Pam Whitelock, Sconiers' niece and official next-of-kin (Person Authorized to Direct Disposition of remains) was first notified that recovery of Lt. Sconiers was scheduled for June 20-26, 2010, from Allies Park in Lubin, Poland.  Subsequently, however, Whitelock was notified the recovery had been postponed, due to severe flooding in Poland and need to focus all government resources on humanitarian efforts and due to JPAC's need to meet with Polish officials to confirm all requirements for the mission.  JPAC affirmed its commitment to return Lt. Sconiers to his homeland, and Sconiers' recovery was scheduled for October 11, 2011.

Stephen Marks and Szymon Serwatka (see "With Gratitude" page) served as the family's official on-site representatives for the recovery.  Both had Whitelock's permission to film the recovery, to record and share what transpired, and to interview participants as they deemed appropriate.  Stephen Marks graciously agreed to provide a journal of events as they unfold, and his account is posted here, as follows.

  JOURNAL OF RECOVERY,  BY STEPHEN MARKS

(copyright protected)

MONDAY, OCTOBER 10, 2011

It is a grey, rainy day in Lubin; yet, despite the promise of hard, cold work ahead, my heart is light, for the JPAC team which is slated to search for and recover the remains of 1st Lt. Ewart T. Sconiers has arrived. This is the second attempt to bring him back, the first, in 1948, having failed for unknown reasons. Throughout most of the time in between, the catalpa tree which has come to symbolize the search for Ewart has slowly grown, shedding its huge leaves every autumn, sending out new ones every spring, and filling the summers with its hauntingly fragrant aroma. Now it is October, and its leaves are dropping again, along with the seeds from its astounding seed pods, from which the tree gets its nickname of cigar tree. Last fall and spring I collected the pods, expecting that, as in 2010, I would get a nice, if small, crop of catalpa seedlings. Alas, not a single one sprouted, and so I remain the guardian – owner I think would not be the right word – for two young catalpas, children of The Tree which continues to guard Ewart's grave. Everyone involved in the quest to recover Ewart wants to hope that he lies beneath its branches, but we know that there is no direct evidence of that except for the testimony of Stefania Saracen that the tree sits at the head (or perhaps feet) of the grave of a prisoner of war, though prisoner no more. We do know, from authenticated photos taken by the Germans at Ewart's burial service, that he lies in a row with other prisoners, one of whom, apparently, is a Ukranian woman, though that too is an as-yet undocumented mystery.

Whatever the truth, we will soon know more about what – and who – lies there. Now, the biggest barrier to the quest of Ewart's Army is the weather. As I look out my window, there is a slow, cold miserable drizzle falling, not propitious conditions for filming, certainly not for careful, methodical excavation. I assume the team will be at this work for several long days at least; apart from my anxiety about the challenges posed by the weather to the quality of the work, I am a bit worried about not falling ill myself. Ewart himself was felled by the weather, having slipped, as far as we know, on a patch of ice, a jagged bit of wood puncturing his ear and causing a serious case of meningitis. Whether he died from his injury is pure conjecture; we know that he died the day after arriving at a German hospital for the mentally disturbed. We also know that it was typical Nazi practice at that time to euthanize (read: kill) such people. It is not hard to imagine the same being done to Ewart, not only in agony from his injury but also an enemy combatant – one of the hated airmen raining destruction and death on Germany. It would be nice to think that forensics specialists would be able to identify what actually killed Ewart – assuming he is even found. I think all of us in Ewart's Army would be quite happy to settle for the latter.

TUESDAY, OCTOBER 11, 2011

Excavation Day, Part I

A public park.

Peaceful. Undemanding. Self-renewing. Indeed, left to its own, a public park will eventually revert to a natural, wild state, eliminating any traces that humans had ever been there, had ever caused any harm there. That humans might even be buried there.

That is not how Allies Park in Lubin, Poland looked on October 11^th, 2011. Rather, the park was forced to surrender its secrets – at least some of them – to the rough treatment of heavy machinery.

The JPAC team began assembling at the park around nine in the morning. I had been there earlier, looking to see if they had yet arrived, wanting to view a pristine picture of the park as I had known it for years before it succumbed to the search for Ewart.

A brief review of the story’s background

Yet that picture too was false. At one time the park was a wild place, before people arrived. Then at some point it began a series of transformations. Perhaps first it was farmed, or tamed at least for livestock. By the early twentieth century a new mental health hospital had acquired the land and set it aside as a place of eternal repose for those patients of the hospital who passed away while under its care. This use of the land continued until the second world war, when at some point – for the records of the hospital and its burials have thus far eluded us – the cemetery’s character was transformed, from the holding of only deceased patients to the interment of men who had fallen victim to the nightmare of war, though as German soldiers, regardless of their individual behavior, they must be held collectively accountable for the creation of the nightmare which was their doom. The war forced other changes as well, some of which are documented, such as the fact of Ewart’s burial there, while others for now are only legends, as in the story that Jewish prisoners forced to work as slaves for the Reich are also buried somewhere within the old German cemetery.

Whatever the full truth, after 1945 the cemetery, no longer controlled by Germany but by the Poles and in particular the Red Army, was generally abandoned. For some time after the war the Soviets occupied the old psychiatric hospital and the area around the cemetery as a military base, until they handed control of the area to the Polish authorities after a brilliant and courageous Polish geologist discovered a stupendous deposit of copper ore in 1957. The hospital building, which until then had been used as a military headquarters, eventually became the head office of the copper company KGHM. The cemetery remained abandoned. Overgrown with weeds, it became a dark, gloomy place, a favorite haunt for adventurous children and drunks, except for one bright spot – the catalpa tree, whose origins are another of this story’s unsolved mysteries. Since shortly before 1953, when a young Stefania Saracen heard the story of the POW grave over which she was told the tree stood guard, planted, in the words of Walter Kirschner, by a friend of the prisoner, the tree had grown steadily, despite the soil conditions apparently not being the best. It continued unmolested through the 1970s, when it bore silent witness to the desecration of the cemetery by the town’s communist authorities, who left the bodies undisturbed, but removed all traces that the place had ever held the dead. Headstones, metal markers, iron fencing (though that may have been removed even earlier) all was taken away. Excess vegetation was cut down and cleared away, and new walking paths were laid out. Cemetery no more, now the place was simply another public park, where mothers could stroll and children could play – though the memory of what remained beneath the surface continued to cast a shadow. Perhaps that is why Walter Kirschner’s old home was designated as a holding facility for the town’s inebriates. Certainly they wouldn’t complain about spending the night near old graves, and they might even think twice about risking their return to such a haunted area.

Thus it was that by the new Millenium, when a few inspired people within the Pentagon began to re-examine old, closed cases such as Ewart’s, there was nothing in the park – except for the catalpa and some faded memories – to indicate where Lt. Sconiers lay. Nonetheless, a new search began, and thanks to the doggedness of its pursuers and several lucky connections, the day when Ewart’s grave might finally be uncovered  – October 11^th, 2011 – had at last arrived.

Back to the story

I got to the park around 9am. I only saw one car there, which turned out to be of staff from the town’s health inspectors, apparently required at such exhumations. A few minutes later, other cars arrived. This at last was the JPAC team, represented by two specialists, in archaeology and bone identification, and the public relations officer of JPAC, Major Phillip Ulmer. We exchanged warm greetings, I received a small briefing by Major Ulmer on the requirements and expectations of JPAC when non-team members were involved, such as myself, and we discussed the story of Ewart Sconiers and how we became convinced that he was buried here at what was now officially called Allies Park. The morning was grey and a slight drizzle continued to plague us. Now all that was missing was the team’s equipment, which was expected shortly.

When the equipment arrived, almost ninety minutes late – and I saw the huge backhoe that was to do the work – I recalled all my memories of what I thought this day would look like. I had imagined that the team, having been frequently apprised of our concerns that the catalpa tree – OUR tree, we felt – not be harmed, representing, as we thought and continue to think, an American national monument, would take extraordinary measures to protect it. Indeed, we who have been supporting Ewart’s recovery have affectionately come to call ourselves Ewart’s Army, and have called our efforts to produce a documentary on his recovery The Catalpa Project, so The Tree has potent and poignant meaning for all of us involved. I had always envisioned people working carefully with picks and shovels to avoid any damage to the trees roots unless absolutely necessary. Now, here was a monstrous machine about to tear into the soil, careless of The Tree and our feelings! But what to do? Complaining was out of the question. The JPAC team even admitted they were well aware of our concerns, and were themselves determined to protect the tree to the extent possible. What to do? Nothing, but watch and hope and pray that Ewart would be found today and The Tree would survive.

Though the backhoe was scheduled to arrive with the team at nine, there was some delay, and as the minutes turned into half an hour, the cold and damp convinced the team that a bit of warm coffee out of the drizzle might be in order. After some thought, I suggested we combine pleasure with enlightenment by taking a short walk to the head office of my company, KGHM, where there was a very fine restaurant which offered delicious java. The pleasure was the coffee and the companionship, while the enlightenment consisted of the path we took, which was that taken by Ewart’s body when it was brought from the hospital where he died, under mysterious circumstances, to the cemetery.

Throughout this time I was immersed in fascinating discussion with Major Ulmer and his team, who described with great enthusiasm and artful flair the operations of JPAC and how they went about identifying various types of human remains and the sometimes extremely challenging environments they had to endure. For someone such as myself, who had early in life dreamed wistfully of becoming an archaeologist involved in great discoveries, or at least involved in substantially enhancing knowledge about humanity’s past, to have the opportunity to speak with such brilliant, experienced and above all friendly and open people was both marvelous and bittersweet, and yet a moment in my life to savor to the end of my days. Hearing them speak, sensing how much they really cared for the people they were helping, made me feel confident that at long last, Ewart – as I had whispered to him at The Tree many times – was truly going home, and that I would have the enormous, priceless opportunity to see first-hand an important, poignant part of American history as it happened.

Excavation Day, Part 2

After giving the group (consisting of Major Ulmer, the two team specialists, an American expat working as their translator and two Polish officials) a brief tour of the old German hospital where Ewart died, we returned to the park, where we found the backhoe waiting on its transport. Feeling a rush of excitement, I excused myself from Major Ulmer’s company to get my two cameras and prepare to film the great moment when excavation began.

The area around The Tree was now abuzz with activity: a security cordon was being set up around the area of work, the JPAC team was marking out the precise area for excavation, Polish officials were conferring amongst themselves and coordinating with the American team, and various police were observing and trying to keep the growing number of curious onlookers at a safe distance.

I began to film. First from this angle, then another, I was trying to get everything down for posterity. As the backhoe slowly, ponderously, made its way to the catalpa tree, the group moved back, and the din of voices slowly ebbed. The first position the machine took was not what the team wanted, so it had to maneuver around ninety degrees to a spot where the trench it was about to dig would be roughly parallel to the road, with the tree between the trench and the road. This was the area which Mrs. Saracen had indicated as the spot where the POW lay,  so I was sure something would be found. Dr. Benedix, working with the boss of the backhoe operator, gave his final instructions about where and how to dig, the massive steel scoop set its digging edge down on the ground, and the operation we had all been waiting so impatiently for commenced with a metallic grinding as the scoop dug into the surface and began pulling away the topsoil.

The operation went slowly – as slowly as could be expected of such a ponderous machine, albeit under skilled hands – with the backhoe removing only shallow layers with each pull of the scoop. Instinctively, I cringed as I heard the breaking and ripping out of roots, for I knew what this meant for The Tree. After a few passes, Dr. Benedix asked for a halt so he could inspect the ground. As the backhoe cleaned out some of the loose soil, I asked Dr. Benedix if he could, on film, give a brief explanation of what was happening and his plans, to which he very graciously consented.

The first inspection proved interesting, if not conclusive. There were some indications that something might be there. I watched as Dr. Benedix, small spade in hand, carefully leveled the soil. As he did so, even my untrained eye could see clear variations in soil color, which I knew from my earlier basic education in archaeological methods meant that the soil may have been disturbed by human hands. In particular, the variations seemed to follow the straight lines that might be expected of a burial site. My growing excitement soon faded as Dr. Benedix reported that, although the signs were interesting, it looked more like the shadow of some heavy roots than the outline of a burial. There was something odd, however, that he couldn’t immediately explain: the presence of some whitish material, which seemed to be present throughout the area of subsoil. Consulting with his team and the Polish officials, there was speculation that it could be lime that was thrown down, as was often customary during the war to cover bodies. However, as Dr. Benedix did not consider the evidence to be sufficiently indicative of burial activity, he decided to try on the opposite side of the tree. I was, needless to say, disappointed, and wanted him to try just a bit deeper. The trench, as far as I could see, was not yet two meters deep, which was the standard German depth to place burials, so why not try one or two more scoops just to be sure? Despite my enthusiasm, I forced my rational half to control my emotions, and simply remain a supportive, albeit frustrated observer. I also knew that a large part of the catalpa’s root system had been destroyed in this first effort, so any additional digging would not, to say the least, be conducive to its survival.

The second trench was started. Again, after a depth of around two feet, Dr. Benedix called a halt, and he went to work. This time, the signs were a bit more encouraging, though far from clear. He pointed out some markings which, though unusual, did not seem to be indicative of a burial. The backhoe continued digging. Down almost two meters now, there were still no signs of remains, but as the team knew this would be the final trench – inexplicably, they had only been given permission to excavate the area directly surrounding the tree – and did not want to risk harming the tree further, Dr. Benedix asked for one or two more scoops, though it was evident he was by then skeptical of finding anything.

Then we saw the bones.

In everyone’s life, there are some moments that stand out as unforgettable. Sometimes these are negative, such as serious car accidents, deaths in the family and similar horrible events. Most, fortunately, are of things we want to remember. Only very few fall in that shadowy domain between the extremes. In my case, my first view of these unmistakably human remains was one of these moments. Should I be happy? Should I be horrified?

In the event I was simply stunned. When the remains were first identified, to shouts of “Bones! Look, there are bones!”… everyone rushed forward to see them. At once, the JPAC team took control and ordered us back from the trench. I caught Major Ulmer’s stern eye, and reassured him  – remembering his admonition not to photograph any human remains out of respect for their families and international sensitivities – that I would keep the remains out of my frantically-snapped pictures.

This time, Dr. Franklin, the bone specialist, joined Dr. Benedix in the trench to perform straightforward archaeological work involving the careful cleaning, exposure, and removal of the remains.  As they began, I discovered that they did not bring with themselves some basic archaeological equipment, such as hand brushes to clean off and extract the remains and a sifting screen to search for tiny fragments of bone and coffin material. I found this surprising, but said nothing. After some hurried discussion and a few frantic phone calls to my company for advice, I told the team I would show them where they could probably buy the brushes and sifter.

With Jeff, the American interpreter living in Olsztyn, Poland, I went to a nearby Carrefour hardware store, where we soon found what was needed. Along the way, I couldn’t resist calling my wife to tell her, almost ecstatically, that remains had been found.

Arriving back at the park, we handed over the materials, and I saw that my counterpart as the Sconiers family representatives, Szymon Serwatka, had arrived. He had called me a short time earlier, and told me later that when I told him we had found bones, he had almost had an accident, for which I lightheartedly apologized. Szymon and I had met through a providential series of events revolving around Pamela’s discovery, on the anniversary of Ewart’s being shot down on October 21^st, 1942, of a book at an Air Force museum in Ohio describing her uncle’s heroic adventures. When she learned of the coincidence of dates, she took it as a sign that she was to renew the search for her uncle’s remains that her beloved late father had pursued, his heart broken by grief, in vain. Shortly thereafter, after searching the internet for information, she found posts by two people on the Army Air Forces website looking for more information about Lt. Ewart Sconiers. One was Szymon’s, the other was mine. Since then, we have been in constant contact, with Pamela, Szymon and I forming a kind of sacred triumvirate determined to bring Ewart home. Of course, triumvirate is rather inaccurate and misleading; others have also been searching for Ewart, some for much longer, in fact. One is a brilliant, creative Belgian researcher Edward Reniere,  who regularly provides copious, detailed and critically important information on military operations and personnel, affectionately referred to as the Wizard of the Web for his amazing discoveries and highly professional dispatches. More than once, we have been astounded at the depth of his research and incredibly grateful for his diligence and evident care for the innumerable people he has helped, and is still helping. Another is Marilyn Jeffers Walton, daughter of the late Lt. Colonel Thomas F. Jeffers, one of the thousands of American flyers held at Stalag Luft III who was eventually liberated by Patton’s Third Army from the massive Stalag VIIA POW camp at Moosburg in southern Germany. Marilyn is an extremely energetic and wonderfully talented, published author, who, in addition to her beautifully written and illustrated educational works for children, has written a fascinating and deeply moving account of her search to learn more about her father’s wartime experiences, Rhapsody in Junk: A Daughter’s Return To Germany To Finish Her Father’s Story. She also joined the Sconiers story early on, and has proved a staunch and faithful advocate of Pamela’s efforts to bring her uncle Ewart home. Indeed, thanks to Marilyn’s unfailingly cheerful motivational support of all of us, and to her extensive network of veterans and “those in the know” about military affairs related to Stalag Luft III, including such famed researchers as Arthur Durand, author of the classic definitive work on the camp, Stalag Luft III: The Secret Story, Marilyn has proven to be an invaluable and crucial member of the team, and has steadfastly been one of the guiding lights of Ewart’s Army, inspired both by her enduring love for her father and her concern for what have now become her faithful friends, as well as her strong love of country and zeal to see America live up to its promise to bring all of its fallen children home.

Of all the troops in Ewart’s Army, John Gray occupies a very special place in the search for Ewart Sconiers’ resting place. It was John Gray, as a Chief Petty Officer working for DPMO, who re-opened Ewart’s Pentagon files and discovered that there was new information which could help to find Ewart’s remains. It is John Gray who for years has worn a bracelet embossed with Ewart’s name on his wrist, and it was John Gray who became the nucleus around which Ewart’s Army of faithful supporters and champions has formed. As such, I found it profoundly regrettable that John was unable to be here this day to witness the effort to recover Ewart’s remains. Undoubtedly, he is here in spirit, and, as the designated family representative who will be accompanying Ewart’s remains back to his home town of DeFuniak Springs, Florida where they will be lovingly interred beside his mother, he is arguably the most important person, apart from Ewart, in this story. John, you have our eternal and heartfelt gratitude. Thank you, sir.

The remainder of the day brought frustration and disappointment. After cursory, albeit highly expert, examination, it was determined that the remains, given the condition they were found in and the rather unusual positions of the remains, were probably not those of former prisoners, but rather mental patients of the hospital, as one appeared to be around seventy at the time of death, and had had the top of his skull removed, which would suggest an autopsy or operation on the brain. Only detailed laboratory analysis and DNA testing can provide more information.

This was devastating news. All along, we had thought that this section of the cemetery had been reserved solely for POW burials, and now here was evidence that patients – and who knows who else – might be interred here as well, making the effort to find Ewart that much more difficult. This, together with the declaration that JPAC was not prepared this mission to do further excavation, and that the Polish authorities had only given permission to investigate the area immediately surrounding the catalpa tree, and additionally, for some reason, were reluctant to allow further investigation, made me almost desperate. Could I possibly say or do anything which would get the search continued, now, before the team left for who knows how long before they return? What would Ewart’s family say, some of whom have been waiting since 1944 for his return? The prospect that the search would end here without resolution was nearly unbearable, but, as Pamela has said innumerable times, even if Ewart is not found, the world knows of his extraordinary heroism and accomplishments, and that at least the attempt was made, and for that we should all be extremely grateful, as of course we are. The one hopeful bit of information is that the JPAC team has indicated that this was not planned as a full recovery mission but only as a preliminary reconnoitering of the terrain, and that they plan to do further research in expectation of returning with a larger team and broader permission to investigate the entire area until they find Ewart and bring him home. In the meantime, the JPAC team will be at the park once more on Friday for some additional examination and measurement of the area. I will meet them there, and report on what transpires.

FRIDAY, OCTOBER 14, 2011

Friday felt anti-climactic, a day of calm talk and quiet research compared to Tuesday’s heated emotions. Using GPS equipment, the team spent the day taking precise measurements of the entire cemetery, though particular attention was given to the quadrant where Ewart is most likely to lie. They looked at the few photos they had of the burial, trying to compare those pictures with what was in the park today, searching for features – in particular the trees evident at the time of burial – which may give a better indication of where Ewart might be interred. As I conferred with Major Ulmer, he pointed out some of the birches and pine trees in the park today which might be some of the same ones growing in the January 1944 photograph.

“You know,” said Major Ulmer, “it’s so frustrating looking at these photos and the overhead map [taken in December 1944]. It seems so clear at first, but when you try to match what’s in the pictures with what we see today, it’s almost just right, but not quite.”

I nodded. “That’s right, we can almost figure out where he is, but we’re just short of an exact spot. It really is a shame that the town’s communist authorities got rid of all traces of anything which could identify the spot. If only they had kept some records!”

“Exactly. I know the Germans were very punctilious about keeping detailed records, even about their crimes, like the Holocaust, so there must be something somewhere, isn’t there?”

I sighed. “If there are, we haven’t found them yet. I know Professor Tokarczuk has researched this thoroughly, and he says there isn’t anything; even the town didn’t keep records when they removed the headstones in the seventies. Now, I’ve heard that there may be some records in Legnica, but I haven’t been able to get there yet.”

“Yes,” said Major Ulmer, “it would be good if we could find something to give us better clues, some maps of the cemetery at the time, or photos, anything.”

“Well, you know there is a German website maintained by families of the people who lived here before the war, and there are hundreds of photos and old postcards showing the town, and even the psychiatric hospital, but nothing of the cemetery, which is strange considering how nice it apparently looked. In any case we certainly have to keep looking.”

When Dr. Benedix and Dr. Franklin completed their measurements, Major Ulmer showed them the photos of the burial and indicated some of the trees which might match those in the photos. We walked around a bit more, discussing the Sconiers case and the fascinating subject of forensic science. I mentioned that I had watched a very graphic documentary on a research facility in Tennessee where corpses were left to decompose so scientists could provide better insight to criminal investigators who had to deal with murder victims, and needed to know precisely how long a body had been at a particular site, how long the body had been deceased, and so forth. I had to laugh when Dr. Benedix told me that he had actually done his doctoral work there!

Taking advantage of the good mood, I then asked Dr. Benedix if he could give us a brief summary on film of the events of the week and his thoughts on the possibility of their return to continue the search for Ewart’s burial site, to which he again, very graciously and very expertly, agreed.

We spoke a bit longer. I asked Dr. Benedix if he could divulge any information on the results of analyzing the remains discovered. I was hoping that maybe – just maybe – one of the persons found was Ewart. Regrettably, the preliminary conclusions reached by the two JPAC scientists on Tuesday were confirmed in the lab. There were two women and one man, and all three were quite elderly, so it seemed certain these were not POWs but patients of the hospital who had simply passed from old age.  

We then made our final farewells (in my case, almost tearfully) with our mutual wishes to meet again in the near future at the park, and the team left, who knows when to return.

I stayed a bit longer, to take the measurements requested by Szymon of the two trenches. His idea is to superimpose the outlines of the trenches onto the radar survey done last year to see if the anomalies picked up by the radar matched the position of the human remains found. Once this is done, he will send the results to JPAC.

While doing this, an elderly gentleman introduced himself and asked about what we had found. Knowing I was unable to discuss details of the operation (although the local media had done so, even to the extent of showing the remains, to the consternation of Major Ulmer) I spoke in general terms, divulging only what was already known publically. Our great fear is that vandals might think with there is something valuable to be discovered – erroneously, as the bodies were interred with only burial shrouds at most, and in the case of POWs, were bereft of even that much clothing – and inflict irreparable damage to the remains, and so we are forced to take precautions against saying too much.

As the elderly gentleman described to me his recollections of the cemetery and how it had looked prior to the removal of the headstones and markers, I thought what a pity he hadn’t approached us while the team was still here! In any case, it turned out he was unable to provide any new information, only repeating what we already know, that the markers in this area were only small metal crosses, with names and sometimes only numbers on the graves, although he did say he recalled there was a bit of a mess, with some graves perpendicular to others. He admitted he hadn’t paid much attention at the time, and it was so long ago his memory might not be accurate. More mystery, which only thorough, detailed investigation can illuminate.

After some more pleasant discussion, I thanked him for his thoughts and kind words, and finished my own measurements. I looked at The Tree, and at the large area of roots which no longer were, and wondered if The Tree would make it through to next fall. I also wondered if it actually did mark the site of a POW’s grave, as Kirschner had told Mrs. Saracen it did. Intriguingly, the team had not dug at the spot – between the two trenches the team had dug, running parallel to the road and in line with the graves that had been found – where I and Szymon thought the grave might be, so that area remains to be explored. Dr. Benedix also admitted that the first trench might not have gone down enough, considering that traces of what was probably lime had been found, though there had been no signs which he as a trained and well-experienced researcher that graves were present. Of course, had the team dug a third trench between the first two as well, The Tree almost certainly would not be in a position to survive. There still remains the possibility that Ewart – or some other POW – is in this spot between the two trenches, although, given that POWs were not discovered to this spot’s left, as is clearly shown as being the case in the burial photos, that possibility now is rather slim. Certainly Ewart is somewhere nearby, still waiting to be found.

As for The Tree as having been planted by “a friend of the POW’ as recounted by Walter Kirschner, that remains only an enigmatic story until conclusive evidence is found to refute or substantiate it. In any case, the catalpa tree is an American species, one extremely rare in Poland, and its planting prior to 1953 remains a tantalizing mystery. We know the cemetery was abandoned after the war, and the tree does seem to date from just after the war. It seems clear now that its growth has been stunted by the presence of so much lime beneath the surface, creating an alkaline barrier which the catalpa, preferring a slightly acidic soil, has been unable to penetrate. Only a core sample could tell us exactly how old The Tree is. We thus can continue to hang on to the beautiful, enigmatic legend of the catalpa’s origins, and moreover, can treat the catalpa as a symbol of love and enduring fidelity to Ewart Sconiers and to all those longing to return home – those heroic souls who have given the last full measure of devotion to their country and families, and whose memories will be forever enshrined in our profoundly grateful hearts.

THE SAGA CONTINUES

Ewart’s Army has mobilized its forces and will continue to press the Powers That Be until every reasonable effort has been made to find Lt. Sconiers. Moreover, we will continue to work closely with JPAC and DPMO to further their efforts to find and recover as many of the thousands of missing from America’s wars as humanly possible. These missing Americans gave the final full measure of devotion to their country, and it is our obligation to do all in our power to fulfill the promise they were given, that, alive or not, we WILL bring them home.