From the handwritten notebook. Tatyana Timofeevna’s voice.
The pre-war form
7th form (the last pre-war). (1940–1941)
In June I went to Inna’s dacha at Gorkina. Next to her dacha was the dacha of Hero of the Soviet Union Filippov (he was the second pilot of M. M. Gromov’s crew, which after Chkalov flew to America over the North Pole). He had a son whom everyone for some reason called Buba or Bulka. Not far from them were also the Khramovs’ and Maya’s dachas, and we were friends with Bulka. Well, you know well: Inna and I together “fell in love” with Bulka. But he paid us no attention, and we tried with all our might to be in their company. But we had talked ourselves into being “in love” with him.
Then lessons began. At our school a new physical-education teacher appeared. He had just finished a PE technical school and came to our school with his daughter Valentina. She was also a PE teacher. They were very young. His name was James Ambatsu[?]; he was Persian by nationality, handsome, with black eyes and hair, and Valya was a small blonde. And our new PE teacher developed vigorous activity. He himself played volleyball very well; he played for Spartak. He infected us with volleyball. I was ready to play every day; I played not badly, given dacha experience. On our team also played Stella Burgshaft[?], Olya Kazakova; I remember no one else. We also had a boys’ team with whom we played. On their team was one boy, Borya Medvedev. He was in the 9th form of the higher conversation[?] with the school’s art section. Apparently I pleased him. He singled me out from the other girls. And when I took up gymnastics he once said to me: “Valya Bolenko, modesty suits you better than gymnastics!” I am very sorry for him; he was killed at the front. Many of our boys were killed at the front. How terrible to leave life so young.
We / our girls’ and boys’ team [struck through: went to the r. r.[?]] played in district and city competitions. We played well.
Along with that I took up gymnastics. I was even a member of Spartak (PE). He got us Spartak kit there and we proudly wore those red cubes. Things went well for me here too; I also competed in district gymnastics. I liked the uneven bars best. Our PE teacher (James) was reproached that many children who did sport studied poorly. And in defence he always named my surname (Samsonova), saying that she studies well.
In winter Kira Pronyukai had a birthday and she always invited her girlfriends. Among them was I. And she lived in Zaryadye, in Elokhov[?] Lane. That is gone now — demolished. And so we arranged dances to the gramophone. And for the first time I danced a tango with a boy, “Voyage[?] goes.” To this day I remember that music. In short — we had grown up.
On 1 March Inna Grebneva turned 15. And she was admitted to the Komsomol. How we envied her, but we were still 14.
We were finishing the 7th form. We sat exams. There were many exams. And then Trouble struck: Nora, coming to exams, said her head hurt and she had a temperature, but she came to sit them; she studied well. And on some day she did not come, and we learned she had been put in hospital. Our team, learning where she was, went there. But they would not let us all to her; we seconded Inna. Nora was bad. She had meningitis. Soon she died. Such a beautiful and clever girl she was. Life was only just beginning and suddenly the end. We could not accept it. That was the first death for us. Poor Nora. We were at her funeral, and we could not believe she was gone. That funeral made a terrible impression on me. I saw it for the first time, and it was toward evening. We sat the exams, went into the 8th form; many had already left for the dacha. That year we were late leaving. A sick aunt arrived with a child; Petya was sitting exams for the 10th form. Exactly on 22 June we gathered for the dacha. It was Sunday. And at 12 noon we heard the terrible announcement: war had begun! We sat by the radio as a whole family. Aunt Zatsepskaya, because her husband was a military man, but we still went. Grandmother, Dusya, Zhenya’s son and I; they put the aunt in hospital because she was unwell. Mama came to us.
On 3 July Stalin spoke on the radio. The girls and I set off to the neighbour with the aunt, also to give help[?]. We were given a plot with cucumbers and told: “Help!” We began weeding, and the beds were endless. Sunny German[?], but we did not give up. By the end of the day we had managed to weed several beds, and we had all spent our strength[?]. The next day we did not go. Soon we left the dacha and began to prepare for Kuibyshev, where my brother-in-law Nikolai served.
That is all. Peaceful life was over. If I am not mistaken, already in July there were several German air raids. Aircraft on Moscow.
My parents decided to send us and Grandmother together with Zhenya. Mama came to see us off. We travelled a long time, very painfully. Military trains were let through. At one station we saw men being seen off who had been called up. The women who saw them off cried out so that I remembered that cry all my life.
And so we reached Kuibyshev (Samara[?]). Nikolai met us and, strangely, there were still cabmen there, and we rode home in a cab.
That house was in the centre of the city, on Nekrasovskaya Street; it ran[?] perpendicular to the main street and went steeply down to the Volga. The house was four storeys. These were eternal hostels: inscribed[?] corridors, and cells on the sides. Our chamber was on the 3rd floor. This large room with two windows had been partitioned so that there were two living rooms and a small entrance hall. Heating was by stove. The kitchen was common, large, with a large range heated by wood.
Soon Mama found us a helper; she arranged with her, because the boy had to be looked after. Zhenya was soon put in hospital; I went to her, bought her things at the market. Then Mama left. And we stayed with Nikolai while he was in the city. Soon that helper left, and Grandmother and I were left with the boy. I gave Grandmother something, changed with the little one, but soon he fell ill with dysentery and was taken to hospital; from there he did not return. That was at the beginning of September.
With Nikolai came his sister Valentina, a charming person. Then in October Zhenya died. We did not tell her of the little one’s death.
And so Grandmother and I were left alone. Two dependent ration cards. On them we received 400 grams of bread a day, 200 g of sugar a month, 600 g of cereals and that was all. I enrolled at school No. 74 near home in the 8th form. But soon that school building was taken for a hospital, and we were moved to some school far from home, in the 3rd shift. I came home about 11. But I studied.
I had great difficulties with the household. I did not know how to heat the stove; the wood was wet; sometimes kerosene was brought into the yard… I forgot to mention that at the entrance to the house there were duty personnel, students of the military medical academy. The house belonged to the Military Medical Academy. Somehow I managed the household; I no longer remember what I did. Washed, made tea, somehow heated the stove. There was nowhere to wash except the bathhouse. The lavatory was rather far from our room. Alone with Grandmother it was hard and hungry. Then Nikolai left, but before leaving he brought us potatoes and cabbage. I went to the market, but the market was expensive. Parents sent money, but it was always hard for me to get it, because I had no passport; I had turned 15. Each time I went to the headmaster so he would sign a certificate for receiving money. Then Papa arranged at the People’s Commissariat (Ministry) that at an analogous plant subordinated to that Commissariat I should be given 600 rubles monthly, and those sums were deducted from his salary in Moscow. That eased my existence a little. But money was catastrophically short. At the market, I remember, a loaf of bread cost 70 rubles. Mama also sent money.
Being an active girl, I joined the Komsomol and took part in all events. I studied well. Here in Kuibyshev I met Lilya Kabulova, but they lived in quite different conditions. Your mama, houseworker Galya, papa’s brother, a good flat, good food. They then studied at a special school where Svetlana (Stalin’s daughter), Valya Merkulov and the like studied.
I met my friend Irina Grebneva, but she lived far from me, on Polevaya Street. They had evacuated with the Hospital where her sister worked. They were somehow settled. With her were Mama, Grandmother, sister, and I was alone in that Kuibyshev city. And the winter was cold.
So we lived. At the academy there were concerts (D. Krasnoman[?]’s jazz and others), and after that dances. I sometimes went there with Valentina and danced too. I had an admirer there (a student). His name was Vanya. And after the concert he walked us home. Sometimes I went to the theatre. There was a German drama theatre. I remember seeing Arbuzov’s play Tanya there and something else. We went to the cinema with girlfriends. It was good that our house was in the centre, so walking was not far.
New Year 1942 I saw in at a classmate’s, Lyusya Mamykina. There were other girls too: Lyuda Ermolenko, Lida Samkharlieva[?]. There I first tried beer.
Next to our room lived the Blokhin family. They had a son Mark, and also their relative — a girl from Belorussia. His mother was a doctor, and his father (also a doctor) was at the front. We were a little friendly. We even sometimes cooked potatoes in one pot if I had no kerosene. So his potatoes lay at the bottom of the pot and mine on top.
By spring we were hungry. And somehow Valentina brought some millet, and I exchanged a length of paper cloth for eggs.
In spring Mama came to us with Dusya. Mama had changed greatly, grown thin, aged, and she was only 42. She had difficulty getting into Kuibyshev. At that time Kuibyshev was a closed city. With Mama’s arrival it became easier for us. Mama organized food. I sat exams and went into the 9th form. In summer we had to work somewhere a month or a month and a half. I was taken on at a prosthetic factory, where I worked in the shop and processed[?] orders. Every morning I walked to the factory. Here for the first time I heard people swear. One woman who glared[?] at me told me not to take offence or worry; it was just how they did things. So I worked a little over a month. And at that time Mama was trying to get a pass to Moscow. She wrote to Father, to her district committee, but got no positive answer. What did we live on? I don’t know. Mama had brought some food; then we exchanged things at the market. But as I already wrote, Mama met a colleague from the District Committee. He was their house manager. And he had come to Kuibyshev to take out the family of the 1st secretary of the District Committee. They had a special carriage. Mama asked him to take us to Moscow, but he was afraid because we had no pass. Then Mama decided we would go with them as far as a station in Ryazan province, from which my grandmother and Dusya came. That is the village of Popsunovo (Bogoslovo). Grandmother’s brother and two sisters lived there. So farewell, Kuibyshev. Ahead — Moscow! Behind — unsettled and hungry life, but life: with its sorrows and small joys.
We were put in a salon car that was thoroughly crowded. There were not enough sleeping places for us. Where did we sleep? I don’t remember. I only remember that Grandmother sat the whole time in an armchair. How long did we travel? I don’t remember. I remember that at night we approached some station in Ryazan province. We unloaded quickly and were left alone. The train left. Darkness. No station visible. Suddenly we saw a railwayman walking, checking the rails (stepping on them). From him we learned that the station had been bombed and there was a carriage for those waiting. We decided not to go there but to cross the rails and go into the field. We dragged the things — and there were rather many. We dragged Grandmother and sat on the things waiting for dawn. Suddenly we hear an aircraft roar, such an unhealthy one, and see right above us a fascist plane with crosses. It flew right over our heads, very low. Later we learned that that was how they flew to bomb an airfield not far from Ryazan and Solotcha. It began to grow light and we saw several little houses. Mama and I went there, and Mama asked permission to wait some time with them while Dusya and I went to Popsunovo (Grandmother’s and Dusya’s native village); we arranged that someone would come by horse for Mama and Grandmother and fetch them. We set off. It was a long way, about 18 km. At last we reached the house of Grandmother’s brother, Uncle Misha. He was surprised to see us. We were fed and I went into the garden, lay on the grass and fell asleep. And Uncle Misha went to the board to ask for a horse to bring those left at the station. He left. Toward evening Mama and Grandmother arrived. It must be said that Grandmother had not been in her homeland since she was taken to Moscow and put as a nanny to Germans. He was the manager of brewing plants. So we found ourselves in the village. At the kolkhoz we were given a little bread. And otherwise we mainly ate sorrel soup whitened with milk. Mama at once began to write and telegraph to Moscow to Father and to the district committee asking for a pass to Moscow. And at that time I was “called up” once for work at the kolkhoz. With the girls we weeded cabbage and something else, then bathed in the Oka. This village stands on the high bank of the Oka. In the village there was also a monastery, then not working. The bell tower was higher than the kolkhoz[?], and it served the Germans as a landmark. At night there were sometimes air-raid alarms. They struck a hung old rail. At first we left the hut, then we stopped. Mama and I went to the town, but we lacked food, and Mama and I set off to a neighbouring village market to sell some things and buy food. Mama and I stood in a row, hanging out our things. One had to see Mama’s face[?] at that time. We almost wept. But by midday we had sold our stuff. We bought potatoes, rye flour and set off back. And it was rather far to walk. Well, at last we reached home. Now we began to bake our own bread. And at last the long-awaited pass came from her District Committee, but only Mama’s name was on it, not mine. But we decided to go together, and left Grandmother for a time with her sister Aunt Larisa.
Mama and I went to Moscow, though Mama had a pass and I had none. Tickets were hard to get. A huge queue before the ticket office. But Mama still had a document confirming that she was connected with railway transport. And she was given a ticket out of turn. We had much luggage. We travelled not by a local train from station to station, changing at each station. We unloaded all the things; Mama went to the ticket office and I stood on the platform. So from station to station. At last we reached Ramenskoe. There we took an electric train and reached Moscow. We pulled out our luggage, left it in left luggage and went to the exit. We were nervous because I had no pass. Then Mama had an idea and said: “You have a birth certificate confirming that you are from Moscow and live, that you lost Mama.” So we did, and they let us through.
While in Kuibyshev I longed terribly for Moscow. It seemed to me that when I arrived in Moscow I would simply lie on the roadway.
We took the metro and reached home. Father was home; he gave us a smile that somehow did not suit him. He met us coldly. Our flat was quite unlike ours. Two rooms were temporarily occupied by Sovnarkom staff. And then, as I already mentioned, many of our things had disappeared: bed linen, curtains, crockery, a good carpet from the dining room, a fine walnut dining table, books, music and other small things. We returned to a plundered nest…
We did not yet have ration cards. It was good that Mama was treated very kindly in the district. The bread factory gave us black rye rusks they made for the front, several loaves of bread. The Babayev confectionery factory gave Mama a couple of bottles of some syrup, and so on. And then we received cards: Mama a worker’s, I a dependent’s. So began our new life in Moscow.
Our yard was not like the pre-war one; there were few acquaintances; few had yet returned. But one had to live under new conditions. No one. None of the old acquaintances. The school was closed. Then Ira Baranova and I (I had met her; they lived in a “mobile” house) decided to go to the external school; it was in the Mining Institute building. There we began to study, but somehow I did not adapt to such studies. There I met the Leksov brothers: Yura and Valera. And then it turned out our school[?] would work. We went there and I found myself in the 9th form. Lessons almost began; almost none of our old ones were there. The school was cold; it was not heated. And once on a Sunday we were asked to unload firewood that was in the school shed. We came and I saw a boy in boots[?] who had climbed to the very top of the wood and begun kicking the logs down with his feet. He was dark, curly[?]. It turned out he was also from our class. His name was Krivoshein Sasha. In our class studied Yurko Leksov[?], Yura Subbotin. We elected a monitor[?]. The boys played pranks, and I even apologized for them to the teachers. In the classroom it was the same[?], and during lessons we sometimes stood up and threw wood into the stove. Our boys did not listen to us — they were wholly taken with the 10th-form girls. Yura — only Lidiya[?], Yura Subbotin — Elya[?], Sasha — Tamara. In our class there was almost no one from our old class. Then new ones began to appear: Inna Greis[?], Marina Takser (Chaeva’s daughter), Raya Fisher and others. The teachers too were new. Only the chemistry teacher remained (“Uncle Vanya”), physics (Chaev VaPechnikov[?] — a splendid man), mathematics (Postnikov Vasily Mikhailovich, who was also headmaster. He was called “Karakatitsa”). In physics lessons I copied tests from Krivoshein, who sat behind me). I also gave him a recommendation for the Komsomol and then he was elected Komsomol organizer of our class. The boys treated me with respect, and that was all. At that time I was taken with a naval pilot, Hero of the Soviet Union, Gennady Tsokolaev[?]. He was the son of Mama’s friend Zinaida Aleksandrovna. He was near Leningrad. I became very friendly with Zinaida Al. In her flat lived Mama and Zina’s[?] sister.
Also a letter from the front. This letter is from a wounded comrade who came to us with Father’s other friends when their regiment was re-forming after the battle of Stalingrad. I was then in the 9th form. 1943.
Further — the collection Letters from the front .
The full line-oriented manuscript reading is on the Russian chapter .
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