Remembering WWII, 1941

[Ludwik]

Introduction

 

This essay is written as a homework assignment at the Memoir Writing Workshop for Senior Citizens (Tenafly, New Jersey). The workshop is conducted by Lucile Lichtblau. I am the author of a FREE on-line book, entitled:

 

"Diary of a Former Communist: Thoughts, Feelings, Reality," at

 

http://csam.montclai...life/intro.html

 

It is an autobiography illustrating my evolution from one extreme to another--from a devoted Stalinist to an active anti-communist. This testimony is based on a diary I kept between 1946 and 2004 (in the USSR, Poland, France and the USA).The homework consists of describing a single fragment of my life in a short self-standing essay. I decided to focus on the the first year of the World War II.

 

 

 

 

Remembering the First Year of the War

 

Ludwik Kowalski (September 2010)

 

 

In 1941, my mother and I were living in Dedenievo, a small settlement (30 miles north of Moscow) on the bank of the famous Moscow-Volga canal. The major railroad connecting Moscow with Leningrad, and a paved highway, passed through that settlement. The place was surrounded by numerous collective farm villages; I still remember their names, such as Medviedki, Tselkovo, etc. The settlement had a school, a sanatorium (where my mother worked as a nurse), a hospital, two stores, a nursing home and a post office. It also had a large, partially ruined church. The tower of that church, dominating the area, could be seen from miles away. The northern wall of the church was destroyed and a person passing by could see a huge icon of Christ, painted on the inner wall. I was always fascinated by the fact that his eyes followed me as I was passing by.

 

I was ten years old when the war started, on June 22. That morning, in a store, I heard that our country was invaded by Germans. I immediately ran to the sanatorium, about half a mile away, to tell people what I heard. They turned the speakers on while Molotov was still speaking. Another thing I remember was the official order, distributed next day. Every tunable radio receiver--and we had one--must to be brought to the post office. The local authorities said that parts were needed by the army. Was this the main reason? Probably not; they wanted to protect us from German propaganda. After that day we had to rely on speakers connected to the central station by wires.

 

Eleven days later I heard Stalin's first WWII speech. "Comrades! Citizens! Brothers and sisters! Men of our army and navy! I am addressing you, my friends! . . ." After telling us that Hitler's finest divisions had already "met their doom on the field of the battle," he reported that the enemy continued to push forward. I was very surprised to discover that our dear leader had a very strong Georgian accent. Posters "all for the front, all for victory," and "motherhood calls you" were to be seen everywhere. But each day we heard depressing radio announcements, such as "today, as planned, our units units left Minsk," or Kiev, etc. People had no idea what was really happening. The Soviet Union was totally unprepared for the war and losses were enormous, as we now know. The school was still functioning but about one half of our time was devoted to military matters. We learned how to deal with small incendiary bombs, how to use rifles (without live ammunition), and how to throw disarmed grenades.

 

One day a trainload of miserable looking and poorly dressed people was brought to Dedenievo. They were said to be a labor-front division. All of them were Uzbeks; non-Russian speaking. Each morning, escorted by armed soldiers, they were led to dig trenches and build fortifications. At night they slept on the floors of a tall building, next to the one in which we had a little room. Only much later did I realize that this division was a mobile gulag camp unit.

 

Herds of cows, sheep and horses, taken from surrounding collective farms, were led along the highway in the direction of Moscow. The policy was not to leave anything for Germans. During that time my mother and a neighbor bought a pig from a peasant in a near-by village. It was killed with a long knife and then divided into two parts, one for us and another for the neighbor. I will never forget the fear I experienced watching the killing and hearing the powerful squeals of the dying animal.

 

Several weeks later I experienced similar fear under very different circumstances. A Red Army soldier approached me and asked about the best way to go to the other side of the canal. He was probably wounded; his bandaged arm was in a rope sling. I knew that the canal was already frozen and that it could be crossed nearly anywhere. But I also knew that it was forbidden to give any information to strangers--anyone could be a German spy, we were told. So instead of answering I said, "I know who to ask; come with me." And we walked toward the building guarded by two armed soldiers. I said that this man asked me a question that you might be able to answer. Then I left them and started going toward our home. A minute later I heard the familiar sound of a gun click. I turned my head back and saw that the guard's gun was aimed at the wounded soldier.

 

Thinking that he was going to be killed I ran home, jumped on the bed, and covered my head with a large pillow. The fear experienced during the killing of the pig was the same as the fear I felt during this episode. The man was not killed, the guard told me later. They took him away because he was a deserter. Several days later, looking for wood in an abandoned shed, I discovered bodies of two Soviet soldiers. Were they also deserters? Perhaps they were hiding in this place and froze to death while sleeping. This kind of death, I was told later, is painless.

 

Two weeks later, Germans were only several miles away from our settlement. One evening, probably at the end of October, the railroad bridge over the canal was blown up by Soviet sappers. Then the Red Army retreated from Dedenievo and we were between two armies, for about a week. The settlement was heavily bombed by German airplanes. The building next to the school was destroyed by a large bomb, leaving a crater about 50 feet wide and 30 feet deep. That bomb was probably designed for the church tower, suspected to be an observation point.

 

Most of the nursing home residents died from cold after windows were shattered by numerous explosions. My mother carried some patients to the nearby hospital, on her back. Then she worked in that hospital, just across the street from the shelter where I was hiding, the basement of the church. About 100 people sat there, on tons of carrots and potatoes; the place had been used to store vegetables delivered to the government from surrounding collective farms. It is here that I heard, for the first time, about special Germans military units killing Jews and communists. I dreamed of joining partisans.

 

At a quiet time between bombings my mother came to the church basement and said I would be better off in the hospital with her. As we prepared to leave, bombs started falling again. One hit the wooden hospital building, burying about one hundred people. We heard calls for help but nothing could be done. Then the fire started; those who survived the bomb were burned alive. The first Soviet WWII victory, pushing Germans away from Moscow, took place where we lived. A week later I walked to Jachroma, the nearest settlement from which Germans were pushed away. Here I saw two abandoned German tanks. I climbed on one of them, opened the hatch, and went inside--not a wise thing to do. Only later did I learn there might have been a mine in the tank.

 

The constant roar of cannons became weaker and weaker. That was the beginning of a very difficult two or three years for us, due to the limited food supply. Like most people, we started growing our own potatoes, anywhere we could. We lived in a barrack, each family in a single room. Half of our space was used to store those potatoes, which we rationed to last until the next summer. In springtime we depended on eggs from birds' nests, and on fresh nettle. A little later in the season we ate birds, schav, and berries. Fortunately, I was able to help by bringing home mushrooms and fish. We were hungry most of the time. Winters were very cold. My ability to gather wood, sometimes stealing rejects from a local sawmill, was essential.

 

Meat from the pig we bought in the fall was an important part of our diet. By spring, only a large bone remained, hanging on the wall of our room. My mother decided to preserve it for as long as possible. It was eventually used to make a very tasty soup. I was so excited to see fat circles floating on the surface of this aromatic liquid. A year later I was even more excited by the aroma escaping from an open can of American SPAM. The label on that can was "swinaja tushonka." The taste of my first American meat was the most memorable sensation in my entire life.

Ludwik Kowalski (see Wikipedia)

Professor Emeritus

Montclair State University

[John Cuthber]

"Remembering the First Year of the War... In 1941, my mother and I were living..."

What about 1939 and 1940?

[Marat]

That's a very interesting story when put into the context of the wider historical events surrounding it. The story has often been told of how Stalin suffered a kind of meltdown in response to the German attack, which he had stubbornly insisted was not coming, despite intelligence reports of German reconnaisance flights over the Soviet Union and British warnings of an impending assault. His first orders to the armed forces were not to respond provocatively to the attack or cross into German-held territory. He then fell into a kind of stupor, only rousing himself several days later for his radio address. It was interesting in this context to learn from your account that the first message from the government to the country which you heard was from the Foreign Minister, Molotov.

 

In one sense you were lucky through all of this, in that you were just the right age to avoid being killed in the war. Being ten in 1941 when Russian became involved in the war meant that throughout the entire period of conflict you were still too young to be drafted.

 

Your story of encountering the work battalion of Soviet citizens who did not speak Russian reminds me of another interesting war anecdote I read about once. Some Soviet citizens from Central Asia, who spoke an obscure Tartar language and who knew absolutely nothing about the outside world, were drafted into the Soviet Army in 1942. There were no translators available who spoke their peculiar language, so they really didn't comprehend what was happening to them. They were taken prisoner in their first combat experience, and from there they were put into a German Army construction battalion of 'volunteer' enemy soldiers working for the Reich. They were sent to work on constructing the Atlantic Wall in France, still not even understanding where they were or what was happening. Finally, their work battalion was captured by Allied forces during the Normandy invasion, but again, no translators could be found who spoke their language. It was many years before their identity could be discovered and they could be sent back home to Central Asia, but even when they were repatriated, they still had no real concept of where they had been, what had happened, or what the war was all about.

[rigney]

That's a very interesting story when put into the context of the wider historical events surrounding it. The story has often been told of how Stalin suffered a kind of meltdown in response to the German attack, which he had stubbornly insisted was not coming, despite intelligence reports of German reconnaisance flights over the Soviet Union and British warnings of an impending assault. His first orders to the armed forces were not to respond provocatively to the attack or cross into German-held territory. He then fell into a kind of stupor, only rousing himself several days later for his radio address. It was interesting in this context to learn from your account that the first message from the government to the country which you heard was from the Foreign Minister, Molotov.

 

In one sense you were lucky through all of this, in that you were just the right age to avoid being killed in the war. Being ten in 1941 when Russian became involved in the war meant that throughout the entire period of conflict you were still too young to be drafted.

 

Your story of encountering the work battalion of Soviet citizens who did not speak Russian reminds me of another interesting war anecdote I read about once. Some Soviet citizens from Central Asia, who spoke an obscure Tartar language and who knew absolutely nothing about the outside world, were drafted into the Soviet Army in 1942. There were no translators available who spoke their peculiar language, so they really didn't comprehend what was happening to them. They were taken prisoner in their first combat experience, and from there they were put into a German Army construction battalion of 'volunteer' enemy soldiers working for the Reich. They were sent to work on constructing the Atlantic Wall in France, still not even understanding where they were or what was happening. Finally, their work battalion was captured by Allied forces during the Normandy invasion, but again, no translators could be found who spoke their language. It was many years before their identity could be discovered and they could be sent back home to Central Asia, but even when they were repatriated, they still had no real concept of where they had been, what had happened, or what the war was all about.

 

I can go there! but only in nostaljia. Recently came across this link from a friend that says much about wars and why most of our younger generation want to forget them. Things like the Alamo, San Juan Hill, the Maine, and Pearl Harbor. This is a short video, (film at the time) that brings home some of the heroics "marking" us as a Super Power. But aren't you proud and glad? At times we link our past and present together figuratively. But there are times we can only relate the two, "spiritually". I know the era, but fortunately; only the terror, not the horror.

(http://link.brightcove.com/services/player/bcpid34762914001?bctid=672454611001)

Edited January 7, 2011 by rigney

[Marat]

There's a film clip quite similar to that showing George Herbert Walker Bush being pulled out of the Pacific by a submarine crew after he parachuted down from his plane. It's remarkable to think that just by coincidence someone was on that submarine with a camera to film a then unknown pilot who later became president.

[skyhook]

Cool story. I think in history articles, it is said that moscow was saved by the winter or something, and the nazis didn't account for the winter in the attack. I didn't check though, may have remembered wrongly.

Edited January 8, 2011 by skyhook

[Marat]

The severe winter of 1941 was part of the problem for the German advance on Moscow. (I wonder if Ludowik has any stories about it?) There was also excessive mud before that which slowed the German progress even more. The ultimate problem was that Japan and the Soviet Union reached an understanding which allowed Stalin to transfer the bulk of the Siberian Army to Moscow in time to defend it against the German attack and enable a Russian counteroffensive on December 6, which ended the German hopes of taking Moscow.