I made this lithograph in California, at the time of World War II, to honor the Polish aviators who escaped from the German Predators and were gathered by the British government to defend Scotland, exclusively. There were 18,000 of them in Scotland. It has been observed by many people, besides me, that there is some unexplainable affinity between the Scottish and Polish peoples, to such an extent that there were startingly many marriages of Scottish lassies to the Polish aviators.

Years ago, I contrived the eagleaxe emblem, intentionally linking ancient Crete s Double-bladed Axe — the holiest of symbols, each triangle being pictographic of one of the twin continents from where our ancestors escaped from the Deluge — with the Polish Eagle, which harkens back to astral ages. Presently, the Eagleaxe became the emblem of Neuropa.

I raised it above a hata (Polish for hut). The ancient Hittites called themselves Hata, being the first ones to introduce single-room huts. Little huts were often depicted in Aztec and Inca Art, to symbolize Homeland, Country. Here it is covered with the traditional thatch of straw, with smoke from the hearth seeping out at the sides of the roof. Instead of cross-beams at the corners, I made human hands that hold-on-and-on to themselves. The nightskies are crossed by the planes the United States sent to Britain to fight against the Nazi-Yetinsyny.

I sent the lithograph to the Poles in Britain, proposing they use it for a poster to raise some funds. But crocodiles, sharks and intellectual Poles do not answer letters, nor show any graciousness (the Polish language does not even have an equivalent for this word). Whoever of them received the lithograph, stole it and kept silent, as the Poles have done for the last fifty years after looting everything I ever created.

The lithographic plate was stolen by the German lithographer now living in La Jolla.