Last Witnesses : An Oral History of the Children of World War II

Suddenly father turned and stood so as to hide the pit from me: “Go back. You mustn’t go farther.” I only saw, when we crossed the brook, that the water in it was red…And crows flew up. There were so many of them that I screamed…Father couldn’t eat anything for several days after that. He would see a crow and run back to the cottage shaking all over…Like in a fever…

In the park in Slutsk two partisan families were hanged. It was freezing cold, and the hanged people were so frozen that, when the wind swung them, they tinkled. Tinkled like frozen trees in the forest…That tinkling…

When we were liberated, father went to the front. He went with the army. He was already gone when my mother made me the first dress I had during the war. Mama made it out of foot-cloths. They were white, and she dyed them with ink. There wasn’t enough ink for one of the sleeves. But I wanted to show the dress to my friends. So I stood sideways in the gate, to show the good sleeve and hide the bad one. I thought I looked so dressed up, so beautiful!

At school there was a girl, Anya, who sat in front of me. Her father and mother had been killed, and she lived with her grandmother. They were refugees from near Smolensk. The school bought her a coat, felt boots, and a pair of shiny galoshes. The teacher brought them and put them on her desk. We all sat silently, because no one had such boots or such a coat. We envied her. One of the boys nudged Anya and said, “Some people are lucky!” She fell on the desk and cried. She sobbed through four lessons.

My father returned from the front, everybody came to look at him. And also at us, because our papa came back to us.

That girl was the first to come…

“I’M YOUR MAMA…”

Tamara Parkhimovich SEVEN YEARS OLD. NOW A SECRETARY-TYPIST.

All through the war I thought about my mama. I lost my mama in the first days…

We were sleeping, and our Pioneer camp was bombed. We ran out of the tents, ran around crying: “Mama! Mama!” The teacher shook me by the shoulders to calm me down, and I shouted, “Mama! Where’s my mama?” Finally she pressed me to her: “I’m your mama.”

I had a skirt, a white blouse, and a red kerchief hanging on my bedstead. I put them on, and we went on foot to Minsk. On the way many children were met by their parents, but my mama wasn’t there. Suddenly they said, “The Germans are in the city…” We all turned back. Somebody said he had seen my mother—dead.

Here there’s a gap in my memory…

How we reached Penza I don’t remember, how they brought me to the orphanage I don’t remember. Blank pages in my memory…All I remember is that there were many of us, and we slept two to a bed. If one cried, the other also began to cry: “Mama! Where’s my mama?” I was little, one nanny wanted to adopt me. But I kept thinking about mama…

I was coming from the dining room, the children all cried, “Your mama is here!” It rang in my ears: “Your ma-a-a-ama…Your ma-a-a-ama…” I had dreams about mama every night. My real mama. And suddenly she came in reality, but I thought it was a dream. I see—mama! And I don’t believe it. They spent several days persuading me, but I was afraid to get close to mama. What if it’s a dream? A dream! Mama cried, and I shouted, “Don’t come near me! My mama was killed!” I was afraid…I was afraid to believe my happiness…

Even now I…All my life I’ve cried in the happiest moments of my life. Drowning in tears. All my life…My husband…We’ve lived in love for many years. When he proposed to me: “I love you. Let’s get married”—I burst into tears. He was frightened: “Did I upset you?” “No! No! I’m happy!” But I can never be completely happy. Totally happy. It somehow doesn’t come out. I’m afraid of happiness. It always seems that it’s just about to end. This “just about” always lives in me. That childhood fear…

“WE ASK: CAN WE LICK IT?…”

Vera Tashkina TEN YEARS OLD. NOW AN UNSKILLED WORKER.

Before the war I cried a lot…

My father died. Mama was left with seven children on her hands. It was a poor life. Hard. But later, during the war, that peaceful life seemed happy.

Grown-ups wept, but we weren’t afraid. We often played “war,” and the word was very familiar to us. I wondered why mama wept all night. Went around with red eyes. Only later did I understand…

We ate…water…Dinnertime came, mama put on the table a pot of hot water. We poured it into bowls. It’s evening. Suppertime. A pot of hot water on the table. Colorless hot water, there was nothing to put in for color in winter. Not even grass.