Children and war

Rublev Pyotr Evlampievich_x000D_ _x000D_ Rublev Pyotr Evlampievich was born on December 20, 1927 in the village of Shkvarki, Rezekne district, Latvian SSR, Russian. When the war began, Pyotr Rublev was 14 years old. Their family, like other families, immediately, in the first days of the war, found themselves on German-occupied land. By this time, they already had a beautiful garden of about 100 fruit trees. With tears in their eyes, they watched as their gardens were cut down so that partisans could not hide there. There were no major military actions, the Germans went around the village collecting food. Young teenagers and girls were immediately collected and taken to Germany. Pyotr Evlampievich-eldest son, hid from the Nazis, to avoid being taken to Germany. Being in the occupation, the teenagers annoyed the Germans as much as they could, helped to keep in touch with the hidden partisans in the forest. It was impossible to kill a German soldier; the whole village was burned at once. Once, they found a dead German and dragged him into the swamp. They had to run away from the Germans on bicycles, and they let the dogs go after them. Pyotr Evlampievich remembered this time with tears. On November 17, 1945, he was drafted into the army. 7 years of excellent service in the army. Since November 1945 until May 1946, he was a senior cook. Since May 1946 until July 1949. - motorcyclist. From July 1949 to 1951 - commander of the rifle division. On March 22, 1951 he finished the service. In 1952-1953 he worked in Murmansk, on Apatity. Then I came and got a job in the Northern expedition of the Tyumen region. In the city of Ivdel, where the administration was located. He married Yulia Fyodorovna Anufrieva (Rubleva), a teacher, and had four children. From 1953 to 1973, he worked as a tunneller in the expedition. From 1973 to 1983, he worked in the Khanty-Mansiysk district at the weather station in Ust-Manya. In 1983, he was awarded the "veteran of Labor" medal. Passed away at the age of 57 - 10.01.1985

Vaskova Nina Arsentyevna_x000D_ _x000D_ Nina Vaskova - home front worker. In April 1941, my mother was 16 years old. My mother really wanted to sew. I dreamed of becoming a master in sewing women's dresses. But, in August 1941, a summons came to the house, from which it followed that she should go to study at a vocational school. Whether or not she wanted to become a grinder, no one was interested. Then there was only one word - "need". And Nina went to school. At the school, the main task of teachers was to quickly give the necessary working skills and direct them to the metallurgical plant. So soon my mother got to the long-range rolling shop. But she did not work as a sander for long, she, a smart and intelligent girl, was noticed and transferred to a more responsible job - in the OTC supervisors. They worked twelve hours a day. Daily. Without days. No vacations. And so for four years. But my mother worked and didn't complain. This was considered normal. So all the girls lived in the barracks. After all, they worked to Win. A person gets used to everything, even the most exhausting work. Still, a twelve-hour day could be exhausting for anyone. The hardest part was switching from working the night shift to working the day shift. It looked like this. After working the last day of the week from eight o'clock in the evening to eight o'clock in the morning, my mother and her friends went home. It took an hour and a half to get to the barracks. If you walk fast. At nine-thirty, she was home, ate a quick meal, and immediately fell on the bed. At half-past two in the afternoon, my grandmother had difficulty waking her up: get up, all the girls in the barracks are already going to work. My mother would jump up and put on all the trousers she had, and felt boots that had just had time to steam in the heat, but not to dry out. And already at four o'clock, together with her friends, she was at the checkpoint. From four o'clock they worked until twelve at night and went (again for an hour and a half) to their barracks. At six-thirty, after five hours of sleep at most, she would barely open her eyes and leave the house, still half asleep. So began the next week, when they worked in the morning. To learn how to work with different grades of steel, after work, she and other OTC supervisors often stayed for another two hours to study the technical minimum. Steel produced different-and for shells, and for combat guns, and armor. And each had its own special requirements. Very strict, I must say, requirements. Here is just one example. When it became clear that the Nazi shells penetrate the armor of our tanks, the Magnitogorsk iron and steel works immediately started producing high-quality armored steel. And not only did they master the production of a new brand of steel, but on December 7, 1942, they issued six standards of armored steel of the 60 SGA brand per shift. I swear, my mother, who didn't remember very well what happened last night, remembered all the steel grades produced during the war and the dates of production for the rest of her life....The control girls usually used the lunch break time to check the sheets that were rolled before the break. While the men were building a fire right next to the machines, the girls were checking every inch of the metal sheet with crayons in their hands. My mother's mistake, inattention, could have ended in tragedy at the front. And she knew it. My mother was young, tall, slender, and very beautiful. It seemed that her health was not offended by nature. But I remember that even in summer, she went to "felt" Coniah. Her feet were constantly freezing. This is from the military heritage of it. When always wet, cold felt boots and cold to the blue feet… For the last twenty years of her life, my mother had difficulty walking. Her legs were so twisted that it was hard to believe that once, guys looked at her slender figure. My mother's feet always hurt unbearably...People can handle a lot. But, the limit of physical strength is still there. The plant's management also understood this. So for a week or two the shop was transferred to an eight-hour working day. This was considered a real vacation. These days, the girls ran to the movies, liked to walk in the Park. In early 1946, my mother was awarded the medal "for valiant labor in the great Patriotic war of 1941-1945. She was in her twenty-first year. And in 1948, she was introduced to my father, a young front-line soldier. But that's a different story.

Rank: Major. Type of troops: Technical troops (CW, railway, motor transport, radio technical, road troops, topographic). When the Great Patriotic war began, my grandfather was 13 years old. He, like all children of the pre-war period, studied at school, made plans for the future. My grandfather lived in the ancient picturesque town of Yelets, Lipetsk region. Already in October 1941, German troops approached Yelets. On December 1, the Germans took the city. However, they were unable to establish their own order, as our army liberated the city three days later. My grandfather worked on clearing the rubble of the city. In 1943, he entered the construction technical school and continued to work on the restoration and construction of his native city. My grandfather-Volodin Nikolai Tikhonovich - did not participate in the fighting, does not have military awards, as he was a teenager during the war. However, with his studies and work, he helped his homeland to survive in difficult years and defeat the enemy. My grandfather was a member of the labour front during the great Patriotic war. After the defeat of the Nazis near Yelets, my grandfather worked on clearing the rubble of the city from bombing. It was very difficult and hard work, but he courageously worked on a par with adults, restoring the destroyed hometown. In 1948, he was drafted into the Soviet Army and linked his entire life with military service in peacetime as part of the railway troops. At that time, active construction of Railways began. It so happened that my grandfather served in the most responsible places – he built Railways first in Mongolia, and then he was transferred to Siberia. Then the grandiose construction of the TRANS-Baikal railway began there. My grandfather told me a lot about the service. It is very difficult to build a railway, especially in the mountains. To make a road there, you had to dig tunnels. The road led along Lake Baikal. To prevent water from overflowing and eroding the road, they put dams. Then there were new construction projects in my grandfather's life: Azerbaijan, Ukraine, a section of the Moscow – Ryazan railway, and then the construction of the century-the Baikal-Amur mainline. My grandfather has many awards. He received his awards in peacetime for heroic and selfless work on the most difficult and responsible sections of railway construction.

Vasina Maria Yakovlevna_x000D_ _x000D_ Type of troops: Land forces, air force (except naval aviation), coast service, NKVD troops, border guard. My mother Vasina Maria Yakovlevna (29.12.1925 – 10.11.2011) went through the entire war. She was called up when she was 15 years old. First, as a Komsomol member, to the hospital as a nurse. The hospital was located in a school (she no longer remembered the number) in Smolensk. She was born in the village of Volkovo, Yelninsky district, Smolensk region. According to my mother's stories, it was even worse than at the front later. They brought wounded soldiers: almost her age, the same age as her older brothers, the same age as her father, and the same age as her grandfather from a neighbouring farm. All the time: blood, parts of human bodies, the agony, the cries, dressings, basins, bandages. In addition, the smell of trouble that haunted her for so long... and the echo, the eerie echo, under the high ceilings in the hallways and classrooms. In moments of rest - reading, writing letters, amateur concerts. From fatigue, the girls did not even go home after duty; they slept in free utility rooms. In less than 18 years, she was already at the front. First in frontline intelligence. Since she knew German and Polish perfectly, "Vasya" made the transition with the reconnaissance group across the front line more than once. But after the liberation of Smolensk, she received a letter from her family … The news of the execution of her older brother Alexander, a partisan, and the attempt to steal her very young brother Mikhail and sister Zinaida to Germany, aroused in her only one indomitable desire to KILL FASCISTS. Which completely deprived her of caution, discretion. And ... they transferred her to a front-line bakery. There she received her third military specialty - a baker. Heavy cast-iron moulds, oven, wagon train, shelling, bombing-these are the "charms" of the front-line bakery. However, my mother didn't give up… She ended the war in 1945 in the city of Kaliningrad. She had many awards: medals, orders. Nevertheless, there is one special "For bravery". I would like to tell you more about this award. I read a lot about the war, about the exploits of Soviet soldiers in that war, but for some reason, they don't really try to talk about this episode - they observe political correctness! When the Soviet troops entered the city of Konigsberg (Kaliningrad), it was surprising to see such a detail – there were almost no people on the streets and in the houses. It was only a few days later that everything became clear. Women, the elderly, children were hiding in the city cemeteries to the tombs, among the graves. They were used as a human shield to hide the Nazis. (They were hiding behind peaceful German old men, women and children, not Russians, not Ukrainians, not Belarusians-as it used to be). They assured that the Red Army would shoot them, torture them, and rape them… Persuasion over the loudspeakers did not bring results. Then girls (including my mother) from intelligence, front-line hospitals, front-line bakeries, signalmen-who spoke languages-went to these city cemeteries. Personally, she led people out of the cemetery near some old Church of the 17th-18th century. There were large family vaults… Without weapons, with a smile, with a pure heart. As my mother told me, several girls were killed (unfortunately, she no longer remembered the exact number) by the Nazis hiding there. Every time she saw her older brother shot, and her younger siblings who had been given kerosene in the camp... There were tears in his eyes. Still, time after time, she went to talk, convince, save, bring out, take out... 70 years have passed. I really hope that someone else remembers this quiet feat of our young mothers-who saved hundreds of lives of Konigsberg citizens at the cost of their lives. To my great regret, I have no way to access the archives. Maybe someone is still alive. And I would love to see those for whom they sacrificed their lives! I hope that this information will be interesting in the overall picture of our VICTORY!

Vasilyeva Valentina Andreyevna_x000D_ _x000D_ Tells the great-grandson, a student of class 5 B GBOU SOSH No. 191 Saint Petersburg, Podbolotsky Leonid: "last time I told about my great-grandfather-pilot Vasiliev V. A. and his sisters-blockade runners, and now I want to tell about my great-grandmother Vasilyeva V. A., who together with her mother, my great-great-grandmother, Baykova A. I. lived in Kuznechny lane. At the beginning of the war, she was a teenager and studied at school No. 300, which was located on B. Moskovskaya street. When the first bombs suddenly fell on the city in September 1941, she and her school friends, like many children of that time, put out fires from land mines, and when the school was closed, her great-grandmother was sent to logging. The winter of 1942 was very cold and her hands and feet were frostbitten. After returning to the besieged city, she became a nurse at hospital No. 112, which was located on the Fontanka river. In the same hospital there were sewing workshops, where my great-grandmother's mother worked together with her sister Antonova E. I., they sewed clothes for soldiers. I also want to tell you about my grandfather's family, his parents-mom and dad lived on Ligovsky, 99. great-Grandfather Tumarkin IV, defended the Pulkovo heights, was shell-shocked, wounded several times. My great-grandmother, B. Y. Tumarkina, stayed at home. The family had three children, the oldest-8 years, the middle-3 years and the youngest-1 month. The little one didn't survive and died. My grandfather spent the entire war in the active army, and my great-grandmother and her children spent all 900 days in Leningrad. My grandfather was born after the war in 1952. I have a friend, Sonya. Once her great-grandmother prilutskaya F. G. and my great-grandmother Valya studied at school No. 300 and lived on Kuznechny, they were friends. And on May 9, 1945, Sonia's great-grandmother knocked loudly on the door of my great-grandmother, who had returned from duty, in the morning and shouted: "Valka, victory, victory! On the street, on the street!" They ran to Marat, to Nevsky. Strangers were singing and congratulating each other! Hugging! And they, the girls who had grown up over the years, cried, laughed and dreamed of a happy future! We are still friends with our families, already in the fourth generation, and on May 9 we go to the "Immortal regiment" campaign and visit the "900 days of the Blockade" memorial-this has become our family tradition!"

Vasilyeva Valentina Aleksandrovna_x000D_ _x000D_ From the memoirs of Valentina Alexandrovna: "I ran home as fast as I could, when I ran into the dacha room, I shouted - "mom, you can't see the sun in the sky, only planes". Nothing could be heard over the hum. It was scary. So, the Patriotic war began. Something infinitely terrible she brought to our house. We learned about the war at the dacha, before the Declaration of war. Dad went to the front on the first day of the war without even having time to say goodbye to us. He called us on the phone for a long time, but my mother did not listen to anything and did not answer him. Tears made it difficult to speak, and she opened her mouth, but there was no sound. I just thought, "We won't see you again." His last words were addressed to me, the daughter he loved dearly. His work made it difficult for us to be together often. He was an officer and was constantly on business trips. I lived with my aunt Katya and her two children, my sister Nadya and my brother George. In the photo, my mother, me, Nadya, aunt Katya and George. The Germans were approaching the city, and we moved to a dugout. In the morning, the dacha room was not there, boards and bricks were sticking out in its place, and the dugout was filled up. Passing soldiers opened us up. According to rumors, it became difficult with food in Leningrad. They said there was a famine and they started giving out cards. Every morning, Nadya and I would go to the soldiers' kitchen with our kettles, where the cook would pour hot food into them for us and the Leningrad children, remembering his daughters who had stayed in Leningrad. One morning they told everyone to pack up immediately and go to Leningrad. The enemy was approaching the city limits, having already taken Gatchina. We loaded food on the sled: cabbage, potatoes, cucumbers. Everything that my mother and Georgy got from the collective farm fields with difficulty under artillery fire. Heavy fire killed many of the citizens of Leningrad. Someone went out of the city to the fields left by the collective farmers for potatoes. With fiercely hungry eyes, they reclined to harvest. Famine in the city. I was afraid to think what would happen to us. Two sledges were loaded with food. Things were left in the dugout. Many refugees were bombed by the Nazis, leaving mutilated human bodies and sledges on the road. I remember heart-rending moans and children crying. We walked for a long time to the city... The tram was still running, but they looked disabled. City, dear Leningrad, how scary and painful it was to look at you. Destroyed houses, roads with craters, and people how they lost weight. Even with the cards, bread was hard to get. During the first months of the war, we did not feel hungry, as we brought food from the dacha. By winter, there was a famine. The five of us shared a room: my mother, me, and aunt Katya with their two children. One night, we woke up to a roar and cold. One wall collapsed during the bombing. We were in the open air. With difficulty, they collected things and food - a barrel of cabbage, a bag of potatoes, a bag of beets, several kilograms of carpenter's glue. We were given an apartment on Bogie street, near Nevsky Prospekt and the Alexander Nevsky Lavra. My mother worked at the factory; my aunt was ill. In December, my mother fell ill. My fifteen-year-old cousin and I went to buy bread. It was a problem to get down from the fifth floor. We stood in the cold in the queue until the evening. We had numbers written in chemical ink on our hands. They brought home a piece of bread for five people. At 125 grams each. Sometimes there was paper inside a piece of bread. We children ate our 125 grams on the way. Once we stood in line with my brother until the evening, in the evening we got two slices, and on the way back two guys took away my bread. My mother was crying, the remaining bread was divided into 5 pieces. We lived on the fifth floor. From the fifth floor to go down the whole problem. They went up to the fifth floor like dogs on their hands and feet. My mother would wake me up at 8:00 in the morning and get me out of bed. I dressed, drank boiling water, cleaned the room. My brother went to take the bread line. The others were lying down. Then my sister couldn't walk either. My legs were weak. Then I realized the wisdom of my mother, which made me move. Later, my mother and Katya could not walk. We didn't wash or wash our clothes. I didn't have the energy or the water to do it. What could 125 grams of bread give? We haven't cooked anything for a month. There is nothing to cook. 6 potatoes left. We used carpenter's glue to make a delicious jelly. Soup was made from sawdust mixed with herbs and potato peels that neighbors threw away. My legs are swollen and my stomach hurts. Children lost weight; adults lay more. My mother chased me away because she knew I might get stale. I cried, but I got up. I was afraid of my mother. My father was kind and kind. Mom is strict and demanding. I would eat my 125 grams and sit in a corner and write in my diary... This year I had to go to the first class. In the spring, they bought me a uniform and a briefcase. But I didn't have to go to school, it was bombed. Teachers were killed. Hunger and disease were in Leningrad. My dad taught me to read and write. I began to write down some events from our lives in a notebook. Here they are: January 4, 1942. Today Gotya brought bread, bitter and stale. January 8, 1942. A neighbor came over with a sled - they have a dead daughter. January 20, 1942. My mother and Nadya got sick. January 25, 1942. A neighbor died. February 2, 1942. My mother stays in bed, crying and looking at me. February 5, 1942. Aunt Katya got sick. Mother says she is going mad with hunger; March 4, 1942. Mom felt bad. There are neighbors in the next room, and someone is playing a waltz. My memory began to wane. In the evening, my mother said to me: "I will die tomorrow, don't forget me. I put photos in your notebook. Fill in your last name. Can you find a father?" I cried; how could I believe my mother's delirium. On March 5, 1942, Gotya and I brought bread. It was added a little, up to 200 grams. Aunt Katya, having learned about the increase in rations, went crazy. Her eyes were burning, and she screamed and shook the sick Nadya. My mother did not speak, she turned her tongue, but the words were no longer audible. I stood there, my eyes wide with horror. She looked at her mother. There were no tears. They were starved. Something burned in my chest. What does mom want to say? At this time, aunt Katya pulled out the bread and brandishing a knife, began to cut it with a cry. Suddenly my aunt rushed us. My brother and I ran out of the room, closing the door behind us. We heard Nadya's screams. Suddenly there was silence. We opened the door and the terrible picture stopped before my eyes - aunt Katya was lying on the floor, my mother on the bed, Nadya was crying under the covers. Everyone rushed to their mother. We didn't hear anything, we shook the lifeless bodies of our parents and screamed. And in the next room, someone was playing Tchaikovsky's waltz again. There were dead mothers and deaf children in the room. Gotya asked me to help him lift his mother to the bed. We stood by the bed all day, hoping that our mothers would be resurrected. The waltz was heartbreaking. For three days we lived like this, my sister and brother and I on the beds, mothers under the beds. Until my brother got a sled and we took our parents to a warehouse. I cried so much when I said goodbye to my mother. We were told that they would be burned and buried in a third grave when there was a cemetery. Now I, at the Piskarevskoye cemetery, always sit at the third grave of 1942, when I am in Leningrad. A day later, the funeral service for my father came. Dad never came back. We received two postcards and a funeral card from him during this time. Where it was reported about his heroic death on the Leningrad front at the city walls. We had a good March. On 5 cards received a whole loaf of bread, 100 grams of semolina, 200 grams of cereals. My brother got a job, and Nadya and I spent the whole day together. We didn't think about anything in the first few days. But one evening, when we were lying down and didn't want to sleep, someone started playing Tchaikovsky's waltz again behind the wall. It was like a bolt from the blue. It all came back to me. Waltz again tore the soul and wanted to scream. I kept saying, " Mom, mom, why can't you hear me?". I knew that my words were in vain. Then I grew up. And the waltz called somewhere and besides melancholy, gave hope for something. Life forced to grow up in 8 incomplete years. March was coming to an end. We are dirty, emaciated and lousy. How to live further? On March 30, 1942, we first thought about the future. Gotya sat on the floor and said nothing. He had to decide the fate of his sisters. He's the oldest, 16. Nadya and I were crying and begging them not to give us away. We swore to comply with all his demands and never tease him. He was angry, emaciated, got up and said in a rough voice: "I will go to the front! I'll take Nadya to the hospital, and you, Valya, to the shelter." When you hear the word shelter, we began to cry. We imagined that we would be held there like dogs, beaten. After all, always before naughty children were frightened by the shelter. And now... Gotya, without a moment's delay, exchanged a sledge somewhere for bread. And took Nadya to the hospital. At about five o'clock, tired and exhausted, he returned. Gotya said that he had traveled all over Leningrad, but Nadya was not taken to the hospital. He handed it over to the receiver at the Alexander Nevsky Lavra. He told me that he would take me there tomorrow and go to the front. I began to cry bitterly and desperately. But Gotya did not want to listen to anything, ate a crust of bread and went to bed dressed. In the morning, he woke me up and cut the bread he brought. For the first time in all the months of the blockade, I saw so much bread on my hands. My brother gave me his portion and didn't even blink. I took the bread and began to eat it greedily, then put it down and gave it to him. I said I couldn't eat that much. The last time I looked around the room, taking photos and documents, I stood there and couldn't move. I was an orphan in this room, and I was leaving it forever. "Mother, mother, good-bye!" - Each thought of his own... I was in the receiver for three months. At night it was scary, someone was dying in the ward. You can't look out the window, it's a cemetery. I was waiting for Nadya to recover. But she didn't get better. Then she was moved to the basement. And I was trained in an orphanage. When I went to say goodbye to Nadya, I was amazed. She was collecting pieces of bread under her pillow. She wasn't hungry anymore. The same indifferent children lay nearby. Nothing could save them. We kissed and said goodbye. She died two days later. I was moved to an orphanage on Kalashnikova (now Sinopskaya) embankment. Here I fully felt the state's concern for children. We were well fed. They always gave me a piece of glucose. They strictly observed the daily routine. With the beginning of spring, we collected medicinal herbs and planted vegetables in the garden. When we were treated, we started studying at the beginning of the summer. I started first grade in May. In June 1942, we began to prepare for export to the mainland. On June 8, 1942, they put us on a train, saw us off cheerfully, and believed in us. The train was well fed, for the first time given bread, at one time half a kilogram. We drove for three hours with stops. Then we boarded a steamer and a barge. The first steamer was carrying preschoolers. Next was a barge on which children up to 12 years old were traveling, we. On the boat next, high school students. In the middle of Ladoga, we were bombed by the Nazis. It was a terrible dream. I would never forget. We all went through hunger, cold, death of relatives, but this... Several shells fell on the first steamer, and it caught fire. There were preschoolers there. The steamer sank before our eyes. How the children screamed! The Tutors swam to our barge. They and some of the children were saved. They caught it with hooks. Bloodstains, floating children's bodies. In about fifteen minutes, several planes had already flown in. Above in the sky battle. I laid on the barge and saw everything with my own eyes. Several bombs were dropped near our barge. Water column. We've seen it all! We were sure that salvation had come! We went from Leningrad! This brutal match was the only survivors of our barge. The steamer with the older guys also sank. Although, many guys and girls were saved. They lay on the deck, shaking, their eyes wide with horror. The sailors covered them with fur coats and greatcoats. This, one of the terrible scenes, will never leave my memory! It took us exactly a month to get to the orphanage. At each big stop we were fed thoroughly, first, second and third. Women with bags of tomatoes, cucumbers, apples, potatoes, berries. Of course, there were overeating and fainting. From Leningrad, mostly everyone took the train on their own, but when they arrived, more than half of the children could not go on their own. They cried. Women carried them out in their arms. We were taken on horseback to the orphanage. We were quarantined for two weeks. Come to himself. We were examined and treated. Then a sad and funny story happened at the same time. We, who were able, were taken to the field. We forgot that we are urban. Each was measured out to weed a hundred acres of wheat and rye. They told us how to do it. We arrived two hours later. Many lay in the furrow. Some of them fainted. We couldn't work. I didn't faint, but I had a headache. I roared "Beluga". We were put like logs on a cart and taken to an orphanage. Then they were treated for something. From that day on, weeding rates were reasonable. We got to the Ulyanovsk children's home in 1945, when we gathered all the Leningrad children. This orphanage has played a special role in our lives. It was a fun and happy childhood. Holidays, gifts, toys, holiday outfits and evenings. Our wonderful caregivers were here to replace our mothers. Olga Vladimirovna, an inventor and sorceress. It was for us a symbol of purity, faith and nobility. Everyone wanted to be like her. She made our childhood happy, our untroubled youth. Olga Vladimirovna gave us faith in dreams. I remember a lot from my life in the orphanage. First of all, the first festive dress for the ball. Cotton, with red trim. We sewed it ourselves, with the help of adults. I remember new year's evenings with performances, fairy-tale programs and costumes. Everyone participated. I remember the orphanage choir, with a dedicated music worker. I remember our first trip to the dacha in the grove. Everything in the fresh air, dacha, exercise, giant swings, Volga, productions, the fairy tale "Geese-swans", productions of various operas. I couldn't think of a better experience than rehearsals. Not everything was easy for us. But still, everyone gathered and learned the roles. I liked evenings and concerts. I wasn't very brave, of course. But I always did. She knew dancing and poetry. I remembered working days working in the field, watering cucumbers, tomatoes and trips to the hay field. These were fields of grass that reached the height of a man. Such herbs and flowers. Ah, what a fragrance... In the morning, we would Wake up to the sound of birds singing and a gramophone singing - "Say girls, girlfriends". We had a gramophone for three years, the same song every morning. I remember the hours of preparing lessons. I remember our trips to the Goncharov cliff and trips to different cities to factories, factories, schools. It was very interesting to discuss excursions for a long time. I remember when Zoya Kosmodemyanskaya's mother came to our orphanage. She was a strict, strong-willed woman. I remember the hospital. We went there quite often. We read books to the wounded, pasted and drew something, and gave concerts. I remember how one wounded man treated us to sweets and said: "Children, come again!" For every holiday, and in the following years, we went to the hospital. I was infinitely grateful to th_x000D_ orphanage for the joy, purity and happy childhood, loyalty, kindness and hope that it gave us!”

DATE OF BIRTH: 05/01/1927 _x000D_ DATE OF DEATH: 05/23/2016 _x000D_ My mother, Aleksandra Nikolayevna Prikhodko (home front worker), was born on May 1, 1927 in the village of Novoborovlyanka, Troitsky District, Altai Territory. They lived hard, in particular, because of the wave of typhus. In order to protect themselves from desease, the family wandered from place to place, but still the children died one after another. They lived in the forest, parents worked in logging. The work was very hard, my grandmother overstrained, pulling the logs. To feed themselves, they collected cranberries in the swamps. _x000D_ When the war began, my mother was 14 years old, and she and her friends wanted to go to the war, but they did not take girls from such a deep rear, also the girls were minors. Despite the war, educational institutions continued to work, and my mother entered the Altai Agricultural Institute. From spring to autumn, the students worked in the fields helping to grow crops to send food to the front. After classes, tram lines were laid. _x000D_ Since the men were at the front, the girls had to do this hard work. It was hungry, my parents lived in the village of Bobrovka, and the institute was in Barnaul. Once, grandfather carried ice cream milk across the Ob River across the ice to feed his mother, and the frost was such that the potatoes froze, no matter how they wrapped them up. _x000D_ The Victory Day had come. Mom graduated from the institute. Since 1949 she worked as an agronomist in the Kosikhinsky district, laid a forest belt there for snow retention. It is still called "Brotherhood's strip". She was transferred to the head of the Aleiskiy zonal department, then she was appointed Senior agronomist in the Altai regional agricultural administration. _x000D_ In 1954 she began teaching at an agricultural college and graduated from the Timiryazev Agricultural Academy. Since 1960 she had worked as a biology teacher at a school. _x000D_ Since 1967, for more than twenty years she taught at the Agronomy Faculty of the institute, where she once studied herself (now it is the Altai State Agrarian University). She loved teaching, many students remember it with gratitude. She has the title of Veteran of the Great Patriotic War and Labor, was awarded two jubilee medals in honor of 60th and 70th anniversary of the Victory over Nazi Germany. Written by Petrenko (Prikhodko) Natalia Viktorovna (daughter).

My story about my grandmother, Prikazchikova Lydia Matveevna (06/05/1927 - 12/31/2009). Unfortunately, she is no longer alive, but what she told about her life during the war, our family will remember. _x000D_ When the war began, she was only 16 years old. She lived in the village "Nekhaevka", Veydelevsky district. Her grandfather Matvey went to the front. And she, her brother, and mother stayed in their native village. The Germans and Magyars settled in the village and forced them to dig trenches in the Rovensky region and the Victoropol region. Airpcrafts flew overhead, bullets whistled, my young grandmother fell face down in the ground with fear and covered her ears with her hands, and then again began to dig trenches. _x000D_ The Magyars behaved cruelly towards the inhabitants of the village, they forced them to bury the killed Germans in the "Badger Forest". Winter was approaching, and they forced to take off clothes and, most importantly, shoes from the dead bodies. _x000D_ There was nothing to eat, and the villagers ate potato peels, acorns, the children were swollen with hunger. My grandmother's brother Kolya was a little boy at that time. He and several other guys found a grenade and played with it like a toy and threw it into a pole. From such "fun", Kolya's grandfather miraculously survived, but lost one eye. After the war, my grandmother was looking for her dad, wrote to various newspapers, turned to the radio and other authorities, but one answer came: "... not to be listed among the dead, is considered missing." _x000D_ Nature will soon hide the traces of war, the bloody black trail will be washed away by the rains. But your feat, Soviet heroes, wil not be forgotten!

Rank: Red Army _x000D_ Subdivision: 7th Guards Airborne Cherkasy Red Banner Order of Bogdan Khmelnitsky Division _x000D_ When the war began, my grandfather turned 16 years old. But his desire to protect his homeland from the fascist invaders was very strong. When in July 1943 he turned 17, he did not hesitate to come to the military registration and enlistment office to get to the war. Having attributed to himself an extra year, he went to defend the Motherland. _x000D_ He served in 7th Guards Airborne Cherkasy Red Banner Order of Bogdan Khmelnitsky as a scout. A fragment from his memoirs:_x000D_ “It happened in Ukraine, our reconnaissance group came to a village. We were greeted there like the heroes, were fed, bathed and put to sleep. We knew from local residents that there were no fascists in the village, but we had examined vicinities before we went to rest. And suddenly in the middle of the night we heard noise outside. We were betrayed by someone. In front of me my friends were killed, only few had miraculously survived.” _x000D_ My grandfather received the “Medal for Courage”. On March 27, 1943, during the German counterattack in the village of Kolbasnaya, despite the retreat of his right neighbor, he fearlessly fired at the advancing enemy, pinned them to the ground and destroyed several dozen Germans. _x000D_ When my grandfather passed away I was very little and did not have time to learn about his years of service. I know he was wounded and treated in hospital, that one shell fragment had never been taken out of him. _x000D_ My grandfather was very modest, it seems to me even shy, he never complained about anything, knew how to endure pain, worked a lot for his family, tried first for the children, and then for the grandchildren. That was my grandfather, a War Hero, a Hero of my family, a real example for my sons.

Branch of troops: Communications troops. I want to tell you about my great-grandfather (mother's grandfather). My great-grandfather, Pavel Leontyevich Prozhirko, born in 1925, left for the war in June 1941, when he was not even 16 years old (he fled secretly from home). He was returned home. But he was persistent, ran away from home again and got on a freight train that went to the West. At one of the stations in the Odessa Region, he made his way onto the platform of an armored train. He hid and fell asleep, and woke up from a terrible roar: the guns were beating. Shells exploded. _x000D_ After the battle, the Red Army men examined the armored train and came across a boy. The boy said that he had no one, and begged the Commander to take him with him. So he found himself on an armored train and began to serve. In the fall, the armored train was bombed. My grandfather ended up in a battalion on a special mission: he blew up objects behind enemy lines. After several successful operations, he was enlisted in the battalion, here he took the oath and joined the Komsomol. _x000D_ Once a sabotage group of 16 people, my grandfather was among them, after completing the mission, was making its way through the front line. For a long time they could not get out of the encirclement. They took a passenger car off the Germans, but no one knew how to drive a car. Then my grandfather asked the Commander to let him drive the car, saying that his father was a driver. _x000D_ And they broke through to the Soviet troops. Under the shelling of the Nazis, my grandfather brought the car to the location of his unit. He celebrated Victory Day in Vienna. He was wounded four times. Has state awards: "For the Victory over Germany!", "For the capture of Budapest", "For the defense of the Caucasus!", "For military services", "For the capture of Vienna", "For the Liberation of Warsaw". Order of the Red Star. _x000D_ As a memory of the battles in Hungary, a silver cigarette case is kept in our family with an engraving: "To the Guards Corporal Prozhirko Pavel Leontyevich for excellent military operations to defeat the enemy's Budapest group from the Commander of the 3rd Ukrainian Front. 23, February 1945. TOLBUKHIN," _x000D_ He had reached his native village on the eve of 1946. After the war, he was a miner and electric welder. He participated in the Construction of a road bridge across the Volga, in Mostootryad No. 8. He worked at the Communications Plant, from where he retired. But even in retirement, my great-grandfather could not sit idle. He became a public traffic police inspector. What I have just written, I learned from the stories of my mother and her aunt. He often told them about the war, how scary it was. And at what cost did they get the Victory. _x000D_ The most terrible thing was listening to stories about the crossing of the Dnieper. They wrote about my great-grandfather several times in the newspapers: Regional Communist dated August 16, 1984 in an article entitled "The boy went to war ..." newspaper "Communist" (city of Engels dated April 8, 1983 in the article "Traffic police inspector" and dated February 28, 1985 in the newspaper Communist "(city of Engels) in an article entitled "Demo-man" _x000D_ These newspapers are carefully kept in our family. I am very proud of my great-grandfather. Bow to all veterans and eternal memory to those who are no longer with us. Those who at the cost of their lives gave us a peaceful life and those whom was gone after the war There are no words to express all gratitude for what they did, so that we live now.

Leningrad_x000D_ 14.09.1931 - 24.07.2003_x000D_ Lydia Polozhenskaya - my mother. During the siege of Leningrad, she studied at the choreographic school (there was one group, the others were evacuated) with a friend, Tamara Remigino. They went there 12 km on foot. The girls were members of the concert team, performed in hospitals, in military units. In the brigade, they were the youngest, they came up with ballet numbers themselves, sang front-line songs._x000D_ Once they were sent to perform on the destroyer "Strogiy", frozen in the ice of the Neva River near the Volodarsky Bridge. The ship's commander was Captain 3rd rank Vladimir Novak. He ordered the sailor Ovcharenko to feed the young artists, but the girls refused, saying that they had not earned yet. They sang "Dugout", "Blue handkerchief", "Evening on the sea raid", danced polka, "Waltz - Caprice". Novak suggested to the girls to become patrons of the destroyer. Bilge machinist Ivan Hnyp said: "It is OK, girls, we will deduct blood for you from that fascist!"_x000D_ The girls came to the destroyer on Sundays. They knew the entire ship by heart, admired the cleanliness of the mechanisms - the pride of the chief mechanic Viktor Abramov._x000D_ During the September assault, when the Nazis wanted to capture Leningrad, the commander of the first gun Makovsky was killed, and the commander of the fourth gun Sukhorukov was seriously wounded. Dive bombers darted across the sky, but they could not hit the destroyer, and this was a great merit of the fire control commander Pyotr Pavlovsky._x000D_ Once Tamara and Lida came to the place where the destroyer stayed and did not see it. After the war, life separated the girlfriends. Tamara stayed in Leningrad, Lida went to Moscow. "Strogiy" reminded of itself again in the late 1950th. The soloist of the dance group of the Red Banner Ensemble together with the entire team went on tour in England. The ship was leaving the Leningrad port. And suddenly at the pier Lida saw "Strogiy"._x000D_ The years went by. And now Lydia’s eye caught a note in the "Red Star" newspaper about the Museum "And the muses were not silent", created in one of the Leningrad schools. And she wrote to the Director E. Lind: "Help to find Tamara Nemygina and the surviving team members of "Strogiy". Soon the answer came: the Museum invited Lidia to a meeting of participants of the Leningrad front-line brigades. The evening was led by Eugene Lind: "I want to tell you about two girls," and he told us a familiar story. "Let me introduce them to you. Teacher, choreographer Lydia Polozhenskaya and a music teacher of the kindergarten Tamara Nemygina." Two women in different rows simultaneously gasped and rushed to each other. And then Lind came up on stage and the former commander of "Strogiy" V. Novak, crew members Mikhail Litvinov, Victor Abramov, Peter Pavlovsky, Sergey Butenko, Ivan Khnupa, David Chalyk. The sailors greeted their patrons with tears._x000D_ They were photographed, but they did not see anyone, they were crying, hugging, they had something to remember.

Name: Pinkenson Abram (Musya) Vladimirovich last NAME: Pinkenson NAME: Abram (Musya) middle name: Vladimirovich CITY: Balti, Romania date of BIRTH: - DATE of DEATH: - HISTORY: He had long, thin fingers and could have been a great surgeon or musician. But his life ended in November 1942. The little violinist performed a single feat in his life. This feat lasted less than a minute, but it was remembered for many decades not only by residents of the Krasnodar village, but also by the whole country. Your little fight with the Nazis Musya of Pinkenson won, and his weapon of choice was the violin. Abram Pinkenzon, whose family affectionately called Musya (short for the diminutive "Abramusya", coined once by his mother), was born in the Romanian town of Balti. The boy came from a respected medical dynasty, his father and grandfather worked as doctors at a local hospital. However, the boy's main passion was playing the violin, for which he had a great talent, so most likely, he would have turned out to be not a doctor, but a great musician. From an early age, Musya was considered a child Prodigy and even wrote about him in local Newspapers. In 1941, when the war broke out, Musi's family was evacuated to the village of Ust-Labinskaya in the Krasnodar territory, where his father, Vladimir Borisovich, was assigned to a Soviet military hospital. He saved the wounded, and his 10-year-old son entertained them by playing the violin. The fighters loved Musya very much and always looked forward to his arrival. The following year, the Nazis broke into the village and seized the hospital. Vladimir Borisovich did not leave his wounded. And when the invaders demanded that the doctor now treat their soldiers, he refused. The Nazis arrested the doctor, his entire family, and other local Jews. In November 1942, it was decided to shoot all those arrested. To intimidate the local population, the fascists decided to make a show of this execution: Jews and other "unreliable" were brought to the Bank of the Kuban and lined up in front of the moat, while the rest were driven here from all over the district as "spectators". In deathly silence, watching the horror of the doomed people, the locals stood and were afraid no less than the condemned. Standing in the crowd of Jews awaiting execution, Musya clutched his small violin tightly to his chest. Vladimir Borisovich was the first to break down – he began to beg the executioners to spare his son. Then he was killed. Musi's mother, Fenya Moiseyevna, rushed to her husband, and also fell from the bullet. Silence fell over the river again. And then the voice was given by 11-year-old Musya, in front of whom his parents had just been shot. "Can I play the violin before I die?" he asked the German officer calmly. The fascists laughed in surprise and condescendingly agreed. Then something happened that the Germans did not expect. Instead of the pitiful music that a child might have played at such a moment, begging for mercy, the shrill sounds of the "international"broke out all over the neighborhood. Both the local residents standing at a distance and the Jews sentenced to execution timidly at first, and then more and more confidently picked up the melody and began to sing. This chorus of unconquered people plunged the fascists into shock and horror. Only for a few moments, though. When they came out of their stupor, they yelled at the boy to stop playing immediately. However, he continued. Then the Germans began furiously shooting the little musician. The sounds of the violin stopped only after he fell. Of course, Musya could not save others from being shot, and the execution was eventually completed. But he instilled in the residents of the village the belief that the fascists can be broken – even for a moment. And it was on this faith and will to win that the war was won. So we can say that Musya is the prototype of any Soviet soldier. A photo of Musi has been preserved. In the picture, he has a confident and bold look – there is no doubt that this is how he looked at the executioners in the last moments of his life. The monument to the violinist boy can be seen on the Embankment of Ust-Labinsk street (after the war, the village received the status of a city) - on the very Bank of the Kuban river. Nearby is a mass grave, in which, along with the violinist hero, about four hundred more civilians who were shot in 1942 are buried.

Uselenok Pavel Pavlovich

Uderevskaia Larisa Ivanovna

Yevgeny Alekseevich Lisovsky is sitting on the left.