Politics project: War
(Second World War 1942-1945)
My Russian grandma was born in 1939. In 1943 the Fascists reached the region in the South of Russia, were she lived. She saw the war, and didn ’ t know what for all the people were dying, she didn ’ t know why her father went to fight, why her mother died and why the heart of her three years old sister suddenly stopped. And she also didn ’ t know why some foreign men on motorbikes came into her small town and took everything away, although the fruits from the trees. But she saw death, blood and the fear of the people.
This is the story, that she told me:
I was four, when the Fascists reached our village. Now I’m sixty, but what I saw with my own eyes so many years ago, I remember, as if it happened yesterday.
It was a hot summer that day, I played with my two sisters in our garden, my mother made dinner. Suddenly we heard the ratter of motorbikes and some other noise, that I had never heard before. It was the noise of tanks. My mother ran out of the house. „Hurry, into the house, and don’t come out!“, she shouted. My big sister took my hand and I took the hand of my three years old small sister. We ran as fast as we could, mother came after us and locked the door. I couldn’t understand it, we’ve never locked the door before. I was scared.
We looked out of the window. All the people were running around, some of them were trying to catch their hens and to put their sheep into their barns. I heard a quiet voice: „They’re coming.“, Rita, my seven years old sister whispered. „Who - who is coming?“, I shouted excitedly. „Quiet“, my mother whispered, „the bad men are coming, the bad men.“ My mother had told me about „the bad men“ my father fought against. But she had also told me, that the war was far away in the North and that here, in the South, we don’t have to be afraid.
The ratter got louder and nobody, except a few hens and sheep, was on the road. And suddenly I could see the motorbikes. The people, who rode them wore only shorts, leather gloves and helmets. I found it so funny, that I had to laugh. My mother put her hand on my mouth and shouted: „Can’t you be quiet!“ She had never talked to me like that and I started to cry. „Alla, shut up!“, mother shouted again. Mother, who always was so tender to me, shouted. I tried to stop crying and turned to Rita, she also had red eyes. Anja, my small sister, took her doll and went into our bedroom. I heard her crying.
The „bad people“, how my mother called them, were really bad. They rode through our road and took everything on their way: hen, goats, sheep... Some men stopped in front of our apple trees and took away the fruits. After the motorbikes had passed, I could see the tanks. I had never seen any before. There were only a few of them, but they seemed to me so big and dangerous, that I thought, they were monsters, who are going to kill every one of us. Suddenly, the house-door opened. I stopped breathing for a moment. I was too afraid, to turn to the door. But it was only my grandma, who came back from feeding the hens in our barn. Her face was white. „We have nothing to eat anymore“, she whispered, „they took our animals.“
The German soldiers settled in the village school, but, how it seemed, there was not enough space for everyone there. We saw, how the soldiers came in the houses of our neighbours and friends, settled there and made the owners of the houses to their slaves. And, one day, it was our turn. I played with Anja, Rita helped mother to cook a meal of vegetables, which we still had in our garden, and grandma was knitting some warm clothes for the winter from the rest of our sheep wool. Suddenly, the door was kicked out. I was paralysed with fear. Three men came in: two soldiers, and one man, who was wearing an other kind of uniform, I think, he was a general. „What do you want?“, my mother asked. „Food? Here.“, she took the pot with the vegetable soup and went towards the three men. The general looked inside the pot, than he starred at my mother. „We haven’t got any meat“, mother said. „Your friends took away our animals. That is the only thing, I can offer you. And now take it and leave our house!“ One of the soldiers could speak a little bit Russian. „Very beautiful house“, he said. „But we not leave, you leave. Your house, now our house. Out!“ „ But,“ mother said, „but you cant do this! I’ve got three children, they’re hungry and the only food we have is in our garden. No, no you cant do this! Where should we go?“ „Not our problem, where you go. Have five minutes to pack. Then out!“ „ Please don’t do it!“, my grandma cried and sank on the knees in front of the soldiers. „ Look at our three girls. They don’t understand, what’s going on here! Do you want them to die from hunger? Please don’t do it! Please!“ Then, the soldier took out his gun and aimed at me and Anja. „Out!“, he shouted again, „Now!“ Mother and grandma packed as quick as they could. They packed only what was really needed: warm clothes, bed-linen, and some corn from our granary. We, the children, were sent in the garden, to collect as many vegetables, as we could. We went out of our house and I didn’t know, where we were going.
The only house, were we could go was the former guardhouse on the school ground. Or better to call it „guardbarn“. There was only one room, and the only furniture was: a metal bed, two chairs, a table and a small and dirty mirror on a wall without any wallpaper. That was our new home. Of course, it was dangerous for us, to go outside, because the headquarters of the Fascists for our Region was in the school, on which ground we lived; but we were children, and children need to play. So, we played on the school ground and always, when we saw some soldiers, we hid behind our house.
One day, we played with a dog called Tschasliwtschik (engl. Lucky). It had been the dog of the old school guard. The school guard had died a few months ago and Lucky got homeless. He has been fed by the villagers and now, when the villagers hardly had something to eat for themselves, he was fed by the German soldiers. Lucky was a very nice dog. We loved him. We often played with Lucky like we did that day. We plaid with Lucky and noticed a German officer, who went towards us. Rita and I ran and hid behind the house. But Anja didn’t react so fast. She just stood there and watched the officer coming nearer and nearer. The officer seemed to pass Anja and Lucky, but, suddenly he stopped and turned. He starred at Anja. Anja starred at him, too. Lucky stood in front of Anja and snarled. The officer started to laugh. Abruptly he took out his gun and shot. The bullet flew through Lucky’s paw and missed Anja’s leg only for a few centimetres. Lucky howled up and sank on the ground. Anja started to cry. Mother ran out of the house and took us inside. Out of the window, we saw, how some other Germans ran out of the school building. They beat down the officer, who had shot. They took Lucky with them into the school building. The soldiers cared for him and in a few weeks, he could play with us again. But we were only allowed to go outside, when one of the adults was with us.
The autumn came and our food-stock was near to the end. We still had some conserved vegetables, but, we had to think of the winter. So my mother and grandma had to walk over five kilometres to a forsake wheat field. The wheat was boiled up with water; that was our every-day-meal. But often, they came back without the wheat, because on their way back home, they had met some soldiers, who had taken away the wheat and trampled it down, laughing and spotting.
Frequently, when the adults were on the field, the neighbour villages were bombed by the Fascists. We were very afraid, that our ma or grandma could get killed. We always hid under the metal bed, in the hope, that the bed could save us. Once the bombing was very loud. We were lying under our bed and trembled of fear. When everything was over, Rita and I climbed out of our hiding-place but Anja was still lying under the bed. „Anja“, I said. „Anja wake up, its over. Anja!“ Rita touched Anja’s hand. She starred at our three years old sister for a moment, than she looked up to me, with tears in her eyes. Her voice was so quiet, that I hardly could understand it.
„Alla“, Rita whispered. „She’s dead.“
The village doctor explained, that Anja had been a very weak girl, because of the stress and the fear, she had had to live with from baby-age on. He also explained, that it had been only a question of time, till Anja’s heart couldn’t bear it any more. Anja was buried behind our house on the school ground, because the Germans had destroyed the graveyard. Above her grave stood a wooden cross. On this cross hung a white wooden shield. On the shield was written with coal:
Anja Sdobnova 03.02.1940 - 24.10.1943 victim of fear
The autumn passed and the winter came. We had nothing to eat, except the few glasses of conserved vegetables. But, there where so less of them, that we were afraid to die from hunger. One cold winter evening, we heard a knock at the door. I was very afraid, because I thought, that were soldiers, who wanted to take away our new home, too. „What do you want?“, my mother asked through the door. We heard a voice with a German accent: „I have to eat for you!“ Mother was very insecure. „ How can I be sure, that you really have food for us?“, she asked suspiciously. „I let pot in front door and I go away“, the voice said, „Please take food, or you and children die before spring.“ We heard footsteps becoming weaker and weaker. Mother waited for another five minutes and carefully opened the door. Outside stood a pot with soup! It was some kind of patato-soup, and it smelled good, I found. First, my grandma tried it, and as she had nicked with her head, we, the children could eat. After we were satiated, ma and grandma shared the rest. From that day on, this soldier brought us food every evening. But, we’d never saw him. We just put the empty pot behind the door, and when it became dark, there was a full pot instead of the empty one. Mother always wanted to say thank you to him, but every evening, when she opened the door, she saw only the full pot and fresh footsteps on the snow.
Every Sunday, post came to our village. My grandma, went to the post- office every Sunday, but there was never post for us. But, one January-Sunday, grandma came back from the post-office with a letter in her hands. „Here, that’s for you.“, she said and gave the letter to mother. Ma opened it and read the first two lines. Suddenly, she started to cry and dropped the letter on the floor. Rita (who was in the first school class before the soldiers came) picked the letter up and started to read:
„ Comrade Sdobnowa,
I ’ m sorry to tell you, that
your husband, W.A.Sdobnow, fell on December, 14th, 1943 in a battle near Stalingrad.
But you should be proud of your husband,
because he has died as a hero of the Soviet Union.
I am sorry for you and your family
D. J. Titajew “
„As a hero of the Soviet Union“; my grandma whispered, „or as the last fool. What difference? He’s dead.“
After the death of Anja, mother had never been like she was before. But after this letter she seemed to become weaker and weaker every day. At the end of January, she caught a bad inflammation of the lungs. I often heard my grandma telling my mother, that she mustn’t give up living. But she gave up. It was a stormy night in February, in which she died.
My mother was buried in front of Anja’s grave.
When the spring came, the most horrible time for us seemed to be over. The Russian forces were near, and the Germans packed their things. That night, I woke up from loud shouting „Help!“ „ Help!“, I heard, „Fire!“ „Don’t scream! Get buckets!“ We need buckets!“ I heard horse neighing, sheep bleating, than again voices: „No! Not empty buckets, full buckets, with water! Hurry, hurry, hurry!“ Rita and grandma woke up, too. We ran outside. The hole village was burning. All the people were panic. „What has happened?“, grandma asked one of the running around villagers. „The Germans.“, he answered heavily breathing, „I think, they are going to leave tomorrow; but, before they leave, they want to destroy everything here.“ „But“, my grandma said, „why...“The villager interrupted her: „They didn’t burn your house, because they were afraid, the fire would come over to the school then. You’re lucky“. When it got lighter, all the houses, except our house and the school building were burned down. The villagers were standing in front of the ruins of their houses; some of them were crying, some shocked. I heard the motorbike ratter again. The Germans were leaving. We looked out of the window. The soldiers looked beaten, but some of them smiled; some of them were proud, that they’d destroyed our live. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. We heard a voice. „Be careful!“, the voice said, „School stoves mined!“ I recognised the voice. It was the soldier, who had brought us food in the winter.
The villagers had nothing. They decided to go to Novo-Tscherkask, to start a new live. Of course, no one had a car, but some of them still had a horse and a carriage. We started the same day in the evening. The people didn’t have anything to take with them. Rita, grandma and I travelled in the carriage of our old friends, the Ivanovs. At night, we rest at a clearing in the forest. I lay under some sheep coats, but I couldn’t sleep, I was too exited. Suddenly, I heard some horrible screaming: „Help! They kill us!“ The screaming came from the other side of the clearing, some other people began to scream. I hid under the coat for a moment. Than I felt something heavy and humid on my side. I looked to the side and start with fear: that what I saw, was the mutilated body of Mrs Ivanova. Grandma and Rita were screaming at the other side of the carriage. I looked up, and saw a bloody knife in the hand of a man, who was shouting in distinct Russian. I thought, I would die in the next moment, but in that moment, some other men came over him. That were Partisans, who settled in the forest and heard our shouting. They brought us to Novo-Tscherkask where we could start a new live
I never knew, who was that man, who attacked us that night, but when I came to Novo-Tscherkask and the horror was over, that wasn’t important any more.
After two years of poverty and hunger, my grandmother, her sister and grandma could start a normal life again. Later, she married and went to Moscow. She tried to forget that horrible moments she lived through during the war, but she couldn ’ t. And actually, who could?
Viktoria Zänker
Frequently asked questions
What is the story about?
The story, titled "Politics project: War (Second World War 1942-1945)", recounts a Russian grandmother's experiences as a young child during World War II, specifically focusing on the period when Fascist forces occupied her village in Southern Russia between 1942 and 1945.
What are the key events that the grandmother experienced?
The grandmother witnessed several traumatic events, including the arrival of German soldiers, the confiscation of food and livestock, being forced out of her home, living in a guardhouse, the death of her younger sister due to fear and malnutrition, the death of her father in the war, and the death of her mother from illness exacerbated by hardship. She also recalls the kindness of a German soldier who secretly provided them with food and the burning of the village by retreating German forces.
What was the impact of the war on the grandmother's family?
The war had a devastating impact on the grandmother's family. They lost their home, their possessions, their food supply, and ultimately, two of her family members to the consequences of the war. The grandmother herself was left with lasting emotional scars.
Who is telling the story, and how did they hear it?
The story is told by Viktoria Zänker, based on the experiences recounted by her grandmother, Alla Klimaschina.
What happened after the war ended?
After the war, the surviving villagers, including the grandmother, her sister, and her grandmother, moved to Novo-Tscherkask to start a new life. They faced further hardship, including an attack by bandits, before being rescued by partisans. The grandmother eventually married and moved to Moscow, but she was never able to fully forget the horrors she had experienced.
What role did the German soldier play in the story?
A German soldier secretly helped the family by bringing them food every evening, saving them from starvation. However, his identity remained unknown to the family.
Where did the family live after they were forced out of their home?
The family moved to a former guardhouse on the school grounds, a small and dirty room that became their new home.
- Arbeit zitieren
- Victoria Zaenker (Autor:in), 2000, Story of a victim, München, GRIN Verlag, https://www.hausarbeiten.de/document/98696
