirable “artifact” among young collectors. Even an empty beer can from abroad could be something special in those days, when imported products were uncommon and difficult to obtain in Poland.

Warsaw, 159 General Karol Świerczewski Avenue.
The photograph shows the display mat with my pins and badges hanging in my room.
This photo was taken in my apartment on May 13, 1981, as we were celebrating the written mathematics matura exam (secondary school leaving examination) that had taken place earlier that morning. An hour or two later, we learned about the assassination attempt on Pope John Paul II in St. Peter’s Square at the Vatican.

I also collected postage stamps. I even had a subscription and received new issues every quarter — postmarked copies, which were less expensive than mint stamps. I still own one stamp album containing many pre-war stamps as well.

I probably received this badge from my friend's father at the Poznań Fair.

Over time, I became especially interested in collecting metal pins and badges. My main source was the Poznań International Fair, a major trade fair in Poland that attracted exhibitors from many countries. My father went there every year and brought back new badges for me. On one occasion our whole family went together, and I was in seventh heaven! Interestingly, I met my friend's father, who lived in the same building, on the same floor, and who held a high position at the headquarters of the "Unitra" electronics company in the Polish People's Republic, and he gave me a handful of pins!

Original admission ticket to the Poznań International Fair from June 1974  

Later, during hiking trips in the Polish mountains, I bought more badges at mountain huts and tourist lodges. When the Solidarity movement emerged in 1980, I tried to obtain as many pins connected with that historic movement as possible. Friends and schoolmates, knowing about my hobby, also brought me badges from time to time. Eventually, all of them were pinned onto a display board that hung in my room for many years.

Many years after I emigrated to Canada, only part of the collection made its way back to me. I mounted those badges on a new board and added several more collected in Canada. The display still hangs in my office today.

For years it served as a wonderful conversation starter. Clients would often notice it, and many interesting discussions began because of one small metal pin. More than once, instead of focusing strictly on business matters, I spent time talking with people about travel, history, Poland, Canada, or shared memories sparked by something on that board. I remember those conversations fondly — sometimes interrupted by my secretary reminding me that other clients were already waiting.

I have always believed that life should not be only about work. Whenever time allowed, I enjoyed sharing my interests — both those rooted in Poland and those developed later in Canada, which I describe in my travel blog: http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/

My room in the apartment in Warsaw, on 159 Świerczewskiego Street (currently Al. "Solidarności"). My mother with our awesome and extremely friendly parakeet. The mat with my pins is on the left. Behind, on the door, there is a very original poster featuring a ghost. The photo was taken in the second half of the 1970s.

In future posts I will share photographs of these badges and pins, along with descriptions, reflections, and the stories behind them. Other interesting objects may also appear here from time to time — and sometimes simply memories.

This blog is also available in English, although I realize that some topics may be especially meaningful to readers familiar with Poland and everyday life during those years. 
However, if this text is of interest to international readers, I'll be happy to answer their questions whenever possible. Sometimes my replies to comments may be delayed: when I travel, I usually rarely use my cell phone (which I only started using in 2022), don't have access to my account, or don't have internet access at all because there is often no cell coverage in the areas where I travel.

Finally, I should mention that some historical information included here will come from Wikipedia and other online sources.

Blogi są również dostępne w języku polskim/blogs are also available in the Polish language

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Dean Bauck — Canadian track and field athlete (high jumper)

In Poland of the 1970s, sport played an exceptionally important role in everyday life—much greater than it might seem today to readers unfamiliar with the realities of Eastern Europe at the time. During the era of the Polish People’s Republic (PRL), access to many forms of entertainment was limited, and foreign travel for ordinary citizens was restricted. As a result, sport became one of the few widely accessible “windows to the world.”

During major football (soccer) matches, the streets would empty, and cinemas—despite showing highly sought-after Western films that were usually difficult to get tickets for—often stood nearly empty. Television broadcasts of sporting events brought entire families together, and the successes of Polish athletes were a genuine source of national pride.

Although other sports never matched the popularity of football, they still attracted considerable interest and generated strong emotions. Like most of my peers, I followed sports to some extent—it was a frequent topic of conversation and debate. However, I was never a particularly devoted fan, and after leaving Poland, I gradually lost interest in sports altogether.

Let me go back, however, to the year 1974. On June 30th, I went with my father to the “Skra” stadium in Warsaw (52°12'53.1"N 20°59'36.1"E / 52.214750, 20.993361) to attend an international track and field meet (Poland-Canada-United Kingdom). It was probably the first time in my life that I experienced such an event in person. The weather was pleasant, although the stadium—quite large—was not especially full, which was fairly typical for athletics meets at the time.

A commemorative pin from the track and field competition held in June 1974. Photo courtesy of Mr. Dean Bauck

Track and field competitions seemed somewhat monotonous to me back then, especially compared to the fast-paced action of football or hockey, where something is happening almost constantly. Athletics follows a different rhythm: multiple events take place simultaneously, often requiring patience and sustained attention from the spectator. Nevertheless, it was a worthwhile and memorable outing—one that I still recall very clearly today, not only because of the sporting experience itself, but also because I managed to collect six autographs, which I will describe in subsequent entries.

On that particular day, I forgot to bring my autograph notebook—a serious oversight for a young collector. As a result, I later glued the autographs into a small blue booklet and added notes beside them.

The first autograph from that day belongs to Dean Bauck (born 1954), a Canadian track and field athlete specializing in the high jump.

Dean Bauck

His athletic career unfolded during a particularly complicated period in Olympic history. Although he qualified for the Summer Olympics twice, he was ultimately unable to compete on either occasion. In 1976, at the Montreal Games, he was sidelined by a knee injury. Four years later, in 1980, his opportunity was taken away by the Western boycott of the Moscow Olympics, in which Canada participated. For many athletes of his generation, such circumstances meant that years of preparation never culminated in an Olympic appearance.

Photo courtesy of Mr. Dean Bauck

Despite these setbacks, Bauck achieved notable success at the international level. In 1978, he won a bronze medal for Canada in the high jump at the Commonwealth Games—an important multi-sport event involving countries of the former British Empire. The following year, he placed fifth at the Pan American Games. His greatest athletic achievement came in 1981, when he won the gold medal at the Pacific Conference Games in Christchurch, setting a personal best of 2.21 metres.

After retiring from competitive sport, he successfully transitioned into academic and professional life. He studied at the University of British Columbia, earning a Bachelor of Science degree in mathematics, followed by a Master of Business Administration (MBA). He further expanded his qualifications with a diploma in urban land economics and postgraduate certification in property valuation.

For over three decades, he has been active in the real estate market in the South Delta area of Vancouver, British Columbia, where he has built a reputation as a highly experienced and well-credentialed agent and broker.

Looking at his autograph today, one cannot help but reflect on how varied the life paths of athletes can be—and how success is often measured not only by medals, but also by what comes after a sporting career ends.

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But that’s not the end of the story. I decided to write him a short email, mentioning those competitions and asking for a photo for my blog. A few days later, I received a very nice reply from him, along with his photograph and an image of the pin from those events shown above, which I am publishing below with his permission: 

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18/04/2026

Hi Jack,

Thank you for bringing back these nice memories for me, and also for requesting my autograph. It was always an experience I found flattering and I did my best to make it special for those that asked.

As a young high jumper, I was fortunate to travel in 1974 with the Canadian Athletics team for a tour of competitions in Europe.

Our first stop was in Warsaw, Poland. We stayed in athletes’ rooms right in Skra Stadion.

There was a team competition between Canada, Great Britain and Poland and I was fortunate to win my event.

There may have been a second, international competition – at one of them I competed against Jacek Wszoła. We each jumped 2.16 m and I won on the countback. Given his Olympic success 2 years later that win remains a special memory for me!

The most memorable result during our time there was Irena Szewińska in the women’s 400 m on June 22 setting a new world record with the first sub 50 sec result. I was in the infield during the race and close to the finish line as it ended. I remember thinking how nice it was not only to witness but to have been circled by that performance!

My salient recollection of touring around the city of Warsaw was noticing the number of still damaged buildings that had endured bombing in WW2. I also remember the people being kind and lovely but subdued – it was still in the time before Lech Walesa!

In 1979 a smaller Canadian team spent time and competed in Madrid. Also attending was a contingent from Poland including Grażyna Rabsztyn who was the world record holder in the 100 m hurdles at the time. They were lovely people and we enjoyed hanging out and socializing with them – despite the language difference!

Dean Bauck

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Once again, the world is a small place!

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