Like many Poles who grew up during World War II, Andrzej Krolicki is a proud patriot whose reading of history has left him with a deep suspicion of Ukrainians. So when the 83-year-old retired businessman and his wife, Tereza, offered to take in a Ukrainian mother and her daughter, his family was more than a little surprised. Further shock came when the Ukrainians – Olha Voronetska and 13-year-old Anastasia – turned out to be from Volyn, a part of western Ukraine forever linked to events during World War II that are still deeply divisive. THE GLOBE AND MAIL, SOURCE: TILEZEN; OPENSTREETMAP FACTORS MURAT YÜKSELIR / THE GLOBE AND MAIL, SOURCE: TILEZEN; OPENSTREETMAP CONTRIBUTORS? GRAPHIC NEWS MURAT YÜKSELIR / THE GLOBE AND MAIL, SOURCE: TILEZEN; OPENSTREETMAP CONTRIBUTORS? GRAPHIC NEWS The mere mention of Volyn – a part of Volhynia that was largely part of Poland until after the war – can send Mr Krolicki into a frenzy. He will go on at length about Stepan Bandera and how his nationalist forces massacred tens of thousands of Poles across the region in 1943 in a bid for Ukrainian independence. “They killed everyone, including little children, like animals,” Mr. Krolicki said, his voice rising with rage. “For us, Bandera was a criminal, a murderer.” Mrs. Voronetska grew up learning a different story. For her, Bandera was a hero who fought the Soviets and Germans to keep Ukraine free. He is a glorified figure throughout western Ukraine and is commemorated with statues and street names. “I’m from Volhynia,” she told Mr. Krolicki over Easter dinner as the two pored over a map to locate the village of Kutriv. Then he added with a smile, “I’m Bandera.” The unlikely pairing of Mr. Krolicki and Ms. Voronetska should have been doomed from the start. How could their differences and crude views coexist? Wouldn’t intolerance tear them apart? Top, Andrzej Krolicki, 83. Below, Mr Krolicki (left) and Ukrainian refugee Olha Voronetska study a map of Volyn, Ukraine, where Ms Voronetska and her 13-year-old daughter Anastasia are from. The area was the site of a massacre of Poles by Ukrainians during World War II. This has not happened. Somehow this combination of personalities, nationalities and generations not only survived, but thrived. Somehow by simply opening his door, Mr. Krolicki found a way to change the lives of three people: Mrs. Voronetska, Anastasia, and himself. They have been living under the same roof since early March, when a friend told Mr Krolicki about a mother and daughter from Ukraine who needed a place to stay. He did not hesitate to offer rooms in his house in a village outside Warsaw. Mrs. Voronetska was in Poland before the war began. When the first Russian bombs fell on February 24, he rushed back home to pick up Anastasia, who was staying with her grandmother. She told her daughter to pack quickly and they left for the Polish border, which was swarming with thousands of people trying to get out. Anastasia was afraid to leave the house, but she only had time to grab some clothes and a notebook with unfinished drawings. “I was afraid to change position,” he later recalled. Olha Voronetska and her daughter, Anastasia, are from Volyn, a part of western Ukraine forever linked to events during World War II that still cause sharp division between Ukrainians and Poles. Ms Voronetska’s other two children – a 21-year-old son and a 24-year-old daughter – faced a more dire situation. They lived in Vorzel, a suburb of Kiev that was occupied by Russian soldiers for three weeks in March. The brothers spent days hiding in a basement and finally made it to safety. “We were all praying,” Ms. Voronetska said. Her eldest daughter eventually came to Warsaw and lives with Mrs Voronetska’s ex-husband while her son is in Kyiv with his grandparents. When Mrs. Voronetska arrived at the Krolicki home, she was worried about where she would find work and how Anastasia would adjust to a new country, a new language, and a new school. Mr. Krolicki also had challenges. He once ran an agricultural equipment business during the communist era, but had to close it in the 1990s when Poland and the economy underwent radical changes. He and his wife are now dating on a small pension. Their lives became more complicated after a car accident left Mrs. Krolicki in need of extensive rehabilitation. From left, Ms Voronetska, Anastasia and Mr Krolicki share a moment on Easter Sunday in Poland. There was some tension when Mr. Krolicki first met Ms. Voronetska. He did not hide his views on Volhynia, but Mrs. Voronetska’s good nature was disarming. “She started laughing because Bandera is a hero to her,” he recalls with a smile. “If you’re vindictive, we should just close the door, but we’re not.” They soon found a way to connect and support each other. Mrs. Voronetska found work sewing flags in a factory in Warsaw. He leaves every weekday on a bus that Mr. Krolicki helped set up for his village. He pushed local officials years ago for a bus to Warsaw and won’t hesitate to make sure it goes ahead. Anastasia went to the community school and finished the year with flying colors, scoring top marks in every subject, including the Polish language. Mr Krolicki has received a grant from the village council to go on a trip to the Polish beach in August. And in another surprise for his relatives, he has turned over part of his spacious yard – which he carefully monitors – for Anastasia and her mother to grow vegetables. On warm summer weekends, families often gather for barbecues in the Krolickis’ backyard. They roast sausages over an open fire and share stories over beer and soda. Mr. Krolicki has taught Anastasia to shoot a pellet gun and gave Ms. Voronetska a test of using his divining wand to find underground water lakes. At a recent gathering, Ms. Voronetska spoke about where she grew up and tried to explain the complicated history. “We lived with Ukrainians, Germans, Czechs. A mix. Everyone was living normally,” he said. “When the Soviets came they destroyed relations.” By opening his door, Mr. Krolicki found a way to change the lives of three people: Mrs. Voronetska, Anastasia, and himself. He has a simple explanation for how he managed to ease Mr. Krolicki’s long-standing suspicion of Ukrainians. “If you meet young Ukrainians, you will have new thinking. I’m trying to be normal,” she said. “People are like a mirror. It works if you’re a good person.” Mr. Krolicki’s sometimes harsh demeanor has clearly softened and he has come to see Mrs. Voronetska and Anastasia as family. “We don’t lock the door and they don’t lock their door either,” he said proudly. After some reflection, he added: “I have hope that after the war, the Ukrainian people and the Poles will talk normally. That doesn’t mean we don’t remember the history and the carnage. But maybe one day, the two separate countries will think together as friends.”
