Faces of war

Rodionova (Slavorosova) Anna Nikolaevna_x000D_ _x000D_ She was born in 1902 in Vologda in a family of middle-class citizens. The eldest daughter in a family with 5 girls and 1 boy. She met her husband Alexander Filippovich Rodionov when she was a nurse in the 6th Army, which was advancing to Arkhangelsk. She became the wife of an officer, sharing a nomadic lifestyle with him. Since 1932, the family lived in Pskov. At the time of the war, they were in winter apartments in the city and were going to spend the summer in Belostok to visit her husband (after graduation, their eldest daughter Tamara). 2 weeks after the start of the war, the Germans occupied Pskov and began repressive measures against the families of the command staff, who were caught and shot, imprisoned and driven to the West. Anna Nikolaevna did not escape this fate and in 1942 was taken by the Germans to prison. Daughter Tamara was sent to a concentration camp in Gdansk, and Anna Nikolaevna herself, with her daughter Vera, 7 years old, and her infant daughter Nadezhda, was taken to the Baltic States to the town of Yampels, where she was forced to work with her children. At the end of March 1945, they were released from captivity by the Red Army. They returned to peaceful life in Pskov, where the house was destroyed, there was no housing and they were sheltered by the monks of the Cathedral on the territory of the Pskov monastery. Anna Nikolaevna was looking for her husband with all her might. After the war, she met a family friend, and he said to her: - Anya, give up all hope. It was all over on June 22, 1941. This was another blow to her. After going through all the torments of captivity, it was necessary to raise the rescued children and learn to live again. She never got married again, and she gave all of herself to her daughters. Rodionova Marina, granddaughter.

Romanenko Vasily Mikhailovich_x000D_ _x000D_ During the Great Patriotic war, he served in Belarus as the head of the special Department of cavalry intelligence. In 1942, he was surrounded. Through the Belarusian forests, he broke through to his own. He was seriously wounded, shell-shocked, and captured. He escaped from captivity, but unsuccessfully. Another captivity - and now a concentration camp in Norway. Blood was taken from prisoners of war all the time. Vasily began to weaken, saved by the fact that he was transferred to a farm to take care of pigs. When our ships from the sea began to bomb Norway, all the prisoners of war were herded back to the camp. They were going to destroy them all, but the Soviet sailors arrived in time. When our prisoners of war were released, none of them could leave the camp on their own feet. The sailors carried them out on their hands and loaded them on boats. Until 1946, he was treated in various hospitals. He returned to his native village of Romanovskaya in the Rostov region. His wife, having received a funeral certificate for him at the beginning of the war, married. It was hard to get into a new life, because they did not like those who were in captivity. A literate man, in the past, a lawyer, but who lost his party card (when in 1942 he broke out of the encirclement, buried the party card in the forest), Vasily Mikhailovich was deprived of the Rank of Communist. But, having a firm character, Vasily Mikhailovich did not shy away from any work: at the dairy, as a carpenter, as a school caretaker. The girl Vera fell in love with Vasily and was not afraid to marry him. So, Vasily Mikhailovich in his fortieth year of life had a new family. He was a self-taught musician: he played the accordion, trumpet, flute and clarinet. He created a brass band at the house of culture. Then his hobby, music, became a second profession. In 1963. restored to the party.

Vilenskaya Olga Petrovna_x000D_ _x000D_ A woman lived in Makashevka. A simple woman, just like everyone else. She was tall, plump, and her face was lined. She has clear eyes that radiate warmth and affection. It Wilenska Olga Petrovna. Olga Petrovna's life, at first glance, was no different from the lives of other women farmers. But if you listen carefully to the story of this woman, you will understand what a difficult path of the great Patriotic war she went through. When the war began, Olga Petrovna lived in the Donbass, in the city of Yenakievo. She worked at the factory as an assistant driver on a steam locomotive. "The first bombing at our factory was in August 1941, at exactly 22 hours and 45 minutes."Olga Petrovna recalled. There were many wounded, an alarm was raised, and after a while the plant began to be evacuated. But it was not possible to go by steam locomotive, because the railway was destroyed. A few days later, the Germans appeared in the city. Savage enemies killed residents, robbed, mocked. People, not wanting to give the enemy food, hid them. There was no limit to the enemy's atrocities. It got to the point that the Germans started burning houses. Our house was the ninth, and became the first, all the other houses were burned, " she said. "A lot of people came to us because they had nowhere to hide from the cold," Olga Petrovna recalled. The Germans remained in the Donbass. At that time, the enemy surrounded Stalingrad and advanced in almost all directions. He also dug in in the Donbass. Coal, bread, food-all this the enemy exported to Germany. The village where Olga Petrovna lived was surrounded by the enemy. The Germans came here to Rob and kill the inhabitants. Residents were not allowed to leave their homes, because the village was being shelled. ”One boy came out of the house and was immediately killed. They killed an innocent child, they killed him for going out on his own street, " says Olga Petrovna. So people lived for two and a half months. And in 1942, the Russian offensive began on all fronts. The offensive also began on the territory where Olga Petrovna lived. They were advancing on debaltseve. The village was left behind. Destroyed, burned, it stood alone in the Ukrainian steppe. People had nothing to live with. The enemy took the food. People left the cities for the villages. Olga Petrovna also left with her little brother, who was only 12 years old. She walked 245 km with her brother. Only 3 km to my family, only 3 km! There was a river on their way. And when Olga Petrovna tried to get around it, bullets fell. Shots were fired from all sides. So I had to go through the water. Who does not know what river in January. They came to the village cold, wet, and icy. Here Olga Petrovna fell ill. At home, she had to lie in bed while she recovered. Life in this village was quiet. The Germans left people to live in order to then steal them to distant Germany as labor. They sent echelon after echelon of young women to Germany. When the first train was sent, Olga Petrovna managed to hide, but then her neighbor, who was a policeman, gave her away. She was thrown into the carriage, which was ready for departure. The enemy had no regard for the old or the children. How many maternal tears, the screaming, the moaning. Mothers were separated from their infants. But how can enemies have pity? The train set off. The doors of the cars were locked, and people could only look out of the window through the bars. The first stop was in Poland. People were given a Cup of hot soup without bread. The second stop was in the city of Magdenburg. Here they were kicked out of the cars and sent to the transfer point. They lived in Magdenburgde for 5 days. Several people were taken by the factory owners, and 200 people, including Olga Petrovna, were sent to the city of Salzveden. There they were sent to work in a factory. They worked on the machines and were watched by old German women. Olga Petrovna recalled such an incident from life at the factory: "One day a German woman came up to me and began to feel my head, rummage in my hair. I asked her what she was doing, what she was looking for. And then, through an interpreter, she told me that she was watching horns. They say that Russian women all have horns, and I want to see them myself." Working at the factory was exhausting. The food was very poor. For Breakfast they gave half a liter of boiling water and 150 grams of bread, for lunch-soup with cabbage, and without bread, for dinner-again soup and bread. But despite this, Russian women did not lose heart. Hungry, they often gathered together, singing songs, joking and laughing. They were kept behind barbed wire in concentration camps. They didn't let them go anywhere, they took them to work with their dogs. At work, they were mocked and laughed at in every possible way. Each woman had a GST badge sewn on her jacket. All of them were known from lists. Who does not know what incredible crimes the Nazis committed on our land?! Then what can we say about the camps? There were camps on German soil. The enemies came up with different punishments. They burned stars on the backs of our women, put a hot light bulb to their lips, pricked them with needles under their nails, beat them with red-hot rods, took them barefoot to the snow and doused them with ice water, burned them in burning stoves. Is it possible to know all the atrocities committed by the enemy? And here in such a camp, amid bullying and torment, Olga Petrovna lived for three and a half years away from the city and her relatives. But this did not break the Russian woman. Olga Petrovna returned to our village, created a family, and worked conscientiously on the collective farm. Makasana remember her kind words.

Gavriil Volobuev was born in 1888 in the village of Safe, Stavropol province (later the village of Safe, Trunovsky district, Stavropol territory). In the period from 1909 to 1913, he served in the 1st guards Preobrazhensky regiment in St. Petersburg. During the Russian Civil war from 1918 to 1921, he took part in the battles in the Astrakhan steppes and on the Tsaritsyn front as a private. In 1929, G. I. Volobuev became one of the first organizers of collective farms in the Trun district – Chairman of the collective farm "Krasny Shlyakh". After the merger of collective farms into large ones from 1931 to 1937. Volobuev G. I. works as the head of the farm of the collective farm. Ipatov, and in 1937 he was elected to the post of Chairman of the collective farm. Cherednichenko. In July 1932, G. I. Volobuev was accepted into the ranks of the Communist party. During the fascist occupation of the area in the Great Patriotic War, in August 1942, Volobuev G. I. was evacuated with collective farm cattle to the Azerbaijan SSR, Devichinsky district, where he worked as a Deputy Chairman of the collective farm "Politotdelets". In February 1943, after the liberation of the region from fascist invaders, Gabriel I. returned to his native village, where he was re-elected farmers first Chairman of the collective farm. Ipatov, and then until 1947 - Chairman of the collective farm. Cherednichenko. In 1947, for health reasons (the consequences of long pedestrian crossings during evacuation with the collective farm herd affected) and at the personal request of Gavriil Ilyich was dismissed from the post of Chairman of the collective farm and worked as a caretaker until 1949, and until 1954 – head of a poultry farm. It is also known that Gavriil Ilyich took an active part in public life: he was repeatedly elected a Deputy of the village Council of safety, was a people's assessor of the Trun people's court. In the last years of his life, Gavriil Ilyich was very ill. His wife Praskovya Pavlovna, six daughters: Melania, Tatiana, Nadezhda, Alexandra, Evdokia, Nina, and grandchildren helped him cope with life's hardships. Volobuev G. I. died in 1960 in his native village.

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.

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!”

Protasov Aleksandr Onufrievich

Polyanskaya (Shchekochikhina) Maria Filippovna

Pastukhov Ilya Ivanovich

Palikarpov Aleksandr Alekseevich

Podvalniy Leonid Borisovich

Full name: Prosekov Pavel Trofimovich last NAME: Prosekov FIRST name: Pavel PATRONYMIC: Trofimovich CITY: Sungrovo Mokrousovsky district Kurgan region date of BIRTH: 01.01.1898 DATE of DEATH: 03.04.1983 HISTORY: Rank: Corporal. Branch of service: army, air force (except marine aviation), the coast guard, the troops of the NKVD border troops. Division: 149th rifle division (1st formation). THERE WAS A SOLDIER IN SUNGUROVA. The more you deal with the list of prisoners of war who died on the battlefield or in captivity, less often, survivors of the great Patriotic war, the more often there are names that are truly worthy of being told about them. Pavel Trofimovich Prosekov. In the 60s and 70s, veterans like him were not talked about. It was not customary to make public former prisoners of war. He was not invited to schools for pioneer training camps, to labor collectives on victory Days, and he was not eager, mostly silent, but he drank a glass of red wine on may 9 with his family, and with tears in his voice said: "Well, mother, another year of our victory has passed! Ex, life...". The soldier was mourned three times in the family during the war, because twice he received notifications that he was missing,and the third was a funeral. Once upon a time there was a man. He was born on a cold winter morning in 1898 in the village of Sungurovo, in the Mokrousovsky region of Tobolsk province. A large peasant family, but children died before they were a year old, as happened in almost every home at that time. This is understandable: how could a paramedic come to be in the rural hinterland, when even in Mokrousovo, a large village that stood 25 versts from Sungurovo, he was absent. Babies sometimes died of dysentery, or were born with a baby, or something else happened. When Pavel was one year old, the Prosekovs breathed a sigh of relief, well, so the Lord granted him a long life. And so it turned out. He did not receive any education, but only completed three classes in a parochial school. They taught me to write and count, and thank God! From the age of 10, I helped my parents with household chores. To the cattle of hay to throw a navilnichek in a fit, water from the lake to train small buckets, from a kitchen garden to help the mother to weed different grass. For a jug of milk into the cellar to climb Yes a frog with milk to get the wretch. Pavlushka was afraid of cold, slippery ones, but father Trofim shamed them, saying that it was not good for peasants to be afraid to take any small toadstool in their hands. Then the peasants always threw frogs in the crinkles with milk, so that it was cold in the hot afternoon, they did not disdain. The host rotten family Prasekolah. Mostly in the barnyard. The father shepherded, the mother took care of the bird from morning to evening, went to mow for the master's cattle. The revolution came unexpectedly to the TRANS-Ural village. And two years later than in the Central part of Russia. No sooner did they Wake up from the innovations, from the artels created everywhere, where the whole family later worked, than Pavel turned 19 and was drafted into the army. in red. The guy almost served his term, but in 1923 Kolchak pretty much walked around the steppe expanses, joined the militia. The gangs of Lieutenant Lisovsky, an associate of Kolchak, went to Sungurovo twice: they slaughtered cattle, searched for Bolsheviks, and hung them on roadside poles. Much blood was shed during the time of troubles. But fate protected Pavel Prosekov even in that turbulent time-bullets flew past, the saber never rang over his ear. Although more than once, and not twice participated in attacks against forest bandits that hid in the surrounding forests and harmed villages. The gangs were driven from their native land. He came with his wife, young Marfa, to the first created collective farm, which was called by a big name, "Socialism". Husbandman. The children, as after a warm, fertile mushroom rain, began to sprout. Fortunately, the hut allowed. First mishenka, the first – born, was born, and three years later Polinka, the daughter, was born. Two years later, Valyushka was born, then again the sons went-Vasily, Nikolay. He brought two cows to the yard, and a farmer took up the plow. Only just started to live more freely, it seems, but the loudspeakers sounded: "War!". In 1941, they gave him a reservation, because he was a master skilled in iron-plows, ploughshares got along for the collective farm, worked on a tractor, after completing the appropriate courses. But in 1942, he still received a summons from the military enlistment office. Left small their krawinkel together with his wife Martha Paul on roadside path, and walk in Mokrousovo, along with other recruits left. As it turned out later, for as long as 2 years, which seemed like a ten-year period, since the soldier suffered a lot of ordeals during this time. First, they sent the recruits to the recruiting station in Kurgan, where the next division was being formed, then for some reason they were thrown into Chelyabinsk in teplushki, and a few days later they were returned with a replenishment - Siberians and far Easterners. If only the soldiers would know that they were going to pass through Lebyazhye station, they would have sent at least some news to their wives to come to the platform to see them. Yes, where there! Not up to date then it was! They took soldiers to Moscow by direct overtaking, who had windings on their feet instead of boots, and English boots. There were not enough uniforms in the warehouse for them, called up from peasant villages. And what to do - what they put on, that's what they fought in! Pavel Trofimovich Prosekov took his first fight as part of 61 Arm. 744 SP 149 SD on the Oryol direction. Here is a reference from Wikipedia about the glorious battle path of the 149th, which included the 744 rifle regiment (SP): "during the battle of Moscow, it participated in offensive operations in the Bolkhovsky and Oryol directions. From the spring of 1942 to the middle of 1943, on the Bryansk and Western fronts, she conducted defensive and offensive battles South and southwest of Belev, and as part of the Bryansk front, she participated in the Orel operation in July — August 1943." It was during this period that Pyotr Prosekov was wounded for the first time. Picked up on the battlefield orderlies of another part, who were doing a sweep after a bloody fight. And with his own, native regiment, flew home a funeral, in which the commander wrote that the red army soldier Prosekov was killed near the village of Annino in the Oryol region, and was buried there. We don't know by what parameters the fathers-commanders determined the actual death of their soldiers and the fact of their burial, but the search engines know how the dead were buried on the battlefields then and later they reported in their reports. Thousands of such cases are in the Central archive of the Ministry of Defense. 51948264 Information from the report of irretrievable losses. Last Name: Prosekov. Name: Pavel. Middle Name: Trofimovich. Date of birth/Age __. __.1898 date and place of call: Mokrousovsky RVC, Chelyabinsk region, Mokrousovsky R-n. Last place of service: 61 Arm. 744 SP 149 SD Military rank red army soldier. Reason for retirement: killed. Date of disposal: 05.04.1942. The primary place of burial: Orel region, Ulyanovsk R-n, d. Annino [.Name of the information source CAMO information source Fund Number 58 information source inventory Number 818883 information source case Number 1076https:/ / obd-memorial. ru / html/info. htm? id=51948264B [ http://obd-memorial.ru/html/info.htm?id=51948264В a middle-aged soldier was patched up in a mobile field hospital and sent to the runway. On the last day of his stay in the hospital, he wrote a letter home that "he is alive and well, which I wish you...". How they took this news, now we do not know. But I assume that Martha's wife prayed at the images all night, thanking the mother of God for her living husband. Formed on the runway reserve battalion of lightly wounded, like him, somehow moved away from the first impressions of the war, was taken to the southern direction. Joined the soldier on the 2 Ukrainian front in 1176 SP 350 SD, Voronezh direction (so in the document - from 5.04.42 to 14.08.42). Put it to the battery charger. The shells were "fueled" by our countryman mortars. The strength, thank God, was enough for this. And experience in grueling work, too. He did not bow to counter-explosions, and was reputed to be mighty and hardy. Presented to the award of our countryman for effort in combat service-the medal "for military merit". ( The order of the division was signed on 28.01.43).An extract from the award list States that from " December 12, 1942 for the localities of Dorozovka, Krasny Klyuch, Dmitrovka and Pasyukovo (soldier) showed exceptional dedication. Thanks to his dedication, there was not a single delay or misfire. During the withdrawal, he managed to take out the material part" ... they Did not have time to award the medal to the soldier Prosekov, as the regiment with heavy fighting rolled back to the initial lines, then was surrounded. 51847865 Information from the report on irretrievable losses last name Prosekov First name Pavel Patronymic Trofimovich date of birth/Age __. __.1898 Place of birth Chelyabinsk region, Mokrousovsky district date and place of conscription Mokrousovsky RVC, Chelyabinsk region., Mokrousovsky district Last place of service ZF 1176 SP 350 SD Military rank red army soldier Reason for departure missing date of departure 14.08.1942 Name of the information source CAMO number of the information source Fund 58 number of the information source inventory 818883 case Number of the information source 1177https://obd-memorial.ru/html/info.htm?id=5184786552042890information [ http://obd-memorial.ru/html/info.htm?id=5184786552042890Информация ] from the report of irretrievable lossfamily Prosekov First name Pavel Patronymic Trofimovich date of birth/Age __. __.1898 Place of birth Chelyabinsk region., Mokrousovsky R-n, the date and place of recruitment Mokrousovsky RVC, Chelyabinsk region, Mokrousovsky R-n, the Last duty station headquarters 350 SD Military rank of soldier the Reason for disposal [b]missing date of retirement 14.08.1942 the Name of source TSAMO Fund Number source of information 58 inventory Number of 818883 source of information case Number source of information 1176https://obd-memorial.EN/html/info.htm?id=5204289063048864Информация [ http://obd-memorial.ru/html/info.htm?id=5204289063048864Информация ] from reports of permanent paterfamilia Prosekov Name Paul middle name Trofimovich date of birth/Age __. __.1898 Last place of service 1176 JV Military rank soldier the Reason for disposal missing date of retirement 14.08.1942 the Name of source TSAMO Fund Number source of information 58 inventory Number of 977525 source of information case Number source of information 210https://obd-memorial.EN/html/info.htm?id=63048864 [ http://obd-memorial.ru/html/info.htm?id=63048864 ] Home, many years after the war, told the soldiers, as they were chosen by groups and individuals from the boiler, a miracle came to his own, not hitting to the Germans. And this case, he considered just luck in his fate in that situation. About that Pavel Trofimovich wrote home, not knowing that this letter would be his last before the captivity. In one of the fights, Pavel Trofimovich was severely concussed. He woke up only when the German picked him up. We found a card for the prisoner of war Prosekov:76903634 Information from documents specifying losses. Last name Prosekov first name Pavel Patronymic Trofimovich date and place of conscription Mokrousovsky RVC, Kurgan region, Mokrousovsky district Last place of service 3 Ukr. F 188 ZSP Military rank red army soldier Reason for retirement was captured (released) The name of source TSAMO Fund Number source of information 58 inventory Number of 18002 source of information case Number source of information 1610 (https://www.obd-memorial.ru/html/info.htm?id=76903634 [ https://www.obd-memorial.ru/html/info.htm?id=76903634 ] ). The date of the report is dated 23.10.1944. During his captivity, in the remote TRANS-Ural village again came to the village Council official paper from the part that" went missing " their fellow villager. The commander of the unit reported to the higher-ranking staff. At the headquarters of 350 SD, soldiers who did not leave the battle were sent to the military enlistment offices at their place of residence. If the soldier hadn't lost consciousness then, maybe he would have saved himself from another ordeal. But, apparently, the Lord gave him one more test, as if checking on the fortress. It was very cold in the barracks where the prisoners of war were being held, the room was not heated, wounds that had not healed ached, and hunger was tormenting. Pavel could not send news about himself to his native side, it was not easy to do so. They drove to different jobs – they cleaned the area from rubble and destroyed buildings, prisoners of war dragged stones and bricks, and put the territory in order.... It is not known for certain how, where and who released prisoners of war in early 1944. But after the liberation, Pavel Trofimovich got into the 188th reserve rifle regiment, and from there he was attached to the 1st military trophy brigade of the 62nd Guards rifle division of the second Ukrainian front. Not only did the soldiers pick up trophies after the offensive of our troops, but also participated in combat operations.The award list for 1946, already from the Mokrousovsky military enlistment office, "tells" how Prosekov in 1944, as part of 186 SP 62 GV. The SD, who showed heroism, courage and bravery in the battles for the city of Budapest, was seriously wounded. He was in the hospital for seven months, and that the soldier deserves the award-the medal"for bravery". Reading the award lists of our countrymen, written by the military Commissar of wartime S. Mokrousovo Lavrentiev, I involuntarily feel a tribute to this man. He did not lose sight of a single soldier who returned from the front wounded, but alive. In the awards, he scrupulously described all the events of the feats performed by them. How many awards, caught my eye, on the website "Feat of the people", signed by the military Commissar Lavrentiev and the first Secretary of the district party Committee Tarasov! Pavel Trofimovich Prosekov was put on the Commission because of a severe concussion and a clean wound to the thigh. At home, the medical military Commission gave a disability group, but a working one. The children had grown up in two and a half years without a father, and they had to be raised. Marfa was often ill because of overwork during the famine of the war. I went to work in the collective farm "Socialism". The current head of local self-government bodies, Nikolay Orlov, recalls the veteran: [b] "I remember him well, although I was still a kid. He worked conscientiously, and we children often gathered in his workshop, where he wove baskets out of willow twigs and made brooms for public use. At that time there were no factory sledges, and Pavel Trofimovich made them for us from the birch forest. We rode on a homemade sled made by his hands, remembering grandfather Pavel with a kind word."[/b]in Sungurovo, the collective farm "Socialism" was renamed im. Kirov. During this period of time, the veteran was awarded two medals at once in the military enlistment office- " for military merit "and" for bravery", modestly, without pomp. Found, after all, awards, fellow countryman! P. T. Prosekov died in his native village, from where he never left after the war. He was buried in the local cemetery, leaving behind a rich offspring.Now the veteran's daughter, Valentina, has a son, Viktor, who lives in Asbestos. It is he who keeps a genealogy of his kind, writes down the stories of old-timers of the village when he comes home on vacation. I also wrote down my memories of my grandfather. He says that there were a lot of light injuries, and only one serious one, when the hip and arm were damaged by shrapnel from a mine. In a shirt, they say, the grandfather was born. The veteran told his grandchildren during his lifetime tha_x000D_ he was surrounded and near Stalingrad, although I did not find any documentary evidence about this episode. Currently, two more grandsons of the veteran, the sons of the last son of Nikolay, Yuri and Pavel, live on the Central estate. The granddaughter of a veteran, she lives in the neighboring Lebyazhievsky district, in the village of Fox. But twice a year, a large family of Prosekovs gathers in their native nest in Sungurovo – on Parents ' day and victory Day, to visit the grave of their grandparents, who left behind a good growth – 11 grandchildren and 3 great-grandchildren. Indeed, there was a man who lived for a reason…The history of post-war life of a veteran told Zinaida Nikolaevna Ivacheva of Sungurova. She did not remain indifferent to the publication in the regional newspaper about the search for relatives of the soldier and responded.

Pyryev Yegor Yermolaevich

Pahomov Konstantin Aleksandrovich