On the Road of Time – Chapter 19 - Part 01

On the Road of Time – Chapter 19

We returned from Bureli on the same road and took the highway leading to Tirana. We were surprised by the large number of ongoing developments in the area. To the left and right of the highway there were numerous hangars and factories painted in various colours and with U.S., German, Italian, French and Spanish flags flying on their roofs. The region before Tirana had grown with a large industrial zone along the new roads leading to the seaside towns. Albania, it seems, was coming to life. The mountain road took us to Elbasan where, west of the town, at the foot of the mountain, we saw olive trees with olives maturing on them. Among the olive trees there were grey buildings with cracks in their façade. This was a hospital complex where thousands of wounded Partisans from the Greek Civil War had been brought to be treated. From Elbasan we took the road that led us to the Durres harbour. Here we strolled along the docks admiring the anchored ships. We walked from one end of the harbour to the other listening to ship sirens and seagull calls flooding the air with sounds, slowly awakening sleeping memories in us. How had they determined who was to blame for DAG’s (Democratic Army of Greece) defeat since they never reported that DAG was defeated in the first place. Had they not said that, “they did not lose the armed struggle, but temporarily suspended it?” And what about their weapons, were they ever laid down or merely set aside? The day after they assembled in Bureli, Athens threatened Tirana. If Albania continued to protect the “bandits” in its territory, which the Greek government army failed to crush in Gramos, Greece would declare war on Albania. Tirana, being well aware of the situation even before it was threatened by Athens, made an urgent request to Moscow to find a solution. And a solution was found. The wounded and the entire refugee population were to be accepted by Warsaw, Prague, Budapest and Bucharest. The armed and capable fighters were to be accepted by Moscow and taken as far away from Europe as possible. This was what I was recently told by a ninety year old man named Stefo, who, through the entire Greek Civil War, was a driver, driving an old Czech “Tatra” on the roads from Durres - Elbasan - Prenies-Pogradets - Korcha - Bilista - Prespa and often from Prespa to Jasenovo and Katlanovo. Food, weapons and ammunition were set aside on one side and the wounded on the other side. “On that road,” Stefo said, “I knew every corner, every pothole and every rock sticking out of every cobblestone road… I could drive with my eyes closed and I never had an accident. And please don’t record my surname. Let me remain ‘unknown’ as there are so many of us ‘unknown’ out there. Are names more important than the deeds we did? I was just an ordinary driver, a chauffeur to hundreds of wounded who my Czech “Tatras” transported to hospitals in Korcha, Elbasan and Sukt and to Jasenovo and Katlanovo and from there, with their wounds still not fully closed, back to Prespa. Wounded there - semi-healed back. I drove all night and all day. The days were rare, very rare when we got a full day’s or night’s rest. The women from the Kostur, Prespa and Lerin Region villages carried the wounded to the border. They carried the fighters on stretchers, blankets and overcoats and the ammunition on horses and mules. The women were responsible for transporting wounded and ammunition directly to and from the battlefields. Oh, those women ... exhausted, out of breath, putting down the stretchers slowly, staring at the pale faces of the wounded, begging them to hold on, moistening their cheeks, lips and foreheads with their damp black head kerchiefs, holding their hands to comfort them and lessen their pain. Oh those women fatigued and with sunken faces, rubbing their shoulders to ease their pain from the heavy stretchers. We had no words to exchange, just a grip of the hand, to say goodbye to some until later and to others to say goodbye forever… I often secretly wiped my tears when, after a day, after a week and rarely after a month, I had to drive the same boys and girls to the same hospitals from which I had brought them back.

Were they complaining? Were they bent over with pain? Where they praying? They were doing all of those things lying there with their bodies mutilated. They begged me to drive slower when they were hurting badly. They begged me not to hit bumps and to avoid potholes on rugged roads. They begged me to give them water... Was it difficult for me? The hardest thing for me was when we unloaded them in the hospital yard and found some not moving. You drove them all night long, you tried to comfort them, you prayed for them and encouraged them to hold on and then they didn’t make it. You begged them to stop moaning, you promised them that there was only one more curve to go before the road levelled out, you assured them that the hospital was near and when you got there you found them motionless, cold and they looked at you with glass eyes. That was the hardest thing for me. Then I had to do it again… and again… and again… So instead of putting them on a stretcher and straight onto a hospital bed, we left them outside covered with a blanket, waiting to be taken to a place from where nobody returns. Did we have time to rest? We did not know what rest was. We never turned off the engines. We were there for as long as it took to offload everyone, then we fueled the trucks and after that we turned around and went straight to the warehouses. There we loaded the trucks with crates of ammunition, picked up the fighters who had recovered from their wounds and headed back to Smrdesh or Breznitsa. Then between the time it took to offload the crates and the recovered fighters and the time it took to load the new wounded, we stole a bit of time for a wink of sleep, to stretch our legs and relax our backs. Then we were back doing the same thing, day and night. I knew the road like the back of my hand. Who did I talk to while I drove? I talked to myself. Okay old truck, I used to say, let’s go and be careful you don’t go off the road, be careful you don’t flip over, be careful you don’t stall. And whenever we got a chance to stop and form a column of trucks, I caressed my truck, telling it bravo you old truck, you held out. Then before driving again I would say please hold on even longer, please don’t give out on the steep road, take the corner smoothly and take the hill courageously. One time it gave up on me. I was driving uphill by a very sharp turn, somewhere close to the entrance of Kiafasan. It was a steep grade and a very sharp turn… It was winter and as soon as I took the bend an avalanche of snow broke off from up higher and poured over the truck. Heaven and earth all disappeared under snow. Mine was the first truck leading the column. I broke through the snow and yelled at the top of my voice. The other drivers ran towards me, shovelled the snow with their arms and legs and freed me. Then we opened up the road to the top of the hill, past the last curve. Unfortunately my troubles were not over. When I tried to restart the truck, the engine growled once and died. I tried again and again but it did not want to start. I came down and asked the other drivers to come up and give me a push. We got the truck moving but still could not get the engine to start. We pushed it back and forth but the engine would not start. Then I noticed the road under the snow was icy. I asked for help to get the wounded off the truck and we laid them down on the side of the road in the snow. The wind, what can I tell you, twisting and howling blew from above bringing down snow and cold air. We pushed and pushed and brought the truck to the top of the hill. Then we returned for the wounded and one by one we carried them to the top in blankets and overcoats. We loaded them side by side on the truck but I was missing two. We went back looking for them, yelling and calling for them but there was only silence. We began to dig in the snow with our hands and finally we found them; they were buried in the falling snow. They were stone cold, frozen… We could not help them any more…

The engine too was dead but I had a solution for it. I took my overcoat off and cut it to strips with my dagger, I then placed it into a pile under the engine, soaked it with gasoline and lit it on fire. As soon as the moisture evaporated the engine started and we were off again. The downhill road from Kiafasan to Prenies was very steep and full of sharp turns so I had to drive with my brakes fully applied all the way down. Our engines sometimes would stall under such circumstances and until we were able to start them again the wounded had to endure pain and the cold. Being in pain and cold, they often took their frustration out on us, swearing and yelling at us. Sometimes they even threatened to kill us but when they were yelling like that we knew that they were alive... What? You are asking me for my name again? Please don’t ask me for my name. I don’t want it written down. Let me be anonymous just like the two men who froze to death in the snow at the great curve before the saddle of Mount Kiafasan… When we lost Vicho Region, thousands of civilians and Partisans fled to Albania. At first all trucks were left to the disposal of the military. We loaded ammunition during the night and, over Korcha in the dark of night, we drove it to the Albanian-Greek border where we off loaded it at the approaches to Gramos. The fighters came during the night, picked it up and delivered it directly to the battlefields. I have no idea how many thousands of government soldiers were waiting for them. The heavy battles began on August 27th. Government forces were attacking with military aircraft and artillery while our forces were fighting back with rifles and machine guns. The heavy weapons were left at Vicho and fell into enemy hands. What happened up there was not combat but a slaughter. The Partisans went into battle in open space with no trenches or bunkers to protect them. We the drivers, after delivering the weapons, were ordered to return to Korcha where we were split into two groups. One group collected those fleeing from Koreshtata who had managed to bring everything from home and were burning under the hot sun in Vrbnik and approaching Bilishcha. The other group collected those fleeing from Prespa, who after a short stay in Zvezda and Poiani were chased out and had to travel to Pogradets on foot. There were all sorts of people young and old, livestock, sheep, goats, oxen, cows, calves and carts. We left everything behind except for the people and their bags with their most essential items. The livestock was left behind to roam in the Albanian villages, fields and meadows. Who collected the livestock? No one, the livestock were not taken to Pogradets. Only people walked along the long and dusty road in a long and endless line. The column of trucks was waiting for them just outside Pogradets. It took a long time to load everyone, old men and old women, women with infants in their arms, sick people… The column of trucks pulled out and then stopped at the exit of Pogradets. A couple of women were carried out to the lakeshore, why I don’t know. Then the person leading the column went to see what was happening and after swearing a lot ordered the column to move again. In the evening we offloaded the people outside of Elbasan and without any rest went back to take more people and brought them to the same place outside of Elbasan. I picked up some women, one of whom had just given birth and her baby cried non-stop, continuously. It was one of the worst trips I had ever made. I was used to adults grunting and moaning but not to a baby crying. The mother cried too and I had no idea how to help them so when we got

to Prenies I stopped the truck and left two mothers and their babies with the administration. We left the people outside of Elbasan under the naked sky and returned to Korcha where we waited for further orders. Here we found out that our Partisans were retreating from Gramos and entering Albanian territory where they were ordered by Albanian officers to surrender their weapons and hide in the shadows of a pine forest. It was August 30 and aircraft were flying along the border. We heard bombs and cannon shells explode all over the place. I knew what was happening without having to ask, so as soon as my truck was loaded with thirty heavily wounded fighters I went straight to Korcha and immediately hurried back. The roads were filled with our people and no one was singing or chanting slogans as they used to before. They had their heads bowed down, some wearing dirty and bloody bandages. Hungry and thirsty they kept walking on these unfamiliar Albanian roads. It did not matter if they were wounded or healthy; they all looked sick because their souls were suffering... The first truck stopped and waited for the rest of the trucks to catch up so that a proper column could be formed. We wanted to form tight columns and drive fast but that did not always work. At the last corner before Prenies we had to reduce our speed because a river of men and women poured out of the barracks. The highway was crowded with people and we could not tell what they were saying from the shouting, but we knew very well what was hidden behind the yelling, crying and begging. After a few days we also collected them and took them to the meadows outside of Elbasan. They remained there, under the naked sky, for a month and maybe longer... Then we got orders to collect all the wounded from all the hospitals in Korcha, Elbasan, Tirana and those in Sukt, even those whose wounds were still open, and transport them to the Port of Durres. We, the drivers, were the first people to learn about the move out of Albania. We knew that both the military and civilian refugees would soon be moved out of Albania. So using our trucks we collected all wounded first and took them to the Port of Durres,” concluded Stefo. The reader can find more information about the refugees taken to Poland in the book ‘The Greek Hospital on the island Volin,’ whose author was the organizer and chief surgeon of the special military hospital, code named ‘250’, then Major, later Brigadier General, Dr. Vladislav Barchikovski. Among his valuable and worthy recorded testimony you will also find the following information: “As can be seen from the story told by General Leszek Kshemjenj, then deputy commander of the Shlesk Military District for political and educational issues, in the beginning of the summer of 1949 he asked to see Boleslav Bjerut, the first secretary of the Central Committee of PORP. Considering the complicated international situation, he brought to his attention the plight of the Partisans from the Greek Civil War. He was particularly touched by the fate of the wounded and sick, especially the children, women and elders. He was shaken by the prospect of their destruction as a result of the defeat of the Democratic Army of Greece. Boleslav Bjerut strongly emphasized the importance of Proletariat Internationalism as a basic ideological principle of communism and stressed that, as we were helped by other countries in our struggle comrades, it is now our turn to help and provide humanitarian aid... The military, which was equipped with the best organizational readiness, could take care of the evacuation, transportation, treatment and rehabilitation. The civilian authorities could then take care of accommodation and adjustments to life. He said he was personally interested in giving those unlucky people not only material assistance but also friendship from the heart. As a member of the military leadership in the territory where the new immigrants were to be accommodated in the future, General Kshemjenj ordered that he be regularly informed about their situation.

General Kshemjenj began to work on this project immediately but only for a short time. He was replaced by General Vaclav Komar, chief organizer and implementer of the immigrants from the Greek Civil War case in Poland. A group of doctors, under the leadership of Dr. Bohdan Bednarski, later Minister of Health, was dispatched from Poland to Albania towards the end of the Greek Civil War. The doctors provided the Partisans with professional medical help. There was another group of doctors who worked inside the ships that transported refugees from the shores of Albania to a place near the Polish port Svinoujshche. These doctors provided assistance and emergency surgery as required. The wounded Partisans offloaded in Shvinoujshche were transported by public health vehicles to hospital “250” in Volin Island. Later ships began to arrive in Gdansk where the wounded were offloaded and taken to Szczecin and from there were loaded on buses and taken to the hospital. Basically there were four periods during which refugees were transported. The first was at the end of July 1949, the second in the middle of September and part of October, the third in November and the fourth in December. The latter ones were sporadic and very few refugees were transported. The third batch of refugees transported from Albania took place on July 13, 1949. The ship, with a crew of 50 people, that took them was called ‘Koshchushko’ and carried 750 wounded. They were in bad shape and needed specialist help and fast. The partly healed patients were housed at the bottom of the ship and those who needed immediate attention and dressings changed were placed in the cabins. Each patient was issued a number written on a card which hung from their neck. They were supposed to memorize the number. While they were still in Albania, before they were loaded on the ship, rumours began to circulate among them that they would be loaded onto a Polish ship, which meant that they, most likely, would be taken to Poland. Some had met Polish doctors in Albania. Many remembered being treated by a Polish woman doctor in Sukt but they did not know her last name. To many she was known as sister Slava. She was constantly with them and cared for them, especially for women. The Greek nurses and health personnel were subordinate to her. The wounded were not allowed to leave their bunks while passing through Gibraltar or during the short stay in Copenhagen. But the ship found itself in a terrible fog while traveling through the English Channel. The sirens blew for long periods of time and the trip lasted twelve days before it docked in Shvinoujshche Harbour on July 25. Ochinjets and Fedina were a bit surprised when, the previous day in the morning, they received a call from Colonel Kavinjski ordering them to prepare several hundred blankets, drinks in milk cans and many pots. Everything was then loaded onto trucks and ready to go. Among the column of trucks were also the public health vehicles ready to pick up the wounded. The column of trucks sat idle for many hours waiting for orders to depart. Everyone thought the alarm had been sounded a bit too early. Then in the evening a jeep appeared from the command building and signalled the column to move. Everyone was relieved when the column left. By then everyone was also tired of waiting. The Column of trucks passed by the Mjendzivodzhe guardhouse and then it was off on its way to the port to pick up the refugees. While traveling on its way the column was diverted into a dense wood grove. A dark looking older man with a large moustache, wearing an officer’s uniform, came out of the woods. It was Colonel Stanek. There were many people in uniforms and in civilian clothes there hiding in the woods and so were many medical vehicles. At night the entire truck column moved out and drove into the harbour where it was met by a huge ship. They began unloading the ship at dawn while it was still dark. It was cold that day. The severely wounded were placed in special baskets and offloaded from the ship by cranes.

The wounded had to endure the cold and inconvenience while being offloaded but the process was quick and soon they were set on land. While this was going on a number of people, in uniforms appeared. They carefully covered the wounded with blankets, placed them on stretchers, loaded them onto the public health vehicles and drove them away. When they were subsequently asked, all the patients said that their first impression of Poland was very pleasant. After the period of uncertainty that they had experienced before that, they found the Poles very caring and compassionate. They felt like they were in good hands. The lightly wounded got off the ship on their own and after stepping out of the ship each was issued a blanket by the soldiers standing by the bridge. After that they were escorted to the trucks and to a small number of buses. There they were given hot drinks. The wounded who had amputated legs were carried onto the vehicles by hand. One of the men cried, not because he was in pain but because of the attention he was receiving, being carried by hand. Some, to express their gratitude, petted the metal eagles on the hats of the Polish soldiers who carried them. The strange newcomers were dressed in half-civilian, half-military clothing wearing American looking hats. They were dirty, thin-faced, neglected and sorrowful. They kept silent and to themselves. They left the impression that they were strange and unsure of themselves. They curiously watched the Polish soldiers standing at the seashore. Some newcomers wanted to touch their military medals, signs and symbols. All the heavily wounded were bandaged in dirty and bloody cloths and rags and under the bandages the wounds were leaking pus. It looked like there was no means to look after them on the ship or perhaps those providing the assistance were inexperienced? Some of the wounded had deformed limbs and did not want them seen by the soldiers, but once in a while the soldiers took a peek but showed their compassion by bowing and making hand gestures. When the entire operation was completed the trucks left Shvenoujashte in a hurry. They passed the empty Mjendzivodzhe without noticing those who were there on vacation. The first transport was a great experience for the hospital staff. They had been preparing for this for a long time. They were nervous due to the responsibility entrusted to them. Would everything go right? Would they be able to receive all the wounded and sick during the night and the next day? All these issues were causing them stress. They walked from corner to corner, checking whether something should be done, if something needed to be prepared or fixed. The wait was long and caused them much stress. Then the moment they saw the public health vehicles arriving and stopping in front of their building, they all came alive with excitement and laughter. Their anxiety was gone. They wanted to show the newcomers that they cared not only professionally but enthusiastically with all their hearts. They felt that the newcomers deserved all their attention. It was obvious, generally speaking, that these poor people had survived the horrors of war. They arrived tired, weakened, sick and generally exhausted from the prolonged suffering they had had to endure. Their limbs were sore and caused them much pain with any movement. Many had high temperatures. Some of the heavily wounded were very ill and were unable to rejoice in their arrival at their destination. Generally speaking everyone tried to express some enthusiasm with only a few showing mistrust saying, “Don’t touch me; I don’t know who you are.” That’s how it seemed to some of the staff when they heard the newcomer wounded muttering words at them. Some even refused to surrender their weapons, although it was explained to them that the weapons would be placed in storage, they still did not want to give them up. They were attached to their pistols and makeshift Partisan guns made of cut pipes. Only a few refused to eat, the majority extended their hands and helped themselves to the sandwiches especially provided for them.

They pointed at the bread and gestured if they could have more; looking for approval from their hosts. Later they said they could not believe that there was so much fresh bread. The partisans often dreamed of eating a lot of bread but here there was no limit to how much they could have. “You want more? There is plenty!” was the usual response from the hostesses who were more than happy to fulfil their wishes. And this is what the newcomers remembered the most and would never forget for the rest of their lives. The patients lay on beds lined up on both sides of the huge hall. They were astonished to see so many clean bowls for washing, water containers, piles of pyjamas, robes and slippers, milk cans and drinks. Some took extra food and hid it under their pillows because they were not sure what might happen next. They were afraid that the food might run out as it often had during their Partisan days. But from what they saw happening all around them they could tell that Poland was a country a lot richer than the countries in which they had stayed before. A lot of them had stayed in Albania, Bulgaria and Yugoslavia which were nothing in comparison to Poland. Many were also amazed at how much better organized Poland was than the other countries to which they had been. The wounded were quickly registered, undressed from their dirty clothing and cleaned up. They were washed, shaven and had their dirty bandages, rags and towels removed and burned. Those who needed new bandages and dressings were left on the beds. The others were given brand new pyjamas, put on stretchers and transferred to their quarters. Those who could walk were given the block number and sent off to their blocks where they were subdivided into groups and then transferred to suitable quarters. Only the severely wounded and sick stayed in the beds and remained under observation until they were better. Any of the clothing that was worth saving was sent for disinfection and then placed in storage. Later transports were handled in a similar fashion but none could compare to the first. The number of patients in the later transports was significantly smaller and there were more personnel in the hospital staff. By now they had become more experienced in handling refugee patients and had much larger supplies of medical equipment and resources. The first transport of patients arrived in Dzhivnuv in September. Among the first patients to reach the compound were 29 civilians with amputated arms and legs. Then more than 150 Partisans arrived on October 8th along with about 2,500 who were transported to Shvinoujshche on the ship “Koshchushko.” The ship sailed from Albania during the night of September 27th and 28th, 1949 and arrived in Poland eleven days later.

From what we were told, among the Greek crew there were also three Greeks translators. The third transport arrived in Gdansk on October 26th, most likely on the Romanian ship Transylvania (some however argued that it was the ship Carolina). The Transylvania was a luxury ship, which, before the war, was intended for the personal use of the Romanian king. This ship reportedly left the Albanian coast in the middle of October and carried 2 to 3 thousand passengers. The crew was Romanian, among whom were also some Polish nurses and doctors. This ship was followed by an English warship all the way to Gibraltar until the Romanian captain convinced the warship captain that he was carrying tourists. The hungry and starving passengers, during the trip, were given as much food as they wanted to eat. Unfortunately the consequences from this were dire which, in addition to the seasickness, had caused many to vomit violently and have bad diarrhea. As a result more than 500 became very ill and suffered from exhaustion, especially after they were put on trains and transferred from Gdansk to Szczecin. After eating too much and being sick, the patients then refused to eat or drink at all despite pleas from the nurses to do so. To add insult to their pain when they arrived in Dzhivnuv, instead of being issued pyjamas, because the hospital had none, they were issued long white nightgowns. This was too much for the men as they refused to wear the funny white women’s dresses. Finally, after much pleading, they were convinced that this was only temporary and that they would soon be issued proper pyjamas and they would look like men again. Later they all forgot those initial small misunderstandings. The last transport to arrive was in December. It did not carry many wounded but because the hospital was almost full to capacity it was only able to take 50 patients. When the patients from the first transport were all healed and began to leave more vacancies were created and a group of 30 was admitted. Then in early 1950 very small groups of Greeks arrived from other Eastern European popular democracies. In May of the same year, 50 people from Budapest arrived and were admitted. They had been treated in the Hungarian hospitals but many had unhealed wounds despite their previous treatments. This hospital had a good reputation so that is why it was highly recommended, mostly by word of mouth, among the Greeks. They took their time treating patients in this hospital and used multiple procedures. Inflammation of bones unfortunately complicated surgeries and rehabilitation procedures. Of the 1,175 patients admitted, 215 had fractured bones. The Macedonians also played a special role towards mutual understanding between the Poles and the patients. The Macedonians spoke a Slavic language. They lived in Greece as a national minority but their mother tongue was Macedonian, a language they were

not allowed to speak, a language that they said was prohibited from being spoken in nationalist Greece. During the struggle, on the communist side, hostilities between the Macedonians and Greeks had weakened but were still active. The Macedonians had a strong sense of national identity and had not forgotten that Alexander the Great was one of them. Because of that and because they were mistreated by the Greeks they did not feel good being among the Greeks. The Macedonians had their own national ambitions and in confidence would say that all Macedonians must unite. The Macedonians living in Greece felt that they too should have their autonomy like those living in Bulgaria and Yugoslavia. In talks with Greeks, the Greeks also admitted that the Macedonian problem had not been solved and agreed that it should be solved. The entire refugee population, be it wounded fighters, civilians, or children, was accepted in Poland as Greek. But many Poles quickly realized that among the newcomers there were differences in language, customs, songs and dances. These differences were not only appreciated but were supported by the Poles.” In September 1996, I personally met with Professor Dr. Major Vladislav Barchikovski, now a retired Brigadier General. As I mentioned earlier he is the author of the book ‘The Greek Hospital on the island Volin’ from which the information above was obtained. In those days he was chief surgeon of hospital ‘250.’ I invited Dr. Vladislav Barchikovski together with the Vice Minister of Culture of the Republic of Poland to come for a visit to the Embassy of the Republic of Macedonia in Warsaw. The first thing the doctor did was excitedly ask about his Macedonian patients and how they were doing. He even remembered some of their names. He knew that most of them had returned to the then Yugoslavia and were now living in the Republic of Macedonia. He said that he still corresponded with some. He also told me that two years and three months ago he had stopped off in Greece after being invited for a visit by his Greek patients. The same day that I met with Dr. Vladislav Barchikovski I sent a note to the Republic of Macedonia’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs proposing that the doctor be invited by the Alliance of Veterans of the Second World War to visit the Republic of Macedonia in order to meet with his former Macedonian patients. I never got a response from the Ministry or the Alliance. During my short stay in Skopje for consultations with the Foreign Ministry, members of the Main Board of the Association of Veterans who during the Greek Civil War were in high positions in NOF (National Liberation Front) and the AFZH (Women’s Anti-Fascist Front) told me that they had heard about my meeting with Dr. Vladislav Barchikovski and about my proposal.

“And, yes,” one of them said, “the Ministry for Foreign Affairs did send us your proposal, but we at the Board assessed that he was not well known to us, hence we judged that he had done very little for our fighters, so we decided not to invite him…” Now what can I say about that?