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

Mama already knew that papa’s school had been evacuated to Novosibirsk, and we went to join him. There I began going to school. In the morning we studied, and after lunch we went to help in the hospital. There were many wounded who had been sent from the front to the rear. We were taken as paramedics. I was sent to the surgery section, the most difficult one. They gave us old sheets. We tore them to make bandages, rolled them up, put them in containers, and took them to be sterilized. We also laundered old bandages, but lots of bandages came from the front in such condition that we carried them out in baskets and buried them in the backyard. They were all soaked with blood, with pus…

I grew up in a doctor’s family and dreamed before the war of becoming a doctor. If it was surgery, let it be surgery. Other girls were afraid, but I didn’t care, as long as I could help, could feel I was needed. The lessons ended, and we ran quickly to the hospital, so as to come in time, not to be late. I remember fainting several times. When they unbandage the wound, it all gets stuck, the men scream…Several times I became nauseous from the smell of the bandages. They smelled very strongly, not with medications but…with something…unfamiliar, suffocating…Death…I already knew the smell of death. You come to the ward—the wounded man is still alive, but there’s already this smell…Many girls left, they couldn’t stand it. They sewed mittens for the front; those who knew how—knitted. But I couldn’t leave the hospital—how could I if everybody knew that my mama was a doctor?

But I cried very much when the wounded men died. When they were dying they called out, “Doctor! Doctor! Quick!” A doctor comes running, but he can’t save him. The wounded in the surgical section were serious ones. I remember one lieutenant…He asked me for a hot-water bottle. I gave it to him, he seized my hand…I couldn’t take it away…He pressed it to himself. He held on to me, held on with all his strength. I heard his heart stop. It beat, beat, and then stopped…

I learned so much during the war…More than during my whole life…

“I RAN AWAY TO THE FRONT FOLLOWING MY SISTER, FIRST SERGEANT VERA REDKINA…”

Nikolai Redkin ELEVEN YEARS OLD. NOW A MECHANIC.

The house became quiet…Our family grew smaller.

My older brothers were called up to the army at once. My sister Vera kept going to the recruiting office and in March 1942 also left for the front. Only my younger sister and I stayed at home.

In the evacuation we were taken by our relations in the Orel region. I worked in the kolkhoz. There weren’t any men left; all the men’s tasks lay on the shoulders of those like me. Adolescents. We replaced the men—boys from nine to fourteen. I went to plow for the first time. The women stood next to their horses and urged them on. I stood there waiting for someone to come and teach me, and they went down one furrow and turned to the second one. I was alone. All right, so I drove by myself, off the furrow or along it. In the morning I was in the field, and at night tending the horses with the boys in the pasture. One day like that, two…On the third day I plowed and plowed and collapsed.

In 1944 my sister Vera came to us for one day on her way from the hospital after being wounded. In the morning she was taken to the train station in a wagon, and I ran after her on foot. At the station a soldier refused to let me on the train: “Who are you with, boy?”

I wasn’t at a loss: “I’m with First Sergeant Vera Redkina.”

That’s how I made it to the war…

“IN THE DIRECTION OF THE SUNRISE…”

Valya Kozhanovskaya TEN YEARS OLD. NOW A WORKER.

A child’s memory…Only fear or something good stays in a child’s memory…

Our house stood near an army hospital. The hospital was bombed, and I saw wounded men on crutches fall out of the windows. Our house caught fire…Mama ran into the flames: “I’ll get some clothes for the children.”

Our house burned…Our mama burned…We rushed after her, but people caught us and held us back: “You won’t save your mama, children.” We ran where everybody else did. There were dead people lying around…The wounded moaned, asked for help. How could we help them? I was eleven, my sister nine. We lost each other…