The flour hangs in the air like snow. Thick, white, everywhere. On the floor, on the shelves, on the hair of Stanisław Nowak, who for forty-five years has been getting up at three in the morning to bake bread for his district. He is seventy-two years old, but his hands – wrinkled, covered with burn scars – move with the precision of a surgeon.
It was twenty-three forty-five when Marek Kowalski boarded tram number 6 at the Dworzec Główny stop. He was sixty-eight years old, wearing a grey jacket permeated with the smell of cigarettes, and carrying a plastic bag in which empty beer bottles clinked. He wasn’t getting on this tram to go home. He was getting on to say goodbye.
“It’s the last run,” he told the driver, a young man with a buzz cut. “In five minutes, this line is closing forever.”
The driver nodded, not taking his eyes off the tracks. He knew the story. Everyone knew it.
The Line That Connected Two Worlds
Line number 6 ran between the center of Gdańsk and the Chełm district since 1972. For fifty-two years. For half a century, it connected the world of old tenements and tourist attractions with housing estates and workplaces where working-class families built their lives. The tram was more than just a means of transport – it was a symbol of stability, everyday life, something you could rely on.
And today, October 28, 2024, at midnight, the line was to disappear. Without fanfare, without official ceremonies. Simply cease to exist.
Marek sat by the window and looked out at the street. The city lights flickered in rhythm with the accelerating tram. He remembered how fifty years ago he boarded the same tram as an eighteen-year-old. He was going to vocational school then, nervous, sweaty, with a brand new briefcase his father had given him.
“That was the first time I saw a real city,” he says now, looking out the window. “We lived in Chełm, it was the periphery. Tram number 6 was our window to the world.”
By Tram to First Job, First Love
There were a few other people on the tram. A middle-aged woman with a child on her lap. Two older men in work clothes. A girl with headphones, who probably didn’t even know it was the last run.
“I used to take this tram to my husband,” said the woman with the child, as if reading Marek’s thoughts. “He lived in Chełm, I in Wrzeszcz. Every Saturday I would get on at ten in the morning and go with a bouquet of roses. My mother said I was silly, that I was spending money on flowers, but I wanted him to know I cared about him.”
The woman smiled, looking at her sleeping child.
“Now we have two children and twenty years of marriage. And this tram was there for all of it.”
A Decision That Divided the District
The decision to close line number 6 was made in June. The City Hall explained it by the need to modernize the tracks, high operating costs, and a decreasing number of passengers. Statistics clearly showed: in 2014, an average of 12,000 people used the line daily. In 2024 – only 4,000. People bought cars, moved, some just stopped commuting to work.
But for the residents of Chełm, these numbers were cold and meaningless. For them, the tram was more than a statistic.
“It was our heart,” says Janina Lewandowska, a seventy-five-year-old resident of Chełm III estate. “Without this tram, we feel cut off. As if someone took a piece of our identity.”
Janina organized a petition, signed by 3,200 people. They went door-to-door, collecting signatures. They started a Facebook group: “Save the Six!” They organized protests in front of the City Hall. Nothing helped.
“They told us it was unprofitable,” she adds sadly. “And I tell them: is life profitable? Is family profitable?”
Tram Full of Memories
The tram passed successive stops. Wrzeszcz. Siedlce. Przymorze. Each time someone got on, sometimes someone got off. Some knew it was the end. Others rode as always, unconcerned.
At the “Chełm Centrum” stop, an older woman with a cane got on. Marek recognized her immediately – it was Mrs. Zofia, his primary school teacher. She was ninety-one, but still walked around the city by herself.
“Mrs. Zofia!” Marek called out. “It’s me, Marek Kowalski! You taught me in the seventies!”
The woman looked at him, squinted, and then smiled broadly.
“Mareczku!” she said warmly. “I remember you. You were always late for lessons because the tram broke down.”
They both laughed.
“Are you also going to say goodbye?” Marek asked.
“What do you think?” she replied with sadness in her voice. “I took this tram to school every day for forty years. I left at six in the morning, returned at three in the afternoon. This tram knew more about me than my family.”
Empty Loop, Full Hearts
At twenty-three fifty-nine, the tram reached the final stop – the Chełm loop. It was empty, dark, only streetlights illuminated the old, dilapidated parking lot. The driver turned off the engine. Silence.
All the passengers got off, but no one left. They stood around the tram, as if waiting for a miracle. As if the tram could start again, take them back in time again.
Marek walked up to the tram and placed his hand on the metal side. It was cold.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
Mrs. Zofia stood next to him. She held her cane with both hands and looked at the sky.
“Do you know what’s the worst?” she asked suddenly. “That no one from the office came here. No one said ‘thank you’. No one lit a candle. They just turned it off and that’s it.”
The woman with the child on her lap began to cry. The two older men stood in silence, looking at the empty tram.
The driver got out of the cabin, closed the door, and approached the group.
“Do you want to take a picture?” he asked.
Everyone smiled. They stood next to the tram, and the driver took a picture with his phone.
“Send it to me,” Marek said. “It will be a souvenir.”
Without Farewell
At midnight, the lights on the tram went out. Line number 6 officially ceased to exist. The very next day, workers were to begin dismantling the tracks. The Chełm loop was to be transformed into a car park. Progress.
Marek walked home. It was cold, and his old shoes leaked. But he didn’t regret it. He had to do it. He had to say goodbye.
When he reached the block, he looked once more towards the loop. The tram was gone. Only an empty track and silence remained.
“Goodbye, Six,” he said quietly.
The next day, newspapers published a short note: “Gdańsk. Tram line number 6 has ceased operation due to unprofitability.” Three sentences. No emotions. No names. No stories.
But for Marek, Mrs. Zofia, Janina, and hundreds of other residents of Chełm, this tram will never disappear. It will remain in their memories, in the stories they will tell their children and grandchildren.
Because some things don’t die. They just stop running.
Source: Own reportage, interviews with residents of the Chełm district, archival materials of the Gdańsk City Hall
