The Polish necropolis in Beirut is a place where stories intersect. Their origins have the most surprising sources and often do not end with the burial.

Polish Beirut, or the Polish War Cemetery

The city's name 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 remembering this root word when entering the Polish War Cemetery. Its first circle is history, which is accessed through eyewitness observation.

Guided by a representative of the local Polish community, who opens the padlock and unlocks the gate, we enter a square about 10 m wide and 50 m long, overgrown with rows of Syrian firs cut to a height of 2 m, which, according to the Book of Ezekiel, were used to make ship masts of "excellent beauty".

In the shade of these trees, in two rows, there are less than 140 small gravestones. You can easily count them if you walk along the stone alley in the middle, which widens at the end. Here, a three-metre high simple stone cross rises on a pedestal. Nearby, two vertical slabs have been set in place with a larger, horizontal one. The resulting altar is occasionally used for liturgical celebrations. This happens most often on days hallowed by our tradition and culture, i.e. 1 and 11 November, when a handful of the Polish community remaining in Lebanon, with Polish diplomats and guests from the country, pay homage to their compatriots buried here.

Poles in Lebanon

Those resting in the cemetery came from the Polish diaspora, which arrived in this part of the Levant after 1939. Prior to that, the Lebanese Polish community was sparse, but after the outbreak of the Second World War it grew rapidly. As early as 1939, a Polish consulate was opened in Beirut, which was transformed in 1944 into the Polish envoy to the government of the Lebanese Republic.

The first large group of Poles arrived from France in 1940 and soldiers predominated among the arrivals, 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' - with the Anders Army. It is estimated that by 1946, some 6,000 Poles, who had a burning enthusiasm and willingness to act, had reached Lebanon by this route. Educational and scientific institutions and centres of worship were established, the Polish language resounded on the airwaves, periodicals came off the printing presses, and young people knocked on the gates of Beirut's universities, among which the University of St George in the 19th century was established by the Polish Jesuit Father Maksymilian Ryłło. In this peculiar explosion of culture, welcomed favourably by the Lebanese, finances played an indispensable role. The Allies supported the Poles, who became a source of profit for the autochthons.

However, the dynamic flourishing of the diaspora did not last long, and in the second half of the 1940s its representatives began to disperse around the world and projects planned for hundreds or thousands of people soon became unprofitable. The same was also true of the square, which was acquired from the Lebanese Ministry of the Interior. The plot of land in Beirut, which had been prepared for a cemetery, might have seemed small at first, but in the 1960s notices asking for support began to appear in Polish newspapers in London, because the only two hundred Poles left in Lebanon were no longer able to maintain it. The funds went to Irena Komarnicka, who stayed in Beirut the longest.

Hanka Ordonówna and other Poles in the Beirut cemetery

The most famous person whose bones rested in the Beirut necropolis was Maria Tyszkiewicz née Pietruszyńska alias Hanka Ordonówna. This great star of pre-war stage and silver screen became famous as a brave protector of hundreds of Polish orphans, whom she rescued from the "inhuman land" with her husband, Michał Tyszkiewicz, and transported to a safe place in India. Her Soviet exile and the subsequent hardships of evacuation paid with her health, and her husband decided that Lebanon would be a good place for her, suffering from tuberculosis. Ordonka rarely performed here, limiting herself to writing 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 then. Thanks to the indefatigable caretaker of Polish necropolises, 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, placed on the inside of the wall surrounding the cemetery.

Another figure, very important for Polish and Lebanese architecture, is Karol Schayer (1900-1971). A graduate of the Lviv Polytechnic, he was the author of highly regarded designs, including the modernist edifice of the Silesian Museum in Katowice, which was demolished by the Germans, and arrived in Beirut in 1946. In the Lebanese capital, he was co-owner of a thriving architectural firm and the author of a number of important edifices built 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 necropolis, the graves of the well-known church historian Fr Kamil Kantak (1881-1976) and Boleslaw Baake (1905-1963) should not be missed either. The former remained in the grateful memory of the Polish diaspora of the Levant as its chronicler and animator of religious life, while the latter became known as a painter and educator, meritorious not only for Poland, but also for Lebanon.

The persistence of the necropolis - the identity of the nation

The Polish War Cemetery in Beirut continues to survive, as it also exists on other levels than just material existence - ensured thanks to the efforts of the Polish diaspora and the decision-makers from the homeland. The Polish diaspora in Beirut has had difficult days, and the cemetery itself has already been destroyed once; this happened during the civil war in Lebanon, when the front passed through Polish graves. Restored with difficulty, it was devastated again, fortunately to a lesser extent. And it was only the recent shrewd moves by diplomats and Polonus to rally certain religious and national communities that brought peace to the necropolis. Some pragmatist or materialist might now accuse that so many resources and energy were devoted to a hundred and a half graves so far from Warsaw. But today, with the barbaric war waged by Russia against Ukraine, the answer is obvious. Considering the current state of the Polish War Cemetery in Beirut, we would say - this is also how you build a nation's identity.