To understand that we do not live so badly, we just need to meet with those over eighty, who survived the war, the hungry post-war time, and listen to their stories.
Anna Afanasyevna Zabaznova will be 90 years old, now she is a simple pensioner. But her fellow countrymen remember her as the chairman of the village council, the deputy of the regional council, the organizer and leader of the national Cossack choir.
In the museum of local lore one of the expositions is dedicated to the unforgettable Anna Afanasyevna. And her brainchild, known far beyond the area of the Cossack choir, was named after Zabaznova. Why does she have such honors? My story is about that.
At the beginning of 1941, Anya Davidenko, originally from Neklinovka, near Taganrog, completed her studies at a medical school. They distributed it to the Romanov district hospital by a nurse. And then the war broke out. Replacing the shoes on the soldiers kirzachi, she, along with other girls came to the front. Assigned to the medical battalion operating sister. Together with the surgeon, the mother of the poet Robert Rozhdestvensky, the fighters were saved day and night from death. But once they didn’t save themselves during the bombing. Anne was lucky, she was only contused and wounded, and N.P. Root riddled with splinters to death.
The girl came to the field hospital, but did not lie down, but looked after other wounded. And for that, of course, everyone loved her. The presence of Anya side by side literally healed the fighters - she gave so much warmth and caress to them. And her name was not Anya, but simply - Baby.
After the hospital, Baby was again on the front line. In the spring of 1943, where heavy fighting with the fascists were going on in the Kuban, a fragile little girl, covered in a tunic and in a uniform, was on the sidelines, appeared in the Cossack unit. On the shoulder - sanitary bag. There were fights for life and death. The Germans leaned. And then, unexpectedly for the Cossacks, a loud girlish cry was heard: "Brothers! For the Motherland! For Stalin!" In unison, all rushed to the enemy.
The episode is short, but characteristically you can imagine. Then the whole long peaceful life of Anna Zabaznova led people.
From the war, Anna Afanasyevna came with two orders of the Red Star, World War I of the first degree and many combat medals. Not every man-fighter had so many awards. At the end of the victorious 1945, Anna returned to the Romanovskaya stanitsa, began working as a nurse in the district hospital. But it was no longer a quiet girl, but a community leader. She was immediately noticed and elected a deputy, and then the chairman of the village council. Thanks to her, the House of Culture was built in the village, a high school, roads with hard surface appeared.
And in the village, she met a demobilized tank driver - the disabled Seeds Zabaznova. At the wedding of the front-line soldiers, the entire village was walking.
In the regional museum on the stand of Zabaznova there is a letter from the squadron commander of the 34 Cossack regiment, the colonel's guard, Hero of the Soviet Union GP. Ramanyuka. He, in particular, writes: "Our little girl, a fighting friend, who passed along the fronts of the Great Patriotic War from the Caucasus to Prague, attentive and beautiful AA Zabaznova, a big hello!"
And then another letter came, already to the village council, from the intelligence officer of 4-th Guards Kuban Cossack Corps O. Ya. Kravchenko. It started like this: "To the blessed memory of our fellow soldier, to the" little boy-light "to Anna Afanasyevna Zabaznova - Davidenko - Zabaznova ...".
How many years have passed, and what is the memory of a veteran! So I remembered my poem dedicated to the foreman of medical service Annushka:
Blue-eyed in the village,
And on the front they gave the name -
A hook for being flexible
And it was noiseless,
Flame for being in the heart
Lots of affection and warmth.
If suddenly a Cossack in a campaign
About beloved -
On horseback she will drive,
Ask: "Honey, what hurts?
Maybe you need medicine
There are those - everything will pass ... "
Cossack will look at her
Smile and sigh.
If at night on a halt
It will be hard for the heart
It will fit right away
At the heart of all the light.
If you saw near
In the hut far light,
As if they heard
The tramp of children's cute feet.
And when before the attack
The Cossack horse rips off
The light in the eyes will go out -
Flames will burst into flames.
With the Cossacks jumping into battle ...
Blue-eyed, dear ...
I was hit in the head and legs
I met with the veteran Natalia Dmitrievna Sorokina from the Romanovskaya stanitsa who took direct part in the battles at the Kursk Bulge.
Fate did not indulge Natasha Sorokina, neither in childhood nor in her youth, but during the conversation she never complained about how difficult it was for her. Even now, being bedridden, he doesn’t complain about his fate, he regrets only that he has to spend a lot of time alone.
Here is her story.
- My mom's first husband was killed in the first German war. She lived with her father-in-law, tirelessly caring for the cattle, which in the courtyard were many. Then she said she wanted to get married. The father-in-law was against it — the working woman leaves the farm. Many doubted that she and her two children could find a husband, but two guys came to woo. She went to marry a tall, handsome, slanting sazhen in the shoulders of a widower, and also with two children.
I was the parents of the firstborn. After me, five more were born. Mother, illiterate, tortured by hard peasant work, the woman, however, was wise. She tried to get the children educated. When my brother turned 12 years old, my father decided that four classes were enough, and he wanted him to become a plow. And my mother begged relatives to take him to her town and give to study. In the future, this mother's wisdom has done a great service to our family.
In my native village, Novotroitsk, Voronezh Region, I completed four classes. Shel 1936 year, raged hunger. My dad and I went to Tashkent to see our eldest daughter, who, again, moved there at the insistence of her mother. Dad worked, sent money to the family, I went to school. Until I knew the language, it was bad. For two years I learned to understand the locals, to talk. During these two years, famine has claimed many fellow villagers. Our family has not lost anyone thanks to the earlier wisdom of my mother.
When I returned to my native village, I had nowhere to study - the school was four years old. And I graduated from the next three classes in a neighboring village, eight kilometers away. She lived in an apartment with a kind but strict old woman. I went home on foot once a week for groceries. A three-liter mug of milk, a loaf of bread and vegetables had to be carried in a knapsack over his shoulders.
At that time it didn’t seem to have any particular difficulties ñ they’re getting used to everything. They wrote newspapers and magazines on the margins - it was tight with notebooks, and they were expensive. In the tenth grade, in another village already for 12 kilometers, my mother did not want to let go. Studying in the tenth, I cried, begged. I liked to study. I will come home and read with a kerosene lamp until late. Mom scolds: “You need to keep kerosene, and you, what an example of wastefulness you give to the younger ones, and you can even burn out asleep.”
Graduation ball coincided with the beginning of the war. We were sent near Smolensk to dig anti-tank ditches. Fed soup, where "a grain of the chase with a baton." Worked from dawn to dawn. Sleep fell in a very long barn with alfalfa: the guys at one end, the girls - at the other.
They dug a month, and when the German planes flew, they received an order to get to the train station, which is 70 kilometers away. This path was to be overcome in one night. And we ran. Commanders ran alongside, shouting: "Do not throw shovels," but many were throwing - there was no strength to bear. We managed to get to the train. They gave out a piece of bread with a palm, a piece of soap, and put them in wagons. And go day.
At the stations where the train stopped, there was nothing to buy, just change, but we had nothing. Compassionate women fed us potatoes, one treated us pears. Have eaten. And my stomach twisted so that I was about to die. However, I got to the house, and there the nurse began to nurse me, slowly otpaivaya milk. But it was impossible to recover, it was necessary to clean the beets in the fields, and the snow was already lying above the knee.
In February, 1942, the agenda came from the recruiting office. And I became a fighter of the reserve rifle 256 of the separate battalion. Spare battalion did not stay long - thrown to Voronezh. They moved on nights when German planes were less bombed. They approached Voronezh, and he was already occupied by the Germans. The battalion marched on to Kursk.
In Stary Oskol, we were given a break for two days and sent to the front line, which met us with fire from mortars and machine guns. And we are unstressed 19-20-year-old boys and girls with rifles. I was hurt in the head and legs, but I realized that a lot of time later when I woke up in the back of the car. I lie down, I don’t feel my body, I only hear the moans and voices: “Sister, waters”, “Sister, help me die”. She opened her eyes, above me two women in white bloodied robes. One asks: "Feet bad?" I looked at my legs — solid bloody bandages and sticks attached to them. She replied: "Everything is fine," and fainted.
The second time came to life in the hospital in the Tambov region. I lay on the floor, and again around the groans and blood. She lost consciousness not so much from pain, but from the sight of blood. Then she woke up in the ward. Around were the same as I, seriously wounded. The chamber was on the second floor. The girl, who lost both hands, jumped out of the window.
To understand that in 20 years you are crippled and a burden for relatives is not easy. We were transferred to the first floor. My head healed quickly, but I learned to walk again. We recovered and dreamed that they would let us go home, at least for a leave. And we were again sent to the front. For the drill I was no longer fit, sent to the second echelon. After the battle, we collected weapon, washed, cleaned, lubricated, repaired and sent to the front. I had to deliver weapons more often, I was already considered an experienced fighter. Not once the car was bombed. We have already developed a rule - Uncle Vanya, the driver, a wonderful soul man, slowed down, and I rolled out of the cabin into a ditch and then crawled into the forest. The driver left the cabin behind me.
That's how I came almost to Berlin. The news of the victory caught us in a German village called Schlussendorf. Jubilant and joyful, we were handed documents and sent home. The joy of victory was darkened only by the fact that not everyone lived to this bright day. During the war my father died.
Arriving home, she began working on the collective farm with her mother and younger brothers and sisters. But the salary was not paid, but somehow it was necessary to live. And I went to my elder brother in Vladivostok, throwing several bulbs and crackers in the front duffel bag. We traveled exactly one month. From all the wagons came out. I stand on the platform, I look around and I do not see my brother.
While traveling, he was transferred to work on Sakhalin, and he asked his friend to meet me. A man and a woman came up to me, asked who I was from and where they were from, they said that they met me and invited me to their place. And I refuse to hesitate to say that I have lice. Then she confessed.
They were good people. They took me to the bathhouse, gave me other clothes. Having stayed with them for three days, having rested, I went to Sakhalin. There brother helped find a job. They paid 1050 rubles and gave the soldiers a ration. A thousand rubles sent home, and lived on 50 rubles and rations.
In 1949, she married, gave birth to two children.
Foreman of the Black Sea fleet
“A woman on a ship is a misfortune,” they said in old times and tried not to take the weak sex on board. But this tradition had to be forgotten during the Great Patriotic War.
Defending the Motherland, the girls served both on ships and in the coast guard. One of them was Raisa Evgenevna Gladkova. During the war years she was a foreman of the 2-th article of the Third Coastal Radio of the special purpose unit of the Red Banner Black Sea Fleet.
The task of the fighter on the front is to beat the enemy, the task of the radio operator is to listen to the enemy. Listen, whatever happens, and transfer this necessary information to headquarters. The radio operator in the war is the same intelligence officer, so Raisa Evgenievna with pride wears a badge "Veteran intelligence officer of the Red Banner Black Sea Fleet."
The awards on Gladkova’s chest are crowded, but there are especially dear to the heart - “For the Defense of the Caucasus”, obtained in 1944, and the Ushakov naval commander’s medal - to the 300 anniversary of the Russian fleet.
More than once, information obtained by radio operators helped our troops to thwart the plans of the fascists. For them, the ability to listen (at the front of the radio operators was called “deaf”) was more important than owning a rifle and bayonet. Raisa Zaichko had an ideal ear for music, at the age of five she played the mandolin and in the cacophony of sounds she unmistakably singled out the necessary ones.
During the war, Raisa Evgenievna had enough bombing, shelling, and rolling, and also real front-line friendship, which is the strongest.
I met with Raisa Evgenievna Gladkova on the day of the Navy and, listening to my congratulations, she literally blossomed and looked younger, and seemed to have thrown off her years from her shoulders. And again, before us is not a grandmother, but the foreman of the Black Sea Fleet Raisa Zaichko.
Gifts for the wedding: a handkerchief, a piece of soap and money 150 rubles
Being a long-liver and staying fit and healthy is the dream of every person. For more than one hundred years, our ancestors searched for the elixir of youth and longevity, but they did not find a recipe. The person celebrating the 90 anniversary is already a legend, because he lived such a huge and difficult life. How many ups and downs in it, meetings and partings, joy and tears. Among such people is Maria Grigorievna Yermakova, a resident from the village of Stepnoy, a kind, modest, hostess, hospitable woman who will celebrate her anniversary on the first day of the new year.
In her 90 years, she managed the chores herself. Looking at this fragile woman, one simply does not believe that she has such a long, hard, but interesting fate behind her shoulders: difficult years of war, family, birth and upbringing of five children.
Maria is a native of the Tatsinsky district. The father's family was very big: besides Maria, there are three more children. Lived prosperous by rural standards. But after the revolution, they were dispossessed, they confiscated all the good, the father was sent for the fact that the family had a mill.
All worked from morning until late at night. Little Mary and her family had to go live with their grandmother. In the years of famine, mother and two children died. Maria and her brother now lived with their aunt.
My father returned, and they moved to Sturgradgrad in the village Shurupovka, where they had a stepmother - from the Cossacks.
- She did not love my brother. All the time, shpynyala and offended. We interfered with it, - remembers Maria Grigorievna. Then - again moving. First, in the Kirov region, and in 1940 year - to relatives in the village of Stepnoye. - When the war began, my father was taken to the front, our stepmother was not needed, and our cousin took us to her. Her husband also went to the front.
In June 1942, the Germans came to the village. Evening passed Tanks. And after a while the SS men stopped by. Scary people, furious, did not talk to anyone. During the day they were not, but returned at night. No one knew where they were or what they were doing. They ate with us, their sister cooked them.
23 January 1943 at the dawn they left the village. In order to help my sister at least a little (we called her a nanny), I began working in the field, unloading grain, polishing sow thistles. And then on the tractor - the trailer. Tractor driver Uncle Misha was a little weak-sighted, he taught me how to drive. In the afternoon he plows, and in the evening he puts me behind the wheel. The STZ tractor, all iron, was heated by the sun in a day so that it was impossible to drive in it, but it was necessary.
In 1943, I was given a brand new tractor for field work. In the 1944 year, the men enrolled after wounds began to return from the front, and it became easier for us to live. In September of the same year, two people and I were sent to Gukovo to restore the mine. At first they repaired the barrel, then they worked at the mine No. XXUMX: they loaded coal, logs. Manually, on the wheelbarrows, covered in coal in the cars. Hard, not girlish work, hands knocked into the blood. And on 15 May 1, I returned home.
With her future husband, Alexander Petrovich, met here in the village. Due to illness, he was not taken to the front. I worked in a barn on seed dressing for sowing. And he came there with the guys. He was very modest, shy, imperceptibly courted.
They met for four years, and March 2 1946, the wedding was played. Wedding gifts: handkerchief, a piece of soap and money 150 rubles.
Lived the first time with her husband's parents. They have a big, poor family: a jersey is one for all - they were worn in turns. Three daughters of the same age were born: Nina, Tonya, Lyuba. There was no trough or pram. From the tree they hollowed out the trough, which served as a stroller with a trough. After a while they moved to the apartment.
Lived poorly, but independently. Diapers sewn from worn linen. There was a mounted cradle rocking chair - wooden sides and burlap instead of bottom.
When there wasn’t enough milk, the mother-in-law was baking corn dumplings, soaking, wrapping in a marlechka and giving nipples instead. And they were not afraid of any germs!
Then we had two more sons.
Maria Grigoryevna’s husband is initiative, hardworking. He was a social activist, a local innovator. He worked first as a foreman, then as a manager. When the family already had three children, his wife sent him to study at Proletarsk in the college, where he received a specialty - junior vet. And then he graduated from the party school. He worked on the most difficult, neglected areas.
Maria Grigorievna worked all her life on the collective farm: a little milkmaid, in the garden, a link in the head office. Experience - more than 75 years.
Now Maria Grigorievna lives alone. The house is clean and comfortable, happy to meet guests. And by the way, he reads (herself!) Newspapers with interest. A great bread maker. Despite her solid age, she still continues to work in her compound, which, by the way, has the status of “House of Exemplary Content”, is engaged in preparations for the winter, and is interested in the life of her native village.
But the main wealth of the birthday girl is five children, eleven grandchildren and twelve great-grandchildren. The secret of her longevity, she believes a lively lifestyle. But the most important thing is love and understanding of loved ones, and in our difficult times, peace and harmony. Some people feel old age at forty, others feel ninety young. And the secret of youth, according to Maria Grigorievna’s prescription, is in optimism and hard work.
For twenty years, the roof did not work
Veterans of labor are our national treasure, the basis on which the system is based - people whose names in the era of their labor glory were glorified and honored. People who today, in their old age can only walk and ask.
“You are like my family, though not personally acquainted,” she began at the door, entering a tall and slim old woman. - All the years I read your articles.
Thirty years ago, a photo of a Don Cossack Barbara Kharitonova repeatedly adorned the pages of newspapers, including the all-Union, called "Forest Industry".
With callous hands, Varvara Fedorovna smoothes the newsprint that has turned yellow from time to time:
- This is me. And here too. And here's more about me.
And under the photograph, a note: “Communist V.F. Kharitonov has worked in the chipboard shop of a timber transshipment plant since its foundation. During this time, she has mastered and successfully worked in many sections of the workshop. Now she is a molding machine operator. This is one of the most difficult and responsible professions in VF Kharitonov is the first woman at the plant, and, perhaps, in the whole Yugmebel association, to whom such a responsible section is entrusted. To the honor of VF Kharitonova, she successfully copes with her duties. "
In all pictures Varya smiles broadly. Young, healthy, beautiful, intelligent woman, any business went on in her hands. In a word, the Don Cossack who will stop the horse.
- Sibiryachka-Cossack, - corrects Varvara Fedorovna. - I come from Siberia. We went once to visit her brother's husband Romanovskaya. They left home, they were standing up to the waist, they came to the Don, and then the tulips are blooming. Liked! We decided to move.
They sold housing in Siberia and bought a house in Romanovskaya. Got stuck. To Don, to the people, to work.
By the time Varvara was 36 years old. She got a job at a timber plant, one of the city-forming (both now and 45 years ago) Volgodonsk enterprises. I started with the basics: the operator of the crushing plant of the chipboard shop, the operator of dry bunkers, the operator of the 4 molding machines, and then the 6, the highest one.
- The machine pours the chips onto the "carpet", and then it is in the press, this is how the chipboard was made, says Varvara Fedorovna. - Work was responsible, only men worked. And they trusted me, - my interlocutor smiles under the impression of surging memories. - Imagine, after the overhaul of the Kuzmin workshop (director of the wood-processing plant) always demanded that I was the only one to start the first shift. Sent for me to Romanovskaya.
Pretentious, hardworking, diligent, with people got along, cheerful character, such are always in price. Valued and Barbara. Awarded with diplomas.
“And this is the award of the Ministry of Industry and the Central Committee of the trade union of the forest industry - the sign" Winner of the socialist competition 1974 of the year ", - shows Varvara Fedorovna.
Similar differences in the timber industry marked the work of Varvara Kharitonova in 1977, in 1980.
When it came time to go on a well-deserved rest, she secretly hoped that they would spend it solemnly, they would publicly hand over a pension certificate, they would say kind words. I did not wait, she came. We have been looking for a document in the drawers and the safe for a long time. Finally found. Everyday they gave away and as if they erased from the life of the forestry plant, to which Varvara Fyodorovna did not only give up her health and health. Her eyesight also deteriorated, and her liver ached from her work, therefore, as soon as 55 was fulfilled, she went to rest. But she went to the plant before 1990, regularly paid party contributions. This was mandatory.
Five years ago, the former head of Spring congratulated Varvara Fyodorovna on the 75 anniversary.
- Now I will come in five years, when you 80 will be fulfilled. Wait!
80 years old Varvara Fedorovna will be celebrated this year, December 17. But she does not expect her boss. He knows that he will not come. There was no man on earth. Four years ago Varvara Fedorovna’s husband also passed away. Scattered around the world children. One spends life in a house on Chibisov street. But not discouraged. Communicates with neighbors. Fumbles in the garden and sings songs. One thing is bad: the roof of the house in which Varvara Fyodorovna lives on 44 of the year has leaky.
- And you did not receive an apartment from the wood processing plant? - I ask Varvara Fedorovna.
- Of course not. Would give, probably, as a forerunner, so many houses a timber plant built for workers. But I did not ask. Conscience did not allow. After all, I was a party. My husband and I have our own house in Romanovka, while others have no shelter.
Now the roof over her head flows. And Varvara Fedorovna went to her native enterprise with a bow: help me fix it. Accepted with respect. In March of this year was, wrote a statement. Did not refuse. Wait a bit, the elections will end, then we will fix it. The elections are over, went to the plant again: "Workers are now busy as soon as they are released."
She meekly waited, came again, listened politely: "Your application is in the work" - and left with nothing. The last time a labor veteran, an eighty-year-old woman who has nowhere to wait for more help, was told: "Yes, you need a hundred thousand on your roof!"
With tears, the "Winner of Socialist Competition" came out of the gates of the enterprise, to which 20 had given years of valiant work, without waiting for help.
At home she calmed down and went to me. She held herself with dignity, did not complain, but consulted what to do.
The present century is ruthless. We are all driven like horses, rushing forward, hurrying and overtaking time. Stop would look back. Go to an old mother and sit next to each other, without looking at his watch. Ask about the health of the venerable neighbor years. Ask about life. They have a good memory for the heroic and romantic, which organically combined in the historical time called the Soviet era. One fought, the other years "trumpeted" at the mine. But the most important thing: they were so young, and that is happiness! And now one needs that the children under the window should not make noise, the other - the attention of the doctor, the third - that the roof would not flow.
In the war years, ten-year-old Varya, along with everyone, tried to win. During the harvesting she collected spikelets, one-on-one, so that there were bread from which to bake soldiers. Mother grew tobacco, and she hung it with other children to dry, then sent to the front.
“We used to sniff in such a way that it became bad,” she recalls. - I never ran away from work, but I never earned money on the roof. Why?
She has many questions to which she does not receive an answer.
What did we lose by destroying the Soviet state? What is found in the new? Everyone who lives in the post-Soviet space will have their own answers. We are all very biased because our souls were cut to the quick. Something irretrievably left us. But it is in our power to make people like Varvara Fyodorovna not feel like a lost generation!