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

A very nice, kind woman lived next to us. She saw our sufferings and said to mama, “Let your daughter help me in the house.” I was very weak. She went to the field, and left me with her grandson, showed me where everything was, so that I could feed him and eat myself. I went to the table, looked at the food, but was afraid to take it. It seemed to me that if I took something, it would all disappear, that it was a dream. Not only did I not eat, I was even afraid to touch it with my finger—for fear it would cease to exist. I preferred to look at it, to look at it for a long time. I came from the side, or from the back. Afraid to close my eyes. I didn’t put anything in my mouth during the whole day. This woman had a cow, sheep, chickens. And she left me butter, eggs…

She came home in the evening and asked, “Did you eat?”

“Yes…”

“Go home then. And take this to your mama.” And she gave me some bread. “And come back tomorrow.”

I went home, and this woman came running after me. I got frightened: what if something’s missing? But she kissed me and wept.

“Why didn’t you eat anything, silly fool? Why is everything just where it was?” And she caressed me and stroked my head.

Winters in Kazakhstan are severe. We had nothing to burn in the stove. We were saved by cow dung. You get up early in the morning and wait till the cows come out, and you put the bucket under them. You run from one cow to another. I wasn’t alone, all the evacuated people were there. You fill the bucket, dump it out by your house, and hurry back. Afterward it’s all mixed with straw, dried, and the result is those black cakes. Kiziaks. We used them for heating.

Papa died. His heart probably broke from pity for us. He’d had a bad heart for a long time.

I was accepted to a technical school. They issued me a uniform: a coat, shoes, and—bread coupons. I used to have cropped hair, but now it grew back and I could braid it. They gave me a Komsomol card. Took a picture for a newspaper. I carried the card in my hands, not in my pocket. Such a treasure…I was afraid to put it in my pocket—what if I should lose it? My heart pounded: tock-tock-tock. How happy papa would have been if he could have seen me.

Now I think: “What a terrible time, but what extraordinary people.” I am amazed at how we were then! How we believed! I don’t want to forget it…I long ago lost my faith in Stalin, in communist ideas. I would like to forget that part of my life, but I keep those feelings in my heart. That loftiness. I don’t want to forget those feelings. They’re precious…

That evening at home mama made real tea, with tea leaves. Of course, it was such a feast! And I—as the cause of it—received an extra half-spoon of sugar…

“DEAR HOUSE, DON’T BURN DEAR HOUSE, DON’T BURN!…”

Nina Rachitskaya SEVEN YEARS OLD. NOW A WORKER.

Sometimes it’s very vivid…Everything comes back.

How the Germans arrived on motorcycles…Each had a bucket, and their buckets clanked. We hid…I had two little brothers—four and two years old. We hid under the bed and stayed there the whole day.

I was very surprised that the young fascist officer who moved in with us wore glasses. My idea was that only teachers wore glasses. He and his orderly lived in one half of the house, and we in the other. My youngest brother caught a cold and had a bad cough. He had a high fever, was all burning, and wept during the night. In the morning, the officer came to our half and told mama that if the kinder cries and keeps him from sleeping at night, he’ll go puf-puf, and he pointed to his pistol. At night, as soon as my brother began to cough or cry, mother grabbed him with his blanket, ran outside, and rocked him there till he fell asleep or calmed down. Puf-puf…

They took everything from us, we were starving. They wouldn’t let us into the kitchen, and they cooked only for themselves. My little brothers smelled the food and crawled to the kitchen to this smell. They cooked pea soup every day, and it had a very strong smell. Five minutes later we heard my brother’s cry, a terrible shriek. They splashed boiling water on him in the kitchen because he asked to eat. He was so hungry that he said to mama, “Let’s cook my duckling.” This duckling was his favorite toy, he had never let anyone touch it. He slept with it.

Our children’s conversations…

We sat and debated: if we catch a mouse (there were many of them during the war, both in the house and in the fields), could we eat it? Can we eat chickadees? Magpies? Why doesn’t mama make a soup out of fat beetles?

We wouldn’t let potatoes grow, we felt around in the ground with our hands to see if they were big or still small. And somehow everything grew so slowly: the corn, the sunflowers…