A Toast to Tradition

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used to be an Editor and Lead Proofreader on the English-language version of Przekroj.pl. He lives happily in Warsaw.

As the sweet scents and gentle colours of blossoming spring-time trees give way to the warmer summer months, love is in the air across the northern hemisphere. In Europe, June tends to mark the start of wedding season, and it’s no different in Poland. The Polish diaspora reaches far and wide – those from across the globe may be friendly with a Pole or two – meaning that invitations to Polish weddings can find themselves crossing borders and bringing wedding guests to the country for the first time…

…well, in normal times, that is. In the year 2020, there’s no escaping the fact that the global pandemic has shut down borders and flights, spelling a swift end to any overseas wedding plans. Of course, this hasn’t only impacted the preparations of foreign guests. Domestic restrictions have targetted, among others, group gatherings, effectively ruling out any matrimonial services and festivities. With good reason. In the current health climate, nothing could be worse than bringing together hundreds of people of all age groups – some of them from different parts of the country – to stand and sit next to each other for hours. And yes, dear reader, this has affected me, too. The Polish government’s recent loosening of restrictions allows for weddings of up to 150 people; understandably, my friends in Gdańsk decided not to take the health risk

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Richard Greenhill:

used to be an Editor and Lead Proofreader on the English-language version of Przekroj.pl. He lives happily in Warsaw.

Publish date: 27.06.2020

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Marta Zboralska:

a researcher specialising in modern and contemporary art. She lives in London.

None of us knew her, but we all knew her name: Gienia. I don’t think I ever said anything to Pani (‘Miss’) Gienia beyond bez ziemniaków (no potato) or bez mięsa (no meat), depending on how I felt about the set meal that day. And yet, over the years, she has remained with me in spirit.

I went to school in an idyllic location – so idyllic that the building is now an old people’s home. Surrounded by a quiet, dense forest, the school mainly served the adjacent housing estate, where I lived, and the sister estate on the other side of the National Park. Children from the 23rd of March Street (so named after the day in 1945 that the resort of Sopot was freed from Nazi occupation by the Red Army) were brought over on a local bus, its schedule synchronized with the beginning and end of the school day. Herding rowdy pupils on board, the teachers would shout Kto na Marca? (“Anyone for March?”), and the recurring joke was that their cries would eventually begin to sound like Kto na Marsa? (“Anyone for Mars?”). Perhaps to the kids on my estate, so attached to our own community, life across the forest did indeed feel as distant as Mars.

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Miss Gienia

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