However - in order.
Agnia Lvovna was born in 1906 in the family of the veterinarian Lev Nikolaevich Volov. Primary education - home, with the indispensable knowledge of French. My father taught his daughter to read Lev Tolstoy’s books, went with her on long walks, and taught him to notice little things. Mother, Maria Ilyinichna, more engaged in the economy.
Very little Agnia was sent to a ballet school: her father wanted to see her famous ballerina. True, the girl did not show great talent, but she worked diligently. But the verses were born in Agnii almost every day. They were still immature, a bit ridiculous - like chicks that just hatched from an egg ...
The years went by. The girl was growing up, entered the choreographic school, her youth fell on the period of revolution and civil war. And then came the day of the final exams. Agnia coped with her program successfully. And after the exams she performed at a concert of amateur performances given by graduates. She read a poem of her own composition with the pathetic title “Funeral March” - the girl in general wanted to write, so to speak, in the wake of tragedy. And in the hall, on the honorary number of the commission, Anatoly Lunacharsky himself sat - a Soviet statesman, writer, translator, art critic. Sat - and barely restrained laughter. That moment became fateful in the fate of Barto (then - Volovoi). Because, looking at this dark-eyed girl who was desperately trying to convey to the audience the tragedy of her work, Lunacharsky understood, guessed, felt: in front of him was a talented poetess born to write children's funny poems. Understood - and invited Agnia to his conversation. Of course, the girl didn’t like such advice, even seemed offensive. But she obeyed Anatoly Vasilyevich.
So, with his light hand, in 1925, Agniya Lvovna released her first children's book “Kitaychon Van Lee”. And began the years of writing. Agnii Lvovna quickly came to success, but he did not change her character. She was a sincere, shy, modest person, she knew how to be friends and did not know how to save power.
As part of the Soviet delegations, the poetess traveled a lot, and not only in our vast country, but also abroad. So, in 1937, Agniya Lvovna visited Spain. She saw the horrors of war. And there, in a burning country, there was another meeting. It was a Spaniard who lost her little son. She showed Barto his picture and covered the boy's head with a finger, explaining that she had been blown off during the bombing. At that moment, Agniya Lvovna, whom fate had also prepared to survive the loss of her son, thought for the first time that death categorically separated people forever, and the fascists did not always. Sometimes, relatives can still find each other, but we must help them ...
And soon the Great Patriotic War began. The wife of Agnes Lvovna, a prominent power engineer, was sent to work in the Urals, in Sverdlovsk. Of course, the family went along. What did the poetess do in the evacuation? She got the profession of a turner and started working at the machine. She helped the front with what she could, and in her spare time she wrote poetry. In 1943, she became a front-line correspondent.
Home, in Moscow, the family returned shortly before the Victory. But the holiday, great for our whole country, became a mourning day for Agnii Lvovna. On the eve of Victory Day, her oldest child, her son Garik, was ridiculously killed. The boy went on a bike ride, came across a truck leaving from behind a corner, fell, hit his temple on the curb of the sidewalk - and instantly died ...
Agnia Lvovna was locked in herself, now she gave all her love to her daughter Tanya. Many believed that the poetess would leave work. But she, quite unexpectedly for her colleagues, published the poem “Zvenigorod” in 1947, written after a trip to the Zvenigorod orphanage, which brought together “thirty brothers and sisters, thirty young citizens”.
Almost immediately after the publication of the book, Agniya Lvovna received a letter from a woman who had lost her daughter during the war. In the lines of the poem, she felt the familiar intonations, memories of her child. Just think: what should be the talent of the author, so that the mother, reading the poem, understood that it is about her child!
So it turned out in fact - the book helped to connect two native people. “Poetry plus militia,” Agniya Lvovna later said.
Following the "first sign" came other letters. People learning about the happy outcome of this stories, they began to turn to Barto with requests to help him find their missing children during the war years. Or vice versa: children who grew up in orphanages, who often did not know their real surnames and names, were looking for parents. Every day more letters came. And everyone needed help ...
So in 1965, the “Looking for a Man” radio program was born. She went on the air on Mayak radio station once a month - Agniya Lvovna read the received letters for half an hour, told about how the search was going on. In addition, a special Bulletin of the search for relatives on incomplete, fragmentary data began to appear. And although the case itself - the help of journalists in finding people - was not the invention of the poetess, but she was the first to guess that it was childhood memories that could serve as a key to the right path. No wonder they say that children's memory is very strong. Boys and girls can keep impressions of such small details, by which an adult will often pass without thinking.
... "My mother and I went to the forest on raspberries and met a bear, and when I ran away, I lost a new shoe" ...
... "My father worked as a bricklayer. When he kissed me, he pricked me with a mustache. We had a guinea pig in our house. One day my father would catch her with a net "...
... "We hung over the bed a large carpet, on which terrible faces were weaved, and I was very afraid of them" ...
... “Father came to say goodbye, I hid under the table, but they took me out of there. My father was wearing a blue gymnast with airplanes ... He brought a huge bag of apples (red, large) to me ... We drove on a truck, I firmly held a toy in my hands - a cow "...
Searches lasted sometimes for a very long time. And sometimes, on the contrary, people were at once.
Here, in brief, is just one story. You can read it in its entirety in Barto’s book Find a Man.
Aleksandra Rodionovna Perevozkina, who together with her husband and two small sons, Nikolai and Valeriy, lived in the town of Ciechanowiec, asked for help. In 1941, the husband died. When the war began, the mother with the boys and with her neighbor Golubeva Ksenia Petrovna, who also had a small child, was hastily evacuated. They sat on the cart and just left the city, as the bombing began. They hid in the woods. And then Alexandra Rodionovna remembered that she had left all the documents at home. She ran after them, and when she returned, she did not find carts with children. She rushed to the search, the Red Army soldiers helped her, drove to the village. The village council said that there really was a caravan with a woman and children, but no one knows where they went. Mother got to Minsk, then along the tracks to Starobin. I got on foot to Gomel, and then to Novozybkov, where I remained to live.
When the war ended, the Red Cross helped her find a neighbor, Ksenia Petrovna. From her mother learned that soon after she ran for documents, people walked past the neighbor and the children and claimed that the mother was bombed and died. Considering it dead, they continued on their way. Seven-year-old Kohl was left in the territory of the Belostok region, in the village of Beavers or Badgers. One-year-old Valerik was left there, another family promised to take him.
Shortly after broadcasting the program a letter arrived from Minsk from Galina Sergeevna Yuryeva. She wrote that Nikolai Ivanovich Perevozhkin (as a child, Kolya lisped, apparently, therefore, his name was written differently) - her neighbor. It turned out that Kolya remembered his mother and really considered her dead under the bombs. He remembered that terrible day, and even the way he rode on the cart. From that village of the Bialystok region, he ended up in an orphanage in Poland, then in the orphanage of Grodno, where he was brought up until the 1948 year. Then he moved to Minsk. So the mother found her eldest son ...
Here is a letter from Nicholas, which he sent to Agnii Lvovna: “I wrote in documents that my father died before the war, and my mother was missing, I thought that she had killed her. And today I am in Novozybkov with my own mother. Of course, neither I nor my mother knew each other right away. This is approximately what the mother says: “Lips, nose, eyes, but if there is a birthmark on the right side of the neck, then you are my son.” And what do you think, she takes off her scarf, and on the right side of the neck there is a birthmark. Tears of joy poured from my eyes ... For twenty-four years she mourned me and my brother ... "
After a while another letter arrived - from Bialystok. Its author is the journalist of the Belarusian weekly Victor Rudnik. The story deeply moved him, Victor offered his help. In Bialystok, he found a guy who was adopted in the summer of 1941 by a family of workers. His name was Lapinsky Zbigniew Valentin. True, Zbigniew Valentin himself did not remember anything. But Victor through the newspaper appealed to the residents of the Belostok region with a request to help find Valery. Eyewitnesses responded, bit by bit, they restored everything that had happened. It turned out that Kohl, the eldest son, was first adopted by the large Petrovsky family (and then he ended up in an orphanage). And Valerika is the same neighbor left under a bush in the same village. She asked the villager, Sidorovich, to take the boy to her. Sidorovich agreed. And then, having learned about the baby, Valerik was taken to his childless Spouse Lapinsky.
Agnia Lvovna was very afraid to make a mistake - after all, Zbigniew Valentin could not be Valerik at all. And at the same time she didn’t know another way to check everything, how to arrange a meeting between mother and son. But the meeting was arranged differently. Here are the memories of Barto: “I asked Moscow television to help us. And one of the journalists, who went on a business trip to Poland, where Valentin lived, took it on film and sent it. And now Alexandra Rodionovna, invited to Moscow with Nicholas, enters the cinema hall of the television studio. Everyone is excited, because now the mother has to find out or not to recognize her son. Only she is calm, she doesn’t guess anything. The lights go out. Frames appear on the screen: a tall, thin young man and his bride are choosing gifts in the store. And here in the tense silence the voice of the mother is heard:
- So here it is, my baby! ..
The son turned out to be similar to both the elder brother and the father ... ”
And now, please read the lines from the letter of the mother herself. I chose them precisely not only because the words are very shrill. But also because in this piece of the letter the attitude of the citizens of our once huge country to each other is very well seen: “... The station was crowded with people, I seemed to be in a dream ... The City Party Committee did everything possible to meet my children, and I am very grateful to them for such attention to the common man. When the train began to approach, the guides on the platform began to show where my son was: the conductor of the first car pointed to the second, the second wire conductor pointed to the third, and the third car guide raised the flag high above his head, and stayed until the train stopped ... When Valery got off the train, I don’t know what kind of power pulled him towards me, because there were a lot of people around. He rushed to my neck and cried heavily, only said: “Drog Mum” ... ”
... Agnia Lvovna thought that the wave of letters would subside a year or two after the appearance of the program. But this happened only nine years later. During this time, 927 families have connected.
And - the last. Barto died 1 April 1981 of the year. When the autopsy was done, the doctors stunned each other: “How did she live with such vessels?”. It was unclear to them how blood flowed in the heart through such exhausted threads. Apparently, a miracle occurred. And the blood flowed, and the heart beat on. For the people.