"Ancestors were found whom even our parents didn't know about." A Belarusian woman searched for Polish roots and learned her family history
Evgenia began searching for Polish roots after her youngest daughter's simple question: what were her grandmothers' names? The family had many Catholic traditions, one grandmother prayed in Polish, and Easter was celebrated only according to the Catholic calendar. It seemed the documents should confirm Polish ancestry. But 15 years of searching in archives led to a different result: Evgenia never proved her Polish roots, but she did find ancestors whom no one in the family remembered anymore, writes the publication Most.
Illustrative photo. Source: pexels.com / George Diamanto
Evgenia (the heroine's name and family surnames have been changed) is almost 70 years old. Her younger daughter has lived in Canada for over 20 years, and her elder daughter has been in Poland for almost five years.
Before the search began, family memory relied on fragments. Of her paternal grandfather, it was said that he was a pilot and died during World War II, but it later turned out he died at the very beginning of hostilities.
Evgenia also didn't know her paternal grandmother's maiden name. When she found the marriage inquiry (a written act), her father initially argued it was a mistake, then gave up: "Oh, who knows."
"Easter was celebrated only as Catholic"
Beyond her daughter's simple question, more quickly emerged: why was there so much Polish and Catholic influence in the family? Evgenia's maternal grandmother knew Polish well and read prayers in that language when officiating funerals. In the village where her grandparents lived, almost everyone was Catholic.
"Easter was celebrated only as Catholic. I learned that people have a different Easter only when I was about 12-13," the woman recalls.
Orthodox people were not buried in the local cemetery but were taken to another village. New Year was not celebrated; Christmas was. They didn't know about Radunitsa (a day of remembrance for the dead in Eastern Orthodox Christianity), but after Easter, there was a "day of the dead," a day to remember the deceased. Even the names in the village sounded like a separate world: Stas, Zyhma, Romtsik, Bronka, Albin, Karalina, Sonya, Yadzia. All this pushed Evgenia to think that perhaps there were Polish roots in her family.
"Relatives tapped their temples"
In 2010, Evgenia began traveling to the National Historical Archive of Belarus in Minsk. Staff in the reading room helped her understand which district and volost (sub-district) the villages where her ancestors lived belonged to.
"I traveled twice a month for five days each time. Relatives tapped their temples when I said I was going to the archive," the woman recalls.
She started the first branch with her paternal ancestors: Orthodox peasants from the Minsk Governorate. In the archive, Evgenia met other people who were also looking for their roots, and later joined the genealogical forum VGD ("All-Russian Genealogical Tree"). There, they helped translate records from Latin and Polish, shared documents and tips.
"When you find one ancestor, then you think: what if there's something about his father or mother in other documents?" says Evgenia.
An archival record connected several generations of the family
Over time, the search for Polish roots broadened. Evgenia was no longer just looking for a record of nationality but restoring all branches of the family.
In search of "her Poles," she reached the beginning of the 19th century. In church records, she found the death of her great-great-great-great-grandfather: he died in 1809 at the age of 25. Then she found records of the birth of his two sons. One of them, born in 1808, turned out to be her direct ancestor. But then the trail went cold: the necessary metrical books had not survived.
"I lost all hope of finding anything else," Evgenia recalls.
The woman notes that genealogical research rarely follows a direct line. If metrical books have not survived, one has to check other documents: revision lists, family lists, burgher lists, court and noble affairs. Thus, Evgenia began searching not only for specific people but also for surnames that appeared in the family history.
It was in the noble affairs that the first coats of arms appeared. Along the Verazemski branch, Evgenia found the case of her great-grandmother's family. It indicated the family composition: father, his brothers, and other relatives. There was also a description of the coat of arms. It matched the "Leliwa" coat of arms.
Coat of arms "Leliwa". Its description matched the description in the noble case along the Verazemski branch. Source: wikipedia.org
Along another branch, the Davydovichs, she found a possible connection to the "Trąby" (Trumpets) coat of arms. But Evgenia does not yet consider this line proven: there are similar names in the documents, but there is no full certainty that these are her direct ancestors.
To check the version, Evgenia searched for Davydovichs in later lists of Minsk burghers. If a family could not confirm nobility, its representatives might have been listed as burghers. Such families exist in the lists for 1882 and 1894, but Evgenia cannot yet connect them to her line.
The most emotional find was not even the coats of arms. On a genealogical website, which many call the "Mormon site," Evgenia repeatedly encountered one archival record. From her phone, it was poorly visible, and she put the document aside "for later." When she later opened the record on a large screen, it turned out to be a record of the birth of a child in the family of a Minsk burgher whom Evgenia had already met in other documents. This allowed her to connect several generations of relatives who had previously existed separately for her.
"It was a shock," the woman says.
After this, in one night, Evgenia found records of the birth of her great-grandfather and other children in this family.
"Later I found another important document: in 1868, this ancestor converted to Orthodoxy. His wife was recorded in the metrical book as 'Roman.' That's how a Roman Catholic woman could be designated then," Evgenia recalls.
Coats of arms and a plastic crown
When the family learned about the noble branches, the reaction was unexpected. Her sister's husband said that he "always felt that his wife was from the nobility, very well-bred." And Evgenia's own brother bought a child's plastic crown and sometimes wore it to family celebrations.
"We have a very cheerful family," Evgenia laughs.
She herself says that she no longer felt particular delight from the coats of arms. By that point, what mattered more were not the symbols, but the people behind them: names, marriages, children, transitions from one confession to another, the villages where they lived.
Why Polish roots were not confirmed
Evgenia notes that the most paradoxical thing in this story is the Polish trace. It exists in the family, but it could not be documented. In the family lists for 1926, the nationality of siblings was indicated differently: for some, "Pole," for others, "Belarusian."
In the post-war family lists of the village council where Evgenia's grandparents lived, for 1944-1946, the situation is similar. Only in the voter lists for 1930 was "Pole" indicated as the nationality for everyone. But in metrical books, nationality was usually not indicated at birth and baptism. Nor in revision lists.
Another path led through repressed relatives. In both branches of the family, there were people who, according to Evgenia, have not yet been rehabilitated. She contacted the KGB to get exact birth dates and find out how to apply for rehabilitation. She was denied twice.
"They suggested going to court, and they would stop communicating with me. That's what was written in the KGB's response," the woman recalls.
The problem was also in the chain of kinship. To confirm the connection, documents from mother to grandmother and great-grandmother were needed. Evgenia did not have the marriage certificates that could link this.
"There was no resentment then that I couldn't confirm my Polish roots. No one thought that someone would have to be forced to look for 'another homeland,' like my elder daughter," Evgenia shares.
"Ancestors were found whom even our parents didn't know about"
After 15 years, Evgenia still has not received a document that could confirm her Polish origin. But she does not consider the search unsuccessful.
"There is a result — ancestors were found whom not only we, but also our parents, didn't know about," the woman says.
She would agree to go through this journey again, although searching has become more difficult: some resources are now inaccessible from Belarus, and archival work requires more effort.