BELATED INTRODUCTION

This is not really a blog. Recently I celebrated my birthday, and since I joined the human race almost 90 years ago, I thought it time to introduce myself. This is particularly addressed to all who complain about having to move from their ancestral homes for whatever reason. I use my own joyful life to illustrate a magnificent method of acquiring  knowledge of diversity of life. Just become a displaced person!

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I was born in Baranowicze, where my father, a regular officer of Polish Cavalry had been posted. It was in Poland in those days. Now, through the generosity of gentleman in Yalta, it is in Belarus. 

Soon we moved to Grudziadz, in northern Poland. Just for two or three years. We followed dad's new appointment.

Next came Hrubieszow, where my dad was transferred again, to assume the position of Second in Command of the Local Regiment. We were given an apartment within the grounds of the army barracks.

That's where WW2 caught up with us. Soon we were kicked out of the army grounds to a Wikarowka, an ex-presbytary, we shared with 3 other families. Seventeen of us in a few rooms.  Fairly soon, mother found a 2-bedroom apartment for just first 7, later 11 of us, on Dworcowa street. The plumbing facilities were in the garden. On the other hand, here I began to study the violin.

When WW2 was over, mother and I moved to Lublin. There we stayed until dad had sent some money for us to leave Poland, illegally, which by then was under a communist regime. We pretended to be French repatriates, which, nevertheless, took us to Meppen, in Lower Saxony, Germany. There we awaited some sort of transport to Italy, where we hoped to be reunited with my father, who, by then got a commission in General's Anders' 2nd Corps of the Polish Army affiliated to the British Armed Forces.

After a while we got lucky. A transport of lorries, heavy duty trucks, took us to Italy where, lo and behold, we met father in Milano. Having changed our mode of travel to a passenger vehicle, dad took us to Porto San Giorgio, on the Adriatic coast of Italy, where I was left under the auspices of a demobilized sergeant of the 2nd Corp, while dad, after 5 year war separation, took mother for a second protracted honeymoon. With beautiful beaches and congenial weather, I hate to admit that I didn't miss them at all! I was about 14 at the time.

On my parents' return, dad gave us a tour of southern Italy in a demobilized army Humber, which, after the elusive comfort of the heavy duty tuck that brought us to Italy, was the epitome of comfort. I experienced my first open-air opera in Naples (Madama Butterfly), admired the ruins of Pompèi and Herculaneum, visited Capri including the fascinating Grotta Azzura (where in those days we were still allowed to swim). We also walked the hallowed corridors and chambers of the Vatican, and finally took off for Great Britain.

Our first "home" in England was in an army camp, a metal half-cylindrical container, commonly referred to a the barrel-of-laughs, in Bruntingthorpe, in Leicestershire. From there I had been sent to Mount St. Mary's Jesuit College, in Spinkhill, near Sheffield, to learn English. You can judge now if it worked. I spent there most of 3 years, which I do not count among my greatest pleasures. When I entered I spoke two words, "hellow" and "sorry". When I left I passed the Oxford and Cambridge School Matriculation Exams; to pass them  normally takes 5 years of study. I must have been lucky. I also performed my violin on the year-end leaving concert.

By then my parent moved to Ruislip, in Western London. A few years later our home became the upper floor on a house on Leinster Street, in Northern London. Another few years took us to Alaxandra Park Road, which was my last address in the UK. There I continued to study the violin as well as opera. It turned out that my voice was basso cantante (bass-baritone), which enabled me to sing my favourite aria from Mussorgsky's Boris Godunov. Simultaneously, I completed my studies of architecture, and began designing building.

Finally, I decided to stand on my own feet. I sold my car and bought a ticket to Canada. After a few days of looking for a job and sleeping on the floor in my friend's apartment, I rented my own bachelor pad. There, I enjoyed the luxury of a very comfortable 4" dunlopillo mattress on "my own floor". That was on Rue Durocher, in Montreal. I made my living as an architect.

Within two years I upgraded myself to a one-bedroom apartment on Aylmer Street. Within another two years, a two-bedroom, one I used as my study, found me on Mountain Street, in Downtown, still in Montreal. 

About ten years later I bought a condo on St-Jacques. For some years, I enjoyed designing many more building as associate partner. When the political climate in Quebec (Canada) put our architect's office out of business, I began writing. My new hobby resulted in publishing 50 books, which you can find at https://stanlaw.ca . I hope you'll enjoy all of them.

Some 4 years ago, my wife decided that the stairs to bedrooms on 2nd floor were a risk for my advancing years. A new, wonderful condo in Pierrefonds was on a single floor. The views were fantastic. Still are.

And that is where you can find me to this day.

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So, if you know anyone who is complaining about having to leave their ancestral home, or change their profession, give them a copy of this little introduction. It might cheer them up. As for me, I can't imagine a more interesting, varied, and edifying life. I moved a total of NINETEEN TIMES. Yet now, you might enjoy the view from our balcony as much as we do.

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