Don farmhouses, stretching wide ribbon along the shores of the Upper Don, keep the fundamental spiritual values, which in recent years have been somewhat squandered in large cities. Yes, the villages have become today not as they used to be, but people live in them, who, without knowing it, become our islands of national security, a guide in life. But when we lose our true homeland, then comes the true awareness of its essence and its inseparable connection with its roots. Motherland is a tree that nurtures us, cherishes and in old age serves as a consolation and support for overcoming physical and spiritual adversity. On such thoughts pushed me to meet with her former compatriot.
Tosca Ukrainian woman on Russian White Beam
Up the Don, five kilometers from it, on a slope was the Voronezh village of 2-i Belaya Gorka. She was called - the second. Because there used to be two white slides, and then one left, but they still call it - the second. Here lies an invisible border between two regions - Rostov and Voronezh. This border runs along the Nut beam. In the two frontier farms, people have always been friends. On holidays we went to visit each other. An interesting philological observation: in this sentence, according to the new spelling of the Russian language, it is strongly recommended to put a comma - a separator. The dictates of the time - today, little visit. In the clubs and in the farm, and in the village put concerts. Even in the difficult post-war years. At this time, hunger and poverty have torn off many farmers from their birthplaces.
Maria Kovalenko (nee Podlipaeva) recalls:
“My sister Anya went to Ukraine to the city of Krasnodon. There in the town of Water got a job at the mine "Duvannaya-2". There my sister and I were married, our children were born and raised there.
On the second White Gorka, our elder sister Valya Podlipayeva stayed alive. When the war began, she, a Komsomol member, volunteered for the front. In the city of Vienna met the news of the Great Victory. After the war, she lived in her own farm.
When we went on vacation, we definitely went to visit my sister in our dear homeland. Previously, there was no track M4-Don. And we from Millerovo station always went to the village of Kazan. And from there, well, if you managed to hire a horse-drawn carriage, and more on foot, with suitcases and children, we walked over Don, through the farms of Ozyorskaya and Surovsky. In the Demidovsky farm, we usually had a halt. Here we visited friends, friends and again on the road. Valya and her husband, also a former front-line soldier Andrei Egorovich Lavrov, always greeted us and our many children and grandchildren with warmth and hospitality. Their last years they lived in the village of Sukhodolny. There, at the local cemetery, they found their last refuge.
Today, there are only ruins left from my second White Gorka. But how many people were there in them then! There was not a single piece of untreated land. Everywhere gardens, orchards, vegetable gardens. Even in a bow (this word originated from “Tsaryov Luka”, a historical event that occurred in the era of the collapse of the Golden Horde), the Demidans and the inhabitants of Belaya Gorka plowed up the ground, planted potatoes, corn, vegetables, melons ”.
That's all. She didn’t say anything further and handed me a written sheet of paper. These were her poems.
I am very homesick,
I longing for her not to appease.
My childhood and youth are passed there,
But in Russia, I really do not happen.
And sadness, and spiritual bitterness.
I can not share at the grave,
Where are my dear relatives.
From me you worship them.
And I miss more and more
I am on you, my dear, On the village, on the meadows and the grove,
Where nightingales sing so fondly
Where we plowed the land and sowed,
Where mowed, knitted sheaves,
On the ground barefoot running,
Wildflowers there were tearing flowers
Where was once with you, girlfriend,
In a slope on a white mountain
Hearty Russian songs
We sang about the native side.
And at the bottom of the steamer with passengers
Floated on the Don under this mountain.
Our song on the deck echoed.
We waved following their hand.
I remember how I said goodbye to you,
Rustles around kobyli.
Cuckoo cuckoo for Don,
Tears we could not hold back.
How nice to me there everything is expensive
On my dear side.
The edge of my dear, the only, dear
- Never forget it to me.
Do not forget my native spaces
Do not forget your native home
Do not forget these White Mountains,
Tart smell of wormwood steppe.
Since I left you,
I carry guilt in my heart.
I fall before you on my knees
And I will ask forgiveness for everything.
I'm sorry, my dear village,
That broke up with you forever.
If you can return everything first,
I would stay with you forever.
Since then, many years have passed,
And a lot of water has flowed under the bridge.
Only memory keeps in my heart
That place where childhood passed.
And now we live abroad.
Do not measure this pain with anything.
We would be migratory birds
Flew b to Russia, home.
What the politicians have done there
Who is who - nothing to understand.
In the alien strangers turned,
And the people must now suffer.
Beautiful unusual springs river Peskovatki
The nature of the surroundings of Solontsovskii farm is extraordinarily beautiful. Beautiful, clean and full of icy springs river Peskovatka. You can drink it and enjoy crystal-clear drops, not contaminated by civilization. Though the river is shallow, but there is fish in it. On sunny summer days, farm children swim in the river, and a large number of tourists and guests come here to take a break from the city rush. The forest that grows along the shores of Peskovatka is rich in gifts of nature, every beast and birds live in it, the strawberries, blackberries, hawthorn, dogrose and black berries ripen and pour juice under the summer sun. And on the western side of the farm there is a pine forest, where in the mushroom season for lovers of quiet hunting comes a real paradise.
In Solontsovsky settlement there are people of special destiny. These are veterans of the Great Patriotic War, home front workers. It was they who heroically fought, in the difficult post-war time they raised a nice corner of the heart, learned to live anew, raised their children, taught them to preserve the traditions of their ancestors and to keep their memory about them, to be honest and fair, not to be afraid of hard work.
One of these is Dmitry Filippovich Bulatkin, who lives in the farm Zaikinsky. When the war began, he was still a child, but he perfectly remembers all the hardships of wartime. Parents of little Dmitry lived in Shakhty. In 1941, the German came close to the city, and the father of the family, Philip Dmitrievich, was taken to the front, and mother Anna Kondratyevna, along with three children and other residents, was evacuated to Upper Don. The Bulatkin family settled in the Zaikinsky farm, kept the farm, cultivated a vegetable garden and waited for news from the front from the father.
In the winter of 1941, the German troops approached the Don in the area of the Kazan village and bombed the farmstead on the left bank. People had to hide in the cellars, fleeing from the bombing.
The offensive continued, and all the farmers were evacuated further from the front line into the Kazanskaya-Lopatin farm. When the family returned to Zaikinsky after 1942 was evacuated in the fall, their house was burned down by the Nazis. In the same year, they forwarded the wounded father to the farm from the front. All began to live in the house of the native aunt. When Philip Dmitrievich began to rise, it was decided on their own to build housing and get out of the dugout.
Soon Bulatkins moved into a small house consisting of one room. Worked with the whole family, earning a piece of bread. Even little Dmitri helped adults from morning to evening: he grazed cows, plowed the ground on them, carried water for soldiers and even helped to clear the fields. The water meadow near the farm was mined with bottles filled with a combustible mixture, in case the Germans move through the Don.
But soon the fascists began to retreat, leaving the line of defense, and our soldiers began to clear the fields. The farm children ran after them and helped to look for the crates with bottles, who dared, he even blew them up himself. “We were children, and everything that happened around was perceived differently. They were not afraid to get over the Don, where the Germans were and they were dragging the German stew from there, collecting trophies. There was a great desire, the time was hungry, ”recalls Dmitry Filippovich.
Только в 1943 году, после освобождения района, когда Дмитрию было уже десять лет, он пошёл в первый класс. Учась в местной школе, которую тоже восстанавливали хуторяне своими силами после бомбёжки, Дима продолжал работать. Потом закончилась война, началось тяжёлое послевоенное время. Досталось и Дмитрию Филипповичу, помыкала его судьба: служил он в армии в tank войсках, учился разным профессиям, работал электрослесарем, комбайнёром, механизатором, медником, водителем самосвала и автобуса, ездил в командировки в разные города, а дома всегда ждала семья: любимая жена Евдокия Алексеевна, дочь Лена и сын Владимир. Сейчас супруги Булаткины находятся на заслуженном отдыхе, живут в родном хуторе Заикинском тихой размеренной жизнью, занимаются огородом, летом собираются всей дружной семьёй. Недавно провели газ, и теперь, как говорят сами, им не страшны никакая зима.
She sat behind the husband-soldier
Write about this stories I made the usual picture on the wall. Behind the wheel of a motorcycle was a guy in the form of a Soviet soldier, and behind was a young woman, tied with a kerchief, in a woolen dress, and an elegant jacket. And so good, and it was quiet on their faces.
It was 50 years ago, in 1961. In the farm Peskovatsko-Lopatinsky after graduating from the Bayan school in Shakhty, a girl named Nina arrived and began working as the head of the club. At this time, built a new club with a large auditorium. There were many young people in the farm. During the day they worked on the collective farm.
The girls milked the cows, the guys plowed the ground. Well, in the evening everyone went to the light of the club. It was on the light: the kerosene lamp was burning in the club. Electricity was not yet there. Everyone enjoyed participating in amateur art activities. In winter, the horses went to perform in the neighboring farms Chetvertinsky, Kamenny, the village of Shumilino. In the club they were having fun, getting to know each other, making friends, falling in love and then getting married. Here, Nina liked the boy Semen. In this young guy, she saw a real strong reliable man. So he was in life. In 1961, they signed. In 1962, a subpoena came to the army, and he left to serve for a long three years and two months. Since then, the song lives in the soul of Nina, as if telling their story:
Do not forget how goodbye to you
On the platform in the warm rain.
We will wait if we promised
You serve, we will wait for you.
And soon the eldest daughter, Olya, was born in the family. And Nina began to flow long days and nights in care and anticipation. Filled with a suitcase of letters from her husband with dreams and plans for the future, "how are we going to live in a civilian world." Twice Semen came on vacation from distant Azerbaijan. Here they rode the whole family on a motorcycle IL-56. What a beauty! With a breeze worn throughout the county. As time went. Three years passed, and Simon returned to his beloved family. Then the second daughter Galya was born. Life went on as usual. This year, Semyon Ivanovich and Nina Mitrofanovna Chebotaryov celebrate their golden wedding. They overcame everything in life, firmly holding each other's hand. They grew up daughters, got families, two granddaughters and two grandchildren.
Such simple, happy fate is in many Don farms. Probably, all these people made the main thing in life - they left behind them strong lives.
How a lonely military grave was destroyed in the Don Garden
What happened then with our lovely little hamlets? Yes, there have been conflicts between people before, but today some of them are taking on monstrous forms: modern anger penetrates the souls. But. notice that this happens, as a rule, with newcomers: they are brought up by the farm itself small community. Here is a typical example.
In the old days, it was customary for the Cossacks to bury the departed at their estates. During the war years, when there were no forces to carry the dead to the cemetery, they also had to arrange graves in the gardens. There was such a grave in our garden, and we children knew that a boy who died during the war was buried here. And we walked around with awe.
Until now, in the farmstead farmsteads, in the gardens there are these graves, which are respectfully looked after by distant descendants. It so happened that all residents respect these burials with respect. Only graves were unlucky, in which, according to the stories of local residents, Red Army men who had died from wounds were buried. Next to them, Alexander Anfilatova recently settled in the farm Rubezhenskoy of the Rostov region. This neighborhood did not turn out to be due to its “thin” soul. And although the graves were located not at all on his site, he asked a relative of the soldiers buried here to remove the crosses and graves out of sight. Otherwise, Anfilatov promised to deal with them himself. And here the case presented itself, his hand did not flinch: he cut down the crosses, threw them into the old well, leveled the graves with the face of the earth. And he set up a garbage dump on the churchyard.
The man who came, Anfilatov, is probably so foreign to the land where he accidentally rendered. Otherwise, how to explain that a person so easily and cynically abused the ashes of someone's ancestors, recklessly insulting the feelings of relatives, and of all sensible people? Of course, this caused outrage farmers. But Anfilatov did not care about their opinion. He spoke about it in a rude manner, demanding documentary evidence that someone was really buried at this place. The testimony of witnesses who knew the soldiers buried here was not counted.
Farmers excitedly expressed their opinions about the scandalous fact and the unfulfilled relationship between Anfilatov and his wife with the local residents.
That's what the residents said at the gathering. Nina Ermakova: “A person who does not remember and respect the past is not a person”.
Tatyana Shapovalova: “Cut the crosses in broad daylight! How could this be done?
Maria Petrova: “Outrageous! In our farm we buried not only the locals, but also the soldiers who died in the war, protecting our area from the Germans. Is this our gratitude to them? ”
Tamara Grigorieva: “Do educated and well-educated people behave like this? Neither Anfilatov, nor his wife, notice, the director of the school, do not greet the farmers. What kind of example are they giving to children? ”
Publicly repent and ask for forgiveness from farmers Anfilatov did not want. The only opinion to which he listened a little was the opinion of the commander of the Cossack squad, Zhitnikov, who recalled Cossack traditions and customs, that they should be respected by everyone living on Cossack land, and that mockery and desecration of graves deserves harsh punishment . It is difficult to say what had acted so convincingly on Anfilatov — the Cossack's heartfelt speech or the colorful whip hanging over his shoulder, but in the end he would have said: "If everyone in the farm were equally adequate people." And in response to the demand of the head of the rural settlement, Anfilatov agreed to restore the graves he had cursed and the felled crosses.
On the farmstead adjacent to the Anfilatov manor there are the same old graves, which are looked after by the owners - people who are completely strangers in blood to those who rest in these graves in our common land.