Girl and battle for Moscow. About blood, soil and fate

There are no horrors in this story, there is everyday war that the child remembered. And, listening, he experienced strange feelings: these are not abstract memories, everything happened to your family in reality. And this will never happen again. This will not happen to your children. Such tests, of course, there will no longer be no-kog-yes

At the beginning of each May, children's institutions are looking for war veterans. They have not been enough for all for a long time, and for several years already in kindergartens, boarding schools, schools are called children of war.

On the eve of Victory Day, an old woman came to his son in a kindergarten. She sat with her wet eyes, listening to poems about the war. They gave her a word. And I, he says, I don’t remember anything about the war, I forgot.

Then the children danced. The old woman rises. I remembered, says. And for a long time she told me what a makeshift, wooden toy she had. And what a gauze dress on Victory Day was sewn. It’s a pity, did not write down - it was an amazing story.

There is no progress, there is a giant rusty carousel, periodically returning us to where we were already. Only a person is unique and valuable. With his deeds, thoughts and memory.

On November 1, Aunt Katya turned 80 years old. On November 1, 1941, she met her seventh birthday in a ravine near Volokolamsk. There was a battle for Moscow. On the Volokolamsk highway, the main in that century on the planet of the event took place. And she, Katerina, was very small.

Ekaterina Egorovna, my favorite aunt. She raised me every summer: my parents flew into some Bulgaria, and they threw me to her. From my year to 18th birthday. Before you went into the army, in the 85th, I flew to it again, and the next morning she led me to be baptized into one of the most stringent temples of Russia-the Nativity of the Virgin on the Middle. He is 200 meters from the house towards Moscow. The stone became simultaneously with the birth of Ivan the Terrible. We believe that there was still Malyuta Skuratov, on his behalf my favorite icon was written - the Volokolamsk Mother of God. The temple bell tower looks like a rocket.

It was a big family. I have not seen only my grandfather. He came from the war, but died before my birth. His sons, my uncles, also returned from the front. All three. My father was my fourth son, he did not fought in infancy: when the Germans came, he was a year old. And he, in his arms, alternately with his mother, carried away by the war Aunt Katya, then six years old. The father once said that he remembers that sky above the road, in those days. But these, of course, are fairy tales, a thickness, it cannot be.

Uncle Kolya, Uncle Tolya, Uncle Vitya. Their sisters, my aunts: Lucy, Nina, Galya. And she, my beloved. Holding the family, looking. With a cool disposition. Everyone parted - Sverdlovsk, Astrakhan, Riga, Kurgan, Perm, but in the summer with the children they gathered in the father’s house, where she steered. Now there is no one left except my father and her.

Volokolamsk is older than Moscow. Novgorod with Vladimir fought for him, then with Moscow. Moscow squeezed out, she always squeezes everything. Tatars, Lithuanians, Poles, Germans ... In 2010, he was given the title "City of Military Glory."

The grandmother of the field, nodding at the window of the house - this house on the Volokolamsk highway, said about the meadow and mountain, which I saw: “Gathered, buried: ten to twenty to twenty, one German, ten to twenty of ours, one German.” (Officially: out of 13 thousand soldiers and officers who held the defense near Volokolamsk, 11 thousand were killed.)

The uncles almost did not talk about the war, Aunt Katya under old age began. On May 9, 2014, I decided to record her story.

There are no horrors in it, there is everyday war that the child remembered. And, listening, he experienced strange feelings: these are not abstract memories, everything happened to your family in reality. And this will never happen again. This will not happen to your children. Such a war, of course, there will no longer be no such tests. If anything happens, darkness is always there - it will be completely different. One thing is definitely: each such certificate must be captured. Let the collective historical memory of Russians have such evidence of eyewitnesses, not enough lift and victorious enough, now it does not cancel the tribal prejudices, and just human duty to listen to another person. Responsibilities to record important and save it from oblivion.

Sorry for inconsistency, slurred - if anyone finds it. But I did not dare to rule her story.

“ - We went. The well of the woman. They tell us: Vasilisa (this is my great -grandmother, she was then the main thing in the family. - A.T. ), there is no place for you. Here someone new comes up: I will give my bed. Vasilisa is my most good people. Get squeamish.

Two days before they did not eat, did not drink. Mother, to you. They put us in the kitchen.

Already the Germans came to Avdotino, and his mother had a dream. Nikolai. Both Nikolai-Angel and the eldest son Nikolai, he was already a tanker, already served. Says: “Fields, go home. And you will go, and you won’t get into the house. ” He says twice: “Go home. What are the Germans, what's here. "

We went with Avdotino, we are returning. They shoot on the sides. In the hills were driven into the barn. We think they will burn us. The officer asks: “Who are you? Refugees? Where, where? " And we are nine people. “Mother, take it to you,” two more teenagers ask. Mother took. “This is mine too,” he says.

... They gave us two guide Germans. We had bags of Kutuli. The Germans grandmother's arms, helped, lowered down into the ravine. But then everything that was edible was selected from us. You say, there were no Finns near Moscow? I remembered: they ... everyone said that about them. When we already approached, they saw a horse shot on the road. And then the battle went. And then the explosions. We hid in a ravine for a long time. I am seven years old and turned away.

Already again they approached the house, and the shell exploded next to our house, stewed the house with snow. Standed the house. The beam was raised. They ate frozen potatoes. The bomb shelter was dug a meter from the rut of the tank, sparkles sparkled.

The Austrian asked Viti (my uncle, he was 14 years old then. - A. T. ) boots - he did not take off.

The Germans turned tolerantly, nothing like that. Without demand, they did not take anything. They said: we are an infantry, but the punishers will follow us. Almost two months somehow lived under them. The punishers did not reach.

Then the bombing went. The Germans began to retreat. Everything froze, froze - the scrap metal was left. They came to warm - Hitler, they say, Alles. We are Tsuryuk. And you go out, we will burn everything at home.

After the fourth house, they ran to the basement. To the center is closer, hide. People walked, the Germans asked: "You do not burn at home." Mother also walked, and Aunt Klava Bobrov (our neighbor. - A. T. ) tells her: “Do not go, you will leave my family.” And then I crawl, I'll see. I read the psalter. And the rumble is growing. Ours came. The door to the basement is open. They seemed so tall to me. In white robes. Giants straight. Tankers, soundly dressed. Gale of chocolate was given. We returned to the house, all the soldiers, the guys - on the floor, burned the beam. There were already battles at the station. Ours will come, warm up, leave - they did not spend the night almost. Who was standing, he never returned. Every day different came, rarely someone delayed.

In the 42nd, they left us their rations. The 43rd was already a very hungry year. We uprooted four apple trees, planted potatoes. And the neighbor at night dug our potatoes. They told us - they did not believe it.

The Germans moved away. The mother of the floors washed at the army headquarters, then she was given to military censorship. The funnel arrived. Grandma Vasilisa says: “I will not let her in, there are many children. She is illiterate. " And her Moscow girls passed. Mother sewed them: the form of a large form was given, she sutured them. They said: back, come to you. No one came.

Mother was cleaned in military censorship. Ninka, I, Boris, Galya, Lucy helped. They washed the floors, rubbed with galoshes and sand. Once - there was no Lucy then - the boss comes: Muscovite, young guy. "What kind of kindergarten?" - “My children. Eight people I have them. Three are fighting. " He gave two servants of cards. Both chocolate and butter were supposed to be on them.

300 grams of bread were given to the worker. Vitya (he was 14 years old.-A. T. ) went to the foundry-mechanical, but how he left to fight-it was hungry. In the NKVD, the mother called: why did he go to the front to the front?

Then she worked in the dining room, the cook poured her soup for three liters for us.

Nikolai, the eldest of the brothers, wounded. In the hospital, Paulevo wanted to take his leg to the groin. Two grandmas, mustachioed old women, Georgians or Armenians, they say - he said - let's see the leg. He was a handsome man. You can’t cut it, they said, now we’ll hit the wound. They sent to the tent, lay down, then to the Urals in the hospital. Then they let go home with the club. He went to the unit through Moscow. Tamara calls - his love. "Wait, I'll come for you!" Her father was the main surgeon in a military hospital. And he already has a train to the front. She is to his father, he sees: they did not treat him. Kolya prayed: "They will take me for the deserter, let go." But the month was still lying. Restored, went to fight further.

Tolya in intelligence went to Königsberg.

Vitya at the age of 16 left, was credited with a volunteer, the son of the regiment was considered. In connection, he served in the flight part. The war ended, on the day of the 18th anniversary he was presented with an accordion. With the document that he is purchased.

He was sick much after the war. He was kicked out of the troops. And accordingly from the apartment. Brain cancer (in the diagnosis of "neuralgia of the trigeminal nerve". - A.T. ). The pains are terrible, he did not see, did not hear. The professor was engaged in them, a specialist. After 8 months - they operated on Leningrad - began to see. Then a repeated operation. I went to work at the factory. Zoya, wife, was busy. I proved everything. Immediately they said to give an apartment, to pay money, to restore, to give almost a hero. 32 years he was dying. But he lived for the longest time - he was 81 years old when he died. I received a greater pension.

Tolya was wounded. Two wounds, and like the third - sought this piece of paper. Then, after all, you need to arrange for disability. Where is the piece of paper? They began to raise the archive-and the wound on Yegorovich was recorded, not to Georgievich (the children of my grandfather Yegor were recorded differently.- A. T. ). He was sent to trial. After all, the registry office left for evacuation. The certificate was then discharged, everything was corrected, the second group of disability was given.

Several additions

Uncle Tolya died on the eve of the 80th anniversary. As it seemed to me, happy. All his life, minus the war, he spent on his native land, in Volokolamsk. God sent him an easy death: went out into the garden, bent down behind a broken branch ... and fell. As if fell asleep. A day later, without contributing, he died. Houses surrounded by relatives.

He only once told me this: “Three times in the war I dreamed of a church, and I play on it on the roof in a billiard. Then I run away. It is clear: this is to change in life. Indeed, they wounded under the spruce. And the whole platoon, which for more than one month we had together, and the war saved us, bypassed us, - he got herself. I was injured. Then two more times. ”

I remember: we go with Uncle Tolya and his friends in a public bath. I see the body linked by fragments, I see the bodies of his friends, also from the infantry, who stuck out from Moscow to Berlin, unfastening prostheses, brushes.

Uncle Toli had three injuries, I saw.

Next to him became clearer how we won. The soul understood. But the mind is not. The people who survived - more recently - a civil war, collectivization, a goster, for the most part, deep, peasant, who had not at all fed warm feelings for power, a people who turned the regime consistently into dust - how did they defeat the body of the Wehrmacht perfectly?

The great -grandfather Stepan Nikolaevich did not survive dispersing in 1934. I did not want to give my two horses. Children and grandchildren were waiting for them to send them. There was. Perhaps because the great -grandfather fell down and died of a heart blow.

Neither about Stalin or now about Putin in this house they did not talk or talk.

This is me to the fact that the people are on their own. 84% for Putin can only warm him himself and his camaril. 84% agree with everything always, with the grocery embargo, the accession of Crimea, with the fact that Europe is an enemy; Passive majority. The same 84%, according to network resources, are afraid to fly by plane, did not read the constitution, are baptized and so on. The number "84" does not indicate anything, as nothing meant in the 41st complicated attitude of peasant children to Stalin. They went to fight, and they freed Europe from fascism. The world is saved not by the powers of this world, but on the contrary - weak, impersonal, imperfect, no ...

From potatoes, this people cannot be separated. And from the state it has long been separated. The harsh Russian Pacific Ocean. Nemota, surface and peace ... How long?

Aunt had many boyfriends, grooms. But she remained with her parents, “kept” the family. She got married elderly, there are no children. Her chosen one Ivan Romanovich managed to the front at the end of the war.

A large house, before the full to the people-always someone from the relatives came or drove for a day, traveling through Moscow, with an indispensable cake-froze and calmed down; There are only two old people in it. I remember the aunt noisy, she was everywhere, with everyone, before everything she was doing. Now you can quietly sit with her at the table, watching, not seeing, some “karmelita”, sitting without getting up until the aunt rises until the aunt rises ... Today my memory correlates their images and the quiet life with iconography: the figures become transparent and lengthened ... I went into the army, and the aunt remained in my lost ray, for me it was forever. there.

Where the blood is, it is soil, it is fate.

I clearly see behind the garden a foundry and mechanical plant, where Boy Vitya was hunching. From the factory, I remember from childhood, not only the smell of industrial oil was going on. It is still incomprehensible why - the magical smell of bread and marshes.