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

When the war was over, mama sent requests everywhere, searching for Rema. There was an address bureau, there was always a crowd of people there, people were all looking for each other. I kept going there carrying mama’s letters. But there was no letter for us. On her days off mama used to sit by the window waiting for the mail woman to come. But she always went past.

Once mama came back from work. A neighbor called on us. “Dance!” she said to mama—and she held something behind her back. Mama realized that it was a letter. She didn’t dance, she sat down on a bench and couldn’t get up. Or speak.

Our sister was found. She had been evacuated. Mama began to smile. All through the war, until we found our sister, our mama hadn’t smiled…

“I COULDN’T GET USED TO MY NAME…”

Lena Kravchenko SEVEN YEARS OLD. NOW AN ACCOUNTANT.

Of course I knew nothing about death…No one had time to explain it, but I just saw it…

When the machine guns rattle away from an airplane, it feels as if all the bullets are aimed at you. In your direction. I begged, “Mama, dear, lie on me…” She would lie on me, and then I didn’t see or hear anything.

Most frightening was to lose mama…I saw a dead young woman with a baby nursing at her breast. She must have been killed a minute before. The baby didn’t even cry. And I was sitting right there…

As long as I don’t lose mama…Mama holds my hand all the time and strokes my head: “Everything will be all right. Everything will be all right.”

We rode in some truck, and all the children wore buckets on their heads. I didn’t obey mama…

Then I remember—we’re being driven in a column…They’re taking my mama away from me…I seize her hands, I clutch at her marquisette dress. She wasn’t dressed for war. It was her fancy dress. Her best. I won’t let go…I cry…The fascist shoves me aside first with his submachine gun, and then, when I’m on the ground—with his boot. Some woman picks me up. Now she and I are for some reason riding on a train. Where? She calls me “Anechka”…But I think I had a different name…I seem to remember that it was different, but what it was I forgot. From fear. From fear that they’d taken my mama from me…Where are we going? I seem to understand from the conversation of the adults that we’re being taken to Germany. I remember my thoughts: why do the Germans need such a little girl? What am I going to do there? When it grew dark, the women took me to the door of the car and just pushed me out: “Run for it! Maybe you’ll save yourself.”

I landed in some ditch and fell asleep there. It was cold, and I dreamed that mama was wrapping me in something warm and saying gentle words. I’ve had that dream all my life…

Twenty-five years after the war I found just one of my aunts. She told me my real name, and for a long time I couldn’t get used to it.

I didn’t respond to it…

“HIS ARMY SHIRT WAS WET…”

Valia Matiushkova FIVE YEARS OLD. NOW AN ENGINEER.

You’ll be surprised! But I would like to recall something funny. Merry. I like to laugh, I don’t want to cry. O-o-oh…I’m already crying…

Papa is taking me to mama in the maternity hospital and says that we’ll soon buy ourselves a boy. I try to imagine what sort of little brother I’ll have. I ask papa, “What’s he like?” Papa says, “Small.”

Suddenly papa and I are somewhere high up, and there’s smoke coming through the window. Papa carries me in his arms, and I ask him to go back for my little purse. I fuss. Papa says nothing and firmly presses me to himself, so firmly that I have a hard time breathing. Soon there is no papa; I’m walking down the street with some woman. We walk along the barbed wire. There are prisoners of war behind it. It’s hot, they ask for a drink of water. All I have is two pieces of candy in my pocket. I throw them over the wire. Where did I get them, these candies? I no longer remember. Someone throws bread…Cucumbers…The guard shoots, we run away…

It’s astonishing, but I remember it all…In detail…

Then I remember myself in a children’s center, also surrounded by barbed wire. We were guarded by German soldiers and German shepherds. There were some children who couldn’t walk yet, they crawled. When they were hungry they licked the floor…Ate dirt…They died quickly. The food was bad. They gave us bread that made our tongues swell so much that we couldn’t even speak. All we thought about was food. You finish breakfast and think—what will there be for lunch? You finish lunch—what’s for supper? We crawled under the barbed wire and escaped to town. There was one goal—the garbage dumps. It was an inexpressible joy when you found a herring skin or potato peels. We ate them raw.

I remember being caught at the dump by some man. I was frightened. “I won’t do it anymore, mister.”

He asked, “Whose child are you?”

“Nobody’s. I’m from a children’s center.”

He took me to his place and gave me something to eat. They only had potatoes in his house. They boiled them, and I ate a whole pot of potatoes.