Remnants of a Polish Diaspora: the history behind the Queens Garden Mosaic

As a Modern History student, I have often envied my medievalist counterparts that use their modules as guides to explore the town’s ruins. Yet the (modern) history behind the mosaic of a Polish soldier and Saint Andrew on Queens Gardens long existed under my nose. 

As it turns out, the mosaic isn’t just another town curiosity but a remnant of a much larger history that extends beyond St Andrews. Tens of thousands of Polish troops were stationed across Scotland during WWII. Units of the 1st Polish Corps and the entire 1st Independent Polish Parachute Brigade, with over 2,000 men, came to Fife. 

Local historian Roger Pickering accidentally came across a trench in Dunfermline that turned out to be from WWII. “I got a tip off to go to London to the Polish Army archive — and there it is on the map, drawn by a Polish engineer. Polish troops were mapping and planning everything.” Records showed trenches, guns, and bombs in fighting positions all around Dunfermline. Those at the local museum had no idea. “As I dug into the archive in London, I was astounded at the level that the Poles were going to fight,” Pickering said. He wasn’t just talking about Dunfermline: Polish troops were active “all over Fife” during the war. This discovery became a long-term passion for Pickering, who has since written a history book and hosted exhibitions and events. 

Many of these troops were Polish soldiers that escaped to France following the Nazi invasion of Poland, before escaping to Britain after Paris fell. The British War Office then sent them north to resist a Nazi invasion. Though the government disbanded Polish army units after the war, some Polish soldiers fell in love with local women and decided to stay. 

Dunfermline resident Tony Lezczuk is the son of one such union. Lezczuk’s father escaped to Hungary in 1939 and then went on to join the Polish army in Marseille via a boat docked in Yugoslavia. “He made it very clear to me that he never surrendered, and he left Poland to continue the fight. He wasn’t very impressed when France collapsed in 1940,” remembered Tony.  

Lezczuck’s father ended up in Cowdenbeath in early 1941. He met a British officer in a pub, who invited him along to a choir practice. One of the singers was the British officer’s sister, who later became Lezczuck’s mum. “It just so happened that my father’s brigade then went to Dunfermline — beginning of 1941 — where my mum was living at the time. They made contact again there,” Lezczuck said. 

For many Polish men, however, it was more than romance that kept them in Scotland. In 1945, Britain withdrew recognition of the exiled Polish government in favour of the Soviet-sponsored regime. As per records from the Preservation Trust, many Poles felt betrayed by this shift and feared returning to the communist regime. “They were in limbo land,” Pickering explained. “A lot of these guys had fought the Red Army in the 1920 Battle of Warsaw, when the Soviets had tried to take Europe.” Many who did return to Poland found their job prospects hindered by their anti-communist beliefs. 

Preservation Trust archives also show that in addition to finding wives and families, some Poles started businesses or acquired positions at the University. That’s not to say their transition was easy. Leszczuk recalled that his “father was worried about his family; he knew nothing from them. There was a terrible worry that all the Poles had.” 

Assimilation was also difficult for this new diaspora. “There’s the nice rosy story, which is [that] everyone is getting along great,” said Pickering. But coexistence and integration is seldom so simple. “When you scratch beneath the surface, you find tensions. They’re not universal, and the welcome with open arms wasn’t universal either.” 

Even Leven councillors weren’t happy. In 1946, they posed questions such as  “Can we not just keep them in the barracks?” adding, “We don’t want them in the pubs,” according to Pickering. As Scottish men came home, tensions flared over the cross-cultural marriages and the threat of jobs being stolen. Some replaced their Polish surnames with Scottish ones for better employment prospects. Preservation Trust archives recount a “Poles Go Home” campaign in Scotland.

Discovering more information on this history has proven difficult. “In the military, everyone will sign the Official Secrets Act. I had to do it as a customs officer as well,” Pickering said. 

It was also common for veterans to keep details of their pasts secret from their families. When Pickering and Lezczuck met at a coffee shop to discuss Polish soldiers in Fife, a woman at the next table leaned over to say that her father had probably been a Polish soldier, but had told his children almost nothing. Then someone at the table on the other side chimed in with a similar account. In just one Dunfermline coffee shop, there happened to be three children of Polish soldiers, two of whom had only fragments of their father’s story. 

Beyond the mosaic and Preservation Trust, remnants of this history are tucked amongst the corners of St Andrews. 60 South Street used to be the “Polish Canteen.” There was a plaque outside the Kithmore devoted to Józef Stanisław Kozacki, a Polish military inventor who created the mine detector while in St Andrews, staying at what was the Ardogowan. A General Władysław Sikorski memorial bust sits in Kinburn Park, commemorating the Prime Minister of Poland-in-exile and Commander-in-Chief of the Polish Armed Forces. He visited St Andrews multiple times and held an honorary degree from the University. 

Leszczuk has spent much of his life collecting medals and other Polish military artefacts. From his private collection, Leszczuk kindly shared a photo of the mosaic’s unveiling in October 1941 with a procession of former Polish soldiers.

Here, Pickering’s voice echoes: the past is sometimes heartwarming, but always complicated. For Polish history enthusiasts, WWII, migration, and everyday life, so much lies beneath the mosaic at Queens Gardens. Keep an eye out. 

Illustration by Walker Fenrich; photograph courtesy of Tony Lezczuk