Warsaw, 13 February 1946, Judge St. Rybiński, delegated to the Commission for the Investigation of German Crimes, interviewed the person named below as a witness. Having advised the witness of the criminal liability for making false declarations and of the significance of the oath, the judge swore the witness in accordance with Art. 109 of the Code of Criminal Procedure.
The witness testified as follows:
| Name and surname | Janina Fiszer née Kondracka |
| Date of birth | 20 June 1886 |
| Names of parents | Jan and Pelagia née Jaworska |
| Occupation | homemaker |
| Education | secondary school |
| Place of residence | Warsaw, Wspólna Street 71, flat 12 |
| Religious affiliation | Roman Catholic |
| Criminal record | none |
I have come the office of the Commission as a result of an announcement made in the daily newspapers. To confirm my identity, I am presenting my identity card N 62285 (presented).
From the beginning of the war I lived at Srebrna Street 8, flat 8, together with my youngest son Stanisław Fiszer, born on 8 May 1910, who was an official with the City Transport Organization, a City Tramways controller.
I knew that my son belonged to the Home Army. In June 1943, he graduated from Wiśniewski’s secret cadet school, worked for the organization and was a distributor of underground newspapers: Dzień Warszawy and Biuletyn Informacyjny. I knew about it, but I did not want to forbid him.
On 9 December 1943, at 11:00 p.m., someone rang our doorbell. When I asked who it was, I heard the concierge’s voice. When I opened the door, I saw, apart from the concierge, four Germans, of whom three were in German military uniforms, in helmets, and armed to the teeth.
One had two handguns and some hand grenades behind his belt, and two had rozpylacze [machine guns, lit. “sprayers”] in their hands and hand-grenades. The fourth was in plainclothes and did not have weapons, but held a large electric torch in his hand. The last one walked around our flat, shone his torch around the interior, and looked into wardrobes conducting a cursory inspection. The [other] three, having entered the flat, held their weapons at the ready, aiming at my son and me. One of them spoke to us in Polish, he was speaking in the Silesian dialect.
After checking my son’s identity, he ordered him to get dressed. Then they let him say goodbye to me and led him out of the flat to a large lorry standing in the street. After my son’s departure, I received an oral message from him through one of the released prisoners to the effect that he was in Pawiak prison.
On 21 December 1943, I took two packages to the Patronat on Krochmalna Street, which my son definitely received because he let me know through a released prison companion what packages to send him and how to try to get him released with the help of the City Transport Organization. I did not, however, manage to start doing anything because on 28 December notices were put up throughout the city with a list of 100 men executed with the date 23 December, and the name and surname of my son was listed under number 25. The headline read: “I ordered the execution of criminals.” The list of the executed was signed with the name of the chief of police. I do not, however, remember the name.
Since that time, I did not receive any messages from or about my son, nor did I apply to the Gestapo for his death certificate.
Before the outbreak of the war, my son Stanisław had been in Brazil, in Rio de Janeiro, for nine and a half years, and returned in 1937. I also have another son, Czesław, who in 1937 left for France to continue his studies and has not yet returned.
I have not learned where the public execution – the one in which my son was executed according to the list – had taken place.
Nor do I know the names of the tormentors who came to take my son away.
I am currently alone.
The report was read out.