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On the day we were to leave Warsaw, we formed a long line. The soldiers were dividing people up - women and children and old people on side, and able-bodied people the other side - separated by barbed wire. My mother and I were standing about next to the train that we were going to get into and my father was on the other side. My mother shouted at him, "Jurek!" (George, come over!) He ran and vaulted the fence and they shot at him but missed. My mother immediately made him sit under the train and she put some flour on his head to make him look as if he had grey hair. They came and looked in a cursory way. My mother and I stood still as if we didn't know anything, waiting for them to go back.