Kartunov Sergey Andreevich
Title: Red Army soldier I remember how dad went to the front. (Memories of Verstakova's daughter Anna Sergeevna). Our memory is arranged in an interesting way. I am 80 years old, I can not remember what happened two days ago, but I remember the day when my father went to war to the smallest detail. I was 7 years old. That day changed my whole life. Dad did not return from the war and I still miss him. War is the most terrible human sorrow. We lived in the village. Sabanakovo, Kilemarsky district of the Mari ASSR. My dad, Sergey Andreevich Kartunov, worked as the head of the forest area. The place is very beautiful. Near the river Kokshaga. The forest and the river were our breadwinners. They lived poorly, but happily because love reigned in the house. Our parents loved us very much and treated each other with great love. Mom did not call dad any other than Serezhenka, but he called her - Arisha. Their love has been tested. In their youth, they lived in the Gorky region. On that terrible day in early August 1941, my mother went into the forest in the morning for raspberries and by noon she came with a full bucket of sweet berries. We surrounded the bucket in a merry crowd and began to feast on raspberries. And dad was sitting by the window sad. Mom asked: - "Seryozhenka, what happened?" He replied that he had been handed a summons to the front and tomorrow at 8 am he should be on the Red Bridge. People are being gathered there to be sent to the front. ... In the evening my mother put us to bed. I couldn't sleep at night. Mom cried all night. In the morning, mom asked dad if it was necessary to wake up the children to say goodbye. He said: “Don't, Arisha, let them sleep. Take care of them. The war will end soon, I'll be back in two or three months. I heard everything through a dream, but I did not get up to say goodbye, I did not understand yet, because of my age, everything that had fallen on us. In the evening, mom comes barefoot and covered in dust. She hugged us and cried. And she began to tell how she saw off her father. They began to wait for news from dad. The first triangle of the letter comes, where he says that he is fighting in the battles for Moscow. Letters were rare. Every time we were glad that dad was alive. And one day a postcard came from the hospital. He wrote that he was wounded in the shoulder. Dad was cured and sent back into battle. For a long time there was nothing and again a postcard from the hospital, where dad wrote that he was wounded in both legs and left shoulder, it was not dangerous, that when he recovered, he would write. Recently my daughter found information about her father on the Internet on the Memorial website. It lists all of his wounds, which were fatal. They brought us a funeral, where it is written that dad died of wounds on 12.1142, cremated, buried near the walls of the Kremlin. At that time, they probably wrote to everyone like that. The battles were terrible for Moscow, many of our soldiers died. We also found the exact address of the burial of the ashes on the Memorial website. My generation went through a terrible war, rebuilding a destroyed country. Yes, we were left without fathers, there was no support. I had to rely only on myself. My husband's father, too, died from front-line wounds. From the age of 12, my husband plowed the land on bulls (all the horses were sent to the front) on the collective farm. He was the eldest in the family. It was necessary to raise 5 brothers and sisters. We started our lives with one suitcase and a pillow. They wandered in rented apartments and barracks, and received a separate apartment when the children were already big. Well, we have such a fate. There is no need to regret it. There was youth, there were many happy moments. We achieved everything ourselves, raised wonderful children. I only regret one thing that I did not say goodbye to my dad then, on that terrible day in August 1941.
