Hauptstraße

The street, actually a country road, formed the main approach to Danzig from the south. It ran in a north-south direction, originally beginning at the Petershagener Tor and leading toward Gute Herberge/St. Albrecht. After World War I, this street was then broken up: the northern part was merged with the street 2. Petershagen and called Altschottland. The middle section, from St. Ignatiuskirche to An der Ostbahn, was renamed Stadtgebiet (City Territory). Only the southernmost part kept its name until 1933. In the last renaming before the war, the southern part of Stadtgebiet (between Wurstmachergasse and An der Ostbahn), the remainder of Hauptstraße, Lindenstraße, and Südstraße were merged into Horst-Wessel-Straße. The old village center of Ohra actually lay east of this street (Schulstraße, An der Ostbahn, and Bahnplatz). After the war, this street first received a "makeshift name" Oruńska 3 (Third Ohra Street). Only in 1949, after the forced unification of the Polish left-wing parties, was it merged with the former Südpromenade, Altschottland, and Stadtgebiet and the resulting structure named ulica Jedności Robotniczej (Street of Workers' Unity). After workers' unity had also stepped down, they turned to Christian values and renamed the street once again. Today the structure is called Trakt Świętego Wojciecha (Chaussee of Saint Adalbert). One can only hope that these poor streets, which had as little to do with Saint Adalbert as they were to blame for workers' unity, may at least enjoy this name a little longer. Finally, a little story that anyone who doesn't know Danzig would take for a joke: A little boy saw the light of day in this street in A.D. 1926 and was baptized Ferdinand. Barely knee-high, he found himself, without any laborious move, in Horst-Wessel-Straße. Barely accustomed to that, the world came crashing down with drums and trumpets, but both the house and the street remained nearly unscathed — albeit as Oruńska 3. Barely four years had passed and our Ferdinand was grown up when he got a problem. His street was now called Jedności Robotniczej, but the poor fellow still couldn't speak Polish. Whenever he tried to give his address, people would heartily slap him on the back, assuming he was having a coughing fit. The years went by; Ferdinand — long since fluent in Polish — lived a God-fearing life still in the same apartment, saw his children and grandchildren come into the world, and from 1993 enjoyed his well-deserved retirement. But some wretch apparently begrudged him his peace, for suddenly his street was called Trakt Świętego Wojciecha. In the last 10 years of his life, his favorite pastime was joking about the government's mania for renaming. After he moved for the first time in 2003 — to the parish cemetery — he surely asked, stepping before the countenance of the Lord: "Lord, at least let my bones keep their current address."