Hey there! My name’s Martha “Chorna Medea” and I was born in a picturesque subcarpathian village Hirne. My parents were people of high integrity. My mother worked as a teacher in a local school and my father was a lawyer and also was in charge of law consultancy organization.  By the way, he took part in legendary case of Prime Minister Pyaratsky murder.

I was brought up in a strict discipline though my parents always adored and valued me. Since childhood I was sent to plast camps where we were encouraged to be initiative, organized and patriotic. My father looked rather favorable on this kind of studying because it matched his own prerogatives .The first school I went to was Stryi Gymnasium, the same one Stepan Bandera   used to study at. I was quite good in Math and Literature but particularly fond of Antique Literature. Then I was accepted to Ukrainian Nationalists organization where I got my nickname “Medea” for my interest in antique culture.

I was fluent in German thanks to my father (former officer of Austrian army) who passed admiration to this language on to his daughter.

During the first period of soviet rule, our family was forced to escape to Cracow otherwise we would end up in Solovky or Demyaniv Laz concentration camps near Stanislav .I had to continue my education in Chelm lyceum that was on the territory of General Government .

After returning to my hometown of Lviv I stayed at 50 Sykstuska str. (now Doroshenka str., 50) with a widow Maria Mahnovska. Her husband, the colonel of Polish cavalry, had been executed in Katyn. I was hired as a stenographer in the German Secret Police where I also worked as an interpreter and was present on the different interrogations of the arrested Ukrainian nationalists. It allowed me to help guerrilla partisans by informing them about traitors and hostages who started to collaborate with the Nazis. But once I was witnessing the interrogation of Ivan Klymiv. He was being questioned by ruthless executioner Virzing, known for his sadistic cruelness. This brave freedom fighter died in front of me without telling a word and it was just too much to bear. I ran away and joined guerrilla movement. There were posters all over the city with my photograph and the word “WANTED” written on them. The reward for me being brought dead or alive was 10 000 Reich marks.  Somehow Gestapo followed my track and swooped on us in the most unexpected moment. My fellow-nationalists were fighting fiercely to protect me. There was a frightful cross-fire but our forces were nothing to compare with numerous Nazi soldiers. We had absolutely no chance to escape… But it was me they wanted to capture so I ordered my comrades to leave me behind …  I didn’t want to go to concentration camp, didn’t want to suffer ,didn’t  want  interrogation, those devilish executioners… There was only one way out! I had to do it…