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

After mama was shot…The next day a car drove up to our house…They began to take our things…The neighbors called out to us, “Go, ask for your felt boots, your warm coats! It will be winter soon, and you only have summer clothes.” The three of us stood there, little Tomochka sat on my shoulders, and I said, “Mister, give her her felt boots.” The policeman was just then carrying them in his hands. Before I finished, he kicked me with his foot, and my sister fell off…And she hit her head against the stone. In the morning we saw a big abscess there, and it began to grow. Aunt Arina had a thick kerchief, she wrapped it around her head, but the abscess still showed. At night I would put my arms around her head, and her head was very, very big. I was afraid she would die.

The partisans learned about it all and took us to stay with them. They comforted us the best they could, and loved us very much. We even forgot for a while that we had no papa and mama. Someone had a torn shirt; they twisted the sleeve, drew eyes, a nose—and made a doll for us. They taught us to read, they even made up verses about me not liking to wash with cold water. What facilities were there in the forest? In winter we washed with snow…

Lilia sits in the tub,

And Lilia frets,

“Help me, help me,

The water is so wet.”

When it became dangerous, they took us back to Aunt Arina. The commander—and the unit commander was the legendary Pyotr Mironovich Masherov—asked, “What do you need? Is there anything you want?” And we needed many things, first of all some shirts. They made dresses for us from the same fabric army shirts were made of. Green dresses with patch pockets. They made felt boots for the three of us, winter coats, and knitted us mittens. I remember that they brought us to Aunt Arina on a cart and gave us sacks of flour and grain. Even pieces of leather, so that she could make shoes for us.

When there was a search at Aunt Arina’s, she passed us off as her children. They kept asking why we were blond and her son was dark-haired. They knew something…They put us in a truck with Aunt Arina and her boy, and brought us to the Igritsky concentration camp. It was winter, everybody slept on the floor, on boards, with some straw. We lay like this: me, then little Toma, next to her Raya, then Aunt Arina and her son. I wound up at the edge. The people next to me changed often. I would touch a cold hand at night and know that the man was dead. In the morning I would look—he’s as if alive, only cold. Once I was frightened…I saw that rats had eaten the lips and cheeks of a dead man. The rats were fat and insolent. I was afraid of them most of all…While we were with the partisans, the abscess on my little sister’s head went away, but in the concentration camp it appeared again. Aunt Arina used to hide this abscess all the time, because she knew that if they saw the girl was sick, they would shoot her. She wrapped my sister’s head with a thick kerchief. At night I heard her pray: “Lord, you took their mother, preserve the children.” I also prayed…I asked, “At least let little Tomochka survive, she’s so young, she shouldn’t die.”

We were taken somewhere from the concentration camp…We rode in cattle cars. On the floor were dried cow flops. I remember that we only reached Latvia, and there local people took us. Tomochka was the first to be taken. Aunt Arina carried her in her arms, handed her to an old Latvian man, and knelt before him: “Only save her. Save her.” He said, “If I reach my home with her, she’ll live. I have a mile and a half to walk. Across the river, then through the cemetery…” We all wound up with different people. Aunt Arina was also taken from us…

We heard…They told us—Victory. I went to the people who had taken my sister Raya: “We have no mama…Let’s go and take our Toma. And we must find Aunt Arina.”

We discussed it and went to look for Aunt Arina. That we found her was a miracle. We found her because she was a very good seamstress. We stopped at some house to have a drink of water. They asked us where we were going. We replied that we were looking for Aunt Arina. The hostess’s daughter said at once, “Let’s go, I’ll show you where she lives.” Aunt Arina just gasped when she saw us. We were skinny as sticks. It was the end of June, the most difficult time: the old harvest was eaten, and the new one wasn’t ripe yet. We ate the still green ears: we’d rub a bit in our hands and swallow it, even without chewing, we were so hungry.