Paul Kriwaczek begins a tour of the southern provinces in the city of Krakow

 

 

Krakow's great market square, the Rynek Glowny, was crowded with visitors listening to the hourly fanfare blown from the top of the taller and more pointed of St Mary's two towers. The fat man in the leather jacket and extrovert bow tie sitting at the cafe table next to mine turned and said in a loud voice: "Hey now!"

 

 

I must have looked astonished, as he immediately went on: "The trumpet call. Its called Hejnal."

 

 

"I know," I said. But that didn't stop him joining me to explain at length that the tune is always cut short in memory of a trumpeter struck dead in mid-alarm-call in 1241 by a Tartar arrow to the throat. The card he thrust under my nose gave his profession as tourist agent.