Polish Beirut, or the Polish War Cemetery

The name of a city is a valuable clue for the attentive tourist. In the case of Beirut, the etymology refers to the Canaanite word ‘bīʾrōt’, meaning ‘well’. It is worth bearing this etymology in mind when entering the grounds of the Polish War Cemetery. Its first layer is history, which is revealed through direct observation.

Guided by a representative of the local Polish community, who unlocks the padlock and opens the gate, we enter a square approximately 10 metres wide and 50 metres long, lined with rows of Syrian fir trees pruned to a height of 2 metres, from which – according to the Book of Ezekiel – ship masts of ‘exquisite beauty’ were made.

In the shade of these trees, arranged in two rows, lie just under 140 small gravestones. We can count them easily as we walk along the stone path running down the centre, which widens at the end. Here, on a plinth, stands a three-metre-high, simple stone cross. Nearby, two vertical slabs have been set in place, upon which a larger, horizontal slab has been mounted. The altar thus formed is occasionally used for liturgical celebrations. This usually takes place on days held sacred by our tradition and culture, namely 1 and 11 November, when the handful of Poles remaining in Lebanon, together with Polish diplomats and guests from home, pay tribute to their compatriots buried here.

Poles in Lebanon

Those laid to rest in the cemetery were part of the Polish diaspora that arrived in this part of the Levant after 1939. Prior to that, the Polish community in Lebanon was small, but it grew rapidly following the outbreak of the Second World War. As early as 1939, a Polish consulate was opened in Beirut, which was transformed in 1944 into the Polish Mission to the Government of the Lebanese Republic.

The first large group of Poles arrived from France in 1940; the majority of the new arrivals were soldiers, which undoubtedly influenced the ‘military’ character of the cemetery established later. Another, even larger wave of our compatriots arrived two years later from Iran. These were mainly civilians who had left the Soviet Union – the ‘inhuman land’ – alongside Anders’ Army. It is estimated that by 1946, around 6,000 Poles had reached Lebanon via this route, all brimming with enthusiasm and a willingness to take action. Educational and scientific institutions were established, as were places of worship; the Polish language rang out over the airwaves, periodicals rolled off the presses, and young people knocked on the doors of Beirut’s universities, among which St George’s University was founded in the 19th century by the Polish Jesuit Father Maksymilian Ryłło. In this veritable cultural explosion, warmly welcomed by the Lebanese, finance played a significant role. The Allies supported the Poles, who became a source of profit for the local population.

Nevertheless, the dynamic flourishing of the diaspora did not last long, and in the second half of the 1940s its members began to disperse across the world; projects planned for hundreds or thousands of people quickly became unviable. The same was true of the plot of land acquired from the Lebanese Ministry of the Interior. The small patch of land in Beirut, converted into a cemetery, may have seemed small at first, but in the 1960s advertisements began to appear in Polish newspapers in London asking for support, as the mere two hundred Poles remaining in Lebanon were no longer able to maintain it. The funds were channelled to Irena Komarnicka, who had lived in Beirut the longest.

Hanka Ordonówna and other Poles at the cemetery in Beirut

The most famous figure to be laid to rest in the Beirut cemetery was Maria Tyszkiewicz, née Pietruszyńska, also known as Hanka Ordonówna. This great star of the pre-war stage and silver screen became famous as the courageous guardian of hundreds of Polish orphans, whom, together with her husband, Michał Tyszkiewicz, rescued from that ‘inhuman land’ and taken to safety in India. The artist paid for her Soviet exile and the subsequent hardships of evacuation with her health, and her husband decided that Lebanon would be a good place for her, as she was suffering from tuberculosis.

Ordonka rarely appeared in public there, confining herself to writing her memoirs and painting. She died prematurely on 8 September 1950 at the age of 48 and was laid to rest in Beirut. Her odyssey did not end there, however. Thanks to the tireless guardian of Polish cemeteries, Jerzy Waldorff, the artist’s remains were transferred to Warsaw’s Powązki Cemetery in 1990. In the Lebanese capital, only a symbolic plaque was left, situated on the inner side of the wall surrounding the cemetery.

Another figure of great importance to both Polish and Lebanese architecture is Karol Schayer (1900–1971). A graduate of the Lviv Polytechnic and the architect behind highly regarded projects, including the modernist building of the Silesian Museum in Katowice (which was demolished by the Germans), he moved to Beirut in 1946. In the Lebanese capital, he was co-owner of a thriving architectural practice and the architect of a number of significant buildings constructed in the modernist style (including the Carlton Hotel and the Shell Building). He died in Rockford, USA, but – in accordance with his wishes – his remains were laid to rest in the Polish cemetery in Beirut.

When visiting the cemetery, one must not overlook the graves of the renowned church historian Father Kamil Kantak (1881–1976) and Bolesław Baake (1905–1963). The former is fondly remembered by the Polish diaspora in the Levant as its chronicler and a driving force behind religious life, whilst the latter made a name for himself as a painter and educator, having rendered distinguished service not only to Poland but also to Lebanon.

The survival of the cemetery – the nation’s identity

The Polish War Cemetery in Beirut endures, for it exists on levels beyond mere physical presence – a fact ensured by the efforts of the Polish community and decision-makers back home. The Polish diaspora in Beirut has endured difficult times, and the cemetery itself was once destroyed; this occurred during the civil war in Lebanon, when the front line passed through the Polish graves. Restored with great difficulty, it was once again, fortunately to a lesser extent, vandalised.

It was only thanks to recent, shrewd moves by diplomats and members of the Polish community – involving winning over certain religious and national communities – that the cemetery finally found peace. Some pragmatist or materialist might now object that so much resources and energy have been devoted to a hundred and fifty graves so far from Warsaw. But today, whilst Russia is waging a barbaric war against Ukraine, the answer is self-evident. Bearing in mind the current state of the Polish War Cemetery in Beirut, we would say – this, too, is how a nation’s identity is forged.

We also publish information about the cemetery in the War Cemeteries Catalogue